“Three..." The thirty-two year-old Romulan woman muttered to herself, standing in the center of the Holodeck of the U.S.S. Hera. "Three chicks. Three children."

It had been a full day since she had learned, while in sickbay herself recovering from injuries sustained during an away mission, that her wife and bond-mate, Mona Gonadie, had successfully become pregnant. Pregnant with three perfectly healthy half-Miradonian, half-Romulan children. Doctor Dael hypothesized that they would very likely be girls, having two biological mothers. And so, the anxious young pilot just stood in the black and gold gridded room, still in mild shock. "Three girls."

Shaking her head, her hair still long and pulled back into a ponytail after it had been cosmetically extended for her recent away mission, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox was in her crimson uniform with the tunic unfastened at the top as she was off duty and needed to clear her head.

Usually, that meant a couple of different programs. There was always her sparring dummy program which she was tempted to activate as her performance against the criminal, Davo Mudd, had left her pride wounded during her away mission. Having been caught completely off guard by the temporal terrorist and clamped with an agonizer that completely incapacitated her. The pain was so unbearable that her muscles completely locked up making her unable to resist or fight back at all, as Mudd grabbed her by the hair and sliced her arm open to show her green, Romulan blood to the crowd of drunken racists back on 21st Century Earth.

He had snuck up on her and rendered her worse than useless- he used her as a weapon against the rest of the crew. And she was still angry to have been defeated so easily. It did little to reduce the sting that Mudd also incapacitated the Klingon security Amazon, Petty Officer S'Rina. After all, logic was a VULCAN quality, and Romulans tended to lean on their passions. And right there, Dox's passions were very, very confused.

As upset as she was at her failure on the Away mission, and as concerned that she was that said failure would make Commander Paris reconsider taking her on future missions as a result, her mind was still more overwhelmed by the knowledge that she was to be a mother. A mother of THREE.

So, while she was hardly dressed for it, her other main program to help herself relax was more called for. "Computer. Please run Dox starship hull running program zero zero seven. U.S.S. Exeter. Thank you."


=^=You're welcome, Lieutenant Dox.=^=, the Hera's unconventional computer replied pleasantly as the room shimmered for a moment, and Dox suddenly found herself standing on the exterior saucer of a perfect holographic replica of the classic, Constitution-class Starship as it floated in a 3-D representation of space. It was Dox's favorite program and she had created over a dozen ship exteriors to explore or jog on.This one in particular was a version of the starship that First officer Rita Paris had once served upon in another universe, another time. A version of the starship of which Dox had a model on her desk in the Flight Control Office. A starship of which M’nhei’sahe had become inexplicably fond.

Undoing the rest of her uniform top, she removed the crimson source of pride, folded it neatly and sat it down off to the side and began to stretch. Now wearing only her uniform pants, boots and a snug black sports bra and undershirt, she was beginning to loosen herself up. Or at least was trying to, when the holodeck door wooshed open.

From out in the corridor, stepped the young red-headed Romulan woman’s mother, Intelligence Operative Jaeih Dox. The elder Romulan stood in the archway to the holodeck as the door slid closed behind her and vanished, resuming the illusion once more. As it did, Jaeih looked around the simulated environment. “An impressive vista. May I enter?”

Rolling her eyes slightly as she stretched out her calves, Mnhei’sahe replied. “You already have Mother. Is there something wrong?”

“Hu’nanov.” Jaeih replied in their native Rihan, the word for ‘Grandmother’, as she walked over to where her daughter was stretching. “Well, not yours, of course, but I do find I like the title. And no, nothing is amiss. I simply wished to see you and the computer told me you were in here. Is there something wrong with you? This is quite an unusual program. This is the ship on your desk, correct?”

“Essentially. The U.S.S Exeter. The model on my desk is the refit version of the ship. Both are versions of one of the ships Commander Paris served on in her own time, and she left me the model when I was promoted to the head of that department.” Mnhei’sahe replied, now reaching her arm over her head and stretching out her sides. “I like taking my jogs on Starship saucers. It’s a much more enjoyable view than the track in the gym.”

As her daughter finished her stretches, Jaeih raised an eyebrow. “That answered the latter question, not the former, Mnhei’sahe. You are troubled? Is this about the children?”

“What, no!?” the newfound mother to be replied sharply and indignantly at the question, but also didn’t want to go into details on her failure against Mudd in Montana. After all, her mother spent almost Mnhei’sahe’s entire childhood teaching her Llaekh-ae'rl, a particularly brutal martial art, and as bad as it was to be taken hostage in front of Rita, it was even worse to admit that to her former teacher.

“I’m extremely happy about that. Almost as happy as you are that you learned about them before I did.” Mnhei’sahe shot back, referencing the fact Jaeih clearly looked proud about.

“Well, I AM in Intelligence. It would be unseemly to be the last to know something like that.” Jaeih replied with a smug smirk. “So, if not that, what’s wrong?”

Rolling her eyes, Mnhei’sahe rolled out her neck, finishing up her stretching. “I’m here to exercise, Mother. If you want to talk, you’ll need to keep up.”

“Very well.” Jaein replied flatly as she undid her own gray Starfleet tunic and folded it on the deck next to her daughter’s. Stretching out quickly, she stepped beside her daughter and gestured before them to the expanse of greenish-gray simulated duranium that was the hull of the Exeter. “After you, my dear.”

Starting to jog clockwise around the rim of the saucer, the anxious Lieutenant sighed. “The Captain has her coronation ceremony tomorrow. I just found out about it, and I need to be in attendance as one of her Baronesses. In order to do so, I need to wear a very tight, white Artan uniform. Ridiculously tight, really. But the rest of those women are all pretty damn trim, so I need to firm up a little bit before the morning, so I don’t look any more out of place than I already do there.”

Jogging alongside her, Jaeih tilted her head slightly to look at her daughters face. “Well, I doubt that among the Baronesses, most who will be preening for attention, you will stand out in any respect that should concern you, my dear. But, no. There’s something more. Please talk to me, Mnhei’sahe?”

Picking up the pace, the aggravated officer sped up into a light run, getting more irritated by the intrusion into her exercise time. Normally, she would be running with Rita Paris, but considering her current mental state, she didn’t know if that was the best idea. And now, her own mother had appeared to take the commander’s place in digging through her psyche. “I’m FINE. I’m going to be a parent. Mona’s safe. The chicks are healthy. You and your team completed your mission and Moira’s recovering well. They stopped Mudd and saved the timeline and…”

As she spoke, Jaeih cut her off mid-sentence. “’THEY’, Mnhei’sahe? You were on that team? Why not ‘we’?”

At which point, the frustrated Romulan’s nerves went from frustrated to angry as she broke into a full-on run. Jaeih, although much slimmer, had to work to keep up as her daughter ran with Rita weekly on top on the rest of her stringent exercise routines. “Because ’WE’ didn’t screw up, Mother! That was all ME! That’s why! Because, while it’s not in the history books because Rita cleaned up after me! Thanks to ME, humanity got to meet a kreldanni ROMULAN a few days before first contact with the Vulcans!”

As they worked their way around the rim of the simulated saucer, Jaeih began to slip ever so slightly behind, breathing a little heavy, which surprised her as much as her daughter’s outburst. “What happened… Mnhei’sahe? How did you fail?"

Stopping dead in her tracks, the younger Dox turned around, her thick cheeks flushed green and her eyes looking desperate. “I was supposed to be on perimeter! WATCHING for trouble! Watching for Mudd to make his move! And he did! He ran right up behind me and slapped an Agonizer on me! Then he picked me up by my kreldanni hair and cut me! Showed off my blood to the whole crowd!"

Running the moment back again, out loud, was enough to make Mnhei'sahe furious at herself again. "So YES, Everything you taught me… all that training and I got ambushed like a child!!!

There was silence for a moment as Jaeih stood, watching her daughter silently as the two caught their breath. Then, after what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable silence. "You mean this?"

Then the elder woman looked up and spoke again. "Computer. Play holographic recording from recovered sensor logs of Runabout Danu. Time index 22:37."

As Jaeih spoke, there was a chirp as the vista shimmered around them and the hull of the Exeter vanished, replaced with a slightly low-resolution recreation of the bar in Bozeman, Montana recorded both a few days ago and a few centuries past. Mnhei'sahe looked around and saw Rita standing on the bar speaking to the large crowd of drunk patrons. She saw herself in her civilian disguise watching from the side entrance to the largely open walled structure. Then she looked back at her mother with narrowed eyes. "What is this, Mother?"

"Just watch, Mnhei'sahe." Jaeih replied, never taking her eyes off of the holographic representation of her daughter in disguise.

The scene played out, slightly blurry and slightly incomplete. At the bar, Rita was standing atop it making the rousing speech she had made days ago to try and turn the tide of xenophobia Mudd had been stoking. It was clearly working, as the crowd rose to its collective feet and began to cheer her on. Jaeih commented flatly, "The woman does have a way with words, doesn't she?"

Ignoring the rhetorical question, Mnhei'sahe looked at Rita as the room erupted in cheering and boisterous applause. "Computer, freeze." Jaeih called out and the image locked in place.

"Now, don't watch the crowd. Don't watch Commander Paris. Don't even look for Mudd." Jaeih walked around her daughter like a stern teacher, her arms folded behind her back. "Look at yourself. Computer, resume."

As it did, the younger Dox did as she was told and looked at herself in the recreation made from the sensors of the Runabout that had been in geosynchronous orbit directly overhead. Sensors that recorded the events almost perfectly.

"What do you see?" Jaeih spoke bluntly from behind Mnhei'sahe. "The crowd is at their feet. You've stepped back, taken your hands out of your pockets. Now you are surveying the crowd. looking over each face, each HAND. Why?"

"I'm looking for threats. Making sure nobody is pulling a weapon on R… on Commander Paris. Looking for Mudd. We had his general position, but Yeoman Dedjoy couldn't get an exact target. He was masking his…"

As she spoke, a black darkness crept into the image from behind her holographic representation. As it happened in reality, she turned and raised her arm up in defense as soon as the sounds of footfalls became clear. "Where is he?" The real Mnhei'sahe said, confused.

Then the scene played out as it did. The agonized was slapped on her arm and in and instant she seized up and crumpled. As it began, Jaeih spoke up again. "Computer, end program."

As she did, the program shimmered away and they were standing again on the blank grid of the holodeck. Jaeih seemed slightly distressed and Mnhei'sahe was just confused. "I… do not like watching the next part. Seeing you affected by that horrible device."

"Where was Mudd, mother? Why didn't the computer show him?" Mnhei'sahe asked.

"After you returned, Commander Paris came to me in the Intel department and asked me to review then log the sensor recordings from your mission. Of course, Intel Chief Clemens was on that same mission, so it seemed like an odd order until I reviewed the files myself. You chose your bond-sister well." Jaeih added, mentally noting Rita's skill at knowing when a situation might have needed not a commander's reassurance, but a mother's

"Anyway, Mister Mudd isn't in the recording because he had shielded himself from the ships sensors. Your sensors couldn't detect him. And in the din of that noise, I didn't hear a thing until you did in reality."

"You had every reason to believe the threat was to come from that crowd. That Mudd was hidden among those backwards humans. You did exactly what you should have done. You stepped back to get a better view of the situation. You prepared yourself for action. You surveyed the crowd for any possible threat. You were ready to protect your Commander and the mission."

"And yes, he defeated you. He took advantage of you looking out for your Commander to exploit a blind spot you still have. You will defend to the death those you care for, but not so much yourself." Jaeih said directly but with a hint of compassion in her voice.

"Meaning what, Mother?" Mnhei'sahe replied bruskly.

"You put yourself last. You devalue your own safety. Sometimes you WANT to get hurt... or worse, I fear." Jaeih shouted, pain in her voice. "You must be better than that, Mnhei'sahe! You NEED to be, now!"

Immediately, the younger woman's stomach tightened as she realized what her mother was talking about as her eyes went wide.

"I know that I failed you in every conceivable way as a Mother, Mnhei'sahe. I know that I made you want to give up so many times, but… you can't. Not now. Not now."

"A… Asa asked me the same… I'm… I'm not trying to… I'm not trying to die Mother." Mnhei'sahe replied, her voice breaking at a tone she had never heard from her mother before: desperation.

"Do you think I don't KNOW that I need to be better? I have been trying to be better every DAY! You have no idea how hard it's been, Mother! NO idea how hard I've worked at BURYING everything I was before!" Mnhei'sahe shouted back, holding back tears.

"And… and now I have to hope it hasn't all been for nothing! I have to PRAY that I don't screw this up by being who I AM with those children." Mnhei'sahe broke, tears streaming down her face now as she stumbled backwards and flumped to the deck where she sat, hunched over.

"I… I can't do this. I don't know how…" the fragile young officer muttered under your breath.

"Yes, you do." Jaeih said almost flatly, standing over her daughter before kneeling down on one knee before her. "You can because you have to. Because you understand duty. Because you have always embodied the name that I gave you on the day you were born. You are my ruling passion. You give of yourself for the needs of others. What was used against you in battle is what will make you the mother I could never be for you, Mnhei'sahe."

"Those children will have your incomparable strength and Mona's infinite compassion. They will shake the heavens with all you both will have to give. Of that I have no doubt." Jaeih reached over and lifted her daughters chin up to meet her eyes.

Pulling her chin free, Mnhei'sahe lowered her head and sighed. "Just leave me alone, Mother."

Pausing for a moment, Jaeih sat on the deck in front of her damaged daughter and took a breath. “No."

"That was one of my many mistakes raising you. Out of fear, I backed away when I knew I should have tried to help you.”

“I had no idea what I was doing, Mnhei’sahe. And I did virtually anything and everything I could do incorrectly. I… defaulted to the only thing I knew and tried to prepare you for what horrors I knew were out there waiting. LOOKING for you.” Jaeih now seemed to be fighting her own emotions. “As such, I was more your commanding officer than I was a mother and… I cannot apologize enough for that. I can’t.”

The elder Romulan hung her own head while her daughter listened. “I made you a good officer, but a damaged woman. I know that. I ignored your pains and needs in favor of structure and discipline. I looked the other way when I found you… hurting yourself. I looked the other way when I saw you on the security feed in the… in the airlock.”

Immediately, Mnhei’sahe’s head jerked up as she wiped her cheeks with her arm. “What? You… you knew?”

“That just before we were caught, you would spend half the night sitting in the ship’s airlock with your hand on the release lever. That you did that every night for months?” Jaeih sat, looking at the deck between them with a lost expression. “Yes. I knew. At first, I was angry. How dare you be so weak. So willing to throw away what I had trained you so hard to protect. I was selfish. I looked on your pain and only saw how it made me feel, and anger was easier to process than… responsibility.”

Still, Mnhei’sahe’s expression was just shock as she listened.

“By the time you stopped… and sabotaged the ships cloaking device so we were caught by Starfleet… I knew. I mean… I figured out later what you had done. But even at the time, I had a strong feeling that regardless, it was a good thing.” Jaeih wiped the few scant tears she had allowed to escape clear. “I knew it would be better for you to be raised by strangers on an alien world, than me.”

“Anything you think you might fail at as a Mother, I have failed at a thousand times over, my dear.” Jaeih looked up and forced a slight smile. “It may, in fact, be impossible for you to fail at this by direct comparison. You have quite possibly the worst living example of how to do everything wrong to draw upon as needed.”

That elicited the slightest of smiles from the face of the broken pilot as she sat there, sniffling and feeling very much like a child again. “I’m afraid, Mother. I’m so afraid. I thought I was as ready as I could be, but…”

Scooching closer, Jaeih put her hand on her daughters knee, moving with slight hesitation. “Good. Be afraid. I wasn’t afraid enough for the right reasons. I was afraid for myself. You be afraid for those three perfect creations. Be so afraid that you will be the woman I know you already are. The woman who will tear herself down and rebuild herself every day to wipe away a single frown.”

“I did everything I could imagine wrong by you, Mnhei’sahe.” Jaeih smiled, “And you grew to become ten times the woman I have ever been. You are a respected officer. And Paris is right, one day, you will be a celebrated commander in your own right. You are mighty and you are good. You are everything I imagined our people could become again. And you will be an exceptional mother. Because if it can be done, than I know you can do it.”

"I guess... I guess we'll see." Mnhei'sahe replied, weakly.

"Yes we will. And I've been informed by Mona that I have no choice but to be here with you for it all. So there's that." Jaeih said with a slight smirk, which immediately made her daughters stomach tightened. For months, the words of Masato Rei, the woman known as the embodiment of Death itself, and the holographic recordings of the android Kodria both predicted an unknown fate for the elder Romulan.

Both women cryptically warned Mnhei'sahe to cherish the time she had remaining with her mother, for it was limited. The red-headed Romulan didn't quite know exactly what that meant, but she feared it all the same. She worked to heed the advice while trying to ignore its potential implications. What would happen would happen and attempting to stop fate could lead to even worse outcomes, so she tried her best to smile and not think about it. But the idea that her children wouldn't get to know their Grandmother created an unpleasant feeling in the stomach of the young Romulan woman.

A feeling that wasn't helped by the sudden appearance of a green and purple holographic Cheshire cat that materialized on the holodeck and began to walk between the two, rubbing against Mnhei'sahe's folded up legs as she sat.

"Uh... what program are you running, Mnhei'sahe?" Jaeih asked, confused but grinning in spite of herself at the unusual sight.

"I'm not doing this, Mother. This is Maru. This... is essentially the Hera itself, for lack of a better term." Mnhei'sahe replied as she almost instinctively ran her hand down the back of the pleasantly purring holographic feline before addressing the being that once saved her life. "Is something wrong?"

Maru sat down and looked up at a holographic LCARs display reminiscent of the ones in the intel pod as it materialized with a blinking message waiting logo. After a moment, the blinking stopped and the screen expanded into a multitude of screens, the holographic form of Kodria forming in front of them.

The young android smiled and waved pleasantly. "Hey auntie, it's me again, with another warning."

At the sight of the holographic representation of Kodria on the screen, in spite of the fact that she was there with a warning, Mnhei'sahe couldn't help but smile. After all, knowing what she knew and her roll in raising the youthful Andriod from her future, it was reassuring that she might be able to pull of being a mother.

Turing to see the screen, Jaeih was less pleased by the happenings. "What in the hell is going on, Mnhei'sahe? 'Auntie'?"

"It's a long story, Mother. This is Kodria. She visited us from the future some months ago. Long story short, she's an Android and the Granddaughter of the Captain. But, apparently, many of us on the Hera will help raise her, myself included. Before she was put into stasis to be woken back up after the point in the future where she returned to our past, she recorded a series of messages for us." Mnhei'sahe replied, almost matter of factly to her stunned mother.

"Well, of course. That makes perfect sense." Jaeih replied sarcastically as the younger Dox noticed that the message didn't pause while she explained, but rather was still running and it was the representation of Kodira that was waiting, which was quite curious.

"Hello, Kodria. Go ahead." Dox replied, standing up to look the holographic Android in the eye, speaking as if she was simply speaking to the android herself.

"I've got two warnings for you this time," Kodria began, her countenance turning grim. "Hopefully, this message triggered at the right time for them to be of use to you. In the upcoming days, things are going to go sideways and Mona Gonadie is going to try to do something dumb. If my calculations are correct, she's now pregnant with chicks. They're far too precious to the timeline and she needs to trust in those around her to do the right thing."

Pausing for a moment, the young android from the future looked between the two woman to let that sink in. "The second warning is for your mother. Things are in motion that no one can stop. Enjoy the time you have while you have it and don't leave any regrets behind. The future isn't written yet... But I'd like to think it's good advice. I got it from Auntie Dox, after all."

With a bit of a lopsided grin similar to the captain's, the holographics closed down and faded away.

As the message vanished, leaving Mnhei'sahe and Jaeih alone in the holodeck, he messages and their meanings swirled in the young pilot's mind. But none as specific as the wording Kodria mentioned. 'The future isn't written yet.' kept repeating in Mnhei'sahe's mind.

"What... what did all of that mean, Mnhei'sahe? You said she's from... the future? Enjoy my time? What the hell does that mean?" Jaeih replied, as close to dumbstruck as the elder intel agent could be.

"She's from a future that we undid, but she still exists so far, so the worst parts of her timeline won't come to pass. I think what she was saying was that we're... writing our own future now." Mnhei'sahe said, feeling a welling up of what she could only describe as hope. There was a chance that her mother's fate wasn't written in the stars. "And that you have Grandkids to look forward to seeing."

Captain Enalia Telvan was once again in the ceremonial chambers in the Artan Orbital Fortress where the Tribunal had been held, but this time, she wasn't here as a Starfleet Captain, but as leader of the Artan Pirates.

Dressed in a white Tholian silk uniform similar to that of the Artan Baronesses present, but with gold silk tassels and shoulder boards, trim, and a full length dalmation spotted cape that almost brushed the floor. The uniform was complimented by her white silk gloves and her white leather boots. On her right breast was arranged a series of medals that she had earned in Starfleet, the Trill Self Defense Force, and in service to the Artans themselves over the years, which was to say, an impressive rack. On her left hip was a platinum and diamond encrusted ceremonial sword.

In the center of the room was a wooden dias that held a platinum and diamond crown of laurels and fig leaves, as well as two scepters she had to choose from, as was custom. One was three iron arrows twisted together and the other was a woven bundle of copper olive branches. Whichever one the queen chose would indicate to the rest of the family what kind of rule she planned on having. Since every queen had chosen the iron arrows, it had been customary, in the face of the threat of the Syndicate to do so, but with Enalia...

As she entered the central area, she looked around the chamber from this new vantage. Before the Dias was Captain Magnus in his best uniform. Along the lower balconies were the twelve remaining Baronesses, including Mnhei'sahe Dox. She had asked Magnus's daughter to be here as well, so she was in one of the balconies. At her side was her first officer and best friend, Commander Rita Paris.

Dressed in her Starfleet dress uniform made the Starfleet siren stand out a bit amongst the pirates in their finery. But white and gold were still in theme for the ceremony, and while she was loathe to do so, formal uniforms meant medals, including the Starfleet Medal of Honor her father had pushed for her to receive, after he’d had her accidentally disintegrated on the transporter pad and she’d been presumed dead for five years.

Various other medals adorned her impressive bosom, but few were as valued by her as the more recent ones, which were from the Captain who valued her, who had believed in her when no one else would, and who had insured her loyalty beyond question. While Rita was not one for ostentation, she bore the medals awarded her for her service on the Hera proudly. Because she believed in Enalia Telvan, Starfleet captain… who now rose to address the Artan fleet as their princess, here at her coronation.

“You can do this, Enalia. Hell, it might be the easiest thing you’ve ever done,” Rita whispered, encouraging the spotted captain by offering her emotional support. It had been a long road getting from there to here, but they had now arrived. Now it fell to Enalia Telvan to shape the future of the Artan Fleet, and as always, her faithful first officer was there to stand beside and behind her captain.

Taking a breath and holding it a moment, Enalia subconsciously adjusted her uniform. With a slight nod of acknowledgment, the queen to be stepped forward towards the dias, bowing her head to her old friend, Captain Magnus as he stepped up to begin the ceremony.

From the lower balcony, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox looked up at her Captain and Commander. Two women that she both respected tremendously and thought of as family. She tried not to fidget in the tight-fitting, somewhat restrictive white Artan uniform.

On her significantly less impressive chest was the handful of medals she had been awarded in her short career in service to both Starfleet and as an Artan Baroness. Two Starfleet metals sat above the Artan Family crest, one for her part in stopping the Titan Gaia from terraforming half the Alpha Quadrant and the second for her flying skills during the battle to capture the former Queen, Captain Telvan's mother. Below the crest were an additional two medals awarded her by Captain Telvan for her services as a Baroness.

But regardless, the medals felt strange to be wearing. Ostentation for the officer who preferred to blend into the background of a room whenever possible. But she was extremely proud of her service and of this moment for her Captain and friend and smiled as broadly as was appropriate for an officer as the Artan mountain of a man, who had been running the fleet in Enalia’s absence, Captain Magnus, began to speak.

"Ladies of the Artan family, we are gathered here for the most solemn of our duties. Today, we witness the coronation and rise of our Princess to the status of Queen of the family. Over the years, she has faced many trials and tribulations, most of which came from her own mother, but some of the most difficult in the form of her time in Starfleet as the Captain of her own starship, the USS Hera. A ship mightier and more formidable than any in the Artan fleet, and made more so with her in command. She has faced great loss, yet succeeded where others dare not even tread. She has Stood toe to toe with Death and gods alike and walked away unscathed to stand here before you today. She has faced condemnation and machinations from her own mother, the former Queen!"

"And yet she stands here with her pride and integrity unvarnished."

"I say to you... If any dare challenge this woman, let them now speak or forever hold their silence."

Magnus spread his arms wide and looked around the room, his eyes daring anyone to even so much as clear their throat. After a moment, he dropped his hands and motioned to Enalia.

"Then it is the decision of this assembly and my great honor to bestow the crown of our forebears upon you. Kneel, Princess Enalia Telvan..."

As Enalia kneeled, the giant bear of a man gingerly picked up the antique crown and held it aloft with more care than one would expect of someone of his size. "This crown has been passed down through our family for thousands of years, ever since we were merchant pirates sailing the seas of Trill before the days of electricity. I now bestow it upon you." With that, he very tenderly nestled it upon the crest of Enalia's head. "Now rise, Queen Enalia Telvan, of the Artan Pirates. and proclaim your rule!"

As the bear of a Trill stepped back, Enalia rose and looked out among those assembled before looking to the two scepters before her. For a moment, she considered choosing the iron one as so many had done before her, but instead she went for the woven bundle of copper olive branches, now green with age.

A stillness came over the room as she raised the scepter over her head and declared her first proclamations as Queen. "I stand before you now as the undisputed Queen of the Artan family, Ruler of the Spacelanes, Heroine of the Downtrodden, and Vanquisher of Evil. I have chosen a path of peace... a rule of mercy. However, this does not mean we will give most of those Syndicate Bastards an inch of mercy... Unless they beg for it."

"I have always petitioned for freedom for all, and you are all aware of this. I am now making it an edict. Everyone in the fleet is to strive for whatever personal and professional freedoms for their own, and for their charges, as they see fit. That includes those that the Family is responsible for. If there are slavers in our space, we've taken responsibility for them. If there are starving homeless in our space, we've taken responsibility for them. I know the logistics are daunting, but I have faith in us all. After all, energy production is essentially free these days if done right."

"As for my second edict... Captain Magnus mentioned that we came from the high seas of Trill. It was the Artans that took the Family from those seas into space, but it was not the Artans that founded the Family! Hence, I see no reason not to declare another within the family as my heir. Especially if that one is noble and pure of heart." While there was a great uproar of murmuring at this, as the crowd wondered just what the new queen meant by that, Enalia lowered the scepter to point at Magnus' daughter, who knelt out of respect.

"Elysius, I now bestow upon you the name of Artan, if you will accept it, and name you as my rightful heir. You will prepare for the role thoroughly, and upon which time you are ready and I either expire or step down willingly, you will take over as Queen of the Artan Family Fleet."

That was met with excited murmuring. No one had expected Enalia to break the bloodline, but she'd done it in one simple and elegant stroke. Magnus was well-regarded within the fleet, and his daughter was similarly well-regarded, so while the move was an unexpected one, it was not unpopular with the Artan vox populi.

"My third and final edict is more of a naming convention, to prove to the Federation that this whole debacle is behind us. We're still the same Family, but henceforth instead of Pirates, we will be officially known as Privateers. I believe this will set their diplomats and politicians less on edge when dealing with us, and perhaps open more doors in the future to creating our own sovereign nation amongst the stars."

"If there are any objections, let them now be raised, or forever hold them silent in your heart!" Enalia raised her scepter high over her head for a moment, listening to the sudden silence before lowering it and holding it over her heart. "Then I take my leave of you all. Thank you all for your dedication and acceptance. May the Family live on forever!"

As Enalia and Rita started their walk out of the chamber, that was when the assembled Baronesses began their cheering and shouts of delight, the hollering and stamping of feet in approval. Amongst the Artans, even the most stoic of them was making a ruckus.

Even the generally anxious Lieutenant Dox allowed herself a rare moment of luxury to be a Baroness first and a Starfleet officer second and let out a gleeful cheer for her Captain, "RHHAE IRAEKA!!" the young Romulan pilot called out in her native tongue, a call for congratulations.

"That was a pretty good speech for a gal who doesn't like to make speeches. And some subtle but deft maneuvering that should change things moving into the future, Enalia," Rita expressed quietly, where only the newly coronated queen could hear. "For what it's worth... I'm proud of you, Captain."

Before replying, as soon as they were out of the chamber, Enalia turned to the holo-maids in attendance so they could secure the heirlooms she had carried out with her - the crown and the scepter that were literally over three thousand years old so they could be properly cared for. "Thank you. I just hope that they can now see the hopes and goals I have for the family more than the fluff that they've heard over the years. I know a full on governmental body is a bit much for us right now, but in ten or fifty years... Maybe a hundred..."

She then turned to Rita, a solemn look on her face. "There are hundreds of worlds caught between the Federation, Cardassian Union, Ferengi Alliance, and Breen Coalition that didn't fare well at all after the Dominion war and we've been the only thing between them and collapse. The Federation considers the area too lawless and pirate filled to venture too far out. The Breen hunt everything that moves. The Cardassians are just as bad off as everyone else. Then there's those damned Ferengi... With my mother literally inviting the Syndicate in, undermining everything I've been trying to do, it's a wonder we're still around."

"She was right about one thing though. We have to worry about funding. We can't do everything like the Federation. We'll need to expand our energy production and our fleets." Accepting a bottle of water from one of the holo-maids, she popped it open and drank almost half of it in one go. "But, we have good, strong allies so we can worry more on that later. For now, I'm sure they're going to insist we attend a banquet."

"Also... For what it's worth? You being proud of me? Priceless." The spotted woman lightly punched her first officer's arm teasingly. "Remember how I said I had a poster of you on my wall? That was my one uniquely personal possession growing up, you know. Everything else was 'mother approved'."

Wrapping her arm over the shoulder of the privateer queen turned Starfleet captain, the spirit of the 23rd century hugged the spotted Trill fondly as they moved together into the future. "Well, it's true. These were murky waters filled with perils, and you've navigated clear of them all to set a course for fairer shores, and a life for your people that will be sustainable. So that your traditions can still survive, and adapt to the changing face of the galaxy... to make them a force for good. For justice, at the very least."

"Which, I feel qualified to say, makes that old recruitment poster pretty darn proud of the starship captain that little girl grew up to be... and the character of the woman herself," the lost navigator beamed, genuinely proud of her commanding officer. "You did it, Enalia... the future has taken root in the present, as the man says. Well done, Captain, my Captain."

The Research and Development area of the upper flight deck of the USS Hera was quiet, with strained, awkward and monosyllabic conversation at best. Which was unusual, as the department featured two of the more colorfully outspoken members of the crew, ensigns Gavarus and O’Dell.

Recently, while on a date with the security officer of her dreams, Gavarus had come to the conclusion that she might just be in love with O’Dell, who had in so many words previously expressed such sentiment for Gavarus, admittedly through odd circumstance. After having confronted the truth while on a date with said Security siren, the duo were not awkward and brusque with one another. It was clear that neither of them knew how to proceed, and that both of them were trying to avoid the issue. Which mostly meant avoiding one another, which was making both of them miserable. But neither had the tools to cope with the development.

On the part of O’Dell, she felt guilt, of course. Guilt over having ruined the date, guilt over having professed her feelings and changing the status quo of the duo’s relationship, guilt over feeling emotionally needy and guilt over the way that it had made things uncomfortable between herself and her best friend.

Additionally, there was the wrinkle that while she cared deeply for the gruff gear jockey, there was no sexual component involved. Stunted as she was, and built like a 12-year-old girl, O’Dell was sexually uninteresting and uninterested. While she understood the odd mating rituals of humanoids, she herself did not engage in such things. Her porcine partner, on the other hand, had a strong and active libido, which she was attempting to quench with Petty officer Jablonski, when the issue of emotional entanglement with O’Dell arose, which conflated the issue.

Now having messed that up for her best pal, O’Dell felt one defining emotion, which was guilt… along with loneliness. Usually, it was when she managed to get a friend hooked up with someone else that they drifted apart. But this time the dream girl had walked away, to leave the two of them to work it out. Already weighed down by guilts of varying natures and her own existential loneliness that she had been reacquainting herself with, drinking herself to sleep alone in her quarters and trying very hard not to further aggravate the situation.

And for Gavarus, who was generally known as grouchy and difficult, this was now cranked up to an eleven as she had been growling and snipping at almost everyone she had to deal with, save for Fiona and their supervisors.

With them, she simply said the bare minimum of what was required to function as an engineer.

Emotionally, she was a wreck. She didn't know how to feel and the indecision was tearing at her. She still was attracted to the Amazonian security officer, Ethel Jablonski, but her heart was fixated on the pint-sized pilot that had quickly become her best friend. And as a result of that conflict, she had neither in her life and was miserable.

The touchy Tellarite showed up to her shifts late, was oversleeping, over-drinking off duty, snapping at almost anyone she had to speak too, and generally was the dictionary definition of a hot mess.

Laying on a small hover skiff, the two-meter tall Engineer was on her back, installing an improved fuel conduit into the belly of one of the Hera's three re-engineered Romulan Scorpion fighters that had been re-christened 'cyclones'. The refit was being performed on the blue colored science ship which had been overdue for a refit with the new and improved engine components designed by the R&D chief, Ensign Mona Gonadie.

Which was when their supervisor and department chief, the brightly plumed Miradonian, Ensign Goandie, walked up to them with three PaDDs. "As soon as you've finished with that install, I've cleared you for a slollam flight through the system. It's a long one, but we need all the test data we can get and you two seem to need some time to work out whatever happened between the two of you."

Almost banging her head on the undercarriage of the Cyclone as she locked the panel back in place, Gavarus slid back out. "Huh?"

For her part, O'Dell looked like a guilty child and nodded, taking the offered PaDD in silence.

Mona then handed off the other PaDD before waiting for a reply, expecting it to be curt and short as they had been lately. She just hoped that the beauty of the local gas and asteroid fields sparked something in the two, as well as being cramped in the small cyclone's cockpit together.

Taking the PaDD in her thick, three-fingered hand, the Porcine Engineer grunted as she stood up. "Uh... I still need to... uh..."

But as she looked at the PaDD, she saw that her duty schedule for the day had been cleared for this new task and a half. So she cut herself off, gritting her teeth behind pursed lips. "Aye." Was all Gavarus said as she avoided eye contact with both Ensign Gonadie and O'Dell.

The shorty stunt pilot headed for the locker room, to suit up for the flight. Which really just meant that it was a square room lined with lockers holding the R&D team's EVA armor that had been allotted to the department when Gonadie had set it up. Pulling her hair up, O'Dell moved to ponytail it, but instead, her nimble fingers began to braid it in a circular pattern about the crown of her head, equal parts craftsmanship and art. She had to keep it up and out of the way in the EVA suit, and usually, she opted for the cowl to keep her hair under control. But today she'd try something different.

Not to mention that the engagement of the task gave her some zen and focus. Coming to the end of the braid, she tucked it in and produced a bobby pin from elsewhere in her hair to secure it With the poof of the rest of her hair still contained in the ring braid she built, it gave her something of a bouffant hairstyle as she pulled out the black body glove that acted as a pressure suit.

Unzipping the crimson Starfleet uniform tunic she wore over her undershirt, there was a brief pause as O'Dell frowned and wrestled with feeling uncomfortable in a way she was unaccustomed changing with Gavarus, who was silently changing in the corner like a punished schoolchild. She pushed past it, wondering why she felt that way, wishing she didn't feel that way, wishing none of this had happened and that they could just go back to the way things were when they were just mates but they couldn't and now they were both just uncomfortable and the silence was pushing them apart more and Fiona was just sad all the time now and because Briaar had yelled at her to stop saying she was sorry so now she didn't know what to say so she didn't say anything and she just wanted a drink, a whole lot of drinks.

All this went tumbling and rambling through the mind of the midget Mariposian as she absently wrestled her way into the body glove.

As the two changed, Mona slipped into the cockpit and ran her own diagnostic, adding a one time boot up screen that they would both have to clear together, with an old Miradonian proverb about bonding. It was meddling, but if she didn't have her team at their best, none of them could do their jobs, and the department was sunk.

After a few minutes longer than it normally took, both Ensigns came back out of the locker room, suited up for the mission they had been assigned. A scene from 'The Right Stuff' it was not, as their heads were hung low and their pace was decidedly sluggish, compared to normal.

The surly Engineer was practically dragging her hooves as she made her way to the teal-colored Cyclone, going over the training Assignment in her mind.

She wanted to shout that this was a waste of time. That the ship's sensors would automatically do what she was there for on this mission. That Gonadie should mind her own damn businesses. That she and Fiona would be fine, and everything would go back to normal with a little time. But she bit her thick lip, and kept those thoughts to herself.

Instead, from behind, Gavarus glanced down at her pint-sized pilot pal and sighed slightly. She wanted to say something but didn't know how. It was agony not speaking to her, but the tortured Tellarite didn't know what to say that wouldn't make everything worse. She had been on a DATE with Jablonski and decided that THAT was a good time to talk about her feelings towards Fiona O'Dell. She had ruined everything, she thought in that moment as she looked at the skittish and depressed O'Dell.

As the pair arrived at the Cyclone, Ensign Gonadie was stepping down from the cockpit, back onto the deck of Pad 2.

O'Dell shuffled past her chief without so much as a look up, just stepping up on the forward stabilizer, then clambering slowly into the cockpit. A far cry from her usual nimble hops and drops and slides. Downloading the PaDD's mission data to her suit's onboard computer, which it, in turn, would share with the ship's computer as she made a wireless data stream connection, then snaked out a datacable from the complex armored flight suit she wore to make a hard backup. Test piloting was about the data, after all, and it was critical that whatever happened to them, the data survived to improve the craft.

Logging into the science specialized exploration starship Curiosity's ship systems, the popup that Gonadie had installed came up for Fiona as an acknowledgment protocol. There on the screen, and repeated in a few of her suit HUDs was an ancient Miradonian proverb.

The one that has your thoughts as you enter and leave slumber has your heart. They are your destined one. -Proverbs of the Moon Goddess

Upon reading that, Fiona O'Dell's eyes filled with tears, and she clicked to get past it. Which did nothing, as Gavarus had not reached that stage of the login as yet, and it would not click through. Her thin lips came together in a frown as the tiny test pilot tried to make the confrontation of the situation go away, but it was a dual acknowledgment. Until Gavarus clicked through, there it sat as a roadblock to distracting herself from the situation by shuffling through life like an easily startled zombie.

Struggle though she might, the pint-sized pilot's breath caught in her throat, which triggered a sob. Which in turn caused tears to roll down her face and her sinuses to clog up, as Fiona tried to blink the tears away in her helmet. Cutting her broadcast audio she hoped would muffle the sobs she couldn't seem to stop, and the sniffles that threatened to drown her in snot inside her helmet.

After a moment, Gavarus worked her way into the cockpit in the seat behind Fiona, which took the 187-kilogram Tellarite a good bit longer to manage. With her seat scooted far up, which left considerably more room than one would expect for the expansive engineer, Fiona was too small for Gavarus to see shuddering slightly in the pilot's seat in front of her. Although her moderately sensitive ears picked up the faintest hint of the sobbing ahead of her. Confused for a moment, the conflicted Engineer instead tried to focus on her work as she activated her consoles and plugged her EVA suit controls into the Curiosity's computer to prepare to launch.

Immediately, the same message appeared on the screen and inside her helmet's heads up display. "The hell... 'They are your destined...' What the @#$% is?..." Gavarus mumbled, her own voice cracking as she realized what Mona had done. Fiona had clicked through the message, but as planned, they both had to acknowledge it to move past it. Pounding the arrow with her thick finger, the message finally cleared.

Gavarus looked out onto the deck, but Ensign Gonadie was nowhere to be seen, leaving the two to their work alone. "This is none of her... gods d... d... damn it." She stuttered, her voice cracked and broken as she fought back tears of her own, only succeeding on any level due to anger at Mona for interfering.

"D... D... Dock control s... s... says we're clear f... f... for launch." The nervously stuttering Ensign muttered lightly from the rear of the craft, checking the signal from the Hera confirming their clearance.

Just need a minute for preflights came a text across her screen. Which was bullshit, because the preflight checks were already done. Plus since when did O'Dell ever NOT communicate verbally? She never sent texts, ever. Particularly when they had a comm system with multiple redundancies which included just talking to one another in the reasonably comfortable cockpit that still had atmosphere. Which was when Briaar noticed that the puny pilot's comms were muted, although she seemed to be doing something up there.

Plugged into the onboard ship's systems, Gavarus looked at the data feeds. O'Dell's heart rate was elevated and her blood pressure was fluctuating. Nothing medically concerning, but when added to the faint sounds Gavarus thought she heard, an image appeared in her head. She went to flip the switch to turn on the internal cam feed so she could see, but her finger froze above the button.

Ultimately, Gavarus didn't want to see what she knew was happening and meekly choked out an "Aye." Confirming the request for time and waited, her own breath getting shallow as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

As an adult and a Starfleet officer, O'Dell squinted closed her eyes and shoved her emotional baggage to the rear compartment, which was sort of funny with Briaar sitting back there, but it brought her no mirth. Snorting in the snot and blinking away the tears Fiona O'Dell pulled it together. Gritting her teeth and focusing, she unmuted her system. "Hera flight control, this'z cyclone Curiosity on a heading of one four nine mark six, takin' a long patrol sweep, departing Flight Deck 3."

"Cyclone Curiosity, you are cleared for takeoff. Try not to get lost out there, Leprechaun," came the voice of space traffic control as the pale blue Science spacer hovered off the deck, then launched with maneuvering thrusters out of the Hera, and into open space. The flight plan would give the Hera a highly detailed scan of the system, with particular attention paid with some specific detailed scans at specific locales, such as key points of the asteroid belt.

Sliding the small starship smoothly into impulse speed, O'Dell laid in the preset course Chief Gonadie had laid in for them, which meant the mission was on rails. The ship's computers had the details from the Science team of what to scan, where and when, and now O'Dell literally had nothing to do but sit in the pilot's seat and verify that the Curiosity did it's job. Cheeks burning, she was currently berating herself internally over how grown Starfleet officers did not cry like children when about to pilot starships into the vastness of space.

In the back seat, Gavarus tried to occupy herself with the data coming from the ships sensors but it was a waste of time. Mona Gonadie planned this trip a little too well, and the ships computer was taking care of everything for both officers. They were just along for the ride.

So Gavarus sat and simmered, which led to dead silence for nearly a half hour while the Curiosity moved through it's pre-programmed motions as the tensions began to rise. "Aaaah, this is frickin' stupid! W.. .w... We're adults!"

Not sure if this was in reference to the mission or anything else, O'Dell debated replying, but decided to err of the side of caution and not say anything. After all, she might not have been talking to her. Gavarus said a lot of things like that, which were often just complaints on life in general.

Sighing at the continued silence, Gavarus rolled her eyes and thunked her helmeted head against her seat's headrest. "F... Fee... I... this... this sucks! I can't... I don't want this... like this."

Inside her helmet, her eyes were getting thick as the Porcine engineer forced out the words awkwardly.

"Can't we joost go back to the way things were?" Fiona asked in a very small and tremulous voice. "Pretend nothin happened, we were joost drunk?"

Sniffing loudly, Gavarus sighed loudly. "Is that working? Like, at all? W... We've been trying to pretend like nothing happened since it happened and... and it sucks! I c... c... can't keep doing this. I... I miss you."

"Ah miss ya too, Briaar," the small voice in the cockpit responded, a bit stronger. "Ah don't know what to do or say, and I'm afraid ta make it worse, so I keep me distance but I... I dinna mean ta make ya so unhappy. I know I shoulda joost kept me mouth shut and all would ha' been fine, but... m'sorry."

The knee jerk reaction of the touchy Tellarite was to snap back at O'Dell for apologizing for nothing, bit she bit her proverbial tongue again and took a long breath. "You shoulda kept your mouth shut"... Yeah, because that was the problem." Gavarus said sarcastically.

"I was on a date, and... and at every opportunity... I talked about you. T... That wasn't you, that was me." Gavarus griped. "Because that was what I was thinking about. I was on a date and I was thinking... I was thinking about you. Feeling... guilty. Like I was cheating just being there."

"Well, I was talkin in yuir ear like a chatterin' fool, nae wonder ye couldnae think aboot yuir dream girl," O'Dell sparked up a bit, her accent thickening. "I told ye, she's got alla that which I have not. She's yuir big beauty ye been chasin since we met, and I joost want ye to be happy, so I was tryin to set ye oop wi' her. I thought... I thought I was doin' the right thing, bein' a good wingmanand helpin like I'm supposed to. It wasnae supposed to... I shouldnae said nothin' then alla this woulda been fine and we'd still be okay again."

That ended with a sniffle, as O'Dell couldn't help but choke up. She was sad and lonely, deeply depressed and unusually upset, and while she blamed herself as the architect of the situation, so too was she frustrated. To her mind she had been trying so hard to do the right thing, and it had still exploded on her. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she beat herself up over that too- a grown woman crying while on duty as a test pilot because she couldn't manage her personal life. "Leathcheann dúr..."

Sitting back, Gavarus was choking back snot from her snout, trying to process what O'Dell was saying and not knowing what was the right thing to say. She desperately didn't want to make O'Dell cry or blame herself any more but only knew how to tell and complain when upset, herself.

"Fee... that's... No. That's bullshit. I... I wanted you to help because I wanted you there. I... I... needed you there. Because at the last minute I... I didn't want to go anymore."

"I like Ethel. I mean... yeah... she still gets me... @#$&... horny. But that's it. I mean... she's NICE but she's... she's not you." Gavarus admitted through a hoarse, rough voice. "When I was in sick bay, I wasn't thinking about her. When I was recovering and lonely and scared I wasn't wondering where SHE was... I was just glad that it was you with me."

"Gods... you're gonna make me say it..." Gavarus sniffled as tears finally escaped her puffy eyes. "I don't NEED her, Fee. I... I... I need YOU, dammit!"

"M'not... tryin ta make ya say innything, Briaar," O'Dell squeaked out. "I know you're a gal with... needs. I can't... I'm not that person. I don't... I don't feel things like that, I nivvir have. Tisn't fair fuir ye to get stuck wi' a runt like me when there's no... dirty bits mashin or whativvir it is ye like to do with gals." Now she was starting to get wound up, and the loquacious little lass was stumbling through her explanation, words tumbling out with very little filter, just honesty.

"I... yuir me best friend, and I joost want fuir ye to be happy. And for... for us to be friends again. I dinna realize how alone I was til I had a friend like you, who... who honestly cares aboot me and looks after me and ye dinna treat me like a wee joke or a tagalong, ye actually like me company and we drink and sing songs and ye let me curl up next to ye and feel safe and... and..." That got to be a bit much for the emotional alcoholic who hadn't had a drink in a while, who was doing a lousy job of stemming the tide of tears that were spattering the inside her helmet in zero g as she spoke.

"Y... You... You don't get it, Fee." Gavarus protested, getting frustrated and upset at the same time, "That night... you just laying next to me in bed. That... that meant more to me... felt better... was more important... than any sex I've ever had."

"I meant what I said that night. Nobody should ever make you feel like you should do something you don't want to do. And I'm not. I wouldn't." Gavarus snorted. "Gods, I hate this. I want what we had back, too. But... But I can't pretend that I don't... I don't... Why cant we have that too? Why cant we have fun and get drunk and do everything we ever did just... Just with you knowing that... I... I... I..." But the final words choked in her throat, caught on her own fear of making everything worse.

"Aye... aye, ah ken, a doo. Boot ye kin still chase girlies, I dinna mind... or do you mind? Ah mean, s'fun watchin ye chase 'em, I got to admit. S'most courage ye ivvir screw oop. Well, cept fuir spacewalkin an ye did go fight fuir me more'n once, boot... ye dinna stop havin ta chase the birds, and I got me own quarters ta piss off in stead'a yuir pigsty." The voice of Fiona O'Dell was steadier, and earnest as she spoke.

"It's... It's... It's actually pretty clean, right now. My quarters, I mean I... I didn't have much to do and kinda angry-cleaned last night." Gavarus muttered as she hemmed and hawed anxiously. "Look... I... I don't know. I felt ... dirty... on that date. I did. Like I was failing you. I do like her too, but it's just physical. I dunno. I mean, I've still got 'little Ethel' in my nightstand n' all."

"Alreet, so, if'n we're g'win ta be big girls aboot it," O'Dell pressed forward more, feeling more confident as the emotional terra firma firmed up a bit under her feet out in zero G. "I understand ye got needs, and that's alreet. It's nae bad if I dinna want innything ta do wi' all that, reet? I dinna condemn ye for nunnavit, but I dinna want ta be a part 'a. I yodel sometimes in the shower, I dinna make ye listen. S'same, aye?"

Letting out a snort, the tension was beginning to crack for Gavarus at O'Dell's joke. "Heh... Now I totally want to slip into your quarters and hear that..." The porcine engineer chuckled before getting serious again. "But .. but yeah. I... I won't ever pressure you to get involved in that in any way... I promise, I won't. I promise, Fee."

"Briaar, take it easy, aye? I know ye'd not and I believe ye, joost.. ye know, settin some ground rules so's we're all clear, that's all." Having heard lots of these from women and men throughout her career of setting up her brothers, O'Dell knew how to set a boundary or two. "Ah think that's a good idea. Noow... agin, ye kin chase or not. I'm alreety wi' that. If ye need some time wi' lil Ethel, I promise to leave yhe alone in the shower and innytime ye want yuir privacy, aye? And we keep separate quarters, but ye're welcome in mine and I imagine I in yuirs. This way we both got our own space we kin go to, reet?"

"Y... Y... Yeah. Yeah, ground rules are good. Yeah." Gavarus muttered, still nervous and uncomfortable with the idea of Fiona being okay with her persuing Ethel Jablonski, but she pushed past it, desperate to not damage the progress being made. "And yeah. Yeah, of course. You can always come to the quarters. Yeah."

"Did ye have somethin else in mind?" O'Dell asked, picking up on Gavarus' delivery and sensing maybe she was pushing an agenda. "I dinna want ye to be exclusive and monogamous if ye still have needs. But I dinna want to poosh ye oot if ye dinna want that either. Talk to me Briaar- yuir nae g'win ta hurt me feelins, but I would like to know yuir mind, aye?"

"I... uh... Look, I know sex isn't a thing your comfortable talking about, but I need to... for me, I don't... It's not something I can just... DO and not have those feelings for someone at the same time." Gavarus stammered, embarrassed. "I can't just... I can scratch my itches without... Ugh... this is so stupid. Why am I so nervous!?"

"Ah am comfortable talkin aboot it, joost not doin it, aye?" O'Dell corrected gently, but let Gavarus finish her thought.

Fidgeting in her seat, Gavarus tried blurting her thoughts out. "I wouldn't feel right sleeping around. I am... I guess... monogamous. I am EXTREMELY good at taking care of my... needs... by myself. And that's fine! Really!"

"Well, I will miss ye chasin the birds," the merry Mariposian mused, then moved to settle things. "But if that's what makes ye comfortable and works fuir ye, I guess that makes us... partners?"

As O'Dell's tone had shifted to a much more familiar and positive one, Gavarus's own stomachs stopped tightening quite so much and started relaxing as the tension began to bleed off as if there were a leak in the cockpit just for stress. The perplexed Porcine was still confused that both Fiona and Ethel Jablonski seemed to have no issues with there being two completely separate relationships in play, but she put those thoughts away and nodded from her seat in the rear of the Cyclone.

"I've... I've had girlfriends before. At the academy and back at home. Nothing that was ever really serious, though. So... So I gotta say that I don't really know what I'm doing here, for real. And I don't want to hurt you if... hell... WHEN I say or do something really frickin' stupid, Fee. But... But I'm happy when we're together. And I want to try and keep being happy. So, I guess, yeah. Partners works."

"I kin work wi' that. I dinna want to lose ye Briaar... that's how it usually goes. I make a friend, they meet somebody and suddenly I'm oot a friend and that's that. Or I meet someone, and they want something from me I canna give, ye know?" Fiona hinted at past relationships, but never specified, which was telling in and of itself. The end result was far easier to read, however. "Ah joost want us to be okay, and that'll make me happy agin. That's all. I want me mate back who gets me jokes and dinna find me annoyin. Who'll finish me drink for me at the pub, and has me back if I get into a scrap. Who'll bail me oota trrouble when I need it, or let me bail them oot when it's me turn. A right proper partner who I kin count on, who knows I've got them, and I'll use alla me wits and wiles and cleverness to keep them oota the Lieutenant's office. Who dinna mind when I curl up next to 'em to feel safe."

At that thought, Fiona sniffled a bit. She'd been pulling cushions together on the couch of her quarters to make a nest to snuggle up to at night with a white noise generator in it, but it wasn't the same as feeling the arrythmic snoring that soothed her.

And the blunt reality was that Gavarus missed O'Dell snuggling up beside her as well. She had spent the last couple of nights wearing herself out with work just so she could pass out from exhaustion, but had only done so on her own couch, rather than her bed.

"I'm okay if you're okay. I just... I n... n... need my best friend back. Everything sucks without you around." Gavarus leaned forward, dangling her thick, three fingered hand over the back of Fiona's seat towards the pint-sized pilot. Said three- fingered hand that was clutched by the small doll-like hands of the picayune pilot, who hugged the hand to her helmet.

“I want me best mate back too, Briaar. Joost me and thee is fine by me… I only offered ta share because, well, I dinna want ye to feel guilty over wanting sex, ye know? But we’ll play that by yuir ground rules, and so long as we’re okay I could give a fook aboot innyone else, aye?” Giving the large three-fingered hand another squeeze and a reassuring pat, O’Dell returned it to it’s owner.

"Yeah." Gavarus said, keeping her hand next to O'Dell for a moment, feeling better to have it closer to her friend. "Are you? Okay, I mean? I... I think I'm okay now. I'm better. I feel better... if you do."

“All I needed was for you to be okay, Briaar. I dinna want anything to change, and it kind of… did. But so long as ye and me are back on the same side’a things, then aye… I’m joost fookin dandy, I am!” There was that chipper glee that was more the hallmark of the tiny test pilot, evident no more often than when addressing her porcine partner. “I joost want to eat some gross stuff, drink some beers, watch a vid and fall asleep on the couch ten minutes into it. S’long as it’s with you, I’ll be a happy little Brogloidian.”

On some level, both women knew that their relationship had changed weeks ago as their friendship began becoming something more. And on some level, they both knew it had to be addressed. And while the road from there to where they were now had been difficult, they both could smile and talk again, and that was a good thing.

Sitting back in her seat, Gavarus nodded and smiled. "if you're happy, then I'm happy. Happy as a pig in shit, Fee. And that sounds like a hell of a plan to me."

“Aye… feels like I found me pot’o gold,” O’Dell chirped in agreement. “If ye like, I’ll talk to Big Ethel. I think she might takes the news a bit better comin, from me, and I think she already knows and she was tryin' not to add pressure to the situation. She’s allays a surprise, that big dream girl a’ yours.”

Smiling from the back, Gavarus snorted a slight laugh. "Maybe we should both talk to her, I dunno. But I think she understands. That said, she ain't my dream girl."

The expressed sentiment made her beam, and a hot flush filled the cheeks of the lithe little lass. But she did not ask who Gavarus’ dream girl was, because she was, in an uncharacteristic moment of awkward shyness, embarrassed to hear it. But she knew what it meant, and it was a position she had never particularly occupied with anyone else. At least, not that was genuine and heartfelt.

“Wahhhhl, yuir not exactly who I expected to be bringin' home to meet the family neither, but… I canna think of innyone I’d rather spend me days with.” It was evasive and lame and was not an honest explanation of her feelings, but Fiona O’Dell only had so much sincerity in her.

“So we’ve still got a few hours left… time fuir the penis game? ‘Beyond the Valley of the Penis’ is what I’ll start with…” In her own inimitable style, O’Dell did her best to slide them into familiar patterns, stupid bar games they played to while away the hours, spending time talking about nothing, and accomplishing very little… save enjoying one another’s company.

While they had been shuffling in stony silence when they had departed, by the time the test pilot pair of Gavarus and O’Dell returned from their enforced three-hour tour, they were back to their usual jovial, joking and easygoing selves once more.

The walls of isolation they had built around one another had been overcome, the two women had spoken frankly and faced their issues, and made a breakthrough in their relationship. Having acknowledged that while it was unconventional, theirs was indeed a relationship, and they were indeed a couple, they were now free to return to their traditional habits. Which meant wisecracking, snarking and gently jibing at one another, then nipping out to the pub off duty to get drunk, passing out together and waking up to do it all over again the next day.

This was the ‘wrap up the work day’ section of the day, which relieved their feathery inventor chief greatly. While the duo were unconventional and something of a disciplinary issue, they were also both unconventionally brilliant in their own way, hardworking if viewed from a specific angle, and dedicated to the project.

What they lacked in military discipline, they made up for in loyalty, both to the project and to the team. With their bond to one another restored, Mona Gonadie knew they would continue to turn in work above and beyond expectations, enabling her inventions to be put to the test in ways she never dreamed of, giving her data that would enable her to create wonders that would become the staples of 25th-century starship life.

Seeing the two joking and laughing on the flight deck did her heart good, because she knew her simple yet effective plan had succeeded. Which meant that all she needed to do in order for it to stay that way was to let them off early, which would likely mean a beeline to 10-Forward, or ‘the Pub’ as O’Dell referred to it.

Which, under ordinary circumstances, would most likely have been true. Save that apparently, having shaken off the melancholia of the past few days, the mischievous little leprechaun had a bit more deviltry up her sleeve, as she led the way off the turbolift on deck 8.

“The old gel’s got no friends, I dinna think. I mean, lookit her- she’s got a face that could stone a crow at twenty paces, she could freeze yuir blood with that stare and she talks like a disapproving schoolmarm. Plus she’s outside the rank structure and she’s Grandma Murder-Punch- what part’a that says ‘good drinkin company’, aye?” O’Dell explained to her porcine partner as she double-timed it to keep up with the longer stride of her porcine partner.

"No part. Absolutely nothing about what you described sounds like a good drinking partner." Gavarus replied, somewhat flabbergasted by the suggestion. "What about asking the Romulan Death Squad of one out for drinks strikes you as a good idea?"

“I think she’s lonely and she’d be willing, and it might give us the chance to play at some shenanigans, aye?" O'Dell tried to explain as she bounced along merrily. "Something other than our usual barroom trouble. And given that ye and me have been through a lot lately, we need to blow off steam and get into a wee bit ‘a mischief. Who better ta help wi’ that than a canny old Romulan, aye?”

As she finished the sentence, the odd couple arrived at the door of the VIP quarters where the Intelligence asset in question was housed, and as O’Dell spoke the words ‘canny old Romulan’ the doors slid open to revel the personage in question herself. In truth, she had been planning to go out for an errand, but the sudden discovery of the two troublemakers on her doorstep gave her pause.

Looking up from the PaDD in her hand, Jaeih Dox raised an eyebrow as she looked over the unlikely pair waiting at her door. Gavarus had an awkward, half toothed grin that said 'please don't hit me' on her face while O'Dell looked as chipper as always. Letting out a slight sigh, the elder Romulan Intelligence asset commented flatly. "What is it now? Commandeering the Hera to go for a 'beer run'? Planning on stealing the Banshee to get something off of a particularly high shelf?"

“Nae, nothin’a the sort, Mrs. Dox! besides, I got Gavarus for high shelves, eh?” O’Dell nudged her porky partner in the spare ribs as she grinned ear to ear, her best cheery expression of innocence that was of course completely lost on the dour-faced Romulan. “We come to invite ye to come oot to the pub with us! Git ye oot’a yuir quarters and have a bit’a fun, get ye involved in some mischief and shenanigans wi’ people who aren’t as smart as ye, aye?” Eyes wide open and an idiot’s grin plastered on her face, O’Dell practically sold her point.

Looking down at O'Dell with an exasperated expression, then up at Gavarus who only smiled more broadly and nervously as a result, the gray-clad Romulan sighed slightly and looked back down to O'Dell. "Now why, Ensign, would I engage in such a practice that serves only to implicate myself in... how did you put it... shenanigans? Really?"

"Because ye’re bored, and the smartest woman in the room whereivvir ye go, and everybody’s either scared of ye or they dinna want ya take the time ta know ye and raising a pint wi’ a pair of fools will amuse ye fuir an evenin!" O'Dell responded without missing a beat.

Cricking an eyebrow, Jaeih looked down at the diminutive test pilot with an appraising expression. "Appealing to my ego through flattery? How delightfully intel-minded of you. We simply must channel that cunning and put it in the field. Still, it would be an amusing diversion to watch those who take… issue with me squirm a hair."

"See, now you’ve got it! Plus, ye get to raise a pint and not be drinking alone, aye?"

"Very well. If it will cease your protestations, I yield."

"Nae, I kin keep caterwaulin all night! But aye, let's be off!"

"Oh, lovely. a plethora of reasons to say yes. This is my 'happy' face." Jaeih's expression remained stony and unchanged.

“I kin tell. Ye’re practically glowin wi’ joy!” O’Dell grinned, but turned to bustle off toward the turbolift, assuming the others were in tow. Looking up at Gavarus, the merry Mariposian beamed a smile. “See? I toldye she’d be oop for some good-natured shenanigans. How can a Romulan resist mischief, aye?”

Tucking her PaDD into the back pocket of her pants, Jaeih sighed and stepped behind the pair. "I can't wait to hear what else Romulans are like. This should be illuminating."

Walking with a quicker pace, Jaeih walked past the nervously quiet Gavarus to keep pace with O'Dell. "Breathe, Ensign. You survived. We shall see how the rest of the evening goes."

"What? I... I'm fine? What?" Gavarus protested weakly. "Ugh, I already need a drink."

“Aye, but that’s all the time!” the little lass larked, taking Gavarus' large calloused three-fingered hand and patting it affectionately before turning to the middle-aged dour-faced Romulan. “Well, they’re clever by half and aces at hidin’ things. And bally at keepin’ secrets. Plus their barberin’ is second only to the Vulcans, aye?” While she’d been complimentary through it all, she snuck in the mild barb at the end to see how the intelligence operative would take it. After being depressed and mopey for what seemed like forever, O’Dell was ready to kick up her heels tonight, and in such spirits she was definitely feeling her oats.

"Well, now I know what to do to you when you've passed out drunk, since you are such an admirer of the standard Romulan military cut." Jaeih said flatly as they arrived at the turbolift. For her part, Gavarus let out a snort of a laugh at the visual that implied.

“Oh aye. Be like shearin’ a sheep tryin’ ta make me mop ‘a curls do that precision thing yuirs does. Guid luck to ye on that one, aye? Ye’d hae better luck getting Gavarus’ hair ta behave,” O’Dell shot back as they stepped into the turbolift. Nudging the tall Tellarite, O’Dell frowned. “Y’alreet? S’matter? She’s nae g’win ta murder-punch us, she’s joost comin out for a pint, like one of the girls, aye?”

"I'm fine! I am. Really!" Gavarus protested, convincing nobody as the three stepped into the turbolift.

"She'll relax at some point, or I'll drug her until she does. I have... techniques." The former Tal'Shiar operative quipped, grinning ever so slightly as Gavarus tensed up again. "And as for that mop, you would be astounded to see what I managed with my daughter's curly red hair when she was young. I tamed that, I can tame this. Frankly, I'm thinking of it as a challenge now. And we Romulans also love those. Deck ten." As she spoke, her tone never shifted from a completely serious one as the lift doors closed and they began the short trip to Ten-Forward.

"Alreet. Then here's the plan, O Mistress Of Spies. We need a conjob, a game of werewolf that'll keep everyone on their toes all night jumping at the bit, Me thought is we play 'who's the Romulan infiltrator?' while ye sit there boldfaced in the bar sippin yuir wee pale blue cocktail and smilin at people."

The doors of the turbolift hissed open, and the trio spilled out into the waiting queue for 10-Forward, which was apparently busy for the dinner crowd as the only restaurant and bar if you didn't want to eat in your quarters or at your station or in the mess halls.

Which wasn't nearly as important as coming together to have a drink.

Throughout the galaxy it was understood- if you came together and raised a glass, you were basking in a glow, making memories, telling tales and doing regrettable things. But if you drank alone, you were just a miserable drunk. And if you did that more than a few times, you needed to get out. If you worked a high-pressure job with lives on the line and precision called for at all times... you might need a little stress relief.

Which was why pubs, taverns, community houses and mead halls existed throughout the galaxy. Where you found civilization, it found a way to poison itself enough to get off on it to relax. To bask, make memories, tell tales and make regrets. The Federation recognized it, and created Synthehol, the artificial alcohol substitute whose effects could be shaken off as an act of will with no ill effects. A penalty-free guilty pleasure that had no consequence in place of the toxins of yore... let people still, in equal amount, requested the real thing, across the galaxy.

Which said something about the sentient experience.

Which was what brought the unlikely trio of troublemakers out to the Starfleet sanctioned watering hole tonight. To bask, make memories, tell tales and make some regrets.

"Werewolf?" Jaeih replied quizzically thinking of the ancient Earth myth. "And you will have to explain a bit further as there are only two Romulans even on this ship, so I don't see how there will be much mystery here."

Relaxing just enough to finally start talking, Gavarus replied first. "Well, it’s a game. Like 'Clue'. You might not even be the Romulan infiltrator. But you're really good at @#$&ing with people, so it will keep everyone guessing. Right, Fee?"

“Aye, that’s how it works. See, the idea of the game is one person is the werewolf, in this case the Romulan Infiltrator, but nobody knows who it is, so everybody has to guess. Because the Infiltrator will joost pretend to be a Crewman. Everybody simulates the passing of the night by closing their eyes, which is when the real infiltrator indicates to their victim that they’ve struck and turned a crewman into another infiltrator, aye? Then tis the crew’s job to figure out who’s the Infiltrators and who’s the Crewmen.” O’Dell paused for another long breath before launching into more explanation.

“So the Infiltrator’s objective is to eliminate all the Crewmen, while the crewmen vote on who they think is the infiltrator. So, it’s all people accusing one another and deciding who to ‘arrest’ as the infiltrator. Sometimes when an Infiltrator frames a Crewman, the other Infiltrator will also vote for that Crewman so that they’re voted out of the game. Infiltrators may also try to frame different crewmen during one day but then vote for the same player. When Infiltrators say one thing but vote another way it’s easy for them to reveal their identity because they know who’s on their team and the Crewmen don’t. So tis all a game of paranoia and misdirection and lies and stupidity that’s joost that mush worse with liquor involved, aye?”

Noting the less than enthusiastic reaction to the proposed game, she shrugged. “Or we could just rumor monger aboot the bar and tell people yuir there on a secret mission and let the drunks in the bar draw their own conclusions…?” O’Dell, ever the mistress of simple bar games, boiled it down to something far more likely to evidence cooperation from the barely tolerant Romulan agent.

"You realize that all of these games seem custom-designed to obliterate any trust I may ever hope to engender here with the crew." Jaeih posited to the diminutive Maraposian red-head. "That said, what rumor were you thinking of... mongering ?"

That particular line of logic stopped the tiny test pilot dead in her tracks as she realized that it would indeed be sowing genuine dissent and distrust of the Romulan woman amongst the crew, and increasing racial tensions. As her pale freckled face turned a rather bright shade of red, the confidence and outgoing expressiveness of a moment ago vanished like steam as the little lass looked to all the world like a guilty child. “I dinna… I’m sorry, mum. I thought it’d be a lark fuir ye to get oot and mess wi’ people an’ I, ah, I dinna consider that we’d be… m’sorry, mum.”

Looking down, Jaeih raised an eyebrow again and smirked. "Oh, calm down, Ensign. I can only stomach one anxious drinking companion for the evening." As she then glanced exaggeratedly up at Gavarus, who was largely just standing there trying unsuccessfully to look comfortable around the woman of whom she was still clearly a bit afraid.

"There are a variety of diversions we can enjoy at the expense of the assembled crowd, and I truthfully am less concerned with my own reputation, as I am that such things might reflect back upon your Lieutenant." In that moment, Jaeih's tone shifted slightly more serious, but just for a moment. "Have you ever played 'Whispers'?"

“Nae, but I’m allays up to play a new game!” O’Dell’s eyes once again alit with mischief at the prospect of the rascally Romulan actually showing them some deviltry instead of pointing out the foolhardiness of their choices. “How d’ye play?”

Without hesitation, Jaeih leaned over to Gavarus who flinched slightly at the attention. "Ensign Gavarus, listen carefully." Then she cupped her mouth and whispered into Gavarus' ear ever so faintly.

"When falls the harvest moon upon the amber seas of my longing childhood, I reminisce of days gone by and days best left forgotten." Then she straightened back up and spoke normally.

"Now, tell Ensign O'Dell what I just told you." Jaeih said flatly as she folded her hands behind her back.

"Uh... wait, what? Uh... right. Okay." Gavarus, confused, leaned over and whispered in O'Dell's ear, side-eyeing the slightly smirking Romulan while they all continued to wait in the queue for Ten-Forward. "Uh... When the harvest moon sets on the... amber seas of my... longitude, I remember the good old days and forget... something. I think."

Then Jaeih simply looked at O'Dell, half-lidded and tilted her head at the pint-sized pilot.

The crimson brows knitted together in the middle of her forehead and O’Dell murmured, “When the harvest moon sees me on the amber sets of me longitude, I remember ye good old days and forget me somethinorother? I dinna get it…”

"The phrase, in this case, is meaningless. Just designed to confuse poor Miss Gavarus, I'm afraid." Jaeih patted Gavarus on the shoulder playfully. "But what I actually said was, 'When falls the harvest moon upon the amber seas of my longing childhood, I reminisce of days gone by and days best left forgotten.'"

Then Jaeih looked around at those in line then back to O'Dell. "Memorization was a key lesson for me as an intelligence operative. This was something of a game to test retention and also to acquire clues about the other individuals in the chain. You start a story, true or not, and spread it to someone else. Then wait to see what the story becomes upon its return. You reveal much about those around you. How attentive they are, what they're willing to believe, and what their own prejudices cause them to hear and reinterpret. Say something innocent and it comes back perverse or disturbing, and it lets you know what others think of the subject of the sentence."

"Plus, add alcohol to the mix and it's likely to evolve in truly bizarre directions." Jaeih added with a smirk.

Seeing the deep and abiding potential for mischief in the game, a wide and wicked grin spread across the face of the crimson-capped moppet. “Shenanigans!”

Without waiting any further, O’Dell tugged on the sleeve of the nearest crewman, motioned for them to come down to her level, then whispered in his ear. He looked at her, befuddled, then she motioned for him to go on, and he turned to his waiting compatriots who were getting in, and leaned into one to whisper in their ear.

“There ye go… tis begun!” O’Dell beamed with misbegotten pride.

"The... unbridled glee you are taking in this is truly awe-inspiring, Ensign O'Dell. You would have made an exceptional Romulan." Jaeih commented dryly as she looked around subtly on the faces of those in the queue trying to get a bead on the tone of the crowd based on what Fiona had said.

"Leaning down slightly, Gavarus chimed in. "So, what did you say, Fee?"

"I told 'em I heard Command was doin' some kinda test in 10-For'd tonight, so to pass it on. Simple an' vague, open ta misinterpretation," the little leprechaun muttered. Gavarus had reasonably sensitive ears, and O'Dell had a hunch that nothing escaped Misses Pointy Ears over there, and from the way she cocked an eyebrow at what she'd said, the Bringloidian babe suspected her suspicions were confirmed.

"Excellent." Jaeih replied, without looking at the duo, instead focusing at the crewmembers three behind them in the queue. "This should be a legitimately fascinating social experiment. That petty officer is asking his companion if the tests have anything to do with the 'Thunderchicken' incident that wrecked the bar a few weeks ago."

It was at this point that a server came to the door and gestured to Jaeih, who was standing closest to the door. "One, ma'am?"

Looking the server up and down with an exaggerated, judgmental expression, Jaeih replied flatly. "Three. Myself and my companions." As she gestured to Gavarus and O'Dell, the Hera's resident odd couple and the notorious scourges of Ten-Forward who grinned in an exaggerated, cartoonish fashion in unison.

"Uh, okay. If you'll follow me, there's a table open in the port bow corner." The server replied nervously as he lead the extremely unlikely trio to their table.

"After you, Miss Gavarus."

"No no, after you, Miss O'Dell."

"Well, only if ye insist, Miss Gavarus."

"Oh, but I do, I do, Miss O'Dell."

With the comedy already in gear, the trio made their way across the spacious lounge, where they were being stuck in the corner, O'Dell noted with amusement. Usually the trouble twins liked to be close to the bar, but apparently, they were being seated according to the Rom Mom's preferences, which was in the quiet corner. Which might just be fun for a change while they worked at shenanigans... at least to start off.

They'd been through a rough patch of late, her and Briaar, and they were going to have some fun tonight, Fiona was determined. Bumping the hip of the big Tellarite with her shoulder, the picayune pilot beamed an encouraging smile up at her porcine pal, that hopefully relayed that she was happy to be there in the pub with her bestie.

Ever the Intelligence agent, the elder Mrs. Dox took note of the subtle shift in the duo's behavior as she turned to sit with her back towards the windows. She pulled her work PaDD from her rear pocket at set it on the table in front of her as she spoke to the attendant who was seating them. "One Kali-Fal for me. Authentic, if you please. Then attend my companions."

"Uh, I'm not actually your..." The young Efrosian man said before freezing, as Jaeih shot him a terse glare as she sat up a bit straighter. "Uh. Right, one Romulan Ale. And for you, Ladies?"

"Ooh, I'm a lady tonight. This is an upgrade." Gavarus smirked as she sat, flumping in her seat which she scootched a bit closer to O'Dell's. "Whiskey. Straight up. A double."

"Bring her a beer chaser ta go with it and you'll save yuirself a trip. And bring me a ha'pint a bitters. Dinnna worry, the bar knows me order. Get me a plate a'nachos, smothered, no bacon, and a cheese pizza, aye? Thankye kindly, ofdf wi'ye now, smartly, aye?" O'Dell grinned at the young man, who looked flustered, not being a server and also not being accustomed to her accent nor the length of her order or really, most of what had just been said tro him. The bartenders would replay the sensor logs at the bar, the translators would translate the order, and the replicators would get it right, as they always did.

Then an idea struck the manic moppet, and she bounced out of the booth. "I've me an idear! I shall return with tools and supplies!"

"Very well. Look inquisitive on your way out, my dear." Jaeih replied as O'Dell bounded away.

As she did, Gavarus stiffened up. She was now alone at the table with the intimidating Romulan woman who stared at the tubby Tellarite for just a moment. As she did, she picked up her PaDD and appeared to begin entering data. "Is there some reason you are afraid of me, Miss Gavarus? Not that I mind engendering fear as a reaction, as a general rule. It helps one get things done, after all. But in this case, it is a detriment to a functional working relationship."

The two-meter tall Engineer seemed to shrink ten centimeters in her seat as she squirmed under the question. "Uh... I don't... I'm not afraid, really. It's just..."

As Gavarus protested weakly, Jaeih quickly shot up straight and locked eyes with her from across the table. The sudden shift caused Gavarus to flinch slightly.

Embarrassed by her reaction, Gavarus sighed. "Yeah, okay. Fine. Yeah. You... You freak me out a little. I mean, we... Fee and me go to the ships gym every few mornings to exercise and every now and then we see... Uh... The Lieutenant training with the security team and... She... She kinda kicks the shit out of half of them more often than not."

"As she should. I taught her those skills from a very young age." Jaeih replied, matter-of-factly as her gaze fell back to her PaDD. Occasionally, she glanced up to stare at another crewmember before resuming her typing.

"Exactly. So if she can do that, I don't want to see what you can do. And... you both act the same. The... The death stares are... unnerving and..." Gavarus paused, noticing what Jaeih was doing. "Uh... What are you writing?"

Without breaking from her faux-activity, Jaeih replied quietly. "Absolutely nothing, Miss. Gavarus. But the thirteen crewmembers who have taken notice of my presence that I’ve caught staring now presume I am involved with the rumored ‘test’ that command is to be instituting. The Bolian at table six has been surmising that I am, in fact, a Romulan spy performing experiments on the crew. The three humans four tables behind you have been discussing how often I'm seen speaking with Commander Paris."

She then placed the PaDD down on the table and took on a more casual air. "Miss O'Dell picked a truly insidious mind worm to plant, and it has taken root quickly. But, as you well know, it is baseless. We invented the rumor. Thus my behavior is reinforcing it, based purely upon their own fears of the unknown and of authority in general. See a pattern?"

Raising an eyebrow at the twitchy Tellarite as she processed what was just said, it was clear she was still missing the point. So Jaeih sighed and elaborated. "Intimidation is a poor command style that I hope my daughter grows beyond with Commander Paris' tutelage. But neither she nor I will ever lay a hand on you, nor any member of this crew. I am stern, because that is my nature, but I would not have accepted this invitation if I disliked you, Miss Gavarus. You are perceiving a threat where none exists, based upon incomplete data. Exactly like the subjects of our little game here. So please, relax."

As the elder Dox finished, the boisterous Fiona O'Dell bounded back into area, stopping off at the table nearby. In her hands she bore a serving tray filled with a rack of test tubes all bearing tubes of liquid of various colors, some of which were already empty. While she chatted up the table, the inhabitants of said table made their choices, took their selections, drank them down and returned the empties to the rack, then she merrily bounced back to their table.

“Alreet! So I figured since twas all still awkward and all, I’d get us some shots! Plus the new lad’s prolly g’win ta be forever getting’ our order, so why wait. Thus, a shot of the pale blue ale fuir the scourge ‘a the spaceways here…” the feisty redhead handed the pale blue test tube over to the greying Romulan, in a dose that would likely lay a normal human out cold. “Fuir Briaar, a fine single malt Irish whiskey, I got ye a Bushmill’s ta try.” Handing over the test tube of the dark amber liquid, the little lass plucked out another pale blue cylinder for herself. “As fuir me, I got ta admit, I’m curious, so I got me a synthehol version of the blue stoof ta try, cuz I’m curious aboot the taste- everybody allays makes this face, ye know?”

Holding her test tube aloft, the professional pub crawler beamed a smile at her partners in crime for the evening. “Here's ta getting inta some shenanigans!”

"Very well. To... shenanigans." Jaeih said conceding as she raised her tube then took a light sip to taste it, nodding with the hint of mild approval. Then Gavarus threw back the test tube in one quick shot and grimaced as it went down.

"@#$%ing A, that's the good shit, Fee! To Shenanigans." The temperamental Tellarite exclaimed as her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

"So, I observed you interacting with the crew. Anything interesting to report, Ensign O'Dell?" Jaeih asked as she returned to her routine of pretending to study the crew, staring intensely at a pair of science officers who had been muttering to themselves before nervously freezing at Jaeih's glare.

“Nah. Joost make’s ‘em more suspicious that I’m comin aboot offerin shots, because is it part ‘a the test? Should they take one? Should they not? Once ye start paranoia oop, everything gets it goin!” The pixie pilot took a tiny taste of the tart contents of the test tube, then sucked her cheeks in. “Holy mary mutheragawd, that’s the most sour thing I ivvir put inta me mouth! Briiar, ye got ta try this!” Without hesitation, the little lass handed over the remainder of the drink to her porcine partner, clearly expecting her to have no qualms about the unsanitary nature of sharing germs.

Smirking ever so lightly, Jaeih commented as Gavarus took the test tube and chugged it down. "Kali-Fal is an endurance trial as much as it is a beverage, Miss O'Dell. What say you, Miss Gavarus. Have you the stomach for it?"

Squinching her face up as if she had just sucked on a lemon that was angry at her, Gavarus shook her head as she put the vial back in the holder. "Yeah, no. If I want to poison myself, I want to enjoy myself doing that. That tastes like it WANTS to hurt me. Damn... respect!"

Jaeih scoffed as she smirked and finished her tube of the real deal. "Well, I have been doing my part to both sow additional confusion and get your... friend... here to unclench herself. That said, what are you two to each other? Your... dynamic seems... different from when we first met?"

Glancing at Gavarus then back to the stern Romulan woman, O’Dell handed over another whiskey shot to the still-suffering Tellarite, then she shrugged sheepishly. “She’s… we’re… I dunno. She’s me partner, ye know? Me best friend, me mate. She’s the first one I think aboot and the last one I think aboot. I’d take the fall for her, I’d introduce her to me parents.”

As the words began tumbling out, O’Dell picked up another test tube of whiskey, took a very small sip, winced, then handed the remainder over to Gavarus as the words began tumbling out faster. “I’ll nae let innyone disrespect her, and her happiness is important to me. We’re… well, we’re nae quite sure what that makes us because I’m… me, and I’m nae what ye might describe as exactly… ye know. We’re still tryin’ ta figure it oot, and tonight’s the first night ‘a that, and… I prolly shouldnae brought ye along, but ye’re a crabby old lady and I like ye because ye’re nae bullshit, and I thought maybe it might make things a bit less awkward between us if we had somebody else ta play off of, and I figured maybe if we got oop to some mischief and got proper drunk then maybe it’d work itself oot, and ye’re like, a professor of mischief, so…”

Looking a bit self-conscious, O’Dell had run out of explanation, and looked to Gavarus for some help.

"What're you lookin' at me for? I can't explain it any better? I guess we're girlfriends... or something... Right?" Gavarus muttered, looking around for the server to bring their drinks to help take the edge further off.

As she did, their actual server appeared from the back with their orders on a tray and brought them over to the table to set them down. "Here you go, ladies. Will there be anything else at this time?

"I'm going to make an assumption and say double her order now. She needs it," Jaeih said with a grin, pointing to the flustered Tellarite as she took her glass of Kali-Fal. For her part, as the server left rolling her eyes, Gavarus took a big swig of her whiskey.

Continuing, Jaeih followed up. "So, you are a couple, but newly minted and unconsummated? Which I am gathering is not on your personal sensors as an option? And I am here this evening to somehow make this revised status quo... LESS awkward. You were right, Miss O'Dell. This promises to be a VERY interesting evening."

“Ah aims ta please,” O’Dell muttered as she tipped up her small mug of dark room temperature beer, taking gulp after gulp of it until she had drained nearly half the contents. Once she’d accomplished that, she clambered up onto the bench seating to park herself close beside Gavarus, to grab for a cheese covered nacho. “As fuir the consummation part, the less said aboot that the better. Ah mean, lookit me fer a minnit and use yuir imagination ta connect the dots, aye?”

"One moment." Jaeih said as she leaned over to address the table next to them in the busy room staring blankly. "Pardon me, Petty officer? May I ask what it is you're drinking?"

"Uh... Synthale? Why?" The confused human maintenance crewman looked first at the stern Romulan with a PaDD in her hand who was staring at him, half lidded.

"Oh, no reason. I was simply curious. Please, continue. Thank you." Then Jaeih leaned back to a normal sitting posture, punching in her PaDD while side-eying the glass in the crewman's hand. Immediately, he looked down at the glass, back to Jaeih and then set the drink down amd began whispering to the others at the table.

Looking back to O'Dell and Gavarus, she turned her PaDD to show all was on the screen was a screen saver of the Hera mission badge and the time.

"Now, to the topic of the two of you, I make neither judgment not assumptions. The details of your relationship are your own and none of my business." Jaeih said rather matter-of-factly as she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head at the nachos quizzically. "If you have found that person that occupies your thoughts, then you have something special. Take it from a 'crabby old lady'."

Lifting her glass, O'Dell broke into a lilting tune.

"Well, her eyes were joost as black an' dark
As rich Pike County coal
Yeah she was mean as the devil herself
God almighty knows
When she wept it rained black soot fer days and days on end
Across the land on the day she died
Came a hearty vein a gold"

"Aye, there's a lark, we cuild do Hera Rules Karaoke... s'somethin the senior officers started. Ye do a karaoke song, then when ye hand off the microphone, that person has to sing." Shoveling another nacho into her mouth, O'Dell indicated the pizza. "Ye should try a slice of the pizza afore Briaar gets it all. Tis nae bad here for a bar pizza."

It was abundantly clear that it took no time whatsoever for very little alcohol to work very quickly on the small humanoid, and she was already starting to feel the effects.

Pondering the strange lyrics of the song that certainly seemed directed at her, Jaeih raised an eyebrow at the Pizza before gesturing to Gavarus. "Don't let me stop you, Ensign. You may fire at will, Im not hungry."

Shrugging, Gavarus grabbed a slice I her thick three-fingered hand, beer mug in the other as she took a huge bite. "Works for me." She muttered through filled cheeks as she chewed.

Then, Jaeih turned back to O'Dell. "I assure you, I... do not... sing."

"Ach, dinna be that way, ye great stone face," O'Dell beamed a happy buzzed smile at the scowling Romulan woman. "Everybody sings. I'll bet ye sang sweet lullabyes to yuir wee bairn afore she was born, and I'll bet ye sang silly songs ye made oop as a girl before ye knew others would mock ye fuir it. But tis alreet, alreet, I wasnae threatenin' ye wi' a good time, Madame Secret Agent. Surely ye know by now she and me, we're nae the threatenin type. Particularly not to people who threaten to do stuff to us in our sleep and make it sound believable aye?"

While she might have dwelled on the excellent point she'd made, O'Dell blew past it, clearly already sliding past buzzed and straight into drunk as her midget metabolism was quickly overwhelmed by the five ounces of beer and a few tiny sips of whiskey and Romulan Ale she'd imbibed in the past five minutes. "But nivvir ye worry, I was joost thinkin that some karaoke with on the spot pressure might be joost the thing ta make nervous folks craaaaazy nervous enough for proper hilarity to ensue. So noow all I need is a wee bit more beer, maybe a another nacho or two, and joost the right song...".

Sighing, Jaeih turned to Gavarus and countered, "Is she always this… pleasantly insistent?"

But by then, Gavarus had finished her double whiskey, the remainder of the test tubes and 90% of her beer and her demeanor was decidedly more relaxed as she replied, "What do you mean, 'she'? We're a WE, lady, and WE totally think you need to get your sing on."

Slightly taken aback at how dramatically Gavarus's tone had shifted with a little alcohol, Jaeih raised an eyebrow realizing that her attitude held no sway over these two while they were drinking as the tipsy Tellarite kept talking.

"N' we know for a FACT that Lieutenant MurderPunch absoLUTEly rocks at this shit! N' you both have kinda deeper, gravely voices." Then Gavarus leaned over and tapped O'Dell repeatedly. "OOOH, OOOH! She could do something creepy like 'Total Eclipse of the…' No! No! 'I put a Spell on you'!"

"OPHMAHVHRIRISTJAYSIS that's bluiddy brilliant Briiar!" Hopping up onto the seat, O'Dell high-fived the hooved handygal, then looked about manically. "Alreet, I got ta start it off though, because I'm an officer and so that means I've authority and alla that rot. So, let's see, where's the DJ booth? Bound to be some sorta multistation hereabouts. I think it's multimedia- I wasnae here but Doc Dael's performance of 'We Will Rock You' was still makin' the rounds when we came aboard. That shite's legendary, mate! Sooooo, deejay booth and Ah need ta figure oot what ta sing..."

Turning suddenly to eye Gavarus, eye to eye for a change, O'Dell's eyebrows quirked together and her eyes misted up a bit. "Aye, Ah know the song. Where kin Ah find a mic and a terminal, or do Ah need to talk to a bloody human?"

Dropping from a stand to flat on her ass with surprising nimbleness, the bench seating of the lounge was sufficient to protect the bony butt off the tiny terror of 10-Forward. Grabbing her half imperial pint glass with both hands like a child, she took a couple more small swallows, bracing herself a bit for what a fool she was about to make of herself.

Maybe a few more sips of beer.

Stifling a chuckle, Jaeih took another sip of her drink as she watched O'Dell's alcoholically induced struggles. When she had been invited along, she initially agreed somewhat reluctantly in spite of her bourgeoning respect for the R&D department officers.

They had bent over backwards and risked their own careers just to protect the integrity of Jaeih's daughter-in-law, and she had to acknowledge that effort in spite of their unusual demeanors.

But now she was seeing them in their element and was beginning to understand the two a bit more and why they were drawn to each other. Like many good couples, they were both broken in the same way and Jaeih couldn't help but recognize that.

"Ensign, if she cannot walk, will she be able to sing?" Jaeih leaned over to ask Gavarus with a hint of actual, if minor, concern in her voice.

Waving her now empty beer mug at the passing server who simply nodded and rolled her eyes, Gavarus snorted. "Are you kidding? Fee can, and HAS, sung in her SLEEP! she's got this, once we get the thingies. The equipment."

While the two had literally only officially become a 'couple' that very day, they had passed out drunk in each other's quarters more than enough to give them quite the familiarity with each others more interesting habits. A moment later, the server returned with a tray filled with renewed drinks for the entire party, clearly not new to serving the drunken pair. As she did, Jaeih raised a finger and cleared her throat as she gestured the server over.

"Pardon me, but the Ensigns were wishing to inquire as to the location of the… Karaoke… equipment." Jaeih asked with a flat expression that made it clear that nobody was asking for permission, just the equipment.

For a moment, while Gavarus snatched up her my for a swig, the server looked anxiously at the freshly drunk pair, trying to find a ground to object, but she flinches slightly as Jaeih simply cleared her throat, raised her hand and gestured her on her way with a wag of her fingers.

"Tell the deejay Ensign O'Dell's callin' Hera Rules Karaoke, joost like the senior officers declared it. And get ready, cuz I got me a song in me wee tiny heart and I'm g'win ta belt it oot. So I'll need ta program a thing or two. Alreet, m'off. Oh, wait-" the moppet held out her hand for the secret agent's PaDD. "I've got a wicked idea fur a song fer ye, but twould help if ye'd heard it first, aye?"

Not like she could likely unlock the PaDD in her drunken state, or sober, given that the intelligence analyst was a cryptography expert, and O'Dell's specialty was all in the reflexes. But the pint-sized pilot was still trying to offer the grumpy grandma to be the chance to play along.

Sighing, Jaeih slid open the access code and begrudgingly handed her now unlocked PaDD to O'Dell. "Indeed. I had to sound proof Mnh... my daughter's... quarters on our ship growing up once she discovered your planets music, but it is... NOT something I have ever familiarized myself with."

"S'nae my planet, mum. I'm from Miraposa, which is out past the Breen confederacy. There's been talk me whole life of goin back to Bringliodi to recolonize, now trhaty the solar flares have died doown. But the Brinbgloidians are nothing if not a lazy people, and they've not yet gotten round to getting a spacecraft for it, nore settling tools or supplies, and they still need to mend the garden fence, and so on. Earth music is instilled in s'many of us because our people are colonists who originated there, in my case. Then we go to Starfleet Academy there, which is something of a four year, or six in me case, of Earth culture and Starfleet livin."

"My apologies, Ensign." Jaeih said with a slightly amused expression. "In my defense, regardless of your origin, you are... aggressively human, my dear. But also, exceedingly interesting. What did you have in mind?"

"Somethin' appropriately dramatic fuir a spy, mum, that inspires paranoia, and ought ta be easy enough, as tis slow and easy enough fuir yuir vocal range. Plus I think ye'll have fun with it... it kinda speaks a ye ta me." The little lass handed the PaDD back over, with the song brought up, in the arrangement of the artist she had in mind. Nina Simone's 'I put a spell on you'.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua2k52n_Bvw

"Alrett. This'n's fuir ye, Briaar... aye?" Fiona beamed a little shy smile at Gavarus, then she bounced out of the booth to go chase down her server, who was hypothetically setting up her improvised interruption of the dinner crowd's quiet evening tonight.

While the unflappable Mrs. Dox began playing the file at an audio level low enough for ears only as sensitive as hers to hear from any kind of distance, the old-school Intel officer grinned ever so slightly. She didn't quite know why she so readily went along with O'Dell's various little plans, and yet there she was.

As Jaeih listened, Gavarus took a swig of her beer with a nervous expression. "Uh... What's for me? I don't get it?"

Sighing slightly, Jaeih rolled her eyes with a better than decent idea of what kind of message Fiona O'Dell just might have in mind for her Porcine partner. "Oh, you'll figure it out, Miss Gavarus."

A few moments later, a pedastol rose from the center station that served as the 'entertainment complex substation' of the Starfleet designed and equipped lounge, which of course had full holoemitters... thus as the lights dimmed and a spotlight came up over the diminutive figure seated on a stool, with a guitar in her lap and a microphone in a stand in front of her.

Clad in a bright emerald green A-line evening dress, the small singer wore something of a poodle skirt and green and black checker patterened heels that matched the rather large bow pulling her hair back into two large victory rolls. O'Dell looked classic, although from no clearly defined era; yet somehow she managed to appear mature, with makeup and an actual dress on that made her appear cute, if not womanly.

"Good evenin, crew of the Hera, various dignitaries and guests. I'm Ensign Fiona O'Dell, and this is Hera Rules Karaoke. Now, this is a tradition that was started by our own Chief medical officer Doctor Dael, whom eye all know, aye? Noow, the rules are simple. If ye get handed the microphone from the last person who sang, ye have ta sing. Ye have one minute to pick a song and program whativver special effects or costumes ye'll need, but when tise time thje the musice starts, if ye dinna sing... ye've broken the sacred rules of Hera karaoke, and what's the good Doctor g'win ta think that their tradition was so easily brushed aside, and by the likes a' you?" O'Dell peered around the room pugnaciously, in a silent challenge to those who would efile such a sacred barroom tradition.

"10-Forward staff says when it shuts down, and ye dinna have ta sing well. ye dinna have ta make it a song and dance number. bet if ye getr the mike, for weal or woe, tonight- ye sing. Aye?" There was no reaction from the crowd, so O'Dell leaned in and said, "I dinna hear ye. I said, Aaaaaye?""

A few of the crowd murmured their assent, without much enthusiasm.

"Oh ain't you lot a load a fun. Alreet, well foine. I'll start us off, and show ye that ye dinn hafta be amazing. Sometime ye joost hafta be yuirself, aye?" With that, O'Dell began strumming the guitar, which as the plinky sound emerged it became evident that the reason it looked like a guitar in the lap of the stunted O'Dell because it was in fact a ukelele. As she plunked at the chords it, she began to sing, in a gentle, lilting voice, free of most of her brogue.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5V9-Rd2IHZg

When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

So darlin', darlin', stand by me, oh stand by me
Oh stand by me, stand by me

If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
Or the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

The refrain repeated, but the message, the teensy troubadour hoped, had gotten through.

And her hope was answered as, at their table, the tubby Tellarite engineer was doing her level best to stop herself from openly tearing up at the sentiment. But with two double shots of Whiskey and most of two very large mugs of beer in her system, there was no hiding it as she bit her bottom lip in a shuttering grin.

Watching, Jaeih shook her head and smiled as she continued to review the song file on her PaDD. Glancing up, she waggled a tissue from the table at Gavarus. "Ensign. Your snout is... leaking. Attend it "

"Huh? SHIT!" Gavarus replied, embarrassed as she wiped her nose with a hork. "Shit. That's... shit." Still smiling, Gavarus was at a loss for words.

As O'Dell finished up with the sweet old song of days gone by, a timeless classic that had survived the ages, she hopped down off the stool, microphone in hand, and trotted through the politely applauding crowd, the single spotlight following her all the way back to the table. Which was where she offered the mic to the grey-haired Romulan woman they'd dragged along on their adventure for the evening with a sweet hopeful smile. "Ah believe the next round a'shenanigans is on you, mum? Sing yuir song, then hand it off to yuir best candidate, aye?"

Sighing slightly and curling her face into an irritated protest, Jaeih nonetheless took the microphone. "Very well. Who am I to disrupt... tradition… or besmirch the good doctor's legacy."

She stood up leaving the PaDD on the table. A lifetime of intel work had given the middle-aged Romulan woman an exceptional memory, and she felt confident that she had the lyrics committed to memory.

Back at the table, setting the ukulele on the table, O’Dell hopped back up into the booth and scooted over next to her bosom buddy. “Ah’m… nae vurrah good at a lot of this, because it’s all new to me. I’ve nivvir been a girlfriend before, I’m tryin ta get a grip on the labels, I guess? We were joost… mates, and we’re still what we were before, I still care aboot ye and I want ye happy and I want to be near ye and want ye near me, joost… I dinna know how ta say it right is all. But I do want ye to know I care, so… a song?”

Blinking up at the dark-eyed swine, the miniature moppet looked hopeful yet vulnerable. As indestructible as her confidence could be with a fighter craft wrapped around her or a number of drinks in her, O’Dell demonstrated far less security in her personal life, much of which was uncharted territory for her. She was used to people befriending her, getting to know her, her getting to like them, her helping them win over the girl or fella they were after, then O’Dell getting left behind, like the leprechaun who’d granted the wish, discarded when no longer needed for the happily ever after. Thus her relationship with briar Gavarus was one she was perpetually uncertain in as defin8itions were sought with which she was uncertain.

Sniffling as she looked down at Fiona, the porcine engineer wiped her snout again with the napkin and smiled broadly. "Yeah. That was... you're g... gonna have to give me a minute here, Fee. I'm trying not to start crying here in Ten frickin' forward. But... yeah. We got this. And I'm not going anywhere."

Leaning in against the much larger form of the emotional engineer, the little lass cuddled against the burly arm of her mate, content to be close, as that was what made her happiest.

As Jaeih then stepped into the center of the room, she cleared her throat and paused for a moment, muttering. "Mnhei'sahe is going to lord this over me forever. Sigh..." Realizing that while her daughter might only be the Chief of the Flight Control Department, that she had a habit of reviewing all of the Hera's security feeds and reports and would very likely see the security footage of what was about to transpire.

Then, as the music began, the salt-and-pepper haired operative squinted slightly and passed a judgmental glare across the entire assemblage and began. She didn't sing so much as speak in a drawled out tone that did, in fact, have a decidedly eerie tone, added only slightly by her reconstructing the son's contractions into their root words.

"I put a spell on you because... you are mine
You better stop the things that you do
I am not lying, no, I am not lying..."

The relatively short song seemed to drone on for much longer than it's actual run time as she stood, fixed in space, her eyes scanning the room as if she was performing the song for each person individually, as so kind of macabre premonition or evil promise. As she reached its end, a bizarre grin split her lips as she turned and nodded for approval from O'Dell, who stood on the table and applauded, a lone voice amongst the polite smattering of uncomfortable applause and greater whisperings that followed in the wake of the rather pointed song.

Without taking her eyes off of the crowd, Jaeih stepped back to their table and, in one motion, held the microphone over Gavarus' and bopped the emotional engineer lightly on the top of her head.

Looking up, Jaeih smirked lightly as she then dropped it in her prodigious lap. "Shiiiiit... I knew this was comin'." Gavarus grumbled. "This isn't fair. You both prepared for... crap. Okay, fine! I can do this!"

"Aye briar! it dinna matter if yuir good, it joost ,matters that ye try,m aye?" Go knock 'em dead!"" O'Dell cheered, trying to set the stage for success regardless of the results.

Groaning as she lifted her bulk from the seat, she reached over and snatched Jaeih's glass of Romulan Ale and chugged it down. "Gimmie that! AAAAAGGH! Sooo damn tart. @#$%!"

As she grimaced against the strong spirit, Jaeih actually let out a light chuckle of a laugh at the exaggerated display as Gavarus shook it off and stepped into the spotlight and called up a list of songs on her PaDD for a moment. "Okay... hold on. I got a minute to pick... just hold your shit."

"Okay! That frickin' works. Okay." The porcine tinkerer muttered as she looked up at the ceiling of the room and took a deep breath. "Okay... this is sooooo not subtle. Shit." She whispered as the music began and she did her level best to sing.

Gavarus' voice was cracked and broken sounding when she sang, like someone perpetually in puberty. It was a grating, unpleasant sound that warbled as she shut her eyes to avoid seeing anyone watch her.

"So she said what's the problem baby
What's the problem I don't know
Well maybe I'm in love (love)
Think about it every time
I think about it
Can't stop thinking 'bout it..."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ELdGlYrMpM

As she did her level best to get through the now-ancient 'Counting Crows' song, she began to choke herself up on the chorus,

"Accidentally
I'm in love, I'm in love,
I'm in love, I'm in love,
I'm in love, I'm in love,
Accidentally...

As she did, she skipped the entire last verse and panickingly let the music run out as she looked over at their table and Fiona O'Dell, who looked a bit broken as her big greed eyes were wide and blinking as the all-too-on point song hit home. She knew the legend of the children's fable of the ogre who was contracted to rescue a princess, who joined the ogre to live happily ever after with him as his bride. The analogy of the gruff and abrasive ogre and the redheaded princess who turned out to be more than a match for him. The fact that Gavarus had braved the microphone and sung a song that was so perfect for them, and admitted her feelings so publicly just made her heart swell, and Fiona O'Dell found herself feeling not unlike a princess, and somewhat unable to move or particularly form words at the moment.

Flagging down the server, Jaeih commented, "Refills, please. Or they may end up just staring at each other all night. Also, a tray of Osal twists for me, thank you."

As the server left to procure the order, the only member of the trio not currently having an emotional moment leaned over so that her face fell into Gavarus' line of sight as the porcine engineer was still standing awkwardly in the center of the room. "Ensign? Is anyone next?"

"Huh!? Wha?" Gavarus muttered as Jaeihs protestations snapped her out of her moment. As she did, she looked around the room to notice that most everyone was trying to look as if they hadn't noticed Karaoke was even happening. There was an almost aggressive degree of professional ignoring as the largely silent room had almost every patron in it actively eating or drinking at the exact same moment.

"Oh, @#$% you all, then. Frickin' killjoys." Gavarus scoffed as she dramatically held the mic up and let it drop as she walked back to the table just as the updated order and fresh drinks were arriving. Hesitantly, she sat back down next to Fiona, hoping she didn't make things any more awkward.

"Why didn't ye pick the next victim to keep it rollin, Briaar? Twas supposed to be part of the shenanigans, aye?" O'Dell asked softly, her cheeks flush with pink and a bit of a frazzled smile in place on her face. "I mean, no harm done, but... twas tradition, aye?"

For her part, Gavarus was even more flush pink and fidgeting, "I... I dunno. I just... I kinda just panicked I guess. Sorry. I didn't mean to kill the room."

"Fear not, my dear." Jaeih commented plainly. "Nobody in the room has died..." As she spoke, it was louder than normal as she leanded over and stared at the drink of the same crewmember she had questioned earlier. "...yet."

"Twas still sweet briaar, and it meant a lot to me... it was a vurrah lovely gesture aye?" Fiona beamed a smile at the flustered pig in space, trying to reassure her and focus on the important part- that she had serenaded her pal, whom had serenaded right back, and that both had been touched by the act of the other.

In the moment, Gavarus leaned in closer to O'Dell and smiled. Both had made gestures that were reciprocated and returned and both were feeling it as Jaeih raised an eyebrow, looking over their shoulders.

"It appears you forfeited the game a smidge early, Ensign Gavarus." The elder spy said flatly. Turning around the odd couple watched as a gold clad young man reached down to pick up the discarded microphone.

None of the trio recognized the thin, lanky human crewman as he nervously smiled and cleared his throat. He looked, at best, to be maybe twenty one at the most.

From the table he had come from, there were a few Snickers as a small group of similarly young crewmembers looked on as he started to speak, my at first, before working up some confidence, "H… Hi. Transporter technician, crewman second class, Chance Randall."

Then, to the surprise of the room, and Gavarus and O'Dell in particular, he flashed them a nervous smile and immediately began crooning 'Fly me to the Moon.'

"It appears you two started something." Jaeih commented flatly as she took a bit of one of her Osal Twists. "You continue to surprise. Does this evening satisfy your need for… shenanigans… so far, Ensign O'Dell?"

"Waaaahl let's see. I got to sing a sweet song to me girl, and she got up the gumption to sing one right back to me. I got the Great Stone Face herself to get up there and sing a song that made the whole room even more nervous and paranoid, even while we managed to get some proper karaoke rolling. People are drinking and talking, wondering what may be oop and tomorrow the rumors will be flyin... another round or two and I think we'll have accomplished what we set oot ta do!" O'Dell grinned as she leaned against Briaar's beefy arm, then reached for her mostly empty pint glass and took another sip of beer.

"What aboot ye, mum? Worth taking a chance to come out with the roustabouts and ne'er-do-wells to see how the other half lives?" O'Dell asked pointedly of the Romulan civilian Intel asset, whose ties to the Hera were deep, yet whose relationships were few.

Taking a sip of her Kali-fal, Jaeih gestured to the pair to sample one of the Osal Twists as she replied. "I would say that... the evening has been extremely... illuminating. And... not entirely unpleasant. You are both skilled at your jobs, care about one other and your co-workers, and have decidedly bizarre ideas of how to relax. But I can respect that."

As she spoke, Gavarus grabbed one of the Romulan treats and took a bite. As she did, her face scrunched up. "This is FRUIT?! How in the hell is it so frickin' tart?! I swear to gods, no wonder you people don't know how to smile. Your TREATS are all like PUNISHMENTS to eat! Seriously, what the @#$%!"

Letting a legitimate laugh out, Jaeih was, in fact, smiling. "Oh, we know how to smile. You are eliciting a good amount of it this evening, Miss Gavarus." She then turned back to O'Dell and nodded slightly, "So, that said. I thank you for the invitation."

“Won’t be the last one ye get, Lady Grey,” the bright-eyed banshee promised. After all, when seeking to enact shenanigans, who better to seek them with than a canny old Romulan?

THUMP!

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”

“John, it’s your turn, dear.”

These were the sounds that started the day for Ensign John Carrott. Bleary-eyed he crawled out of bed to investigate the cause of his daughter's wails. The artificial gravity felt like it had been increased as the weariness seeping into his bones dragged at Carrott, but a smile graced his face nonetheless.

After a brief shamble over to baby Minerva’s crib, he saw the reason for the sound effects in his quarters. Minerva Carrott, adopted by John and his wife Amy, was fiercely kicking her crib and had managed to knock one of the wooden slats out of the side, which promptly went flying and knocked over a small statuette in the shape of the Hera that was on a nearby side table.

That’s the third time she’s managed to break something on that crib. Heavy-duty my butt. Better get a crib in a more durable material made… Carrott thought.

Reaching into the crib, John picked up Minerva’s squirming furry form. The little Minotaur had been quite the surprise to the crew of the Hera, not expecting Zeus’s interference had perhaps been an oversight with Hera aboard the ship that was her namesake, but John couldn’t care less. This was his daughter and he loved her dearly….horns and all.

Carefully dodging said horns he managed to hold her over his heart, lightly thumping her back with one hand while supporting her with the other, and paced slowly around his living area cooing her back to sleep. As her wails turned into contented gurgles and then into a tiny snore Carrott made his way back to his bed.

Placing Minnie, as everyone had already begun to call Minerva, in the middle of the bed, John looked into his wife’s eyes. She was 8.5 months pregnant with the couple’s first biological child and looked not entirely unlike a broom with a beach ball taped to its middle. Slight of build with sandy-blonde hair and green eyes, Amy Carrott had always been a soft-spoken presence, a calm personage that balanced John’s neurosis. She slowly stroked the fur on Minnie’s arms, soothing the babe into a deeper sleep.

“She broke another slat in her bed,” John said quietly.

Amy just nodded, lost in love gazing at her firstborn. The pair and instantly been enamored of Minerva, and both were hopelessly wrapped around her little hooves. As Minerva went back into a deep sleep, Amy wrapped her up in her arms and John embraced the two of them as one.

“Maybe she’ll get something to help with that at our shower today,” Amy finally said softly as she drifted back to sleep.

The shower.

Crap.

John had completely forgotten about his colleagues in R & D throwing him a baby shower today. His paternity leave had begun the day after Minerva was born, and he hadn’t been out of his quarters much during that time, so of course “the gang” as Amy called them had insisted on throwing a shin-dig in 10 forward.

One that was slated to begin in ……exactly……2 hours’ time, John saw as he glanced at the nearby clock. Nothing for it. Today was the day to become a functional human again.

After allowing himself an extra 30 minutes nap, John got up and showered, preparing breakfast for everyone before waking Amy. He held Minnie and fed her as Amy went through her morning ablutions, and then the pair both bathed Minnie, enjoying the feel of shampooing her furry tummy as she laughed at the sensation.

Once Minnie was clean and pleasant smelling she was swathed in a frilly pink dress covered in bows and ribbons. The infant took great pleasure in chewing on the ribbon closest to her mouth and was fascinated at the sensation of grasping onto the bows. Amy wore a light blue sundress, happy to be in something breathable that still fit her belly, and John wore his usual uniform. Not sure what to expect, the trio set out for 10-Forward.

As the happy family made their way through the ship, the primary lounge of the U.S.S. Hera was already active. The Chief of the R&D department, party planner extraordinaire, and newly expectant mother herself was instructing a pair of Ensigns for the flight department who volunteered to help with the decorations and the mirthfull Miradonian was directing.

"Yeah, right over there. There, that's perfect," Mona may have been a perfectionist in many aspects, but in this she was moreso, directing people in the decor for the event, pastel pinks and blues being the general theme with purples and greens worked in for accents. Nothing was permanent, of course - they only had the lounge for three hours at best before their reservations were up and the first lunch-goers would come walking in. Still, the drapes and signage and the cupcakes all matched. She even made sure the finger food, being vegetarian, was color coordinated somehow using pink Bolian bread and Romulan fruit slices she had acquired on the fortress.

As for her gift, it had been packed up in a pink box with a feathered bow. Inside was a self rebuilding mobile of child-safe starship toys that would hover down when reached for so little Min could play, or chew, on them, then hover back into their orbits when she released them. It was an unexpected application of a tool system she had been working on for some time now and she was happy to see it used in such an unexpected way.

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the room, Ensign Briaar Gavarus, the department's resident Tellarite engineer and rotund grease monkey was sitting on the floor, her legs crossed with her disproportionately mall hooved dangling. She had her tools out and was making final adjustments on something otherwise hidden under a bright pick drop cloth with a pale blue bow on the top.

The mystery item was large and box-shaped, as she seemed to be screwing something into place. "Okay, that should do it. When are they supposed to get here, I'm starving?" Gavarus asked to her diminutive, red-headed partner-in-crime and in life, the tiny terror of Ten-Forward, Ensign Fiona O'Dell.

“When they get here. New parents are late fuir everything because the baby makes ye late everywhere, so ye joost plan for it and get used to it. So if there supposed to be here at 13:00, ye joost expect ‘em at aboot 13:20 or so,” O’Dell opined, as having come from a large family she was quite accustomed to such things, and she took it all in stride. Currently, she was delivering platters of finger foods carefully chosen for their lack of scent, as Carrot had indicated that in her last trimester his bountiful bride was particularly sensitive to strong scents, which tended to make her sick. So Chief Gonadie had insured that all of the finger foods were scent-free and of a consistency unlikely to trigger her nausea reflex. Which mostly meant cookies and crackers with schmear.

Surreptitiously tossing a few of the crackers at her porcine partner, who expertly caught them in her mouth, O'Dell wisecracked about the gift she was working on. “Ye aboot done wi’yuir tinkerin there, or will ye need extra time once the bairn’s born ta get it joost right?”

"Oh, ha ha, Fee." Gavarus deadpanned as she chewed on the crackers. "This is for the current kidlette."

The Gavarus stuck out one of her own hooves and made a kicking motion, "Carrot says she's kicking right through the best cribs he could replicate. Well, if she can kick through this baby, then the Security Team might want to just recruit her ta' guard Hera's door now."

Pulling the tarp back over, Gavarus slid her tools under the nearby table out of view and out of the way and grunted back to her feet. It was clear that she had put on a decent amount of weight since her injuries a couple of weeks back and hadn't hit the gym since. "Oooof... Otherwise, I think we're ready to go."

"Ye're buildin the wee heifer a stall crib, then. Or somethin wi' flex to it that will give an' bounce back? Or somethin fancy dancy wi' forcefields?" O'Dell dropped off the appetizers and hustled back across the room to the replicator to pick up the next load, chattering as she moved.

Following close behind, Gavarus replied, "Sort of, yeah. No force fields, but the structure is built using the same poly-duranium composite the Chief developed for the hands of the Banshee to give them flexibility and give. That crib could survive reentry, but she can also bang her little head on it and it will flex and give so she couldn't get hurt. Plus, I coated the entire surface in a pink structural foam to make it even softer and more durable. That kid gets out of there, she's a frickin' Q."

"Aye, that's usin yuir head! Shaped so they'll give wi'the impact then flex back into shape wi' those honeycomb structures she used, aye? Smart, smart. Ought to make her a right nice playpen if ye can keep it expandable to size as she grows, aye?" O'Dell, as ever, bounced along with Gavarus' good ideas and tried to see where they might lead- part of what made them a good team.

"And that's why I love both of you so much. You're both adaptable, dependable, and can see what's in front of you and come up with a simple solution without having an ego about it." Mona walked up to the dynamic duo with a large tray of 'pigs in a poke' made with various veggies and spreads rather than meat.

"Which reminds me, the Banshee has been cleared for fleet testing so you can talk about it with those off ship. No specifics, but the existence of our baby is declassified at least. The only thing I didn't share with them is my cloak. That's just a 'mission-specific payload' receptacle." With a wink, the brightly plumed Miradonian set the tray down in the center of the food table.

Eyeing the tray of food like a predator on the hunt, the nearly perpetual stomachs of the porcine engineer grumbled loudly, but she tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the better news. "Oh, that's fantastic, Chief!"

Then, muttering to herself, "Hear that, Errine. SOMEONE has a bigger project than YOU do, Miss Engineering Professor."

"Well, we'll try ta keep our bragging ta joost the Hera fuir noow ma'am, and o'course Gavarus' snooty highfalutin relatives. But only because their snouts are so stuck in the air they need a little whiff of what's cookin so they know their black sheep is actually kickin arse oot in the fleet." Fondly O'Dell patted the beefy forearm of the tall Tellarite, already composing a dozen ways to subtly mention in letters home to the engineer's overachieving family that she was doing groundbreaking work on a revolutionary new starship.

The doors to 10-Forward whooshed open softly as John, Amy, and Minerva made their entrance. Amy was holding onto her lower back as if her life depended on it while John was pushing a small 2-seater pram with Minerva happily kicking at the air inside it. She had freed one of her hooves from their confines inside a sock and was sucking on it for all she was worth.

Smiling widely, John parked the pram and rushed to pull up a chair for Amy, beaming the whole team at the assembled persons.

“Hi everyone!” he beamed through sleep-weary eyes, “Sorry we are a bit late….someone,” he intoned theatrically while looking at Minerva, “Decided she would rather spit up than eat her breakfast.”

Snorting in response, Minerva did not appear to be repentant in the slightest. However with a slight scrunch to her nose, Amy took a moment to breathe before saying, “John, dear, can we not discuss spit up please?”

Blushing as red as his hair, John rubbed at his neck nervously while saying, “Um, right dear, sorry. Um, hi everyone! This place looks great! Hope it wasn’t any trouble……”

"Nae a lick of troobul a'tall, Carrot me old bean!" O'Dell piped up with her characteristic enthusiasm. "Happy to have us a shower for one of our own who's got himself a whole family all of a sudden. And joost lookit you, mah wee hoofy heifer!" O'dell reached down, expertly undoing the clips keeping the horned infant bound in the stroller as she hefted the adorable infant who was nearly a third the size of O'Dell herself up and out to perch her on her hip.

"Hoof! Yuir a hefty bairn, ain't ye? G'win ta grow up big and strong, are ye not? Oh aye, ye are! Ye'll be right mighty and dainty all at once, joos like Briaar, aye? Yes you will. Oh yes ye will!" Tickling at the slightly furry tummy of the Minotaur calf, it was surprising to see that the practically child-sized O'Dell was actually an easygoing hit with children, and obviously comfortable with them in the way that only children from large families tended to be in practice. "Briaar, look at her wee tiny hooves! They're adorable!"

At which point, the two-meter tall, nearly 200-kilogram Tellarite, generally grouchy and grumpy, essentially squealed like the pigs her race resembled as she held her three-fingered hands up next to her face and shook them with a massive smile.

"EEEE! Oh my GODS! She is SOOOOOOO CUTE!!!" Gavarus squeaked out, displaying behavior that even O'Dell hadn't quite seen as she kneeled down to her red-headed partner's level with a grunt and gently grabbed Minerva's dainty hooves with the tips of her pudgy fingers and wiggled them. "They're soooo cute, Fee! I'm gonna die, she's so cute!"

Minerva, utterly pleased to be the center of attention, graced Gravarus with a gentle headbutt, softly brushing horns against her cheek, while sticking her pudgy hands out to grasp solidly onto O’Dell’s fingers.

“She’s a bit of a prodigy at that,” Carrott said proudly. “Already supports her own head AND she can grasp objects. That’s unheard of for a one-week old!”

"Waaaaahl, she a Hera baby, aren't ye, wee Minerva! That means yuir born under a lucky star and special already, aye? Aye? And yuir a we bebeh Carrot too, so that means you'll be well loved and cherished, and you'll know all the best things in life, yes you will!" While she made baby talk, O'Dell was bouncing the wee minotaur unconcernedly on her bony hip, as the babe, squealing with delight, seemed to enjoy the attention from the animated mop of crimson curls and her porcine partner, even as Minerva moved to start eating O'Dell's hair.

And as the adorable infant started trying to chew on O'Dell's red locks, Gavarus continued playing with her tiny hooves. "N' you tell daddy that hoofies are a sign of incredible brilliance! Yes, you tell daddy you're gonna be super smart, yes you are."

Instead of communicating, Minerva opted to sneeze instead, getting an impressive amount of snot all over her face and the front of her onesie.

Without missing a beat, Amy was reaching over to clean her face with one hand while still holding her drink in the other. She managed to completely wipe down Minerva without dirtying O'Dell or breaking conversational stride with Mona.

John, ever amazed by his bride, whistled appreciatively and said to O'Dell and Gavarus, "She's amazing too. You would swear she had been raising kids her whole life instead of just taking parenting classes on the holodeck. Um, neither of us really know what we're doing here....but she is just somehow better at not knowing what she's doing than I am. At least I make her look good, right?"

“Aye, that ye do, Carrott… ach, I know that look, she’s makin manure. Briaar, get the diaper bag and clear a space over there, let’s get her a change, aye?” Moving with surprising speed and efficiency, the duo of perpetual troublemakers whom no one prior to this moment would suspect of having a single maternal bone in either of their bodies moved swiftly and efficiently to unclothe, un-diaper, clean and powder then rediaper the infant minotaur in less than a minute. Both moving in tandem, they were like a pit crew with a baby, made all the more surprising by their teamwork. As both were old hands at changing cousins and nephews and nieces, this was literally child’s play for them, old skills that were ingrained that were simple second nature to the odd couple from two very different worlds.

Hefting the freshly cleaned and refreshed infant, O’Dell offered her back to her mother as the wide-eyed babe reached for her mama. “Here ye go mum, clean and fresh as the morn.”

"Well, someone just volunteered for babysitter duty. Have you ever dealt with a flying baby before?" Mona couldn't help but chuckle lightly. She grew up in an orphanage so having to change a diaper or two and chasing down a rogue flyer was something she was used to growing up, but it was surprising seeing it from those two.

“Eh, that’s why me mum used to keep me on a bungee aboot the ankle, because I’d crawl away while diaperin’. Same principle, just applied to aerodynamics,” O’Dell replied without missing a beat. Clearly the concept of being threatened with babysitting didn’t faze the daredevil pilot in the least, as she was perfectly content in the company of babies. After all, they were joyous and innocent and easily plied with liquor.

"Yeah, no flying pigs on Tellar prime, but I'm the middle child of seven-frickin'-teen kids." Gavarus commented, cleaning up the diaper bag and repacking it all up. "And none of there were half as cute as little Minnie here. We got this sh... poopie... down."

"So..." Gavarus clapped her chubby, three-fingered hands together. "Who's ready for baby gifts?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you, ladies," Amy said in a mellifluous tone, patting John's hand absent-mindedly to ground him in the moment.

"Oh, right!" the red-headed man exclaimed. "Wow, ya'll are just great at this, you know? Wow. Fatherhood is so....busy!"

Minerva for her part continued to coo softly. One could be forgiven for thinking she occasionally looked at her father with a tiny touch of exasperation. After all, most people looked at Carrott that way on occasion.

“Alreet… Briaar, gimme a hand, aye?” O’Dell hustled over to the closet, and with the help of the engineer, they wrestled their gift out of the storage closet and out onto the floor, where they turned and parked it for display.

It was a sturdy rocking chair made of synthetic wood fiber particles, slats wide and thick, clearly built to last and painted to look like natural pine wood grain. “Tis a tradition in me family- a rockin’ chair to lull the wee ones to sleep, built to survive as many generations as need it. I explained what it’s supposed to be, then briar designed it, gave it reinforcement so’s it’d survive damn near innything, and we made it look folksy even though it’s really made of modern materials. Have a sit, try it oot, aye?”

“Oh that’s the thing,” Amy sighed as she sat down in the rocking chair. She began to rock back and forth smiling broadly.

“Oh, it’s just perfect, thank you each. So very much,” she said in her soft-spoken manner.

Happy to see a smile on his wives face, Carrott rushed to bring her some punch and snacks from the nearby food table. As he licked a bit of errant shmear off his pinkie finger his face brightened.

“Wow! This is great stuff too! Ya’ll really went all out! I can’t thank you enough. We….well, we were a bit surprised to have Minerva with us, and we can’t wait to meet our other kiddo, and to know we have this kind of support. Well, I’m not ashamed to say it makes me a bit misty.”

Actions suiting his words, Carrott’s eyes were a bit watery as he proffered refreshments to his bride who began eating them daintily.

About three bites into her sandwich, Amy’s eyes opened wide and her face went completely pale.

“Hun, you ok?” Carrott asked, instantly worried.

“Yes John, just the baby practicing kicking to match Minvera’s is all,” she said, leaning back into a placid position once more. "I am so thankful to each of you, truly. A home isn't a home without a gift from friends. Now our home can be complete. And I insist you each stop by and take a turn rocking with us."

Smiling, Gavarus remained much perkier in the presence of little Minerva as she cleared her throat. "Oh, the chair is just the beginning. We got more goodies. And this one is custom made for little Minnie's needs."

Pulling the tarp off of the pink, industrial-strength, custom-engineered crib, the pleased Porcine grinned broadly. "I know a thing or two about the damage hooves can do to cribs, and THIS puppy is as hoof-proof as possible."

For a brief moment Carrott stood there, mouth agape. He then ran to the crib as fast as he could, shaking the slats gently at first, then more roughly to confirm the slat would not give way. With a smile splitting his face from ear to ear he ran to pick up Minerva and gently placed her in her crib.

Minnie decided to voice her displeasure at being placed down by crying and kicking to beat any number of bands. John and Amy both braced for the inevitable crash that usually followed those kicks, but it never happened. The magical material just absorbed the blow and stood solid, unaffected by super-powered temper tantrums.

From where she sat rocking still, Amy laughed to herself for a brief moment before saying, “Well, that shortened his daily to-do list by 1 item at least. Goodness, Gavarus, someday you and I should have a conference on all the other hoof-related things I need to learn. I….I don’t even know how to trim them if needed, or what to do if she gets splinters, or how to groom her horns, or how to keep her fur neat…..I mean, is it going to grow long? Stay short? We don’t know, and it’s not like there are other Minotaur parents I can talk to….”

Amy had started off calm and happy, but her pregnancy hormones decided to take that moment to rage, sending the new mother into a bit of a crying jag. Her voice got more and more agitated and she listed off all the things she didn’t know how to do and all the reasons she would be a terrible parent. For anyone not familiar with the particular quirks of pregnancy it would seem to be a lightning-fast change, but John had seen it coming.

The young Ensign had made it to Amy’s seated position with Minerva in his arms before she got into her second refrain of “I’m going to be a terrible mother,” and placed the now-grumpy babe in her arms. Reaching into the bag on his back, Carrott took out a bottle and popped it in Minnie’s mouth.

“You aren’t a terrible mother, Amy. Look sweetie, she loves when you feed her. See how happy she is in your arms?” John cooed reassuringly, looking to his colleagues as it to convey to them ‘Danger! Danger! Say nice things to the crazy lady before she kills us all!’

Picking up the cue, Gavarus chuckled nervously. "Well, I got ya' covered on hoofie maintenance. It ain't that complicated. And horns, I think, are mostly the same stuff. But if I can keep these from getting too long, we can take care of her cute little horns no frickin' problem."

As the Porcine Ensign spoke, she stuck out her jaw, openly letting Amy see her somewhat groomed down lower tusks. Pieces of anatomy she was generally very uncomfortable letting anyone see, but she wanted to do what she could to help calm the both brand new and seriously expecting mom.

"And the chief knows all about feathers and sh… poopie…" Gavarus said, trying to edit her usual foul mouth. "So fur should be a snap."

“Everybody knows it takes a tribe ta raise a wee one, aye?” O’Dell chimed in, tickling the furry tummy of the babe. “So dinna ye think ye hafta know it all yuirself and be the end-all-be-all of Minotaur parenting. Nobody knows how to care for their own species babies right from the start, and somehow we all manage. Ye’ll do joost fine, and ye’ll have plenty of help. Isn’t that right, mah wee moo moo, aye? Aye? Why yes it is! Yes it is!”

"Yeah, we've got you covered, not that you'll need much help. You're an awesome mom already, judging by little Minnie," Mona added as she popped open the box with her gift for the parents, clipping a controller to the side of the new crib and giving it a quick calibration so that the wee little chibi starships floated out of the box themselves and started hovering above it in their little holding patterns. "I was trying to come up with a new tool storage system for my workbench and I figured it would work better as a mobile for kids. When she reaches for one of the nearly indestructible teething toys, it'll float down to her, then float back into orbit when she's done."

Sniffling softly, Amy wiped the errant tears from her face, “Th-th-thank you. I’m sorry to be such a mess. Everything just happened so fast, and I still feel like an idiot little girl pretending to be a Mom. And these blasted mood changes do not help.”

For Amy, language that strong was like anyone else using every curse word they knew.

“And thank you, Mona. Goodness knows we are doing our best. This is a brilliant idea! Honestly, you should share this idea, you will be famous. I can’t wait to see them in action. How do I set up their set point? Better show me, goodness knows John won’t figure it out.”

"There are just three main settings on the controller, so it should be super simple." Mona pulled the controller off the crib, leaving the little starships to continue their orbit over the crib so she could show Amy. "The first set is the size of the crib and distance above it. The second set is the number of ships, orbit pattern, speed, and diameter. The last set is for the level of interaction. How long they stay in the crib after release, how quickly one will dip down when reached for, etc..."

"If there are any tweaks or anything, just let me know for the second one," Mona added with a wink.

With a tinkling laugh, Amy gladly accepted the toys and began tinkering with the controls.

Having decided lunch was only a limited-time engagement, Minverva spat out the nipple on her bottle and started making grabby hands at John, who reached down and picked her up and began walking her back and forth, lightly rubbing her back to burp her.

“John, dear, remember the burp cl-“

The warning was too late. Minerva was already spewing up a noxious fluid that could only loosly be seen to resemble the formula it had once been. Feeling the unfortunate warmth on his shoulder, John suppressed a shudder and began floundering with one hand in his bag, his other hand still holding Minerva firmly.

After a brief struggle he pulled out a burp cloth and set about trying to clean up his shoulder. Face as red as his hair Carrott said, “Well honey, at least you remember to not get thrown up on. That’s what Dad’s are for though, right? Getting thrown up on and getting in the way.”

Putting on a comically exaggerated face of dismissiveness, Gavarus scoffed. "Yeah, and this Dad is also on the ships Medical team. So little Minnie's got a live-in Doctor for all her upset tummies and shit." Then catching the curse, gritted her teeth slightly.

"Shit! Uh... Sorry." Then she leaned in and started playing with Minerva's tiny hooves again. "You didn't hear that, did you, Minnie? No, you didn't hear Auntie Briaar cursing like a space pirate, no you didn't. OOOCHIE GOOCHIE! I got your hoofies! Yes, I do."

In the nature of babies, Minerva quickly got over being sick and went back to being happy, giggling the grasping at Briar’s nose and happily putting anything she could get her hands on in her mouth.

Seeing all was taken care of the now-disheveled Carrott sat down in a nearby chair. “Whew. If one of them is this exhausting, I don’t know how we are going to do two……”

With a pinched facial expression, Amy rolled her eyes and elected to not respond, instead slightly bending over, holding her stomach and visibly having a hard time catching her breath.

Seeing all was taken care of the now-disheveled Carrott sat down in a nearby chair. “Whew. If one of them is this exhausting, I don’t know how we are going to do two……”

With a pinched facial expression, Amy rolled her eyes and elected to not respond, instead slightly bending over, holding her stomach and visibly having a hard time catching her breath.

“Whist! S’a contraction? S’a wee one tryin’ ta make an entrance? Indigestion? Lean back, aye? Breathe, Carrott…” In the moment, O’Dell couldn’t recall Amy’s first name, but she’d seen enough pregnant women go into labor to recognize that look on her face. Shooting a rather pointed expression at the husband, the Mariposian midget of mayhem took the mother to be’s hand in both of her own and patted it reassuringly, her face a placid mask of a smile. “Aaaaata girl, joost lie back a bit and have a good deep breathe now, aye?”

Without missing a cue, Gavarus reached into the baby bag, grabbed a towel, snapped it over her shoulder, then held her hands out mimicking Minerva's grabby hands. "Okay, Daddy Carrot. Gimme."

In a mild panic, John handed little Minerva to 'Auntie Briaar' as he rushed over to attend to his wife, who was clearly going into labor right there in Ten-Forward.

After a few frantic moments, Mona took charge and led the Carrots away to Sickbay to deliver their newest addition, leaving baby Minnie in the unexpectedly capable hands of Fiona O'Dell and Briaar Gavarus.

Holding up the gurgling baby Minotaur, Gavarus blew raspberries with her Porcine snout on Minerva's fuzzy belly, eliciting a string of infectious giggles. "Who's the cutest Frickin' baby ever? Minnie is! Yes, you frickin' are!"

Bouncing the happy, laughing fuzzball on her prodigious hip, Gavarus looked down at her pint-sized partner. "Shit. I just realized something, Fee... Everyone's gonna ask us to do this all the time now, aren't they?"

Finishing the sip of beer she was working on, O'Dell handed it up to Gavarus as she took the horned and hooved babe from her partner in crime and set the infant on her lap, bouncing the happy toddler who was a good third her own size on her lap. "Nahhhh. We drink way too much to be considered responsible parents or babysitters. This'll pass..."

"What is your name?"

The voice came from the darkness. The man sitting in a simple metal chair in the center under a bright, single light couldn't tell where it was coming from. But it was familiar. He simply couldn't place it.

It was a woman's voice. But deep and raspy. An older woman, speaking the man's native tongue. The voice spoke Rihan, the native tongue of the Romulan Star Empire. The man knew the voice, but couldn't place it.

"Where... where am I? What am I doing here?" The man asked, feebly. His voice was weak and pained. He had forgotten how long he had been there, but he knew that it was a long time and the voice was the first time anyone had said anything to him in the many long hours he must've been there. "I... I have done no wrong. I'm... I'm simply a merchant. A loyal servant of the empire."

The room was small. He knew that much. He was unrestrained and had spent much time feeling his way around the plain, blank, cold walls. He couldn't see the source of the light above him, but he knew it was bright and hot. He had been in the room for a long time.

"WHO is a loyal servant of the Empire? What is your name? The voice echoed.

Standing up, the man wobbled on weak legs as he looked around. He was disheveled and unkempt. A tall, fat Romulan man. Long, ratty grayish black hair framed a puffy, bearded face. It was the face of a weary man. "I am... I am Garan tr'Un. I am a spice merchant from..."

"NO!" The voice bellowed from the darkness. "That is who you were TOLD to be. What is your real name?"

There was a look of confusion on the weak man's face as she struggled to think. "That... that is my real name... I am Ga... Ga... Garan..."

As he spoke, a screen appeared in the air in front of him. A holographic projection of some sort with an image of a Romulan man on it. A younger, trimmer man. Clean cut with a stark, military pointed-bang haircut and wearing the uniform of a Riov. A Romulan commander. The image was life-sized and he leaned in tight to the image of the man's eyes, staring at them for a long moment before feeling a wave of panic strike him. The panic of recognition. Of the thing that he only knew was forbidden: remembering.

"WHO ARE YOU?" The voice boomed again.

The man shuddered as he stared into the image of the eyes of the younger, thinned officer. That handsome man he recognized and didn't want to. As he struggled to think, his mind felt as if it was clamping down. The most basic of thoughts seemed to fight him as he began to twitch and a stream of warm urine flowed down his legs to pool on the floor at his foot.

Falling back into the chair, the man squeaked out an answer. His voice was small, not unlike a child's now. "Dr... Dralath... My name is... Dralath tr'Rul?"

"Yes. That is who you are. Why are you here?" The voice asked, with a much calmer tone.

Meekly, Dralath whispered an answer. "I… I don't… I don't know."

"Louder." The voice replied flatly.

"I… don't know. I don't!" Dralath called out plaintiffly, his voice cracking.

There was a long moment of silence, then the image on the screen changed. It was now an image of a room.

In this room were dozens of people. All kinds of people crammed into the space that looked like the cargo hold of a freighter. In the middle of the room was a podium with several items on it that appeared to be weapons. Romulan weapons.

"Do you recognize anyone in this image?" the voice asked, almost gently now. "Look hard."

After what felt like a solid minute, Dralath shook his head weakly. "N… no… no."

The screen zoomed in on a fat, disheveled, drunken Romulan in the corner. "You didn't do as I said. You didn't pay attention. That's you, isn't it?"

Looking afraid, Dralath began to shake in his seat, his hands clutching the sides. "I… I don't… I don't know. I can't remember. It's… it hurts to try and remember."

As he spoke, a trickle of green blood leaked out of his nose, but he didn't notice it.

"I know. But I want you to try and remember anyway. What about these people? Do you recognize them?"

As the voice spoke, the image shifted focus to a trio of women near the center. The tallest of the three was a black-haired Trill woman dressed in blue and white finery. She looked like royalty. At her side was a silver-haired woman in a blue military coat wearing an eye patch.

And behind them both was a shorter woman. With a bun of messy red hair and bangs. Her ears were rounded and her skin a pale peachy color. She wore a weathered dark brown leather jacket and looked nervous. As Dralath tried to focus on the image, his eyes seemed to cross and more blood dripped from his nose.

There was a strong ringing in his ears now as he winced in pain. As he did, the voice all but whispered. "Yessss… who is she?"

Suddenly, his head began to throb, feeling as if it were set to burst open. Dralath crumpled to his knees, blood trickling from his ears now as he struggled to remember, his eyes still on the redhead on the screen.

"You don't remember her?" The voice almost cooed, a gravely, ugly sound. "Look harder. Nothing of her looks... familiar to you?"

On his knees, in the puddle of his own waste, he clutched the sides of his head as he struggled to focus on the image. The screen zoomed in on the girl's face. She looked young, but she was a woman. She had freckles and an upturned, slightly bulbous nose. But it was in her deep, brown eyes that something clicked in his mind. Something familiar that he didn't want to remember. Something painful to remember.

"Tell me who she is and the pain will stop." The voice said flatly, all hints of passion gone. "Tell me her name and you can rest."

"I... I don't... I can't... It HURTSSSSS!!" He shouted back, tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. "P... please don't make me remember!" He was in agony as his skin flushed green.

"P... Please, Mother. Please make the pain..." But as he whispered out a final plea, he was cut off with a hoarse roar.

"I HAVE NO SON!!!!"

At the sound, Dralath curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing in agony as his head continued to throb. As he did, the screen turned off and for a moment, there was only the sound of pained weeping.

Then, the voice came again. Deep and raspy, it hissed in a whisper. "I have no son. A son would have never hidden the truth from me as you once did years ago. But I know now. I have no son... but I have a granddaughter and I know where she is. She and her traitor mother. Faces you can never see without suffering. Names you can never think of without agony. That is my final gift to you for betraying me."

"Remember her, Dralath. Her name is Mnhei'sahe. And she will honor me as you never did."

As the voice spoke the name, Dralath tr'Rul screamed in agony. His mind broken and rebroken... conditioned and reprogrammed to leave him nothing but pain for the rest of his days so long as he remembered.

And she would make him remember until he died.

As such things usually tended to come to pass, it began when Rita Paris got an idea in her head.

Scanning the files as she entered the spacious apartment that was laughably referred to as ‘quarters’ in the modern era, the old-school officer was pleased to find her husband had arrived home before her, his shift completed and apparently no experiments requiring his personal attention at the moment. Left to his own devices, her studious scientist tended to work rather constantly. Should she request time with him or for him to be ‘home’ at a certain hour, he always obliged her within the confines of his duties. Finding him off shift and in quarters before her was a pleasant surprise for her, which of course lit up her face in the warmest of her warm smiles.

In the many varied expressions that graced the face of the pretty young woman, there was one smile that was reserved only for him... a subtlety of expression that only he was observant enough to perceive the difference of between the myriad of cheerful expressions she shared with those around her. Yet it was one that consistently came to her, which was offered only to the kolinahr who held her heart.

Some would say that a human woman could not possibly be happy with a Vulcan male, as extremes of logic and emotion could not successfully mix. But in Rita's experience, nothing could be further from the truth. She found him attentive, always willing to compromise, caring, protective and tender, while still respecting her capabilities and skills. Never motivated by pride, wrath, or greed, he respected logic but allowed for intuitive leaps and motivations beyond logic as well. While she had learned to present her ideas in a logical structure, he had embraced her human 'hunches' and 'gut feelings'. Her t'hy'la entrusted her to plot their course, in both their relationship and in life overall; that responsibility she had gladly accepted, and had always done her best to steer them both truly.

It had led them to another universe; a reality similar, yet far, far beyond their own. It had led them to the very end of their own universe, brought about by their own actions, in order to save this one; which was, it had turned out, the prime timeline. It had led them to the Hera, and into the far flung future of their own age. It had led them to wed, and to bond on more levels than most could even conceive. It had led to growth, change and a love far greater than either of them had ever imagined possible.

Now Rita Paris had an idea, and it was time for her to lay in a course.

Approaching the kolinahr, who was no longer the last, she extended her index and middle fingers toward him, in the traditional Vulcan manner. While she sought his embrace more often than not, and he was always willing to engage her, she found a delight in observing the rituals and traditions of his people. Once it had been in an effort to keep those traditions alive for him, as his world was no more and his people were endangered, his culture a lore that threatened to be forgotten. Now it was merely because they freely shared their cultures with one another, and it pleased her to blend their cultures together as too they blended their lives.

“Greetings, he who is my husband,” she offered in the style of his own oft-used greeting, although hers was offered with a smile. “I have an idea that I wish to share with you, which may result in a plan of action…”

''She who is my wife has a habit of doing that,'' he greeted her in return. It was delivered in his trademark deadpan tone, and yet the dry humor of it was unmistakable; the clear clue that the bonding of a Human female with a totally emotionless Kolinahr master was most certainly leaving a mark upon him.

Of this he was quite conscious. And as always he found this most... intriguing; one of the many things his relationship with Rita Paris brought to his personal growth as a sentient living being. Logically, that would in turn allow him to better contribute to the woman's own fulfillment. So far, all data pointed to this mutual benefit of their union. As a scientist and a husband, Sonak found this most gratifying.

Another consequence of their bonding was that his original psionic faculties seemed to be slowly making a return. They had once been far beyond those of normal Vulcans, particularly those of this universe; but they had been greatly diminished when he had arrived in the Prime universe. At least with Rita, he could now exert his telepathy again at a distance- without the need for physical contact. It was that revival of his mental powers, as modest as it was, coming into play at this very moment.

''You are thinking about Vulcan.''

That brilliant smile grew a bit wider. "I am indeed thinking about Vulcan."

Taking his fingers with her own, she gently led him to the couch. He could hear her thoughts and knew her mind, of course. But she often preferred to form her sentences and choose her words, as she was working out her thoughts and emotions by speaking them aloud, forcing her to order her thoughts and examine them as she shared them. It was not a terrifically logical process, admittedly. But he always preferred for her to communicate at her own speed, in her own time, and in the manner of her choosing. Which she appreciated considerably.

In point of fact, Sonak more than indulged in it; he found it most vitally important. Putting thoughts into word and expressing them made thoughts more than just data; it made them personal. Alive, in the way that literature made a simple accounting of facts an experience rivaling the actual living of an event. Be it diction or not, it made the entire transmission of thoughts a wellspring source for new thoughts, thus enriching both the minds sharing it.

There had been no more enriching experiences for Sonak than those shared with his wife. So he welcomed her putting her thoughts into words, and answering in the same manner.

"All those years ago when we met, your home was no more than memories in your mind. Memories you've shown me, which gave me some idea of your lost world. But here, in this universe... it's still there. It's real. I want to hear the chants of the Monks of T'Panit. I want to see Vulcan's Forge, and the L-langon Mountains. I want to see Vulcan High Command, even just from the outside. I want to swim the Voroth Sea, and explore the Osana Caverns. I want to see where you were born, to explore it, and see it with my own eyes... beside you."

''After our own experience with the Talosians and their illusions, perfectly rivaling reality, you and I both know more than most the difference... and it's importance.'' Sonak intoned gravely.

Interlacing their fingers together, she looked deeply into his steel-grey eyes. "We are of two worlds, two cultures. When you were alone amongst the stars, I taught you my culture, and showed you my home, to make it your own. Because of the amazing, unreal lives we've led... here, your home still exists, and has been thriving for all this time. The elder statesmen of the Federation, the greatest scientists and logicians in the galaxy, with millennia of history and traditions."

''It is indeed most gratifying to know that the entire uniqueness of my people does not rest upon the shoulders of a few thousands displaced from their destroyed place of origin,'' Sonak conceded. ''I must admit, I experienced a certain sense of... gratification, when I found myself back upon my homeworld, in my travels voyaging here to find you.''

"I've asked the Captain for a few weeks of leave, and she's agreed, universe willing, as she put it. So please, Sonak... take me to Vulcan?"

Sonak's eyebrow upraised slightly.

''Vulcan is hardly what you Humans would consider a... vacation spot. The gravity is greater, the heat and dryness constant, the air quite thin, forests sparse and oceans small... not even a moon to light it’s dark, cold nights. And the inhabitants are much like their planet; hard, dry, sparse of words and feelings, frugal and distant, rather... unwelcoming by Human standards; much like the planet itself. I understand your curiosity and your interest; but I am afraid you, like most other sentient species who visit Vulcan would find the experience rather... underwhelming, if not disappointing.''

"I want to feel the heavy gravity. I want to smell the dry, dusty air. I want to see all of these places and things, and the millions of logical people who live there. I know they are not particularly welcoming of outsiders, and that's fine- it is their planet, their culture, their ways. I'm just an explorer, so that's a part of the experience, and one I welcome. I know I'll struggle in the thin air and the lack of humidity and lower oxygen content, and I want to experience all of that." Her gaze softening, Rita held their interlaced hands up to her cheek, pressing the backs of his fingers to her face.

"We're going to have children, you and I. Those children will be of two worlds, and I am determined that whatever paths they choose in life, they will know both worlds equally. So if someday in the future we'll be taking summer vacations on Vulcan with the kids, then Mom had better get a headstart on knowing what to expect, hm?" Having explained her logic, Rita beamed that smile at her logical lover, that smile filled with hope and optimism for a bright future, together, here at the close of the twenty-fourth century.

Sonak bowed to the simple yet effective logic of her argument.

''Regular tri-ox compound injections would supplement your system to compensate for the thinner air and relieve some fatigue from the strain of gravity. Actual water showers taken daily, not sonic ones, would also alleviate the effects of heat and dryness. As for our children, they would benefit from their paternal heritage and feel quite comfortable; all known half-Vulcans never experience difficulty living on Vulcan, even when away for extended periods of time. But yes, it would be good for them to have their mother also more at ease on their father's planet. I recall that both Human wives of the legendary Sarek acclimated themselves well after enough time planetside.''

He nodded to her.

"So, Vulcan it will be.''





The shipboard life of Ensign Vril Tilly was not terribly exciting, but for his first assignment, he rather liked it that way. Working in the Science department of the USS Armstrong was surprisingly fun, and challenging. He was getting the hang of being part of a team and a crew, and making friends both in and out of his department on the enormous Sovereign-class starship. Working on his latest experiments trying to determine relative strengths of covalent bonds between dark matter molecules, he was surprised to see that he was receiving an incoming transmission at his workstation, displaying the UFP symbol as the thumbnail.

Frowning, he tapped at it to accept the transmission, and onscreen an officer in gold, but not an actual uniform, looked up at him, bright blue eyes and a brilliant smile that brought back to mind just exactly who she was. Commander Rita Paris, the chrononaut who got hauled away by the DTI when he had been her tourguide as a cadet at the Academy serving tour duty at Starfleet Command. The selfsame agency who had questioned him incessantly afterward, despite all of the scans of the two of them that had been secured. Seeing her actually brought a smile to his face, because he had wondered if they had dumped her back in the timestream where she belonged. Getting a transmission from her definitely proved she was still very much alive and kicking it in the 90's.

"Ensign Tilly! It's good to see you again! Congratulations on the exciting posting. I hear starship duty on one of those big beauties is quite a prize for a fresh young officer. You must have truly excelled at the Academy in that last semester," Paris offered sweetly.

As a condition of his silence on the matter, Paris had insisted that he be given the highest marks for his final semester and that he be guaranteed a ship of the line posting. He may not have stood bravely by her, but he'd served his duty that day and found his courage. Thus the old-school officer had seen to it that he had been rewarded. The Armstrong mostly made supply runs, but Vril was just content learning to serve on a massive city moving at warp anything it wanted. Which Paris had just gently and subtly reminded him that said career was owed to one out-of-date officer.

"Yes ma'am. I had a few special research projects that were really well-received. But thank you for noticing." As he nodded to the senior officer onscreen, in his own way he thanked her, and she nodded with satisfaction. Tilly had learned to speak the unspoken language of honor amongst officers, and as the one who'd taught him, Rita Paris was rather pleased.

"Ensign, I'm calling because I've got a window of time and a problem. I was wondering if you might be able to go talk to your captain and ask him if my chief science officer and I might catch a ride to Vulcan at, oh, warp 9.5 or so. We've only got a few days, and it's kind of important to us. Not official business, just a courtesy for a few fellow Starfleet officers and our retinue. Now, it would be remiss of me to ask you to do such a favor without something to make you risk approaching Captain Butterfield," Paris made it to the thought that was racing through the young officer's mind as she cannily laid the situation out for him.

Stepping back from the sensor, Paris flicked her wrists, and a phaser rifle appeared in one hand as a large firearm appeared in the other. They did not beam into her hands, they merely... appeared.

"I'm willing to let the Science department of the Armstrong study stable extradimensional space generators, to see if your people can do something with them that ours haven't managed yet. I'm transmitting our findings thus far, so you can familiarize yourself with the materials before you request the chance to brief the Captain. I'd invite the department head as well as your section chief, and apologize to all involved for breaching chain of command, but explain that it was my request, as I'm calling on the one officer I know in the fleet."

It seemed like an exaggeration, but insofar as regular Starfleet personnel went, while she'd seen plenty of them, the once well-connected Rita Paris knew no one in the fleet anymore. All of her most long-lived classmates children were starting to die off now, and none of them know the flashy gal from way back when. After all, while most of them had counterparts in this reality, the Rita Paris they knew had died in a transporter accident in 2259. Once she’d had the ear of commanders, captains, admirals and ambassadors as her father had plied his political gains, and Rita had networked, being pretty and charming and memorable. All of those men were dead, their families were dead, and time had taken it's toll as it must.

Thus, Rita had begun building anew, with a new generation of voyagers. Namely, one Ensign Vril Tilly. "I'd appreciate it if you could get back to me within 3 hours with a status update, Ensign." Setting expectations, the Commander lived up to the title, laying out the 'little favor' she was asking as basically an order. But from what he was gathering from the data she was offering, he began to understand... she came to him for a favor, true. But she came with an abundant payment for it in hand, up front.

Clearly, this too was another lesson in command, he realized. Smiling at the sensor, the scientist smiled, nodded and said with confidence, "Yes ma'am. I'll keep you posted."

"I've arranged for passage to Vulcan, darling. We should arrive in about six days, give or take, which will give us eight days planetside. Not exactly an extended stay, but enough time to see the sights for the illogical tourist, I would image?" Rita called into the bedroom where Sonak was packing, which for the most part involved making a requisition list of the replicators.

''Efficient as always, my wife,'' he acknowledged her. ''Although I am a perplexed as to you are asking to requisition the USS Armstrong. Sovereign class starships are capital ships, and the most powerful and advanced battleships ever commissioned by Starfleet. Their maintenance is onerous, their crews the best in the quadrant and their duties most critical for the security of the Federation. Diverting one for what amounts to personal business of a pair of officers is doubtful. It could cause significant disruption in fleet operations, up to dire consequences in case of any sudden, unforeseen emergency. I estimate the chances of success in this attempt at five point three percent... unless random probabilities are in our favor and it so happens the Armstrong will be crossing our own position while en route to Vulcan already.''

"Ah hah hah, my husband," the voluptuous Federation vixen tapped up the report and handed over the PaDD in her hand. "A Vulcan science colony in the Trill system is studying a naturally occurring font of highly elevated levels of neutrinos. They hypothesize that it may be indicative of the formation of a stable wormhole, as such phenomenon were also commonly detected prior to the appearance of the Bajoran wormhole's event horizon. Also as such elevated levels were often observed prior to a vessel traversing said passage. This particular experiment is building a transceiver on this side of the potential wormhole to better study and perhaps clarify it."

"The USS Armstrong is already leapfrogging between here, Starbase 73, and Vulcan at high warp. They have been making this run back and forth for a few weeks now, running massive numbers of scientists and equipment, building a very impressive station out there they are calling 'Project Krani'. Which means... window?" She glanced up to note his acknowledgment of her translation, then pressed on.

"Since the Armstrong's mission aligned with our needs, was partly why I asked now. The stars, such as they are, have aligned in our favor. I am merely taking advantage of it, because we're 41 light years or so from Vulcan. So to look out for a protégé, to spend a few days on one of those big modern cities in space, I gave a request of give and take. The bracelets and their ability to access with precision through an act of will an extradimensional space are classified materials. But the Armstrong's science team has some amazing scientists as well, it would seem. So let's let them take a crack at it, because I suspect they'll welcome it."

"It's part of the vacation, my love," Rita wound down, draping her hands across the shoulders of her handsome hero. Peering into his eyes, a light smile adorned her lips. "The Hera is a marvel, and I love her dearly. And I've gotten to know her pretty well, I think. But I'd like to do some sightseeing on another ship of the line, hm? Since Starfleet's mission aligns with our own in this instance. I believe Captain Butterfield will see the wisdom of my proposal, respect my timing, and they will be..."



"Happy to have your party onboard, Commander. Fascinating stuff, really. We'll see you at the rendezvous point." Captain Butterfield, a handsome fellow in the Kirk mold who was a blonde who looked good in red, nodded and ended the transmission.

"So, ah, one more wrinkle, Sonak." The call had come quickly and enthusiastically, and they were nearly on their way when the buxom blonde introduced a new element to their pending sojurn. “I... would love for this to be a romantic getaway to your dry and sparse homeworld. But I think it's kind of important... Az'Prel. Nero destroyed her homeworld too, in the mirror of our own universe. And all she ever knew was a Vulcan that was subjugated by the Terrans. She's never seen a thriving civilization of Vulcan people who never lost their heritage, nor all the compounded wisdom and data of the centuries."

"The Prophets entrusted her to me. I think this is one of those moments in life why they made that choice. Because she is the orphan of a world that never was, and she has no idea what that world truly is... literally in this case. All she knows of Vulcan is what she's read since she's been here. I think if we're going, it's important," Rita set her forehead against that of Sonak. "It's the right thing to do. We have to take her home, to show her the real Vulcan, too. The dream of what her civilization could have been, achieved by her thriving and very much alive people."

''A logical approach, if we are sincere in our efforts to help her integrate into her new life in this new universe,'' he admitted. ''There is also a high probability that her presence will enhance the experience for the both of us.''

"Ever the pragmatist, my t'hy'la. I suppose, having concocted this plan somewhat on the fly, I should speak to her about it..." Rita admitted, tapping her badge to summon the cosmic refugee entrusted to her care.



"That’s the long and short of it, Miss Az'Prel. So... would you like to go?" Rita and Sonak had summarized the situation for the Vulcan woman, there in their quarters as they packed to depart.

The Vulcan freedom fighter turned extradimensional refugee had responded to the summons with all due haste and thought on the offer. On one hand, she had desire within her to see a Vulcan ruled by logic rather than passion. On the other, she had responsibilities onboard the Hera now, though the odds of a mission coming up in the next few weeks seemed slim at the moment. "I believe that if I do not take this chance, it may not come again for many years. With my desire to visit the Vulcan of this universe and see it with my own eyes, it would be logical to accept this pilgrimage that you have offered, would it not?"

'' The past is already fixed, and the future is always in question,'' Sonak admitted; ''we can only act in the present.''

"Indeed. To not act when one is able is the height of folly. One must seize the opportunities one is given." With a respectful nod, the Vulcan woman made her decision. "I will accept your offer. When do we depart?"

“Within the hour. Pack up what you’ll be needing and we’ll meet you on the flight deck at 20:00 hours,” Rita explained, offering a smile to the Vulcan refugee. “Let’s take you home, Miss Az’Prel.” Tapping her comm badge, the old-fashioned Starfleet delta of her own era rather than the modern insignia, Paris spoke with some authority.

“Miss Dox, Lieutenant Sonak Miss Az’Prel and I find ourselves in need of a fast ship to rendezvous with a faster one, and I know you would be upset if I didn’t bring a personal request for a shuttle ride to you personally…” While she was teasing slightly, there was still the fact that she was quite correct. Lieutenant Dox would indeed be upset if the first officer were leaving the ship, and she were not at the very least consulted, if not piloting the mission itself. Dox took the safety of the crew quite seriously, and particularly that of the senior staff. She’d be more than a bit offended if Rita needed a ride and didn’t ask her, so Paris made sure to take note and offer a nod to the flight chief’s sincere devotion to duty.

From her office on the Hera's main flight deck, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox smiled as she received the call. "A wise assumption, Commander. Hold on one moment..."

Quickly, the young Flight Chief looked over the manifests and flight plans on the daily schedule to confirm what she already had committed to memory. A few seconds later, she tapped her badge and replied. "Commander Paris, the Runabout Thor is fueled and available at your discretion. And I can be available immediately."

“19:50 on the flight deck will be fine, Lieutenant, and thank you…”

Gathered on the flight deck, the sparse luggage of the pilgrims was collected and packed onboard the runabout. Bound for a world that in the reality from which they had come was no more than a lost legend of the galaxy, the trip passed, as they tended to do. Rita made small talk with Dox while the Vulcans occasionally added a comment of insight or dry wit to the conversation, and the hours passed easily. Once arrived at the rendezvous point, all was quiet for the better part of an hour, until the USS Armstrong dropped out of warp nearby, and slid into position near the Thor.

“Runabout Thor, we have your authorizations. We are ready to receive your passengers in Transporter Room 6,” came the voice of the Armstrong’s ops officer.

From the helm, the red-headed Romulan pilot took a second to take in the sight of the impressive Sovereign Class Starship. Looking over the 680-meter long behemoth designed as a warship, it raised a cricked eyebrow. When she was still in the academy, Dox had dreamed of helming a Sovereign Class Starship. They were powerful and fast and sleek, but when she had put time in on flight sims, she found the excessively, almost phallically long nacelles and overall profile were absolute shit for maneuverability. Essentially, style over substance as far as the skilled pilot mused to herself, and when she thought of her home on the Hera, she scoffed aloud ever so slightly.

After the brief moment of reflection had passed, Dox hit the comm button to reply. "Negative, Armstrong. Requesting clearance to temporarily land for drop off on the flight deck, please. Over."

Aside from the steely-eyed Vulcan at her side, few people were as acutely aware of Rita Paris' issues with transporters as her chosen sister, Mnhei'sahe Dox. And for Dox, transporters were last resorts for absolute emergency only when it came to Rita Paris, as she'd seen some of what the comely commander went through during a transport, and she was determined to prevent that from happening whenever possible.

Sonak leaned towards Dox.

''Excellent reasoning, Lieutenant. Your concern is most appreciated.''

There was a pause on the other end, before authorization came through. “All right, Runabout Thor. Please bring her into shuttlebay two and power down on arrival.” It was not unusual for a rendezvous with a shuttle to occur for one of the premiere ships of the line, but refusing to transport was a warning sign. Thus the runabout was directed to a smaller bay than the main flight deck, and there was a reasonable certainty that they would be met by armed Security personnel, and scanned quite thoroughly before they landed.

Sonak turned towards his wife.

''Commander, I suggest we transmit or identification and Starfleet records with highlights on the relevant notes regarding our experiences with transporter malfunctions. This should help ease their apprehension about our uncharacteristic boarding request.''

“Your logic is, as always, unassailable, Mister Sonak,” Paris ceded easily. “But they have our Starfleet service jackets as well as Miss Az’Prel’s Starfleet file, so they have a very good idea of just whom they have coming aboard right now.”

“This is them being cautious- we are Starfleet Intelligence officers, which immediately makes us suspect. There are entire swaths of our service jackets that are classified, that Captain Butterfield and perhaps a few of his senior officers will have clearance to read. By virtue of being Intel and traveling with a civilian asset, we are immediately suspect. Requesting a landing is reasonable given that it’s me, but it could just as easily be a ploy to smuggle something anti-matter powered onboard to get it inside the shields. The Armstrong is being cautious, and I applaud them for it- if they were incautious I’d be more worried.”

''A correct assessment, Commander,'' the Vulcan agreed.

As they slipped through the forcefield and into the small shuttle bay, there was indeed a full security and science team, scanning and standing by. Which certainly lent credence to the Commander’s line of logic as to how they were being received.

"Aye, Armstrong. Beginning our landing sequence now." Dox replied plainly as she punched in the appropriate instructions to the helm as the mighty Runabout began to move once again.

As instructed, Dox brought the smaller craft to rest and powered her down for inspection. After a moment, the assembled crew from the Hera made their way to the Runabout's exit hatch as it slowly hissed open. At the exit on the flight deck, there was a full detachment of security personnel and a science crew already working to scan the Thor from the exterior.

At the center of the two groups was a tall, austere-looking, auburn-furred Caitian woman wearing Command Crimson, with her hands folded behind her back and her lithe tail swaying behind her slowly, the only motion one could detect aside from her fairly large, golden eyes which scanned the group standing at the ramp.

"Welcome to the U.S.S. Armstrong. I am Commander Mel'lia, the Armstrong’s Executive Officer." The stern Caitian said with the hint of a British accent from Earth and absolutely nothing in her tone that, at the moment, seemed very welcoming as she waited to take the measure of their visitors.

“Commander Rita Paris, requesting permission to come aboard,” Paris expressed as she drew herself up in a stiff and formally crisp salute.

Naval tradition indicated you saluted the officer on deck, then saluted the ensign, or flag. Since that had been done away with in Starfleet, you simply saluted the officer on deck, regardless of comparative ranks, to show respect and deference in coming aboard. Being old-school Starfleet, Rita understood this implicitly, and was actually quite the fan of the old traditions. “This is Lieutenant Sonak and Miss Az’Prel, all members of the crew of the USS Hera, as well as Lieutenant Dox, who is remaining at the controls with her hands in plain sight so as not to unduly alarm Security.”

The anachronistically-uniformed officer herself was unarmed, her hands were empty and she had made every effort to appear non-threatening and professional.

"A salute? Well, I haven't seen one of those in... come to think of it, I don't believe I ever have seen one performed. Still, here's to maritime tradition." The Feline Commander shot back an equally crisp salute as she spoke.

"Permission granted, Commander Paris, for you and yours. I trust you have no objections to our scanning and searching your transport and pilot as per regulations. Considering your extensively... opaque, if intriguing, service record, I trust you appreciate our comparably mild concerns?" Commander Mel'lia commented dryly with the hint of a raised brow as her hands returned to their prior position folded behind her back.

“I would be highly concerned if you took us at face value, Commander,” the anachronistic astronaut replied with a polite nod, followed by a broad sweeping gesture of her arm to the interior of the heavily armed runabout. As she did so, a bronze bracer that was very clearly not part of the standard uniform- not that anything about the woman was standard- peeked out from beneath her sleeve. “By all means, please allow your security staff to satisfy their professional concerns and the command’s requirements, as well as Starfleet regulation. In the meanwhile, we will be more than happy to wait patiently for as long as it takes for that to come to pass. We are imposing upon the command for a favor- the very least we can do is be accommodating guests.”

In an instant, the curt demeanor of the Caitian Commander turned on the proverbial dime as if a switch had been flipped, and her tone became positive and inviting. "EXcellent, Commander Paris. Absolutely fabulous."

With a light clap from their Commander, the security and scanning crews of the Armstrong leapt to action, beginning an extensive search of the Runabout, inside and out. Dox smiled lightly as she stepped back from her seat at the helm on orders to be scanned and let them work, nodding to Rita from the cockpit window.

"And it's hardly an imposition to our science department, who has been all but salivating like dogs for a look at those fashion accoutrements of yours." Mel'ila gestured with her eyes to the bracers that had become momentarily visible on Rita's forearms.

“Well, quid pro quo, Commander,” Paris offered with a smile, keeping her movements minimal and her hands in plain sight. Just because the first officer’s demeanor was relaxed, that too was a tactic, and 3while Rita would meet her warmth, she still had no doubt they could all be stunned in the brig inside twenty seconds if things went south with this discussion..

“While you may be going our way, the least we can do is make it worth your while. As Mister Sonak pointed out, Sovereign-class starships are capital ships, and the most powerful and advanced battleships ever commissioned by Starfleet. Their maintenance is onerous, their crews the best in the quadrant and their duties most critical for the security of the Federation. Diverting one for what amounts to personal business of a pair of officers is a dubious prospect at best. It could easily cause significant disruption in fleet operations… and as I was sent the request through unusual channels, then the offer had best be worth the trouble.” Acknowledging all of the facts laid out would likely also tend to alleviate concerns- after all, a fresh from the Academy ensign was not how most line officers communicated such requests to other line officers. But it was already abundantly clear that the old-fashioned officer who traveled with two Vulcans and a redheaded Romulan was anything but typical. “So with all that said, we’ll do our best to be no trouble, and worth the diversion.”

"Well, as the old saying goes, we happened to be going your way, so all is well." The Caitian Commander replied, as she lifted a single finger and swirled it in the air above her head. As she did, the security and science department heads gave her simple nods.

"And I must say, the collective egos of the Armstrong and her crew have rarely been so thoroughly well-polished by your praise. High marks indeed, Commander Paris. Flattery will get you everywhere. Or in this case, to Vulcan." With which, she clapped her hands again and the security and science crews fell into line behind her once again. "You, your compatriots and your Runabout have passed our relatively minor inspection. Your pilot may depart at her discretion, so that we may be on our way."

Offering a nod of courtesy, Paris inclined to the shorter woman. “Thank you, Commander Mel'lia.” Turning to walk up the gangplank, Paris addressed the Hera’s flight chief as she fetched the three travel cases of luggage the trio of travelers had packed.

“Miss Dox? Thank you for the ride. When we finalize our return plans, I will most certainly make you aware. In the meanwhile, you know everything I would ask you to do in my absence, so I’ll not bore you with a list. Just be careful headed home is all that I ask, aye?” While the first officer’s duties were not hers in Rita’s absence, still she knew that Dox would hold herself responsible for the people, starship and duties that Paris left behind, and this was her gentle way of letting her know that she acknowledged it and preferred she not stress, while acknowledging that she would.

And for her part, the unspoken message was clear as the red-headed Romulan nodded from the helm of the Thor. "Aye. I'll take good care of her. Have a wonderful time."

''Your help and understanding are much appreciated, Lieutenant,'' Sonak added, mindful of what she did to ease boarding for his wife. ''I recommend all proper safety measures for your flight back to the Hera.''

"Of course. And I will, Lieutenant. Thank you." Dox replied respectfully to the Kolinahr master, who was also her tutor in regards to her attempts to discipline her own nascent mental abilities.

As Rita made her way down the gangplank, Commander Mel'lia rolled her eyes with a smirk and pointed to the young man in security gold to her right with three fingers raised, then waved him to Commander Paris. Immediately, he walked up briskly and offered to take her bags with a professional smile as his Caitian XO spoke, "Commander Paris, Lieutenant Sonak, Miss Az'Prel... let us begin. We have things to attend to, introductions to be made, Science to science, and so on and so forth. Your bags will be waiting in your assigned quarters, if you would follow me."

"Lead on, Commander…" Paris replied with a smile.

Hours later, after an exhaustive tour of the enormous starship whose size dwarfed even the mighty Hera, a very exciting few hours had been spent in the main Quantum Science labs of the USS Armstrong. The quantum resonance of the three escapees of the Kelvin timeline were a source of fascination in and of themselves, as well as the data on Commander Paris peculiar precarious peril when it came to transporters. The Bracers of the Sun and Moon, which accessed stable extradimensional space, were of considerable interest as well, along with the classified materials gathered by the Science and Engineering departments of the Hera, as advertised, and Commander Paris had demonstrated their versatile uses, and left them with the department for study while they were onboard.

After all, the free sharing of information had been their coin of fare for this adventure, and she willingly paid it to the eager and inquisitive scientists who were fascinated by the challenges she and her party presented. Because it wasn’t every day that one got the opportunity to study extradimensional explorers who came bearing stable extradimensional pocket space access.

Eventually the trio had been shown to the visitor’s quarters, which Rita recognized as the VIP quarters, thus continuing to endear the crew of the Armstrong to her. Showering and changing into fresh uniform, or simple Vulcan clothing in Az’Prel’s case, they were now escorted to the Captain’s Table, where Captain Glendon Butterfield awaited them. Beyond him was his executive officer, as well as an anxious-appearing Science ensign.

“Welcome, welcome! Thank you all for joining me this evening!” A great bear of a man, fully 2 meters tall, broad-shouldered, garrulous and outgoing with an easy gap-toothed grin, Butterfield was handsome in the Kirk mold, although a bit thicker about the middle.

Approaching Sonak first, the blonde human moved to smoothly offer the Vulcan salute- after all, the disdain for skin to skin contact with strangers by Vulcans was well-known, and the captain of the USS Armstrong was nothing if not diplomatic. “Lieutenant Sonak, I’ve heard quite a bit about you from our Ensign Tilly here. Seems you made quite the stir at the Academy while you were taking a refresher course last year.”

Sonak returned the salute.

''That was not my intention, Captain. I merely wanted to bring myself up to speed with this spacetime reality, while giving Starfleet the best time and opportunity to ascertain that I was no security risk. And to earn a position on the Hera, where my wife was assigned, required the utmost in dedication, performance and confidence from senior officers. It is unfortunate that my presence caused any commotion.''

He stood a bit straighter before changing tack.

''May I compliment you, Sir, on your command. The Armstrong is a well-managed, well-crewed vessel, a fine example of what a ship of the line in Starfleet should be. She is a credit to your command abilities.''

As always, there was no attempt at flattery from a kolinahr master totally devoid of emotion. It was a mere appraisal of fact. But Sonak had been around humans for many decades, and was married to a human woman; he had at least an intellectual grasp of the social niceties of emotional beings, enough to express genuine appreciation when it was due, even if it stirred no feelings in him. But his appreciation, if cold, was nonetheless sincere and intended as a gesture of thanks for the captain's help.

"Well, we certainly make every effort to present the best face possible for Starfleet's efforts out here. That those efforts are well received is appreciated to hear, Lieutenant. Thank you." Captain Butterfield replied, giving a gracious half bow to the stoic science officer. As he spoke, he turned towards the golden-clad Commander at her husband’s side.

"And you must, of course, be none other than Commander Rita Paris. Our Ensign Tilly has spoken quite highly of you. It's a pleasure, Commander." This time the mountain of a man extended his right hand out towards Rita for a more traditionally human greeting with a professional but warm smile.

"And you must be, of course, none other than Commander Rita Paris. Our Ensign Tilly has spoken quite highly of you. It's a pleasure, Commander." This time the mountain of a man extended his right hand out towards Rita for a more traditionally human greeting with a professional but warm smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain,” the buxom bombshell returned the smile with a dazzling one of her own as she took the handshake with aplomb and shook it in true fleeter style- eye contact, firm grip, two pumps, and release. “Hopefully Ensign Tilly hasn’t told you too many wild stories about me, but suffice to say he and I had a bit of an adventure together, and when I saw that you were involved in supply runs for Project Krani, I saw an encompassing opportunity."

"Indeed." Captain Butterfield replied with a pleasant smile. "And this is your civilian guest for this journey. Miss Az'Prel, I believe?" And as with Sonak, the gregarious Captain held up the familiar Vulcan Salute.

While the refugee Vulcan woman was doing better with people she knew, it took her a moment of hesitation to slowly return the Vulcan salute. After all, before she came to this universe it was a death sentence to use it in front of a Human. "That is correct, Sir. You must forgive my hesitation. I am from a now collapsed universe where the Terran Empire ruled and I am still growing accustomed to the fact that as a Logician I am no longer an outlier among my people. I... Look forward... To meeting both Vulcan Masters and common citizens during this trip."

The pleasant man smiled as she replied. "Well, any Captain worth their salt has read the reports on our version of the Terran Empire. And, of course, I've read your basic file. But I dare say that that universes loss is our gain. And I have no doubt those masters of logic will find meeting you fascinating. If only as proof that the value of their philosophies have power even in a reality where they are outlawed."

"So, with that said… Captain, you’ve high-level clearance as does Commander Mel'lia. While Ensign Tilly here does not, he’s proven himself to be quite the upright, moral and trustworthy officer. With that said, I’d like to regale you with the tale of how he and I met, if you’ll indulge an old lady’s stories at the Captain’s table…?” Paris raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for permission to launch into a tale, one of the unbelievable stories of a career filled with such adventures.

Gesturing to the table and inviting his guests to have a seat, the captain of the USS Armstrong replied, "Please, by all means..."

A few hours later, Paris, the master storyteller, was winding up the retelling of yet another of their shared adventures. "So after he nearly shoves me out the door to be alone with this odd woman I come bursting back in only to find they are not making out, it's turned into a hairy creature and it's got it's suction cup fingers attached to Stuart's face, so I draw my phaser and fire on it. No surprise, stun has no effect, except that the Captain cries out. So I crank up the phaser to level 8 and fire again, and the attacker falls, and the captain staggers, but he seems all right. Doctor Lang and Sonak arrive, check on Michael and determine that he'll live, check on the parasite and determine it's dead. And that was when Sonak turns to me, and says, I kid you not, 'Twas beauty killed the beast'. I just about died right there," Paris shook her head as laughter made the rounds, save for between the Vulcans, who of course did not share the humor inherent in the story.

Listening intently to the story, Captain Butterfield let out a deep belly laugh as Rita concluded. "Well, not everyone can appreciate the finer points of mid-20th Century culture, Commander. Mel'lia here regularly rolls her own eyes at some of my anecdotes."

Sitting to his side, the tall Caitian woman rolled her large, golden eyes around for effect and smirked as he gestured to her. "Oh, well far be it for me to not have an encyclopedic knowledge of 400-year-old pop culture reference from another planet. I must surely be flogged for such an egregious offense, Captain."

While it was clear she was being sarcastic in a fashion the pair was quite comfortable with, Butterfield took the joke and ran with it, smiling back. "I'll have to have security get around to that. Be sure to put it on my schedule, Commander."

"That said..." The smiling Captain returned his attention to his guests. "Your histories are certainly unique, even in Starfleet. Which begs the question of your need to travel to Vulcan. The official request says it's personal leave?"

Sonak nodded.

''Since I have the advantage of knowing much about her homeworld and people, Commander Paris wished to experience that of her husband. The vastness of space and the requirements of duty do not allow for many opportunities. Thus, we mutually agreed that it would be beneficial to take advantage of your ship crossing our path to make the experience a reality.''

The cagey Caitian commander lightly purred as she leaned in to the conversation. "Sounds lovely. I've been to Vulcan many times. That dry air does wonders for my sinuses." As always, it was hard to pin point if she was being sarcastic or sincere, but Captain Butterfield chimed in to corroborate his First Officer's comment.

"It's true. Last shore leave, the woman spent six hours stretched out on a rock like my grandmother's house cat. I've never seen her happier. I like the hiking, myself. The thin air makes it a wonderful challenge. Really clears the mind." The bear of a man slapped his wide chest as he spoke. "You have an open, inquisitive mind, Commander Paris. Vulcan can do wonders for those willing to appreciate it's unique charms."

“Truth be told, I’ve never been to Vulcan, for… a few reasons,” Rita edited out the fact that it was because the planet had been destroyed in their timeline. There was clearance, then there was clearance. No sense in confusing people more than they needed to be, after all. “But I convinced the Captain to let us take a few weeks- I do have a surprising amount of leave saved up over the years, it seems. We’re a couple from two cultures, and I want to experience his, as much as I have had the chance to expose him to mine. Vulcans are the austere elder statesmen of the federation, with an ancient history and traditions, and… I want to see it, feel it, experience it, explore it.”

“Before now it just wasn’t possible for us, but…” Reaching over to take her husband’s hand, the human woman smiled wistfully. “Now we can, so we will. And Miss Az’Prel has never seen an independent Vulcan that is thriving and vital, at the pinnacle of their intellectual and cultural development so… it was only right to bring her to see Vulcan, the real, living, thriving world… while we had the chance. Which is only possible thanks to you, your largesse, and your remarkably swift starship, Captain Butterfield… so we are in your debt,” Paris offered graciously.

"Well, that certainly is both logical and, if you don't mind my saying so, romantic. And all things considered, I can say that we are happy to be accommodating. Sometimes the fleet can feel very small, stuck on one ship out here." Captain Butterfield mused with a rakish grin. "So it's a pleasant opportunity to talk with some of the other officers of the line and hear that we truly aren't alone on these frontiers. It's been a pleasure."

“I think it’s romantic, Captain,” Paris agreed. “As for me, I grew up in the fleet, so I used to know all of the old guard, as well as the generation that came up before me, my own generation, and the one following me,” Paris reminisced. “But… that was all a very long time ago, and now their grandchildren are retired from the fleet. So I am looking forward to meeting the modern fleet, getting to know the captains of the line, my peers,” she gestured to the Caitian commander, who nodded in recognition, “and the next generation, who will be the captains of tomorrow, hmm?”

At that, Ensign Tilly, who had spent most of the evening being seen and not heard, recognized his cue and nodded with a smile. “Perhaps, ma’am. I don’t know that there are many scientist captains…”

Sonak answered the young Ensign with all the seriousness of someone speaking from experience.

''It is true that most science officers prefer their studies to command duties. However, I can assure you that, for a scientific explorer, the command of a starship certainly offers much opportunities; certainly more than just following the lead of someone else who might be less devoted to the quest of exploring strange new worlds and seeking out new civilizations. And I would remind you that one of the most celebrated Starfleet captains of this century is indeed a scientist; Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship Voyager, now an Admiral.''

“While he’s modest, Mister Sonak also served as a Starfleet captain for a number of years himself… again, we have… complicated histories, Ensign,” Paris summarized. While she might be hedging the truth for the senior staff of the Armstrong, Vril Tilly had heard a goodly chunk of Rita Paris’ convoluted personal timeline, and understood it was far from linear. Which in turn made it easy to accept that Sonak’s was similarly tangled as well. “But rest assured- serving under a scientist captain doesn’t make the missions any less interesting nor fascinating, just perhaps a bit less dangerous, as they tend to take more thorough scans before committing to a dangerous course of action,” Paris grinned at her own joke.

The Armstrong's XO leaned towards her Captain with a sly grin. "What a novel concept, Captain. Taking more through scans BEFORE committing to a dangerous course of action. Now, who might you know that regularly makes such recommendations?"

"This again, Mel'lia? See what you started Commander Paris. Now I'll never hear the end of it from her." Captain Butterfield replied with a hearty laugh. "She's still complaining about the last away mission."

"You didn't contract the virus that made you shed all of your fur off when you sneezed, thank you very much." Then the feline First Officer turned to her human counterpart, puffing herself up to mimic the mountainous Butterfield. "Preliminary scans are clear, Commander. What are you waiting for, scaredy cat?"

Not that much at ease with emotional interplay, despite decades serving with humans, Sonak aimed at defusing a potentially heated discussion. Since he had difficulty differentiating strong-worded banter from rhetorical barbs, logic told him to err on the side of caution; so he spoke in his soft, deep, calm voice.

''It is Starfleet's rules of engagement's first protocol; gather as much information as possible as quickly as possible to help the commanding officer make the soundest judgment call possible. More often than not, it is the duty of the science officer to do so. Still, it is the commanding officer's prerogative to make his call whenever he sees fit; because they alone will be called up for an error in judgment. The only situation where one's lapse in getting proper data before making a decision will be accounted for. Sometimes, there is no opportunity to wait for the data, and a quick decision must be made. Then, only logic for some, instinct for others, and experience for all, will mark the successful captain from the unsuccessful one. That... and the incalculable random variables that might be at play.''

"Wise words, Lieutenant Sonak. And well worth remembering for anyone in command. Thank you." Captain Butterfield replied, in a more neutral tone with a gentle smile. "I can see why you were no doubt an exceptional Captain yourself. Is command something you would seek again?

At that, the human explorer turned to regard the Vulcan scientist with some interest as well. The question had not come up any time recently, but it certainly was a valid one. Sonak was more than qualified to command- he had graciously accepted a significant demotion upon coming to this reality because rank was immaterial to him. But in the moment, asked by a peer in such a casual setting, Rita had to admit, she herself was curious to know the mind of the former master and commander of the starship Exeter. If perhaps his interests might once again move in that direction. She herself had served as his second, after all, and quite the team they were, then and now.

Sonak's answer came after a few seconds of obvious reflection upon the idea.

''Regardless of past experience, I am still a long way off from Lieutenant to Captain; it is premature for me to dwell on the prospect at this time. Such opportunities are extremely rare to begin with. And it is not just a personal consideration anymore. I am in a relationship, and such a consideration influence, and is influenced by, this status.''

He now looked at Rita as he continued.

''In any case, she will get the opportunity much earlier than I will. I of course will approve and support her if she decides to pursue this path. But then, it will be up to Starfleet to decide if we are to serve together. It is not unheard of, but uncommon, most of all if one is given command; most captains would understandably be reluctant to assign one's spouse to potentially hazardous missions, thus risking adverse effects on morale and efficiency. Also, the competence or duties of the spouse might not fit this new command; and it would inevitably disturb the one to which he or she is already assigned to.''

The somber scientist turned again towards Butterfield.

''Where we came from, our Captain convinced Starfleet Command that my rank, record and experience with the Exeter made me the most qualified to assume command after him. I made the same logical argument to promote then Lieutenant Commander Paris to Exec. I estimate that Starfleet agreed because of my Vulcan heritage and Kolinahr training. They knew emotions would never influence my command decisions. But even then, if we had been bonded as we are now, they might have reconsidered. So, Captain, it is not just a question of what I seek. It is as much a question of what we will be willing to do as what we will be allowed to do.''

"If I may make an observation," Began the Vulcan refugee, Az'Prel, glancing around for approval before continuing. "Since finding myself in this universe and time, I have observed the Federation and Starfleet in particular to place a high emphasis on family and friendship. Indeed, I find it curious that our own ship allows civilians and families to flourish, though the tactical capabilities of the Hera are like nothing I had previously encountered and our overarching mission seems to often place us in the path of danger. I assume the same is true of your vessel, Captain. Thus it may be that there are ships in this fleet of scientific discovery placed in lower risk mission profiles where allowances are made more freely."

The gregarious Captain took a sip of his drink as his expression shifted to a much more thoughtful one. He nodded slightly as she replied to the Vulcan refugee. "To a degree, that is true, Miss Az'Prel. A Sovereign class like the Armstrong was built with combat in mind. She's a fine ship, capable of many tasks, but war was what she was designed for. As such, she is ill equipped for families."

"Most Captains like to spout the line that their crew is a family, and with any good crew, that's the hope. Bonds formed on duty that link us like family. But before commanding the Armstrong, I was the XO on a Galaxy Class ship, the Clairmont. And we had families in board. It was... and remains... a controversial topic with Starfleet command, and the population in general. One they go back and forth on," Captain Butterfield mused.

"I can see both sides of the argument. But having been in command roles on ships that had both, I can say that there is... something different about serving on a ship with families. With children. On the Armstrong, if a crewmember becomes pregnant, regulations require that they must be transferred. I've lost a handful of exceptional officers and have said goodbye to some good, good friends because of that. But on the Clairmont... It may not be logical... But those bonds. Those children. They inspire you and the crew."

His expression shifted to a broader smile. A hint of melancholy on the edges of pride. "You fight harder. You negotiate deeper. You explore further. Seeing the literal next generation in the corridors is a reminder of what this means, I suppose. It's powerful." As he spoke, he gestured to his Starfleet delta badge.

Sonak nodded.

''A very Human perspective, Captain; one that has indubitably contributed to what Starfleet is, and what the Federation stands for. Hence Starfleet General Order 27: No member of Starfleet shall be required by the assignment of standard duties and responsibilities to undergo extended separation from his family, if family members can be reasonably provided for aboard ship, or as a part of an existing Starfleet installation.''

His hand made a motion around them.

''A Galaxy class starship, built for extended exploration in the farthest reaches of known space, was thus also built to provide this kind of facility because of it's mandated duty. A Sovereign class starship, on the other hand, built as a rapid response ship of the line for Federation territorial defense, must always must stay close to supply lines and key strategic points; bringing family onboard would be as useless as it would be an unwarranted risk, opposite to Starfleet's first mandate of protecting Federation citizens. Hence my argument; were Commander Paris or I be offered command of a ship like the Armstrong, our assignment to the same command would not be a given, and out of the question if we had children. It would weigh much in accepting or not such an opportunity; an opportunity that might then never come again.''

"True enough." Captain Butterfield replied. "However, one would surmise, based on the fact that the two of you crossed time and dimensions and were able to manage a posting on the same ship, that you could very likely continue to serve in such capacity. Even without friends in high places, which I suspect you have here, you have both clearly demonstrated time and again the value of Starfleet keeping you two together. And Starfleet, in my experience, is not in the practice of discarding proven resources that benefit everyone."

"That said... I do hope that this little pilgrimage is mutually beneficial to your goals," the wry Captain said with a slightly knowing smile. The topic of family and children had come up a few too many times to be coincidental for the seasoned Captain as he turned back to Rita. "The Hera is a modified Nebula class, correct? Same structural saucer design as a Galaxy. Do you have families aboard, Commander?"

“We’ve recently made the modifications and expanded in that direction, yes,” the comely commander replied with a wry smile. “While we do lead dangerous lives… as you said, seeing the faces of the future that you are striving to defend is just that much more motivating. And frankly, the future is unwritten, and every day is a gift. We cannot put off until ‘someday’ forever… the future must take root in the present, and I wanted for our crew to be able to begin their families, instead of having to transfer in order to do so. Captain Telvan was agreeable, so we’ve begun the great experiment.”

“As for command… once upon a time that was my most fervent goal, what drove my entire career focus,” the lass of long ago looked off into the distance, clearly lost in reverie for a second until her gaze snapped back into focus in the moment. “But these days I find I’m more inclined to serve as a mentor… to shepherd the next generations, to guide, to tutor, to lead by example. Our five year plan has us settling back down on Earth and likely teaching at the Academy, so… well, who knows.”

“But I somehow doubt command is in my future anytime soon, if at all. And to be perfectly frank, these days I’m okay with that. I find I’ve nothing to prove to anyone… I know my worth as a Starfleet officer, and a citizen of the galaxy,” the buxom bombardier chuckled. “By the same reasoning, I don’t know how I would feel about Sonak being out there on the final frontier without me… we’ve always been far better as a team than apart, although I’ve never lacked confidence in him, no matter the circumstances. Who knows, maybe we’ll settle down for a few decades, then get back out there and do it all over again. While the service jacket reads 163 years old, the doctor says I should have a good century left in me, universe willing. So like the man says, there are always… possibilities.”

With that said, Rita Paris reached over to take the hand of the master of logic and squeeze it fondly, beaming a wistful happy smile that encompassed her feelings for him far more effectively than words ever could. Realizing she was being rude, she turned the conversation, plotting a new course.

“How about you, Captain? Any family back home?”

Smiling at the turn the conversation had taken, Captain Butterfield was thoroughly enjoying learning about Rita and Sonak's story as the topic came back around to him. "Not quite at home. My husband and our two girls live on the Starbase 773. It's on a nearby mid-point of our standard run so we get to spend as much time together as possible. Here..."

As the bear of a man reached into his back pocket, his XO rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion with a Cheshire grin. "Ahh, the pictures. I was wondering how long you could hold out, Sir."

"Oh hush, Mel'lia. Just because you're a confirmed bachelorette to the death, don't begrudge me showing off my girls." The Captain grinned right back, it was clear that the two shared a friendly sarcastic tone with each other at most all times. Pulling out a small, vinage style billfold, he showed Rita an old-school 2-d picture of the entire family, and a second 2-d picture of the two girls in question. Both with sandy blond hair in ponytails wearing Starfleet softball uniforms on a playing field in the sun. "That's Marcus. He's an exobiologist. And that's Carly and that's Alina."

Gazing over the images appreciatively, Rita smiled and nodded. “Making a fleet family work… good for you, Captain Butterfield, good for you. I will say there is something to be said for being a free agent and perpetually unattached, Commander… but there’s also a lot to be said for family life and having someone to come home to. I daresay knowing that there was someone waiting for me definitely gave me the strength to go on more than once, when otherwise I might have given up. Not condemning the single lifestyle… just food for thought is all.”

Purring faintly with a pleasant smile, Commander Mel'lia replied, "The Captain exaggerates my commitment to remaining single. When I find the individual who can... keep up with me. Perhaps I'll take that advice."

“Color me prejudiced Commander, but once you go Vulcan…” Paris smirked, and let the statement go at that.

The days passed quickly, spent experiencing a different pace of shipboard life, making new friends and contacts on a different starship. Yet the similarities of the routine of starship life were all still there, despite the lack of regular duties. Sonak’s insights, knowledge and experience were invaluable in a great number of experiments that were occurring in the science department, as it was rare to have someone with his level of expertise in quantum threadings and chronal displacement, as well as transportational entanglements. Paris spent a goodly amount of time in the science labs as well, demonstrating the bracers which served as access points for the stable extradimensional spaces , the knowledge of which she had bartered for their passage. Az’prel was asked, at Paris’ urging, to teach classes to the Security forces, which proved to be surprisingly illuminating for the security officers of the USS Armstrong.

At the end of nearly a week in space, friendships had been made, bonds forged, and the officers of two vessels had gotten to know one another much better. Thus as the shuttlecraft warmed up in the shuttle bay, Captain Butterfield, Commander Mal’lia and Lieutenant Commander Narok, the Chief Science officer, had all come to see the landing party off. Ensign Tilly had also come, as he had managed to spend some time with the old-school officers during their stay and befriended them. As had many of the junior science officers, whose respect for the Vulcan scientist and Master of Gol had grown quite quickly in the short time they had known him- but then, that was often the case with Sonak.

“Captain, Commander…. It’s been a genuine honor and a pleasure. I can’t thank you enough for this, and I just wish we could catch you for the trip back as well, but I know you’ll probably be halfway back to the burgeoning wormhole by the time we’re ready to leave here. Regardless, this has been an excellent opportunity, and words cannot express our gratitude.” Rita Paris was nothing if not genuine, and as she shook the hands of the new friends she had made in the fleet, she realized she would miss these warm and welcoming shipmates.

Standing at attention, Captain Butterfield had a broad and warm smile at his face as he spoke. "I speak for myself, Commander Mel'lia and the entire crew of the Armstrong when I say that the honor and pleasure was truly ours, Commander Paris, Lieutenant Sonak."

Then, without a hint of irony, the assembled command crew of the Armstrong snapped the group from the Hera crisp salutes. "You are always welcome aboard this ship, and we wish you calm seas, strong winds and a distant horizon."

''Peace and long life, Captain Butterfield,'' Sonak said, offering the Vulcan salute; ''to you, and to your gallant crew.''

As for Commander Rita Paris, her eyes shone with tears as she was genuinely touched by the gesture, and her face showed it clearly. But she drew herself erect with military precision and returned the salute, holding it for a full two could before releasing it, returning the honor she'd been offered. It was practically unheard of for a captain to salute a junior officer, particularly on his own ship. Yet to offer such a thing spoke volumes of Captain Butterfield, and in what regard he held Paris, even in their short association.

In a long and storied career, it was a moment the lost navigator would always treasure, and recall fondly.

The lost Vulcan refugee remained calm in all of this, though it vaguely reminded her of her own universe, albeit in a more heartwarming fashion rather than bloodthirsty. It was an interesting comparison to make, at the very least, with the various traditions used in completely opposite manners. Raising her hand in a Vulcan salute, she too prepared to set off, having made several excellent acquaintances during her time aboard. "I look forward to training with your crew again some day, Captain. Live long and prosper."



* * *


''Shuttlecraft Eagle One, this is Vulcan Central Command; you are clear to approach on vector 798 on a parabolic course heading 15 of the ecliptic, landing area 21 East. Regulations demand thrusters only. Comply with regulations. On behalf of all Vulcan, welcome.''

The voice was almost as cold as that of an antique computer. It contrasted sharply with the hot-looking golden redness of the planet looming before them, right beyond the spidery-cocoon-looking space station monitoring and directing their planetfall. Behind the orb of Vulcan itself loomed the larger blood red shape of K'Tnut; the dry, lifeless sister planet of Sonak's homeworld.

This was not the world where he had been born. His was from another universe that should never have been; one that had been destroyed along with billions of his people when a mad Romulan from this universe extracted his ridiculous, fruitless vengeance for something none of his people had done. Yet, this world resonated to his being just as if it was his home. It was not a feeling, even less so an emotion for the Kolinarh master. But it was so nevertheless; a link, a connection.

He looked at his wife, their Commander, for her to speak on their behalf to the authorities. They were coming as tourists, but space traffic was nevertheless as serious and regulated as if this was official business.

"Vulcan Central Command, this is Shuttlecraft Eagle One. Proceeding on approach vector 798 on a parabolic course heading 15 of the ecliptic to landing area 21 East on thrusters only. We are welcomed and will comply," she offered the logical reply to the instructions given, a rephrasing indicating the course of action. Logic wasn't that hard if you applied yourself, after all.

Winging the shuttlecraft through the thin atmosphere was a novelty to Rita as she programmed the flight plan and let the computer handle the flying, given the amount of traffic the sensors were indicating. This was like coming into Starfleet command- the air and space traffic above the Vulcan Central Command corridor was thick and intense, with a surprising number of stellar vehicles from a surprising number of worlds passing in the lanes of carefully modulated and controlled traffic, in parabolic arcs that were poetic in their geometry.

"So... I am assuming since you've been here and there have been a few rounds of discussion about your arrival here in the jellyfish that you are free to come and go as a native. I am making a broad assumption that as she who is your wife I am also welcome on Vulcan soil, although it hadn't occurred to me to ask until now," Rita admitted with a daffy face and a rolling of her eyes. "But, ah, Miss Az'Prel somewhat... does not exist, according to record. So will they still recognize her, or is this where we make her claim for citizenship? Did she also exist analagously, and we can make a case for her citizenship that way?"

Sonak's grey eyes went from the viewport to hers.

''My citizenship was authenticated once my true origin was confirmed and status established. And yes, as you became bonded to me, so was yours. Miss Az'Prel's own identity and status has already been processed since her arrival, through Starfleet records and the Hera's reports. Of course, they are highly unusual... but as my own case being a recent precedent, not unheard of. And in any case, Vulcan is always welcoming to all peaceful, sentient beings, all the more to Federation citizens and most of all to refugees and asylum seekers and any who wish to expereince or join the universal society that is the United Federation of Planets. Moreover, we are all in a Starfleet shuttlecraft, clearly establishing that Starfleet is vouching our coming here.''

He turned his gaze to the Vulcan woman.

''For you asking for Vulcan citizenship will only be a short bureaucratic formality, if you so wish.''

She replied with a flat and emotionless "I am Vulcan," as if that explained her entire stance on the matter.

He nodded and returned his gaze towards the external view. They quickly broke the thin cloud cover and gazed upon a gold and reddish arid landscape barely doted with distant blue-green patches; the small surface seas of Vulcan. There was much more underground water pockets underneath the sun-scorched crust, where the water took refuge over the eons, but the aridity of the planet was no exaggeration. Huge jagged mountain peaks spread widely accross the horizon but still most too low to have snow caps under the sparse precipitations accross the planet. Even the poles looked small and thin. it was in all appearances an old, dry, forbidding world.

But not a lifeless one. The vast, numerous, multi coloring patches of plankton, mosses and lichens dotted the surface with more vivd colors of green, brown and yellow, betraying the source of the planet's breathing atmosphere and basic food chain. There were also a few low-canopied forests, from their high vantage point like entire forests of Earth bonsai trees; but those trees were certainly as huge as ancient Irish oaks by the looks of them.

For Rita, it was all new, all different. She'd seen and studied images, and seen Sonak's memories of the place. But seeing it with her own eyes, the explosions of earth tones and stark, vibrant landscapes was what bespoke so clearly of the Vulcan soul somehow in her mind. The landscape was like the people- stoic, enduring, and eternal as logic itself. She waited to feel the kiss of the wind on her cheek from the dry air, and her excitement at exploring a lost world grew as the came closer to their destination.

And then, the planetary capital came into view.

''Shikhar, the heart of Nevasa; what everyone now calls Vulcan,'' Sonak simply said.

Even from their still up and distant viewpoint, it was obvious the city was exceedingly old and yet completely state of the art at the same time; a monument to an entire civilization. Their vantage point allowed Sonak to detail the immense megapole as they flew closer and around it.

''In the East lies the Old Quarter, the most visited part of the planet by offworlders; a still vivid witness of Vulcan's long past where the oldest traditions are remembered.''

Crenelated spires almost spine-looking in appearance were literally carved out of the ancient living rock thousands of years ago, providing and inspiring much of the austère but almost organic-looking architectural style of the city.

''In the north is the Place of Honor. In ancient times, a city area of worship; now it is the place where the departed 's name and accomplishments are stored and remembered, along with their katras, including those of celebrated figures like Spock, Sarek, T'Pau and even Surak himself. It is accessible to visitors, those who wish to pay their respects to the memory of the deceased as for those who wish to learn more about Vulcan history and philosophy from a more personal perspective.''

“Will we be visiting there?” Rita asked. While her own experience with katra was limited to experiencing only that of her husband’s he himself had contacted that of Ambassador Spock. The katra of his counterpart of this reality had been tragically lost in the transporter accident that had claimed his life.

''It is my intention to do so, '' Sonak answered. ''I want Spock's katra to register that his mistake has been corrected.''

He was talking about the artificially created parrallel universe that had come from Spock's attempt to use red matter to save Romulus; a false timeline which had been slowly corrupting the multiverse, out of which Rita's own temporal flukes had been a symptom; and possibly this universe's Sonak's death as well.

They had all participated in the mission to erase this pseudo reality and it had been successful, saving the multiverse from it's aberration. Sonak felt it proper to communicate all this with Spock's katra he had brought back from there to his original place of birth, in the Place of Honor he so truly deserved.

Here, the old bony look of ancient rock fused with more recent materials, but still in the same ancient architecture as of the Old Quarter, with a long, vast climbing cobbled road guarded by two rows of titanic statues of warriors and poets, monarchs and musicians, demons and clerics, dancers and scholars of both sexes. It stretched itself all the way to the western part of the city, where rose taller than all the others a building-sized sculpture of a dignified Vulcan in a simple robe. It was facing the west, looking serenely towards the future with at it's feet much more modern, yet traditionally-styled buildings.

''Surak, Father of All That Is Vulcan, '' Sonak confirmed to them. '' The entire city quarter around it is the Vulcan Science Academy, recognized as the intellectual center of the Federation, only rivalled by Memory Alpha itself. Today, offworld applications are well received, even if they are still rare; not many non-Vulcans care much for the dryness of the courses any more than that of the land itself. But just as The Old Quarter is a place of History and Tradition, and The Place of Honor is one of Contemplation and Wisdom, this is a place of Knowledge and Scientific Inquiry, open to all.''

“Now there I would like to visit, if nothing else for some quantum resonance scans to be filed for us, given the nature of how my own field tends to fluctuate. Not that I don’t have the finest mind of the age already monitoring the situation… but sharing of data is never a bad idea,” Rita mused as she admired the sprawling complex of the legendary Science Academy, which in her day was nothing more than a legendary memory. Now it was an enormous and vital institution honing the finest minds in the galaxy, as it had for millennia.

''Your quantum fluctuation has ended with the removal of the pseudo universe,'' Sonak assured her. ''But the science of it all is indeed quite fascinating and currently much discussed at the Academy. The masters there will certainly be interested in meeting you directly and discussing your first hand experience and unique perspective.''

"My quantum field's done plenty of odd fluctuations over the course of time as you'll recall, husband. This was, after all, just the latest in a series. But is certainly would be nice if that was the last of it..." Given the number and variety of transporter accidents that had befallen Rita Paris over the course of her Starfleet career, there was a certain statistical probability that she was liable to experience some sort of phenomenon again in the future. But that was in their old universe, so perhaps here, with the old universe wiped out, with it's pull upon her quantum field negated, she would be transporters safe.

''These were all before we corrected the multiverse imbalance,'' he reminded her. ''That being said, the very nature of the multiverse implies an infinite number of possibilites; including other causes for a possible future accident. Now that we know the true cause, we can implement safety measures even when knowing that zero percent risk in anything is an illogical objective.''

As they completed their descent, the southern quarter came into view. It looked definitely more modern as it extended facilities around an impressive spaceport, capable of servicing even several landing capable ships the size of an Intrepid class starship. This is where their trajectory was now bringing them to, among a myriad of other shuttlepods and crafts of many of the one hundred and fifty worlds that made up the United Federation of Planets. Sonak pointed to the decidedly state of the art buildings sprawled for kilometers around the huge tarmac that, despite style obviously influenced by traditional architecture, looked more like the familiar view of Starfleet Academy than anything else.

''This is the headquarters of the Vulcan High Command; long ago this is where Vulcan coordinated its expansion into space. Now, it is the seat of planetary and system defense, orbital facilities, in-system space operations and the branch of Starfleet Command of this entire sector. It not open to the public, other than civilian authority representatives. However, as Starfleet officers, we of course can freely get access to it. Miss Az'Prel also, as she is properly registered with us.''

And as they angled toward their designated landing area, they could still see the towering central quarter, looking like a mountain of rib-like superposed vistas and plazas forming an immense conical spire but which, seen from directly above, formed the instantly recognizable IDIC symbol of a parted disc united by a triangle; Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.

“So that’s where Starfleet got the idea,” Rita muttered, referring to the monstrosity that the modern Starfleet Command building was, which was represented by an enormous delta-shaped skyscraper. This was much more tasteful, unsurprisingly, as well as functional.

'' The modern city proper, seat of the Vulcan High Council,'' Sonak told them all. ''It has been much renovated over the centuries; especially after the historical bombing of the then United Earth Embassy of the 22nd century. It was the time when Vulcan had lost it's way... until the Kirshara, Surak's teachings, and Surak's katra itself, were recovered by reformist leader T'Pau and Human Captain Jonathan Archer. Like everything else about the central part of the city, from the humble rock foundations of prehistory up to today, it has been preserved for all to see. It is a monument to the Truth, even of the times it had been abused, because Vulcan values Truth; and Truth requires nothing less.''

He stopped speaking as the final maneuvers for landing required all their attention.

Gliding in on thrusters and braking gently, the human pilot brought the small shuttlecraft down onto the landing pad with grace and practiced ease that came from years of experience, and a gentle reverence for the surface upon which she landed. In their universe, in their time, the moment they were experiencing would have been an impossibility. Yet here they were, touching down on a vital and vibrant planet filled with ancient history and knowledge that continued to evolve and grow into the 25th century, while still preserving the eons of history it had known to get here.

As the nacelle touched down, Rita powered down the engines and equalized the pressure, then sat back in her seat, turning to look at her traveling companions, saying something she never imagined she would get to say.

“Welcome to planet Vulcan.”

The female refugee Vulcan was struggling not to display her emotions as she stared out the window of the shuttle. After all, she had watched the destruction of her homeworld on holovid when Nero came to her world and decimated it and the Terran Empire, one world at a time a few years before the collapse of her entire universe. "The structures are slightly different... Less violent... But the world is the same. It is Vulcan. I am home."

Sonak turned his steely grey eyes to hers.

''Your blood is Vulcan; your mind is Vulcan; your heart is Vulcan. This IS your home.''

Standing in the center of the cramped enlisted quarters she shared with her sister S'Rina, Security Petty Officer V'Nus Wil'I'Ams was trying to clear her mind through her daily Mok'bara exercises.

Slowly, she breathed in as her taunt stomach tightened and she moved her arms slowly and gracefully into the pre-set positions, exhaling slowly but loudly. Normally, this activity helped the tall, lean but still extremely well built Klingon woman achieve a level of calmness. A greater mastery over her aggressive nature. But this morning, her aggressive nature was winning out.

"GAH!" She shouted to the empty room as she stood back up straight and flexed her considerable muscles in frustration. S'Rina had left earlier to go to the gym to exercise, but V'Nus craved solitude this morning. And her sister's insistence on talking and complaining was becoming more grating the longer the Hera had been in port at the Artan Fortress.

They understood that the Captain was a busy woman, and that restructuring an Empire onto itself was a task worth of Kahless, but it was allowing boredom to set in for the Klingon sisters. They were warrior-born, and the longer they had no battles to fight, the more they seemed to be at one others' throats. Poking at each other's nerves like mewling children. Behavior unworthy of Klingon warriors.

But V'Nus was not like many other Klingons. She found that she enjoyed pursuits that brought her what could only be described as... serenity. Internal peace. Activities that curbed her inner fire were... enjoyable to the looming Klingon woman. She enjoyed her morning katas more than she enjoyed her workouts in the gym. She enjoyed standing guard at the doors of the beings described as gods that dwelled on the Hera. She enjoyed the time it gave her to contemplate her place on the ship, and in the cosmos.

Of course, it was time that S'Rina despised with a passion worthy of passionate Klingon warriors and she took every moment she could to complain about it. On this morning, V'Nus felt as if she had heard a single additional complaint, that she would shove her sister into the door said to be occupied by the herald of Sto-Vo-Kor itself and lock her in. Not honorable, but honest.

That room fascinated her. Once a week, the RomuluSngan went in there with meals and an... unusual smile. She could often hear casual laughter and the sounds of casual conversation. Hardly what one would expect from an audience with the master of the dead. And every time, when the RomuluSngan emerged, the food was eaten and, upon inspection, the room was empty.

And while softer in the middle than not, the RomuluSnagan had been steadily losing weight the last few months, so she wasn't eating that food all by herself. The Intelligence Chief had explained that only those who had come to the very gates of death itself and met her there could see her. V'Nus often wondered when, as a Warrior, she might find herself meeting the RomuluSngan's dinner companion so she might at LEAST finally ask what the two did in there so often.

Which brought her mind then to the Intelligence Chief himself. A cybernetically enhanced Human that tended to... irk the usually unflappable Klingon. He had an air to him that she found disingenuous. His aggressive accent changed from day to day, as if it were an affectation he was trying on to irritate others, and his jovial mannerisms felt somehow equally false to the woman who equated Honor with Truth. In reality, these details were irrelevant. It was his profession she disliked. On a ship of secrets, he was their master. And lies and deception were dishonorable pursuits to her. As she tried to resume her morning katas, her mind continued to race uncomfortably.

What she needed was a war. Something to fight. Something to rage and bite and claw against, to sate the fires building in her broad chest. All this time to think was making her soft. Contemplation was, as S'Rina LOVED to remind her, a pursuit best suited to Vulcans. And contemplation that led her to harbor ill thoughts of her shipmates was an act of Dishonor in and of itself. One she would chastise herself for... later.

Perhaps S'Rina was in a mood for sparring. Or the fat little RomuluSngan was there. The Lieutenant fought well, and in spite of her initial distrust of the people, found the red-headed Romulan Lieutenant both honorable and enjoyable to hit. The honor was good, or she would not take so well being hit by her. But she was skilled, and enjoyed the combat as well. She had followed the Lieutenant into battle and would be honored to do so again. Plus, she could curse as well as any Klingon. A plus.

But no, it was her sister that she hoped was there. With S'Rina, there was no rank in the way. No concern for holding back or withholding her more violent tendencies. With her sister, she could be truly Klingon and have no fear. And as she walked through the corridors of the ship, and her frustration mounted, that's what she wanted. To be Klingon. Unfettered and free. Serenity escaped her, and what she craved now was release.

Both women swore an oath to Starfleet. To service and honor in an organization devoted to peace. And it was not always the easiest path. But it was an easier path than the one both sisters trod in the Empire. The Empire, where their house no longer existed and their name held no honor. But those were thoughts for another time, as V'Nus reached the gymnasium and strode confidently in.

"Dor-sho-gha!" She cursed, venting her frustration in her native tongue! S'Rina was nowhere to be seen. Even the RomuluShgan was absent. Only a few random crewmembers and the annoying Pig and her tiny, incessantly chattering human...pet... in the corner cowering, hoping to be unseen. They confused and irritated her, and she had no patience for their rambling. But according to her sister they had fire, if a misguided lack of fear at the wrong moments that almost had S'Rina trying to mate with the pig. As if their family needed even less honor.

"BAH!" V'Nus exclaimed as she slammed a fist against the bulkhead and stormed out. "Very well. If I must go kill imaginary opponents on the Holodeck to relax, so be it."

Storming out with even greater frustration down the corridors, V'Nus' mind was racing. Why could she not find her calm? Why today was she raging against herself? Why could none of the pursuits that brought her peace have any effect today? Perhaps, she thought, she too needed to scratch that itch that the pig brought out in S'Rina, but there were precious few men on this ship. And fewer still she felt could survive such an encounter.

Arriving on the turbolift, she sulked and fumed as the doors opened and she stomped in, shouting "Holodeck!" as a simple destination instruction. But the Hera's computers were... smarter than most she had seen and it never pestered her for specifics like deck numbers. It knew where the blasted holodecks were and took her there. She liked that at least something on the ship simply did what it was supposed to. As she was supposed to be a warrior. And she wanted blood on her hands more than usual this day.

The lift stopped on a different level, however, and an unfamiliar crewmember came on board. It was a slight wisp of a human in blue. A scientist or doctor, no doubt. Far too frail to satisfy any of her needs and looked as if he was ready to shame himself if she so much as cleared her throat. As the door opened, she stormed past the crewmember brusquely. "This blasted ship needs more damned MEN!"

Moments later, she arrived at the holodeck, but noticed that it was in use. But as she looked at the program, she smiled. 'Jem Hadar Combat Program Gamma'. There was only one person that would be using that program, so she stepped in. "S'RINA!" She called out.

The swarm of genetically bred and engineered warriors were swarming the swarthy Klingon warrior woman, who was deep in battle lust, and could not bother to be moved to words. Words were for lovers, and she had no use for such things. A disembowelment was followed by an uppercut that brought the blade of the tik’leth in her right hand up through the lower jaw of the jem’hadarr soldier and out through his eye socket, trapping the weapon even as she slashed with the left, removing the weapon hand of a charging opponent.

Using the still-standing soldier as leverage, she swung her mass about to bring her boots to bear upon the chest of another opponent, using the impact to loosen the blade, then rolling with the impact to come up in a feral crouch, blades at the ready as she took out the tendons of the legs of two more soldiers, dropping them so that she could then slash at their throats as they fell before she turned to move toward her sister, the right blade coming in at an angle to cleave into her collarbone.

For a moment, V'Nus watched with a small smile and pride as she observed her sisters skills. But the moment passed quickly as her eyes narrowed to slits and she stormed into the room, the doors wooshing closed and vanishing into the illusion of the room behind her. "COMPUTER! FREEZE!"

As she yelled, the computer complied and the battle froze like a fly in Amber. "Are you MAD or simple, sister?! You would wave those about the ship openly?! Why not simply wear a BALDRIC WITH THE HOUSE SIGIL ON IT?!?"

“Because no one else knows, sister. Because no one else cares, because this is no longer a house of the Empire. These are just weapons now, pieces of antiquity, forgotten relics of a bygone age. No one knows the stories of the traitors who wielded them any longer, for their names were stricken from the records and spoken no more. We are of no house, the names Starfleet insisted we take those of humans so that they could struggle with their own words. So do not seek to lecture me of what I choose to do with my property, sister. If you object to MY use of MY weapons,” the brawny Klingon bared her sharp teeth and whirled the swords to the ready position. “Come and take them!”

"Oh, but you would have them know, wouldn't you?" V'Nus growled as she held her right arm out, hand open. "Computer, Bat'leth."

A second later, a perfect replica of the ancient Klingon weapon appeared in her hand as she twirled it, feeling it's weight.

"You would shout it from the mountains! We are the honorless kin of House Durass. Hated in the empire and even in the Federation for it's treachery. And all the honor we have worked to gain for ourselves vanishes!" V'Nus walked in a powerful stride towards her shorter but more muscular sister, weapon raised to attack in a swift slashing motion against her sister.

“I would restore honor to our broken house!” her sister countered with a snarl, deflecting the strike by driving it to the side, then spinning to bring her own secondary blade about to swat her already angry sister on the rear. “We have no honor! We are but drones in Starfleet!”

Swinging both blades simultaneously, she brought them down in an overhand strike to force her sister to catch them on the bat’leth. Leaning into it, she pressed V’Nus with her greater strength and weight, snarling as she did so. “We are not officers, we are not warriors! We are guardsmen and the basest of soldiers. We have no opportunity for honor nor glory here. We will live and die in obscurity, with no one to ever know our names, and no one to care that we lived. None will sing songs of our glory, for we shall have none!”

Snarling, V'Nus lacked S'Rina's greater strength,but had speed and a clearer mind. As she shouted back, she spun the handle of her Bat'leth around in a twirl butting her sister first in the stomach and following it up with a harsh kick that separated the two. "And how will you restore our HONOR, Sister? But spitting on our sworn duty like a p'tahk? We both swore oaths when we took our uniforms. Want to be an officer? Do the WORK! You want songs sung in your name? EARN THEM, CHILD!"

Crouching back to a low, defensive position, V'Nus gritter her teeth as she snarled out more. "Always you want honor NOW. Glory NOW! You mock our duty. Mock our triumphs. How can you have honor when you cannot even see it?"

"I DO my DUTY!" S'Rina spat back as she swung about, hurling her hips in to throw her weight into each swing, spinning like a dervish to drive her sister onto the defensive as she did so, their steel ringing against one another. "I OBEY my ORDERS, I SERVE and STAND and STOP and DON'T and WAIT and all the things we do that are not what bring glory to ANYONE!" Growling gutturally, the Klingon warrior was, in this moment, free with her sister at least to vent her frustrations, and she was most certainly going top take advantage of it. Breathing heavily, as thatr sort of all-out assault tended to wind her, she glared at her sister from a now defensive poisture.

"The Federation arm and armor us for war, then they want us to stand around and do nothing! We're going to die of old age on guard duty and end up spending eternity in Gre'thor on gods-damned guard duty!"

"The let us hope that the gates of Gre'thor aren't so close to his seat that Fek'lhr has to listen to you WHINE!" V'Nus smirked back, the ludicrousness of the concept making her break her rage enough to chuckle. "Fek'lhr... Lord of the Dishonored... sitting on his throne... HA HA... with his fingers in his ears. He'll send us to Sto-Vo-Kor just to make us shut up!"

The taller of the two was now straight out laughing. It was a deep, throaty thing that filled the chamber.

The younger, brawnier sister ground her teeth against one another, then let loose with bloodcurdling howl of rage to the heavens- impotent rage. "Kahless' manhood, why must you ALWAYS do that?!? You know I cannot fight you whil;oe you are disarmed by lauighter, so you deliberately dodge my point and it frustrates me and it is dishonorable, I don't care what you saw. Gowron all you want!" To 'Gowron', referring to a chancellor of the Empire from years ago, was to declare anyone you disliked to be without honor. It had grown to be slang of their generation, and a casually hurled accusation of dishonor was 'to Gowron'.

But the rant barely slowed V'Nus's laughter as she allowed the moment to run its course while her sister fumed. Then, as she regained her calm, the taller of the two Klingon women suddenly shifted from her laughter to a calmer demeanor. And a sterner one. "You are right, Sister. No dodging. You may plant your very weapon squarely in my heart in victory."

"I share your frustration. It is the truth, but it is not all of the truth." She looked down at her sister amd nodded. "We guard doors because they must be guarded. And when honorless pirates board the ship, we defend it. And when Valkyrie threaten the crew, we stand and fight them side by side with the Commander. And when next this ship must face another... ludicrous but deadly threat... we will also be there."

"We will have our opportunity to prove our honor and earn our places in Sto-Vo-Kor. But for today, we must be frustrated and bored." V'Nus admitted. "I am as well."

“We never stop anywhere fun for shore leave. The only ones who will spar with us by choice are the Romulans and the Vulcan. Even the giantess shies from us, because she fears her own strength and knows we would goad her to use it. The commander fights like a frightened child if she is not safely ensconced in her armor. There is no one on this ship to have sex with who could survive it. I grow weary of this post, sister. This was supposed to be a combat post, yet we have seen what, three combat missions? And the only real fighting was that brawl with the motherless pirates,” S’Rina grumbled, openly voicing her complaints to her sister as she sat down on the corpse of a fallen nausicaan.

"This is our reality, sister." V'Nus sat across from her on the ground, crossing her legs and nodding. "We knew joining that Starfleet strives to avoid conflict at all costs. There is no ship or posting we would find that would be any different, just more… incompetent. I don't want to die in battle simply because we served an incompetent ship."

Then the calmer of the two looked thoughtful for a moment and asked, not with sarcasm but legitimate sincerity. "What would you do? We cannot claim honor in the empire. That is denied us, likely forever there. We may still earn honor here, but we chose to move quickly to simply be out here. There are ways to earn commission and become officers?"
Laying the swords reverently across her knees, S'Rina leaned on them. "How many officers accompany us on a mission? 1 officer per team. our chance at personal glory is higher as enlisted because they bring us with them into danger. They at least respect our skills, and they know we fear nothing."

A frown settled onto the face of the stout and angry warrior woman, along with a slow nodding of her head. "When we went to the Gamma Quadrant, to meet with the Vorta and the Jem Hadarr... the Commander brought US. She knew if there was going to be a day to die, we would make it cost them many lives. That would have been a glorious death, no, sister?"

Smiling slightly, V'Nus nodded. "It would have, indeed. Instead we gained an honorable and fierce ally. Then we remain here, where we can continue to serve. Our battles may be few, but those we have will add honor to the names we have taken, or give us the opportunity for glorious death."

Then the contemplative Klingon, a contradiction interns, paused for a moment. "The Commander. She is... an unusual woman. Even for a human. Not a fighter and yet still a warrior. And I do not believe she would allow our names to go forgotten. Her ways are not our ways, but they are honorable. And yet, in a way, she will be the greatest obstacle in any desire for an honorable death... for she will not allow it if she can risk herself instead. I would follow that."

"Aye. She respects our skills, but she leads into the fray. The Captain, too- she fought fiercely at that pirate brawl, and it chafed her to be behind us all, you could tell. But she let us do our jobs, because she respects our skills... our... capabilities." Grasping the hilts of the blades to control them once more, S'Rina smoothly slid to a standing position, and unkinked her muscles. "The Romulans on this ship fight with honor. The humans show courage. All races stand equal on this ship- even the Cardassian is not shunned. I heard a Vorta once served aboard... this ship knows no prejudice."

With that said, S'Rina chucked her chin at her sister in an unspoken yet clear challenge of 'stand and fight or I will end your unworthy carcass here and now'. Without a house, she and her sister stood together, nameless in the Empire, so they had fought for everything their entire lives. This was just the game they had played since childhood, with S'Rina always starting it. She had rage and passion, and a thirst for blood and glory that was not uncommon amongst warriors of her race or caste.

"Indeed. This is a worthy ship and a worthy crew." V'Nus said as she stood, pulling her Bat'leth from the ground where she stuck it when she began her fit of laughter.

"And if Kahless wills it, we may even find something that can survive your more... primal urges." The taler sister said with a sarcastic smirk, planting her feet in a battle-ready stance with her weapon raised. "Unless your eye is still trained on the pig woman?"

“ONCE! S’Rina snarled as she swung the smaller, lighter blades in toward her sister, bringing them to bear so that she could press her full strength with her body weight against her sister’s braced strength. “I considered it ONCE and I will hear about it until our final battle!”

Pushing back against the force of her sisters blades, V'Nus laughed with teeth beared. "Oh, make no mistake. I plan to keep reminding you of that when we're feasting and battling forever in Sto-Vo-Kor, Sister." And as she spoke, rubbing in her joke, she shoved back, pushing the two apart to face off again, content in their moment of combat. Together as Klingons.

“I’ll just have to make sure you get there first…”

It was a long climb up Mount Selaya.

In the Northern Quarter of Shikhar, the large cobbled walkway snaked between imposing statues of ancient Vulcan characters, both real and mythological, recounting the entire cultural nature and history of the people of this harsh, dry, hot planet.

Like robotic sweepers did in the city streets, young monks dutifully kept it meticulously cleaned of the always encroaching sands of the surrounding desert. It was as much a pragmatic necessity as it was basic training in fitness, meditation, and humility. Sonak remembered well his own childhood years in sweeping the stones from the duraplast city avenue leading to the foot of the hill up to the antique temple at its summit.

The long walk up those many stairs they were now performing alongside many tourists and natives alike, enticed much of this mental and physical effort and serenity.

There were replicators available at exactly every hundred meters, where the ascension leveled around a small shrine devoted to knowledge and wisdom. Along with basic climate-controlled and comm-serviced shelter, teachers-in-training with scrolls and computers provided learning, discussion and reflection on wide stone benches. Musicians and dancers helped soothe the hardships of the climb as much as the dispensers.

Most outworlders needed these rest stations because of the higher gravity, the thinner atmosphere, and the dry hot climate. But there were no transporters pads or shuttle service available, save for medical emergencies. Anyone wishing to visit this place had to go endure the ordeal of the climb, even if lessened by the amenities provided. It was the Vulcan way to honor the hardships of those who had lived before them and now rested in their honored final home.

Of course, no Vulcan partook of the amenities provided; and certainly not Sonak. As a Kolinarh master, he was required to teach by example to all, Vulcans and non-Vulcans alike, the value of Vulcan stoicism. And even moreso, was he required to honor all those who had come before him.

Night fell when they finally reached the temple at the summit, a gigantic construction carved from the living rock itself. The entire peak had been remolded by hand tools, over thousands of years, but was now kept whole and pristine by modern preservation techniques. Including antigravity supports, in case of earthquakes, and a forcefield against any severe storm.

Because of the massive reflection of T'Knut in the sky, the thin atmosphere and the reflective nature of sand and rock, the Vulcan night was amazingly clear for Humans; even more than a full moon was on Earth. Thus they could see much, despite the sun having completely set.

Ceremonial guards in the traditional black and silvery garb, complete with facemask and massive lirpa halberd, stood at every entrance. They were more out of respect for tradition than anything else, but they were all trained as well as any Starfleet security officer, and their wide sash hid a communicator and a mark 1 phaser on heavy stun, should trouble ever arise.

This role, too, Sonak had played during his adolescence. The martial training was as much integral to a kolinarh's training as the mental disciplines. To sever one from his own violent impulses, one had to experience them, just like swimming required to get wet. But just as one learned to swim, he had learned to rise and move with the waves, until he could get out of the water completely. This he explained to answer the curious stares of his companions as they came to the entrance proper of the titanic temple.

While of course, Sonak showed no signs of strain- this was his home, after all, with both his native climate and the place where he was held up as an example, an icon, a role model for others to aspire to emulate. Similarly, Az’Prel seemed to be experiencing no difficulty- despite having spent years amongst humanity and their lighter gravity and thicker air, Vulcan was still her homeworld. If anything, she seemed to move more fluidly and easily than she did onboard the Hera, and she seemed more alert and alive here.

For Rita Paris, it was an endurance test.

As a cross-country runner, she possessed leg strength and endurance, both of which were required for this task. But the thinner air worked against her here, as did the higher gravity. The lack of humidity evaporated her perspiration, making her body’s natural cooling systems perform far less efficiently than they normally would. The simple robe she wore would have been soaked through, but the Vulcan sun would not allow it.

Even with the tri-ox compound coursing through her system to compensate for the lesser oxygen content in the air, the bride of the kolinahr struggled with the climb. While Sonak needed no stops, she found herself needing them more and more frequently as the blazing sun beat down mercilessly. She kept her hood upraised over her head to keep it’s rays off her skin, lest she burn and her body’s heat regulation become even less efficient.

Yet she persevered and breathed not a word of complaint. This was the experience that she had sought, and she had known what to expect. This was what Humans faced on Vulcan, and she welcomed it. This was the fire that had forged the iron will of the man to whom she had devoted her life, whom she admired like no other. She wished to know this place, this experience, this world, and she would persevere.

By the time they arrived at the entrance to the temple, her legs were wobbly and weak, and her breathing was labored. But they had arrived, and she would take the victory, even if it meant she had to lean against the warm stones for support.

Sonak came to her and gave her all the time she needed to recuperate.

"I feel like I just climbed a mountain," she quipped, as was her way, to use humor as a coping mechanism in stressful situations.

''Most Humans take at least two days to do the climb. Had you been an applicant, you, like Az'Prel, would have proven yourself worthy to meet with a master and present your request. You have done well, my wife.''

He extended his two first fingers to her. Here and now, it was more than the customary intimate gesture between mates. From a kolinahr master, this was nothing short of saying how much he respected, even admired her, how proud he would have been of her, had he any emotion at all.

Summoning up her strength, knowing that she had to walk it off or she would stiffen up, the human woman turned down the hood of her robes to vent the heat. Then with a weary but happy smile, extended her ring and middle finger to her husband, the only man with whom she had ever shared the seemingly odd custom of touching of finger pads. Yet to the touch telepathic sensitive Vulcans, it was the intense sensation of deep and passionate kissing. Something outsiders would not know; and was often overlooked, at least back in their day.

Here in the modern-day, particularly on Vulcan, of course, it was rather clear what they were doing... but of course, they were bonded on a great number of levels, she and he, and no one questioned it.

The refugee Vulcan woman with them took a moment to survey their surroundings and reflect upon the differences between their universes. "The climb was easier than in my youth. In my universe, there are challengers at set intervals demanding you prove your worth. I am also not burdened with arms and armor. Nor is this a hall dedicated to warriors, but to logicians."

Az'Prel then turned to her traveling companions. "I believe this peaceful way is better, however, I know violence is inherent in any universe and is systemically unavoidable in some form. It is... Refreshing... That it is not here, though."

''Actually, it is,'' Sonak retorted, pointing at the guards and their polished weapons that were not parade implements at all. ''In ancient times, here, too, those guards challenged all comers; they will still do, of those who would violate the sanctity and peace of this place. Yes, it does happen sometimes; a youth doubtful of Surak's way; an elder struck with Bendii Syndrome; some male under the heat of Pon Farr... the occasional Nausicaan tourist...''

He paused, obviously reflecting upon something briefly before resuming.

''Vulcan's violent nature, barbaric even by human standards, is still there, underneath the stringent discipline of logic we submit ourselves to; you still see it during our mating rituals and our martial arts training. A few thousand years of civilization is not enough to alter biology and evolution.''

He pointed to some of the statues, the most ancient ones, first built when the temple was erected. They distinctively showed ancient warriors in full battle gear contrasting sharply with their serene faces.

''Our very struggle to curb our emotions, especially our violent ones, under the yoke of logic is itself an act of violence; violence against oneself. In fact, it is that inherent violence in the Vulcan heart that feeds this very effort, and makes it successful; turning violent impulses against themselves to nullify them. Outworlders think Vulcans repress their emotions; that would only lead to alienation.''

His grey eyes went to those of the displaced Vulcan woman.

''In truth, we sublimate them; redirect them into fueling our reasoning, just as many humans redirect sexual impulses into compassionate love for all, or their passions into career ambition. Denial always leads to failure. Acceptance is the first step to mastery.''

"My mentor said similar things. Following them while under threat of discovery and under the yoke of the Empire was difficult, however." As Az'Prel moved to study some of the older statues, she realized she recognized many of them. "Our histories seemed to have been the same at one point, if my memory is correct. Prior to the schism between logic and violence, perhaps. In my universe, it was the Romulans that embraced logic and peace, leaving a violent world behind in search of a new home. This left both worlds open to domination by the Terran Empire."

She then pointed out a particularly familiar statue in a transitory period. "This woman, in particular, my mentor often spoke of highly. She was a warrior sage and was known for great introspection on the battlefield in defense of Surak. She was able to do just as you said to great advantage, which I attempt to emulate - redirect her passions and emotions into reasoning and combat prowess. It is said that she was so patient, she was able to stalk and slay her own name."

''T'Kosu, the Blade-of-Heart-And-Mind,'' Sonak recognized instantly. ''Among all the Ancients, she alone stands as both a prominent warrior and a prominent sage in our History. Even Andorians admire her, as she reminds them of one of their own symbols of virtue, the warrior woman who fights while pregnant; bringing death as she is about to bring forth life. Romulans also revere her memory, as she more than any challenged Surak's teachings in words and deeds, putting them to the test like none other; thus enabling him to better spread them, and make them ring true to the rest of Vulcan. But most of all, that such acceptance must be free of coercion, for it to be of any value. A worthy model to emulate indeed.''

He nodded to her.

''You have made the climb; not only of the steps to this temple, but out of the dark world into which you were born, as all Vulcans did in those days. You have earned the right to commune with her katra, if you so choose.''

The displaced Vulcan woman nodded and stepped closer to the statue, preparing herself before stopping and returning her gaze to Sonak. "I require guidance. My experience in melding is... unpleasant... to the other party and I do not wish to be disrespectful. I assume there is a more peaceful method of mental joinings?"

''A katra cannot be hurt or indisposed, '' Sonak assured her. ''It is but the essence of a Vulcan, the remnant of a being that once was whole, but is now totally detached from physical existence, including any relation to space and time. Thus there can be no disrespect when you have climbed the steps, here as in life.''

His hand indicated the entrance at the top of a huge stone stairway of twenty-four steps, one for each hour of the amazingly identical Earth day that was also that of Vulcan; an astronomical coincidence Federation scientists were still pondering to this day. They led between tall massive crystal columns to a huge double door of blackened metal engraved with the IDIC symbol. It was currently open, a soft red glow pulsing from somewhere inside.

''Within the temple lies the receptacles of all the katras kept since the Time of Awakening; some from even earlier than that. There is no mind-meld involved. Once you touch a receptacle, it is up to the katra to establish the connection, as long as you touch it. But it will feel exactly like a mind meld, except for a more... dreamlike state, not always coherent to your conscious mind. There will be no... unpleasantness, as contact can be ended effortlessly from one or the other.''

He faced Rita.

''This is permitted to any and all who climbed the steps.''

"In my universe, this too is a test of wills. I will endeavor to keep my mind open to the ways of this universe. I thank you for your guidance." With that, Az'Prel gently rested her fingertips against the cold stone and closed her eyes.

“Perhaps you should go inside and seek the katra of T’Kosu, Az’Prel? Or perhaps of your counterpart, here in this reality?” Rita offered, trying to offer what guidance she could. This was certainly something out of her depth, to be certain. But she was here, and while she was tired from the climb, so too did she feel a sense of accomplishment over it, and a responsibility to help Az’Prel. After all, Sonak was an excellent mentor and teacher, and he could guide her as no other in this. But Rita, as it seemed the role of humanity often served amongst the starfaring races, was there to provide the motivation.

“You can seek out whomever you wish, or you don’t have to seek anyone at all. But we’ve come all this way, on this rather impressive pilgrimage…. So perhaps you owe it to yourself to hear what wisdom your ancestors might have to impart to you?” Rita offered gently.

Silently, Sonak invited them to enter the temple.

"My counterpart was a priestess on Mount Seleya for most of her life. If she is here, she may have wisdom I am lacking," Az'Prel commented as they entered the temple.

"Here's to research... and living in the future," the human girl quipped as they entered the solemn sanctuary of the hallowed ancestors of Vulcan.

The silence in the immense interior was such that the mere movement of the air sounded like a whisper, much like what one hears when placing a seashell to one's ear. In fact, the whole interior of the titanic structure was much reminiscent of that of a seashell; a series of circular chambers with round walls and arches getting bigger and bigger as one progressed further inside the temple.

The reddish light of holographic and natural flames shadowed an innumerable number of niches scoring from floor to ceiling the entire chamber, in which rested small sculpted objects of an infinite variety of geometrical forms, all covered with Vulcan sigils. In each one. This was the first chamber, the smallest, yet as large as the bridge of a Galaxy-class starship. It was, in typical logical Vulcan fashion, called the First Chamber.

Here rested the katras of the most prominent, most sought after individuals honored on Vulcan. Despite the arduous trek to reach this Place of Honor, there usually was a rather long wait to approach these most revered receptacles, as many of them were renowned the breath of the entire Federation; some even beyond that. But priority was given over mere tourists and admirers to certain individuals, like family members and descendants, former colleagues and certain specified individuals; like kolinarh masters... and lost Vulcans now coming home.

Sonak did not go to any of them. That he had done many times when he had been a disciple to the Masters of Gol in his youth, and then again when he had come to this universe and brought back the katra of Spock to rest with that of his equally famous father, Sarek. Instead, he went to a meditation booth, there to reflect while his two companions would partake of their experience here.

Guided by her own natural psychic faculties, Az'Prel went straight to a specific receptacle high up on the wall, with the help of an antigrav kneeling pad provided before each column of funeral urns.

As the interdimensional refugee Vulcan’s katra intermingled with one of the katras in the place of honor, where all the katras of those who came before were housed, she found herself no longer in the temple she was in mere moments before. Instead, she was on the summit of Mount Seleya, the harsh, hot wind blasting her in the face and whipping around her, threatening to toss her off the top of the mountain. She knew this summit well from her youth, as she had aspired to be one of the warrior priestesses at one time. Before the Terran Empire had taken everything from her.

This was not the peaceful summit of this universe, yet as a figure coalesced, things around them shifted from the harsh reds and jagged rocks that she knew into calm rustic colors with worn edges. It was as if the person standing before her was overwriting the memory she had found herself in until there was no wind, and the dust was still. Even the temple no longer had weapons racks filled with Lirpa at the ready, covered in dried blood.

This was the memory of this universe’s Mount Seleya.

There was little hesitation as she raised her hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. “I am Az’Prel. I come from a mirror of this universe, seeking clarity and wisdom.”

The figure raised their hand in salute as well. “I sense that I am your counterpart in this universe, though our names differ. I am T’Prel. I will offer you what wisdom I carry. Clarity is dependent upon what you do with that wisdom.”

"You seek wisdom. Wisdom is gained through experience, and you have great experience that no longer serves you, in a universe governed by different rules." T'Prel continued. "This gives you uncertainty. Doubt. Even fear."

"In your reality, all was conflict. External and internal. Here, your conflict is greater. Here your conflict is within yourself." The woman, her face a mirror of Az'Prel's own though lined with a much greater age, raised a single brow.

"Which do you fear more? The loss of what you have gained here, or the loss of what you were there?" T'Prel asked plainly.

“I am Vulcan. I do not…” she began, but in her heart, she knew the truth. She was afraid of losing both of them, and as much as she wanted to deny it, she could not lie to herself of any reality.

"Logic dictates that you lose neither." The version of Az'Prel wearing the robes of a priestess of Mount Seleya explained. "You understand the principles of logic. It has always defined you, even when all you knew was violence. Violence was the logical solution for the reality in which you existed. Now you are free to expand that understanding. Not by letting go of that past, but by learning from that truth. In that, you will protect as well, what you have gained."

"Do not abandon yourself. You, in turn, will not be abandoned."

Her counterpart’s logic and wisdom weighed heavily on Az’Prel. She had been thinking about her place in this new universe with far too many emotions, and now it seemed she had much more clarity on the subject. She didn’t have to change to fit in- she just had to be herself, and protect what she had gained. It was only logical.

“I thank you, Priestess T’Prel of Mount Seleya. Your wisdom and logic have granted me clarity.” With that, Az’Prel rendered the Vulcan salute one more time. “Peace and… prosperity.”

"And I to you, Az'Prel of the Hera." The priestess replied, hand raised in salute. "Yours is a home of contradictions. Those around you share more with you in that regard than you realize. That balances itself. Live long and Prosper."

There was nothing else that could be said or asked, as the wind seemed to pick up for a moment before the Vulcan refugee found herself back in the temple once more.

As Sonak prepared himself to commune with the great man of two worlds who had so vastly affected the course of both, who had been so instrumental in both of their own lives, Rita left her logical mate to gather his thoughts and prepare himself. While her presence was always welcome with the kolinahr master, there were also times when he was best left to his own devices, and this was one of them. He needed no help to commune with the katra of Spock, which he knew intimately, having rescued it from the alternate reality in which he had returned it, to bring it here, to its rightful resting place. Here, where now he could report that the error which had created the splinter 'Kelvin' timeline which had given birth to she and Sonak once upon a time through Spock's miscalculations, had now been undone, and would no longer threaten the true Prime timeline.

Walking slowly, enjoying the coolness of the cavern after the day in the blazing sun and the arduous climb, Rita considered the graven carvings of the stored katras, making out bits here and there. Her reading comprehension of Vulcan was still quite poor, as she had never fully taken the time to apply herself to the study. It wasn't laziness, but a matter of spare time. A workaholic, always juggling so many starship duties, usually with a side project or two occupying her time, she just had so little free time to devote to more learning beyond what she learned just in her day to day job and conversations with her brilliant husband.

For the girl with the average Human intellect, trying to keep up with the dizzying intellects with which she kept company was quite the challenge.

Thus she wasn't particularly that good at picking out the names per se, struggling with some of the subtleties of the alphabet, chiding herself for not taking more time while she'd had it on the Armstrong to study her Vulcan reading comprehension. Which was when she paused, surprised to find one marker labeled in Federation common that brought a smile to her face, and she approached it with outstretched fingers, brushing against the receptacle as she felt what she could only define as echoes and impressions.

It was not what a Vulcan would feel of another Vulcan, certainly; the contact was nowhere near as strong, the voice not clear, orderly and logical. But there was a sense of compassionate kinship that still warmed her heart, and gave her a sensation of belonging that she did not expect to find in that desolate and solemn place, on an alien world so far away from her own. As a tear rolled down her cheek, she whispered her thanks to the spirit she had touched, for all of the advice she had given to Rita, and all of the hope that she had offered through her works in life to the human astronaut who had come to love a Vulcan. Stepping back, Rita reverently dusted off the graven stone marker and paid her respects to her spiritual forebearer.

Amanda Grayson

A smile was on the sapphire chief of engineering face as she walked down the corridor. With the ship fixed from the side effects of of the time alterations and I port awaiting it's next mission. Having just spent some time with the fly girls she was now looking forward to some quiet time at home. A grin spread over her face as she swayed her hips slightly as she passed a few ensigns. After her period of pregancy, she was glad she still had it in her to make them blush. She felt like herself again.

Stepping into her quarters she let out a sigh as she looked over the room which was quickly becoming her family. They had the gear and incubator all ready for when their two girls arrived. She was looking forward to meeting them and holding them in her arms.

The noise of her computer brought her out of her thoughts. " Incoming call from Starfleet medical." That was odd the andorian thought to herself as she slipped into her bedroom and quickly pulled on a pair of trousers and a T-shirt. Not everyone was ready for an andoiran in a very skimpy Orion dancers outfit.

As soon as she was presentable she sat down on her couch and replied accept. A human in the uniform of medical appeared on the screen. " Hello there commander Thex I'm doctor Divina Maille from starfleet refugee service. We have a Akal th'Zoarhi here and he claims to be related to you. "

That name made Thex freeze in place. A name she hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime. The last she'd seen of it's occupient was him running for the gate after she scrambled over the wall. " Yes, that may be my Thavan. "

" Well you're Thavan is in a very bad state. He's lost an arm to infection and his running a high fever. I hate to inform you that there's a chance he may not recover. "

" I don't understand last time talked to him was years ago why would he be wanting to claim asylum on earth."

" He claims to have left the cult after the death of your brother Shehr." The nurse responded.
Thex mind was hopeful for a second. Had one of her parents really seen the shit they been involved in. Only as her brain realised a very important detail. Who the hell was Shehr? As of the last time she’d been their she only had sisters.
The nurse seemed a little confused at Thex silence. “ Is everything okay. Can I tell him that you’ll speak to him?”

Thex was quite for a long time before she finally responded. “ I’ll call you back.” She said before closing the channel trying to hide the tears forming in her eyes.

Thex let out a sigh as she poured another drink from the second bottle she had ordered from the bartender. She poured the last of it into a glass which she downed in one long gulp before slamming it back on the bar. "Another." She called to the bartender who with a sigh placed another bottle of the blue alcohol in front of the chief of engineering.

Walking into Ten-Forward, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox and Ensign Mona Gonadie had their heads buried in a PaDD. They were off duty but smiling as they were working on something exciting and we're a bit more noticeably affectionate towards each other in the wake of learning that Mona was now pregnant.

As they passed the bar to a nearby table, the red-headed Romulan paused to glance at the bar and noticed Thex. Tapping her bond-mate lightly to stop her, their empathic connection immediately told the Miradonian pilot what she was thinking.

Turning to the bar, Dox knitted her eyebrows, not knowing if she should say anything. Of all the members of the command crew, her relationship with the ships Chief Engineer was likely the least strong. But as a recovering alcoholic, she felt immediate concern over a friend looking upset with a glass in hand.

"Yes, I think that if we put a wall there it would make more room for... Uh... Commander? Is everything okay?" Dox asked.

A sigh so large it quitted the room lept out of Thex throat. Picking up the glass she drank it down again in one gulp before turning on her barstool. " No Dox I'm not okay. Those $%$£$%$% killed him." The Andorian replied gripping her glass so tightly it shattered in her hand. If Thex realized it she didn't appear to notice.

Startled by the shattering, Dox immediately turned to her wife and simply nodded. The two were becoming so close that even with touch telepathy, little was needed to say when needed. Mona had nursed so many of Dox's injuries, self-inflicted and otherwise, that she was practically a field medic.

The brightly plumed aviatrix just nodded and headed behind the bar for the medkit to start working on Thex's hand. She could at least stop the bleeding and heal the musculature and tissues. If there were any bone injuries she might have to call in backup though.

As Mona went around the bar for the medkit, Dox stepped over and raised an eyebrow. While she was just the Flight Control Department, the young Rihannsu woman. Diligently read every section report and security feed and didn't know who might be dead. But she kept her voice calm and steady, getting the distinct impression that Thex was in a place she had been more than once herself emotionally.

"Who, Thex? What's happened?" They were off duty, and calling the Hera's second officer 'Commander' repeatedly would likely push her buttons unnecessarily.

Several seats away, another silent figure took notice of the conversation at the sound of shattered glass and tuned in. Malana was often silently observing the people of Ten Forward and sharing their daily lives with them as a statue would share a park with visitors. She found her observations here to be much more enlightening, however. Taking her mug of ale, she moved down towards the trio to better observe and partake of the conversation if the opportunity should arise.

Thex stared blankly for what felt like an eternity as if her eyes could burn through the walls of the ship and reach the people who had pissed her off so badly. " My little brother," she said coldly her voice seemingly robbed of emotions. " The things that gave birth to me killed him and now my Thavan dares to come to me and asks me to forgive him."

While she spoke four languages, Andorian wasn't one of them, But from the context, Dox felt.safe in assuming 'Thavan' was one of the Chief Engineer's parents. She sat down next to her friend and shipmate, being no stranger to family atrocities. In point of fact, most of the senior staff of the Hera had spilled blood in their family trees. "What happened? To your brother?"

"He died of Seplexia Cataxia. The first case on Andor in over one hundred years. It could have easily been fixed by even the most incompetent doctor on Andor yet they refused to get him treated. All because the treatments creator was a Vulcan. Doesn't matter that the creator loved are people and even married three of us she's Vulcan so she can do no good. " Thex said bitterly.

"There's a word for that in common, isn't there?" Mona asked as she ran a dermal regenerator over the cuts in Thex's hand from the shattered glass. "Something that sounds like biology, right?"

"Bigotry. Xenophobia." Dox nodded grimly. "My people are infamous for theirs, by and large." The scenerio made Dox's stomach tighten. She thought of her best friend, Doctor Asa Dael, who lost their own little brother and mother to an easily curable disease due to their own father's distrust of medicine as she turned back to Thex.

"What did they say to you?"

"I received a communication from the Starfleet refugee complex on earth. My Thavan has claimed asylum on earth after escaping the family compound. Apparently holding his thei in his arms as he chocked on his own blood finally snapped him out of the cults brainwashing. Now after making my childhood a nightmare and having no contact for years he now wants my forgiveness. After not even telling me I had a little brother." Thex said in the same cold tone

The Hera's Second Officer's personnel file was light on specifics, and the two had never spoken much regarding personal issues. But Dox knew that Thex had been raised in a closed compound of Andorian Supremacists that she escaped as a teenager. The cult in question.

"And... Are you going to talk to him?" The red-headed Rihannsu asked, softening her generally gravely voice a hair.

Thex was quiet again as she stared at the floor. All of her life and nothing had helped her figure this one out. " I don't know. He and my other parents made my life a living hell, but..... he's still my Thavan. I don't know what to do Dox."

Crossing her hands on the bar, Dox looked at her knuckles. They had a texture to them that was different. Almost slick. It was what happened when the same skin was healed by a dermal regenerator over and over again over years. As she thought, she noticed a very similar texture to Thex's hands and began to realize just why the two might not have talked as much in the time Dox had been on the Hera. She was just now understanding that they might have more in common then either was comfortable with.

Seeming to focus on the same black spot of floor as the blue-skinned Lieutenant Commander, Dox spoke again after a long, silent pause. "The first time my mother broke one of my bones, I was about six. Maybe seven. It was her way of making me strong, she said. So I could fight through any pain. And that was just the beginning."

"After I escaped from that life at sixteen, I never wanted to see her again. I didn't speak to her for years. Until I realized that I needed to. That I needed to understand why she was so cruel to me. I resisted for years. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of believing that I was running back to her." Dox's voice was more raspy than normal as she hoped she was saying something to help.

"You need that too, I think. Even if what he has to say never makes any sense… You need to give him that chance. Not for him. But for your own piece of mind." The Hera's pilot turned to her superior officer. "And what he has to say… it might help you gain some degree of peace with that pain he put you through. But at least you'll know."

Thex breathed in slightly before she looked up at Dox. " I guess your right, but I have no idea what I'm going to say to him. I fled to the stars to get as far away from them as possible and I thought I'd never see them again."

Looking right back into Thex's eyes, Dox replied plainly. "What do you want to say? I'm him. Tell me what you're feeling." Then she smirked a little. "Just don't hit me. Security will not know what to do."

Unfortunately for Thex all she could think of was hitting him or many other ways of bodily harm to inflict on him. Fortunately, she remained calm and began tapping the bar as she thought the question through. it was a while before she managed a reply. " How could you just sit there and let him die. Did your faith mean more than your son's life?"

Faith, as a concept, was something Dox felt imminently under qualified to answer regarding. The Rihannsu occasionally worshiped the elements. Earth, Air, fire, and water as the components that made up the universe. Some, like her, were raised on the mythology of the great, reborn bird Al'thindor. But faith largely was a blind spot for the red-headed Rihanna woman.

But not as much for her bond-mate, Mona, who had been listening with that focused intensity Dox loved about her. One of the many things she loved about her.

The brightly plumed aviatrix took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to prepare an argument that she had been told many times before. "Everything is as the Moon Goddess wills it. Sometimes people are taken from us by the Trickster before we're ready and it's to make us stronger, But we have to remember that they're in her arms now." With that, she pursed her lips and looked down at the bar, her brows furrowed.

This exchange was starting to elicit a response from Malana, one eyebrow starting to raise. She may interject before too long as it seemed all three of them shared a long history of family issues and loss, just as she did.

Thex had never believed. In her parents cult, she'd lied through her teeth to avoid the teacher's wrath on the matter. Since then her materialist beliefs hadn't changed. This was a world of scientists and engineers, not magic. Still, she said nothing that would insult her shipmate's belief but did mumble out. " I'm sorry, but I see no guiding hand in any of this. Just a zealot who let my little brother die."

"And we now know that, for better or for worse, the gods that we worship are often far more advanced alien races that live much longer lives." Mona was out of steam as well now, having heard a lot of similar rhetoric growing up. "Sorry, I just... I got a lot of it as well. My foster parents are firm believers in the Moon Goddess and that she has a plan for everyone and... But at least they turned it around and made sure all the kids they took in got the best education possible in whatever fields we wanted and didn't shun any forms of science or tech, even if they didn't understand it. That too was all part of Minay's will, they would declare. The one thing they couldn't stand was anyone feeling left out or unloved."

" All my parents did was make my life a living hell. It's far easier to start hating than it is to start learning how to forgive. " Thex responded as she indicated to the bartender that she needed some oxygen pills. She was feeling light-headed.

"They made your life a living hell... and I'm thinking that on some level you're thinking about what this will say about you." Dox turned to look at Thex, who seemed to be spiraling.

"You aren't them, Thex. You know that. But you've got children of your own on the way and this is a very bitter reminder of where you came from. A place I'm betting you've been trying hard to forget." Dox was speaking from experience with the recent knowledge that she and Mona had children of their own on the way.

"But until you talk to him, your doubt is going to keep eating at you. As much as it hurts to think about, I think you need to open that door, Thex." The red-headed Rihannsu woman sighed. "You owe it to yourself to get some sense of closure. And for those two on the way."

The Andorian let out a slight sigh as the bartender handed her a few oxygen pills. " I guess your right. Even if it ends with me telling him never to contact me again it would be something. Not like he can mess my life up worse than he already tried to do."

"He can sure as Areinnye complicate it, though." Dox cursed slightly in her native Rihan with a slight chuckle. "I'm sorry you're going through this, Thex. And I wish there was some easy answer for it all. I'd use it myself if there was. But you're strong. You have your quad and you have all of us. And if speak to him, you won't be doing it alone. You'll half the crew in the other room waiting for you. That's how this works here on the Hera."

Then she dragged a finger through the spilled drink on the counter and gave it a sniff. "Yeah. 2258. I donated a crate to the bar when I gave it up. This never makes anything better."

"Has for me. One of the benefits of a high alcohol tolerance. Still, I need to get detoxed. I am the acting captain of this ship. " The Andorian said as she downed the pills. She'd need to stop by sickbay for a full detox shot, but the pills always helped.

Biting her proverbial tongue, Dox looked down at the chief engineer's hands that had been bleeding only a few minutes prior. She wasn't going to challenge her commanding officer on the finer points of denial for alcoholics, so instead, she nodded and smiled. "That's likely a very good idea, Commander. Just... think about it. You aren't alone here."

"I know Dox. " The Andorian said as she tapped her friend reassuringly on the shoulder

Smiling, Dox simply nodded In reply. "Then better let Asa get you right."

The literal stone-faced watcher gently set the mug she held down and slowly furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. It seemed that the three of these fleshy types shared something with her - family issues. The details were definitely different, but the effects were the same. She had rejected the purist watcher mentality that her people adhered to and contacted Starfleet to embrace what her people considered heresy.

There was no deity or religion that demanded her people do this, however... It was more akin to Vulcan logic or the biological need for fleshy types to eat to survive. When her people were still for long periods of time, they lived considerably longer. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the skilled stonemasons on Meroset and Doctor Dael, her own lifespan would have been reduced by much longer than she would have cared to think about due to her 'heretical calling'.

Then her thoughts turned towards relating her experiences to helping her friends and acquaintances here and now - something else that her people considered heretical. However, these sorts of thoughts did not come naturally to her people so her brow furrowed further in concentration.

It was a level of concentration that did not go unnoticed by the attentive Chief Flight officer. Dox might not have been a command officer outside the flight deck, but her nature compelled her to often take on such a role that extended to her reading up on mission reports and crew rosters. So while the two had never interacted before in the time she was onboard the Hera, Dox was well aware of Malana.

Turning slightly from her emotionally conflicted Lieutenant Commander that she was trying to help, Dox raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Miss Malana, correct? Are you okay?"

Malana relaxed her features at the sound of her name and fixed the source of the sound with her stony gaze. "Yes, I am... No... I... I find myself in a similar situation and I wish to offer... Support?" Malana then reached out to rest one cool, stony hand on Thex's shoulder. "I stand with you in solidarity in this matter."

Thex gave Malana hand a reassuring pat. " I appreciate that Malana same to the rest of you. Now I just need to work out what I'm going to say to him."

Checking her reflection one more time, Rita debated trimming her hair before going out.

She was already dressed, and ready to go- if she cut her hair she would have to get undressed, shower and get dressed all over again. Instead she pulled out some fibrous hair creme from her makleup bag, unscrewed the lid of the jar, scooped some out, worked it between her hands, then worked it through her shortish blonde hair with deft practiced strokes of her fingers. Left to it's own devices it would hang down in her eyes, giving her a rakish look if she kept it there, but it tended to fall in her eyes more often than not and irritate her. thus today she's just seep it up and over to the side in a graceful swoop, a reasonably timeless style, fortunately for her. Of course, the majority of her interactions today would be with Vulcans. who were not particularly swayed one way or another by the fashionably of one's hairstyle.

Fortunately, Rita understood this, but it was immaterial to her decision-making process as she dressed and styled to suit her own esthetic. Thus she stood dressed in her classic 2268 issue command gold uniform with the two woven solid gold braids on the cuff... braids which she was willing to admit to herself that she was proud of seeing there. Every promotion she had worked her butt off for it and then questioned herself and second guessed it. But not this time... this time, it had been the right time. This time she'd been ready to step into the Commander's boots, and she'd done well.

Mistakes were made- the flash of a brilliant silhouette appeared in her mind, even as she frowned to banish it. But she had grown, and learned, and adapted. There were always possibilities, and she took them. The universe continued to give them to her, so she continued striving to do the right thing.

In the bathroom Sonak was finishing his sonic shower. She had gone first because she needed more time to get ready than he, and he could use the few spare moments to achieve the results of hours of meditation, his incredibly disciplined mind decompiling incredibly efficiently. Smiling, she shook her head. She skimmed the surface of his intellect, taking in parts as he shared them with her and enjoying his logic exercises, comparisons, philosophical debates, quantum mechanics, helioseismology, thousands of subjects of which his knowledge was surprisingly comprehensive. Yet he could find satisfaction in playing tour guide to his human wife, seeing what was now his world for the first time. In helping a refugee of a universe gone mad reconnect with a world where the philosophy she rebelled to study her entire life holds sway, and founded a mighty civilization.

In all of the universe, of all of the wonders she had seen and the phenomenon she had encountered, none was more amazing to Rita Paris than Sonak of Vulcan.

Casually, she reached for him. Knowing he was close, hearing him in proximity, being able to visualize him helped somewhat, but at the same time, it was irrelevant. Focus and calm were the keys to exercising telepathic discipline, filtered through learning and understanding of the telepathic principles. In her case, as she herself possessed no telepathy, she was merely calling for him through their ling, as if tugging upon a fishing line to catch his attention. But the attention of a kolinahr was considerable, and even engaged simultaneously in a dozen separate mental task in addition to the physical act of getting dressed, still he could hear her.

I thought to wear my uniform as it clearly advertises my status as an anachronism, rather than attempting to blend in as we did amongst the pilgrims at the shrine. There, to blend in was to show respect, and for practicality to shield me from the harsh daytime sun. But this is appropriate for this venture, is it not, my husband?

You will intrigue them, came the clear thought of Sonak; as will Az'Prel. And to a scientific mind, being intrigued is like food to a starving selhat. They will discreetly search for the reason why her Vulcan mind is yet subtly different from the norm, and why you dress in century past fashion. They will identify you both through Starfleet records and become even more than intrigued; it will fascinate them. Studies and reflections about quantum mechanics and the multiverse will begin, and some will in all probability wish to have some exchanges with you both. Az'Prel and you will be most welcomed for your unique experiences and outlook. You will be recognized as significant contributors to the Academy.

Then Sonak emerged in his modern kolinarh garb, black tight-fighting leggings and short soft boots and ample matching tunic with long, large sleeves, ancient symbols in gold on the wide open collar. Around his hips was his anh woon, tightly belted with twin silvery weights on each side, and his combadge was subtly hidden at the back of his collar as if it was one of the runes adorning his clothing. He was thus ready for their new journey on his newfound home planet.

While she was aware of them and their existence, and their significance, through their bond, still Rita had never actually seen Sonak wear the distinctive ceremonial tunic that was his right as an accomplished master of logic, purged of all emotion- a Kolonahr. Seeing him wearing it, here of all places, brought a wide smile to her face as she crossed the room to run her fingers over his lapel, straightening that which needed no straightening, reveling in the tactile sensation as well as the visual impression and the memory of him in that moment that she would forever remember.

"You look good in black... so commanding." For a moment, she struggled with what to say as she appreciated the sight of her handsome and accomplished partner in life, then she spoke quietly. "The temple... I wasn't worried because all I had to do was make the climb and be respectful. But this... I don't want to embarrass you today. You are very well respected here, and this is... well, this is kind of the smart kids club for the smartest kids. So hopefully I don't say anything dumb that reflects poorly on you. I don't want them to think you are taking advantage of some backwater hick and..."

Seeing the look in his steel-grey eyes that most would find unreadable, she rolled her own bright blue eyes. "I know, I know, I am she who is your wife, your 't'hy'la, your One, and you will forever stand by that choice, and I have my own strengths. It's just... This is Vulcan. The Science Academy. As amazing as you are to me, here, you're venerated and deeply respected, and I just... worry about reflecting poorly on you, that's all."

''Worry is a Human emotion,'' he reassured her. ''And while sometimes worry may have a logical assumption to justify it, it is not so here. Prejudice is not a trait Vulcans will succumb to; it is in an admission of failed logic and reasoning, establishing conclusions without the preliminary hypothesis, fact gathering and analysis demanded by rationality. Anyone at the Vulcan Academy, of all places, showing such an attitude would be dismissed outright from it's grounds.''

His eyes went straight into hers.

''But you proceed from false assumptions. Vulcans do not judge others by the company they keep. Each person is estimated on his or her own merits. And I am not venerated; this is an emotion long ago expunged from Vulcan, along with old superstitions. I am respected, yes, but not so much for what I have accomplished as for what I am doing as a science officer in Starfleet. The Place of Honor and the Old Quarter is where we look into the past. At the Academy, we look towards the future. And that future includes Humanity and all sentient races of this universe.''

He paused a moment before completing his thought.

''You are not entering as an accomplished researcher or a learned theorician, but as someone contributing in a different but equally important way to the advancement of knowledge; as a Starfleet officer. Thus, you earn respect as well; you risk your life to open the way to the stars. And, from the stars, comes knowledge.''

Trying and failing to repress a smile, Rita managed to keep it mostly close-lipped as she draped her arms up over his shoulders, her fingers running through the thick, dark hair on the back of his head. “Per aspera, ad astra, eh? You do always know just what to say, Sonak of Vulcan.” Shaking her head, she chuckled.

“I have to admit, I never thought we’d be standing here, preparing to go to the Science Academy to discuss extradimensional exploration, quantum movement in time and space and the nature of the multiverse, yet here we are… infinite diversity in infinite combinations indeed.” Turning her head to glance to Az’Prel’s room in the small quarters in which they were staying, she mused silently.

''Only if you so wish,'' Sonak reminded her. ''We are here to be away from duty and experience existence on my homeworld. Work may be part of it but only if you find it a valuable part of that experience. You may let the academicians do their own search.''

Do you suspect that Az’Prel may have some degree of anxiety over today? I would not wish to insult her by asking, but I have concerns that she may find the situation intimidating as do I, and she may also have some… misgivings? She is my friend, but I am uncertain if this is something I could discuss with her. Perhaps a few words of reassurance from you, as they do with me, could ease her mind and offer her more confidence to face the situation?

It was rude to speak telepathically, but this was a conversation she suspected would be insulting to the proudly self-sufficient freedom fighter, who was still learning how to accept the help of others. Which was entirely reasonable, given her background and the life she had led.

That is for her to decide. You are projecting your own feelings onto her because of your genuine and very human concern for her. But may I remind you that she is Vulcan; feelings will not dictate her decisions. And as a Vulcan, she is in no need of reassurance or greater confidence. But she might welcome good counsel from a friend and from another, different perspective; even if she may not be yet fully aware of it. And that, my wife, is what you are best suited for; especially for her.

That was when the Vulcan woman in question exited her small room wearing a stiff green warrior priestess outfit from her universe similar to the red ones of this universe on Mount Seleya. Though there were several places to strap weapons to her, none of the included sheathes were filled with blades. Neither did the metal on her boots or gauntlets come to sharpened edges. The silver runes on her headband, collar, and vestments were all well replicated, however, and all offered prayers for those about to pass on.

Assuming her normal stance with her hands straight at her sides, Az'Prel bowed her head to her traveling companions. "It was requested that I attire myself in traditional garb that I wore while on the Vulcan of my reality. I thought it logical to choose something that would pose an intellectual curiosity to those gathered as well as something starkly different from what is in this reality."

''This should achieve that purpose quite efficiently,'' Sonak acknowledged. ''You will certainly be much solicitation by historians and physicists alike.''

"Well... we are the living experts in a few fields, whom a number of scientists and researchers are potentially quite excited to meet. I suppose we shouldn't keep them waiting?" Rita offered with a smile, then she gestured toward the door to get them all moving. "I'm guessing that we have ground transportation or trains.... subways? What constitutes Vulcan mass transit in the 24th century?"

Sonak looked straight at her.

''Transporters.''



Arriving at the Vulcan Science Academy via transporter was nowhere on the list of things Rita had planned today, yet here they were, and here they arrived. She still felt it, of course- time and again she'd had it explained to her how impossible that was in reality, but she knew better. Reality also told her how safe transporters were and how the statistical improbability of her being able to see, feel and perceive time differently during transport- to perceive at all- was an impossibility. But Rita Paris' career was a very long string of events and occurrences that should have been impossible, yet they still happened... to her, mostly.

Today she beamed in, and her knees did not wobble on reassembly, her hands did not shake when she took a few seconds to make sure that she was all there- at least she no longer felt she left something behind every time, which was of considerably greater comfort to her. Perspiration had broken out across her forehead and her palms were clammy, but she hadn't given voice to her terror and her discomfort. She had borne it silently, since an emotional outburst wasn't exactly the scene she wanted to make upon entering the hallowed halls of the greatest concentration of Academia in the universe.

The one concession to her weakness Rita was willing to make was stepping down from the pad, she leaned on the rock-steady shoulder of her husband while the mild vertigo passed. Hopefully the display of physical contact would not be too much of a faux pas.

No one here expects you to act like a Vulcan, came the reassuring thought of Sonak as he extended the time honored salute to the transporter technician before guiding the others into the welcoming main hall of the Vulcan Science Academy.

Then I certainly shan’t disappoint, for human ever shall I be, Rita replied in his mind as she blinked away the after-effects and followed her stoic scientist to take in the sight of the main hall.

It was a vast circular polished black stone hallway with doors all around labelled with sensor-linked plates switching from Vulcan to any language of the species approaching them, each naming the study conducted beyond it's engraved metallic sliding double panel. A large triangular moving stairway of the same metal allowed access to the higher levels and their own doorways, its point lowering to the circular basin of pure water circling its base. The entire architecture was modeled after the IDIC symbol, the stone expressing the long history of Vulcan wisdom and the modern metal alloy speaking of late 24th century knowledge, harmoniously blended as well to the eye as to thoughts.

''Basically, all departments of the Academy are the same, accounting only for the variations needed for each specific subject,'' Sonak explained. '' This is to say that, as would be logically assumed, there are much more ancient scrolls and tablets in the archeological department and much more state-of-the-art computers in the engineering section. All departments use as much current technology and time-honored traditional methods as is appropriate for each field of study. And alien methods are also integrated as best suited, even beyond the xenology department.''

He showed with his hand the doors encircling them and those above.

''That leaves only a question of what interest you most to see and you can assume the rest is more or less the same. The only exception is below grounds, where the Surak Chambers, the capital's school itself, is located.''

He waited for his two companions to voice what interested them first.

“Well I… suppose extradimensional studies and quantum resonances for me, given my own quantum field irregularities and the fact that we are otherdimensional in origin would be the correct answer for me?” Rita hazarded a guess, taking in the awe-inspiring vista of the Science Academy interior. She had expected for it to be impressive and a bit imposing, and it had not disappointed. While her moment of weakness and disorientation had passed, still she remained unconsciously close to Sonak.

Here in the very heart of Vulcan intellectualism, the human girl of the average mind might have felt a twinge more intimidated than usual, despite knowing that no one expected her to measure up to the locals intellectually. As her logical mate expressed, her talents and skills and strengths were elsewhere, and valued as such. But logic was not always a balm for feelings and anxieties, even for the bride of the kolinahr.

“Miss Az’Prel, is there some subject of study you would like to investigate while we’re here? As the man mentioned, this is the greatest repository of knowledge in the galaxy short of memory Alpha, so if you have a question, this would be the most logical place to attempt to find the answer?” Rita made a conscious effort not to waggle her fingers at passersby who were raising curious eyebrows at her and Az’Prel’s appearances, which were unique, even here. While it was her default to be friendly and disarm, again, the social rules were different here, and as a stranger in a strange land, she was striving to be respectful of her hosts. In the years to come she would need to serve as an example for younger generations, so she’d better get it down now, she decided.

"I believe I would find history and Vulcan archaeology fascinating," the Vulcan woman replied as she studied the grandiose architecture around them. "I must admit an interest in such things that I was never able to indulge fully. Indeed, I admit the comparisons between the contrasting differences and similarities in our histories has been a source of curiosity for me."

Sonak's hand went to several arches on their ground floor.

''The foundation of all our knowledge and civilization is of course here. This is the oldest part of the Academy, itself a monument to our past and the foundation of our growth. You will find here the largest museum on Vulcan, the main repository of all our ancient texts in the T'Pau Library and direct transporter access to several archeological sites open to the public.''

He then showed the stairway to Rita.

''The escalator leads all the way up to the latest addition to the Academy grounds, lodging the old Vulcan High Command and new Starfleet Archives with the T'Pol observatory and astronomical studies department; just below it is the Physics department, part of the Spock Science Studies Chair, with theoretical laboratories, holographic experimental simulators and direct computer interface to other research centers on the planet and offworld.''

"Wow... that is... as impressive as I would have expected," Rita responded with a wry smile, eyeing the escalator indicated and mentally plotting her course. "And what of you Sonak? As we two science tourists pursue and share our intellectual curiosities with others for mutual enlightenment, in what intellectual pursuit will you be engaging? Or will you be accompanying one of us?"

''It is my intention to go to the lower level and witness the education of our youth,'' the Kolinarh master answered. ''But if either of you require my presence, I can delay this visit.''

"I think we'll be alright," the curvaceous commander replied, eyeing the stairway to the heavens. "Shall we make plans to perhaps convene for a midday meal to compare experiences and decide on future courses of action, assuming we are not too deeply involved in projects?"

''There is a common area for sustenance at mid level of the central building,'' Sonak suggested. Traditional Vulcan servings and replicators are available.''

"Then let us reconvene at the appropriate meal time. A Professor S'Prol in the historical archives expressed desire to meet with me. They are the one that requested I dress in my current attire. I hope to have a lengthy discussion on the differences in the history of our two realities." With that, Az'Prel snapped to attention out of habit and rendered the Vulcan salute in a crisp, military style. There was a slight pause before she gave the words, however.

"Peace... And long life." It took her a moment to adjust her words over what she had been raised was correct of 'Live long and prosper,' especially since the Vulcans of her reality rarely wished peace to anyone.

''Live long ansd prosper,'' Sonak dutifully answered her, before giving a look to his wife reserved only to her and then heading towards the foot of the grand staircase to descend into the vast teaching area of the Science Academy.

The expression was subtle, but it meant the world to her, because she caught it, she understood it, and it spoke volumes to Rita when the kolinahr favored here with that subtle shift of expression. Thus she was bolstered for her meeting with the scientists of the extradimensional studies and quantum resonancing divisions of the Vulcan Science Academy.



What followed for the human explorer from a parallel dimension was a whirlwind morning of tests. Some were simply passive scans, some were more active scans. Some were comparative, to extrapolate against previous data gleaned from the experiments performed by Sonak and Doctor Dael aboard the Hera. Watching the footage of the transporter beam literally dragging her screaming across the floor was difficult for both her and the scientists to watch, but it was necessary in order for them to genuinely understand the scope of the phenomenon that she had manifested in her acting as an ‘anchor’ for the Kelvin universe’s attempt to collapse this one, in order to seek more stability for itself through her rather unique transporter malady.

There was considerable discussion of ‘unique biosignature attunement’ and ‘quantum field exaggeration resulting in catastrophic extradimensional energy drain’ along with 'extradimensional energy conduit via cyclonic wormhole formation'. The footage and scans of her trip through Starfleet Command were also rather extensively reviewed, as her effect on local transporter patterns were also analyzed as well, with copious notes and discussions sparked from the various phenomenon witnessed there alone.

By the time they got around to asking if they could transport her locally for a baseline for readings to compare them to, Rita’s usual level if transporter anxiety was actually quite elevated. But Sonak was nearby if anything went wrong, and he was far and away the greatest living expert on her condition. Additionally, the greatest scientific minds of the Federation resided within these halls- if something went awry, even without her heroic husband handy, there were plenty of brilliant minds to be bent to the task.

While it made her forehead break out in perspiration and her palms clammy, still she agreed to oblige them. Even studying her emotional and physical responses to the request were fascinating to the Vulcan scientists, which actually calmed her a bit, as it wasinteresting to her to see the logic of Vulcan at work without the dedication and care of her heroic husband's dedication to her overall well-being involved.

Although it was only a beam across the room, it still felt like it took minutes to her, as she felt herself disassemble and reassemble from matter to energy then back again. But it no longer made her want to scream in agony, and she no longer felt as though she left something behind any longer, so she simply endured the unpleasantness for the sake of science.

After all, one had to make sacrifices in order for science to advance. Rita Paris understood that, and for the pack of fascinated Vulcan researchers quizzing her and studying her unique condition today, the least she could do was offer them quantifiable data. After all, it would be rude to come to the heart of the Federation’s scientific research and deny them the opportunity to study a genuinely unique phenomenon firsthand.



Passing through the impressive stone arches on the ground floor, Az'Prel walked down the simple stone corridor. On the walls were ancient historical documents, framed and presented as she made her way to the first chamber.

But before she could indulge her own curiosity for the history of this Vulcan, much like her own but for the distinct differences in details, she had obligations to fulfill. In that first chamber was the department of Historical Studies. The room was a cavernous space where ancient stone architecture was juxtaposed with the most modern of technological innovations. Massive banks of computers that were repositories for all of Vulcan History on one wall across from sterilized shelves cataloging ancient scrolls and texts, protected from the elements and the ravages of time with shielding that occasionally gave off the faintest of blue ripples when the light hit them right.

Meeting her in the center of the room was a team of historians, all offering their classic Vulcan salutes and proper greetings. Basic introductions were made before the questions began. And the questions were as interesting to the historians as they were enlightening to the Vulcan from another reality. For in the questions, she too learned about the differences and ways her Vulcan diverged. Every rune and marking on her priestesses garb had a correlating version in this reality. And as they spoke, she began to understand how two versions of a world could be so alike and so different at the same time. And in spite of the vast differences enlightened in the day's questions and studies, one thing became increasingly clear to all involved. Vulcan's were Vulcans across space and time and the similarities far outweighed the differences.

As Sonak had stated, this was Vulcan, regardless of reality. And this was her home.

After she had satisfied the requests of the historians, she allowed herself an indulgence of her own and made her way to the T'Pau Library, not to read of the history of her people, but of the history of herself. Finding the writings and history of the priestess known as T'Prel. The priestess she had communed with the katra of on Mount Selaya. The priestess that was her in this world. In contemplative silence, she read all there was to know on the life that might have been hers as the hours passed.

Over those hours, she found through her research that she had dedicated her life to a lesser temple on Mount Seleya in quiet meditation and inner reflection on the meaning of emotional control and why Vulcans do so, exploring the reasons why Surak chose the path that he did. In so doing, she had come in contact with a young merchant named Davo Mudd whom she had a short lived affair with. Together they had a daughter but due to genetic complications, she passed on before her first birthday. Because of this, Davo left Vulcan and returned to Earth to continue his mercantile business in a new environment away from the memories he had made. T’Prel redoubled her duties to Mount Seleya after that, dedicating her life to guiding those that visited her shrine and purging all emotions from herself through the rites of kolinahr.



Sonak returned from his tour of the Vulcan Academy School for the Young most satisfied. The dark, foxhole-like computer cubicles surrounded by holographic computer sense-activated interfaces might be considerably more advanced than the push button and voice activated units of his own youth, yet the exact precision of data and the deepness of knowledge and wisdom imparted was still second to none.

Here, the students could even use virtual reality to perform experiments and experience safely any kind of historical, cultural or social situation, from the farthest reaches of known space to those of imagination. Sonak himself tested the system by experiencing life as a Borg drone on board the Cube that attacked Earth and sowed devastation at Wolf 359, decades ago. As he had expected, Borg perfection was not the epitome of a life of pure machine logic as some believed the Vulcans aspired to. It was nothing like the enlightenment and freedom of attaining Kolinahr, freeing oneself of the shackles of emotions. It was a complete denial of the self and of free will, thus of responsibility and purpose, an enslavement to the machine and the whole where everything was lost for the illusory quest for absolute, unfailing efficiency. It was the vapid, void existence of a cogwheel, bringing down sentience to that of a simple cell.

There was much to meditate upon this experience; but that would be for later. After discussing the subject with a class of students, at the request of the teachers wishing for them to meet a kolinahr master, he thanked them all for the opportunity and the enlightenment they had given to his own thoughts before ascending once more to the main hall. It was interesting what he had learned and experienced since coming back to his homeworld, one he had believed lost forever. It was fascinating for him to realize the scope of just how much he still had yet to learn and experience.

While he awaited the return of his two traveling companions, the kolinahr master from a universe that was no more, from a Vulcan that never was, sat on a bench facing a fountain and began a light meditation about the distinction one could, or could not make, between life and existence.

When I was young, my mother spoke often... well, lectured... on the principles of Rihannsu honor, but she never gave it a name. At least not right away.

Of course, there was a good reason for that, but one I had forgotten. My first name was hidden to me, just as I was hidden behind a facade, the illusion of false humanity. The DNA overlay and cosmetic surgery that left me with rounded human ears, curly, auburn hair and freckles was a lie. A mask meant to hide my true parentage... so that no one would discover that I was in truth the daughter of Dra'lath tr'Rul. Himself the son of Verelan t'Rul. A Deihu, or Senator, of the Ihhliae province of ch'Rihan. A very powerful women with a very long reach within a very large Star Empire which would very much like to know and lay claim to her bloodline. After all, bloodlines were sacrosanct.

So my DNA, my name, and my entire identity became a lie that I lived, a fabrication to protect me. Overwritten by ‘forbidden’ science so that my blood would tell a different story. A safer story. I was to be 'Melanie Dox'. Daughter of a simple human smuggler named Declan. A man I believed to be my father, though he was only in my life a short time before abandoning us to go rot in a prison somewhere.

In time, with the aid of a doctor more brilliant than they will ever accept of themselves, and the whispers of the woman I know as Masato Rei, but known to all those on death's door as that step into the final frontier’s gatekeeper, I learned the truth. Death herself told me the name of my forgotten father.

But by then, I had already learned my own name.

From an ancient god of tales whose name I still dare not speak for fear of invoking him, I learned my true name in his whispers as he bargained with me.

I was Mnhei'sahe.

Of course, I knew the word. Even my mother could only hide it from me for so long. As the child pilot of the smuggling ship, 'Forager', we interacted with many Rihannsu as we shepherded them from servitude to the imperium, and they all used the word. It was bizarre how it always made me pause and yet the word felt familiar and I never understood why.

Only now do I begin to wonder what about me is interesting to beings of such power that two of them would help me to restore my past. What does this portend for my future if this is just the overture, the days of my youth? I wonder, for we live in tumultuous times.

I hadn't been called 'Mnhei'sahe' since I was almost five. I had buried the memories deeply when my parents, out of fear, had me surgically and genetically altered to appear half-human. They feared my father's mother, and her wrath. Their freedom and mine would be no more than a memory if she knew of my existence. Then, my father’s section director of the Tal'Shiar had begun investigating why my father would vanish from his duties as a Romulan Tal'Shiar investigator for days on end.

He was, of course, visiting the family he had begun to grow in secret with the woman that his mother despised and believed dead.

To say the least, my childhood was… complicated.

They were quite right, as I would later learn. After my surgery where my Rihannsu ears were cropped and my DNA edited, my grandmother, Verelan t'Rul, had become suspicious of her son and growing up, I never saw him again after he left that last time. It was one trauma too many for my very young mind, and I blocked it all out. And to protect my mind, my mother decided to let me keep forgetting. Encourage it, even.

From then forward, I was Melanie. The human that was no more than a business relationship with my mother became my father. She even changed her own third name to 'Dox' to perpetuate the illusion as he too left. And we were alone again.

I was raised Rihanna. I spoke Rihan. I was taught that in spite of my appearance, I was my mother's daughter and thus a daughter of ch'Rihan regardless of my rounded ears or my then brown, damaged blood.

And a Rihanna girl needed to learn and understand the meaning of the Rihannsu ruling passion- Mnhei'sahe.

Mnhei'sahe is the principle of honor meant to to be the driving force of Rihannsu life. You live and die by that honor. It defines you, and how you conduct your life.

Mnhei'sahe requires balance, which means maintaining not only your own honor but the honor of those you interact with. To maintain mnhei'sahe means giving from yourself to aid an enemy in need. It means denying a friend to serve their needs and protect their honor.

For my mother, it meant denying a daughter the warmth and caring she wanted to give, to teach her to be powerful. Her ruling passion had to be fulfilled by making me strong. By giving me the skills to survive a galaxy that wanted to punish me for my heritage. My mother was, and is, an honorable woman.

That honor led her to destroy her career to help the helpless. That honor lead her to give up her freedom to preserve mine. That honor forced her to live a lie to protect my truth.

"Your father, he wanted to name you 'Okhala', for the element of fire." My mother told me not long ago as we spoke after work in the ship’s lounge. "We rarely agreed on matters of philosophy and even less on Religion. And In religion, he reminded me of my own father, who named me 'Jaeih' after the element of air."

Growing up, my mother taught me about the comparative religions and beliefs of ch'Rihan. She had been raised to worship the elements. Of the land that nurtured the Rihannsu people. The air they breathed. The water that sustained them. The fire that fueled them. It was a belief that served the concept of balance in the Ruling Passion. Serve the balance of life and it would serve you.

But she also spoke of the mythological legends of Al'thindor. The great bird reborn in fire that was a metaphor for the exodus of our people from when S'Task led us from Vulcan thousands of years ago. It was, of course, meant to be little more than a metaphor but it was a concept that inspired her and one that, as I gain experience in life, resonates with me.

I often wonder if Al'thindor might simply be a different name for Masato Rei, the rider of the pale horse... for Death. She who shepherds us all regardless of culture or origins to the great beyond. I could ask her directly, of course. I even told her my feelings on it once, and she didn't contradict me. But I won't ask her. It's not mine to know and I won't sully that friendship. That would betray both of our honors. Still, that idea stays with me.

As we spoke in Ten-Forward, my mother told me that my father wanted to name me 'Okhala' because I was his fire. "I didn't hate it. It's a lovely name and I did not want to contradict his desire, for you truly were his fire. But I knew your name from the moment I knew I was pregnant."

"In my life… I had done many things I regret. I turned my back on our Ruling Passion in favor of obeying orders or protecting my comforts." My mother said to me in a moment of honesty that was more and more frequent, if still surprising to me. "So I knew that you would be my reminder. Not of my mistakes, but of why I wished to rectify them."

Smiling, I simply nodded and asked what my father thought of my name.

"He understood my reasoning and ultimately agreed." My mother smiled slyly as she recollected and took a sip of her glass of Kali-Fal. "Though he did raise the issue that you would potentially have to deal with significant mockery if you engaged with other Rihannsu children."

It was something I had thought of more than once after learning of my original given name and then choosing to reclaim it. On the Hera, I was the only Rihanna. Nobody was aware that 'Mnhei'sahe' was such an important word in our culture. That it is not a word dropped casually among the better of my people.

It certainly was among the refugees we took onboard the Forager for years. It wasn't long that my mother had no choice but to put the word to its meaning in my teachings.

"I was… terrified that every time one of our passengers spoke of their ruling passion by name that it would trigger another nightmare or repressed memory for you." She told me as I nursed my coffee. "And for a while, it did to a degree. You would awake in tears, only six years old complaining of your ears hurting. Your dreams of blood and pain were fed whenever someone said your hidden name. This lasted for a time, but faded by the time you were little more than… seven, I believe."

"But perhaps he would have been right." She said with a warm smile betraying her feelings for her lost love. "Had circumstances allowed me to raise you where… as… I wanted to, you may well had been mocked for my choice of your name. You may still if you are ever able to reconnect with more of our people."

She had lingered on the word 'where' and moved on, but it fired a question in my mind of what she meant. But I put it aside for the time to discuss later. She was speaking from the heart and I would not get in the way of what I had wanted from her in my childhood: honestly.

"But he embraced my choice for you. Its meaning clear to him and one he resonated with as well. His honor was very important to him, my dear." She said, speaking of him in the past tense. When I had last seen him, not knowing who he was but simply recognizing him, he was a broken drunk. But she had learned the horrible truth years after he had left. She saw him as that same broken man I would see years later. A broken drunk that looked right at her and could not recognize her anymore. She knew that his mother must have subjected him to the device called the Neural Extraction Converter.

The device was a Tal'Shiar tool and weapon in one. One that could erase memories, rip them from the mind, or rewrite them to serve the needs of the imperium. And it was a device my mother carried the shame of having used too many times when ordered to secure the loyalty of the Rihannsu people during her own time in the Tal'Shiar. And she knew its effects when she saw it. He was alive, but his mind had been broken.

"He… cherished you, Mnhei'sahe. I know that you don't remember well his time with us, but he did." She said to me, leaning forward in her seat in our booth tucked in the rear corner of the lounge. "He never cared for the risk he took in loving you. And I know that, Starfleet or not, he would see all you have accomplished here and he would burst with pride. Many nights he would sit with you in his arms and whisper his silent prayers for you. He would tell you the stories of our people with pride and look into your eyes and see your future before you."

Leaning back, she took another sip and looked longingly out the window. "Our home is broken, Mnhei'sahe. Long ago, our people forgot what I chose to remind myself of with your name. They have forgotten what you represent. The lessons I have tried to instill in you."

Then she looked back to me and met my eyes. "And I may have failed to be what you needed and for that, I hope you know that I have far too many regrets. But when I look at you and what you have become. When I see how strongly you embody that name I gave you, I have nothing but pride."

As it is usually for me when meeting praise, I became uncomfortable and blushed like a child. I much prefer talking about anything but myself more often than not and it was no different then. I had no words to reply with as a went through my somewhat predictable motions. I looked out the window, ran my fingers over an ear. I nodded and smiled through flush, green cheeks awkwardly.

Taking the cue, Mother smiled slightly in acknowledgment and nodded, tweaking the subject somewhat laterally. "But perhaps we are at the crossroads of something new here. With your posting here and with this crew. With the beginnings of a family of your own in the works. Perhaps this is a rebirth of sorts."

Quizzically, I raised a brow towards her as she spoke. An expression that was uncomfortably close to her own face, at times. As I did, she continued, "Those children. They are of you as much as of Mona. They will be both Miradonian and Rihannsu. And that will make them exceptional individuals."

Then I watched her tone shift to the melancholy In an instant as she thought. "When you were but a child… when your father was still with us… I allowed myself the luxury of a child's dream. When we held you together in the night and looked into the stars beyond the ship, I imagined the impossible."

"There we stood, together as a family, Dra'lath at my side as we watched you grow up in peace. In my mind, I saw you laugh and play in the lavender-hued meadows of ch'Rihan. I heard your laughter echo across its soft, turquoise skies. I watched you grow up in happiness under the light of Eisn." Then she brought her gaze up to meet mine, a look of determination on her stern face.

"It was a dream unfulfilled, but one I give to you. Yours with be children of ch'Rihan as much as you are. And I pray to the Elements, and Al'thindor, and the old gods even of Vulcan lore, that you will stand with Mona and your children someday as I imagined for you on that world with happiness at last."

"I love my home, Mnhei'sahe. And I miss it terribly at times. But rarely so much as I do when I think that you have never been there."

We talked for a while longer. We talked of my career and my new wife's pregnancy. We talked of my own aspirations and fears and the tasks she now took as an unofficial member of the Hera. We spoke of many things before bidding each other good evening in our customary fashion.

Ever since joining the Hera I've noted the momentary discomfort of those around us when my mother or I say "Jolan'tru", or in truth, anything in our native tongue. The crew is all equipped with universe translators of course, but they tend to skip over the occasional random word or, in my case, expletive, especially when it's intended to be heard as it is.

That or Captain Telvan and Rita simply don't care when I curse under my breath at the helm in Rihan. A habit I need to work on and quelch as well as I did in covering up my accent.

But as I left Ten-Forward to walk the decks for a while, I thought on those momentary looks of uncomfortably over something as innocent as a cultural farewell. Nobody looks askew when Sonak gives a Vulcan Salute. Even when S'Rina and V'Nus say "Q'Plagh", many get nervouse, but none seem to be... suspicious.

Although it's still different for Rihanssu. Or, perhaps I should say, for 'Romulans'. It's there where those distinctions seem to live the hardest. What we should be as a people versus the caricature we've become. The name 'Romulan' was a crude misinterpretation of our name made centuries ago that still finds a way of twisting in me ever so slightly when I hear it and twisting very little less when I've had to use it myself out of simple expediency and not wanting to bother explaining the difference a dozen times a day.

I'll admit, I don't like the word.

When I am off duty and not with others, I like to walk the corridors. I have made habit of reading the reports of department heads, reviewing security logs and many tasks that aren't my responsibility as a simple lieutenant. But this ship is my home and I feel a responsibility to it and my fellow officers, so I like to know what's happening. And as I walk the corridors, I'm met mostly with polite, professional smiles from those that notice me or are not otherwise engaged in their own business. I notice no overt hostility or distrust in the eyes of my shipmates. Things are getting better. Those looks... and the former insults and recriminations found at the academy and at past postings that once made me want to resign my commission before joining the Hera, are all but gone. A thing of the past best left there.

I am an officer. And above that, a section chief and member of the ships senior staff. And that means that the face they see when they meet mine, Rihanna or human, must present itself professionally and responsively. And I strive to not show my frustration or irritation with the increasingly rare, if still occasionally present, looks of distrust. I don't always succeed at that. Sometimes, my delicate temper is on display more than I'd like. Sometimes I forget simple protocols like changing into a uniform not caked in my own blood if I've just been in sickbay with Plasma burns or stab wounds. Sometimes I'm less than approachable. But like the rest of the crew, I'm getting better. Making fewer such mistakes. I'm trying.

I work to show my fellow crewmembers respect. They show me respect in turn. We work together to achieve the goals set for us by the Captain and First Officer. We work together to maintain that balance. In that, there is my balance.

My ruling passion.

As the trio of travelers wound their way along a particularly treacherous gully carved by millions of years of air currents, packs full of supplies on their backs, the harsh Vulcan sun began to set and Az'Prel, who was at the head of the group, called them to a halt as the howl of a sehlat could be heard in the distance.

They were deep in the heart of the Forge, just as the refugee freedom fighter had requested. These were the parts she had been lost in for several years to temper her and prove her worth. "The sun will be gone soon. If this landscape holds true to what I remember, there should be a good place to make camp just ahead past that rise beneath a large outcropping of stone."

''Your topographic studies are accurate,'' Sonak confirmed. ''And so is your estimate of the time. Shelter is the first priority when facing the challenges of the Forge. I suggest you both prepare your night garbs as the temperature will drop significantly and swiftly below zero Celsius; but the wind will not abate.''

Already the gold of the blinding sun on the horizon was bloodied by the coming of darkover the jagged stone of the titanic peaks rising like broken claws to tear up the darkening sky. The shadow of T'Knut was already spreading it's own darkness to join the upcoming night as the sister lifeless planet loomed like a massive, ominious moon right over their heads. The reflective coppery minerals of the ground, the pale gold of the sand and the blood light of the massive world overhead challenged the night.

For Rita, her human eyes would be quite able to pierce the night, as it would be even clearer than a full moon on Earth. But lacking the protective third eyelid of this world's native inhabitants, the constant glare of this wild, desolate expanse would require her to keep her darkened goggles on; effectively making the coming night as dark for her as for her companions.

Donning her night clothes was also important; she lacked the natural hardiness and the self-control of her bodily functions Vulcans routinely learned since childhood. The night's cold could be as damaging, even fatal to her, as the scorching heat of the day threatened to be. Even to hardy Vulcan youths coming here for the rite of passage to adulthood, the dangers of the Vulcan desert were very real. Both Az'Prel and Sonak had already faced it; Sonak would insure she would not suffer needlessly. She was here to experience his native world, not to prove herself to anyone, least of all to her friend and to her husband.

It would be illogical.

As for Rita, she had enjoyed the day's exertions. The natural beauty of the Forge was intimidating and impressive, and reminded her of the deserts of Arizona or Utah of her own world, save for the blazing heat which beat down upon them which was somehow hotter and far dryer than her homeworld, and the fact that as said sun began to set, she could feel the temperature beginning to drop. This was clearly an unforgiving landscape which would test travelers, and she was glad to be well prepared for it with two experienced guides.

Cheerfully and efficiently she began helping to set up camp, as Az'Prel declared the immediate locale to be free of threats. Thus she and Sonak quickly assembled the portable shelters they had carried with them, made of lightweight yet durable materials that would keep the wind off of them, and enable her to retain some heat throughout the night. As she shrugged into a Starfleet Academy sweatshirt to stave off the early evening chill as she started a cooking fire, Rita tugged on a cap as well, to keep her body heat close as the darkness fell and the fading day gave way to the cold, dark night.

"It's breathtaking out here... the erosion of the stones from the constant currents of the wind produces some truly remarkable shapes and vistas," she offered, marveling at the natural beauty of the harsh landscape. "I'm very glad that we came here."

''Even Vulcans of today are fascinated by this place,'' Sonak admitted; '' and not only because of all the history attached to it. This is the soul of our homeworld; and connecting to this soul helps us find and build up ours. This is the essential reason why it is called the Forge.''

He turned towards Az'Prel.

''If you yourself communed with this place in your own universe, then we share the same heart. This, therefore, is as much your home as the one you were actually were born into. The soul of Vulcan is not confined to mere rock and sand; it transcends matter, and energy, space and time, so long as it lives within the Vulcan heart, be it mine or yours.''

His gaze wandered towards the bloody horizon over the dry landscape.

''It is not logical; but it is nonetheless true.''

"The Vulcan heart is sometimes not logical," Az'Prel replied, gazing out across the horizon as well, having swapped to the rust-red padded armor that she often wore for sparring and training. It had been modeled after the antique Klingon armor that she had been deposited in this reality with - her sole remaining possession of where she came from, and was thermally insulated as well as providing some degree of protection.

"Like other races, the heart wants what it wants and denying it is not logical, even if its demands are not. Denying it leaves us incomplete, but to temper the youthful heart for adult life it must be against the rigors of the Forge and the Anvil so as to leave clarity of mind, body, and soul so that the heart will know itself." The Vulcan woman turned back to Sonak. "That is what my mentor told me before leaving me in the middle of the Forge and telling me to find my way back to Shikhar."

''There are as many paths to wisdom as there are souls to follow them,'' Sonak said, nodding. ''It is up to each to find it's own and to follow it. There is a possibility that you might find here a way to resume this journey for yourself.''

Az'Prel stared back out across the landscape before them. "As I find myself in the Forge of a different reality, unchanged between the two, my heart is filled with hope that I will be able to do so, knowing that I will not have to do so alone. An odd sentiment for a logician... A Vulcan... But it is what my heart tells me."

''Albeit not in those exact words, one Human once said it quite well; no one is an island,'' Sonak retorted. "We will walk the path with you if you so wish it.''

"There are some paths that must be traversed alone, but for the greater path of life, it is good to know that I have found new family with you both and with others among the crew of the Hera. I thank you both for this opportunity to reconnect." Turning back to Sonak, she rendered the Vulcan salute and paused long enough for him to return it before turning to Rita to offer a more human thank you in the form of an awkward hug.

"Go find yourself," Rita whispered, holding the hug for a second before letting it go and gazing into the dark eyes of the Vulcan woman, her own eyes hidden behind the glare goggles she wore. "If you get lost, then we'll find you. But you're a survivor... I believe you'll make your own way wherever you're going. We'll meet you in Shikhar." Offering a reassuring squeeze of the arm, Rita stepped back into Sonak, tucking her hands under her armpits as the temperature continued to drop, yet the wind persisted.

''Remember, Az'Prel; logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end,'' Sonak offered her before she departed.

With a nod, the Vulcan woman took off at top speed out across the desert.



Having left her companions, Rita and Sonak, at their camp site, Az'Prel raced across the sand of the Forge as fast as her feet would carry her, feeling free in the night air as she leaped from a ledge and landed nearly ten meters away without losing her stride. She ran like this until her lungs finally felt the burn she was looking for and her breathing control became a necessity rather than training.

That was when a trio of sehlats - a hunting group - began stalking her. They were waiting for her to grow weary from her run and slow. she could hear two of them on her right and one on her left as she ran towards a large outcropping of rocks. If she tried to avoid the rocks by moving to the right, they would have her easily. The terrain was rougher on the left but she would only have to face one until the other two took her from behind. Logically, she would have to try to scale the outcropping, however they were far too close already for that to work and she didn't feel like spending the night on top of a rock.

So she did the last thing that the trio of sehlats expected.

She stopped and pulled both of her blades, rolling into a fighting stance.

As the Vulcan cat-bears paused in confusion and stalked closer, they sniffed the air, sensing that this Vulcan was something different. The low growl coming from her throat and the gleam of steel made them wary in a way that caused the two smaller ones to shy away while the larger one decided to try his luck and pounce with a ferocious snarl and gnashing of teeth that would have killed most sentients instantly.

For the Vulcan woman he faced, she braced herself and took it, pulling the larger beast into her so that the ferocious attack was wasted, teeth gnashing at air and paws waving helplessly in the air as she lifted him seemingly effortlessly onto his hind paws in wide eyed amazement. Instantly, the ferociousness of the sehlat turned into meek mewling as he found himself completely helpless and receiving scritches.

The other two sehlats hung back in fear at the drastic change in their leader, not sure what to make of this new development. They were confused and a little upset that their alpha was so easily made a fool of by this stranger.

After a few more minutes of the dance between the alpha sehlat and Az'Prel, she let him down and he meekly submitted to her, purring softly as she sheathed her weapons and gave him some pets behind his ears.

She had made a new friend, but they were hungry friends. They still needed to eat and prey out in the Forge was hard to find. Az'Prel would have to help them find something to eat after denying them herself as a meal.



While Sonak had excused himself to climb a nearby outcropping to meditate in solitude, his bride had withdrawn from him, understanding that sometimes the kolinahr needed his own space, both physically and psychically. As Az'Prel had gone for a run in the desert, Rita Paris was alone to reflect upon her thoughts. Poking at the fire with a stick, she mused at the strangely appropriate nature of the circumstances. The freedom fighter had gone to run free across the desert, to find herself. The master of logic had gone to commune with the fundamental forces of the cosmos, to contemplate the universe and his place within it. Which left the human girl sitting by the fire, poking it with a stick, like her ancestors of the caves, who had looked up and dreamed of what might be out there amongst the stars.

Now, here she was, generations beyond those simple hairy apes, on the sands of an alien world, sitting around a fire looking back at those stars, amongst their multitudes even seeing the one that was her home winking back at her.

Coming to Vulcan had been her idea, and she had been glad to come. It had been more welcoming than she had expected- the modern Vulcans were curious about her, but mixed marriages such as theirs were far more common today than they had been in their time. Today it was far less of a curiosity, and simply an accepted fact. Their children would face little discrimination on Vulcan, if any at all. They could be children of two worlds, and they could represent both equally. They would be capable of standing on both, or either, and they would find their own paths. Now she felt confident of this, having seen the world for herself and encountered her people.

Coming to Vulcan had been revelatory for her. She had climbed Mount Selaya, and touched the soul of one of her spiritual forebearers. She had seen the great forge, and the Science Academy, and the High Command. She had seen the seas of Vulcan, and the great libraries. She had met the people, embraced their culture, and come to know the character of the planet that in her own universe, in her own time, existed only in legend. Rita Paris had taken a pilgrimage to the homeworld of her husband, because it was here. She had brought the sole survivor of a Vulcan ravaged by the Terran Empire to experience one whole and thriving, and she had seen the effect it had upon the woman. In showing them the sights and landmarks of his homeworld, even Sonak had seemed unusually content and at peace, even for the implacable Master of Gol. There had been a light in the steely gaze of the somber scientist that she seldom saw, that she suspected was a reflection of his fondness for his restored lost homeworld.

Now here she sat, squatting by a fire in the desert, thinking about her shipmates and crew that she looked forward to returning to, the starship that needed them, the lives that they had here in the final days of the 24th century, and it brought a beautific smile to the face of Rita Paris. Enalia would be pleased to see their return, and while Rita doubted the woman needed her as much as she thought she did, still Rita was happy to serve beneath her. With the Tribunal behind them, Enalia would be more at peace, she suspected, free to chart her own course amongst the stars. No longer under the onus of her mother's shadow, her privateer fleet would now under her direction be turning to an honorable mission, once and for all, with a newborn daughter under her care.

Who had of course come to her under bizarre circumstance... but that was life on the USS Hera. One that carried the goddess herself onboard, whom Rita found she missed, and whom she looked forward to telling the tale of this adventure. Along with the newly wed Mnhei'sahe Dox, the young Romulan woman Rita had adopted as a protégé whom she loved like a sister, whom she resolved to bring to see Vulcan as well. After all, Romulans and Vulcans could still seek unity, and that was a goal she suspected both Dox and Sonak would be willing to work toward, and Rita felt that the 25th century would need such bold courses plotted and set.

Life was still a wonderful, precious gift, for which Rita Paris was deeply grateful, and one for which she would continue to fight to preserve at all costs, both the lives of others and her own. Because in this wild and wondrous universe- multiverse, she corrected herself- the most amazing phenomenon that she had encountered were still, by far, the lives and people she had encountered, and the souls she had touched along the way. Tonight, here on Vulcan, alone in the desert, staring into the fire, she remembered those lives gone by... and contemplated those lives yet to come.

It was still the greatest human adventure of all. And Rita Paris, whom some called the Lost Navigator, was still excited and proud to be representing her species in their greatest endeavor of exploration, on the final frontier.

Boldly going.



The wind blew across his skin, as the chill of the night embraced him fully atop the hard, sand-abraded stone he was perched upon. Sonak's eyes fixed the slow rotation of somber T'Knut, filling up a good fifth of the dark reddish night sky. Despite the reflective presence of the massive dead planet, the sky was filled with more stars than could ever be seen on Earth, thanks to the thinner atmosphere of Nevasa.

Nevasa; the native word for what the universe called Vulcan; a world that had been obliterated in the false reality from which he had originated. Did that mean that he, too, was false? That his own reality was but the remnant of a bad dream?

Negative; that reality had accidentally sprung from this one, and temporal studies had determined that the Hobus catastrophy had caused severe damage, not only to Romulan space, but to the timeline itself. It had affected as much of the past as of the present, and consequently the uncharted course of the future. And, as temporal mechanics would have it, effects could precede causes. Red matter itself, the catalyst for the disruption, should not even have existed in this universe and in this timeline; it was brought back from the end of it by this inverted causality. In his universe, a by-product of the interaction between this red matter and the Hobus artificially induced subspace nova, it had caused many aberrations; from the occurence of classes of starships like the USS Kelvin which never existed to anachronistic technologies like the personal galaxy-ranged transporter, to displaced planets like Delta Vega defying the laws of physics and cosmology to alterations to the nature of subspace itself, turning it into a tunneling isolated warp travel instead of what in-universe displacement warp speed should exist.

Additionally it had altered people as well; not only their lives, but their very existences. To find out that Khan Noonien Singh had been a Sikh, just as his name implied, and not a Caucasian, as he had known him to be in their reality. That Klingons and Romulans were far more honorable, and physically different than what he had known, or that Vulcans here were far less emotional and prejudiced than those of his experience; these were but a few of the many instances of this warping phenomenon.

He had discovered through his researches in Starfleet records that his death here, in this universe, had also been caused by the red matter disturbance of the Hobus wave. His place in this universe had been erased; so too had been that of his wife, Rita Paris, who in this reality had never been rescued from her fate as a warp ghost- again, because of this manipulated aberration. That explained why they still existed, while their alternate reality was no more. Now that the multiverse cancer was cured, existence was working to right itself, to correct the imblances and errors created by those ruptures and malignancies. While it might still carry scars for a considerable length of time, it would heal, eventually.

Balance was, after change, the most fundamental principle of the universe.

Balance; at last, here and now, on this Vulcan that should have been his native homeworld, in this universe that should have been his own, he had found it; in this meditation, in this return to his native soil, in his bonding with this human woman who was the source, the nurture and the future of it all.

Nodding to himself, and to the proper red sky of his restored, his new, his true homeworld, Sonak of Vulcan stood to feel the cold dry wind of the night and then climbed down to return to his mate, to the one who had as much restored his mind and his soul as she had completed and enriched it.

The Great Experiment, the Great Adventure, continues.

It was oh two twenty hours and the Intel Pod of the U.S.S. Hera was mostly quiet. For an intelligence ship, the number of actual intel officers was relatively low, all things considered. And a number of key positions were, in fact, filled not by Starfleet officers at all, but by civilian assets.

Once such an asset, the Romulan operative Jaeih Dox, was up working late as she usually was. Insomnia was a trait she had passed to her daughter, the Hera’s Flight Chief, Lieutenant Mnhei’shae Dox, but hers ran considerably deeper for different reasons. So, as usual, she preferred to spend her time working. Working meant her mind was occupied and she didn’t like her mind to be unoccupied for any length of time. Being alone with her thoughts was… unpleasant.

So, with even her more unusual companions, Ensign’s Gavarus and O’Dell, sleeping off a night of drinking, Jaeih was alone. But she had many areas of expertise that served the Hera well. As an engineer, she was an expert on Romulan Cloaking Technology and regularly consulted in the R&D Department with her daughter-in-law, Ensign Mona Gonadie. And as a former operative of the secretive Tal’Shiar, she was an expert in much, much more. But tonight, the skills she was putting to use was in cryptography.

The Hera’s Intel Chief, Lieutenant Sam Clemens, had given her a massive stack of sub-space coded messages that was a pet project of his to try and decode, and Jaeih had a head for pattern recognition and creative problem solving that he liked. It helped that she found the work engrossing and very distracting. Although it could also get tedious over time and she had been staring at the same lines of code now for two and a half hours and was feeling her mind start to stiffen like a runner’s legs during a marathon.

And while most anyone else would simply call it a night, Jaeih didn’t want to sleep. Tonight, her thoughts were particularly unpleasant and she wanted to stay occupied until there would be more faces and voices in the morning to remind her she wasn’t alone. But for now, Coffee was required.

Locking her workstation at a small cubicle desk adjacent to Clemens’ office in the Intel Pod, Jaeih stood, straightened the gray Intel uniform top she wore and made her way to the department’s lounge and the nearest replicator for a cup of the brhon caelis coffee that her daughter had programmed in. It was a particularly strong, startlingly bitter Romulan blend that both women preferred, and it was calling to Jaeih.

Down the unusually quiet corridor was the break room, and as she entered, Jaeih was surprised to find that she wasn’t alone in the pod that night. For there in the break room was the Captain’s Yeoman and the Intel department’s self-described “Mad Scientist”, Ila Dedjoy who seemed to be enjoying a late-night snack of some sort of pate while studying her own PaDD.

With a glance up from her data, Ila set aside her fork. "It is unusual for anyone else to be up here at this hour. I assume something weighs heavily on your mind?"

Raising an eyebrow at the unusual but intriguing Yeoman she had worked with a few times since joining the ship, Jaeih procured her coffee and stepped over, standing at the table.

“Good evening, Miss Dedjoy. Or, perhaps, morning is more appropriate.” Jaeih replied somewhat plainly, partly evading the question as she tended to. Perhaps a weakness of her race, she thought. “To a degree, something is always weighing on my mind. Pressure making gems, and the like. But tonight, I wanted to spend some additional time on the cryptographic study Lieutenant Clemens assigned me. What occupies you this evening?”

"I have been taking another look at the equipment in the molecular data structure lab to cross-compare the technology with my own data storage research." Without hesitation, Ila pulled up her comparison chart on the tech lab used to write data directly on the molecules in RNA and her black crystals and offered it to Jaeih. "Though they would seem nothing alike on the surface, on a quantum level, they are much alike. My crystals just happen to be able to do it natively."

Looking over the data, Jaeih tilted her head at the complexity and took a sip of the bracingly strong coffee. “This is beyond me, to some degree. I know a bit about data encoding on molecules, but more from the point of view of an agent trying to get information somewhere covertly. This, however, seems to indicate an ability to store vast quantities of information with near-limitless volume.”

“However with your crystals, I would imagine that the fractal lattice structure would give you that much more interior surface area for data encoding? Folds upon folds… possibly even utilizing different levels to cross code different data... like 3-Dimensional chess.” The elder Dox wasn’t anywhere near Dedjoy’s level but appreciated the science for its own sake and was quickly pulled in to the topic.

"Exactly, but on a higher, 4th quantum resonance that makes more room, the more is used. And I had to integrate those crystals into my own neural net and limbs to stabilize the systems. Thus I have no way to calculate my capacity. I just... Am..." The doll-faced android smiled softly for a bit before continuing. "Sorry, I guess I'm just trying to understand myself better is all."

Scoffing, Jaeih took another sip. “Is not the acquisition of knowledge a key aspect of your Starfleet's charter? Why would this not extend within? You have nothing to apologize for.”

In the short time the two had worked together, the always inquisitive intel agent had learned a good degree about the tragic story of Ila Dedjoy and her current status quo of her mind inhabiting an android body of her own design and manufacture.

"True enough. No apologies then. So is there anything I can help you with? I have some time if you need any help or anything." Ila was certainly innocent, with her hint of a smile and wide eyes on her doll-like face.

“Nothing in particular, really. The ship’s computer has run over the files a number of times and picked out all the recognizable ciphers and patterns. There are seventeen different rhyming schemes in use with characters from fourteen different languages leading me down... of all things... a poetry rabbit hole.” Jaeih took another sip, looking directly at the brilliant Yeoman as she did. "I'm pondering that there might be a clue in that direction."

The elder Romulan noticed that some crewmembers avoided eye contact due to the uniquely large size of Ila’s eyes, which Jaeih found both dishonorable and rude. “But I enjoy the proverbial hunt. I simply needed some additional energy to help re-focus my mind as it was getting a touch foggy and I’d like to keep at it a while.”

"Ah yeah, cryptology. I was never all that good at it myself." The doll-faced Illaran found that having her large-eyed, unblinking gaze finally met equally an intriguing matter and felt compelled to aid Jaeih in any way she could. After all, it was rare that anyone would meet her gaze at all, let alone hold it for this long. "However, I do have a database system that may be of service, if you don't mind visiting one of the custom labs."

Smirking ever so slightly, Jaeih took another long sip of her coffee feeling much more alert now and quite enjoying the interaction as she replied, “Not at all. Additional resources may yield better results so long as I’m not keeping you from your own tasks.”

"Not at all. I have plenty of time." Standing, Ila dumped the remains of her food into a nearby replicator and tucked her PaDD into a pocket before heading out towards one of the custom labs. "It's one of the original labs from when this pod was part of another ship so some of the tech looks a bit dated, but it's still on par with anything we have today... Mostly..."

It was only a short walk down the corridor to the lab in question where Ila unsealed it and added Jaeih to the access roster. "And this is coincidentally, the lab I mentioned before where we can write data on strands of RNA." Some of the tech certainly did look like it was from the duotronic era, but most of it was also holographic, giving a stark contrast to the differences in tech levels. "There's also a suite of cryptanalysis and cryptography equipment I wasn't able to make much headway on."

Taking in the wildly differing styles of both technology and architecture, Jaeih raised an eyebrow with interest as she walked behind the petite young officer, hands behind her back as usual. Mentally cataloging the details of such things were second nature to her from her years of intense espionage training, but it was a pleasure to be able to do so without subterfuge.

In some respects, Jaeih found the labs to be an outward extension of their chief occupant. The slight girl with the large eyes. The nigh-indestructible android that carries herself with fragility in her mannerisms and body language, no doubt a psychological remnant from the period prior to Jaeih’s meeting before her mortal form was all but destroyed. Still, the elder Dox woman was analyzing and processing the information. The young woman was, like most she met on the Hera, a unique contradiction so far afield of anything she was taught to expect while still within the Imperium.

But her attention piqued at the cryptography equipment. “Oh, that is intriguing to be sure.”

"If any of this can help you in any way, please feel free to make use of it. I've added you to the access roster for the lab." Ila glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. "Lucky, load our Tal'Shiar decryption database, if you would be so kind."

"Right away, Miss Dedjoy," replied the male, British voiced AI as several pieces of tech lit up and holographic displays snapped to life.

Watching the data populate on the screens, Jaeih was suitably impressed. She had never felt she underestimated Starfleet while she served the Tal’Shiar, but she was quickly realizing during her time on the Hera that she had in an incredible variety of ways. “Consider me both impressed and intimidated, Miss Dedjoy. This will, no doubt, increase my productivity and provide me with a plethora of additional distractions for sleepless nights.”

Ila giggled softly. "I think that's the first time I've ever intimidated someone. Possibly one of the very few times an Illaran ever has - we're descended from a prey species, after all. Anyway, I'm very honored to have been of service. This was all part of the now disassembled Section 31's equipment so it was dedicated to staying one step ahead of the Tal'Shiar, House Pegh, the Obsidian Order... You get the idea."

The slight smirk widening as she spoke, Jaeih replied without taking her eyes off of the displays. “Anyone not properly intimidated by intellect clearly has none of their own, my dear. Respect where it is due.”

Then she looked back at the young woman, slightly glad that her verbal admission of ‘sleepless nights’ from a moment ago seemed to have gone unnoticed, she made the same deep eye contact she had been making most of their interactions. “But I thank you for your assistance. As for Section 31, even we had difficulty ascertaining their existence within the Tal’Shiar. It was quite the enigma worth cracking. Ironically, by the time I had acquired concrete proof and viable data on them, I was already a smuggler.”

"Indeed, until the Dominion war I hear they were almost as elusive as House Pegh." Ila was referring to the Klingon's own house of spies that even the name was rarely heard of. "And I only know of them because of the archives in this room."

“As it should be.” Jaeih commented, looking thoughtful, and in spite of the coffee more than a little tired now as well. “Such organizations have their place, but exist best unheard of. It’s when they begin to announce themselves… flaunt their plower… that all know that they have reached too far. Stopped serving the needs of their people and feeding, instead, their own agendas.”

The former Tal’Shiar agent was clearly speaking from a position of familiarity as the weariness set in further on her brow.

A lesson that the Obsidian Order learned far too well, I'm sure," replied the doll-like android wryly as she tapped at one of the consoles. "I must admit some level of curiosity on your thoughts on that subject."

Looking down with a half-lidded smile, Jaeih raised an eyebrow. Her instincts told her to evade the question but her experience on the Hera told her the opposite, and she had committed herself to a path of truth as part of her attempt at reconciling with her daughter. “The Obsidian Order was far too proud of their reputation. As is the Tal’Shiar now. And I can only hope a similar fate befalls my former benefactors for all they… we have done to dishonor the Rihannsu people. They have abandoned mn… their honor in favor of power.”

Editing herself away from evoking her own daughters' name in a fashion that might seem awkward, Jaeih sighed and continued with much more deadly earnesty. “When I was younger, I believed in the cause, Miss Dedjoy. Protect the Imperium from all who would do it harm from without and from within. And I fought for that cause with all the fire of a zealot for a time. And it took far too many deaths on my conscience to show me how far I had come.”

Ila nodded thoughtfully. "Personally, I think that that was one of the reasons why Section 31 collapsed as well. During the Dominion War I suspect that they were responsible for far too many of the less savory bits. As for House Pegh... I can only assume that they stick to a strict adherence to honor since there's a rumor that a clone of Kahless is their leader."

“A pity my people are fresh out of clones of Rihannsu who still understand honor.” Jaeih chuckled lightly, changing her tone back to a more positive one.

"Well... To be fair, you might have to go back quite a few generations to make sure the..." Then the humor caught up with her and Ila let out her own soft giggle. "Ah, well, then someone will have to spread understanding through the people then, right?"

"You might have better luck finding a clone of S'Task himself than finding a Rihannsu that the people will listen to who still understands honor, Miss. Dedjoy." Yawning out loud this time as she evoked the name of one of the founders of ch'Rihan, Jaeih was clearly showing her fatigue now.

A serious look fell across Dedjoy's features once more. "We have the tech on this deck to not only make such a clone, but collect an original DNA sample. You should know better than to joke about such a thing around me."

Smirking, Jaeih chuckled lightly. "It's probably best not to follow that idea to any conclusions, logical or not, Miss Dedjoy." Then, rubbing the bridge of her nose, Jaeih sighed. "But who knows what the future holds for my people. Perhaps it might be best that I continue my work in the morning. Coffee is clearly not doing enough to keep me as awake as I would prefer."

"Then it sounds like you should get some actual rest," Ila replied with a hint of a grin and a slight tilt of her head. "It has been an honor and a pleasure speaking with you."

Nodding, Jaeih scoffed lightly. "I'm hardly worthy of 'honor', my dear. But as always, I appreciate your efforts and assistance. But yes, while I may loathe it, sleep may be required. Thank you."

The elder Romulan woman went to turn towards the door as she smiled, "Jolan tru, Miss Dedjoy."

"May the stars guide your dreams, Miss Dox," replied Ila, giving a traditional 'goodnight' from her world.

Nodding, Jaeih turned politely and left to return to the turbolift and her quarters.

She was still the spacious VIP quarters she had when she first arrived, though she was no longer under guard and had free access to the ship. The room was spacious and comfortable with tall windows letting in the starlight and reminding her she was free once more. But as she walked, her mind drifted back to a different time. A time before she was a mother. The time that made her dread sleep.

As Ensign Carrott gripped his wife's hand and they whisked her away to sickbay to deliver their firstborn child, the rest of the baby shower departed with them. All save for the unlikely duo of Gavarus and O'Dell, who found themselves holding the bag- the diaper bag in this case. Little baby Minerva, the orphaned Minotaur calf whose mother had perished in childbirth who had recently been adopted by the Carrotts had been somewhat forgotten in all of the excitement of the sudden onset of labour in Mrs. Carrott, thus leaving Minerva bouncing on O'Dell's sparse hip, even as Gavarus eyed her dubiously.

"What, nae, we canna joost chase them doown right noow and say 'here's yuir OTHER bebe ye forgot at yuir shower, g'wan and keep oop wi' her as the lady is squeezin oot the next one. That's nae right. And I suppose the nurses and sooch could look after her, but Carrott's our mate, aye? We owe it to him to look after his daughter. Besides, she's adorable! Look at those cheeks and that downy fur! She's like a wee Highland shaggy wi' thumbs! Aren't ye, Minnie! A-yes ye are! A-yes ye are!" O'Dell cooed cheerfully at the toddler, who gurgled in delight at the silly redheaded moppet.

The usually grouchy Briaar Gavarus was smiling as broadly as her fat face would allow at the miniature Minotaur on her partner’s hip while wiggling one of her thick fingers at the newborn's nose. “Yes she is, aren’t you Minnie? Whose the cutest damn baby in the universe? Minnie is! Yes, she is!”

As she did, little Minerva Carrott took hold of Gavarus’s finger and immediately shoved it in her mouth, as apparently babies of most races seemed apt to do. Hunched over and not wanting to interrupt Minnie, Gavarus leaned over slightly with a quizzical expression. “But, uh, what the hell are we gonna do with a baby until they’re… what… done?”

"Uh, ye do know how that works, aye..." O'Dell asked dubiously of Gavarus, who replied with an irritated sneer. "Alreet, alreet, joost checkin. Waaaaahhhhl, seein as how we've got her and no one's ta stop us, I figured we could maybe joost... babysit for a while? I mean, she's so cute, and... s'been a long time since I've had a wee one aboot to play with, ye know? Why don't ye grab her diaper bag, we'll grab a table, have some cake, feed her a bottle, keep her in clean diapers and we'll just mind her. For all we know, the missus could be in labor for days, so til somebody says otherwise, I figure tis our duty to look after wee Minnie here and make sure she's well cared for. S'right, ennit Minnie? Yuir Anities Fiona and Briaar will look after ye while yuir brother or sister or whatever may come make there way into the universe, aye? Aye?"

A gurgling burp and a delighted squeal was the reply, which Fiona accepted as a positive answer.

"That's a yes. So, tis ye and me and bebeh makes three, aye?" O'Dell looked up at her porcine partner with those big green eyes, a slight hint of pleading to them.

"Ohhh, not the eyes. Dammit!" Gavarus reacted with an exaggerated, cartoonish protest whine for effect before resigning herself with a snort. "Yeah, yeah, of course. We got this. Half of my brothers and sisters are younger than me. If I can babysit for five of them at once, we can totally manage one tiny little Mini-taur.” Gavarus replied with a slightly nervous smile as O’Dell’s quick embracing of the baby suddenly had the Tellarite a smidge curious.

“Here, gimmie my finger back for a sec’, Minnie.” Gavarus slowly popped her slobber-covered finger out of the tight grip the Carrot baby still had on it. “We can replace it with cake, which is far superior. Shit, can she eat cake yet?”

"Beats'a hell oota me. I guess we could look it oop in the database, but a wee bit a frosting likely couldnae hurt. Worst that'll happen is it rushes out one end or the other, aye? C'mon, Minnie, Auntie Briaar's got yuir diaper bag, so we'll warm ye a bottle and we'll have ye some cake and we'll strike the party while we're here so's we dinna get the chief in trouble wi' 10-Forward for leavin more of a mess'n we usually make, hmm?" With that said, O'Dell deftly shifted the hooved heifer to her other hip with a grunt, and started trying to undo the streamers with her free hand. It was clear that the tyke weighed a bit more than she could carry for very long, but Fiona was uncomplaining. Instead she was just working to distribute the load, and cheerfully nattered to the infant as she set about cleaning up after the shower.

While Gavarus expertly undid the diaper bag and began preparing Minerva’s bottle in one hand, she was thumbing through a data PaDD that was in the bag for just such an emergency. The Carrott’s weren’t exactly expecting a baby Minotaur either and were doing their best to collect as much information as possible. “Well, this… really doesn’t help much. There ain’t much out there for little Minnie’s. According to this, she’ll mature a bit faster than a human baby… closer to Tellarite kids really… but there’s not much on dietary shit.”

Testing the bottle on her wrist and determining it warm enough, Gavarus stuck the other end in her own mouth and mumbled out the side. “Here, I’ll hold her for a bit. Bottle’s ready. Pretty sure she don’t have much in the way of teeth yet though, as I didn’t feel anything when she was gumming my finger.”

Trying to lift the tyke up to hand her off, O'Dell's spindly arms were already worn out, so instead she just stepped over and angled herself so that Gavarus could grab Minerva, and the tiny test pilot sighed in relief. "Whooo! She's a heavy little lass, she is! G'win ta be quite the healthy one I suspect. But that's good! Ye'll grow up big and strong like yuir Auntie Briaar, right? Not like yuir Aunti Fiona, who canna open the pickle jar, aye? Aye?" Fiona grinned at the cute cow cosset, then she tickled her tummy before resuming her cleanup duties.

""Does it say how big she's g'win ta get someday? Like yuir size, my size, what's Fedepedia got to say aboot alla that?" Fiona asked, mildly curious as she gathered up discarded wrapping paper to bag it up for the reclamator.

Sitting at the nearest table and tucking Minerva on one arm, Briaar popped the bottle out and began swirling it through the air towards the bovine baby's grabby hands. "The Baby Banshee is comin' in for a landing in shuttlebay you! Here you go, cutie."

Gurgling and giggling, Minerva grabbed the bottle and began going to town as Gavarus plopped the PaDD on the table and began scrolling. "Well, SHIT! If this is right, we're talking Big Ethel territory, maybe. It's not sure, really. Depends on what kind of juju majumbo she got made with, which the doc can't exactly scan for."

"Probably depends on her diet, gravity conditions, all that sort of rot along with genetics too I'd imagine," Fiona nodded, smiling at how at ease Briaar was witht he baby. With regular people she was awkward and usually uncomfortable but with wee Minnie she seemed right at home, and it was nice to see her having fun with the little one. While Fiona had no designs on having children and she certainly didn't see her and Briaar setting up housekeeping, somehow watching her with the little tyke, she just seemed a natural at it, and Fiona forgot she wasn't doing anything but just smiling at the sight of it.

"Yeah, nature plus nurture plus… what… Zeus magic crazy shit? Who the hell knows." Gavarus rolled her eyes at the strangeness of Minnie's origins, oblivious to the look she was getting from Fiona, while the fuzzy bundle pulled the bottle out of her mouth with a weird expression on her little face.

Putting the bottle on the table, Gavarus cricked an eyebrow and smirked while O'Dell looked on. "Shit, I know this one. You sucked that down too damn fast, didn't you Minnie Moo? Okay, c'mere."

Lifting the baby up over the shoulder with the spit up cloth over it, careful to avoid Minnie's little horns, Gavarus started patting her gently but firmly on the back. With each pat, the miniscule Minatour let out a tiny squeak until a mountainous burp erupted out of her.

"Whoa… that's some serious octaves, kiddo. You sure we're not related?" Gavarus chuckled as Minnie broke out into a series of gurgling giggles now that the gas pain was gone.

That spread a smile across the face of the minsicule Mariposian as she shook her head and returned to her labors, stacking up the baby shower gifts so they could be easily transported, even as the 10-Forward staff came forward, admittedly somewhat hesitantly, to help out with the cleanup efforts. Fiona carved off a healthy chunk of the cake for Gavarus, who she suspected would want a chunk, and she'd mentioned potentially feeding some to Minerva and overall the organized little officer finished getting things ship-shape as her porkchop pal finished with feeding time. Once her labors were complete, she returned to sit down beside them where she could see the small but adorable furred, hooved and horned babe and she tickled the furry tummy as Minerva polished off a bottle with a gusto that would make Gavarus proud.

"It may be a bit selfish, but I'll admit, M'a wee bit glad in all the hubbub they left the wee one here wi' us. She's adorable, en't she Briaar?" Fiona asked softly, starting at the infant with an odd expression on her face Gavarus most certainly hadn't seen before.

"Yeah, she is aggressively cute." Gavarus replied, now actively trying to avoid acknowledging Fiona's odd expressions that the porcine engineer could describe as 'maternal'. Then she picked up the baby higher up over her own head and laughed.

"Yes you are. You are like, warp 11 cute, aren't you, Minnie Moo! Yes you are, your cuteness defies the theoretical maximum acceleration curve, yes it does!" And as she baby talked, Gavarus began making kissing faces, aiming at Minerva's fuzz rimmed hooves that were dangling in the engineer's face. "I got your hoofies! Yes I do!!!"

Crossing firmly into the goofy, Gavarus made biting noises and began nipping at the baby Minotaur's wriggling feet as little Minerva giggled like crazy, almost kicking Gavarus in the face more than once by accident. From the bar, as the staff finished putting everything back together for the lunch crowd, most simply rolled their eyes at the display from the two usually drunk barflies.

Thus passed a few hours of the afternoon, and as the evening settled in, the unlikely trio found themselves still together. While they'd managed quite well with the infant throughout the day, changings and feedings and burpings managed with aplomb by the two unlikely barflies whom had both come from large families who were quite deft hands at child care, they considered their options.

"I suppose we could go chase down Medical, but again, first bebeh, so likely Carrott and the Misses are nae in the mindset of worryin' about Minnie right noow s'much as worryin' aboot the arrival of the next Carrott. So, do we joost take her back to quarters wi' us, y'think? I dinna want to upset innyone, but we canna abandon we Minerva here. Not thast we ever would. No we would not. Nae, twould nae happen!" Fiona cooed at the miniature minotaur currently bouncing on her lap as she played a simple flight simulator on a PaDD in front of her, keeping the tyke entranced by the bright colors and sounds.

Looking around, Gavarus frowned slightly. "I guess the Chief must have figured out that we have Minnie. I mean, if Gonadie was asking if we could handle her kids when they're born... or hatched... or whatever Romulan BIRD PEOPLEdo... she is probably okay that we still have baby Carrott, right? I guess we could take her back to one of our quarters... have the super crib delivered there for now? She can play with Cueball maybe?"

"Given that she shoves everything she can get her wee mitts on into her mouth, maybe not Cueball, But we kin come oop with a rubber version that she canna get into her mouth that's too big for her to choke on. And there's bound to be some toddler toys in the replicator we could make... aye, let's take her back to yuir quarters. We kin get the engine parts off the floor and there's less chance she'll find a chokin' hazard when one of us isnnae lookin'" Fiona agreed, before looking down at the baby minotaur on her lap, who seemed reasonably entranced by the bright colors and explosions onscreen of the flight sim. "Aye, ye like that, Minnie? Come home to Auntie Briaar's for a bit til yuir mummie and dada can come pick ye oop, hmm? And maybe we'll get all of us a nap, because I'm kinda booshed meself. Watchin kids is tirin work, I forgot..."

"Yeah, that sounds like a frickin' plan to me, Fee." Gavarus replied, flagging down the server who was perplexed at how pleasant the usually prickly porcine was with a baby around. After a moment, arrangements were made to beam the heavy-duty crib that was still in the corner of the bar to the Tellarite Ensign's quarters for the time being as the unlikely trio got up to leave.

As they collected their stuff and the toolkit Gavarus was using to assemble the new crib and made their way into the corridor, the staff of Ten-Forward let out a collective sigh of relief. Meanwhile, Gavarus held little Minerva high on her more-than-ample hip and bounced her up and down as she and O’Dell made their way to the turbolift as the portly porcine began singing in an exaggerated falsetto to time with the bouncing.

“Oh, you can TELL by the way I use my walk, I’m a MINotaur and I’m so damn cute! AHH AAAH AHHH AHHH! Minnie is cute, Minnie is cute!” Which turned more than a few heads of crewmembers passing in the hallway as the fuzzy little baby kicked her tiny hooves to the singing, laughing and trying to stick her hands in Gavarus snout.

“Crap, Fee! The toolkit… If I don’t lock it back up in the R&D storage locker I’ll get written up for it again. We gotta make a quick stop.” Gavarus groaned while waiting for the Turbolift and deftly dodging Minnie’s grabby-hands reaching for her nose.

"Well, I canna lug yuir heavy arsed toolkit, so give 'er ta me and I'll take Minnie, and we'll joost take 'er with us to the flight deck, aye?" Fiona was currently managing the diaper bag, but she shifted the weight from her hip to her back smoothly as she held up her slender spindly arms for the gurgling cheerful infant, receiving her and bringing her close as the miniature Minotaur calf immediately grabbed a handful of her crimson curls to begin chewing on them. "Drop yuir tools in the locker so we dinna get ye in dutch wi' the chief, then we're free an' clear ta take the wee one home wi' us. Izzat what we want, ma wee shaggy, aye? Ye want ta come home wi us, hmm? Aye? Aye?"

Peering into the big brown eyes of the happy baby between her delighted squeals, as she alternatively used locks of Fiona's curls as a veil, pacifier or an attempt at forming a beard on her face, O'Dell's expression softened again, and she got that look.

"Briaar... I hate ta bring this oop, but... I mean, we're joost a pair of irresponsible drunks who nobody should ever, ever trust wi' any sort of responsibility, right? I mean, we're doing fine right now, but... we're noo... I mean... parent material... d'ye ken...?" Cautiously Fiona looked up at Gavarus, her head cocked at a funny angle due to Minerva currently attempting to weave her hair into a mud patty or something.

All of the color blanched out of Gavarus and she swallowed unexpectedly loudly at the thought as they entered the lift and began the short trip to the R&D deck. "Uh... I... I dunno, Fee. I mean, I n... never would have t... thought... uh..."

As usual, Briaar got a smidge stuttery when she was nervous, and Fiona's maternal leanings coming out of left field had her more than a little nervous but also clearly conflicted and thinking about it all the same. "L... Let's see if Minnie s... survives the night before we start thinkin' about anything. I mean, w... we're both obviously good with 'em, but... I... I dunno."

Blissfully, it was a short ride and the doors hissed open and they popped out quickly, making a beeline to the R&D bay. As the doors opened to the sight of the shimmering, silver Banshee parked and secured on its pad, Gavarus muttered, "I'll just lock this shit up in the back and I'll be right back, k?"

"Hey!" Leaning so she could keep the bouncing babe on one bony hip, Fiona reached out to chatch the thick finger of her best pal. While she was in no way strong enough to stop Gavarus from doing just about anything, still the soft-hearted engineer stopped for her as she always did. "I'm nae sayin ye and me should roosh out and set oop housekeeping, okay? S'not like that, so relax. S'juust... I'm surprised, is all. Ye and me... maybe... we wouldna make sooch terrible mums after all, eye? Just... something to think about. That's all. We dinna need one of our own... because nobody could possibly be this cute..."

As she spoke, Minnie was busy making herself a wig of Fiona's ample head of hair by snuggling in close and pulling it across her own head, which looked comically adorable. "But joost... I mean, I dinna imagine it neither but... tis a 'who knows down the line maybe?' kinda thing...?"

Five decks down, the Goddess of family and motherhood rolled her eyes, chuckled, shrugged and continued reading 'Animal Farm'.

"Yeah..." Gavarus looked at the adorable little fuzzball in O'Dell's arms and smiled as well. "I'm not NOT thinking about it, believe me, Fee." Then she gestured to the equipment lockers down the small corridor next to the door to the break room. "Let me lock this up and I'll be right back."

Swiftly, Gavarus disappeared down the corridor, leaving Fiona and Minerva alone on the deck for the moment.

"Yuir a wee panic, you are," Fiona smiled at the gurgling beast baby. Growing up, in the modern structures of the Mariposians, the Bringliodians still brought their livestock, which now flourished with replication technology. So cows and sheep and pigs and chickens and goats were all the sorts of barnyard animals she'd grown up around. As she looked at the wee monster on her hip that would likely someday dwarf Gavarus, who was currently making a fu manchu mustache with a lock of her crimson curls. Which somehow just looked adorable on her, which was apparently one of her magical powers. Fiona O'Dell considered her plight on the starship that was her home.

Her boss was a chicken- well, a parrot more like, far too exotic for a mere barnyard hen. But a bird, bright in plumage and attitude, brilliant with her hands and her imaginations and born to fly. Her best pal and partner in crime was a testy Tellarite, a porky pig in space, curly tail and all. The wee milk to poop facotry here had the buds of her horns and Briaar had tied her forelocks up in the cutest twist. Fiona sighed.

Still she lived in a barnyard. Just a different barnyard, and a different kind of manure.

Setting Minerva down on the deck, Fiona looked around for the diaper bag, remembered that such a thing had weight to it, which her thin and wiry frame complained to be under- even now it was of great relief to her to have set the baby down. Realizing Briaar had the accuresed thing and she was down the hall, Fiona stretched out her aching back and turned all bright eyed back to Minerva.

Who wasn't there.

"Gak!" O'Dell drew back in saurprise as her head whipped about, her situational awareness taking in her surroundings, searching for the missing toddler, who was only a few weeks old. She barely had the coordinatrion to crawl at theis point.

Or so one would assume. Yet there she was, crawling along making surprisingly good time toward the edge of the Deck 3 upper flight deck, where it gave way to the larger space of the Deck 4 Main Flight Deck.

"Pog me thoin and flog me molly!" O'Dell scrambled to her feet and scurried across the deck, scooping up the horn-headed heifer before skidding to a halt a bit too close to the edge than she would have cared had she been given more of a choice. At which point Minnie reached out toward the open space, lunging for it. Which tugged on O'Dell's still somewhat precarious balance. After all, at 15 pounds, Minerva Carrott was 1/6 O'Dell's bodyweight already. So when she lunged in her grasp, Fiona, struggling to hold onto her, staggered a half-step or two, bringing her precariously close to the edge.

"Knock that off, ye daft child, or yui'll topple us both! Fiona didn't look down a deck below to see what was there. If she fell, she'd have to try to protect the child, so it'd hurt, maybe for good. Struggling to hold on and pull them back, Fiona spat, "Stupid nurturin' instinct..."

"You're welcome," Hera replied absently as she licked a finger and turned another page.

Walking out of the back corridor with the diaper bag on her shoulder, Gavarus hopped on her hooves a little bit more excited than she would have imagined. "Okay, time to go to Auntie Briaar's, Min... Minnie?" Looking around for a moment, Gavarus spotted the pair near the edge of the platform. "SHIT!!! Is everything okay? What happened?"

Running over to the pair, Gavarus was legitimately worried for the baby and her partner as Minnie was now cooing and reaching over for the approaching engineer, making O'Dell lurch slightly again.

As Minerva pulled her over the edge, the daredevil test pilot spun to place herself in harm's way between the baby oxen and the deck below. Which was when she spotted Gavarus behind them. Eyes opening widely, Fiona clutched Minnie to her shoulder with her left hand and desperately groped for the tubby Tellarite's three-fingered hand with her right hand as she began to fall.

"Oh FUUUUUUU..." Gavarus shouted as she leapt forward, She reached well past O'Dell's hands and threw her arms around O'Dell and Minnie tightly as her ample belly slapped down hard on the edge of the deck. Of course, she was now only half on the deck. And the fatter half, that was gripping O'Dell and the baby Minerva, was dangling over the edge overlooking Deck four. "Ow... I landed on my damn nipples."

"Uh... Okay... shit." Gavarus realized she was ever so slowly sliding forward as her own hooves kicked. "Think you can, I dunno... climb up me or something?"

"I could if I wasnae holdin a toddler who seems determined to take a header offa the flight deck... ach..." Pulling her shirt tail up around the baby and into her teeth to make a sling for Minnie, O'Dell freed up her hands to scrabble along Gavarus's back. Once back on deck, she ran for the control panel and activated the localized gravity winch to grab Gavarus from sliding off the edge and haul her up by her beltline.

"Holy sweet evil SHIT! This is a Warp eleven wedgie!" Gavarus groaned as she pulled her uniform pants out of her generous crack.

Parking the toddler on the control panel, the tiny test pilot flomped across it in exhaustion as Minerva giggled and cooed, then laughed joyously. "Aye, easy fuir you ta say..."

"Okay... Ow... Let's... Ow... Let's get away from heavy machinery and ledges with her." Gavarus said, wincing as she walked awkwardly to the panel. "Damn nipples on my frickin' gut. Who thought that was a good idea? Are you okay, Fee?"

"Aye, I'm fine, but she's got a nuclear payload in that diaper by noow. It's g'win ta be less a diaper change and more a decontamination." For a change, Fiona blew right past her own imminent brush with peril, apparently relieved that the youth was all right to the point of having ignored her own plight for a change in a surprising bit of selflessness. "Hey, that was a brilliantr catch, by the bye. That was pub sports level, right there. My bluiddy hero, aye?"

"Hey... I wasn't gonna let you go splat." Gavarus blushed lightly as she poked Minnie's tiny snout. "Either of you, right cutie?"

"C'mon, let's get some rubber gloves, aprons and masks outta decon, because she's a kicker, this wee one, but this diaper's gettin' changed, by ghod!"

"Gotcha." Gavarus said as she hoisted Minerva off the console, which made a squishing sound as her own quite sensitive snout picked up the smell. "Oh, gods DAAAAAAMN! Yeah, that's a warp core breach, alright."

Holding Minnie at arms length, as she was still giggling, Gavarus carried her to the center of the deck. "We might need to use the Banshee to change her, this smells so bad."

"Of all the things to explain to the chief of abuses of her equipment, I dinna think we'll be able to get away wi' that one until her own have arrived. I wonder- Miradonian babies fly when they're born, s'what the Chief said. So her wee ones... will they be able to diaper 'em? Will the diapers hinder their aerodynamics?" As they suited up and went in after an awful diaper of literally legendary proportion, Gavarus and O'Dell distracted one another as they always did.

Not with inane patter, but with aeronautical biosystem discussions that would accompany their brilliant bosses inventions as practicalities built into the systems.

"But they'll be half-Romulan." Gavarus brainstormed the scenario out in her head as they worked on the diaper like the Indy pit crews of centuries past. "Maybe that'll ground 'em? Denser bones and shit. But still, we can probably work up a rig to reign 'em in. Probably need to come up with something for our little cliff diver here, while we're at it. Like a grav-lev onesie or something."

"Mebbe a harness, cross body... ach, dinna let it leak there or the smell'll permeate like the bog of eternal stench... aye, that's got it... wi' something of a limited forcefield tether so they canna fly or crawl too far from the control belt ye thinkin?" Hefting the soiled sack of minotaur manure to the reclamator, O'Dell moved with the careful precision if a bomb squad member, disposing of the hazardous material with the same care and caution one would usually reserve for high explosives. After all, this was their workspace, and it wouldn't do to have it smeared with poo.

Hoisting Minnie's hooves up slightly, Gavarus pulled out the wipes and began cleaning her the babu Minotaur's bottom as they worked out the mental schematics. "Yeah, that would work. I could probably use a flexing field so the kids wouldn't get snapped back hard and hurt themselves. Something with a bounce to it that would redirect momentum back towards the source. And speaking of inventing... we are going to need something better than these weak ass baby wipes. These were NOT designed for furry asses with tails."

Turning Minnie, who was trying to grab her own elevated hooves with a determined expression, Gavarus showed off her tiny bottom with shredded white wipe all over it like confetti. "I'm gonna have to hit the databases for this one. But for now, hand me that extra spit-up towel, please."


“Aye, old-school actual absorbent towels for the win. I imagine that’s the issue then- something with stronger texture, wider surface area and stronger consistency to deal textures other than pink humanoid baby skin. Because soon there’ll be feathered bottoms as well as furry ones, and in this barnyard everybody’s got a tail save the farmer’s daughter, and she’s the first officer, isn’t that so, aye?” O’Dell made a peekaboo face behind her face shield at Minerva to keep the child amused while briar worked on the more strenuous part of the cleanup, their tandem teamwork flowing with surprising smoothness.

While both came from large families and had plenty of practice, it was still a testament to both women’s partnership how easily they fell to the routine of one hand helping the other, and both pitching in the care for the adorable infant suddenly and quite accidentally entrusted to their care. Cleaned and diapered once more, baby Minnie sat up and blinked, surprised to find herself in such a state as her handlers began stripping off their NBC hazard gear.

“There! Right as rain and twice as fresh!” O’Dell declared, and Minerva shrieked with joy, then mooed, long and low, a surprising sound to come out of such a tiny creature.

Looking stunned for a second, Briaar let out a loud snort of a laugh at little Minnie’s ‘moo’, which only caused the tiny tot to giggle even harder. “I… I guess you’re right, Fee. Heh heh… there are a lot of damn tails to go around in this department, aren’t there.”

Folding everything back up in the diaper bag and with little Minerva cleaned and clearly happy, Gavarus slowly grunted as she lifted her considerably bulk back up off the deck to her hooves. “What do you say, Minnie Moo. Wanna go see Auntie Briaar’s quarters and play?”

Kicking her own tiny hooves up and down, the Mini-taur looked at both of her new Aunties and made grabby hands to both of them, with a gurgling grin and gave the biggest, cutest eyes imaginable as if she somehow knew how adorable she was and was maneuvering the two right where she wanted them.

“Maybe we could adopt,” slipped out before O’Dell could stop the words from coming out of her mouth as Gavarus couldn't help but blush and smile ever so slightly at the idea.

Meanwhile, on her fainting couch in her VIP quarters, the goddess of families grinned, closed her book and simply said, “Checkmate.”

“Oh my GODS, Ma! Are you frickin’ kidding me!?” Ensign Briaar Gavarus whisper/shouted into the small computer screen on the table in front of her. On that screen, was the image of an older Tellarite woman. Her hair was a mess of wiry gray curls pulled back into a severe ponytail and she looked not unlike an older, much more wrinkled version of the Hera’s resident porcine engineer.

But the woman on the screen wore a pair of corrective lenses on the bridge of her snout and had a stern sneer on her thick face. “Why you insist on shouting at me like that is beyond me, Briaar. We’re on subspace, added volume won’t make me hear you any clearer 15 light-years away.”

Looking with an irritated and dumbfounded expression, Gavarus flumped back slightly in her seat, trying to hold the beer in her thick, three-fingered hand out of view of the screen. “Ma, this is… I’m keeping my voice down! I’m on a starship and it’s late here. But that’s not the frickin’ point! You’re getting a frickin’ DIVORCE!?”

A system away on Tellar Prime, it was mid-day and Councilwoman Penelope Gavarus was in her home office. As a City Councilwoman of the Keron Provence, she kept very busy and rarely made time for small talk and even at the ‘office’ office, she was usually working. She was the matriarch of a family of type-A overachievers which always put the notorious slacker, Briaar, on guard. “Yes, Briaar. You can’t tell me this comes as a complete surprise to you. Your father was hardly… attentive even when you were here to pay attention.”

Blushing, Briaar rolled her eyes. “Please tell me that wasn’t an innuendo, Ma! You’ve got, like, seventeen of us. He had to give you SOME attention!”

“Oh please, yours was a litter of 6. Mathematically, you can only prove he and I had coitus no more than three times and frankly, I don’t think it’s been much more than…” The wry councilwoman raised an eyebrow and scoffed before her daughter cut her off.

“OKAY! Enough!” As she yelled, Briaar winced slightly and looked off-screen before continuing more quietly. “But, c’mon, Ma. Divorce? I mean… I had no idea. You guys almost acted like you liked each other last solstice?”

“Hampton is a politician, Briaar. ‘Acting’ he can do. He acted like he wasn’t having an affair with his office clerk for the last two years, for example.” Penelope muttered, more talking at her daughter than with her.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose with her snout, Gavarus grumbled. “Oh, @#$% it. I can’t be expected not to drink hearing this shit.” And as she said so, brought the beer bottle up and took a swig. “This is so effed up, Ma. Seriously. I can’t believe this. What… what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do. The house is in my name. The bank accounts are in my name. I’ve already filed the paperwork with the magistrate's office. It’s simply a matter of getting his signatures and getting him off the couch and out of my life.” Penelope Gavarus said matter-of-factly from across space on the secure comm frequency. “So, how have you been, Briaar? The proverbial wagon still won’t hold you?”

“Oh, good segue, Ma. Real subtle.” Briaar took another swig. “As you can see… still drinking. AND, if you’ve checked the file I sent you, our ships R&D department filed a recent invention for a Variable Mode Fighter that just got totally DE-classified that I have been a big part of the development team of!” For the first time in the conversation, Briaar had a proud smile on her face as she spoke.

“Oh yes. I glanced over that. At least you seem to be trying to apply yourself. And perhaps eventually the invention in question will be your own and not just something from a ‘team’ you’re on.” Penelope replied judgmentally, which was par for the course for the woman for whom nothing was ever quite good enough.

“Thanks a lot mom. I’m actually doing really great stuff out here, but, ya’know, CLASSIFIED! But thanks for the encouragement.” Briaar’s smile was gone now as she took yet another swig of beer. “I can streamline the call for you if you want. Yes, I’m still an Ensign. Yes, I’m still fat. Yes, I’m still drinking. Anything else, Ma?”

There was a long pause as suddenly there was a high pitched squeal as her mother winced slightly and a small, round porcine face with massive blonde curls and big, black eyes pushed its way onto the screen. “BREEBREE!!!!! Bree Bree, I miss you! HI!!!”

On the screen, shoved in front of her mother’s irritated face was Briaar’s 10-year-old little sister, Mreea, who might possibly be the one member of her family that didn’t judge her or find her wanting.”Hey there, Mreepers. How are you doin’, kiddo? How’s school?”

“OH MY GAWDS, it’s so cool! So, I replicated a model of your new ship, from the Starfleet Scientific Journal article! There's even a picture of you and the team in it! I brought it to school and everyone went NUTS!! It was so cool! Is it really almost four meters tall!?” The excited ten-year-old bounced on her annoyed mother’s lap.

“Seriously? That's... kinda awesome. I had no idea there was an article. Wow. But yeah... the prototype was almost twice as big, Mreepers. This one can walk through the ship's corridors! I designed a series of dampening fields on the feet that make it super quiet. Fee could sneak right up on you in it.” In her excitement, Briaar dropped the name of the Banshee’s test pilot, and her new, if unusual, girlfriend, Fiona O’Dell. O’Dell is mentioned in the official article that Mona Gonadie submitted to the Starfleet Scientific Journal once she was given permission, along with a picture of the three with the Banshee, but Briaar hadn’t talked about her casually yet.

And this was the first call since they started officially seeing each other as a couple.

Across the subspace gap, her Mother’s eyebrow perked up at the noticeable shift in her middle daughter’s body language. “Hush, Mreea. Go play. Mother’s talking.”

As she shooed the energetic ten-year-old off her lap, who only begrudgingly relented with an excited “BYE, Bree Bree!!! Love you!” receiving a happy "Love you too, Mreepers. Be good!" From Briaar, Penelope leaned in closer to the screen.

“Fee?” She said plainly with a sarcastic tone. “Don’t tell me you have another muscle headed bimbo in your sights, Briaar dear? As if your… sexual predilections weren’t bizarre enough. Really”

Turning a deep red, Briaar’s face twisted into a scowl. The region of Tellar Prime she came from was notoriously conservative and her status as a lesbian was but a single step in the slide from her Mother’s favor that still stung. “Not that it’s any of your business, Ma… and not like you care… but no. She’s not a muscle head. And she sure as @#$% isn’t a BIMBO! She’s like stupid smart and a test pilot and frickin’ fearless and awesome, if you actually want to know!”

At which point, a slight yawn snapped Briaar back to the reality that she had stopped watching the volume of her voice, and Fee had groggily walked out of the bedroom. She was standing in the doorway next to the heavy-duty crib that was still in her quarters for when they babysat the adorable Minerva Carrott, virtually swimming in one of Briaar’s T-Shirts with an image of strips of cartoon bacon and the words 'I'm Hot' printed below, and looking at the porcine engineer with a half-confused expression.

"Oi, what's all this then? Who's got you shoutin' ta beat the band at sooch an unholy hour, and day drinkin' ta boot?" asked the midget Mariposian as she swept the unruly mountainous mop of crimson curls out of her eyes with her forearm. Approaching the desk, she reached out to take the beer from Briaar's hand and take a small sip before spotting the disapproving face onscreen. "Ach, is that yuir grandmother or yuir parole officer?"

Trying to stifle a laugh and failing as a chuckle snorted out, Briaar gestured dramatically to the screen. "A: It's only oh four something hours, sorry. Aaaaannnnnd B: Uh, Fiona O'Dell, this is my Mom. Penelope Gavarus. Ma... This is Fiona. She's... she's my girlfriend." And as she did, the sourfaced Tellarite on the screen lowered her glasses and looked O'Dell up and down with half-lidded eyes before sighing out, "Really?"

"If ye hafta put that label on it, aye," O'Dell instantly switched channels, peering at the disapproving expression onscreen. "Mates, partners, besties, mutual support, a team, call it what ye like. I dinna care much meself. I'm wi' her, and she's wi' me, and if ye've a problem with it now's yuir chance to say something aboot it. I'll guess from yuir expression and the fact that Briaar's mentioned ye've nae had innything nice ta say to her in the past, oh, lifetime that this'll be where ye have all sorts of passive-aggressive nasty luittle barbs and jabs ta makes, so I'll warn ye noow- I dinna know ye, I dinna give a flyin' sheep's arse who ye are, and if ye've innything unkind to say to her, I'll be more than happy to revisit it tenfold upon ye. So keep a civil tongue in yuir head lest ye plan to be wearin it fuir a necktie, aye?" At that O'Dell grinned, a wide, toothy affair that made her look mildly daft or addled, depending on your definition.

"Uh... TA DAH!" Briaar redirected her gesture from the screen to O'Dell as her mother raised both eyebrows with an half-lidded expression of genuine surprise as she pondered her reply for a decent moment of genuine awkwardness. "And who are you, Fiona O'Dell? She says you're a... test pilot?"

"Aye, that I am, mum," O'Dell replied cheerfully, as the conversation seemed to be civil, she continued in a cheery and civil discourse. After all, this was her chance to brag to Briaar's family just what amazing things she'd done. "Seems bein' a wee lass wi' nimble fingers makes ye quite desirable in the cockpit of an experimental spacecraft, and so when this project come up, was happenstance Gavarus an' me happened to be on duty the same day. The chief saw we could make the prototype do things no one else could, we started immediately findin' the flaws and recommendin' improvements, a bunch of which Briaar designed, and we become fast friends because we could stand one another. We make a great team, her an' me. She's saved me life more times'n I kin count, and I'd be nowhere wi'oot me flight engineer. The chief is proud as punch of her, and the Commander says we're due medals fuir our 'gallant service', though I've nae seen that joost yet."

Blushing slightly, Gavarus smiled slightly as her mother lightly rolled her eyes. "I suppose that..." Penelope began the dryly retort before a familiar squeal was heard in the background and the transmission was interrupted by a split-screen that cut in revealing the bulging eyes and impossible smile of the ten-year-old Mreea Gavarus, now clutching in her tiny, three-fingered hands, the aforementioned 3-D model of the Banshee in walker mode.

Snapping slightly, Penelope leaned past the screen to tell to the next room, "Mreea!! What have I told you about splicing into my calls?! Disconnect your feed this instant, young lady!"

But the bouncing young Tellarite ignored the irritated cries of her mother and gushed. "OH MY GAWDS!!! You're FIONA O'DELL!?! You're the project test pilot from the Scientific Journal article?!? OH MY GAWDS, and your DATING MY SISTER?!? This is the most... OH MY GAWDS!!!"

Slightly embarrassed, Briaar repressed a snort watching her mother petulantly sulk on her side of the split-screen while her little sister gushed. "Fee, this is my little sister, Mreea."

A wide, warm smile split the face of the pale-skinned humanoid Mariposian moppet as she curtsied and shrugged. “Delighted to make yuir acquaintance, Miss Mreea! Ah’ll confess, I’ve noo idea aboot inny article, but I am indeed Fiona O’Dell. There canna be two of me, ‘cuz there’s barely eough ‘a me for one of me, aye? Yuir prolyl taller than me! As for datin’ yuir sister, well, she’s saved me wee bhind more times than I kin count, and she means the world to me, so… ate, Ah guess ‘datin’ is as good a word as any?” With that, Fiona turned to look at briar a bit bashfully and nudged her with her shoulder affectionately before turning back to the camera.

"Yeah, I just found out about it while you were sleeping, Fee. Apparently, the Chief's report that they declassified got printed as an article in the Starfleet Scientific Journal and Mreea's been going nuts over it. Telling all the kinds in school about us. We's FAMOUS!" Gavarus shrugged with a slightly pleased smile, nudging Fiona right back.

Rolling her eyes on the other side of the screen, Penelope sighed. "Really, Mreea. Don't you have homework to do, young lady?"

As the authoritarian matriarch lowered her brows at her youngest on the screen, the porcine pixie on the other side let out the most dramatic sigh possible for a ten-year-old. "Yessssss, mom! Okay." Before perking back up with a massive smile and a wave for the Hera's unlikely duo! "Bye again, Bree Bree! Love you! Hi again, Miss O'Dell!!! Bye!" And the screen returned to a single image of Gavarus' annoyed-looking mother.

"You have enough distractions from your studies without worrying about what your sister OR her girlfriend slash... mutual support team, was it?... are doing out there." Penelope shouted to the other room on the screen.

"I'd think s'important for an impressionable young lassie t'have role models, but then, what d'I know aboot parenting, eh? I'm only a daredevil test pilot slash astronaut slash Starfleet officer who's tellin her the black sheep a'the family might not be the classic screw-oop she's been made oot ta be alla her life," Fiona replied smartly, thoroughly unwilling to take even backhanded sass from the self-important woman onscreen whom she already didn't care for much. But then, she didn't have to take any such thing from the woman, and damned if she'd stand by and let anyone abuse Gavarus... or her excitable little sister, whom Fiona had already taken a shine to. "Remind me to send her the datafile for a transformable Thunderchicken action figure of her own, aye? Yuir wee bebeh sister's a panic."

From the background of the screen, Fiona and Briaar could hear an excited squeal as little Mreea was still clearly eavesdropping and began losing her mind at the prospect of O’Dell’s last comment coming true. And as the porcine engineer’s mother rolled her eyes so hard at the sound you could almost hear them as well, Briaar let out a snort of a laugh as her usually controlling mother clearly had zero control of the situation.

To say nothing of the red-headed spitfire that was taking none of her mother’s usual attitude.

Turning back to her screen, Penelope Gavarus pushed her glasses back up her snout and scoffed. “I can see that this is going to be… interesting. Well, if you are happy who am I to comment, Briaar. And you do seem… happy.” It was as close to a complimentary statement as the councilwoman was willing to make at the moment.

But Fiona O’Dell was a wild card she was completely unprepared for knowing how to deal with, if she could indeed be dealt with at all. “Yeah, Ma. I guess I am. Yeah.” Briaar replied, bopping the side of her head up against Fiona’s playfully, who in turn leaned against the much larger space swine happily.

“Very well, Briaar. I shall call you again once everything is finalized. And I’m sure Mreea will be sending you messages as well. Good evening, Briaar. Good evening, Miss O’Dell.”

"Good evening, Mrs. Gavarus. Twas loverly makin' yuir acquaintance, and I look forward to meeting ye and Mr. Gavarus in person next time we're oot by Tellar Prime, aye? I'll bring ye a delightful bottle of Bringloidian brandy that'll make yuir nose hairs curlier," Fiona tossed back wich a cheery wave3 as she reached out and shut down the transmission, determined to get the last word. After all, she suspected few people ever did with the dour diplomat, and she wanted to establish quite firmly that absolutely zero amounts of her guff would be taken on such calls moving forward- at least if Fiona was about.

As the transmission ended, the two couch-jockeys could just make out hearing Gavarus' mother call to the other room as the screen cut out, “Mreea, show me that article you’re going on about.” And the Tellarite engineer couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“Holy shit. So, yeah. That’s my Mom. Sorry I got loud and woke you up.” Briaar commented with an awkward smile as she looked at O’Dell.

"Whist! Nonna that, I woke up when ye dinna come back ta bed, and I heard every word. Did ye honestly think I was joost g'win ta sit in the other room and let her talk to ye like that?" Laying her hand gently on the shoulder of the seated engineer, the wee wonder shook her head. "Not in a hog's pizzle. Nobody talks down to ye like that when I'm aboot and gits away unscathed, and on that ye kin rely. I played dumb and sleepy, aye, but only because I dinna want her to know I'd been eavesdroppin."

Flumping back on the couch they were sitting on, Gavarus took a swig of her beer and yawned. “Ya’ need to add ‘covert spy’ to that resume you’ve got there, then. But… thanks, Fee. Seriously. That… that means a lot.” It was uncharacteristically unguarded, but that level of comfort had been getting easier and easier around Fiona for the porcine engineer.

Jumping onto the couch to land beside her partner in crime, the nimble O'Dell took the beer from the large three-fingered hand and took a small sip before returning it to Gavarus. "Aw, tis naught ye'd do for me, Briaar. O'course, I dunno how me family's g'win ta take the news either, but we'll burn that bridge when we cross it, aye? Cuz I somehow doubt yuir g'win ta be givin them any grandkids inny time soon. Or, y'know, ever. Which is fine by me, because I dinna think either of us wants to be a baby factory. I'm nae built for it a'tall and ye've nivvir expressed an inclination."

"Me, @#$% no! I'm fine just babysitting Minnie as often as possible. Tellarites have, like, SIX of the little shits at a time. And my body is a wreck as it is." Gavarus smirked as she leaned over against O'Dell sleepily. "Ha! We should borrow her from Carrott when we meet your family, or the next time we talk to mine and tell everyone she's ours and watch their heads explode trying to figure it out."

"HAH! Oh sure, and let 'em try to work out the biology on that one, aye...?"

Letting out a snort of a chuckle, Gavarus yawned much bigger this time. "Damn, I wish Tellar Prime wasn't so out of synch with our clocks. I can only ever take these calls too damn early." As she complained, it was clear she was zoning out and leaning a little heavier against her pint-sized partner on the couch.

Grabbing a blanket, O'Dell expertly flipped it upon, then draped it over much of the larger life form's frame, leaving her dainty hooves out, as she preferred them exposed when sleeping to keep her cool. Snuggling up against her Fiona patted Briaar's ample tummy, already beginning to rise and fall with a steady rhythm. "S'alreet, Briaar. We're nae on duty for another four hours, so we kin sleep fuir at least three. Go back to sleep, aye? I'm here. I've got ye, aye?"

While it was usually Gavarus who comforted O'Dell when she was anxious, theirs was a two-way partnership, and the tiny test pilot rather liked having the chance to take care of her big buddy. Pulling the engineer's burly arm about her, O'Dell curled up against the warm and slightly musky form of her best friend in a manner not unlike that of a ginger feline, and settled in doze back off herself.

"Yuir mum's a panic. By mornin' ye'll have messages from alla yuir brothers and sisters, ye know."

Almost completely asleep, Gavarus smiled and moaned out a quiet, "Oh gods, you're right. @#$%... I think I preferred it... when they didn't... give a... shit..." And as she spoke, the last vestiges of her consciousness gave up and she started to snore, tucked up next to Fiona.

"S'alreet. Ye'll take no shite from them neither," Fiona assured as they drifted off together. Because she'd see to that.

The modified, J-Type freighter called the Khallianen warped silently through space while it's owner and pilot, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox of the U.S.S. Hera set the controls on automatic so she could sit back and relax for the short remainder of the two and a half hour trip at the ships cruising speed of warp six.

The Khallianen was on its way to a small resort moon in the Kabul system called Enox VI and a Romulan restaurant named Saith, the Rihan word for Tranquility for a brief bit of shore leave. A very brief personal respite on their way to pick up Rita Paris, Sonak and Az'Prel from their own shore leave: a pilgrimage to Vulcan.

Smiling slightly, Dox was hoping that their trip had been a good one as she silently lamented with just a twinge of jealousy at not having gone with them. For months, longer that she had been with Mona, the young Romulan woman had also been Sonak's pupil, training to develop and control her nascent, if still largely dormant, mental potential, discipline, and defenses.

Many times in the Holodeck or within the theater of her own mind, she had climbed the steps of Mount Salaya at the instructions of her master and wondered if she would ever do so for real. But what abilities she had nurtured where what enabled her to bond so strongly with Mona, and for that she would always be grateful.

Turning around in her seat at the helm, Dox was wearing a casual, loose-fitting dark green blouse with a wide, open neck and wide-legged black pants. Behind her in the body of the ship was a long bench seat along the port-side bulkhead. And sitting on that bench were two women who were two of the most important in the galaxy to the red-headed Romulan pilot.

Sitting with her back to the cockpit was an older Romulan woman in a simple black turtleneck and dress pants with her hands held in the upturned hands of the other woman, a brilliantly colored Miradonian woman wearing a deep purple and blue jacket and pants combo with a pink long sleeve blouse covered in yellow birds of some sort.

The Romulan was Mnhei'sahe mother, the former smuggler, and former Tal'Shiar agent, now working with the Intel department of the Hera, Jaeih Dox. And the woman with the rainbow of feathered plumage was Mnhei'sahe's wife and bond-mate, Mona Gonadie.

Smiling, the younger Dox leaned forward in her seat and chuckled. "Are you two still at it back there?"

Mona nodded excitedly. "I think we've almost got it! I think I can feel her a bit, at least."

For her part, Jaeih turned towards her daughter with a raised eyebrow. "Your wife clearly has nigh-infinite patience, my dear. She's been at this with me since you were on your away mission and I have yet to feel anything. Whatever mental skills you have developed were not inherited from me, I'm afraid."

Chuckling slightly, Mnhei'sahe walked back past them, leaning in to place a kiss on Mona's cheek as she did. In that instant of physical contact, the two women were instantly bonded and felt each other's thoughts and emotions clearly. As Dox continued walking back to the cargo hold, she smiled. "It's... worth trying, Mother. When the chicks develop enough, Mona and I apparently will be able to feel their feelings as well. I know we'd both like to be able to share that with you, and since you have a genetic link to them, it should be possible. Plus, Rihannsu are essentially identical to Vulcan's on a physiological level, so we have the same potential."

Returning with her duffle bag, she stepped back to sit in her chair. "Or something like that, right Mona?"

"It doesn't always work, but with races with latent telepathic abilities, it's normally worth the effort," the brightly plumed aviatrix replied, redoubling her efforts. "Just stretch out with your feelings and open your mind to mine."

"My dear, my mind is as open as I know how to make it." Jaeih replied with a sly grin. "Which, admittedly, for a former Tal'Shiar agent, is NOT an easy task. I'm quite well trained in keeping people out of my mind, so this doesn't exactly come naturally to me. latent abilities, or not."

It was clear that Jaeih wasn't giving the effort much serious attention and was humoring Mona at best as Mnhei'sahe went through her bag. "She's not going to meet you halfway, Mona. Who do you think taught me to be somewhat... edgy around telepaths. It wasn't easy for me to get over that, and I suspect she isn't going to budge."

Responding with false indignation, Jaeih smirked. "I'm exceedingly happy you two have what you have. But you do not want me in your heads and you absolutely do not want me in the children's heads. But I promise to be tremendously embarrassing and detrimental to your parenting efforts the old fashioned way."

"You'd better be. Normally chicks are raised by a community family, though it's not always the case. We'll need all the help we can get, especially once they start to fly." Mona looked between the two of them, realizing she'd forgotten to mention something important. "Oh yeah, Miradonian toddlers can kind of fly for like two years. It's often when we figure out who we are."

Dropping her duffle bag back to the deck in surprise, Mnhei'sahe's jaw dropped as she processed that new bit of information. "Imirrhlhhse... What?" She cursed in Rihan before shaking her head and sharing a stunned glance with her mother.

"Okay, okay, okay.Three questions from that. 'Fly'? 'Kind of'? and 'it's when you find out who you are'?" The Red-head at the helm asked of her new bride.

"Yeah... It's rarely a full flying - more like a hop-flutter up to high places or around the room? But like me, sometimes a chick will be able to actually full-on fly like a bird. Our adult personality traits tend to form around then as well, like I did my best to not hurt anything or anyone, but I loved flying and would do anything to just feel the wind in my feathers. My siblings..." Mona cleared her throat and looked downcast before speaking of them. "Ah, my brother would hop up into the coconut trees and beat on the bugs in them, pretending he was fighting Jem'Hadar. My sister enjoyed art, but would make a mess doing it."

Without hesitation, Mnhei'sahe stopped what she was doing and got back up to sit next to her bond-mate. Jaeih could tell the subject of her family was clearly difficult to speak of and she knew the broadest strokes of the story. That slavers came and took everyone in Mona's colony. That her family was caged and taken one by one, roasted alive and eaten alive by Gorn mercenaries. That Mona was to sole survivor and watched her beloved family die one by one.

But Mnhei'sahe knew it intimately. Mona said that the empathic and telepathic bond that the two shared was unusually strong. The kind of bond that took most Miradonian couples a lifetime to build, and even then was exceedingly rare. But for Mnhei'sahe and Mona, it had become an intrinsic part of who they were. And it was through that bond that Mnhei'sahe had experienced that horrible trauma with Mona, through her memories and nightmares, as surely as if she had been there herself.

Sitting next to Mona, Mnhei'sahe put an arm around Mona's middle and leaned in tight. The more physical contact, the deeper and easier it seemed to make the energy of their bond flow and the red-headed Romulan woman wanted to give her wife every erg of her love in that moment.

As Mnhei'sahe rested her head against Mona's, she spoke softly, not of the tragedy, but of Mona's flights. "I'd seen this. Felt the memories through our bond. Beem there, feeling it through you, but always assumed they were just wonderful dreams I got to share. That's... beautiful. You flew."

Listening, even Jaeih's cynicism was weakened by her affection for her Daughter-in-law as she held Mona's hands tight and unconsciously lowered her own guard.

And Mona thrummed her deepest and did her best to bring them all together in the bond, pulling them in together as one family.

Before their bonding ceremony, Mnhei'sahe could visualize their bond in her mind's eye. She saw it represented as their separate energies, Mona's a deep teal-blue and her own a rich red, coming together in swirls of purple. But since then, the young Romulan only ever saw the fused purple energy, even when they were apart. A thought that gave her impossible comfort. But at that moment, she sensed something else.

The faintest presence of a new color. A coppery green twinge on the corners of her mind. As she did, with her eyes closed and her head still resting against Mona's, she smiled. "Feeling anything, Mother?"

"I feel Mona's hands. I feel that... vibration she's making. But no, nothing... magical." Jaeih replied flatly. "Should I be? Should this be doing something, Mona?"

"Try focusing inside yourself. Looking deeper." Mona could feel a hint of Jaeih as well and had faith that she could eventually feel it as well.

Remembering the lessons Sonak had taught her, Mnhei'sahe added, "Close your eyes, Mother. Focus first on a fixed visual idea. I practiced with a Vulcan Brazier, looking at its flame until I could picture the flame clearly in my own mind. Try that. Visualize a flame. A small flame and nothing but that until there's nothing else in your mind. From there... from that place of clarity... it should be easier to look deeper. To see yourself, as Mona said."

This time, Jaeih made a bit more of an effort. Less concerned with placating Mona and more desiring to connect, seeing how that connection with Mnhei'sahe helped her in her moment of sadness. She closed her eyes and focused as her daughters instructed. She did her best to clear her mind, but a lifetime of training and cynicism kept creeping in around the edges to disrupt her focus and concentration. After what felt like close to three minutes, Jaeih opened her eyes in mild frustration.

"I appreciate the effort, but I fear this old mind is simply too closed to manage this." She said with just a hint of barely perceptible sadness in her voice. But she covered it by shifting to a smile. "But thank you, my dear. I really do appreciate the effort. I shall continue those... meditation techniques and perhaps one day we will be able to manage this. But for now, I fear I'm too distracted to concentrate properly." It was unusually honest for the woman accustomed to living with lies, but she was working to be better these days.

"Distracted?" Mona tried to get something about the distraction from the bond, focusing on the coppery green trace she could feel a moment ago, but it had slipped away, never realizing that that same distraction might be in her Minay's mind as well. "Is something wrong? Is there something we can do to help?"

Tugging down on her simple black turtleneck as though it were her gray Intel tunic, Jaeih cleared her throat and recomposed herself. "No, no. Nothing is wrong, my dear. Simply work-related issues. Actually having work to focus on again is both a pleasure and a mental task. But both welcome."

It was a lie of omission that the seasoned liar hoped would fly until Mnhei'sahe got up to walk past to the helm again, commenting. "She's... preoccupied with that latest Kodria message I told you about."

The younger Dox was referring to a message from the Android Kodria sent to her and her mother days ago now that both made Jaeih aware of the prophetic idea that her time might be limited with her Daughter and that Mona would soon face a challenge that would require her to place her faith in the crew of the Hera.

But Jaeih scoffed indignantly at the mention. "Really, Mnhei'sahe? I asked you not to let Mona know that I knew about that. I don't want her worrying."

Sitting back at the helm and fishing a small least wallet from her duffle bag, Mnhei'sahe smirked lightly. "Ahh, there it is. Mother, half that message was about her, and a bit of trivia... It's functionally impossible to keep things from someone who shares a psychic link with you. But remember the other part of Kodria's message... Nothing is set in stone. There's no fate here."

"Yes, well considering what the fate in question hints to, I'm understandably distracted. Nevertheless, you could have at least tried to not..." The frustrated Romulan woman rolled her eyes and looked back at her Daughter-in-law. "I apologize for not wanting to talk about this with you my dear. I know how you worry."

Mona patted the hands of her mother-in-law gently. "Things are less worrisome when you share the burden, you know. But, I understand perfectly and I forgive you. Just remember that we're a family now, ok? We're one."

Feeling just a twinge of shame, Jaeih was again taken aback at how openly Mona accepted her. From the tension and hostility of their first holographic communication, littered with venom, to where they were now was an expanse Jaeih would not have believed possible with anyone but the brilliantly colored Miradonian that was now her Daughter-in-law.

She didn't feel worthy of that acceptance at the moment but quelched it quickly enough. "Thank you, my dear. I will endeavor to keep that true."

Then, the elder Romulan turned to her daughter, changing the subject. "So, where is it that we're heading, Mnhei'sahe?"

"Well, taking advantage of the slight downtime while Commander Paris, Lieutenant Sonak and Az'Prel are on leave to Vulcan was Mona's idea, but she encouraged me to pick the destination," Dox replied.

"Anyway..." Mnehi'sahe continued from the helm, "At the Captain's official coronation as queen of the Artan family, there was a banquet afterward with the Captain, Captain Magnus, Commander Paris, and the Baronesses. As such, I had to be there and was... well... I was doing my level best to be social in that ostentatious white uniform I was terrified I was going to spill something on."

It was clear, the young, socially awkward woman was nervous recounting the evening where she was clearly out of her element. "For most of the evening I was sat next to Baroness Sarika, since she will be taking over Baroness Von Alcott's duties as the Captain's adjunct with the family, and I suppose there's some idea that we should become accustomed to working together. But after a while, the group began mixing a bit after dinner and Baroness Nei'rrh of the Romulan Refugee Corps came over to talk."

Interjecting, Jaeih perked up slightly at the familiar name of the woman she had once helped free from Romulus when Mnhei'sahe was young. "Ahh, I only got to see her in passing at the Tribunal? How is she?"

"She seemed well. She asked the same of you, actually." Mnhei'sahe replied. "We had a... pleasant conversation. She thanked me for my part in the Tribunal and in helping depose the Captain's mother, as she had her own suspicions about that link to the Orion Syndicate but couldn't act on them until we provided proof. And to make a long story short, she is part owner of a restaurant that serves hand-cooked, traditional Romulan dishes on Enox VI. To say thank you for our assistance, she gave me a card for dinner on her. I checked it out with the Captain and she said the business was legitimate and as safe as anywhere else in the system."

"So, in the interest of doing something together as an actual family, I got us two adjoining rooms at the resort on the Moon for the evening and made dinner reservations for tonight." Mnhei'sahe smiled, hoping the plans would go over well.

"I have not had real Rhiannsu cuisine in... well... since perhaps... before you were born, Mnhei'sahe. That actually sounds quite lovely, thank you." Jaeih replied with as much external enthusiasm as she ever allowed herself to show.

Turning to Mona, Jaeih smiled lightly. "I know that of all the skills I shared with my daughter, the culinary arts were not among them. Have you ever had Romulan cuisine, my dear?"

Mona shook her head sadly. Cooking was one of the things she loved to do and without a steady source of Romulan foodstock or even recipes, she'd not been able to make headway on that front. "I've tried cooking with some of the ingredients, mostly replicated... Other than that, unfortunately not."

"Well, hopefully, you enjoy it. Our palates are a bit different and much of our cuisine tends towards the tart and salty. But I will help you through the menu." Jaeih replied with a fairly warm smile as she turned towards Mnhei'sahe at the helm. "How much farther do we have to go?"

Checking the instruments, the red-headed Lieutenant smiled as she ran a hand through her freshly re-cropped, shorter hair. "At current speed, we're twenty minutes out. If anyone needs to use the reclamator, now's a good time."

-----------------

As the Khallianen entered the Kabul system, the younger Dox put the small ship in to land at the docking station on the surface of Enox VI. Locking up the private vessel with DNA scan coding that only the three women could access, the three women who were now the beginnings of a new family made their way through the town square of the mildly extravagant resort community.

The Main Street was a shopping promenade not unlike the one found on the luxurious Artan Fortress the Hera had been docked at for weeks now. Surrounding the trio was shops of every sort and a near cacophony of life and activity that naturally made the two Romulan women slightly anxious.

But Mnhei'sahe and Mona we're also newlyweds and newly expectant mother's with Mona now pregnant. With that emotional excitement still strong in her heart, it was easy for the red-headed Romulan pilot to overcome her anxiety as she and her bond-mate walked hand-in-hand, from shop to shop happily.

As the love birds bounced casually, window shopping at the various kiosks and pavilions, pointing and smiling together at various knick-knacks, jewelry, and clothes, Jaeih walked a good two meters behind them. He arms folded behind her back, the seasoned Intelligence agent was cautious and observant as she scanned the crowd with her eyes as subtly as possible.

The marketplace was open-air, which put Jaeih on edge as she tried to keep track of all the faces while trying to not look too much like an agent on the job. This was supposed to be an enjoyable family getaway, after all.

But if anyone was watching then, Jaeih couldn't spot them as, after am hour of wandering and just a little bit of shopping, the trio arrived at the restaurant.

The establishment, with a rustic sign over the entrance that read "Saith in both Common and Rihan characters, was in raised, gold-leaf letters. Saith was located on the edge of the bustling market with half of the restaurant being in what closely resembles a classic Romulan structure. A circular, stone building with cool stone walls, high stained glass windows near the domes green roof and green, industrial fittings throughout the slightly austere space. For a Romulan themed restaurant, it was decidedly familiar to her, but modern and slightly more inviting, Jaeih thought as they checked in and we're lead to their table.

Their table was on the exterior patio. A broad, open-air platform that went right to the edge of the plateau of the moon that the shopping promenade was located on. There was a light tan canvas awning covering the seating area, lit by soft green lights on the columns. The seating was more spread out on the patio than on the inside giving them a bit more privacy as they were seated by a young Romulan man with a short-cropped haircut and a pleasant enough smile.

While shopping, Mnhei'sahe and Mona picked up a few items and the young Romulan, who was carrying the rainbow chromed bags set them down beside the table as she pulled out the seat for her brilliantly hued bride at the seat closest to the polished stone rail at the edge of the patio. The edge was overlooking a gently swirling sea several meters below them, not of liquid, but of dense, colorful gasses. It was a breathtaking sight and Mnhei'sahe hoped she had picked a good getaway for the three of them as she pushed Mona's seat in before she and Jaeih sat themselves.

"I must say, this is quite lovely, Mnhei'sahe." Jaeih commented first. "It's… somewhat reminiscent of some establishments in the Capitol of ch'Rihan. Although considerably more pleasant and relaxing as it's not located in a police state.

Scootching her own seat in as the greeter set down a pitcher of ice water and poured three glasses, he said "Welcome to Tranquility. We hope you have a wonderful evening. Your server will be out momentarily to take your orders."

As he left, he handed them three printed menus and left them to appreciate the view and the night air.

"I… hope you like it, Mona." Mnhei'sahe said with a twinge of nervousness in her voice.

There was no hint of hesitation or anxiety in Mona's voice, however. "it's marvelous. I can't imagine a more delightful place to visit with the two of you and I'm really looking forward to dinner. Are appetizers a tradition in Romulan cuisine?"

With an awkward expression, Mnhei'sahe shrugged slightly and grinned. "I honestly have no idea. Growing up it was either the replicator on the Forager or eating at whatever refugee camp we were dropping people off at. This is almost as new of an experience for me as it is for you>. Mother?"

Rearranging the place setting more to her liking, Jaeih replied with a light smile. "Traditionally, yes. But currently uncommon I'm afraid. But that was a cultural artifact of a repressed, fascist culture. There were ornate, high-end restaurants with many courses and appetizers, but those were reserved for higher-ups in the Senate, powerful figures and the elite of Rhiannsu."

Glancing around a bit, she commented before bothering to check the menu and smiling at mona. "But we passed a number of tables and I spied a plate of fried, salted lehe'jhme slices. Definitely an appetizer, my dear, so I'd assume yes."

"Excellent! I look forward to trying everything with both of you. Our pallets are in your hands." Mona grinned widely as she glanced over the menu, recognizing very little on it from her studies.

"Very well... let me see." Jaeih said with a light smile, thoroughly enjoying the maternal role her life had allowed her to finally embrace as she looked over the menu.

"For an appetizer, I would actually recommend the aforementioned Fried lehe'jhme slices. They actually looked quite well prepared." Jaeih ran a finger down the menu. It wasn't huge which left the options limited, but she was confident that it had enough options to provide for the group.

"Mnhei'sahe, I know you like Viinerine. Our replicators never did an adequate job recreating it, however. So you may especially enjoy the real thing." The elder Dox commented, and then made an aside to Mona, "It's what gave her her love of the human equivalent, Beef stew."

"They have an excellent vintage of Kali-Fal. 2262. But for non-alcoholic options, I would recommend the Tarka or the lehe'jhme juice. I know Mnhei'sahe enjoys that even on the ship. Now, normally, I would not recommend meat options, but since you've told me that your pregnancy has given you quite the change in appetite, then you might enjoy the Grilled Travit or even the... no. Not the Hlai'vnau." Jaeih stopped herself as she remembered that Hlai was, in fact, a particularly large Romulan BIRD and didn't want to upset Mona.

Placing the menu down in a confident manner, Jaeih looked up. "Yes. I would recommend the Viinerine for you, Mnhei'sahe and the Grilled Travit for you, Mona dear."

Smiling, Mnhei'sahe nodded. "Sounds good to me, Mother."

Mona nodded as well, a bright smile on her face. "It sounds wonderful to me as well. I can't wait."

"Excellent," Jaeih commented as she looked for their server who had yet to make an appearance. Taking a light sip of the water that had been poured for them, the middle-aged Romulan woman turned her attention back to her Daughter and Daughter-in-law.

"So, your quarters are more than sufficient for the two of you and even, perhaps, three infants. But not I imagine for long once the children begin to grow. Have you begun making any plans for this?" The new Mother-in-law asked with a raised eyebrow.

Running a nervous hand over her ear, Mnhei'sahe stammered for a moment. "Uh... I... I... I have no idea how we're going to manage that. We haven't really talked about it. I suppose we can convert the living room area?" The younger Dox said in a questioning tone towards Mona.

The brightly plumed Miradonian of course already had a start to those plans - she had plans for plans that most people hadn't even thought of yet. "Some of the quarters will have to be converted for families. I know the Galaxy-class has some on decks 8, 9 and 10, so it shouldn't be hard for us to do the same. When the time comes, if we're still stationed on the Hera, we'll have to move to one of them."

Slowly, the smile on Mnhei'sahe's face shifted slightly to an expression of contemplation. "It's strange. In all of this..." She turned to Mona, "Meeting you. Our bond... Starting a... a family."

Then the young Romulan turned to her mother. "Rediscovering family. But in all of that, I've never considered... NOT being stationed on the Hera."

Mona slowly nodded her head, thinking on the subject with a bit more concern than she was normally prone to. "Life has a way of taking us to unexpected places at times. We may spend another twenty years on the Hera or we may find ourselves living somewhere else in a year. Either way, it will be as the Moon Goddess wills it." Then she grinned mischievously. "Or one of the deity class beings riding along with us."

"Well, none of them had any objections at the wedding, so we have that in our favor." Mnhei'sahe replied with a light smile. She knew that they wouldn't be on the Hera forever, after all the Android from their future referred to Mona as "Professor Gonadie", implying a return to a planet with a university of some sort was at least in her future and the young Dox could no longer even conceive of life without her.

Nevertheless, she reached a hand over to take Mona's in her own. She had found that no matter how minor the anxiety she was feeling, it was greatly lessened when the two touched. That bond between them that had become so strong so relatively quickly had become an essential part of the red-headed Romulan. So the two touched and that energy between them flowed freely again as they smiled silently.

From across the table, Jaeih smirked lightly. "No telepathic conversations, now. I'm still here, after all."

"We're not doing that, Mother. I Promise." Mnhei'sahe replied with a slight grin that betrayed that they likely were to some degree regardless. But she straightened up slightly anyway so as to not exclude her mother.

Raising a suspicious eyebrow, Jaeih simply scoffed as she replied. "Of course you aren't. Before too long you'll both be talking like Mona's parents, I surmise. So... as a Grandmother to be, I'm quite curious. Have you two discussed names yet?"

"We've come up with a great number of them..." Mona grinned knowingly. "But I think we've narrowed them down to three or so. The last names will be a combination of ours for tradition. We decided on Godox."

"As for first names, since the odds are almost certain they'll all be girls, that's what we focussed on. Amihan is the name of the bird that put the moons in the sky in Miradonian mythology so that's the first one. The second one is Tala. It means daughter of the moon in Miradonian and I think 'Duty' In Rihan? Then Hlai'vana is close to 'Old Forest' in Miradonian and I understand that it means "wild bird' in Rihan. I have a list of other names, but those are the ones I think we both like."

"Hlai'vana was actually on my list for names when I was naming the Khallianen. I always loved that name, and I suspect "wild bird" will be a good description, considering who the parents are." Mnhei'sahe said, almost sheepishly. "We looked into names that had similar analogous meanings in both cultures. Turns out a culture of birds and a culture that worshiped birds... kind of has a lot of similar words in the roots of the language."

Jaeih sipped her water and chuckled. "No room for a 'Jaeih' in there?" But as she faux-protested, she looked around the room again. "Seriously. Where is the server? The restaurant is hardly even busy this evening."

"I think you've been spending too much time consorting with Gavarus and O'Dell, Mother." Mnhei'sahe chuckled. "They're rubbing off on you."

Looking back, Jaeih rolled her eyes slightly. "Don't be judgmental, Mnhei'sahe. They are... quite interesting. It might do you good to try and get to know them instead of just... terrifying them. They are... inordinately intimidated by you."

Blushing a light green, Mnhei'sahe fiddled with her own water. "I'm... trying to be less... severe with the department. I'm just not... comfortable with telling people what to do." Then she looked at Mona, who commanded the R&D department seemingly effortlessly. "I don't know how you do it? Why Commander Paris seems to think I can pull this off is beyond me."

"Just think less 'Murderpunch' and more 'Lovetap' and things will follow," her avian bondmate replied with a teasing grin. "Seriously though, you're doing well. Just try scaring them a bit less. Show them your more mortal side now and then. Though, right now, I have to agree. Our server is taking way too long... I'm starving. I'm eating for four, you know."

"Now, it's not my fault that Gavarus and O'Dell decided to watch me spar with S'Rina and the security team in the gym. But it's not as if I'd ever touched either..." But Mnhei'sahe cut herself off as she spied their server coming from the back of house. "Oh, good. Here we go."

The server was a tall, well built young Romulan man. He looked a slight bit disheveled as he adjusted his apron as he reached the table, pulling out a PaDD. "Greetings and welcome to Saith. My name is K'Nan and I will be taking your order this evening. Would you like to hear our specials?"

As he spoke, Jaeih immediately noticed that across from her, Mona was taken aback. She seemed almost afraid and it put the seasoned intel officer on edge as she began scanning the area visually. "No, I think we know what we would like, please."

With a smile, the server replied plainly, "Excellent. Go ahead then." As he raised the PaDD to take notes.

At this point, Mnhei'sahe also noticed the shift in the tone at the table, but as the server was standing between her and Mona slightly, she couldn't touch her bond-mate just yet to telepathically see what was wrong as Jaeih continued, making their dinner order.

"Yes. I would like a glass of Kali-Fal, and the ladies two glasses of Tarka, please. An appetizer of the salted lehe'jhme to start with. Then, I believe... two orders of the Viinerine and one order of the Grilled Travit, please."

"Taking the order down, the server nodded politely. "Excellent. I'll be right back with your drinks, ladies. Thank you." Then, with a turn, he stepped back and headed back towards the rear kitchen. As soon as he was away, Mnhei'sahe reached under the table to take Mona's hand to find out what was wrong, keeping an eye on the now-suspicious server.

And as soon as he was out of earshot, Jaeih replied in a low tone. "You picked something up from him with those senses of yours, didn't you Mona?"

Her plumage felt like it was on edge and her eyes had dilated fully as she nodded. "Everything about him screamed that he was lying. He's not a server, that's not his name, not even his hairstyle... Nothing about him is honest."

"Hnaev... Keep smiling, everyone. Stay casual." Mnhei'sahe replied with a fake smile on her face as she lightly tapped her comm badge and whispered, "Dox to Khallianen." But there was only silence as she attempted to reach their ship's computer. Not even the light chirping sound, indicating the source of the problem.

"There must be a dampening field in place. Likely transport inhibitor as well." Mnhei'sahe replied, keeping the friendly smile on her face as she looked over to her mother, who was side glancing as she took a drink of her water to survey the room.

Observing, Jaeih smiled and spoke normally as if their conversation was perfectly casual. "Our server is still in the kitchen. The greeter at the door has been replaced by someone else and I've noticed two other so-called servers with similar builds glance our way. At least four potential hostiles. Likely more in the back. Looks like your Baroness friend may have sold us out. Or another lingering machination from our former Artan Queen set in motion before her death."

"Mona. Am I correct that you are... not adept in combat?" Jaeih asked, a concerned tone in her voice.

"I passed phaser training but with hollow avian bones..." Mona glanced around, identifying the people that carried themselves with falsehood now that she was paying more attention to their surroundings and passed that knowledge on to her Minay through their bond. "I barely passed the judo classes at the Academy. The look in their eyes and the way they carry themselves... They remind me of some of the Romulans we took aboard after the Starbase 336 incident."

"Tal'Shiar." Jaeih's eyes narrowed as her pulse quickened. Old fears began to bubble to the surface for her as she unrolled the napkin surrounding the utensils and slid the knife up her sleeve in one simple, concealed motion as she dabbed the corners of her mouth. "If this becomes violent, say behind Mnhei'sahe. Promise me that, my dear."

"I promise," Mona replied without hesitation, knowing that it would very likely come to violence.

On their end, Mnhei'sahe squeezed Mona's hand just a little tighter. Their bond was strong and through it, she told her wife in an instant what was likely about to happen. The young Romulan woman had desperately tried to keep the violence in her heart from ever tainting Mona's. She never wanted her to truly see what she was capable of, but she knew in that moment that she might not have a choice. Then, Jaeih reached into her pocket and pulled something out in her palm and laid her hands across the table for Mona.

"Hold my hands, dear. Take this. It's an intel issued transporter tag. I used them on our last mission and they can cut through industrial-strength signal inhibitors. Tap it and you will be instantly back on the ship." Jaeih said plainly. She only had the single transporter tag that she always carried with her out of habit, but before she could hand it off to Mona, the false server reappeared from the back with a tray of drinks.

Pulling her hands back, she re-pocketed the tag quietly. "Ladies, your drinks." He said as he placed each drink in front of each woman. There was a moment of silence as he waited, tucking the tray under his arm, watching with a fake smile of his own plastered on his face.

Picking up her glass of Romulan Ale, Jaeih raised it, glancing to the side and noticing that the two other servers and the replacement greeter were watching on the periphery. Taking a light sniff, she swirled the glass under her nose. "Ahh, smells like a lovely vintage. What year is it?"

Pausing, the server thought, trying to pull the information that Jaeih pointed out to the others earlier was printed on the menu. "Our Praetor's Reserve is a... 2250."

"2262." Jaeih said as she slid back in her seat slightly, pouring the obviously drugged Kali-Fal onto the table. As she did, the fake server dropped the tray under his arm and let slip a small baton with a charged tip into his hand to raise towards Jaeih. But the pouring of the drink was a feint. A distraction as Mnhei'sahe moved quickly and dug her foot into the back of the man's knee and jabbing at his elbow to force his hand open, dropping him to the ground in one motion as the small baton dropped from his grip and hit the ground, sliding away from the table.

Immediately, the other three men and two more from the back that had been watching came rushing their position with similar batons raised. "Not disruptors. Interesting." Jaeih commented. "The dampening field, no doubt."

Scrambling, the server rolled forward to grab the charged baton as Mnhei’sahe stepped back, putting herself between them and Mona. After a quick second, the skilled attacker rolled back to his feet as the others closed in. Three attackers for each Romulan Starfleet officer or agent.

“This need not be messy, SubCommander t’Aan.” The faux-server said in a taunting voice. Jaeih took a step back and her face went white at the evoking of her former name and rank. In that moment, her greatest fears were realized. She had been found by the Tal’Shiar. Mnhei’sahe had been found, and the warriors of the Hera were nowhere near to help.

In that moment, Jaeih desperately wished that her bond-sister, the Vulcan Refugee Az’Prel had been with them instead of exploring Vulcan with Rita and Sonak. But in that same quick moment, she knew that she couldn’t let the Tal'Shiar get their hands on them, and thankfully, the skilled Vulcan had taught her a move or two.

Waving the charged baton tip from mother to daughter, the leader grinned with a glint of cruelty in his eyes. “We simply want to take you…” But those were his last words as Jaeih, in one swift movement, swung the hand with the dinner knife palmed in it and let the blade fly where it lodged itself in the attacker's throat with a wet sound, not unlike the sound of a Mellon being cut.

Mona seemed to turn a bit grey at the sight, a bit of bile rising in her throat as she tried to put the table and chairs between her and their attackers.

As he crumpled to his knees, grasping at his throat in shock, his baton fell to the ground in front of Jaeih, where she slid it with her foot towards her daughter. A more fitting weapon for the Starfleet officer trained to fight with similar lengthed Caitian short swords. Gurgling, green blood ran down the servers throat as gasps of shock were let out from the handful of patrons still in the restaurant.

There was a moment of eerie silence as he fell, face-first to the deck of the patio, dead. As he did, Mnhei’sahe reached down and grabbed the baton to face off with the remaining attackers who stood at the ready. For what felt like an eternity, they stared at each other before the red-headed pilot made the first move.

Swirling the baton expertly with the months of sword fighting training she had accrued as an Artan Baroness, the younger Dox reached behind her and grabbed the back of her wooden chair and swung it around, flinging it at the nearest attackers. There was a scream from one of the patrons as the battle was joined.

As the remaining diners began rushing for the doors in a panic, Jaeih and Mnhei’sahe rushed forward while the attackers were ducking out of the way of the flying chair. Jaeih, in an act that surprised even her hardened attackers, reached down and grabbed the dead man by the neck, yanking out the small dinner knife and rushing them with it.

“Under the table, Mona!” Mnhei’sahe yelled as her baton met one of the attackers while she lobbed a hard sidekick at one of the others. But the men were clearly Tal’Shiar and well trained in much the same fighting arts as Jaeih brutally taught her daughter. Brutal training intended for this very moment. The attackers countered Mnhei’sahe’s moves deftly as she did her best to keep the two men that were focused on her at an arm’s length.

Mona nodded and whimpered slightly, ducking under the table, knowing that even a blind Romulan would be able to spot her brightly plumed butt sticking out from under the tablecloth. Still, she hoped it would offer some semblance of cover at the very least and knew her mother-in-law and wife would do everything in their power to fight off their attackers.

Meanwhile, Jaeih wasn’t acting as delicately as her daughter, taking a much less defensive position. Her fear of capture transformed her posture into one of attack. She was committed to ensuring that not a single man there would lay hands on her daughters while she lived. And as she thought of the three grandchildren growing within Mona Gonadie, the rest came easy.

Running in under the swing of the baton, Jaeih slashed up with her dinner knife and severed the tricep of the nearest attacker. Crying out in pain, he dropped his baton over Jaeih’s shoulder where it slid under the table towards Mona. As as he winced, she brought her blade back up, digging it into his armpit and then into his neck. She was stabbing with clear intention and a fury she had not felt overtake her in a lifetime. But her mind was on autopilot. She would protect those she loved at all costs. As her attacker bled over top of her she shoved his squirming form off of his feet and into the other agent advancing on her.

As he stumbled under the weight of the now limp form of his former compatriot, Mnhei’sahe brought her baton in a high swing for her attacker's heads. But as they leaned back to avoid the charged tip, the younger Dox moved in low, digging her free hand into a knife thrust just under the nearest man’s right rib cage. It was the location of the Romulan heart and he made a low grunting sound as he began to seize up, turning a deep shade of green.

It was a potentially deadly blow if left unattended, but the anxious pilot was distracted, knowing Mona was near, and only applied enough force to incapacitate. But she didn’t waste the opportunity, kicking the struggling attacker over causing the other man to stumble away.

Enough of a stumble that she was able to connect with her charged baton, and with a loud crackling sound, the second man crumpled into a ball, stunned. But it was a move that left the younger Dox open as the man at her feet, still clutching his own baton and struggling to breathe as his heart seized in his torso, managed to jab the lieutenant in the leg with the charged end before passing out.

There was the same loud snap and a whiff of ozone as Mnhei’sahe crumpled backward, collapsing on the edge of the dinner table, then rolling limp to the ground in front of Mona.

"No! Minay!" Mona was frantic as she pulled her love to her and checked her vitals, finding them there but weak. "She needs a medic!"

Turning with a shock at the sight of her now unconscious daughter, Jaeih stood with the knife in her hand dripping green blood and two armed men still standing. The one nearest her lunged at her with the charged baton tip, forcing her backward, while the other man ran over to the table, kicking it over and reached for Mona.

Grabbing over Mnhei'sahe's limp, stunned form, he lept around and put the panicked Miradonian in a hold, with an arm around her neck and the baton's charged tip up to her quickly breathing chest.

She emitted a shocked squawk which was a cry for help in her native language before switching back to common, her hands futilely scrabbling at her attacker's arm around her neck. "Mom! Help!"

Watching, Jaeih's eyes went blank and flat. Staring at the attacker on Mona, she flung the knife down to the ground where it locked itself into the shin of her attacker. With a winced yell, he dropped his guard just long enough for Jaeih to grab him by the head, pull him down and, clutching the baton in his own hand, force it up to his own temple.

There was that familiar snapping sound that, this time, lingered for a solid 5 seconds as his body shuddered in Jaeih's hands. Then, with smoke coming off the side of his head, the former Tal'Shiar operative simply dropped the man who fell limp and dead at her feet.

"It will be okay, Mona." Jaeih said with a voice that sounded cold and dead itself. Her cold eyes never wavering from the attacker who had her daughter-in-law. "He won't hurt you."

"By AREINNYE, I won't! Don't take another step or she is dead." The attacker yelled back, showing fear in his voice now.

"No, you won't." Jaeih took a single step forward, taunting him. "You won't because if you hurt her, you know that there will be nothing left to stop me from inflicting the kind of pain you can only imagine on you. I'll have nothing left. You will long for the comfort of Areinnye. Do they still teach to old ways on Ch'Rihan? The ways to reach your fingers under the skin at the base of the neck and flay away the nerves one by one? How to make your ribs compress your lungs or make you choke on your own bile? They taught me that. Would you like me to show you?"

The attacker stepped back, dragging Mona with him. "I... I'll kill her. They don't want her. Only you and your daughter."

"Then take us. That is my offer to you." Jaeih stated plainly, blood still dripping off of her hands. "Release her now. Let her leave here UNTOUCHED, and I will give myself up. I will put up no resistance. You will live and bring home your prizes to your masters. You have ten seconds to reply."

Mona was motionless and silent, holding her breath as the villain holding her made his decision.

Stepping forward again, Jaeih was now in arms reach of her Daughter-In-Law, and it was all she could do to resist the urge to try and kill the attacker there. But she remembered the words that the android, Kodira has said to her and her daughter in the holodeck only days ago. Words she repeated now.

The skilled intel agent spoke, not in common, but in Mona’s own tongue of Miradonian, trusting that the comm interference also meant the Romulan attacker didn’t have access to his universal translator. “My daughter. You must remember what Kodria said. You are important. The children are important. Trust in Paris. Trust in Enalia. Don’t come after us by yourself. Promise me this.”

Slowly, Mona released her breath and replied in Miradonian, relaxing slightly as she did so. "I promise. Promise me you'll both survive long enough for us to rescue you."

Speaking again in common, Jaeih replied first to Mona with what she knew may very well be a lie, "We will." then to the man holding her. “Your time is up.”

Slowly… the anxious Romulan man pulled the baton from Mona’s chest and released his grip on her and stepped slightly back. “Go, woman. Go, now.”

“I… should have tried harder to feel you, my daughter. To let you in.” Jaeih said. Her expression one of sadness now as, in one motion, she reached out and slapped the emergency transporter tag on Mona’s arm. And in an instant, the young Miradonian woman vanished in a shimmering wave of blue sparkles, leaving Jaeih alone with her attacker and the limp, unconscious form of Mnhei’sahe at her feet.

Stunned by the sudden change of location, Mona almost wasn't sure what to do for a moment before she leapt into action, heading to the controls of the small ship, slapping her hand on the DNA lock and waiting for the seemingly painfully slow system to verify that it was her.

As soon as it was done, tears were streaming down her face as she fired up the systems and started cycling the sensors to scan the restaurant they had been eating at only to find that the entire area was still under a heavy enough sensor scrambler to block the Khallianen's attempts to see what was anywhere near the site.

Banging on the panel like a child against a duranium hull, she let the tears flow, her face scrunching up at her powerlessness as she sank to her knees, realizing there was nothing she could do now. By the time she got the ship off the ground and got clearance, they would be off-world and long gone. The only thing left now would be to report in to the Hera.

Wiping enough tears from her eyes to make out the comms, she tapped in the direct subspace codes for the Hera and keyed the lines open for a message to Enalia, letting it all burst forth as soon as the spotted captain appeared on screen. "They have her. They have both of them. The Tal Shiar. They took my Minay and Jaeih."

The first thing she was aware of was a dull, rhythmic throbbing. Her head seemed to be being pressed in from the sides as Lieutenant Mnhei’sahe Dox struggled to open her eyes and remember where she was.

For what felt like half an hour, she struggled against a body that didn’t want to respond to commands. For a while, she couldn’t get her eyes to open. Her arms wouldn’t move and she couldn’t raise the side of her face off of the scratchy pillow she felt under her. She was on her side and her head was throbbing, though. She knew that much. After a while, clarity began to form in the corners of her mind and she began to remember.

She, her mother Jaeih, and her wife Mona, had been at a restaurant on the moon of Enox VI. A Romulan restaurant called Saith. ‘Tranquility’. She laughed slightly at the irony there as the memory filled in piece by piece. They were attacked by Romulan agents. Tal’Shiar armed with stunning batons and while she was fighting them off, she got tagged and passed out instantly.

“MONA!” She tried to shout, but the sound came out weak and slurred. She had to have been drugged to have this hard of a time walking up. That or those stun batons were HIGHLY powered, far more than she would have expected. But after a few more moments, her eyes slowly opened and found a hazy focus. Wherever she was was dark. A gray, metal room. She could only see the wall in front of her for a moment as she worked up the strength to stiffly turn over and eventually sit up.

The throbbing wasn’t just in her head, she discovered as she regained her faculties. She was on a ship. A ship with a power source nowhere near as well-tuned as Commander sh’Zorathi keeps the Hera’s engines. The throbbing could be felt through the cold, metal deck plates. And as her eyes found their focus, the still groggy officer began to piece together where she had to be.

The room was about half the size of her quarters on the Hera. An octagonal shape to the rooms with warm gray walls decorated by angular gold chevrons on the panels. At each segment, a soft white strip of vertical light with green rim light running along the floor and ceiling at each bulkhead. She was sitting on a fairly narrow bed built into the far bulkhead with somewhat rough, dark gray linens. Across from her was a wide, short porthole style window. They were at warp.

Against the, based on the motion of those streaking stars, bow-side wall to her right was a small bench couch, also built into the wall with a copper-colored pad on it and a small dining table. There was a small desk below the window with a monitor screen and what looked like a touchpad input. A computer. There was a door to a small refresher to her left and to the right of that, the door to the corridor. There was no replicator or other amenities.

This was absolutely a Romulan ship.

She had never been on a D’deridex class Warbird, but based on the room and her having spent many years as an eager young Rihanna girl studying their specs, she knew where she was. These were what passed for VIP quarters in the Star Empire.

Standing up slowly, she ran her hand through her curly, red hair. Uncommon for Rihannsu, but she was an uncommon woman. Nervously, she pulled on one of her pointed ears as she looked around. Romulan ships were light on luxury, but she was in one of the ships bigger rooms, and that meant something. She was still wearing the loose green blouse and black pants she had worn to dinner, and her bruised knuckles had been healed. They wanted something.

Stepping over to the doors, they of course didn’t budge. Walking to the desk, the computer was, of course, locked out. It simply glowed a deep green with the sigil of the Star Empire rotating upon it and the ship's name, in Rihan, "na'Rhaden Ssaed", meaning 'The People's Will'.

Walking the perimeter of the room, she examined every corner and nook. The chairs and the dining table were bolted in place. The pads woven into the structure. The lighting was inset, and inaccessible to her probing fingers. And while she was sure she was on camera, she couldn’t find a source. So she walked back to the bed, sat down and waited. They would come to her in their own time, and now that she was awake she suspected it wouldn’t be long before someone came to make their presence known.

Then, as her mother would say, the games would begin.

Sure enough, it took only a few moments for the door of the quarters to slide open, revealing a dignified older woman. Clearly Romulan, clearly silver-haired, clearly a proud noblewoman, haughty and regal. This was someone who was unaccustomed to doing their own dirty work- their knuckles were unbruised, their hands uncalloused, their features fine and delicate though she had a slightly thick build. And there was something disturbingly familiar about the woman's face all the same, which was made all the more evident when she smiled, and Mnhei'sahe was struck by the resemblance to herself. When she spoke, her accent was light and lilting, the intonations of a dialect with which Dox was unfamiliar.

"Hello, Mnhie'sahe. I've wanted to meet you for a very long time, now." she said simply.

Still seated on the edge of the thinly padded bed, Mnhei'sahe recognized the woman from the image shown to her by Captain Telvan from her Starfleet intelligence file some months ago. She also remembered the yawning list of atrocities credited to the otherwise proper looking Rihannsu woman. This was her father's mother.

Senator Verelan t'Rul of the Romulan Star Empire.

Her grandmother.

Pulling herself up to attention as she sat, the young Starfleet officer replied flatly through serious eyes. "Dox, Mnhei’sahe. Lieutenant, Starfleet. United Federation of Planets. Service Number, SC414339-797064. The abduction of Starfleet personnel or Federation citizens by force is a violation of treaty."

The elderly Romulan woman chuckled as she stepped into the room, the door sliding shut behind her as she did so. “Federation standard? Really? You cannot even do me the courtesy of addressing me in my native tongue granddaughter?” Eyeing the redheaded Romulan appraisingly, the elder stateswoman shook her head. “Family is so important, yet here we are, at odds because my willful son hid you from me. The woman who betrayed him hid you from me, then Starfleet hid you from me.”

“But I’ve found you at last, and now you can come home. No more pretending, no more hiding… you can return home to take your rightful place amongst the heroes of the Star Empire. Where you belong… where you’ve always belonged. Not amongst the humans and the trash of the galaxy, pretending to be one of their mutts. You are true Rihannsu. You are the granddaughter of a lauded Senator, with titles and property as your birthright… not some scrounger smuggling watered-down liquor amongst the stars scrounging for a pittance to eke out a living. Your life could have been so different had I but known…” The expression on the woman’s face was a sad and wistful one, as clearly the lost time pained her, as did the recounting of Dox’s miserable childhood and upbringing, of which she was clearly aware.

While Rihan was Dox's native tongue as well, she had no intention of speaking a word of it just yet. "We are at odds... because you abducted me by force. I am a Federation citizen. Return me to the nearest Federation facility, Starbase or Starship immediately and we can discuss whatever you wish through official channels. Our governments are not currently at war, but your actions here may press that point."

The young officer was nervous as her stomach threatened to leap out of her chest as she spoke, doing her best to remain calm. She knew they had her but had no idea if her mother or Mona had escaped the attack and didn't want to say anything to give away that concern, so she leaned on her training and kept her face neutral and still.

“Mmmmm, because given all of the stories you’ve been told through the years, I’m certain you would be ever so eager to embrace me and your heritage,” the elder Romulan woman sighed, shaking her head before her dark eyes glanced up to pierce those of her progeny. “Be honest- would we be having this discussion right now had I not forced the issue? Would we ever be having this discussion, honestly? And before you answer, I might add that as a career politician I am a bit more attuned to lies and falsehood than even the majority of our people. So don’t bother with the polite niceties of half-truths and evasions, if you would at least do me that courtesy.”

The young pilot was out of her element for sure and paused to think of the right answer. Simply repeating her service number would get her nothing so the more she could keep her grandmother talking, the more she could learn. Of course, that was a very double-bladed sword that would doubtless be more of an advantage to the aforementioned 'career politician'. As it was, she already was able to make some loose assertations. The elder woman, Dox thought, assumed that her mother had spent a lifetime filling her head with horror stories of her when the reality is Dox didn't even know she had a Grandmother until a few months earlier. What else did she know, Dox wondered? How detailed was her intel on the Hera?

Looking up to meet Senator t'Rul's piercing gaze, Dox replied plainly, still replying in Federation Standard to questions asked in Rihan. "Most likely, not. But even I couldn't say with any certainty now that that option has been removed. And I'm considerably less inclined to talk to you as a prisoner."

“Yes, you keep going back to that. So if I turned you loose, what then? Tell me, I’m curious.” The eyebrow arched, and the elder stateswoman put Dox on the spot. “Run back to your top-secret intel starship and your black ops missions, your Miradonian wife, your civilian asset mother as you build your little family in the shadows of the Federation that claims it needs none?”

Freezing, Dox kept her face neutral and didn't move a fraction. But her face flushed green as her blood ran hot. She had the answers to the questions she had and she didn't like them. Her Grandmother clearly knew most everything about her and her notorious temper was beginning to flare up. As she felt her pulse quicken, she knew her autonomic reactions had betrayed her without her ever speaking a word or twitching a muscle.

Doing her level best to stay calm, Dox's already gravelly voice dropped an octave as she skipped answering the question designed to provoke her. "And on ch'Rihan? Would you 'turn me loose' there to be a 'hero of the empire'?"

“I’d certainly like to,” the Senator admitted. “My granddaughter, who could take my seat in the Imperial Senate? Take over my lands and holdings? Speak for our province? And after having rejected the federation and their ways to return home, to ch’Rihan, to the motherland, to serve the Star Empire as a faithful daughter? Yes… yes, I would most certainly ‘turn you loose’ if I had the opportunity,” the silver-haired woman began to slowly pace, a rather unnerving habit that she shared with her granddaughter. “But that would require a degree of trust. Admittedly, kidnapping is not the best first step toward building trust. But then, you aren’t particularly inclined toward trust. So we have time to work on that, you and I. We’ve a long voyage ahead of us, and we’ll have time to talk, and for you to consider your future.”

“Yours…” the Senator turned eyeing Dox with the first hint of any sort of even a hint of malice, but the undercurrent was quite clearly there as she said the words, “and your mother’s.”

Boiling now and ready to burst, the thinly veiled threat pushed all the right buttons for the woman who so fiercely defended her reformed family. And in this instance, she let it out as she leaned forward and growled in her native Rihan, "Where IS she?"

“Nearby. In good health. How vested are you in that state continuing?” There it was. While her voice never rose and there was still calm control, there was the mild hint of irritation that the anger was so close to the surface in her granddaughter. “I’d hoped that we might be able to talk, to be civilized, to perhaps reach an accord. For you to approach this with something of an open mind, to at least consider my words without me having to resort to threats and punishments.”

“But you’re simply not that bright, are you? Like an angry mongrel, you have to be kept on a short leash or you’ll attack. It seems Rendal was accurate in her assessment of you after all…” t’Rul sighed, shaking her head sadly. “Limited, stunted, angry and stubbornly unwilling to even stop long enough to consider reason. Ah well. I did have hopes that you might be swayed with reason, and the opportunity to make a genuine difference to a homeworld you’ve never known that could welcome you with open arms. Instead, all you are is rage and demands... the product of a horrendously pretentious and idiotic upbringing.”

Noting the coiling body language and shifting of weight, the elder woman looked disdainfully at her progeny. “Oh, and if you are going to attack me, by all means, do take your chance. I’m rather looking forward to your reaction.” The woman opened her arms as if expecting a hug and waited patiently.

Sitting there, Dox knew that she had given in to her anger, but it had been a quickly made decision. That anger also served a different purpose. It masked another emotion welling up in her she didn't want her manipulative Grandmother seeing: Hope. T'Rul had threatened her mother... NOT Mona. They didn't have her. Which meant that before long, the Hera would know what had happened.

So she sat, took a breath and slowly let it out. "We’ve a long voyage ahead of us." Dox said, repeating her Grandmother's words, still speaking in Rihan. "Plenty of time to learn who we both are. But you never expected that immediately after sending men to attack me and my family, stun me into submission, drug me and steal me away, that I'd stroke my chin and thoughtfully consider your offer right there on the spot. Be honest."

“I expected that you might realize that you are in a considerable amount of danger with precious little leverage to play, and all of it dependent upon my good graces,” the elder Romulan woman sighed wearily, clearly disappointed. “I expected that you might analyze the situation and realize that this was all planned rather precisely, and that nothing was left to chance. I expected that you might be capable of processing all of that and at least control yourself long enough to at least pretend to listen to me. Instead, you played your hand immediately, showing that you possess the subtlety of a disruptor and the survival instincts of a phloog. I would prefer for this to go my way, but I suppose that choice is up to you, Mnhei’sahe.”

Leaning in, the Rihannsu Deihu locked eyes with the Starfleet officer. “Because you know a great many secrets that could be quite valuable to a great many parties. If you chose to listen and hear me, you might find that what I have to say makes sense, and that our people need you far more than the Federation needs a ‘token Romulan’,” she said, using the Federation’s name for their people. “Or you can be obstinate and prideful, and you can choose your own fate… yours, and your mother’s. I had them leave your wife behind intentionally, because she has never wronged me, and I wanted you to see that I bear you no ill will. I want to build a future. But I am not the only voice in this chorus, and you would do well to remember that as you stroke your chin and thoughtfully consider your future.”

Standing, the elder Romulan woman drew herself to her full height and looked down at Dox archly once more. “Consider my words, and your position. As I said, we’ve a long journey ahead of us, and you have plenty time to think while Rendal takes her time exacting her revenge for her losses upon your mother. After all, she did predict that you would be unreasonable, and I did agree that if she was right, she could start interrogating Jaeih right away.” Having delivered that gut punch, the elder stateswoman strode to the exit, which opened automatically at her approach.

“I’ll return when I feel you might be a more receptive audience.”

As the door wooshed shut with a definitive clank, Dox deflated slightly but didn't move from where she sat as her mind raced. Her grandmother was right. As she could see it, she had no leverage. A D'deridex-class warbird could carry as many as fifteen hundred Rihannsu troops. So the short red-headed one everyone was likely trained to recognize would likely not get ten meters past that door, she thought to herself as she considered escape options.

They had her. They had her mother. She was likely alive only for whatever information she had that her Grandmother had so not subtly hinted at.

She sighed as she thought. She didn't believe for a second that she left Mona alone on purpose. Why give up leverage? Mona would tell Enalia and Rita and they would be coming. But Romulus was nearly 80 light years from the Artan Fortress. Near a month's travel time at top cruising speed for a Warbird. 60 from where they picked her up. A massive lead.

And that, Dox thought, might be the only card in her hand to play, and the most dangerous one: time. The longer she stayed alive, the greater the possibility of rescue or escape for her and her mother. Which depended on if her mother would even survive what was to come. Kodria may have said that the future wasn't set in stone, but Death had predicted that she and her mother didn't have much time left. Their chances were slim and Dox knew it as her heart sank.

She would have to do exactly what her grandmother suggested. She would have to pretend to listen. Pretend to bend. And then pray that she could hold on to herself as she did, knowing full well that that was exactly how to be brainwashed. But she couldn't see any other options as she sat alone.

For the first time since joining the crew of the USS Hera, Lieutenant Dox was all alone.

Sitting on the bridge of her Leosa Class Warbird, 'the Iurret', Riov Dalia Rendal was stewing.

The commander of the official mission escort ship to the D'deridex class Warbird 'The People's Will', Rendal was more accustomed to being in charge and was not fond of waiting for sentimental Senators to waste her time in pointless segues. But this particular Senator had significant power. And it was power Rendal knew she needed for now.

A mere eight months ago, she was a woman of power and position within the Romulan Star Empire. The Rihannsu commander of Starbase 336. A joint operation between her government and Starfleet Intelligence where they strove to unlock the secrets of the so-called gods. Secrets that promised to bring her and the empire untold glory.

Glory that was snatched from her by the U.S.S. Hera.

In one fell swoop, she had lost everything. The station, it's prizes and her position. For weeks she was left to rot in Starfleet custody before she was returned home in disgrace. And it was in disgrace that she had to stand before a senate that threatened to leave her in exile. Her house name, ship, rank, and property was to be seized by the state as punishment for her failure. But she had a plan.

During the assault on Starbase 336, she had noticed something… unusual. Among the crew of the Hera, there was a young officer that bled green on her station and spoke Rihan. There were but the smallest handful of Rihannsu in Starfleet, and this one was unknown to her.

So, while in custody, answering Starfleet's inane questions and giving them nothing of true value, Rendal ordered her Subcommander, Arrenha t'Suil, to investigate the girl. And it would be the fruits of that investigation that would save her name and rank.

The Starfleet officer was named Mnhei'sahe Dox and an examination of that blood left behind revealed that she was the daughter of the traitor believed long dead, Jaeih t'Aan and the former Tal'Shiar agent, Dralath tr'Rul. Himself, the son of Senator Verelan t'Rul. The woman who was to pass judgment on her in court.

The elder Deihu who placed a powerful emphasis on family had no idea that she even had a granddaughter and the information earned Rendal a reprieve from punishment, but placed her in the Senator's services as the elder Rihanna began planning to reclaim her lost bloodline.

So Rendal sat uncomfortably waiting. Waiting as, on the Warbird to her flank, the Senator wasted her time trying to bond with her freshly kidnapped granddaughter.

Impatiently waiting for that meeting to end, Rendal needed to move. She needed to stop sitting around waiting. She needed to do something. "Erei'Riov t'Suil… walk with me. Centurion tr'Draan, you have the bridge."

The edgy Commander and her Sub-Commanders stood and left the bridge of the ship through the doors to their side.

"How may I assist you, Riov?" T'Suil asked attentively.

As soon as they were down the corridor a ways and most of the way to her small office, Rendal paused and rested her hand on the Sardonyx-wood inlay of the lightly curved sword that rested at her hip, the rough, black kahs-hir steel pressing into her palm. It was her birthright and that which marked her as the leader of a noble house. "I grow weary of the fancies of our elders. I, more than most, understand the need for lineage and family, but this is taking it too far."

With her hands behind her back, the Subcommander kept pace and paused with Rendal. "Perhaps, Riov. But our mission is at the Deihu's pleasure while we are still in transit to ch'Rihan. And even if we were at maximum warp, it would be many weeks travel time. There is little to do but wait, I'm afraid. Though I share your concerns."

"When I am old and infirm, if I am ever this sentimental, please just kill me..." Rendal muttered as she glanced back and forth down the corridor. "I need to burn off some energy. How has your swordplay training been going?"

"Dull." Erei'Riov t'Suil said with the slightest of smiles. "Many of the younger Centurions seem to place less and less emphasis on the skill and holographic training does nothing to fire the blood. The training chambers on deck seven are prepared and waiting, Riov." the slightly younger Subcommander nodded, clearly having had anticipated her mistresses need.

"Then we will spar. And I will even give you an advantage this time." With a hint of a grin, the Riov set off for the nearest turbolift, pulling a silk scarf from one of her uniform's hidden pockets. "Wooden swords... And I will be blindfolded."

Following pace quickly behind, t'Suil stepped on the lift as it arrived. "Deck seven." The Subcommander spoke out to the lift as it began towards its destination. "Advantage offers me no benefit, Riov. But taking on a disadvantage will serve to sharpen your own skills considerably. Still, without blood drawn, how will we know when we have concluded?"

The comment was made with a wry grin. She knew she was the inferior swordswoman, but still enjoyed her sparring sessions with her Commander. It was in many respects, the greatest command training one could ask for.

"To seven points, as counted by the computer, of course," replied Rendal with a sly grin. It was her favorite game as the computer only counted solid blows to main limbs and the body. Any hits to the feet or hands didn't count and neither did grazes, but with wooden swords they were at least easier for the system to track. "And to give you even more of an advantage, we will discuss things so my ears and mind will be further occupied."

Arriving after a short walk to the empty training chamber, prepared and waiting, t'Suil replied plainly as she stepped across the room to take two wooden practice swords from the rack on the far wall. "Then, as always, I shall endeavor to be the whetstone for both your blade arm and your mind."

"You do me a great honor, t'Suil," Rendal spoke reverently as she blindfolded herself and reached out for the offered wooden sword. It wasn't nearly as heavy or as firm as her family's S'harien styled royal sword, but for training, it was more than enough. Besides, if her Subcommander was to build up her own skills, she would need training as well and this would suffice. "At your ready, erei'Riov." With that, the olive-skinned Riov brought her wooden sword up in front of her in a casual defensive stance, her offhand on her hip.

"As mnhei'sahe demands, Riov." The Subcommander said, earnestly as she matched her Commander's pose to begin. But in that moment, the word held two meanings. One, the Rihannsu name for their code of honor known as the ruling passion. The other, the name of the young captured Starfleet officer that the Senator was wasting time trying to reason with at that very moment.

The dual meaning was not lost on her as the elder Rihansu tested the waters with a few sweeping thrusts in the general vicinity where she could hear t'Suil. "Speaking of mnhei'sahe, what are your thoughts on our 'guest' and her mother? Please speak your mind freely."

The Subcommander was clearly skilled as she avoided those earliest moves with relative ease, matching and replying in kind. “T’Aan is a traitor. She betrayed the Imperium and tried to run and hide like a Sseikea rather than facing true judgment. The daughter… the Starfleet Officer. She, I fear, may be a lost cause. While I understand the Deihu’s desires, she may be too indoctrinated by the Federation to ever truly be recovered.”

As their wooden swords met with a hollow thunking sound, the Subcommander returned the question, "But my thoughts are secondary. Yours are the only ones that hold sway here, Riov."

Rendal's reflexes skillfully targeted the sounds of her subcommander's wooden sword whooshing through the air and easily parried with her own as she compiled her own response. "I agree with you on T'Aan. She is a defector and a traitor and should be dealt with as such once she has outlived her usefulness, just as her lover was. As for her mewling Starfleet daughter... She has teeth to her... I have seen them at the loss of my beloved starbase... But she is still full of the Federation's ideals and I agree that the Deihu is following a lost cause. One that only her own heart and mnhei'sahe may demand of her."

"While we have them, they may both be precious bait for what we truly require, however." With a grin, Rendal stepped in for a moment and performed a spinning flourish, tagging t'Suil for the first point of the match on the shoulder.

=^=Aimehn. Hwi i lliu. Riov.=^= The computer called out, counting the first point to the blindfolded commander.

Smarting slightly at the impact, t’Suil took a step back to reset her defense as they resumed. “Do you believe they will come? They are Starfleet and do so love their regulations that would forbid such actions.”

"A normal Starfleet Captain would defer to the diplomats of the Federation," began Riov Rendal, resetting her own stance. "However, this is Captain Enalia Telvan, captain of a Starfleet Intel ship that is rumored to be part of their fabled Section Thirty One. She is also the head of a pirate empire and known for taking matters into her own hands. You yourself delivered her profile to me. There is no doubt in my mind that she would bring that fancy ship full of secrets of hers and a whole fleet of pirate ships to ch'Rihan just to get back just one of our guests. Indeed, they may arrive before we do if the rumors of their speeds are true."

“I stand corrected.” t’Suil replied plainly, taking in the information as it came from her Commander, ever the pupil. As she spoke, she moved back in with a strong attack of her own that very nearly landed in the side of Rendal’s hip had the more skilled Commander not sidestepped at the last instance allowing the wooden blade to miss her by only millimeters.

As Rendal brought her own blade in to attack, t’Suil only barely recovered her own defense to block the blade. “And if the Deihu cannot convince her granddaughter to aid us directly in our purpose? Even if we have the ship physically, it’s data cannot be obtained by force. Our own ships computers have nigh impenetrable defenses to prevent that as well.”

"Then that's what the Neural Extraction Device is for, my friend," Rendal replied, narrowly parrying another attack from her subcommander. "Assuming her access codes have not already been changed or disabled, that is. Either way, getting the information from our young Rihansu compatriot is paramount, whether it be by the Deihu's hands or ours."

With a hint of what could best be described as mild discontent, t’Suil lunged in for an attack and was deflected with moderate ease, but it was a feint. Turning on her heels, the Subcommander twisted and landed a strike against Rendal’s shoulder as she spun.

=^=Aimehn. Hwi i Hwi. Erei'Riov.=^= The computer toned gently as the two women squared back off again.

“There is another way to achieve the Deihu’s desires, Riov.” t’Suil commented with a thoughtful but dark look on her face. “The Neural Extraction Converter can do more than pry information. It can insert it. Create thoughts as we wish them to be. Undo the damage the federation has done to her. It may provide us with the push we would need to complete her Grandmothers work. Sculpt a loyal Rihannsu to return to them if necessary.”

"Yes, you have said that that is possible before." Rendal replied, her mind already alight with plans, "You are far more skilled with the device than I so I will leave such plans to you." Stepping in with a double stomp, Rendal swiped at t'Suil's sword hand with a flourish, easily disarming her and tagging her on her breastbone. "But be wary of how resilient the peaceful Federation brainwashing can be. It is like their... What is it... Root beer? It is sickeningly sweet and coy with its bubbles and if you drink enough of it I am told it is highly addictive with its syrupy flavor and tingling... Ugh..." With a shiver down her spine, she stepped back and reset her form.

=^=Aimehn. kre i Hwi. Riov.=^= The computer called out.

“Any bad habit can be broken with a little effort.” t’Suil smirked slightly as she reset her stance. “If Senator t’Rul is half as compelling with her granddaughter as she is on the floor of the senate, it may do most of the work for us. And I have found that sweetness becomes sickening after only a short time removed from it.

"This is true," Rendal pursed her lips in thought, momentarily distracted, the tip of her wooden sword wavering for just a moment. "I sense that you have an idea brewing..."

“Not so much an idea as an observation, Riov. When I compiled the initial report on her, I interviewed two officers. A Subcommander and Centurion. They spoke with her at the Federation outpost after the incident at Starbase 336.” As she spoke, t’Suil laid in a new attack, taking advantage of her commander's momentary distraction to almost land a solid hit.

“She does not drink their 'Root Beer'. She knows her tongue and customs. All of the intelligence we’ve collected on her shows a young woman with feet in two worlds. Show her our best. Show her a true Rihannsu life in service to the Empire. Show her what she was taught to fear by her traitor mother was a lie.”

With a few parries and thrusts exchanged between them, Rendal grinned almost innocently. "And between our two ships, we have at least twenty five hundred of the Praetor's finest to show her. Perhaps we will be able to convince the Deihu to take our guest on a tour of the People's Will. Show her around and let her see that those in the Imperium are... Not so different? Perhaps make an offer to learn from each other?"

"Service is service. As an officer, she already understands that. And with a foot in our world, she's halfway here, Riov." t'Suil replied, their parries almost perfunctory now as they spoke.

"And now we have to help her see that we are not the evil empire across the neutral zone, but just another way of living that is not so different from her own." Rendal was getting into a rhythm of strikes and parries but was wary of her friend switching things up like she was about to do herself.

For as in any game of wills, be it swordplay, chess or a simple debate, anticipation was often the key to victory. And Riov Rendal was skilled at anticipating her opponent's next move. T'Suil was a skilled swordswoman to be sure. On the ship, second only to Rendal herself. But she was not as adept at verbally sparring at the same time that she fought.

Flipping her grip on her sword to a backhanded one, she switched her swing in reverse in an attempt to catch Rendal off guard, but it was for naught as she spoke. "Indeed, Riov. Inundated her with our duties. Our triumphs and our HONOR. The foolish woman named her 'Mnhei'sahe'... she must know what that means."

"Exactly. We will show her what true Rihansu mnhei'sahe is and do our best to instill a pride in her for being born of ch'Rihan." almost too easily, Rendal stepped in and flipped her one-handed grip to a reversed grip, slashing her partner across the chest as she recovered from her own failed reverse grip attack. This was a double-edged attack, however, as she received a pommel strike to her head that she had literally not seen coming.

Stepping back, she couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Well played."

=^=Aimehn. Mne i Kre. Riov.=^= The Computer chimed, updating the score to 4 to 3.

“Thank you, Riov. I have your training to thank.” t’Suil replied, raising an eyebrow as she said the words. “As will the girl, no doubt.”

But before the match could continue, there came a hard chirp over the ships comm system. "Riov Rendal, this is Centurion tr'Draan from the bridge. You asked to be informed when Deihu t'Rul was complete with her initial meeting."

Looking over as Rendal removed her blindfold, t'Suil took her Mistresses sword to return both to their place. "That went quicker than expected, Riov. What do you think?"

"I think our guest is either smarter than she looks or is in much more confining accommodations," Rendal replied, her demeanor returning to a more stony countenance. "Shall we go find out which it is?"

The elder statesman was weary as she returned to her quarters on the starship. It had been an exhausting confrontation with her granddaughter, which was somewhat to be expected. Combative, untrusting and confrontational, the young woman was headstrong, prideful and irrational. She clearly did not grasp any of the practicalities of her situation, she did not seem to understand the extreme peril she was in at the moment, nor did she seem to understand the opportunity she was being offered. Yes, she had been kidnapped, but she was a Starfleet officer. It wasn’t like she would have come had diplomatic entreaties been offered. So there had been some offers, some threats, some promises, and punishments. The Romulan way, as it were- at least, according to the current political climate.

In truth, she was protecting Jaeih Dox at the moment. Torturing her was certainly on the table, as was torturing her granddaughter. But those were options that could be investigated if other possibilities and avenues were exhausted. There was a significant opportunity here, on a multitude of levels. Her granddaughter was a Starfleet officer and understood the Starfleet mentality- how they thought, how they operated, how they maneuvered. That could be invaluable were she to be swayed to their cause. Additionally, she was a decorated pilot and officer, who again, would be quite a coup to recruit to bring back to the Star Empire as a propaganda victory.

But on a personal level, the role of Deihu was a hereditary role. As her son was certainly in no position to inherit her mantle, there was some hope that with some grooming and convincing, the regrettably named young granddaughter might just be a potential replacement for the aging senator to take her place on the floor of the Imperial Senate in a few years time. The possibility was an exciting one for Verelan, as she had no true heirs until this recent discovery, and it was highly unlikely that she was going to produce any at her age. So the discovery of her redheaded granddaughter was thrilling to her- if she could be swayed.

Now came the challenge of convincing her to see the wisdom of shifting her loyalties to the Star Empire, and crusading to make the changes from within that she wished to see, rather than battling them from without. Which might be made easier without the constant pressure from Rendal to simply overwhelm the young woman and force her to submit. Coercion did not always yield the most positive results, and she had the luxury of time. She understood that Rendal had her own agenda, as well as a desire to be avenged for her losses. But those goals did not have to be mutually exclusive in her mind, and even as she contemplated that subject, she was surprised to see Rendal herself awaiting her outside her quarters.

Clearly the woman was that anxious for a progress report. Or that determined to maintain pressure on her… or both.

Riov Rendal was stoic in her posture and demeanor as she greeted the Deihu with a slight nod. "Deihu. I trust your meeting with your granddaughter was at least marginally fruitful? There was no report of her being beamed into less... accommodating... quarters." Indeed, she was here for an update and to offer an idea to the elder statesman - hopefully as the woman's own idea, but she had no delusions of outwitting this one as she had done so many others. No, it was best to offer up any advice openly and with respect... at least for now.

“As initial meetings go, it could have been worse,” the Senator offered optimistically as she stopped outside her quarters to discuss the matter with the commander. “She is still defensive and confused, and she does not grasp the complexity of the situation as yet… she shows a particularly distressing propensity for linear thinking that may prove problematic, but I suspect that I may have planted seeds that may yet bear fruit. An orchard is not grown in one season, after all.”

"She is young and has not spent her life in the types of lives we have where every word may mean many different things. I have found such thinking to be common among those of the Federation." Rendal paused a moment, choosing her words carefully before proceeding. "However, there are many similarities between the Federation and the Imperium that we could show her... Her namesake abounds on this ship in the people that run it and I believe it may give her a new appreciation for our way of life if you were to give her a tour. A well-guarded tour, of course. It may show her that like those in Starfleet, we perform our duties with honor and pride and that we are not some wicked evil hiding on the other side of some imaginary line like some sort of zula beast out to get her."

“That can wait,” the elder Romulan woman sighed. “First she needs to embrace the realities of her situation and realize where she is and what her options are and are not. Then she needs to consider that possibly we are not monsters, and that perhaps the years of boogeyman stories are not who we are, and that she might actually consider trust as an option. Then there is the possibility that should she drag her heels for too long that there are alternative methods of persuasion, and that she does not have the luxury of waiting years to make her decisions and hiding away from the universe.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, the career politician massaged the skin there.

“Why are you here, Captain? You have your own agenda, I know, and you have your own thoughts as to how this plan should be carried out. So are you only checking for a progress report because you cannot access the reports yourself, or because you want to establish a timeline to see how long until you can stage a coup and take over this operation to pursue your own plans and schemes?”

Riov Rendal realized that she may have pressed her agenda a bit too quickly and bowed her head politely. "I merely wish to remind the Deihu that while she has the patience of the elements, those that I am indebted to..." Here she paused a moment, meaning her superiors in the Tal'Shiar. "As well as those in Starfleet, such as the captain of the ship we are after, are not so patient. By the time we reach ch'Rihan, one, or both will have plans in motion against our own."

“Of that I have no doubt,” the Deihu snapped in reply, instantly regretting it. To let the Tal-Shiar know that they were getting under her skin was a tactical error, and the last thing she needed was to let the ambitious captain know that she was getting somewhere with the Senator who needed to be the picture of cool confidence. Her plan was sound and it would work- she just needed time and patience, and to be persuasive and clever.

“The prize you seek will place itself in harm’s way- the loyalty that these people place in one another is quite strong, and Enalia Telvan is a hotheaded rebel who will ignore Starfleet protocol, secure in her ability to evade our sensors and cross our border. All while blissfully unaware that we will know precisely where she is… and that she and her starship of secrets was the actual prize all along,” the politico arched an eyebrow and smirked.

“The Tal Shiar will spend decades unraveling all of the mysteries onboard that shadow vessel, the very negative image of Starfleet itself. Which means, of course, that Starfleet will not be able to acknowledge her loss, otherwise they would have to admit to an act of war in crossing the Neutral Zone in a warship of the Federation.” Smiling, she locked eyes with the Star Empire captain without a starship. “No, this plan will work and the headstrong and overconfident pirate will play into our hands, and the idealistic and stubborn pilot will be the key to the prize. Patience, Captain Rendal. These are but the opening moves of the game, and the long view will serve far better than rash and rapid action.”

"Then I will trust in your wisdom, Deihu," With another bow of her head, Rendal left off the implied 'for now'. "If you will excuse me, I have matters to see to aboard my vessel. Reports wait for no one, unfortunately."

“Of course, Riov,” the Senator replied, realizing that from here, the progress report with the Tal Shiar would be filed, and plans and schemes would be underway to undermine her efforts, to circumvent her plans and prevent her from accomplishing her goals her way. Instead they would be twisted to accomplish the desires of the police state that the home of the Rihannsu had become these past fifty years. No longer the honorable warriors, but the sniveling backstabbing cowards of the galaxy who would accomplish their goals by any means possible, which usually meant falling short and looking moronic in front of the rest of the galaxy. All while those who still strove to bring the4ir people back into the light were ground beneath the heel of the bloody Tal Shiar.

I pray you will listen to reason, Mnhei’sahe. Or else I’ll have to make good on that threat to your mother. And if that doesn’t work… Veleran shuddered to think of what fate might befall the willful redhead if she could not be swayed or manipulated into seeing reason.

Captain Enalia Telvan had learned that not only one of her officers had been kidnapped, but the mother of that officer as well and had ordered an investigation be started as to how it had happened. Mona Gonadie was already back aboard and the initial interrogation with Baroness Sienae Nei'rrh, under the supervision of herself and Baroness Marelith had already been conducted to rule out the possibility that the Baroness herself was involved and she was investigating the Romulan Baronesses crew that had obtained the dinner pass and knew of the Dox family plans on the evening when the kidnapping had occurred. It would be a long series of interrogations, however, and Mona was allowed to witness the proceedings only with one of the other Artan family Miradonians in attendance as well as sensors tracking for lies and deception.

After all, Enalia had to concede to Marelith that checks and balances remain in place with neutral parties on all sides to remove all doubt. If one of the people interrogated showed a sign of deception on any of the three's senses, they would investigate further, but until then they would assume innocence.

However, Enalia had quickly determined in talking to the Miradonian R&D chief that the brutal attack she had witnessed where her wife and mother-in-law were taken from her by force had emotionally compromised and newly pregnant Mona far too much. As such, when Mona requested to be removed from duty, Enalia felt it was likely for the best at least for now.

Reviewing those initial roundup reports, Enalia hummed over the lineup. They had thirteen likely suspects, but only three really stood out as having the opportunity throughout the whole affair - assuming there were only one or two agents in play, that is. The one that scheduled the dinner, the one that got the free meal voucher, and the one that provided flight plan clearance.

As she was mulling over the details of each piece and wondering just what the Tal'Shiar wanted with the Dox's, a conference call came in from Intel Command. As the screen popped up, she recognized Commodore Meowlith, but not the Captain. "Commodore, what an unexpected surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Farenia smiled warmly as she saw the face of her one-time lover and old friend. "It's good to see you Enalia. Unfortunately, we've got a bit of an issue in addition to what you've reported. Nothing new there, right? If you're done playing pirate with your family, the Persephone, our newest addition to the Intel fleet, could use your help with tracking down a cloaked ship in Federation space we suspect is involved with Titan research. Unfortunately, I'm already late for another meeting with the admiralty, so I'll have to let Captain Naraan explain the situation to you. And please... Both of you... Try not to fight each other." With that, the feed from the Commodore cut out and the two Captains were left staring at each other.

In the center of the screen was the image of a tall, stern-looking woman in command crimson. Her eyes had a half-lidded, judgmental expression and her jet black hair was up in a large bun on the back of her head, and between the slightly olive complexion not unlike Lieutenant Dox's and the slight points on the tips of her ears, she had the aire of a Vulcanoid race about her.

Tilting her head slightly, she began to speak. "Good day, Captain Telvan. My name is Captain Naraan Seria of the Starship Persephone. I trust this is not a bad time?" Noting that Farenia had referred to her rank and first name, a naming convention of the Cervan people, Enalia deduced along with her only slightly pointed ears that she was speaking to that somewhat rare offshoot of the Vulcan race.

"Not at all, Captain. It's an honor to make your acquaintance." For a hair's breadth, Enalia had almost said pleasure, but then she remembered that Cervan culture prided themselves on honor, just as her prior Intel Chief had and hoped the other Captain hadn't noticed anything. "We've recently had two crew kidnapped by Tal'Shiar agents, but the USS Hera will provide whatever assistance we are able to."

Maintaining her authoritarian air, the bunned Captain answered, "As the Commodore indicated, we have evidence of the incursion of a cloaked ship into our space and perhaps our purposes are aligned. There are several details that have been deduced that make the implications distressing. A fairly well-hidden sensor net picked up at least one cloaked ship crossing the Neutral Zone twelve galactic days ago. We have rather advanced sensors and there was a residual ion signature captured in the net during the event."

"Over those twelve days, that same minute ion signature was detected in several locations in Federation space. The ion signature of a Leosa Class Warbird. First at Galordan Core, picked up by a sensor array left behind in the former location of Starbase 336. A second in the newly minted 'Dedjoy System'. You can, I imagine, presume that Intel command is quite concerned regarding the implications inherent in these... coincidences." The Cervan Captain raised an eyebrow at the implication.

"That is rather concerning... And it may explain why my two crewmembers were kidnapped." Without hesitation, Enalia pulled up the access systems for Mnhei'sahe and Jaeih and locked them out, just to be safe, then issued orders for all command codes to be randomized to a new set. "Both of those were locations of Titans and we were involved with both incidences. The Dedjoy system itself, we had to unload four genesis torpedoes onto Primordius. If you scan the systems touched by Gaia, you're likely to find more traces of the same ship."

The spotted Captain leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips for a moment in thought. "And it's highly likely that this ship is being targeted specifically. We have the only relatively accessible complete set of scans from all three events."

"Intriguing hypothesis, Captain. We shall check the sensor nets that correspond with those locations." Captain Naraan commented, gesturing off-screen indicating she was deferring that task to someone at that very moment. "However, you should know that the last detected location of the signal was registered at the Tellar Prime substation. The sector is on alert, but the coordinates indicate the ship in question is rapidly returning to the Neutral Zone at maximum Warp.

"Most likely en route to Romulus then, and with our kidnapped crewmembers." Enalia logged the information and sent out orders to collect her people still on Vulcan and make haste for Romulan space. "I don't suppose your vessel has similar stealth systems to what ours does? Would you be able to enter the neutral zone undetected?"

With a bit of a wry grin that clarified that, while Vulcanoid, Captain Naraan was no Vulcan, she replied. "We have some stealth shielding. Nothing quite as advanced as the Hera's fabled systems, however. And the latest Intel suggests that the Romulans have erected sensor nets of their own that we most certainly would trip. However the more important question is if either of us has authorization from Intel Command to even try?"

"Have your lost lambs been deemed valuable enough to risk an act of war if a rescue attempt is discovered?" She leaned in with a strange look on her face that wasn't quite curiosity and wasn't quite sarcasm. It was something one might expect from a Caitian eyeing a meal.

It was Enalia's turn to grin, but hers was her usual piratical lopsided grin that indicated that she didn't give a crap. "If I asked Command what they thought, they'd tell me to cut my losses and let the diplomats on both sides work it out, while both sides denied the existence of everything they were talking about."

She then leaned in closer to the screen. "But I know that one or both of them have information that we can't let fall into the hands of anyone researching protomatter weaponry, the Titans, or anything remotely like that. So guess where I'm headed. Mother-chankin Romulus. And I bet that's where this ship of yours is heading right now, as well."

Enalia then leaned back in her chair. "And I know the Commodore told you we have the fleet's most powerful ship-based tachyon detection grid strapped to us. So... Are we helping each other then?"

Leaning back, the woman on the screen and spoke off-screen. "Ensign Reilly, what's our ETA to the Tellar prime sensor station?"

From the background came a young man's voice replying, "At current speed, we will arrive at the last known location of our mystery ship in six point three days, Captain."

Smirking, Captain Naraan shrugged at the screen. "It seems we are en route in no particular direction that may or may not align with a certain ionic breadcrumb trail as we speak. What an amazing coincidence, Captain."

"Well then, once I pick up the remainder of my crew from Vulcan, I suggest we calculate the most likely crossing point of our prey and proceed from there. Are we in agreement, Captain Naraan?" Enalia had been upset at the loss of her Flight Control Chief and friend, but now she had a trail to follow and there was no way she would allow them to get away.

"You mean these calculations based on the last telemetry?" Naraan gestured off screen as a private message came across Enalia's private message server. "Looking forward to meeting you and yours in person, Captain. Subspace messages that never happened are so... Impersonal."

The spotted Trill smiled more softly. "Yes they are. We'll have to have dinner. My wife is an amazing cook. Safe travels, Captain."