Star Trek: Timelines #2 - "Crossing the Line"

[Steve]

Star Trek: Timelines
Crossing the Line
by:
Stephen Garrett Jr.


Prologue


Stellar Cartography is a complicated thing. It is easy for someone to imagine the two-dimensional nature of a planet's surface and to draw boundaries over it. Space, however, was three dimensional. It did not fit well on the two-dimensional surface maps frequently used. The Federation Interstellar Mapping Department had chosen to make such representations "top views" of the galaxy, so as to show all four galactic quadrants, and thus making the "depth" of the galaxy the Z-axis. But such 2D maps were, as one might expect, horribly inaccurate.
Just as space was 3D, so were the interstellar borders between empires. A star on one XY-plane coordinate could be in the Federation and another star on the exact same XY-plane coordinate but a few light years away on the Z-plane (below or above) could be in the Klingon Empire. Proper 3D political maps, usually represented in holographic fashion, were generally giant globs of irregular-shaped masses, each with salients into each other's space. Sometimes you could come upon a straight line or really "wall" where expansion treaties or peace treaties from a century or two centuries before had cleanly delineated lines of control. But for the most part, the lines were irregular and misshapen, testimony to the struggle for rich and wealthy planets among the empires.
The United Federation of Planets, on any map, was the largest entity. Eight thousand light years across at it's widest point (albeit one that stretched across all three dimensional planes), it encompassed millions of cubic light years. It was centric to the Alpha Quadrant and Beta Quadrant and some had already begun regarding it as a "galactic superpower" in the making. On it's Beta Quadrant side were the hearts of Klingon, Tholian, Gorn, Orion, and Romulan space. The Klingons and Romulans also had extensive Alpha Quadrant holdings, curling "under" and "over" as well as, in some areas, around Federation space respectively. The Klingon frontier finally made contact with the Ferengi and came very near to Federation space, seperated only by two small polities; the enigmatic Tamarian Nation and a coalition of human and Betazoid colonies that had declared independence from the Federation earlier in the century, the Interstellar Republic of Liberad.
The Romulans and the Ferengi shared common borders with the Cardassian Union. The Romulan border was smaller, only about twenty thousand cubic light years, while the Cardassian-Ferengi border was well over a hundred thousand cubic light years and very frequently changing due to the frequent border wars between the two powers. Cardassian space also met Federation territory, including Bajor; a thin strip of de-militarized space had been set between the two "allies", encompassing the Cardassian portion of the border. Near the other side of Cardassian space, where it met Romulan and Federation territory, was the so-called Maelstrom, where the small but highly-advanced Kessok race lived.
This side of the quadrant tended to be heavily populated with many small nations. Fifteen years ago it had been the "Hotspot of the Milky Way", as border war after border war cropped up among the locals and the newer arrivals to the region, like the Federation. The Cardassian Union, the Talarian Steadhold, the Tsen'kethi Imperium, the G'kkau Empire, the Breen Confederacy, the Danteri Empire, the Thallonian Empire, and at least half a dozen more interstellar powers had spent the last fifty to a hundred years warring with one another and the other Great Powers of the Milky Way; the Federation, the Klingons, the Romulans, and the Ferengi.
Standing at the upper level of the Strategic Operations Center at McKinley, Admirals William Leyton and Eric Pressman looked out at the map of the known galaxy with their eye on the space of the Talarians. They held a small empire, only about eighty thousand cubic light years in size and sandwhiched between the Federation, the Tsen'kethi, the Breen, and the Cardassians. Pressman was the first to speak. "Our sources on Talar have confirmed that the majority of their Assembly members and Senators are in favor of the proposed alliance. But they're not a very large majority, and the minority opposed to it have some powerful backers in the military."
"The Talarians have always been very stubborn. I think that if the Tsen'kethi hadn't made that major play for the Rathmaka Sector back in April, they still wouldn't be considering this issue seriously."
"Well, they are now. Poor bastards are sandwiched between three of the most aggressive races in that region of space. Even their defenses can't hold if two of their neighbors decide to hit them together."
"The Federation Council had that in mind when they finalized the initial terms for an alliance with Talar." Leyton walked away from the map. "They're sending out a crack diplomatic team. They want Talar allied to the Federation to keep the Breen and Tsen'kethi at bay."
"Going to be easier said than done. The Talarians are paranoid bastards."
"Yes, but that can play to our advantage." Leyton turned back to Pressman. "I've dealt with the Talarians before, Eric. They're headstrong and passionate, but they can be reasoned with. They know the Federation isn't a threat."
"They think everything is a threat, Will. You've seen the same psych reports as I have. Institutional history of paranoia and xenophobia. They're almost as bad as the Romulans."
"Races are more than psych reports from psychologists and sociologists who've never actually met the people, Eric, and you know that." Leyton walked up to Pressman; the two men were about the same height and were the same rank, preventing either from intimidating the other. "The Talarians may be defensive, but they're also an honorable people. I told you before, I've dealt with them. For God's sake, I was a military advisor on the negotiating team for the Treaty of Alpha Magnetai."
Pressman waited a few moments before he resumed speaking. "It's out of our hands anyway. The Federation is sending a negotiating team out. The President takes the situation seriously enough that he's asked me to send Adrian Parker's squadron out to escort them to the negotiations."
"Where is Enterprise, anyway?"
"She and her squadron are out in the Independent Sectors, dealing with a few G'kkau raiders." Pressman nodded. "I'll send out the new orders at high priority."
"You do that." Leyton said no more before leaving the Operations Center.


Captain's Log 18 July 2368 05:40 GST: We are en route to Deep Space Six after completing a week-long patrol of the Independent Sectors and fighting four skirmishes with G'kkau raiders. Upon arrival at DS6, we will replenish ship stores and conduct normal border patrols while awaiting orders from Starfleet.
During the duration of the operation, we destroyed nearly two-dozen G'kkau raiders of varying size and were able to end a lasting threat to this region of autonomous colonies and sovereign worlds. None of the ships in the squadron sustained lasting damage in the operation. It's my hope that we've done enough damage to the G'kkau to keep them from preyong on the Independent Sectors.
Additionally, I will note simply that the crew is coming together well and I believe this first long-term deployment will be a very successful one.

Parker looked up from his desk and to his yeoman, Petty Officer Galvarez, who was seated at her own smaller desk typing out a report to Starfleet for him. The brown-eyed mestizo girl was over twenty years Parker's junior, and just looking at her and the lovely curves of her youthful form reminded Parker of that. He supposed that if he were still an Ensign right out of the Academy, he'd have already made a move in these past two months on the sweet young woman.
Though it would have come to nothing anyway. Yeoman Galvarez had a lover back home, a law student, and she had even told Parker during one of their personal conversations she intended to leave the service by the time he graduated so that she could work with him. Until then, she spent her time working and studying, probably working for a college education after her term was up.
Parker sometimes wondered what it would be like to be that young again. Oh, he was forty-two, and that certainly wasn't too old; most of the squadron's COs were older than him. But to be right back at the start, young and looking straight into the future....
"My log is done, Miss Galvarez," he said to her. Though it was military protocol for an officer to address an enlistee and/or NCO with his or her rank as well, he considered young Rachel someone deserving of a more friendly address. "You can send it to the communications queue for transmission."
"Right away, Sir."
Parker returned to his usual work before his bridge watch. He was working on a commendation report from a department head for a member of the torpedo crew on Aft Launcher 2 when his monitor alerted him to an incoming transmission on Starfleet Command frequencies. Parker typed in his command code, noting that the message was text only so he didn't have to order Galvarez out of the room.
After reading it, Parker drew in a sigh and stood up. Galvarez looked up from her desk and asked, "Sir?"
"It's nothing, I'm just heading to the bridge." Parker walked out onto the bridge of the Enterprise. As it wasn't yet 0600, none of the senior crew were on station save Data, who had taken up a position in the command chair after Parker ordered Carter to bed upon arriving on the bridge at 0500. At communications was an Andorian Ensign, Vorka; sensors was manned by the blonde-haired Ensign Christine MacDonald, tactical by Lt. Jobrie, and the helm was in the hands of a Bolian Petty Officer 2nd Class that Parker did not recognize; he was undoubtedly training for a place in an OCS. Data stood as Parker approached and moved back to the empty chair at Ops, beside the helm. Parker eased into his command chair and looked at the empty chair beside him. In ten minutes, Razmara would arrive for her morning watch; the rest of the command crew would be on shift by 0800, while Parker would retire to his office deeper in the ship (the ready room was more of a mini-office, aptly named so that he could conduct paperwork very close to the bridge while technically on watch) and take a short watch in the squadron command bridge. "Petty Officer....?"
"Yolan, Sir," the young Bolian answered.
"Petty Officer Yolan, we will no longer be heading to DS6. Alter course to the Sigma Agalis System in Sector 202. Mister Vorka, signal the rest of the squadron with our new destination."
"Aye, Sir," Yolan replied. He began the necessary calculations for the course change while Vorka signaled the new orders to the other six ships.
Data turned in his ops chair. "Captain, why are we diverting course?"
"New orders." Parker rested his face on his right hand, resting his chin on the backs of his fingers. "Commander, I want to arrange a full meeting of the squadron staff, COs and XOs included, when we're about an hour or so from Sigma Agalis, which should be...."
"Fifteen hours, twenty-four minutes, Sir," Yolan said.
"Make it 2100 hours tonight, then. And I want to have a command staff meeting at 1900, just in time for dinner." Parker considered Data for a moment. His uniform looked a bit worn. "Mister Data, how long have you been on duty?"
"Fifty-three hours, fifty-eight minutes, Captain."
"Don't you think you need to have some time off?"
"Sir, I do not require rest. I have no difficulty with working such...."
Parker held up a hand and shook his head. "Mister Data, Starfleet regulations are very clear about mandated off-duty time. Consider yourself relieved for the next twelve hours."
Data absorbed the information quickly. Most of his prior commanders had appreciated an officer who required no rest. Parker, however, seemed to be adamant that Data have as much time off as the other officers. "Yes Captain. I will report for duty at 1800 hours." He walked off the bridge. Parker looked at the empty ops station and let his head slump back further. He was feeling tired as a result of what his orders had said.
The next week was going to be very eventful, Parker decided. And not in the good way.

[Crazedwraith]

Yay! More timelines!!
An excellant start I can't wait for the plot to unfold and develop and such.

[consequences]

*Lord Vader to Data* "I find your lack of sleep disturbing"

Keep it coming man.

[Zaia]

Oh good, you've posted it.

[Kuja]

Interesting into. Damn that PRessman's always up to something...

[Ghost Rider]

Cool...now to see where it's headed .

[The Wookiee]

This is the same Pressman from The Pegasus, right?

[Steve]

How many lights are there?
The voice echoed around Carter. It was dark and she couldn't quite see where she was. She felt cold and realized she was naked, odd for her since she never slept naked when alone (And indeed, even when she slept with a man she usually donned a nightgown after sex). Her arms were over her head and when she tried to move them, Carter found they were bound at the wrist by some invisible force. Her ankles were bound too, which she realized upon trying to lift her legs. She stared at the darkness, not capable of telling if she were laying down or standing up. A shiver went up her spine from the cold sweat coating her body.
And the voice called out again. How many lights are there?
"I don't see anything," she protested.
And then the pain returned.
It was a fire. A fire that filled her body, racing along her nerves to her spine and brain. Carter screamed as the fire consumed her from within.
How many lights are there?
It was Madred.
In agony, Carter still managed to shout in a clear voice. "You're dead! I saw you die!"
There are four lights.
And the lights appeared. Three, arranged in a triangle. She could make out Madred's silhouette in the middle of them. He moved toward her, it seemed more of a glide than a walk, and she could see the outline of his face. His expression was cold and neutral, yet so sinister. "You're dead!" Carter screamed once more.
How many lights are there?
"This can't be happening!"
And the pain grew worse. The fire exploded within Carter, spreading to all corners of her body. Every limb, every body part, burned hideously. She howled and tried desperately to break away from the invisible bonds holding her.
How many lights are there?
"You're dead!"
Madred's hand touched her cheek. His hand was cold as death. He grew close, and Carter's heart stopped from the horror of his face, the evil smile that curled on his mouth. "You're dead!" she cried from the panic and pain.
"You are mine now, Commander Carter. You can never be rescued."
How many lights are there?
"THERE ARE THREE LIGHTS!"
The darkness was gone. Carter found herself sitting up in bed. She sighed in relief; she was in her quarters. She was on the Enterprise. Madred had been dead for about two months. She looked down and saw the sweat that had covered her body. The lights in the room raised to forty percent, as she had set them for when the internal sensors detected she was awake. She looked at her chronometer and moaned irritably. It flashed "06:15". It had only been about two hours since Jobrie had relieved her. Carter had managed barely ninety minutes of sleep and was now too wound up to go back to sleep.
Consigning herself to being awake after so little sleep, Carter sat up and immediately discarded her sweaty yellow calf-length nightgown, an unrevealing garment cut just below the shoulders and neck with straps over the shoulders. She stepped into the shower and washed off the sweat. Five minutes later, she stepped back into her room with a towel draped around her, from shoulders to thigh, and looked for something to wear. Her eyes first went to her uniform, but she decided she didn't want to bother with that. She wasn't due back on duty until 1200 hours.
She looked into her drawer and pulled out a beige-colored sports bra and gym shorts. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well work out.


A dull warble filled Larrisa's quarters, the computer's idea of a "gentle' wake up call. She turned about for a minute, still a little tired, before finally slipping out of her bed. Larrisa stretched out and pushed a few locks of disheveled blonde hair out of her face. After going to the head, she stepped into the shower and washed. When she stepped out and dried off, Larrisa went toward her uniform. As she did so, she looked at the Divine Symbol resting on her nightstand, the candlestick-like shape of brass that had three points (one for each authority over an individual Edo: God, the Community, and the Family) and sighed. She had put this off long enough.
Instead of getting dressed, Larrisa went into her cabinent and pulled out six ceramic bowls and a container. She opened the container and pulled out six small eight-pedaled blue-and-white flowers within, noticing she was running low on the flowers; the sacred hydola flower that represented love to the Edo. She kneeled by her bed, directly facing the Divine Symbol, and set a flower in each bowl. She placed them in a hexagonal pattern around her; two in front of her at near-perfect forty-five degree angles, one to each side of her knees, and two behind her at near-perfect forty-five degree angles again. She reached into the nightstand and pulled out a match and, after verbally ordering the computer to disengage the fire-suppression systems, struck it to light it. She lit the wicks on the Divine Symbol first, whispering the sacred words for each Authority as she lit the respective wick, and then set fire to the flowers of the six bowls, now whispering an old prayer she had known since childhood.
When all six flowers were alight, she adopted the Dyomata Okoa, remaining on her knees and spreading her legs out as far as she could while crossing her arms over her chest - each hand touching the shoulder of the opposite side - and bowing her head with her eyes closed. For those desiring clarification in English, Dyomata was easily translated; "giving respect" was the literal translation, and in religious connotation Larrisa found it fit the word "veneration" best.
The world Okoa, however, was harder to translate. It was an old term and, despite it's simplicity, carried a great deal of weight. Larrisa, in many years of attempting to explain it in English, had finally settled for something along the lines of "a position taken in divine reverence"; she mentally translated it as posture. The Posture of Veneration was one of three that Edo adopted. One of the others was the Posture of Worship - Hytoya Okoa - which had the hands clasped together and the arms crooked at forty-five degree angles from the elbow, somewhat like kneeling and praying for Judeo-Christians.
However, her intention was not the Dyomata Okoa but the Mykaya Okoa - the Posture of Submission, symbolizing an Edo submitting oneself to God. This was a specific Okoa, used only in the Confessional Rite when an Edo confessed his or her sins and wrongdoings to God. Devout Edo did the Confessional once a day. Most tried to do it once a week. For Larrisa, however, this was the first time in three weeks she was performing Confessional (she was, after all, not very observant). Mostly because of her hate for the Mykaya Okoa.
After whispering a short prayer, Larrisa laid foreward, keeping her knees and legs still. She touched her face to the floor, making sure her head was between the two forward bowls of burning hydola and that her forehead and the bridge of her nose were making direct contact with the floor. As she moved downward she spread her arms out to make them exactly perpendicular to her body, presenting her palms downward. After completing the transition to the Mykaya Okoa she recited in Edo the Confessional Prayer, professing herself unworthy of God's love and pleading forgiveness for her "evil deeds", which she then professed.
Larrisa despised this Okoa. The others were fine, but she found the Mykaya Okoa degrading and humiliating. That, of course, was the point, because the Confessional was in itself very symbolic. The burning hydola symbolized love and respect for God, the Okoa showed one's complete submission to God, and nakedness was one's acceptance of God knowing all; one could not hide anything from God (this was common in most Rites, but not all, particularly those practiced publicly; the Edo did not look kindly upon public nudity unless it had a specific purpose in a religious rite).
After leaving Rubicun, Larrisa had researched what non-Edo scholars had discovered about her people's history and culture. She would have done so sooner, but this could only be done offworld since the Elders strictly forbade such study as being insulting to God - one was supposed to accept the Teachings and the Divination without question, which meant one did not need to do individual research of the past. She was not surprised to find that Human, Vulcan, and Trill scholars had found convincing evidence that the Mykaya Okoa was probably derived from a submissive slave-bow during the immediate pre-Divination period of Rubicun, when the Edo were ruled by a handful of God-Kings and God-Queens who had tens of thousands of slaves in their courts (in fact, according to records over 90% of the Edo population of the God-Ruler period were slaves of some sort). It was apparently used for punishment, since it was very hard to maintain and presented the back for whipping (Larrisa had seen an image of a slave whip recovered from a dig within one of the Federation enclaves on Rubicun's southern continent; because of it she realized her people used to be quite cruel, since the metal teeth in the whip blade were probably capable of ripping through an Edo's soft flesh with little trouble and were undoubtedly very painful).
Larrisa's sins were common and not very remarkable. For one thing, she was again remiss in her duties to her Community. Service in Starfleet made it quite difficult to attend the weekly Assembly Meetings of her Community; all Edo town-level Communities were complete democracies of all Edo at or above the age of 25 Edo years (about 21.5 human years) and Edo had a religious obligation to participate. For another, she had not been punctual with her weekly Rites of Reverence, a smaller ceremony involving the burning of hydola and the Dyomata Okoa.
The others were standard fare. In three weeks she had improperly invoked God something around thirty times (the equivalent of a Jew or Christian "using the Lord's name in vain") and had envied Chief Nurse Kristin Ignacian since everyone on the ship knew she was bedding the civilian officer lounge-attendant Arno Vanbeginne, whom Larrisa found to be nice and sexy; she then confessed the sin of actually being attracted to Arno, since she was gy'doma to another (gy'doma was the second-to-final phase in an Edo pairing, the equivalent of a rather tightly-held fianceè in Human consideration; next was lu'doma, the equivalent of marriage) and it was sinful to actually desire sex with someone else (as opposed to just having sex for pleasure) and to follow through on that desire. She had also failed to have sex in that time period (one of the things that most other species found hilarious was that the Teachings actually required an Edo to have sex within a certain amount of time on the grounds that it was a religious obligation to expend lu'vreyko positively) and had failed to sexually pleasure someone else. Larrisa often joked to herself and other non-Edo (or exiled Edo when she encountered them) that when God had derived those specific rules, He didn't have Starfleet service in mind for the Edo.
That fact was hammered home when Larrisa's door chime rang.
Larrisa, for her part, did not curse. Though she had not been able yet to confess to her blasphemous statement to Razmara a week ago about God, she at least had a good excuse now to get out of this annoying Mykaya Okoa. She pulled her back up and got off the floor while avoiding the bowls with the burning hydolas in them. Larrisa went over to her closet while the door chime rang once more and picked up a blue nightrobe. She pulled it on and tied it closed enough to hide her intimate parts, though one could still clearly see much of her thighs and the inner portions of her cleavage. Pushing behind her shoulders a few locks of hair that had fallen over her face and the sides of her head, Larrisa walked up to the door and tapped the open key. The door opened and she was a little surprised to find Data standing on the other side. "Commander Data, this is a surprise. Do you need something?"
"The Captain has ordered me off-duty for twelve hours. However, I find that there is very little for me to do when off-duty."
"Really? You don't read or anything?"
"I do, but I have already analyzed many diverse literary and technical works. I am capable of 'reading' a standard-sized book in a fraction of a second with only a small part of my processing capacity. In fact, I am currently analyzing the historical works of Norman Friedman, reviewing collections of data regarding the fall of the Aztec Empire so that I can compare them to the contradictory theories of 20th Century writers Victor Hanson and Jared Diamond, and using my knowledge of...."
"Data, that's really all I need to know." Larrisa stepped back from her door. "Why don't you come in?"
Data hesitated for a moment before walking in with that stiff posture that was so typical of him. Larrisa closed the door behind him and walked over to her couch. Data noticed the bowls of burning hydolas and said, "I apologize for interrupting your Confessional Rite. I can return later if you desire?"
"It's okay. In fact...." Larrisa walked past the couch and to her replicator, where she replicated a small pitcher of water. She walked over to her bed and the bowls and poured water into each, extinguishing the flames. "I'd completed most of it anyway. But I'm surprised to find you know about the Rite. I had to explain it to every roommate I ever had."
"Since finding out I would be serving with you, I have studied every known facet of Edo culture. That is why I came to speak with you. I am puzzled by the inherent contradictions of the hedonistic and pastoral Edo society. Your people place personal pleasure above all else yet seem to have a conservative society quite unlike hedonistic colonies in the Federation."
"Well, my people are not hedonists for the sake of mere physical gratification, though many people think that way of us." Larrisa got a cup of coffee from the rpelicator and went back to her couch. She sat down and brought her left leg up on her right hip, holding the cup of coffee and the small holder plate for it close to her chest. "But I'm not exactly in touch with my people, as you can tell."
"Indeed." Data walked up to the couch while Larrisa took a sip and remained standing. "My observations of your behavior do not match the data available on the Edo."
"Data, why don't you sit down? Make yourself comfortable."
Data nodded and eased into the chair to Larrisa's right. She shifted to her left and turned toward him, bringing her right foot up on the couch and stretching it out onto the arm. She pulled her robe down to obscure what showed of her inner legs. "You're right, Data, I'm not a normal Edo." A sarcastic smile crossed her face. "I'm much too smart for the Elders' tastes, actually."
"Your people do not value intelligence?"
"Of course not. My people value two things; physical health, and thus beauty and increased pleasure, and obedience." Larrisa took another sip. "I have very little personal reason to be obedient to the Elders or the Laws."
"Then why do you perform the Confessional Rite?"
"Habit." Larrisa sipped her coffee again. The taste was bland but there was no denying the effect of the caffeine. "I don't do it very often. I've done it a grand total of three times since arriving on the Enterprise."
"Ah." Data did not respond immediately; he was apparently processing more information. "You do not like your homeworld or your culture, do you?"
"To be honest, no I don't." Larrisa began to stare into her coffee for a moment, in deep thought. "Too many painful memories thanks to the Edo way of doing things, Mister Data."
"Yet, did you not enjoy the pleasure of your lifestyle?"
"I did, but that's all the more reason for me to not like it." Larrisa looked back up at him. "There's more to life than pleasure, Data. The Edo do not want to see that but I have seen it, and now I can never go back to the Edo way. All that is left for me is to prove my own personal worth." Larrisa sipped some coffee while Data waited for her to continue. "Life is not supposed to be pleasure alone, Data. Pain and struggle have their places in making someone whole."
Data seemed intrigued by that. "I have never thought of it that way. My observations of humans have always indicated a desire to be as comfortable as possible while expending little effort."
"Well, that's what it may seem like, but you need that pain and struggle to take the comfort and the pleasure in proper context, Data." Larrisa smiled softly. "Sure, doing nothing all day but lying around getting massages, playing games, or having sex might sound good to a lot of people, but I've lived that and it's, well, really boring. Living as an emotional being means experiencing everything, the good with the bad."
"I see. Intriguing." Data watched Larrisa take another drink and stood up. Her eyes followed him as Data stepped around the small coffee table between Larrisa's chairs and couch. He turned back to her. "Lieutenant, do you mind if we continue these discussions in the future? Your views on what it means to be human interest me greatly."
"Be my guest, Data. Going somewhere?"
"Yes. I will return to my quarters to process more material. I am currently writing an amateur theory on the politics of pre-World War I Earth and the potential alternate time tracks that may have occurred if the Archduke had not been assass..." He saw the annoyed look in Larrisa's eyes and stopped. "I apologize. I am trying to learn the limits to which humans accept irrelevant information."
"Go on, Data. But..." A twinkle appeared in Larrisa's eyes. "If you ever want to discuss something that's actually relevant to me, like Edo history or subspace physics, come back and we'll talk."
"Very well, I shall remember that." Data walked out the door.
Larrisa watched him go and sat there for a few moments. She giggled for a moment afterward, finding Data's nature amusing and a little charming, before finishing her coffee and taking off her robe. She walked to her dresser to pull out her under garments and uniform, checking the clock and seeing she had plenty of time to get breakfast before her morning watch began at 0800.


There was much noise in the captain's quarters on the Starship Minneapolis as she glided through space at a leisurely Warp 6 alongside Enterprise. If not for the noise-proof nature of command quarters, made in that fashion for security reasons, passing crew would hear the shouting and screaming coming from inside.
Most of that screaming was Zaharia's, actually. Berger was laying on his back with an expression of intense effort on his face and some grunts of effort coming out of his throat. His hands had a firm grasp on Zaharia's tender breasts. She was at full screech, gripped by the throes of an orgasm with her face contorted from the intense pleasure and pain one would expect from sex. Her fingers clawed at his chest. Her auburn hair was disheveled and she constantly had to brush it out of her eyesight while screaming at Berger in the heat of sex. Her volume increased as she came closer to climax.
The nature of that screaming changed when her commbadge began beeping. In fact, for the first time since her orgasm had set in, Zaharia actually spoke, screaming "GOD DAMMIT!" at the top of her lungs while reaching over Berger for the commbadge setting on his nightstand. She would have preferred throwing it against the wall at the moment, but it was too late and her finger had already pressed the internal key to trigger the internal comm device. "What!" she screamed into it while Berger, for his part, didn't relax and kept going at it.
The voice on the other end was one of her Engineer's Mates, a shy Caucasian Lieutenant who's usual stuttering wasn't helped by the violence of Zaharia's response. His tenor voice was shaky as he spoke over the com. "Commander, uh, some of the intermix, uh, ratios are a bit, um, uh, off on the, um, core. I was, uh..."
"I'll be right down! Herzela out!" Zaharia tossed the commbadge to the floor and began groaning aloud as her body demanded she divert her attention to sex. Her screaming resumed and hit a high pitch for the next several moments while she climaxed. Berger's breathing increased; he gasped for air and climaxed as well. They finished very close to one another and Berger became flaccid, allowing Zaharia to extricate herself from him. She rolled off of Berger and, much as she would've liked to cuddle with him to enjoy the afterglow, slipped off the bed and went to her discarded clothes on a nearby couch. Berger laid out on the bed and regained his breath. He didn't watch Zaharia get dressed, intent upon the ceiling while he recovered.
Finally Zaharia walked up to him with her pants already on, her fingers working at buttoning her beige uniform shirt up to her cleavage by the time he saw her. He admired the curves her plump breasts created under the uniform and smiled. "Business as usual, baby?"
She nodded in exasperation while finishing the buttoning job and checking her rank insignia, two gold pip and one black, to make sure they were on her collar properly. "Mark, this isn't working," she finally said to him while reaching for her discarded commbadge.
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is that it seems every time we're starting to really go at it, one of us gets some damned call." Zaharia walked into the nearby head and came back out with a brush, looking back while brushing her hair to give it some semblence of neatness. "I'm ready to just stop trying."
She heard his sigh from the bed. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm God damned sure."
"We could just tell Sebastian and your seconds to not disturb us," Berger pointed out while slipping out of his bed, still nude. He walked up behind her and tried to wrap his arms around her.
"For one thing, don't do that." Zaharia pulled away from him and turned around. "I don't want to get fluid on the uniform, Mark, they'll never let me live that down." She saw the hurt expression on his face and sighed. "Mark, we knew this was going to be tough when they assigned me to the Minneapolis. It's not like we're junior officer roommates who have our off times to ourselves. You're the Commander of the ship and I'm the Chief Engineer. We're technically on call 24-7, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I know." He crossed his arms.
"And we can't just tell our subordinates not to call us. This isn't some pissant merchant ship, this is a Starfleet cruiser, y'know what I mean? Now get some underwear on or get into the shower, your dick is distracting me." Zaharia allowed herself an amused grin, to try and cheer him up.
Berger obediently slipped on the pair of underwear he had been wearing before. He followed her to the door, staying to it's side so nobody on the outside could see him if it opened. "Going to come back when you're done?"
"No. I'm going to use the opportunity to crawl into the starboard nacelle accessway to replace one of the backup plasma conduits. That's why I'm not wearing my jacket. It's going to be hard enough considering...." Zaharia looked back at him. "And then at 1200, you and I are supposed to meet Martin and Kathy in Holodeck 2 to complete that module for finding the Dragon treasure, remember?"
"Oh yeah, that."
"I've got a new spell I want to try out." Zaharia's expression finally softened and she walked up to Berger, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Mark, cheer up. It's not like we actually got interrupted."
"Yeah." He planted a kiss on her lips, a gentle and sensuous one, before letting her move away and out the door. Berger sighed loudly and went toward his shower. His body felt weak from all of the pent-up energy he had released during their sex, so he washed very quickly and with a minimum of effort. After getting into a clean pair of underwear, he replicated a glass of soda before easing into the chair and bringing up his monitor. He would eventually have to eat, considering he had a four hour watch from 0800 to 1200 (he was going to have Commander Breit relieve him about ten minutes early so he had time to change into his role-playing costume for the game) which was only an hour away.
By 0725, Berger had finished looking over the things that his Yeoman Petty Officer Janice Berkowitz had left him. After signing the appropriate forms and approving all of the correspondence that was to be sent, Berger replicated a light breakfast of sausage, eggs, and bacon; it was finished by 0740, when he got into his uniform. Berger walked out of his quarters while slipping his gray-shouldered black uniform jacket on. He was in the turbolift about the time he affixed his arrowheaded commbadge onto his left breast.
Berger emerged onto the bridge of the Minneapolis. The bridge was of similar layout to the Enterprise, save the lack of a sensor station; Akira-class ships did not have the sophisticated sensors that necessitated seperating sensor operation from the rest of ship operation. The helm and operations were in front of the captain's chair, an engineering station was behind the chair, weapons were to the rear and right of the chair, and communications to the rear and left. Falon Kaeyr, the male Rigelian lieutenant who served as the ship's communications officer, turned in his seat to face Berger as he came out of the port turbolift. Berger had gotten used to Kaeyr's Vulcanoid appearance, taking care not to confuse the often emotional and quirky Falon for a Vulcan; Rigelians like Falon were superstitious to a fault. Fortunately he was an urban Rigelian from one of the offworld communities, and generally human-like in his behavior, unlike the numerology-obsessed agrarian Rigelians of Rigel V. "Captain Berger," he began, but before he could continue Berger waved him off and walked toward the center chair.
Lt. Commander Kathy Hall was seated there, overseeing the Ensigns at the helm and operations. She looked back to tactical to see her husband's number two man, Lieutenant J.G. Zak Kebron, looking over the ship's weapons. Kebron was a Brikar, a massive humanoid with a stone-like skin and extreme physical strength and durability. He was often compared to a walking mountain and scuttlebutt on the Minneapolis was that whenever he walked you could feel the vibration in the bulkheads across the entire ship. Martin had tried to talk him into joining the role-playing team a few times, stating he'd make an excellent ogre, but Kebron wasn't quite the type for light-hearted RPGing; he was rather dour and stoic in his behavior.
Berger paid the behemoth no heed while stepping up to the command chair. Kathy slipped out of it and stood to her full height, which didn't reach a hundred and seventy centimeters. She was about the same age as Zaharia but yet was very different. Kathy lacked Zaharia's sexy curves or geeky demeanor, but made up for it with a graceful beauty reliant more upon her gentle spirit and manner - not to mention her beautiful singing voice - than any physical aspect; it was no strange thing that her husband loved her so strongly. She stood at perfect attention and in her West Virginian twang informed Berger that Captain Parker was calling a meeting of the squadron COs and XOs at 2100 hours. Berger nodded and replied, "Commander, you are relieved."
"Thank you, Captain. Now to meet Martin for some dinner, we'll need plenty of energy for our adventure later today." She winked at him before turning away.
Berger eased into his seat while Kathy went to the starboard turbolift. This was where he belonged; the command chair, leading his beloved ship through the void. Berger asked for the names of the Ensigns at the helm and Ops and was quickly informed of their identities; the Kenyan-born male at Ops was Robert Pnyango and the Bolian female at the helm was Majisk Doolt. Berger turned his attention to the status screen beside him. Watch duty could be boring at times, but that was the price one paid for command.


There were disadvantages to commanding Defiant-class ships. That much Misty Greene had realized upon stepping into the gymnasium on board the Enterprise. She would have wagered good money that the largest deck on the Valiant could have fit into the gym, and she wouldn't have been too far off. The gym was, after all, built to accomodate the twelve hundred crewmembers on the Enterprise; there were more officers and senior noncoms on the Enterprise than there were crew on the Valiant, Avenger, and Great Lakes combined. And there were privileges to serving on her that one could not get on a small cramped Defiant. The gym was just one such privilege. So was the ladies' locker room.
Misty's Ops Officer, Ensign Christine Bennington, was standing half-naked beside Misty. For a moment, the twenty-three year old Kiwi looked into the nearby mirror wearing only thigh-length black jogging shorts, which reflected her muscular physique. Christine's body was well-built, an athlete's body, with minimal curving from the lack of body fat. That naturally meant that her breasts were little more than the pinkish nipples and aureolae that Misty could see out of the corner of her eye. "Breasts, bah, who needs 'em?" Christine let out a very girlish giggle and began to slip on her Starfleet-issued sports bra which was the same beige color as her service uniform. "It's so silly to see girls want those fat-filled balloons on their chests just to get laid. They're so bloody awkward."
There were times when Misty would have joined right in with the younger and less mature Christine - she could be very immature herself for a thirty-two year old woman - but currently she was not in the mood for immaturity. Misty finished pulling on her own bra and was simply looking forward to finally getting some good jogging and weight-training in. On the Valiant, the extent of her physical exercise was to jog around the habitation deck once a day, and Misty much preferred more strenuous physical exercise to keep her own impressive physique. She blocked out Christine's prattling about the strain of large breasts on the backbone, preferring to brood over the unexpected change of course. She had been looking forward to a little downtime at DS6 just to get out of that cramped little ship of her's. And she knew Jane - her XO Lt. Commander Jane April - was interesting in getting to a holodeck so her own sword-wielding skills didn't get rusty. Misty thought of Jane, who was back on the Valiant maintaining her at Warp 6 to Sigma Agalis. She had matched velocity with Enterprise perfectly, as was her custom, enabling ship-to-ship beaming to be done safely at warp.
Thanks to the subspace nature of transporter technology a ship-to-ship beam at warp was a lot like moving along a cable or a tether, this one made of energy. So long as the two ships matched velocities exactly it could be done safely. Still, it was not something Misty did often; she did it now because of her ship's physician's needling her about gaining two kilos since the start of the deployment. One of these days Misty was going to wipe that arrogant smirk off of young Julian Bashir's charming face.
Misty looked over to see Christine pulling her long auburn hair into a ponytail. Both women were only half-Caucasian, but Misty's Filipino blood wasn't quite as obvious as Christine's Maori heritage. Her auburn hair mixed strangely with her light bronze complexion and blue eyes, giving her an exotic appearance. Between her exoticness and youth, Christine was very attractive; moreso than Misty, something the older woman had admitted when the Ensign had first come aboard Valiant as one of only a dozen Academy graduates from her class to score high enough in Operations testing to qualify for Operations Officer duty on a Defiant as a first assignment.
They finished changing and did a few warmups before walking into the weight room. There were already a dozen or so men and women milling about. Some had taken machines and others were just standing around talking. "I've got a watch in three hours," Misty told Christine, "and you're on with me. Let's get our lifting over with so we can grab something from the officer's lounge."
"Yeah, something other than replicator food," Christine said with her nose curled up. "Sometimes I wish I'd just taken a posting on a larger starship."
"We all make sacrifices for jump-starting our careers," Misty commented wryly. She and Christine walked over to a bench and Christine laid back on it. "I thought age, and rank, came before beauty?"
Christine grinned widely. "I'm young and impatient, so I go first."
"How much?"
"Forty-five kilos as a starting weight is good, don't you think?"
"For a warm-up set? You only weight about fifty-five kilos," Misty pointed out. "You're not that strong."
"Watch me!"
Misty rolled her eyes and kneeled down to pick up two ten kilo barbells. She placed two ten kilos and a 2.5 kilo on each side and moved to the head of the bench to spot for Christine.
Christine managed to do the entire set, but it was rather obvious she had strained herself when she sat up and began rubbing her biceps and shoulders. "Guess I'm not as strong as I thought."
"Obviously not." Misty pulled the 2.5 bells off and then one 10kg bell on each side, replacing them with 5s. "Thirty kilos, excellent weight for warm-ups."
They switched places and Misty very easily finished the set, doing just enough effort to warm up for the heavier weights. Christine replaced her without comment and did a set on her own with just as much ease.
They raised the weight afterward. Fifty kilos was the next set they performed and it was obvious that Christine's early set had worn her down; she took longer to finish her set than Misty did. They moved up to sixty kilos next and both were sweaty by the time they finished. An invigorating but painful fire filled their muscles and they took the time to flex a little when done.
After the next set of sixty kilos, it was clear they had hit the limit - Misty was clearly strained by the tenth rep and Christine had barely managed to finish - and they stopped to rest for a bit. Misty reached into their bag and pulled out a pair of bottles filled with cold ice water. Christine poured some of her's on her forehead, letting it run over her skin down to her chest with the fluid mingling with her sweat the entire way. Misty didn't bother, opting to drink first. "Enjoying your second deployment?"
Christine finished gulping a mouthful of water and twisted the cap back on. "It's going well. But I still hate those cramped little things."
"Well, Defiants weren't built for pleasure cruises, Christy." Misty took another drink before putting her cap on. She picked up a towel and wiped the sweat off her neck. "They're small gutpunchers."
"They were also supposed to be assigned to central stations for local border patrol or fleet support," Christine added. "So why did two get slapped onto a roving squadron? We're too cramped to be out in space for weeks on end."
"Because that's what Starfleet wants. I guess they figure that the big ships of the squadron can carry enough supplies for us." Misty shrugged and wiped her hands together. "Want to get started again?"
Christine nodded and they stood up together to put weights on the bar. Her blue eyes looked in one direction and widened a bit. "Woh, she looks strong."
Misty turned her head to see what Christine was talking about. She recognized the woman about four benches over as Lt. Commander Carter. She was wearing similar clothing to Christine's, though she stood about fifteen centimeters taller. She was using a bench press machine so she didn't need a spotter. There was some exertion on her stern features when she pushed up the double-handled center-bar, hooked by a pulley to a stack of weights. The selector had been slipped into a weight labeled 80. Misty walked up and noted that despite the height difference, Carter didn't look that much stronger than them. In fact, her muscles were definitely less-defined, though she still had an athletic appearance. "Commander Carter?" Misty walked up to her as Carter brought the bar back down. "You're looking good."
"I'm not feeling good, though." She grunted and pushed the bar back up before slowly bringing them down. "Need something, Commander Greene?"
"I was just curious. Eighty kilos is a lot of weight and you don't look like the body-building type." Misty looked over at Christine, who was standing at some distance.
"Ah." Carter grunted and pushed the bar up again. She brought it back down quickly this time and sat up on the bench. Her eyes turned to Christine. "Haven't seen you around here before."
"I'm the Operations Officer on the Valiant," Christine replied in her pronounced New Zealander accent. "Ensign Christine Bennington. It's an honor to meet you, Commander."
"You look too young." Carter offered her hand and Christine accepted it. The two women squeezed hard enough to gauge each other's strength; it was a mutual iron grip that caused Carter's lips to curl into a slight smile. "Strong, though. Athlete?"
"Star player for the Academy Soccer team," Christine boasted. "I made starter for Earth's Team a couple of years ago."
"Yeah, I remember you now. You played a great game in the Federation Cup Semi-Finals. If the New Tuscans hadn't been on fire like that...." Carter's expression softened. "Earth might have brought home the Cup."
"Yeah. I was lucky, really. If the Cup hadn't been hosted on Earth, I would have had to turn down my place on the team. I'm still surprised I managed to get straight A's in my junior year."
"Ah, a regular prodigy, huh?" Carter rested her elbows on her knees. "So, come over to get some lifting in?"
"Yeah. You don't look so good, though." Misty's eyes lowered. "Having trouble sleeping?"
A phantom pain shot up Carter's spine. She could hear a whisper in her mind going There are four lights and it took a moment for her to banish the thought. "You could say that."
"The pressures of the position or something?"
Christine's question was innocent in intention, but it made Carter glare at her. "Let's see you go through two and a half days of intense torture and not have any nightmares about it."
The venom in Carter's tone caught Misty by surprise, even if it was to be expected. Christine, on the other hand, paled. "Oh my God, I didn't realize you were.... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...."
Carter raised a hand. Her expression softened once more upon seeing how badly she had rattled Christine. "It's okay, I know you didn't mean anything by it."
"So, Commander, how do you manage eighty kilos anyway? You don't look a gram over sixty-five yourself."
"Sixty eight kilos, last time I checked," Carter replied. "I lost a few pounds thanks to Madred."
"Okay, but you still don't look like you do a lot of lifting."
"Just enough to keep these." Carter flexed an arm and showed off a bicep. She did look a little strong in the arms, at least compared to the rest of her body. "If you really must know, I had some gene-engineering when I was an infant." She noticed the surprised look on their faces and frowned. "I know what's going through your mind. No, I'm not the next incarnation of Khan Noonian Singh. My parents were colonists on a high-G planet, Tangara. All of the children born on the world had to have engineering to increase the tensile strength of our muscles so that we wouldn't develop heart problems while growing up. It was only an increase of 25% over norm, not the 300% increases that Khan and his followers had. So I'm not superhuman. Believe me. You want a superhuman around here, go see Commander Razmara. She benches 140 easy."
"Oh." Misty nodded, seemingly a little impressed with Razmara's weight achievements. "It's just that, well, I thought the Federation outlawed gene-engineering?"
"They outlaw gene-engineering to a certain extent, or to improve brain capacity. My modifications were within the letters of the law. Believe me, I know this; the Tangarians fought for ten years in the Federation Courts to stop getting harrassed by the police agencies and they ruled in favor of us."
"You're rather tall for someone from a high-G world," Christine noted. "Most of the high-Gers I've met never managed to get above 175 centimeters, even the men rarely break 180."
"My parents both came from tall families." Carter smirked from amusement. "Really tall families. Should've seen my cousins, or my parents at my age. I'm the runt of the litter." She looked over at the wall. "It's about 1045 hours. Perhaps you'd like to have lunch?"
"Maybe in a little bit," Misty said. "We want to get in some exercise before 1330, since we're due back on the Valiant at fourteen hundred for a six hour watch."
"Ah. Well, talk to you later then. I need to eat something and get some stimulants for my shift at 1200." Carter stood from the bench and gently poked Christine in the ribs. "Come back sometime, kid, I'll get the green out of you."
"I'll keep it in mind." Christine gently rubbed the part of her ribcage that Carter had poked while they watched Carter walk away. "Jeez, she's hardcore."
"Yeah. Real tough. I've had those nightmares too, actually." Misty shook her head. "I read the reports of what Madred did to her. Trust me, Christy, if either of us had been there, we would probably have been singing like canaries by the second morning."
"Sir?" There was a look of horror on Christine's face.
"Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, at least on my part. I had Advanced Survival training too. Did you?"
"Um, no."
"Ah, well..." Misty's eyes suddenly grew cold. "That just means I'll have to keep you safe, wouldn't want you ending up like that poor Trill Lieutenant who got shafted to permenant shore duty."
There was some horror lingering in those sweet blue eyes of Christine's; Misty supposed the Kiwi was pondering just what it'd be like to be a prisoner of Cardassians or any other race that practiced torture and did so liberally and brutally. Christine asked, "Why did she get shafted?"
Misty shrugged. "She gave in to the torture. She's damaged goods now, Christy." The horror returned to her younger officer's face, which Misty felt strangely relieved to see. Now Christine understood the full ramifications of what was being discussed. "Well, that's enough talk for now. C'mon, Christy, time's a-wastin' and I have some working out to catch up on. Gotta keep the Abs of Steel, y'know."
Christine took a moment before nodding, and the two women went to work finding other exercises to perform.

[Steve]

This is the same Pressman from The Pegasus, right?

Yep.

[Zaia]

The story itself is excellent, Steve, as I believe I told you the first time I read this. However, I'd like to bring up the fact that it would be a lot easier to read if you used more spacing between your paragraphs--just one line would help a lot.

[Kuja]

Looks like Carter's carrying around some baggage there...not surprising, really, but maybe someone should keep an eye on her...

Loved the description of the Edo way of thinking, Steve. That was fucking beautiful.

And Data's still working on how to talk. Well, looks like he's making progress, and I certainly wish him luck.

And Zak Kebron! I loved that guy in the Starfleet Academy novels! Really cool to see him here.

All in all, no action, but great work with the characters. Keep it up, Steve-o.

[Daltonator]

Far, far too much detail IMO.

[Sarevok]

Excellent story. I like it.

[Zaia]

Far, far too much detail IMO.

Why too much?

[Col. Crackpot]

the 'too much detail' is what makes this fic not only unique, but pretty damn fantastic.

[Ghost Rider]

Only thing I can see in Dalton's statement is that Steve does enjoy detail. It's similar to Jordan's style of description.

In reading, it can make the simple far more complex and longer. It hasn't detracted from the story any, but sometimes grass is just grass is what I'm guessing Dalton's implying.

If I'm wrong I stand corrected.

[Zaia]

I don't think it's an issue of wrong or right; it's one's opinion on style.

I like Steve's attention to detail myself. Then again, when I write, I try to be pretty descriptive as well.

[Ghost Rider]

I don't think it's an issue of wrong or right; it's one's opinion on style.

I like Steve's attention to detail myself. Then again, when I write, I try to be pretty descriptive as well.

I know...I was more meaning if I was wrong in interpretating Dalton's statement.

[Zaia]

Oh, right.

Carry on, then.

[Dalton]

Only thing I can see in Dalton's statement is that Steve does enjoy detail. It's similar to Jordan's style of description.

In reading, it can make the simple far more complex and longer. It hasn't detracted from the story any, but sometimes grass is just grass is what I'm guessing Dalton's implying.

If I'm wrong I stand corrected.

This is pretty close to what I'm getting at. What the characters look like and where they're from and what their heritage is. Exactly what they're wearing down to the straps on their bras. Long, tedious descriptions of exactly what happens in this or that ritual. The precise details of the womens' workout, how much weight they lifted. Even what color their nipples are. I find a lot of it unnecessary and irrelevant and altogether distracting. Quite frankly, I had to skip over some bits.

I can appreciate detail. I can appreciate slice-of-life type stuff. But I'm a little more attuned to snappier stories that move a little faster than this, even if the plot and theme are good and there's a donut joke involving me.

[consequences]

And Zak Kebron! I loved that guy in the Starfleet Academy novels! Really cool to see him here.

Arggh! I can't believe I missed that!

[Steve]

At 1900 exactly, Parker stepped into the Observation Lounge with Data beside him. As ordered, the entire command staff was present, leaving Lieutenant Jobrie in command on the bridge. Parker's place was at the head of the table, flanked by Razmara to the right and Data to the left, with Phong across from Carter, Larrisa across from Dalke, and O'Keefe across from Hamblin. Coleman was standing away from the table, munching on a hamburger from the pile Arno had sent up at Parker's request. "Lieutenant, please sit," Parker said to him, prompting Coleman to do just that. Parker walked up to the head of the table with Data and they slipped into their seats. All eyes turned toward Parker. "I'll remind you all that what I'm about to say is currently classified by Starfleet, for the purpose of security. We are currently on course to the Sigma Agalis system, ETA two and a half hours, with orders to rendezvous with the Trailblazer and bring aboard Admiral Jean-Luc Picard with staff."
Razmara asked, "What's he doing out here?"
"It seems that Admiral Picard has been tapped by the Starfleet diplomatic corps to serve as advisor to a negotiating team heading for Pi Agalis and Starbase 592." Parker put his hands together. "Once we bring Admiral Picard and his staff aboard tonight at 2200, we will go to warp to rendezvous with the Marlia Djaloi, a Betazoid royal cruiser carrying the Federation delegation to Starbase 592."
"Starbase 592 is awfully close to Breen and Talarian space," Carter mumbled. "I'll make sure to have my people keeping a close eye on the board during our watches."
"Just what is this delegation doing out here?"
In answer to Razmara's question, Parker replied, "They are going to negotiate a new treaty of alliance with the Talarian Steadhold."
A silence briefly gripped the room. "The Talarians, sir?" O'Keefe looked skeptical. "The same people who attacked us just because we had a few extra starships on the border?"
"The one and the same," Parker responded. "The Talarians are in a tight spot diplomatically, I'm told. The Tsen'kethi very nearly took the Rathmaka Sector from them in the recent border skirmishing, and the Breen have begun building up ships and troops on their border with Talar. Starfleet Intelligence has detected a number of high-level meetings between Tsen'kethi and Breen diplomats. It is Admiral Pressman's estimate that an all-out attack on Talar is imminent."
"If Talar were to be reduced, or outright conquered, it would severely impact Federation defense plans for this entire region," Data added. "Starfleet has been able to keep a minimum presence on the Talarian border since the war. Because of this, our defensive lines in the region are not up to standard, and the border would not be secure against the Breen or the Tsen'kethi."
"Our mission," Parker began, "is to provide security for the conference. Starfleet believes it is at risk from attack, within and without."
"Attack by whom?"
"Who wouldn't?" Carter snorted in disdain at O'Keefe's question. "The Breen, the Tsen'kethi, Talarians against the alliance, Cardassian or Romulan agents trying to stir shit up...."
"Commander Carter is right. Additionally, the Enterprise's presence is meant to act as a gesture of goodwill to Talar." Parker folded his hands on the table. "The Talarians have been keeping tabs on us and are impressed by our recent operations against the G'kkau. We're invited to the opening banquet the day after we arrive, dress uniforms of course."
"Will we be docking with Starbase 592?"
"Unfortunately, no," Parker replied to Larrisa.
"It's too small," Carter added. "It's only a small sector command post, not a command center like a McKinley-type. The largest ships she can dock are Excelsior-class cruisers."
"I've been told that a transport ship from New Anatolia has been dispatched to carry all of the replacement parts and torpedoes we need," Parker assured the rest of his officers. "She'll be at Starbase 592 when we arrive. Anything else?"
Most of the questions that were asked pertained to operation during the negotiations. The general consensus was that they were on quiet lookout. Not too overt, since it might upset the Talarians - who were taking an extraordinary leap of faith on their part by agreeing to hold the negotiations in Federation space - but enough to make sure no surprises occurred. Larrisa suggested a few possibilities about using active sensors without alerting the Talarians - primarily relying on scanning mediums their technology could not access - while Coleman made noise about giving his squadron some real practice after spending most of the last month at warp. Data shared with the others the known technical data on the Talarians and Dalke, Carter, and Larrisa commented on it compared to their own. A brief layout of Talarian history and culture was also offered, as well as their political structure.
The Talarians weren't very advanced compared to their neighbors. Their military entry into the interstellar stage had been rather forced; initially holding an area larger than the current Steadhold, eighty years ago the Talarians had been subjected to a sudden and brutal attack by the expanding Breen. Five hundred million Talarians had lost their lives in the brutal struggle, many of them civilians slaughtered by genocidal Breen commanders. The Talarians had always been a martial people, but up until the Breen attack they had focused their violent tendencies inwardly in wars between the various Talarian nations, those wars kept in check only by the Steadhold's government. They immediately focused that aggression outward in a war of survival against the Breen; with great effort and loss of life the suicidal Talarian forces had stopped the Breen from attacking Talar itself, and they counterattacked enough to regain a bit of their space and thus form the modern Talar-Breen border. Since then the Talarians had been madly expanding their military. Their economy was in virtual ruins from excessive military spending, the fruits of which being a network of defensive installations, orbital weapons, underground bunkers and armories, and everything the Talarians needed to wage a defensive war of annihilation. In time of war, all adult Talarians served in the military, no matter their age or gender; in some respects they were similar to ancient Greeks.

Talarian society was patriarchal and matriarchal at the same time - mothers raised their daughters and fathers raised their sons, with very little inter-gender contact outside of the home or family-inspired social affairs. The leader of a family was typically the oldest member, with the exception for those who had lost their competence from age or disease (though this happened rarely as most Talarians committed ritual suicide upon learning of such diseases or upon realizing the onset of senility). Talarians married for political reasons and family alliances, usually; romantic love wasn't even considered in their pairings. The Talarians placed a great deal of emphasis in maintaining balance in their society in all things. Such was this drive that at one time their legislatures had between twice as large because there was a male and a female member for each seat.
The Talarian governmental system itself was republican. At it's base, the Talarians resembled the democracies of the classical Greeks, particularly Athens. Each community on Talar and in the colonies was governed by the adult population which convened in the community's Halk'Juthke - Community Assembly. These communities, in turn, elected one of their number (usually one of the senior members of a leading djak'geje - Great Family - of the community) to represent that community in the Planetary Assemblies - Palkuke'Juthke - and another member (typically a middle-aged member of a djak'geje) to be their representative in the Steadhold's Grand Assembly - Talarke'Juthke - which was the lower house of the central government on Talar.
In turn, the Planetary Assemblies governed their individual worlds, and appointed djak'jut (typically rendered into English as "Senator" or "Senators") to the upper house of the Steadhold's legislature, the Djakake'Juthke or Senate. The Senate was led by the patriarchs and matriarchs of the leading djak'geje of Talar. There were two halves of the Senate, each planet having a seat on each half; the Djakake'Mortura and the Djakake'Haltara, though for expediency the second halves of the terms were used in common conversation when one spoke in Talarian. The djak'jut of the Mortura - the "Lawgivers" - performed similar duties to the talar'jut of the Grand Assembly, by writing and proposing laws or voting on confirmation of treaties and agreements with other powers. The other half, the Haltara - the "Overseers" - held explicit veto rights and a simple majority of the Haltara could overturn legislation from both the Grand Assembly and the Mortura.

Both branches of legislature voted for the Provincial, Planetary, and Grand Juries - the judiciary of the Steadhold - and the Talarke'Torlura, which was rendered into English as the Grand Lord Protector, or more simply, the Lord Protector. The Lord Protector was typically a patriarch or matriarch of a high-ranking djak'geje on Talar and were carefully chosen based on the candidate's accomplishments, courage, virtues, wisdom, and above all else, commitment to the Law and to the defense of Talar. Notoriously ambitious family leaders never bothered applying, knowing that the Assembly and Senate would never elect them. Usually the Talarke'Torlura was an older and respected Talarian granted retirement from non-emergency military service and known for humble commitment to the preservation of the People, the Law, and the Steadhold. The Lord Protector's duties varied in peacetime and wartime. In peacetime, which the Talarians had seen precious little of these previous eight decades, the Lord Protector acted as an executive officer of the government, enforcing the laws passed by the Talarke'Juthke and Djakake'Juthke and directing government policy with their sanction.
The Lord Protector's wartime powers were vastly increased. He or she became a dictator like those found in the days of the Roman Republic on Earth; the Grand Assembly and Senate were reduced to little more than rubber stamps with only the power to make peace over the Protector's objections, and only then with an overwhelming vote. Other than that, the Lord Protector ruled supreme, censoring the Talarian press at his or her whim and commanding the military. Property could be confiscated or citizens imprisoned without trial on the authority of a seal-carrying agent of the Lord Protector. The Talarians were a very xenophobic people, after all, and to them any loss of freedom was an acceptable price to pay for survival against those who would destroy them. Would-be tyrants were kept in check by a tacit knowledge that the military would never support him or her over the Senate and Assembly; Talarians were fiercely individualistic, and without the spur of fear over aliens they would undoubtedly wage internecine wars with one another.
The digital clock on the wall, set above the brass models of prior ships named Enterprise, was flashing 20:25 when the last piece of food on the table was devoured by the staff. Parker was about to dismiss them when a call came from the nearby bridge. "Tevala to Observation Lounge," he heard Jobrie's sweet voice say, "we've got a ship on sensors. It appears to be the Trailblazer."
"Looks like a change of plans," Razmara muttered, standing up.

Parker stood up with her, as did the rest of the crew. He led them out to the bridge after calling in a pair of enlistees to begin cleaning the table. Jobrie vacated the center chair and stood to the side. Other bridge crew prepared to do the same before being waved down by their seniors. "Distance to Trailblazer, Lieutenant?"
"She's still about a few light-hours away, Captain," Jobrie answered, moving to the tactical console and slipping deftly into the seat, relieving the Benzite Petty Officer that had been seated there.
"Trailblazer is adjusting speed and course, Sir," Christine MacDonald reported from Sensors, with Larrisa standing nearby. "She looks like she's going to move in front of us.... she's dropping out of warp, Sir."
"Ensign Aoki, bring us out of warp once we're in range. Mister Vorka, signal the squadron as to that intention."
The young Japanese officer at the helm, a dark-haired girl named Yuna Aoki, responded immediately by manipulating her console. After half a minute her finger pressed the warp shutdown key and she replied, "Bringing us out of warp, Sir."
"Mister Corwin, put Trailblazer on screen."
The viewscreen flashed from open space to a view of a ship. The Trailblazer, emblazoned with the registry number NCC-79713, was a Mortan-class explorer ship. The Mortan (named after the leader of the first Andorian interstellar expedition) and her sisters - of which Trailblazer was the fifth - were a modified Miranda-class design. It resembled the Reliant-type subclasses that Parker had seen in various holovids and fleet archives, with a rollbar placed above the ship near the rear. On the Reliant-class it had a torpedo launcher pod, but on the Mortan-class it was a sophisticated sensor pod carrying an array of electronics and systems that likely rivaled the Enterprise's own sensor capability. He could see Larrisa's face light up as she looked over the ship's readouts. "Sir, maybe we can convince them to swap electronics?" Larrisa leaned over MacDonald and pressed a few buttons, calling up the Trailblazer's listing of systems on a display. "Her sublight sensors could beat our's hands down, Sir. I mean, our ECM capabilities and long-range systems are just as good, if not better, but her sublight scanners are more refined."
"She's an explorer ship, Lieutenant," Razmara reminded Larrisa. "She needs those electronics more than we do. Enterprise wasn't built to make detailed analysis' of stellar bodies and subspace phenomena."
"Doesn't mean I can't gawk, Sir," Larrisa said in cheerful reply. She and MacDonald began chatting and giggling as they compared Trailblazer's sensor loadout to their's, system by system.
Razmara looked to Parker, who slid into his seat and smirked in amusement. "Nothing wrong with a little envy, Commander," Parker said to her. "Besides, it's good to know our people enjoy their work, right?"
"Of course, Captain." Razmara sat in her seat.
"Trailblazer is hailing, Sir," Vorka said, turning his seat.
"On screen."

The man who appeared on the screen had dark hair and the rank pips of a Captain. He looked to be approaching middle age, but young enough to be in his 40s. "Enterprise, good to see you," he said. "I'm Captain Jack Crusher, Starship Trailblazer."
"Captain Adrian Parker, Starship Enterprise," Parker replied. "We didn't expect you so early."
"Yes, well, Starfleet called. We're needed in Sector 224, seems they've got some subspace anomaly popping up that's effecting warp travel and we're the closest ship with the right scanning equipment. We're going to beam Admiral Picard and his people over to you and be on our way."
"Good luck to you, Captain, and your new ship. She is new, isn't she?"
Crusher nodded. "This is her first deep space deployment, yes. We're heading for the Galactic Core for the next thirty-six months."
"Quite a long time." Parker shot an amused glance at Larrisa and MacDonald. "My sensor officers are gawking at your ship's hardware. They want to swap sensor suites."
"Ha!" Crusher chuckled. "Thanks for the compliment, but we're the ones who should be envious. That's a beautiful ship you've got there, better than our's."
"I don't know, Captain Crusher." Parker grinned out of a sense of diplomacy. "Trailblazer looks like she's a lovely ship in her own right, and I'm sure she can fly circles around the Enterprise."
Crusher looked around; apparently his bridge crew was getting a kick out of being complimented by the CO of the Federation flagship. "On behalf of my crew, I thank you. Admiral Picard is standing by to beam aboard."
"I'll meet him in our main transporter room. Enterprise out." Crusher disappeared, replaced by a view of the Trailblazer. Parker motioned for the other command crew to follow him. They filed into the main turbolift, just large enough to fit them all with some space, and went down to Deck 1 (the bridge was technically it's own deck).

On Deck 1 was Transporter Room 1, one of six in the ship and the one closest to the bridge. A Chief Petty Officer was on station, a dark-skinned Vulcan woman, who stood at attention as the command crew filed in. "Energize," Parker ordered, and her right hand gripped the lever for transporter operation and pulled it down.
Six figures materialized on the transporter pad, each holding a bag that he presumed was filled with clothes or a handful of personal effects. The lead one was mostly bald, with a half-circle of white hair around his bald head. He had a regal bearing to him, like a nobleman assessing his subordinates, and the admiral's pips to go with that attitude. Vice Admiral Jean-Luc Picard was friendly, however, when he extended his hand to Parker. "Captain Parker, it's quite a pleasure to meet you."
"Admiral Picard, welcome to the Enterprise."
"Have you assembled a meeting of your squadron's command staff yet?"
"That is scheduled at 2100 hours, Sir. We anticipated rendezvousing with Trailblazer during that meeting."
"Yes, well, plans do change. Allow me to introduce my staff." Picard brought forward a wide-shouldered man, with a trimmed black beard and hair to match. "This is my Chief of Staff, Commander William Riker."
Parker and Riker exchanged handshakes. Riker seemed to be looking at someone to Parker's left. Whether it was Razmara, Larrisa, O'Keefe, or Phong, Parker couldn't tell.
He had little chance to investigate, as Picard moved on to an auburn-haired woman wearing a uniform with a silver branch color, marking her as support personnel. Her rank insignia was that of a Senior Chief Petty Officer. "This is my personal assistant, Beverly Crusher."
"Chief," Parker said in greetings, shaking the woman's hand. "Any relation to Captain Crusher on the Trailblazer?"
"He's my husband," Beverly answered. Another woman stepped up beside him, younger and with shorter red hair. She had the rank insignia of a junior Lieutenant and was wearing the red of a command officer; Parker would estimate her to be no older than 25. "And this is my daughter Jacquelyn. Lieutenant Jacquelyn Crusher."
"Yes." Picard brought forward another young woman, a Vulcan who looked not a day over 20, at least for a human; like Jacquelyn she was a junior Lieutenant, but her uniform had the blue color of science, medical, and electronics-related officers. "And this is Lieutenant T'Dyra. Lieutenants Crusher and T'Dyra were sent along with us to join your crew. Lieutenant Crusher is on command line and is qualified for the helm, operations, and tactical; you can use her wherever you need her. Lieutenant T'Dyra was sent to replace Lieutenant Danvers" - Picard was referring to Larrisa's immediate subordinate - "who will be transferring to the Pat Tillman when we arrive at Starbase 592."

"Lieutenant Crusher, Lieutenant T'Dyra, welcome aboard." Parker studied T'Dyra's features closely. He reminded her of someone.
This left one last person. She was a dark-skinned woman, very humble in appearance with dark violet robes and a similarly-colored hat-like thing on her head. Her dark hair was long and well-kept. And while she didn't look too old, about 40, she carried herself like someone much older. "This is more of a personal advisor," Picard admitted. "And a good companion of mine. Her name is Guinan."
"Captain Parker." The woman's voice was soft and measured. She nodded respectfully and offered a hand. Parker took it and shook it carefully. "You're not as tall as the holovids make you look."
"The press is always making perceived heroes look larger than they really are."
"And you don't consider yourself a hero, Captain?" The question was softly-toned, but Parker felt like she was trying to be philosophical or something of the sort.
"I'm a Starfleet officer, ma'am, and I do my job. I take pride in my accomplishments, but I'm not going to let them get to my head."
"Very wise of you, Captain." Guinan nodded with approval at him.
Parker stepped back and introduced the rest of the command crew. While doing so, he noticed that there was an eerie resemblence between T'Dyra and Razmara. They sized each other up at their introductions and, while T'Dyra's face remained a mask of non-emotion, he could see that Razmara was wrestling with something.
However, his attention was quickly diverted back to Picard. "Admiral, I will signal for the other captains and officers to beam over immediately, we can hold the meeting now if you desire."
"It's quite alright, actually. Resume course to Starbase 592 and let the other officers beam over at the scheduled time for our meeting."
"Yes, Admiral. Commander Razmara can show you to your assigned quarters." Parker ignored Razmara's uncomfortable glance toward him. "Lieutenant Crusher, Lieutenant T'Dyra, you'll be roommates, since we've got one last junior officer room left on Deck 9. Lieutenant O'Keefe can show you to it, since he's just down the hall from you." He looked back to Picard and his entourage. "As soon as you're settled in, Sir, you can head to the Observation Lounge attached to our Bridge. The others should be there by 2100."

"Of course. See you then. Commander?" Picard looked to Razmara.
She nodded and walked to the door. "This way, Sir." She and Picard's entourage filed out. O'Keefe followed, leading T'Dyra and Jackie Crusher.
Data immediately spoke up. "Sir, my visual analysis of Lieutenant T'Dyra indicates she is a close physical match for Commander Razmara. Perhaps they are related?"
"Thank you for that observation, Data, I would have never guessed that on my own," Parker replied, trying and not succeeding to hide his sarcasm.
"Was that an honest reply, sir, or an attempt at sarcastic humor?"
"The latter, Mister Data," Parker answered.
"Ah."
"I can go check records if you want," Phong offered. "If T'Dyra is from Stovuk's family, you might want to keep her and Razmara apart."
"Maybe after I strangle the moron at Operations who assigned her here," Parker mumbled.
"It's a shame we're losing Ed Danvers," Larrisa remarked as they filed out of the room. "He's got a good eye. But it'll help his career to get boosted up to Sensor Officer. What class is the Tillman?"
"The Pat Tillman is a Saber-class starship," Data replied. "She is named after an American soldier killed in action during the final campaigns against Khan during the Eugenics Wars."
Parker rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Mister Data."
"Sir, according to my observations, you have never before made two straight remarks of false gratification from a mood of sarcasm." They filed into the turbolift again before Data resumed speaking to Parker. "I take it you are concerned about our mission?"
"Mister Data, please be quiet."
"Yes sir."


The spare quarters for Picard and his staff were on Deck 4, very near the turbolift. Razmara led them straight to the doors. "I'm afraid we only have three spare rooms, the rest of the squadron staff take up the other spare quarters," Razmara apologized.
"It's okay, Guinan and I will stay in a room," said Beverly.
Razmara nodded. "I'll have two crewmen deliver an extra bed to the room before the night is out." She stood back and let Beverly and Guinan enter the room. She led Riker and Picard further down the hall to their rooms.
Stepping up to the next door, Riker turned back. "You look like you're doing good, Commander Razmara."
"Thank you, Commander Riker," was Razmara's reply. "Find a posting yet?"
"Not yet," Riker said. "But thanks for asking." And without another word, he entered the room.
Razmara and Picard went down to the last room, the largest one. "Here is your room, Admiral. Call me or Commander Data if you have any questions. Or, if you'd like, I can assign one of the crew to you as an escort?"
"No, that will be quite fine." Picard opened the door. "You can step in if you like."
Razmara's first impulse was to refuse, but she decided to go in. Once inside, she listened to Picard confirm his voiceprint ID to the computer to register as the room's occupant. "Would you like something to drink before the meeting, Commander?"
"No thanks, Admiral." Razmara kept her arms at her side. "But I took the liberty of programming Earl Grey tea into the replicator systems when I heard you were coming."
"Ah, thank you." Picard immediately went up to the replicator set into the far wall by the bed and ordered a cup of that very tea, making sure it was hot. He took a sip of it and nodded with approval. "More taste than the replicators on the Trailblazer," he said with a small grin. "I really must congratulate the designers of these replicator systems. But I didn't call you in to discuss replicators. Come, sit down." He slipped into the leather chair besides the desk, set aside for an officer to occupy. Razmara brought over a metal chair from the small kitchen and sat in it. "Your record is quite exemplary, Commander."
"Thank you, Admiral." Razmara tried to hide the suspicion she was regarding Picard with. Riker had been her leading competitor for the XO position on the Enterprise, and Picard's friends in Operations had encouraged Pressman and Leyton to assign him and not Razmara; Leyton, however, had made it Captain Harburton's decision, and Harburton had already known Razmara as his tactical officer on the Galaxy, so he picked her. Now she was wondering if Picard was going to take advantage of Harburton's retirement - done while rumors were spreading that he and Razmara had an illicit love affair during their time on the Galaxy - to try and get Riker into her position.
"Despite your age, you qualify for a command of you own, you know," Picard remarked.
"I've heard such things."
Picard took another sip. "You're a fine young officer. It would be quite the accomplishment." He put his cup on the table. "In nine months time, the new Stargazer is going to be commissioned, the third of the Voyager line. I'd like to offer her to you."
Razmara was quite surprised that he was offering her a new ship; she'd assumed she'd be offered an older one, an Oberth at least, since it wouldn't require a promotion to Captain. "I've only just been assigned to the Enterprise, Sir."
"Yes, well, you'd have time to finish this deployment before reporting to Antares to oversee the Stargazer's final completion and shakedown cruise." Picard folded his hands together. "It would be a great opportunity, and from there you could receive promotions to larger ships. Do well enough, and you may even have your own Sovereign by the time you reach forty-five."

There was no immediate response from Razmara. The offer was... tempting. But she wasn't sure she wanted to leave the Enterprise, which was certainly a more promising posting. There was just as much a chance that Picard could be overstating his pull with Operations; if so, she'd be deprived of her post on Enterprise and find herself in operational limbo, waiting for another new posting.
But a Voyager-class starship would be a stepping stone to larger commands. The new ships were just small enough for her to get a good handle on command, with a crew of barely a hundred and fifty, while advanced enough that if she did well, her career would hit the fast track.
Picard took the last sip from his tea and placed the empty cup and saucer on the table. "Take the time to think about it. In fact, I won't be expecting your answer until Enterprise's current deployment is over in four months time." Picard stood from his chair and straightened his uniform jacket. "I believe that the briefing with the command staff will be coming soon enough. We should join Captain Parker on the bridge."
"Of course, Admiral." Razmara stood and followed Picard out. In her mind, she was still weighing the risks. She could risk losing what she has now.... and yet get so much more....
It would take a while to decide.


Picard and Riker entered the Observation Lounge behind Parker. The members of the squadron's command staff were assembled already; the twelve COs and XOs of the six other ships plus Commander Petersen, the Intrepid's Wing Command Officer, as well as the four staff officers assigned to Parker and Enterprise for the purpose of helping him run the squadron.
The lead staff officer, his Chief of Staff and an officer with extensive contacts and experience in the Diplomatic Corps, was Commander Felix di Montecuccoli. His full name was actually Felix Agostino Maria Raimundo di Montecuccoli; he was of aristocratic background, and looked the part with his rigid posture and green eyes shining with intelligence. Tall and wiry, with deep black hair that was well-combed, Felix had a Mediterrenean complexion from a life spent on estates on Italy's Tyrrhenian coast and on a family mansion on the Adriatic Sea coast of New Sicily. His left cheekbone bore a scar, possibly from fencing or some other activity, giving him the appearance of a man who had an active youth. When he spoke, it was with a slight Italian accent, though it mostly sounded like an Englishman's voice.
After he greeted Picard and Riker came the squadron's quartermaster, Lt. Cmmander Laurie Hicks. She stood at about a hundred and sixty-five centimeters with a solid build. Her round face was set with a slightly-large nose, lips of moderate thickness, and hazel-green eyes. Her shoulder-length brown hair had a trace of auburn to it.

The next man was a dark-skinned Human of African descent. Lt. Commander Joshua Williams was the squadron's tactical officer, usually advising Parker on the squadron command bridge and relaying updated target data and movement orders to the other ships and fighters of the squadron. His height was about a hundred and ninety centimeters and he had brown eyes and short-cut black hair.
The final member of the staff was the squadron's intelligence officer. Lt. Commander Kristina Ivanova was a hard-looking Russian Jewess of about a hundred and seventy centimeters height. She was solidly-built and athletic, with cold gray eyes and dark brown hair. A scar ran down the left side of her face, from her temple to her jaw, a leftover of Cardassian torture. Parker had heard her story with the others when the squadron staff had joined the ship early in June.
Kristina was the elder daughter of two Russian Jews on the colony world of New Murmansk, an arctic world in the Phi Strassman system near the Cardassian border where eighty percent of the planet was under arctic conditions, save a thin strip of the planet about ten percent on each side of the equator, which was still mostly subarctic and temperate climate. What parts of her that the planet's conditions didn't harden were toughened up by Starfleet Survival training after she passed tests and became a field agent. The scar on her face was the result of a selfless operation during the war with Cardassia where she purposely allowed herself to be taken prisoner by the Cardassians for the purpose of giving them false information; information that cost them the defense of an entire border sector when they accepted it wholeheartedly (they had little reason to doubt the words of a desperate woman broken by brutal and prolonged torture). Since then Kristina had gone into staff work and analysis, but that hadn't taken away her personal edge and she had numerous contacts in the intelligence community and, apparently, the interstellar criminal underworld.
The introductions didn't even begin, though. Riker stepped around Picard and suddenly shouted in boisterous fashion, "Eagle!"
A return shout of "Grizzly!" came from behind Parker. He turned and saw Captain Patrick Phillips from the Intrepid walk by and move to shake Riker's hand. Instead of their right hands coming together, however, they gripped each other's right wrists. "Looking good, Grizzly," Phillips said. "Staff officer gig working out?"
"Better than I feared," Riker replied with a smile. "But I still want to get out on a ship again."
"Well, if Diane ever gets a command, you'll be the first guy I look up," promised Phillips.
"Hopefully you'll have something by then, Commander Riker," Petersen suddenly spoke up, walking up to the two men. "Because he's supposed to give me the XO spot."
"Will, this is Commander Garrett Petersen, we call him Slacker, because he's the laziest sonovabitch to ever serve as a WiCO on a carrier," Phillips declared.
The three pilots laughed for a few moments, drawing amused and annoyed glances from the others. "How's Zandra and the kids, Pat?"
"Doing fine. Pat's already getting ready for his pilot's exam. God knows he's going to beat our records, Will!"

More laughter came, but before they could continue, Parker and Picard leveled annoyed looks at them and they ceased, promising silently to resume their reunion later on the Intrepid. Parker introduced Picard to the others in short order. Commander Rosaline d'Orvilliers, the XO from the Hood, was immediately recognized by Picard from her days as an engineering officer on the Stargazer, and she endured his greetings in French, which to her was horribly tainted by Picard's accent. Picard did not, however, remember Captain Marina Lenarova of the Great Lakes, also a former junior engineer from Picard's old command, and had to be reminded of his prior acquaitance with the Slavic redhead.
When everything was done, they settled in for the general briefing. A couple of Third Class Petty Officers arrived with more food from the Lounge for the new arrivals - apparently Arno was actually staying up late to cook the Pacifica Sheepbird that he had bragged about, and the cooked bird did indeed look very appetizing when it was set onto the table - while Picard began the briefing. He gave a brief layout of the political situation to the others, discussing the Talarian entourage and their likely objectives, plus the preliminary treaty terms agreed to over subspace. He also laid out the recent problems the Talarians were having with their neighbors and the likely requests for technology that would serve as the linchpin for an alliance between the Federation and the Steadhold, which Picard expressed as hopefully being the first step into Talarian admission into the Federation in a few decades.
Finally Parker asked the question he'd been waiting for. "Admiral, forgive me for asking, but why did they send you out? An Explorer Corps admiral on a diplomatic mission?"

Picard took a drink of the New Tuscan wine Arno had sent up (Felix had apparently asked for it) before replying, "Cultural reasons. The Talarians, as has been pointed out, are very insistant on balance in things. They are sending one male and one female military negotiator to the conference, as well as the daughter of their Lord Protector to lead their negotiating team. Thus the Federation has decided to match that by a negotiation team led by a woman of high social rank on Betazed, since the Family of the Lord Protector is very highly regarded one, and one male and one female admiral. Vice Admiral Connaught Rossa has been sent from her posting on Starbase 338 from her personal experiences with dealing with Talarians, and as I've met with them before during my own exploration missions, I was tapped to be the male counterpart."
"I see." Parker nodded in acceptance of Picard's explaination. "Admiral Rossa, I don't think I've met her."
"She's a very good woman. Heartbroken, though. Her only son, Connor, was killed during the Talarian offensive on Galen. His wife and infant son were listed as missing after the attack and written off as dead when the war ended." Picard folded his hands together. "Admiral Rossa overcame her grief and helped to negotiate the Treaty of Alpha Magnetai with Ambassador Spock and then-Captain Leyton. The Talarians respect her very much, and from my own experience she is a decent woman and a good officer."
There were nods; any misgivings about someone with a personal stake evaporated. "And the Betazoids we're linking up with?"
"Ambassador Lwaxana Troi is coming, accompanied by her daughter Deanna."
Most of the people in the room were astonished to see the shock on Parker's face. He stopped the glass of Tuscan wine a quarter of an inch from his lip and slowly put it back down, clearly struggling with himself. "Deanna Troi is her name?"
"Yes. A remarkable young woman. A psychiatrist in training and very lovely. She was part of the team Starfleet created for testing the idea of attaching psychologists to starships on long-term deployments to help maintain the mental health of the crew."
Parker's composure had been temporarily compromised, but he recovered quickly. He noticed, however, that some of those at the table were giving him looks. Mostly people who had heard his stories from eight years ago about romancing a beautiful young Betazoid psychologist assigned to his ship at the time, the Starship Agamemnon.
A young Betazoid named Deanna Troi.
Eight long years, and now he would finally be facing her again. Parker quite literally didn't know what he was going to do.

[consequences]

Hey, do Riker and Troi still have a history in this universe too? Or should I just wait for the brawl to erupt on the bridge to let me know?

[Ghost Rider]

Cool set up...you altverse is shaping up pretty nicely.

[phongn]

Steve, here I'm starting to agree with Rob. You have far too much exposition and it is bogging down the story. One cardinal rule of sci-fi writing is "show, but don't tell" -- and you're telling a lot more than you're showing. Consider paring down your writing. All that detail is well and good, but is it really that important?