USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

OFF: This is a backpost

ON:

<<Earth, Starfleet Academy Temporary Quarters, Day 3, 2130>>

After a meal and a bit of wandering with her parents in San Francisco, Isabel had gone back to her temporary quarters. She probably could have found a few people to catch up with, but before dinner she knew she had received some messages from Starfleet and wanted to have a chance to go through them in case there was anything important. She was hoping it was information from the Personnel department telling her they'd filled some of the vacancies on the Malinche.

She sat down at the desk with a mug of steaming hot mocha and took a sip as she logged into the terminal. The first few messages were fairly standard - updates about the repairs on the ship and some departmental reports. Isabel skimmed through them quickly; everything seemed to be going fine. The Malinche was ready whenever they got their next assignment.

Taking another sip, her finger tapped on one of the two most recent messages. 'USS Malinche Personnel Tranfers'; it sounded promising. The message opened and she read through it more thoroughly than the previous messages. They'd narrowed down the candidates for Chief Operations Officer and would have a decision tomorrow. That was good news; Derek would certainly be happy to have more than an Acting Chief in Operations to coordinate with. A new Flight Control Officer was also likely going to be assigned to the Malinche.

Isabel continued reading, noting that there were some candidates for a few other positions as well. One of the biggest surprises was that Commander Fala was going to be transferred off the Malinche. Sirak was the most likely candidate for Acting Chief until or unless a new Chief was assigned in the next few days. She frowned; Awen had been doing well on the Malinche but apparently was needed elsewhere.

Another message from Starfleet Admiralty caught her eye. It sounded like the Malinche might have a new message by the end of the week, if not before. They didn't want to go into details just yet, especially without being in person, but in theory it was a mission that wouldn't require a full crew to complete. So they said anyway.

Overall, it was good news, but Isabel would have to see for herself once the transfers went through. She'd also feel better if all the Senior Staff positions were filled before they were sent on a mission, but knew that that wasn't strictly necessary. If it was a 'routine' patrol mission or dropping someone off somewhere, it might be fine. She'd just have to wait and see.

OFF:

<< Earth: Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University: Day 4: 1111 >>

"I mean, I'm practically a hero even — a heroine. Heroic... in the line of duty."

To hear Saoirse "Elle" Quinn tell it, she should have earned a medal of valor — and not just dodged a formal reprimand for breaching the chain of command.

"Okay, that sounds good," Elle said to herself. "Wait, wait. Beyond the call of duty? Above and beyond. Even better. Okay." She was ready... maybe.

She had been practicing what she would say for too long already. And she still hadn't quite found the right words. She stood up either way. And she stood up straight, up to her reedy, full height of 6 feet and 3 inches. This sudden move drew the eye — and the interest — of several male college students nearby, but she was used to ignoring the latter kind of look. People's comments were always the same anyway. It was either going to be some way of saying Elle was freakishly tall... or cute. Sometimes both. Neither was welcome.

Because of her pale complexion, her cheeks had become visibly flushed from the stress. And her short blonde hair had become matted by the rain. When had it started to rain?

"Heroism beyond the call of duty? Yikes. Dial it down a little," Elle said to herself. "Learn something for once."

The truth was that she had learned something. In just two years as a Flight Control Officer aboard the USS New York, Elle had learned lot of things. For instance, the New York's replicators couldn't quite match the savory flavor of a "real" cheeseburger with caramelized onions, but the acoustics of the starship's off-duty lounge were quite flattering to a voice as thin as hers.

Elle had also learned that while proud Klingon crews appreciated the aid of a Federation ship, a then-nightshift helmsman like her probably shouldn't have told said Klingons they'd "definitely need help" fending off the Gorn forces that outnumbered them, nor taken it upon herself to bring the New York into position preemptively. And finally, fewer than four weeks ago, she had learned that an Ensign suddenly engaging the warp drive in a micro-jump toward a hostile ship without warning — and without waiting for clearance from her Captain — was not the wisest way to advance (or in her case, preserve) a fledgling Starfleet career. The latter lessons had been painful — obvious of course, in hindsight, but painful.

"It worked, didn't it?" Elle said aloud suddenly, as she had done during her disciplinary hearing, "We're alive, aren't we?" Today however, she was arguing only with herself.

But it was true. Despite being under heavy fire, due to Elle's "Picard Maneuver", the USS New York managed to escape the pursuit of a rogue sect of former Obsidian Order operatives. And as of one week ago, Elle herself had escaped receiving a formal letter of reprimand for her actions — thanks to the grace of one Captain Isabel Kersare, or so she heard.

Elle's hearing had been brief, in part because Captain Wright simply wanted "problematic personnel" off of his boat, and in part because Elle's review committee knew of Captain Kersare's apparent willingness to take on "hard luck" cases. The emotionally-volatile Vulcan, Setak, now served as a Science Officer aboard the USS Malinche. And now, rather than suffer formal disciplinary action, Elle would be Kersare's new Flight Control Officer. She was nervous about meeting the captain, and about thanking her without the sound of desperate relief coming through so clearly in her voice. And Elle was nervous about seeing Douglas Kinkaid again, for the same shy, childish reasons Elle had chastised herself about since they first met.

And of course, Elle was nervous to say anything at all about the past month to her mother. Eleanor Ivy Quinn had been... an involved parent, Elle might say in polite company. So involved was Eleanor in her daughter's young life, that it made sense she would have given Elle her name — though Saoirse Eleanor had tweaked her middle name enough that none of her Academy classmates thought "Elle" was short for anything. Though she was sometimes called "Hell", when they thought she couldn't hear. She eventually stopped listening to her classmates anyway, soon after her father died.

Hell. Elle laughed. Hell is right. Right now even. She hadn't slept in days. And though she had returned to Cambridge sometime ago, she'd only visited her old haunts. Just last night, Elle had performed a few songs at the dive bar where she once regularly played open-mic nights. Yet she had still sent no word of her arrival to her mother. And now... here she was outside the university gates. She had been milling about in Harvard Yard for the better part of an hour now, agonizing over how to spin her reassignment to the USS Malinche, and how to explain why she hadn't returned any of her mother's messages since the "Picard Maneuver" incident. And if she showed up like this, out of the blue, her mother's questions would be plentiful... and Elle's answers would be in short supply.

And so, as she had already begun doing weeks ago, Elle chose silence instead.

She picked up her duffel bag with one hand, and with the other, started dragging the wheeled case of her Korg keyboard away. Through the rain and through a fast-growing sea of umbrellas, without one of her own. Away and toward what she hoped would be a new and better beginning....

ON:

<<XO's Office, USS Malinche, Earth Space Dock, Day 4, 1100>>

The offices aboard the Malinche were smaller than he was accustomed to. By Akira and Luna class standards they were fairly cramped; a fact that suited him quite well. The standard decor rested neatly in one corner of the room. The otherwise bare walls were decorated only with a handful of racks that held weapons from across the galaxy. A heavy wooden desk stood in the opposite corner in front of a small view port. Two leather office chairs were placed in front of the desk directly opposite a wide throne like chair. The lighting was a muted reddish hue.

Korath sat at the desk reviewing personel files. He was sure that the Captain would tell him that he should be enjoying the shore leave offered rather than working. It was his experience that most of Starfleet thought in similar terms. Truth be told he was never good at relaxing. The computer signalled him over the comm.

[Computer to Lieutenant Commander Korath, your Eleven O'Clock Appointment has arrived.]

The door slid open, revealing Douglas Kinkaid. The slovenly appearance of shore leave had been replaced by a freshly shaved face and sharp hair cut. He pulled down on the blouse of his uniform as he entered the office and looked around, eyes skimming over desk, racks and the Klingon seated before him. Cade had never really served with a Klingon before, and certainly never had one as a superior officer. He felt a little strange - intimidated even - in the presence of the lieutenant commander.

"Sir, good morning. Lieutenant Kinkaid reporting as ordered."

"Ah Lieutenant KinKaid, Welcome to the Malinche; Please have a seat."

"Yes, sir." The human took a seat opposite the alien commander. "Thank you."

Korath picked up a P.A.D.D and scrolled down for a moment, skimming the contents. "You have had quite the career in operations. Your last Co aboard the London recommended you for a posting on the Sage I see. Your mission was boarder security along the Romulan Neutral Zone. tell me a little about that."

A smile flickered across the his face at the recognition. "Starfleet records may show border security," he corrected, "but it was a humanitarian mission as much as anything. Maybe a bit of diplomacy as well. After Hobus went supernova things were a mess in the Empire. There were people on both sides of the Neutral Zone trying to take advantage of the Romulans." He grimaced as he remembered how terrible things had been at the time. Smuggling, disease, civil war - it had been a complete disaster. "I guess that means there was a little border security going on." The smile returned. He paused, hesitating. "If you dont mind my asking, sir, how did you come to be with Starfleet?"

The Klingon blinked for a moment, not expecting the question. "That is a long story Lieutenant. The short version being that I had found myself serving on a ship whose Captain put his greed above honor. I sided with the Executive Officer to challenge the captain for command. The attempt failed. I was wounded and put in the brig and returned to Qonos. The evidence we had collected was doctored and now painted myself and the Executive Officer as the traitors. I served two years in Rura Penthe wrongly. Suffice it to say I escaped with some help. I staged my own death and returned to the home world to expose the traitor; my former captain. I instead found that he had wormed his way too deep within the council. I was forced into exile instead. I ended up joining Starfleet as hostilities with the dominion began to heat up. Despite my House's name and seat on the council restored, it seemed like for the time being could do more if i remained with Starfleet rather then returning to the Empire."

"Your file also indicates you saw a good deal of combat along the Romulan boarder. That will serve you well aboard the Malinche. It also indicates you developed a relationship of sorts with a Romulan officer, one that allowed that officer to track you to your next assignment. I trust you are no longer in contact with this ... Khir?"

Cade kept his face a mask of careful neutrality first in response to the Exo's story of betrayal and then when asked about the Romulan, Khir. That particular man had proven a thorn in his side more than once. The worst of it was, Khir wasn't purposefully troublesome. He was more like a series of accidents that befell the operations officer. The man had to think over his response before he spoke, choosing his words carefully rather than giving the Klingon the wrong idea. "Sir," he said finally, "the only willing contact I had with Khir was on assignment." The Romulan held the equivalent of Ops in the Empire. That hardly made them friends. "I have to admit, sir, he's something of a bad penny for me."

"I believe I understand, however consider yourself under orders to report any attempts to contact you from this individual; Am I clear lieutenant?" The Klingon couldn't help but see more than a few similarities between this conversation and the interview he had with Captain Kersare. "I also see you have a sister attached to Starfleet Intelligence."

"Yes, sir," Douglas replied seriously to the order. Then, with less hostility - and more pleasure - added, "Yes, sir. Angie - Angela. My older sister, sir." He'd had dinner with her the previous evening, a rare pleasure. He hesitated before asking, "Is that going to be a problem, sir?" Cade shook his head. "We dont discuss work, if that's your concern." That wasn't entirely accurate, but the work they did discuss wasn't mission related.

Korath took a long deep breath, considering his reply. The Klingon never did like intelligence in any government. Though a necessary evil, they were...a difficult group. "As long as you remember your oath to this crew and steer clear of any conflicts of interest; I see no cause for concern at this time." He set down the P. A. D. D. and clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. "Now then Lieutenant, tell me about yourself. Your hobbies and goals." It was true he could have very well looked up most of that information in the man's service record, but he preferred to get it directly from the Lieutenant himself.

Cade nodded his understanding at the Klingon's desire to keep his loyalties to the ship first and family second. He didn't think that would be a problem. He hoped that wouldn't be a problem. He couldn't imagine his sister trying to take advantage of his position aboard ship, and while it was possible her senior officers might have that idea... He shook his head.

Stretching his hand Douglas answered his superior carefully, unsure where the new line of questioning was headed. "I enjoy archery, sir. I'm on the Federation archery team and I'm a mentor for the Academy's team." He hesitated, looked around at the weapons on the walls, nodded at them, "I imagine you know how to use these?" Or was that a stereotype? "I prefer the staff." The operations officer turned back to his superior. "I play holodeck war games and," after a moment of hesitation, "electric violin." He shrugged. "I'm pretty good."

The Klingon nodded thoughtfully as Cade listed his hobbies. It wasn't as common to find a Federation Officer that put time and effort into weapons training. Korath almost beamed with pride at the Human's interest in his collection. It ranged from Vulcan Lurpa, to Jem'Hadar bladed weapons to a rare Colt single action pistol. "Everything you see on these walls I have trained in order to master. Are you a collector yourself Mr. Kinkaid? "

"No, sir." Cade frowned. "Well, not really. I have a number of bows in my collection. But not because I'm a collector. You have a Jem-Hadar weapon?" He looked around, hoping to spot it. "I've never seen one."

"The size or intent of a collection means little, as long as it is properly appreciated." Korath replied. His hand motioning to a display case containing several Jem'hadar weapons. the center display promoting a kar'takin (http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Kar%27takin) and a pair of Jem'Hadar rifles. "Indeed. I obtained these during the closing months of the War with the Dominion. Feel free." He continued, offering the man an opportunity to inspect the weapons more closely.

Cade stood and moved to inspect the weapons more closely. The rifles were of little interest to him - a gun was a gun, it seemed to him - but the kar'takin was a different story. "This..." he said, trailing off. "May I?"

"Of course."

Kinkaid bobbed his head in silent thanks, taking hold of the weapon. He studied it, hefted it carefully in his hands. It was unfamiliar in his hands; it felt terribly unbalanced to him compared to the bo with which he was more familiar. "I'm hardly a weapons expert," he admitted to his superior, returning the weapon to its place, "but this seems similar in design to Klingon weapons." He turned to Korath. "I wouldn't mind sparring some time. If you'd be interested?"

Korath studied the man inspecting the weapon's balance. "The Dominion is very good at making weapons of war. I personally prefer the Mak'leth. It provides greater flexibility in combat as you will see." Korath said with a toothy grin belaying his interest.

"Perhaps," Cade agreed with a wispy smile. He was equally unfamiliar with the Klingon weapon, though at least he'd seen one in combat once, some years prior. "I suspect my fighting style isn't terribly appropriate to either," he admitted after a further moment. He allowed his eyes to range over the alien's face as he asked, "To your mind, what is the purpose of the Mak'leth? Of any melee weapon, really."

The Klingon considered the question for several moments. There was no easy answer. Each weapon had its specific intent. Some were inherently defensive in nature, others were designed to pass an opponent's guard and strike easily. "Aside from the obvious I intent, in the eyes of my people the melee weapon is a weapon designed to see the whites of your enemy's eye. It is meant to acknowledge your opponents skill and honor and lay yourself bare so that he may see your true self in combat."

Kinkaid acknowledged this with a simple nod. The Klingon hadn't really answered his question - but that, he suspected, was because their points of view were separated so by psychology and, indeed, species. And yet in a sense the alien had answered his question. In a sense. Rather than naysay his superior, he offered his own suggestion, "I feel that a melee weapon allows..." he hesitated, "excercise. No. Not exercise. Well, not just exercise."

The human frowned, turning to inspect one of the Klingon's many weapons. It looked like a dagger of sorts, though he had no clue what it might have been called. It gave him time to organize his thoughts. Finally he shook his head. "Klingons are warriors at heart," he looked over his shoulder at Korath, "but we humans are," he hummed, searching for an appropriate word, "diplomats, I suppose you might say. You are right, I think, in saying combat reveals our true selves to one another. But I think we get there in a different way." He straightened, turning to face his xo full-on. He inclined his head. "Thank you. I couldn't have said it better myself, sir."

Korath regarded the Human for several moments. His gaze would be enough to make any seasoned officer feel uncomfortable. A grin creeping along his face. A large hand coming down on the man's shoulder. "A statement that belies more wisdom than many may think. A wise man once said there is honor in victory; any victory. Even victory over cultural fears or the hardest battle of all; victory over oneself."

OFF: JP brought to you by:

Lieutenant Douglas "Cade" Kinkaid
Chief Operations Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

and

<<Starfleet Academy, Day 4, 1400>>

After an interesting morning of running into some familiar faces at the Academy, Isabel had met up with one of her old Engineering professors for lunch. Professor Dorlan (NPC) was actually still teaching a few classes and had been glad to take some time off around lunch to meet with her. The two had caught up at a restaurant close to the Academy for nearly an hour before having to return for another class. They'd said their goodbyes over an hour ago and Isabel had gone back to her quarters to pack.

Once she arrived, though, Isabel found a message waiting for her - a few new crewmembers were arriving and she was to return to the Malinche to meet a few of them. She wasn't sure what exactly was so urgent, but orders were orders. Starfleet confirmed that the Malinche's new mission would be forthcoming, but they would have at least another two days of shoreleave first.

So, Isabel had packed her things and left her temporary quarters behind.

Isabel walked through the Academy grounds with her bag slung over her shoulder. Technically her original plan had been to meet up with her parents and go back to their home - perhaps visit her sister's place in Seville for a day. Now that would have to be postponed. Spotting her parents, she waved and approached them. "I'm afraid I need to return to my ship for a few hours. Some personnel transfers came through and apparently I need to meet with them - I can't postpone it. I'm going to catch a shuttle up to the Malinche and then I should be back this evening," she explained.

"Well...that's too bad. Duty calls though; we understand. Do you think you'll be able to join us for dinner," Adrianne asked.

Frowning, Isabel replied, "Honestly, I'm not sure. If I did, it would probably need to be a late dinner. Why don't I contact you in between meetings to let you know for sure?" Seeing her mother nod, she went on, "Alright, that's what I'll do. I need to get going for now - a shuttle's leaving soon and I'm scheduled to be on it. I'm not entirely sure why, but perhaps I'll find out. Take care, I'll see you later."

She gave her parents a smile and quick hug each, then hurried through the grounds. The Academy Spaceport wasn't that far away, but she didn't want to be late. Isabel had been a bit confused when Admiralty insisted that she take a shuttle back, but presumably they had their reasons.

She kept walking, the Spaceport in view now. The PADD she held contained the shuttle information and takeoff location for the one she was supposed to take. Isabel looked around until she spotted the correct one and made her way over. Hopefully the meetings wouldn't take very long and she could have dinner with her parents. It was hard to tell though.

<< San Francisco, Starfleet Academy Shuttlebay, Day 4, 1531 >>

"No problem," Elle said, into the ether. "I can fly anything,"

By now, the Saurian shuttlebay manager was long gone, but Elle kept talking anyway. To herself. The lizard being had already escorted their original pilot out. Elle knew they had left, but she'd put up such a confident persona that she couldn't let it drop, not now.

What Elle should have told their pilot, afterward, was that Type 7 shuttlecraft required quite a bit more "leading" when flown in Class M atmosphere. With more and more auxiliary craft like the Type 6's and Type 7's being used for intraplanetary transport, real time adjustment to their standard flight-con configuration was often necessary... or the shuttle could suddenly drift without warning, sometimes dangerously so.

Their pilot should have known that. And had he done his systems engineering courses with Elle's father, he would have known that. As soon as Elle saw the shuttle veer off course, she nearly snatched the controls away immediately. But yelling actually worked this time. For once. And so, they narrowly avoided sideswiping the Golden Gate Bridge, while in transit from the East Coast. But instead of a proper explanation, after shouting orders to correct course, all Elle managed to say to the pilot was a dismissive-sounding, "Rookie." And as the pilot had perhaps a decade in age on Elle, her comment was not much appreciated. Still, at least he wasn't her commanding officer. She'd had too much of that trouble already.

That Elle had gone from being a passenger one moment, to manning the shuttle's controls the next, was less a testament to her deft handling of the situation, than it was a sign of the Saurian shuttlebay manager's pragmatism. Elle had demonstrated knowledge of this craft, and better command of her craft. Thus, she was the pilot better suited to ferry these VIPs to Spacedock safely. After all, Elle was headed there already, and there was only one more person to pick up. Meeting this passenger in particular made Elle nervous, however. Meeting the captain who had granted her Starfleet career a new lease on life made Elle far more nervous than any aerial acrobatics ever could.

As a condition of her reassignment, Elle was to speak with her new captain personally, as soon as possible, preferably before her first official day on duty, so to ensure the Ensign understood that "casual disregard for the chain of command" would no longer be tolerated. Really, Elle suspected that Captain Wright was being spiteful in making this a requirement of her not being issued a formal letter of reprimand, in the hope that Elle would make such a terrible first impression upon the Malinche's CO, that her transfer would be nixed immediately, and that she'd be cast adrift into career limbo, with nothing to show for two years of Starfleet service. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Either way, Elle managed to keep her latest emotionally-charged theory to herself... for once.

ON:

<< San Francisco, Starfleet Academy Shuttlebay, Day 4, 1535 >>

Running flight-prep diagnostics would calm her nerves, or so she thought. As Elle cycled through standard pre-flight procedures, she cycled too through what she might say. And it still sounded awful. "Captain Kersare, thank you. Your reputation precedes you. And I assure you, I'm no charity case. I can fly anything and fly it well. No problem! Okay... it needs to be more formal. You're an officer. A professional. Okay... Captain Kersare, sir, I'm Ensign Saoirse Quinn. Thank you for this opportunity. I won't let you down! Okay... don't even introduce the possibility of letting her down, yikes."

Elle cleared her throat and sat up straighter, now fully immersed in rehearsal, "Captain Kersare, Captain Wright was wrong — about me, I mean. Haha. Okay, no levity. No laughing, and no fake laughing especially, yikes. Serious business. Straight face. Okay...."

Isabel paused just outside of the shuttle she'd been assigned to as she heard a young woman talking to...herself, it seemed. The shuttle had originally been scheduled for a bit earlier, but there'd been a delay, so she had waited. Looking down at the PADD in her hand, she noticed the name of the pilot - Ensign Saoirse Quinn. The name stood out to her as one of the new crewmembers Starfleet had wanted her to meet with. Deciding to put the woman out of her apparent overthinking, Isabel stepped in an said, "Good afternoon, Ensign...I hope I'm not interrupting..."

"Hell!" Elle yelled in surprise, her shoulders suddenly bunching at her neck. If the shuttle hadn't had an enclosed ceiling, she would have leapt clear on through into the sky. "No. Yikes, no. And not, 'Hell no', that's not, you know, not what I... meant." And then Elle recognized the dark-haired woman who had come aboard. "Oh... no," she muttered softly.

Elle stood up and at attention immediately, about a half-foot taller than her new CO. "Captain Kersare, sir! I'm Ensign Saoirse Quinn. My reputation precedes me — I mean, your reputation precedes me. You. Precedes you. Thank you for this opportunity. Thank you. I... I can fly anything."

Raising an eyebrow, Isabel simply stood and stared at the young woman for a few moments as she struggled to express her thoughts into words. When Elle finally seemed to pause in her awkward rambling, she replied to her. "No need to break something, Ensign, at ease. As far as I'm concerned you're not officially on duty yet anyway. And as a Flight Control Officer, I would hope that you could fly more or less anything," Isabel grinned.

As she moved further into the shuttle, Isabel found a seat and slipped her bag off her shoulder, letting it rest on the floor nearby. Since they'd have the entire shuttle ride to speak, she felt she could skip over her questions for now until they were underway. Glancing back at Saoirse, she said, "Are we ready to leave? I suppose you have your pre-flight checks completed, though I don't know if we're waiting for anyone else."

"No, sir. Sir, you are the VIP I am to bring to Spacedock. And all pre-flight checks are complete. I am ready — or rather we are ready, although I — I am always ready... yes. Yes, sir." Wow. It was going far worse than Elle feared it would... and yet, somehow also exactly as she expected.

"Ensign, take a deep breath and try to relax. I don't bite and at the very least I'm not out to get you. Just calm down, get clearance for us to leave, and let's be underway," Isabel suggested. For Elle's sake, and the sake of anyone who would be on the bridge or in a shuttle with her, Isabel hoped that the young woman wasn't always like this. It would be a bit nerve-rattling to constantly listen to the woman stuttering through nervous rambling.

Elle inhaled and held it for a moment, before sitting back down while exhaling slowly. She turned to face the control console. "Relaxing, Captain." Elle went about the last few remaining items, and indeed she seemed to have calmed herself quickly, "Apologies for the delay, sir. We had — um, a last minute personnel change, and I stepped in for our previous pilot, due to my closer familiarity with the Type 7's idiosyncrasies."

With everything else set, Elle hailed the Shuttlebay Tower, "Control, this is Shuttle deGrasse Tyson, requesting departure clearance, for scheduled rendezvous with USS Malinche."

"You are clear to proceed, deGrasse Tyson," came the reply, a few moments later.

Isabel settled back into her seat, glancing at the control readouts before her in her spot next to Elle. Thus far, everything looked good. She waited until they were clear of the shuttlebay before speaking again - giving the pilot time to concentrate on the task at hand. "Ms. Quinn, I suppose I'd like to start by saying a few things. First, unless you prefer otherwise, I do sometimes call my officers by their first or perhaps last names, particularly when off duty. There's no need to be nervous around me... I do know about the incident aboard the New York; everyone makes mistakes, though hopefully they learn from them. If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't have considered having you aboard the Malinche."

Captain Kersare's words felt warm. Elle's eyes flitted over to her new CO, briefly. "Thank you. Sir. That... that means a lot, Captain Kersare. And I — I'm a quick study. I won't let you down." And as Elle guided the deGrasse Tyson out of the shuttlebay, up toward Spacedock and the Malinche, she said, "And please, call me Elle."

"We're not on duty, you can call me Isabel if you'd like. Is there anything else I should know about the incident on the New York? And have you ever flown a Prometheus class ship? I realize this will be your first time serving on one," Isabel said as she watched the shuttle take off and head for space.

As Elle guided the shuttle into the upper atmosphere, she hesitated for a moment before asking, "Permission to speak freely, sir? Off duty and off the record, um, Isabel?"

Isabel raised an eyebrow, curious as to what the young woman had to say that she wanted to keep off the record. "Permission granted."

Elle took a deep breath before she spoke, "On the New York, I... I was only trying to do what I thought was right, sir. For everyone's sake, everyone's safety. There was barely time to think. And um, as you can probably tell, words and I aren't always on speaking terms." Elle let herself smile at the unintended wordplay for a moment, but her tone remained serious and sincere. Then her brow began to furrow as she continued, "I thought I was doing the right thing... but I know I should do it the right way as well."

Nodding, Isabel replied, "I understand. In the midst of a battle or difficult situation, it's not always easy. You have to make split second decisions that affect a lot of people. Perhaps what you did was the right call, perhaps not. If your Commanding Officer had given you a flight pattern to follow, then doing something else was disobeying orders if you didn't get permission first. It would have been different if you'd mentioned it ahead of time or if you were given free reign to do evasive maneuvers. With certain maneuvers, however, other departments may need to be made aware so they can keep an eye on certain systems."

Elle glanced over at Captain Kersare. "Point taken, sir," she said, trying to read and gauge any change in the woman's expression. "And no, I have yet to fly a Prometheus-class ship. At least, not a real one. Not outside of training simulations. But I did have the second-highest cumulative scores in both Strategic Operations and Starship Tactical Combat Scenarios in my graduating class. And honestly? I can't wait to be at the helm of a deep-space tactical vessel like the Malinche."

Before she knew it, Elle was geeking out. "With the increased automation and tactically-minded layout, I could fly evasive maneuvers, run relevant ship system analyses and initiate multi-vector assault mode simultaneously. And I mean, Warp Factor Nine-point-Nine-Nine? We could dust anyone that —"

Suddenly Elle realized she was getting carried away, "Not that I would without your okay, sir. Especially not without your okay — I mean, your order. Unless ordered. To do so." Elle gritted her teeth and turned to face Captain Kersare, forcing a smile as best she could.

"I would hope you would wait for my order," Isabel began. She paused a moment before asking, "Are you always this nervous?" Although Isabel had encountered some...chatty people before, Elle's nervousness seemed to go beyond that.

"No, sir. And never in the thick of things." Elle answered with conviction. The honesty was apparent in her face, in her immediate response, and in her murmured follow-up, "And it's not that I get nervous, per se. I mean, I was nervous to meet you, but something happens when I have to... talk. To explain myself. And so, I often don't. Explain, I mean. Because I can't. I can never convey things as I actually see them. It always comes out like... some kind of tragic transporter malfunction. I'd rather slingshot a starship around the sun, than say something so far removed from what I'm really thinking."

Elle looked over at Captain Kersare, "If I may be so bold... does anything in particular bother you, sir? In 14 years? I mean, the Malinche has seen a lot of action, and odd stuff at that. You've always soldiered on. And if you don't mind my saying so, it's one of the things you're known for. At least, when I was a cadet."

Isabel chuckled at Elle's mention of slingshotting a ship around the sun - something the Malinche had basically done before. Her expression grew more serious as she listened to and considered Elle's questions. "I signed up to serve Starfleet and I know the missions we do are important. Some of them seem less important than others, but they all serve a purpose. I like to help people and make a difference. Do things bother me? I suppose so. Going into a situation with little or incorrect information, being sent on a mission that's over our heads or when we're short staffed... But overall, I feel the good we can do outweighs that."

Just then, as the upper atmosphere gave way and the massive cylindrical form of Earth Spacedock loomed larger ahead, Elle thought to ask about something that had struck her as curious. "Isabel, sir... although I was required to meet with you beforehand... um, I was surprised I got the chance so soon. I mean, the Malinche's crew is still on shoreleave, no? Are we deploying early?"

As she saw Spacedock before them, Isabel glanced back over at Elle. "There are a couple things I needed to take care of today on the ship and Starfleet insisted I take a shuttle - I presume they planned on us coming here together. But yes, the crew is still on shoreleave...which you're welcome to partake of as well, actually. I've not received any orders yet, but once I do the crew will be recalled back to the ship."

Elle nodded, pursing her lips. "Thank you, sir. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather get situated aboard." She gazed out at Spacedock, looking for the Malinche... and the promise it held. "My family and I have already had decades of strange, strained conversation. I never knew what to say anyway... even when I did."

"Of course," Isabel replied, nodding. "Someone from Operations should be able to tell you which quarters are yours and you can get settled in. I'll only be here a few hours or so before I return to Earth, but if you need anything, feel free to contact me or one of the other Senior officers."

OFF:

Joint Post by

Captain Isabel Kersare
Commanding Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

and

<<USS Malinche, Deck One, Day 4, 1658>>

Cade stopped before the entry to the captain's Ready Room. He pulled down on his blouse, straightening out the few wrinkles that had formed on his ride up the turbolift. Once meeting the captain would have made him nervous. That was a long time ago, before he'd served as Ops for starships and outposts. Even so he felt his nerves tingle - not with nervousness but excitement. A new mission, a new adventure.

Pressing the chime on the Ready Room he stood by, waiting for Kersare to answer. He'd spent a great deal of time researching both the ship and her crew. The one thing he hadn't been able to research however, was the way in which others aboard ship would react to him. He was no psychologist. Guesswork based on their profiles was well beyond him. Experience made suggestions but little else. He would have to-

The door slid open, revealing the Ready Room and the captain within. It caught him by surprise and for a moment he offered her a stupid, flat stare. He finally caught himself and pulled himself together. Wonderful first impression. "Captain. Lieutenant Douglas Kinkaid reporting for duty."

Isabel looked up as the Ready Room door slid open. Frowning slightly, she looked at the man standing before her. She'd been briefed earlier in the day that the new Chief Operations Officer would be arriving and so she'd decided to return to the ship for a few hours to take care of a bit of paperwork while she waited. "Hello Lieutenant, welcome aboard," she answered.

"Thank you, ma'am." He stepped into the room, allowing the door to close behind him with a breath. He set himself a relaxed stance.

"Most people would ring the chime and wait for permission to enter rather than just walk in," Isabel pointed out to him. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when someone had simply barged into her Ready Room. It was certainly one way to make an impression. "In any event, why don't you have a seat?"

Cade was taken aback by the captain's words. He suppressed the desire to show a reaction; that wouldn't have been professional. Instead he simply nodded and moved to take a seat opposite the desk. Great first impression, Douglas. Fantastic.

Isabel slid a PADD over to herself and slid her finger across the screen. On it was Douglas Kinkaid's service record, among other things. Obviously he was there with her, but it was nice to have something to reference. She offered him a brief smile, "I see you've held the Chief Operations Officer position for a few years now... Not on a Prometheus class though. How familiar are you with the class?"

"I've studied her specs. But you're right, I've never served on a Prometheus." Cade inclined his head slightly in silent admission that she had the right of it. "I look forward to getting to know her better, however."

Nodding, Isabel replied, "Due to MVAM, the Prometheus has several...unique challenges to her. Our Chief Engineer and Second Officer would be a good person to touch base with regarding the class. He's served here a couple years now and is quite familiar with the design. I don't suppose you've met him yet?"

Cade shook his head. "I met Lieutenant Commander Korath this morning." So far as he knew the rest of the senior staff was down the well or at least on shore leave and uninterested in the new Ops for the moment.

"Ah yes, our new Executive Officer." Although Isabel could have gone through Douglas' service record line by line asking him about any number of things, she wasn't particularly keen to do so. Starfleet had chosen to assign him to the Malinche and they didn't generally assign someone who was ill-suited to the job. "Is there anything you feel I should know about you or your previous service record?"

That was an interesting question, and it gave Douglas pause. How could he answer that? He'd been serving the Federation for half his life. Distilling it down to 'anything she should know' seemed... reckless? Maybe. Impossible certainly. And yet, she wanted what she should know. Finally, he shook his head. "I've been in Ops my entire adult life." He could have added so many things - how he had served aboard the Hernandez, had volunteered for service along the Romulan border after Hobus... The officer shook his head.

"That's a rather open-ended question, ma'am." He frowned. "If you're asking if there are any secrets lurking in my background, no. If you're asking if I've done anything-" he shrugged, indicating the PADD on her desk with a nod, "I feel my record speaks for itself."

Isabel smiled, "It's not a trick question, Lieutenant, and I know I can always look through your service record again. I also know that certain events will stand out to different people. I'm curious as to what's important to you, as a person - either about yourself or your service in Starfleet. There's a difference between reading facts and hearing someone talk about themselves and their experiences."

Kinkaid nodded his understanding. That made sense. Nonetheless, he had to think about his answer before he made it. When he finally did, he did so carefully. "As you know, my last few years have been spent aboard Outpost 8013. It was-" he stopped, searching for the appropriate words. "It was interesting at times." He smiled. "But it wasn't really my cup of tea, so to speak. My first position aboard the Hernandez was much more... more me, I suppose you might say."

Cade considered that statement, finally nodding to reaffirm it in his own mind. "But what really stood out for me? That was my time aboard the USS Sage, ma'am." He paused long enough to shift in his seat, crossing his legs to make himself more comfortable. "Serving the Federation is a wonderful experience on its own, but I felt- I felt good helping people who needed it. I mean, in the small way I could." Cade lifted a hand as if to say, And that carries it.

Listening to her new Chief Operations Officer speak about his previous assignments, Isabel felt she gained a bit more insight into him. She nodded slowly and said, "I think I understand. I can't guarantee that all of our missions will be like your time on the Sage, but I have a feeling at least some will. We tend to get a variety of missions. Do you have any questions for me about serving on the Malinche, or anything?"

Grateful for her reassurance, Douglas nodded. "Thank you, Captain. And I do have a question or two, ma'am. A bit of background on myself might be in order. To set the stage, so to speak." He paused, eyes wandering over her office as he tried to figure out where to begin. "I think..." he hesitated. "Starfleet has always been about exploration, about seeing what's just past the next star. The methods used may have changed - the blind groping of the first years of human exploration, the two-fisted diplomacy of Kirk's era, and the thoughtful tact of the mid-24th century. In recent years I feel we've become a much more... military organization than we were ever meant to be." He was silent, thoughtful for a moment before he finally shook his head. "I suppose my question is, which of those is your philosophy?"

"Of the options you've given, I suppose 'thoughtful tact' is closer to what I believe in. I like to have the facts and then act on them. I wouldn't simply start firing on another vessel or authorize hostile action, but at the same time I have a responsibility for the safety of my crew. So, for example, if an unknown vessel showed up on scans I would try to find out more about it, but would likely also raise shields to err on the side of caution," Isabel answered. The answer came naturally to her; she didn't really have to stop and think about it first. "Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely." The response was unthinking, immediate. It was his own preference as well. Cade shook his head. "I think ultimately that's the answer to any question I may have, ma'am." He smiled. "I think we will make a good team, Captain, and I look forward to serving with you."

Isabel smiled, "I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant. If you have any other questions or need anything else, feel free to contact myself or one of the command staff. I'd also suggest you touch base with Lieutenant Commander Tournneau, our Chief Engineer I spoke of; I'm sure he'd be happy to help you get acquainted with the Prometheus class. Good luck settling in."

OFF: JP brought to you by:

Lieutenant Douglas "Cade" Kinkaid
Chief Operations Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

and

<<Shuttlecraft Borealis, Drydock 43-1, Low Earth Orbit -- Shoreleave Day 04 -- 2105 Hours>>

The tours of the newly refit SS Srivastava had concluded, and the guests from the memorial service had departed. The service bay now empty, Derek, his family (PNPCs), and Viradia (PNPC) made their way back to the Tournneaus’ private shuttle, which was still berthed to the drydock.

Derek settled in to one of the large blue couches in the rear compartment. Viradia came and sat next to him. She smiled sympathetically at him and patted his shoulder lightly. Derek returned the smile. He looked out of the large floor-length windows at the cruiser-turned-freighter, new paint gleaming in the sun’s light.

“All right, we’re cleared for departure,” Andres called over the intercom. “Everyone secured back there?”

Derek’s sister, Adelaide, responded. “Yes, ready to depart.”

Several large clunks were heard as the shuttle decoupled from the docking port. It maneuvered away from the drydock, and headed down for the planet.

“So, Derek, Viradia - any ideas on where to eat?” Derek’s mother asked.

Derek shook himself from his thoughts. Now that she had mentioned it, he noticed he was rather hungry. “I don’t know - oh - a steak sounds good. I mean, a real steak. The replicators can’t quite get protein quite right, and I’ve been aboard ship for two years, so --”

“Say no more,” Rachel interrupted, “I know just the place.”

<<Braga’s Steakhouse, Seattle -- 2130 Hours>>

The Tournneaus and their blue guest were seated at a large, round table, giving their orders to a waiter. The table was on an outdoor terrace overlooking Elliot Bay from the south side. The Seattle skyline, including the Space Needle and the Kerry Park residence of the Tournneaus, stretched out before them to the north in the misty distance.

The weather had made a turn for the usual - light, misty rain - but the diners were shielded from the elements by a very light forcefield. The water sizzled softly into steam several meters above their heads.

As the waiter returned to the kitchen with their orders, Derek turned to Viradia.

“I think you’ll find the Thai steak to your liking - it’s almost too hot for me, so you’ll barely break a sweat.”

“Oh, yes, I’m glad they have an Asian option - I don’t know how I would have survived my Academy days without the good General Tso looking after me.”

The others at the table chuckled softly. The sommelier and another waiter came to the table and poured a glass of Malbec for each of the patrons. Andres tapped his glass lightly with a knife and raised his glass; the others did the same - including Viradia, albeit haltingly as she mimicked the practiced habits of those around her.

“To our dearly departed,” Andres intoned, “and -” he added, looking at Viradia, “to new friends.”

“To new friends!” The rest of the Tournneaus responded as they raised their glasses to their lips. Viradia nodded and smiled in appreciation.

=^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^=

The waitstaff brought out the entrees and cleared away the plates from the first and second courses. As Viradia was served, she inhaled the particularly fragrant steam coming off of her plate. The scent was fiery with hints of fruit. To most humans, its spiciness would be on the upper end of what would be considered tolerable; but to Viradia it was simply a pleasant flavor and mild heat.

As she was about to set into eating it, she looked down at the plethora of cutlery at her disposal. She looked up at the Tournneaus. The parents and siblings were eating, and lost in a conversation. She looked at Derek, seated next to her. He was listening to them, but was sitting back and sipping more wine from his glass.

“Hey, Derek,” she whispered as she leaned over to his side.

Derek took his attention away from his sister and looked over to Viradia. “Hmm?”

“Umm...which fork do I use now?”

Derek started to smile, but saw that Viradia’s expression was quite tense. “The big one, in the middle.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, “I’ve never eaten somewhere quite so formal before on Earth.”

Derek felt chagrined for the second time that evening. “Don’t worry, most people born on this planet don’t know which one to use. I’m sorry, V - I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable - “

“No, not at all. I am enjoying it - it’s just different is all.” She looked out at the skyline, occluded by the mist. “Although, this looks very much like home.”

Derek’s gaze followed hers to the city. “It’s a bit surreal, isn’t it? Here we are, in the center of civilization, dining well - and in a day we’re going to be back to the grind, possibly in danger, going where few or none have gone before?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Viradia agreed, “but it nice to have these moments to enjoy life, be a ‘normal’ person.” She took a drink from her glass as she continued watching the city. After a few minutes, she reached over and took Derek’s hand in hers. “Hey, Derek - thank you.”

Derek squeezed her fingers and smiled warmly at her. “I should be thanking you - I know today has been pretty heavy.”

“I suppose that’s my point - you’re finally letting me in to this part of your life - your family, the service, tonight - it’s a side of you that I’ve only seen from a distance until now. I know it’s a difficult area for you, so I just want to thank you for trusting me enough to share in it.”

“Well, you’re the only one I would trust with it.” He squeezed her hand once more, and then released it, pointing to the plate in front of her. “Hey, you’d better start in on that before it gets cold.”

Viradia smirked and shook her head at him. “Yes, with this fork, right?”

“Précisément.”

OFF

Lieutenant Viradia Beladd (PNPC)
Assistant Chief Engineering Officer,
USS Malinche, NCC-38997-A

Adelaide Tournneau (PNPC)
Chief Financial Officer,
Tournneau Trading Co.

Rachel Tournneau (PNPC)
President,
Tournneau Trading Co.

Andres Tournneau (PNPC)
Director,
Earth Climate Control, North/Central America

John Tournneau (PNPC)
Chief Engineer,
Tournneau Astromech Industries

and

ON:

<< USS Malinche, Deck 4, Section Alpha, Ensign Quinn's Quarters, Day 4, 2332 >>

Elle ran recklessly down Massachusetts Avenue with tears streaming down her face, as she had done so often before. She was already past the Brattle Theatre, and along cobblestone side streets. She was nearly home.

Sometimes she saw herself in her Starfleet uniform. Sometimes she wore her cadet's attire. Sometimes, she appeared in the "antique retro" phase of her teenage years, wearing her familiar fraying blue hoodie, denim jeans and canvas sneakers, with that asymmetrical side-shave haircut she knew was briefly en vogue back in the early 21st century. And at times, Elle even saw her grade school self, the weight of her comically-large backpack not impeding her panicked run home in the slightest. Each time however, the nightmare ended the same way. She never reached her family home in time. Not in time to see her father put into an ambulance, nor airlifted away. Never in time to hear her father, Clancy Quinn, starship designer and engineer, pronounced dead at the scene.

Elle awoke awash in sweat. She was already sitting bolt upright. Her heart was racing. She was still wearing her street clothes, but they were soaked. It had been some time since she'd last had that dream. She didn't even realize she'd fallen asleep. Elle checked her quarters' chronometer. Only thirty-one minutes. Her shoulders sank. She'd barely slept a half-hour. What a good omen for her first day aboard.

Collapsing into bed, completely spent, was the only way she had been able to sleep at all for the past year, ever since her move from nightshift duties to regular "normal person" hours. And the circumstances of her transfer to the Malinche had been tense throughout — and so she remained awake, painfully awake the entire time. Her meeting with Captain Kersare had not quite gone as expected, and so once they arrived on the Malinche, Elle had taken great pains to be discreet. She quietly found her quarters and sat in the dark for a few moments before — miraculously — falling asleep.

And now here was, wide awake yet again. She needed to rest desperately. Elle had to exhaust herself somehow....


<< Deck 9, Holodeck 1, Day 4, 2354 >>

Elle entered the grid, already weary. She closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep right here... but her brain raged restlessly still, a million nebulous worries firing brightly inside her head, painful problems for which she had no salve.

She cleared her throat and spoke aloud for the first time since the morning, "Computer, if accessible, load whatever combat-training program on file is deemed most physically-strenuous."


<< First Officer's Quarters >>

Korath stood from his desk. His Quarters filled, resonating with the sound of Gav'ot toh'va, one of his favorite Opera. It however was doing little to ease the tension he was under the last few days. "Computer end playback." He called out with a large sigh. Walking over he took down an ancient bat'leth and regarded it with appreciation for several moments before turning and walking out into the corridor toward the Turbo lift. "Deck 9."


<< Deck 9, Holodeck 1 >>

The Klingon raised a hand to the LCARS terminal. "Computer, Access my personal files and load the Battle of Qam'Chee."

[That program is already running] the computer replied.

Korath tapped a few sequences into the terminal, he did not recognize the access code used to access the holodeck; nor did he think anyone would have noticed his personal files so soon after coming aboard. Most were still planet side. "Computer, I wish to access this program, open the doors." As the computer complied with the orders, Korath walked into the great hall of the High Council on Qo'noS. From there he could hear the pitched battle raging outside. He could feel his heart beat as he listened to the sounds of battle. This was the battle where Kahless and his beloved Lukara faced down 500 of Molor's troops and forged the Klingon empire.

"Oh," Elle said softly to herself, as the great hall's walls and high ceilings took shape around and above, its chandeliers shaking slightly at the violence she suddenly found herself surrounded by. Vertical slivers of light peeked through heavy gray stone that bore bas-relief designs of some kind. The light's red hue matched the blood that was already spilled at her feet. Faint blue moonlight filtered through the gratings overhead — light that fell on fallen bodies clad in gray and black... the bodies of Klingon warriors.

"Oh my," Elle continued quietly, as she got into a ready stance. She could hear the rumble of great — certainly far greater — numbers outside, pressing in. Soldiers in matching uniform pushed by her. They were members of the garrison tasked with defending this stronghold no doubt — but why they were fleeing?

An enormous curved, multi-pronged blade clattered onto the floor a few feet away, abandoned. Elle had excelled in close-quarters combat, but a meter-and-a-half instrument of death like this? Like a... a Bat'leth, that was it. That was another story. What had she gotten herself into?

The doors to the great hall blew open and a flood of warriors rushed forward, bellowing war cries. A tall figure from behind her ran forward and brought his blade to meet the lead warriors with a wide grin. The mysterious figure dispatched half a dozen Klingons before turning to regard Quinn. "I would suggest you pick the Bat'leth up and fight!" he growled.

As the massive form barrelled by Elle — and through several oncoming attackers, she dove for the Bat'leth, seizing the weapon in time to parry a series of strikes from a seething, hostile sea. Staggering slightly, but managing to hold her ground and keep her footing, Elle risked a sideways glance at the towering seven-foot figure that now battled beside her. She recognized him from the personnel files she'd sleeplessly scrutinized before coming aboard. It was the Malinche's XO, Lieutenant Commander Korath. And now, they were both fighting a horde some hundreds strong. And so, with regained composure and renewed vigor, Elle fought.

"Fight the Power," she said absentmindedly, between grunts, as she swung the blade more aggressively now. "Politically-charged rap song released on Earth in the late 20th century, composed and performed by popular but controversial hip-hop group, Public Enemy."

Korath ducked under an advancing warrior and used his shoulder to throw the warrior as he stood again. He swung around and buried his blade into the warriors chest. He turned and faced the Ensign for a moment, a look of confusion on his face. "I do not know what this 'RAP' is, but the quote is most appropriate."

Elle smiled — through a grimace somehow, as she locked blades with an attacker long enough for her to kick the holographic Klingon's kneecap. As his leg buckled beneath him, Elle bought her own blade down forcefully, saying to Korath, "You might like it. I do." She dodged another attack as it went wide to one side of her, "Rap has a way with words. And I have trouble. With words." Then Elle elbowed the warrior whose strike she'd just evaded. "It's a kind of poetry, I'd say, but set to music."

Suddenly, Elle herself took an elbow to her back! She staggered forward, but stayed on her feet, swinging the antler-shaped Bat'leth behind her wildly, in retaliation. "Commander Korath, did you win this battle?"

Korath had his own problems. A pair of Molor's troops had cornered him while a third kept him tied up. he shoved the third off with a loud roar; beckoning the three warriors to advance. "No! The best I could manage was defeating 488 warriors," he replied as he cut down two of the three advancing troops. "And perhaps I will sample some. There is little that will compare to the Opera produced on Qo'noS. The songs sung of this battle are among the most vivid."

"Ah," Elle said, through gritted teeth as she was pushed back-to-back with Koroth, "My mother spoke well of Klingon Opera during my music lessons." She threw a punch that landed, but the encroaching tide of warriors seemed endless... and that was suddenly a very familiar feeling for Elle. "I wish I had paid more attention now," she said softly.

It seemed to be a historical bloodbath... but weren't they always? We can win, Elle thought to herself — or rather, we can find the solution. Wasn't that, at least in part, why Starfleet kept searching? Exploring. To find an answer?

In her preparation for meeting with Captain Kersare, Elle noted that there had been a recent shakeup of Senior Staff. An influx of new personnel. What had brought Korath aboard, Elle wondered. "Do you sing?" she asked instead.

The question made the man laugh heartily. "All Klingons sing. Our song and our stories are how my people remember our history. We place very little importance on keeping books in stuffy rooms to collect dust. Every Klingon child can recite the saga of Kahless by heart." Korath said proudly, striking down yet another warrior then another. A small mound growing at his feet. "I recall your own Earth history has a similar battle. A King Leonidas had led 300 warriors to defend their country against invaders. A worthy tale indeed!"

Elle smiled at the notion of her parents collecting dust, engrossed in study. In the library. At the lab. Yet without them doing that and pushing her to do the same, Elle might not have been moved to continue seeking the new frontier today. "The Battle of Thermopylae," Elle answered, short of breath but soldiering on, "Sparta led Greek city-states into battle against Xerxes the First and the invasion of his Persian Empire, despite overwhelming odds. Leonidas and the Spartans fought to the death."

Elle paused to leap over an attempt to sweep her legs out from under her. "Did Kahless live?" She swung the giant blade down with both hands. "Did he survive?"

"Yes, he and Lady Lukara both survived. They defeated the Invading army and began the greatest love story in Klingon history. Kahless would later defeat Molor, his brother in this very hall. and go on to forge the Klingon Empire; uniting all the clans under one banner!" Before either of them could react, a massive horde of Molor's troops stormed through the gates to the great hall and rushed the two Starfleet officers. The holodeck environment dissolved around them mere seconds before the horde would have slain the two.

Korath rested his Bat'leth in the crook of his arm as he stood and took a deep breath. He turned and regarded Elle for a long moment. His eyes as though they were peering into her soul. "You fought well. You should be proud of that accomplishment." He praised her.

"Thank... you," Elle said, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. "I mean, I didn't hit 488 or anything. At least... not yet." She bowed her head between deep breaths, as a sign of respect, then looked up. Elle met the towering Klingon's intense gaze... and smiled. "I was just getting started," she said ironically, clearly exhausted. "Now I'll be shooting for your record, sir."

For a moment, her hands still clutched at the Bat'leth she held moments ago, which had now since dissipated into thin air. Once she realized the holographic blade was gone, Elle offered a handshake to Korath. "I'm Ensign Saoirse Quinn. I'm the Malinche's new Flight Control Officer." She jutted her other thumb at the holodeck archway's control panel, "Sorry to pry, sir." Then she smiled again, before asking wryly, "If this is our training, does that mean all the Malinche's missions will end with us on the brink of certain death?"

"You should challenge yourself." Korath nodded to her declaration that she planned to best his record. For a moment he stood silent and considered her question. "I do not know much more about her missions other than the reports. You are aware that Starfleet service requires a certain amount of risk, however; these programs are not intended to train against mission dangers. They are intended to remind us that strength of will and determination are just as potent as a phaser. Fear of death or the future will only hasten the inevitable."

Elle's smile thinned into an expression of determination. She nodded again, only this time with more gravity. She wasn't afraid of the future. In fact, she sought it out in its many volumes, like books yet to be read, written and lived. Nor did Elle fear death... at least, not her own. "I'm not afraid," she said finally.

"Good, you will need that for what comes next." Korath grinned. "Have you ever had Blood Wine before, Ensign?" he asked as the two began to walk out of the holodeck, Korath regaling her with the intricacies of how to choose the perfect vintage.


OFF:

Joint Post by

Lieutenant Commander Korath
Executive Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

and

ON:

<< Mess hall, USS Malinche, Day 5 - 1930 hours >>

He had finally finished reviewing the last of the crew files as well as the ship's readiness reports and decided now was a good time to let off a little steam, as the Humans would say. The doors to the mess hall opened and the large Klingon walked through, standing for a moment in the doorway and scanned the room before walking over to the replicators. "Gagh, a slice of Rokeg Blood Pie and a Raktajino." Korath ordered. Once he had his dinner, he turned and found a seat right across from Cade. "Good Evening Lieutenant. Mind if I sit here?"

Cade looked up at the arrival of the Exo. He'd been lost in thought, hadn't seen the senior officer enter. "Please," he indicated the seat across from him. He was nearly finished with his own dinner, brisket and potatoes and, after seeing what the Klingon was eating he was grateful. "Is that-" he caught himself before saying edible. "What is that?"

"Gagh, Klingon serpent worms and Rokeg Blood pie. It is quite good," he grinned. "The replicators still do not quite match the taste of real fresh Gagh."

"I see." He hesitated. "May I... try some?" Had he really asked that? Kinkaid's eyes widened slightly, still staring at the mass of.... food.

Korath let out a chuckle. "Feel free!"

"Thank you. How do I...?"

"Traditionally, Gagh is eaten by hand. It helps to tilt your head back and allow the Gagh to wiggle its way down."

Cade nodded, took a deep breath, and carefully picked up some of the gagh. He had to close his eyes before putting it in his mouth. And then he had to tell himself, It's just spaghetti. The wormlike fare slid into his mouth and- He fought back the gag reflex. It's just spaghetti. They were wiggling. Spaghetti. The human finally got the last of the gagh in his mouth and he covered it with one hand, bending over the table. It's spaghetti. Wiggling, writhing, moving.... He breathed heavily and then-

The last of the gagh was finished. He could taste the aftermath of the meal, but he wasn't actively writhing around in his mouth and throat any more. Cade quickly took a glass of water and downed it all, taking a deep breath. His eyes were watering. "I think," he said finally. "I think I'll stick with rice."

The Klingon let out a loud laugh, enough to turn more than a few heads in the mess hall. "It is not for the feint of heart. There is no Shame in admitting this. You did quite well for your first experience. You may have a little warrior's spirit in you after all!"

"Thanks." Cade offered a wan smile. He didn't feel like he had much of a warrior spirit at the moment.

"In fact, I am about to go hunting. Would you care to come along? Do not worry I will make it easier for you. " the Klingon said with a slightly teasing inflection.

"Hunting?" Kinkaid's lips curled downward into a thoughtful frown. It was a barbaric sport. Then again, he probably wasn't planning on killing actual animals - far more likely the reconstituted atoms of the holodeck. "I wouldn't mind," he allowed. "How do you think you're going to make it easier though?" He smirked. "Photon torpedos to be sure I actually hit something?" The smirk grew to a full grin.

The Klingon noticed the frown. "Do not worry. I know humans do not share our belief in hunting as a honorable test of skill. The prey will be holographic. Perhaps torpedoes might be over kill. But if you wish you may bring one of your personal bows. It is best to be one with your weapon of choice."

Cade nodded. Hunting wasn't the same as target shooting, but he couldn't imagine it was too different from trying to hit a moving circle. "It'll be good to get some practice in," he admitted. "Sounds good."

"Good. You may retrieve your weapon if you wish; I will meet you in Holodeck 2 in fifteen minutes."

<< 15 min later, Holodeck 2 - Omaca III, The Endless forrest >>

Korath stood in a small clearing surrounded by thick foliage on all sides. A fog as heavy as poly synthetic Duranide and just as hard to see through loomed over the forest. The distant sounds of creatures of all kinds could be heard from deep within the forest's protective layers. Korath checked his weapon, a custom built repeating cross bow which fired modified Tritanium bolts. He checked the exographic targeting scope at the nose end of the weapon and nodded with satisfaction that it was calibrated properly.

Kinkaid watched he Klingon curiously but said nothing. His own weapon was a simple recurve bow - hardly a modern weapon by any stretch of the imagination. "So this place," he asked, turning away from the Klingon to study their environs. "What do we hunt here?"

"Targ primarily, however there are other predators in these woods as well." Korath raised his head and sniffed the air and let out a grin. "In fact there is one, perhaps two Targ 300 yards in that direction," he said motioning to the north.

"Targ, huh?" He motioned for the Exo to lead the way. "They're like boar, right? You'll need to show me where to hit one if they're armored." He didn't want to wound one of the animals, even if it was only a holograph, and let it escape only to die in pain later. "You take the first, I'll take the second?"

"Similar in appearance yes. They are highly intelligent; more so than your Terran Boar. If you want to kill one at range the best place to hit one is in the neck, severing the Carotid artery. Up close you want to impale the Beast through the heart. You have to slip the knife between the third and fourth rib directly under the fore legs," Korath said as they approached the animals. Korath silently motioned to Cade to follow him as he adjusted his direction to remain up wind from the beasts. He crouched down and took aim with his weapon. He took several minutes to watch the Targ and predict its movements. When he was sure that he had a clear shot, the Klingon squeezed the trigger and let loose a bolt; striking the targ directly in the artery killing the beast in a matter of seconds.

As Korath took his time to aim, Kinkaid did likewise, pulling an arrow from the quiver at his hip and drawing the string at his cheek. It was immediately apparent how dissimilar target shooting was from hunting - for one thing, he was focused entirely on the target before him, in this case the targ. It seemed to realize there was something, some danger in the vicinity, because it looked up from the ground and sniffed at the air. The Klingon had ensured they were upwind of the animal so it couldnt get their scent, but the move opened its Carotid artery. An easy kill.

Cade released the arrow a breath after Korath fired but it was already too late. Korath's bolt hit its target, startling Douglas's target into a quick turn. The arrow went wide, bouncing off the creature's thick hide and landing, quivering, in the bowl of a nearby tree. The operations chief cursed and drew another arrow but it was already too late, the targ had escaped his line-of-fire already. Relaxing the string on his bow carefully, so as not to release the arrow accidentally, he turned to Korath. "You didn't see that." He grinned.

Korath stiffled a laugh. Moving a few feet away and uncovering a control panel beneath a tuff of moss. The Klingon keyed in a few commands and a moment later a small chrome plated pistol, half the size of a derringer materialized. He handed the weapon to Cade. "This may... Help," he said with a wicked grin.

Douglas took the pistol dutifully, but he bore a dubious expression. "I'm better with a bow than a phaser," he admitted to his superior. Not that the weapon looked much like a phaser either. "What is this thing anyway? It doesn't look Federation-issued." He glanced down at Korath's hip as if hoping to spot a Klingon disruptor, adding, "Or Klingon, for that matter."

"I picked it up from an Aquillian arms dealer on DS9. The translation of it's name wasn't clear but it does make a rather curious sound similar to an earth insect. Good or not, if you aim you would have little trouble hitting your prey." It was not normally in his nature to, what was the Human saying? 'Prank' another. In this instance however; he felt that the Human would be able to handle what ever he had thrown at him.

Still dubious, Douglas nevertheless nodded at Korath's statement. Taking aim, he imagined shooting at a tree in the distance. At least the tree wasn't likely to move, and there was no chance of him damaging it, given the weapon's tiny size. "All right. Let me have a practice shot first."

"You may want to aim for that large tree over there." Korath replied as he handed the tiny weapon to Douglas, pointedly standing well out of the way off to the side.

Puttng his bow on the ground, Kinkaid took careful aim and fired. The recoil took him utterly by surprise. The weapon, tiny in his hands, lifted him bodily from the ground, throwing him backward into a tree a full three meters behind him. His head rebounded off the trunk, causing his vision to narrow momentarily and shards of light to sparkle. He shook his head, jaw opening and closing. "Wha- What the-?" In the distance, the tree he'd shot began to collapse noisily. He looked at the Klingon, shaking his head ahead. "What the hell, Korath?" Cade laughed. "Did I get hit by a shuttle?"

"Did I forget to mention that it has a bit of a kick?" The Klingon laughed heartily as he walked over to where Douglas was slumped on the forest floor under the tree he was thrown into. He extended a hand to help the Human up. "I think you got the Targ however." he said with a large toothy grin.

Using the Klingon's arm to help hoist himself up Douglas laughed. "I should hope so. I probably killed half a dozen with this thing." He looked it over once more, this time with far more respect that he had previously. "This is one noisy little cricket." He laughed.

"Indeed. Come; I believe I owe you a drink after that!" Korath said slapping him on the shoulder.

0ff:
JP by:

Lieutenant Douglas "Cade" Kinkaid
Chief Operations Officer
USS Malinche NCC-38997-A

and

ON:

<<Kerry Park, Seattle, Earth -- Tournneau Residence -- Shoreleave Day 05 -- 0900 Hours>>

Despite being well into the morning, Derek’s room was still darkened, thanks to the dismal Northwest weather. As the clock struck nine, the lights in the room began to brighten, and driving orchestral score began to fade in from the speakers in the ceiling.

“The time is oh-nine-hundred hours - wake-y wake-y eggs and bac-y,” the residence’s male computer voice stated rather flatly.

“Nnnggg….,” Derek groaned as he stirred, “There had better be some bacon.” He sleepily chuckled at his brother’s choice of wake-up call programming. He rolled over and looked out the window. He couldn’t see much further than the block the apartment building sat on due to the thick fog that had rolled in from the bay. “Computer, slience alarm.” The music faded out quickly, leaving only the patter of rain on the window.

Derek lay in bed for a few more minutes,watching the rain and quickly dictating a personal log. He reminisced over the events of the past few days - especially about Viradia. Things were progressing, and their platonic friendship was on the teetering edge of becoming a full-fledged romance. But while fire brings warmth, it also brings chaos. A wise saying from his grandfather, many years ago, echoed in his head. But Derek was tired of the cold. I’ve been keeping my wife in a mausoleum, when she would want me to keep her in my heart.

Finally, Derek rolled out of bed and began to get ready for the day.

=^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^=

<<0930 Hours>>

Derek came out to the dining room, and found his family and Viradia (PNPCs) already sitting and eating a light breakfast.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,” his brother John chortled. Derek bowed and gestured regally. “There’s a plate for you in the kitchen.”

Derek stepped into the next room, where he found his meal waiting for him on the counter. Well, I’ll be damned - it actually is eggs and bacon.

“Good morning,” a voice greeted him from just above his ear. He flinched and looked over his shoulder to see Viradia standing behind him.

“Good Lord, you startled me - I’m not really awake yet.”

“Well, maybe this will help,” she said, and offered him a mug that she had been holding. “It’s mocha, double-strong.”

“Oh yes, please and thank you,” Derek said as he took the cup and drank greedily from it. “Ah, that’s just the thing. So, what do you want to do today? It’s likely our last day of shoreleave; Spacedock is slated to have the ship’s repairs completed tomorrow morning.”

“I think your father said something about visiting the ‘old neighborhood’, whatever that means.”

“Oh, that would be interesting - you can see where I grew up.” He gestured to the room around him. “It was...much less opulent than this.”

=^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^=

<<Bainbridge Island, Grand Forest -- 1045 Hours>>

The small aircar swooped over the trees on the neighboring island. The pines stretched out over the Washington landscape for kilometers.

“I always forget how wooded parts of Earth are,” Viradia remarked. “We don’t have anything like forests on Bolarus; at least, not on land.”

The car swooped lower and slowed, coming to rest near a mid-sized glass and concrete house that was built in a small clearing. A narrow road lined by a wooden post and rail fence connected it to the sparsely inhabited community. The nearest home was about half a kilometer away. The aircar opened, and the Tournneaus and Viradia stepped outside.

“Wow - it’s very different than the city. Quite peaceful,” said Viradia. “So, who lives here now?”

Rachel answered, “Well, no one lives here on a permanent basis anymore - we use it as a guest house for customers that are visiting for extended periods.”

As they came up to the house, Derek continued on past the front entrance to the large concrete shed next door. “How’s the workshop? Is it still being used?”

“Not as much, no - but it’s still kept up for our guests to use - here, see for yourself.”

Derek opened the large metal door of the shed. It slid to the side, revealing a large room, filled with various workbenches and diagnostic tools. It was roughly thirty meters long, and eight meters wide and tall.

Rachel spoke, “I’ll leave you to it - we’ll be inside.”

Derek and Viradia were left alone in the shed. “So, this is where you began?” Viradia asked.

“Yep - this is where my mom started it all. I used to help her in the shop when I was growing up. I got to see some pretty weird tech - a lot of the early business was fixing up old and busted parts from alien ships.” He stopped at one of the benches. “It’s just strange seeing it so clean - this place used to be piled high with parts and scrap, and covered in grease.”

“Well, I think you could agree that the new shop is better,” Viradia said.

“Better, yes - but there are a lot of memories here.” He looked back at the woods through the open door. “Well, I’ll show you around the rest of the place.” They came back out of the shed and started walking down the gravel path between the fence and the road. Viradia hooked her arm around Derek’s.

Derek looked up at her and smiled. They continued walking down the path. “It was pretty slow growing up out here - still is. Not much has changed, really….”

=^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^= =^=

<<Kerry Park, Seattle -- Tournneau Residence -- Shoreleave Day 06 -- 0800 Hours>>

The terminal in Derek’s room beeped softly, and the male-voiced computer spoke warmly. “Derek, there is an incoming priority message for you from Spacedock - would you care to answer it?”

“Hmm?” Derek asked in confusion as he awoke.

“I said, there is an incoming priority --”

“Yes, please - audio only.”

“Good Morning, Lieutenant Commander - this is Commander Solari (NPC) from Spacedock Operations.”

Derek cleared his throat and did his best to feign wakefulness. “Umm, yes, Commander, how can I help you?

Solari chuckled. “No worries, Commander, I know you’re still on shoreleave. I just wanted to tell you that we completed all repairs and firmware updates on the Malinche early this morning. We’re ready for you to complete a final inspection and take delivery of the ship when you are.”

“Thank you, sir - I will recall my senior department staff and begin my inspection at ten-thirty hours.”

“Sounds good - I’ll have my adjutant prepare the paperwork for you, and schedule with the control tower for your arrival.”

“Yes sir, Tournneau out.”

When the comm closed, Derek swung himself out of bed and walked briskly through his room and out to the main hall. He went to Viradia’s door and knocked heavily several times.

About a minute later, the door opened, with Viradia standing behind it. She was wearing her service-issue tank top and athletic shorts. “Yes, good morning, Derek,” she said sleepily, “Something on your mind?”

“She’s ready - the Mali, that is. We go back up today, after breakfast.”

Viradia glanced down. She was finally getting closer to him, and now it was back to the ship - back to the routine. It was so nice spending time with Derek and his family - getting to see this side of him. Just when things seemed to be moving forward, it seemed that Starfleet’s schedule was going to take the wind out of their sails. “Well, what’s the earth phrase - all good things must come to an end, I suppose.”

Derek sensed her disappointment that their shoreleave was coming to an end. He reached out and took hold of her hand. “Not all things - we’ll have plenty of time to figure that out. But today, yes - back to the grind.” He released her hand. “We have to conduct a final inspection and sign off on delivery. They’re sending a shuttle down at ten-hundred hours - care to share the ride up?”

She nodded and smiled. “I would be delighted, Commander.”

OFF

Lieutenant Viradia Beladd (PNPC)
Assistant Chief Engineering Officer,
USS Malinche, NCC-38997-A

Rachel Tournneau (PNPC)
President,
Tournneau Trading Co.

John Tournneau (PNPC)
Chief Engineer,
Tournneau Astromech Industries

Commander Stanton Solari (NPC)
Chief Operations Officer,
Earth Spacedock

and

ON:

<<Barcelona, Kersare residence, Day 6, 1100>>

In the guest bedroom at her parent's home in Barcelona Isabel had begun to pack. Although part of her would have liked to stay longer, the other part wanted to get back to her ship and the next adventure. The visit had been nice and she certainly didn't regret it. In fact, if the opportunity arose again, Isabel intended to take it. However, she knew there were some things to finish up before they were assigned a mission and she had received word that Admiral Tavez wanted to speak with her later that evening. Most likely it would either be an update on personnel or it would be their new orders.

Isabel didn't have that much to pack, but she did have more than when she had arrived. A few items had caught her eye while wandering around Barcelona and there was one more she wanted to get before she had to leave. Luckily, it all still fit in her one bag since she'd packed light. All except for two paintings which she would have delivered instead - before she went to dinner with her parents she was going to drop them off. The rest were easily nestled in among her clothing and toiletries to protect them from being jostled around.

Her eyes swept the room slowly, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. It looked just the way she'd found it when she'd first arrived. As she closed her bag, Isabel felt a pang of sadness. It wasn't that she was ready to retire, but after her visit she could almost envision herself finding a place like this as her base to explore from. Someday, perhaps, but not now. A slow smile spread across her face.

She left her bag on the bed and turned to leave... Before she headed back, Isabel was having lunch and dinner with her parents, with a bit of exploring in between. That included finding the small shop that had the music box she wanted to get before going back to the Malinche. It was a beautifully carved wooden music box with intricate details; she hadn't been able to get it out of her mind since she had seen it. It would be one last souvenir before going back to work.