DELTA MISSION

[Mark]

USS Ravage

Commander Jordan Sinclair was many things. He was charming, charismatic, intelligent, extremely good looking, and the First Officer of the starship. He was also lying flat on his back for the third time in an hour. He looked up at the smiling face of Lt. Leia Uzume, the Ravage's chief of security as she offered her hand to help him up. Groaning he allowed her to drag him to his feet, as Commander Devi Patel laughed from the treadmill she was running on.

"Jordan, you always slip to the right after that combination." Devi observed "When you fall into a pattern, people notice."

Uzume had started to teach Commander Sinclair hand to hand combat about nine months before, after an away mission got out of control and Sinclair found himself in Sickbay after suffering a rather serious beating. While he was proficient in basic Starfleet techniques, he was far from a skilled fighter. Uzume felt it part of her duty to insure the command staff able to protect themselves when she wasn't around.

"Devi's right." Uzume said without preamble. "You've come a long way your attacks and defenses, but your patterns suck. Try and think of it like Starship combat. If your opponent can figure out what your going to do before you do it, your dead."

Sinclair opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the intercom. "Commander Sinclair, please report to the Captain's Ready Room."

With a smile at the women, Sinclair crossed to the wall panel and tapped the comm button "Acknowledged. On my way." Before heading off to shower, put on a uniform, and meet with Captain Lewis.

_____

Captain Lewis was sitting at his desk when the door chime sounded.

"Enter" he called.

The door slid open to admit Commander Sinclair, to whom Lewis gestured towards a chair. Sinclair tenderly sat with a grimace. Lewis smiled openly at his first officer and said, "Jordan, you can always tell her to go a little easier on you, ya know."

"Not really, Captain." Sinclair replied "Not if I want to keep her respect, as well as my own."

With a laugh and a nod Lewis agreed. "I was hoping you could give me an unofficial heads up about your uncle. I've never met him, but we're arriving at Limbo Station tomorrow, and would like to know what I'm in for."

"Well," Sinclair replied "Uncle Wilbur is a hard ass. From what I understand, as the oldest, he felt it was his job to keep his younger brothers and sisters in line, and acts like the family patriarch at times."

"Go on." Lewis encouraged

"When I turned down command of the Prometheus last year, Dad was disappointed but still supportive, but I got a message from Uncle Wilbur informing me that it was my duty as a Sinclair to command a starship and that I was letting the family down by staying here." Jordan smiled at the memory "And he REALLY disapproves of you, Captain."

Rolling his eyes, Lewis replied "Wonderful. With Ravage taking the lead in this operation, I'll be working closely with command, and out here, that's your uncle. At least Grayling is nominally in command of this op, so he can facilitate things for me."

Sinclair suddenly smiled widely, "How did the Chief take it when Tina was transferred back aboard as the SILO for the new sensor pod.?"

Lewis gave him a pained look "He resigned. Then he asked if I'd been possessed by some alien, before resigning again. Those two are like matter and anti matter. Both are good at their individual jobs, but put them on the same deck and BOOM! I think we're going to have to do our best to keep them apart."

Suddenly, the intercom sounded, "Engineering to Captain Lewis."

"Go ahead." Lewis replied

"Sir, this is Petty Officer Colter." As the voice on the other end spoke a man and woman could be heard clearly shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. "I'm sorry to bother you, but we have a small problem down here."

With an evil grin Captain Lewis replied "Fear not, Petty Officer. Commander Sinclair is on his way down right now to make peace. Lewis out."

With a despondent sigh, Sinclair squared his shoulders and made his way to the turbolift like a man going into a battle he cannot possibly win.

[Reliant121]

USS Daystrome, Officers quarters

Aurelia D'Borgiagni stood hunched over a compact stove in her quarters. It had taken an insane degree of begging the quartermaster to allow her to have any form of heated instrument in her room, and only after having spammed his inbox with no less than 64 messages requesting the equipment did he allow her to have it. The efficiency of her methods could be questioned, as could the morality, but it did at least produce results.

The concoction in the pan below resembled Risotto Primavera but replicator ingredients never quite managed to "replicate" authentic ones. Of course, serving on an active duty starship meant that getting authentic ingredients were a rarity. The rice never quite softened properly. The story was not much different with replicator risotto, lacking in flavour almost as if it had been thrown together for a takeaway. No surprises there, most replicator food was at very most a facsimile of the real thing. Never quite like home made food.

Cooking was not a necessity for Aurelia, it was a passion. A true love, something that any real Italian revelled in. As far as she was concerned, a test of being Italian was not how insanely you could drive around a roundabout, nor was it how much you could shout at a neighbour. Rather, it was how well you pulled off a pasta meal. With good reason. Every deployment Aurelia had ever had had come with a small group of devoted followers that adored her food, and her tips.

Aurelia gently edged another cup of stock into the recipe.

Given time, the risottor was ready. As always, she had laid the table for four in her luxurious but modest quarters. Eating was something of a chore. In her mind, consuming food that had taken such effort was almost like destroying a work of art.

Tasted good, though.

____

USS Daystrome, Diplomatic quarters

I feel old, thought D'Tyra. Old and cold. This, might have had something to do with the slightly reduced internal temperature of the room. However, it hardly helped the Legatis' self asteem.

To be fair, she was old. At a 106, she could easily dwarf the age of almost anyone on board. Wrinkles had start to etch themselves upon the face on a permanent level, and the odd grey streak had slipped under the radar into her long, flowing hair. Each one that was discovered was expunged in due course, but every now and then one got by and tainted the perfect black crown of hair that the Romulan ambassador had perfected. Turning about she surveyed the room. It was well decorated, and comfortable. Especially considering the Daystrome was apparently one of the more combat orientated warships within the Federation. No such lavish luxury would find itself upon a Romulan vessel, even if it were a diplomatic cruiser. The space was in itself quite a luxury, let alone the delicate fittings.

Pacing across the room, she had rearranged the furniture at least 4 times. She couldn't help but feel that the room needed filling. The empty swathes of floor seemed unnatural, as if they had no purpose. But there was simply not enough furniture to fill the entire floor plan of the room. This bothered the ambassador, who was far more accustomed to the purposefully compact rooms of Romulan ships, and even Romulan homes. Space was not wasted on Romulus. Never.

After spending a few minutes pacing she settled down in a reclining chair and opened the orders file she had received from the diplomatic corps.

D'Tyra, you are to observe and report upon all operations taken aboard the vessel you are assigned to in due course. You are present as an attache, to make sure the views of the Romulan Empire are heard in this region not far from our space. But this is an ideal time to find some information out regarding the standard operation of a Federation starship. This should be reported in a finalized report for the Romulan military and the diplomatic corps.

This bothered the ambassador greatly. She had little or no reason, or conviction, to spy on those she considered allies and even friends. A diplomat is no spy. Nor, when you dig deep into her core, was the soldier element of her. Ultimately, that is what she is. A walking killing machine, a drone that does what she is told. The paper pushing, comfortable dresses and diplomatic niceties are all a front for what she really is and has ever been: Death incarnate.

She tossed the order PADD across the bed and stood up.

Time to report to the captain she told herself, steeling herself for the mission ahead. The politics of a Romulan ship were complicated and complex, a hard battle of manoeuvring and firing at one another in a constant bid to improve. Surely a Federation ship would be no different?

[Mikey]

Mikey sat in the dim living area of his quarters, the only light provided by a cluster of pillar candles on the table. He twisted and stretched, trying to relieve the ache in his limbs and the dull pain where one of his kidneys used to be. He smiled bitterly at the reminder of such an old injury. Mikey swirled the dark amber liquid in the small glass in his hand and considered his current aches and pains. He had just intended to visit the holodeck for a standard workout; but he had begun exorcising the rust - real and imagined - and frustration of nearly three years of backwater assignments that might as well have been retirement.

He only noticed the time, two and a half hours later, when Dr. Holmes and Nurse Elbram had begun buzzing impatiently for their reserved holodeck time. Upon seeing Mikey's face in the holodeck archway, even Holmes had stifled his ready caustic comment and merely "prescribed" what he had called a traditional remedy - the drink which Mikey now held half-finished, something the doctor had called tequila anejo.

Slowly, the pale blue hand drew the small glass up to Mikey's lips and he drained it, tossing the glass carelessly in the rough direction of the replicator alcove. The fact that he'd be serving once again under Grayling - Admiral Grayling, no less! - lit a smoldering fire in his belly. He was conflicted; on one hand, he felt old, tired, and outdated - on the other, he felt galvanized, almost eager to sink his teeth into an occupation with a real purpose.

Mikey rose from his couch, walked to the bathroom mirror, and straightened his under-tunic before pulling on his captain's vest - a wardrobe choice for which he'd developed an affectation. In the malaise in which he'd been, he hadn't even yet personally greeted the Daystrom's new diplomatic guest. However, the new steel in his mood demanded that he first get to the bridge and set his charge in fighting trim. No matter how much time the Daystrom had spent in drydock, Mikey could feel the the uneven vibration of the warp drive from when she'd lost a nacelle to the Neutronium Brotherhood or the minute variations in gravity where the AG plating had buckled under Jem'hadar fire. She was his destrier, and he her knight, and man and ship seemed somehow inextricably connected; and both would arrive at this so-called Limbo Station ready to show what they could do.

[Mark]

USS Paladin

Lt. Commander Mark stood at attention in his dress uniform at the defendants table with Lt. Commander Darel G'han, the Paladins Cardassian Chief Operations Officer at his side. He glanced around the courtroom to see Lt. Commander Cix, the new Xindi officer, who had recently replaced Mark as the ships Tactical Officer and Security Chief standing at the prosecutors table, with Captain Fletcher sitting on the bench as the presiding officer.

"The facts of the case are simple, Sir" Cix began "On Stardate 67831.7, then Lieutenant Mark abandoned his post on the bridge of the Paladin during a firefight with Jem'Hadar vessels, to attempt to repair and manually fire the ships phaser lance, amidst a coolant leak. His actions caused irreparable damage to his uniform, and forced the doctor to waste precious time treating his injuries. The fact that he repaired the lance and fired it three times, destroying the Dominion warship before passing out should be considered irrelevant for the purpose of this proceeding.

Commander G'han stood for a moment as if to object, but sat down quietly after a moment.

Cix continued, "Then, on Stardate 68227.3, while the Paladin was engaged with rebel Klingon forces who were attempting to incite a war with the Federation, Lt. Mark showed complete disregard for the ships valuable equipment, by formulating a strategy that saturated the area with torpedo fire, destroying five Klingon ships and damaging several more, forcing them to withdraw. He wastefully exhausted the Paladin's entire supply of torpedoes, in the process of defeating the enemy, forcing engineering and operations crews to work overtime replicating more torpedoes."

"Objection." Said Commander G'han this time. "For the record, then Lt. Mark was awarded a commendation for that tactical strategy."

"Overruled." Fletcher stated flatly, causing G'han to sit down.

"If I may continue?" Cix asked to which Fletcher nodded "Then, on Stardate 68731.5, after just receiving his promotion to Lt. Cmdr, this man led forces in the reclaiming of the Federation Starship Hawking, which had been overrun and captured by a force of Gorn pirates. Yes, he may have been responsible for the rescue of 85 Starfleet hostages, but more importantly is responsible for the extensive internal damage on board the Hawking, resulting from the vicious deck to deck fighting that ensued."

At this last comment, Fletcher glared at Mark, causing the officer to suppress the sudden urge to will himself into invisibility.

"And last, but certainly not least" Cix said in a triumphant voice "Just last year, during the Tholian Conflict, after our former first officer was recalled by his government, this man, who somehow had been made this ships second officer, and was acting as the Captain's XO refused a direct order to abandon the bridge, after battle damage exposed the bridge to enemy fire and it sustained a hit. Instead, he stayed at his post, regardless of the flames and leaking atmosphere, until command had been transferred to the secondary bridge, and only then would he follow his Captain. Such a breach of protocol cannot be tolerated from a Command level officer, regardless of how many lives he saved."

"I've heard enough" Fletcher said. "I've made my decision."

Both Mark and G'han stood at attention to receive the Captain's ruling.

"Lt. Cmdr Mark. You stand accused of the following; that on numerous occasions that you have intentionally and knowingly gone above and beyond the call of duty. You have time and again proven your loyalty and value to this ship, myself, and crew. I have no choice to find you guilty on all counts. You are hereby and officially assigned as the First Officer of the USS Paladin, with all the rights and responsibilities therein. Also, as a requirement of your new rank, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander. After all, we can't have our Science Officer outranking you."

Fletcher rang his bell three times, signaling a conclusion to the proceeding before saying

"May God have mercy on your soul."

[Mikey]

Grr'lek rattled around the upper decks, alone. The corridors of a ship the size of the Paladin were never empty, but he felt as if he were the only soul aboard. He had always been somewhat aloof and rather cool in manner, and after two-and-a-half years on Alba Longa - the new Romulan capital - he felt even more disconnected from humanity than before. He wondered, half-consciously, if he had been affected by immersion in Romulan culture more than he even realized.

He considered going to the holodeck and programming a nice sun-warmed meadow to lay in, but he knew he'd feel as enervated as soon as he was done. He consulted the PADD he carried with a map and layout of this behemoth starship, and found his feet carrying him down a turbolift and toward the troop berths. Might as well familiarize himself with that part of his job description, at least. In fact, coordinating Starfleet and Marine activity was one of the few aspects of his new post that he understood to be his job.

Finally, Grr'lek found himself passing a handful of rooms converted to be armories, ranges, briefing rooms, and barracks. He paused, considering the differences between Starfleet's way of doing things and the harsher, brass-tacks methods of these troops. A gruff voice from behind him suddenly interrupted his reverie. "Help you, mister?"

Grr'lek turned to see a thickset human male with a close-cropped fuzz of iron grey hair and black infantry fatigues with an enlisted insignia on his collar. "Lieutenant," he corrected the man, sensing the need to assert some sort of solid footing in the conversation. "Lieutenant Grr'lek, strategic operations officer. Perhaps you can point me to your CO?"

The human saluted, managing at once to be both precise and casual. "Sorry, sir, Lieutenant Corrin is unavailable at the moment. Maybe I can help you? Staff Sergeant Leemans," he said by way of terse introduction. "I generally handle the rank-and-file stuff."

"Hmm. 'Rank-and-file' stuff. Yes, well, I wanted to meet with the lieutenant and discuss some operating parameters in order to coordinate better."

Leemans gave a staccato chuckle. "With all due respect, sir - I don't think there's anything that we need to consider on our side. We just have to get where we need, when we need, with the support we need. How you do that is up to you, so long as it gets done."

Grr'lek looked silently at the man for a moment, then answered, "Number one - there is always disrespect involved when someone prefaces his statement with the phrase 'with all due respect.' I don't know what you've been taught, but I am a Starfleet officer and you will treat me as one. Number two - I will be happy to find this Corrin on my own, and relate to him exactly how you have decided that coordination with Starfleet operations is extraneous. Perhaps he will consider that when your team is occupied with defending your barracks while our people are dying somewhere or some mission is going unfulfilled. That is all, sergeant." Grr'lek spun on his heel and stalked off, calling to the computer to find Lt. Corrin.

Perhaps, he thought to himself as he headed for the turbolift, I've learned something from the Romulans after all.

[Mark]

USS Daystrom

A ship that has seen as many years and as much action as the Daystrom has many unique sounds. People hear vibrations in the hull when warp speed is adjusted, unexplained knocking noises from interior panels and in this case, a sound much of the crew has come to identify and dread. Everyone has learned that if you hear a step-step-tap sound, run like hell, because Dr. Watson Holmes, the single most abrasive and rude officer in Starfleet today, is in the area, and while some find him amusing, and even entertaining, most people just want to stay away from him, which is just how he likes it.

Holmes rode the turbolift to the bridge impatiently, clutching a PADD in a death grip and scowling. As the bridge doors open, the Daystrom's new XO look over from the Captain's chair and called out, "Good Morning Doctor". Holmes ignored the man and made a beeline the Captain's Ready Room. He found, to his irritation that the door was locked. He pressed the buzzer twice with no response, before finally muttering to himself, "The hell with it."

Looking up towards the ceiling, Holmes called "Computer, override door lock. Medical Emergency, authorization code Holmes-Alpha-Sigma-Sigma."

With that, the door whisked open revealing Captain W'Trisk sitting at his desk, antenna twitching in irritation looking up at him.

"What the hell do you think your doing, Holmes?" W'Trisk demanded.

Holmes replied "What the hell do YOU think YOUR doing, Mikey?"

Over the course of the past several years, the two men had engaged in some spectacular battles of will. Both men were stubborn, prideful, and never knew when to back down. Neither of them surrendered easily, and one of the few compromises they reached was on the bridge and in front of the crew, he wouldn't call the Captain by that name. However, getting Holmes to follow any sort of rule without the direct threat of capital punishment was a challenge, so Captain W'Trisk overlooked the breach of protocol in private.

Mikey picked up the PADD and glanced at it "It's the command duty roster. What's the problem?"

"The problem is" Holmes said scathingly "that on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday, you've put ME in Command!"

Suddenly Captain W'Trisk looked confused. "Wait, last year you came to me raising hell because I didn't sign you up for the Bridge Officers Command Training Course. As I recall, you were so upset that you beamed me out of the shower and into ten forward. If you recall, that's how you ended up locked in the torpedo tube."

'Of course I remember" Holmes said indignantly "and if YOU remember, when I took the test, I got a perfect score."

W'Trisk's antennae twitched slightly, belaying his irritation "So, what is the problem? You wanted to be a bridge command officer, and now you are."

"The problem" Holmes growled "is that you expect me to command this starship between midnight and 4 am!"

"If you mean 2400 to 0400, then yes I do." Mikey replied "Look Doctor, lets be honest here. In the past couple of years, most of my experienced officers are gone, and the Daystrom has a new batch of youngsters. I'm short of officers with real deep space experience. I need you there, keeping an eye on things. And it's not like I'm going anywhere. I'm just a few decks down, and a comm call away."

Holmes gave W'Trisk a penetrating and calculating look "Ok then. If you really mean that, then I'm your man." With that, Holmes turned and left without waiting for a dismissal.

Mikey couldn't help but smile "And you can enjoy pulling full duty shifts, THEN waking up to pull bridge duty in the middle of the night, you groat."

[Mark]

USS Ravage - Main Engineering

Chief Engineer McDuff was livid. He knew that his pulse was racing, and he could feel his blood pressure was so high that the veins in his neck and forehead were throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The object of his fury looked back at him just as angrily from several inches away as the two of them were nearly nose to nose.

"It's my job to make sure that the AWACS pod is functioning at optimal efficiency!" Lt. Cmdr Tina Jordan screamed back at him. "I'll do whatever the hell I feel I need to do to achieve that goal!"

"Not in my engine room, or on my ship!" McDuff roared back "Not as long as I'm the Chief Engineer of the Ravage!"

"Then maybe it's time for you to retire." She said with a cruel look at Lt. Laren "Go back to Earth and let some pretty little woman less than half your age spoon broth into you."

Kyra's eyes hardened as made as if to step forward to confront the woman, but McDuff held up his hand, ordering her silently to halt.

"Leave now." He said, his voice suddenly getting quiet. "Get out of this engine room before I throw you out myself."

"You're too senile to remember where the door is." Jordan said with a sneer.

McDuff was just about to grab the women and show her that he did indeed remember where the door was, and that is was just through the airlock when a voice commanded
"AT EASE!"

Instinctively, everyone in the room suddenly snapped to parade rest with their backs straight, feet at shoulder width, and hands clasped smartly behind their backs.

Commander Sinclair walked into Engineering with an expression of disbelief on his face.
"What in all seven hells is going on down here?"

McDuff and Jordan eyed each other but neither responded.

"I asked a question!" Sinclair barked "Chief, what is going on down here."

McDuff looked Sinclair in the eyes and saw the steel there, and that he was dead serious. In the past couple of years, he'd watched Sinclair go from being uncertain and second guessing himself to being a top notch XO. He suspected the lad would have his own ship sooner rather than later, and took a deep breath before answering.

"Its my day off, Commander. I came in to check a couple of things and that's how I'd found Jordan at the main engineering console. She refused to tell me what she was doing when I asked. She even went so far as to try and lock me out of the system. I had to use my command codes to override her lockout, and found that she'd been re-routing power feeds, bypassing safety systems, and taken several systems offline for recalibration without clearance. Worst of all, for the past month we'd been carefully calibrating the SIF field for a sensor pod instead of our usual weapons pod. In the space of a couple of hours, she'd completely screwed up all of our careful work."

Jordan interrupted "We're not dealing with jet engines and radar old man. This AWACS sensor pod was designed for the latest generation of Nebula class starships. It's got cutting edge systems as well as bio-neural gel packs, while the Ravage still has isolinear rods. Your SIF modifications were throwing off the harmonic resonance to the sensors, decreasing their overall effectiveness by over ten percent!"

McDuff replied heatedly "Even functioning at 90%, that pod increases our overall effective sensor range between 300% to 500%. What do you want?"

Coldly she replied "I want perfection. Nothing less than 99.954% is acceptable to me."

McDuff answered back "And what good will your perfect sensor pod do any of us if we cut to sharp a turn, and the damned thing rips off under its own mass?"

"That's not my problem, McDuff." She stated "My job is to integrate that state of the art sensor pod with the outdated and archaic systems of this rustbucket."

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Sinclair roared. Looking at McDuff he said "Chief, I'm sorry to do this to you, but get the SIF field back where it should be. Also, figure out whatever else she did, and if its negative impact outweighs the benefits as she perceived them, undo those too. But, I will say that 90% IS unacceptable. I want at least 95% from that pod Chief, if not more. People's lives are depending on how well we can that thing working to find them as quickly as possible."

"Aye Commander." McDuff nodded curtly at the order.

Jordan opened her mouth as if to speak but Sinclair cut her off before she started. "And you, LIEUTENANT Commander, know better than to pull a stunt like that on this ship. You are not the Chief Engineer of this ship and you do nothing without McDuff's approval. You think he's wrong, fine, then you come to me. Don't forget, I'm at least as good an engineer as you are. For this nonsense, consider yourself confined to quarters for three days. Dismissed."

Sinclair half turned as if to leave, then suddenly looked back at her "And if you EVER disrespect the Ravage again, you'll be flying back to Earth on a shuttlecraft at low warp.

McDuff coughed into his hand to hide his laugh. You could take a man out of engineering, but you could never take engineering out of a man.

[Mikey]

There were times that Mikey missed Jon Hewer terribly, and now was one of those times. Of course, he couldn't have helped but recommend Jon for his own command - he'd earned it thrice over - but that unfortunately meant that there was a new XO aboard. Currently, Mikey's antennae whirled with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance.

"I said," the new XO prattled, "I have the results of the readiness tests you had asked for, sir." Robustelli accompanied the comment with a profferred PADD. Mikey wouldn't have regarded the subject as out of the ordinary, except for the fact that they were in Ten Forward, surrounded by the few senior staff that hadn't retired for the night and the remnants of a reception.

"Icy hells, Number One," Mikey answered, looking at the offered PADD as if it were a toxic Andorian hunting slug. "Look around you, Andy. We are at a party. The good envoy" - he indicated D'Tyra, who responded with a wry grin - "has been decent enough to exploit the newly-dubious nature of the legality of Romulan ale, and I wouldn't think to disrespect that gift with the idea of talking shop right now."

"Sorry, sir," said the flustered Robustelli, "I thought-"

"Do you know why we held this reception, Number One? I mean, besides the fact that dress whites look absolutely dashing with my skin tone."

"Er, I thought it was to welcome the envoy, sir."

"Nominally, yes," Mikey said, then paused to drain his glass. He held it out until Robustelli got the hint that he was to refill it, then continued, "The real reason? We are going to investigate a relatively large number of Starfleet ships that have *poof* disappeared. By going on this mission - any mission, really - we are putting ourselves in danger. While every member of this crew has sworn to disregard that danger and perform their duties, there is danger nonetheless. That danger, of course, is always increased by an order of magnitude when your captain is the illustrious M'karn W'trisk."

Robustelli said nothing, but the color drained from his face.

"Laugh at my jokes, Number One. I'm the captain," Mikey commented dryly. There were various chuckles from around the room at the XO's discomfiture. Mikey went on, "The point is, my crew needs to be relaxed and focussed, not wound up tighter than a drumhead. So does my XO. Relax, Andy - that's an order."

Robustelli began uncertainly, "Err... aye, sir-"

"You're doing it wrong," Mikey said, then turned his attention to the Romulan envoy. "Anyway," he said, raising his glass, "it's good to see you again. Na zdorovya, commander."

D'Tyra raised her glass in response. "Thank you, captain, but it's 'commander' no longer," she said with an odd edge in her voice. Mikey thought he noticed a slight rise in temperature and heart rate, but dismissed it to the effects of the ale.

"Surely," he said, "Romulan command has merely learned to appreciate your many talents aside from commanding a starship." He once again drained his glass.

"Thank you," she replied, "you're very charitable."

Mikey laughed. "You've forgotten me so quickly! I've been accused of many, many things in my time, envoy - but charity has never been one of them."

[Mark]

Narration

"Sir" the young lieutenant at the science station called out to Commodore S'koll in station ops, "Three Federation Starships dropping out of warp. Transponders indicate the USS Paladin, USS Daystrom, and USS Ravage."

Glancing at the young officer S'koll replied "I have repeatedly informed this crew that while Starfleet Regulations accept the title of "Sir" as acceptable, I as a flag officer do not. You will at all times address me as Commodore, or you will not address me at all. Understood?"

"Understood, Commodore" the young man replied.

"Very well then" S'koll said "Signal the approaching ships that Admiral Grayling will hold a staff meeting for the senior staff of the entire task force at 1600 hours station time." S'koll almost registered a look of distaste on his face, "Also, signal the Ravage that Admiral Sinclair has asked us to relay a dinner invitation to his nephew, Commander Sinclair, at 1900 hours."

"Aye Si err...Commodore" the young man replied.

----

The conference room was quite large with a table big enough to seat thirty, so there was more than enough room for all of the senior officers of the three ships, as well as Admiral Grayling as his staff. The room was along the outer edge of the base, with an entire wall given to a window overlooking the planet the station orbited. From all accounts, it was an Eden-like planet, untouched by humanoid life. However, as the planet was inhabited by massive, scaled, winged beasts that breathed fire and other destructive elements that scientists could only describe as Dragons, they decided to leave it strictly alone.

All of the task force officers were seated when the doors whisked open admitting Admiral Grayling.

"Admiral on deck" Captain Fletcher called out, as everyone rose to their feet.

"As you were." Grayling responded. They years had touched him lightly. A few more wrinkles and a bit more salt than pepper in his hair were the only marker of the passing time. He looked around; giving a small smile and nodded at some of the familiar faces of those he'd served with back in the Gamma Quadrant. However, Captain W'Trisk received only a carefully neutral gaze, but one that lasted a beat or two too long, before he began the briefing.

Grayling began "You are mostly familiar with the situation up to this point, but let me sum things up. Two and a half years ago, the USS Constantinople discovered this "subspace highway", that carries a ship along at a very enhanced speed. At warp six, you can cover what is normally a 14 year journey in just 14 weeks as you've all just seen firsthand, opening up this whole new region for exploration. For our first major discovery, we made first contact with the Geg Monarchy, which is the closest neighboring starfaring civilization. With their assistance we set up this Starbase, and established lines of trade."

Commander Teaos held his hand up "Excuse me Sir, but what is a Geg?"

Grayling responded "A Geg is like a cross between a Tolken Dwarf and a Klingon. They average between four and a half to five feet tall, and all have beards, both male and female from round the time they are ten earth years old. Their government is one of the few spacefaring monarchies we've encountered. Their society is strictly a caste system, with Warriors, Engineers, Scientists, and so forth, all of which are ruled by the Noble caste. They don't have a regular "military" per se. Their ships aren't commanded by "Captains", but by "Lords". So, each noble house has its own ships, with each ships command crew consisting of the more minor nobles or children that aren't heirs."

The Admiral looked sternly at Dr. Holmes, who was chortling "Something funny, Doctor?"

Holmes replied "It's just funny that we've come halfway across the galaxy, and so far, all we've found are Dragons and Dwarves. What next .my fairy godmother?"

Grayling stared daggers at Holmes "That's not even a little funny, Doctor. The Gegs are a warrior society. First contact was actually an armed conflict. They are fanatical about protecting their ancestral homes and their personal and clan honor. As you've pointed out, they do look like our mythological Dwarves. They even carry some sort of vibro battle axe. But they are fully capable of taking down a fully armed Klingon warrior in hand to hand combat, and can be just as blood thirsty. They have several alloys that we've never before seen,and that we are trying to negotiate for, but which are more resistant than anything we've ever seen to conventional weapons damage. During our little misunderstanding, our phasers were sliding right off the hulls of their ships and only delivering about half the damage they should have, and the force of our torpedoes was being reflected away from their hulls, proving less effective than the phasers. We can take their measure if we must, but only our more powerful ships, which we don't have many of here. So .do not antagonizes the Gegs! And, incidentally...the word Dwarf is a deadly insult in their language. Do not ever use it."

Taking a breath, Grayling continued "Once we achieved diplomatic relations with the Geg Monarchy, things went quite well. They even helped us locate this system to construct Limbo Station in. We've made numerous discoveries here, and it seemed like Starfleet was finally getting back into the business of exploration. However, 14 months ago, the USS Tripoli was conducting a routine survey of the Novindus system. We lost contact abruptly, and the ship sent to find her found no trace. No debris, no survivors, no warp trail, nothing. This has continued in the same fashion. Starfleet sent a fleet based primarily towards peaceful exploration here, with our 4 Defiant class starships the base's primary means of protection. Aside from that, our Galaxy class and Nebula Class ships are on deep space assignment, well over a year away at maximum sustainable warp. So, Starfleet sent the USS Templar, the Paladins sister ship, as a search and rescue vessel. She didn't find a thing, and after several weeks was recalled. More ships disappeared, and Admiral Sinclair called in a favor. The newest Paladin Class Battleship, the USS Cavalier was sent here straight from Utopia Planetia upon her commissioning and launch. She was investigating some sort of anomaly in the Lamorkan system. She missed her next scheduled contact and we sent two ships looking for her. She vanished, the same as the others."

Taking a deep breath, Grayling went on "This base was assigned one hundred and one starships for this Sector if you include the Cavalier. Of those one hundred and one starships, we have four out of service in spacedock, five have been confirmed as destroyed by assorted means, and 16 missing in action. If you include the five ships assigned to station keeping, AND those in for repair, that gives us 79 active starships, which is more than a 20% overall fleet loss. Because of that, we are stretched thin, which is why you are here. Your mission is the following. You will attempt to determine what is happening to our ships, identify the source and nature of the problem, and neutralize it however you must. You will do your best to safeguard our more vulnerable ships as best you can. You will also do everything in your power to rescue and recover if at all possible the crews of those ships."

Grayling looked at a wall chronometer and grabbed his PADD. "I'm already late for a meeting with Admiral Sinclar. If you have any questions, please submit them in writing to me, and I will answer them as best I can. Dismissed."

[Mikey]

Lt. Grr'lek sat quietly in a corner of the station's lounge after the briefing, opting to remain for a while rather than re-board the Paladin immediately. The senior staff could go back... they had departments to debrief, after all. He sat almost stock-still, his mood only betrayed by the occasional twitch of the tip of his tail.

"Waiting for it to evolve enough to get itself down your throat?" said an unexpected but familiar voice from behind Grr'lek. Captain Fletcher rounded the table and indicated the untouched glass of thick, green liquid in front of the Caitian. Grr'lek knew he must be distracted, because a Caitian's ears could normally detect a human's clumsy footfalls from hundreds of paces. He began to rise, but Fletcher motioned him to remain seated with a casual gesture. Grr'lek instead just gestured to the empty seat opposite himself.

"I expected you to return immediately," Grr'lek purred noncommittally.

Fletcher shrugged, then seated himself. "I guess I expected you to rush back, with all the other eager beavers among my staff."

"Hmm. I suppose they all have something to do," Grr'lek responded quietly, then finally raised the glass and took a long sip.

"A-ha," Fletcher said knowingly. "Still feeling our way around the new position, are we? Well, I can tell you that you needn't feel useless; coordinating the task group's activities will be vital, and liaising between the jarheads and the cockpit jockeys will be both trying and hugely important. A cool head like yours is exactly what we need in the SOO post."

Grr'lek chuckled slightly, took another drink, and answered, "Thank you, sir. I'm no cub, though. I don't need a pep talk to inspire me to do my best or help me get over any performance anxiety. Just... here I am, included with all the department heads and no department to head. I'm not talking about ambition, sir; just my place. I never really completely 'got' humans... now, after the better part of three years among the Romulan state department and military, I'm more out of touch than ever." Grr'lek shook himself, looked away for a moment, then continued, "I'm sorry, sir. This is both unprofessional and uncharacteristic of me."

"Nonsense! Perhaps you'll join me for dinner while we're here. I understand the steaks at this station are nearly indistinguishable from real beef."

"I wouldn't know, sir. Caitians are vegetarians. Perhaps that Andorian tuber root which Captain W'trisk has been after me to try?..." Grr'lek's voice tapered off as his gaze passed the window overlooking one of the station's docking arms. "I'll keep the to-and-fro together sir, you just give the orders."

[Mikey]

"Sorry, sir," came Carson's voice over the comm, "but Limbo has so far denied our requests for stores and munitions for the fighters and shuttles."

"WHAT?!" Mikey hollered. "Why in the name of the Great Hearth would they deny our requests?"

"Umm... they say that they have inbound transports, and need to keep the umbilicals free."

"We'll see what's free," Mikey muttered, then stormed out of his ready room. Robustelli pounced on Mikey on his way to the turbolift and said, "Captain, we've got the pre-mission engineering update ready."

"Good for you," Mikey said quietly, then "Transporter room!" to the waiting turbolift.

As the doors closed on the XO's face, he said softly, "Of course, it can wait until you're back."

**********************************************************************************************

A pale blue tornado rushed into the reception room of Commodore S'koll, the administrator of Limbo Station. As the storm headed for S'koll's office, a young officer at the reception desk said, "Sir? Do you have an appointment with the commodore?"

Mikey stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned his antennae, then his face, to the young woman. His antennae were pitched rigidly forward, a number of odd blood vessels stood out prominently on his neck and face, his eyes were narrowed to icy slits, and there was a distinctive purplish blush on his temples. "Do I look," he said slowly while checking the woman's rank pin, "like I'm about to wait for an appointment, lieutenant j.g...."

"Hein, sir - Lieutenant j.g. Hein. And no, sir, you do not... but the commodore-"

"The commodore," Mikey interrupted, "will likely give you a stern reminder of your duties if I go in there. If I do not go in there, however, there is the distinct possibility that I will eat your liver without doing you the courtesy of killing you first. I'm still up in the air as to whether I'd even remove it." Without waiting for a response, Mikey turned back and charged into the commodore's office.

S'koll looked up abruptly from the console at which he'd been working. "What is the meaning of this intrusion, captain?"

"The meaning," Mikey began coldly, "is that I'm trying to prep my boat for a mission and my crew is being denied access to resupply!"

"Mmmm, yes," S'koll said absently while consulting his console again. "Ah, it seems that we cannot tie up the umbilicals right now, as-"

"You can and you will," Mikey said. "I'm not going off unprepared because you feel like waiting for a ship that's not even here yet!"

"I suppose I should have expected such... brash and uncouth behavior from one of your ilk," S'koll answered, arching one eyebrow in disdain.

"My 'ilk?' You mean Andorian? I'll give you a proper Andorian response, you pointy-eared, dandelion-eating sandworm of a desk jockey - you'll recognize it when you have to remove that computer console from your ass."

S'koll sniffed. "At least the others behaved like proper scientists, even barbaric ones."

"Others?" Mikey questioned, flummoxed. "There was an Andorian ship here? What ship, you sraka-sucking-"

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" boomed a voice from the doorway. Both Andorian and Vulcan turned, then stood to attention as they recognized the figure of Admiral Grayling. "What's going on in here?!"

"This varul," Mikey began, pointedly using the Vulcan term, "is denying resupply for my auxiliary craft because he claims to need the umbilicals free for some transports that are probably three weeks out."

"In fact," S'koll said, "I am merely sticking to approved protocol. This man barged in acting like... well, like an Andorian, sir, making demands out of hand."

Grayling sighed. "First... you, W'trisk. I thought maybe you'd gotten your loose-cannon ways out of your system. Didn't you learn anything after the GQ?"

Mikey eyed Grayling steadily for a moment, then spoke. "Indeed, com- I mean, admiral. By the way, I'd have congratulated you personally on your promotion, but as you may know I was busy checking merchant licenses and defending West Buttfuck from random asteroids and clouds of hydrogen. Anyway, if by 'loose cannon' you mean saving our peoples' lives instead of sitting and doing nothing... then I guess I haven't gotten it out of my system at all."

"I was trying to make a plan, but was hampered by the rogue actions of one of our captains, W'trisk," Grayling responded in kind.

"Yes, I'm sure the rogue Jem'hadar would have played hostess for our men while you took your time," Mikey answered. "Meanwhile, I got sent to the back of beyond and you became an admiral. Interesting how the loss of 40% of your task group didn't hinder that promotion, what with a scapegoat to distract attention and all."

"Watch your step, W'trisk," Grayling growled. "Like it or not, I am an admiral - and in direct command of your current mission." Turning, he continued to the bemused S'koll, "When are these transports due in?"

"Two days, approximately, sir."

Grayling slapped an exasperated palm to his forehead. "Just resupply his damn ship, then!" He turned back to Mikey and said, "Now, calm down and fall in line, son - and no more of your maverick shit!"

"Let me make sure I'm reading you clearly, sir - you mean, you don't want me to protect the lives of our men and further our mission?"

"That's enough, W'trisk!"

"Fine," Mikey sighed, holding up his hands in mock placation. "Now, why wasn't I told there was an Andorian ship out here? What's her status?"

"You weren't told because it's not information that pertains to your mission. You're here to investigate Starfleet losses. Andorian surveys are not Starfleet."

"They're still Federation citizens!"

"The mission, captain, comes first," Grayling said coldly. "Besides, an Andorian survey out here? Probably sent by Ahm Tal - let them take care of it."

"There's no such thing, admiral," Mikey replied sternly. "Ahm Tal is a myth."

"What about all the anonyomous intel that Starfleet Intelligence receives? What about-"

"I said that Ahm Tal is a myth!"

"And I," Grayling drawled, "am wondering if I now have to question where your loyalties lie, captain."

"Why, you son-of-a-"

**********************************************************************************************

Mikey looked up at the sound of heavy boots marching down the corridor toward his cell in Limbo Station's brig. Finally, a thick-set man with close-cropped grizzled hair in a Starfleet Marine uniform approached. He nodded to someone back down the corridor and the force field across the cell doorway buzzed and collapsed. "Who the feth are you?" asked Mikey unceremoniously.

The man snapped a precise salute and answered, "Staff Sergeant Alfonse Leemans at your service, sir! I've come to escort you back to your ship."

"Grayling grew a conscience?"

"I can't speak to that, sir. Lt. Grr'lek and Captain Fletcher spoke to Admiral Sinclair, I believe, and he wanted the whole incident over and done with. Lieutenant Grr'lek would have been here to formalize the dismissal of the charges, but he..."

"He what?" Mikey said amiably as he strode down the corridor, forcing the marine to keep up.

"He... thought I needed a demonstration of the relationship between an enlisted marine and the task group's SOO."

Mikey chuckled, but without malice at the man's obvious embarassment. "I've known Grr'lek a long time, sergeant - in fact, I gave him those lieutenant's pips. Caitians are soft-spoken, thoughtful, and philosophical, and Grr'lek as much as any; but don't ever mistake that for weakness. He's seen shit that would turn you white."

Leemans cleared his throat, fell silent for a moment, then said, "Lt. Grr'lek also wanted me to tell you that the admiral's dental reconstruction went just fine."

[Sonic Glitch]

Captain Lewis sat reading in his quarters. The mission briefing brought up some very interesting and somewhat disturbing information. He knew they were deployed to search for missing ships, and he knew they had little to go on but he hadn't realized just how vague the intel really was. The briefing was more informative in what it didn't say rather than what it did. No guesses were given as to what may be causing these disappearances, and the sheer number of them precluded mechanical failure. While Commodore -- Admiral, Lewis corrected himself, Grayling betrayed no sign of worry, several of his staffers seemed quite concerned. With nothing to go on, Lewis sat alone in his living area reading -- or at least skimming through the pages while his mind contemplated the mission.

It was odd, he thought, to once again be working with several of the people he had worked with before. Many of the officers, though having moved on to different assignments were brought together as the force that battled the Neutronium Brotherhood a few years ago, the same group met later still to deal with a unit of Dominion Separatists -- arguably their finest hour Lewis thought. After the Neutronium Brotherhood battle, and especially after the Dominion incident, he had kept tabs as best he could on some of his fellows and was quite pleased to see how they were doing. Only Captain W'trisk seemed to receive the short end of the stick as it were, and only a few people knew why. Unfortunately nothing could really be done about it, the Commo-- Admiral -- knew how to play the political game. And now here they were again with a real mystery on their hands. There were sometimes he wondered about the existence of a higher power, because surely this was no longer a coincidence. At least this time the Ravage would be taking a more prominent role. The sensor pod increased their sensor efficiency to a level that even surpassed the Paladin despite the headaches that came with having MacDuff and Jordan on the same staff. It's ashame the two of them are so good at their jobs, he thought ironically, otherwise they'd be easier to put up with.

As if on cue, his commlink chimed, "MacDuff to the captain." Sighing at the break in the peace he had enjoyed since Sinclair placed Jordan in confinement -- the punishment may have been a little extreme, but he hoped it would prevent further incidents -- Lewis replied, "Lewis here chief" at least he sounds civil so it's probably not bad news OR invovlve Commander Jordan.

"Sir, I have an answer for you on the Sensor Pod, but you may not like it."

"Well, try me."

"We can maintain the adjustments we made to the SIF and increase Pod efficiency, but to do that we'll have to reroute power, and the only system with enough juice to spare is the phaser system." MacDuff grimaced at that as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. He was old guard Starfleet and remembered a time when weapons and shields were among the last systems tapped for a power transfer.

Lewis frowned himself on the other end of the comm. He too was uncomfortable with the idea of diminished weapons capacity -- especially when the cuase of the disappearences was unknown. But, the Paladin and Daystrom were provided to account for the lack of firepower. He frowned, but replied, "Alright chief. I'm not happy about it but it seems the best we can do. In the event of a crisis, how soon can we have weapons power back?"

MacDuff frowned even deeper at that, naturally the captain was not satisfied with what he had and wanted more. "It depends on how much notice we have, and how efficient you want the sensor pod afterward. The modifications can be undone rather quickly, but we don't know their effects yet." He prayed to whatever Gods were listening that the captain would not ask for a simulation now, he'd been keeping his engineering staff overtime to come up with an answer and many of them wanted to leave. Thankfully the Higher Powers seemed to be open for business since Lewis responded,

"Alright Chief. That will do for now, give your team some rest. Nice job ... Commander." Lewis signed off before MacDuff could reply, leaving him to sputter his remarks to the air as his staff tried to clear out without him noticing their laughter -- a feat the failed miserably at.

In his quarters, Lewis contemplated a moment before coming to a decision. He dictated a message to the computer to be sent to the COs of the Paladin and Daystom as well as his own staff. "From Captain Lewis, USS Ravage, I will be in Limbo Stations main lounge around 1830 this evening if anyone would like to join me for a little pre-mission shop talk. Commanding Officers and staff officers are invited."

[Mark]

Limbo Station - Admiral Sinclair's Quarters



Jordan rang the door chime promptly at 1900 hours and the door swished open. He stepped inside and saw two men and a woman inside with drinks in their hands. Before he had time to place the younger of the men and the woman, a booming voice called out

"What happened to saluting an officer when you enter the room?"

Carefully blanking his face, Jordan snapped to attention and brought his right arm across his chest in a perfect Romulan salute and said "All hail the Empire."

The older man in the Admiral's uniform returned the salute and said "At ease, Centurion."

Both men held the pose for just a moment, before erupting in laughter and giving each other a hug.

"You look good Jordo. Command red agrees with you." Admiral Wilbur Sinclair was the oldest Jordan's father's siblings. His hair was completely gray and his face carried the lines of one who carries constant worries. But even though he was in his late sixties, he was still a big man, with large hands, broad shoulders and stood about half a head taller than his nephew.

"Thank you, Admiral. So do you." Jordan replied.

"Please" Admiral Sinclair said "I get enough of that up in Ops. Only family gets to call me by my given name, so I like to hear it once in a while before I start thinking that your grandparents forgot to name me."

Laughing again, Jordan said "Sure thing, Uncle Wil."

Gesturing to the sofa, the Admiral asked "Have you met your second cousin before? This is Adrian's son, Jason." Adrian was the oldest of the Admirals three sons. "He's in his last year at the Academy and I've got him here for his Midshipman Training. Technically, he's assigned to the Starship Chivalrous, but while the Defiants are all docked, he's working as my aid."

Jordan smiled and said, "Last time I saw him, he was riding his new horse around the family estate." He gave the young man a hug and said "Good to see you Jason."

The Admiral then gestured to his other guest "And this beautiful creature is Commander Sophia Luca-Sinclair," A shadow of grief passed over the Admirals face "Vincent's widow." Vincent Sinclair was the Admiral's youngest son, who had been killed in a first contact gone bad three years before while serving as the First Officer of the Starship Essex, while Jordan had been was still in the GQ. Jordan and Vincent had been the same age, and as such were close friends. Vincent had only been married six months before his death, a wedding Jordan was unable to attend as he was the then Chief Engineer of the Ravage and was getting the ship ready for her mission to the GQ.

Sophia was obviously of Italian decent, with flowing curly black hair, an olive skin tone, and luminous dark eyes. Jordan was immediately attracted to her and even though he mentally rebuked himself, it took him a moment to start breathing again. She gave him a little mysterious smile and a peck on the cheek before the Admiral said, "Let's eat."

----

After dinner Admiral Sinclair sat making small talk with his little family when suddenly he said "Jordo, what would you say if I offered you command of the Daystrom?"

Jodan had just been sipping an after dinner mint tea, suddenly choked with surprise. "Excuse me?"

The elder Sinclair replied "We had some trouble today between Captain W'Trisk, Commodore S'koll, and Admiral Grayling. W'Trisk ended up in the brig and Grayling ended up in the Infirmary. Grayling wanted to press charges, and Court Martial W'Trisk. Captain Fletcher and Lt. Grr'lek from the Paladin convinced me not to convene a full hearing, but just to give W'Trisk administrative punitive action. I'm thinking of relieving him of his command, and planting him at a desk here because he's unstable. You're one of the senior First Officers I have on hand right now, and as I told you when you turned down the last command you were offered, it's your duty as an officer and a Sinclair."

Commander Sinclair took a deep breath before replying "Uncle Wil, I don't know Captain W'Trisk all that well personally. The first time I exchanged words with him was to ask to borrow the Daystrom's CMO for an emergency surgery to save one of my crew, and he damn near bit my head off. The other two times, I found him to be short tempered, easily irritable, and in no manner the type of Captain that I was raised to emulate. However, I've also seen Captain W'Trisk race off in spite of orders in a small ship that was little more than a Runabout to rescue survivors that weren't, for the most part, even under his command. In that little ship he fought off Jem'Hadar attack ships, and managed to rescue those men and women. Later on, when our base was assaulted and we were caught in a surprise attack, the Ravage was temporarily disabled. W'Trisk swooped in and covered us until we got engines and shields back up and could withdraw. What I'm saying is that I don't know that I'd like to serve under the man, but I can't think of anyone better for this particular mission. He's the type of Captain who'll tell the Admiralty to piss off, and then storm the gates of Hell itself to get our people back with nothing but a hand phaser if it comes to it. So, for that reason, I have to respectfully decline. Besides, when I finally get my own ship, I want it to be on my own merit, and not as a result of neptitisim."

Admiral Sinclair sat back lost in silent thought, but in his eyes he was obviously reassessing his nephew.

[Mark]

Limbo Station – "The Station" Bar, Hotel and Casino

“What the hell is this?” Holmes asked the short bearded fellow that brought a bottle of bright violet liquid to the table he was sharing with Piggy.

“It’s called Qual, Doctor.” Racla replied. Racla was of a rare breed. She was an Orion woman, who had escaped slavery, and found her way to the station the day this bar was opened by two Geg brothers. The Gegs were short, stocky, and VERY hairy. However, from what Holmes understood, their racial stereotype was aggressive and short tempered, almost exactly like a cross between a Klingon and a Tellerite, a fact Holmes smugly pointed out to Piggy, yet the brothers were two of the better hosts he'd encountered anywhere. They were a constant surprise to him, and as such a source of free entertainment. Racla, on the other hand, was exactly what one expects from an Orion woman. Black hair, green skin, and a body that reduced the younger officers into blubbering idiots. For some reason, she disdained conventional modesty, and wore the bottom half of an eastern Risan bathing suit, which was little more than two straps, leaving her tight buttocks uncovered, and showing off provocitively her...womanly pleasure parts. To match that, she wore a transparent quarter top, that was so sheer, if one looked closely enough, one could see the different shade of green of her nipples. At first, the thogught it was some kind of uniform, until he realzed that Geg women usually were covered from neck to foot, and what their clothes didn't cover, their beards did. Holmes really liked this place.

“It’s distilled by the Gegs on their home world” she said, referring to the drink again. “Each sip taste slightly different as one of the ingredients is a primitive bio-adaptive substance. So, you’ll always taste something you like, but believe me, the variety of flavors you experience is surprising. In one drink I once tasted cherries, bourbon. vanilla, and orange juice.” She put down two clean glasses, poured them both a double, and left.

“Anyway,” Holmes went on “Dentistry as a medical science has been obsolete for about two centuries now. Ever since we learned how to vaccinate against tooth decay and regenerate tooth enamel during cleaning.”

Piggy looked at Holmes like an idiot “Uh, did you forget that this Ensign pip on my collar DOESN’T mean I’m twelve, Holmes? I’m quite aware of basic dental care.”

Giving Piggy a flat look Holmes replied “You could have fooled me. Or was there a reason you were keeping that hairy looking leaf between your teeth for the past day and a half? Anyway, ships surgeons had to take over emergency dental needs, say if someone gets their knocked out on an away mission, or breaks a tooth on some alien food or something. Well, a dental re-sequencer/stimulator is used to regenerate teeth. It’s almost like a small transporter. It holds the patients correct dental pattern in it memory, and re installs the original tooth cells into the patients jaw via some properly coded genetic manipulation. Then the stimulator stimulates growth and development of the tooth, causes it to grow to the ideal predetermined size.”

“Again, Gimpy……I know this. Get to the point!” Piggy insisted.

“Well, I used a command code to access the stations infirmaries master computer and managed to slightly reprogram the device, while they were prepping Grayling for his emergency dental surgery.” Holmes smirked

“And” Piggy prompted irritably.

“I subtely altered the base re-sequencing parameters. And with it slightly out of alignment, Rear Admiral Grayling has some interesting dental issues.” Holmes said with a perfectly straight face. “I have never seen a man with a set of buck teeth that large. He could use them as a personal set of excavation equipment in an emergency or to crack walnuts. They are REALLY rather big and noticeable. Those two front teeth of his cover the middle third of his lower lip, and go halfway down to his chin. And for some reason, he now talks with a nearly incomprehensible lisp.” Holmes twitched his head as if an idea just struck him "Gee, I hope no body makes fun of him or anything. It'd sure be mean if they started laughing and pointing. It'd be pure hell in the locker room during gym."

Piggy exploded into laughter slamming the table in mirth. When he caught his breath he asked, “Can’t they just reverse it and resize them, real quick like?”

With an expression of mock regret, Holmes replied “Unfortunately not. See, stimulation of the genetic re-sequencing makes that impossible. If you tried to re-size them right away, they just might shatter, AND complicate further procedures. No, it generally takes about four weeks before cosmetic work like that could be done.”

Piggy erupted again in laughter, and in between breaths he asked, “But won’t they be able to trace your command code?”

Holmes looked offended “I said I used A command code, not MY command code. No, I found an older code, but one that was still active for some reason. Let Commodore S’koll look for a fellow by the name of Jim Kirk.”

Piggy stopped laughing and looked at Holmes with a new respect “Are you telling me, that when they investigate that command code, they are going to find it belongs to Captain James T. Kirk?”

Holmes nodded and said, “That sounds right.”

Piggy looked directly at Holmes in the eye. “What I don’t understand is why. You can’t stand the Captain. You challenge him, you disobey him, you ignore his orders, you insult his officers, and you consistently play practical jokes on him. Why are you suddenly protective of him?”

Holmes looked at Piggy with the “your too stupid for your species ever to have evolved look” that he’d perfected over the years.
“Because, you moron.” Holmes said. “Nobody gets to mess with Mikey EXCEPT me.”

[Mikey]

Grr'lek sat waiting at a table which commanded a view of all the entrances in Limbo Station's lounge. He was a few minutes early; and while Fletcher made Grr'lek's presence at the impromptu planning meeting seem like a foregone matter of course, the Caitian nevertheless had heard nothing from his fellow crewmates about embarking together. Thus, he waited at this table with his thoughts and his drink.

He noticed the trio before they noticed him, but only barely. Mikey strode into the lounge followed by a human with commander's pips and a burden of a couple of Andorian crates - W'trisk's new XO with his latest batch of ale from Andoria, no doubt. A couple of steps behind followed a slender human female lieutenant commander with an almost Caitian mane of dark brown hair. Grr'lek was about to shout a greeting when he was stopped by a momentary shock - there was another scent among Mikey's party, unmistakable although adulterated by civilian luxuries. Commander D'Tyra emerged from the entry hallway behind the others.

"Grr'lek!" came Mikey's hale shout. "Good to see you again - I understand I owe you my current reprieve. Nice job with that sergeant, by the way." Mikey wiped a mock tear, sniffed, and continued, "It looks like our little girl is growing up." He grinned to indicate the joking nature of the barb.

"Hmm," Grr'lek grunted. "Growing up enough to realize that you're too old and inflexible to pull your own antennae out of your ass." Robustelli deposited the crates on the table with a grunt, which was ignored by all present, and Grr'lek stood to greet the women. "Commander," he said with a slight bow to D'Tyra.

"It's As'ryan Adoe'a now," she answered with an odd look that made Grr'lek decide not to press the issue. "It's pleasant to see you again, centurion."

"Just 'lieutenant' currently, envoy," he replied with a flinty glance. "My rank is current, but inactive while outside the Romulan chain of command."

"I understand perfectly," D'Tyra said quietly.

"Ah! Here we are," Mikey broke in hurriedly and a bit too loudly. From various quarters, the command staff of the Paladin and the Ravage began making their way toward the group. The different staffs gathered around the table, and after a brief series of handshakes and greetings Mikey gestured toward the long-haired woman and said, "Lt. Commander Aureliana D'Borgiagni, my wing commander." The gathered group nodded and mumbled some cordialities, and Mikey went on to indicate D'Tyra. "May I present," he said formally as a hush fell, "Envoy D'Tyra of the RSE."

Fletcher broke the awkward silence. "Greetings, envoy. Captain W'trisk, you seem to be forgetting to introduce an important guest," he said, looking wistfully at the crates on the table. A laugh rippled through the group, and the assembled officers all took seats. Mikey unlatched one of the boxes, took out a narrow blue bottle, and mockingly presented the label to Fletcher. "An excellent selection," Fletcher replied, "it even seems to have a label on it." Mikey gestured to a waiter to bring glasses and pour the drinks.

Once each person had a narrow flute of the pale blue liquor, Fletcher held his glass aloft, causing conversation to cease and everyone else to follow suit. "To the wild black yonder... may she return us safely once again." After a general chorus of agreement, the first round was drained.

"And now that we have the band back together," Mikey said while the Geg waiter refilled glasses, "from where, exactly, are we hoping to return? We know there are ships missing, but there's no indication of a pattern or other clue. Ships go that-a-way," he gestured with his arm at the window, meaning the general direction of the warp highway, "but don't come back this-a-way. You mentioned something about contacts among the Geg, captain?"

"Yes, my friend Mas should be joining us shortly. He'll probably be more able to help us avoid incidences with dissenting Geg factions, but may be able to provide the lay of the land as well. Other than that... well, that's why we're here."

Grr'lek spoke, his voice rising so seamlessly from nothing that even Mark turned in surprise. "...signs of intrusion."

"What's that, lieutenant?" Fletcher asked in confusion.

Grr'lek stroked the tuft of hair on his left cheek and went on, "I think we can all agree that the Geg dissenters couldn't be responsible for the scale of loss we've witnessed, nor the inscrutability of the acts. Therefore, to find a lead, we must look for signs of intrusion in local space and among the Geg. If the phenomenon of vanishing ships is due to foul play or conscious causes, the clearest indicator will be the signs that that agency has left around."

Most of the assembled looked thoughtful at Grr'lek's statement, while Fletcher grinned at his officer's deduction and Mikey and D'Tyra smiled. Suddenly, Mikey banged a flat palm against the table, making a few glasses jump. "The Andorian ship," he said absently.

"I beg your pardon?" said Lewis.

"S'koll let slip that an Andorian survey ship had been through. A ship from the Andorian Science Institute would be more focussed on sentient impact and less involved with cartography, contact, and general exploration than a Starfleet science vessel. If we can find what they found, we'd get another leg up on this investigation."

"Great," said Lewis. "We just call up their flight plan-"

"Not so simple," Mikey interrupted. "An Andorian ship wouldn't be required to file a flight plan. Further, any research into it would be seen as... er, lack of focus on my part from our esteemed admiralty. No doubt, any such digging by any of your crews would be tied to me in the same way."

"Ah, but The Romulan diplomatic corps would have unfettered access to such information, assuming that the ship hasn't been considered classified Starfleet information," D'Tyra pointed out quietly. "As you say, it wasn't a Starfleet mission... and the RSE would no doubt have a passing general interest in all the research that's been done or scheduled so far."

Mikey laughed out loud. "To allies," he said, raising his glass again.