Space used to be a lot larger.

Or at least it had felt that way until the day came when the Dominion was pressing upon Federation boarders. There wasn't one Starfleet vessel that wasn't engaged in the overwhelming war effort. The only ones who were not participating were in for repairs or reduced to floating clusters of scrap metal, lost among the distant stars. All except for one ship anyways, one ship that was not holding Federation lines or making counter strikes against enemy blockades. This one ship was none other than the USS Orion.

During a time when morale amongst the Federation and its allies couldn't be lower, it seemed a fool hardy choice. After all, they were losing the war, badly. Wasn't it folly to not use every resource available? Even some of the crew onboard the Orion herself mirrored that line of thought as they went about their daily duties.

Tensions ran high on board as the orders were given to leave for the Vulcan system. While this might have been considered good news, many of the crew even considered it a chance to get a piece of the action. Knowing full well that the Vulcan system was heavily contested by the Dominion. However their hopes were dashed when it was announced the ship would still not be joining the war effort. Instead the Orion would be acting as an escort, one which had been ordered to stay out of conflict and avoid the Dominion if at all possible.

The orders resulted in displeasure settling in the crew's thoughts. Everyone had lost someone in the war and being told not to get involved? But they were Starfleet officers and did as they were told. After all they had heard of Ambassador Spock. No one could make it through the Academy without hearing about Captain James T. Kirk and Ambassador Spock.

The Ambassador's near deflection to Romulus nearly six years ago was infamous, as was the threats of war that had been carried as a consequence of his actions. In the end however, it had instead resulted in unprecedented cooperation that had waned and ebbed over the years. Though in recent years it had ebbed further than past as the Romulans had thrown their cards in with the Dominion.

Adding to the insult was the Captain of the Orion herself, a woman who was naturally half Romulan. Rumor had it orders had come down from Admiral Jeri Taylor, Commander of Starfleet, who on behalf of the Romulans who had requested her specifically. Darker rumors took hold before USS Orion even left Earth Space. Was she a Romulan spy? A traitor to Starfleet? If so, why did Starfleet trust her? Unless they didn't and were just pretending.

As the starship neared the Vulcan system everyone was on edge. No ship got to Vulcan uncontested anymore. With a new crew onboard and under these tense circumstances, to say the Orion was a power keg was to graciously understate the current climate of affairs.

"We've picked up a Dominion ship on the sensors." The navigation officer called out to the captain. "Bearing 32-mark-12. Twenty minutes until contact at current speed."

The bridge was fully staffed, everyone had anticipated this. Still, all attention turned to the captain, waiting to see what her call would be.

---

Meanwhile on Vulcan tensions are running just as high. Though not all of them for the same reason. While logical offered a cool serenity, that calm was running out. Logic was telling the Vulcans that unless something drastic was done, they would be overrun by the Dominion and soon. Day by day the Federation line was pressed closer and closer to Vulcan. Already every ship coming to their system was accosted. Logic offered no serenity.

Instead, most Vulcans choose to focus on something else. Something in the form of someone, Spock and the Roluman Ambassador. Romulan Ambassadors had been on and off Vulcan for the better part of a year; stuck in endless discussions with the Vulcan High Council. The most recent Ambassador, Herak S'Prorta, had replaced the prior one just three weeks ago.

Spock twisted the tea infuser in the clay pot, gauging the color. Earth tea was something he had developed a taste for while serving under James Kirk. He had it imported years ago and stored. Which was just as nice because the earth suppliers weren't making runs to Vulcan much these days.

According to the Federation's time table, the USS Orion should arrive within the hour. But until that time it was just Spock and Herak S'Prorta. The two hadn't been afforded much time to talk in between all the sessions with the High Council and Herak S'Prorta talking with the Star Empire.

Satisfied the tea had stepped long enough Spock turned to Ambassador S'Prorta. "Would you care for some tea?"

Vashara Vaella stared, noiselessly. It may have only lasted a few quiet moments after the announcement from the Conn, and some of the bridge crew would read half a hundred things into those few still seconds, but they were moments that left the Captain of the Orion calm. Inside, and out, even as the ghosts once again took the bridge with her. Because for a few moments that seemed to Vash to stretch into eternity, it was no longer the USS Orion, it was the USS Cosmo. That day started the same way.

We've picked up a Dominion ship on the sensors.

Fire and blood filled her nostrils, breaking those few moments and bringing Vashara back to the Orion. No longer Cadet Vaella, she remembered immediately, as her voice remembered how to sound off. If those who thought the momentary pause was a sign of weakness, the easy confidence in her tone would suggest they think twice. And if they looked close enough...they would have seen her smile.

"That's funny, they're not supposed to be there...think they're lost?" She asked the Conn, who proceeded to widen his eyes as he realized his Captain was actually asking him that question. Before he could respond, Vash gave a wave of her hand. "Yeah, probably not." With that began a rapid fire of commands, as quickly as she could think, to give everyone as much time as she could.

"Red Alert," the bridge immediately darkened, every other moment glowing in crimson light. "Conn, turn about and crawl in their direction. Tactical begin to charge and ready everything forward firing, disable the warnings when they pop up--Engineering you'll need to reroute power, I don't care where you find it, and have quick response teams ready for when a power relay blows. Ops, feed me everything you have on this Dominion ship to my chair. Security, ready a boarding party, as armed and armored as you can get them."

Vash looked this way and that, but didn't find the Orion's Chief Medical Officer, "Someone tell Sick Bays to ready for causalities, and possible enemy causalities. Comms, open a channel to the Dominion craft, audio only please." After a brief setup, the Comms officer gave the signal. "Dominion craft, this is Captain Vaella of the Federation starship Orion. You are violating Federation sovereign space, turn back and leave or I will be forced to destroy you."

With a motion to cut the channel, the message came to a quick end. "Alert Starfleet Command, and all nearby Federation vessels." Vashara's eyes and attention were already on the small screen that appeared upon the arm of her command chair, every bit of information on the Dominion craft processed in under half a minute, her eyes sparking upward to Ops. Vash already had her plan of attack. "Ops, start preping the main deflector for a particle burst. XO, got a moment?"

Vash was on her feet, motioning with her head in the direction of the Ready Room.

Call her old fashioned, but Catherine enjoyed the feel of the leather on her law books. They were made to be replicas from the 21st century, and lawyers would use these as decorations for their offices, a sign of knowledge and power. Of course, she never used these for reference, not when technology let her comfortably surf all of these books and more in the span of a few seconds as opposed to finding the answer in a day. But law was a field that clung to tradition without letting itself be slowed down.

It has taken her a day to settle in her office, get all her books organized properly, the saber hanging over her desk, and all of her files properly stored and ready for access. The Orion was her fourth ship, but she still felt butterflies in her stomach. She was always worried that the ship she was boarding was her last, but the Captain seemed competent, if not unorthodox. She had examined her file: Captain Vaella. Catherine sensed there would be disagreements. But they wished for the same thing, and that was the destruction of enemies. Catherine just used laws and keeping things neat and legal as her weapons.

She settled on her desk and tapped a few buttons for a publication from Starfleet's Operational Law journal. By law, she was required to remain up-to-date with her field, and this was one of the journals she had a subscription to. She had not managed to read the first table of contents entry before the lights in her office dimmed red and began to flash. "A red alert." Her screen flashed red and a report was opened on her tablet.

- CAPTAIN SPOTTED DOMINION SHIP.
- CALLED RED ALERT.
- ORDERED USS ORION TO FOLLOW DOMINION SHIP.
- ORDERED TACTICAL TO PREPARE FORWARD FIRING.
- ORDERED ENGINEERING TO REDIRECT POWER.
- ORDERED OPERATIONS TO FORWARD ALL TACTICAL DATA TO COMM.
...

More orders were being flashed on the screen. "Off to the Comm then." She stood, straightened her tunic, and began to run towards the bridge. She slowed down as soon as she arrived at the entrance to the bridge, and walked in, her eyes staring at her tablet for any new information. The Captain was in the ready room, so she would stay in her place until called for. So far, everything was smooth.

"Would you care for some tea?"

Spock, the half-human and half-Vulcan hybrid, offering him some Human tea on the homeworld from which both their races originated; there was something oddly comical about this entire situation, but Herak just couldn't put his finger on it. He had been placed on Vulcan to replace the last representative of the Star Empire, a rather incompetent and vain fool, who had done nothing to further relations or causes of reunification with the Vulcan High Command. It was now his turn to do his part, and after three weeks attempting to repair relations - including showing that the Romulans were not the paranoid expansionists that they most certainly were - he had succeeded in both doing just that (to a point), as well as gaining a place upon a Federation vessel that would take him right back to his beloved home...but not for long.

"Yes." He softly replied, accepting some of the odd Terran liquid within a finely crafted Vulcan cup, "thank you."

It was at this point, taking the cup in one of his hands and sipping gently at the slowly cooling refreshment, that he took a few moments to study his opposite, both in race and in occupation. The almost mythical Ambassador Spock, a living treasure of Vulcan, in spite of his origins and extended service aboard a Starfleet ship, not that you'd think so by his outward appearance - a Vulcan male of average height, average looks and greying hair. No, it was his calm demeanour, his pure strength of will and presence that set him apart from any other over-logical member of the Vulcan race.

"Tell me, Ambassador," queried the Romulan, grimacing at the awful taste of the tea, placing the cup gently down and calming the twitching of his facial scar, "this U.S.S Orion and its Captain, what can you tell me of them? I have my own files, that I shall freely admit, but I would like a more profound opinion of those I shall be helping to understand my species...your opinion, if you please."

Sick Bay

"So, tell me something about yourself, a big strong strapping young man like you. Where are you from?"

Dera, the green-skinned nurse serving in Sick Bay with Carter, smiled a him and placed a hand on his wrist. Carter shifted in his seat and shrugged. They'd been working together for the better part of six months now. Dera liked to flirt with Carter, but he was usually dismissive. Mixing relations with work had proved to create a toxic atmosphere on his last ship. He wasn't involved in it, but he still suffered all the same. He didn't want any of the medical staff to suffer all because their chief couldn't keep it in his pants.

"Well, I'm from Earth. I don't really want to talk about my family. That story is a whole mess I don't want to--"

"Make way!"

Carter and Dera turned to see a Klingon officer carrying an unconscious pregnant woman into Sick Bay. The woman was human and dainty compared to the large and mean looking Klingon.

"What's going on here?" Carter asked, standing.

"My wife," said the Klingon. "She's going into labor."

Both Carter and Dera exchanged looks. The chances of Human-Kligon conception were impossibly high. If there was conception, most pregnancies didn't make it to full term. Carter stepped forward as Dera hurried towards a gurney.

"How far along is she?" Carter asked as he pulled out his tricorder and scanned the pregnant woman.

"Almost twenty-five weeks."

The doctor ran through his medical knowledge on Klingons, humans, and the rare hybrids. The usual pregnancy time for a Klingon was thirty weeks, forty for a human. If the baby inside the officer was ready to come out, then Carter hoped the child was more Klingon than human. Dera stopped the hover gurney in front of the officer while he and Carter gently laid the woman down on to it.

"Nurse Johnson," he called to the other nurse on shift with him. "Prep Room 3 for baby delivery. Nurse Dera, I want this lady scanned and ready for delivery."

While he had never delivered one himself, Carter knew Klingon births were tricky. The babies thrashed and fought with usual Klingon aplomb. 25% of all births resulted in the death of the mother. That number was even higher with non-Klingon mothers.

"Doctor," the Klingon said softly as his wife was pushed towards Room 3. "If something happens to her, I am holding you personally responsible."

The Klingon looked down at Carter and refused to turn his gaze away as Carter slowly walked backward.

"Don't, uuhh, don't worry, sir."

---

"Doctor, she's fully dilated! Pulse is fading, she could be going into cardiac arrest!"

Carter cursed and looked at the data on the monitor above the now conscious woman. She was panting and blowing and cursing her husband while he stood stoically by her side and held her hand. Her pelvic region a squirming mass of flesh was poking its way out.

"Nurse Dera," Carter said as he reached down to feel the baby. "Prep the panels. If she starts to crash, I want to shock her back."

"Wouldn't that kill the baby?"

"It's half-Klingon," he grunted. "This little shock will be the easiest pain it'll have to endure."

Carter looked up at the woman and gave her his best reassuring smile.

"Okay now. Start breathing and....PUSH! PUSH! PUSH!"

The woman screamed as the baby started to slip out of her. The lump of flesh and mucus screamed and trashed. Carter positioned himself to catch the baby as it came out.

"Pulse is fifty and dropping," Nurse Johnson yelled. "Twenty-four... Doctor, she's going to crash."

Carter sprung up and helped Dera with the panels. They placed the plastic rectangles on the on the woman's chest and pressed down on them.

"Here we go....one, two, three, CLEAR!"

BBZZZZT!!!

The electricity coursed through her body and sent her shaking from the shock. The Klingon let out a yell of shock, pain, and despair that Carter tried his best to ignore.

"Still nothing," Johnson said after a few moments.

"Again," Carter told Dera. "One, two, three, CLEAR!"

BBZZZZT!!!

He looked down as the woman's body danced from the jolt. Her heart was still not beating. Worst of all, they couldn't hear the baby crying.

"Alright," he said. "We're going to have to remove the baby out manually. Nurse Johnson, take my paddle and you and Dera use them when I say."

Carter slapped on a pair of rubber gloves and reached down for the baby that was half-way out of the womb. The pregnant woman bucked and kicked as the nurses hit her with another jolt of electricity.

"She's back!"

From down below, Carter could hear the woman's deep breaths as squatted between her legs. Half of the baby's head was now sticking out. He could see Klingon ridge prominent on its forehead.

"Alright, now," Carter said as he reached up and grabbed the baby's head. "PUSH!"

The woman screamed and pushed. She pushed as he pulled. A minute later, Carter stood with the wailing newborn in his arms. The alien baby thrashed and screamed while Carter tried to hold on to it. Nurse Dera swooped in and wrapped it up in a towel. She held on tightly to it and managed to calm the enraged baby down.

"Congratulations," Carter said, removing his gloves. "It's a girl."

Both parents were beaming proudly at the sight of their new daughter. Dera gently handed the now calm child to her mother and stepped back while Carter wiped sweat from his forehead. He was hot, sweaty, and covered in bodily fluids that included afterbirth. Despite all that, the smile on his face couldn't have been any wider.

The joy of success was fleeting, however. Alarms sounded through Sick Bay. Carter and his nurses looked up, along with the new parents, as the lights dimmed to a crimson red. Red alert. The klaxons erased the newborn's calm state and caused the baby girl to cry and wail. Nurse Johnson checked her tablet and looked at Carter.

"Captain's orders, prepare for casualties, both friendly and enemy... they've spotted a Dominion ship."

"I have to go," the Klingon said. "They'll need me in Ops."

The sight of him being forced to leave his wife and newly born child tore Carter's heart apart. After tender goodbyes to both wife and daughter, the Klingon again looked at him. "I repeat what I said earlier. If they are not kept safe, I will hold you responsible."

"I understand," said Carter. "Now, go. We both have work to do."

Many years ago
London, England

G. H. Russell smiled as an uncharacteristic flicker of nerves showed on Malachi Brown’s face. The boy was something of a stoic and the past year of intense training had only hardened that. This morning was the day all that hard work came to fruition. Malachi Brown was leaving for the Starfleet Academy in less than five minutes. It brought a smile to Russell’s face to know that despite everything that had happened Malachi was still felt overwhelmed by the occasion. Russell had felt overwhelmed by it too when he had first left for the Academy all those years ago. It was good to feel overwhelmed by it. Anyone that didn’t feel overwhelmed by that kind of thing probably no place at the Academy to begin with. A little bit of caution was always a good thing. What Russell saw on Malachi’s face was more than a little bit of caution.

The old man smiled wryly at his ward. “Nervous?”

The second the word left his mouth the nervousness on Brown’s face disappeared.

“No, sir.”

It only broadened Russell’s smile. The retired Starfleet Lieutenant remembered when Malachi arrived in his home as if it were yesterday. The young man that showed up on his doorstep then was equal parts angry at the world and listless. He didn’t care less about Russell’s approval then but it was clear from his denial that had changed. A lot had changed. Russell found himself tearing up a little as he thought about how far they’d come. Far enough that Malachi calling him “sir” at a moment like this seemed out of place.

“Come on, kid, there’s no need for that anymore.”

Malachi nodded dutifully. “Sorry, sir.”

The young man caught himself and smiled at Russell. If Malachi were able to blush the old man was sure he would have been.

“Sorry, George.”

In the distance Russell spotted Brown’s ride approaching and he felt the tears welling in his eyes fall from his eyelids and onto his cheeks. He thrust his skinny arms over Malachi’s broad shoulders and pulled him in close for a hug.

“Listen, things are going to be a little overwhelming up there to begin with but you’ll be fine as long as you keep your head down and work hard. You hear me?”

Brown patted him on the back gently and nodded in recognition. The young man’s drive pulled up in front of the pair of them and Russell felt his ward move to pull away from him. He clung on to him for a few seconds more.

“I’m proud of you, kid.” Russell muttered to Brown. “Your mother would have been proud of you.”

He let go of Malachi and saw the touched look on the boy’s face. He saw him search for an adequate response for several seconds before opting for two words. They said more to the old man than a thousand words might have.

“Thank you,” Malachi said with a nod.

Brown bent down and lifted his carry bag from the ground and hoisted it over his shoulder with a grunt. He turned to his ride and hoisted the bag inside and climbed inside. As the door shut behind him he saw the driver turn to him and mutter something,

“You ready?”


Now
Aboard the USS Orion

A siren cutting the din of the security deck and Malachi Brown’s brow furrowed. He had been lost in thought, daydreaming about the day he’d left for the Academy, but that sound had jolted him back into life. It was a red alert. Captain Vash’s voice sounded through the comm and Malachi and his men listened in silence as she recounted the Dominion threat. Finally the captain’s orders for Security came through and Malachi leapt into action as the captain spoke.


The security officers looked to Malachi for instruction and the Chief Security Officer simply pointed upwards towards the bridge with a satisfied smile.

“You heard the captain.”

The security officers burst into life, each scrambling towards the armoury for weapons and armour, and Brown began to formulate a boarding plan in his head. Though the USS Orion had been ordered away from the fighting he had long since been preparing for this day and was determined that the Orion would succeed where other ships had faltered. Out of the corner of his eye Brown spotted a blue-skinned security officer frozen in place. Where the others were fiddling with weapons or putting on armour he seemed glued to the spot.

“What’s wrong?” Brown said with a hearty slap to the young man’s side. “Are you deaf or something? Mount up, kid.”

The blue-skinned security officer looked up at Malachi with eyes filled with fright. “I… I’m… I just…”

“Nervous?”

Brown remembered the terror he’d felt the day he’d left for the Academy and the way he’d hidden it from G. H. Russell. The old man had seen through his terror that day and Brown could see in this young man’s eyes that the moment was too big for him. He seemed afraid to admit it, ashamed even, but finally he met the Lieutenant’s gaze and nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Malachi looked around at his other men, all busy preparing themselves for battle, and then leant towards the young man. For the first time in a long time Brown’s taskmaster act slipped and he channeled his foster father. His voice was soft and reassuring.

“You can do this,” he muttered.

The words seemed to sooth the blue-skinned young man somewhat and he smiled back at Brown. Malachi patted him on the arm reassuringly and then stared down the sights of his phaser to make sure his weapon was good and ready for what lay ahead. He looked to the men and woman, weapons in hand, and muttered a phrase they had all heard dozens of times before. It was one that was particularly poignant given what had happened to the last crew Malachi had been on.

“You know the rule,” Brown smiled. “No one dies.”

_{Collab with @Ruby}

"XO, got a moment?"

Commander Poxx had been silent and still during the commotion, standing wordlessly by Vashara's chair like a sentinel, with his arms crossed behind his back. He gave a quick, almost mechanical nod as he began to follow her into the Ready Room.

The Cephanian contemplated for a moment on any available options, recalling strategic maneuvers and diplomatic techniques alike.

"Captain," He began, leaning slightly towards Vashara, "Their radio silence may indicate the use of cloaking technology hiding additional ships. I advise we wait for a response before entering what may be a trap."

The Ready Room was small, and almost entirely undecorated given how little time Vash had even been aboard. The only sign of Vash in the otherwise stock Ready Room were a non-Starfleet issue black, paper thin, PADD that sat upon the surface of her desk. When she entered the room it came to life, a micro holoprojector producing a quick moving text data stream in a custom Vulcan/Romulan mix, an easy on the eyes light blue light projection with a small ghostly keyboard hovering just a quarter inch above the desk surface for physical input.

Usually, she just used voice commands. "Off." The projection suddenly vanished, leaving the two officers. She didn't even sit, just walk in and turn on her heel to face him.

"It could be the lead scout of a greater force. It could be a deep recon ship looking for a "soft" target; which we most assuredly are. Even if there are hidden escorts, it's our job to confront it--better us than a nearby merchant marine craft, or commercial craft, or civilian craft. And I'd bet all the credits in the Federation economy that Starfleet Command has already dispatched backup. We've done what we can there, the rest is skill and problem solving."

There Vash hesitated, and moved towards the desk. Not behind it; but instead just sitting herself on the front edge of the desk, looking back up to him. "I know we're new, and you don't know me...but the lives on this ship mean everything to me. I know what I'm doing. I wish I wasn't, but I'm good at this Commander. I know I have to prove that, so..." Her eyes twitched from him to the desk. "Show it."

Immediately, a model sized holographic image of a Dominion attack ship appeared heading at a like sized Orion. The Dominion vessel opened the attack, and Federation ship answered with a particle burst from it's deflectors. Vash provided the commentary. "I imagine they'll open with their polerons. We've got the latest shield upgrades, so it won't be devastating. We answer with a verteron particle burst from the main deflector; by my math that gives us around ten seconds with their shields down, maybe longer. Tactical will be ready to fire all torpedos at full volley and all phasers with arcs that'll reach on specific points; we know about where the shield generators are, we know their main weapons systems locations. Knock both out."

Then, the holographic image disappeared. "At that point they can't run, they'll try to fight but we'll counter with transporting their Vorta commander into our brig--effectively cutting off the head. I expect the Jem'Hadar will respond with trying to interfere with our transporters, but if possible we may need to transport a few into space to thin out their numbers for the boarding party. Boarding party goes in, two teams; one goes to the computer core, one goes to the engine core. We need both. Lock it down, leave a warning buoy, and head to Vulcan--the Engineering Corps can come get the hull. We'll transmit everything else to Intelligence"

Though she shrugged, Vash felt pretty confident in the plan. "We'll probably have some power conduit explosions, maybe some flack on spacing a few Jem'Hadar...but we're at war and I'm not risking my security team's lives if I don't have to. They know my rule: nobody dies. Any other issues come up I feel confident they can be solved, either by us our reinforcements showing up. Unless you've got any major issues with all that, I'd ask you lead the boarding party. If I wasn't picking my battles, I'd lead it myself."

Something she sounded sour about.

Poxx stood still for a moment, examining the two holographic models engage in a mock-battle. His head tilted to the side, as if in deep concentration, before turning to meet Vashara's gaze.

"In that case, I will lead the boarding party. Do you have any further instructions before departure?"

"Be careful. I'll tell Security you're coming. Good luck, Commander."

Xyrx was just in the middle of an old game of checkers when he heard red alert go off, and the entire room dim. His face was barely visible in the crimson light to the opposing side against him, but his blessed eyes allowed him to see clearly. He listened intently to the commands that buzzed through, almost filing through the words until he came to ‘engineer’.

”Engineering you’ll need to reroute power, I don’t care where you find it, and have quick response teams ready for when a power relay blows.”

The Thalgoran looked at the engineers crowded around the table, his turquoise eyes shimmering.

”You heard the Captain.” He got up, pointing to a selection of people. ”You’re my quick response team, got it? Go get your gear, then head down to the power relays. You might want to take something to sit on, too.” His gaze instantly flicked to everyone else. ”The rest of you, span out across the ship. Every area that might be damaged, I want people on standby to repair it. Get your gear and move it.” One thing that all the engineers knew about Xyrx was that despite his ability to have a good time, he also knew when to take command and get the job done. The engineers scattered, leaving two remaining. ”Cutler, Johnson, I’m trusting you to reroute the power. I presume you’ve already got your gear?” They nodded. ”Excellent. Go and do that. I’ll be on the bridge”

The pair hurried off and Xyrx rushed to the bridge, sitting down at the engineering station. His voice buzzed through the earpieces of all the engineers. ”Alright, let’s rock this. Reroute the power in three… two… one…” He crossed his fingers, but deflated with a groan when the already-dim lights flickered and a voice buzzed back to him.

”A power relay’s gone at the south end of the ship.” Cutler’s voice came through.

”Alright boys, you know what to do. And scatter, just in case one goes somewhere else.”

”You heard the man.” Cutler responded, ”Get going.”

”I was going to say that…” Xyrx whined jokingly, before leaning back in his chair. ”Let’s keep her running, boys.”

On the ship:
^{With Captain Vash played by @Ruby}
Upon the Captain's orders Navigation slowed the ship to Impulse and turned to face the Dominion ship. The Jem'Hadar fighter appeared on the Main view screen. The woman in Tactical was busy with charging weapons, despite the look of disbelief on her face.

"Ready Captain." The Tactical called out when she had finished following her orders.

The Bajoran at navigation kept a grim eye on the Fighter as the two vessels continued to near each other, like a slow game of chicken. Not even their hails slowed the advance of the other ship.

"Nineteen minutes until contact." Navigation called out once more as the Captain stood up and left the bridge with the First Officer. After their superior officers left the bridge there was silence. Apart from the Red Alert. For the moment. Then it passed.

"We're going to die aren't we?" The young man in Comms asked.

The woman in Tactical, Linda, snorted. "Doubtful. There's only one of them." She was still busy with prepping the main deflector.

"Yeah, but..." The man tried again but was side tracked as a light flashed on his screen. "Captain!" He shouted, craning in his seat to call across the bridge and into the back rooms where the Captain had disappeared into. Then frowned tapping his communicator.

Nearly at the same time the Turbolift opened and disgorged the JAG officer. Since all the Bridge members were busy they didn't spare her any greetings apart from the nodded head. It always paid to be nice to the lady who might one day see you in court.

"Captain! There's an incoming transmission from Starfleet." The young man's voice squeaked on the last word.

Vash tapped the communicator badge on her chest. "Thanks, I'll be right out."

The young Ensign put the transmission up on the view screen. The Admiral wasn't a happy looking woman. In fact she looked thoroughly displeased. Whether it was at the Captain, or the Dominion, or life in general, was up for debate.

"Captain Vaella, This is Admiral Meldal-Johnsan. We got your transmission and we're sending you the USS Venture. They should be there in thirty minuets. You are not to engage the Dominion. I repeat Captain you are not to engage unless fired upon first. If you must, try not to destroy them. We need to know what they're after."

The Captain's XO filed out first, followed by her, her look already trained on the Admiral on her main viewscreen. Vash snorted. "It'll be done by the time they get here, Admiral."

"Is that understood?" Meldal-Johnsan countered, ignoring the Captain's remark. The Admiral knew of Vaella's history with the Dominion.

"Uh, sure--we'll let them fire first." By the time she was finished responding to the Admiral, Vash stood next to her Captain's chair...and used her chair's control panel to kill the line of communication herself. Her attention was to the bridge crew, so they could see it on her face and hear it in her voice: this changed nothing.

"Let them fire first, that was the plan all along. If we fire first or throw too advanced a flight maneuver at them they might get spooked and think they don't have the upper hand--and we very much want them feeling safe and secure."

"The Dominion ship is nearly within firing range!" Navigation called. "Two minutes."

Those two minutes were tense as everyone waited for the Dominion to make their opening move. It was almost a relief when the Phased Polaron Beam hit the ship, nearly dead on, rocking the vessel. Those standing, unless they grabbed a hold of something most likely ended up on the floor. Still, the waiting was over.

"Shields holding at ninety-seven percent." The Lieutenant sitting at the mission ops console called out. The tactical officer had a death grip on the oh shit bar but was steadfast in her work. This wasn't her first fight. Nor would it be her last.

"The Fighter is trying to circle us captain!" The Navigation officer practically called this information over tactical. Navigation, anticipating the next orders hovered his hands over his console, ready to make the necessary course corrections to keep the Fighter in their sights.

---

On Vulcan:
Spock looked at the Romulan for a long moment before replying. "I would think you would know more about Captain Vashara Vaella than I do. After all she was requested to be our escort."

The Half-Vulcan paused in his discourse to take a sip of his tea. It was perfect. He was perfectly content in the moment, mulling over the question, sequestered in one of his favorite chairs in his own living room. The wide expansive window showed the unforgiving Vulcan desert. Some might think it was plain, but to Spock it was beautiful. This room didn't overlook the city, but rather the wilderness. So one could forget the transport that awaited outside. The Science Academy that loomed over the closest city.

"Of the Orion, I can only say what I have been told. It's a newly built vessel. Redesigned for more room and better weapons." Spock gave a small smile. "But in the interest of my opinion?" Spock too the moment to drink more of his tea, not failing to notice his Romulan companion had not.

"I think the Captain is young, but not untried. She reminds me of a good man I once knew. I'm unsure if that will be a good thing." Spock gestured to S'Prorta's discarded tea. "I can replicate something else more to your liking." He offered, not ungraciously. It didn't surprise him that the tea was not to the ambassador's liking. None of the other Romulans had liked it either.

Before S'Prorta could respond there was a knock at the door.

"Enter." Spock said placing his tea down on the table. His front door popped open and a Vulcan woman entered the room. "You have a message." She passed a small pad to Spock, bowed and left his home. Spock looked over the tablet for a second before passing it to S'Prorta.

On the tablet there was a short message detailing the fact that the Orion was engaged with a Dominion vessel. After that the message continued to invite Spock and S'Prorta to the nearest Starfleet base command center if they so desired.

"It appears this might be the best opportunity to get to know the Orion and the Captain outside of your reports. Shall we go?" Spock inquired after giving S'Prorta enough time to read the message.

_{Collab with @Morden Man}

Assembled in the Transporter Room of the USS Orion was the away team set to board the Jem'Hadar fighter bearing down on the Orion. The Cephalian, Commander Poxx, flanked by Lieutenant Malachi Brown and four security officers. Captain Vaella had given them their marching orders - board the Jem'Hadar ship, left rudderless now their Vorta had been transported aboard the Orion, and pursue those left behind. Once it had been locked down and a warning buoy had been left behind they would head to Vulcan. Successfully locking it down was far from a foregone conclusion. The away team approached the transporter tentatively as the prospect of battle dawned on them.

"You ever lead an away team, Commander Poxx?" Malachi asked, stepping aboard the transporter.

"No, though I've served on many." Poxx replied dryly.

Within moments, the away team was beamed onto the ship. The first, and most jarring change as always, was the sudden change in temperature and atmosphere. It was cold, with an unpleasant dampness to the air. The Jem'Hadar ships interior was immensely different from that of the Orion -- The walls were a dark gunmetal grey

Commander Poxx stepped forward, drawing his phaser, switching a small dial. He was nervous, but not as nervous as the young men in red shirts behind him. To his side was Lieutenant Brown.

"My team and I will deactivate the computer core." Poxx said to Lieutenant Brown. "If anything goes wrong, you'll hear it on your communicator."

Poxx gave a quick nod before turning, with one raised arm directing three security officers to follow him down a long corridor.

Lieutenant Brown watched as the Cephanian disappeared towards the computer core with two security officers. He respected Poxx’s coolness under pressure and more importantly he trusted him to return his security officers in one piece.

“Well, it looks like the engine room is ours, boys.” Malachi said as he turned to the two security officers with him.

He had made sure to keep the nervous blue-skinned officer from earlier with him. He’d learned on their way to the transporter that his name was D’wkin. The other was a human named Anthony with long flowing blonde hair that reached his shoulders. They were both young, younger than Malachi would have liked, but there was little room for choice in these matters when there was a war on.

Malachi reached down for his phaser and led the two down a narrow corridor towards the engine room.

“Keep your wits about you and your eyes open,” Brown muttered. “The Jem’Hadar are warriors. They live and breathe death and destruction. They will not hesitate to shoot you on sight.”

They passed what looked to be Jem’Hadar quarters. Austere, empty rooms with little to no decoration. To the Jem’Hgar anything but war was considered a sign of weakness. There were no pictures, no books, and there were certainly no beds. As they reached the mouth of one, a rattling noise made its way towards them.

D'wkin gripped his phaser tight. "What is that?"

There at Malachi's feet was a cannister he recognised instantly as a stun grenade. He flicked one of his muscular legs towards it and kicked it away from the three of them. As it tumbled away the grenade exploded and a shock of light knocked the men back. As the light cleared Brown, D'wkin, and Anthony fought to regain their balance. At the end of the corridoor several Jem'Hadar fighters appeared. They took aim at the security officers as the Starfleet men struggled to regain their balance.

"Let the bastards have it," Malachi called out as he opened fire.

---

---

Poxx walked quickly and silently through the fighter ship, with the three officers following behind in a V formation. The alarms going off provided some distraction from the away party, and Poxx hoped to maintain the element of surprise for as long as possible, though he knew it would not take long for the away teams to be discovered. Reaching a corner, Poxx raised his arm again as a wordless signal for his men to stop.

Poxx closed his eyes, and emitted a sharp breath accompanied by a high-pitched chirp. Sonar. He sensed three lifeforms around the corner, and motioned for the men behind him to draw their phasers. He chirped again. This time, the vibrations indicated that the three lifeforms were in front of them, though the corridor was as empty as it had ever been. Poxx paused for a moment, thinking to himself.

Echolocation cannot be tampered with. Where are they?

Poxx stood perfectly motionless, before opening fire. Immediately, the sillhouette of a Jem'Hadar lit up where Poxx had fired as if appearing from thin air before vaporizing instantly. The ensigns behind him followed suit, opening fire at the seemingly empty hallway, revealing and killing the two Jem'Hadar that had accompanied their fallen comrade.

Poxx chirped again, ensuring the corridor had been cleared. "Pay close attention to any strange shadows you see. The Jem'Hadar can shroud themselves in an instant."

---

---

Anthony fired two shots in quick succession and the last Jem'Hagar warrior fell to the ground. He stood over at it for a second, his phaser pointed at his head, and squinted down the barrel of his phaser to make sure the Jem'Hagar was dead. Once he was satisfied he looked to Malachi with a smile.

"Dead, sir."

Malachi limped forward. "Glad to hear it. Now let's get to the bloody engine room before they send more of these things our way."

Brown had been dinged in the fighting and bore a deep cut to his forearm. D'wkin had stuck his head out of cover at the wrong moment and had nearly paid with it for his life. Had Brown not been there he might have been. The Lieutenant had managed to pull him out of the way at the cost of his left arm. It dangled by his side, bleeding and useless, as looked the blue-skinned security officer.

"You alright?"

D'wkin nodded and the three Starfleet men pushed further into the Jem'Hagar ship. Brown could feel the blood trickling down the inside of his uniform as they went. There was no time to stem the bleeding. They had a mission. The mission always came first.

The approach to the engine room was conspicuously unguarded. It put Malachi ill at ease. He felt like they were walking straight into a trap. If he'd had Poxx's echolocation trick he could have figured out what they were walking into. Instead he'd have to trust his gut. As they reached the doors to the engine room he pulled a grenade from his hip and gestured to D'wkin and Anthony to toss him theirs. Brown pressed a finger to his lips and very slowly approached the engine room doors. D'wkin crept to the opposite side and let his hand float over the commands to the doors as he awaited Brown's command.

The Lieutenant counted down from five on his fingers.

"Five..." Brown mouthed as he activated the grenades. "Four... three..."

D'wkin jammed the button and Malachi launched the grenades into the engine room right as the door opened. The Starfleet officers entered the room once the explosion had passed, though the light still lingered, and opened fire on the Jem'Hagar that occupied it. Formidable as the Jem'Hagar were, they fell swiftly under the volley of phaser fire given the effects of the grenade.

Malachi smiled triumphantly and ordered his men deeper into the engine room.

"The sooner we get this done the sooner we can get out of here."

---

---

Poxx chirped again, sensing four lifeforms around the next corner. He raised his phaser to fire, retracting it immediately when he saw that it was only Malachi and his men.

"Lieutenant Brown, do any of your ensigns require medical attention?" He asked, gesturing to the young man's arm. Before Malachi could respond, there was a crash at the end of the hall -- The door Poxx had jammed had been blasted open, and a wave of Jem'Hadar began to flood the hall, firing at the Starfleet officers. The two commanders ducked behind the corner to take cover as another bang sounded, accompanied by a large flash of light and eruption of smoke.

Immediately, the Cephanian grabbed at his throat, covering the vents in the device around his gills. Commander Poxx took three steps back, before turning and dropping to one knee, gasping for air.

Brown covered his mouth with his elbow and reached down to Poxx. "I won't have you dying on my watch, Commander." Malachi murmured as the Starfleet men opened fire on the Jem'Hadar fighters swarming towards them. Though warrior after warrior fell the Jem'Hadar's numbers seemed not to thin and the security officers were soon overrun.

"There are too many!" the blue-skinned officer shouted.

Beside him a blaster tore through Anthony's thigh and he fell to his knees. The blue-skinned security officer knelt beside him and took aim at the Jem'Hadar long enough for the Lieutenant to reach for his comm.

"Brown to Transporter Room," Brown called. "We need some help here. Anthony's been hit. I need you to get him out of here whilst we head to the computer room."

After a few seconds a familiar haze lit up Anthony's body and he was beamed back to the USS Orion. D'wkin took cover and the other security officers secured themself behind the many beams that lined the corridoor of the Jem'Hadar's ship.

The blue-skinned security offer looked towards Brown and Poxx. "Get to the computer room. We can hold the corridoor for a while, Commander."

Poxx nodded to the officer and turned to run with Malachi to the door at the end of the hall -- The Computer Room.

As the two entered, the door closed behind them, locking in place. In front of them was the ship's computer core, and behind it, the Jem'Hadar First, with a phaser rifle at the ready. He immediately fired two rounds, incinerating Poxx's phaser.

"Prepare to die." The Jem'Hadar barked, firing at Malachi.

Brown ducked behind a computer console as the blast from the phaser rifle skimmed narrowly past his head. He glanced down at the open wound on his arm that had all but rendered it useless and grimaced. "I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be, Commander... my arm... it's..."

The Jem'Hadar unfurled another blast from his rifle that once more skimmed past the Lieutenant's head. He ducked further behind the console, gripping his phaser tightly in his good hand, awaiting Poxx's move.

Poxx rushed towards the First, chirping much more deeply than he had before. The Jem'Hadar dropped his rifle, holding his head in pain. Immediately, the Cephanian sent a punch flying at the First, connecting cleanly with his nose. In a single, fluid motion, Poxx grabbed the back of the First's neck, swinging himself behind the Jem'hadar, holding him in a strong grip.

"You will not be victorious, fish m-"

The Jem'Hadar's taunts were cut short by the sound of phaser fire, and a newfound gaping hole in the First's face. Across the room, Malachi sat with his back pressed to the wall, holding his damaged arm with one hand and his phaser in the other.

"Let's get out of here, Commander." Malachi said, standing up and grimacing slightly. Poxx turned to the console, and began entering a list of commands, before the lights of the screen changed from blue to red, and then blacked out completely.

Malachi muttered something into his communicator, and within seconds, he, Poxx, and the rest of the officers in the hallway were beamed back to the transporter room.

"Helms, keep him in our sights, use any amount of power you need."

Vashara would focus on the Orion keeping a tight rotation upon it's Z-axis, maybe overload power to correctional impulse engines on starboard and port as needed. That's would she would've done...but she wasn't the Helms officer. It had been the hardest lesson of her young career; letting her officers to do their jobs. Her mind was capable of things that she simply could not explain. Somehow, however, Vash assumed 'I'm so smart I sometimes can't explain things to you' really wouldn't go over well with her crew. If she couldn't trust them, they would never trust her, no matter how many victories her brain brought them. So she forced herself to give an order, and say or do nothing else.

Except pace.

The Romulan hybrid prowled the vicinity around her command chair like a restless jungle cat, ever going this way and that and back around all over again. She could be looking over Tactical's shoulder one moment, then seemingly appear behind the Helms officer again--as if by magic if they weren't paying close enough attention to what was going on directly behind them. Which all of them were too busy and preoccupied to do. But right now, Vash paced only little, pausing shortly after starting when she was finished doing math in her mind: "They're going to get another round off on us before we can disable them, and they'll be without shields, so it's going to be an attack of desperation."

Vash's tactical musings were cut short with the Ops Chief gave her sweet release from the growing tension in her head, the sweetest words she had heard in heaven's knew how long. "Deflector ready and locked on, ma'am."

"Fire!" The Orion shuddered faintly as the main deflector unleashed bursts of verteron energy, but all she saw was ribbons of slightly distorted space cascading forward and spreading at speeds she knew only from study and calculation. The Dominon ship didn't even stop moving. There was no visible sign of impact, no obvious way of knowing if the attack even had the desired outcome. Until their sensors picked it up, and the Tactical officer grinned. "Shields down."

"Do it." Vash tapped her comm badge so quickly, all the other end of the line would have heard was the hum of weapons firing initially. "Captain Vaella to Boarding Party, transport in two minutes." Luckily, Vash tapped the badge to close the channel just before the next bit came out of her mouth: "Fuck." An unfiltered to response of the image of the Dominion Ship unleashing another round of fire, just as they were firing. Vash never saw her ship's twelve Quantum torpedos, or the multiple and rapid blazing beams of phaser fire. All she saw were the Dominion weapons. There was twice as many poleron beams. This was going to hurt, a fact so evident to her, it forced her bottom right back down into her command chair. Her knuckles white with their grip upon the arms of the chair.

The Orion seemed to scream, quaking so violently she saw people losing to gravity for a second, before the back of the bridge exploded in heat and venting white gas. She knew better than to go, but Vash immediately went to the source of the explosion and gas. It was a bulkhead right next to her Ready Room, what once was pristine was now twisted and charred, the bulkhead remnants sticking out in vicious jagged edges. The gas was non-toxic, but an array of isolinear chips were fully exposed, their protective housing ripped right off.

"Direct hits, Captain! Their weapons and shields are offline."

Vash was leaned into the remains of the panel when she yelled at Tactical, "Tractor beam if they try to run, Lieutena--"

The explosion was small, but came sudden and sounded worse than it was. It was the only noise that came from the tucked away, hidden, corner of the back of the bridge. By the time people rushed forward their Captain was slowly walking back towards the main area of the bridge. Vash appeared no worse for wear, save for a look of dazed shock upon her fine features, and a stream of blood ran from her right hand down to the carpet of the bridge so thick it oozed.

"...Xyrx needs to assign someone to take care of that panel, it is in need of repair." It was a tiny little thing, but anyone who knew Vash, or Vulcans, would have picked up on it immediately. Vulcans never used contractions. In text, or in speech. As dazed by the sudden small explosion as she was, she seemed otherwise perfectly fine. Except for the absence of the contraction word, and the faint 'hollow' sound of her tone. Like her voice was a distant, disconnected thing.

Like she was hiding behind a wall of cold Vulcan logic.

"Transport the Vorta to the brig. You have the bridge, Lieutenant Alton, I must report to Sick Bay. I will keep my comm badge on."

No matter what that damn Doctor says.

On Vulcan:

Herak had been listening intently to all that the Vulcan ambassador had to say, momentarily studying the angular but attractive architecture of the building; it had the common shaping and look of all the buildings on Vulcan, from the monuments, to the ancient abbeys and monasteries, and the Romulan could not help but be impressed at such unity. Now, if only the people of the planet were as unified as their homes and places of worship.

Only half-listening, he was about to accept Spock's offer of a different beverage when the door slid open, cutting off and response he might have made referring to some particular ale.

For a moment he took in the Vulcan female, the one who now handed a pad to her superior, her face as calm and collected as every other of her kind. S'prorta had always liked the look of Vulcan women, all elegance and cool indifference outside of...certain times of the season, not that different from his own women but different enough to catch the wandering eye of a military veteran.

Oh how utterly boring it must be to be a Vulcan, how very dull and lifeless, a constant struggle through life to keep your emotions in check and your outer mask as unreadable as a blank stone wall. When one looked at the expanse of the Star Empire compared to that of Vulcan and her territories, well, it was not hard to see that a life spent looking inward - concentrating on controlling and concealing your emotions at the cost of all else - was a life wasted, a life not truly lived.

The pad was then passed to him without a word, the keen eyes of the scarred Sublieutenant scrolling over the majestic font of his cousin species language, the smallest hint of a smile pulling his lips upward into something of a smile.

"It appears this might be the best opportunity to get to know the Orion and the Captain outside of your reports. Shall we go?"

So, their transport off of Vulcan had run into a Dominion vessel! This was somewhat surprising to Harek, in spite of the current situation and war footing on which the Federation and therefore Vulcan had been placed, but what was even more surprising was the way in which the Orion was veering about to intercept it. With the U.S.S Venture incoming, there was little need for the crew under the half-Vulcan Vaella to engage, and it appeared that this was clearly her doing.

After adjusting his uniform, the traditional uniform of a Romulan ambassador - a patterned blue coat, tanned trousers and a pair of brown boots, all topped off with a golden sash wrapped diagonally about his torso - S'prorta picked himself up from the cross-legged position in which he had placed himself and followed behind Ambassador Spock and his female assistant; they had exited the home of the venerated diplomat within moments, and soon enough were confronted with the skyline of towering structures, uppermost levels piercing the sky like finely crafted blades, and straight in front of them hummed the form of a hovering Vulcan desert flyer.

A streamlined skimmer, large enough to carry several passengers, the desert flyer was a most common sight on both the streets of Vulcan cities as well as the wider expanses of the deserts and countryside surrounding them. It was without difficulty that all three seated themselves quite comfortably, the unnamed female taking the steering of the hovering vehicle.



Even before entering the more inner sanctum of the Federation Command Building - Vulcan in design, as bland in colour and as pointed as the rest erected around it, the building acted as an amalgamated command base for both Federation vessels and activities in Vulcan space and functioned as a form of embassy for any off-worlders present on the planet who happened to be Federation citizens - Herak could feel the mistrust, even disgust, that radiated from beneath sickeningly hypocritical gestures of greetings, spoken pleasantries, and thin-lipped smiles given to him when introduced by Spock.

Ah, thought the Romulan inwardly, his lip beginning to twitch once more with annoyance, this must be what the Ambassador had to cope with since the moment of his conception. I do not envy him.

Many within the Command Building did not even bother to hide their gaze, openly turning toward or away from their stations, ceasing their activity and movement, just to pointedly stare at the oddest couple on Vulcan with their blank, glassy, eyes that gave nothing at all away. Clearly these rigid fools did not remember that most communication was unspoken, and even keeping every flicker of your facial muscles in check could not stop him feeling every disapproving look as a separate blow..most pointedly as a supporter of Vulcan-Romulan reunification.

"Please, Ambassadors, this way."

Spock's message-carrier, who had been with them all along, wafted a slender limb toward a much smaller room; inside, through expertly crafted windows, Herak could make out figures in both Vulcan and Starfleet uniforms, all gathered in front of a constantly shifting view-screen generating real-time images from somewhere high above the planet. Beside it was another one, more of a starchart, showing the numerous vessels and there positions. Spock and his Romulan counterpart made their ways quietly into the room, the latter breathing a sigh of relief to be somewhere more isolated and out of the sight of so many disparaging looks.

"May I introduce our Federation guest, Admiral Meldal-Johnsan," spoke the ever-present guide, clearly more than a mere messenger or driver, a black human lady with a kindly face and hair bound tightly in a bun behind her head turning with a smile at the mention of her name, "and our own Admiral Storrik," this time the more willowy figure stood next to Johnsan turned and cocked an eyebrow, giving the curtest of nods to the newcomers before returning to his observation of the ensuing space combat.

S'prorta cocked his own eyebrow in return, giving the slightest of smiles to Admiral Johnsan before stepping away from his host and scanning over the shifting screens with his own eyes. It appeared that the Captain of the Orion was performing some sort of mid-space boarding action against the Dominion vessel, an impressive move which, if successful, would mean another small victory against their ever encroaching enemy.

"Fascinating," he said aloud, "Admiral Johnsan, may you tell me, do all your Captains perform such feats on their way to a rendezvous with important dignitaries?" Just to soften the implied criticism in his voice, something most Romulans did not care much about, he followed it up with further speech, "should an enemy vessel cross their path, I mean."

The Sublieutenant waited with a fixed expression on his face, even as he saw the Venture getting closer to both ships, wishing more than anything that he was up there at this very moment.

Sick Bay

"Prep examination rooms three and four for triage, and keep the first three ORs open and on standby in case that away mission goes sideways."

The members of Carter's medical staff agreed and scurried off to do their tasks. He stood near the front entrance with his tablet, monitoring the current condition aboard the ship. Orion and the Dominion ship had exchanged fire with damage to both parties, more so to the Dominion ship than to Orion. Carter was expecting casualties to roll into Sick Bay quickly, but from all reports there would be no serious and life-threatening injuries.

The real concern was for the away team. They'd beamed away just a few minutes ago into unfamiliar and unfriendly territory. There was no doubt that they would came back with at least some wounded or dead.

"Captain's coming," one of the orderlies reported as he pushed a hover gurney by. "My buddy on the bridge just told me she's coming down here."

"Why?" Carter asked with a furrowed brow. "Doesn't she have enough to do up there?"

"She's banged up, apparently," the orderly said, disappearing around the corner.

Carter cursed and eyed the entrance. With a crisis looming, the last thing he wanted was the CO hovering over his shoulder and watching the medical staff at work.

"Nurse Dera," he called to his Orion nurse. "Prep exam room five instead of three. We'll save that for our VIP."

Teruk sat in the mess hall behind the bridge, addressing the woman on screen. "It's good to see you again T'Sil. How are they treating you?"

"It is agreeable to see you again too. The penal colony is definitely preferable to what the Cardassians would have done to us if you didn't turn us in to Star Fleet Intelligence."

"Of course," he said, sipping a cup of coffee, as he'd developed a habit of doing while under cover in the Maquis. "Did you call just to reminisce? I don't mind doing that, but I'm currently on duty, so I should call you back later, maybe five hours from now."

"Mostly," she said, "but I was also hoping you could come and visit." She looked slightly downward, a bit sad, something which with most Vulcans would be a sign of mental disorder, but with her was just a normal thing. "I haven't had a good game of Kal-toh sense coming here. I would love it if you could play a game with me. In person." The last sentence was said with a bit of allure.

"Of course." he said. "I would love a game of... Kal-toh. I will try and visit you the next..." The lights in the room turned red. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I'll call you back, maybe tonight."

"Of course," she said, "I will speak with you later." She deactivated the link.

Teruk headed for the bridge.

---

Several minutes later, when the Captain left to go to sickbay, Teruk follow her into the turbolift. "Captain, if you have a minute," he said, stepping into the turbolift before the doors closed. "I would like to discuss something with you." After the door closed and the lift had started he began speaking again. "If you are planning to interrogate the Vorta, I would like to be the one to do it. They have proven resistant to standard interrogation techniques, but I believe I could be successful via...alternative methods."

The Bridge:
There was a slightly dazed silence on the Bridge was the Captain disappeared, the ship counselor following close behind. Lt. Alton barely snapped off a "Yessir" before the turbolift doors closed. The soft sound was clearly audible in the silence. The silence stretched as the Tactical Officer tapped on her screen with determination. Then she let out a small sigh.

"The Vorta's in the brig." She turned in her chair to give a bright smile to the bridge crew.

"Ma'am." The Andorian Crewman 1st class manning the Mission Status Display spoke up. "Transporter room one reports Commander Poxx and Chief Security Officer Brown have completed their mission. The Dominion ship is neutralized." The woman, relieved, returned Linda's smile.

"Good." Lt. Alton said as she gazed at those still left in the room. Her eyes stopped on the two sitting at the Environmental and Auxiliary system controls. The two engineers meet her gaze steadily. "Send a call to Engineering and get someone up here to fix the breach." The duo nodded and one tapped his chest badge.

"Anyone else injured? Lt. Bishop, you okay?" Linda asked the poor Jag officer. Without a seat, she hadn't stood much of a chance against gravity. No pun intended. As she asked her question she could hear the Ensign tell the Chief Engineer what had happened.

Transporter Room One:
Petty Officer Stan Wilkin hoovered nervously over the transport controls. After the first call about transporting out wounded. The Petty Officer hadn't even hesitated to beam him directly into sick bay with his co-worker Ensign Chevo giving the doctor notification. Usually Wilkin would eye his Bajoran, female, counterpart. Her nose was particularity sexy. But he didn't at the moment. There would be time for ogling later. Provided he didn't get anyone killed.

Wilkin was just about to go back to ogling, his will power was never that great, when the Chief Security Officer alerted them that they were ready to be beamed out.

"Roger. Transporting in three, two..." Wilkin looked up as the men materialized. All six were still alive. He couldn't resist giving his lovely crew-mate a hug, which she ably sidestepped. Most of them were injured in some way or another. But nothing fatal. Or didn't look fatal, he wasn't a doctor.

"Sir!" Ensign Chevo exclaimed as she spotted Brown. "You need medical attention. I can beam you directly to sickbay." Even as she spoke she prepared the proper coordinates. In her haste she completely missed the Petty Officer's look of jealously.

The Brig:
There were two Officers in the Brig, waiting for the Vorta to appear. They held on grimly as the ship shook. When that ceased they both turned their attention to the cell the Vorta should be appearing in. Indeed, just under five minutes later a tall, proud woman appeared. And that's where things stopped going to plan. The Vorta woman looked over her new cell before raising her hand. She pressed it to the right side of her face and jaw.

The two security officers on guard watched her curiously. Not much was known about the Vorta. So when she collapsed, they weren't quite sure if she was faking it in some elaborate scam to escape. By the time they decided to check the cell the Vorta was dead. The two officers did a quick game to decide who got to tell the captain.

"Captain." The losing Security Officer said. "The Vorta, she-uh, she'd dead sir."

Vulcan:
Admiral Johnsan watched the Roluman Ambassador only partly. She was too focused on the Orion and the harebrained Captain. The black woman didn't like Captain Vaella. At first she had been indifferent, then she had been snubbed. Johnsan wouldn't forget that. Though it did sooth her pride a little knowing that the half-blood Vulcan would have to spend a few hours at the planet. It would serve her right. She was brought out of her thoughts as the Ambassador spoke.

"Fascinating," he said aloud, "Admiral Johnsan, may you tell me, do all your Captains perform such feats on their way to a rendezvous with important dignitaries?" Just to soften the implied criticism in his voice, something most Romulans did not care much about, he followed it up with further speech, "should an enemy vessel cross their path, I mean."

The human Admiral studied the Romulan's face, just like a Vulcan's with nothing exposed, before replying. The woman attempted a smile. "We all do what we can in times of war. I'm sure Captain Vaella felt she had no other choice. The Venture will take over for her and she'll continue her political mission." The brittle smile on the Ambassador's face implied that if the Captain didn't have a damn good reason there'd be hell to pay.

"But rest assured." Admiral Johnsan plowed on. "Captain Vaella is very much aware of how important this mission is. She wont do anything to jeopardize it."

As the woman spoke, Spock slowly drifted closer to the screen. His eyes taking in all the details. If the Captain had reminded him of Jim only from the reports, her actions here cemented that. When the Admiral was done speaking Spock turned back to her.

"Do you know why a Dominion ship was this far into Federation territory?" His question wasn't accusing, just curious.

Admiral Storrik spoke up instead, nearly cutting off Johnsan. "That is uncertain at the moment. I am sure the Captain is doing everything in her power to discover that very fact." The Vulcan was only half looking at Spock as he spoke. Admiral Johnsan merely blinked before turning back to the screen, apparently to see if there were any developments. The Venture was now only a few minutes out.

Vashara Vaella's temper was frayed. Between blood loss and the sudden shift of her personality, she found herself preciously thin on patience. Truth be told, she never saw the Counselor hop into the turbo lift. Her mind was too far gone. The heart of her pain wasn't her hand. It was the ghosts. The ghost, really. That's where Vash was as she stood in the lift, her weight leaned back against the bulkhead of the lift, head back and eyes staring into the light of the lift. No focus to her gaze. All she saw in those few moments was her Cadet Commander, Cadet Helaena Terys; the young woman's bright blue eyes, and the deep soft tones of her voice.

It was in hearing Helaena's low purr that she finally heard the distant echo of another tone. That was the moment her head moved, and her eyes fell onto the Vulcan in front of her. She missed the first part of what he said, but got the gist of it. She began to speak, before her comm badge cut her off to inform her, and the older Vulcan by proxy, that the Vorta was dead.

"Understood, Vaella out." A beat after the signal was cut the lift eased to a stop, doors hissing open. "Perhaps next time, Counselor."

That was the best she could offer before slipping out the lift and crossing the corridor to Sick Bay. The place was busy. Busier than she would have liked. As gripped by her own injuries, physical and mental, as she was none of it compared to seeing people in her crew hurting, or worse. It was her fault: every scratch, broken bone, concussion, plasma burn, or death. Every single mishap fell on the shoulders of the ship's captain. Helaena taught her that. She taught Vash everything Vash knew about everything.

Everything worth knowing, anyway.

Vash was moving again soon enough, bee lining to a counter along the bulkhead. She moved with intention, and fore thought...and like she knew where things were. Or, at least, where odds are they would be. In less than a minute she had a hypospray and dermal regeneration; the medical tricorder she found under the counter after a search of just a few seconds. Her left hand did everything, including setting the hypospray to exactly the desired medicine, the regenerator set to the side. Three quick "shots" of the hypospray were pumped into her right hand, to reduce blood loss and kill pain. In a few more seconds the pain was subsiding enough to allow just the barest movement of her right fingers.

By that time, a nurse was at her side. Vash ignored her, but still wasn't able to reconfigure the medical tricorder quickly enough to do it before it was too late. Before the CMO was at her elbow, giving her a look Vashara hoped his mother had never been given. Eased and relaxed by the painkillers, a dosage over half what Starfleet Medical suggests, the Captain felt a little more relaxed than she might otherwise be...slower, too. The stoic Vulcan side of her that had appeared after the explosion was now gone, narcotics leaving only Vash once more.

"I have long, jagged, pieces of isolinear data chips embedded into my palm from an explosion on the bridge. I've already stopped the blood loss and killed the pain, but you got here before I could reconfigure the tricorder to emit a micro-antigrav pulse to dis-embed the bits of isolinear chips...but you probably have a more 'Doctor'-y way of doing that. So whatever, fine. Here."

She sighed, it was faint and under her breath, but oh-so passive aggressive. Fixing herself was keeping her mind off other things, like ghosts, and wounded crewmembers. Now the CMO had taken that from her. Now he would take care of her. Vash knew her medical record. She knew multiple doctors in the Academy had labeled her "uncooperative" and "uncomfortable being cared her." She was only glad the CMO had no access to the classified parts of her Medical Record; her recovery from the Cosmo incident.

"Also, hey, I could do this myself if you should be taking care of someone more seriously injured. This is barely a flesh wound, I wouldn't even need to bother a nurse: I did a year of Medical at the VSA and had a minor going in Combat Medicine at the Academy. So, really, I could do it just fine."

Even if I can barely move my right hand.

Engineering:
The little peons in Engineering were kept on their toes keeping blown power relays from hindering the ship's functionality. Overseeing the work was Xyrx, while keeping an eye on the warp core, just in case. He had changed his mind about going to the bridge when he had been nearly halfway there. Instead he turned back around to keep an eye on things. And no, the reason wasn't because he had to help one of his engineers fix a power reply on the way.

As the Orion exchanged fire with the Dominion ship, Xyrx nearly wept at the idea that they were injuring his ship. It was new damn it. And now they were putting holes in her. A thought that sadly came true just a few minutes after the thought. The force of the artillery from the Dominion ship was enough to drop him to the floor, and with everyone else too.

"Status!" Xyrx called to the computer even as he scrambled back to his feet.

"Multiple haul breaches on levels one, three and four." The cool computer voice read out.

Xyrx made a face. Another engineer called back to Xyrx. "All breaches have been sealed. One major one is just next to the bridge." There was a beep from Xyrx's communicator.

"Xyrx." Xyrx tapped it after lifting a hand to halt the engineer's report.

"This is Ensign Dex, Environmental Controls. There's a haul breach on the bridge. If you could send someone to fix it, the Captain would be happy."

"Someone's on their way." Xyrx said and ended the communication. He turned his attention back to the prior engineer who was giving him odd looks.

"Sir, you're blee--."

A weird rushing sound drowned out the rest of the sentence. Concerned, Xyrx tried to turn to see the console for the warp core but everything tilted and went black.

The Engineer who had been speaking to his CO, frantically tapped on his communicator. "Sick Bay." He croaked out as he scrambled over to Xyrx's prone body. "Sick Bay!" He mashed his communicator again even as he pressed one hand to the bleeding wound. He didn't think Xyrx was breathing? What if he died. The Engineer swallowed thickly. That wouldn't look good on his record. Letting his CO bleed to death.

With no reply from sick bay, he pressed his comm again. "Transport two to sick bay." Within seconds the world of engineering dematerialized and turned into sick bay.

"I have long, jagged, pieces of isolinear data chips embedded into my palm from an explosion on the bridge. I've already stopped the blood loss and killed the pain, but you got here before I could reconfigure the tricorder to emit a micro-antigrav pulse to dis-embed the bits of isolinear chips...but you probably have a more 'Doctor'-y way of doing that. So whatever, fine. Here."

She sighed, it was faint and under her breath, but oh-so passive aggressive. Fixing herself was keeping her mind off other things, like ghosts, and wounded crewmembers. Now the CMO had taken that from her. Now he would take care of her. Vash knew her medical record. She knew multiple doctors in the Academy had labeled her "uncooperative" and "uncomfortable being cared her." She was only glad the CMO had no access to the classified parts of her Medical Record; her recovery from the Cosmo incident.

"Also, hey, I could do this myself if you should be taking care of someone more seriously injured. This is barely a flesh wound, I wouldn't even need to bother a nurse: I did a year of Medical at the VSA and had a minor going in Combat Medicine at the Academy. So, really, I could do it just fine."

Even if I can barely move my right hand.

"Delegation is key," Carter chided. "It's supposed to be the first thing officers learn, at least that's what I learned in the Academy. I didn't go the command track, but I retained that much."

Of course the captain learned about combat medicine. From what he'd gleaned about his CO in his short time here, she was a jack of all trades but a master of none. Impetuous. That's the word Carter would use to describe Captain Vaella. What did you expect when someone not even thirty years was put in charge of an entire starship?

Carter worked in silence and went about finishing the work in a way very similar to the one described by Vaella. Instead of a makeshift tricorder, he used a sonic pulse scalpel to disintegrate the embedded tech pieces in her arm. After that, he applied ointment on the wound and started the process of growing the skin back.

"Flex your arm for me," he said as they watched the dermal regeneration of the skin on her arm. "Work the joints, wrist, and fingers and see if you can feel anything through your painkillers. There's going to be some pain, but not enough that you should feel it."

Carter glanced up and saw his staff busy at work on other patients. So far, nothing critical had come in but they had yet to hear news from the away team. For all he knew, this could be the calm before the storm.

"I have no idea of your patchwork ability," Carter said while he watched the captain inspect her arm. "But coming all the way down to Sickbay to patch yourself up is like going to a restaurant and cooking your own dinner. Why do it yourself when a pro can take care of it?"

"Because she was a Doctor."

Her head and eyes on the ground, her voice quiet and hurt--Vashara would torture herself for just how pathetic it all must have looked to her CMO and his staff. To the survivors of the Cosmo, Vash was a savior, the tragedy of their cadet cruise surely just the start of her legend. But the incident left Vash irrepairably damaged; she'd lost her best friend, the Cadet XO, and the love of her life, their Doctor and the Cadet Commander of their Squad. Vash lost them both in a matter of seconds, before anyone could blink, let alone mentally register such a thing.

But emotionally processing it? Vash discovered it could not be done. No amount of counseling, no amount of meditation, no amount of anything could help her...except playing the legend. So she got lost in it; the crew of the USS Hawk went from mocking the hype to becoming adherents: with Vash on the bridge, nothing could beat them. Even in the face of defeat, Vash and the crew managed victory. There were dark moments, times when the unresolved pain underneath would turn their legend blackhearted and hateful, her mind replaying the time Malachi Brown watched her torture a Vorta, before murdering the thing in cold blood.

But it was all better for her than facing the truth. That she would not question, not until the war was over. If it ever ended for her.

Her head lifted at the sound of chaos: medical emergency. Worse, it was the CHENG. The young Captain frowned, her voice still soft. "Good luck, Doctor, and thanks." Then the real, hurting, Vash was gone. Replaced by the harder edged voice of the growing legend, her comm badge tapped with the newly repaired right hand--although she paused before speaking, her eyes widening a nano second after her fingertips hit the comm badge.

Ow. "Captain Vaella to the bridge, I'm moving from Sickbay to Main Engineering, with the CHENG down I need to review what we got from the Dominion boat. If the Venture doesn't show up in ten minutes, drop the warning buoys and take off to Vulcan, warp 6." She wanted to say max warp, but after the battle, she didn't want to tempt the Orion with a golden opportunity to break more by pushing it.

And the chaos of sickbay had grown so intense that for once even Captain Vaella could slip out, unnoticed.

Lieutenant Brown had parted ways with Poxx at the Transporter Room. The Orion still shook from the damage it had taken whilst Brown was aboard the Jem’Hadar ship but with their Vorta onboard and his First dead the battle was all but done. Dw’kin, Anthony, and the others had transported over before them. The bloodstains along the floor of the Transporter Room no doubt came from Anthony’s leg wound. It looked to have bled twice as badly as Brown’s arm. He clutched at it as he made his way through the Orion’s corridors escorted by a pair of young ensigns. With each step they offered the Security Chief their support but he brushed them aside each time. The blood had soaked through the arm of his uniform and stained a portion of it red. His dark skin looked drained of blood but his feet kept moving all the same.

The doors to the Sick Bay slid open and a wall of noise greeted Brown. Amongst the carnage he noticed a familiar figure departing from the Sick Bay at the other side. It was Captain Vaella.

“Vash,” Brown called out as the doors slid shut behind the captain.

Malachi and the captain had a tumultuous relationship at best. He had been with her aboard the Hawk. They had both seen people they cared for and trusted lost. They had both done things that stayed with them until this very day. Brown rarely approved of the captain’s methods but she had got them home despite everything. For that the captain had earned Brown’s undying loyalty.

On a bed across the room Malachi spotted Anthony with D’wkin beside him and lifted a thumb in their direction. His hand was covered in blood and the Security Officer’s weak smile wavered as he felt his legs give out beneath him. He outstretched a hand towards a nearby table to catch his fall and D’wkin bounded towards him to help him to his feet.

“Doctor!”

“I’m fine,” Brown muttered as he dragged himself up to his feet. “There’s no need to make a scene.”

As he secured himself Brown saw the Orion’s doctor Carter Cole slip into sight. He was a plain looking man, unspectacular even, but he knew his way around a scalpel like no one that Malachi had ever met.

“What do you reckon, Doc?” Lieutenant Brown said with a feeble smile as he gestured towards his injured arm. “I hope amputation’s not on the cards. I don't think Catherine will be able to find another fencing instructor at such short notice.”