Continued from Tribunal - Opening Ceremony...

The dignified and staid Captain Magnus raised his gavel and slammed it down twice. "I hereby call this, the third tribunal of the Artan Family to order. If there are any objections or grievances, let them now be aired." The pirate lord, known to be tough but fair, eyed the assembled crews and Baronesses of the Tribunal. Letting the gravity of that proclamation settle in, he paused for a moment before proceeding.

"Then we shall proceed as laid out in the articles of Artan law. First as she who is the accused, Arenara Artan, will be allowed to make opening arguments and present evidence. Then the accuser and challenger, Enalia Telvan will be allowed to do so. Then it will be an open floor for anyone with pertinent evidence to present it. After that, both parties will be allowed to present closing arguments before this council will make a final determination." Captain Magnus half-turned, to confer with his own crew.

"Here's to parliamentary procedure... time for some law and order," Rita Paris muttered.

For all this time, Sonak had been silent, acutely observing and studying this peculiar culture at work, his xenoscience interest peaked with the bewildering display of intertwined ancient mores and modern behaviors in one of the rather few humanoid matriarchal societies observed in the galaxy. His wife's remark made his eyebrow arch up slightly.

''It is a fact that parliamentary procedure, a cornerstone of democratic societies, requires much time and complex structures. Allowing for opposing points of view to be heard and debated peacefully, if even hotly, before implementing a solution, one best suited to the situation and all persons involved, is not an easy process. Hence why it is so much more common to encounter autocratic rules in so many cultures throughout the known galaxy. Authoritarian regimes get results quickly and efficiently, only because they serve but a very small elite to the detriment of the majority.''

His gaze went to the assembly.

''It is most interesting to observe how this community handles it's version of democratic rule and law, while they still adopt the trappings of autocratic aristocracy, and individualistic anarchist tendencies. I think there was once a place on your Earth called Tortuga that worked in much similar ways.''

He stopped his voiced musings when he heard the head magistrate speak.

Meanwhile Asa was trying to dismiss the feeling that someone was staring at them from just out of sight. Of course there were numerous eyes on the assembled party, but Asa had a persistent feeling of dread they hoped was only their own nerves and not an inkling of things to come. Wishing they had the ability to scan the assemblage without being noticed, the doctor sat back to noting each face along with how they moved and how much attention they seemed to be paying. One never knew when knowing that an enemy had a slight limp or that a delegate had been asleep during the speeches might come in handy. The sound of the magistrate's voice also caused them to return attention to the proceedings at hand.

"I would remind those present that only the Royal family and the Baronesses may object at any time and that procedure must be followed for such objections. Now then..." Magnus then motioned to the Queen Regent's side of the round hall. "Queen Artan? If you would be so kind as to present your opening arguments and evidence, your grace."

Rising from the large and ornate throne she'd had crafted for herself decades ago, Queen Arenara Artan drew herself up to her full height, her purple and crimson livery flowing about her, the Dalmatian mink cape trailing behind her as she came to stand at the railing of her balcony. Looking out over the assemblage, she moved with the surety born of a lifetime of rulership, and nodded with satisfaction at the ruling houses that flew the Artan banner. When she spoke, her voice was clear and strong, ringing out across the great hall.

"You know who I am," she began, "And you know my deeds. You've shared in the plunder from my spoils, and eaten hearty at my table. I have led this family now for nearly 50 years, and I've steered us through good times and bad, attacks upon us and revenges gained." She paused for some piratical chortling, from quite a few corners of the hall. "You know who I am, and you know my word is bond."

"So heed me while I take a moment to explain why we're all here today. Why my willful and stubborn daughter, who turned her back on the family business brought us here. She who turned her back on piracy, and all of you. Who refuses to marry flesh and blood, dallying with holograms who can never even generate genetic material to sire an inheritor for the Artan family lineage. All I asked was that she sire an heir, to carry on the family line. To keep our traditions alive," the pirate queen's voice rose at that, and there were cheers from the hall, as well as polite applause.

"Traditions like scouring the spaceways clean of slavers and pirates. To free those oppressed in chains. To make the galaxy a better place to raise our families. But she turned her back on all of us, to join Starfleet, to look down on we pirates. Though it breaks her mother's heart, still do I not interfere and let my willful princess have her way. Yet still does the family need an heir." Looking out over the assemblage, the pirate queen changed the tempo, pacing in the relatively small space.

"I asked, I cajoled, I entreated my daughter to produce offspring, but over and over she refuses. Now, I will admit," The queen half-turned, as if being conspiratorial. "I would not be so desperate were she wed to an actual biological life form. Nature often finds a way, as well some of us know." Shooting a glance toward Captain Magnus, she continued.

"Entreat I do, but still she refuses. So I asked her for at least some of her genetic material, so that I could find a donor and welcome the next generation. To be brought up here, amongst all of us, in the bosom of our family. Steeped in our traditions, and trained from birth how to lead this family to the next generation of greatness." At that, she scoffed.

"But no. The high and mighty Captain Enalia Telvan has no time for traditions or family or piracy. Oh, she'll be happy to take her leave of the family station and enjoy the fruits of our labors. But she's just too good to let herself contribute to the family, even if it's just half the genetic code for a future generation. No no, that would impugn upon her rights as a Federation citizen, and she just cannot have that." Shaking her head as she paced, the dramatic pirate queen chuckled to herself.

"So here we are, my friends, captains, lord and ladies. My daughter the selfish, my daughter the snob, my daughter who is just too good to be associated with anything that smacks of piracy and tradition, except when it suits her. She comes before you today to plead her case, to tell us all of how violated she feels to have this asked of her, how upset it makes her, how it fills her with the self-righteousness that only Starfleet can instill. Your part-time princess has come to tell you how being asked to pull her share is so very unfair to her, and how you should make her feel better. Who cares about the Artan family line? Who cares about tradition? Who cares about all of this," Arenara waved her arm dramatically, as if to encompass the entire gathering. "When it might inconvenience one Starfleet Captain named Enalia Telvan.”

“Let it all end, let the line die here, because she went and got both her father and her sister killed, so now it's just she and me. Since she betrayed us all to piss off to Starfeet, then there's only me. I hoped for at least a legitimate grandchild and to not have to try to carry a child to term at my age," she paused to see if there would be a laugh there, but no one dared. "So that's what's really at stake here today, and there sits the architect. All of you who are losing money sitting here in port for all of this? Look at her. Itchy formal uniforms? She called the Tribunal, not I. It all sounds a bit ridiculous, like someone should just grow up and face some responsibility for a change, does it not?" Arenara Artan whirled to fix her daughter with a piercing gaze.

"Because from where I'm standing, that's exactly what this looks like. This entire situation has but one author, and there she sits." Pointing to her daughter, a sardonic smile settled onto the thin lips of the aged privateer.

"Now, that is my primary grievance. But since I've reluctantly agreed to this Tribunal, a number of calamities have befallen myself and my crew. There was an assassination attempt on my second in command and my chief scientist, from a mysterious poison whose origins seemed to be the signature of an assassin long dead. I can't prove it was my daughter, but the timing certainly seems suspicious." Queen Artan traced her finger along the railing as she spoke, dramatizing her point.

"The Romulan refugee starbase 339-A was all but destroyed by two of the Starfleet officers under Captain Telvan's command," she continued, the sneer entering her voice as she mentioned Starfleet, adding up that many more emotional discreditations for the Fleet. "That resulted in the deaths of dozens, and the kidnapping of an innocent man, of whom the Federation seems to have no record. According to them, they don't have him. But they took the station, so..."

Leaving the point to hang, the Queen changed course, tacking into the wind. "We've also received reports of stolen records from the hidden Aehallh base, a Romulan records keeping station not far from here. The primary suspects are two more of Captain Telvan's Starfleet thugs, officers posing as guards. On top of that, my two closest allies in this matter, Baronesses Garan and Terethis, were almost poisoned by tainted Saurian brandy just yesterday on this very facility and my evidence points back to, once again, her officers." Pausing to fix the assemblage with a smirk, she cocked her head slightly, the great plume of her hat bobbing as she did so.

"It's almost as if Starfleet is desperate to find some way to avoid all of this, because when all is said and done, even they know Enalia's being unreasonable. Even they can see what a spoiled, petty child she's become, and they're desperately trying whatever schemes they can to make her look better. Hell's bells, I'd wager she'll even try to accuse me of misconduct and treachery next, just so that she can maintain her precious individuality... which is worth more to her than our entire family, all our traditions."

Leaning over the rail, the Queen fairly spat out the words. "She values herself more than this entire family. Her deeds speak for themselves, as she sits there in pristine Starfleet white, flanked by her obedient drones. That's the future she wants for the Artan fleet- she can say whatever she wants, but her colors make it clear where her allegiances lie. And it is quite clear to any with eyes and ears those allegiances are not with us."

With that said, the pirate queen of the Artans took her seat, resting her elbow on the armrest of her chair as her fingers supported her chin, and she shot Enalia a glance that silently challenged, quite clearly, 'your move'.

At the end of the Queen's opening speech, Magnus, cleared his throat and began speaking. "Next is the list of evidence presented by the Queen Regent. As I understand it, her Chief Scientist will be presenting the recordings and evidence we're about to watch. I recognize..." He had to glance down at a PaDD to make sure he got the name right. "Davo Mudd, Queen Regent's Chief Scientist."

“You gotta be kidding me… Mudd?!?” Rita whispered, clearly recognizing the name, but the Terran continued before she could elaborate.

Clemens knew the surname from basic Intel classes, and immediately set about pulling all relevant files for the previous records of any parties with that moniker from the copy of Fleet Intel records he'd copied locally. His scowl deepened as he noted the expensive accouterments the man with the weasel eyes wore. For a brief moment, he wondered if this grease stain had the capability of being anything as fierce as a lion. He resolved to keep track of him if at all possible. He made note of certain aspects of the room's construction as he continued sweeping it.

From the small balcony that Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox occupied as one of the Captain's Baronesses to observe and eventually vote on the Tribunal itself, the Vulcan refugee Az'Prel, Dox and her mother Jaeih watched silently.

Looking over at Az'Prel, Jaeih could all but feel the anger simmering off of the normally emotionless Vulcan as they watched Mudd stand. The man was not just another survivor of her own doomed universe, but the father of Az'Prel's missing daughter. Jaeih shifted her glare to Mudd, narrowing her eyes with anger for what her newfound and unexpected friend must be going through in that impossible tense moment.

"Thank you, Captain Magnus," The well-groomed Terran said as he stood, the spotlight now focusing on him. The man was dressed in an unmistakable gold and black Terran Empire uniform, red piping along a few edges of a black bodysuit, replete with a crimson sash at his waist. While the symbol he wore on his breast may have been that of the Artan family, the mirror universe dagger clipped to his sash was unmistakable. Neither was the haughty attitude that he spoke with, nor the slight femininity that his motions revealed.

"First, I would like to thank you personally for this time to..." Mudd began, before Magnus cut him off.

"You're not here to make speeches, Mudd. You're here to present evidence." The way Magnus said the word 'evidence' almost seemed like he didn't believe that any of it would be real, but he allowed it to be seen, none the less.

Mudd seemed a bit flustered, yet continued. "Yes well... First, I would present to you security footage from Aehallh Station of the two suspected intruders."

Clicking something on his PaDD, security footage began to play in the center of the room showing two Romulan men leaving the records room of the station. Both had well defined forehead ridges and were obviously not Jaeih and Az'Prel.

As Mudd started to speak again, Sarika stood and pointed violently. "OBJECTION! My cybernetic eyes detect tampering in the feed of that data stream!"

The look of shock on both the Queen Regent's and Mudd's faces realizing that the one person that was able to see through their creative edits was now no longer under their control was priceless, but they quickly composed themselves.

It was Merelith that ran a scan on the datastream presented and confirmed it though. "If it pleases the court, I am able to confirm this. This is actual footage... But the time-stamp markers have all been changed. Also, the faces of the two have been obscured with other faces. If I run one of my reconstruction algorithms..." A moment later, the footage changed and the time-stamp was that of the day that Arenara supposedly met with someone on the station and the two men were obviously Trill, one of which was sitting at Arenarra's side. "And there we have it."

Magnus studied the unfiltered footage. "Thank you for your assistance, Baroness Merelith. Baroness Sarika, in light of this new unedited footage..."

"I now withdraw my objection, your honor," Sarika stated, returning to her seat.

Clearing his throat nervously, Mudd continued wtih a nervous glance at his PaDD. “My next piece of evidence is the testimonies of both Garan and Terethis, both whom were almost poisoned by tainted Saurian Brandy."

Before he even had a chance to play the footage, Merelith was the one to object. "OBJECTION! We have already traced the source of both bottles, as that trick was tried on two of the Princess's other supporters as well. One of Snodarss' shipments was hijacked by commandeered holo-maids from the Bloody Rose, delivered to one of your suites, tampered with, and distributed throughout the fortress, including to Garan, Terethis, myself, the common halls, and a few bottles back into the original case lot. The data logs of the holo-maids have been recorded and I submit them for study as counter evidence."

"Objection sustained," Captain Magnus declared, slamming his gavel with a hint of pleasure. "Mudd, your next piece of evidence, please?"

A bit more flustered, the Terran clicked at his PaDD before proceeding. "Then I present evidence of the attempted assassination of both myself and the Queen Regent's second in command." He then put up security footage of a tiny droid attacking the two in some sort of lab, using its contents against them.

Again came the loud "OBJECTION!" and finger pointing from Sarika. "That holographic recording is filled with holograms. Not a single person in it has a heat signature or fluctuating vital signs."

Schwein had flipped up her eye patch and was studying the holo-imagery as well. "Ja, wahrheit- das is holograms being recorded."

The six-armed Baroness Merelith ran a scan on the footage and also confirmed it. "It's true, your honor. This whole holovid is fake."

Almost gleefully, Magnus slammed his gavel down again. "This evidence is inadmissible then. One more like that, and I'll hold you in contempt of this Tribunal and have you clapped in irons!"

"Aye, sir." Mudd visibly gulped as he brought up the last of the footage. "The last is security footage of the Romulan Refugee station 339-A."

He then began playing back choice pieces of destruction, clearly showing Schwein in her armor and Jablonski in hers wrecking the station from multiple views. "If this is fake, I apologize. We obtained it from a man named... Ah... Beta... Zeta Jones. A survivor of the attack whom is now crippled for life and will now require extensive reconstructive work to his cybernetics due to the mistreatment he suffered at the hands of the invaders. They killed no less than two dozen of our own and kidnapped an innocent man."

Exchanging puzzled expressions, Petty Officer Jablonski shrugged and held her hands palms upward, then leaned in to whisper into Schwein’s ear. “Rubber bullets and tear gas, how did we kill two dozen people…?”

"EINSPRUCH! OBJECTION!" Schwein called out, also pointing dramatically, as was tradition. "I offer in counter evidence the sensor logs of mein own eye and mein comrade's suit to prove that we used non-lethal means and we only did so after first declaring our intentions and being attacked trying to dock and question a murder suspect. A man that is linked to the murder of a Starfleet officer aboard a Starfleet vessel! The act of which will bring into question the very pact that makes our privateer actions and profits admissible under the Federation!"

This brought about a goodly amount of muttering and murmuring, as Schwein’s bold accusation rang out across the great hall.

Pulling out a poly-duranium lined PaDD, the Platinum haired pirate punched up the sensor logs and submitted them in full, allowing those assembled to study them as they saw fit. "Also, we found our suspect. They had undergone identity change operations, but they confessed to the crime, and admitted to whom he received the means of murder and attempted assassination on Baroness Dox!" Tapping again, she submitted the interrogation in the Hera's brig.

The Baroness Merelith immediately set out, scanning the submitted records, ensuring that they were clean and untampered with. It only took her a moment before she looked up. "Your honor, these records show no sign of tampering. They are legitimate and admissible as evidence."

At the end of both sensor feeds during the Starbase 339-A invasion, the death count total read at one. "Ah... Ethel... It seems we did lose one after all..." She rested a hand on her comrade's shoulder in sympathy, as the hulking petty officer looked devastated to have inadvertently caused the loss of a life in the pursuance of her duties.

Magnus then brought his gavel down. "As both members that took part in this have admitted to the destruction, and have provided the evidence of their own actions, and are apparently in the crew of the Baroness Schwein von Alcott, it is the judgement of this court that she and her crew are to make reparations to the Baroness Seinae Nei'rrh regardless of the outcome of this Tribunal."

He then slammed his gavel again before motioning towards Enalia's side of the hall. "Princess Enalia Telvan, It is now your turn to present your opening argument and any evidence you may have."

“You can do this, Enalia,” Rita Paris said in rapid hushed tones, trying to bolster her Captain’s spirits. “Speak from your heart, say what you know to be true, and prove to these people that you are still THEIR princess, as well as Starfleet. You are here literally fighting for them… you can do this. I believe in you.”

Clemens took special care to run a full structural scan of the area the Captain was about to utilize for her speechifying.

Enalia flashed her piratical smile for just a moment as reassurance. This was what she'd been practicing for. The Trill woman then stood, regal and matronly - a pillar of marble as the lighting focused on her. "Thank you, your honor."

"Ladies and Gentlebeings of the assembled Tribunal... my family. Since my mother's retirement, when I took command of the USS Hera and was able to dedicate a portion of my time to indirect management of the fleet, you have known my policies and my love of freedom."

"Many of you watched me grow up. Some of you knew me as crewmates before my time in Starfleet. Thus you know that I pride myself on certain values. Integrity. Excellence in all I do. Service to freedom of all. This is why I wear this uniform with pride. Not to sully the family name, or to spit in the face of tradition; but to bolster it with something new."

"To build upon our traditions, and take us into a new era. The days of Matriarchal lineages are coming to an end. If my mother is too blind to allow us the freedom to enter the future with our own passions and our own free will, then she has no place being in power."

"It is true that what finally resulted in this Tribunal is that she wanted a biological grandchild from my genetic code... My AUGMENTED genetic code. Of which she has no backup, because I destroyed it. She killed the doctor that performed the augmentation shortly after my sister was born. Shortly before I joined Starfleet, I destroyed the samples my mother had of both myself and my sister... just in case."

"But now she wants a new heir. One more to her liking. One that she can control, and train to be just like her and drive this family to its grave like she tried to do. Let us recall some of her titles for a moment. Some of her proudest moments in life."

"Scourge of Tortuga. She got that title by wiping out thirteen rogue pirate groups in one week. She lost half of her own fleet in the process. Devil of Getlik three. She took seven ships and bombarded a colony from orbit because they owed her money. The planet still hasn't recovered enough atmosphere to sustain life. Rat Whore Bitch. The Klingons gave you that one, didn't they? I could go on, but your kill count is higher than even I can believe at times and I'm your daughter."

"That being said, I'm here not just as the Artan Princess and the Daughter of Arenara Artan. I am here as a Starfleet Captain." Straightening her jacket, Enalia recomposed herself, the momentary emotion in her eyes becoming as of steel for the evidence she was going to drop.

"As such, it is my duty to present evidence that Arenara Artan has colluded with the Orion Syndicate against Baroness Seinae Nei'rrh. Furthermore, we have proof that she attempted to assassinate Baroness Schwein von Alcott and Baroness Mnhei'sahe Dox, a Lieutenant aboard the USS Hera, the latter of which resulted in the murder of one of my officers. On top of that, significant espionage was performed in the cybernetics of our allies in this tribunal, as well as the near fatal poisoning of several of the Baronesses closest to my personage."

Enalia straightened up and motioned for Commander Paris to transfer the evidence.

Once again, Sam made certain that there were no unduly-stressed areas in the area his friend and Executive Officer was utilizing.

Standing, Rita didn’t bother introducing herself. Either they knew who she was or it didn’t matter to them, and either way, this had nothing to do with her. Instead she was here to serve as the member of the Captain’s crew to deliver the evidence and corroborate it with witnesses and evidence, so she dove right in.

"With the Pirates of the Crab Nebula program, when Baroness Sarika transferred the latest mod to Baroness von Alcott, both were infected with cyber espionage that would offer false input, falsified recording, and according to the USS Hera’s chief medical officer, 'a thing has been outlawed in every civilized system- a virus which overloads cybernetic components, then goes on to assault and overload the nerves connected to the device’, as you will see from the medical report.”

As she spoke, Paris tapped out the data backing up what she was saying, complete with sensor logs and trideo of snippets of the scenario. This was no speech- this was a multimedia presentation of evidence.

"When Baroness von Alcott offered to help the crew of the USS Hera learn swordplay by participating in her leisure program, which I understand is a standard game of 'capture the flag' amongst the Artan family, installing the program into a holodeck on the USS Hera then become deliberate sabotage of a Federation starship. Not by the Baroness von Alcott,” the curvaceous commander clarified, “who was the unwitting carrier, but by the author of the customized modified program who introduced it to her systems.”

“The holodeck safeties were shut off, and the numbers of opponents were plentiful. Had it only been the Baroness, she still might have fought her way through- she is Schwein von Alcott, after all.” The crusading commander paused at that, allowing time for some chuckling and muttering from those who knew Schwein by reputation or personal experience, who could attest to the supersoldier’s strength, stamina and skill. “Or at least she might have, save for the visual virus that spiked a needle into her brain and crippled her. How did that go?"

Tapping a button on her PaDD, the broadcast went out across the Tribunal, in an amplified voice unmistakable as that of the Queen Regent of the Artans. "I hope you enjoy the modifications to this, you fleeter swine. Not even you could survive this little trap."

"Does she wring her hands and twirl her mustache while she says things like that? One wonders," Paris paused to let that one settle in before moving on, pointedly ignoring the daggers being glared at her from the Queen Regent’s box. "Of course, we have verification of that vocal print as a match, as you can see. According to United Federation law, sending a program designed to kill someone by locking them in a holodeck and turning off the safeties is classified as attempted murder, unless it works."

“Objection," said the matriarch calmly.

"No proof of the source of the program modification nor the virus! This is a baseless accusation!” came the call from Captain Artan’s box, from the man known as Mudd.

"Don’t be so hasty! The proof is coming, so keep your pants on, Terran,” Paris dismissed, to a few more chuckles from the gallery even as Mudd himself looked a bit surprised to be called out.

“So, given that the virus does trace back to the Queen Mother, that officially racks up 6 counts of attempted murder; 4 of whom were Starfleet officers. But let's not dwell, we've got a lot more ground to cover. Baroness von Alcott, do you corroborate this story, and I believe the chain of evidence passes next to you for the cyberware espionage charge?"

Standing, the augmented human pirate straightened her jacket, looking none too pleased with what she had been hearing from her side of the court about the man named Mudd. "Ja, I confirm and submit my own cyber-logs and recordings of the events."

"What was supposed to be a fun and entertaining group training exercise, turned into a near lethal simulation," The platinum-tressed pirate eyed the crowd with her one organic eye. "With the anti-Borg virus in my cybernetics, I would not have made it through the extended program alone. Even if I had made it to the end goal of the bridge of the Bloody Rose, the simulation was programmed to end after several minutes by venting the bridge into space, after those taunting words were spoken from the relocated treasure chest."

"Such hospitality," Paris snarked.

Continued in Tribunal - Confessions...

Continued from Tribunal - Parlimentary Procedures...

”There was rather an extended look at the bridge of the Bloody Rose once we could freeze the program and look around. It was quite the act of vanity to use a holo of her actual bridge, but we were quite appreciative for the opportunity to look around it."

"If your collected graces will note, here is that particular holo image, complete with an analysis of the stations. I present to you, the bridge of the Bloody Rose, for those unfamiliar with it." Winding up for this one, Rita couldn't suppress a bit of a wicked close-lipped smile, even as she could sense the rage building from the irate pirate queen. Showing off her bridge to everyone present was a bit of a violation, and Paris knew it fully well.

The pirate queen wasn't the only one who knew how to push buttons.

"Now, on that diagrammed tour of the bridge of the Bloody Rose, you’ll see a device marked as 'Agony Device', which is a Terran invention from the Mirror Universe. If you are not familiar with that term, here's the Fedepedia page, complete with a description of their traditional 'Agony Booth', which causes every nerve ending in the body to suddenly register pain, on a sliding scale of intensity. It can and has killed people by destroying their will to live, through inescapable, inexorable, unbearable agony." The ancient astronaut peered at the crew that accompanied Captain Arenara Artan, and a few of those minor officers at the back shuddered a bit when she spoke of the device.

Clearly, they had felt the effects of the device themselves.

Which, while it was confirmation of their theory, was still a shame. Rita would really liked to have been wrong about that, and she felt badly for those poor officers. The extradimensional explorer's eyes flickered to Az'Prel, to lock eyes with the woman who knew the horror of such a device intimately. Then she gazed across the assemblage of pirates and crews, letting that explanation sink in for a few seconds.

"This model is an extrapolation on that base principle, and instead uses the starships SIF generators to simply inflict the 'agony' effect at will, upon anyone and everyone simultaneously, anywhere across the ship. It's a leap forward in the technology, and a brutal abomination that shows you just what sort of a captain sits in that chair. They are known and highly illegal in Federation territory, bearing a charge akin to a war crime. Which would make the inventor of such technology a war criminal, Mr. Mudd."

The crowd went into excited gasps and murmurs at all of that, particularly as the information was digested by the assembled Baronesses and crews. While Rita didn't have a shred of proof, guessing who built the new and improved agony booth didn't take a kolinahr to figure out. The noose was already tightening, and there might just be time for an investigation and interrogation and she strongly suspected a plea bargain. But that was then, this was now. Time to redirect again- change course now that you've tacked into the wind, sailor.

"Baroness Sarika, being made aware of the situation with Baroness von Alcott led you to a bit of an unpleasant discovery about your own cyberware, of which you also have logs and evidence to corroborate?" Paris redirected to the next link in the chain of evidence, building the case methodically, but most certainly without tedium.

Standing and leaning against her own balcony railing, it was obvious that she was pissed. "Indeed I do, as well as a confession! Since the Tribunal had been declared, I had been bothered by headaches and pain. I thought it was due to the stress because my workload had shot up considerably and my cybernetics are not known for their stability at times."

"However, when I was escorted to a meeting with the Princess aboard the USS Hera and entered a dampening field, explaining that Schwein had been hit with a nasty bit of malware, I allowed myself to be scanned for such things. Much to my surprise, in one of my arms and eyes, a small AI virus was festering in them, causing not only my headaches, but changing my actions and what I saw on the fly!"

"When I returned to my own holdings, I investigated this further on my own and found that those aboard the Hera were correct in assuming that the main virus was in my charging station. I immediately had a new one made and quarantined the old one for these proceedings and launched an independent investigation into how it was delivered."

It turns out that my second... The man that I trusted for four years... Had been bribed and turned to the Queen's side with the promise of being given my Barony!" Sarika then motioned for her former second to be brought out for the confession.

Two large guards escorted the effeminate man in stocks to the center of the room where he was forced to kneel before Sarika's balcony and repeat his confession. "It was me! She paid me to plant that virus! Four months ago, she paid me in ores and promised me your barony. I kept up our daily challenges just as a joke at that point."

As Sarika glared down at the man, she obviously wanted to murder him right then and there. Instead, when she spoke, there was venom in her voice. "I believe there is still a Klingon bounty on your head. If Starfleet doesn't want you, I'll be turning you into them."

She then motioned that he be removed. As he was dragged from the hall, it dawned on him how much he messed up and he screamed and yelled for Sarika to please forgive him, but she turned her back, her cybernetic arms clenched to herself as a soft murmur went through the other balconies wondering if the others present had similar viruses.

That's when Enalia stepped in, softly shushing them. "Ladies, if you were experiencing headaches or other abnormal physical signs of fatigue from your cyberware, then you were infected. I have had the antivirus AI of the USS Hera extend itself to the fortress at our arrival and apply the antivirus in as many places it could."

"According to reports, there is now no sign of infection in any system connected directly or indirectly to the Fortress for the past three days." She then motioned for Rita to continue as she still had the most important of the evidence to present.

“Thank you, Captain. Next on the list of charges is the attempted assassination of Baroness Mnhei’sahe Dox, or Lieutenant Dox, as she’s known on the Starship Hera,” Paris added, unable to pass up the opportunity for identity reinforcement. “In amongst the crates of welcoming gifts from various baronesses was an assassin droid, armed with a particularly virulent toxin, which is quite distinctive. During the course of the assault, one Ensign Rafael Paulson was murdered, and Lieutenant Dox barely managed to overcome the assassin and escape with her life.”

“The droid was traced back to one Theran T’Werska, and when a team was dispatched to bring him in for questioning, the Starfleet Security officer accompanied by Baroness von Alcott encountered hostile resistance. He was brought in, and stands prepared to testify today, knowing full well the penalties that he faces according to UFP law.” Paris paused to offer a nod to Petty Officer Jablonski, who made the call and the prisoner was escorted into the room flanked by a pair of Amazonians in Starfleet gold uniforms.

“While there has been talk of clemency in exchange for testimony, no deal has been struck with Federation prosecutors. I want that established now, as Starfleet is determined to bring full transparency to these proceedings,” Paris explained. “There are far too many systems currently monitoring the perpetrator for anyone but a true sociopath to effectively lie at this point, and many of you possess your own means of divining truth from falsehood- so let’s hear that testimony. Mister T’Werska, please address the Tribunal and tell your story.”

Stepping forward was a tall Romulan man, looking to be somewhere in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in a neutral gray one-piece prisoner's uniform. His hair was the standard Romulan bowl cut, with pointed bangs framing the forehead ridges more and more common among their people. From across the room, Mnhei'sahe Dox's already rapid Romulan heartbeat quickened and she felt her blood run hot.

This was the first time she had gotten to look at the man that was responsible for the death of Ensign Paulson, and the man that very nearly caused her own death not long ago. This was the first time that she had even heard his name. She squinted, shooting daggers across the room at the man as her mother put a calming hand on the young officer's thigh.

His voice was steady and controlled as he spoke. "My name is Theran t'Werska. For 6 years I have served on the crew of Baroness Sienae Nei'rrh as an engineer. 4 months ago, I was called into a secret council meeting with Julla Poam, the Queen Regent's second, to discuss the matter of the upcoming tribunal and the appointment of a Starfleet Officer to the position of Baroness, in order to sway votes in the favor of Princess Telvan."

"In that meeting, I was given instructions to procure a Scorponex 7 Assassin droid, and instructed to provide this droid, disguised as a pendant, in a box with the name of the Baroness' maternal grandmother as a gift. I was provided with a down payment and the funds necessary to purchase the droid with the remainder to be delivered upon completion. Whereupon I would be transferred to the Romulan Refugee Station 339-A to be extracted and paid." t'Werska's attention was focused directly at Captain Magnus as he made a concerted effort to avoid eye contact with the Queen Regent, who was seething in her ornate throne.

Across the room, Dox scoffed quietly. For all her anger, he was little more than a delivery boy. It was the seething Queen Regent that truly deserved her rage, which she worked overtime to keep in check.

“Thus we expand the charges to include the Conspiracy to commit murder in regards to the Pirates of the Crab Nebula incident, as well as the attempted murder- another charge- of Lieutenant Dox, as well as the murder of Ensign Paulson.” Paris was trying to be dispassionate as she went through the charges, but only partially succeeding. “Now, there was that poisoned Saurian brandy as well as a few more tainted bottles that were found. As that evidence has been detailed by others already, we will just mention that too is attempted murder and conspiracy, again, another eleven counts.”

“By the same token, the shuttlecraft that attempted to suicide-bomb the USS Hera’s flight deck, killing Lieutenant Junior Grade Alex Strider, Chief Petty Officer C’huk, and Lieutenant Marston, who we believe may have been biochemically compromised. As yet, we’ve no proof to tie that crime to the Queen… but the timing is a bit coincidental.”

“OBJECTION! Speculation,” the Queen of the Artans called out, fed up with being stalled and hearing her name besmirched by the truth. But before the magistrate could rule, Paris held up her hands.

“Withdrawn, your honor. Let’s instead look to the collusion between Arenara Artan and the Orion Syndicate, shall we? That is in no way shape or form speculation, after all." Having chummed the waters with the minor charges, Rita had saved the best for last. Many of her crimes listed up til now might be considered piratical hi-jinks or offenses that earned a fine from the pirates. But this one broke the one unforgivable rule of the Artan family fleet- to consort with the enemy.

"You see, there was that raid on the Romulan Refugees mining colony at Dre'lax by Orion slavers. A brutal attack that was so precise, it was almost as if they had inside information. Now, those slavers were driven away by the surprisingly timely arrival of Arenara Artan's forces, right after the attackers had successfully hauled away an entire year's worth of minerals and ore. Frau Blucher, the former chief engineer of Princess Telvan's own starship, the Manticore, was in command of the defense of that colonies and was lost right as the attack began. Not from outside fire, but from a plasma bolt to the back of the head. We'll get back to her tragic loss in a moment, though."

"This attack occurred immediately after the public announcement of Captain Telvan's request for a Tribunal," Paris explained. "Timed as a distraction, as well as the sealing of an unholy alliance, complete with payoff to the slavers. Which might sound like a fanciful tale or an outrageous accusation... unless you had seen proof. Mrs. Dox, I believe you have something to share with the Tribunal?"

From their separate booth halfway across the room, Mnhei'sahe Dox turned to her mother and gave a nod, giving her the floor. It was the most minor of adherences to the pretense of parliamentary procedure in play among the pirates, but Baroness Dox offered it all the same.

Rising with a PaDD in hand, Jaeih Dox stepped to the front of the balcony, nodding first to her daughter then to Commander Paris. For them, she had the slightest of smiles that immediately vanished as she looked out across the Tribunal chamber. The terse elder Romulan woman looked around the room with thinly veiled contempt on her face and truncated the expected introduction with a blunt and slightly sarcastic, “You all know me.”

Pulling up her PaDD, Jaeih Dox called up the file, which appeared on every evidence screen PaDD in the room for all to see. “Procured from the Aehallh Station, time-stamped Stardate 59331.13. Observe.” She spent no time with any speeches, choosing to let the evidence and her tone speak for itself. As the recording began to play, she turned slowly to lock eyes with the Queen Regent. It was a hateful glare, making it abundantly clear that any former friendship between the two women was long gone.

One the screens was a meeting room on the Aehallh station. Standing behind a long, empty conference table was a tall, stockily-built jade-skinned humanoid male with thinning, close-cropped blue-black hair clad in a black military-style jacket. Flanked by two burly green-skinned security officers, there were audible murmurs from the assembled Baronesses as they all immediately recognized the man as Joran Herran'dor. After all, he was well-known to be a high-ranking member of the ruling council of the Orion Syndicate, and a dangerous operative.

Across the room, the doors whooshed open creakily, and Arenara Artan entered. Flanked by two security officers of her own, in the holo she was dressed much more subtly than she was here today, clad in a tight black leather jacket rimmed with gold-pressed latinum trim and buttons.

After eyeing each other for a long moment, the two grinned slightly as Arenara crossed the room and offered her hand.

As the two individuals who were supposed to be mortal enemies shook hands smiling on the screen, in the tribunal chamber there was an eruption of loud gasps of shock and outrage. Then the gasps began turning to first murmurs, and then into a cacophony of increasingly angry voices as the outrage of the Tribunal made itself heard.

“OBJECTION! This is obviously a fabrication-“ the Queen Regent began, before she was cut off by Captain Magnus, who brought his down, slamming the gavel hard.

“ORDER!” the commanding voice of the pirate lord rang out, the growl of menace in his voice making it abundantly clear just how angry he himself was in the moment. Magnus struggled to maintain order in the formal Tribunal, even as the evidence onscreen indicated that the entirety of the Artan family of pirates had officially been sold out to their worst enemies.

“THERE WILL BY THE GODS BE ORDER, if I have to stun the lot of you to have it! You will SIT and be SILENT, and let the evidence be heard!”

The last few words were directed specifically at the captain and crew of the Bloody Rose, and raw emotion was clear to all in the raw, roaring voice of the pirate lord, who was practically shaking with barely-restrained rage himself.

As the individual balconies returned to order, the tone of the room had become an electric thing. Whatever was yet to transpire, what they had seen thus far was a massive betrayal of the Artan code, and rather strongly held personal opinions were already bringing sneers and snarls to faces across the hall, and hands to the hilts of weapons.

"TACTICAL SYSTEMS ENGAGED" came the overlay in Clemens' vision field, in blood red lettering just out of the main field of his enhanced vision. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. Initiative auto-engaged." Sam nodded slightly, and blinked to clear the overt messages down to status indicators along the base of his view. He quietly noted that the augmentations were a comfort, rather than a distraction, at this point.

As the footage continued, Arenara produced a PaDD and handed it to the Orion slaver and spoke. Her recorded voice echoed through the deathly silent room as her treason was laid bare.

“Master Herran'dor. What an absolute pleasure to see you again, I must say,” the pirate queen practically purred the words, honeyed venom that she was sharing with one of the most wanted men in the galaxy. Particularly amongst the Artan pirate fleet.

“I am pleased to find you... healthy, and clearly your... coffers have not been suffering thanks to our… alliance.” As she stood before the slaver, Arenara’s hand traced delicately across the forearm of the verdant-skinned slaver, who turned his hand over to take hers in his own as they spoke.

It was a gesture that, to nearly everyone present, suggested… intimacy.

"You honor me with your presence, Queen Regent." Herran'dor Gon leaned just a tiny bit on the word 'regent', the slightest of power plays. "Your messenger implied that this was a matter of some urgency. Should I perhaps presume that this has something to do with the tribunal your wayward daughter has just called forth? Duel to the death, you pirates are all so passionate about your traditions..."

“How very perceptive of you… I see that bad news travels fast in the underworld, the pirate queen admitted, sliding her rear onto the table to sit quite close to the slaver lord of the Kolari. Lowering her voice, she brought it down to a murmur which would be hard to hear from any distance. Fortunately, the room's sensors were excellent, and not a word was lost.

"Yes… Enalia, despite my gifts and guidance, is refusing to comply with the simplest of requests which means absolutely nothing to her. But so determined is she to deny me that she's willing to challenge me for the throne. While I appreciate determination, this headstrong position she is taking is… inconvenient. Of course, it's bad news for both of us, if you consider it." The raven-haired pirate leaned in closely with a grin spreading across her face as she shared bad news.

"Should Enalia take the throne, our business dealings would most certainly come to a halt, because she'd sooner turn you over for the reward, or just because it's her duty or somesuch notion. So without me, all of the advance warning of raids, intelligence on plum targets for you to pursue and shared profits between us would be no more." The buxom middle-aged woman sat back up and spread her hands to her sides, palms up.

"Instead we would return to the adversarial and destructive relationship we once shared. Which only the hardliners of my organization still desire. The elder Baronesses are too old and tired to be chasing about the galaxy, and the youngsters are all filled with righteous fury, never realizing the simple adult truths of the universe. Not truly understanding profit... or loss."

“Profit trumps whatever code they delude themselves to live by or whatever honor they think their actions glean It's all just pomp and pageantry, an excuse to play dress-up and fulfill childish fantasies monogamist the stars." Sliding off the table the leather-clad pirate queen in the designer coat took a few steps away, then looked back over her shoulder at the Orion Syndicate gangster.

"While they play their shadow games of chasing slavers, the slavers stay one step ahead… unless they displease their master. In which case they won’t have long to regret it when the bloodthirsty privateers catch them. Like your man Alejandro Quirz... whom we fed to the dogs, you and I.” Naming an infamous slaver who had been killed by Bloody Batra while resisting capture nearly five years ago, gasps and muttering radiated out like shockwaves across the tribunal.

In that moment it was established that this betrayal was not new- the timeline of betrayal was much longer than anyone could have imagined, and that was assuming that was as far back as it went. But still the recording continued, pouring forth damning evidence from the lips of the guilty party herself in a confessional she had never intended for public consumption.

“Enalia would end all of that. She's already left Magnus in charge, with his stick up his arse all the way to his brain. Left to their own devices they would dispatch my fleet to hunt slavers and root them out, to eliminate pirates who prey on the merchant fleets, and bring ‘honor’ to themselves,” Arenara’s lips curled into a scornful sneer at the mention of the word. "Honor to the Artan fleet. What does she know of honor? The willful wench who ran off to join Starfleet, of all things.”

"So…" the slave master said with a slight smirk, sitting down on his side of the conference table and tenting his fingers. "As you say, it is in our best interest to keep you where you are, then. And obviously, you have some need of my services, to ensure that this transfer of power does not come to pass? Am I correct?"

"My daughter, ever the impetuous strategist, has maneuvered circumstance to her advantage. She's recruited the daughter of an old ally, and granted her a Barony. Now she has another vote under her thumb, and it's connected. Years ago the Baroness Sienae Nei'rrh led a group of reunificationists, a Romulan refugee corps, as it were. Jaeih Dox smuggled them out, so Nei'rrh owes her that whole debt of honor thing. Enalia's elevated her brat to pull at Sienae's heartstrings to sway her vote. She'll spin them one by one."

Pacing slowly about the room, the sensor view shifted as it apparently followed the movement of the people in the room. "Schwein's her lapdog- if I can slaughter her little piggie, that will throw her off guard, and give me an advantage. Do you have any particularly nasty viruses for cybernetic eyes?"

"Visual code- they scan it, they've accepted the virus onboard their systems. You can plant it in a holoprogram, make it flash and they'll fall for it every time. We use it on prisoners, particularly liberated Borg, to make them behave when they're in transit between transactions." The slaver spoke casually of making sentient life chattel- yet it bothered Arenara clearly not at all. Waving his hand dismissively, the Syndicate sinister offered his simple guarantee."No matter how mighty, no one can do much while they feel like they've got an icepick jammed into their eyesocket."

"Name your price, but I'll want a package deal on this. I need an override for the cybernetics- a virus I can introduce that will let me edit the input and the logs. Hacking it on the fly, scanning for recordings I want edited or erased, create... blind spots for them. Anything like that?"

As everyone was watching the remarkably overconfident confession play out, Commander Rita Paris looked over to the Baroness von Alcott's balcony, catching the eye of Jablonski, who was watching the viewing box of the Queen Regent of the Arta Fleet. The petty officer glanced over to Paris for orders, who simply nodded and cocked her head slightly toward the grand balcony next to the Captain's. The message was clear, and Jablonski was not paying attention to the case. The surprised spacegirl realized, as she looked, neither was anyone in the balcony with the Baroness von Alcott's 'crew' watching the evidence.

They were watching the crew of Arenara Artan, patiently awaiting trouble from the criminals whose deeds were being laid bare.

Catching the eye of Hera, Rita caught a silent 'be careful'. Nodding, she turned her attention back to the rest of the Tribunal, to watch the reactions of the assembled Baronesses.

"So the virus and the transmitter are in the charger, which is the only external part of their systems. They'll run antivirus til the stars go out, and they'll never realize they've still got it. Price they pay for being unnatural, eh?" The green-hued humanoid smiled, a wide and wicked thing as he spread his arms wide.

As she strode slowly around the far end of the conference table, Arenara cocked an eyebrow. "I happen to know you're not... all natural."

"Well, that's because I'm an abomination. But I've embraced it."

"The rest I deal with through politics or poison... the pirate way. Thank you for your time, Master Herran'dor..." The pirate queen made to depart, but the slaver made a clicking noise that caught her attention.

"What you need is a show of strength. You need to remind them all that you are their protector, their avenging angel. A mighty force amongst the stars to be reckoned with. You need to reinforce their loyalty to you, the woman who is here taking care of the family business instead of playing Starfleet. The Federation. So much hypocrisy they had to invent replicators to keep it all fed."

"The Romulan Refugees mining colony at Dre'lax are the purview of Baroness Nei'rrh," Arenara slung a small tablet down the table, sliding to a stop before his hand. "it's defenses are managed by the chief engineer of the Manticore, Frau Blucher. Blucher serves me well, but her loyalty is to Enalia. She needs to be silenced at the beginning of the attack, so that Nei'rrh can see that I am her one, true Queen and savior."

"It's all there- access code rotations, manpower, sensors, blind spots. You can keep all you can carry, just be mostly gone by the time I arrive. That should do nicely... thank you so much for volunteering. Such an accommodating business partner."

"Would you like to see just how accommodating I can be?" the slaver asked as a lascivious and cruel expression settled onto his face.

"I've a few minutes before my shuttle returns..." Arenara Artan smiled then, the smile of a cobra eyeing a fat mouse with a broken leg.

At which point, the video paused. PaDD in hand, Jaeih spoke. Her harsh raspy voice, much like her daughter's, echoed across the silence. "It keeps going. The Queen regent has betrayed this family. Betrayed my bond-sister, Baroness Nie'rrh. Betrayed her Chief engineer, Frau Blucher. Betrayed the most central Tennant of the Artan family Creed. Do with this what you will, but let it be just."

With that, the former Romulan smuggler slapped the PaDD down in front of her, nodded to Captain Magnus and back to Commander Paris and Enalia before sitting back down.

Clemens just shook his head, silently but overtly expressing the physical version of '...that ain't right...'

The reactions in the room were initially of stunned silence, then of angry betrayal from several of the Baronesses. Bloody Batra looked ready to leap over her railing, her sword drawn and one foot already on the railing, screaming obscenities in at least a dozen languages bad enough that it would make a Klingon blush with shame as she was held back by all three of her crew.

The Romulan Baroness Sei'nae was relaxing peacefully and grinning like a cat that had finally caught a canary, her fingers interlaced in front of her somehow, despite the gargantuan seat cushion of a uniform jacket she was wearing that this time looked like an olive drab brick wall that had been splattered by orange drink by an insane asylum escapee. The red and gold medals lining the right breast area did nothing to help break it up.

The cybernetic Baroness Merelith was staring in shock at the evidence, trying to process it all. She was doing her best to keep up, but this bombshell was a bit much even for her justice oriented mind. The implications of it... Shaking her head, she set back to work analyzing every angle of the data.

The outraged and betrayed Captain Magnus, on the other hand, was finding his gavel useless for trying to bring order back to the court and was about to bring out the big guns- a system of air horns designed to drown out anything and everyone. Removing the safety cap from the button, he pressed and held it for three seconds, sending a long, loud blare through the room's intercom system, immediately silencing everyone.

Captain Magnus then rose and cleared his throat. "My apologies for the air horn. Now... Princess Enalia's sec... Ahem... First Officer? Commander Paris, I believe, still has the floor." He then motioned towards the Princess's balcony and sat back down, a grim look on his face.

All this time, Sonak observed the proceedings. Of all the assembly, he alone had not reacted to the blaring of the loudspeakers. The events unfolding since the start of this court and what they revealed of this society could have only led to this. He had even been expecting a phaser shot or a flash photon grenade to go off so as to restore order through a violent and loud surprise effect. Klingon judges used a powerful electrostatic spherical gavel to crash an assembly with a thunderous retort when an audience erupted during a tribunal. But the air horns used here were safer and even more efficient.

All creatures having the sense of hearing would instantly freeze in place when a sudden loud noise would happen; it was a basic physiological reaction. Even foreknowledge through logic, attentive observation and decades of self-mastery for an emotionless kolinarh master had barely allowed him to control this reaction in himself.

The emotionless kolinahr master leaned near Rita's ear. He chose to speak aloud instead of using his telepathic touch, so that his captain could also hear his words.

''It seems this kind of behavior is well known, if not expected within this society. We must be ready for much stricter, harsher and direct measures in the event of a more extreme crowd reaction; which at this point is also to be logically expected.''

His hand lightly touched his communicator, suggesting to open a channel to the ship. The pretty prosecutor nodded subtly, briefly making eye contact with both Sonak and the captain, offering her acquiescence for the sensible course the somber scientist suggested.

Continued in Tribunal - Chaos Erupts...

Continued from Tribunal - Confessions...

"Speaking of the unfortunate Frau Blucher, may she rest in peace, another reason for her execution was a more long term strategic maneuver. You see, she would have dropped everything to leap to the Princess' aid were she to end up in trial by combat. So while the Manticore was in mothballs, and Frau Blucher was definitely not coming back, the time was also ripe for some subterfuge."

"As the engineer who knew the ship best was now murdered, no one else was likely to notice the thorium bomb with a remote detonator someone planted next to the warp core, guaranteed to cause a breach that would leave no trace of sabotage. The thorium bomb under the captain's chair, I must say, seemed like a bit of overkill. But better safe than sorry, right?" Paris snapped her fingers, then wagged it at the Captain's mother, as she was wont to do. "Oh, we also found the torpedo designed to lodge in the tubes to blow the magazine- nice touch, and you get points for multiple contingencies."

"But, unfortunately for you, Starfleet engineers are surprisingly thorough, particularly when they know they are looking for sabotage." Paris turned and offered a slight bow to Thex, for her diligence in combing over the Captains pirate vessel. "Well done, Lieutenant Commander sh'Zoarhi."

"Now, I will admit, this part? We can't prove she did this part- not yet. We don't have active sensor logs, and even once we find the agent, tracing the money of chain of command back to the Queen Mum over here isn't something we've managed to accomplish just yet today- we kind of just got here." Paris paused for a long breath before beginning a series of broadside volleys. "Baronesses one and all, you must admit, it just seems suspicious. Because why would anyone want to booby-trap Enalia Telvan's personal pirate vessel when she was out gallivanting around with Starfleet?"

"Only someone who knew they could get her captain aboard the Manticore, and get her to put out to space."

"Someone who planned to duel her, in the traditions of her people."

"OBJECTION! Speculation and poppycock-" the spider at the center of a very rapidly unraveling web began to thunder, but Paris was on a roll. She had an audience, she had all the proof the crew had gathered, she had the culprit and she could almost smell justice in the wind. Shouting down her opposition in the sharp, concise voice of command she had learned from the commanders of yore, Rita Paris would not be denied.

"Someone who was so afraid that even after all her plotting and scheming, she still didn't believe that she could win if it came down to a fair fight! So she stacked the deck just a little more in her favor, so she could simply murder her own daughter once she'd goaded her into a space duel whenever the urge struck her," Having abandoned any pretense of impartiality, she had the floor, and Paris was now winding up one of her patented impassioned speeches that might just win her an Emmy.

"Murder. Her own daughter. Sure, the rest of the crew too, a great loss, but I ask you- who goes to all of this trouble, manipulating and plotting and murdering and thieving and lying, only to set as their endgame 'if all else fails I'll blow you to hell'."

"Her. Own. Daughter."

"I don't know what sort of codes you pirates have about this sort of thing, but in the United Federation of Planets we call that, once again, conspiracy and attempted murder. Three counts, one for each bomb," Paris added with a cheery smile in the Queen Regent's direction. "No need to count in all the attempted murder charges for the number of crewmen- eventually the greater charge encompasses that."

"I do admit, again, we have not proven it was Arenara Artan who was behind the sabotage. After all, we only found the bombs an hour ago, and while we're very good, connecting the entire bomber to the rest of the conspiracy is probably going to take us a day at least." While she paused there, no one was laughing.

These were serious allegations, and Rita expected that Mommy Dearest was only sitting through it all because in the end, when she crushed this little rebellion, she would show that all the evidence in the world couldn't take her down. Which was only going to make her appear that much more invincible after she smashed up Enalia's starship.

"That concludes Captain Telvan's opening arguments and presentation of evidence, magistrate," the buxom blonde bombardier offered a nod of respect to Captain Magnus. "I thank you for your indulgence, and I swear by the stars from which all life is made, I have spoken nothing but the truth."

The Starfleet siren couldn't resist taking that last dig at the embattled Queen Regent, as she shone a dazzling smile at the woman. Which was as close as she was going to come to making a rude gesture at the mother of Captain Telvan, who now had plenty of reason to dislike the old-school officer.

Which suited Rita Paris just fine, although against all logic, she hoped the woman would surrender peacefully. Reaching out with unerring precision, her hand sought that of Sonak's. That... was something. I've never done anything like that before...

An excellent display of facts and evidence, his mind assured her. Hence the reactions it brought forth. In these circumstances and settings, a loud display of opposition is to be expected. This is much more a test for this society than it could ever be of you and us. Hence why we must always be cautious...

Again, his finger touched his commbadge, to remind her that his channel to the ship was still open. Paris nodded in acknowledgement, and grinned at the sensible scientist. It felt good to be working together, watching one another's backs and improving on one another's plans, just like the old days.

With the bulk of the evidence presented, Merelith took a few minutes longer to process it all, but as she did so, and the data was reviewed in front of them, a murmur went through those assembled. Even Sarika was silent as she watched each piece processed. Eventually, Merelith looked up. "It all checks out. This is all untampered and admissible."

As Magnus raised his gavel to bang it once more, Enalia continued. "In that case, until this Tribunal is settled, by the power vested in me as a Starfleet Captain, I declare Treaty Hector Nine Seven Two Gala Bravo between the Artan Family and the Federation to be... in abeyance."

The twinkle in Clemens' eyes blossomed into a full-blown grin. But only for a moment, as he kept scanning the room, looking for clues in the faces in the crowd.

The large, battle scarred man with the gavel was too stunned to bring his gavel down for a moment, instead pausing in mid-air trying to figure out what to do. He didn't have to think too hard as the last of the swing votes had all changed in the last few seconds as indicated by the terminal built into the desk before him. The votes were now twelve to two.

Narrowing his eyes, he wasn't fond of what he was about to do, but he knew he had to do it. Bringing his gavel down once more, he declared the vote. "Final vote is twelve to two. Considering the evidence I declare Arenara Artan a rebellious element of the Artan family and no longer representing the interests of the family at large. It is the judgement of this Tribunal that she and her allies be stripped of their titles, assets, and be turned over to Starfleet for..."

That was as far as he got before Arenara pulled off one of her pieces of jewelry and tossed it into the middle of the hall, resulting in a bright phosphorescent flash and the sound of steel and hidden weapons being drawn from Arenara's, Garan's and Terethis' balconies.

Sonak at this moment spoke into his combadge.

''Sonak to Hera; belligerence situation confirmed. Keep lock on; ready for red alert.''

His logic and silent attentiveness had prepared him, and the ship, for just such a sudden violent outburst. His Vulcan third eyelid had protected him from the sudden glare of the exploding jewel. Thus, before anyone could even start a step toward the Starfleet group, he had already moved to place himself between his commanding officers and the threatening assembly, one hand ready to whip out his anh woon if needed. The other was tingling with the telepathic pulse of a ready Vulcan nerve pinch.

''Hera waiting for orders,'' he announced to Enalia and Rita. ''Crew and all transporters ready.''

As the room went white, from her balcony, Dox's first reaction was to rise from her seat. But before she could move, she felt her seat pulled slightly back along the floor from behind.

As the flash faded, she saw her security escort, Petty Officer Liu, standing tall despite her somewhat diminutive stature. Standing at the edge of the balcony, she had interposed herself between Dox, her mother, and Az'Prel. The left arm of the fireplug butch in the bowl cut was raised in defense, clad in a brilliant bronze bracelet with a shimmering blue field of energy extending outward as a shield.

In the Captain's box, the Klingon Wil'l'Ams sisters had done the same, rising to put shields between the Queen Regent and the Captain and Rita. Mek'leth's drawn seemingly from nowhere, they stood bulwarking the calm yet fully prepared Vulcan officer, who moved with the surety of a starship commander himself.

In Baroness von Alcott's box, none could be seen past the massive petty officer, Ethel Jablonski. Interposed between the threat, the faithful guardian had stationed herself, even as a rather large and imposing sword had seemingly materialized in her great right hand. None would get past her, for she had a duty to uphold, a promise to keep- not a hair on Hera's head would be harmed while she drew breath.

In an instant, faster than it seemed possible, the impeccably trained security force of the USS Hera had erected in an instant sections of unyielding gold uniforms armed with blue energy shields to stand between danger and the crew of the U.S.S Hera.

His F.R.I.D.A.Y. systems already engaged, Clemens sped off in the direction of the flash. Almost immediately, there were brief reports coming from the opposite balcony and bleachers areas, accompanied by a series of loud *CLANGS*, as though a hammer were impacting metal, over and over, on the other side of the chamber. A groan of tortured metal sounded out, and the entire section dropped to the floor of the chamber in a twisted mass.

"AMAZONS! TO ARMS! Defend your charges!" Paris called out as she recovered from the flash, strobing after-images of the flash still blinding her delicate optic nerves. But her voice was clear and calm, and held no fear. Her Security officers were well-trained and determined, and had known this was a possibility. As for Rita herself, she knew Sonak was here, and while she might not be able to see, the implacable Vulcan suffered no such hindrance, and would allow no harm to come to his shipmates as they recovered.

From the balcony containing Lieutenant Dox and her group, the gold-clad security officer flicked her right wrist, and from the golden bracer emerged instantly the young Romulan pilot's twin Caitian ceremonial blades.

Petty Officer Liu handed the short, curved swords to Dox with the slightest of smiles. After all, the Hera's entire security force had trained extensively with Dox, and knew her capabilities as a fighter. "Lieutenant... the Commander though you might want these. They've been modified to your specifications."

"Thank you, Miss Liu." Dox took the blades and pressed small buttons that had been installed in the hilts. In an instant, a thin blue shimmer flowed up each blade: force fields that created an impact controlled stunning force she had design into the otherwise deadly blades. Smirking as she spun the blades in her hands, Dox thought to herself, 'Rita really does think of everything.'

Turning back to her mother and Az'Prel, Mnhei'sahe watched as Jaeih pulled a small handle out of her sleeve and with a flick of her wrist, it extended into a two meter long bo-staff. Smirking up at her daughter, Jaeih commented with an unexpectedly playful bit of sarcasm. "Please. Your crew can take care of themselves, Baroness Dox."

As Az'Prel could fight with nearly any weapon and preferred unarmed, she was already ready. However, she slipped a pair of daggers free and threw them through the space Mudd was in just as he and Arenara's crew dissolved in transporter beams. The Vulcan rage that washed off of her was hard to contain, but she took a moment to do so, expertly flipping another pair of daggers into her hands.

From the other side of the chamber, there was singing, the tones blurred by the Doppler Effect...and a bit of Missourian twang...

Rising the flag on the masthead ... The sails and the ropes' holding tight ... The gunners are eager to fire ... Well prepared for the fight ... Fight, flee or surrender ... Defeat you can't deny ... Better give up in the first place ... Or drown in the blink of an eye ... Gold, jewels and diamonds ... The price we'll have to claim ... Noble rogues are standing ... We'll never quit in the game ... We gonna ride the sea, we pray to the wind and the glory ... That's why we are raging wild and free ... Come sing along with the pirate song ... Hail to the wind, hooray to the glory ... We're gonna fight 'til the battle's won ... On the raging sea ... No way to move your deadlocked ... Nailed down by feu-eclair ... Lead is carrying fire ... Victory's noble and fair ...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TU7cfQ4oXoQ&fbclid=IwAR0temhdj6UghZdzrwT3Qe6qZajmbgcBSc-pAVT9riAnd3jXTp27fjnSLm0


"Time to kick some pirate ass," Thex let out a slight sigh as she flicked the two bracelets onto her wrist. Sidestepping slightly till she was apart from the group, the chief engineer of the starship Hera clasped her arms across her chest and yelled: "Protect!"

Within a second Thex was gone, and standing in her place was the fabled Armor of Achilles. The visor lifted slightly as she gave the group a wide and somewhat mischievous grin. " Okay, lets kick some ass."

With the renegade pirate Queen Regent and her allies already having beamed out past the transporter blockers, from numerous entryways mercenaries were flooding into the chamber armed with sabers and chemical propellant projectile weapons. The holo-maid system was also offline so there was no help from them.

The mercenaries themselves seemed to be part of the Wild Geese. A loose affiliation group that often hung out at Tortuga Station, looking for people hard up on their luck. Thus the sellswords flooding the great hall were a mix of just about everyone looking for a few quick credits.

Enalia's voice rang out in the chamber loud and clear. "These are mercenaries loyal to money! Stun and disable only! Magnus! Disable the dampening fields!"

"We'd love to oblige you, but the controls aren't responding!" Magnus reported as his crew were already working on just that.

''An EM Pulse should allow us to disable any nearby system,'' Sonak suggested just before a pair of mercenaries rushed them.

His anh woon flicked out of his waist like a living snake and, holding it by the middle, he entangled both of their raised wrists with the weighted ends of the long twin leather length. He slid on his back right between them, forcing both their firearms down as they shot, sending their discharges right at the ground; and then both of them a moment later, face first. His Vulcan strength made sure the impact was hard enough to knock them both out cold.

The next one to close in met his nerve pinch, not at the neck but right under the jaw, cutting off brain impulses to his body and sending him also crashing to the ground. Then the anh woon recoiled once more into his other hand.

As Lieutenant Dox watched the mercenaries flood the chamber, making a beeline to the Captain, she worked out a basic strategy.

"Miss Liu. Our box is positioned Midway between the bulk of the advancing hostiles and the Captain. We're the closest. Let's flank them in. Narrow their path of attack. Force them towards Miss Jablonski and the Wil'I'ams sisters." Dox raised her weapons and began moving to leap the meter down to the main floor of the hall. It was the same basic strategy the Baroness von Alcott had trained Dox and Paris in on the holodeck facing simulated zombies months ago now.

"Aye, Lieutenant. Stay behind my shield as much as possible." With that, the group of four leapt from their box to the floor and moved to meet the oncoming hoard. Liu blocked incoming projectile fire while the Romulan Mother-Daughter pair moved to meet the raised swords of the mercenaries.

With a flash, the shielded blades of Dox's swords blocked the oncoming swords and the battle was joined by the four women who began incapacitating the mercenaries. With her well trained technique, Dox blocked a strike with one blade while making contact with the other under the attackers defenses. But instead of a blade slicing flesh, the field flared and the attackers fell back, stunned by an electric discharge.

On the other side of Liu's shield, Jaeih was doing much the same, if a bit more brutally, jabbing hard with her staff to disable the oncomers.

The displaced Vulcan, Az'Prel, had all but vanished, her daggers cutting weapons belts and pants belts alike as she moved through the throng of invaders almost unseen, yet staying near her charge of Lieutenant Dox.

But the strategy was working, as the bulk of the advancing conscripts and roustabouts were being forced into a more narrow attack path where their numbers had less power.

With one flank of the pressing mercs being held down by the ship's team, a grin spread over the Andorian's face as she turned to the others. A group of Gorn, Klingons, Remans and some nasty looking species with four arms glared menacingly at the armored Andorian.

"Shall we dance, boys and girls?" Thex said as wings erupted from the back of the armor. A few of the faces were puzzled for the brief second before a sound not heard in millennium filled the great hall of the Artan fleet, as Thex sped towards them colliding with the group.

The Andorian juggernaut heard one of the Gorn's primary ribs collapse under the weight of her impact as she went to town on them. She heard a few fist and weapons strike the armor, many breaking in the process judging by the screams of pain and sounds of men cursing filling her ears.

The 24th century bearer of the legendary Armor of Achilles moved as gracefully as if she wore nothing but dancer's silks, despite being clad in such unbreakable armor as she dodged, punched, wove sinuously and high kicked her way through the mob.

"I have this flank dealt with... is everyone else okay?" Thex called into her commbadge as she worked the crowd, secure in her invulnerability, men swarming her trying to bring her down.

''The situation is not yet under control,'' came the calm reply of the deep voice of Sonak.

In contrast to the noisy, rib cracking, howling commotion around the Andorian, there was an eerie silence around the Vulcan as he displayed in full his mastery of Suus Mana, the martial art of telepathic combat from his homeworld. Devised many thousands of years ago in a time of utterly savage violence, it combined precise strikes with telepathic contact.

In those days, it was meant to destroy an opponent's central nervous system from without and within simultaneously. But in this day and age of logic driven, peaceful Vulcan, it was a most effective method of disabling even the strongest opponent with the merest touch. The moment the hands and feet of Sonak touched an opponent, that opponent fell noiselessly unconscious behind him as he already moved to a new one.

His anh woon also came into play, whipping at legs and arms to entangle them just long enough for his psionic touch to silence them. But now, some of the attackers became wary of his bewildering fighting prowess and opted to strike from a distance, using crossbows, spears and throwing blades he was hard pressed to dodge, unable to reach them.

“Ma’am, would we be offending tradition if Security-“ Paris began before she stepped over to intercept a trio of crossbow bolts with a glowing blue energy shield, interposing it between the deadly missiles and her Captain. The round Grecian-style shield was sufficient to stop the bolts, even as the bronze bracers she had worn beneath her dress uniform peeked out from under her sleeve. “Sorry. Would we be defiling tradition to use more than blades, Captain?”

There was a bit of a struggle going on inside of Enalia at the moment. She wanted to free her family of many traditions, yet she knew that there were some that just shouldn't be let go of just yet. After a careful moment of inner reflection, she had her answer, her voice rising so that at least the nearest of the Baronesses and her first officer could hear her clearly. "My mother has defiled these chambers and broken yet another of the laws allowing these heathens in here with firearms! Commander Paris, we stick to our honor as members of Starfleet! Melee weapons or unarmed only!"

"Aye ma'am, as you say," Paris acknowledged the Captain's order, then double tapping her comm badge to the Security channel, she issued her orders. "Security, hand to hand and melee weapons only- no firearms nor armor, shields up!"


Continued in Tribunal - Ballroom Blitz...

Continued from Tribunal - Chaos Erupts...

Tapping her comm badge three times, Rita broadcast to everyone with a comm badge nearby, which included the pirates. "Protect the locals- Thex, you're on Baroness duty, port side of the hall. They're civilians and they need our help. Plus you can reach all of the balconies. Jablonski, Baroness, you two are to protect the starboard Baronesses. Chief Clemens, this would be easier if those mercenaries would stop pouring in, attend to that if you please. We'll hold this position, as it seems we have agro. Miss Dox, if your crew could help reinforce the Captain's position here?"

Tapping her comm between sword strikes, the red-headed Romulan officer replied, "Aye, Commander." Then, with a shout, she kicked off an advancing mercenary. "People. We're falling back to the Captain's position. We're adding some bricks to the wall between them and her."

In an immediate response, from the other side of the chamber, cutting through the din like a sonic lance, came a blood-curdling call, and it sounded somethin' like this: "Ah-yeeeeeeeeee-hawwwwwwwwwwuh!!!!!!", altered eerily again by Dopplerization, echoing from every surface. A flash of Starfleet White could be seen, arcing upward.

The sound of hammer to anvil rang out, again, from the peak of the chamber, and a massive, thick tapestry came down from the ceiling, right on top of a large cadre of mercs, who were making a concerted push to overwhelm the Hera crew protecting Captain Telvan.

Muffled shouts turned into terrified grunts, as Clemens dropped from above, into the trash pile that used to be the bleachers. He came out of the pile carrying long, jagged pieces of steel in his hands, which he quickly proceeded to slam with astounding force into the edges of the tapestry, pinning it down like tent stakes, methodically, quickly trapping the henchmen, turning the mass into a giant plug, stalling the influx of invaders- literally causing a traffic jam at the aft entrance.

A grinning Clemens turned toward his comrades. He laid a finger aside his nose with a wink and a nod, and turned toward the aft hatch, launching into a leap that shot him over the struggling pinned invasion force, landing in a tumble that took him to the docking ring hatch. He dove through it, body-slamming the remaining mercenaries trying to work their way into the room backward, through the hatch. He stood and kicked at someone on the other side of the hatch, before shoving his way through, yanking the hatch shut behind him with a *CLANG*.

As she spoke, Rita was planting those platform explorer's boots with the chunky heel in the faces of snarling mercenaries. While Enalia was laying about with righteous fury and terrible anger, waves of men were still rushing the pirate princess's balcony. While Rita Paris maintained the glowing energy shield and used it inexpertly, it was still doing a surprisingly good job of protecting her as the mod miniskirted mistress of trouble fought barehanded, not bothering with a sword. As a mercenary pointed a pistol at her, Rita snickered.

"Don't do it," she cautioned, then interposing the shield, stepping into the man to plug the barrel, which he proceeded to fire anyway. The impeded weapon exploded, causing him to run shrieking as a missing finger spurted blood. Somewhat sheepishly, the Starfleet siren called after the mauled mercenary. "To be fair, I did warn you..."

Moments later, another wave of mercenaries tried rushing Paris's position before a staff to the back the next took down the lead attacker. Jaeih Dox put her full weight into the blow as the massive humanoid squealed in pain. "Oh, do hush." The elder Romulan smirked as she nodded to Rita Paris. "Hello, Commander."

Breaking into a smile, the first officer of the Hera turned her attention back to their attackers. "Mrs. Dox, a pleasure to see you. Particularly considering the circumstances. How are you enjoying your assignment so far?"

Spinning around, the elder Romulan woman brought her staff down in a low arc, sweeping the legs of two attackers rushing them from behind. As the two mercs fell hard, the gray-clad woman kicked one in the face while whipping the tip of her staff against the head of the other, knocking both out cold.

"I can't remember the last time I enjoyed my work quite this much, Commander." Jaeih replied with a wry grin before returning to said work her daughter's side.

"Okay, people. Nobody gets past us to the Captain." Lieutenant Dox shouted out as she wrapped her shielded blades around a mercenary's neck from behind, pulling on it like a noose as the stun field dropped him like a sack of wet potatoes.

Quickly the four women put their backs to the Captain's balcony and began pushing back to buttress their defense.

Death called for her pale horse, and offered her neighbor a lift, that was gratefully accepted, freeing up Hera's guardian to wreak havoc on the invaders. From there, she retreated directly with Hera in tow, having marked several of the mercs and pirates for death that night. She would be back for them soon enough.

Scrambling across the open center of the great hall to reach some of the embattled Baronesses, Jablonski lagged behind the much quicker Baroness Schwein von Alcott. Instead, she made up for it by forming a living obstacle to herd the scrambling invaders. Having snatched up a rather large 4-meter bench, she drove it before her like a snow plow, knocking down the invaders in her path.

Those that remained on their feet the burly bodyguard herded them forward until she made it to the other side of the hall, impacting the 14 men she'd trapped with a number of painful and long-healing injuries- but they would live, as would those whom she'd knocked over.

The Wil'I'Ams sisters worked in concert, switching between attack and defense fluidly. When by orders the Klingon women had begun training with shields, they had complained of the defensive nature of the weapon and shield style. With the addition of the featherweight energy shields they now wielded through miracles of interdimensional microcircuitry, the two women were taking a cue from their Commander. Both were fighting barehanded in concert with their shields, in scutum configuration to give the shield wall from which to operate in tandem as if they'd been doing it all their lives.

Disarming their opponents and using their weapons against then was a favored tactic, although occasionally they would render their opponent stunned, then take away their weapon to use it as a projectile on another approaching threat. Often the next missile hurled by one of the snarling and overjoyed security officers was the aforementioned stunned mercenary, in rather impressive displays of strength.

Hearing her friends words in her ear the Andorian nodded and took off to aid the friendly baroness. Grabbing a very confused Klingon woman merc to use as a missile the Andorian flung her into one of the crowd assaulting one of the baronesses before charging in herself.

Having heard the order, Sonak switched tactics to use his ahn woon in it's most surprising and basic way; crowd control. Swinging both ends around him like a double flail, the weighted ends struck in every direction and angle, around shields and raised parries, whipping legs and heads. The Vulcan became a tornado of whirling motion, disrupting formations and charges, dispersing and throwing down people, effectively creating a void around the captain's position wherever he moved between her and their assailants.

The twirling of his long leathery bands went so fast, it even created some sort of a shield against projectiles, striking more than a few of them in mid-flight as they entered their uninterrupted double revolution.

It could not last forever of course; but neither would this conflict. He was buying time for the security force to act and for their company to escape to safety.

Meanwhile, as the mercenaries assaulted the balconies, behind them, Petty Officer Jablonski began assaulting the roustabouts pursing Baroness von Schtupt. Mostly hiding and taking pot shots over her balcony, Jablonski scooped her up, as well as the three crewmen she'd brought with her, two of whom were wounded. Stacking them in a fireman's carry over both shoulders, Jablonski instructed them politely. "Hang on, ma'am. I'm Starfleet, and I'm going to get you to safety, so hold on."

With that, Jablonski leapt back down to the ground, landing on a climbing mercenary in the process and driving the wind from his lungs. Then she began charging like a rhino across the hall, showing men and mercenaries out of her way or simply bowling them over until she arrived below the Captain's balcony. Assisting a setup with Lieutenant Dox to make an opening, the bulky petty officer scrambled up to vault up onto the Captain's balcony. Shedding the four people she had carried to safety including the Baroness von Schtupt, Jablonski reported. "Two wounded, going out for more!"

Taking a running leap, the bulky bodyguard hurled herself at the tide of men below, the energy shield springing into place a meter radius around her writs, bright blue light flaring to light, highlighting the symbols and letters rotating on the shield as her bulk drove men to the ground in her passing, like a cannonball in humanoid form. Plowing ahead, shield held before her, she cut through the crowd just like a wedge.

It was about that time that Baroness Schwein von Alcott finally got spun up into the mix. For the first time, she was pissed and she had a target in front of her. Rather than one of her swords, she pulled out the slightly used cudgel that her fiance had given her. She let her rage at the Queen build for a moment, then raised it into the air and just yelled, electricity arcing from her to the nearby consoles.

Schwein then leaped down from her balcony in almost slow motion, the lightning following her and cascading across the mercenaries before her as she touched down, sending them flying backwards, stunned. She then almost casually walked over to Magnus's who was holding off a throng of attackers by wielding short swords while his crew used shields and sabers. As she walked, those brave enough to come near her, she casually swatted aside and sent flying. "Magnus! I'm getting you out of here!"

That was when Enalia called out over the throng, using the hall's PA system. "To me, my family! Form up on my position and together we shall drive these vermin back!" She then took up a random sword and raised it in the air and attempted to join in the fray herself.

Asa was holding an impromptu tourniquet closed on a downed middle-aged looking trill man wearing Artan family regalia consistent with the first officer on a smaller vessel, gripping the taut material of what had previously been the man's belt tight with their teeth while Asa worked to use their medical tricorder to heal what damage they could from a gushing wound on the mans leg.

After the tricorder whirred off, Asa spat the belt out and began tying the tourniquet off until better treatment could be provided, muttering all the while about, "Crazy ass pirates all honor bound to bleed out on the bleeding carpet instead of using energy weapons like normal freaking people."

Their work complete, Asa stood and offered a hand to the dazed-looking Artan officer, offered an encouraging smile and said, "Well, you heard her. I gotta rally. You need to find somewhere safe and hunker there until we can take care of you. Actually, you know what? " Not waiting for an answer, Asa slapped their comm badge and said, "Doctor Dael to Hera, Please beam the person I'm touching directly to sickbay as soon as possible. Dael out."

"There, now go rabbit until you are safely on the Hera." With that, the doctor took off at a trot, helping people to their feet as they went to converge on the location of their Captain.

"As they bring the Baronesses in, your team clear a path for them, Miss Dox. Looks like it's time to play 'Queen of the Mountain'. If we add more people... should we move to the queen's box, Captain?" Paris was still improvising tactics and plans on the fly, as she tended to do in her own classic style.

"Aye, Commander." Dox replied quickly as her team of herself, Liu, Az'Prel and her mother moved from a defensive line to form an offensive wedge and began pressing forward.

Meanwhile, Magnus and his crew had clambered down off of their two-meter high balcony and joined Schwein. He then pointed with one sword at the ornate chandelier hanging over the room. "The transport inhibitor is in there. Think you can bring it down with your... Uh... lightning?"

Without a reply, the platinum-tressed woman spun up her slightly used cudgel and fired a large arc directly into the chandelier, causing it to flicker and go dark, leaving the only room lighting left to the wall panels. "Done," was her only reply as she led the group onward towards the Captain's balcony, picking up several groups of Baronesses on the way.

"Captain Telvan to the Hera, priority beaming immediately. Wounded directly to sickbay regardless of alignment." The Starfleet Captain then considered something else as the sound of Starfleet transporter beams could finally be heard. "This is the center of the fortress. If they're this far in and the holomaid system is offline, then the entire security system is compromised. They're an integral part of it, after all."

"If the entire security system is down, what does that mean for us, Captain?" Paris asked, high kicking a mercenary back off the balcony even as the remaining baronesses converged on the Captain's balcony.

"I'm betting more than these mercs are on the way," Enalia explained. "I'm betting that Syndicate shit has a fleet on the way in an attempt to take the fortress whole and they're just a distraction. We need to get the security back online before they get here."

She then tapped her comm badge. "Maru, do what you have to override the fortress systems and make sure the defenses are online. There's probably another virus in place." After a soft meow and purr, the comm line went silent.

On group at a time, like a linebacker running a football but with stacks of people, Jablonski ferried the loyal Baronesses and their crews to the Captain's balcony, using the open path that was going forced wider by Lieutenant Dox's team's efforts.

The red-headed Romulan Officer had a slight smile on her face as she continued to fight her way through the oncoming waves of mercenaries. "Okay, people. Let's start pushing back. We need to give them time to get the system defenses back on-line."

Flipping her shielded twin blades backwards, Dox spun around slamming the hilt of one blade hard into the nose of an attacker, causing it to explode in a burst of red blood that sprayed across her already worn, white dress uniform. As he hunched over, squealing to grab his face, Dox kicked him over to knock down another two mercs with a loud shout and in spite of the chaos, she had the slightest of smiles on her face.

Clemens had been steadily working down in the docking bay area, after dispatching the few left on what was, for them, the very wrong side of the hatch. After confirming that the mercenary crews, having been invited in, after all, had simply locked up their ships and disembarked to the Tribunal area willy-nilly, he made great sport of the project of quickly slapping deadlock seals on each of the hired guns' ships, so they couldn't be used for escape or mischief. He then headed back to the Tribunal area at top speed.

After a text few moments as the mercenaries continued to push back against the Hera officers defenses, there came a soft purr and a meow over the comm frequencies. Captain Telvan flashed a crooked grin as she realized that it meant that the Maru had completed their task.

A second later, a phalanx of the stations holomaids reappeared. Surrounding the mercenaries, now with swords of their own drawn and clearly programmed in exactly how to use them. It was enough to give the hardest mercs pause as the violence stopped for just a moment. But a moment was all that Enalia Telvan needed.

"Gentlebeings! You're obviously in a bad situation! Your employer has been branded a traitor by this family and you are now fighting a decidedly losing battle where you will lose to the last man! On top of that, your employer will no longer be able to afford to pay you as her assets will shortly be seized by the Federation!" Enalia paused for just a moment for her words to sink in. "Join me for double the pay and help defend this fortress or take your chances with her!" With that, she pointed to the Baroness von Alcott, whom still had some sparks sizzling off of her slightly used cudgel.

"Wha' abou' our wounded you done beam'd away?" one merc asked boldly.

"They are being treated with the finest medical services Starfleet has to offer and will be returned to you regardless of your decision," declared Enalia, trying to sweeten the deal.

One of the other mercenaries near the front of the group, with Lieutenant Dox's twin blades crossed in a defensive posture towards him, sneered and spat on her blood splattered white Starfleet uniform. "Screw off, 'Fleeter scum!"

All Dox did was smirk lightly and wait as one of the other mercs grabbed the surly man, pulled him into the center of the cluster and threw him to the ground. "Quiet, fool! A Princesses latinum is just as good as a Queen's!"

Sheathing his sword in his belt, the larger man put a foot on the other man's neck. "I can't speak fer no one but my crew, but for that price, you've got our swords."

Sonak moved besides his commanding officer and nodded.

''Mercenaries do not fight out of cause or loyalty, only for personal profit. Your logic is impeccable, Captain; and admirable, as it shall minimize and end all this violence all the more quickly.''

"Well played, Captain," Paris clapped the Starfleet captain on the shoulder in congratulations, then, as Paris was wont to do, she asked the question that needed to be answered most. "So what now? The Queen Regent and her crew are on the run. What's our plan to bring them to justice, Captain Telvan?"

Magnus was the next to interject with an idea before Enalia could. "Princess, if I may." With her nod of approval, he continued. "We have the assembled ships of all the Baronesses here, as well as the home fortress fleet. Give the word and we will gladly handle Garan, Tethis, their assets, and Arenara's Assets. That would leave going after your mother to you and your crew."

Enalia nodded solemnly, knowing that it would be seen as dishonorable if she didn't do this herself. Besides, Arenara Artan was now a wanted Federation fugitive, and as a Starfleet Captain, she had a responsibility to fulfill. "That sounds like a good plan to me, Captain. Commander Paris, we launch in the Hera to track down the Bloody Rose. She can't have gotten far. Schwein, will you man the Manticore and act as backup for us?"

"It would be mein honor, prinzessin," the electric Baroness replied with a bow.

Once pristine uniform now covered with various hues of blood from helping downed mercs, Artan's, and security personnel alike, Asa went to where Commander Paris was standing, not wanting to interfere with the Captain's dramatic moment, and said softly, "Permission to return to the Hera? I have a feeling Sickbay may need me...."

“We’re all beaming up in a moment, Doctor. Prepare Sickbay… I have a distinct feeling that you are going to be very busy in the coming hours,” Paris muttered grimly, knowing this would not be solved bloodlessly, although she was determined to do her best to prevent bloodshed.

The invincibly armored Thex landed beside her shipmates, covered in blood and other fluids of half a dozen species. Taking off the helmet she smiled at her family. "The friendly Baronesses made it to their ships. No injuries that can't be dealt with in the medical bay."

"Then we have a course and a plan. Let's get moving!" Enalia pointed off in the imaginary distance with the random sword she had picked up dramatically.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewFBuYHldeY

Continued in Tribunal - Operatic Space Battle...

Continued from Tribunal - Ballroom Blitz...

The Tribunal Trial had ended mere moments before and now the crew of the USS Hera were now underway with the Miranda class Manticore as backup and support. On the bridge of both ships, the crews were confident that they could tackle any surprise that Arenara had waiting for them, yet knowing that the flight plan that she had taken out of the system directly into the Engstrom nebula would put them at a bit of a disadvantage.

For one, the stealth system would be unusable due to the isogenic particles. On top of that, the same particles would destabilize warp fields so they'd be limited to about warp 2.3. That meant no torpedoes or type nine probes either since they relied on warp fields to carry them to their targets. Most ships wouldn't even have reliable shields either, but the Hera and Manticore were outfitted with the standard Starfleet grid array that had been in use since the systems were invented, so they would be strained, but okay as long as they weren't rammed.

Everyone on the bridge seemed confident, yet inside Enalia was nervous. She knew exactly why her mother had chosen this nebula. She loved ramming tactics and she was bound to have some other ship or ally in there waiting for them. She just hoped that they had enough edge on her to win out in the end.

"Steady as she goes," Enalia ordered, as they followed the plasma trail heading deeper into the nebula towards a rogue planetoid. "She's bound to have left a trap for us so let's be ready for it when we see it."

"Aye, Captain." Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox replied from her station at the helm of the massive, Nebula-class starship. Her white dress uniform still stained with blood from the combat with the mercenaries that ended only minutes before, but none of it hers for a change. "Course and speed steady."

"All systems are looking good. I've activated the anti-boarding procedures as well, Captain." Thex said from her engineering station. The Andorian had stored the Armor of Achilles down in the armory, though she had kept the bracelets with her. Just in case.

In the Intel Pod, Clemens was finishing up details on two projects that he'd proposed to the command staff during pre-Tribunal meetings. The first, a plan to use the cargo transporters, set to a low resolution for speed-beaming of dense materials, to beam common nickel-iron asteroid chunks directly into the path of enemy vessels as they attempted maneuvers without shielding (due to the nebula's composition), had gone off without a hitch, as the materials were easy to procure along the way with tractors, and stored in the vast empty that was the rough cargo storage areas of the Hera. He'd set up a command and control system to network all unused cargo transporters (including those on the non-deployed shuttles) together, to further enhance the speed and accuracy for launching the kinetic speed bumps, coordinated through the Ops station as though it were a standard torpedo launch system.

The other Dirty Trick, also outlined to and approved by command, was in-place, and ready to invoke as a non-lethal anti-boarding measure, designed to reduce risk to the defending crew. It also wasn't conventional, which, hopefully, would make countering it on the fly quite difficult.

For his own part, he'd run his systems through thorough diagnostics and kept a topped-off charge on his storage cells, in preparation.

At the science station, Sonak addressed the command dais.

''Captain, I have a tactical recommendation. Torpedoes may not be effectively fired, but they can be deployed as mines on a predetermined flight pattern we could lure them in. Either on target or because the enemy spots them and neutralize them, they would also act as flares for our targeting sensors. Even in a sensor hampering nebula like this one, we would detect them while giving them a false target to shoot at.''

"They don't call him a genius because of the way he brushes his teeth," Rita Paris wisecracked from the tactical station as her fingers danced across the control panel. "I've plotted the course, sending the navigation pattern to you now, Lieutenant. If we drop a proximity mine every time we change course that should do the trick. I need to have the course tight beamed to the Manticore so they can stay with us and avoid the mines, Miss Pacci. In fact, open a secure tight-beam channel with them."

"Yellow alert, Captain?" the fulsome first officer suggested.

Which was when an explosion rocked the Hera, destabilizing the inertial dampeners and hurling everyone to starboard as the great ship shuddered and groaned.

"Red alert. Reduce speed to half impulse. Full power to sensors." Enalia had a good idea what hit them. Her mother was keen on using mines as well at times and though they still had her on the far ranges of sensors, this would slow them drastically. "Let me guess, she laid out some welcoming presents with sensor scattering in them?"

"Velocity slowed, Captain," Dox replied from the helm.

"We've struck a proximity mine amid ships, Captain. Damage reports coming in from decks 13 through 17 including hull breaches, casualty reports incoming," Paris reported once she'd gotten back up off the floor.

''There is a way to detect those cloaked mines... and them as well, without being traced back through our active sensors.'' announced the Vulcan. ''Although sensors are distorted within the particles of a nebula, those same particles themselves will be disturbed by the presence and movement of any mass; like a mine... or a ship. If we focus our sensors on those particles, we will see such hidden objects as dark spots within displaced stellar dust; much like we would see underwater rocks disturbing waterflow. Tractor beams should then be able to sweep the mines... and our weapon systems to lock on target.''

Enalia took a moment to figure out what Sonak was saying in simpler terms since science wasn't her strong suit, tapping at her chair's console for a moment as she did so. "So you're saying... The mines and enemy are where the nebula isn't? And that you can track them by particle wave motion inside the nebula? Excellent thinking, Mr Sonak. Reconfigure the sensors however you need to."

Then one of her favorite thoughts hit the spotted captain and she grinned just slightly at her inside joke. They were a Nebula inside a nebula tracking nebula gasses.

That was when something else hit them. Not a mine, but something green flared on their shields and rocked the ship to port. They had been shot with a plasma torpedo from a shuttlecraft!

Just then a tight beam comm signal came in from the Bloody Rose, taunting the Hera.

"Why Enalia, my darling daughter! Come to huff and puff about the law, or perhaps your brand new conveniently discovered morality?" The voice on the other end of the transmission taunted in a voice of honeyed venom. "Or perhaps you've come to bring the evil queen to justice? You'll have to do better than that, my willful little girl. I've mined the nebula, but I know where they are and I can stay here quite cozily while you cheat in a duel of honor, bringing back up and an entire Starfleet vessel. You never could play by the rules... got your sister and father killed that way, as I recall..."

At that, the Manticore was rocked by an explosion as she struck a mine, which was far more devastating for the older and smaller starship than it would have been for the Hera.

Now she was making it personal. Enalia definitely blamed herself for the death of her father, since he tried to protect her during her kidnapping when she was on her maiden mission. The Syndicate had slaughtered him like livestock before her, and she still had nightmares about it. With these memories came the realization that her mother had been working with the Syndicate even back then… and and thus was likely behind her kidnapping, as well as her father's murder.

As for her sister, she was definitely responsible there. She had cleared her and her crew to assist the Commodore on a covert mission that was supposed to just be a discussion with a possible target which had ended poorly, resulting in everyone but the Commodore dying and being eaten by large demonic dogs.

At first Enalia was stunned and numb, then another feeling began building, bubbling up and blowing to the surface before she even knew it was there, her face red with frustration and anger as she screamed with anger. "ARENARA! I will have your head! You will ROT in a Federation penal colony for the rest of your days! Do you hear me?"

“Oh, are we on a first name basis now?” The voice was that of a parent scolding a naughty child as the matriarch of the Artan family pumped up the verbal venom level to unbalance her opponent- another favored tactic of Queen Artan. “Reallllllly Enalia, you are such a child, throwing a tantrum now that you’ve found out how the world really works. Did you think privateering and claiming the spoils of slavers paid for everything and kept the family afloat all these years? Naïve little girl. This fleet has run on subtleties and nuances and deals you never knew about because you were either too stupid to understand or too stubborn to accept.”

“So here we are, dueling in the nebula, in a classic climax of good versus evil in your mind, I suppose, where you keep so desperately trying to overcompensate for your failings by painting yourself as the hero- just like your father,” she added to twist the knife a bit. “When this is all over and I have to show the Starfleet doctors how you were always chemically unbalanced and how you manufactured all of this evidence against me, it will be such a sad end to your dismal Starfleet career… at best, a footnote in history while the Artan Family Fleet will sail on from this, to bigger and better things”

“After all, it’ll be easier once you’re dead…”

“Incoming plasma bomb, hard to port evasive Miss Dox!” Paris called from tactical.

"Aye, Commander!" Using the far more delicate manual controls at the helm, Dox leaned hard into the stick and the Hera responded in kind, tilting deftly on its center axis to avoid the plasma bomb without hitting any of the surrounding mines. As she did, the starship shuddered from the shockwave of the bomb's explosion. Far enough away to do no damage, but still be felt.

When he heard the queen's taunt, Sonak instantly recalibrated his sensors and looked intently before turning towards the command chair.

''Pride is every warrior's weakness. Captain, I have located a motionless mass suggesting a starship, four point seven million kilometers aft, bearing 180 mark 34. If she mined the entire nebula as she boasts, then we could send rapid phaser bursts in a conical pattern in this direction. This should detonate a significant number of them towards and near her position... and open a direct path for us to reach her while her shields are overwhelmed and her sensors blinded by the detonations... and her anger.''

"Make it so, Mr Sonak. But be wary of traps as you do so." Enalia was seething and struggling to get herself to calm back down. Knowing full well how deep her mother's betrayals had gone was like being repeatedly stabbed in the back and as much as she wanted to kill the woman herself, she knew if she did that, she would be stooping to her level and she'd be no better than her at that point.

Already the proposed telemetry was coming in from Sonak at the science station, and Paris aligned and measured the energy output for the appropriate response from the phasers. It would take considerable phaser energy to be sufficient to rattle the mines on such a wide firing arc, but Sonak had already run the calculations for the power output required to be effective. Thus all the Starfleet siren had to do was monitor the power flow and firing arcs, while insuring that helm control did not overshoot their cleared area.

“Point four impulse power, Miss Dox, on the revised heading I am sending… now.” The forward phasers lanced out, clearing a space before them in the nebula even as the Hera’s shields were rocked by a distant mine explosion. “Let’s take this slow and easy so they don’t realize we can do this at twice the speed, Miss Dox.”

Allowing herself the slightest of smirks, Dox replied from the helm. "Aye, Commander." While the instances were limited, the red-headed Romulan pilot greatly enjoyed working with Rita Paris from her tactical station. The two had a developed through simulation training a solid rhythm more in tune with Paris' own era where Tactical and Navigation were one station that was next to the helm. "Point four on the revised heading."

Leaning into the Captain, Paris muttered, in a voice low enough that only the Captain and the more sensitive ears on the bridge might hear. ”Two can play at this game, Captain, and the facts are on your side. Perhaps it’s time for you to goad her into making an angry mistake, ma’am? After all, she thinks she’s going to walk away from all of this smelling like a rose, and she doesn’t even realize she’s finished…”

Enalia took a few deep breaths to finish calming herself, before nodding and hitting the comms again, a grin on her face and her voice modulated to match her mother's. "Mother DEAREST, who do you think gave me this brain? I've fooled Starfleet for these many years. Do you really think I wouldn't have plans to eventually take you down? Just like you took down grandmother? I've met great-grandmother Enalia Artan, my namesake... I traveled in time to do it. I'm the one that destroyed Selen six, and gave her the details so she could build the family fortune that you squandered and had to rebuild with your slutty little deals with the Syndicate."

"And my independent wealth? More time travel shenanigans. I had six coins sold back then, invested it all, then had the coins land back in my possession a few months ago. I now have enough latinum to buy half a dozen more fortresses, each more lavish than the last and each with a personal fleet larger than the Artan family combined."

"Really, Enalia. Your grandiose-" the queen began, but Captain Telvan was having no more of it. Her mother's lips were moving, but smack talk was less effective when your opponent could be put on mute. Enalia continued, uninterrupted.

"Do you know what that makes you to me?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"You have been less than a blip on my sensors for most of my life now. The one time you forced your way back into my it? This time? I'm afraid you're going to regret that choice. You could have stayed a petty criminal, but no. You had to piss me off. Demand my genetic code to make a 'better' offspring... that was rude. Demanding it was your mistake. Because then you started giving me a reason to take a good hard look at you. Once I started looking, there were all sorts of sloppy secrets you've been hiding."

"I honestly would have left you alone, live and let live. But no. You had to reach past your little corner of the sector and try to be more than the waterflea that you are." Enalia was breathing heavily now, having gotten a lot of pent up emotion out and in the open.

"Oh, and if Starfleet releases any of your seized assets, they will be returned to the Queen of the Artan family... Which will no longer be you..." Enalia added just to add insult to injury.

"Verified," called Paris from tactical. Modern texting between stations and multiple communications channels open at once on broad and easy to read screens really had been a challenge for the gal from the 2260's to adapt to, but she had persevered, and it was glorious. The entire bridge, Main Engineering, the Intel Pod, whatever information they could possibly wish to know to man the starship was at their fingertips. Which made communicating in moments like this, under audio silence, open comms to the opponent.

CDRPARIS: Am I reading the projected size of that mass we're coming up on, Mr. Sonak? Slow to point two and give me a scanner pass at an orbital distance around that mass, Miss Dox.

LTDOX: Velocity at point two on revised heading, account for mine placement. In scanning range now.

LTSONAK: Affirmative; mass and volume of particle displacement decisively suggesting enemy starship location..

LTDAEL: Sickbay is treating 48 injured persons, have suffered 5 fatalities and 3 individuals that will perish soon. One of them was an officer with our adversary, and has advised the bombs we are bypassing are programmed to follow at a distance, and upon destruction of the Bloody Rose will convene upon us and detonate a gamma radiation enhanced explosion. Recommend helm take measures to avoid.

LTSONAK: Recommendation; activate all tractor beams on inverse polarity with auto-connection to tactical sensors and link to extended navigational screen to maximum range. Should act as an effective repulsor field for mine-sized objects. Computing program to implement procedure following.

CDRPARIS: I'll mine our wake with proximity warheads to help out, and we can collect any survivors after the battle. Why is that planetoid venting plasma to space?

CDRPARIS: Something tells me this is a decoy or a trap. Stay alert, folks.

Out in the gaseous swirling clouds of the nebula, green and blue gouts of plasma fire spurted forth as hints of red electric shocks could be seen through the distortion on the viewscreen. As the USS Hera drew near to the mass ahead of them it became clear that this was no ship, but a space born creature that had been collared by Arenara with agonizer tech. Resembling the old mythological Tarrasque, it had the shell of a turtle, tail of a scorpion, legs of a great space bear, and the head and mane of the old spacefaring lion-whales of old. The red and black spiked agonizer collar on it did little to imply a sense of control over it.

In short, this was straight from an old kaiju movie.

And it was pissed off.

With the Hera in its sights and several mines exploding in its plasma breath, it launched itself towards the nebula class vessel in an attempt to dig its claws into the tasty looking oyster-hull.

"Helm, full reverse, rear phaser emitters online for minesweeping..." Paris started setting the orders in motion to keep the ship at a safe distance from the cosmic legendary beast that somehow was and yet was not so much of a surprise to her. Thus was life in the 25th century. As the tactical sensors started lighting up with warnings, she noticed a significant buildup of specific plasma energies around the creature's mouth.

"What is it doing, it is going to launch a conical breath weapon of plasma at us..." Paris muttered before her eyes grew wide and she bellowed a command. "DOX! Evasive maneuvers, warp hop, now!

The Hera was already pulling itself backwards at full impulse along the path it had approached upon when Rita Paris's order was shouted out across the bridge. Running her hands across the helm controls deftly, Dox glanced at her tactical readouts to make the most rapid, manual warp course she had ever call in her head as a pilot. "AYE! Brace yourselves!"

The red-headed Romulan pilot tilted the Hera's nose down as the mighty starship quickly stopped pulling backwards. A warp hop would be tremendously dangerous in the nebula, but the maneuver was something of a specialty of the almost peerless pilot, and Rita Paris knew it. Dox let out the slightest of breaths as she shoved the manual throttle controls forward and the glowing, purple nacelles of the ship flared to life.

In the exact instant the creature let loose it's conical breath weapon in a manner rather precisely as Paris had predicted, a spewing array of green/blue plasma fire that at it's base could have easily consumed Starbase One. In that instant, the Hera all but vanished from that location in space in a streak of light and color. In it's wake was the plasma belch, whose length and breadth was now of sufficient size to be measured on the AU scale, flailed about with the spray of plasma in frustration. Which in turn was now causing a plasma storm in the area that would take years to dissipate.

As the space they had formerly just occupied was torched, the fragile and unstable warp field that had just propelled the starship away, also pulled the swirling energies of the nebula and the surrounding mines in on itself, crushed inwards in the warp field to cause a rather spectacular exit from warp for the starship.

To be continued in Tribunal - Charges of Tarrasque Abuse

There was a massive explosion in the space that the Hera had just been in as the nearest mines slammed into each other, pulled into the warp wake of the ship as, on the other side of the creature, the Hera reappeared less than a second later.

As the starship dropped out of warp, Dox put her into a hard turn that resembled something akin to a skidding stop that brought her nose back along the path they had just taken. The wake of their unstable warp field blew out around them, pushing the gasses of the nebula and the mines closest to their new position away from them in a wave.

On the screen, from nearly two hundred thousand kilometers away now, the creature seemd to be searching, confused, for its former target for an instant. But the Manticore was still in its sights.

Sonak turned towards the command chair.

''Captain; animals, even the fiercest predators, panic and flee when in pain. This creature is igniting plasma. If we were to fly by at emergency impulse and vent our own plasma in our wake close enough to it, just before it breathes again...''

The ship's engineer had been quiet but listening as she organized the ship's repair teams and kept everything running. An idea popped into her head as she looked at the results of the scans. "Captain if we charge the plasma to a certain temperature we may be able to fry parts of the creature's collar circuitry. Without control, it may back off."

''An even better application of my proposal,'' congratulated the Vulcan. ''Taking into account the natural resistance of this cosmozoic entity, it would require less energy than what would be needed to hurt it and achieve a similar goal; and without actually hurting it. Excellent reasoning, Lieutenant Commander.''

"Mister Sonak, please find me a weak link in that collar," Paris ordered as she let loose a pair of photon torpedoes and a planetary flare to get the behemoth's attention away from the more fragile Manticore. "Chief, get me that plasma ready to dump on the captain's orders. Miss Dox, you are on free flight for this, plan your own strafing run." Fingers flying across one of her tactical screens, Paris was working up how to tight beam focus as many of the phasers as she could bring to bear at once.

Which, given the forward-facing angle she needed, the Starfleet legacy officer transmitted to Dox at the helm to coordinate with her strafing run. That completed, the busy bombardier began plotting the same firing resolution for the Miranda class USS Manticore.

"Baroness, have you copied all of this, how are you faring?" In truth, Paris was overstepping her authority on the bridge, and she knew it. But she needed to keep the Hera in the fight, even as the captain struggled to control her rage at her own mother's perfidy, and just plain meanness throughout this literal trial which had now become quite literally a trial by fire.

Over the comms came the familiar voice of the augmented silver-haired pirate. "Ja, we copy." She paused, the concern for Enalia clearly evident in her voice before pressing forward. "Our systems are reduced to about thirty percent range so we will act as backup and support for whatever actions you take. Phasers, transporters, and tractors are locked to your sensors."

''Weak point located,'' announced the chief science officer after a moment. ''As logically expected, right where this restraint has been affixed on the entity's body. Transferring sensor lock to targeting scanners. Fire when ready.''

Taking the data from tactical and science, Dox swung the Hera around and made a run straight towards the massive creature while its attention was focused on the smaller Miranda-Class ship. "Internal inertial dampeners adjusting for attitude shift. Tactical, your target will be in optimal range in 9 seconds."

“Engineering, plasma dump on my mark please… mark!” Paris ordered

As the Romulan pilot called back, she pulled up on stick as the Hera all but ran up the Tarrasque's back at full impulse speed. At the last second, she tilted the starship its center axis and hit the starboard maneuvering thrusters at maximum which sent the ship rolling sideways in space in what almost resembled a somersault over the rear of the creature’s neck, lining up the full array of the forward weapons directly over their target.

All of the phasers on tracks around the ring of the hull of the starship came together to form one large beam, on both the dorsal and ventral hull. Thanks to the daredevil flying of Lieutenant Dox, both could be aligned for the shot, wherein Paris manually compensated to keep the phasers on target for the maneuver. As the twin phaser beams lanced out, they ignited the plasma trail, lighting up local space with coruscating fire that burned even in airless space. The creature roared, whether from pain or surprise it was unclear. But the Hera now most definitely had its attention, as it turned to regard the offending starship.

“Manticore, pull back, that’s an order!” Commander Paris barked, even as a sudden plume of plasma roared out toward the now much-closer Hera.

"Hnaev... Brace yourselves!" Dox muttered to herself in Rihan before shouting out a warning as she yanked hard to port while hitting the central starboard thrusters making the Hera essentially roll over on it's side in space, skirting just around the powerful plasma blast. The ship shuddered hard from the energy as it brushed the ships weakened shields.

Even with the internal inertial dampeners on full, the crew still lurched hard against the roll, but everyone stayed in their seats.

"Nice flying Lieutenant... shields at forty six... five... four... three, forty-three percent. That plasma chews right on through them. Mister Sonak, how's that collar looking? We gave her all she's got with the phasers to go with that plasma burn, any effect? Is it still operational?" Even as she spoke, Paris was launching torpedoes from the aft launchers in an explosive spray designed to disorient the beast, rocking him with near misses.

"Get me coordinates for the Bloody Rose, people. All, this is still a decoy action so she can choose her moment to strike, so stay alert-"

The sentence would remain unfinished as an earthquake struck the USS Hera, jolting everyone not seated to the nearest bulkhead. Those who were seated but not strapped in found themselves rolling across the deck. As the crew struggled to right themselves, the sounds of shrieking duranium were heard and felt across the Hera as another impact struck the mighty vessel.

In a red alert situation at the helm of the starship, Mnhei'sahe Dox was strapped in, because she was prepared for this contingency. Without waiting for an order, the focused pilot called up the tactical readout on the holographic heads up display built into the helm to see what was happening.

"INCOMING! she shouted from the helm as she saw tactical holograms of four boarding pods streaking at the Hera. "They're targeting the deck ten impulse engines, deck 17, the bridge, and... Imirrhlhhse!"

Cursing again in Rihan, Dox saw the final pod heading straight for the Hera's deflector dish. An impact there would cripple the ship, so that was her priority. With four incoming projectiles and an enormous plasma spewing creature still attacking, Dox had to act.

Pushing the starship's maneuvering thrusters to their limit, the hull of the ship strained, making a sickening twisting sound as she set the ship into a spin, like an antique record album on it's center point as she pulled down on the stick and flew dangerously close to the gaping maw of the Tarrasque.

With a loud wrenching sound, the port ventral thruster twisted out of it's housing on the exterior hull and deactivated as two of the four boarding pods slammed into the ship. The pod aimed for the bridge now hit the side of the Hera's Intel pod, exploding on impact as it hit broadside. The pod that had been aimed at the deflector dish hit the port nacelle strut, locking hard into a bulkhead with nowhere to empty it's boarding party.

The other two pods screamed past the ship as it turned out of range, one to crash against the neck of the Tarrasque, and the other to be caught by the forward tractor beam of the Manticore.

Ears ringing, Rita Paris blinked away a mental fog as her vision blurred, then slowly began to refocus. Grabbing at the nearest solid object, she hauled herself up to her knees at the science station, stubbornly struggling to pull herself to her feet. "What... what hit us? Mines? Personnel carriers?"

With a Vulcan's strength and a husband's care, Sonak used one hand to help Rita get back on her feet while answering.

''We were impacted by two boarding pods bearing each twenty-one heavily armed space pirates. Internal sensors are picking up one coming up from Deck 3 obviously intent on attacking the bridge; one having penetrated near main engineering. External sensors detect more pods incoming.''

Sonak's strength and sensor monitoring had allowed him to see it coming, and to stay in his seat when the ship was hit. He was thus quite ready to send directives to the computer.

''Computer; link all unbadged life signs on deck 3 and engineering to all transporter systems. Site to site transport to cargo bay 4 then implement level 10 forcefield around the area and flood the entire cargo bay with neurazine gas. Alert and allow security to pick up the boarders once unconscious.''

The computer chirruped, then responded.

=^= Unable to comply. Unbadged life signs are equipped with transporter lock scramblers. Transporting would exceed safety parameters =^=

Staggering back to her post, Paris shook her head to clear it, then oriented herself. It looked like she'd been the only one dumb enough to not be strapped in. Way to set an example, Commander Rita.

"I need to know the point of origin of these launches, Mister Sonak, if you please." Paris was coming around now, getting a grip and moving forward. "Security, stand by to repel boarders. Computer, seal all hatches to the Bridge..." it was then that Paris realized the Captain hadn't said a word for quite some time.

"Captain...?"

The Trill woman was silent, but far from still, however. That last jolt had nearly knocked her out of her seat and only the armrests and training had held her in place - even at times like this, she refused to use the restraints because she saw them as a sign of weakness. As for what she'd been up to, tapping on those armrest consoles, she'd been running a backtrace on those transmissions with Maru, and had come up with something. "I think I found where she was just transmitting from. Maru located a rogue planetoid about a megameter along heading one four nine mark seven four five where the transmission originated from. Almost directly above us."

''Calculation of pods trajectory confirms the location,'' the Vulcan science officer stated with a look at his readouts.

"If my mother is holding true to her idiom, her boarding teams are using the cheapest of transporter inhibitors. If our security can tag them, we can transport them."

The news didn't faze the Vulcan at all.

''Logical precaution for a people traditionally favoring boarding action. Captain, we could deactivate gravity plates at a specific approach point once they reach it. Boarding assault, especially when short of the objective, relies on speed of movement first and foremost. They will not have activated their magnetic boots if they wear any. By the time they recover and activate them, an ambushing security team could have completed the tagging.''

"As for the Bloody Rose, if she's using her old Klingon cloak in this soup, it should be a simple matter of using doppler shift on the nebulous gasses. Mister Sonak, does that check out?"

''Affirmative; sensors detect a ship-sized object of the correct mass fifty-three million kilometers moving at full impulse, bearing 53 mark 15 and moving to 270 mark 30; a flanking maneuver, Captain. Sending signal to tactical sensors for lock on.''

On the bridge of the starship Hera, the first officer poked at a blurry tab onscreen. Transmitting the telemetry of the target and the order to use the doppler shift for location purposes, she had given every advantage she could Summoning the best voice of command she could muster, she transmitted to the R&D department on Deck 3 the command phrase preset to launch the counterstrike she'd prepared.

"Operation: Thunderchicken is a go!"

Almost immediately, a commtext ran across Commander Paris' local screen:

LCDRCLEMENS: As previously discussed, the Special Surprise Gifts are awaiting intruders in all corridors. They are coded to be friendly to all pre-authorized crew and guests, and a big mess of trouble for anyone else. It's Duck Season.

Enalia grinned that lopsided grin of hers proud of remembering a few tricks she'd learned. She also seemed more calm and in control - no longer the pissed off mess she was mere moments before. "Commander Paris, please continue to provide C&C as you see fit. I apologize for becoming emotionally compromised during the heat of battle."

"Just glad to have you back, Cap'n," Paris replied as she settled back into her station. "I'm reading the intruders are engaging with Engineering and Security crews on Deck 24, and they are bottlenecked on Deck 2. Mister Sonak, please cut the gravity on Deck Two. Petty Officers Wil'I'Ams, I am activating the turbolift. Any that are obliging, give me a firing line with transporters tags and let them come. And I know you prefer to work the old-fashioned way, but armor up so we can feed you telemetry- that's an order."

As the two Klingon Security officers rolled their eyes, they nevertheless complied. With a clanging of their bronzed bracelets together, both were clad in the EVA armor that was standard issue for all Hera extravehicular engagements, although now they were equipped with the large TR-116C rifles. As the telemetry came streaming in to them, they could now see and pre-target the pirates who were managing to crowd into the zero-G turbolift whose doors were awaiting them invitingly.

As the turbolift bearing 8 pirates moved from Deck 2 to Deck 1, gravity kicked back in, driving them all to the deck in a heap. Which, as the turbolift doors opened on the bridge, made them easy targets for the transporter-tagging Security officers. A few random disruptor blasts squeezed off, demolishing an Engineering station and scoring a hole in the back of the Captain's chair, but while one ricocheted off the overhead to crack the main viewer, their assault was ineffectual. As the lift cleared of invaders in a shimmer of transporter lights, Paris gave the order.

"Proceed to Deck 2 and finish off the rest, then report back," the chief of Security ordered the efficient defenders, who both marched into the turbolift, their sensors already targeting the freefall invaders below as their boots magnetized to the deck.

With grim resolve, Captain Telvan nodded. "Now... Let's finish this. My mother has a nice cozy brig cell waiting for her."

"Baroness, I am coordinating telemetry now. Miss Dox, please give me a firing resolution," Paris ordered as her fingers flew across her console. As her vision was not fully cleared and she was still a bit muddle-headed, she couldn't afford weakness right now. The ship was in danger and lives were at stake. "I want that beast off our backs before we engage in starship combat. Transmit a flight path and firing trajectory to the Manticore, and we're going to pour all our phaser power into that weak point on the collar!"

From the helm, Dox nodded and replied calmly, "Aye, Commander." As she spoke, she called up her tactical heads up display all the while continuing to dodge the lunges of the attacking creature. With one hand, she began manually tracing a finger over the holographic display, muttering math to herself in Rihan under her breath.

A very few short seconds later, the focused pilot punched in a flight plan and sent it to the Commander's tactical station and Baroness Schwein on the Manticore. "Commander, course and targeting run entered and forwarded to the Manticore. Ready to engage on order..."

The Manticore was ready and waiting, having not been considered a threat in the battle and mostly unscathed so far. The torpedo launchers weren't loaded with photons, but with EMP missiles and the phasers were primed and ready, the prior stray boarding pods having been dealt with already. Schwein's voice came over the comms just for a moment. "Manticore is ready for the attack run. We have a wunderbar present that should help."

-=Main Engineering=-

Thex had heard the warning and activated the security measures around engineering. By the slight thump, she could hear the Houdinis had begun to go off, sending the pirates into all sort of chaos. One invader, after being blinded by one, suddenly found himself glued to one of the other pirates as a pair of them went off, but the team pressed on.

The doors to engineering had been sealed but one of the attackers a big gorn with more cybernetics than flesh began prizing the doors apart.

Thex let out a sigh as she pulled on the bracelets. One more power pack before she'd have to ditch this for a while.

"Protect." She yelled as the doors sprang open. The gorn had a look of glee on his face before the armored andorian slammed into him going at the speed of a train. The corridor outside buckled as the lizard slammed into it. The pirate attack team had barely any time to react before the andorian was on punching and kicking her way through them.

-=Bridge=-

The Captain nodded and gave the order. "Fire at will. Take out that collar, and let's see if this Kaiju is a bit friendlier without it causing it constant agony."

With the order given from the Captain, Lieutenant Dox pressed forward on the manual throttle of the Hera, maneuvering the mighty starship in a counterclockwise arc around the neck of the colossal Tarrasque. Meanwhile, the flight instructions transmitted to the Manticore had the smaller but more maneuverable Miranda class vessel taking a clockwise path as the two ships corkscrewed up the outer edge of the creature up to its neck where the collar was located.

Flight paths were one thing, but with a moving target, both ships had to make adjustments on the fly to avoid its flailing limbs and flaming breath before converging over the rear of its massive head revealing their mutual target: the locking mechanism that kept the pain-inducing collar in place and activated. As they twisted in space, Dox called back from the helm to Commander Paris' tactical station. "Targeting Apex in 3 seconds, on my mark... annnnd..."

Crisscrossing positions, both ships were in place at the same moment to deliver a blow to the collar at the same instant. As they reached their respective apexes, Dox shouted back, "MARK!"

With the weapons system of the Manticore slaved the those of the Nebula class USS Hera, both vessels poured concentrated phaser power into the weak point identified by the chief science officer. While the two thick beams of the Hera lanced out to produce pressure on the enormous collar that must have cost a queen's ransom to craft. Then the Manticore pulsed her phasers, into the same targeted location, but rattling the already under-pressure materials to vibrate them beyond their stress tolerances.

The pain increased, and the beast flailed, causing both ships to pull back. Yet they did not change attitude nor alignment, phasers still firing until with an explosion, the perversion of science that had chained a great beast was broken. Grappling with it, the Tarrasque blasted the links in it's hands, as apparently the legendary life form was immune to it's own plasma. What survived that onslaught was caught in a chain reaction which caused link after link to burn, plasma greedily consuming all it touched.

"Couldn't do THAT in a Constitution class!" Rita Paris beamed a smile, seeing the creature cheerfully rending the remains of the Agony Collar, even as out of the nebula, more boarding pods raced their way. "Here we go again..."

''Creature's control unit has been rendered inoperative,'' confirmed Sonak from his scans. ''It is now free to act on it's own volition. Tractor beam output now connected to deflector field. This will repel from the entire vicinity of the ship any object up to the mass of a shuttlecraft.''

"Outstanding Mister Sonak, thank you. Now, what do you say let's wrap this up," Paris expressed as she turned her attention to the matter at hand- dealing with the Bloody Rose.

"Where's that bloody pirate..."

To be continued in 'On The Launchpad'

Continued from 'Charges of Tarrasque Abuse'

As soon as the landing party had beamed down for the beginning of the Tribunal, Ensign Fiona O'Dell had been on duty, suited up in her EVA armor and sitting inside the cockpit of the Thunderchicken. The surface of the experimental multipurpose craft was now covered in the same dark pearlescence as the hull of the Hera herself, with ultraviolet crimson internal accent lighting which caused the entire craft look surprisingly sinister.

Standing on the modified transporter unit, Ensign Briaar Gavarus had set up to accommodate both the pint-sized pilot and the starship that converted to become powered armor, the walker mode had been engaged. Of all of the modes, O'Dell favored this one, the hybrid between fighter craft and robot. She still had arms and legs to manipulate, but she flew more like a VTOL fighter jet. Shifting slightly, the robot reached over to scratch it's shiny metal ass.

"Ye know what woulda made this duty more enjoyable?" O'Dell called from the cockpit to the monitoring station, where she could see Gavarus through the transparent aluminum viewport. "Beer."

"Don't frickin' remind me, Fee." The grumpy Tellarite engineer grumbled from her post. "Three frickin' days dry is three days too many."

Days ago when the pair had received their secret orders for this mission from Commander Paris, it came with the explicit instructions to not drink for the duration of the mission and its preparation. Clearly, their reputations preceded them as much as their skillsets.

"So, uh, look... while there's nobody around and ye kin edit this oot of the logs... if something happens to me, I want you to have me liquor cabinet. And me good beer flagons. And me squeezebox, because even you could learn how to play it," O'Dell casually rattled off a few of her personal belongings in amongst the load of knick-naks and instruments and collected yet organized clutter that constituted her quarters.

"Two things... One, I planned on taking that beer flagon at some point anyway. And two... You're going to be fine." Gavarus could hear the very real concern in her best friend's voice and wasn't going to let her stress if she could help it.

"That thing is the most sturdy small craft in Starfleet right now. You are going to kick ass and we will get shitfaced later and you can tell me how much you made them piss themselves when you tore the dome off of that shit ass bridge."

"Aye... aye, that's how it'll goo..." O'Dell murmured, as the mech shifted, the left arm crossing over to hold the right one by the elbow, a pose that looked oddly familiar to Gavarus as petite pilot tended to do the same thing when she was nervous or apprehensive about something. "How d'ye think it's going down there? Maybe it'll all get settled in court and I willnae have to go, aye?"

"Well, if there's anyone that can talk someone literally to death, it's Paris. That woman could win an argument with a black frickin' hole." Gavarus shrugged, picking up on O'Dell's continued anxiety as she kept trying to bolster the confidence of the pint-sized pilot.

"But however it goes down, we've got this worked out from every angle. We've got three layers of modular shielding as strong as the Hera's own. Diffusive paneling to take almost any impact and weapons out the ass."

"Aye, aye... 'll be safe as houses..." O'Dell murmured, followed by a long moment of silence. When she spoke again, the tinny chirp of the little leprechaun's voice was nearly a whisper, although the comms picked it up just fine. "Kin... kin I tell ye a secret, Briaar? It's... not exactly the best time for it, but... I feel like I ought to maybe tell someone, ye know?"

Trying to decide if she should keep trying to diffuse Fiona's anxiety or just be sincere, the usually gruff and sarcastic engineer decided to put a lid on her usual smart-assed answers. "Yeah. Of course. What's going on, Fee?"


"I've... I've nivvir killed innyone, Briaar. I know, I know, I'm in Starfleet and sometimes that means duty and alla that and this is a dangerous situation and I'll be defendin' me ship and crew but... I've never killed anyone, and I'm gonna be blowing my way onto a bridge that might joost decompress as soon as I do, and alla those people will be dead then, and that'll be on me. Or they might be ready for me even though the Commander thinks this is all g'win ta be some greet surprise fuir the pirates, but... what if it's not? What if they're ready for me? What if they joost shoot me and that's that and..."

The anxiety of the miniature Mariposian was abundantly clear, and the more she talked, the faster she talked, which meant that she was winding up, getting more and more nervous about her pending mission, until, very quietly, in a voice quavering with a fear that was far from her casually cheerful and sarcastic approach to most things, O'Dell stated the simple fact of the matter.

"I'm bloody terrified, Briaar. I'm tryin' nae ta be, boot I'm so scared I'd run away reet noow if I thought I could git awee wi' it," O'Dell admitted, her voice getting a bit squeakier as it was evident that in giving voice to her fears, she had begun to cry. "I dinna want to kill innyone and I dinna want to die. I know pilots are supposed to be ace combat flyers, and in sims I do great but... these are real people. And I could really die, and I dinna want ta die. I dinna."

Listening intently, Briaar Gavarus nodded as her best friend bared her soul. As soon as O'Dell finished, the tubby Tellarite replied in a voice that was calmer and more even-keeled than O'Dell had ever heard from her best friend.

"The primary weapon you have in there is transporter tags. They're programmed to transport any organic object they hit instantly to our brig. If their force fields hold the air in, you can peg them at your leisure. If the room decompresses, hit rapid fire and you will spray them all. The matter load for the ammo tags will allow you to fire up to ten thousand of those little friggin things in a few seconds." Gavarus commented, running down the technical specs of the enhancements made to the Thunderchicken's weapons.

"And no handheld weapon I've seen on file for these assholes can damage that armor you're in without sustained fire for nearly a minute. I've tested the shields and armor on our own best weapons. But even if, by some miracle, they can crack that armor, well there's this." As she spoke, the engineer's thick finger pressed a single button on her console.

In less than a second, with a rapid burst of blue light, O'Dell appeared in a seated position on the cargo transporter pad to Gavarus's side.

"Emergency transporter." Gavarus replied with an uncharacteristically warm smile. "I programmed this myself. It's cycling through the ships main computer, keyed specifically for you and you alone. It's allowed 300 percent more energy and computing power than the standard pattern buffers. One second evac with one button activation."

Big green eyes wide with surprise, Fiona O'Dell blinked a few times as she processed it all, then stood, patting herself down in the EVA armor before looking up at her flight engineer and best friend. Eyes filling with tears, the little lass in the EVA armor stepped over to hug her friend who was looking out for her, arms not making it around the thick tinkerer's waist, but she held the hug for a few seconds.

"Thank you," the panicked pilot whispered, a statement encompassing not only the technological preparations, but knowing that the usually unflappable underdog would likely be terrified going on this mission, and that O'Dell would need reassurance. In receiving it, the tiny test pilot showed her gratitude to her bestie in a manner very much not like an officer. It was, however, quite thoroughly heartfelt.

For her part, the usually prickly pig just smiled that same smile she had, looking down at Fiona. "You won't have to let anyone die. And you sure as HELLS aren't dying on me. I've got one friend and I don't know how to clone you just yet. So I've gotta keep you where I can see you."

Releasing her porcine pal from the hug, O'Dell stepped back and her face shield retracted, the helmet stowing itself into the back of the Extra Vehicular Atmospheric suit, hard-armored though it was to make it more armor than spacesuit. Inside, O'Dell's mop of curls was stowed beneath the black cowl of the pressure suit, even as a few of them managed to escape to frame the tear-stained face of the talented test pilot. Mopping at her eyes with the back of her armored hand, O'Dell sniffled.

"Some fearless Starfleet officer, huh? Ye kin, ah, edit the logs so the Lieutenant and Commander or nobody else sees alla that, aye?" O'Dell joked as she fished around for some composure, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Hotshot pilots in revolutionary new spacecraft did not break down crying in terror while they waited for the mission to start, after all, and it certainly wouldn't do for her superiors to hear her whining like a little girl before she was to be beamed into a war zone.

"Yeah, of course." Gavarus said, matter-of-factly as she ran the Thunderchicken's command sequence to return it to vehicle mode and open the canopy so O'Dell could get back in. In all reality, as she worked, she had no idea how to actually edit the ships logs.

"But it's like you said to me, she didn't give us these jobs because she didn't think we could do it, right? And even Ensign Gonadie and Lieutenant Dox can't match your numbers in the Chicken. You've got this, Fee. And I've got you, so @#$& everything else." It was clear that Gavarus was nervous as well. This assignment was all kinds of terrifying for the two, untested young junior officers.

"Aye, yuir right. I'm really in nae a lotta danger, strewth, and I might joost be able ta do this wi'oot killin innyone. Which I guess is oop ta them, really. Me shields are waveform, aye? Hugged to the hull?" The nervous little test pilot looked around. "She's on the pad ready ta go, if ye change her back too walker mode. Ye kin beam me in, and dinna think I canna scramble oop that arm ta climb into the cockpit, I'll show ye a thing or two."

"But fur noow what do ye say we git a cup of coffee, aye? We're nae more'n twenty paces from our stations, but we've nae got to literally be in position unless tis red alert, y'ken? So let's take a break?" The little leprechaun had calmed down considerably, but even after all that chatter she was still a bit jumpy- a bad thing for a test pilot about to take an experimental spacecraft into combat.

"Yeah, that's fine. Pretty sure we just need to be ready, not hovering. But I don't think you need anything with frickin' caffeine." Gavarus replied, smirking as they walked over to the replicator. "We don't need the Chicken mimicking your every hyperactive twitch."

"Well, I canna hae' inny whiskey, which is likely fuir the best, and I canna have inny beer on the Commander's orders- plus bein' on duty and all. What'm I supposed to do? Drink tea like a Sasanach?" As they moved to the small break room the R&D department had set up, which also overlooked their little chunk of the Deck 3 flight deck, O'Dell fell into her usual two steps to one of Gavarus, familiar patterns soothing her jangled nerves. "I canna eat innything or I'll hurl in me helmet from nerves, aye?"

"I dunno, ginger ale and soup? If you want coffee, have coffee. Besides, tea has just as much caffeine anyway and..." Gavarus cricked an eyebrow up in mild confusion. "Wait. What the frickin' hell is a 'sasa...' whatever your said. A Sasquatch?"

"Sasanach. S'what the Irish call the British. Me Da allays said it, and I had ta look it oop at the Academy. Turns oot tis a thing," O'Del climbed up onto one of the fixed chair seats attached to the break room table, a standard Starfleet design that enabled both very differently sized officers a table both could fit at comfortably.

"Yuir right. Me orders are for demolition, but the targets are literally marked before I get inside, all I have to do is cut loose and hope nobody's in me firing arc. I'll have height advantage, so there's that at least. And the squad to back me oop if the crew vents to space."

"This is a well-planned mission," O'Dell realized as she started stacking up the points, reviewing the mission parameters. "I'm piloting the premier in personal bloody war machine technology. I've got me own flight engineer monitoring and ready to beam me oot in the wink of an eye. Hell, beam me back in too, if I'm needed. I've practiced in that big goony bird- I know what I'm doing oot there. And we both been runnin' every day, so e'en if it turns into a runnin battle, I kin keep oop fuir a while, I can. This is g'win ta work, this plan. Those poor pirate bastards are nivvir g'win ta know what hit 'em, aye?"

At that, O'Dell had walked herself full circle on her own logic and come out the other side with a positive mental state and emotional attitude, baring a toothy grin to match.

Chucking, Gavarus walked back to the table with two coffees, and placed them both on the table. "Oh, they'll know what hit them. You don't get your bridge dome tore off by a big ass robot every day. It's going to go in the frickin' record book. I'm actually looking forward to seeing it."

"Waaaahhl, blown open, really. Commander said she wants this agony thing taken oot first, so that's me point of entry- I'm comin through that wall with plasma grenades eatin me way in and the phaser cannon meltin what's left ta slag. Or it explodes oot at me, in which case, evasive maneuvers, like ye do," O'Dell explained casually. "Squad's comin in behind me, they're bein beamed oota the Armory apparently, and usin maneuverin jet packs to get to the hull and magnetize. They're to tag any civilians that fly by, and march in if I get into trouble on their bridge. Apparently the squad twill be Coach Jablonski and a pack of her wayward girls with significant musculature."

Taking a sip of her coffee with a wry smirk, Gavarus replied. "Well, now I absolutely will be watching that feed." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before returning to a more serious tone.

"You doing okay, Fee?"

"Yeah!" O'Dell nodded, then looked up at Gavarus. with a less confident smile. "I'm... I'm still kinda scared. Even knowing alla the safety precautions in place it's... I dunno. It's stupid, but I canna help it. I'll do the job, but all I kin think of is something I learned in a Starfleet ethics class. S'a quote from an ancient earth philosopher named Campbell. It goes, 'A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.' I'm no hero, Briaar, but I feel like this is somethin' bigger'n meself."

Sipping her coffee, Gavarus smiled. "Yeah. I remember that crap too. Very dramatic and romantic. I argued with the professor for, like, an hour over it."

"And considering how many times you've pulled my ample ass out of trouble, that already qualifies you as giving your life to something bigger. I'm a lot damn bigger than you." It was about as close as the gruff engineer could get to calling O'Dell her hero.

"Awwwww," O'Dell rolled her eyes. "I think if ye look at it I'm usually the one gettin us into trouble, really. But tis sweet of ye to say all the same." The deflections rolled off easily, but O'Dell thought about it for a moment. "I guess I kind of have. We spend every waking moment pretty much together, and half the time we pass oot at one another's places, so even a lot of the non-waking moments. I guess... I have given me life over."

With that train of thought put out on the table, O'Dell cupped her coffee cup with both hands and blew on it, not really sure what to say next.

Instead, Gavarus picked up her coffee mug and tapped it against O'Dell's and took a sip. "Me too, Leprechaun. And it frickin' works for me."

Looking up, O'Dell smiled at the easy acceptance, and her eyes misted up a bit. Which was when the red alert klaxon sounded throughout the starship, and the mighty vessel shuddered with an impact.

"AGH!" The pixie pilot fell off her stool, hit the ground then immediately scrambled to her feet like a mongoose. "Gotta git oop, gotta goo goo gooo!"

Bolting for the door, the armored astronaut yanked it open and scrambled for her mech, which stood awaiting her on the large transporter pad.

Running right behind, Gavarus rushed to her console station and entered her security code to unlock the station for ready mode as she shouted out to the pint sized pilot. "I can beam you right back in the cockpit. It's all pre-programmed. Just sit like you're in there."

"Nae, I toldye..." O'Dell, true to her word, scrambled with ease like a spider monkey up the arm of the mech, even as she transmitted instructions from her armor to unlock and open the cockpit for her. Smoothly she hopped into the cockpit, landing with surprising precision.

"Alreet, sealin systems, let me get hardwired," Reeling out the contact ports for the small starship from her EVA armor, Ensign O'Dell plugged the ports into the ship's computer and the ship's backup computer. As the systems aligned, her helmet snapped into place over her head, as the pilot of the Thunderchicken had to be prepared to lose cabin pressurization at any point.

Thruster systems came online and the hybrid robot/spacecraft hovered off the transporter pad, even as weapons systems lit up and shields sprang into being, their frequency already synched with the transporter signal.

The unlikely partners in crime were as ready as they were ever going to be. Now all that was left to do was wait for the order to deploy.

To be continued in 'Operation: Thunderchicken'

On the bridge of the starship Hera, the first officer poked at a blurry tab onscreen. Transmitting the telemetry of the target and the order to use the doppler shift for location purposes, she had given every advantage she could. Summoning the best voice of command she could muster, she transmitted to the R&D department on Deck 3 the command phrase preset to launch the counterstrike she'd prepared.

"Operation: Thunderchicken is a go!"

The pipsqueak pilot who could make the Thunderchicken dance offered a thumbs-up to her porcine partner in the booth, the mechanoid mimicking the motion. The duo had put the experimental, transforming craft through it's paces and they were as ready as they were ever going to be.

From the control booth, Gavarus had gotten into the zone and her thick, three-fingered hands danced across her console. "All systems are green. You are good to go and I've got your back from here."

With a smirk, the grouchy technologist ran her thick fingers down the three lit amber sliders on the console, and a shimmering hum of the Hera's cargo transporters enveloped the Thunderchicken at it began to transport. "Kick their frickin' pirate asses, Fee!"


Two decks down, on Deck 6 in Transporter Room 3, the armed and armored Security force were standing on the pad, accompanied by the Hera's resident spook. The Master At Arms was commanding this away team, whose purpose was to provide backup to the mech that would ferry them in through the ship's shields. If all went according to plan, it would gain them entry to the enemy bridge. Which might or might not result in his squad tagging space pirates hurtling to their frozen doom with transporter tags. If not, then their job was to take the bridge and stand down the HMS Bloody Rose.

The hulking Petty Officer Jablonski stood at the back, a phaser rifle in one hand looking like a large-ish pistol to her, with the TR-116C2 slugthrower slung over her left shoulder. Bumping fists with Petty Officer Lu, Big Ethel nodded to Wagner and Grell, offering them thumbs-up. While they were no space marines, the security force of the USS Hera was well-equipped, well-trained and well-disciplined. They knew the danger, they knew their jobs, and they were prepared.

Clemens had prepared for this mission by loading up a combination of kinetic, energy, concussive, restrictive, and explosive munitions, both onboard his cybernetic limbs and slung over his shoulder. His grav-units were engaged, in case they beamed into a screwy-situation, and his IDF and life support systems were active. His Friend or Foe ID tags were active, so the rest of the team's munitions would try to avoid him, if possible, even if he needed to activate his holographic cloaking systems. His virtual intelligence subsystems were active, so semi-independent operation of medical, offensive, and movement systems would keep him free from distraction during the fight.

As soon as the comms announced the Executive Officer's go orders, he sent a commtext response...

LTCLEMENS: As previously discussed, the Special Surprise Gifts are awaiting intruders in all corridors. They are coded to be friendly to all pre-authorized crew and guests, and a big mess of trouble for anyone else. It's Duck Season.

Master-At-Arms Thav moved his neck to work out a kink, before closing his helmet and looked at his team. "Okay, people- we're here to kick some pirate ass and keep them off the mech. We don't know what surprises they might have for us over there, so I want everyone's suits synched-up. Watch each others' backs and remain calm, and we'll get through this," he said calmly, with the tone of someone who had done this many times before.

Sam added, "Remember, ya'll- use everything you got t'make these folks regret their choice of vocation, and do what ya hafta to take this ship out their toolbag. They asked for this mess, and they're gonna foot th'bill. We're th'things that bump in their night."

"Uhhhh, question?" Jablonski raised her hand. "Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, but the Commander said we were to capture the queen alive at all costs and do our best to minimize casualties. And she really stressed that 'at all costs' part. So are we here for maximum demolition, or a capture mission?"

The last lawful order superseded any other order save a standing order, after all.

"Capture the Queen, Petty Officer, with minimal casualties," the Andorian Master-At-Arms said, speaking up. "We're Starfleet, and we won't be sinking to the level of pirates."

Clemens stared at Jablonski for a moment, and added,"...did y'all not hear Herself? Killin' em' is like givin' someone a styrofoam graduation cake. Sure, th' icing's sweet, but once it's gone, it's all empty air," he shook his head, with a haunted look. "...that shit'll ruin a kid's life, it will..."

He blinked, and further clarified, "You folks got skills... don't do anything that Thex or th'Doc can't fix. But make sure these people decide that th'path they're on is A. Bad. Idea."

“Coordinates are coming in now,” the transporter technician reported, verifying that everyone was ready on the pad, as helmets snapped shut over heads and weapons warmed up. At a nod from the Master-At-Arms, the technician declared, “Energizing!”

Which was when the transporter room slipped away, and the boarding / landing party found themselves hanging in empty space. Well, mostly empty, as the experimental variable mode fighter craft dubbed the ‘Thunderchicken' was moving in on them with the 'boot' thrusters engaged.

“Alreet, everybody grab hold and secure yuirselves,” came the squeaky voice of the pilot over the specific comm channel of the mission. “We’re already on Plan B since our target is on the move. I kin catch ‘em, but we’re g’win ta be doin it at impulse power, so ye’d best be attached, because if ye fall off we’ll have the devil’s own time trackin ye doown in this soup!”

With that, the pearlescent and oddly humanoid vehicle hove into view, it’s dark underlit hull standing out boldly in the colorful nebula, the arms opened wide even as the thrusters in the ‘feet’ of the mech pointed forward to brake the momentum she had gained moving into position. While in flight it looked somewhat ridiculous, the assault vehicle moved with precision and surety. In one ‘hand’ was a larger version of the TR-116C2 carried by the Security forces, while on the dorsal of the mech, behind the cockpit, was a phaser cannon. On the starboard ‘shoulder’ was mounted a can that all involved recognized as a variable fire rocket pod.

It was abundantly clear that the war machine offering the boarding party a ride to their target was well prepared for a battle. Even if visible inside the cockpit was perhaps one the USS Hera’s smallest officers, one Ensign Fiona O’Dell, who was clad in her own small suit of EVA armor like the rest.

An alert flashed on Clemens' HUD as soon as the transport completed, alerting him that the target ship wasn't where it was projected to be. The rest of the display told the story, and he immediately launched a grapple to lock onto the hull of the mech, just port of the phaser cannon, amidships, and reeled himself in at high speed, to avoid fouling maneuvers with the cable. He landed with a *THUNK, his gravplates locking to the hull, and hunkered down, using the phaser cannon's outer casing for cover and a forward fire position.

"Clemens t’ O'Dell. I'm aboard an' secured, aft of ya."

"Aye, I seeya there Lieutenant. I've got one heck of a lot of room fuir displays in here and sensors like the eyes a'the Almighty himself." Even as she chattered, Jablonski grabbed Wagner and Grell, while Petty Officer Lu latched onto Lieutenant Junior Grade Th'ovohrot and rather ably, the tiny test pilot scooped them into the arms of the mech, giving them something to brace themselves against.

"Ach! Steer clear'a that manifold, Lu, it's aboot to get hot, that's one on me impulse drive... Jablonski, get ye a grip but dinna ye be crimpin me hull noow. Alreet, we all secure, everyone got a gravlock, aye?" The little stereotype paused to insure everyone was ready.

Clemens signaled ready via the FOF interface, and reeled out just enough line to give himself a grav lock with the grappler, as a backup tether to keep him with the tiny ship (or huge EVA suit, depending upon one's POV), even if he got smacked off it.

"Alreet... get ready for a ride ye'll tell yuiur grandkids aboot... assuming we should live s'long." With that said, the pixie pilot punched it, as the impulse drive glowed to life and began to propel them through the particles of the nebula. A small wedge before them seemed to part the dust and small meteorites they were rocketing past, as the deflector screen of the craft cleared their path... but not by a very wide margin. Jablonski, even hunkered down, was still pinging particles off her back. Her bodily volume was simply too large for the deflectors to fully cover.

His HUD indicators giving him a visual of the particle flow over the local area, Clemens could see the abrasive stream raking across the big Security officer, and knew it could only go downhill from here.

Leaving his grapple in place, he kicked loose his grav pads while initiating a forward tuck and roll, to bring him within reach of Jablonski's heel as he landed in a flattened crouch behind her. "Hang on, Ethel, and lean into it!"

"Maureen! Life'n'Limb Protocol, auto-adjust for additional load, on mah mark!" he barked, as his left hand came down on Jablonski's armored ankle, while his grav locks reengaged, locking him to the hull at triple their normal intensity, as he bawled out, "MARK!".

Immediately, the SI field around him rippled forward, engulfing "Big Ethel" Jablonski, with a thicker concentration over her leading edge, to divert the incoming particle spray up and over both officers, splashing down over the hull in their wake.

"Engaged, Samuel- we've got you, Petty Officer," a matronly voice advised, as the buffeting smoothed out with the artificially improved fluid dynamics of the hull.

The hulking petty officer breathed a sigh of relief- tough she was, but she couldn't survive her EVA armor being compromised. Over the comms, not terribly the talkative type, she simply offered a heartfelt, "Thanks L-T."

In the distance, the shadowy form of the Miranda class starship with the bloody roses painted on the hull was picking up speed, but O'Dell was having none of it. "Ach! Ye harridan, ye'll nae git away from me s'easily. We've got a mission, and yuir nae g'win ta make Mister O'Dell's wee girl look bad today, ye bluiddy pirate!"

With that said, O'Dell pointed the unique starcraft at a point in space where there was nothing nor did it appear to be an intercept trajectory. But as the two ships drew closer, it was clear that the little leprechaun knew what she was doing, as the two ships drew close.

"Alreet- we get to the hull, I'm goin' in first. If the bridge dinna seal behind me, ye get the bridge crew wi' transporter tags, aye? Dinna worry- once I'm inside their shields won't last long. If it seals, ye gimme an eight count to lay waste then ye follow me in, aye?" While in truth O'Dell likely would have been terrified under normal circumstances, she was here with backup. Muttering to herself, she tabbed off her comms briefly to work herself up as the small spacecraft approached the aged starship of days gone by.

"Yuir a fighter pilot now, Fiona, and ye kin do this. Yuir fast and strong and quick as a fox, and ye're an officer leadin' a boarding party in the best one-man fighter the Federation's ever built. Ye kin do this." Self-confidence bolstered, that was when a bright red sparkling star ejected from the starship, followed by another.

Flipping the comms back on, O'Dell squeaked, "Photon torpedoes this close? They're bluiddy insane! Whist!"

The Thunderchicken quite suddenly picked up speed, as O'Dell had been far from giving her all she had, trying to ensure that she kept her shipmates attached. With the flip of a few switches and a tabbing of a few buttons, the dextrous damsel of daring in the cockpit began pushing the experimental craft to perform rather extreme evasive maneuvers. Changing course, she swung wide and high to draw the torpedoes away from their point of origin, even as the rocket pod opened and started firing. "Here's some chaff, ye spalleens..."

In their wake, one torpedo exploded, the shockwave battering the boarding party even as it hurtled them forward toward the Bloody Rose, as if the tiny terror had planned it that way. The explosion was surprisingly close, as the pixie pilot played a game of chicken with the remaining torpedo, letting it get closer and closer as she closed, not on the bridge, but on the port nacelle of the Bloody Rose, whom had fired upon them. As the boarding party approached, phaser fire opened up on them from the Miranda class that was obviously aware of their approach, causing the anthropomorphic aerospace craft to pinwheel as she flew in, deftly dodging the energy beams as she made her move.

The refractory coating and small size made her hard to get a target lock-on. Adding in her hyperkinetic piloting, and the tactical officer on the Bloody Rose was simply unable to draw a bead on the Thunderchicken, or her charges.

As the sparkling crimson point of death closed in on them, O'Dell added one last burst of speed to loop three-quarters of the way around the underslung port nacelle, then she paused there for three seconds, watching the sensors to time her maneuver. At seemingly the last second, O’Dell launched herself at the starboard nacelle. She managed to interpose it between them and the port nacelle, with just enough time for the torpedo to impact the starboard nacelle, causing a massive shockwave. The interposed nacelle between them softened the blow, but the starship itself was thrown into them, causing red warning lights to light up on her consoles.

At her control console back on the flight deck of the Hera, while the mighty starship was engaged with drama of its own, the Tellarite Engineer pumped her thick, three-fingered fists into the air and let out a loud "WOOOO!!!"

The enthusiastic grunt from the porcine Ensign Gavarus startled the two security officers on duty standing near the bay doors for a second, as she continued to monitor the Thunderchicken’s status from her control board. They were running without an active comm system under red alert, so the inventive engineer could only extrapolate what was happening from the detailed feedback systems designed to assist her in monitoring the flying mech, but what she saw had her shouting.

"YES! @#$% those Mother#$%&ing pirates UP, Fee! Take them to #$%^ing SCHOOL!" It was far from professional conduct, but this was her best friend flying into combat for the first time while she watched, and the emotions had gotten the better of Ensign Gavarus.

As the Bloody Rose limped into a slow turn, the Thunderchicken looped around the much larger craft, settling on the saucer section of the vessel’s hull next to the dome of the bridge. Discharging her passengers, O’Dell coordinated her efforts. “Alreet, a bit more to the fore if ye will, and mag yuirselves down. I’m aboot to make an entrance, and I do like to make it loud.”

With the landing party in position, O’Dell pointed the large rifle in the mech’s right hand, and a series of plasma grenades ejected, pummeling the hull in rapid succession as the pint-sized pilot followed her orders. Creating a half-circle of around 4 meters wide and tall, she began breaching the bridge of the enemy starship with plasma weapons that ate through the duranium hull. While the shields would have prevented much of the damage, with the mech so close to the hull, the shields were a non-issue. As the plasma began to do its work, the phaser cannon lit up and carved a great ‘X’ through the center of the scorched and damage area from which atmosphere was already beginning to vent.

Which was when O’Dell raised one large booted ‘foot’ of the mech, to kick down the burning Duranium hull section, followed by her marching onto the bridge of the Bloody Rose. The emergency forcefields kicked in, maintaining the atmosphere, but they did nothing to stop the tiny terror in the experimental war machine from stomping onto the bridge.

Disruptor fire abounded, bolts bouncing out of the hole in the hull where the Agony Device had formerly resided. As the Thunderchicken went to work, O’Dell cued up a sound file that was far more fearsome than her own squeaky, shrill voice.

“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON! YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO COMPLY!”

Even as she spoke, the firearm in her right hand belched hollow point rounds, chewing through the helm and tactical stations, even as the pirates using them dove for cover. Which in turn led to the lithe and somehow familiar figure in the Captain’s chair pressing a button on her command chair, and a transporter effect began shimmering over the variable fighter craft.

Which would have been quite the catastrophe for anyone whose personal armature did not include starship shielding.

Fortunately, the Thunderchicken was more starship than armor, and it protected the miniature Mariposian in the pilot’s seat by preventing the transporter from achieving a lock and taking hold. As the mech turned to fire two plasma grenades at the turbolift, the pixie pilot switched to the comm channel.

“That blasted harpy’s got transporters rigged as disintegrators, so take out the personnel!” she conveyed to the boarding party as the mech spewed more hollow point rounds, demolishing the engineering console even as the phaser cannon rotated slightly and powered up, pointed directly at the Captain’s chair.

The Andorian Master-At-Arms didn't need to be told twice, as he fired out three shots from his TR116C2, dropping several of the pirates with narcotic stun rounds. The stunned pirates disappeared as the holo tags activated, sending them right into the Hera's brig. With his team taking down the pirate bridge team, he turned his attention to the transporter. The Andorian began firing hollow point rounds into the deck, sniping the power cables running under the bridge. Let's see the pirate queen use those traps with no power.

With a literal snarl, Clemens flipped forward off the back of the Thunderchicken, landing with a loud *CLANG* on the deck, directly in front of the shocked would-be-Empress, his pearly-white teeth bared in a near-feral rictus. Before her hand could even twitch, the obviously-enraged Intel agent had darted forward, his hands a blur, and grasped the old-design Starfleet Command Chair's arm restraints, meant for securing the occupant in the event of rough maneuvers.

Looking her dead in the eyes, he slammed both clamps down so hard that the latch mechanisms shattered, leaving them locked down tightly over her arms.

Without another word, he reached down to the chair base, and bent the sides inward, wrapping her up in the durasteel frame, like some sort of modern-day iron maiden, being careful not to crush her in the process.

He leaned in, then, as though they were friends, and there was nothing else in the universe but the two of them, and spoke very softly to her, the metal making groaning sounds, as his fingers dug into it, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling like a pair of incoming photon torpedoes.

"Yer daughter has friends, you strumpet. You just tried to murder my team in th'most horrible way possible. Yer gonna rot in prison, an' eventually, in th'bowels of Hell. Ah'll call ahead 'n have 'em gitchyer room ready."

He straightened up suddenly, and spun on his heel, headed back for the team.

"...ya filthy animal..."

To be continued in 'The Agony of Defeat'

Eyeing the bionic bounder with contempt, the Queen Regent of the Artan family empire sneered. “Doctor Mudd, there are intruders on my bridge. Should I perhaps panic, as they are casually firing ordinance, ruining my command chair and calling me names?”

The Terran scientist stepped in next to his captain, placing his hands on either side of his temples. “It doesn’t sound like something to lose your head over, ma’am.”

With that said, he casually removed his head, whereupon his headless body tossed it at Clemens, who instinctively caught it as the goateed head in his hands quipped, “If I was rich, I’d be sipping kippers on a beach!”

Which was when his cybernetics short-circuited, locking him up even as his biological parts were struck by crippling agony, as if every nerve ending in his body were firing at once, screaming in urgent, abject agony. As the Intel chief grimaced and struggled not to scream, Jablonski made to smack the head out of his hands, only to be struck by the same effect. Despite her massive size and musculature- or perhaps because of it- the peerless petty officer was driven to a knee as she gritted her teeth and fought to control her body, to finish off the robotic head which was still agonizing both of them as a mocking chuckle came from the command chair. But like Clemens, she could not move as her muscles refused to respond, and they both found themselves helpless in enemy territory.

“You think I wouldn't have prepared for this? You think I wouldn’t have known you’d try to turn the tables after I presented such a tempting target as showing you my bridge? Please.” As the walker mech turned the rather large hand cannon to point it at the pirate queen’s head, she laughed. “By all means, fire away. But you should know that there’s a hostage involved in this crisis. After all, you Starfleet types are all about the preservation of life, aren’t you? So I wonder what you plan to do about this little hostage… show them, Doctor Mudd.”

The headless android body produced a PaDD from behind its back and held it out before him to show another Doctor Mudd, who was holding a screaming baby. A baby with raven black hair, and delicate spot patterns along its temples.

“I was thinking of naming her Ailane… so she’ll be the reverse of everything her mother ever was,” the pirate queen asked, her voice filled with silky menace. “Which is a much nicer name than ‘hostage’ or ‘sacrifice for the greater good’. What do you think, Enalia?”

Transmitting her sensor feed from the Thunderchicken to the Hera, the footage was quickly routed through to Captain Telvan.

Back on the bridge of the Hera and watching the feed, Enalia stood in shock. The resemblance was definitely there, though how her mother got a DNA sample was beyond her. She'd been beyond careful. Either way, whether this child was related to her or not currently did not matter. It was a hostage and from the look of the room around the feed, she knew just where on the ship they were.

Sitting back down, the spotted captain's face was hard as she gripped the arms of the center chair. "They're in auxiliary control. Lock tractors on the Bloody Rose. Have the Manticore unload those EMP warheads when ready. Transporters at the ready. I want Arenara and Mudd in the brig. Now."

On the shattered bridge of the bloody Rose, Thav was conflicted. He was keeping his rifle locked on the pirate queen, but also keeping his eye on his team. Every inch of him wanted to shoot her and go to help his team, but he couldn't. As his helmet read the captain’s instructions, he switched his rifle to fire five of the transporter trackers into the pirate queen. The moment the shields were down, she'd be over to the Hera's brig in a heartbeat.

Clemens had gone through the Intel training courses, intended to provide whatever hardening possible to stave off some of the more brutal interrogation techniques available to his home universe's denizens, but no anti-interrogation/torture technique can stand to a technology specifically-devised to create pure, chaotic, unending pain, that never stops, never does physical damage to the body (after all, can't have the punished unable to work after a booth session, can we?), and is so without pattern that getting used to it is literally impossible.

Even unconsciousness will not stop Agonizer pain- it shares that property with human migraines, and specialists who have worked to understand the technology have suspicions that it may have derived from the study of them.

Regardless of its origins, once it hit him, the fire spread from his hands to the rest of his body like the crawling and biting of fire ants, which also were made of acid, could make him smell burning and rotting flesh, the smell of hospitals and nursing homes, and hear the screams of the damned, along with fingernails down corrugated tin, and anything else he'd ever felt viscerally-repulsed-by.

Later, while trying to sort it all out, Sam would develop a theory that the agonizer accessed all the personally-disturbing memories he had, and distilled them down into the worst sensory medley possible, crafted just for him.

Standing above them all on the bridge, the Thunderchicken seemed to almost bristle. “Alreet.. alreet, ya win, ye blackguard,” the pearlescent black mech said aloud, in the tinny and chirpy voice that very much did not fit the fearsome countenance it presented. “I’ll evacuate the bridge and take me crew wi’me.”

Stepping toward the gaping hole in the bridge that appeared for all intents and purposes to be open to space, the whirring mech motioned to the Security team. “We’ve been ordered ta stand down,” the pixie pilot explained as the orders came across her HUD screen, along with detailed schematics. “C’mon ye four, ‘tis time for us ta piss off. Orders are ta leave the L-T and petty officer on the bridge. She’s got hostages, so we’re ta withdraw.”

Thav scowled but followed his orders. Slowly backing up he didn't take his rifle off of the bandit queen until he was clear and out of the bridge.

While the security officers were hesitant to leave their fellows behind, orders were orders. Thus they dutifully attached themselves to the mech, even as messages came across the HUD of Jablonski’s suit and Clemens' internal systems.

CDRPARIS: Stand by and wait for your moment.

Not that they could read that while their eyeballs were afire and their brains were trying to explode out of their skulls and their innards had seized to prevent them from soiling themselves as every muscle tried to tear itself off the bones that felt like they were filled in their marrow with lava...

Flipping a rather skillful robotic bird to the Queen in the rather crumpled throne, the Thunderchicken retreated to the gaping hole in the aft of the bridge from which she had made her entrance, and the variable fighter vanished from sight, skimming out across the broad saucer section of the Miranda class warship under impulse speed.

“Now I wonder why she left you two behind…?” Arenara mused as she watched the two Starfleet personnel writhing in agony on her bridge. “She must have a reason… “

As she mused, the sadistic queen dispassionately viewed the agonized individuals as one might look at specimens on a petri dish. She might have had more musings, more ponderings on the nature of just what sort of strategy her daughter was playing at. But that was all she managed to get out before a shudder wracked the starship.

In stellar combat, kinetic weapons could be repelled by the deflector- but not at point-blank range with a coordinated strike from the Thunderchicken and the Hera's best security team. With detailed schematics available, the observation deck that served as the forward viewscreen of the auxiliary control center on Deck 9 was breached. The attack was quick and efficient, firing not energy weapons, but plasma grenades in a simultaneous coordinated attack with the Security team still hanging off of the mech's legs. They knew what to do and they were moving in synch. After all, sealed systems made for closed comms unless you chose to broadcast. And while life didn’t come with a HUD, the EVA armor most certainly did.

With professional precision, the security officers moved in through the opening, sealing it behind them with emergency foam. They were staged for a storm and rescue of the hostage if necessary, and all sensors were seeing Mudd, who appeared biological to their scanners, as did the rather unhappy newborn baby, who was very unhappy indeed.

“What the bloody hell is it now?” the dark-haired pirate queen rolled her eyes from the bridge, hearing the chaos of her ship being torn into from below.

The variable fighter mech had moved around to a position where, rather than pound the hull with plasma, she magnetically affixed herself in position, and utilized her sensors to corroborate the data sent to her from the Hera. This enabled her to target the exact conduit junction needed, and execute a computer-guided surgical strike using the vehicle's phaser cannon on the main plasma conduits from Engineering. Which in turn began a rather exciting and energetic plasma fire on Deck 8.

Not that such a vulnerability was a well-known fact about such starships. Not if you knew precisely where the vulnerable location was on the starship. In which case one would have be an expert on the class, and knew just where to strike. To breach the power conduits which fed the auxiliary control panels, to be precise. Which was exactly what Enalia Telven, owner of a similar vessel, was considered- an expert.

“You know, I have had enough of you people. Havren!” The computer chirruped in recognition, and she laid out her command. “Start the self-destruct countdown, twenty seconds!” the coldly furious betrayer of her family and of her fleet declared as two of her enemies struggled and writhed, which didn’t even bring her any pleasure. “I’ll not rot in some brig while my idiotically naive daughter struts like some Starfleet thug before me. I’d sooner burn in hell!

Which was when the lights on the bridge flickered, then suddenly the emergency power came on. Because ship’s power had been disrupted by the machinations of the midget of mayhem. While battery power kept the lights and many of the systems operating, that most definitely meant that the shields were down.

As the lights went down, the Security team burst through the door, with Thav in firing position. The panicked Mudd turned in horror, looked, and held up the squalling infant as a human shield. Tags struck the Terran scientist in the elbow, the groin and kneecap, as the Master-At Arms was steady, and aim was true. For his part, Mudd grunted as he struggled to remain upright. At the signal from the Master-At Arms, both the scientist and the hostage were beamed aboard the Hera to a cell in the brig.

In the cell in the brig, Doctor Davo Mudd looked around wildly, then rolled his eyes in exasperation. Bringing the infant, who had ceased crying when transported, up to eye level, he smiled. “Well, at least I’ve still got you, my chubby little hostage! Gootchie goo?"

Which was when the giggling infant disappeared in a twinkling of transporter lights, and Mudd clawed at the empty air where his trump card had just been, raging at the unfairness of it all. “I used to be somebody, you know! A scientist, an artist, a genius appreciated for his work! And now look at me... stuck playing footstool for a bloody pirate. There’s irony in this, I’m so very certain...”

With that, Mudd dropped his ass onto a bench in the brig to mope. Sooner or later someone would come along, and open the door. And therein lay opportunity, and the chance to make a deal. After all, Doctor Mudd knew all sorts of interesting facts that were often the sort of things people wanted to know. This wasn’t his first jail cell, and it likely wouldn’t be his last. But he’d gotten out of them all. After all, he was an escape artist...

Back on the bridge of the Bloody Rose, the angry Artan pirate queen snarled as she looked about wildly. Panic was a new look for her, and it was one she hadn’t known in a very long time. At the moment she wasn’t finding it a welcome state of mind.

“No! No no no no no! This cannot be happening! I will not allow it!” Vainly she struggled against her own ostentatious captain’s throne, which had been warped and bent around her in a gesture she’d thought practically comical until she was alone on her bridge, cut off from her crew and with only a headless Muddbot to help her. And without its head, the bot wasn’t even that much use.

There were so many contingencies she could activate, if only she could move. Of course, with half the panels smashed, that truly did limit her options, she realized. Sighing to herself, she realized this game was lost. Time to fake her own death and build anew. “I’m done. Beam me to my escape craft, Hav-”

Which was the exact moment when the EMP warhead assault from the Manticore struck, frying electronic systems, circuits, and demolishing the majority of the ship’s computer systems. And suddenly, the Agonizer built into the Mudd robot head was no longer functional, as the delicate circuitry of the complex, yet unshielded android fried, along with nearly every system on the ship. If not for the safety feature of an immediate shutdown of the warp core, it would have blown them all to space dust.

The bionic systems of Lieutenant Samuel Clemens the 15th, however, were EMP hardened. Which meant that he could once more unlock his wondrous cybernetic limbs, while his mind and body cleared of the effects of the agony. Though for both officers, it was an experience that would most certainly make rather strong memories and opinions about such technologies from that point on. An Agonizer experience did one of two things for a person- either it made them want to put their enemies in one, or it made them swear to never let another living being experience such a thing.

The order had been given to ‘wait for his moment’, and given that the pirate queen hadn’t beamed out just yet, this appeared to be it.

After confirming that Jablonski appeared to be functional, via his sensors, he decided to address the issue at hand, having gotten an exact reading on exactly how much atmosphere was available, and how long the forcefield would hold.

Sam decided that he really didn't give a goddamn about learning anything from the head in his hands.

"NIAGARA FALLS!!!" he shouted, suddenly.

Slowly, he turned. Step by step. Inch by inch. He walked up to her. He smashed the Muddbot's head against her chair. He hit him, he bonked him, he bopped him, he socked him, and he mashed his face on the last flat surface on the chair. And then, he knocked it across the room, with a mighty backhand, embedding it into the Engineering console, shattering it and the panel into tiny fragments.

Sam locked eyes with the former Queen. "Right now, I don't care about orders, good or evil, right or wrong. Madame, I must say, you're an evil bitch, and I daresay yoah dangerous to every lifeform around you. You have to be stopped, because you Won't. Stop. On. Your. Own."

He took a step forward, and his right arm shot out like lightning, a finger extended, with a spinning drill bit extended, a fraction of an inch from her pale face, and grinned at her, like a loon.

“Don’t… don’t do it… Lieutenant…” Jablonski gasped, voice muffled inside her helmet with no comms, as her EVA armor had been fried as well. From her knees, she reached feebly for him, still trying to catch her breath and recover motor function. It seemed the more in tune with your physicality, the better the Agonizer worked on your physique. As a bodybuilder, nutritionist and all-around Amazon, it had laid ‘Big Ethel’ quite low. Now she lacked the strength to rise, to stop the Chief Spook from ending the threat to galactic society.

"You wouldn't DARE," the pirate queen hissed, unflinching.

The bit stopped and retracted, and he poked her forehead, bouncing it back against her headrest.

"Boop!"

"Clemens to Captain Telvan. We have the package, and it's wrapped for the freezer," he said, still grinning, as he winked at the prisoner.

There was no response, save for a shimmering of a transporter effect, as the deposed Pirate queen spat at Sam… spittle which would land on the floor of the brig of the USS Hera, in a cell specially prepared for the prisoner. Images adorned the walls- some familiar, like her deceased husband and daughter. A Starfleet ensign, and many more. Rolling her eyes, she sneered at the wall of victims that had been prepared for her. Unrepentant to the end, this simply firmed her resolve. Her smug daughter would get her comeuppance yet, even if she had the upper hand now. Arenara would simply bide her time for her revenge.

Clemens noted the headless android, and realized that it might still have functions that could be useful. Unfortunately, it was impossible to know exactly whom it would be useful to, at the moment. He fired off a few transport tags, encoded with a cyber-hazard warning, and signaled the Hera's transporter ops group to sequester it until he could get a better look at it.

Back on deck 9 of the Bloody Rose, while the EMPs incapacitated the armor of the security officers, all of them would have sufficient air to survive a few moments, and the power assist systems would kick back in once the hardened power backup rebooted the systems. And the well-trained experts knew to be prepared when the pulse hit. But after a brief moment, they were back up and in action again, taking the pirate ship corridor by corridor. The dispirited pirates, who served out of fear rather than dedication, offered only token resistance.

The Bloody Rose, scourge of the spaceways, had been crippled and captured- with injuries, but without the loss of a single life. A feat most would have deemed impossible.

But then, most weren’t Captain Enalia Telvan, who commanded the crew of the USS Hera.

Securing the enemy starship and evacuating the crew to their cargo bays was handled without her. The small support craft followed orders, performing visual scans as well as act6ive scanner sweeps. All of this would be evidence introduced in court later, and after having acted as prosecutor, Commander Paris had muttered at the end of the orders that she'd be damned if she was going to blow the case on detective work. So Fiona O'Dell, the tiny test pilot who has mastered the Thunderchicken, followed orders, and took a long look around one messed up old junker.

"Lookit alla that crrrap oot there in space. Why would ye even have an antique like this? I dinna get it, Briaar. If I was a dirty pirate queen who'd been playin both sides aginst the middle, I'd own me a bloody dreadnaught fuir when I got inta trouble, not a bloody relic like this." O'Dell wasn't impressed by antiques.

For her part, the tubby Tellarite manning the control console at the flight deck of the Hera had a different perspective. "Screw a Dreadnaught. Those things are engineering nightmares. The Miranda class has been in active frickin' service for, like, a hundred and thirty-something years, Fee."

Working at the console, collecting and collating the data from the Thunderchicken's sweeps, The Porcine Engineer continued, "The modular construction makes upgrades crazy easy, it can run with a crew of, like, twenty-some-odd people, it's maneuverable as hell, and she's designed to be as close to idiot-proof as possible. I mean, shit. These dumbass pirates kept her flying."

On the rollbar shuttle bay the pilot with the call sign 'Leprechaun' found a warhead in Bay 2, which was filled with so much toxic waste and radioactive material that whatever the quantum torpedo driving it all outward didn't destroy, the sheer amount of hyper-radioactive materials in the dirty bomb could irradiate an entire system over time, rendering it hostile to most forms of life. A science and security team beamed over, and in five minutes, they had the thing deactivated and contained for travel Disposal would apparently be another issue.

"Score one for the visual inspection- here's ta bein' anal retentive," the midget Mariposian mused over the R&D channel as she continued her inspection, finding nothing else out of the ordinary. The Manticore moved in to tow her, which, again, O'Dell wasn't impressed. "I mean, I guess they figured oot that our configuration is superior, but lookit what they're doin ta their warp signature, aye? It's like they're aiming for the drag coefficient, but joost nae managin it."

"So long as she fits in her own warp bubble, she'll fly just fine. Plus, that drag coefficient doesn't factor for her maneuverability in ship-to-ship combat." Gavarus replied, clearly more impressed by the antiques design far more than her diminutive partner-in-crime.

The next voice to come across the line was that of Lieutenant Pacci, who ordered, "Thunderchicken, you are ordered to return to the roost."

"Aye, an' copy that, Hera!" O'Dell chirped. Calculating speed and trajectory, the pixie pilot brought up a sound file and began piping it through the R&D channel. Traditional Marisposian music blared forth, even as the small stereotype aimed the craft on a smooth flight back to the flight deck of the USS Hera.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBATrLRWySg

ENSO'DELL: Play me onta the flight deck, Briaar!

From the control console, Gavarus snorted out a laugh and rolled her eyes as she began to prep for the re-docking sequence and turned towards the ranking Flight Officer, Assistant Chief Mona Gonadie. "On your orders, Ensign Gonadie."

Mona rolled her eyes, knowing that if she didn't give permission for a little celebration, she'd hear no end of it from them and if she did, she'd hear no end of it from command. She just sighed and took responsibility, pulling out a small music deck, plugging it into the flight deck PA system for Gavarus. "Permission granted. Dance your jig and have some fun, but promise me you won't break anything at the last minute?"

Calling up the perfect time, Gavarus hit 'play' and messaged O'Dell with a grin and a chuckle. "You heard the Chief. Dance like you've got to clean up the mess, Leprechaun!"

Gliding into the flight deck, the half-spacecraft, half-armor suit took it's time, waving first to one side of the flight deck, then the other. As the music came up across the flight deck, the mech began to clap its hands in time to the simple music, which had the ability to strike a chord easily. Complex music was a matter of taste, but simple tribal music such as this was evolved enough to appeal to a sophisticated taste, yet simple enough to be accessible to anyone.

As the crew on the flight deck began to clap, the Thunderchicken ignited it's boot jets lightly, just enough to produce a bit of an energy trail, even as her engines pushed to keep her in place. With that showy effect accomplished, hovering there over the flight deck, Fiona Margaret Mary Josephine O'Dell, flush from a victory the likes of which she'd never dreamt, took up a task with which she'd once been challenged.

Inside the cockpit of the experimental starcraft dubbed the Thunderchicken, the atomic aerospace ace began to move the legs of the hunched over humanoid shaped mecha. In time to the music it began to tap it's toes and heels, as the pearlescent neon dark variable mode fighter began to dance a jig. There, in midair above the main flight deck on Deck 4, where she wouldn't damage the mech or the deck, in time to the music. As the feet moved, the left trails from the thrusters, adding an additionally surreal element to the spacecraft with arms and legs dancing a merry jig.

Likely no one would ask, but she'd even played all of the instruments, laying down multiple tracks.

Of course, while drunk in her quarters, O'Dell had played most of the instruments in question for Gavarus's entertainment, so the pilot's Tellarite bestie knew the origin of the music all too well. Regardless, though, she clapped along, tapping one of her hooves on the deck in time with the music.

The tension of the actual mission had been all but unbearable, and in the moment, this was exactly the release of that tension that the tightly wound flight crew needed as the room erupted in smiles and genuine laughter.

While everyone laughed, she kept it up for a good twenty seconds before stopping, swaying a little, then taking a few bows before cutting the thrusters and gliding smoothly to her landing pad, whereupon she turned once in a circle, then rotated back for a half circle, facing the control room. As the mech touched down, O'Dell engaged all of the safeties, locked down the weapons control and powered down the vehicle itself, leaving the left arm outstretched, hand open, palm up, nearly a meter off the deck.

As she popped open the cockpit, O'Dell's helmet was already down, and her bright red mop of curls was wet with sweat, her face was shiny with it too. But the lithe little lass clambered out of the cockpit like a spider monkey and ran toward the stern of the craft. Scrambling across the shoulder and walking out onto the arm, O'Dell stood on the palm of the hand of the mech, then began jumping up and down excitedly.

At this elevation, when Gavarus arrived O'Dell would actually be the right height to give her partner in crime a hug at her own height for a change. Or at least she would be, if she could stop jumping up and down and hooting out unintelligible gibberish.

Not giving a good god damn about protocol, the generally grumpy Gavarus was just so glad to see her best friend in the universe return unharmed that she stomped her hoof to the deck and let out a loud "WOOOOOP!"

Running over, Gavarus grabbed the tiny test pilot in a pig-sized bear hug. After all, if Mona Gonadie could get away with making out with Lieutenant Dox on the bridge, they were hardly going to get court marshaled for a damn hug. "C'mere, you dumbass genius! You frickin' kicked their mother@#$&in' ASSES, Fee!"

Knees kicked up, O'Dell squealed with delight as Gavarus swung her around, EVA armor and all and she clung tightly to her best friend. "Didye see what we did oot there, me and our baby? We joost took oot a starship! Well, wi' a security team, sure, but looka what we did! And I brought her home wi' nary a scratch! We're the dog's bollocks, we are! Chief built 'er, ye worked oot the bugs and look what she kin do!"

While a smaller person might have tried to take sole credit, O'Dell was a pilot who knew she was only good as the spacecraft and her engineers, and she had no trouble at all making her victory their victory. This was a win for Chief Gonadie, a win for Briaar and her, and a win for the whole flight deck, for the whole Hera. But the not-terribly-humble O'Dell was gracious in victory.

As Gavarus let her back down to the deck, O'Dell ran to the edge of the smaller upper flight deck. There at the edge, where the overhead of the chief flight control office met the traffic control booth, the pint-sized pilot squeaked her cry of triumph over the flight deck. Arms upraised in victory, she shouted, "Pog me thoin, ye pirate poseurs! Thunderchicken, hooooooo!"

Watching, Gavarus let out a snort of a laugh as she walked over to the Variable mode fighter dubbed the 'Thunderchicken'. She had no PaDD in hand, but instead simply ran a thick, three-fingered hand over the surface of its outer hull. O'Dell was right. The shield enhancements worked better than expected and to a lay-person, she didn't even look like she had been flying, much less in combat.

The Tellarite engineer's eyes saw minor points of stress fatigue on the joints and some surface pitting here and there. The minor wear and tear of basic operations. Walking around with her, making a similar visual inspection, was the chief of the R&D department, Ensign Mona Gonadie, who Gavarus was pretty sure was happy as well. "We'll have to run a few full diagnostics... Post-mission refurbishments... but just from that dance alone, the motor systems all look to be in perfect order, Ensign."

Mona ran her hands over the parked craft as well, a slight smile on her face. "Yeah, I think we might be about ready to come out of prototype stage. What do you think of the name Banshee? Too on the nose? I was thinking of reducing the size about fifteen percent for the production run and remove all the experimental stuff. Ah, but we can talk about that later. For now, let's be happy we won and with flying colors, right?"

"O'Dell will love the name. Though she does like it big. But if we streamline her down, we can boost efficiency by a near equal percentage up." Gavarus commented, too excited to not think about the details. "You built one beauty of a beast here, Chief."

"I just hope the other pilots aboard are able to handle the controls..." Mona mused, pulling out a PaDD and making a few post-battle notes.

"I've thought about that, Chief." Gavarus commented. "I think that if Fee... Ensign O'Dell... does a tutorial with one of the other pilots from scratch, we can record it and create a kind of... holographic, interactive training simulation. We just need to go through the process and record the steps and suss out all the potential questions."

“I know the Commander hates the name, Chief,” O’Dell chimed in from below. “But tis Starfleet tradition- whatever the name of the first production model is, that’s the name of the line. I’ve given it thought, and the Thunderchicken is what ye named her, Chief Gonadie, and me vote’s that we should keep the name, aye? Banshee is something that willnae makes fighter pilots roll their eyes, but it’ll forever stand that she’s was named that by her creator, and they can stoof it if they dinna like it.”

“At least, that’s me two pence worth,” O’Dell amended. While she was still high on adrenaline and victory, she was a bit bolder with her superior than normal, but she didn’t want to push her luck, either.

"And she is a work of love. I made her for my Minay and that name was meant for her and myself." Mona smiled that secret smile she kept for her secret projects and Dox as she ran one hand along the nose of the Thunderchicken. "But with a remodel and the experimental stuff being removed... And my cloak... Should come a production name rather than a project name. Banshee is as good as any. After all, this is the prototype and not the first production model, right? Now let's stop wasting time trying to rename her and go run those diagnostics! We've still got work to do!"

“Aye mum, yes mum, sorry mum!” O’Dell replied, looking around for where she was needed in the process. "Where should I be doin what noow? I got alla the telemetry downloaded in realtime and the sensor logs are downloadin. So... uh..."

"Get them to science, ops, and intel so they can scrub the data as well. We performed operations in hostile territory so we need to make sure everyone has access to all the logs just in case someone misses something." Mona was all business now and though she was interested in performance and analysis, the mission logs came first.

Mona then turned a bit softer as another issue popped into her head. "Also, you were in combat. I need to know if you have any signs of PTSD at any time, ok? I don't know what exactly what happened, but if you need to talk about anything at all, I'm here, Gavarus is here, Asa is here... You have a lot of friends, ok? There's no need to face anything alone. That goes for anyone that goes through anything traumatic."

Trying to Match Mona's more professional demeanor, Gavarus nodded as she grabbed a PaDD to start collecting the data from her console collected during the mission. Aye, Chief. We will, right Ensign?"

The two of them were riding adrenaline highs at the moment still, but we're both emotional messes just prior to launch, so even the generally dismissive Tellarite was giving Mona's words some thought. Though those thoughts centered mostly on how a metric ton of alcohol after the end of their shift might just be the therapy they were both craving.

“Aye mum. If I hae nightmares or canna sleep or I’m more messed oop than usual, I’ll report it. We have our own ways a’dealin wi’ stress for the most part, but if I’m nae okay I will say something, I promise!” O’Dell held up one hand as if making a pledge then held the other over her heart. But she couldn’t keep a straight face for long.

“Boot didye see it? They fired photon freakin torpedoes at us! And I fooled a torpedo, which is bloody brilliant, then I fricking dodged one by usin their own ship for cover! That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done! And didya see me on the bridge? I was like, pchow, pchow, pchow!” As she spoke, O’Dell made gun fingers and pointed to distant points, supplying the sound effects of her mission.

“Then I booted me way in like the king of the hill and just chewed up their control panels, and didye see? Didye see? When the Commander told me ta fall back, I lied and bluffed like a Ferengi explainin’ his stolen goods to the customs officials!” Clearly, O’Dell was having no difficulty congratulating herself. In truth, this had far and away been the most exciting experience of her life, save perhaps for the time she and Gavarus had almost died when an early prototype Cyclone fighter had experienced and encounter with a quantum string that blew out most of their systems.

But this was different. This had been combat against an armed and dangerous opponent. This had been a piloting feat no Starfleet officer had ever performed. This had been a critical mission in a starcraft that was untested, and a pilot who had never been in live combat before. This was the crowning achievement of Fiona O’Dell’s life, and she was unable to contain her excitement. No experienced and jaded officer who had seen it all, the pixie pilot had never been prouder, even when she’d been accepted to the Academy, or even when she had graduated flight school. This was Big Damn Hero stuff, and she was practically on overload.

"Kin we get a holo? Of all three of us and the Thunderchicken? So's I kin hang it on me wall and tell me grandchildren aboot it someday? Please mum?" O'Dell pleaded with her R&D section chief.

"Oh, of course," Mona replied, already having made the preparations from her PaDD as the spot where the thunderchicken was parked and the trio were currently, began a slow descent down into the maintenance bay below the main shuttle deck. She pointed down at the holographic security systems she'd installed some time ago in the R&D lift and held up her PaDD that showed the live feed of them riding the lift with the Thunderchicken down. "Smile for the Camera."

In a more characteristic display of grumpiness, Gavarus rolled her eyes and sighed. "Really? Pictures. Ugggh.. I hate getting my..." But before she could even finish her grousing, she looked down at O'Dell, who had already unleashed her greatest weapon against the towering Tellarite: her big, puppy-dog eyes and a heaping helping of Irish-Catholic guilt that Gavarus was completely defenseless against. "Oh, for @#$%'s sake... fine."

What followed was a montage of holo snapshots as the hyperkinetic O'Dell jumped from one idea to the next, changing their positions, hopping up in the Thunderchicken's hand to get into the shots, and in one inspired moment moved the fingers of the mech to form an 'H' in gang sign, leaving it parked that way so that they could all look 'street' next to it.

But the best shot, and the one she would frame on her wall, was O'Dell grinning ear to ear, standing in the outstretched hand of the Thunderchicken. Which made her tall enough to lean on Gavarus' shoulder, who looked somehow put out but still complying. While beside them, Mona Gonadie lookes half long-suffering, and half proud as punch of her baby, which would revolutionize personal vehicular technology in the 25th century. The image that O'Dell liked best would be part of the historical record of the development of the craft, featured in history texts in only 20 years time.

The framed image from O'Dell's personal collection would one day hang in the Smithsonian air and space museum, immortalizing the genius who revolutionized spacecraft design.

Along with the two loose screws who helped her test the fruits of her innovative mind.

As the Captain entered the brig with Rita, Az'Prel, and the two Wil'I'Ams sisters behind her, she maintained her decorum and bearing, walking up to first the cell that had Doctor Mudd in it, the man waggling his fingers at them before she moved on to the cell she was most interested in. One that had been specially prepared. One that had held her own mother.

The displaced Vulcan lingered momentarily at Doctor Mudd's cell for a moment, her emotionless eyes studying him for any signs of deceit or betrayal before moving on as well. As for Mudd, he blew kisses at the rigid and stoic Vulcan.

"Hello, Mother. It's good to see you in an appropriate habitat for once. I trust your accommodations are not to your liking?" Though her verbal jabs were harsh, her voice remained impassive, as if she were speaking to any other inmate.

“On the contrary, they are precisely what I expected,” Arenara Artan replied without turning to make eye contact, instead choosing to stare at a point on the overhead. “I see you’ve upgraded the Starfleet brigs. And beaming away all clothing and materials that might possibly be a threat was a nice touch. These lovely paper coverings,” she plucked at the disposable top, bottom and slippers she had been issued as had all the piratical prisoners, “certainly spare no expense for your guests.”

“So what does the walking talking embarrassment to the Artan family want now? Is this where you’ve come to gloat? If so, don’t bother. I won’t give you the satisfaction of a display,” the elder Artan waved dismissively.

"Actually, I'm here to tell you what's going to happen to you next in the Federation judiciary and penal system," Enalia began, clasping her hands behind her. She was trying to do this as dispassionately and as sterile as possible. As if the prisoner was anyone. It was hard not imagining herself behind that forcefield though.

"The evidence arrayed against you will be presented in a Federation court and if you so request it, you will be granted counsel. If there is sufficient doubt in your case, you will be granted a full trial and be judged by a panel of your peers... If there are any... Once convicted, you will serve your sentence inside of a Federation correctional facility if it is deemed you are able to be rehabilitated. If it is deemed you are not, you will spend the rest of your life in a penal colony."

"For your sake, I hope we neither send you to Facility 4028 nor allow you to be extradited to either the Klingons nor the Romulans." Enalia paused and let the mention of Starfleet's deepest, darkest prison that it sent its worst and most dangerous prisoners to sink in. It was rumored that there was a changeling prisoner there and they were the least of the prisoners stored at that facility.

"Mmmm, I hear there's cold storage on Luna, on the dark side. I've always loved the cold." Drawing in a long inhalation, the captured matron eyed her daughter.

"Brought the whole entourage, I see. Afraid to face me alone, or are they here to make sure you don't drop the forcefield and go for it?" It might have been a taunt, but it was an honest one. If anyone understood Enalia Telvan, it was her mother.

It was only rumored to be on Luna - the actual location was much further away in the Ayala system secreted away in an asteroid field and Enalia suspected that her mother knew this. She decided not to play that little game though, instead rising to the other game she had presented.

"The latter, actually. They're here to provide support, should I become emotionally compromised speaking with you," The spotted Captain took a step closer to the forcefield. "And I have been very... emotionally compromised... A clone as a hostage? I thought you better than that. And where did you get that Mudd? Even I didn't think you would stoop so low as to ally yourself with a Terran scientist."

"An asset is always to be cultivated," Arenara shrugged. "He came to me through... unusual means, and he proved himself to be resourceful inventive, and surprisingly loyal once I found the right motivator. Say what you will- respect may motivate, but fear gets the job done. Why are you here, Enalia?"

Cutting to the heart of the matter, Arenara swiveled in her seat and rose, even in the shapeless paper clothing every inch a queen in attitude and deportment. "My lawyer will explain procedure to me, and you coming down here to blather that garbage at me should be beneath you. They're here to stop you... the throwback and the two guard dogs..."

At that Petty Officer S'Rina moved forward with a growl, to be restrained by her sister with one arm thrown across her chest and a glare that would not be denied. Paris didn't look back, secure that her officers wouldn't rise to such simple bait that wasn't even aimed at them.

"Along with your little friend who came from the same place mine did, which makes you wonder. All this 'restraint' on hand just to read me my rights and follow procedure? You know they covered all of that already, you've read the reports by now. No, you came down here because you had to see me in person. You had to face your own personal demon and look her in the eye."

Stepping up to the forcefield, Arenara Artan stood practically nose to nose with her daughter, like mirror images of one another- same height, same build, similar features and bone structure, even. Tilting her head down to look out from under her brows, the forcefield lending her features an underlit effect, the defeated and captured captain of the HMS Bloody Rose smiled, a rather sickly affair.

"Ask me. Ask me all the questions, all those things you think you know but you're afraid to ask because you know you don't want the answers. Go on. Ask me. I'll answer, here and now, just for you, this time and this time only. I'm your prisoner, Enalia," The way that she said it in such a mocking tone made it seem as though she wasn't taking her impending trial and incarceration seriously at all. "I'm at your mercy. So go ahead. Ask me, if you've got the guts.

Silently Rita Paris reached for the shoulder of the captain, to launch into a speech about never giving a troll the satisfaction, but Enalia waved it off, without ever breaking eye contact with her manipulative mother. The bait had turned her stomach, but instead of rising to meet it this time, she waited a moment, then stepped back from the forcefield and leaned against one of the security consoles. "You're right about one thing. I wanted to see you in here. To see if after all this time you could be reasoned with."

"I guess I hoped that in the end you weren't the sadistic, backstabbing monster I always knew you to be and that somewhere in there was a mother. Someone that I could actually relate to. Instead all I have are the memories of the beatings and the drills. Of constant training from as young as I could remember. Sure I had every luxury... But I paid for them with blood, sweat, and tears." Enalia paused a moment as she struggled to contain the emotions raging within her. "There's a better way, you know."

The spotted captain then straightened back up and adjusted her uniform jacket. "As for questions, I'm sure your interrogator will have plenty for you. I think I have the answers I came for."

That elicited a long peal of mocking laughter as the deposed pirate monarch shook her head in amusement. "Oh, Enalia. I give you one chance to ask me anything, and I'd give you the greatest treasure of all- truth. And you take the opportunity to wallow in mawkish sentiment. I taught you better than that."

"Since we'll be continuing this conversation later, I'll tell you this for free. I'm unconcerned about your little show of force, your little moment here. Because this is just one small move in a very much larger scheme... one of which you are blissfully unaware, and I suspect will remain so until... time... runs out for you." The regal regent strode back to the bench of her cell, and lowered herself back onto it in a ladylike fashion, crossing her legs at the knee and perching her elbow on her knee, to cradle her temple with her fingertips.

"There are forces at work here you cannot comprehend, and stakes so high the universe itself is the prize. We'll meet again, my flawed little experiment. In time, you'll beg to bend the knee to me."

Enalia sighed and rubbed at her temple, straining to fathom the depth of her mother's delusions. "Commander Paris, please make sure there are no further plots..."

That was when the lighting in the room dimmed and all the power in the brig seemed to go out all at once. Not even the backup systems were kicking on, though the pale blue bioluminescent panels were slowly glowing to life as several things happened at once.

"Oops... Was that me?" Mudd hopped out of his cell to be met by Az'Prell, who immediately put him in a restraining hold. "Azzie, darling! You know I love it when you play rough..."

Arenara leapt to her feet and attacked her daughter, a sword seemingly appearing from nowhere.

Enalia first fended her off with a PaDD and a chair before reaching the now unlocked personal effects locker and whipping out her mother's own filigreed longsword and defending herself with it. "Get control of the other prisoners!"

"Always playing with toys that aren't yours," Arenara laughed as she hurled the blade in her hand with surprising accuracy, pinning Rita Paris to the bulkhead, the quivering sword driven through her shoulder.

Even as Paris cried out in pain, the formerly captive pirate queen artfully dodged a few skillful sword swings and thrusts before another blade, a duplicate of the one currently keeping Paris out of the fight, materialized in her hand. Bringing it up, she eyed her daughter across crossed swords.

"Society is a lie the weak convince the strong to go along with so they can survive and thrive. You'd be surprised how easy it is to peel away and make civilized men into savages."

With the power unstable and the forcefields down, the bridge crew of the Bloody Rose were also free, and suddenly they too began materializing blades and weaponry. Which was when the familiar PHOONT PHOONT PHOONT of the TR-116's grenade launchers was heard in tandem. Tear gas that could drop a Mugatu began filling the compartment, as the armed and armored Wil'I'Ams sisters moved in to begin pacifying the bridge crew while their captains fought.

"And that would make you the queen of the savages? You certainly deserve the title." Enalia had practiced long and hard with the sword since she had taken command of the Hera and now she hoped she was at least her mother's equal. If Schwein had trained her hard enough, perhaps she was more... The speed at which she was parrying her mother's attacks seemed almost too easy though.

"All those you call weak deserve to live happy lives as well, but more than that, they provide purpose and meaning to those of us that are strong enough to defend them from those like you. They keep civilizations running so that we have something we're proud to defend." A bit more confident with her mother's sword, she began going on the offensive, attacking using an older Royale style that Schwein had taught her.

As the paper-clad pirate turned a riposte into a disarm, she was surprise by a punch across the jaw, followed by a boot to the stomach, staggering her back. "Oh ho, I see you've been spending time with your naughty little piggy, who seems to have picked up a few tricks of her own. But no matter- this is serving it's purpose." Rising, the previous Pirate queen renewed her slashing assault upon her daughter, even as rubber bullets and phasers quickly took the fight out of the bridge crew, their acrobatics and swordplay no match for a trusty phaser.

"So... you know... there might be a place for you in the new Empire we're to raise. You could have your old job back," Mudd grunted as Az'Prel applied a choke hold to the man reminding her of the time she spent as a concubine. While she had brought it up here, it had just made people uncomfortable, she realized, and no one here saw her that way. But Mudd, here, now- it was too much to be a coincidence. Forces were clearly at work. Which was what Az'Prel was thinking when Mudd's Terran officer's dagger materialized in his hand, and slammed into her thigh, penetrating the femur. As the sword battle raged behind them and the smoke choked and blinded them both, Davos Mudd loomed over Az'Prel.

"You are MINE! You belong to ME!" Mudd shouted between coughing breaths. "You will ALWAYS be-"

His declaration of ownership of the only woman to ever free herself from his control was cut short by a phaser beam on heavy stun, as Rita Paris finished his sentence. "Free. She will... always be… free..."

Gritting her teeth in determination, the fearless first officer struggled to use both hands, slick with her own blood, to turn up the output of her phaser up to full power. Hands shaking, she held it out from her body and twisted her wrist to aim it at the guard of the blade pinning her to the bulkhead. Disintegrating it with a concentrated burst, she began pulling herself away from the wall, centimeter by centimeter, dragging herself forward along the blade in an effort to free herself.

"Ah, it seems we're out of time, my disappointing daughter," Arenara fended off two more blows before a particularly angry roar erupted out of Enalia Telvan, and her blow shattered the pirate queen's blade, driving her mother to the deck. Looking up, there was a maniacal gleam in Arenara's eye.

"Do it... go on, girl, if you have the stomach for it. Go ahead and do your old mother in, carve out my black heart, cut off my head and mount it in the prow of your starship. Show me your mettle, Princess Pansy."

In the soul of Enalia Telvan, a conflict waged, one far more brutal and furious than the deadly duel she had just engaged in with her mother. The years of insults, of backhanded put-downs, the endless expressions of disappointment. The death of her father, for which her mother had consistently laid the blame for at her feet, along with the death of her sister. Which now, she realized, might even have been her mother’s merciless machinations, which she had used for years to manipulate Enalia. The beatings. The punishments. The betrayals. The double-dealing. The sheer lack of compassion for any sort of life forms whatsoever. The casual cruelty that all added up to one sum in her heart and soul.

No matter the cost, the universe would be much better off without Arenara Artan in it.

As the disguise of fair nature slipped away, to be replaced by hard-favored rage, Enalia’s grip on the intricately inlaid and ostentatiously beautiful blade that belonged to her mother tightened, until the tip of the sword itself was vibrating, and slowly she raised the blade. In her mind she knew that she should say something, some final farewell to the black-hearted pirate who had robbed her of happiness for most of her life.

“I wish I could come up with a reason to let you live… but I just can’t. Goodbye, Mother…” Enalia said through gritted teeth, her lower lip quivering as she raised up for the final strike. Arenara, still sprawled on the deck, seemed excited to the point of being positively delighted by the turn of events. Either she was completely mad, or this was, in some bizarre manner, part of her plan. Perhaps her last revenge on the only woman to ever defeat her.

“Captain Telvan, commander of the USS Hera!” rang out a voice of confidence and surety, a voice that could marshal morale and change the course of a battle. It was a voice of command which had been handed down from generation to generation, until it had come to the latest in its line- one Rita Paris.

“You’re better than this,” Paris declared, her right arm hanging limply at her side. A steady stream of blood dripped from her hand from the wound in her shoulder, which she had aggravated by dragging herself off the blade that had pinned her. Her right sleeve was rapidly turning from gold to crimson. But this was why she was here- this was one of those moments the universe had seemingly randomly deposited her here, decades beyond her own lifespan and a universe away from her origins. The Lost Navigator, the wild card, the unpredictable Starfleet siren who served as commander, counselor and conscience to the embattled captain whose soul was balanced on the razor’s edge.

“Please… Enalia… don’t. She’s not worth it,” Paris pleaded, barely able to stand yet persevering because never was her old-school optimism and unswerving moral compass needed more than right here, right now.

As the spotted Trill captain’s hand quivered, a lifetime of righteous rage battling the literal voice of her conscience, she became oddly calm, and realized this was what her mother wanted. For Enalia to murder Arenara Artan in Starfleet custody, to wound her daughter one last time- by goading her to commit matricide.

That quirky pirate’s grin settled onto the face of the spotted captain, as she lowered the intricate runeblade her mother had commissioned to proclaim her wealth and position. The gaze of the Starfleet captain never strayed from her mother’s eyes which were now filled with maddened cold fury.

“No… she most certainly is not worth it,” Enalia sighed as she felt the rage and tension leave her, a peaceful calm taking its place. Half-turning to regard Paris, she smiled at her faithful first officer, who was perhaps the greatest risk she had ever taken, who had changed her life for the better.

Which was when Arenara Artan scrambled from the deck with a sneer and a snarl, hurtling herself toward the outstretched blade. Without thinking, Paris reacted, raising her phaser and firing. In the heat of the moment, there was no time to consider, no chance to reason with a madwoman, no time to change course.

No time to change the setting on the antiquated-appearing phaser in her hand.

Throughout all of this, everything was going according to plan. Enalia had genuinely surprised her with her assault on the bridge of the Bloody Rose. This fight, the implanted extradimensional access devices to store her swords and Mudd's disruption device, all coming together. It would be perfect- this body would die, and the circuitry would swap their personalities, their essences, their souls- however one referred to the brain engrams of a sentient being.

Poor weak Enalia would murder her, then Arenara would be the one holding the blade, in her daughter's body. Watching the light go out in the eyes of her aging body, taking her own brand of vengeance upon her wicked, willful daughter. Of course, the righteous Captain Telvan would be exonerated. Whereupon Arenara would walk away scot free, with the starship of secrets, while once the queen of the Artan fleet. She'd had a speech prepared about how she would bring about change and trust and a return to the old traditions. It would have been moving.

All of Arenara's plans and plots were in place, and in time she was going to be the bloody empress of a star empire of brutal thugs.

The only thing she had to do was goad her daughter into killing her. Hell, throw herself on the blade while it was in Enalia's hand would do.

Which she would have accomplished, if it hadn't been for that meddling Rita Paris.

In a flash, Arenara Artan was lit up by the blue beam of the anachronistic phaser, which caused her entire form to glow a bright blue-white. The expression on her face was one of shock and surprise- while she had seemed to be desperate to hurl her body to impale herself on her own blade in the hand of her daughter, she was not expecting the upright and moral Rita Paris to fire upon her with a phaser. She particularly did not expect the officer who consistently espoused a kinder, gentler approach and rehabilitation of even those who seemed irredeemable to disintegrate her.

If she had any last words, they were lost as her silhouette flared bright blue-white, then vanished.

“I… I still had it set… on kill…” Paris slumped to the deck, the phaser clattering to the deck from her numb fingers. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I killed her.”

As the glow faded from her vision, Enalia dropped to her knees. She hadn't killed her mother, but she was dead nonetheless. Her now numb fingers let go of her mother's sword, allowing it to clang against the floor. "Somehow... I always knew it would come to this... But... I thought I would be the one..."

In her dream, she had done something terrible. Something that she couldn’t take back, though she so desperately wanted to. There was a flash of light, and in her stomach the pit of fear and regret yawned like a chasm, making her feel awful, desperate to deny it. She felt the calm, soothing touch of Sonak in her mind, but it was fleeting, in passing. Voices provided a background chorus upon which she could not focus, while pain and discomfort came and went.

The nightmare wouldn’t stop though, until it clarified in her mind. The Captain was in danger, and Rita Paris had to act. But she had been too slow, her mind not sharp, her senses unfocused, and she had made a terrible mistake. Something… someone important, someone who had to be preserved, who she could not let the Captain throw her life away over. Kodria… Kodria had warned her.

"Well..." Kodria got a bit evasive at this point, averting her eyes and shuffling her feet a bit. "If you promise not to tell and to not act on it..."

Stepping closer to Rita, she tugged on the taller woman's arm so she could whisper into her ear. "I was told that after some sort of tribulation or tribunal thing, she really wasn't the same person in private... She did find happiness in her daughter though. My mother..."

Stepping back, Kodria clasped her hands behind her back and stared down at her feet. "That's why I'm scared. I don't know who I'll meet and I've never met her before. I've never even met Telvan before..."

"Well... There are a lot of things... Most of them I shouldn't say because of the future..." Kodria stared down at her hands for a moment before looking up at the captain. "But I will say this." Switching to the Trill language, she continued. "We shine brightest during our darkest hour."

"She kills her mother in the tribunal, doesn't she? She kills her and murders some part of her soul in the process, and she becomes what she's always been afraid of all these years, doesn't she?"

Still crying, Kodria could only nod in affirmation before reaching out for a PaDD. Tapping into it with her palm receptors, she downloaded an image into it of a much older Enalia Telvan in civilian garb standing with Maica looking as young as she was now. Between them was a teen girl that looked like a cross between them.

While Maica's smile looked as bright as the sun, Enalia's looked forced, as if she hadn't smiled in decades. Underneath the picture was an obituary article for Enalia Artan/Telvan dated about thirty years from now.

So which matters more to you, Rita? The here and now and the immediate future, or the kid from 96 years from now who's so fraught about this she knows she's endangering her own existence. And she still feels so strongly about it she's doing it anyway? If you think you had a hand in raising her someday, then she knows exactly what she's doing here. The question is, do you respect her enough to trust her, or are you just a rulebook in a miniskirt?

"I'll bet I lectured you about this too, didn't I? How you can't change the past just because you want to save someone you love from being hurt, didn't I?" At the nod from the weeping young woman, Paris nodded. "Guess I also taught you to do what was right, and to trust your heart, huh?"

"I'll... I'll do what I can to save your grandmother, Kodria. I'm convinced the universe dumped me here for a reason, in this time, on this starship. I know that, and I know that she needs me, for a lot of reasons. But not the least of which is to reminder her that she's Starfleet, not a pirate... no matter what your great-grandmother may try to drive her to do."

"I can't promise you that I'll save her from herself- but I can promise you I will do everything in my power to not let that light go out in her eyes." Looking up at the young android Paris managed a rueful smile. "We do what we can with what we have where we are, eh?"

The shocked expression on the face of Arenara Artan turned blue-white, then she simply was no more, transformed to energy by a full strength phaser beam.

"NOOOOOOO!" Rita Paris sat bolt upright in the bed in Sickbay, thrown awake by the nightmares her subconscious had been conjuring. Panting, she looked around wildly, slowly orienting to where she was, blinking blearily.

Startled awake from the chair next to Rita's biobed, Enalia jerked her head up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. "You're finally awake! Oh thank goodness, you're finally awake." Not giving the buxom first officer a chance to get any further, she threw her arms around her in a bear hug, grateful that Rita was once more among the living.

"Oh. Ahhh! I'm... oh, gosh, hi Captain. You okay?" Paris stroked the Trill ship's commander hair, making shooshing sounds.

Gotta act fast, in no shape to tussle, have phaser in off hand and fire oh wait what was O GOD THE SETTING

There was a twitch that ran through her body, then Rita froze up a bit as she remembered what had happened. Panic bubbled toward the surface, but the fearless first officer pushed it back down. There was a clear path from here, but she didn't have to be in a hurry to get there. For now, she was needed.

"I'm, um... I'm sorry that I... ah, shot your mom," Rita managed to get out before she burst into tears. "I didn't expect her to try suicide, and I wanted to stun her or wing her but my hands were so slippery and the blood loss was making me woozy. I should have stayed pinned to the wall but... but you were in the way. She always kept you between me and her, so I had to move so I shot off the end of the sword and got off it and I thought we'd won."

The rambling recap paused as Rita pulled back to look Enalia in the eye. "You did it. You showed her mercy, and the mercy of the law. You refused to strike in anger no matter how much she taunted you. You beat her, Captain." Paris broke out in a dopey middle of a cry close-mouthed smiles. "You beat her, fair and square, once and for all. I'm so proud of you, ma'am."

Enalia was crying now too, brushing her hands through Rita's hair and pressing their foreheads together. "Listen. It's ok. You saved me. There was some sort of device in her sword. If I had stabbed her, it would have swapped our minds. You saved me, ok? You did the right thing. Everything is ok now."

Watching with tearful eyes from the corner was the young Romulan Lieutenant, Mnhei'sahe Dox. Rita Paris was the sister of her heart and there was no way she would have left that room until Rita was okay. So she had been shocked awake from her uncomfortable chair in the corner the same the captain and watched her two friends embrace, smiling slightly that Rita was alright.

The buxom bombardier sat up a bit straighter in the bed and side-eyed the captain. "Wait she..." Big blue eyes popping open, Rita wagged her finger in front of her. "She was trying to get you to kill her so that she'd have your body and you'd be dead OH! OHHHHH!"

"That evil... I mean, that's monstrous... I guess poetic justice in a way, if by killing her you literally destroy yourself and hand your entire life over to her OH!" Rita's eyes got a little bigger and she glanced around nervously. "You wouldn't kill her- that's why she dove for the sword? That evil, horrible woman. It doesn't excuse what I did, but I will say I don't regret stopping her. Not one bit. OH!"

Blinking rapidly, Rita paused to rub her eyes. "All of this realization is drying out my eyes. Kodria... she said after the Tribunal, Enalia was never the same in private. OHHHHHH. Aw..." With that, Paris pulled her friend and captain close and enveloped her in a grateful hug, glad she'd escaped a fate worse than death. "Ohhhh, the symbiote... you'd still be in there with her OHHH that dastardly nefarious woman!"

"Exactly," Enalia nodded, continuing the hug. "I'm still myself thanks to you and Kodria. The future has changed of course, so we'll have to make sure Kodria is born ok, but I for one couldn't be more grateful. I owe you my life."

"That... doesn't change the fact that I was negligent. That was manslaughter, Captain," Rita admitted, the truth of the situation needing to be addressed. "Accidental it might be argued, but still a crime. I'll have to stand trial, even if it did save your life. I could have stunned her, and your mother would be alive today. It... it happened so fast..."

"Exactly. It happened so fast," The Trill captain kissed Rita's forehead and pushed her back onto the biobed so she could rest. "It happened too fast and you had to react and no one else did and you did what was in the best interests of preserving the life of your captain. Therefore there's no case. I'll forward a report to the Commodore with my recommendation, but I doubt she'll see it any differently. If anything, she'll want me to prove that I'm really me."

Brows furrowing and a frown settling onto the face of the anachronistic astronaut, she eyed the captain. There was the possibility to fight her on this, and that would be an appeal to the admiralty which, Rita had noticed, was results oriented. Given the situation and the circumstances, she might even be acquitted in a court-martial. All of which was moot, because Captain Telvan was determined not to press charges. Trying to insist that she do so would be an insult to her command.

Thus there were only two dilemmas.

"You honestly aren't at all angry that I discorporated your mother's material form into energy?" Rita asked honestly, asking what she really wanted to know. "This is going to look bad to your pirates, isn't it? Me killing her while she was in Starfleet custody? Admittedly during a jailbreak, but still, it really does make us look bad, doesn't it?"

Enalia sighed heavily and sat back down, taking a moment to address the questions. "As a prisoner, she challenged me directly... And lost. I spared her but she insisted upon further hostilities. Under Artan Law you are completely within your right to have executed her as a nuisance or to preserve my life."

"As for my mother being... Discorporated..." The spotted woman paused a moment, the scene playing out in her mind again, the look on her mother's face burned into her memory. "I think I'm still in shock about that, but I'd rather have you hale and hearty."

"For what it's worth, Enalia... I did mean to just stun her. I will never apologize for protecting you, and now that I know what she had in store for you, I definitely don't regret stopping her. I just... I should have found a better way. So if you forgive me, and the Artan Fleet and Starfleet both clear me... then it's just my own guilt I will have to deal with. But you," Rita reached up and brushed the dark locks back to stroke the Trill captain's cheek. "You were better than her."

"You beat her, on every level, and I think there at the end she might have realized that. Whether she did or not isn't that important though, because you... YOU were better than her, in every way. I think only the Baroness might be as qualified to say this, but I have never been prouder to serve under you as I am today," Rita explained softly, being sure to emphasize the important part here... that Enalia had won a victory- not of violent force, but a moral victory on every level.

"As my captain and as my friend, I am incredibly proud of you and your actions. You were genuinely great out there today and, well, for what it is worth... you upheld those old-school Starfleet principles that I do go on and on about. And you made all of those forebearers, all those noble starship captains throughout history proud out there today. You did great." Rita couldn't help but smile. The distant and aloof woman she had met when she had come aboard, who kept to herself if not oversharing, who stayed distant from her crew, who seemingly couldn't decide if she was a pirate or a Starfleet captain, was not the woman who hugged her so fiercely here in a biobed in Sickbay.

Today there was no doubt- she WAS a Starfleet captain, and one of the greats. She would live, she would bear children in her own time, and she would someday have a delightful granddaughter, whom she might just meet someday. While her guilt over the accidental death she had caused would stay with her, Rita Paris knew the living needed her here and now, and she could flog herself over her carelessness on her own time. Which was when she noticed Dox sitting quietly in the chair in the corner.

"Why Miss Dox, you fly on the wall. You've been sitting there since they brought me in, haven't you? Come here and get a hug, Lieutenant. I'll live, and I am okay. So come here and let that stoic dam of yours burst for a bit, eh?" Rita waved over the redheaded Romulan who had become family as well in this strange and wonderful universe in which she had found herself thrust, where it seemed the universe wanted her to remain.

With a smile, and eyes clearly puffy from fighting back tears, Dox gladly stepped over for a hug, trying not to rush. With Rita in her arms, she chuckled as she replied to her Commander's somewhat rhetorical question, "Yeah. Thankfully, the Captain didn't order me to leave, or I'd be facing disciplinary actions over refusing to obey."

Unlike Dox, Thex had been forced to leave sickbay. First having to oversee the repairs of the ship, then arranging safe storage of the sword and a few other nasty items that the pirates had made, and now her condition was starting to affect her. Having just nipped out to visit the faculties a smile was spread over the Andorian engineer's face as she stepped back into the small room.

"Rita!” Was all she managed to say before she ran over and hugged her friend.

"Oh, Hey Thex! Hey, it's okay, I'm okay, just a little puncture would and a lot of blood on the deck... I'm okay, I'm okay," Rita reassured, hugging the family that had come into being on the Hera. "If someone could please inform my sensible husband, who has likely stayed out of the way of the Sickbay professionals until I awoke in my own time, that his emotional bride is once again awake and asking for him, I would be very appreciative."

Meanwhile, she hugged Dox and Thex as she held Enalia's hand. "I'm okay... WE'RE okay, all of us. You were all amazing today... er, yesterday, I guess. I am so proud of each and every one of you... that was one for the history books, all right."

As the EMH looked over the biobed's readouts and tapped at his PaDD, he called out. "Computer, please inform Lieutenant Sonak that his wife is now awake and pining for his touch." The computer's chirrup was almost a giggle at the holographic life form's little joke. "Oh, Commander... Captain... While you're both here and awake... I was wondering if you could approve my name request. I've finally had one come to me.

Pulling a small PaDD out of his lab coat pocket, the EMH handed it off to Commander Paris, the Sentient Commission Naming Convention form filled out on the front. In the request box was the name Doctor Adam Power.

Glancing to Enalia for the silent nod of approval, Paris thumbed the order, signing her name with her finger in that careful, precise script she had practiced for so many years yet seldom used. "Doctor Power, it would be an honor and a privilege. Welcome to the Named, my friend."

Once Rita finished, Enalia added her signature as well, sealing the request. "Congratulations, Doctor Adam Power."

Thex gave a polite smile to the new named doctor. "I'll have your files transferred to a private server, Doctor Power." She said with a serene smile, cradling her baby bump.

Standing by the side of Rita's bed between her Commander and Captain, Dox couldn't help but be happy for the EMH. Like most of the members of the crew, he had saved her life a good couple of times now and as someone who not too long ago chose to her own name to Mnhei'sahe, she appreciated the importance of that moment for the Doctor and was extremely happy for him.

The door to sickbay wooshed open to admit Sonak. As he entered he moved to the bedside of his wife, but not without first discharging his duty to his commanding officer.

''Ship still at station keeping, Captain. Lieutenant Clemens is assuming bridge officer duty.''

The Vulcan then turned to his wife.

''It is agreeable to see you in good health and spirits, Commander. I have been told a full recovery is assured. This is good news.''

From the Kolinahr master, this simple assertion sounded like someone else's crying with relief. But if he could not feel any emotion, he could still understand the emotional needs of others, thanks to his wife. And of all people, the needs of his wife most of all. but until they were back in their quarters and off duty, this was the most he would allow to show. A mindmeld with his mate would be more appropriate later.

Holding out her free hand, the human girl who had found the perfect man amongst the stars reached for the center of her universe. So long as she could orient herself to him, she could wander far, Boyer would always find her way back. To Rita Paris, Sonak was the fixed point of her universe. The steady constant of pure logic and curiosity all wrapped in a capable and irresistibly handsome Vulcan.

Rubbing her thumb across his knuckles, she moved his hand to place his palm against her cheek. I felt you when you checked on me... thank you. And thank you for staying on duty to relieve the others. You are as considerate as you are thoughtful, he who is my husband.

I am your husband and I am a Starfleet officer, came the returning thought of the Vulcan. There would be no logic in accepting both responsibilities when unable to properly assume them equally.

He extended his two longest fingers in response to her gesture. Although a most intimate gesture between mates on Vulcan, there was no need to show restraint in the presence of Captain Telvan, Chief Engineer sh'Zoarhi, and Lieutenant Dox. After all they had shared together between life and death, duty and friendship, they were nothing less than family.

Thus within his mind, her heard her request, and expanded his telepathic contact to include them all. A lesser skilled Vulcan likely could not have accomplished such a feat- but this was Sonak of Vulcan, whose gits had once been much greater, though the years of skilled dedication remained. Thus, at his wife's behest, all could feel one another within the link, and all felt awash if the deep and abiding love they felt for one another. Together they shared that moment, each kno9wing and feeling what the others thought and felt, elevating communication to far more than mere expressed words and gestures.

Which was when Rita Paris spoke aloud, to bring them back to the issues at hand.

"So I guess we should talk about that baby on board, hm...?

Standing at the window of the newborn nursery, looking in at a small spotted baby with an unruly mop of dark hair, most of the command staff of the USS Hera stood, contemplating the fate of the innocent who had been thrust into conflict and used as a pawn, a bargaining chip. Now that the criminals had been captured and those who had created her solely to be a hostage were no longer in command of her destiny, a different question posed itself.

"So do we know if she really is a clone of you, Captain?" Rita Paris asked, still clad in the simple Sickbay pajamas that Doctor Dael had insisted upon. After all, they weren't that happy about the recovering Commander being up and about on the Hera in the first place, and they knew that if given her uniform and her freedom the ship's first officer would simply return to work. Thus Asa was holding Paris' anachronistic uniform hostage to ensure that the wounded warrior woman would return to her sickbed when this particular challenge was confronted.

The spotted Captain Enalia Telvan pressed her forehead to the window, and was lost in thought for a moment before replying. "No. She's a flawed clone of my mother. Asa says she has about a month to live at best." The soft sorrow in the Trill woman's voice was almost palpable, but she didn't let herself cry in front of the others. "I haven't told Maica yet. With how hard we've been trying to have a child between us..."

She then let out a shuddering sigh as she stared at the black haired baby in quarantine. "Asa and the EMH... Doctor Power... They're looking into a few things. They're even going so far as to ask Hera's advice, I think."

"Asa will figure it out, Captain." Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox spoke softly, her hand on the glass as she couldn't take her eyes off of the baby. "They put my own DNA back together. If anyone in the universe can find a solution, they can. I know it."

"The greater question here is not if we can save her, I think," Rita opined, draping her arm across the Captain's shoulders to offer emotional support while it, in turn, helped Rita herself remain upright. "The real question in my mind is what next? Assuming we can save her, what happens to her then? It wasn't her fault how she was created, or with whom she shares genetics. In all of this, she's an innocent."

"She is innocent..." Enalia began, her face taking on a more determined look. "And she's family. Clone or not, she's still part of my family and that's all there is to it. However long she lives, she'll be my daughter from this day forward. My mother gave her a name, but I don't think it was very fitting. I think... If she can survive... Schwein once told me about her training buddy at the colony she grew up on with a name I think is fitting. It meant shared fate."

"Well, if she's a Telvan, then she's guaranteed to make it," Rita said softly, squeezing the captain's shoulder a bit. "I've never met a more determined bunch in my life. So what will you name her, Enalia?"

"Moira Artan," Enalia declared, standing up straight, determined to see this through.

Which was when a strange meowing chirrup came from one of the sickbay consoles. On it was a waiting message addressed to both Rita and Mnhei'sahe.

The EMH, Doctor Adam Power was the first to it. "It seems there's a message waiting for both Commander Paris and Lieutenant Dox on this console from... The computer?" Shaking his head, he moved off to continue studying the scans of the baby.

Cricking an eyebrow for an instant, Dox looked over to Rita as her eyes went slightly wide with the possibility of what this could be.

"Hmmm... I had thought that the further we went in changing the timeline, the fewer of these that Kodria recordings would pop up," Rita opined. "But changing the future doesn't change the past, so regardless of what we change moving into Kodria's possible future, I suppose her messages will still pop up from time to time. So, possible spoilers ahead for those of you who concern yourself with such things, and you may leave the room if you wish to not be potentially burdened with foreknowledge. Otherwise, Doctor, if you please?"

Doctor Power tapped the message and playback began. As they thought, it was Kodria in one of the Hera's guest rooms just like the others. As soon as it started, she smiled that innocent, child-like smile of hers and waved at the camera. "Hey! This message, if it's triggered, means that you changed your future and my past. It also means that of the one hundred eighty messages I recorded, you've likely skipped around half a dozen of them and at least three dozen more won't be delivered."

Taking a deep breath, the young android continued. "That being said, congratulations on fully winning the Tribunal. If this triggers properly, you should have a baby clone of great-grandma Arenara aboard with about four weeks left to live, and Enalia has just declared her new name. One of the stories about my mother that always bothered me was that Enalia just knew exactly where to find the right donor for the right DNA after the Tribunal, and it just made no sense to me. I'm going to entrust that story with you and let you sort it out, in case something changed, and that information is needed to make sure I'm born."

Looking down at her hands for a moment, Kodria collected her thoughts before continuing. "About a week after her mother's death, Enalia sent out a team to The Drelax Club on Inris four. There's an Orion woman working there that's supposedly the model for Maica. Supposedly they talked her into making a donation of blood, but I never could confirm that. What I do know is that my mother has both Trill and Orion DNA."

"This probably breaks several articles of the Temporal Prime Directive, but... Well, if I wake up and still exist, they can charge me for breaking it." Kodria smiled that innocent smile of hers again before reaching out and ending the message.

"So the messages are keyed to specific events in the timeline," Dox all but muttered to herself, thinking aloud as she processed everything that was said. It was a message for the Captain, but addressed to herself and Rita. And as the red-headed Romulan was learning, that was usually for a reason. Whatever the outcome, Rita and herself would likely be required to execute it. "In preparation for the tribunal, I studied the region extensively. Inris Four... That's under Syndicate control. We aren't exactly welcome there as Starfleet OR Artans."

"Then I guess we'll have to go as private citizens," Rita declared. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been suspicious, but Kodria genuinely had the Captain's well being first and foremost in her mind. As evidenced by how she had prepared these illegal little time capsules like breadcrumbs, telling them only vagaries and key points. As she was trying to improve the lot of those she cared about rather than profiting herself, the young android's altruism was easy to believe. In short, Rita trusted the kid from the future who was going to be sleeping it off for the better part of the next century. So when she named who would be able to supply the other half of her creator's DNA, Paris believed her.

Not that she herself was in any shape to go on a covert mission to Syndicate space, after having been stabbed and nearly bleeding out after. She'd have to wait until at least tomorrow. Which recalling that she'd accidentally murdered the queen regent of the Artan fleet immediately gave her pangs of guilt. Which she determined she would help assuage by saving this innocent, who had been created almost as an afterthought by the monster Rita had disintegrated. It made her feel no better about what she'd done, but it might at least help balance the scales a bit.

"My mother would have sent people that would be expected," Enalia began, her brows furrowed. She'd been searching for the woman mentioned for years and neither she nor Maica could find her. Now she knew why. "We won't be able to send anyone from the command staff, will we? Plus we'll need to know a few bits of information that my mother knew. Do you think we might be able to get it out of Mudd?"

"I guarantee it, ma'am. You just tell me what you want to know from him. And I believe I know a few private citizens who might be willing to volunteer," Paris offered with resolve. "Well get this done. No innocent should ever have to suffer if it's preventable."

"I agree... least of all this one. She hasn't had a chance to even figure out who she is yet, and I'd like to see her given that chance." Enalia nodded and turned to look at the assembled crew before her, hands on her hips and a determined look in her eye. "Okay then. We have the start of a plan, and we know where to look. Now we just have to make things happen."

Sonak was listening and thinking in utter silence, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. It was at this moment that he finally spoke.

''For all intent and purposes, DNA is like a language; a sequence of components with a defined order to produce a defined result and transmit that sequence in a definite manner. Here it is proteins that are used as building blocks to whatever organism is concerned. And it so happens that the entire genome sequence of all known sentient corporeal entities in the Federation is on record, as well as that of many individuals; most notably, unusual hybrids and anyone who ever used a transporter at least once.''

He looked at his commanding officer.

''If we use the transporter biometric analyzer to record the child's specific genetic makeup and then of the most compatible genetic donor, we could use the ship's computer to map out a corrected genome. We then could use this as a blueprint to eliminate the genetic defects and ensure the child's viability for the long term.''

"Excellent idea, Mr. Sonak. While you work on that, I'll contact the away team and brief them, see what resources they might need and get them on standby to get underway, just to cover all of the bases," Rita confirmed, turning to look at the newborn struggling for life on the other side of the window. "Time isn't on our side for little Moira, so we'll need to give her every chance we can."

At that, Rita leaned on Sonak's steady broad shoulder, her injuries and limited energy catching up with her. "Or maybe you should brief them, Captain..."

As Rita spoke, Dox listened and realized that one of the civilians that she was talking about was very likely her mother, who was now working as a free intelligence operative for the Hera. And as she thought of that, her thoughts went to another of Kodria's messages. A message that hinted that she might have only a short time left with her mother.

"Uh... Commander. Captain. I know this might not be the best time, but... Uh... before you ask them to go, there was something I wanted to ask."

Enalia sensed it was something important so adopted a more concerned look, hoping it wasn't something bad. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, not something bad, per say." Dox replied anxiously, "It's just... I didn't want to rush this but I'd like to do this before... well, assuming my Mother is going to be asked to go on this mission... I'd like her to be here for..."

The nervous lieutenant had hoped to wait until a better time to ask her Captain, but she dreaded the idea of the idea that her mother might not be there. "I... Mona and I... we wanted to hold our bonding ceremony while we were here. We've been talking about it for a while, and... well... before she leaves... I would like my mother to be there."

"And I know it's asking a lot, all things considered..." Dox straightened herself up to attention, "...but there's nobody else I would want to perform the ceremony."

"I would be honored to perform the ceremony," Enalia grinned from ear to ear. She was overjoyed at the extra good news. She'd heard rumors that they were planning something, but didn't know if anything had been set in stone yet. "Do you have plans already laid out or... Do you need a party planner?"

As the captain offered the services of her wife as a party planner, it was understood that would make Maica happy to be able to throw another wedding, this time a lavish one. When Rita had wed Sonak she had robbed the Captain's holographic bride of her grandiose plans with her desire for a simple chapel wedding. While she was sad to have hurt the woman's feelings, Rita and Sonak had exchanged their vows in their own way, in their own little chapel. This time Maica would be allowed to indulge her creativity, which would certainly perk her up.

As for Lieutenant Dox's anxiety, the first officer understood. Kodria had perhaps forecast, as had Death, that her time with her mother could be limited. Now every mission she undertook might be her last, which was something that would have to be addressed- assuming said predictions did not come true. But for now, she wanted her wedding to be held in short order, before sending the Romulan and Vulcan agents back into the field.

It was a selfish request, and Dox knew it, which was why she was so hesitant to ask. But were they to send Jaieh off, never to return, and she were to miss the wedding... it would cast a pall across their entire marriage. Sonak had a plan that might circumvent the necessity for the manhunt for the Orion woman, so that possibility was quite distinct. And little Moira Artan was an innocent in all of this, but she had the best care Starfleet could muster, and she would have every chance to stay the hand of Death.

"Can we do it in a week?" Rita asked. "If the infiltration team are to have enough time to go, find the sample and return in time, little Moira's on a bit of a time clock. But your point is well made, and frankly, Lieutenant, you've never asked for anything for yourself in your entire service on this vessel. I'm inclined to grant it, if we can work quickly. Captain?"

Enalia thought it over a moment and nodded. "I think we can have it done that quickly. We have the resources of a fortress and the ship, after all. Then we can send the away team out after that in our fastest runabout. If that's ok with you and Mona?"

Dox nodded. "Absolutely, Captain. Mona has everything planned and we can get it done in no time. And In the meantime, I'll make sure every Runabout we have is prepped and ready."

"Civilian craft, not a runabout," Paris corrected, then wobbled a bit on her feet. Grasping Sonak's shoulder with a bit more urgency, locking her hands together as his hand slid about her waist to keep the injured officer on her feet. "Okay, that's the sign for me to get back to Sickbay before Doc Dael chews me out. Wedding bells ahoy..."

"Right, you need to get some rest." Enalia waited for Sonak to carry his wife off before turning back to Dox. "And she's right - the away team will have to take a civilian craft. We have a large number of them to choose from, but they're all registered to the family. The only one we have to choose is the Kalia... Something... Please tell me you've put it back together?"

"The Khallianen. Yes. Well, Commander Paris had it reassembled just prior to the tribunal just in case she'd be needed. But she's fully operational, Captain." Dox replied.

"Excellent. Guess who just volunteered to be the point of contact for the mission?" The spotted woman grinned like a cat that just ate a canary.

"Aye, Captain." The perpetually anxious Lieutenant replied, snapping slightly to attention as she did, beginning to grasp the gravity of Captain Telvan's words. "I'll make sure they're ready."

"They'll have to be," she said, her gaze straying back to the innocent caught up in this interstellar game of thrones. A game that Enalia Telvan had been literally born and created for- a game of lies, betrayal, and murder that was meant to end only one way. But thanks to the unlikely family aboard the impossible starship that the Trill Captain called her home, she had found a way to change that game.

The delta of Starfleet led her like a compass to a new destination, and a new hope. Enalia Telvan and her new family had found that new horizon, and she was now free to take both of her families, Starfleet and the Artans, into an unknown future as she locked eyes with the innocent baby that represented that future.

"We'll all have to be ready... for her sake."

With the stress of the Tribunal, Enalia hadn't had much time to see her wife, let alone attend her regular duties, but this was one she couldn't put off any longer now that the Tribunal was all but over. As senior staff, Lt JG Rena Pacci deserved a sit down with her new Captain and thus Enalia had asked Yeoman Dedjoy to schedule the appropriate meeting. So there she was, looking over the new Operations Chief's records. They were sparse, but considering the choices across Starfleet these days... No one really seemed to want to take the operations track so finding a solid, experienced officer that wasn't already assigned to the fleet's flagship was impossible. On the other hand, she may have found a rough diamond. With a little polishing...

Rena was finishing sending out the parts that Thex needed when she got a nudge from her sisters mind. Even with Betazed being light years away the twins had an incredibly strong bond that linked them across the cosmos.

Sister I need to speak with you.

I'm a little busy Tianna. I am just getting used to everything on this ship. I have a lot to catch up on. No one would have known the slendered woman was having a full conversation, including Yeoman Dedjoy who watched the curly haired Betazoid for a moment before tapping her on the shoulder.

"Lt.jg Pacci you are requested in the Captain's ready room."

"Ok thanks..How come you didn't just use the comm?" Rena asked as she signed off on the last of the parts for Thex.

"You didn't answer ma'am. You might want to get your comm badge looked at. She is waiting so we should get going."

"Ok, lead the way" She gestured and followed the Yeoman. Tianna I can't leave. You know the commitment I have made to Starfleet. I'm not done my work here.

You're never going to fill that hole Rena. Running away from home isn't going to solve the issue. You need to face her

I'm done talking about this. Rena could feel her face feeling hot and pushed down the demons that liked to sneak out when her sister brought up the sore subject. She was good at hiding it, the yeoman didn't seem to notice or maybe she didn't care as she did her job and delivered the new Ops officer to the Captain's ready room.

Rena pushed the chime and waited.

"Come in," Enalia called, looking up from the PaDD she was looking over with a tight smile. She'd had a few bad experiences with telepaths in the past, but nothing in her records showed any hint of issues. Plus, Rena had made it past her first officer, so she trusted Commander Paris' intuition on this one. "Please, have a seat. May I offer you something to drink? I have some chamomile tea my wife bottled this morning, if you'd like one."

The Betazoid walked in and stood at attention at the front of the Captain's desk before she took a seat as requested by the senior officer. She could sense the other woman's cautiousness because of her telepathy. The First Officer had gave off the same impression. They must really had a bad go with whatever telepath was last here She thought and offered a smile to the Captain.

"Thank you ma'am, tea would be lovely."

The spotted Captain reached into the small cooler built into her desk and pulled out a thermos of tea and two of her nicer tea cups with saucers and poured each of them a cup before resealing the thermos. "I hope you like it. My wife adds just a touch of honey. She also tells me I drink too much tea, but I can think of worse vices to have."

Chuckling softly, she set one of the tea cups in front of Rena. "So how are you settling in so far?"

Taking the teacup and saucer carefully she thanked the Captain with a nod and took a small sip before she answered the question. The tea was different than what she was used to but it was sweet and not bitter like other teas she had accepted from other Captains in the past.

"I'm settling in good. I met a few of the crew already. You have a good crew Captain... I can tell they care a lot for one another. It's refreshing." The Betazoid replied and took another small sip of tea.

"We've faced a lot of life or death situations together. I've found that the harder the times, the tighter knit the crew is. If you live through one mission with us, you'll be a part of that family too." The spotted woman then realized what she had said just as she was taking a sip of her tea and tried to course correct.

"I mean... I didn't mean... I do my best to make sure no one dies, but we just lost Ensign Paulson to an assassin droid and before that there were so many others... I'm sorry, we've lost a lot of crew, even for one as big as ours." Enalia smiled sheepishly, knowing that likely all of her feelings on the matter were being felt by her new Ops Chief even with all her years of training not to give anything away.

"What I mean to say is... Welcome to the family."

Rena chuckled, " it's ok I know what you mean...and thank you." she smiled warmly. " Your wife makes good tea. Is she a member of the crew too?" the Betazoid asked casually steering the topic away from death and the lost crew. She could feel it was hard on the Captain. In fact she could feel it from a lot of the crew. She was going to have to tread lightly and be mindful that she only speak of things spoken out loud and not in thought.

Thankful for the redirection of topic, Enalia latched onto the new subject, her heart swelling with pride and love at the thought of her wife. "Yeah, she's the ship's maneusse. She also comes from a family of information and rare item brokers so she maintains the more exotic food stocks on the ship as well. If you have an interest in cooking, let her know and she can get you just about any ingredient you can imagine."

"That's good to know. I like to make some home dishes that the replicator just can't quite make properly. Nothing beats real ingredients." Rena drank the last of the tea and carefully set the teacup and saucer on the Captain's desk. " Thank you for the tea ma'am. It was quite good."

"Thank you, I'll let Maica know." Enalia then set her own teacup aside and got down to business. "So what are your goals while aboard? Anything you want to accomplish professionally or personally?"

"I think my goals are just like any other officer. Fit in, use my skills, learn some new ones. I didn't have an exact plan in mind to be honest...I never really do" she chuckled and ran a hand through her curly hair.

"You'll definitely put your skills to the test and learn some new ones here," Enalia remarked with that lopsided grin of hers. "The missions we engage in really strain us. But then again, we are apparently the unofficial flagship of Intel Command. And a ghost ship, if rumors are to be believed."

"Hopefully I can help relieve some of that strain on the crew, I look forward to the adventures ma'am." Rena smiled genuinely.

"It's been a long time since we've had a dedicated Operations Chief so I'm looking forward to seeing how you'll do." Enalia smiled pleasantly. "Unless you've got any questions for me, I think that concludes our meeting."

Rena got to her feet "Thank you ma'am for having me be part of your crew. I promise I won't disappoint you," the Betazoid said with extreme confidence in her tone.

"I look forward to good things from you. Again, welcome aboard and welcome to the crew," Enalia smiled politely, thankful that the meeting went far better than the last Betazoid that she'd met. Far better than most empaths and telepaths that she'd ever met in her life, in fact...

The tribunal between Captain Enalia Telvan and her mother, the former Queen Regent of the Artan Pirate family was concluded. And while the cost was great, the U.S.S. Hera's Captain was victorious and now had to manage the task of restructuring the family to move them into the future.

A key part of that victory came thanks to the investigative efforts of the Vulcan refugee from another dimension known as Az'Prel and her partner on the covert intelligence mission that provided key evidence that turned the tide of the tribunal, the former Romulan agent known as Jaeih Dox.

In her guarded quarters on Deck 8, the former smuggler and mother of the Hera's own chief flight officer, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox, was reading. In front of her was a stack of PaDD's that her clearance level had allowed her to access. As an unofficial member of the crew's Intelligence division, the elder Romulan woman was committed to making herself as useful as possible to the ship that had given the Starfleet prisoner another chance to matter.

As an agent with the Romulan Tal'Shiar, she honed a strong set of skills that she had rarely before had the opportunity to use for a just cause, and she couldn't help but feel strangely... good... for having helped in this last mission. While she was legally still in the custody of Starfleet Intelligence, that sentence had been transferred to the Hera as a part of a deal for her assistance in the tribunal. But her real reason for requesting the transfer was to try and be closer to her estranged daughter.

But that relationship was slowly healing, and Jaeih Dox suddenly found herself useful again. Commander Paris had given her a tremendous opportunity, allowing her to leave the ship in order to seek out the evidence that she and Az'Prel found. It was an exhilarating and extremely satisfying feeling and she wanted to repeat it through continued service to the Hera. So she was studying the ship’s Intelligence department and procedures. While her movements on the ship were still accompanied by a pair of guards, she felt freer than she had in over sixteen years.

As she sat, reading, a familiar chirp came over the customized Romulan sigil shaped comm badge she wore on her left breast.

“Mrs. Dox, would you be so kind as to join me on Deck 14 in the Nursery, please? I’d like your input, if you wouldn’t mind,” came the practically perennially cheerful voice of the USS Hera’s first officer. Commander Rita Paris.

Immediately, the elder Romulan woman put her PaDD down and tilted an eyebrow quizzically. "On my way, Commander."

It seemed like a strange place to meet; but in her short time working with the anachronistic human from another time, Jaeih had learned to expect the unexpected where Rita Paris was concerned. But there was something beyond her own daughter naming Paris as her sister that intrigued Jaeih. She found that Paris possessed some intangible quality that commanded respect without ever demanding it, in a way she never imagined a human could do.

As such, she stood up and straightened the grey, Starfleet Intelligence tunic she wore and stepped to the door to her chambers, grabbing a PaDD at the last second to take any notes required. Wooshing open, she addressed the two rather large female guards that were posted outside her door. Jaeih had noted that most all of the security officers on the Hera were exceedingly tall for women and massively muscled. And the two on duty today were no exceptions.

"Jolan'tru, officer Grell. Jolan'tru, officer Wagner. I have been requested on Deck 14 by Commander Paris, thank you." The guard's orders were clear. Jaeih Dox could come and go as she pleased, but not without a security escort. And while that might be because of her status as a technical prisoner of Starfleet, she was to be treated with all the respect of any dignitary or guest. As such, the two guards nodded with professional but pleasant smiles and followed behind the Romulan woman as she made her way out of her quarters.

After a short few minutes of walking and an even briefer turbolift ride to Deck 14, Jaeih walked up to where the ships directional maps told her was the Hera's nursery and the sight of Rita Paris waiting. "Commander Paris. How may I help you?"

“Well, start by showing up and the rest is downhill,” Paris quipped with an easygoing smile as she reviewed a clean room filled with cribs, all designed to pump vital gasses to newborns, whatever their preference might be for their species. Looking up, she recognized the bodyguards, with a nod to each.

“Ladies, you are relieved, on my orders. Please take the rest of the shift in the Armory practicing your zero G combat maneuvers, with my compliments.” Both of the Amazonian Security officers were surprised, but the simply offered nods of acknowledgment and departed the newborns section to follow the orders given by their curious commander.

“Now, let’s clear the air on that front, shall we?” As Paris spoke, she was still checking off the manifests, working on the task at hand. But when she spoke, it was a conversational and casual tone. “Starfleet requires there be certain restrictions on prisoners. As of now, you are no longer a prisoner of Starfleet Mrs. Dox, but a guest. It’s a nebulous difference, I’ll admit, but the Captain is still working out your pardon details, and that takes more oomph than I can muster these days. But in the meanwhile, given your time served and your recent performance in the service of Starfleet and the Captain in specific, I feel the least we can do is make you feel less like a distrusted prisoner and more of a trusted ally.”

At that, Paris looked up to make eye contact, having given the elder Romulan woman a chance to register what she was being told.

For a solid three seconds, Jaeih Dox simply stood there. Staring with a look of mild shock on her face. Or as much of a look of shock as her stern face allowed for. "Pardoned? I... my apologies, Commander. I believe I am at... an uncharacteristic loss for words."

“One of the reasons I made sure to dismiss your entourage… I imagine you’re not often caught by surprise, and I figured a smaller audience witnessing the event would be more to your liking,” the anachronistic officer explained.

"T... thank you. I am... I am very grateful to both yourself and Captain Telvan." It was clear she was still working the words out in her head, hardly believing them, but trying to react properly while her emotions caught up with her words. "Heh." She chuckled ever so slightly under her breath. A chuckle that sounded eerily like the awkward chuckle Rita Paris had heard countless times from Jaeih's daughter, Mnhei'sahe.

Which was no surprise- like mother, like daughter.

“In truth, I can’t take much credit. It was the captain- she was the one who arranged for your transfer, and she is the one seeking your pardon. All I did was give you a chance for you and Miss Az’Prel to do what you do best, and give you a chance. Which, you performed admirably, returned in plenty of time to present the evidence you procured and were invaluable in defending the crew during the bloodier parts of the Tribunal,” Paris recounted.

“In short, Mrs. Dox, you earned this… so it’s kind of you, but no thanks to me. I’m just the messenger, and the one who is relaxing security on you so that you can feel more like a member of the crew, and less like an outsider who is tolerated. You’ve earned this, Mrs. Dox. I have confidence that moving forward, you will continue to strive to prove your worth and outperform expectations.” Pausing for a second to consider whether to follow through with what came to mind, Paris, ever an intuitive leader, forged ahead with it. “Like mother, like daughter, so they say… and in your case, I see much of where Miss Dox gets her tenacity.”

"I can take very little credit for Mnhei'sahe, Commander. I did far more harm than good. But she has thrived here and with all of you. And for that, I am even more grateful." Jaeih replied, her focus on the nursery now as she spoke. "But I will admit, Commander, that performing the duties for the Captain's tribunal felt... good."

“I think you sell yourself short with Mnhei-sahe, Mrs. Dox. You laid the foundation, we just helped put the rest in order, and she herself has made enormous strides. So while we all pitched in, full credit goes to her. But, not the point.” Paris led the way out of the fetal nursery and moved into the pediatric ward that had been set up specifically to deal with the heightened pregnancy rate that had been sweeping the USS Hera since a certain first officer had plead for the goddess Hera to be maintained on the starship that bore her name. Which had resulted in an atypical pregnancy rate to begin amongst the crew, likely due to the presence of the Goddess of motherhood and families.

“The point is, you are smart, clever, and capable, and were you Academy trained I’d make you an officer,” Paris stated matter-of-factly. “But you are likely better served as an ‘intelligence asset’, a civilian operative. While I will admit that gives us plausible deniability, I think by this point you likely have a much better idea of who we are and how we do things on the Hera.”

“Assuming that the Captain manages to arrange that pardon, you will be a free agent once more, Mrs. Dox. Assuming that comes to pass, I wish you would consider remaining on the Hera.” There could be more said, but Rita figured she should let that bit sink in first. Finding out the bars and guards were being removed and freedom was at hand was a lot to process all at once, and she had to give the woman a moment.

Again, like mother, like daughter.

But this time, Jaeih didn't miss a beat. "Given the opportunity, I would be honored to continue serving here on the Hera, Commander. I... like it here. I like the work. And I very much like being near Mnhei'sahe. So, for as long as you have need of my skills, you may consider them at your disposal."

Lifting an eyebrow, Jaeih smiled ever so slightly. "I know a thing or two about intelligence, as does Miss Az'Prel. And I believe we can both be of further use on a ship that deals in the kinds of business the Hera does."

"Suspected you might," Paris tapped on a panel and followed the basic precautions to create a sterile field underneath the console, then shut it down to move on to the next unit. "I'm glad to see that I was correct, on both counts."

"Speaking frankly," Paris turned to eye the rebellious Romulan appraisingly. "You're both rather singular individuals... and in both cases, you are born survivors. I was hoping you two would work well together. I've yet to debrief Az'Prel, but I read your report- which was comprehensive without being boring, thank you. I'll likely be pairing the two of you off together more often than not, because an effective partnership can be everything in the field."

"Assuming you both are in agreement, of course. As civilians, I can't order you to do anything. You aren't a part of the chain of command, so that means you are strictly volunteer. I'm banking on the fact that I might have earned enough trust from you both. That you'll trust me not to squander your time, your talents or your lives when I ask you to go on a mission." This was more turnabout, as Rita Paris introduced new elements into the equation. As a prisoner, Jaeih Dox had been compelled to do as her jailers demanded, period. Coming aboard the Hera she was still technically a prisoner, although treated better with only a pair of escorts.

Now with the Captain's pending pardon, it meant she would be a free citizen of the galaxy once more. Which meant that no one could order her. No one could compel her. Once again, it was her and her wits against the universe... only this time she was far from alone. Her daughter had found family amongst the stars, and had pleaded for her mother to be summoned to join it.

In doing so, she would be free.

"Commander..." Jaeih looked around as she thought hard on Rita Paris's words. "Was this choice of locale intended to reinforce the unspoken metaphor? A place for new life to begin?"

She turned to face the golden-clad human that she actually liked. "If so, it was a good idea. I am not immune to sentiment, after all. I... am beginning to understand why Mnhei'sahe feels the way she does about you. You engender trust, Commander. And if it means anything, you have earned mine as well."

Turning to smile at the former smuggler, Paris managed to make it look somehow self-effacing. "I'm glad of that, Mrs. Dox. I've never been anything but honest with you, and I never will. I've done my best to be plain-spoken, as good as my word and say just what's on my mind, no subterfuge. It's how I am with everyone for the most part, but with you... I suspect you haven't had a lot of reason to trust people in this life." The statement carried no accusation with it- it wasn't even a question, just a statement of fact from someone who clearly understood it to be true.

"I've always known how important you were to Mnhei'sahe, so that made you important to me too. You could have affected her greatly for weal or woe, and I always hoped for the better. That's why I came to see you at Starfleet when we came to Earth. When we left that day, I was angry because... well, you'd hurt my friend, my sister. It wasn't my place to say what I did, I know. But in my defense, I was pretty angry. And I did keep it down to one word..." Paris chuckled at that and shook her head.

"You do seem to have labored under the misconception that I don't like you, Mrs. Dox. Which simply isn't true," Paris wagged her finger as she stepping to a playroom that was filled with balls, rubber blocks and a number of things fund for small children to play with but with limited potential for harm. "I told you I respected you and I wanted to get to know you, and that never changed. You came round, figured it all out and straightened things out with your daughter."

"That's something about the Hera you'll find, Mrs. Dox. Here, we're families building families, strengthening bonds until we are all an extended family. The ship is named after the goddess of women, motherhood, and family, after all," Paris smiled enigmatically. Not every secret had to come in one conversation, she reasoned.

Across the starship, hearing someone proselytizing her, the goddess Hera looked up from the cookbook in her lap, smiled, shook her head, then continued pursuing a recipe to make for the afternoon shift of her honor guard.

Meanwhile, back in the nursery of the ship bearing Hera's name, the woman who was very likely being influenced for the better by the goddess' presence she knew nothing about, bent to the ground next to Rita to pick up a small, soft block. On one side of the block was the human standard word 'friends'. On each of the other sides were the words with the equivalent meaning in Vulcan, Rihan, Klingon, Andorian, Tellarian and another language she didn't recognize.

"Family," Jaeih muttered to herself. "I am... afraid of that, Commander. I never did it very well and was dismissive of the concept of family when I tried raising her. And that failure on my part has colored Mnhei'sahe's point of view concerning family."

Jaeih stood back up, straightening her gray tunic as she did. "Mona... Ensign Gonadie has expressed an interest to Mnhei'sahe in... starting a family. But my daughter is reluctant. She is reluctant, in part, out of fear that as a mother, she would end up being...well... too much like... well... like me, Commander." For the first time in a while, Rita could see Jaeih's face completely betray her. She was genuinely upset and ashamed.

"She is... a far better person than I am and I have no doubt she will have learned from my many shortcomings." Jaeih tried to clear the emotion from her face with only moderate success.

"I've heard it said that we choose our paths," Paris replied softly speaking carefully and couching her words. "When it comes to parenting, those of us whose parents were less than warm or loving or supportive, or any of the things we wish they had been that they were not... we make choices. Some will repeat those mistakes, call it tradition, and never consider we may have been wrong. But for some, we resolve to be better to our children, not to repeat the cycles our parents were caught in that they taught us. While Miss Dox's childhood may have been lesser than she may have desired, as an adult she has learned better ways. That alone might be enough."

"But in the here and now, she has you as an example. And in the here and now, you've changed considerably in the past few months. People aren't all stagnant creatures, dedicated to continuing the regrets of the past. We can grow, change, evolve, and become so much more if given the chance." Picking up another block from the floor, Paris held one that said 'Momma' on one face, repeating the name for the female parent in six different languages, one per side.

"I believe you can be better than your past. Mrs. Dox. Because you have had opportunities to prove it... and once you figured it out, you rose to the challenge. I believe in Miss Dox too. She too sells herself short, has an annoying habit of blaming herself for life's problems and believing she cannot rise above who she was, to be who she wishes she could be. Never once seeing how far she's come when she stumbles." Handing the block to the fierce Romulan matron, Paris smiled.

"In so many ways, she is her mother's daughter. But she has Mona Gonadie with her, who dreams of sharing their nest with little birds of prey. Who will always act as a leavening influence for Mnhei'sahe, and provide balance to their children. For now, here, in this temporary place in space and time," Paris gestured grandly to the starship upon which they traveled, "she has all of us to help her... and she has the example of her own mother. The woman who saw the mistakes of the past and, instead of justifying them, owned them and is working to build a better tomorrow with her family."

"Don't imagine for a moment that it is unnoticed, and don't put yourself down over it- I won't hear it from Dox the younger, and I won't have it from Dox the senior," the canny commander smiled, scooping up a ball to bounce it off the floor, off a wall and back to her hand. "You are teaching her, in the here and now, that the specter of her childhood was just a very real person making hard choices. And an adult she sees those choices and accepts them, as should you. I will tell you the same thing I told her, Miss Dox, that a wise and canny old Deltan once taught to me."

"If you wish to be a better person..." Paris stepped out of the playroom, tossing the ball over her shoulder. "to make the universe a better place. To do better than those who raised you, to teach children love and support instead of cold hard lessons- then be better. Every day, in little ways, make your choices to be better than you were, better than your past, better than your mistakes. Choose to be a better person, and in short order, that makes you a better person. You might think it too simplistic a philosophy to work, but I assure you- once you start to work to be better, you will find that the universe responds in kind, Mrs. Dox."

Pausing at that, Paris laughed, a musical sound, and shook her head. "I'm sorry Mrs. Dox. I am lecturing... a habit I got from my father, I'm afraid. But unlike his lectures, mine are meant to uplift, not denigrate. I hope you will forgive an old lady for going on a bit."

The cagey Romulan smiled. It was the same quirky grin her Daughter displayed from time to time, usually when she was feeling more comfortable. "In your own way, you are quite the master manipulator, Commander. Perhaps you don't think of it in those terms as they often have negative connotations. But you are. You observe, you isolate a weakness and you attack it. But instead of trying to use it to your advantage, you drag it into the light and force those to whom you are speaking to address that shortcoming honestly. You find that weakness and you verbally destroy it from all angles until the subject has nary a choice but to see themselves from your less jaded point of view. It's... almost insidious how good you are at this."

It might have sounded like an insult, but her tone made it clear that she was being extremely complimentary. "Referencing your own father, you show a functional example of the exact point you had just made. Just in case I wanted to argue the point." The elder Dox chuckled.

Initially taken aback by the observation, the face of the ancient astronaut displayed surprise and some degree of dismay. But as the explanation unfolded and came forth, a wry smile settled onto her face, one of chagrin. "I suppose I can't argue that, Mrs. Dox. In my own way, I am my father's daughter. I just... I believe in the good in people. I believe in our better natures, and I believe that we can be so much more than our petty differences. I believe in the dream of the United Federation, and of Starfleet." Gesturing to the starship upon which they traveled, she held her hands palms up. "It works."

Listening, Jaeih thought for a moment on what Rita had just said, considering her reply carefully. "I never have. As you may imagine, growing up in the Star Empire, I was not exactly raised with a particularly balanced view of Starfleet or the Federation. And my own experiences in the military and the Tal'Shiar didn't exactly show me anything to change my opinions."

The elder Dox paced slightly, her hands folded behind her back. Yet another trait shared by her daughter. "My encounters with Starfleet officers showed me a people who loved spouting pretty words, but whose eyes revealed a different message. A message of 'you will be like us, and you will accept it with a smile, or else'. I saw the same petty hypocrisy I would soon learn to see on my own homeworld. With my own people."

"Then... when Mnhei'sahe joined and began sending me messages from here, I was afraid. I began hearing such similar words and thoughts to what you just said and, at first, I was resistant to the ideas. I had assumed she had simply been, for lack of a better word, assimilated." Jaeih knew that referencing the Borg as a point of comparison to Starfleet might go over like a proverbial lead balloon, but she also felt that she had little choice but to be completely honest if this relationship between the two women were to work.

"But over time, I saw none of the fire in her eyes diminish. Instead, I saw that fire grow as she grew. I saw her gain confidence and I saw a legitimate hope in her eyes. She believed what she was saying. Not because she had to, but because it changed her for the better." Jaeih continued. "And that is when I began to realize that I needed to reevaluate Starfleet in the same way I had once learned to question my beliefs in my own government.”

“When I met you, I saw why Mnhei'sahe had been so changed for the better. You were her example, and the two things that I know about you above everything else, Commander, is that you are no hypocrite and you may actually be physically incapable of lying." the elder Romulan added with a grin.

That caused the comely commander to actually burst out in laughter, which took her a few seconds to subside. Making her way to one of the classrooms, the door whooshed open at their approach even as the first officer wiped away a tear the peals of laughter had brought. “It’s true… I deny nothing. I am a genuinely spectacularly awful liar, which one would think would be more of a detriment in Starfleet Intelligence. That said… thank you.”

“It means a lot to me that you hold me in such high regard, and I am humbled and flattered. I do my best to live up to the ideals I swore to uphold, and to be perfectly frank, all I ever have to do is wonder how my father would have handled the situation, and I do the opposite.” Inspecting the cubby shelves anchored to the bulkhead, the desks with storage beneath them and the monitors which dominated three of the four walls, Paris nodded with satisfaction as she did so. “Compassion is never a mistake, particularly to an enemy. Truth is stronger than any lie. Uplift those around you, so that all can succeed. Recognize potential and instill confidence.”

“I know it all probably sounds hokey in the modern day,” the enigmatic executive explained. “But that’s what I believe the Federation was always meant to be, and those are the principles by which I live my life. Having seen a span of a few years, while I am occasionally disappointed… overall I am very happy that the dream of old Starfleet is alive and well.”

Following closely behind, Jaeih scoffed in a light, clearly facetious fashion. "Well, given time, I'm sure you will have ample opportunity to convince me to change my mind on the organization as a whole. If anyone can, I suspect it will be you."

“I’ll do my best,” Paris replied, with a smile that was as genuine as the statement.

Then Jaeih's tone shifted to a more serious, focused one. "That said, regardless of if the Captain can secure a pardon for me, you, she, my daughter and this ship will have the full application of my services and skills until such time as you no longer require them. Or I simply get too old to be useful." Then she smiled lightly again. "From one old lady to another."

“Hah! You’re not that old, Mrs. Dox,” Paris reassured the woman to whom relevance was something she had given up on long ago, for whom the first taste of it in a long time was clearly deeply significant to her. “I suspect the Hera will long since have been decommissioned and her crew scattered to the stars before you get too old to be useful. You’ll outlive me more than likely, as well as most of the crew of the Hera. And don’t discount the Captain- she never makes a promise she can’t keep, but she is pretty determined in this case. Sixteen years is a very long time to serve for a smuggling charge, after all.”

"That said..." Jaeih tilted her head slightly, "I know you originate from a much earlier time, but how old are you, in actuality?"

“All right, but we’re going to put my credibility to the test here…” Paris joked, as she tapped at her PaDD.

Bringing up the monitors on the walls, Paris slaved them to her PaDD and began bringing up images. “I was born in the Earth year 2233, which probably means less to you historically than my usual frame of reference, in which I explain that I’m a month older than Captain James T. Kirk.” Onscreen, an image of old San Francisco at the time of her birth came onscreen. “I was there with him when he beat the Kobayashi Maru test, and I am a legacy Starfleet officer- there has been a Paris in Starfleet since before we even called it Starfleet.”

Another image came up, that of a graduation holo of a woman who looked like she might be the rather plain-looking sister of the woman who stood explaining her convoluted history, clad in a red minidress with no rank on her sleeve, dated 2255. Another image of the Starfleet Academy Class of 2255 came onscreen, and an arrow pointed out the short-haired crimson-clad cosmonaut in the third row of a graduating class of 210 officers, a graduating class so small as to be unheard of in the modern day.

“All of which makes me sound like some grand immortal, but I am all too mortal, I assure you. I skipped a few years of aging while I was trapped as a warp ghost on the original Constitution for nearly five years, in which my body didn’t age. Transporter accident as a result of sabotage from a certain someone in my family who did not want me shipping out to the stars,” Paris relayed casually, as if it no longer bothered her to discuss the matter. However, to the trained observer it was obvious that the experience still haunted her. Onscreen, the report listing her as killed in action displayed, bearing the year 2359 even as the red minidress uniform had been traded for a gold one with a singular rank ribbon on the sleeve.

“Then another transporter accident catapulted me through space, time and dimension to land here in the year 2395.” A trideo image came onscreen, that of Rita Paris reintegrating from ghostly translucent energy to solid matter in the experimental transporter that had reassembled her in the modern day. Which made it abundantly clear just exactly how physically painful the experience had been for her to endure, although fortunately there was no sound. “So I’ve been here about a year now… near as I can tell, while I am chronologically considered 163 years old, I physically somewhere around thirty? Doc says thirty-three, so I take their word for it.”

Pausing for a moment to let the Romulan woman take it all in, the courageous chrononaut raised her hand as if reciting a pledge. “True story. I’m also from a splinter timeline, as I am not THAT Rita Paris, but a dimensional variant of the original. Which tends to convolute the story a bit, but you’ve met Az’Prel, so… well, it’s a very big universe filled with possibilities, Mrs. Dox.”

“Hopefully that explains a great number of things, not the least of which is my uniform. Captain Telven agreed to let me keep wearing it, because… I’m more comfortable in it. I AM old Starfleet. I prefer to be honest with people about that, and my uniform explains far better than I can retell the tale. Which also explains why I often have trouble operating modern technology, and why my knowledge of history is often faulty or completely lacking, as I haven’t read up on everything that happened in the last 130 odd years.” Having wound down the explanation, Rita ended it with an image of the senior staff of the USS Hera taken the year before, with faces both familiar and unfamiliar onscreen.

"Well, that wasn't exactly the answer I would have expected, but from my talks with Az'Prel, it's only moderately surprising." Jaeih replied, slightly taken aback, but composed. "Actually, even less so considering the events Mnhei'sahe was able to tell me about that she personally has been involved with in her time here. An unusual ship, indeed."

“Filled with unusual individuals, Mrs. Dox, and that diversity lends us considerable strength,” Paris remarked.

"I suppose I should at least attempt to be prepared for the inexplicable as much as possible in my role here..." As she spoke, she paused to consider a simple fact she hadn't thought to ask until right then.

"Which brings me to another question. What will my duties be here on the day to day?"

“Ideally in the day to day, you’ll work with Chief Clemens analyzing data and intel traffic, the usual cryptographics, translations, what have you. There might come some research projects, and if you have ideas we’re open to hearing them. I read the Intel reports, but it definitely isn’t my bailiwick, so that’s likely a discussion to have with Chief Clemens, our head of Intel. In fact, perhaps you and Miss Az’prel should both sit down with him. Because again, you are civilians- thus you are beholden to no one, and your duties will be strictly volunteer.” A sly smile crept across the face of the first officer as she shut down the classroom displays.

“On that note, you are more than welcome to train with the Security staff. As a mistress and instructor of Romulan martial arts, you bring considerable expertise to the table, and my people tend to enjoy sparring with those who can teach them something.” Strolling out of the classroom, Paris looked over the water tank where tropical fish were still on back order, but it would provide an alternate environment for any water-breathing children who required such an environment. “Miss Dox already trains with them, as does Miss Az’Prel. Now, I have a counter question for you, ma’am. Given that it’s the first time in a long time someone has asked, what would YOU like for your duties to be?”

"Well..." she thought as she followed the leggy Commander through the nursery level. "Volunteer or not, I would not expect my duties to differ from any other crewmember. That said, as a member of the Tal'Shiar, the tasks I enjoyed the most were very in line with this last mission. Investigation is... fulfilling. As is crypo-analasys is also something I... excelled at. There's a reason Mnhei'sahe knows multiple languages."

Cutting herself off, she muttered what could only be described as a 'mom moment's under her breath. "I do hope she's kept up on her Vulcan."

"Well, we've enemies out there, for certain. Perhaps you could start by analyzing our last year's worth of logs and missions, and see what patterns emerge? We might be seeing a shift in galactic power or something and not even realize it. That way you'll become familiar with the sort of work we do, and you can look for patterns and loose ends. Not field work, I'll admit-" At that, Paris snapped her fingers.

"The deposed queen, Arenara. She will have had contingencies and cels of agents waiting to make their moves- likely not many, but no one that underhanded ever walks away cleanly. Blackmail envelopes are likely arriving and all that sort of mastermind of evil Moriartyism is likely occurring." Pivoting with military precision, Paris turned on the slightly shorter woman.

Instantly, Jaeih was at full attention, processing Paris' words and already sussing out a strategy. "Indeed. As arrogant as she had become, it's likely that there are already contingencies in place to try and undermine the Captain or worse."

"If you and Ms. Az'Prel are so inclined, would you like to investigate the fortress and the local business holdings of the Artan fleet, to ferret out any remaining skullduggery that might still be afoot, Mrs. Dox?" A Commander she was, and every inch an officer. But Rita Paris had no trouble whatsoever very politely asking the remarkably capable Romulan spy in the politest of tones to follow her request, which was nothing like an order at all.

Nodding, slightly, The former Romulan operative raised an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for Az'Prel, but I am fairly certain that she would be amenable to this plan, Commander. And as far as my involvement goes..."

Pausing for a second, Jaeih Dox smiled ever so slightly at the Commander. "...I volunteer."

Entering the promenade of DS-72, Ensign Varnok breathed in the aromatic smells of the morning as they started to mingle, beckoning seductively to the passersby to stop and sample the exotic wares. Starting his way through the array of shoppers and travelers, the young Cardassian Starfleet officer noticed a Bajoran woman pull her children closer and move away. Sighing, he turned and approached a Tea vendor. The spices from the tea made his mouth water. Purchasing a steaming cup, he turned to look for a good perch to watch the coming and goings of the day. Layovers like this were some of his favorite times, a way for him to feel a part of the world. He often found himself wondering about the lives of the people around him, regularly trying to imagine what those lives might be based on the information he could glean through simple observation.

A guttural scoff caught his attention as two Cardassian males sauntered past with disapproving looks of scorn across their faces on their way to a nearby transport gate. Straightening the gray tunic of his Starfleet Intelligence uniform, he headed for the nearest available table. After a few more curious glances his way, the chaos of the bustling spaceport swallowed him into anonymity and he relaxed into his chair with his cup of ginger tea. Smiling at his cup, he remembered his mother and her love of the spicy brew.

Glancing around the lower deck kiosks, he noticed a young group of Starfleet cadets excitedly purchasing last minute gifts before rushing off to meet their transport. Briefly glancing at the chronometer, he silently chuckled to himself knowing they were cutting it close. Then a shrill cry turned his attention to a small lone Klingon child. Tensely scanning the crowd, preparing to help if needed, he viewed an elderly stern-faced Klingon woman who quickly approached the child. As she called out, the young girl ran to her and was immediately scolded. Varnok could only imagine what that conversation would be as the elder Klingon led the young girl away by the hand.

A shuffle to his left alerted him to a Bolian man moving smoothly from Kiosk to Kiosk. Curious, he started following the young shopper with his eyes. The Bolian seemed to be aimlessly looking at a container of Bularian canapes, turning it over and over in his hand before setting it down. Upon further observation what once appeared to be window shopping was really a means by which to scan other shoppers credits, by use of a concealed hand scanner.

Realizing this was no longer going to be a just a relaxing layover, Varnok sighed, standing up to walk over to the Starfleet security guard he noticed had been fervently watching him since he entered the promenade. Surprising the slightly nervous officer, Varnok smiled professionally as he pointed out the Bolinan’s activities. “While you were watching me, you likely should have been watching him and his companion standing at Gate 7. Note the concealed hand scanner in his left hand. They’ve been at this the better part of the morning. I thought you should know.”

Glancing quickly at the chronometer Varnok realized he has just enough time to make his transport. Taking his leave of the flustered security officer who was now calling in the criminal activity, he wondered if his new assignment would be like his dismal last posting on the U.S.S. Varyss.

“Well, the hope spring is eternal…” He said to himself as he arrived at the gate for the Runabout that would ferry him to his new ship, “I am due for a change.”

The mission had been a huge success, and the partying afterward promised to be just as legendary. The two misfits of the research and Development department were to be found, of course, in 10-Forward, drinking and carrying on as they tended to do. After all, they had been enforced sober for nearly 4 days now, on the first officer’s orders. But now they had discharged their duties and been freed on their own recognizance to do what they did second best- drink and cause trouble.

Of course, no one had told them that anything they had done was classified. Which meant they were quite busy bragging up a storm.

Leaning over the bar, the towering Tellarite Engineer, Ensign Briaar Gavarus, was wagging the empty beer mug of her pint-sized partner in crime Ensign Fiona O'Dell, at the already exasperated bartender on duty. "C'mon, man! Pick up the pace! The hero of the frickin' Hera is THIRSTY!

Then she hung her head and groaned audibly as the bartender shouted back, "You aren't the only two people waiting in here, Gavarus! Hold on!"

"If I'm holding on, then hold on." The prickly porcine grabbed her own massive mug of beer and chugged the remaining third down in one massive gulp. "BRAAAAP!!! Do me too!"

The long-suffering bartender moved with a bit more speed to deal with the confrontational space swine, and by the time she returned to their high-top table, O’Dell was still telling her tale. Standing on her chair to get her up to eye level with most of the crowd, the pint-sized pilot was already drunk, loud and proud.

“So as the security team are all latched on and I’m flyin after a starship movin at impulse speed, I figure, aye, we’re likely showin up on their sensors. What I dinna expect is for them to launch a bloody photon torpedo at us! Now ye got to remember, I’ve nivvir tried these shields agin a torpedo, but the whole point is that it’s the shockwave that gits ye, since the shields dinna stop that.” Pausing to take her beer from the offered hand of her partner in crime, O’Dell took a sip, then continued the story.

“Noow, I might survive a near miss, but the lads an’ lassies in the EVA suits, ye know they’re g’win ta be chunky salsa in airtight containers under the best a’circumstances. And twillnae do for that- not me shipmates, not on my watch! So joost as I’m concoctin me a brilliant plan in me wee tiny brain, what do the goddamned pirates do? They launch another one at us!”

At that, O’Dell paused for a longer draught off her beer, and gave opportunity for questions or for Gavarus to horn in.

Leaning.on the hightop hard enough to shake it, Gavarus was now on her third, decidedly non-syntheholic beer, and was a bit more chatty with the crewmembers that she didn't actually recognize. "Oooh, shitshitshit! Is this where you did the frickin' thing, Fee? When you made them shoot their own frickin' ass?!"

Taking a long but quick swig, the engorged Engineer didn't wait for a reply as she kept on talking. "Seriously, I kid you frickin' not. She let them target her and made them torpedo their own mother@#$&in' nacelle!" Gavarus shouted, slamming her beer down on the table, inadvertently splashing herself in the process.

"Shit. Wait, did that happen yet? I can't frickin' remember the order, but it was Gods damn EPIC!!"

The story was told, more in a knotty string than a straight line, out of order more often than not, but complete with bombastic sound effects and cartoonish expressions. When they'd held court and told their tale, the unlikely duo settled in at their table, to do nothing more than enjoy being gloriously drunk. Heroes, sure, but drunk was the important part. Which meant a number of activities to the frenetic Mariposian moppet- including singing tavern songs no one had ever heard for a few hundred years, while literally dancing a merry jig.

"O Mrs. McGrath, " the sergeant said
"Would you like a soldier of your son Ted?
With a scarlet coat and a big cocked hat
Now Mrs. McGrath would you like that?"

It wasn't about the attention or standing out. It wasn't about proudly carrying her people's traditions to the stars, nor defending their art and culture. No, O'Dell did what she did when she drank because it made her happy, and filled her heart with joy. She did not care if no one else joined in, nor if they thought her a capering fool- which she was. The bonny wee lass of the Bringloidians was simply a merry drunk, and when she had a half-pint in her she expressed it clearly and well.

"Ach! I've got ta pess," the little leprechaun declared, toddling off towards the matter reclamator. She wasn't blind drunk yet, so she managed to not run into anyone between points.

Gavarus wiggled in her seat slightly. "Nah, my dam ain't ready to burst yet. I'll guard your seat, Fee! And your drink!" The Porcine partier grabbed her friends mug and took a swig from the mugs in both hands. "Yup... Nowhere safer."

As she did, she gestured to the bartender for a refill.

Relieved, O'Dell checked her appearance in the mirror, which showed 3/4 of the top of her head, her whole face if she stood on her tippy-toes. Running her fingers through the thick curly bright red mop on her head, she swept it back away from her eyes and strode back into the bar, expecting to hear Gavarus bellowing for a beer in the distance.

As she moved to skirt around a seated patron, he reached out to snag her sleeve. "Hey, flygirl."

Spinning with it, O'Dell peered at the speaker- a humanoid male sitting in a regular chair, which brought him down around her height. His legs were spread in a wide stance, and a little half-smile played at his lips. His dark hair was longish on top, but still humanoid Starfleet regulation, while lending him a rakish air. Cracking a smile he made eye contact.

"They say you're really something with that fighter mech," the crewman offered. "Really good with your hands, huh?"

"Aye, I got reflexes like a wee ninja! Hwahhh!" O'Dell chirped as she made judo knife hands and jumped into a fighting stance.

"Right on, right on. Bet you're a nimble little minx too, ain'tcha?" the crewman, emboldened by his success, pressed the vein of conversation to see if it could keep going.

"Sure and begorrah! I dinna weight squat, so I kin do all sortsa hopping an' bouncin' aboot. I'm a bit drunk right noow, so not me best time ta show off, aye?" The little leprechaun grinned from ear to ear, her eyes practically closing. "But aye, m'a bit of a gymnast I guess, sure."

"Ohh, flexible and athletic, huh?" Crewman Ignatious Jones couldn't believe his luck. He'd wanted to hit on the little redhead all night, but the big pig with her just glowered at anybody that got close. Or anybody not that close, really. Now, catching her by herself, she was sweet and funny and kind of really catching the vibe of where he was going with all of this. It was time to make his move, he reasoned- after all, fortune favored the brave.

"Say, Fiona- can I call you Fiona? That's a lovely name, by the way..."

"Aye, sure, we're off duty and I dinna give that much of a shite. Who're ye?"

"Jones, but my friends call me Iggy."

"Nice ta meetcha Iggy. Alreet, well-"

"You want to get out of here?" the crewman asked, putting it on the line.

"What're ye, kiddin? A'course not," O'Dell declared, pish-toshing at the very idea of leaving the only bar on the ship. "I'm nowhere near drunk enough ta get kicked oota Ten-Fa'rd yet. C'mon, ye kin join me an' Gavarus fuir a drink, aye?"

"Uh, sure, I'll be right over. I just gotta use the reclamator," Jones stalled as O'Dell bounced off into the crowd, headed for the ugliest ugly friend ever. If Crewman Iggy Jones was going to score with the tiny little redheaded gymnast with good hands, he was going to need not just a wingman, but a friend willing to make one hell of a sacrifice in taking one for the team.

As O'Dell returned to their table, Gavarus shouted far too loudly, having clearly cleaned off all the beer on the table in the interim. "FEE!!! What took you so damn long? You can't hold that much pee."

As she spoke, the bartender returned with the fresh beers, put them down and all but ran away.

"So... My beer got lonely. Annnnddd... it needed a friend and there was YOUR beer, and here we are with new beer!" The clearly tipsy Tellarite grinned uncharacteristically broadly at her best friend.

"Me bitters!" O'Dell held the dark beer aloft as if it were the holy grail, then brought it down carefully to hold it beside her cheek. "Ah, mah wee and lonely bitters, nivvir ye fear. Ye'll goo ta join yuir friends in me belly soon enough! Here's mud in yuir eye!"

Snorting a muffled laugh, Gavarus playfully jabbed, "Its friends ain't in your belly, they're in the reclimator now, Leprechaun."

"True enuff!" With that. O'Dell took a mouthful of beer, savoring it before swallowing it, a rhapsodic expression spreading across her face. "Let's nivvir be parted agin, me one true love. Unless the Commander orrrrders me nae ta drink so I'll be sober enow to fly. Maybe then, because I'm more afraid of her than I love you, Ah think." O'Dell looked at her beer as if it had answered her. "Nae, dinna be that way! Ah still loove ya, but I'd nivvir get another drop in the brig, aye?"

"So, what took you so long gettin' back?" Gavarus grumbled, taking a swig, "You almost made me have to talk to one of the other assholes in here." Her comment was in no way stifled and elicited a good five indignant head turns from some of the people that had been listening to their stories not five minutes prior.

"Oh, a nice fella was chattin me oop. There he is, talkin to his friend over there. I invited 'em ta come join us," the tiny test pilot explained, sipping at her beer. This was her fourth half-pint of the night, of which she had actually finished perhaps a quarter to a half of one, Gavarus polishing off the rest. But the wee wingman didn't need much to get drunk, due to low body weight and a particular allergy to alcohol or synthehol that made her uniquely susceptible to it's effects.

In other words, a cheap drunk.

Eyeing the two male crewmen O'Dell had indicated, they appeared to be in hot debate or a mild argument over something, although it was impossible to make out at this range. However, the discussion was a very old one.

"Come on, you owe me!"

"Not THAT much I don't owe you!"

"Well, no, I'll owe YOU one after this. But come on, you gotta keep the ugly friend occupied!"

"Dude, why do you want to do it with a midget?"

"She's not a midget, she's just short. I mean look at that hair, man, she's a ginger! Besides, everything looks huge compared to her, you know what I mean?"

"Dude, you are straight up weird, and I feel sorry for your junk if you need a chick that tiny..."

"Hey, don't be a dick. Just help me out and keep the big pig girl busy so I can score with her friend, huh? I'd do it for you!"

"The hell you would!"

"Okay, but see, next time I'll HAVE to because I'll owe you for THIS one!"

"Fine. Whatever, let's go get this over with so you can find out if the top of her head's a good place to rest your beer..."

As Gavarus watched the two men talking amongst themselves, her eyes narrowed. "Those two? Ugh... they look like twatwaffles. And the one keeps looking at me. What the @#$%'s up with that?"

“Maybe that’s why the one fella was chattin me oop, so’s he’d have a chance to get his buddy in with ye?” O’Dell chirped optimistically. “Maybe he’s into ye and joost wants to get to know ye?”

Letting out a snort of a derisive laugh, Gararus cricked her eyebrows. "Yeaaahhhhh no, I don't think so. He has the look of an asshole who would rather be anywhere but here. I know. It's the look I have in staff meetings."

As the two crewman walked over, O’Dell waved cheerfully as Gavarus scowled.

Gesturing to his friend, Crewman Jones started making introductions. “Fiona, may I present Dick Turpin. Dick, this is Fiona, and this is…” he let it trail off as he extended a hand to Gavarus.

“That’s Briaar. Dinna mind her, she doesnae like innybody at first. C’mon, pull up a stool and have a pint, aye?” O’Dell’s particular drunk cheer and inclusiveness was not unusual, but she was surprised at how closely the humanoid crewman parked his barstool next to hers.

"I don't like anybody at second, either, uh... 'Dick'." Then the suspicious pig eyed the other man. "And you are?"

“”Ignatious Jones, at your service. But my friends call me Iggy,” the humanoid crewman offered his hand across the table, then withdrew it when all it got in return was a glare. Picking up smoothly, he changed the subject. “So what department do you gals work in?”

“We’re R&D!” O’Dell declared gleefully. “Advanced flight systems development an’ testing. Chief Gonadie dreams ‘em up, then tis me job to break it, and her job ta make sure we learn from it and invent new ways around the problems. What do ye two do?”

“We, ah, work in Science as a biology lab techs,” Jones volunteered. “Dick and me. We came aboard back on Earth, and we’re about six months into this tour. All sorts of exciting stuff happens on this ship, huh?”

As Gavarus eyed the two men, she hooked one of her hooves around the leg of O'Dell's chair, and with a feigned cough, dragged it slightly closer to her and away from Jones by a few inches.

"Sorry about that... drink went down the wrong pipe." Gavarus said, disingenuously. "So, lab techs? What does that mean? Washing test tubes and cleaning up waste? Press the lab coats of the officers? All that 'exciting' stuff?"

“Pretty much, yeah,” Jones replied with a laugh. “Monitoring tests in process, recording results, setting the stage for the next test. Chief Sonak is pretty exacting, and it’s not unusual for him to order a test run thirty, forty, fifty times. Sometimes a hundred. He had this transporter experiment he was working on, and I swear he must have had us run the simulations 300 times. All with some weird variable quantum equation he came up with somewhere that had to be overlaid with a specific biopattern. But yeah, that’s our job… sounds a lot less interesting than yours, huh?”

As he spoke Jones leaned in to bump shoulders with O’Dell, only to discover the little redhead wasn’t in the same spot she’d been when he pulled up his chair, and he nearly stumbled out of his own.

“So you’re the handy one?” Dick Turpin asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the surly space swine.

Looking at Turpin contemptuously, Gavarus was putting together what she was reasonably sure was going on. The chatty one, Jones, had his eyes on Fiona and his buddy Turpin was to throw himself on the gravitic mine that was herself to clear the path. Her eyes squinted and a distressing grin curled on her thick cheeks. She allowed just the slightest hint of her lower tusks to show as she did.

"Extremely." Gavarus said in an exaggeratedly breathy voice as she leaned over, wiggling her thick, three-fingered hand in the air. Under normal circumstances, she was physically incapable of flirting with someone she liked. But she did not like Mr. Dick Turpin so far, and was fully capable of messing with him a little to suss out his intentions. "Well, for those that appreciate a woman who knows how to use... tools, at least."

Raising one eyebrow, a slight smile settled onto the face of Turpin. “Well, I mean, the right tool for the right job is essential, right? Plus there are power settings, variable speeds, size to consider…”

Ugly she might be, but this was kind of interesting to Turpin.

Staring at Turpin with half-lidded eyes, Gavarus didn't blink as she pulled her mug up and loudly slurped a large swig of beer, all without tilting her head back so as to keep her eyes focused. Whatever Turpin's game was, she wasn't going to fall for it, the enormous Engineer thought as she replied flatly. "A belt sander, mag-lev clamps, nano-lubricant and one decoupling rod. You figure it out, and get back to me."

"You ARE a handy gal...!" Dick Turpin grinned at that.

Irritated by Turpin's tenacity, Gavarus let out a deep, throaty burp that literally drove the young man back, fanning away the cloud of beer belch as Gavarus turned back to the ringleader, Ignatious Jones. "So, what's your story here, Egregious?"

Off to the side, while Briaar had been distracted, Jones was making quiet small talk with O'Dell as she snorted a laugh out. "Ain't that the bloody truth. Allays somebody in the reclamator when ye got to goo, and allays somebody rappin on yuir door when ye hafta poo in pooblic. S'a universal truth right there!"

"Oh, for @#$&'s sake..." Gavarus muttered, watching O'Dell laugh with Jones, her last comment having gone completely ignored. Fed up, she slapped the table and let out an over-the-top snort of a laugh.

"HAAAWWW!!! Shit! Ain't it the truth. Ya' know, with the adjustments I made to the transporter for emergency beam out in the Thunderchicken, I'm betting I could figure out an algorithm to beam the shit right out of someone." Gavarus laughed and spoke too loud to be ignored as the conversation came to a screeching halt.

Their corner or Ten-Forward went silent for a full second, as the prickly pig continued staring at Jones flatly. "It would be a public service for some, that need a major shitectomy."

As she finished her statement, she bit her bottom lip and looked over to O'Dell with widely flared eyes, trying to get the seemingly clueless test-pilot on the same page as her regarding Jones' intentions. O'Dell silently offered a confused but pointed 'WTF?' expression as Jones stepped into it.

"You know, I get the feeling you don't like me much, Briaar," Jones offered with a solicitous smile. "Why is that? We're just here having a friendly drink together?"

Confused by what was going on, O'Dell picked up her beer and sipped at it, eyes darting back and forth between Gavarus and Jones. Even drunken Fiona was starting to get that idea, but she didn't understand why just yet.

"Oh, I don't like much of anyone, Ignominious." Gavarus replied, shooting daggers at the man she assumed had less than honorable intentions for her best friend, deciding that she was done being subtle. "Maybe I think that you're just trying to get my friend here in bed to fill out some creeper-ass checklist and I don't want to see her get hurt?"

At that, O'Dell spritzed beer and started coughing in a comic spittake, but Gavarus wasn't finished yet.

"Maybe I think you convinced your buddy here to take one for the team and distract me? Maybe I don't trust that you're... sincere. Am I wrong? Elucidate. Is there some reason I should like you?" Gavarus finished her rant, taking a sip of her beer.

Blinking up at Jones with wide, innocent eyes, O'Dell turned on the puppy dog eyes at the crewman, who started at the expression for about three seconds before he was off his stool, hands raised in surrender.

"Okay, you know what? We were just having a friendly drink with a fun gal I met in 10-Forward. I didn't know you two were a couple... it's cool, we'll bow out." Stepping away, Jones kept his hands up as he nodded to O'Dell. "It was nice meeting you, Fiona. C'mon Dick, let's leave the ladies in peace."

Rising from his chair, Crewman Turpin offered Gavarus the universal 'call me' signal with a wink.

Replying with a stunned expression and a groan, Gavarus shrugged off Turpin's slightly creepy wink and re-focused her attention on Jones. "Ooooh, no. That wasn't an answer, Inauspicious. You're frickin' right she's a 'fun gal'. But getting indignant AIN'T proving me wrong. Nobody told you to leave. Stick around. Tell me what you think of Fiona. Tell me why I should back the @#$& off? C'mon."

"If you like her, that should be a gauntlet worth running, right?" Gavarus finished with another swig of her beer.

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly and a sly grin spread across his face, as Iggy Jones stepped back to the table, directly opposite Gavarus.

“Yeah, she seems fun. She’s cheerful, she’s sweet, she’s cute. She’s funny and her laugh can warm up a room. She’s got those big green eyes that are like emeralds, and that amazing mane of fiery red hair. But the part that I like best about her? She’s nice. Friendly. Approachable. She seems like a gal you could hang out with and really get to know, because she doesn’t play games or bullshit you. She says what she thinks, and she’s honest about how she feels. That’s pretty hard to come by all in one gal, so yeah, I’m interested.” Turning to regard Fiona, he tilted his head toward her slightly.

“Sorry to talk about you as if you’re not here, but your friend really seems to want answers. Also to not have to share you with anyone, it looks like. Maybe you ought to think about that, Fiona, because it sounds a whole lot like you’re spoken for. As for me,” He straightened up and shot a side-eye to Gavarus, “I know when I’m not welcome, and I’ll back away from your territory, lady. C’mon, Dick,” Crewman jones straightened up, offered a two fingered salute and turned to walk away.

“Get back to me about those mag-lev clamps and the nano-lube…” Crewman Turpin offered with a wink and gun fingers to Gavarus as he departed with his friend.
The angry engineer clenched her jaw and ground her teeth behind pursed lips as she watched the pair walk away. He was right.

Deep down, Gavarus still believed that she was right about his intentions, but everything he said about her was on target and she knew it. And worse, Fiona probably knew it too.

But all the quivering Gavarus could think about was how badly she wanted to beam his smug ass into space. "That mother@#$&ing piece of... I'm gonna..."

Then she froze in her anger, and slowly moved her eyes over to the subject of the evening, Fiona. Those aforementioned big green eyes were wide, and she half-hid behind her beer, which she was holding in both hands. Carefully setting it down on the table, she looked uncomfortable, and when she spoke, it was in a small and quiet voice, not her usual high-pitched caterwaul.

“I, um… I dinna… I’m nae s’good at, uh, seeing when fellas are… ah… I thought he was joost bein friendly,” the wee wingman explained, pointing out one of her own blind spots. “I shouldna… I’m sorry, Briaar, I didn’t know that’s what was happenin’. But, uh, what he said… dinna get mad, aye? It’s okay… yuir the only friend I’ve had in a long time who doesnae get tired of me after the novelty wears off, so, uh, I understand nae wantin’ innyone else ta butt in or… yeah.”

Offering a small, sad smile, O’Dell was trying to make it better, even though she herself was a ball of conflicting emotions churning in her gut, disagreeing with the dark beer it found there. Something told her the situation was complex, and she couldn’t understand Briaar’s anger. The fellow had not been rude or crude and he’d been a gentleman, but she was so angry at him, and anger from large mammals always tended to make Fiona shrink a bit. As she didn’t want to upset her friend any further, she backpedaled, assuming guilt for the situation and apologizing to calm her big buddy down.

n some level, Gavarus was even more upset now. She expected righteous anger out of Fiona. She expected to be told to go away. She expected to finally be abandoned because she didn't know how to behave around other people. She was ready for all of that. But she wasn't ready to look and see that her own anger was making her best friend afraid. And, as such, she had no idea how to process it all.

So she just began talking. "I... he was saying all the right things. He was being perfectly nice. I just... It's... I've seen so many guys like that at the academy. Guys who smile and flatter and flirt, and they see you as a mark on some kind of... checklist. Guys that just want to take you back to their room, @#$% you and then go brag to their little asshole friends." As she spoke, she was still shuddering in place, staring into the distance as if Jones was still in her field of view. And it was clear she was speaking from a place of experience.

"I saw him and it was all I could see and... I didn't want him to..." Suddenly, her voice broke a little and her familiar pattern of stuttering, when she was nervous, reared its ugly head. "But... n... n... now I d... don't know. Maybe he was right. Maybe I am the one that's h... h... hurting y... Maybe I...I...I'm the problem."

Gavarus couldn't handle it. Deep down, she knew he was right about one thing. She didn't want to share Fiona and she didn't want to think about what that meant or anything else. So she took a massive swig of her beer, cleaning off the mug.

As she did, she muttered out a hoarse "I'm sorry..." as she stood up with a start and began all-but breaking out in a run past the doors of Ten-Forward towards the nearest turbolift.

As for O’Dell, she couldn’t be angry at her friend for defending her- it was, in fact, one of the things she liked about Gavarus. Seeing her run off only made her more upset, because she had tried not to say anything wrong, but now Briaar was upset, and that was her fault. Chugging a few mouthfuls of liquid courage, the tiny test pilot hopped off her barstool and began chasing after her best pal. A finger of warning from Security slowed her from a flat-out run, so she switched to the speedy short-legged walk which she exercised so frequently to get from place to place.

Too slow to catch up to Gavarus before she made it to the turbolift, O’Dell caught the next one down to Deck 9, and chased after her porcine pal, assuming she would go back to her quarters. Tabbing the door chime, there was no response, so she simply leaned on it until she got a reply.

From inside the room there was a muffled "G... G... Go away." The voice was broken and weak but it was definitely Briaar Gavarus.

“Please dinna be that way, Briaar. I’m sorry, I dinna mean to say anything wrong. Please don’t be mad… I was joost being drunk an’ friendly,” O’Dell might have grasped the complexities of the situation had she not been in it herself, or clear-headed. But drunk and confused, she didn’t understand exactly what was happening. All she did know is that her best friend was more upset than she’d ever seen her, and it was her fault somehow. Eyes filling with tears, she rested her head against the door.

“I’m sorry Briaar…please don’t make me go away…”

From inside, O'Dell could hear a faint mumbling in the distance that sounded slightly like, 'Computer, door.' Then, a second later, the door wooshed open.

Sitting on the floor with a bottle of whiskey in her lap, Gavarus had clearly started crying but was trying to awkwardly rub her eyes clear. She was angry at herself and the motions were aggressive as she sniffed. "Y... You didn't say anything wrong. You d...d... didn't DO anything wrong, Fee. I @#$&ed this up."

Stepping over a pile of laundry that was nearly up to her knees, O’Dell cleared a spot on the floor and sat down cross-legged opposite the Tellarite terror. “Ye dinna fook innything up. Ye were joost bein’ protective and lookin’ out for me. I was the one who was flyin’ blind. I shoulda known that was what was going on, I joost… he seemed nice, was all. I’m sorry Briaar, I dinna mean to mess up the good time.” O’Dell offered a bit of a frazzled smile to her porcine pal. Her own eyes were puffy and tears tracks were clear on her pale freckled cheeks. “Please dinna be upset, aye?”

"Hell, he probably IS nice. I'm just... I don't know. He felt like an asshole. But that was p... probably just me being me." Gavarus muttered, taking a long swig of the whiskey from the bottle. "And stop it, Fee. You didn't mess anything up. You should probably... I dunno... go see where he went. And if he turns out to be an asshole... I can just beam him into space or something."

“Uh uh,” Fiona replied. “He’s joost some rando who wanted ta chat me up, and yuir prolly right- he’s probably joost playin fetish bingo wi’ me and… all the things people do like that.” Deftly avoiding the topic of sex, the wee leprechaun pressed on.

“But he doesnae matter to me. YOU matter to me, ye feckin eejit. Yuir me best friend, not some fella I met who might or might not want ta do weird things to me. We’re… you’re… I…” the little lass fumbled for what to say and how to say it. “Nobody matters ta me like you do. Ye look out for me, ye take care of me when I’m drunk, ye git me out of fights, and ye always believe in me. That’s…”

Hands waving about as she tried to articulate what she was feeling, O’Dell was on the verge of ugly crying. “Yuir me best friend, and I dinna want you to go way. I dinna mean innything talkin’ to that fella, honest. Please dinna be mad?”

"I'm not mad at you, Fee. I promise." Gavarus pleaded, crossing her legs and rocking in place as she talked."I'm mad at myself! This was supposed to be a celebration! YOUR celebration! And I couldn't keep my ugly face shut and just let you have it because some asshole made me..."

Pausing, the fragile engineer stopped herself short of saying that she was jealous of the idea of someone else encroaching on them. "I ruined everything because I don't know how to not be a raging bitch to everyone."

“Ye dinna ruin anything, Briaar,” O’Dell offered, scooting closer so she could put her small, pale hand on the thick, calloused three-fingered hand of the Tellarite engineer. “It’s nae MY celebration, it’s OUR celebration. Cuz we’re a team, ye and me, and I couldnae have done inny ‘a this withoot ye, aye? And yuir nae a raging bitch to everyone. Joost people ye dinna like. Or strangers. Or people that say stupid things. Or pervos. Or… well, yuir nae a bitch ta me. Ye allays stand up for me and yuir allays there for me, aye?” O’Dell beamed a hopeful little smile, trying to make her grouchy pal feel better.

Hanging her head a little lower, O'Dell simply leaned down further, tilting to ensure her grinning mug stayed in Gavarus's line of sight. After a moment, the tubby Tellarite chuckled slightly. "Alright... Okay... Turn down the grin. It's gonna melt my face off. I'm... Okay."

Her tone got just a touch more serious. "I'm just... I am sorry, Fee. I didn't mean to be so stupid." Then she awkwardly returned a grin of her own, toothy and wobbly.

“Ye’re nae stupid, Briaar,” O’Dell offered softly as she levered herself up a bit, so she could park herself beside Gavarus. “And ye’ve nae ta be sorry aboot, aye? I’m nae mad, I’m joost… I’m glad we’re okay. I really… I dinna want to lose ye, aye?"

"M... Me neither." Gavarus said sheepishly as she took a swig of the whiskey before hesitantly offering the bottle to O'Dell and leaning just a bit closer.

Then, trying to bolster her mood, she chuckled. "I... I bet I could rig an algorithm to beam just his clothes off."

"Oh, a'that I'm sure," the pixie pilot took the whiskey bottle in both hands and tilted it up to take a little sip. But then, a little sip went a long ways for her. Handing the bottle back, she glanced up at Gavarus from under her brows, then O'Dell curled up into the side of the tubby Tellarite, then looked up at her porky pal, all moon-faced and filled with drunken sincerity.

"Yuir m'best friend, Gavarus. We're a team, ye and me, and we'll allays have each other's backs, and no one will e'er come between us. Even if ye manage to climb Mount Jablonski, 'twill ne'er come between ye and me. Aye?" It was the best way the bonnie babe of the Bringloidians could put it to words, but it sufficed.

Taking a massive swig from the rapidly emptying bottle, Gavarus wiped her cheeks dry, then patted O'Dell on the head softly as she smiled. "Aye, Leprechaun. Aye."

"Good. Then ye dinna need ta worry if someone else talks to me or hits on me, aye? M'nae goin' nowhere. Which is not to say ye canna chase off the creepers. But we're pals. partners, amigos, deirfiúr an chroí, ach? Hic!" The whiskey started hitting then, and the compact combat pilot, exhausted from an exciting day and a long night of drinking, curled up against the expansive engineer. Pulling her legs and arms in toward her body, O'Dell lay against the warmth of her friend, and soothed by the wheezing breathing of the toothsome technologist, she sighed.

"Ye take care of me and make me feel safe, Briaar," Fiona O'Dell murmured as she began to doze off. "M'grateful."

As O'Dell drifted away, tucked into Gavarus' side, the generally grumpy Tellarite was feeling anything but. She inexplicably had a best friend and she was determined to not mess it up as she had done most everything else in her life. Scootching down a little and leaning into O'Dell's cat-like curl, Gavarus smiled and chuckled a little under her breath. She may not have believed that she deserved a friend as good as Fiona O'Dell, but she wasn't going to lose her if she could help it.

"I'm grateful too, Fiona." The gruff engineer whispered with a smile as she let her friend sleep.

In the Flight Control office of the U.S.S Hera, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox was hard at work adjusting files and finalizing reduced crew rotation for the next few days while the mighty but battle-scarred starship would be hard docked at the Artan Family Fortress for repairs.

In a few days, the young flight control chief was going to have her bonding ceremony to her partner in both life and in the flight control department, Ensign Mona Gonadie, and as such, there were at least four days in which the aforementioned department was going to be short-staffed.

Having already sat Ensign MacNielle down to go over her responsibilities as the acting chief for the next few days, Dox was putting the finishing touches on some crew rotations. Mona had requested leave time for Ensign O'Dell and her engineering partner-in-crime Ensign Gavarus, for the same 4-day gap in order to ensure the rambunctious pair would be off-ship for the actual ceremony. Which of course Dox had approved.

So, as Mnhei'sahe was finishing up her work for the evening, with one day of work to go before taking a brief break herself, a call came over the ships comm system.

"Dox to... um... Lieutenant Dox... this will become mildly irritating... Are you available?"

It was the voice of the red-headed Romulan's mother, Jaeih Dox, who had become a resident of the Hera herself not too long ago. A former Romulan smuggler, Jaeih had been serving what was to be a life sentence under the aegis of Starfleet Intelligence due to another of her former jobs: that of a Tal'Shiar agent AND a cloaking device expert.

Tapping her commbadge, the younger Dox replied. "I'm almost done with my shift, then I was going to meet Mona for dinner when she gets off in two hours. Is everything okay?" Mnhei'sahe had her suspicions regarding what might be happening, but kept those thoughts to herself.

After a second, a reply chirped through. "All is well. I was simply going to the Ten-Forward and hoped I might be able to meet with you for a bit before you embarked upon your plans."

Rolling her eyes, the anxious aviatrix sighed silently. On the calendar, the federation standard gave the date as June 22nd. On the Romulan calendar she grew up with it was quite a different name and number. But whatever it was called, it was Mnhei'sahe Dox's birthday, and while it was something that was rarely acknowledged growing up, much less celebrated, she knew that must be the reason for this particular vague request. Tapping her badge, she replied. "Yes. I'm off duty in 15 minutes. I can meet you there afterward."

"Very well. I shall meet you there and secure a table. Thank you. Jolan'tru, Daughter," Jaeih replied with a somewhat formal Romulan greeting, which just made the entire affair seem that much more suspicious to her daughter. Who, as it turned out, wasn't particularly excited by the concept of a birthday. So far, only Asa Dael had made anything of it.

Asa had brought over a moderately enormous chocolate chip cookie with the words "Happy Birthday, Mnhei'sahe" written in green frosting on the top in the morning before Dox had left her quarters, along with an enormous and extremely fluffy, rainbow-colored blanket.

As she was shutting everything down to hustle across the starship, the door slid open to admit Commander Rita Paris, the anachronistic first officer of the Hera and the chosen family of the renegade Romulan. In her hands she bore a green box the color of a Romulan starship hull, wrapped in a brighter green ribbon that glowed and pulsed, which was tied in a bow. Attached to the bow was an envelope, all of which she crossed the room at that efficient martial pace to hold it up by one corner to present it to Dox.

"So physically we're around the same age. But your lifespan is much longer than mine, so does this mean you're still just kind of in puberty?" Rita teased gently as she handed over the gift. "Or is this the birthday where puberty ceremonially ends with a gong and some rattling chimes on an abacus?"

While she wasn't officially off duty, this was clearly a casual visit and Dox treated it as such as she looked at the box in Rita Paris's hands. "Hello, Rita. You really didn't have to do anything."

"It's your birthday, Dox. Birthdays are special, because they mark an anniversary, and they are significant. It's impressive that I can say I was born on February 13th, 2233. Your birthday means that you survived, you are still here, and this is the anniversary of your arrival into the universe. Never discount the power of a birthday. Because I don't know about you, but mine all sucked growing up," Rita rolled her eyes at the memories. "Besides, I can only celebrate it for so many people. Sonak still doesn't get birthdays. I missed Enalia's on New Year's Eve, so damned if I'll miss yours."

Awkwardly, she took the box and placed it on her desk. The same desk that had been Rita's when the now slightly less young Dox came aboard. Chucking, she replied, looking at the envelope. "Uh, well, Romulan's generally have puberty near the same age as humans. Thanks to my DNA being messed with, my actual puberty as a teenager was extremely mild. Then Asa fixed my DNA a few months ago and, well, you've seen it first hand. So, technically I'm still in my first, full on Romulan puberty, but it's under extenuating circumstances."

Gently, she opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. It was a linen stiff fabric card, upon which was embossed the modern 'dual tower' Starfleet logo. Looking up with a slight smile for her chosen sister, Dox began to read.

"One’s sister is part of one’s essential self, an eternal presence of ones’ heart, soul and memory. ~Susan Cabil."

Reading the card, Dox's eyes started to water slightly, though she stifled any actual tears with an awkward chuckle. "Imirrhlhhse... Thank you. Seriously."

“You’re welcome. I don’t know if cards are a thing in your culture, but it is in mine. Now open your present- I’m sure you’ve got places to be I am making you late for,” Rita hypothesized as she urged Mnhei’sahe on.

"Cards were..." The perpetually anxious young Romulan paused for a moment. "Not growing up on the Forager, no. But, my grandparents... Hnaev... no matter what, they were still my grandparents... they gave cards all the time. I wish I had kept..."

Then Dox stopped herself, straightened up and cleared her throat with a slight smile, shaking off the brief moment of introspection. "Yeah. Yes. You're right. I'm meeting my mother in Ten-Forward in a bit, yes. Okay."

Placing the card delicately on her desk, she undid the glowing green ribbon with a quirky grin and pulled the lid off the box. "Taome dynt..."

Grinning, she reached in as she muttered 'how wonderful' In Rihan. Gently, she pulled out a small model of a ship, in the same scale as the model of the U.S.S. Exeter on her desk that Rita had left there for her when she had bequeathed the office to Mnhei'sahe. The model was of the 23rd-century Romulan bird of prey, the T'liss-class Light Warbird. It was a very detailed model, perfectly reproduced to feature the golden wings of Al'thindor on the belly stretched out between the nacelles. Rita had always encouraged Dox to explore her heritage, and this gift was no doubt, another part of that ongoing mission.

At the gift, Mnhei'sahe could help but let out a joyous little laugh. A throaty, honest thing as she looked at the miniature vintage ship. "This is... this is amazing. Thank you again, Rita. I love it."

"I had it replicated with lights that run on random patterns- we don't have any sort of records of the operations of those class of vessels. But the nacelles light up and the power supply is supposed to last forever. Oh, and the base is a grav magnet, just hit the button and she's anchored for the next time the inertial dampeners get overloaded." The officer of long ago's eyes misted a bit.

"This was the IRW Raptor's Star, commanded by Commander Artorius. We had both escaped confrontations with the USS Conquest, sister ship to the USS Vengeance- big rogue dreadnaught class vessel," Rita summarized, although to her knowledge no such vessel had ever existed in this timeline. "We bridged the gap- the Romulans had saved some of the crew of the USS Colombia, who the Conquest had already destroyed, and the human crew pitched in with the Romulans, with a human engineer leading damage control."

"It was the first time I'd ever seen a Romulan. I asked Sonak about it, and he explained the Sundering, and expressed his own desire for reunification, even back then. To him, it was simply logical- there were only 10,000 Vulcans left, and their race had to go on." Rita chuckled at that. "I was ready to give him up to save his people. Glad that didn't happen."

"In the final battle with the Conquest, we interposed and expanded our shields to protect the Raptor's Star, but their armaments were attuned to our shield harmonics, and she was lost with all hands aboard. But they were noble, and they were merciful, and they were our allies in that battle... we felt their loss as one of our own. Nero might have been a murderous ass, but the Romulans... those Romulans, that July day in 2266..." Rita looked back up, returning from the memory of her story of the past, that now had never happened.

"Those were your Rihannsoo," Rita intoned, mispronouncing the word, but at least recognizably. "Your ancestors who were my friends. I thought you might appreciate a tribute to them."

Listening intently , as Dox always did to Rita's stories of her remarkable career, the young pilot smiled and continued to keep any tears from escaping as she held the model of the IRW Raptor's star in her hands.

Without thinking, she picked up the small but heavy base from the box and set both in place on the corner of her desk, side by side with the model of Rita's former ship, the Exeter. Once in place, the nacelles began to hum and glow as the ship hovered in place.

"It's... It's perfect, Rita. And amazing." Dox had a broad smile across her thick cheeks. "I... I really appreciate it. I appreciate everything. Thank you."

Pulling the smaller redhead into a hug, the blonde bombshell sighed. "Happy birthday, Mnhei'sahe."

"Now, go, go, you're late!" the emotionally expressive executive officer exclaimed, releasing her shipmate from the hug and scooting out the door, picking up a PaDD as she did so.

Smiling lightly at the gift, Dox shut down her computer and locked up the office as she made her way to Ten-Forward.

A few minutes later, the red-headed Romulan pilot stepped through the double doors of the Hera's primary lounge. She noticed only one guard on duty and didn't see the pair of security escorts that followed her mother wherever she went. But sure enough, there she was sitting at a table at the end of the room near the windows. Something absolutely felt different and it was making Mnhei'sahe that much more nervous.

Making her way across the room, Mnhei'sahe took the seat opposite her mother and nodded curiously, "Jolan'tru, mother. You wanted to see me?"

Sitting slightly back, Jaeih raised an eyebrow. "Did I give you the impression that this was to be some sort of… trial? You seem exceedingly nervous, Mnhei'sahe. Moreso than usual, which is saying much."

Sighing slightly, Mnhei'sahe didn't mention her birthday, but instead brought up the concerns in a broader aspect. "Well, your words and tone were excessive… cryptic. I'm understandably concerned. What's wrong?"

At which point, the two were interrupted by the server, who can over to take their orders. A young Bajoran woman in a beige server's uniform. "Good evening, ladies. Can I get you anything?"

"Uh… Yes. A Brhon caelis. Black, please." Mnhei'sahe replied, ordering a particularly strong blend of Romulan coffee.

Nodding, Jaeih smiled ever so slightly and held up two fingers. "The same."

"Excellent, I'll be right back with your orders, ladies." The server said with a practiced smile as she left to fetch their drinks, leaving the mother and daughter alone to talk again.

“So…” Jaeih said with a slightly haughty manner, indicating something she was proud of, “Have you noticed?”

Rolling her eyes slightly, Mnhei’sahe hadn’t had to figure out one of her mother’s riddles in years. But growing up, it was a regular occurrence in which Jaeih would test her daughter's observational skills with little riddles or tricks around the smuggling ship she grew up on. Jaeih would take a component out of the engine and wait for Mnhei’sahe to notice that something was wrong and fix it. Things of that nature. When she would complain about it, her mother often remarked, 'Life is a test, Melanie'.

However, she hadn’t missed a beat in the years the two were separated, and if anything she was far more observant these days. “Your guards aren’t here. This isn’t something I need to contact security about is it?” Mnhei’sahe replied with a grin.

“Oh, security will no longer be escorting me about the ship, my dear.” And with no small amount of pride, Jaeih tugged slightly on the bottom of her gray Starfleet Intelligence tunic. As she did, the server returned with their coffees.

Taking the coffee, Jaeih thanked the server then took a sip before continuing. “I had an… extended discussion with Commander Paris this afternoon. It appears that the Captain is working on securing… a pardon for me. And the Commander assures me it is all but a certainty at this point, to the degree of officially changing my ‘guest’ status here on the ship.”

Taken slightly aback, Mnhei’sahe set her coffee down with a surprised expression. “Really? That’s… that’s wonderful. What happened?”

Continuing, Jaeih leaned forward slightly, “The Captain and Commander felt that my involvement in her tribunal, my work with miss Az’Prel and my assistance in defending the crew during the… unfortunate dealings on the station… merited a change in my status. I am, of course, grateful.”

The observant Romulan Lieutenant noticed that while her mother was wearing the same gray Starfleet tunic and the silver Romulan sigil on her chest that she had since coming aboard, she was preening over them just a bit more than usual. “So, what does this mean, then?” She asked, already suspecting the answer.

Looking at her daughter with an ever so slightly wry grin, Jaeih replied. “Will I be leaving the ship? Is that what you’re wondering?”

Rolling her eyes, Mnhei’sahe took a sip of the strong, tart coffee before continuing. “Really? You can’t just tell me? Very well. No, you’re not leaving the ship. You’re fussing over that uniform top and all but bursting at the seams. Rita offered you a job, didn’t she?”

The wry grin spread into a proud smile. “That she did indeed. As of today, I am officially assigned to the Intelligence department of the Hera. While I am classified as an independent consultant, I shall be remaining onboard to put my skills to use here. I am… quite excited by the prospect to be able to work towards goals that I… can respect.”

Taking another sip, Mnhei’sahe now had something of a smirk. “See. I told you Starfleet was worth it, Mother. We do good work on this ship and I’m glad that you’re... finding a place here.”

“Well, obviously, I’m not IN Starfleet. I didn’t go to your little school and all. But I will be able to continue working with you, Mona and the Commander indefinitely.” Jaeih replied, sitting back again and picking up her cup to nurse as they spoke. “But I am very glad that you find this to be… good news.”

“I do, mother.” Mnhei’sahe replied. In spite of the somewhat prophetic words from both Kodria and Death herself that her time with her mother was limited, the young pilot was relieved. Whatever time they had left would be spent serving together on the ship she called home. It was something worth being happy about. It would be time well spent, regardless of what was potentially to come. “This is yet another piece of good news for this week.”

Now it was the younger Dox’s time to be vague and cryptic, which caused Jaeih to arc and eyebrow and tilt her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well…” Mnhei’sahe got to the point quickly. “In a few days, before we depart from the station, Mona and I… well… we will be having an official bonding ceremony.”

Looking for some kind of reaction, Dox was slightly bemused to notice nothing but that same wry smile on her mother’s face, as she reached to pull something from her back pocket. “Then it’s good that I brought this with me. Happy Birthday, my paenhe.”

Using the Rihan word for ‘daughter’, Jaeih handed Mnhei’sahe a small black box with a green ribbon on it. Slowly undoing the ribbon, Mnhei’sahe opened the box to reveal several squares of pearlescent black durasteel. With a confused expression, Mnhei’sahe cricked an eyebrow and looked up at her mother.

“Rhiannsu ceremonial bracelets for a marriage are usually forged from a precious metal from ch'Rihan. But in spite of my best efforts, I was never able to take you there. So, I spoke with the ships maintenance department and secured this. It is metal taken during repairs from the Hera’s hull.” Jaeih took a brief sip of coffee as she spoke. “This ship is your home. You’ve said so many times, and said so with great conviction. So this seemed… appropriate. There are several reputable jewelers on the Artan station that can forge this as needed with time to spare, I presume.”

Staring at the glimmering metal plates, Dox’s eyes began to water as she considered everything. “Heh… of course you knew.” Then, with a tear escaping her eye, she slipped into a near whisper in Rihan, “Khnai'ru rhissiuy, Ri’anov. Jol hwi arhem.” A simple enough statement that was difficult to get out under the circumstances of, ‘Thank you very much, Mother. I love you.’

Allowing herself a warm smile, Jaeih leaned in and put her hands on her daughter's knee. “Jol hwi arhem, paenhe.”

The Hera's chief engineer let out a slight winch as she lowered herself to the ground. Her pregnancy was starting to show now as her belly was slowly growing in size. It wouldn't be long now before they would have to finish the process and transfer the two eggs to the Anear of her quad.

She leaned against Thav as the two dangled their feet into the fortress lake. He and Oribiar had become quite important to her life in such a little time that it was still a slight shock, but she truly did love the two.

"You okay?" Her security officer asked as he held her tight allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. She felt safe here. Nothing could hurt them.

The lake in question was one of the more remote destinations to relax in at the Artan Orbital Fortress. While the Hera was docked there, the crew was free to take advantage of the amenities of the massive and lavish station. The station was not unlike a resort and was large enough to have a number of natural habitats among its other many pleasures. One of them was this spacious and serene lake environment.

And that remoteness was likely the rationale that allowed the two Andorians to notice their shipmate, and the Hera's chief flight control officer, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox, taking in a jog around the other side of the lake, heading towards them.

It was clear that the red-headed Romulan was lost in thought, small earbuds in place, with a faraway expression as she ran in a form-fitting pair of black leggings with an emerald green streak going up the legs and a matching green Sports bra with a floppy, wide-necked black t-shirt draped over it all. She almost ran by before noticing the pair as she slowed down to a light jog and tapped on the earbud to turn them off.

"Commander, Lieutenant... sorry to disturb you. I didn't notice you were here." the almost perpetually anxious pilot said as she stopped near them.

"Dox I'm off duty, you don't need to use my rank." Thex said softly as she moved her feet in the lake. It was quite clear her pregnancy was becoming tiring for her.

"It's nice to meet you Lieutenant Dox." Thav said still keeping a firm grip on Thex.

A bit more nervous now, Dox replied with an awkward chuckle. "Sorry. It's... a hard habit to break." In the many months since joining the Hera, the chief engineer was the senior officer that the young pilot was still the least comfortable around. But it was something she wished to change.

"It's nice to meet you too. Well, again. We talked briefly at the party, I believe. But... how are you both doing?" Dox added nervously.

"We're okay. Feel sightly drained from getting everything ready for the two girls." Thav said hugging Thex tighter.

"That's right, twins." Dox said, remembering what little she knew if their situation. "That has to be a lot to prepare for. I can't.. " As she spoke, she paused for a moment as she thought. "Um. I don't mean to bother you, but do you mind if I... uh... asked a question, Thex?"

"Off course Dox. Why don't you take a seat? " The Andorian said gesturing to the spot next to her.

"Thanks." Dox replied as she sat next to the quite pregnant chief engineer. "Well... I was just wondering... um... and I don't mean to pry, but you've really moved the stars to make this happen. Finding everyone and all coming together. How... how did you know you were ready? Ready to... be a mother, I mean."

A smile spread over Thex face as she let out a soft laugh. "Dox, I have no idea if I'm ready for this." She said her hand moving over her belly. "My own childhood was beyond shitty and the closest thing to a parent I know is a space jellyfish. All I know is I have the three people I love with me and we're going to do our best to give these two the best life they can get."

Looking slightly confused, Dox tilted her head slightly. "But you still made the decision and then sought out your quad and then had to go to Asa for assistance. So something had to tell you it was at least what you wanted."

"Mona... she really wants to have children. But I... I don't have any voice telling me that I want that." Dox admitted. "All I have is a voice screaming at me to be afraid." As she spoke, she gesticulated with her hands in an exaggerated shaking motion.

"It's rather hard to explain," Thex added. "I'm not sure if it's the same for everyone and every species. I always wanted children and one day I just woke up and decided if I wanted it I'll have to start making it happen. Have you considered going to the counselor about it if you're worried about what to do?"

Chucking slightly, Dox leaned over her knees. "I have. A lot. I mean, Asa's isn't exactly impartial where I'm concerned. They're my best friend, after all. Everyone tells me that I shouldn't worry. That everyone's convinced that they'll be terrible parents."

Then she leaned back on her hands and looked out over the lake. "When Mona talks about it, I can almost see it, though. Like it's already real. I can almost see them, if that makes any sense."

"We understand. " Thav chipped in. " Have you talked to her about it? "

"Yes." Dox replied, still looking somewhat distant. "We've talked... at length. She's giving me time and space to think about it, but I know how important this is for her. And... then more I think about it myself, the more it feels... inevitable. Not bad, just something where it's like they almost already exist and they're just waiting for me to get out of the way."

"If your feeling nervous I'm sure she'll give you time to get everything sorted out in your head," Thex said. "She's not going to push you into anything you don't want to do."

Figuring it was best to not go into details on just how strong mating urges apparently were for Miradonian's like Mona, Dox instead just nodded. "I... don't know that I don't want it anymore. I'm sorry. I know I'm all over the place. It's just... well obviously a massive decision. And honestly, we don't even know if Asa can make it happen with my copper based blood and all. I guess I just needed to talk to a few people that have made these decisions."

"It's okay it's a big decision. I'm sure Asa can figure something out and you could ask Hera for help. She might be able to do something." Thex suggested.

"If it gets to that, I'm not against it, though I don't want to tax her if we can manage it just with science," Dox added with a slight chuckle as she thought of something. "Although, considering that her influence tends to make people more fertile and the fact that Miradonians can have about FOUR chicks at a time, I don't know If I want Mona getting a cosmic boost in that department."

"Which, I guess, is another element that's kind of scary. The possibility that going into my first attempt at being a parent might very well be with four children all at one." There was a noticeable twinge of awkwardness in Dox's voice. "But... thank you for listening. I didn't mean to interrupt your vacation here, but I do appreciate you making a little time for my nonsense."

"Don't mention it Dox you can come and talk to us if you need someone to talk to," Thex said before a slight grin came across her face. "You know Andorians use to be able to have six kids at once"

The red-headed Romulan's eyes bulged wide as her jaw fell open. "Imirrhlhhse." She cursed in her native Rihan. "So, I guess two isn't that big a deal, proportionately. Plus, four parents to share the load has to help a bit."

As her expression returned to normal, Dox smiled and continued. "Well, if I haven't said so..." she said, looking at Thav, "I'm glad you all found each other. And I'm very glad you're all happy. Those two kids are going to have wonderful parents. AND a shipload of crazy aunts, uncles and everything else."

" Indeed. These two are going to have a great family. " Thex replied rubbing her belly slightly.

Information brokers tended to be enigmas in the galaxy. Hard to find yet always available when you need them. And Jaeih Dox needed one now.

It was only a little over a week ago that her sixteen plus year sentence as a "guest" of Starfleet Intelligence had come to perhaps the most unexpected ending she could have imagined. The seventy-plus-year-old Romulan woman had been many things in her life leading up to where she now found herself. She had been a scientist. A soldier. An agent of the Tal'Shiar. A prisoner of her own people for betraying her government when she could no longer overlook its crimes. A smuggler seeking redemption. A mother. An indentured servant to Starfleet Intelligence for her knowledge of Romulan intelligence and Cloaking Technology. And now an independent operative of that same organization.

But in her heart, as she affixed the customized comm badge in the shape of the Romulan sigil of Al'hindor she had been given by Rita Paris over her left breast, she served not Starfleet Intelligence, but rather the crew and Captain of the U.S.S. Hera.

The Hera was her daughter Mnhei'sahe's ship, and in a very short period of time, she had grown to greatly respect the ship and her crew. Her Captain, Enalia Telvan, shared a long history with the former smuggler and had expended considerable effort to secure a pardon for Jaeih. The Hera's Commander, Rita Paris, placed her trust in Jaeih, and the elder Romulan woman greatly wanted to earn that trust.

So when Paris had asked if Jaieh could investigate the machinations the former Queen of the Artan pirate family might have in play against the Hera and Enalia, Jaeih volunteered on the spot. It was a worthy mission with a good purpose. She would use her skills to help protect her new and admittedly unlikely family.

As such, she found herself walking with purpose through the lowermost decks of the massive Artan family fortress with a purpose. Dressed in a black leather tunic and pants with a black overcoat covering her badge, Jaeih was seeking out an old friend.

And by 'friend', she meant the Bolean information broker Mornar Reian. In her days as a smuggler, she regularly paid Reian for information about Romulan and Klingon patrol routes that might impact her smuggling operations. And for the right price, he had never let her down. She hoped that that hadn't changed.

He wasn't expecting her, but the travel manifest she had hacked into on the station said he was there, and she hoped that he would be glad to see her. Or at least not shoot on sight. He was staying in a secured wing of the lower levels on deck 2,673. And as she approached, her hands balled as if carrying something, the room clearly had guards. Two massive and somewhat dangerous looking Naussican mercs were standing outside his door that she didn't recognize.

"Hold!" The taller of the two shouted down to her in broken standard. "Off limits, Romulan!"

"Not to me." Jaeih replied matter-of-factly as she walked up to them showing no signs of any fear. "I need to speak to Mornar Reian. My name is Jaeih Dox. He knows me, and I can make it worth his while. And I can make it worth your while to relay my request."

Years as a smuggler provided the elder Romulan with a sizable account of Latinum that had been sitting unused for years until just recently, when she reopened her hidden finances onboard the station. But the irritable Naussicans weren't in the listening mood.

"Go away. Or we MAKE you go away!" The second, slightly shorter brute growled in Jaeih's face. While she was sorely tempted to collapse his extremely vulnerable trachea that was just above her hands, see decided that tact was what was called for here, regardless of how awful his breath was.

With an exaggerated wince at his breath, she held her hand up and to the side towards the face of the taller guard, never breaking eye contact with the second. Opening her hand, she revealed ten strips of Latinum. "A simple transaction. You simply press the button and ask your employer of he will see me, and it's yours. I'm not asking for betrayal or any compromise of your duties. Just tell him I'm here."

The second guard straightened back up to tower over Jaeih as she folded her fingers back over the strips of Latinum and, in a smooth and controlled gesture, brought them back down and deposited them in her jacket pocket, where she subtly switched to something else that was hidden there.

The taller Naussican thought hard on the offer before bristling back. "GO AWAY OR DIE!

Rolling her eyes, the straight-faced Mrs. Dox let out an exasperated sighed.

Seconds later, from inside the chamber, Mornar Reian was startled awake in his private chamber by a flashing noise followed by the sound of two large forms falling to metal deck plates in the corridor outside. Leaping from his bed, Reian was a slightly portly Bolean wearing a dark gray robe as he pulled a disruptor out from under his pillow. After a brief moment, there was a buzzing sound as the security panel shorted out and the heavy blast door to his chamber groaned open.

"If you're ready to die, then by all means, step inside!!" The nervous information broker shouted from the darkness of his bedchamber in the windowless interior room on the Artan station. Jaeih stood with her arms at her sides, rimmed by the lights of the hall.

"I'd rather not die today, Mornar. I have plans this afternoon," the elder Dox called in to the chamber calmly.

For a long moment, Mornar Reian knitted his brow, locked on the familiar voice. Then, raising his weapon a hair higher, called back. "Dox? Is that you?"

As he spoke, he fumbled for the pad on the wall that turned the lights up in the chamber revealing the salt-and-pepper haired Romulan woman. Her hands crossed in front of her so he could clearly see the small hand stunner she was holding. An impact-based weapon that could incapacitate most with a light touch for a few minutes.

Looking, his eyes went wide and a slight smile crept up as he lowered his Repulsor slightly. "JAEIH DOX!" He shouted. "I heard you were here! Come in, come in! But put that on the table in the foyer there, if you will."

With a slight smirk, Dox placed the stunner down gently and stepped in and gestured with her head to the two sleeping guards. She had 4 more weapons hidden on her person that were far more useful than the stunner anyway. "I offered to pay them to let you know it was me, but they were adamant on being difficult. But they'll be fine. Eventually."

The Bolean lowered his disruptor and sighed. "Their loss. That seemed quite reasonable. They're… dogmatic… in their duties. But also usually better at it than that. Of course, you aren't exactly your average visitor, are you Jaeih? Look at you! Starfleet custody hasn't slowed you down, it seems."

"Well, I'm no longer in anyone's custody these days. But I never let my skills atrophy, if that's what you mean." The elder Dox walked over, hands folded behind her back as she slowly walked around the room.

"Well, as you may imagine, I have heard things. A little bird told me that you're running with the Princesses crew these days. That you worked with her to bring down the Queen Regent." The Bolean commented in a matter-of-fact fashion as he took a seat at a small table near the back of the room, gesturing at an empty seat opposite him.

Staying standing for a moment, Jaeih paced slightly. "It serves my purposes and secured my freedom. Plus, that woman tried to have my daughter assassinated. As you may imagine, that was somewhat motivating in regards to my wanting to see her head on a Pike."

Then the stern-faced Romulan say down, tenting her fingers before her. "Suffice it to say, I am happy she is no longer an issue."

"Well…" the Bolean information broker scoffed, "Don't expect to make many friends here with that attitude. The Queen was very good for the very worst kind of business. Some very shady individuals are… not enthusiastic for an Enalia Telvan rule."

In a mocking tone, Jaeih chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh… will you need to work a little harder to keep profits up and stay under the proverbial radar? What a pity."

No longer enjoying the exchange, Reian's tone got more serious and less playful. "So… vapid pleasantries aside… this clearly isn't a social call. What do you need from a… humble salvage dealer?"

Playing at this game is something Jaeih Dox did very well, and it was clear that nothing much had changed over the last sixteen years. "I need to find out what you may have… salvaged regarding the Queen's holdings. The princess has a vested interest in ensuring that there are no rugs about to be pulled out from under her."

The Bolean had a skeptical expression as he sat back, so Jaeih sweetened the pot with a very well concealed lie that she hoped she could convince Paris and the Captain to make into the truth later. "And she is… prepared to make certain… concessions and allowances for those that help her protect her interests."

Crossing her hands on the table, Jaeih leaned in slightly. "Which means that anyone in such a position would have a much greater flexibility in how they do business once the family is restructured. Or can you see no advantage in being the information broker that Starfleet looks the other way for?"

Thinking on Jaeih's words for a moment, Reian leaned in as well. "Promises for what… might happen… have little value with me, my dear. I would need something a bit more… tangible… to jog my memory here."

Leaning back, Jaeih slowly pulled back the lapel of her jacket showing her badge. As she did, Reian put his hand over his Repulsor cautiously. He was wary, but also nervous. He knew that if she wanted to kill him, that disruptor likely wouldn't say him. But he still tried to maintain at least the illusion of control.

As he watched, she tapped her badge three times in sequence and there was a light chirrup. "There. Check your account, Mornar."

Hesitantly, he leaned back and pulled a small data PaDD out of the pocket of his robe and began calling up information. After a moment, his eyebrow raised as he smiled lightly. Before he could say anything, Jaeih spoke.

"Your NEW Queen, Enalia Telvan, has resources beyond your imagination, Mornar. That is simply a good-faith down payment to ensure that information you may have on the former Queen Regent ends up in my ears." Jaeih leaned back over, her hands now closed on the table. The money that she had transferred with a pre-programmed comm signal was her own, but it was enough to convince the Bolean that she was serious.

"Is that… tangible enough for you?"

There was a moment of silence between the two before the greedy Bolean replied. "On launch pad 76 on the ventral port docking bay, there's a shipment that might be of interest to you. But you didn't hear about that from me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mornar. I was never here to have heard anything, anyway." The two had played this game before, though not in many years, but little had changed. With nothing more to be said, Jaieh pushed back from the small table amd stood up with a professional nod. The Bolean information broker returned the nod and smirked slightly.

"You were missed, Jaeih. I'm glad to see you back." Mornar commented casually as Mrs. Dox made her way to the door to the chamber where the two Naussicans were just beginning to stir. Picking her hand stunner back up and slipping it back into her pocket, Jaeih looked over her shoulder and replied with a smirk not unlike the one her Daughter flashed at times on the Hera. "See who back?"

"Kreldanni feanna." Jaeih muttered, insulting the two pathetic guards in her native Rihan as she walked out past them. A few moments later, she was in a turbolift making her way to the level below Launchpad 76. From her back pocket she pulled out a small PaDD secured from the Hera's Intel department. Untraceable and monitoring the microdot transmitter she had placed under the small table she had been sitting with Mornar at. It had been nearly ten minutes, and the transmitter hadn't picked up any transmission from his quarters, meaning unless he woke the two Naussicans up and had them hand deliver a warning, he had not betrayed her, which was good. She would hate to sully her first official mission for the Hera by going back to beat Mornar Reian within an inch of his life. Mnhei'sahe and Rita might frown on that.

Probably more Rita than Mnhei'sahe, really.

After studying the stations shipping manifests, or at least the public ones, she arrived at a lonely, empty corridor beneath the the Launchpad in question, Jaeih used the small PaDD to perform a cursory scan of the level above her which revealed an inordinate amount of security and a magnetic shield to prevent beaming In or out for what, on the official station manifest, was nothing more than a shipment of industrial grade durasteel shuttle plating.

Pacing about for a few minutes, her curiosity was spiriling. Commander Paris was convinced that Arenara Artan had, no doubt, a plethora of schemes and plans put ib place in the event of her loosing the Tribunal, dead or alive. And based on the hint given, there was likely something of great interest on that cargo freighter set to depart that very evening.

As such, the recently freed Intelligence operative had little time to concoct a plan to get on that ship to find out why it was important. Making her way to one of the station's many data access ports located throughout the complex. Meant to simply provide basic information, she used her PaDD to manually patch into the stations schematics. It was data she could likely get Captain Telvan to get her, but in the moment she was operating on old but still sharp instincts and she was admittedly anxious to prove herself and her skills to Rita Paris. So instead of asking, she meticulously navigated the station computers security system and after nearly thirty minutes of avoiding firewalls and circumventing digital tripwires expertly, she had downloaded a map of the stations access tunnels, electrical conduits, ventilation systems and even waste systems.

Unlike a starship,some parts of the station were antiquated enough to still use plumbing. But Jaeih had no intention of crawling through Hnaev for this mission. Not when the cargo freighter was parked in a cargo bay with three ventilation shafts and two maintenance access tubes.

The scans she had made revealed no security sheilds in place in any of the bulkheads as that would show up on security scans and let the Artan security know that something secret was afoot. And while she couldn't walk in the front door, she could hack her way into the maintenance substation one deck above the hangar bay. And after a quick message back to the Hera, she was on the move.

Changing her cloths for a pair of maintenance coveralls in a locker in the maintenance substation, which was currently unmanned, it was simple enough to squeeze her slender frame into the maintenance tube and climb down a deck and see her way into the secretive hangar bay. She moved slowly and quietly, careful to not trip any sensors or alert anyone to her presence. Sitting in the near totally darkness as she observed the four guards walking in a tight pattern around the shuttle, memorizing every detail she could see. Their height, speed and more importantly, their very lethal disruptors. But she had no intention of fighting anyone this day.

As Jaeih watched, she heard a chime.come from the main hangar entry doors that captured the attention of the guards that stopped slowly circling the ship as they began to move towards the door. Jaieh smirked as the fruits of her call to the Hera had clearly arrived.

The four guards on duty, one mamoth human-looking male, two burly Andorian men and Bajoran, all wearing matching black unkforms, made their way to the hatch, checking the camera feed from the corridor. Arguing among themselves, they were clearly trying to convince the visitor to leave but after a minute of arguing, the guards opened the door, revealing a slim Vulcan woman dressed professionally as a station security administrator with a data PaDD in hand. But she was no Artan administrator. It was the Vulcan refugee and resident freedom fighter of the U.S.S. Hera, Az'Prel.

From inside the maintenance hatch, even Jaeih's delicate Romulan ears couldn't quite hear what Az'Prel was saying in detail, but from how flustered the guards looked and how much the Vulcan intelligence operative was talking and making them look at paperwork on her PaDD, she could imagine it was an intense amount of mind numbing legal double-speak. And it was doing its job as the transport was marginally unguarded for the moment.

And it was a moment that the stealthy Romulan took advantage of. Quietly removing then replacing the hatch cover, she slipped into the transport through the rear hatch. Scans showed that the ship itself was empty as she tip toes in near total darkness into the ships cargo hold.

A small light in hand, she quickly circumvented the cargo doors security hatch almost as if it wasn't there. No alarms were sounded and she worked her way through, hoping Az'Prel was still keeping the guards busy.

After a moment, she found herselfin a large cargo hold with, by her visual count, 65 sealed medical grade refrigerated crates. All identical. All individually shielded. And none what one would use for shipping durasteel shuttle plating. Pulling out her PaDD once again, she hardwired into the access panel on the nearest crate and began running a program to find the access codes.

It was an algorithm that took nearly four minutes to find the right code to unlock the cargo safely. Four minutes longer than Jaeih was comfortable with. By this point, she couldn't imagine that Az'Prel was still able to keep distracting the guards and they were likely back on their standard floor patrols, so she was hoping that she had found something actionable.

And after a moment, the hatch was unlocked and she had her answers.

Biomimetic get. Hundreds of liters of biomimetic get. Used in medical experimentation, advanced healing, genetic modification and cloning, the sale of the substance was highly illegal. And extremely expensive. It has cost her a mind fortune to have secured enough to make the genetic modifications that she had performed on her daughter, Mnhei'sahe, all those years ago to hide her Romulan heritage and DNA fron detection. She knew what it was capable.

And on the Hera at that exact moment, was the info clone of the now deceased queen Regent of the Artan's, Arenara Artan. And in the crate, was also a small packet of frozen biomaterial. Blood amd DNA samples. A genetic template.

A quick scan confirmed her suspicions. The samples were those of Arenara Artan. In the hold of this ship was enough material to create hundreds of clones of the mad queen, as needed. Maybe thousands. A thousand back up plans. A thousand escape routes just in case. And a thousand violations of interstellar law on an epic scale.

She wouldn't have to fight her way off this ship. This was Exactly the kind of thing Rita Paris sent her out the find. And acting with the Authority of the Artan ruling family, the Hera was authorized to conduct random searches of the cargo ships leaving. It was.time to call this in. Resealing the crate and tapping her comm badge, a specially designed Intel model that could send subspace communications largely undetectable by scans, she whispered in the darkness with a smirk.

"Operative Dox to Commander Paris. Send a security inspection team to launchbay 76. I found something the Captain will be very interested in seeing."

While many of the crew of the U.S.S. Hera had been working hard to repair the mighty starship after its victorious performance against the Bloody Rose and the now former Queen regent of the Artan Pirate Family, Ensigns Gavarus and O'Dell had been hard at work bringing the experimental starcraft known as the Thunderchicken back up to specs.

The first, official combat flight of the variable mode fighter had been an unqualified success, and the light mech and its pilot had proven themselves with flying colors. It was so successful that, in spite of taking heavy fire, the pearlescent black mech was fully checked and cleared for action again after what amounted to little more than basic maintenance. Being a member of the engineering team, Gavarus could be put to use assisting with the repairs of the Hera while the ship was docked at the Artan fortress. But the head of the R&D Department, Mona Gonadie, had other ideas.

The head of the department had officially banished them both- not only from work, but from the Hera herself. Officially, they were being given shore leave in recognition of their outstanding service, but the cagey Miradonian Ensign had an ulterior motive in getting Gavarus and O'Dell off the ship. In just a few days, she would be completing her bonding ceremony with her partner and lover, the Hera's Chief Flight Control officer, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox. So the increasingly nervous aviatrix didn't want the notoriously hard-drinking pair anywhere near her 'perfect day'. So shore leave it was.

“So that’s the score. She said we need ta go see one of the resort planets here in the system, she wasnae takin’ no for an answer, and we’re nae allowed to check back in for another 4 days. So… where do ye want to go?” Sitting cross-legged on the foot of the Thunderchicken, the petite redheaded pilot who hailed from the unlikely planet Mariposa peered up at her oversized Tellarite flight mechanic.

“Polar, tropical, forest, city, watersports… or do we joos tour the pubs of a planet until we’ve been thrown oot of all of ‘em?” O’Dell asked cheerfully.

Grumbling while examining the knee joint of the towering mech, looking for something to give her work to do, Briaar Gavarus groaned. "I have no damn idea, Fee. Vacations are a pain in the ass, what do you want to do?”

“I want ta go somewhere that’s cold an’ rainy, where they have pubs fulla smoke, where people throw darts and arm wrestle and sing songs, where a proper brawl is practically expected and they toss ye oot when closing time comes to leave ye ta stagger home on yuir own!” Clearly O’Dell had not really put a lot of thought into a vacation beyond 'getting hammered in a pub'. Apparently, rather specifically, one reminiscent of her home. Which was in and of itself a cosmic knockoff of stereotypical Irish culture.

Pausing for a second, the towering Tellarite shrugged and chuckled. "Seriously? You get wasted on synthehol and can't fight your way out of a wet paper bag. That said, sure. Why the hell not? It sounds better than some frickin' beach."

“It doesnae mean I dinna like ta drink, I’m joost wee and it works on me easy!” O’Dell protested, her voice getting a bit squeaky as she defended herself. “Besides, I hate the beach. Lookit me! M’skin’s white as snow where it ain’t freckled! Beaches joost make me skin burn! I dinna like bugs, so no woods! I dinna like skiing or snow sports because I'm shite on skis. I mean, I live on a starship for lots of reasons, aye?” The curly-mopped Miraposian stuck out her lip defiantly. “Ah can too fight me way oot of a paper bag! I’ve just nae ever been challenged by one is all…”

"Well, this may very well be your chance, Leprechaun. They're literally kicking us off the damn ship." The portly porcine grumbled and sighed. "Well, let's find you a weird, 18th Century Jack the Ripper pub to be hilarious in before Gonadie stuffs us in empty torpedoes and just shoots us at Risa or some shit."

"I read the tourist brochure!" O'Dell picked up and waved a PaDD. "It says if ye canna find a bar on Kabul 4 that suits ye, they'll build ye one! But they have a surprisin' number of Irish pubs, actually. Apparently me ancestors favorite way of drinkin' is still a hit across the universe. Gah figure."

"Soooooo we kin take a crappy little shuttlecraft, find us a pub and go get hammered in the best way possible- where nobody knows our names! Nobody will tell the Lieutenant what we did in the pub! No great beefy door girls to make you all weak in the knees! Joost a bunch of anonymous strangers, locals and assholes who we'll likely nivvir see agin. Dunnit sound lovely?" O'Dell spread her hand and swung it in a dramatic arc as if she were painting the sky.

"Soometimes ye wanna go... where nobody knows yuir name, and nobody cares ye came. Aye?"

Allowing the slightest of cracks in her cranky facade, Briaar had the hint of a smirk forming across her thick cheeks. "Anonymous shitfacery? Frick it, let's lose the uniforms and get the hell out of here. There's a type 8 waiting with our names on it, Fee."

"I'm g'win ta set the parental controls on the shuttle so I canna drink and fly!"

---------------

All of 40 minutes later, they were winging their way through rain clouds as the small shuttle broke into the planet's atmosphere. There was a slow rumbling thunderstorm, which made Fiona clap her hands excitedly. "Rain! Real honest ta betsy rain! Yeeee!" At that, winds buffeted the small shuttle, shoving it about the sky a bit. "Ach, and wind too, lookit that!"

Clutching the armrests of her seat, Gavarus had a bit of green to her as the tiny shuttle shuddered in the intense weather. "Oh, you frickin' WOULD like this! The s... s... sky is trying to K...KILL us and you're about to b... b...break out in song!"

Which was precisely what she did, caterwauling in the small shuddering craft as they plummeted to the planet below a drinking song.

"Ooooooh, Katherine, take my hand
I've got three pounds and change.
And I'll sing you songs of love again
And when I get too drunk to sing...

We'll walk in the Irish rain!"

It might not have been so bad- O'Dell could carry a tune and the tune was catchy. It was the way she stopped concentrating on her driving while she did it that was especially worrisome.

Leaning her head back, the nauseated Engineer moaned loudly, "Oooh... I'm g... Gonna throw the @#$& up and I have... Haven't even started d... drinking yet! For shit"s sake, watch the goddamn sky, O'Dell."

"Pffft. This wee thunderhead is naught ta this flyin box's sensor suite. I literally have her on automatic obstacle avoidance, so she could practically land herself. But I'll nae taunt yet wi' imminent death by fallin oot'a the sky," the wee mischievous maiden was as good as her word, and dropped them out below the cloud cover, and they zoomed across the hilly verdant landscape, scaring flocks of sheep in their wake.

Doing her best to keep what composure she hadn't screamed away in the upper atmosphere, Gavarus pried her own fingers free of the armrests of her seat desperately wishing that they would just land the shuttle already. It was becoming increasingly clear to anyone paying attention that the porcine engineer simply didn't like flying, which was an odd issue to have for someone that lived on a starship.

As the tiny type 8 shuttlecraft came around to land at the gloomy, rain-soaked landing pad in the edge of the small colony town, Gavarus let out an audible sigh of relief. "Okay. Now I'm definitely ready to get frickin' drunk."

"That's the spirit!" O'Dell chirped cheerfully as, true to her word, she set the 'parental controls' to keep her from using the shuttlecraft when she was drunk. Grabbing a light coat to keep off the rain, Fiona was outfitted in a pair of pants, loose and breathable, a white cotton blouse that also left a lot to the imagination, and good functional high-tech shoes. Slapping a small driving cap on her head, she beamed up at her porcine partner in crime with an irrepressible excitement. "Are ye ready ta go meet the locals, insult their sheep and boak on their shoes?"

"Probably in exactly that order..." The grumpy Gavarus muttered under her breath as she stood up from her seat as far as the too-short ceiling would allow for the two-meter tall Tellarite. "Oh, I can't wait! I'm beyond excited, can't you tell. This is my 'excited' face."

On her face was a sarcastic, fake smile projected from three kilometers away. As she stepped out of the cockpit to the rear ramp, the irritable engineer threw on a long dark gray overcoat on top of the snug black t-shirt with the words 'I'M A LOCAL' printed across the chest and grey cargo pants. Uncharacteristically, she was wearing a specially fit pair of boots designed to accommodate her porcine hooves. Her enormous, wiry platinum blonde shrubbery of hair was pulled down into a poof of a ponytail as she grabbed a small umbrella. "Lead the way, leprechaun. These are your weird ass, sheep-@#$%er people. Let's go get drunk with them and hope they don't think pigs are sexy, either."

“What, ye nivvir heard the legend of Pigf#&@er Jones? He’s practically a legend in these parts! He’s g’win ta take one look at the buffet of Gavarus and fall head over heels in luuuurve!” The tiny test pilot giggled as she expounded on the local legend of the place she’d never been. “Dinna ye worry, yuir safe wi’ me. Our credit is good, we’re offworlders on a tourist planet, and all we hafta do is find a pub where the barstools can hold up your ass without them bein’ too tall fer me ta climb when I’m drunk and we’ll be right as rain!”

With that said, O’Dell stepped off the ramp into the misting rain, closed her eyes and lifted her face skyward, feeling the rain on her skin, the sharp bite of the wind, and the smell of the damp earth. It wasn’t exactly the same as her home planet, but it was close enough for her. Months of being cooped up on a starship melted away as she smiled and spread her arms, inhaling deeply.

“This. Ah miss this sometimes, ye know? Joost some cold, damp rain an’ puddles and the smell of soggy dirt and grass and the wind on yuir face… tisnae home, but it ain’t the sterile starship life, neither.” The bonny babe of the Bringloidians basked in the autumn rain, surprisingly content to be in a simulation of familiar environs for her that, for a change, was not a simulation.

Wrinkling her pig-ling snout, Gavarus sniffed the air. "Uhhh, that's not soggy dirt and grass, Fee. That's sheep shit. Yeah, that's definitely the smell of sheep shit. Ugh, I never wanted to know that."

"And it's cold. For once, I'm glad I come from a race of fat-asses." The prickly porcine whined. "Okay, I need to forget that smell. Get my ass hammered, Leprechaun. Lead the way."

“I canna guarantee that unless we meet Pigfu-" Fiona began, then seeing the look on Briaar's face, dropped it. "Tis a bit o’ dung too, aye, but that’s part ‘a the charm!” the little lass grinned, grabbing the large three-fingered hand of her alien comrade in cups and dragging her as the merry midget literally skipped toward the village. “There’s bound to be at least three pubs, because there’s the classy one, the trashy one and the one where the locals drink, where the bitters are watered down and the darts are crooked, where the tables and chairs are all mismatched and the locals are missin’ teeth!”

The minsicule Mariposian was literally bouncing as they moved, excited to be playing in the rain, tromping through suspicious mud and insistently tugging her beastly bestie toward the first pub whose shingle she saw. It was clear that she was excited and thrilled to be in her element, which was ironic given how soggy and miserable her element turned out to be. Interestingly, the cold didn’t seem to be bothering her overmuch, despite her lack of bundled clothing and lack of body fat.

“There we goo! McGilligoolicutty’s Traditional Irish Pub! Which, with that in the name, means tisn’t traditional at all!”

"Sooo, shitty tourist trap? BUT a shitty tourist trap with alcohol. Let's do it." Gavarus sighed slightly, accepting her fate for the evening. She was, of course, fairly content for her, but crotchety was her default setting, and the one in which she was the most comfortable. And since she was usually very comfortable in the presence of her unlikely best friend, she felt perfectly comfortable being crotchety. After all, O’Dell practically anticipated it, so to do otherwise would be just weird for the duo.

While the little leprechaun seemed to be perennially cheerful and sunny, she was in fact possessed of a strong sarcastic streak, and a teasing nature. Thus the banter between the two was a delight to them both. Gavarus never had to worry about offending the spirited sprite, while O’Dell could needle and cajole the grouchy Tellarite to her heart’s content. Which worked well as a dynamic between them, although to an outside observer it might look as though the two were perennially sniping at one another.

Pushing open the doors to the tourist trap pub, it was everything that Fiona had expected. Dark wood fixtures and paneling, wooden floors with sawdust on them to absorb spills, Kelly green pleather upholstery on everything, with signs adorning the walls which indicated the wonders of Ireland to tourists half a galaxy away.

“Ach, willye lookit that? MacGregor tartan and a set of bagpipes. That’s Scottish, not Irish! Pog me thoin!” Fiona rolled her eyes and grumbled as the strains of fiddle music could be heard at low background volume. Making her way to the bar, the tiny test pilot gestured grandly to a barstool. “Yuir throne, Madame Gavarus!”

The tubby towering Tellarite grunted slightly as she settled onto the barstool, leaning to the side to enjoy watching her pint-sized partner-in-crime ascend the stool to the best of her ability. "It's all you now, Leprechaun? You got this or do I need to crane you up?"

As she spoke, she held out her arm straight in a stiff motion, mimicking a crane arm, making mechanical whirring noises while she did.

“Not til after me first pint! Then ye’ll need ta haul me up til I pass oot on the bar!” the bright-eyed bludger replied as she scampered up her stool, climbing until her head could peer over the bar. Rapping on the wooden bar, she looked around for the bartender. “Oi! You, wi’ the face! Kin Ah git a ha’pint a bitters fuir me and two pints fer me designated driver?”

The local, surprised by the fact that a midget and a giant pig were now seated at his bar at 3 in the afternoon, shrugged broadly and turned to draw the requested drinks. Parking them on coasters in front of the two strangers, he eyed them suspiciously until Fiona handed over her Starfleet voucher card.

“Ach, 'fleeters. O’course,” he muttered as he headed off to open the tab on the card. In his wake, Fiona raised up her glass to her friend.

“Here’s ta Chief Gonadie, who forced us ta go find somewhere ta stay drunk for the next four days. Sláinte!” The petite pixie’s grin was ear to ear as she held up her half-glass of dark beer, which was enough to keep her drunk for a day.

"Yeah. Slanty!" Gavarus grinned as she slapped her glass to O'Dells, purposefully mis-pronouncing the toast before taking a massive swig of her drink.

Then, looking around and smiling at the complete lack of statuesque and gorgeous security officers, let out a lengthy belch in celebration of their few days of freedom. "BRRRRAAAGGPPPP!!! To Gonadie."

The wee winsome lass sipped at her half-pint of bitters, and the conversations started.

"It's a limitation. Because it's dependent on me movements, I hafta reset the compensators whenivvir I wan' ta do somethin' the robot can do but I can't. Like spinnin' the arm all the way behind me ta fire. Ah kin see it on the sensors, but I canna joost move the arm ta do it wi'oot resetting the calibration every time. S'a bitch!"

"Then we run a shitload of sims and pre-program some shortcuts based on the most common needs. Something you can just, I don't know, switch over and back without having to reset manually." Gavarus replied, flagging the bartender down for a refill of her drink as she finished it off.

"C'mon! Keep it coming. I only get more annoying the more I have to flag you down. This is better for us all in the long run." The smart-assed engineer leaned over with her empty mug before turning back to O'Dell.

"But for @#$s SAKE, Fee, we're on shore leave. If we keep talking work, Gonadie will somehow hear us and make us go further away until we stop."

"Joost bring her a pitcher and save yuirself the trouble. Ay, ah know. Alreet, so we dinna talk aboot work. We kin talk aboot our hobbies." O'Dell took a good swallow of beer, then another. "Um, I like drinkin... izzat a hobby?"

"Only when there is BEER! Gavarus yelled back as the bartender was just then returning with the pitcher O'Dell suggested. "Bullshit, though. You... sing 500 year old Irish music and you've got all that... stuff in your quarters. What did you do in there before we started hanging around after work?"

"Well, I... I play the harp a lot. I mean, Ah play a lotta instruments, so I play 'em all from time to time, but I like the harp the best. Cuz I feel it, ye know? Thrummin' through me chest, it's joost a comfortin' feelin. Ah still do it in the mornin or the evenin sometime when I'm drunk. Oh, I used to drink, there's that. Limited meself to one night a week in 10-Forward so's I wouldnae get in too much trouble. I'd, ah, made friends and then lost friends?" O'Dell look a long sip of her beer at that. "I write letters home to me family. Ah still do that."

"Okay, the harp. That's a hobby." Gavarus took the refreshed beer and took a swig. "and you made... wait? You made and lost friends? What the hell? Who? And do we have to mess someone up?

"I... am not good at that... but with the proper encouragement... via alcohol... will destroy some assholes as needed." The towering Tellarite was now just a teensy tad tipsy, and getting progressively louder as she spoke.

"Aw, that's sweet that ye'd offer to commit physical violence fer me. That's the mark of a true friend, there." Taking another sip of her beer, Fiona looked around the joint. The lunchtime drinkers had left and only the bored waitstaff were in attendance, in the requisite uniform and points of eyecatching flair. Currently they were gathered around a high top smoking and drinking.

"People get ta know me fuir reasons. All sortsa reasons. Sometimes it's cuz I'm wee. Sometimes it's cuz I'm different. Sometimes it's cuz I seem easy to talk to and not too prickly." Raising her voice, O'Dell barked down the bar, "Would it kill ye ta throw oot a bowl a pretzels? Ye got a menu maybe?"

"Innyway, usually the newness wears off and apparently I'm still the pesky little sister, even waaaay oot here in space. People cancel plans, kinda look away, and ye know they're kinda done with ye. That's aside from the ones who want ta do weird sex stoof or they got some kinda fetish or fixation. Joost the hair alone gets a lot of attention because of the color and the quantity. Lotsa curtains matchin the drapes talk. Long and short, most people don't want ta hang oot wi'me for very long. But you do." O'Dell beamed a smile that indicated her buzz was settling in nicely.

"@#$& those mother@#$&ers!" Gavarus griped as she took another swig of her drink. "People are assholes. Superficial little users that only care about what they can get from you and don't care about how it feels when they show their true goddamn colors. It's frickin' disgusting."

Now speaking in a mocking, fake sing-song voice, the porcine fleeter snorted, "Oh, Briaar. If you were just nicer to people you could go so far. A little bit of sugar goes a long way, piglet."

"Seriously, what kind of fake, ass-kissing nonsense is that? So, I should run around with an artificial smile telling them their shit doesn't stink? Look at this snout, Fee. I can smell when things are shitty." Gavarus grumbled. "But you're real. When you smile, it's frickin' real! anyone that doesn't like it can kiss my ass."

"Waaaaahhhl, unless I'm nervous. I smile a lot when I'm nervous. Or scared, sometimes. Or I think it'll help." O'Dell took another long sip of her beer. "It usually doesn't, truth be told. S'part a why I like you. When you smile I know it's real. It's because I said or did somethin' funny, not because ye think I'm a weird little thing that amuses ye. I like it that ye complain and grouse and bitch, cuz yuir honest. Most people aren't honest, they just want somethin." It was surprising to hear the normally optimistic O'Dell's take on people in general was so low. But the blush of pink had begun to bloom in the pale cheeks of the little lady, which meant the relatively small amount of beer she had consumed was already working it's magic on the legendarily lightweight lass.

"Yeah, but those smiles are all different. Your nervous smile is like this." As she spoke, Gavarus contorted her thick jowled face to mimic O'Dell's nervous smile. Her lips curled in a bit and her eyebrows were knitted, which elicited a giggle from her audience.

"And your scared smile is like this." Stretching her face out, she made another fairly accurate recreation of her pint-sized partner’s particular puss. "You've got different smiles, but I've never seen the same bullshit face smile I always see on the rest of the flight crew."

“Ach! That’s that that looks like?” Fiona responded, her face a mask of comedic dismay. “Yeee, here alla this time I thought it worked to hide what I was feelin’ not bloody broadcast that me teeth are tryin’ ta crack from keepin me teeth from chatterin!”

"Bah. I can tell because I actually pay attention. Dumbasses don't pay attention." Gavarus explained.

While gossip was frowned upon on the Hera, the slightly tipsy duo was far from the ship and the alcohol was loosening things up well. "And I'll tell ya', Fee. I don't think Dox likes any of those brown-nosing asshole pilots either. I looked up their service records and they were all assigned there by other chiefs before she got the job. Seriously, I looked it up. You're the first pilot Dox actually picked out herself."

"C'mon, man. Seriously. No menus? You're frickin' kidding me here." Gavarus shouted back to the bartender who seemed to be practically hiding at this point. Taking the tip with an eyeroll, the bartender came down the bar with menus and unceremoniously dropped them on the bar.

“Not even. Bring me a load of fish and chips, and bring her the biggest baked potato ye kin find, loaded wi’sour cream, chives and butter,” Fiona immediately ordered, having just wanted the barkeep’s attention.

"Oooh. That sounds good. And no goddamn bacon bits. I find bacon bits and I'm replacing it with bartender bits!" The porcine officer threatened with a smirk.

Turning back to Gavarus, she picked the conversation back up. “Well, we’ve a lot of pilots, even among the enlisted. And I’m getting the idea she likes me work, so I’m nae as worried aboot getting replaced by someone taller or better than me. And dinna ye worry, yuir part ‘a that package too. They canne get rid a’ ye wi’oot havin ta replace me too. We’re in this together, ye and me!”

With that, the little leprechaun swung her legs to and fro as she cradled her half-pint of dark beer with both hands, taking a few swallows of beer this time as her intoxication set in, the rosy blush filling her ordinarily pale cheeks.

"I showed you the rankings. You're head and shoulders above those twatwaffles. And you say what you’re thinking, AND you have a head for why the ships fly. Remember, Dox likes to tinker with the ships, so she appreciates that kind of thinking. You are frickin' IN and all you had to do was just be yourself and kick frickin' ass." Gavarus bragged, legitimately happy for her new best friend.

“Well, I couldna done it wi’out me flight crew!” Fiona grinned broadly and raised her glass in a toast, then took another sip of her beer, which was actually down a quarter from where it started at this point. “So, are ye gittin' yuir buzz on yet? Ye ready to play some darts or billiards, or do ye joost wanna sit here and people watch a bit?”

"I'm getting there. Takes me a bit more to get good and schnookered. But what I WANT, is that frickin' POTATO!!!” Gavarus yelled, but with a smile and a laugh. "That said, this is your turf. Show me the fun stuff, Fee."

“Alreet! So first we start wi’ drinkin songs…”

An hour later, they were at the dart board, Fiona standing on a chair to throw darts while Briaar just hurled hers downrange, threatening the life and limb of nearby patrons as the pub was slowly starting to fill.

An hour after that, there were more drinking songs, this time with much of the bar joining in as O’Dell proved to be a stumbling, giggling, storehouse of Irish drinking songs. When she discovered there was a piano, a large book was procured so that she could reach the keys, and musical accompaniment joined the drinking songs.

An hour after that, they were both back at their seats at the bar, debating philosophy.

“So me questions shtansh…. What does God need wi’ a starship?!?” Fiona was absolutely hammered, but managing her buzz to keep upright while continuing to drink, having made it more than halfway through her half-pint of bitters. Gavarus had lost count of the number of pitchers she had drained, but she was feeling no pain and making friends, oddly enough.

"B'cause... Starships 'r frickin' AWESOME, Fee! M'be God wan'ed to paint his big beardy face on the saucer and just chill. I dunno." Gavarus was still throwing them back, and without the added stress of a distractingly gorgeous Amazon security guard around, the contents of her stomach seemed to be quite content to stay in place.

"He had a beard, right?" Gavarus leaned back. "A beard and a snout and big ass tusks, right!" She bared her own teeth, showing the lower tusks common to Tellarite's that were still visible even though she regularly had hers shaved down cosmetically. "Or is it jus' some asshole Q? Q... R, S, T, U and V!"

“Hee hee hee! If I e’er git ta be a god m’gonna cally meself ‘An Sometimes Y!’, aye?” Fiona was fully and absolutely snockered, but in high spirits as she was getting to do all of the things she wanted to do in pubs, and people were glad to have her there and singing along.

“Ohhhhhhhh As I was goin' over
The Cork and Kerry Mountains
I saw Captain Farrell
And his money, he was countin'
I first produced my pistol
And then produced my rapier
I said, "Stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya"

As Fiona got the song started, she gripped the bar tightly to support herself as she climbed off the barstool, then nodded firmly. “Alreet! Ye got this, Ah’m g’win a curr pess!” With that, the miniature Mariposian maiden tottered off to the loo to relieve herself, leaving Briaar to look around at her drinking pals, who were all still singing along to the song Fiona had begun. While it may have been a knockoff Irish pub halfway across the galaxy from the Blarney Stone, apparently Irish drunken cheer was a universal language that Fiona O’Dell spoke fluently.

"I... I got nuthin'." Gavarus grinned at a group of drunk young locals to her left. "She's the living database 'a drinkin' songs and... Shit... cheer."

A while ago after the pair finished their meals, the bartender produced bowls of snack mix and Gavarus was easily through the third produced bowl as she fished around for more. Without O'Dell, the pickled pig didn't quite know how to socialize with the gregarious bargoers so she took to meandering, one way conversation with whoever was next to her.

"D'you know any drinking songs. I got shit. I c'n... I c'n sing 'Journey', but that's 'bout it. OOH... Is there a whatcamacallit... a jukebox?" Gavaruse leaned over the bar far too far, her prodigious belly pressed flat across it.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey... You got a juke... thingy. The song box! Shit, I jus' said it?" As Gavarus spoke, the irritated bartender pointed to the far end of the bar.

More than a little drunk now, Gavarus wobbled her way to the jukebox, drink in hand, which was simply a modern computer panel against the wall. The lack of theme caused the porcine drunk to let out a snorting scoff. "Looks like a frickin' workstation. Where's th' neon 'n shit. Fake ass Irish wannabe pub. OOH, they got the GeeBees. Fee, they got..."

Forgetting that her pixie partner went to pee, Gavarus looked around for a moment as her brain caught up. "Shit, right. She had to... what's taking her so long?"

Punching up a long queue of songs, Gavarus downed the rest of her drink, returned her empty mug to the bar, flagged the bartender for another pitcher and wobbled down the hall she saw Fiona go down. "Now I gotta pee... Where the hell are the reclamators in this stupid place..."

“Thisaway!” As if on cue, the petite pixie pilot appeared next to her pickled porcine pal, taking her hand and ineffectually tugging her in a direction. “I knooow the way! Ah kin astrogate wi’me eyes closed!” O’Dell, having broken the seal, was now dead drunk off the beer she’d been nursing since they arrived, even while her much larger compatriot had been giving the local drunks a run for their money and then some with her drinking capacity. Both were considerably drunk, however, and had by this point been disqualified for shooting darts as a team, Gavarus propping Fiona up to stand on her gut as the test pilot tossed the tiny missiles with surprising accuracy.

Dragging Gavarus along by one thick finger, O’Dell insistently tugged until she managed to get them into the reclamator, then she wandered into the stall next to the one she steered her gal pal into. “Ah got ta pess agin…”

"How much piss c'n y' even hold? I swear, that beer was half y'r body weight n'..." There was a thunk on the partition as Gavarus' head flopped to the side, followed by two other sounds generally not heard at the same time.

The first was a positively Titanic flushing sound that wasn't the reclimator, but was made by the massive Tellarite letting out what had to have been three pitchers worth of beer in one fell swoop.

The second was a snort followed by a long, drawn out snore as it was clear that Briaar Gavarus had passed out, literally while peeing.

Realizing the peril involved, Fiona O’Dell finished peeing, got herself clothed again, then stepped out of her own stall before debating ducking underneath the stall door to enter that of her slumbering spanner jockey. Drunkenly considering the best way to handle it, O’Dell opted for the version least likely to result in bodily harm to her. Standing by the sink, away from the stall door, she amped up her volume to banshee levels and shrieked at her partner in crime.

“BRIAAR! Wake yer lazy arse oop and git offa the chamber pot!” the diminutive dame squawked, her high-pitched voice screeching as she aimed for a higher volume than normal, hoping to rouse the towering Tellarite, because while Gavarus could carry a drunken O’Dell like it was child’s play, short of hijacking a forklift O’Dell would need a miracle just to drag one of Gavarus’ arms any distance, forget about her entire 2 meter frame.

Waking up with a shock, Gavarus sat up ramrod straight on the reclimator. "Ah'm up, Mom! Whasit?!"

After a second, the adrenaline rush wore off and the alcohol kicked back in, though she remembered where she was again. "What? I... I was jus' peeing... 'N... thinking. Thoughts. Thinking thoughts... about... Shut it, let me wipe, a'ready!"

Gavarus grumbled, yelling one side of an argument nobody was making with her before she stumbled out of the stall and over to the sink to wash up. Exercising excellent survival skills, O’Dell managed to duck and weave and stay out of the way of her oversized and overdrunk comrade in arms.

Taking her by the hand to lead her out, O’Dell tugged insistently on the fuzzy-headed fixer. “C’mon, Briaar. We need to take a lie down, and I kin find us an inn to curl oop for the night.”

Leading her porcine pal by the hand, the wee drunken leprechaun walked them into the hallway where the two were wobbling, disoriented and very, very drunk.

In the background, the sounds of frivolity and billiard balls crashing against each other could be heard, partly drowned out by one of Gavarus' musical selections. As Olivia Newton John's 'XANADU' was playing overhead, O'Dell tugged them towards a door at the far end of the hallway she was fairly sure was the exit. A door that, unlike the vintage wooden doors everywhere else in the pub, slid open with a whoosh as the pickled partners-in-crime flumped into the darkened doorway, and promptly passed out, blackout drunk.

...To Be Continued...

Continued from 'Pub Crawl'.

"Briiiiiaar."

"Briiiiiaar, wake oop."

"C'mon, ye great sow, Ah need ye ta wake oop."

"Ah think we're in trouble, Gavarus me old sot."

"Git oop, get oop, get oooop!" By this time O'Dell was shoving the exposed flesh of Gavarus' belly back and forth in a wave motion to try to rouse her.

Groaning, Gavarus began to reluctantly wake up. Her head felt like O'Dell had been tap dancing on it and everything felt entirely too loud. And as she struggled to open her eyes, too bright.

"Oooh... sweet evil hell, Fee. I'm... I'm frickin' awake. S... stop rocking me like that unless you want me to throw up on you." The hungover engineer moaned. "What the frickin' hell?"

As the world came back into focus, Gavarus looked up to see flowing red, chiffon fabric draping across the ceiling of a room that most definitely was not a fake Irish pub. "Fee... where... where the @#$& are we?"



"Judgin' by all the women hereabouts and how they all look, me best guess is that we got wayyyy too drunk last night, and somehow or other we've been shanghaid for some sorta intergalactic harem. I guess somebody likes variety..." Fiona gestured expansively with one hand to the large and open chamber in which they found themselves, which was filled with exotic women. There was a striking Klingon woman, a delicate and beautiful Andorian, a spotted trill, even a Charon. One woman appeared to be an amazonian Orion, until her large serpentine lower half could be seen as she slithered by. A furry humanoid woman with black and white spotted fur like a cow was wearing chaps, a vest and a hat, while a pair of delicate and beautiful humanoid twins lounged nearby.

Everyone's attire was skimpy, sheer and what was generally termed to be 'sexy'.

Blinking incredulously for a few seconds as she sat up, Gavarus' jaw was hanging slack. "Oh, you have got to be freakin' kidding... me. Why is it cold in here?"

As she spoke, she froze, slowly looking down at herself. Gone was the T-shirt, black cargo pants and boots that she had worn to the pub. Instead, she was now wearing some sort of bronze lined bikini top with dangling fringes of shear, transparent lavender that came down from her bosom and fell open around her belly, which left her Tellarite nipples extremely exposed as her race keep them on the lower belly area. Around her waist was a sash holding up what felt like some kind of impossibly skimpy loin cloth with a bronze clasp holding the entire thing in place.

Her small, cloven hooves were exposed but her ankles wrists and neck jangled with a variety of ostentatious gold jewelry. "Oh, what fresh @#$&ing hell is this!?!? Someone changed me when I was passed out!?"

As she spoke, she blushed a deep pink as she tried desperately to cover up her exposed nipples. "Fee, this is frickin' messed up?! How did we..."

Turning to look at her diminutive, red-headed partner in crime, Briaar Gavarus cut herself off mid sentence as she finally looked over and saw what Fiona was wearing which, she realized was the same outfit in which she herself was clad, just much, much smaller, and without Briaar's assets to hold it all in place, it looked like Fiona was having to tug up the top on a regular basis.

"Our lack a'clothing is kinda the least of our problems, Briaar. I've no comm badge, and none of those constellations out the window look familiar at all. On the bright side, there is all the food and drink ye might want over on the tables over there..." Fiona sounded a little mildly hysterical, but she was trying to come off as serious-minded.

Scrambling to her feet, awkward and still groggy from their night of drinking, Gavarus struggled for a moment with the oversized pile of pillows draped in silk she had been sleeping in. Once to her feet, she grabbed at the silk sheets and tried wrapping them around her only to find they were as sheer and see-through as everything else they were wearing. "Oh, come the @#$& On!! What in seven hells!"

"Okay... food actually sounds smart. Help us clear our heads and absorb some of the alcohol in our system. Pending that it ain't poisoned, which seems counterproductive to keeping a frickin' harem. Sweet evil hell, I just said THAT out loud."

Wobbling over to the food with O'Dell in tow, Gavarus found a plain donut that looked settling and took a tentative bite. "How long have you been awake, Fee? Have you talked to any of these other women?"

“Oh aye, aboot an hour or so. I got up, checked the place out and came back to make a more concerted effort to wake yuir ass oop. The big green serpentine naga lass is surprisingly friendly, and I chatted up the twins a bit ago. Apparently this is exactly what it looks like- harem to the stars. Everybody blacked out then came to here, there's big awful sultan in charge of alla this, we've been kidnapped to a pampered life of leisure because he loves the beautiful and the exotic. So, good news! We’re either beautiful or exotic.” Looking down to grasp the bikini top that had no purchase on her flat as a board frame, Fiona tugged it back up comedically. “I guess he lacked a midget. The gal over there in the porno Valkyrie outfit seems pretty outraged over alla this, so I think her and the naga might be hatching a scheme. Me, I need to hatch some more asprin and maybe a little food before I can figure out joost how we’re gonna get outta this mess.”

Looking over to the two women Fiona had indicated, Gavarus chewed on her donut while not succesfully concealing that she was checking out the beautiful emerald-haired serpent woman. "Damn..." She muttered, mouth half full before turning her attention back to the buffet.

“Yah, well, this is gonna kinda be the smorgasbord fer ye I’m afraid, Briaar,” O’Dell shrugged, knowing her porcine pal’s propensity toward large and muscular beautiful women, of which there were a few in the collection of humanoid women the space sultan seemed to have collected.

Famished and successfully keeping the donut down, the porcine engineer grabbed a few pieces of exotic fruit and packed them onto a plate while looking around. "Okay, there are windows but... I... uh... did you see any exits in here? What the hell?"

“Are ye unacquainted wi’ the concept of a harem, Gavarus?” O’Dell asked as she fetched a cup and some water for it. “Generally tis aboot a fella getting his jollies over owning as many exotic an’ beautiful women he can accumulate. S’like inny other collector, really. And from what I hear, he nivvir actually shows up to diddle inny of the girls, joost… likes to watch. Which is only so creepy, right?”

"Watch... what? Because... holy shit... There's a goddamn camera... Fee... is that frickin' hovering camera... watching me EAT!?!", Gavarus stepped slightly to the side as the hovering camera in the air moved with her.

"Oh, for @#$&'s sake, really? What the hell kind of Harem IS this? He doesn't want to watch me do it with the frickin' women in here... He wants to watch me frickin' EAT! Ewwww! Gavarus groused, chewing her food loudly with an open mouth, which didn't seem to dissuade the camera in the slightest.

“Hey hey noow, ye dinna know that. He might want to watch you do it with some of the gals in here,” O’Dell, as per usual, tried to bolster her big buddy’s self-esteem. Watching the floating camera as it maneuvered around watching the tall tellurite inhale food, the midget Mariposian had to admit she might have a point. “Although yuir right, he does seem to like watchin ye eat… So… we’re kidnapped, we’ve nae resources to work with and we’ve still got aboot 3 days to get back to the Hera. So what’s the plan?”

Not knowing if that camera could also hear then, Gavarus stuffed a large pastry in her face, while mumble-whispering out the side of her mouth at O'Dell. "Well... we could wait a few days and watch the show as Dox murder-punches him to death... if she can find us. Ooorrr... that little frickin' thing is a resource. Video transmission, hover capabilities, maybe even audio."

Grabbing a particularly long vegetable that looked a lot like a cucumber, Gavarus leaned over the table in as close to a seductive fashion as was possible, whispering as she tried to mouth the suggestive veggie. "If I can get this frickin' thing to fly in close and low... you can jump on it with that big bread basket and I can try and pick it apart and maybe jury rig a communicator or something?"

Surreptitiously emptying the bread basket onto the table, O’Dell climbed onto the table, looked around to see that no one was watching Then she tackled the floating eye in the sky, bearing it to the deck with her relatively light weight, which was clearly too much for the video voyeur. Sitting on the basket as the cyclopean cybernetic cameraman struggled beneath it, O’Dell looked abundantly pleased with herself.

“Alreet, mission accomplished! Now what?” Ordinarily, the two of them tended to hatch plans together, but at present Fiona was particularly unnerved by their surroundings. While she was making a significant effort to appear outwardly cool and calm, in fact, their situation was mildly terrifying for her, if nothing else because of what being in a harem implied. Plus being exposed as she was just emphasized that she was built very much unlike any of the beautiful and exotic women who currently surrounded them.

While this was often the case on the Hera, everyone was usually wearing a uniform at least, which could leave some to the imagination. Here, she was dressed in sheer bits that didn’t even fit her, and on top of everything else, her body issues were definitely making themselves known. But they had an escape to hatch first, so she could freak out later, she reasoned.

"Frickin' A! Perfect, Fee!" Gavarus chewed the rest of her food and ran over to grab the basket. "Are there any utensils here? Forks, whatever. Hell, frisk the other girls for hairpins or whatever. And anything rubber so I don't fry myself on this @#$%er?"

As she let Fiona up to search for makeshift tools, she peaked through the weave of the basket at the grounded camera. "You like to watch, ya' creepy @#$%er? Watch me take your little toy apart!"

Collecting silverware off the buffet table, Fiona returned with an armload of parts she thought might be useful, which meant that half of it might actually be useful and the other half were what she grabbed in her haste to do something productive. Dropping the collection next to Gavarus, a thought struck the tiny test pilot. Reaching down to grab the trailing ends of the loincloth in front and back, she tied them off to make a sort of diaper for herself, then she moved into position.

“Alreet- I brought ye a cake to keep yuir strength up, and I found a pitcher a’ wine I’ll go fetch…” Zipping off to do so, she returned with a silvered pitcher, which she set down next to the egregarious engineer. “So I’ll sit on him to keep him steady while ye disassemble him?”

"Sounds like a plan, Leprechaun. Let's get this @#$&er over in the corner behind all those ridiculous pillows." Gavarus picked up the equipment and the camera and dragged it all out of sight, which was largely pointless seeing as she had bragged to the camera what she was going to do.

"Okay, when I lift up the basket, just step on the center of it's back, Fee. These outfits might be the stupidest things ever, but your shoes have insulating soles just in case." Gavarus instructed as she lifted the basket and the drone tried to fly away. Wrapping her short gangly arms around it, Fiona used her 90-pound weight to bear it back to the ground. Once there, she stepped on it as instructed as she watched the goings-on with some interest.

“Aye, looks like Hooker Valkyrie and Snake Booty are oop ta something… they’re whisperin' with some of the girls to git something done. Think we ought ta talk to them and offer ta help?” Even saying it aloud O’Dell was dubious. What were the midget and the fat kid going to add to this daring plan the impossibly pretty women hadn’t already thought of, and would likely discount given the source. Better, to her mind, to just stick with her partner. They’d gotten out of jams on their own before, and they’d do it now, too.

While she might not have faith in herself in a lot of areas, Fiona O’Dell did believe that she and her porky pal could overcome just about anything if they set their minds to it.

"Hey, they didn't ask us for help, so let 'em do their own thing, and when we get out of here, we'll take them with us " Gavarus replied with more than a little unwarranted arrogance as she prodded at the retractable eye.of the camera.with a fork and a butter knife.

After a few minutes of working, the unlikely engineer was able to pry the top of the drone open as it immediately went dead and stopped struggling. "Okay, Fee. It's deactivated. Now I can... what the @#$& is going on in this thing?"

Confused, Gavarus motioned for Fiona to take a look. "This thing is... I don't recognize anything going on in here. There's no leads to the propulsion. No wiring. Nothing... This camera isn't connected to any-frickin'-thing!? What... How the hell was it even flying?!"

The perplexed porcine leaned back and tossed her fork down at the seemingly useless machine. "Uh... how's Snakebutt and the Hooker Valkyrie's plan looking?"

“Still in the planning stage, I’m thinkin. They’re all working a wee bit too hard ta look casual reet now,” Fiona admitted, dropping her bony flat ass onto a large cushion and pouting. “Well, kin Ah say this bloody sucks bollocks? We went oot to get a drink, had ourselves a good time in a poob, an’ noow we’re stock in some spacegoing harem fulla women who give me a complex aboot me looks. At least ye get a enjoy the scenery, aye?”

"Giving you a complex? This outfit has by huge ass gut sticking out and doesn't cover my frickin' NIPPLES!" Gavarus flumped back to lay flat on the enormous pillows that seem everywhere, leaving her belly to juggle in the air. "Ugh. Okay, maybe we can throw the damn camera at something?"

“Aye, we should probably wait til we kin get at some guards,” Fiona sighed. “If the Lieutenant were here, she’d throatpunch her way outta this. If Gonadie was here she’d build a little remote controlled mech ta bust her oot. If the Commander was here she'd... well, she'd blend in, and likely lead a revolt or somethin'. All I got is ‘jump a guard and try ta gnaw his ankles off’. Fook it,” O’Dell picked up the pitcher of wine and took a few gulps. “May as well make the most of it.”

"Ooh, gimmie." Gavarus reached up from her prone position on the pillows. "I endorse this plan. Sooner or later the guards will show up and I'll... I dunno... throw you at 'em and we'll rush 'em. Or whatever."

Grabbing the pitcher, Gavarus took a massive swig of wine before handing it back to the pip squeak pilot. "What else do they got up on the buffet?" As she spoke, there was the sound of shimmering from the room. Sitting up to see what was happening, Gavarus groaned.

"Oh, for @#$'s sake, they beamed the food away! What the effin' @#$&!"

“Well, at least we still got wine,” O’Dell muttered. “Ah wish it was beer, but we work wi’ what we got. Maybe they’ll beam in more food soon?” At that, Fiona took a few more long gulps before handing the pitcher back to Gavarus with a hiccup. “Yeah, I like that plan! Just toss me at ‘em and if naught else it’ll freak ‘em oot, aye? Stupid harem…”

Scooching over to flump on the cushion next to O'Dell , Gavarus' weight actually lifted the diminutive Maraposian up a good six inches on her side of the cushion. Taking another long swig, Gavarus was feeling a decent buzz kick back in. "N' it's a BIG jug too. So, there's that."

The two keep passing the jug back and forth for a while as they continued to gripe about their situation. After a time, Gavarus took one last swig that killed off the jug as she let out a belly shaking belch. "BRRRAAAAPPPP!!!"

That's when they realized they were all alone in the seraglio of the panjandorum.

"The fook did everyone goo?" O'Dell asked rhetorically.

Scrambling awkwardly to her proportionately small hooves, the freshly re-drunkened Gavarus stumbled slightly over the pillow covered floor. "Goddamn @#$&in' dumbass pillows! WHO NEEDS TO BE THIS GODDAMN COMFORTABLE?!?"

Kicking a stack of pillows out if her way, the tipsy Tellarite looked around. "They... they escaped and they left us here?!"

"We have REALLY got to start workin' on our social skills..." O'Dell shook her head as Gavarus twinkled away in a teleportation effect. Patiently. Fiona O'Dell waited. She'd be next, and wherever the rest of the harem had been transported, they'd get her too. Alone she might be overlooked, but she was traveling with Briaar Gavarus, and the big Tellarite wouldn't leave her little pal behind.

A few seconds stretched into half a minute, then a full minute. O'Dell ran over to grab another pitcher of wine, then sat back down on the cushion where she'd been waiting so they could get an easy lock on her for the transport. When two minutes stretched into three, she became nervous- was the unit broken? Had a fight broken out? Was she stranded here in see-through underwear who knew where in the galaxy all by herself?

Then a shimmer of light surrounded her, and O'Dell arrived in the kitchen to find her porcine pal in a heated argument, screaming and pointing at a scantily clad Caitian woman who looked genuinely afraid of the raging pork loin frothing at her. "...and you just put the transporter into a repeating cycle and feed back along the original pattern curve and that cuts your GODDAMN RECHARGE TIME IN FRICKIN' HALF!!!!

Noticing her pint-sized partner's arrival, Gavarus waved the panicking woman away. "Go 'way. FEE!!! We're out! Sorry about how damn long that took but SOME PEOPLE here don't know how to run a goddamn transporter! OOH, you grabbed more wine!"

"Aye, well, priorities and alla that!" O'Dell grinned as she hopped down off the table with the teleporter built into it. "So what'd I miss? Was there a revolt, a turnin' of the tables an'alla that? Are we saved?" O'Dell took a swing of the wine, then handed it up to Gavarus.

Taking a much longer swig, Gavarus glared at the nervous looking Caitian and pointed her two thick fingers at her own eyes, the pointed them to the Caitian's eyes, then back all while drinking. "Yeah... UURP... the... uh... other guests used the food transport pick up to get beamed into the galley where Hooo... that one with the hat and the Naga woman stole some weapons and apparently kicked much ass."

Stopping herself short of actually saying 'hooker Valkyrie and Snakebutt', Gavarus was nonetheless staring at the impossibly gorgeous, green snake woman for a bit longer than she should have before snapping her attention back to O'Dell. "Uh... so, yeah. Free!"

"Go talk to her, Bri!" The picayune pilot poked her porcine pal, nudging her to move from thought to deed. "Ye're s'far from home it ain't funny, and the only one who knows ye is me, and I'd nivvir tease ye aboot somethin like that. Go talk to the serpent and see if she wants to play a little 'pig in a poke?" O'Dell, ever the cheerful wingman, tried to convince her lovelorn pal to go try for a hookup.

But the insecure engineer wasn't going for it. "Huh? What, no. Let's just get out of here while the getting's good, Fee. Who knows how long it's going to take to get back, anyway."

Still, she couldn't stop stealing glances as she spoke. "So, uh, are there any shuttles in here we can use?"

As it appeared the former harem were going to take the ship for themselves and sell the guards into slavery- which really sounded like something as Starfleet officers they should stop, but neither of them had any particularly amazing ideas of just how to stop the crew of spectacular sirens. Instead, they were working on getting back to their command, where they could report in and someone else could take care of the slaves turned slavers.

"I found two escape pods. They're programmable, just eject and it'll get you there on a slow boat," the frictionless woman with the long coil of ebony hair indicated. "If you want to bail, that's up to you. We're going to have a party."

The concept of milling around a room full of women who made Gavarus sweat and stammer, and O'Dell just feel underdeveloped sounded somehow less appealing than a ride in a cramped escape pod to the not-particularly intrepid nor ambitious explorers. Grabbing a bottle for the road, they jammed into the escape pod and fired themselves at the resort, which wasn't that far away, it turned out.

Which gave them time to do what they did best- drink and talk shit.

...To Be Continued...

Continued from 'Seraglio Of The Stars'.

The snoring of Briaar Gavarus didn't bother her in the least. It was deafening, yet to Fiona O'Dell, it was comforting.

The very small person had a habit of minimizing her profile when asleep, as she found security in it. She usually slept curled up in the fetal position, pressed against the headboard or the bulkhead. Both, if she could manage it- Starfleet regulations allowed for her rack to be pushed into the corner, and that's where she slept on a nightly basis. Having fallen asleep on more than one occasion with her drinking partner Gavarus, O'Dell had taken to curling up next to the great mass of her 2-meter tall friend, in a manner not unlike that of a small ginger cat. Which had now become her default, save in the current circumstance.

Stuck in a 1 man lifepod with limited room and space, the titantic Tellarite was sprawled on her back, somewhat folded at both ends because the pod interior wasn't large enough to allow her to stretch out. Curled up tightly in a fetal position atop her belly was her offensive stereotype partner in trouble.

Eventually, the snoring had reached its crescendo with a massive snort that actually roused Briaar Gavarus from her uncomfortable, alcohol-induced slumber. "Oh, for @#$&'s sake, it wasn't a goddamn dream. We're still in this frickin' pod."

Muttering, Gavarus tried to pull a sash of the exceedingly sheer fabric of the harem girl outfit she was still wearing, instinctively trying to cover herself. Her arms and legs were stiff and protesting from the odd angles she had fallen asleep in, as she tried to scooch up without disturbing the oddly comfortable looking Fiona O'Dell. "Ugh... AND we're still dressed like space hookers too."

Needing to move to get up as her neck was starting to cramp, Briaar lightly nudged Fiona. "Fee. I need you to wake up. I gotta get out of this damn corner."

The fact that the snoring had stopped was what roused her more than anything else. The midget Mariposian was soothed and reassured by the snoring, because that meant that her rather larger friend was close by, and the vibrations actually calmed her. Growing up in a house of 8 men, snoring was de riguer, and hearing it actually comforted O'Dell as it reminded her of her childhood and made her feel safe with larger defenders in earshot. Stretching her arms and legs out from their curled sleeping position, O'Dell slid off Gavarus to land butt-first on the deck.

"Ohhhhh right. 'Go have fun on shore leave' she says. 'Git oota the workshop' she says. I swear, we git back I am nivvir taking another vacation unless I can do it in the Thunderchicken." O'Dell groused. "Alreet, I got ta go, so lemme go piss in the replicator afore ye flood the damn thing."

"What, you're not having fun being kidnapped into Space Whoredom and crammed into this escape pod with me? This is like a luxury frickin' cruise." Gavarus grumbled sarcastically as she struggled to sit up in the cramped pod. "I can't believe we're frickin' still adrift."

Scootching over to what could barely be called a control panel while O'Dell peed, Gavarus looked at the console. "Looks like we've been drifting without propulsion for five and a half hours. Subspace beacon still works not but without an active comm system, our best bet is a goddamn passing freighter. This succcckkkks."

"Could be worse. We've still got as replicator unit, so as long as we got battery power we won't starve ta death nor be basted in our own juices," O'Dell chimed in, trying to look on the bright side. "O'course, wi' nae entertainment tis the longest most boring trip ever. Ach, and no liquor, though at least I still got synthehol, yay me." Finishing filling the reclamator, O'Dell recycled the matter, then replicated herself a beer. "Cheers!"

"Ugh... I guess... 'yay' for science pee beer." The irritable engineer complained as she swapped places with the pint-sized pilot to take her turn emptying the remains of the wine they killed off a few hours ago into the matter reclamator.

"I don't know where that slug ass harem master came from, but it's making me feel about as useless as tits on a bull out here. The inside of the panels on this frickin' make as much sense as the insides of that camera drone we took apart." Letting out a minor deluge, Gavarus moaned slightly as she talked.

"I mean, I'm a Starfleet engineer, but nothing in this pod's technology makes a bit of damn sense to me. I'm officially frickin' useless. When Commander sh'Zoarhi finds out I couldn't even get a frickin' escape pod working again, I'm getting busted back to waste maintenance."

"Wahhhhl, I won't tell her if ye won't. Ye know, see-through not-clothes notwithstandin' and the bein' kidnapped and noow stuck in the middle a'nowhere and all, at least we still got each other, aye? Bad times shared make for stupid bar stories later, aye? And I dinna know aboot you but if this was me alone I'd be bloody terrified." Fiona took a long draught off her O'Doull's synthehol beer, then handed the bottle to Gavarus.

Still squatted on the reclimator, Gavarus had zero shame around her best friend and took a long swig of the replicated beer, which wasn't alcoholic, but still hit the spot. "Soooooo... Since nothing is working right, do YOU have any idea where we are based on... I don't know... the stars or some shit?"

"When Ah checked before we left, I punched up the coordinates and it wasnae that big a deal. Was g'win ta be an 8 hour trip, so nae worries, right? So the nav computer isn't a nav computer at all, tis joost a button that says 'on course'. The stars oot there... " O'Dell peered around the inky black void of space looking for familiar star clusters she could use for landmarks, and found none.

"Whativvir ye do, dinna tell the Lieutenant, but I dinna ken the foggiest a'where we are," O'Dell admitted. "Seriously, I identify a star or two here or there but they're nae where they are supposed ta be. I'd blame it on bein drunk, but I'm nae drunk agin yet. So I dinna understand it neither. I guess we've nae choice but to wait it oot?"

"Then we die out here keeping each other's inept ass secrets. I dunno... maybe they made this escape pod to fail. Like... So the space hookers couldn't really escape. So they just end up drifting. And by they I mean frickin' we." Finished up, Gavarus cleaned up as much as the cramped pod would allow. Replicating herself a drink of her own, she handed O'Dell back her bottle as she scootched next to her pint-sized pal.

"So... waiting." The anxious engineer took a swig of her synthoholic beer and just stared out the pods window. "What do you want to do?"

"Charades?"

"Stupid."

"Substitute one word in a famous film wi' the word penis?"

"Howzat?"

"Like, 'Star Wars Episode 4: A New Penis' for instance."

"Fee, that's the stupidest thing I've ever... ooh... 'Penis: Impossible".

Three hours later, a number of trips to the replicator in which O'Dell had fabricated enough toilet paper to make herself a toilet paper mummy in lieu of clothing, they were running out of movie titles. "Well, eight hours or so was the travel time, so we're aboot there... which should be the resort we started at, where we parked a shuttle we signed out and will be responsible for. But, ah... none a' these constellations are familiar. I've not the slightest clue where the fook we are, Gavarus me old chum. We be very, verrry lost."

Looking out the window, Gavarus thunked her head against the glass. "Oh, for @#$%'s sake. I can't believe we're gonna die in hooker clothes in a pod in the middle of..."

Pausing, Gavarus looked out and saw a blinking red light in the distance, creeping closer. "Uh... Fee. What the hell is that? Is... is that a SHIP!?"

"Yah, it's a shitty little J class freighter... that's an Earth design, but one they ain't made fer nigh two hundred years. That's a very old piece a shit from me own home planet out there," O'Dell tapped the viewport, nodding as she demonstrated a surprising aptitude for starship identification. "That turd in the water right there could crew maybe a dozen in the cab, the rest was all cargo containers haulin' at a max speed a' warp 1.5, and that's on the old Cochran scale, aboot warp 1.45 give or take today."

"Well, we got a beacon and no comms, so Ah guess we're g'win ta see if they see us, if they give a shite and if they're friendly. Cuz we're joost... peas in a pod in space reet noow." Gesturing to her paper mummy outfit and Gavarus's slowly shrinking wardrobe of gauzy silks, O'Dell sighed. "Ain't we the intergalactic heroes, aye?"

"I'll settle for LIVING intergalactic screw ups at this point. Hmm... scooch over. Let me see the controls for a sec, Fee" Gavarus nudged in for a second, looking over the largely useless console. "Okay. Propulsion is dead. Comms are dead. But... there's a pressurized exterior panel on the starboard side. Just a junction system, but it contains a gel coolant system that requires oxygen to stay liquid in space. There's a diagnostic control panel. It doesn't do MUCH, but if I can blow the panel, the escaping gas might push us over closer to their flight path. Make us impossible to avoid. What do you think?"

"I think they heard our beacon and they're comin' ta pick us oop. They're on an intercept course, less I miss me guess," O'Dell pointed out as the freighter grew closer. "But twas a good idea. Hoof, that is not a well-maintained starship right there..."

As the freighter pulled alongside them, Gavarus and O'Dell got a very good look at the freighter in question, and it did indeed look old, abused and in less than stellar shape. As the picayune pilot had pointed out, the ship very much looked its age. But it had running lights and self-propulsion, which was one better than they had, and the magnetic grapplers were maneuvering the escape pod into place.

"Here's hopin' for friendlies... should you go first?" O'Dell asked.

Looking down with a sarcastic grin, Gavarus chuckled. "Yeah. And if they give me trouble I can through you at them." Then the crotchety pig-woman gave it a second thought. "Maybe... I go ahead, but you do the talking so... they don't... ya' know... automatically throw us back into space as soon as I say something stupid."

"Oh aye, that's a grand plan. Cuz I'm well known fer me wits and wiles an' diplomatic discourses," O'Dell cracked as the hatches sealed with a THUMP, rattling them both. As the airlock cycled shipside, it was a clear invitation. The button labeled 'OPEN AIRLOCK' was green, so looking up at her porcine partner, the tiny test pilot gave a thumbs-up, then opened the hatch.

"Uh... hello? We sure are... glad you saw us. We've been stuck out here for a little... uh..." Leaning in through the open hatch, the other ship was dark, dirty and the pair was hit by a powerfully pungent stench that all but burned the hairs on the inside of Gavarus' porcine snout. "Holy @#$%ing SHIT, what the @#$% is that smell?"

As the underdressed pair paused to catch their breath, the hatch behind them slammed shut quickly, trapping them on the rancid ship. "Sweet evil hell, Fee. It smells like the inside of an EVA suit worn for two weeks in a goddamn sauna with no waste reclamation in here." Gavarus whispered.

"Halloo?" O'Dell called out, then the transport ship's inhabitant made himself known. From down the corridor, before they saw him they heard a friendly "Howdy!"

When their host stepped into view, he was a humanoid, that part was easy. Barefoot and wearing a stained pair of denim overalls that looked like they likely hadn't seen the inside of a reclamator in a week, with a wifebeater t-shirt on underneath, he was wearing a cap with a bill that projected forward, the forehead covering section emblazoned with the logo for a hydraulics parts manufacturer. A bushy mullet of brown curls sprayed out at odd angles from beneath said cap, and as he grinned at them to reveal numerous missing teeth, his left eye began to wander.

Looking up at Gavarus then down to O'Dell as he slid his hands into his pockets, the space trucker smiled. "Uh, you and yer daughter kinda stranded out here, uh, ma'am?" It was right at that moment that the wandering eye seemed to notice the tall Tellarite's exposed nipples, which he looked up, looked guilty, then went for more eye contact.

"My WHAT now?" Gavarus stood up ramrod straight, trying to figure out some way to cover herself without looking like she was covering herself. And she certainly didn't want to ask if there was anything to wear on the ship due to the obvious filth. But in their current situation, the pair of unintentional explorers couldn't afford to be picky. "No, she's not my... We're not even the same... seriously."

"Sorry... yes. We are definitely stranded and could use a lift, so thank you for stopping." The tall Tellarite tried to force a smile as she spoke. "We're trying to get back to... Fee... where the hell were we, again?"

"Jest point me at yer nav computer and I kin calculate the distance-" Fiona began, but was cut off by a goofy laugh from the rustic country bumpkin flying the antique transport vessel.

"Thuh automatic response tuh y'all's distress beacon altered our course, but it's already laid in and on rails, little girl. We're headed for the Kingsland space truckstop and BBQ pit! I got a load change there, an' I'll finally be rid'a this load 'a manure!"

"Make yerselves comfy, I'll warn ya when we're comin outta warp, cuz yer gonna wanna hold on. ETA should be roundabout 13 minutes or so. Yuh kin rummage up some clothes if'n yuh want."

Cringing slightly at the thought of putting anything on her body that was on the ship, Gavarus thought about that versus the idea of being at a literal space truck stop dressed in the almost nothing she had been wearing. "Uhhh... yeah... Okay, thanks. We will, Captain?"

"They's some lockers over yonner, some clothes been left behind by other crew- might be some to fit ya. I'll be in the cab, gettin ready ta dock." With that, the redneck of the space trucking lanes tipped his cap and headed forward, leaving the duo to begin rooting through the lockers. The little ensign managed to come up with a child's pair of overalls that fit like capris pants on her, but were better than what she was wearing. As for the enormous engineer, she found a foil unfoldable survival suit that was too small to close on her rather rounded figure, but still offered her more coverage than her veils.

"S'times like this that I'm glad neither of us is a photography buff. This is nae the part'a me vacation I want to be rememberin, or have hangin on me wall later. At least I'll blend in ta look like one of the local idiots. How's yuir tinfoil wedgie?" O'Dell asked as she used some of her former gauzey outfit to tie her mane of curls into rear mounted pigtails.

With the front only closing enough to cover her nipples, most of her upper belly and chest we're still pressing out of the one-piece foil suit. Trying to adjust it, she was glad that at lest it didn't tear like actual foil and at least seemed sturdy. "This is, by FAR the single most uncomfortable thing I've ever worn. It frickin' crinkles when I move and I feel like a goddamn baked potato. I seriously hope the truck stop has real booze at it because... shiiiittttt."

Stopping in her tracks, Gavarus slapped her forehead and groaned. "Our credits are all back at the frickin' bar! We're stranded at this guy's mercy as I HIGHLY doubt there will be any Starfleet presence where we're going."

"Y'all hang on, we're a'comin outta warp!" came the call from the cab, and suddenly the entire freighter lurched as she dropped back into sublight, sending the two of them sprawling. Tapping the deck like a wrestler crying uncle, O'Dell was trapped underneath Gavarus when they landed.

"Son of a... Lovely. No inertial frickin' dampeners?" Gavarus grumbled from the deck as she struggled to get off of O'Dell and back to her feet. "Eeewww! The deck is sticky! Why is the deck sticky?!?"

“AIR!” O’Dell squeaked as she worked to pry herself off the sticky deck and gasp in a lungful of oxygen. “Ah sweet jaysis I saw me whole life flash before me eyes there, and it was… short.” Scrambling up to peer out a porthole, O'Dell’s eyes widened. “That dinna look like any space truckstop I ever seen…”

Looking over O'Dell's head out the porthole, Gavarus gulped. "What the effin' @#$&!. I already miss the space harem. Where the hell are we?"

Turning back around, Gavarus stomped her way to the front cabin only to find it locked off. Thumping on the door, the irritable Tellarite was now just angry. "Hey, Captain B.O., What's the deal? That doesn't look like a truckstop or a space station?! Open the @#$& up!"

The rumble and clank of a hard docking was heard and felt throughout the freighter, and as they looked out the porthole, O’Dell and Gavarus could see a large rambling country house which had a sign out front advertising food/gas/smokes/water. There were pumps and maintenance equipment like a standard spaceyard, as well as a number of rusted out or abandoned older freighters and spacegoing vehicles. As the hatch opened between the cab and the rest of the freighter, the country captain emerged, grinning broadly. “Y’all should be able to use the comms here to arrange a pick-up to where yer goin’, and get yerself some deeelicious BBQ in the process!”

The speech of the country bumpkin spacer might have been more reassuring had he not been accompanied by banjo music from the cabin.

"Okay, this is where we're gonna @#$%'ing DIE, Fee. I have 2345ing SEEN this holovid. They're going tie me to a @#$%ing TREE to do butt stuff to me and then I am being barbequed. I am already mother@#$%ing DRESSED for it!" Gavarus was gesturing to her ridiculous foil onsie, and was starting to stress out. And stress, for the porcine engineer, meant a litany of sarcasm, defensive jokes, and f-bombs.

"Okay, this is where we're gonna @#$%'ing DIE, Fee. I have @#$%ing SEEN this holovid. They're going tie me to a @#$%ing TREE to do butt stuff to me and then I am being barbequed. I am already mother@#$%ing DRESSED for it!" Gavarus was gesturing to her ridiculous foil onsie, and was starting to stress out. And stress, for the porcine engineer, meant a litany of sarcasm, defensive jokes, and f-bombs.

“Ach, ye big ninny! Yuir joost bein… “O’Dell began to admonish when she saw the pig in a chef’s hat, and realized that pork was definitely on the menu. “Well, all we got ta do is find us a comm, then get a message to the ship and they’ll come pick us oop long afore ye’ve had a chance to git crispy! Besides, nobody wants to eat me- I’m too small and skinny to be worth the effort, and I’ll protect ye!”

But Gavarus wasn't calming down any. "They are gonna eat ME and use your bones to pick me out of their teeth!" Then she thought of the Captain of the freighter and his gap-filled grin, "Tooth. They probably all share the one tooth."

“Then what do ye want ta do, Briaar? We kin hide in here til we’re nivvir rescued or taker a chance on creepy murder hobo space truck stop of horror. We’ve got to do something, so if nae oot there, then what’s yuir plan, aye? Dazzle me wi’ yuir brilliance and explain to me our vast number of options here!” It was clear from the deepening brogue that O’Dell was also freaking out and clearly didn’t know what to do either.

“Wahl, y’know, ladies…” started the hillbilly space trucker, to whit both turned in unison and shouted, "NOBODY ASKED YOU!”

In spite of her nerves and complete lack of anything resembling an idea, Gavarus stepped slightly forward putting her much larger frame between the trucker and the diminutive but hot-tempered O'Dell. The station might have looked like a nightmarish mix of an abandoned truck stop and a junkyard where their bones were likely to be stored, but there were other vehicles out there and very likely, a comm system like O'Dell suggested. So their best bet was to get off the ship they were on. Or at least that was what the panicking porcine was thinking and with the trucker standing right there, she couldn't really confirm with Fiona.

"Uh... sorry 'bout that. We're both just... uh... right famished from being stuck in that there pod forever." In a ridiculous display, the two-meter pig woman batted her eyelashes and did her best impression of a damsel in distress.

The grimy goofball suddenly became bashful as her feminine wiles worked on him. “Well gawrsh, bein’ stuck in that tiny tin can floatin out there all by yer lonesome wonderin’ if you and yer little girl were ever gonna get picked up, it’s no wonder y’all are a little on edge. You should come inside and see about getting you some good stick to yer ribs food in ya!” The idiot may have smelled and been homely enough o start making prospects back on the Hera look good, but at least he seemed to have a good heart.

“You lahk head cheese? M’brother makes it real good!” the space trucker espoused enthusiastically.

Hesitantly following his lead as he walked the two women out of the freighter, Gavarus' face scrunched up at the sound. "Head Cheese? What the fuuu... uh... Why, I've never had it before. Uh. What is it?"

Please don't be made with actual heads! Please don't be made with actual heads! The anxious engineer thought to herself while making a disgusted face down at O'Dell.

“See they make headcheese. They...they take the pig head... and they boil it. Except for the tongue... and they scrape all the flesh away from the bone. They use everything. They don't throw nothing away. They... they use the jaws, the muscles, and the eyes, and the ligaments and everything!” He might have continued, but that was when O’Dell threw up her beer on the ground.

“Aw, looks lahk yer lil’ one is sickly. No worries, we’ll git some food in her an’ fix her raht up!” the oblivious space hillbilly promised.

"Oh, for @#$&'s sake! She's not my kid! Gavarus snapped as she bent down to comfort O'Dell.

"We're about the same age and there's something else we don't have in common! A BIG ASS PIG HEAD!!"

"She don't? I jes' thought she were runty. Don't matter none, y'all are here now. Yew wanna run inside or run fer the hills what has eyes? Run through the junkyard maze or the corn maze or that shack out by the edge of the bubble next to that old freighter what looks like it might just run. It's yer choice, n' we'uns don't care none. It ain't about the kill... it the thrill 'a the chase. So gwan, git! Run, lil piggie! Run or hide, take yer pick. Cuz we're comin ta git yew!"

Staring down at O'Dell, then back at the redneck trucker, then back to O'Dell, Gavarus' jaw hung open for a moment. Then, with a cartoonishly shrill scream, the towering Tellarite grabbed O'Dell by the middle, swinging her wildly kicking feet at the trucker knocking him back to the bulkhead.

Tucking Fiona under her arm like a screaming, ginger football, Gavarus ran off the ship toward the house. "EEEIIIIAAAGHHHHH!!!!!"

"AW SWEET JAYSIS WE ARE GONNA DIE HERE!" O'Dell screamed as she watched forms and shapes detatch themselves from the ruined junker spacecraft that comprised the junkyard, most of them old freighters or escape pods. "Run, aw sweet mother macree, run Gavarus! That one's got a fork!!"

Running at a frantic pace, Gavarus made yet way to the main structure, passing through the main doors into what appeared to be an antiquated farm house. Putting O'Dell down, the panicking Porcine Engineer turned to examine the external door controls as she could hear the trucker clamoring towards them from outside. "Okay... What did they wire this shit with, Duct tape? Where's the locking..."

Frustrated with the seemingly incomprehensible electronics, she stepped back. "Oh, @#$& this bullshit!" Lifting up her long leg, she planted her hard hoof into the panel, shorting it out and locking the door mechanism just in time as she heard the trucker banging on the exterior.

"Y'ALL GONNA' SQUEAL FER US, LITTLE PIGGIES!" He shouted from outside.

Turning, Gavarus pressed back against the door, taking a moment to breathe as the pair looked down a long, dimly lit corridor of inexplicably wooden farm doors.

"One a'these must lead to that freighter parked ootside, right? So we joost-" Fiona whipped open a door only to see, inexplicably, a calm lake under the moonlight, as on the dock a dirty figure in overalls turned. The large knife he was carrying dripped blood, and his face was obscured by some sort of dirty and worn sporting equipment. Slamming the door, O'Dell plastered her back to it. "Wrong door..."

"The hell?" Gavarus exclaimed as she rushed to the other side of the corridor to open the next door. As she opened it, there was a slight blast of cold air as the pair saw a grimy cooler with filthy meat hooks descending from the ceiling. At the other end of the room was a large metal door that violently slid open with a sickening slam. On the other side was a massive humanoid figure with a blood soaked apron, and a mask that appeared to be made of someone else's face. In his hands was a large chainsaw that he began pulling the cord on as it let out a rumbling growl.

Pulling the door shut, Gavarus let out the highest pitched squeal of a scream O'Dell had ever heard. "EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! What the effin' @#$&, Fee?! Where the hell ARE we?!"

“Apparently it’s the truckstop of the damned. I bin a good girl, I dinna deserve ta go ta hell!” O’Dell squeaked as she peeked into another door, saw what appeared to be a peaceful cabin in the woods lit by moonlight, whereupon she promptly slammed the door. “Nae even takin any chances. C’mon, one a’ these doors has to lead to that freighter docked outside!”

"What are these? Dimensional doorways? This is crazy!" Gavarus yelled as they made their way down the corridor, passing one portal to horror after another.

One, a room full of dangling chains with a pale skilled man with nails driven in his forehead inviting them in. Another, some kind of subterranean waste management tunnel with a single floating red balloon. Each more unnerving than the last until finally they found the door to the exterior freighter.

“Christ on a crutch, that last one was wearing a pig face mask WITH a bluiddy chainsaw! I am so vey over this idiot horror show!” Fiona’s nerves were just as shot at Gavarus, and as the engineer tried to get the airlock hatch to open onto the freighter, Fiona was watching her back, a broom she’d picked up along the way brandished like a two-handed sword before her.

“Git the damn door open, Briaar! I don’t want ta die here in this hellhole because you canna override a bluiddy airlock!” Fiona whined, because as frightened as she was, her voice was rapidly approaching the range that only dogs could hear.

"It's not my FAULT!" Gavarus shrieked as she fumbled with the control panel. "The interfaces here are worse than the ones on the pod and that goddamn harem ship! Nothing makes any sense!" Looking at the wiring of the panel, it seemed to be almost completely random. Almost what someone with no concept of engineering would think the innards of a door panel should look like. Frustrated, Gavarus simply yanked on the wires as the door miraculously opened with a creak.

Practically tripping over each other, the unlikely pair stumbled onto each other to get inside. As they did, gavarus slammed the door controls and the hatch slammed shut behind them. "Fee! Get to the cockpit and see if this shithole piece of space @#$%ery will take off. I'm on the engine!"

As O'Dell ran to the front, Gavarus pried open the hatch for the access panel for the engine and yelled forward. "This @#$%er has POWER, FEE! GO!GO!GO!GO!"

“What the absolute fook…?” O’Dell had scampered to the cockpit, and was trying to familiarize herself with the flight systems. It appeared to be far too basic for her to actually pilot the starship in the manner it seemed to lend itself too, but fear and adrenaline overrode her usual piloting caution and she flipped a few switches and broke seal with the airlock. Triggering maneuvering thrusters, she got them clear of the starbase of horror, and once they were clear, she punched in their coordinates for the resort, which she still recalled despite their binge drinking.

Grabbling the throttle level on the center console, O’Dell used both hands to drag it toward her until the stars smeared and warped, and she breathed a sigh of relief, trying to get her tiny heart to stop beating like a freshly shorn sheep’s knees. “We’re movin… I got us movin… we’re on our way… aw holy mary muthera god…”

In the back, Gavarus was fumbling around frantically, tossing crates aside the clanged against the pipe-covered bulkheads. "Oh, praise the mother@#$&ing GODS! Or the space- truckstop Satan! Who the @#$& EVER! There's a replicator, Fee!"

And after pushing a few buttons, the machine sparked to life and produced two bottles of beer. "Fee! We're set! Working replicator with actual, not synthoholic frickin' beer!"

"Ohhh me love, me daaaarlin!" Fiona ran toward Gavarus only to clutch and hug the beer like a beloved lost child or a pet. "I've missed ye so, ma wee bonny broown bottle'a stout! Nivvir leave me agin, aye?" With that, the pint-sized panic popped the top on her bottle of beer and took a long swig.

"So, ship's some sorta ancient joonk that I canna even be sure I punched the coordinates inta proper. Boot it's in warp, and we're movin, soo... here's ta us!" O'Dell burped, then held up her beer for a toast with her tall temperamental teammate.

Flopping down to sit on the deck, Briaar clinked her beer up against Fiona's. "I'll frickin' drink to that. At least we're away from that horror show. Seriously, what the hell else can go wrong on this goddamn 'vacation'?"

As she took a long swig of her beer and sighed, a thick, viscous clear fluid dripped down from the myriad of piped overhead and plopped down on the bottom of the tall Tellarite's beer bottle. As it did, the pair immediately stopped drinking and slowly arced their heads upwards.

Above them, intertwined in the pipes, was a coiling mass of shiny black ridges and points. Parts that, at first glance, appeared to be nothing more than an extension of the calamity of pipework began to move and undulate above them. Directly above them, a slick, blackened dome began to arc down towards them. At the front of the long head was a row of sharp, glistening teeth that seemed to be made of steel that slowly opened with a sickening hiss as more of the thick drool ell down towards the pair of terrified Starfleet officers.

"AAAAAAAGH!!!!" they both screamed in unison as they scrambled to make a beeline for the cockpit.

"M'nivvir leavin the bluiddy ship agin! Oh sweet saint patrick, what the everlovin fook!" Fiona got to the cockpit first and looked around in a panic for the hatch controls to seal it off from the rest of the ship as she waited for Gavarus to catch up.

Meanwhile, the mutually panicking Porcine was trying to scramble to her feet, all the while continuing to slam back down against the metal of the deck plate. As she incrementally got closer to the cockpit, the bizarre creature lowered itself slowly to the deck behind them. It's glistening coils of almost bio-mechanical limbs curling forward as it hissed

"IT'S GONNA FRICKIN' EAT MY FAT ASS!!! EEEEEEKKKKK!!! Gavarus screamed as she finally made it to her feet and began running like a freight train towards Fiona, with the creature close behind.

"CLOSEITCLOSEITCLOSEITCLOSEIT!! Gavarus shriked as she fell through the doorway to the cockpit, slamming against the back of the pilots seat as O'Dell hit the hatch button hard. With a loud, metallic thunk, the creature slammed into the hatch as it slid shut just in time.

"Nyyyyeaaaahhhhh fook this! Bollocks to the bluiddy lot of ye, má ithis, nar chacair!" as she told the xenomorph pounding on the door what she really thought of it, O'Dell scanned the control pad until she found the cargo bay door control. Having already told the creature to never shit again in old Celtic, she followed it up to tell it to go to hell as she slammed the buttom with an open palm. "Go hifreann leat!"

As the cargo bay doors opened, the air quickly rushed out, and after a few seconds the pounding turned into a clawing, then even that stopped, and all that was heard was bumps of what cargo was left bouncing around in the depressurized cargo space.

"YEAH! That's frickin' right! Have a nice walk in a vacuum, you goddamn... whatever the hell you are!" Gavarus poked one if her thick fingers at the heavy metal door. Turning to look at the displays of the cockpit showed the creature vanishing into space in the ships wake on the tiny security screen. "Okay... I'm not saying anything else to jinx us, Fee."

Flopping down in the pilot's chair, Fiona pouted. "This shore leave has sucked peat bog arse. Now we canna even access the replicator n'more." Taking another sip of her beer, the pigtailed pilot hiccuped. "M'sorry Briaar. I wanted for us to have a few days fun together, not for us to be runnin' aboot screamin our heads off runnin' from cannibal hillbillies with odd ideas of how ta make cheese."

Flumping down, exhausted, in the co-pilots seat, Gavarus sighed. "It's not your frickin' fault, Fee. I vote we blame Gonadie for kicking us off the ship, and spend the next... three weeks... harboring a secret resentment about the horrifying things we're blaming her for. And what about that recipe was frickin' CHEESE?!?"

"I dunno, but if I wasn't put offa eatin' pork yet, that woulda done it." Taking another long draught off her beer, O'Dell burped. "Guess now it's joost get drunk and watch space slide by until Ah pass oot from alla the stress, or the beer."

Which was precisely when the freighter dropped out of warp, around a beautiful lush planet.

...To Be Continued...

...Continued from 'Hitchin' a Ride'.

"This is Risa Control, you're on an approach vector of nine one niner. We're feeding the coordinates to your nav computer and you should be on a beach drinking a fruity cocktail inside five minutes, over."

Staring out of the cockpit of the smelly and disgusting freighter that they had escaped the truckstop from hell with, Briaar Gavarus and Fiona O'Dell could hardly believe their eyes as the looked at the lush, beautiful planet below.

Tabbing the comm key O'Dell responded. "Aye Risa Control, we read ye. recieving course heading noow..." The tiny test pilot tapped in the coordinates and the freighter angled down toward the planet on a landing vector.

"I dinna even care at this point. Somewhere we can git on some actual clothes and drink some actual drinks in the company a'strangers about whom we give no shits sounds abso-fookin-lutely perfect right now, aye?" The optimistic O'Dell grinned at the grouchy Gavarus, her mercurial mood already having changed at the arrival of good news.

"Risa? The shuttle isn't at... " Gavarus began to complain before shrugging and grabbed O'Dell's beer for a swig. "Oh, who the hell cares. It's Federation affiliated, our credit accounts will be honored and we can get into some real goddamn clothes and get a ride back to where we did leave the shuttle."

Taking another swig, she passed the bottle back to O'Dell, "And, as you said, get drunk enough to forget everything else that's happened."

"And be obnoxious jackholes to people who canna report us to the Lieutenant!" O'Dell grinned cheerfully.

------------

An hour later, standing at the bar of a kitschy tiki-themed establishment overlooking a spacious and lush beach, the unlikely duo had gotten cleaned up and chosen matching outfits of classic black suits, white button down shirts and slender black ties to go with their black sunglasses. Outfitted like criminals headed to rob a bank, blues musicians or men in black, they held aloft the third cheer since their arrival- Gavarus' a slushy sweet cocktail adorned with various fruits, and O'Dell's half-pint of bitters.

"Alreet, now this is a shoreleave, aye?"

"Beats the hell out of crazy space truckers trying to cheese my head, that's for damn sure, Fee!" Gavarus chuckled sarcastically as she took an enormous sip of her fruity, frozen concoction.

"I figure we can blow the rest of our time here, take a transport back to pick up the shuttle from the Hera and...." Suddenly, as she spoke and drank, the towering Tellarite locked up mid-sentence.

Slapping the bar top repeatedly, Gavarus scrunched up her face and winced. "OOOOH!! AAAH!!! Son of a bitch! Oooh! Drank to f... f... fast! Frickin' brain freeze! That's what I get for trying to think!"

"Hey... hey Briaar?," O'Dell tugged at Gavarus' sleeve, then pointed across the room. "I think a different model of yuir dream girl joost walked into the party like she was walkin onto a yacht..."

Sucking on the straw of her frozen drink, Gavarus peeked over the top of her sunglasses as a vision stepped into the wicker-covered tiki bar. Long auburn hair, wavy and wet from the ocean waves draped down wide, well-defined shoulders as a woman that looked like she would be right at home standing guard onboard the Hera. Her ample chest barely contained a wet, teal bikini top that heaved as she walked. Easily 5 cm taller than the 2-meter tall porcine engineer, the mystery woman strode across the room on impossibly long, thickly muscled legs. A towel wrapped around her tight, defined waist did nothing to obscure the jut of her hips as Gavarus stared the woman up and down like a slab of well-cooked beef.

O'Dell knew full well of her paunchy best friend's taste in Amazons, and watched Gavarus practically drooling as the virtual goddess took a stool at the opposite end of the bar from the pair.

“Soooooo…. Ye gonna chicken oot when she’s nivvir gonna see ye agin, or ye gonna go try ta climb the mountain?” O’Dell asked in her usual direct manner. "I mean, she’s vurrah pretty and she’s all lone over there. Ye only fail to succeed when ye stop trying, my dotty old Da used ta say.”

So saying, the petite pixie poked her porcine partner in the ribs, urging her to get off her barstool and take a chance on a vision that seemed to have been sent by the heavens solely to tempt the irascible engineer.

Sighing and taking another swig if her drink, Gavarus shrugged. "I think I've experienced enough horrors for one vacation, Fee. Let's just keep getting drunk and find out what else there is to do here and not worry about my non-existent love life, okay?"

“I’m already drunk!” the little lass of the Bringloidians by way of Mariposa declared, but internally she wasn’t giving up just yet. While the pleasures of the flesh were something that held no appeal for her, she knew that despite their friendship, Briaar Gavarus was still lonely and desired female companionship of the more intimate variety. Thus, as her best friend, it was Fiona O’Dell’s self-appointed duty to be a good wingman for her chum, and find a way to maneuver the situation so that the great beastie might just have to talk to the beautiful girl who almost looked a bit too perfect to be real.

“C’mon, let’s go roll some bones,” O’Dell decided, switching tactics. Maybe some wins at the tables would bolster her porky pal’s pluck. “After alla the bad luck we’ve had, surely we’re destined for some luck with cards or dice, aye?”

"@#$%ing A, Fee!" Gavarus downed the rest of her drink, ordered another one and a fresh beer for her pint-sized partner-in-crime and announced, "Lead the frickin' way! Let's wreck this place!"

“Like you in the reclamator after bean burrito day!” O’Dell cheered, taking her fresh beer and taking a small sip. After all, her alcohol tolerance was legendarily low, as she was even allergic to synthehol, and her 90 pound body weight made her a cheap drunk on the best of days, but she knew how to pace herself to not make herself sick.

Of course, she would get righteously hammered, but not have to be held by her hair as she puked up her toenails.

What followed was a haze of colorful scenes, beautiful people gathered around gaming tables, and O’Dell showing a surprising knack for gambling. The dice seemed to like her, she had a feel for the cards and only roulette seemed elusive to her, as a game of statistical odds and chance. They were considering switching to Dabo as they contemplated their small but significant pile of winnings, which had attracted a crowd who were now following the ‘lucky leprechaun’ from table to table.

“Well, we kin keep gambling if ye like, and we seem to have made friends. Or we could go get a massage or some overpriced meal or- hic!” O’Dell hiccupped hard, then apparently forgot what she was going to say as she looked up at Gavarus expectantly.

Taking a swig of a massive mug of beer she had switched over to, Gavarus laughed. "Well, I can ALWAYS frickin'eat, Fee. As for a massage, how about we keep our clothes on. I've been naked enough for one vacation."

Across from the table, out of the corner of her eye, the tipsy Tellarite noticed her dream girl again. This time, decked out in a slinky dark green dress sipping on a margarita. And as Gavarus looked over, she couldn't help but notice that the statuesque woman was looking back with the slightest of smiles, before turning her gaze elsewhere.

Brushing it off, the cranky Engineer turned to the cloud of hanger-ons that had taken in a tight orbit around the pair with a smuggling sneer. "As for our 'friends', they can find someone else to suck up to. Go, shoo, ya' frickin' Aldebran Vultures!" As she did, she waved them away with her fat, three fingered hands.

“Hey now, ma’am, this here little lady’s been bringin’ the luck of the irish everywhere she goes-“ a humanoid in an ugly suit with a big silly hat stared before O’Dell interrupted him.

“I’m nae irish, I’m froom Mariposa!” Which was both true and untrue, as the Bringloidians had been Irish who had resettled with the Mariposians. While that technically made her Mariposian, one would be hard pressed to find a more stereotypical Irish lass in the quadrant.

“Well, yuh shore do sound Irish. Anyway, she’s our little good luck charm! Y’can’t get her to quit while we’re all on a streak! Whattya say lil lady? Howbout some more craps? You and them dice is just magical together!”

“Nae, I dinna think so. Me partner in crime wants some food and I’m a wee bit peckinsh meself-“ O’Dell explained, which was when the gambler grabbed her by the arm to haul her back into the crowd.

“You can get some vittles later! Y’don’t quit on a hot streak-“ the insistent gambler replied as he tugged the puny pilot into the crowd, turning to say something else only to catch a nearly full beer mug in the face. It didn’t have much force behind it, but it was an accurate throw, and the dark beer splashed all over him even as he was momentarily startled.

“You let go ‘ame ya spalleen or the only luck yuir g’win ta have is the kind that nivvir makes bairns n’more!” O’Dell pulled, trying to free herself from the gambler’s grip, even as more people joined in to ‘convince’ her to keep gambling. Even as she punched the gambler in the crotch, the crowd was beginning to get ugly- that beer had splashed quite a few of the crowd, and they were turning ugly fast. Some of them didn’t have far to go, either.

“Briaar!” O’Dell squeaked in panic as the crowd threatened to swallow her up.

For a woman that was 2 meters tall and nearly 180 kilograms, Briaar Gavarus was a notorious and inexplicable wimp when it came to having to fight. But she was drunk and angry and having just fought their way through a truckstop of monsters, riding a bit of an adrenaline high.

So seeing her best friend being grabbed and pawed at against her will was enough, combined with taking a massive swig of liquid courage, to push her into action. She slammed her now empty mug down and leaned in, screaming in the face of the man in the ridiculous face, "YOU GET YOUR MOTHER@#$&ING HANDS OFF OF HER BEFORE I @#$ING EAT THEM, YOU PIECES OF SHIIIIIIIIIIITTT!!!!!"

Her curse stretched out into an exaggerated and ear piercing, swine-like squeal that preceeded Gavarus beginning to swing and flail wildly, eyes closed, at the people grabbing at O'Dell. It was a cartoonishly display that looked more like a little girl trying to seat away at a swarm of bees. All the while, Gavarus continued to squeal, her teeth clenched to reveal her generally hidden tusks! "SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

As a brawl broke out amongst the patrons, O'Dell managed to wriggle free of the grip of the gambling addict. Spotting Gavarus was no problem, since she was head and shoulders above the crowd, squealing and flailing about with her eyes shut. Kicking her lightly in the shins caused the Tellarite terror to pause and open her eyes, at which point O'Dell grabbed her hand and led her off, ducking under a table to evade the brawl and move from table to table, scooting along on their hands and knees, occasionally tripping brawl participants in their passing.

The brawl which they had started, of course.

"Shit! Uh, did I actually hit anything, Fee?" Gavarus snickered, slightly embarrassed by her display.

"Hell should I know. I was busy gettin' dragged to a craps table like an unruly brat," Fiona scoffed. "Laird we suck in fights. I swear, violence starts and I joost forget alla that judo shite they taught us in the Academy. I was one step shy of bitin' the bastard when you waded in. Thanks fuir the save, aye, chum?" As she spoke, O'Dell watched for the opportunity, then quickly scoot crawled to the next table, one step closer to the exit.

Following as close behind as possible, Gavarus continued to bang her head on the underside of the tables. "Shit! Ow! Yeah, I sucked so hard at judo. I have seven brothers, I never had to fight. Someone was mean to me and one of them always stepped in. Them or my sister, Creair. She loves getting in fights. Frickin' psychopath."

"Wait... hold on, Fee." Gavarus paused, sniffing slightly. Reaching up to the surface of the table they were under, she pulled back to mostly full bottles of beer. "Let's see... Rigelian Stout annnnd.. ooh. And Apple Indirian Pale Ale." On her knees, the sarcastic Engineer grinned like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar as she wiggled the bottles at O'Dell.

"Pick your poison, Fee."

“Stout fer me, nunna that canoe sex…” the mischievous maiden replied, then noted the questioning look on her partner’s face. “S’like fookin close ta water, aye?” Clinking the bottles together, O’Dell took a sip, made a thinking face then nodded. “Not too shabby. Whattye say, let’s make for the exit and find ourselves a boofet somewhere that ye kin punish?”

Taking a long swig, Gavarus looked back at the cloud of chaos behind them. "Hmm... It's apple-y. I like it. Okay. The coast is clear! Ready when you are."

Scooting out from underneath the table, O’Dell broke into a run, keeping her head down and zig-zagging like a squirrel in traffic to finish escaping the casino floor. Arriving in the capacious hotel lobby, she stood, brushed off her black slacks, straightened her tie and tucked her shirt in again as she waited for Gavarus to make it to safety.

As she waitied, there came a loud thud, a crash and the unmistakable sound of Briaar Gavarus letting out a litany of curses as she came busting through the exit doors into the lobby.

"Goddamn short ass card tables! Screw it, they've got people to clean that up. And on the plus, the knocked over table is blocking that door now." Gavarus grumbled as she rubbed her head, having clearly knocked one of the massive card tables over with her head when she got up. "Gods, I'm frickin' starving now."

“Aye… the world weren’t built for folks yuir size, mate,” O’Dell patted the flight engineer on the pack gently. “Let’s go wreck a buffet, then we’ll go find a shady spot oot by the pool and ye kin girlwatch from behind yuir shades and I promise nae to try ta make ye talk to inny of ‘em, aye?”

Which was when the Amazonian dream girl Gavarus had noticed earlier swept past their field of vision, on her way to the all-you-can-eat restaurant.

"Yeah, that... sounds..." Gavarus trailed off as the sweeping vision caught her eye. "...perfect."

Shaking the moment off, Gavarus adjusted her askew sunglasses and neck tie and cleared her throat. "Uh... yeah. Buffet wrecking it is. Let's get on it before those assholes in there decide to follow."

As she spoke, Gavarus started heading towards the restaurant, her attention half on her conversation with O'Dell and half on the dream girl in the slinky green dress ahead of them.


“Sweet mother macree, I think they got real potatoes!” O’Dell noted as they inspected the fare. “I’m g’win ta eat me body weight in potatoes. And steak, cuz we’ve still nae minotaurs in the department yet. Every time I try to eat chicken noow, I just see Chief Gonadie lookin’ at me all sad-like.”

Noticing how distracted the unlucky at love engineer was, and spotting the source of said distraction, O’Dell sighed. Despite their friendship, she could tell that Gavarus was a little lonely for the kind of company that her puny partner in crime couldn’t provide. Besides, it might do her some good to get laid and blow off some steam. Yet at the same time, it always seemed to go so badly for her that Fiona wasn’t terribly willing to push the subject any longer. If Briaar wanted to climb a mountain, she was going to have to approach the mountain herself.

Filling her plate with an assortment of food that was mostly going to go to waste, given O’Dell’s small storage capacity, the tiny test pilot made her way to a table, setting them close enough so that Gavarus would see her dream girl without them being close enough to be overheard by her. Of course, O’Dell also sat with her back to the slinky amazon, so that her pal could stealk glances and work herself up into a lather.

Non-interference didn’t mean full on avoidance, after all.

Sitting down across from, Gavarus a cartoonishly filled plate loaded with two baked potatoes, vegetable stir fry, four ears of sweet corn. As she sat, she caught sight of her dream girl, who had an equally filled plate.

"Shit... It's..." Gavarus tried to burry her head in her plate as she noticed the mystery woman looking her way. "FEE! She looking at me!?!"

“Then smile at her and wave, ye dope,” O’Dell mumbled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes that had turned out to be all replicated crap anyway, which was disappointing to the small stereotype.

With a mouthful of corn and a smear of butter across her chin, Gavarus gave up the most awkward, uncomfortable smile possible and wiggled her fingers weekly in the air. As she did, the Auburn haired vision across the room grinned and giggled slightly in a way that even the self-effacing Tellarite could tell was positive.

Gulping, she went to whisper to O'Dell, but instead began involuntarily choking on a chunk of the cob she had gnawed off that found itself stuck in her throat. "HHHRROOOOORRKKKKK!!!"

The mortified Engineer's eyes went wide with panic as she tried to nudge herself in the gut to get the obstruction out.

"Ach, fer crissakes Gavarus," O'Dell rolled her eyes as once again, when she wanted to communicate with a pretty girl, Gavarus' gut somehow malfunctioned. "Every damn time."

"Ye're right stook, aren't ye? Alreet..." Sliding out of her chair, the midget Mariposian eyed the girth of her porcine pal's generous gut, and realized two facts in short order. There was no way she could get her artms around the tubby Tellarite's midsection, anbd she wasn't completely sure of where the two stoimachs of Tellarites were located in their thoracic cavities.

The 90 pound weakling knew she couldn't just slug her chum in the gut to get it out, but then she hit on an idea. Backing up, she took a running start and hurled herself at Gavarus' gut at full speed, holding her arms crossed before her to protect her neck.

With a decent amount of force, O'Dell impacted with Gavarus' middle. Then, with a massive grunt, the chunk of corn cob ejected itself forcefully from the porcine woman's throat.

Time seemed to stand still as the projectile of chewed cob flew in an arc across room, whacking hard against the back of another diner's head. O'Dell, for her part, wobbled back unsteadily, until strong soft hands steadied her. Blinking rapidly as stars swam in her vision, O'Dell turned around to a faceful of perfumed cleavage. Shaking her head she backpedalled to get a bit of distance and perspective, only to stagger back into Gavarus.

Meanwhile, the goddess in green was standing back up and stepping over tofinish closing the distance between them.

"Is your little friend okay? I was coming over when I realized she couldn't clear your airway, but it looks like she's a plucky one." The auburn-haired collections of curves, dewey dark eyes and a dazzling yet shy smile, demurely tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she smiled a bit awkwardly.

Blinking and catching her breath, Gavarus looked down at O'Dell then back up. "Uh... *Cough*... Yeah. She's got a hard head. Fiona's little but she'll mess ya' up if she has to. Or save your life. Whatever... Whatever comes first. *Cough*"

Coughing through her hoarse throat, Gavarus grabbed a pitcher of water off the table next to them much to the surprise of it's occupants. "Sorry... still kinda... hold on."

Holding a finger up, Gavarus chugged half the pitcher down to soothe her scratchy throat. "I'm... *Gasp* we're fine. We're both fine. Me and her. She. My friend. Friends.Yeah. Friends. You're fine, right, Fee?"

Nervously, she fumbled through her words trying to express that the pair were not a couple with all the subtlety of a drunk Ferengi.

"Halloo! I'm Fiona, this is Briaar, and why don't ye join us for dinner? I daresay we've the finest table in the entire boofay!" O'Dell grinned charmingly on command, an irrepressible urchin whom the charmed beauty couldn't resist.

"Well, all right... that sounds nice!" As the bounteous beauty returned to her table to fetch her plates, O'Dell snatched a napkin off the table and shoved it up by Gavarus' face.

"Wipe yuir moosh and dust off yuir shirt, then wait fer her to seat herself, then ye siddown, aye?" she hissed at high speed before the curvaceous charmer returned, setting her plates from the buffet down... all 4 of them.

Following the advice of her insistent wing-woman, Briaar grabbed the napkin and wiped her face off and adjusted her suit as she took in the massive spread the mysterious and oddly friendly woman had just sat down. Four filled plates, not pork products and an inexplicably warm smile.

The ample Amazon in green sat down at the table, looking up at the flustered Tellarite the whole time. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Gavarus looked first at her then over to Fiona who, sitting back down herself, gestured with her eyes for Gavarus to do the same.

Sitting down, the massively Porcine woman's seat slid slightly, making an exceedingly loud dragging sound against the floor. "Uh... Heh heh... Uh... Hullo."

"Hello... it was very kind of you to ask me to sit with you. Are you from around here?" When the fetching Amazon spoke, her voice was light and gentle on Gavarus' ears, her smile a shy but charming one as her eye contact locked onto those of the flustered engineer's... eyes which were rimmed in dark makeup and eyeshadow, yet were themselves a much warmer brown than Gavarus had expected, which seemed to almost sparkle as they reflected the light.

Taking up her fork, the mystery girl leaned in, the cut of her emerald dress and her arms pressing her tanned soft and generous breasts together, making that eye contact harder as she speared a half dozen grilled bologinus roots to wedge them into her mouth, demonstrating a clear appetite that was unusual to see in a woman, although somewhat par for the course for a woman this size, one might imagine.

Remaining silent as she sat beside her swininsh sidekick, O'Dell poked Gavarus under the table to prompt her to answer.

"Uh..." Gavarus was stunned out of her somewhat creepy staring by O'Dell's insistent poking. "Us? Uh... No. I'm from Tellar Prime and Fiona is from Mariposa. But we're both here on... Shore leave from our ship. On... ya'know... vacation. Uh... relaxing?"

"Oh, me too! I'm a fitness model on a holonet channel, the Busenwonder channel? I know, I'm kind of big for it, but they are making a lot of strides oin body acceptance these days." she said as she ate. While she was putting it away at a speed that would do Gavarus proud, she was still managing to do so while maintaining ladylike manners. "I came to do a swimsuit shoot, but my photographer still isn't here yet and won't be until tomorrow. So until then I;m all alone on this beautiful resort planet, no one to share it with..." The bounteous beauty sighed, a somewhat seismic affair.

"Yeah, I saw you come in off the beach, you looked great so I can see that." As she spoke, Gavarus'face went beat red. "I mean... as a career... that seems... good... because uh... you're pretty." As soon as the words left her mouth, she shoved another ear off corn in to shut herself up.

"Briaar here's an experimental flight systems engineer. And a test pilot ta boot!" O'Dell interjected, and the fitness model's eyes lit up.

"Wow, that sounds exciting!" she gushed. "You must be really smart and, y'know... good with your hands...?" The vision of loveliness blushed and smiled nervously at her own joke.

Swallowing, Gavarus looked down at her thick, three fingered hands and bit the bottom of her lip. "Uh... Fiona's the test pilot. I'm just her engineering support. And our supervisor is the smart one. I'm not... they do all the smart work really."

"Ach, she's joost modest is all," O'Dell slapped Gavarus on the bicep with a backhad, flashing a frown at her. "She's dead brilliant she is. I'm joost the clever monkey quick wi'me hands. Briaar here's the brains. Ach, lookit me, runnin me mouth alla this time and bein so rude! Me name's Fiona, this here is Briaaar, and..."

"Oh! I'm so sorry, it slipped my mind," the dream girl drew back in surprise, then offered her hand across the table. "My name's Monica, it's so very nice to meet you."

Long lashes fluttered over warm brown eyes as the buff and beautiful babe spoke, as an exotic hint of her light floral perfume wafted to the nostrils of the space pig's sensitive snout, a sharp contrast to her sidekick, who perpetually smelled like Irish Spring soap.

For an instant, Gavarus thought the perfume might cause her to sneeze or do something equally embarrassing as she felt her nose tickle. But she was keeping herself from ejecting anything out of her body for a solid two minutes now and didn't quite know how.

She was a stuttering mess. She almost choked to death on a corn cob. She openly called this 'Monica' pretty and didn't spontaneously combust immediately thereafter. In her mind, this was all about as inexplicable as their time in a space harem or the truckstop from hell. She had never even had a hint of game in her life, and this perfect vision was responsive and seemed to actually be reciprocating Briaar's attentions.

"Did... did we die, Fee? Did the hillbilly kill us and this is some weird, death throws hallucination?" Gavarus whispered as she pretended to take a drink of water.

"Whist!" Fiona said crossly as she took the Tellarite engineer's hand and brought it up to shake that of the woman opposite her. "She's charmed to make yuir acquaintance, Monica. Aren't ye, Briar?"

As the impossible woman sitting across from her took her thick, three fingered hand in her own, Gavarus' swallowed loudly and offered an awkward smile. Bit at least this time, she wasn't belching or throwing up.

Nervously, Gavarus held the woman's hand a bit harder then was probably necessary, shaking it like the two were men in a dick measuring contest. "Uh... Yes. Charmed. Yeah, absolutely. Yes. Hello."

"So, rather then me bein' a third wheel here wi' alla me gradiose speechifyin' and me arch phrasing..." Fiona was going on, when next top their table a doorway appeared. A doorway that looked suspiciously like the entrance to a holosuite.

"Ach... fuir the luvva jaysis..." O'Dell facepalmed, then tepped Gavarus on the shoulder to point to the arch.

"Not now, Fee. I'm actually...." As she spoke, Gavarus turned her head towards her diminutive wing-woman and saw the arch and doorway standing in the middle of the room suddenly. "...talking to... her... Shiiiiiiiittt."

Sighing, the annoyed Engineer scrunched her face and looked back at the beauty that seemed too good to be real... and realized she wasn't. "Computer, freeze program "

Instantly, the woman and everything else in the room simply froze in place as the dominoes in Gavarus' head finally fell into place.

The stars in space that didn't match any known starmaps. Cameras and door panels without functional interiors. A girl that seemed to like her. Delicately, Gavarus slid her plate out of the way and put her head, face down on the table and began slowly rapping her forehead against the hard surface.

Getting up from her chair to tap at the panel, O'Dell reviewed the information, then returned to stand next to her friend sheepishly. "Well, I'm a darlin idjit. It, ah, says that I booked the suite fer a buncha adventures, and with the continuous play option, so one scenario led to the next. I, um, I think I programmed it when I was a tetch blackout drunk, so, ah..."

Peeking around to try to catch the eye of the Tellarite, the mariposian looked contrite. "M'sorry Briaar. I think i was tryin ta make sure ye had a good time, so i took ye to a harem and I dinna know what I was thinkin with the murder trucker and... I'm vurrah and truly sorry, Briiar. I am."

Lifting her head slowly from the table, Gavarus looked over to O'Dell who looked like a sad puppy. "How in the hell were you so drunk you could program all this and yet not remember... never mind. I don't want to know."

Reaching across the table, Gavarus grabbed a large bottle of beer and chugged the entire thing in one massive swig. She thought about the ridiculous scenarios and, though upset, knew that Fiona did mean well in her own weird, drunk way.

Standing up, the towering Tellarite straightened her jacket and calmly walked across the table to the still frozen figure of her dream girl, leaned over and planted a massive kiss on her photonic face.

As for Fiona O'Dell, she stood by awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

After a solid four seconds, Gavarus straightened up, wiped her face and announced, "Computer, end frickin' program." As the environment rippled out of existence.

"Kin... Ah buy ye a beer?" O'Dell asked gingerly?

Sighing lightly, Gavarus wasn't really mad at Fiona. Murder-truckers aside, it wasn't hard to imagine how arranging a dream-hook up made perfect sense as a good idea to her black-out drunk best friend at the time. It was even oddly sweet in a weird way.

"Oh yeah..." Gavarus replied. "You can absolutely buy me a drink. You are buying ALL my drinks at least until we get back to the Hera." The towering Tellarite looked down at her diminutive best friend, putting the replicated sunglasses back on with a sly grin that told Fiona that all was okay.

“Well, seems the least I could do…” the midget Mariposian replied in a squeakier than usual voice. Still feeling badly over accidentally hurting her pal’s feelings in ham-fistedly trying to get her a successful date, she shoved open the door of the holosuite to re-enter the faux Irish Pub they had entered from, and stalked her way to the bar. As she clambered up onto a barstool to order, the bartender, who had served them when last they sat at the bar, smirked in their general direction.

“So did you two have a good time in there? You were in there long enough. Maybe next time don’t leave an open tab on it, because people were just punching in scenarios for you. Did you enjoy the ‘Truckstop Of Horror’ episode? That was my personal addition,” the bartender offered with a smirk. Which turned out to be a mistake, as a steady stream of angry invectives began erupting from the tiny test pilot.

"Why ye no-good rotten dirty spalleen! Go hifreann leat! Briseadh agus brú ar do chnámha!" By the time she was finished properly cursing out the bartender, O'Dell was now climbing up onto the bar, preparing to launch herself at the barkeep like a midget wrestler.

For her part, Gavarus grabbed her pint-sized partner and pulled her back to her stool. "Calm down, Fee! We don't need to start a frickin' bar fight! We're both okay and... and..." But her calm was broken when she glanced back at the Bartender, who had the biggest shit eating grin stretched across his face, extremely pleased with himself.

"Oh, @#$% it! It's ON, MOTHER@#$%ER!! Letting go of O'Dell, Gavarus herself began clamoring up all two meters of her hefty body up on the bar as she attempted to launch herself in a rage at the bartender.

"HOLY SHIT!!!" he yelled, as 180 kilograms of porcine engineer tackled him to the ground behind the bar, squealing.

O'Dell was prepared to follow when she saw security force flashing lights outside. Vaulting lightly over the bar, the lithe leprechaun stayed the hand of her angry partner, and addressed the stricken bartender.

"Ye wipe our tab, ye forget we were ever here. Otherwise we get kicked out of the fleet, and we've got nothin' better ta do than spend the rest of our days right here, coming into this shitty pub and startin' trouble and scarin' the customers. Got it?"

The bartender, realizing the living hell the two drunken weirdos could make for him, agreed. Pulling out his handheld, he wiped their tab as the security forces burst in through the front doors. Pointing to the backdoor, the rambunctious redhead stayed low and scooted for the kitchen.

"CrapCrapCrapCrapCrap!!! Really? Crouching again?!" Scooting behind O'Dell, Gavarus rolled into the kitchen through the door unseen. "Why can't this be a frickin' holosim? I was totally about to kick that guys ass! I was gonna kick that guys ass, right Fee?"

"Ye were nae g'win ta kick his ares, ye DONE kicked his arse!" O'Dell darted through the kitchen, past the startled dishwasher and out the back door. The mop of scarlet curls wagged this way and that as the short stunt pilot looked around wildly for the shuttle lot where they had parked the little starship.

Being a few heads taller, Gavarus spotted the shuttle first. "Damn Frickin' Skippy, I did! There it is! Let's get the hell out of here!"

The pair ran across the street to the parking structure where they hopped back into the waiting shuttlecraft. "Well, that all happened. I don't know about you, Fee. But I'm all vacationed out."

"Aye... so, do we go back ta the ship, or do we fiund a poob on the other side of the world where nobody knows us yet, and get ourselves good and crocked before we have to go back on duty?" O'Dell asked as she warmed up the shuttle, running a fast preflight check.

Flumping down in the co-pilots seat next to O'Dell, Gavarus sighed as she looked at the consoles and pondered for a minute. "Weeeeellllll... We've still got time. And I could certainly use a few more drinks to wipe away some memories."

"Nowhere with a @#$&ing holosuite, though!"

The chief engineers of the USS Hera, Lieutenant Commander Thex sh’Zoarhi let out a slight sigh as she looked over the list of repairs that needed to be done after the ship’s battle with the pirate queen. The worst part of this was she now couldn't join in to help the repairs, as her baby bump getting clearly visible. Even with the two still in their eggs, they were already growing to a fairly large size. She pitied her Anear bride, and what she'd be going through after the transfer.

Hearing the doors open a smile spread over her face as her best friend stepped through the doors. "Hello, Rita, what can I do for you today?" the Andorian asked with her friendly tone.

The gold-clad commander with the easygoing smile noticed the baby bump that was steadily growing, and it brought that much more of a smile to her face. When she had first arrived in the future, she had manifested most clearly in Engineering, which had been prophetic given the relationship she would develop with the cheerful and welcoming Andorian. Thex had been her guide to some of the larger concepts of the future, like replicators and holodecks and history, for which she had remained forever grateful. When she had no friends in a far-flung future, Thex had been the first one to offer that hand to her, and Rita Paris would never forget it.

“The usual… making my rounds, getting updates. Honestly, given the battle we were in, she sustained reasonably minor damage, considering they were firing penetration projectiles at our hull. Here’s to our Miss Dox’s fancy flying… that reminds me, I need to put her in for a medal,” the frank first officer mused as she made a note to herself on her ever-present PaDD.

"Well, I can assure you my men and the holoprograms at the fortress will have her good as new within a few days," The andorian said leaning back in her chair letting out a slight sigh as her hand moved over her bump. "Pity I can't make sure it will be done in that time."

Looking up from her typing, Rita realized that she’d been correct. Andorians were known to be workaholics, defining themselves through their work and thus their work ethic tended to be exemplary. Which in the case of one Thex sh’Zoarhi, insuring that the USS Hera stayed in absolute pristine shape and functionality was a major portion of her own self-image. Knowing that there were literally holes punched in the hull had to be driving her crazy. The fact that given her delicate condition she was unable to personally direct and participate in the repairs would become downright depressing for her.

Thus what truly brought the old-school officer to the chief engineer’s office today.

“What do you say we go get some lunch? I don’t know if Andorian girls get weird food cravings like we human gals tend to, but one thing I know is you gotta feed those little munchkins. Not like I know someone who lives on protein bars while she overworks herself…” Which was a direct quote from Thex’s latest checkup with Doc Dael.

"That would be great. " The pregnant sapphire girl said as she stood up from her desk, tugging the very large uniform jacket down to she walked over to her friend. Being able to do nothing but sit here was driving her crazy. "We're lucky, we don't the weird food cravings. Our metabolism just goes into overdrive. So what are you thinking of, Rita?"


“Welllll,” Paris said with a smile as she led the way out of the office and into Main Engineering proper, where gold-clad engineers bustled here and there, all moving with a purpose to effect the repairs while also performing the standard maintenance that was always a part of engineering life aboard a starship. “I know Earth cuisine, but I don’t know what’s good and bad for your sprouts. So how about we take an eating tour of Andor today? You can explain some of your delicacies, and we can give the replicator a workout. Or test the chefs…”

"That would be nice. There was a very nice andorian restaurant on the beachfront of San Fransico, run by one of the old andorian ambassadors." The chief engineer said with a smile on her face.

“Orrrrr we could go have a nice lunch on the holodeck if you’d prefer,” Paris changed course smoothly. After all, one just occupied a holosuite for an hour while the other occupied the officer’s mess. But if Thex had a preference, this was about her, and Rita would be happy to oblige her. Besides, San Francisco was Rita’s hometown, she loved the sea air, and Thex know it.

Even trying to do something nice for the blue babe she managed to turn into something nice for the giver of the gift. That was Thex.

“C’mon. I’ll bet we can still get a holosuite at this hour, and I could do with some sea air.” Moving through the compartment, Rita nodded with satisfaction. “I remember the first time I came through here… that sea of black and charcoal uniforms. I was so worried I was in some splinter Terran timeline until I saw you. I’m so glad those dark uniforms are gone and we’re back to being brightly colored, standing out as the good guys.”

"Lead on then, my friend," Thex replied with a smile, thinking back to the time they'd first met. She'd been wearing the utility jumpsuit that had been yellow for as long as Thex could remember. "The bright colors do make the ship look nicer. Help see the stains my team will have gotten whilst working." The andorian said with a grin.

“Well, at least we don’t look like the gestapo anymore,” Rita muttered. “It’s important, you know? I remember when we went from everyone in gold uniforms to the tricolor scheme for the three branches, and there was so much argument over them. But in the end, the message was that we needed visibility. Same reason Starfleet doesn’t use cloaks- the good guys don’t hide in the shadows, they stand in the light, and they are clearly easy to find, because we’re here to help.”

Pausing to secure a turbolift, Paris chuckled. "At least I missed that awful jumpsuit era before the black uniforms. Ugh!”

"Urg I could imagine having these two wearing one of those things." The andorian said moving her hand over her belly. She knew Rita was trying to take her mind of her not being able to work and it was helping. "Though from what I've seen, the miniskirts must have taken some getting used to." She said with a friendly wink as the two of them stepped into the turbolift.

Tapping at the screen of her ever-present PaDD, Rita flipped it over to reveal an unattractively uniformed set of officers.




"This crew came to the Academy to show us the uniforms we'd be graduating to wear. I was trying to build up some enthusiasm for it. Even came with a badly cut jacket. Everything was badly sized and droopy in the fleet, apparently. No, it was literally a fashion choice they made because someone in Starfleet thought it would help. No lie."

For a change, Rita Paris' pace wasn't martial. It could barely be considered in haste at all as she spent some time with her friend, telling her a story. Because witht he eventful life she'd led, Rita Paris did tend to have some stories. to tell. And tell them she did, like it or not. "One day about three weeks before graduation, a Starfleet publicity team came to review the cadets, because they had new uniforms they were going to institute. They picked about a dozen of us, me included, and we modeled for Starfleet promotions for them. I had a poster- it was me, wearing this, looking up to the stars with my hands on my hips like a superhero."

At that, Rita stopped in the corridor, placed her hands on her hips above that small waist and beamed a smile to the universe. Coming down the corridor, Crewman Barrett saw the prettiest officer he'd ever seen. The uniform made it obvious who she was, but in that moment, he couldn't remember the First Officer's name if he had to. Which made him start to panic. And because he was panicking, he was trying really hard not to freak out. But it was the Commander, there was only one of those, with the old-fashioned hot uniform, the first officer...!

For reasons unknown to himself, he found himself drawn into an erect and proper military salute. Save for the fact that his eyes were darting about a bit in panic. The anachronistically uniformed officer noticed him, snapped to in a salute of her own, whereupon by Starfleet regulation, he was at ease. Mujel Barret knew all of this from boot camp, and had adapted to shipboard life after having come aboard at DS9. But he'd never just snapped to and saluted before, and he wondered What the hell...?

'Report, Crewman," Paris looked Crewman Barrett in the eye and cocked her head a bit quizically, emphasizing the question thile she fixed him with those big OH holy wow look at her eyes they're like oh wow there's the chief engineer oh crap that's my boss oh yeah, she's preggers...

Slowly he turned, realizing that the Commander was still waiting for an answer. "I... I'm really sorry but I forgot the question, what, what did you want to know, ma'am? Commander ma'am?"

"Dooo yooou knooow whooo yooour seectiooon chiiief iiis...?" Paris spoke as if she were in slo-mo, which only served to freak Barrett out that much more. He'd heard the ship was weird, but he figured, we're all Starfleet, right? He'd never broken out in a cold sweat before, but he was having a learning experience.

Thex was doing her best not to burst out laughing at the whole situation, but the sapphire engineer kept her cool and spoke with a polite and professional manner. "Crewman, if you have nothing to report than main engineering has several tasks that need doing." Hopefully the reminder of work would snap him out of his state.

“Uh… her. Them. Chief, uh, sh’Z…er.. uh.. Thex. Ma’am. Commander,” Barrett stammered.

“So you came to attention, which means that yyou’ve come to report in an official capacity, Crewman. So what exactly were you planning to report, I am curious?” There was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of the curvaceous commander’s cheeks, as she played this out.

For his part, young Mr. Barrett’s mind was racing as his panic level rose. His boss and his bosses boss. All he needed now was for the Captain of an admiral to come along and ask him a simple question that he couldn’t answer, and he’d be ready for captain’s mast. Struggling mightily, he managed to stammer out an answer at last.

“The, uh, the matter reclamators on deck 8 are working again, Commander,” he blurted out, instantly regretting having spoken at all.

For her part, Paris understood the crewman’s plight, so she decided to make it a moment. “Good work, Crewman. While there are more illustrious and noteworthy tasks to be performed, in the annals of the USS Hera, we will forever be grateful that Officer Country and the VIP Quarters were not awash in waste. For that we offer you our sincerest gratitude.”

When the Commander stuck out her hand for a handshake, Barrett was still dazed and confused by it all. But he had just enough presence of mind to take the offered hand and shake it numbly.

Releasing the handshake after the two perfunctory pumps, the fulsome first officer nodded with satisfaction. “Well done, Crewman. Carry on…”

Never had Barrett been so happy to be issued a command he both understood and could fulfil, and after a nervous glance at the chief engineer, he scooted down the hallway in a walk that was one step shy of a full-out panicked run to get away from the first and second officers.

“See? This is why I have to be judicious about stuff like that. If I’m not careful, I stun the unwary,” Rita joked, although it had actually happened pretty much exactly that way.

"Oh, I've noticed," the andorian said, still having to resist laughing herself. "Must be easy to do whilst being the model of one of Starfleet’s classic uniforms.” The andorian’s stomach let out a slight grumble. She was really feeling hungry.

“Has its moments,” Rita quipped with a little piper’s smile as she resumed walking, arriving at Holosuite 14. “All right Thex, I believe this is your cue, since you know where you’d like to go, hm?”

Thex nodded as she walked over and pressed a few command buttons into the console. The door slid open as the two Starfleet officers stepped inside the holosuite. The restaurant was a bright blue and white mixture in swirling patterns and shades, from the furniture to the walls. Andorian tapestries and artwork hung from the walls giving a good representation of andorian history. "Welcome to the Lek,i Rita." The sapphire engineer said as she looked at her friend.

“Well, it looks fun… how about now you take me on a tour of the local cuisine, since I’m rather ignorant of it. Is all Andorian food served cold?” she asked as they were escorted to a table by the demure hostess, who handed them menus. In one column they were written in Andorian, and in the other, Federation standard, with explanations of the exotic cuisine.

" Rita, we're not that primitive," Thex said jokingly with a grin as the waitress returned with a plate of several slices of a warm fresh brown bread. "Ah, Hari. Don't worry, it's very similar to what the humans call soda bread." The sapphire engineer said as she took a slice and placed it on her own plate. "Well, I think we can skip the Shaysha... For the starters how about the Akharrad which is a nice selection of andorian seafood or the Duuploni which is a nice warm vegetable soup? "

Taking a piece of the hari, tearing it, sniffing it then taking a bite, Rita nodded. “By all means, you are the guide, so I will follow your recommendations. You order it and I’ll try it!

Thex nodded and asked the hostess for a plate of both of them. It'd didn't take long before she returned placing a large plate of deep fried seafood and two smaller ones of the rich green soup. " Try the Duuploni first Rita. I've heard people say it's like a slightly salty winter vegetable soup."

"Sure, sure. So... Thex, can I ask you a personal question?" At a nod from the Andorian officer, Paris pressed her point. "What's it like... what's it feel like, with your little passengers onboard? I haven't done it, but I want to. Can you feel them? Can you hear them?"

Thex let out a slight grin as she put a few of the fried seafish on her plate. " I don't really know how it goes for humans, but it feels like I'm carrying around two very bloated stones. They are still in their eggs at the moment, but when I'm asleep I think I can hear them singing."

"That's sweet. I... don't know if it is like carrying stones for us, since we don't make eggs, ours just travel in a sack of flesh while they grow inside," Rita explained in simple terms- after all, biology wasn't the most appetizing lunch conversation. "You have an entire sensory range I don't, since you can sense electromagnetic fields with those antennae of yours, so I didn't know if maybe the little ones somehow communicated with you that way. Just, if I say something stupid, please don't be offended- I'm ignorant, but asking, right?" Rita laughed a bit at that, as she popped one of the fried seafood bits in her mouth and crunched into it. "Mmm, s'pretty good..."

"Perhaps, and you don't need to apologize Rita," Thex said as she took a few of the seafood bits. "None of the books I've read mentioned it. Maybe it's a gift from being in close proximity to Hera, giving me another gift from my two little amazons."

“Uh, Amazons?” Rita stopped crunching the fried seafood mid-mouthful. “Whuh makes you fay dat...?”

"Figure of speech, Rita, not literally," Thex said with a grin on her face. "Though the two are nice and strong according to the doctor, for natal Andorians."

"Thex, on this ship the word Amazons literally means something. Have you seen the Security team? Because proximity and blessings from Hera mean something very specific. So, just... be careful, eh? Not that Hera means any harm, I just don't think you want your kids to be born as blue Minotaurs or living lapus lazuli, you know?" Rita waved idly as she spoke. "Because these seemingly silly concerns are quite realistic in the here and now on the Hera."

"Yeah, you're right. I guess I keep forgetting that we have a goddess on board. None of that is mentioned in the Academy," Thex said as they finished the last of the starters. "Okay, how about for the main course we have a few redbat steaks with a nice salad?" The andorian asked her friend.

"I'm in, let's try it out," Rita replied, content to be taking a relaxing lunch with the chief engineer that didn't involve discussing past, current or pending calamities. "So when you you... uh... 'hand off' the sprouts to Tathaa? She carries them to full term and delivers, right?"

"Yeah," Thex said feeling slightly embarrassed by this often asked question. "I'll transfer them to her, and she'll carry them for the last three months." She explained leaving out the messy details that weren't polite to mention over dinner.

"I'm sorry, Thex," the human woman expressed, realizing that somehow she had crossed a boundary. "I did say I am only asking out of ignorance, right? I just want to be supportive and I thought asking questions would help show that. I didn't mean to ask anything personal or embarrassing. I'll drop it."

"No, it's okay Rita. I know you don't mean any offense. Just having to explain andorian reproduction procedures to the ship does get repetitive. I wonder if these two if the girls will have picked up their father's biological traits. Would make everything easier," the pregnant engineer said as the main course arrived. A selection of fried redback steak along with some tuber root fries.

At that, Rita was conflicted. She wanted to ask what Thex meant by their father's biological traits, but she had just complained about having to explain Andorian reproduction procedures, so it seemed as if it would be rude to ask. A noncommittal answer would work best, so she just offered, "Hope for the best, I guess."

"Indeed," Thex replied as she took a bite out of the redbat steak. "Ah, that is good. Though you can tell it's been replicated. One of the things I miss from home is the freshly caught redbat."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I can't tell the difference..." Rita offered, taking a bite.

"Well, I hope you like it. It's better if it's been hunted...." The andorian began before realizing one of the few happy memories of her childhood was rising to the surface. The feeling of snow under her feet, wind on her cheek, her charan smile as she brought back the freshly killed redbat to him and the feeling as he ruffled her long messy hair as her little hands tried to pull the arrow from it's breast.

Realizing she'd been staring into nothingness she polite swallowed. "Sorry about that... memories from back home."

At that, Rita considered asking about Andoria, but if Thex was touchy about people asking her about the Andorian birth cycle, she didn't want to press her on it. She took a polite bite of the redbat, noting the texture and the taste as she rolled it around in her mouth. It was... interesting.

"So how is the artifact project coming along, any new breakthroughs?" Rita changed course.

"No luck so far," Thex said, even though you could tell getting her mind to her engineering work was helpful. "Still going through all the Greek letters we can make element combinations with. I'm sure we'll have the trident working sooner or later. I wonder what it will be able to do?"

“Probably command all sea life in the area, which would be handy on a starship, right?” Rita chuckled, then struggled for the next conversational topic. “So how’s life with three roommates after being a solo act for so long?”

"Very well, other than waking up by someone coming or going for the shift," The blue girl said, blushing slightly with a happy grin on her face. "I'm having some changes made to the room to give us some more space. Going to need every bit of it with the girls due in a few months. At least they'll be four of us."

“More hands will definitely be useful with two on the way,” Rita agreed picking at the various dishes, sampling as she went. “But don’t forget we have full nursery facilities now, and day care. So even with four of you, it won’t be nearly the hardship it could be.”

"I know, and I'm sure we'll be using them. Two girls are going to be a handful even with our very large family and the goddess of motherhood on board," the andorian said with a grin, holding up her glass as she patted her belly. "Here's to the crew of the Hera... the best family I could ever hope for."

Plucking her glass off the table, Rita Paris raised it to clink against Thex's. "I'll drink to that."