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WONDERS OF THE HOUSE PRESBA Book 4: Reflections Part 1 by Katrina and Llachlan Contact: the authors can be reached at bearblue1@yahoo.com or llachness@gmail.com
Voyager slid into the Alpha Universe undetected, and with little to mark her passage. Lt. Tom Paris' hands flew over the console, guiding the living ship onto its new path with confidence. He knew all too well that old spacers had a tendency to develop a philosophical approach to life; an approach that could rob you of the wonder if you weren't careful. In space, things could take odd twists and turns in a matter of seconds. They could also go completely right. It depended on the variables. In Voyager's case, the trip back to the Alpha Universe - Delta Quadrant - Sector 5311 went very smoothly. Tom grinned as they left the Membrane behind; he might be an old hand, but the wonder of it all never eluded him. This time the crew knew what to expect and those who were new to the transition had been trained and warned. As no one wanted to wake up as part of the ship's corridors, floors or other components, people stayed at their places until the journey was done. Fortunately, with the Trans-Universal Engine, moving between Universes took less time than journeying between Quadrants. There was an abundance of scientific explanations as to why it worked that way, and there were scientists and engineers that could explain it quite well, if only to other scientists and engineers. The actual mathematics and engineering principles were not for the faint of heart or the non-mathematically inclined. The crew of Voyager, however, was composed of the best and brightest from two Universes. They were working on that discrepancy by trying to develop a trans-warp engine for inter-quadrant travel. They had components of Borg technology, but it was thought that a new composite engine would be better for Voyager, who, as a living ship, was prone to absorbing and adapting to new technology in unexpected ways. For instance, the Trans-Universal Engine had been combined into a unit in Engineering with control systems on the bridge and in engineering lab 14, along with an emergency station in Astrometrics. At the moment, all the stations relating to the TUE were filled with very intelligent, watchful people. It was Lieutenant Sayr, the Vulcan propulsion expert assigned to the TUE station on the bridge, who confirmed that the translation had been successful. It was the Captain, Kathryn Janeway, who made the arrival announcement to the crew, and ordered a stand down from yellow alert. From Voyager's perspective, the trip had been a beautiful experience of communing with her beloved Stinging Sparrow, living ship of Zakeeri origin. It was during the first translation that she and Stinging Sparrow had originally combined their genetic materials, though neither of them knew it at the time. They were a bit more cautious about their contact this time, but still quite unable to help themselves, as they were a mated pair. However, this time, since Voyager was already pregnant, no materials were exchanged and it was possible that the conception had been a one time only event. They were looking forward to being able to check in with the Zakeeri themselves, since the feline-like inhabitants of the Delta quadrant were experts on the living ships that formed part of their family clans. The tiny being growing within Voyager had not yet reached a point of sentience, but there was a sense of presence that the other living ships aboard Voyager had detected and welcomed during the transition. It appeared that it was indeed viable and sturdy. That little being was one of the first things that Dr. Brahms checked upon after their entry into the alpha-Universe and the very first thing that she had reported to the Captain. The crew of Voyager, once it was established that they were in normal space again, set about their regular duties without a second thought of worry. They were used to the new and unusual, probably more so than many of their peers. They were also just counting their lucky stars that there hadn't been any unfriendly beings in the area when they entered. As their Captain had once said, "They were Starfleet and weird was part of the job." After the stresses of the last few weeks, it was good to be home. ==^== In their Ambassadorial Offices, Kasala, Yar and their assistants were catching up to the reality that they were in another universe. Their assistants now included two Klingons: a brace of just-in-case recent arrivals delivered by Chancellor Worf - the loyal and ever doughty Duras Sisters. Their brother remained in Universe Beta, where he would perform his duties there. They believed they were prepared for anything, but the transition was somewhat disturbing and now they understood the risk that House Presba had taken to get to their universe to warn them. It was, they were all sure, going to be very interesting in Universe Alpha, especially since they had taken the time to read and assess the public records of Voyager. The Ambassadorial team expected that this universe was not ready for what it was about to receive. In his personal quarters, Commander Benjamin Sisko, previously the Captain on Deep Space 9, and now a man from non-temporal space, had found the journey less disturbing and more like a taste of what had been his home in the Celestial Temple. In the fluctuating space between the Membranes he had observed others of his kind, though not the Bajoran Prophets, who floated and kept their distance from the travelers, yet they followed the ship like dolphins. Worlds in, worlds out, he had thought during the travels. His words had been received, translated and returned in joy and curiosity. He found no reason to worry the crew of Voyager with this development. If they were meant to know, they would discover it. ==^== Sickbay was a bit busier than usual after their return to normal space. Many of the crew were suffering from seasick-like sensations, which made sense to the doctors. The brain experienced input, and sometimes that input determined the output; in this case, emesis, vertigo and a general miasma. Fortunately, the cure was easy and hyposprays were administered, much to the relief of those, including their Trill First Officer, who sought their help. Others had the exact opposite experience and found themselves empty and hungry afterwards. Fortunately, lunch was served during most of the day in mess hall one. Those who had time to stop by did. Others, who were off shift, or going to have duty in two shifts, did what they normally did to prepare. For Lwaxana and T'Pel, the experience was positively restful compared to their forced first experience in inter-Universal travel at the hands of the Orions. Their transition this time was experienced in the safety of their home with their children. Afterward, they had taken their little ones to The Park. They were not the only ones to do so, as a number of their fellows sought the naturally grounding effects of the natural environment nestled deep within a protected area of Voyager's decks. They were just relieved to feel their mates close. That was, for them, where home was. ==^== The command staff had discussed what would happen next and Captain Janeway implemented the plan. "Take us to Voyager's Rest, Tom." "Aye, Captain." The helmsman had said with relief in his voice. It was nice to do something he felt some control over. Flying and navigating in normal and sub-space was one thing; wrapping his head around the idea of folding universes to travel between points was math that was, quite frankly, beyond him. He engaged the navigation port and set the warp and they were away. It would take them a few days, since they were trying to be subtle about where and when the vessel moved from one universe to the next. For one thing, they did not want any unexpected witnesses and, for another, they didn't want a competing celestial body in the mix of their calculations. They would rely on Astrometrics to find those spaces. The Pharaoh System in the beta-Universe had been a unique destination because they had the exact parameters already in the system; the data having been unwillingly bequeathed to them by a captured Orion Syndicate computer core. Everywhere else they would have to rely on celestial data. A circumstance that resulted in the exercise of more caution than strictly warranted, but then again, since no one wanted to end up as part of a star or black hole, no one begrudged the extra labour. Satisfied that they were making good progress toward the planet that had become home-base in the Delta Quadrant, Captain Janeway said, "Lieutenant Ro, Commander Dax, you're with me. Tuvok, you have the conn." The three women entered the ready room. Ro Laren headed immediately for the replicators and Kathryn turned toward her first officer. "Well, now the real fun begins. I'd like you, Ezri, after we've had a moment to settle in and discuss the options a bit more, to head down to Astrometrics and work with Seven of Nine to make contact with Starfleet. I want you to see the procedure first hand." Ezri acknowledged the order, and then took the drink that was proffered by Laren. Kathryn also took a mug. They both sipped and both managed to have that same relieved look afterward, though the liquids were of two different substances. Apparently, caffeine, in what ever form it came, was a cure all, even for Dax's space sickness. It took Laren everything she had not to crack so much as a smile. "Laren, we've been working on that compiled data for Starfleet. Would you please make sure that any last minute messages from the crew are retrieved so they can be sent if we manage contact." "Why do you say if?" Ezri looked up over the rim of her mug. "There are a dozen variables that make for good contact. Sometimes the ship has to be at rest. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes the connection is just bad, for whatever reasons. Tom compares it to the twentieth century radio. He said in some places they had to stand on each other's shoulders and twist antennas to receive signals." "That's ridiculous." "No, its historical fact." "Hysterical." Ezri took another sip, then elaborated. "We can beam people from point to point, convert energy to matter in specific patterns, but we can't figure out how to reliably receive a transmission." "Truly absurd." Laren agreed. "Anyhow…" The Captain gave both women an arch look, "… the point is that we take our chances with these points of contact. The only thing stable is that they are miniature wormholes, which allow us to make contact. If the wormhole collapses, the signal is over. What we're looking for right now is evidence of attempted contact as well as the possible location for sending one of our own." "Why is that?" "Well, we've missed one contact attempt, at least. Probably two. That's got to be worrying Admiral Paris, if for no other reason than that
he's an old friend and his son is on this ship. He'll keep trying even if everyone else stops." ==^== "Agreed." Azan and Rebi replied simultaneously. ==^== Kathryn entered her ready room to find Laren had already arrived. "Good morning, Darling." Whenever one travels, no matter the local, there is always one sure sign of approaching civilization and Voyager encountered it more than halfway to Voyager's Rest. Traffic. Security and Navigation reported the early signs of traffic as ships in the distance, but there was also communication traffic. This type of interchange was picked up by Operations and by Astrometrics. Astrometrics, at this time, was particularly concerned with a certain kind of communications transfer, but all of the data was gathered and sifted in the search for the evidence that a communications attempt had been made by Starfleet. It would have been an impossible task without the enhanced technology of Voyager and the brilliance of her crew. Megan Delaney was the first to spot something. "I've found one." Seven of Nine paced to where Megan was stationed. She glanced up and down the display and nodded. "Well done, Lt. Delaney. Try and track down the signal. It may still be viable." "Right." Like light, the message traveled as a pulse. Without booster points, the signal would travel at a rate much slower than what might be found in the Federation, where such points were ubiquitous. It was possible, depending on when the signal originated, that any message contained there-in would still be retrievable. However, space was vast, so they would also have to determine the direction the wormhole was facing and trace all the possible lines away from it. It would take some time, but now that they had found the micro-wormhole they could, if needed 'chase', the signal and find it, if it had not drifted too far. A few light years wouldn't make a difference to Voyager. A hundred would. That was also something that the Astrometrics department would work to determine: whether the chase was worth the effort. ==^== Ambassador Lwaxana Troi, late of Betazed, gazed around the spacious area that she and T'Pel had been assigned. It was a complete blank slate, open for their imprint, and, like the other diplomatic offices in the area, situated near the second mess hall. She realized, as she evaluated the area, that they would need to speak with their mates about renaming mess hall 2 to something more appropriate to its reputation. Perhaps they might even establish a gift station within it, for replicating knickknacks, or displaying and gifting, though the gift might have a nominal cost that depended on a particular culture's receptivity to the idea of being presented with gifts, many of which would be creative works made by Voyager's crew for the visitors. Lwaxana began walking around the space, gathering her thoughts for what might be and must be accomplished within its walls. T'Pel would
arrive soon to contribute her ideas about the Department of Diplomacy and its set up. Then they would contact Neelix and get his input. His
department was to be blended with theirs in that he would continue to have his own office and assistants and still be able to conduct his other
duties while the Morale office now had an official home within its confines. As did the newly formed Legal department, which T'Pel, temporarily
shedding her own status as an Ambassador of the Federation, would head. Though she had not yet said as much to Kathryn, Lwaxana knew it was likely that the DoD would see an increase in size in the immediate future. Especially if they anticipated being sent on other journeys where diplomacy would act as a key part of their efforts. So they would plan accordingly. Lwaxana turned to face the entrance and nodded. Mentally she began laying out a design; a waiting area with a fountain, decorative items from the Delta Quadrant and Universe Beta, offices and their connecting hallways here, as well as an interview room and a small conference room. She began to see the full vision of it and smiled as T'Pel entered the room. ==^== Voyager's Marines were now a slimmer, seasoned set of troops. They had faced two major battles less than a month apart and succeeded in their assigned tasks. The list of their honored dead was on a digital placard by the entry way of their department. The plaque showed a new name every five seconds, honoring each of their comrades in turn. The Marines had the respect of everyone on Voyager. However, they had also screwed up. Competing teams had failed to utilize the safeties in the holodeck, and it had resulted in trauma and deep
physical injury to the participants. This setback meant that now they were participating in retraining trials and punishment details. To add to the hazard, their commander, Sara Tucker, was not in the best of moods. She'd lost over half of their remaining troops to reassignment in Universe Beta. Admittedly, it was for a good cause, but that meant that some of her best people were no longer on the team. Which, again, meant retraining so that others could step up and meet the need; retraining that had to happen without the presence of those most qualified to teach. There were other reasons that she was being so harsh, reasons she was less inclined to speak publicly about. But the ex-Captain was feeling personally stung and she wondered if the failure of her marines had added up to enough of a minus to disqualify her from advancing from commanding the Marines to becoming Captain Janeway's exec now that Chakotay had been reassigned to an Ambassadorial post. There was no way to know and she wasn't inclined to ask. But it did mean that, at least from her troops' perspective, she had gone from their beloved commander to their hated commander overnight. Not that they wouldn't love her again in the morning. But at the moment, as they sweated and groaned, their affection was being pushed to the limit. ==^== The problem, Commander Steve Magnum decided, with being the Supply and Procurement officer, was that while they were en route to a destination, and all the holds and storage areas were replete with useful items and fully stocked with necessities and luxuries, it rather left one and one's assistants with a bit of time on their hands. And Steve was well aware that his assistants were really not the sort who should have much time on their hands, lest they find trouble. This
plethora of unoccupied time was what inspired him to more openly pursue the idea of better living through chemistry. Technically, they were there on a duty rotation to help the botanists by planting some new seedlings. But they were also establishing a bit of a small garden of their own in the process. They picked a small corner, designated it with its appropriate name and planted fast growing, non-parasitic Romulan grapes, some berries from a nameless planet in the Delta Quadrant, and, of course, a choice group of field grains. After they were done helping the botanists, they would begin setting up the microbrewery in the Supply and Procurement office in a space that Steve had already designated for it. If they did it right, and could keep people from plucking the juicy, sweet, and tasty fruit, they could have a Ship's wine and beer to complement the fine dining to be had in mess hall 2. If they did it wrong, well, it wasn't going to hurt the ship any, and they'd made the botanists' lives a little easier. ==^== Voyager was still, at least nominally, undergoing repairs from the Battle of Terok Nor. True she had been in fair enough condition to leave the space station, but there were plenty of behind the scenes tasks for Engineering and Maintenance to complete. Chief Engineer B'Elanna Torres was currently engaged in one of the more urgent of those activities. A whole section of deck seventeen's flooring and its associated power system had to be replaced. Thus they had stripped out the injured parts and were now going through the process of fixing them. If one were to approach from either direction in the hallway, one would have seen B'Elanna's torso and head well below deck-level. This was because she, and a couple of other engineers, were standing in the under-story of the deck, rerouting power again, so they could get started on the repairs. Fortunately, there was enough room for people to walk around them, so long as the ship did not make any unnecessary and unexpected turns. And most people were in a convivial mood, due to the success in returning to the Delta Quadrant. So they greeted the engineers as they passed by, and sometimes made polite inquiry about the progress. They were gratified to find that polite answers were given, since B'Elanna was in a reasonable mood. That was always a good sign, because it meant that the repairs were going well. It also meant, on the whole, that B'Elanna was feeling good in general. A steady home life had done wonders for her state of mind. And, also, she too was glad to be home in the Delta Quadrant, where things were more familiar and - oddly - less stressful. One stress that remained was that Voyager was still speaking to her in Klingon, except while engaging in repairs and dealing with emergencies, and at home her family and furniture were also speaking to in her native, if unpracticed, tongue. As a measure of self-preservation, B'Elanna had taken to literally wearing the PADD interpretation tool that Kate had given her. She had it strung around her neck, like a giant pendant, so she could grab it quickly when she needed help or needed to eat. Learning the new language was still a struggle, but she was beginning, with the unexpectedly patient instruction of Ezri, to remember more and more of it as she went along. It was like touching a part of her childhood in some ways. Sometimes, like an echo, she could hear her mother saying some phrase or word and it would come back to her. That side effect was perhaps helped by the fact that she had recently seen her mother and their contact had been good, if far too short. At least now B'Elanna knew that Miral Torres was alive and well, and loved her still. She was just in another Universe, along with her mate, Gretchen Janeway. Thinking of Gretchen reminded her that Kathryn was experiencing a similar sensation of both gratification and loss. It was just one of those things that came with the territory of being space travelers. Sometimes family got left behind. ==^== Astrometrics had been frenetically busy as numbers were crunched and data was streamed to the processors as fast as the sensors would allow. They had managed to determine the direction of origination for any messages that they were likely to receive from Starfleet, and now they were narrowing the possibilities for the various ranges. On a positive note, it was determined that the micro-wormhole had been comparatively recent in activation. This data allowed them to adequately determine its positioning. Seven of Nine had requested, on behalf of her department, that Voyager pause during the investigation and had their request approved, which also made it easier. Four hours later they had the signal located and the distance calculated. The signal was viable and worth retrieving. They reported the success to the First Officer. ==^== Sickbay still had quite a few patients recovering from various battle wounds and in-house training accidents. The injured were in differing states of consciousness, but at least they were alive. Dr. Dezhe, a Klingon woman from a past century, had come to treasure working in the modern version of sickbay. The upgrades in technology were astonishing, but it was the people she enjoyed. Of course, if they had been Humans of a different kind, all sugar and light, she might have made different choices. But Dr. Pulaski and Dr. Zimmerman were individuals who had character, quirks and a dedication to healing that inspired her. They were also temperamental and sometime abrupt and, if she'd had to say it, admirably Klingon in their base personalities, if not their attitudes. It made them a positive joy to work with, from her point of view; even if they did try to erase all the scars from the victims. At least she had gotten them out of that habit with the Klingons on Voyager. To a Klingon, scars were important. They proved that you had dared life and lived through it. Dezhe was sure that the other doctors felt a similar appreciation for her. She had learned to accommodate herself to Voyager's, and, by extension, Starfleet's manner of healing. It was something she had come to value during the aftermaths of the battles and the small crisis that always plagued a Starship. Voyager's crew functioned better because they were healthy and did not, except for the expected holdouts, try to hide or get along with their illnesses. It was a practical matter and Dr. Dezhe was a practical woman. Thus, she had taken it upon herself to refresh her studies of medicine under the tutelage of the great Dr. Pulaski along with the help of Dr. Zimmerman. That was what she did with her time when they were not engaged in emergency surgery or walking the floor to check on their patients. She looked forward to it, almost as much as she looked forward to taking one of the Glory Dragon Riding Club tours when she was off hours. One had to have some fun while off duty, and racing or touring with the GDRC was certainly fun. "Dr. Dezhe, I have some errands to run," Dr. Pulaski said as she tucked a PADD into her medical jacket and straightened her tunic. One of those errands included checking up on a certain patient who had missed her last appointment and was, according to Voyager, currently located in the Sandrine's holo-simulation on deck 7. "I won't be gone long. An hour at most. You have the floor." "Yes, Dr. Pulaski. I have the floor." Kate smiled at the other doctor warmly and then exited sickbay. She knew it was in good hands. ==^== Commander Tuvok was gratified to see that Voyager's crew had taken on the mantle of regular starship duty like a familiar cloak. There had been some indications of tension among a crew that was still amalgamating into the entity they would become. Possibly it had to do with worry about the transition between universes, but it was nothing that translated into overt issues for security to deal with just yet. Still, there was reason for the department on a ship, and there were security teams stationed at every other deck - patrolling their two assigned decks on a constant, but alternating schedule. This rotation was to prevent the inattentiveness that grew out of unvaried routines while maintaining their highest efficiency. Tuvok glanced down at his control panel and read the series of notes that had been transferred from his security officers to his bridge console. The notes were in constant flow at his workstation and kept him abreast of the mood of the ship. Voyager herself also contributed notations of a non-intrusive variety. She was very much conscious of the need for personal privacy, but also acknowledged Security's need for current information. If something struck her as extremely out of the ordinary or dangerous, she was usually the first to ping him. He had come to appreciate her input in the database. Tuvok made his own additions, correlations and predictions and then went on to peruse the other information flow, the one regarding dangers from outside of Voyager. He noted the passing of a small meteor shower, the increase in certain kinds of energy signatures and a random asteroid or two. But there was nothing that immediately caught his attention. So, he began his other evaluations and checks while monitoring ship. ==^== Kate entered the holodeck that was currently running Sandrine's, and began to scan the crowd for her errant patient. Steve would be proud. Diplomacy first. ==^== The stream of data began automatically processing as soon as Voyager was within the barest range of it, the pre-programmed routines shunting the signal to augmentation buffers. The signal continued to gain strength and compile as they raced towards the strongest point. It was powerfully encrypted, using one of the Federations more recent code sets. One they believed to be decodable by Voyager's crew alone, fully confident that if anyone could unravel the message, it would be the people on Voyager. Two of Starfleet's highest officials trusted, for once, in the Borg. Their Borg. ==^== Kate Pulaski started a new file on herself, with Dr. Zimmerman's help. They already had quite a bit of data to draw on, but this was really the first time they could watch the progression of the changes in a meaningful way. The CMO didn't mind being the guinea pig in this case. The holographic man ran his tricorder over Kate's body and made notations about some basic changes. "Your blood pressure is lower, heart rate is optimal. You have a new node here and here," He pointed at her neck, near her vocal cords. "They're very small, but I believe that's where the noises are starting from." "Why do you think they're happening?" "Well, in many species, like Klingons, the growl is the first warning system. The purr has been shown to have healing properties. The Presban body changes appear to be pushing toward some common upgrades to your physical performance in general. So there is no doubt there is a reason for its addition to your system. It's also possible that your mates and you hear certain tones in the sound, which alert you to each other's state of arousal - positive or negative." Kate was nodding. "I was developing similar theories. Let's formalize this a bit and pull from some of Voyager's records. I know she keeps track of us, so she has probably tracked biological changes when the Prime engage in sonic exchanges." Dr. Zimmerman was nodding. "I assume you have your mates' permission?" Kate grinned. "They told me they would make themselves available. But let's not make this a paper for public consumption. Use the same kind of protocols that are used for Vulcans and other species with privacy holds. Oh, and see if you can get Commander Dax in here for a baseline before the bonding. Maybe you'll have more luck than me." Zimmerman snorted, clearly skeptical.==^== Ezri stopped outside of the turbo-lift. What had begun as a celebratory night of fun after days of endless work had, somehow, turned back into work. For a second she was tempted to wash her hands of the whole thing and kick it back to Tuvok. But that meant it would get to the Captain in an official way. Or worse, B'Elanna would decide that it was a House issue. First things first. Ezri walked to one of the small conference rooms that shared the corridor with her office, and entered it. Replicating a long-sleeved black shirt, she slipped it on, and then settled the long jacket back over it, carefully adjusting the collar and exposed sleeves. She decided that it wouldn't hurt to have a spare set of insignia, even if not all of the pips would be needed in the long run, so she called up a set and affixed them to the jacket. Dressed for the part, if nothing else, Ezri made her way to her office. ==^== Tom heard the door hiss open, but didn't turn to look. Instead he maintained the attention posture he'd been standing in since he'd entered Dax's office. It was the least he could do to show that he realized that she was going to have to clean up the mess he'd made. His face ached, and he was pretty sure that he was going to have an impressive shiner in the morning. He watched as Dax crossed to stand behind her desk, and then put both hands flat on its surface. She still hadn't addressed him or even looked directly at him, and it occurred to him that being ignored was almost as effective an intimidation tactic as one of Janeway's looks. Almost. Dax leaned forward over the desk and caught Paris' eye. "Go home, Lt. Paris." "Sir?" "If I ask you what happened, you're going to lie to me. I'm pretty sure I don't need to spend the next hour explaining why we don't punch crew mates. I'm equally sure that this will never happen again. Do we understand each other?" "Yes, Sir." "Good. But I suppose I need to punish you." Ezri thought about how best to make her point, but still get some utility from the situation without demoralizing Tom. Thinking it over, she realized she had just the project. The Sochlings would need a rated pilot to finish their project, and not only was Tom Paris was the best pilot on the ship, but he had done a masterful job with the Delta Flyer Tom didn't reply to that. He just waited, and mentally kicked himself for not leaving when he'd had the chance. "For the act of throwing the first punch at a fellow officer, during the next two weeks, your off-duty hours belong to Icheb Hansen. For that two weeks, any off-duty hours not claimed by Ensign Hansen are to be spent confined to quarters. Dismissed." She sat down and turned her back on Tom, attention now on her monitor. "And Tom?" Tom stopped, and turned back toward the desk, but Dax hadn't moved. He waited, still silent. "Thank you." He nodded, knowing she couldn't see it, but he felt a little lighter. It had been the right thing to do. The doors slid shut behind the helmsman and Ezri leaned back in her chair. One down, one to go. ==^== Kate Pulaski stepped out of her office in time to hear Zimmerman's comm badge chirp, and him acknowledge it. Thus she was also present to see the disdain flick across Commander Tucker's fine, but bruised visage as the First Officer's voice was broadcast from the hologram's chest. "Has Commander Tucker suffered any major injuries?""No, just a few cuts and bruises. I don't know what kind of training program you're letting these marines run, but maybe you should assign them a field medic. I had half a dozen of them in here." "Have the Commander report to my office immediately." "It will just take--" Dax cut him off. "Now. Bruises and all." Zimmerman opened his mouth and Kate caught his eye and shook her head, in a clear 'don't argue'. "Very well." He closed the channel and looked at Kate archly. "Someone's a few spots short of composed." "Tucker, you heard the Commander." Pulaski ignored Zimmerman for the moment and sent the disgruntled marine on her way. ==^== Sarah Tucker left sickbay behind and prepared herself to face the music. A quick check-in told her that she was the only one marine being summarily ordered to report to the First Officer. Small mercies, she supposed. She rang the chime and waited for admittance. ==^== Ezri heard the chime and swiveled in her chair, to face the door. She still hadn't decided how to handle the situation, but she knew it couldn't wait for her to dither her way through her options either. The chime rang again, and she was out of time. "Enter." Commander Sarah Tucker strode into the office, command mask firmly in place, and came to attention in front of the desk. It was clear from the set of her body and her expression that she had once commanded a starship of her own. And that, Ezri realized was the heart of the problem. "Sit down." Ezri made the words an order, rather than an invitation. Nonplussed, Sarah looked around the room, unable to find a chair. The only surface remotely appropriate for sitting on was the low bench seat against the windows on the far left, and that had most of the space occupied by boxes. "I'm waiting, Commander." Angry, Sarah let her temper flash. "You want me to sit? Then give me a god damn chair." Ezri kept her gaze even, calling on every memory of Benjamin Sisko that she had, and stood. With one hand she grasped the back of her chair, and propelled it toward the marine. "There are lots of places to sit. But if it's a chair you want, then here." Tucker caught the chair, and locked her eyes on the Trill's, but didn't sit. She watched as the woman moved from behind the desk and leaned against the front of it. Dax was nearly a head shorter than she was, but at the moment she seemed to dwarf the desk, and Sarah felt the first misgivings. "That is what you want, isn't it. My chair." It wasn't a question. "Sit." Tucker dropped her gaze, unable to hold the ghostly blue intensity of the Commander's eyes any longer, and sat. "Five minutes ago, I had a problem that I was trying to figure out a solution to." Ezri continued, her tone conversational instead of confrontational. "But I just realized, I don't have a problem. You do. And what I really want to know, is what you plan to do about it?" The leather of the armrest twisted under her grip as Sarah tightened her hold in an effort to keep from jumping up. "Permission to speak freely?" "No." "No?" "No. I have no desire to listen to you justify your behaviour, or for you to rail against the injustice of the situation. It's not my problem. It's yours. Now, I ask you again. What do you plan to do about it?" Sarah sat back, stymied. Of all the ways she had expected this to go, this wasn't even in the running. Her consternation only grew as Dax smiled. "Though, I have to tell you, I gotta wonder at the sanity of anyone who would even want this job. Never mind trade in the relative autonomy of your own command to get it. Did you actually like scheduling ship-wide shore leave when you were Drummond's exec?" "Uh. No." Trading in her autonomy? Sarah reflected back over the last few months. She did have a great deal of autonomy. Janeway told her what she wanted accomplished and left it up to her as to how. Only a near-death mishap had resulted in the Captain stepping in to suggest safeguards, and even then, Sarah had full responsibility for their implementation. "Ah. Then you were planning to turn in your fourth pip?" Ezri changed her position so that she was sitting on the edge of the desk instead of leaning against it. "Uh. No." Sarah repeated herself, at a loss for either her righteous indignation or her vocabulary. She shook her head, realizing that she had no intention of remaining on Voyager after they hit the Alpha Quadrant, and Janeway had known it. So rather than fill two holes multiple times, the Captain had made a selection that made for the least retraining and shifting. Damn. "Um, Commander?" Ezri lifted a brow and motioned the other woman to continue. She could see that she'd made her point, and was curious to hear how Tucker would choose to respond. "I don't have a problem. Not anymore." "Glad to hear it." Then Dax stood and leaned in over the Commander, placing her hands on the arm rests to either side of the woman. "Because, I'm only going to say this next part once. If the most vindictive thing anyone ever says about me is that I got my job by sleeping with Seven of Nine, then I'll count myself as well praised. But, and this is the part you really need to pay attention to, if I ever hear about a vindictive comment that associates sleeping with Seven of Nine and the opportunity for professional advancement, I will not take it as a compliment, and will govern myself accordingly. Are we clear, Commander?" Sarah flinched, but held her gaze steady. "Crystal." Ezri stepped back. "Good. You are unofficially confined to quarters when not on duty for the next two weeks. The punishment of the rest of your companions is in your hands. You will also tender an unofficial apology to Lt. Paris, as well as to Seven of Nine." "Understood." And she did. She would have to swallow her pride to do it, but nothing official would be left behind to mar her record. "Thank you, Sir." "I didn't do it for you." Ezri walked to the door. "Dismissed." "Aye, Sir." She exited the room without looking back. ==^== B'Elanna stepped into Astrometrics. She was greeted by her mate, whose attention was on a console. Seven of Nine turned and offered a small smile. Her gaze narrowed and a small noise of concern rose from within. She stepped forward quickly, "So the rumors were true." B'Elanna touched the bruise gently and then gazed at her wife. "I'm surprised you didn't run a dermal regenerator." "I will heal." There was something in the way Seven responded, and the disquiet she sensed behind the words, that alerted B'Elanna and she stepped closer. "Be'nal?" Seven leaned into their embrace. "It is nothing, Bang'wI. I am merely reminded that there is still a need for patience in some matters." A hint of old wounds lay under that statement and B'Elanna's brow furrowed as she tried to work it out. "What happened?" "Nothing that has not happened before and nothing that will not happen again. It is alright." "Seven?" The Borg enacted a distraction protocol, something she found to be very effective in these kinds of conversations; when she both needed her mate, and needed to avoid talking too much. She kissed B'Elanna, warmly and deeply and when B'Elanna tried to ask again, she kissed her once more, this time deliberately stirring the fire along their line. When B'Elanna spoke in reply, it was with a distinct purr. "Let's go home." So they did. ==^== B'Elanna was sleeping soundly when Seven gently rearranged her loving clasp and made a quiet escape. At another time she would have stayed with her mate and either attempted sleep herself or watched B'Elanna dream, an occupation that she found highly enjoyable. However, the ex-drone had much on her mind and a need to occupy herself, if not usefully, then at least with some measure of productive distraction. So she quietly exited B'Elanna's room, cheating a little by using the Nest's entrance. As she had known would be the case, there was no one in there. Seven spent a few seconds just absorbing the peace of the room, then entered her own abode, where she took some time to bathe and refresh herself before changing into something comfortable. She left her room in her bare feet, and debated exiting via the family level or the adult level, then determined that for her purposes, the one closest would be the most efficient. She headed to Astrometrics. The lights activated immediately upon her entrance and she strode toward the console that was currently compiling the data stream. She didn't touch it, merely observed that the file retrieval was at 27% completion. She nodded her head. The results were consistent with her expectations. The door to Astrometrics swished open. "Lwaxana Troi," Seven greeted, quietly, and then turned. "My mate," the Betazoid said, as she stepped forward. Their fingertips met in gentle communion. Lwaxana was dressed in a brighter outfit than Seven had grown accustomed to wearing, but there was a pleasant simplicity to it. "You followed me." Lwaxana's expression was gentle, concerned. "Darling, I was wondering if you might consider walking with me in The Park." ==^== It was full night in the earthy recreation area. Others were also strolling, as Seven and Lwaxana were, following the gently lit paths, but The Park was almost empty and those who were walking were far, far in the distance. Those they passed, who happened to be on benches along the pathway, held low conversations, as if between lovers or friends inspired by the quietude of the night setting. There were night time noises, chirrups and tunes that small nocturnal animals made to connect with each other. Firefly-like insects blipped into view and then out, providing their own kind of light to the genial walk. Lwaxana's arm was tucked into Seven's. They walked sedately, letting the path and whim guide them. The Betazoid let the silence alone, choosing instead to emphasize her feeling of enjoyment in being in Seven's company along their mated extrasensory line. She wanted Seven to speak on her own time, if she was going to. But she also knew that, for whatever reason, her mate should not be alone tonight. They stopped near the lake and sat on one of the benches there. Lights flashed in the water and above it, as fish mimicked fireflies to lure them in for a meal. The bench they chose was shaded and dark, affording them privacy. They could look above themselves and see the representation of stars in the night sky; tonight they were a recreation of those from Vulcan. Seven leaned into Lwaxana and the Betazoid wrapped one arm around her mate's shoulder. A few minutes passed and Seven finally spoke, in a quiet, thoughtful tone. "Do you realize that it took Kathryn nearly thirty-three years to accept the possibility of being loved in this here and now? She only had five years with Kate in her timeline, before Kate died." Seven realized that the information she was providing was not as exact as her usual assessment of time, but knew that Lwaxana would understand. "In that timeline she went twenty-three years without anyone to love her at all, save for a few random encounters. No one ever stayed with her. The journey was too long or it was too hard. Or some of us died. And she would not allow us, while we were there…she would not allow any of us near…beyond friendship, because she worried that it might affect how others perceived her command." Lwaxana's hand stroked Seven's shoulder gently, brushing above the sensitive implant without touching it directly. She wanted to comfort her mate, not stimulate her. "Even so, in this now, she only dared the pursuit in partial necessity. Though I was wooing her and, I expect, I would have won her, despite the extraordinary intervention of the Anomaly." Lwaxana chuckled at the edgy tone of determination in Seven's voice. "I am sure you would have, if you managed to convince her before she
changed her mind." Lwaxana nodded and gently kissed her mate's cheek. "She can't just change her mind." "No." Seven glanced out over the water and watched as a fish made the leap into the air to capture its meal. "She is ours and we are hers. But, I see now, that her fears had some validity." "Perhaps, but there were unintended consequences to the decision and she lost what she most needed." Lwaxana squeezed Seven gently. "As there have been unintended consequences for my own decisions." "How so?" prodded Lwaxana softly. She knew that sometimes it was important for one to frame one's contemplation in words. "And…" Now Seven really hesitated. "Some have said similar things about me, at one time. It was said that Astrometrics was given to me, rather than
a position that I filled." There was a hint of a growl, but nothing deep. It was an old, discarded wound, long healed over. "Would it matter if it were true?" There was a pause in the air, a waiting. Then there was a soft sound of amusement. "No. I would still have been the best choice. The only choice." Lwaxana nodded. "Yes." She kissed her mate gently. "As they say, cream rises to the top. It would not matter how you arrived, only that you
did well once you had the position." "There are those who are able to hold opposing ideas in their head without proof or evidence to support either thought." "Odd." "It is. But not unusual." "No. I suppose not." The silence between them was warmer and softer. They kissed lovingly. "I have been thinking about appropriate ways to address these issues and have come to the conclusion that I may have to treat them individually. As Mistress of the House, I can not have them say such things about my mates. There will have to be consequences. But I will continue to ignore them if such words are said about me." "Say what you will about me, but mess with my family...." "Yes." "It is, I think, something that we all feel." Lwaxana allowed her sense of protectiveness to rise to the surface until Seven nodded in understanding. She understood that they shared a common purpose. "Also…Ezri Dax." Seven grimaced. "I do not think the Purloined Letter method is working as intended." She brought the discussion back
to the conversation about discretion they had shared before she started her affair with the Trill. Seven of Nine's gaze narrowed. "Indeed." ==^== Benjamin Sisko was not, by nature, a patient man. His patience had been a wonderful gift - hard fought for - but a still, for all that, a gift. And so, against his nature, he had waited patiently to hear the sound that echoed through his quarters. The chime of the door. He wasn't sure if he spoke or thought the word. But the door slid open and he supposed he must have actually said, "Open." Ben directed a long look at the shadow standing in his doorway, then decided that more patience was in order. "I have missed you, Old Man, but this is not where you should be tonight. Go home, Ezri." And then he pressed the button to force the doors to shut. ==^== "Azan Hansen, why are you no longer regenerating?"
Half asleep, it took Ezri a moment to register who had entered her office. "Hey, my little Sochlings." She sat up and ran a hand through her hair
to get it out of her eyes. Chapter 2 | Universe Alpha, Beta Quadrant: Presban System | Bookmarks
"You're not seriously thinking of going?" It seemed to Guinan that it would only be mete and right for the weather outside to match the intensity of the misgivings she felt on hearing that Deanna planned to return to the Titan. Lightening would be needed to punctuate the information that the Betazoid was going alone. "Guinan, I have to. For no other reason than I owe it to Jean-Luc." "Jean-Luc would understand if you didn't." She wasn't entirely convinced that the message had been from Jean-Luc Picard, but she had nothing concrete to offer by way of objection. Deanna knew that he probably would, but that didn't stop her from wanting to tell him of her resignation face to face, nor did it obviate her need to put a resolution to her time aboard the Titan, just as saying a personal farewell to Jean-Luc would end her professional association with the Enterprise and its Captain. "I'll be fine." "Does Asil know?" It was obvious that Guinan was playing what she took to be her trump card. "She understands the logic of it." It was true as far as it went. Her mate had brought unassailable Vulcan logic to the matter and had been forced by dint of the same logic to concede. It didn't mean however, that Asil agreed with the decision. "But she doesn't like it." The El-Aurian translated the evasion. "Jean-Luc is an honourable man and the House needs all of those as allies we can get, especially with how destabilized things are now." Guinan nodded, but didn't voice her opinion that it wasn't Captain Picard's honour that Deanna needed to worry about - it was Will Riker's. ==^== Deanna knew as soon as she hit the transporter pad that she'd made a terrible mistake. The mental apologies fogged the room with the unsaid droplets of betrayal. With one exception. In front of the exit, stood a woman who, on any other day, Deanna would have found unremarkable. A woman, she realized, that, but for her marriage to Asil and its attendant gifts, she would still have counted as unremarkable. Here was the woman Will had replaced her with: a senior lieutenant, operations gold, middling height, buxom chest, short chestnut hair and relatively striking. Deanna forced her expression to neutrality and stepped down off the pad as though nothing was amiss. She took what appeared to be a superficial look around the room, while under the surface, she focused on gathering a better sense of what was happening and why. It was clear from the guarded nature of the lieutenant's thoughts that the woman knew that Deanna was an empath. It was equally clear from the nature of masking images that she had no idea how powerful an empath. Deanna understood the value of being underestimated. "Commander Deanna Troi, by order of Starfleet command, you are hereby relieved of duty. Formal charges are being prepared, and you are to be detained at the Captain's discretion pending the filing of those charges. Legal counsel will be provided." She also understood the value of silence. They had expected her to be surprised, and while she was a little taken aback that they had invoked Picard's name to get her on board, she was not a complete idiot. She knew exactly what being AWOL meant. "Aren't you going to ask why?" "No." Deanna put as much nonchalance into her tone as she could muster. Seconds later, it paid off as her arm was taken, and she was suddenly, profoundly grateful for the quirk of genetics that had gifted her with solid black Betazoidian eyes. Eyes that could hide their shock. Her captor had unwittingly shown Deanna everything. It wasn't Will at all. It was Section 31. ==^== With the fingers of her left hand, Asil snuffed out the meditation candle, pinching the flame into darkness. Pain was not irrelevant, it was
non-existent. At least that much of the Kolinahr was still hers. Despite her attempts at disciplining her mind, her thoughts continued to roil,
and she was finding it increasingly difficult to wait the agreed upon period of time before retrieving her mate. ==^==
Asil stopped to speak with Guinan; if the plan was going to succeed it would take them all. Above all else she needed to be sure that Guinan
would care for those most dear to her. In another quadrant, though only four days away at maximum warp, there was another place in a state of quiet lockdown and defense. Admiral Alynna Nechayev and Admiral Owen Paris were not known for their camaraderie. Owen Paris had made an ill-advised decision, and Alynna's niece had paid the ultimate price. The tragedy had served to cement for others the sense of bad blood between them and they nurtured the general belief in that state of affairs by having very observable bouts of audible disagreements, visual displeasure and practical avoidance except when they had to meet. The lockdown and defense was being conducted at the moment by members their staff, who, at the least, were just trying to duck and cover before the verbal explosives went off. Personal offices were being prepared with soothing drinks and sounds; up to the minute files and anything else that could be thought of to smooth the ruffled feathers that were bound to come out of one of those infamous meetings. One of which was occurring now. Elsewhere on the impressive Starfleet grounds, the two Admirals were meeting in one of the secure offices designed for high powered decision making. Security had gone over the room with everything they had and the silencer settings were on maximum. A secure channel had been put in place, for communication purposes. And two security guards stood outside guarding, while two lieutenants, who would normally have had no call this early in their careers to be on opposite sides of anything this political, tried to out-glare one other. Absolute loyalty was something that both Admirals commanded. If those same lieutenants could have glimpsed what was going on inside of the office, they would have been surprised, but not as surprised as Section 31, who had spent an immense amount of effort to ensure that the two Admirals remained at loggerheads. But that general obliviousness was one of the reasons that the room had been created. Admirals Nechayev and Paris were not the only Admirals who had ever needed the room for the purpose of disguise, planning, and complete, secure privacy. There were no tapes or cameras in the room. The only data devices in the room were those they brought in with them. And the damper field also fuzzed out any bio-spy device that might have been implanted in their clothing or on them during the day. It was paranoid, but effective. Alynna got straight to the point as she sat down across from Owen. "Have we heard from them?" They both understood who they were talking
about. The idea that they did not get along did have some basis in reality. Owen was not her favorite person. But time was a healing factor in
all wounds and they had common purpose. Still, just in case, she kept up her bristling persona. One just never knew who might be listening in
these days. Alynna ground out. "You will keep me informed." Then she said with a bit of asperity. "You should have kept me informed from the beginning." The older Admiral replied with equal crustiness. "Janeway was not under your roster, but mine. It was my call to make." This time is was Alynna who narrowed her gaze. Owen continued. "Which brings up our other topic. We have had some news from the Beta Quadrant. Captain William Riker attempted contact with Presba, but according to him he was refused and House Presba was completely unwilling to assist us." "Really." Admiral Paris shot Alynna a wry look because of her tone. He arched his brow and somehow managed to make his body language appear both grumpy and disagreeable. "Really. So this brings me to making a special request. Do you think you can send your man Picard …" Alynna raised her hand and began shaking her head. "I can't. He's at a pivotal location at the moment." Then she dropped her palm to the table and looked thoughtful. "On the other hand, I can contact him about the possibility of sending someone who might be more persuasive. We were aware that there was a bit of strife between Captain Riker and his wife." "Ex-wife now. The paperwork went through." "Interesting. Have we received any other paperwork?" "Funny you should mention it." Owen shoved something that looked suspiciously like an old fashioned manila file folder with laminate paper in her direction. Nechayev took it, opened it and read from it. Then she took the folder to the disintegrator and watched as it disappeared to particle matter. For good measure, she initiated the energy conversion cycle, and not even particulate remained behind. Her only comment was, "Interesting." ==^== Sometime later, Admiral Nechayev stalked out of the secure office with a terrible look on her face. The guards flinched. Her lieutenant flinched. And Admiral Owen's lieutenant paled. It had obviously not gone well. ==^== Deanna submitted meekly, or as meekly as she was able, to being searched. Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Enterprise E, stared pensively out the view port of his ready room. He was a fair skinned man, bald at the top, firm of jaw and trim of body. He was renowned as a diplomat and captain. On his desk was a forgotten cup of Earl Grey tea, which was rapidly cooling. He gazed at the cloud patterns of the planet his vessel was orbiting as if they somehow held the answer to his current problems. The first of which was an urge to be elsewhere. He had made certain choices in his life, one which precluded having children, though he was the Captain of a generational ship. Because of that, though, he had formed close bonds with certain members of his crew, past and present, and had come to think of them as members of his family. On the communication station of his desk were three separate messages. The first was from Will Riker, sent sometime ago, with disturbing news about his efforts at Presba with the acting head of the House. Despite the fact that Captain Riker was autonomous, he still fell under Captain Picard's jurisdiction, and so Riker kept him apprised of news and events. But there was something odd about the presentation of the communication; something, aside from the obvious and unusual animosity toward Deanna, that struck Picard like a warning flag. The second missive was from Starfleet headquarters. It addressed the issue of House Presba and their planetary system from a very different angle, and requested that Picard send someone who would perhaps be more useful in establishing a possible dialog and point of contact there. Starfleet, if not the Federation, needed the Presban on their side, or at least neutral enough territory to allow a footprint, so that, if the opportunity arose, diplomatic ties could be mended between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. The final missive was from a dear friend of his and it spoke of things that had he had hair, would have set it high upon his scalp. It was this missive that had him contemplating the clouds and urgently wishing that he could order his ship sailing straight to the Beta Quadrant. When Guinan spoke, it behooved one to listen. A part of him was tempted to go anyway. But the negotiations with this race could make the difference between winning or losing the war with the Dominion. The base metals alone made them important, even if they weren't quite past being a warp one civilization. Tugging his jacket down, Picard finally made up his mind and turned and paced to the communication station at his desk. "Picard to Dr. Crusher." ==^== The statuesque redhead packed quickly and made arrangements with her staff. Dr. Beverly Crusher told them that she would be out of reach, but in an emergency, Captain Picard would be able to contact her. She did not say why she was leaving or where she was going. That was classified. An hour later, she was on a shuttle bound for a space port, where she would find a prearranged berth as a medic with a merchant that was friendly to both factions. That supposed friendliness did not stop her from packing a phaser and her Starfleet medi-kit. One just never knew. ==^== Auloh was up long past her bedtime, though the adults did not know it, or so she believed. She had been, for a brief time, engaged in watching the adults from one of the access points on the upper story of her home. She had been awake since the brief touch placed upon her brow by her mother and Asil's quiet exit from the room. As she watched the adults prepare, Auloh had a sense of imminent change and remembered when her aunts and uncles by birth had also engaged in gathering their weapons and preparing their armor. That had been a much louder procedure than what she was observing now. To Auloh, it spoke volumes about the difference in the two Houses. In Qua'lon there was much boasting, but not much fire. In Presba, there was very little boasting, but there was a great deal of fire behind the quiet. It made her once again proud that she had chosen honour and Presba. The Klingon girl rose from where she was crouching and went back to her bedroom. Once there, she went to the replicator and began scanning through the menu system displayed above it. When she found what she wanted to wear, she placed her order. A stack of clothes, House Presba's full uniform, in her smaller size, appeared. She withdrew the clothes, and then placed another order. This was her home, and her family; she wanted no other. She would defend it and her brother to the death. ==^== Twelve Klingons and a Vulcan emerged from the dark recesses of the cavern. All were now full Members of the House Presba. Asil turned to face them, and met their eyes one by one. They had agreed to die for her if necessary, so it was only logical that she acknowledged them as individuals. A fourteenth member of the team stepped up next to her and placed a large communications array on the ground between them. "The signals are ready." She shifted her helmet under her arm, and double-checked her equipment. It was time. "Prepare for transport." There was no regimented chorus of ayes, and yes ma'ams, instead there was instant obedience, as helmets were affixed to pressure suits, and each warrior turned and checked the seal for a companion. As she lifted her hand to issue the order for the first of the transports, shadows broke away from the edge of the clearing and stepped into the light emanating from the communications module. Tuvon and Vedor strode forward together, as always. They did not speak, but fell into line with the rest, already attired in the same manner as the remainder of the team. She nodded her welcome. They were of the Blood, and she felt their chances of success increase, though she would not have asked this of them. Then two more shadows become people. "You didn't really think we were going to let you do this alone, did you." Phoebe smiled, the blue-white light making her seem ethereal and feral all at once. "And look," she gestured at her husband, "I brought my mountain of a man. Hell of a two for one." "I had hoped." Asil looked meaningfully at her sister's midriff and then at Vrald. Vrald shook his head. "I knew I didn't stand a chance talking her out of it, and if you can't, we're both going." He stood at his full height, his physique truly impressive without the weight of years softening his appearance. "It is a good day to die." Asil nodded. "Dvanne, take the Janeways and get them kitted out and brief them." "Yes, ma'am." Vrald shot her a dirty look, and Asil met it, brow arched. "Your wife does run your household, does she not?" A rumble of laughter rippled through the gathered Klingon warriors, and, for a split second, Asil thought her jibe might have succeeded where reason clearly would not. Then Vrald turned his dark eyes to hers, and growled softly. "To be ruled by my wife is no dishonour. To live, unruled, while you risked your life and I did nothing would bar me from the gates of Sto-vo-kor, and not Kahless himself could open them again. I am happy to follow where she leads." "And your child?" Phoebe stepped forward and clasped her husband's hand. "Will be with his parents." Asil nodded. "You have five minutes to be ready, or I will leave without you." They turned as one and followed Dvanne. Asil watched them go, touched, though she would never show it. What strange manner of family she had fallen into that only the ties of a marriage a quadrant away made them so, yet their loyalty ran deep and true. Infinite diversity in infinite combination, truly. She heard the gravel crunch, and left her thoughts to scatter in the night. Even before she turned, Asil knew who she would find standing there, and she knew that this battle she had to win. "Auloh." "Mother." "I am glad you came. I have a task for you." The girl, almost a young woman now, fully decked in the battle uniform of the House, showed her surprise clearly, and Asil nearly let her lips twitch. Her father had been a master at redirecting the antics of his children and she had learned from him how to preserve the dignity of youth. "Should the House fall, I require you to safeguard Barin until I return." Asil paused, and then lowered her voice. Auloh was not a child. "If I do not return you must keep him safe until his true parents come for him, and you. Will you do this?" Auloh came to attention, her eyes widened briefly before a look of calm determination settled over her. "I will." "Be well, my daughter." Asil reached out and brushed back a lock of hair from the ridges that spread across the maturing features, and then turned away. She knew that Auloh wouldn't leave until they did. For the second time, she called her troops to order. "Begin signal rotation. Prepare to transport." ==^== Sirella, Mistress of the House Martok, had an interest in House Presba. At first, her interest had been that of a jealous wife, protecting her family. But as that miscommunication had been resolved, her motivation had changed to one of nurturing for the House, and friendship for the Presbans themselves. As the Mistress of the Imperial House, she had certain resources and privileges that others did not. For instance, there was a direct line between her ship, the Orantho, and the Klingon vessel that guarded Presba. Captain Keyv of the IKS Jornub happened to be a loyal servant of the Empire and had accepted her request that she be kept apprised of any major changes at Presba. She had recently received, via the Captain, a captured message. The Captain had not interfered with its sending, since it had been clearly sent on its way as a missive of warning. But he did record it in passing. He did not believe that the Titan had managed to grab of the signal, since it happened to bounce off of a transceiver located on the opposite side of the system, in the Federation ship's communications blind-spot. It was almost as if the signal had been meant to be captured only by Captain Keyv. Whatever the case, Sirella had the missive now and she made her decisions quickly. After all, her husband had already declared the allegiance. And whoever was dumb enough to ignore Chancellor Martok's declaration fully deserved the consequences of such folly. War had been declared by House Presba and that meant that her allies would be there. With a few words into the communicator, Sirella made her orders and the Orantho turned. She also forwarded the missive to another member of the House Martok who would probably be close enough to do something about it. Worf, Sirella was sure, would be very interested.
The Klingon Judgment sped on its way to Qo'nos. Ambassador Chakotay of Universe Alpha was on his way to his newly appointed place at the capital of the Klingon Empire. He had a loyal crew, a mix of former Maquis and members of House Presba: about fifteen people all told. They would form the core of his staff, acting as body guards, assistants and, if necessary, spies. If needed they could, in emergencies, contact Commander Vah. The Kazon Commander of the Marines had transferred over to the Tor'stag and was in possession of the codes necessary to retrieve any special communications. Chakotay was a member of House Presba, but his position as an Ambassador gave him a certain amount of latitude. He did not expect to receive any commands from the House leaders that would interfere with those duties. For one thing, Miral Torres also came from Universe Alpha and for another, he had his orders from Captain Janeway, and they would supersede any that interfered with his main task of insuring the safety of Universe Alpha. Again, though, that was not going to be a problem. The safety of both Universes was also something that General Belle Torres was occupied in. She had taken on the task of ferreting out the enemies of the Klingon Empire among the Orion Syndicate. These individuals and cartels, it turned out, were also enemies of the Federation and Empire in Universe Alpha. Thus, House Presba's purpose was one. He intended to support the General's efforts as necessary. If he felt any nerves or had any reservations about the whole endeavor, he kept that information to himself. ==^== A little further away in the Beta Quadrant, Grand Judge Miral Torres went one direction with her mate, Gretchen Janeway; while her daughter, General Belle Torres along with her mate, Annika, went another. Both had duties that called them to separate endeavors, and, reluctantly, they had parted ways outside of the Bajoran sector. Miral was off to deal with another case, this time one that was much less fraught with political impact than the trials at Terok Nor. On the way, she and Gretchen would stop by a property that their daughter-in-law, T'Pel, had purchased. It was, in fact, a mirror of the Presba Estate in Universe Alpha. Miral had realized, when T'Pel handed her the portfolio, that she was going to have to hire professional help, but first she wanted to see what they had. Belle was following a lead to an Altheldu hiding place. The Altheldu had been a Cartel in alliance with the Pharaoh Cartel. They boldly
attacked Terok Nor while the Chancellor was in attendance, and so had brought down the wrath of the whole Empire upon the Orion Syndicate. The
question would be how to pursue the various arms and associated cartels of the extensive organization. It did help that those who did not share
Altheldu's point of view had broken off relations with the syndicate, but others had not. The Empire was facing split rebellious criminal
factions, and it was going to get dirty before it could get better. In the meantime, the Empire was also going to have to prepare for oncoming
threats from the Delta Quadrant. Fortunately for General Torres, she had several allies of her own to draw on. And she was now a Warlord, which gave her certain rights and abilities she did not have previously. Belle began with what she had at hand. She gave Commander Vah his own ship and then told the young Kazon her plan. She would be sending people, reliable people, who she carefully selected, to him for training. She wanted more of the skills they had, and, as Warlord, she wanted them faster than quick. Commander Vah had merely given her a grim smile and told her that if she provided the people, he would make them Marines or they would die trying. She did not mention that Klingons already had Marines of a kind. She knew what he meant. Klingon Marines did not go through an intensive team training period. It was assumed that they were warriors already when they joined and their rank was given for them to rise or fall from at the beginning. Klingons joined the force and then obeyed according to their belief in their leader and their honor. They were also trained on the go, which could result in haphazard expertise, depending on how good their leader might be. Her troops, Belle knew, were good. They were trained well and had fought the Hive to a standstill once. She could name a handful of other squads of equal merit. House Martok's forces, for instance. House Presba's Marines, however, would be more than good. They would become what others wanted to be. The marines that Vah would give her would be trained special forces. And then they would train more. They would be arrogant as Gre'thor, but they would also be effective and deadly, which was what she wanted. He gave her a timetable, and she started calling in favors and found out who really wanted to be part of her team. There were two other variables that gave Belle greater confidence. The first was her mate, Annika. The other was her mother, Miral, and Miral's mate. Annika was a genius. The miracle was that she had originally been preserved and sheltered for the potential beauty of her body. The discovery of her intelligence had come later, by accident. Luck had preserved her afterwards. A blessing of Kahless and Lukara for which Belle would be eternally grateful. She could not imagine her life without Annika. Belle could not give Annika a rank in the Klingon Marines. But she could give her a rank in House Presba's forces. She could also create a department just for her. The fact that the department was currently stationed on the Tor'stag was merely a convenient coincidence. Well, and a personal necessity. Then there was her mother and Gretchen. Her mother, a Grand Judge, had brought House Presba to the forefront of the events reshaping the Empire. Miral's innovative style, her use of Truth Seekers and her absolute dedication to Honor had charged the Empire with new energy. Miral's mate, Gretchen, had changed the Empire's opinion about what a Human could be, which was what permitted Belle to allow Annika to be more than slave on her ship. Belle's mother-in-law acted as counselor to the defendants in Miral's court cases, advocate in general, and research expert in a team of experts. She was also a phenomenal cook and when Miral had bought a new ship, Belle had lost a goodly number of people to the lure of Gretchen's cooking. Enough to fully crew Miral's ship, in fact. She had expected it, since they were the same crew-members she had originally acquired from Miral and Gretchen when they gave up the Klingon Judgment. What she hadn't expected was the sizable care package, in the form of fresh goods and two replicator storage packs, which Gretchen gave to them before they parted ways. One replicator pack was simply more food, which combined the culinary efforts of both Gretchen and Icheb. The second replicator pack was from Seven of Nine, the Mistress of House Presba. It contained the specifications of the various versions of the family uniform, including improvements for armor, secreted weapons, and other assorted items that indicated great love and consideration for her sister and her sister's mate. Gretchen had said, after a sturdy Klingon made the final delivery, "Seven wanted you to have these after they left, as a surprise. And we wanted you to know that you are well loved by all of us. Qapla, Belle and Annika Torres of House Presba. Until we meet again." ==^== Belle rolled out of the bed, disgruntled to find herself alone. She disdained her robe, and padded naked out to the main room. "Annika?" The blonde didn't move, and Belle studied her, more troubled than she was willing to admit. Last night she had woken up to find her mate standing in front of one of the windows, staring out into space. Tonight, she was seated with a book in one hand, and various parts of what looked to be the replicator strewn around her. With careful motions, Belle came to where Annika would be able to see her, and then slowly bent her knees until she could look her lover in the eyes. "Annika, Be'nal. What is wrong?" She'd noticed an increasing air of detachment creep over her mate - not constantly, at least not yet - but it was there, nonetheless. Annika let her eyes swim back into focus. When had Belle entered the room? Belle watched Annika's eyes warm from ice to azure, and noted the small smile that touched the full lips. She relaxed and let go of some of her fear, but not her worry. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be about them. "Annika?" she asked again. "I was hungry." The smile grew and became shy, and apologetic. "I did not mean to wake you, Beya." Annika leaned forward and placed a kiss on the lid of her mate's good eye. Belle waited a heartbeat and then another while the feather-light kisses were lovingly placed along her eyelid and then the edges of the scar. She loved that Annika touched her without hesitation, and with a reverence that made her feel loved more deeply than she had ever dreamed possible. She wanted to nothing to discourage that - ever. Finally, she could take no more, the fire had begun to burn, and she lifted her head to capture Annika's lips with her own. The instant the Blood fire hit, Annika felt it, felt her muscles clench in carnal delight. Her hips rocked forward and up. The book fell to the floor, forgotten for a second time as her need reduced her world to the touch and smell of Belle. She parted her legs, even as she reached forward to pull Belle closer. "Now." Belle obeyed. ==^== Miral and Gretchen bought a new ship, since the House could afford it. The Nawrya was a sleek vessel, roomy enough for a crew of ten, plus her owners and their assistants. The vessel had moderate defenses and could warp where they needed to go, but it was small enough not to draw undue attention in their travels. They headed toward the planet that mirrored the purchased one in Universe Alpha - Presba. In a way, this was the first real opportunity that Miral and Gretchen had to be alone for an extended period since their first entry into Universe Beta. Their assistants had a room of their own. Their daughters were off to the alpha-Universe. The crew was absolutely theirs, members of the House and thus loyal to a degree that few could really appreciate, and busy with running the ship. Some of them had been with them on Martok's ship early in their arrival to Universe Beta. They had not yet replaced Lwaxana and T'Pel as Truth Seekers for the court, but there were resumes to be read through and there had been several expressions of interest. But, honestly, they did not want anyone who was not a member of the House for the duty. There was a certain amount of trust that had allowed them to have such great success beforehand. The trial Miral and Gretchen would be handling was far enough away that they had time to visit both Presba and then Risa, if they wanted to. Gretchen was still having moments of laughter and often chortled about their stoic daughter-in-law T'Pel's acquirement of the pleasure planet in this Universe. They had decided to save visiting that one for last. It might need a very thorough assessment. So they had time and they had space to do what came naturally to new mates when they had such valuable commodities in abundance. One morning, early on in their journey, Miral and Gretchen were lazing about in bed. The redheaded Human was snugged up against the brunette Klingon, snoozing peacefully. Her head rested on Miral's shoulder, and she had one arm flung across the upper part of Miral's belly while her leg pinned one thigh, lying across it. They smelled of their recent carnal exploration of each other, which continued to bring a happy, contented grin to Miral's face; even as she read the legal files in her PADD. Nelav had been studiously adding to the collection, as they received more appointments and Miral wanted to stay caught up. The Klingon judicial system might be swift, but that was because they did their homework before hand. It wasn't anything in particular that set Miral off. One moment she was fine, the next she was rushing to the refresher, while her non-existent breakfast tried to hurl itself out. Gretchen lay off-kilter and suddenly awake, on her side of the bed, but at least not on the floor. She hastened up and trailed after her mate, "Miral?" The only response she received was a wretched noise associated with gastronomic unpleasantness. She asked no more unnecessary questions, but more fully entered the refresher. Gretchen ordered a wet cloth from the replicator and stepped around her mate, then knelt beside her and held back her hair. "Should we go to the med-aid bay?" Gretchen asked and then wiped the brow of her mate. Miral grimaced and shook her head. "After." "As you wish, love." Five minutes later, Miral stood up. She looked paler than normal, but otherwise healthy. There was a puzzled expression on her face, but she let herself be gently cleaned and then led out of the refresher. They dressed in modest robes, but not much else, and then Gretchen took her to the med-aid bay, which was little more than a small room on the ship with basic medical supplies and a medi-droid. Gretchen helped her mate settle on the bio-bed, and then activated the droid. "How may I be of assistance?" There was not a lot of personality in the question, but there didn't need to be. "My wife has been throwing up, but we don't know why." "Working." The droid floated to where Miral sat. It used an extensible arm and tricorder, waving it over Miral's body. Finally it paused at Miral's belly. It said, "Evaluating." Not long afterward, there was a pinging noise, and then the droid said, "Evaluatio |