Valberg hadn’t even had time to groom himself, let alone take the much anticipated sonic shower he was looking forward to before orders had come to him to be in Transporter Room 2, with a fully armed security detail for the arrival of the much controversial ‘guests’. He gave a curt nod to Ensign McCreary before looking down the corridor towards TAC.

“Ensign, be a doll and deliver the rest of my belongings to my quarters would you? It Seems that the Wolf Pack needs to meet its Alpha pronto.”

Ensign McCreary gave the tall Norseman a beguiled look but nodded in reply before taking the few belonging’s Karl had brought with him on towards his quarters. The only object which he kept on his person was the Bat’leth Worf had bestowed upon him, which he wore proudly in a bandoleer across his broad back.

Ilene looked at him skeptically as he mounted the twin bladed weapon into place, handing her the case.

“I know it’s not standard issue lass, but we’re not for having standard guests now are we?” Without another word he turned, and made his way towards TAC.

=/\\\\\\\\= This is Lieutenant Valberg, the Security Chief. I need eight of you pups in yellow to meet me armed and ready in Transporter Room 2, and I mean yesterday. We’ve some distinguished guests to show a good time once they enter our den, so stiff up, arm up, and shut up. We’ll cover names and introductions when I arrive. =/\\\\\\\\=

Sweeping through TAC like a bat outta hell, Valberg nearly bowled over a young security officer who was hurriedly latching on his phaser to his belt while leaning in the doorway. Valberg looked at him and furrowed his bushy brows, (which were known to blend into one when not properly maintained) before physically moving him aside and picking up a PADD listing off the entire Security compliment the USS Cerberus enlisted.
He turned to pick up a Type-IIIa assault rifle to compliment his standard sidearm, and as he heard the door to TAC open he for lack of a better term: growled.

“Ensign if I ever catch you without your sidearm where it belongs again I’ll be certain to feed it to you so as to not have you forgetting again. Do I make myself clear?”

A stifled “yessir!” was all that reached Valberg’s ears before the hatch closed once more.

“This ship’s going to need a serious crew overhauling. One weak link can break us, and I do not want to be caught with any weakness with Romulans aboard.” Valberg noted he was speaking to no one in particular, and without further ado made his way to Transporter Room 2.

USS Cerberus – Transporter Room 2 – approx. 1000 hours

Valberg arrived in due coarse, looking as though we were ready to wage war. He stationed two of the security detail outside the room, one per side. While taking the other six in with him and stationing them around the room. Marley and Brom were on the left, McPherson and Illie on the right and Davies and Jenkins, (who he noted as the one from TAC) behind the transporter console.

“Captain.” Was all he said as he set his rifle to the lowest potentially fatal setting.

Adrenaline drove Rrowl to the transporter room where, to their credit, he found a small detachment of armed security personnel, led by a tall, blonde male lieutenant. Try as he might, the kzinti felt the battle rage flowing through his veins in a way that it had not done for some time. Allies or not, Romulans had been – and as far as he could tell, always would be – enemies of his people. His instincts cried to him to charge into the transporter room and cut down the filth as they materialized, and it took every fiber of his discipline not to act on them.

Instead, he managed to keep his voice to a feral growl, rather than the roar of hate he so longed to loose. “Have your team cover them well, Lieutenant Valberg. If the Romulans hint at treachery, I expect them to be reduced to ash on the spot.”

Valberg nodded towards Rrowl, but said nothing, his actions spoke for him as Rrowl could visibly see him change the settings on his phasers from ‘potentially maim’ to ‘charbrioled plasma stain’ or ‘Kill’ as it was more generally termed. Following him; so too did his detachment make their adjustments.

The Romulans arrived in a beam of light, and immediately the verbal sparring for dominance in stature, in which MacTavish scored the final blow as he spoke.

“Et’s no’ a big ship, Centurion, nor is et some bloody hotel on Risa,” MacTavish rumbled in reply, slowly turning to regard Sienae, “I’m sure yer lads’re more’n capable o’ shootlin’ their own gear ta their bunks an’, should they wander aboot where they’re no’ s’posed ta be, Lieutenant Commander Rrowl an’ Lieutenant Valberg’s crew’ll be keen ta set ‘em back on course.”

His gaze panned toward the looming kzinti; “Would tha’ be a proper assumption, Mester Rrowl?”

Cerberus’ TAC allowed his teeth to be bared in a frightening parody of a smile. “That would be correct, captain. We will be happy to ensure that the centurion’s crew do not become lost.”

The captain secured communications for the Romulans before turning back to Rrowl.

Mester Rrowl,” he said, turning now, and continuing out of the transporter room, “When ye’ve finished wi’ wha’ ye need ta do, I’ll see ye in me ready room.”

“Aye, sir,” Rrowl replied as the anger slowly simmered away to be replaced by watchfulness. “I will finish with Lieutenant Valberg, then join you immediately.”

Valberg directed a pair of Security officers to oversee each pair of Romulans with the cloaks, and ordered the remaining four to accompany the Centurion and her Second wherever they may head while aboard the Cerberus.
”See our company finds the comfort of walking into a wolf’s den as… authentic as possible boys.”
Twice now he had referred to Security as some sort of Lupine family, but the officers, figuring it something of his Nordic past merely snapped too and made their way.

Before long, the room was empty. “Walk with me please, lieutenant,” he addressed the new security chief.

Valberg lowered his rifle some and engaged the safety lock for the first time since removing it from the armory. “Certainly Sir,” came his usual short reply.
“Mister Valberg,” Rrowl began, “As you may have noticed, I do not trust Romulans. I detest them. I would rather remove my tail than serve alongside them.”

He paused for a moment. “But I have no choice. That does not mean I will blindly allow them to roam this ship. I want security watches at critical systems – engineering, life support, shields, weapons, the bridge – doubled at all times. It would seem that the Romulans will be required access to engineering for their cargo, but under no other circumstances are they to be granted access to any critical systems. If they make an attempt to do so, detain them immediately; kill them if necessary.”

Karl Valberg snapped to. His body rigid and strong, like a two legged wall of indomitable will as he regarded Rrowl. “Sir yes sir. We’ll keep the jackals out from the farmhouse don’t you worry. I’ll be kicking the pack into shape or they can git off and go home. I’ll have a full detail of logistics concerning Security in one hour. “

The orders continued. “Get with operations, and configure a security terminal to keep tabs on each member of the contingent at all times through their commbadges. I want to know where they are at all hours of the day and night. If one makes his dirt, I want to know it. Do you understand me?”

” Right sir, not a problem. I’ll hit Ops as soon as we’re done here. Tack it onto the report. One hour.” Karl was nodding curtly to the Kzinti, his ice blue eyes surveying the large felinoid. “Perhaps once the wheels start turning on this whole operation y’ed honor me with some time in the holodeck?. I’m afraid after I’m done with me pups their won’t be anyone left to put up much of a challenge.

Valberg gave an audible chortle before moving towards the hatch. “If that’s all Sir, I’ll be getting down to business.”

(Allowing for Rrowl’s possible response, his preference in hand-hand and close combat would be known to the LtCr.

“Very well,” Rrowl snarled. “Welcome aboard the Cerberus, lieutenant.”

With that, Rrowl left Valberg to his duty – he was more than interested to see what the captain had in mind.

Alone in the corridor, Karl brought up a onscreen directory to get him to Ops. He had a detail to get done.

Stardate: 2371.08.31 USS Cerberus – Medical Bay – 2008 hours
Lt. Hash stood before the slate gray doors of the medical bay just far enough away from the sensors so as not to activate them. His eyes traced the blue bars that indicated the medical nature of the room across the face of the door as though they held patterns of hidden meaning deep within. His head tilted slightly to the side, almost to the angle of the shadow that cut across the door due to a series of lights that had not yet been activated in the corridor. He was alone. There were no passerby’s to speculate on what occupied his mind, not that they’d be right. What occupied Jon’s mind was never what one thought.

For example: in this case, one might have thought Jon Patrick Hash to be considering the aesthetics of the wall and door mixed with the shadows and the color of blue, or they might have thought that he was contemplating the magnitude of his new assignment aboard a newly christened vessel, green in all aspects. They might even think that he was considering how he was going to address his crew for the first time once he stepped through the door—of course, that would be assuming that any of the medical staff had arrived aboard yet. Still, they’d be wrong.

Jon had been caught up in a holodeck program he’d experienced in his lay-over that had been a rather poor rendition of the classic Beowulf, and a conversation he’d had with the electronic, artsy, embodiment of the legendary hero.

“What bloody good does it do to lie in wait for the enemy’s attack when you know it will just tear through your defenses and decimate your numbers?” Jon had asked while the two peered over the vast, windswept landscape of the mountains surrounding the lodge Grendal would be ransacking in just a few hours.

“It is a test of strength,” Beowulf had responded with iron cords in his voice.

“A test of bloody stupidity.”

“You question my honor, Little Man…” The great warrior’s voice trailed off dangerously, but Jon ignored the warning.

“If honor equates to stupidity, then yeah. You know where the beast resides; why not take the battle to him?” Jon knew full well that Beowulf would, eventually, take the fight to the troll, but in the meantime many lives would be wasted to ideals.

“I will defend the lodge—“

“You’re a bloody fool.”

Isn’t that what the Federation is doing? Waiting for the troll to come storming through our front doors and tear our people limb from limb? The surgeon sighed and then took a deep breath. He’d had that conversation with Dr. DeBakey during another of his holodeck leaves.

“Yes,” Debakey, the famous cardiovascular surgeon had amended thoughtfully when Jon had raised that argument after describing what was happening in the Dominion War. “It would seem that they are waiting, but perhaps they are waiting like the Ctenizidae of the order Araneae, and will pounce when the moment presents itself.”

“That’s not what they’re doing at all!” Hash had raged. “They’re sitting like a bunch of pansy asses, waiting for the bloody Dominion to step on their toes so they can respond! They’re a bunch of—oh! Shut up. You’re a bloody fool.”

That had been the end of that. Dr. Debakey had refused to even acknowledge Jon’s presence after that, and Lt. Hash had left the holodeck representation of the heart surgery in a huff.

His opinion of how Star Fleet was handling the Dominion War hadn’t changed, but he kept accepting assignments that he hoped would take him to the brink, put him in a position where he could best effect the outcome, and help him help others turn the tide. At least, that was how he’d tried to make things work until now.

“Bloody fool,” he mumbled as he stepped forward and through the doorway that opened for him. Peering around at his less than spacious sickbay, Jon sighed again and made his way to his desk. He knew he should be reporting to the captain, but for the time being he needed to sort out his senses. Dropping into the seat behind the console-laden table, Jon considered how he’d ended up where he was.

“Weren’t you just in the thick of it?” he asked himself, remembering the battle that had nearly been his last. It had been the end for some multiple thousands of Star Fleet personnel. He’d “lucked out” and been picked up while floating near the debris of his disabled ship by a retreating frigate while the Dominion-Cardassian fleet systematically destroyed every last vessel floating in the great, black void of space.

“State the reason of your medical emergency.” The voice came from off to his right, near the door. Peering up at the scrawny, blonde-haired medical program Jon sighed again.

“I don’t have a bloody medical emergency, you stupid batch of glowing lights and energized particles. I’m the damn doctor around here so do yourself a favor and don’t activate unless I’m not in the room. Now vaporize.”

“Well, I’ll be!” The program huffed indignantly. “I was programmed to appear when someone not designated medical staff entered the room. I was—“

“You were getting on my last nerve is what you were doing. I’m the bloody doctor here, now scram!”

With an imperious glare the program deactivated leaving Jon to his lonely, dim lighting. With yet another sigh, Lt. Hash reached over to his desktop and tapped the surface, watching the multiple light panel come to life. Pressing the communication line, he activated the command staff protocol he’d been given.

“Captain?”

=/\\= Response =/\\=

“Lieutenant Jon Hash reporting for duty, sir.” His tone was ornery, like someone who had just been on a flight jammed in tight quarters for hours on end, though Jon felt he was tempering it well.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
Cerebrus – Corridor/Turbolift/Bridge en route to the ship’s Captain - 1215 hours

Lt. Solus walked the corridors of the ships taking the Turbolift from Deck 6 to the Bridge and ultimately a meeting with the Captain. He had never met Captain Jack MacTavish but he was determined to make a good first impression. Wonder what his interests are .. maybe we will have something in common .. If we do it will make things easier. Of course .. this mission will surely bring up some time to get to know one another. I … Lt. Solus stopped in midthought as he rode the turbolift to the main deck when the doors opened and a massive creature stepped onto the turbolift. From his studies, Solus recognized the species immediately. A Kzinti, a felinoid species from the planet Kzin. Kzinti had been at war with Earth some time ago but had sense entered into a time of peace. Hopefully they might one day join the Federation Alliance. To see one serving on a Starfleet vessel was a delight to Lt. Solus indeed. I hope he’s a friendly Kzinti. “Royelle Solus … Good evening Lt. Commander ………”, Solus remarked, extending a hand to the
Kzinti Lt. Commander waiting for an exchange of names.

(Rrowl's Response Here)

“I look forward to working with you. I am the CSO newly assigned to the Cerberus. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” At this Lt. Solus stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge. Taking in the technology and studying acclimating himself with the ships systems. Approaching Science I he began to check the controls of the system recognizing the software as adequate. Looks like I might be making a few upgrades in my spare time
A voice came from behind and nearly startled Solus as he was looking over the controls at Science I. The Captain had stepped onto the Bridge.

(Captain’s Response Here)

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Transporter Room 2 – 1013 hours
“Thank you, Captain,” her words follow the man out the hatch.

Next she turns to Rrowl, “Lt Commander Rrowl,” again she rolls her rs in just the right way, “I will be expecting your information, as soon as you have reviewed your data and assigned personnel to guard the cloaking devices. For this time I will leave them in your...” Sienae tightened straight up to stave off the wave of pain that swept across her back, bad timing for a muscle spasm, “...hands, as my people will be engaged in dry runs of fitting the device into your ship and the Charon, when we get to her.”

Sienae let out a sign as she left the Transporter Room after the Captain, leaving the Kizinti, and the giant blonde Lieutenant behind in the Transporter Room. She was trying to collect her thoughts through the pain in her back, when S’Talon came up beside her.

“What did you expect, though the Captain hid his dislike in formalities, with thinly veiled distrust.” Talon spoke lowly, below the normal range of hearing. The comlinks the Federation military all used were universal translators. “Now, the Kizinti was far less able to hide his hatred. I thought for a minute he would attack, except his Captain interceded.”

“It is not going to be a easy trip.” Sienae nodded her agreement to Talon’s perspective on the matter.

Talon looks at Sienna not acknowledging that he knows she is hurting. “I will bring your gear later after I see the team to their quarters with their gear. You may rest assured all will be handle properly.”

Luckily none of the Starfleet officers were around to hear this conversation.

She carefully turns to and realizes that she did not have exact directions to her quarters.

“Crewman,” she turned to look at one of the Security personnel that had followed her out, “Will you please find out the number of the room on Deck 3 that has been assigned to us. And where is the nearest lift.” Sienae figurered she and S’Talon would be put together. She waits for the answer.

After the information was offered, she turns smoothly to the nearest lift, as indicated, by the crewman.

Once on Deck 3 one of the Security team leads the way to the Guest Quarters, down a short hall he indicates one door, "This is for your Sec. in Command, Room 03-012 and you are across the hall in 03-013. Some one is Ops will be here soon to set the door security for you."

One of the crewman leads the way to the nearest lift and to deck 3. Then he leads then down the curved hall to a bisecting straight hall. At the end of the hall he stops. “Centurion you’re in 03-013 and your Second is in 03-012.”

Sienae was surprised that they each got their own room she was more surprised as her room was opened by Security and she went to step in. It was huge, compared to anything on a Romulan warbord. In the first room there was a divan, a desk with a computer monitor on it and there was a large table with 6 chairs, for eating or meetings. There were works of art on the wall and even some green plants hanging in containers or standing up in pots on the floor.

“Centurion," the crewman states. "You need to place you hand on this door pad and the security system will recognize you as the occupant and only open to you.”

“What if I want another to be able to enter as well?” Sienae turnsed and stepped yp to the door.

“Then they mucst touch it too, after they do just need to tell the door to shut, and after that the door will recognize you and whoever else has touched the pad.”

As Talon was behind her and closer to the pad, she nods to him. Talon puts his hand on the pad first. Sienae move up and goes to do the same.

When a gasp of pain and a string of curses that caused the Starfleet crewman to blush as the words and idioms were translated Sienae grabbed the door and held on for dear life. Her back arched painfully in a deep concave as the spasm continued to build.

To the credit of one of the secruity team he tapped his com link. “Sickbay....”

“Noooo!” hissed Sienae through clenched teeth. “Its just....a muscle....spasm.”

“Ssss’Talon.”

“It is a recent battle injury.” Talon gives just that brief explanation and then turns and hands the long box he was carrying to one of the crewmen, “Put it down for in inside and go. Now where is the bedroom?” He slips an arm under her shoulder, but does not touch her back and half supporting her to the door which opens as they approach. In a couple minutes and he returns, “I need some water.”

A crewman goes over to the replicator and asks for a glass of pure water and hands the glass to the Talon. He goes back in and returns. “Let’s get my room opened and the door imprinted.”

Once that is done Talon returns to SIenna's room. He does not care now what the Security team does or thinks, Strong hands deadly in in unarmed combat were also skilled in techniques that help relieve stress and strain, after 20 minutes of massage he checks on his Centurion and saw she was a;seep. Her back was finally eased from the spasms that sfflicted her since the accident.

(Not sure if the Security team is supposed to be watching them, standing guard outside their doors, or so they just return to their regular posts.)

Talon then takes time to put the long box on her sleeping room and lets himself out to check on the rest of the contingent.

If the Security personnel are around nearby. Talon strides up to them and and declares stonily. "The Centurion does not wished to be distrubed. I will handle any difficulties that may arise until you are told different by myself or the Centurian. You will relay that to your Captian, also."

That "also" had more that one meaning and Talon was making sure the security crewmen knew that he did too.

Stardate: 2372.09.01
USS Cerberus – Deck 5, Lounge – 0712 hours
Vaela reached out a slender hand to gently prod the half-eaten croissant that lay before her. Much to her dismay the croissant remained unmoved, unconvinced by her attempt to make it disappear or at the very least make it look as if she had eaten more of it than she had. It wasn’t that it was unpleasant, in fact compared to the fare the error-prone replicator on board the shuttle-craft that had brought her aboard the Cerberus had served up it was food fit for an Admiral, but having entered the Lounge less with a desire to eat than with a sense of duty that she ought to eat something Vaela found her breakfast difficult to stomach. So the Andorian contented herself with staring coldly at the croissant, and, given that she had been dueling with her meal for well over ten minutes, by now the lasagna was staring coldly back.

“Liuetenant P’Tammah?” A voice stirred Vaela from her private battle. As the Andorian’s eyes rose she saw it belonged to a woman bearing the single pip of an ensign and the ridged nose and d’ja pagh of a Bajoran.

“You must be Ensign Korae?” Vaela asked, deducing that the delicate features of the woman before her belonged to a helmsman she had arranged to meet over breakfast.

The woman sighed quietly. “It’s Ensign Larya. Korae is what my friends or family would call me.”

Vaela smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. Please take a seat.”

As the Bajoran Ensign did so, Vaela’s mind ran over what she had earlier read her. ‘Violent temper, prone to disobey orders, ill at ease with her peers….’ The judgement of Larya’s tutors at the Academy had been damning, and Vaela knew that if it had not been for the outbreak of war then she would have struggled to get a commission.

‘But the true measure of an officer is how they perform in the here and now and not how they did before,’ a voice in her head sounded. ‘Plus with the Dominion on our heels, it’s not as if we can afford to be picky.’
“Before I say or do anything else, let me welcome you aboard the Cerberus,” Vaela began, as she finally admitted defeat in her duel with the croissant and pushed it away. “I’m glad to have you as an FCO, and I’m sure you’ll do well. If you ever have any questions, or problems, don’t hesitate in coming to me. I’m here to help you and any mistakes you may make are there to be learned from.”

“I’ve prepared a duty roster for you for when we finally get underway,” she added, handing the Bajoran the PADD she had been holding. “For today, you’re going to be assigned on running some diagnostics on our shuttle-craft. It’s not stimulating work, but Starbase Ten only saw fit to hand over the shuttles last night so it has to be done. I’ve also scheduled time in the holodeck for yourself and an Ensign Carter over the next few days. The Captain has asked that we familiarize ourselves with flying when cloaked and I don’t mean to let him down.”

“Now,” she concluded sitting back in her chair, “any questions?”

“Just one Sir. Why did you grant my assignment here?” Larya blurted out before she could stop herself. “I don’t have any experience as an officer, and my grades at the Academy…well they weren’t great. Every other ship turned me down, so why not you?”

The question hung in the air uncomfortably for long moments as Vaela struggled to come up with a reply. Even if she couldn’t sense the waves of unease over that rippled from the Bajoran, the Andorian would have been able to see it on her face.

“I won’t lie to you,” Vaela finally replied, “the reason you’re here is because things are bleak. Starfleet has lost thousands of ships fighting the Dominion, and countless personnel. Most of those with experience have been promoted, and all of those with the skills to serve are at a premium throughout Starfleet. You’re here because in the reports that your tutors from the Academy gave, they praised your ability to handle a runabout, and that’s enough for me.”

“Now is there anything else you want to ask?”

“I…umm, no Sir. I should make a start on these shuttles.”

‘Hmm…I think I like her,’ Vaela mused as she watched the young Bajoran officer leave.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Transporter Room 2 – 1030 hours

Talon is there to meet the Romulan contingent when they return from stowing the cloaking devices. He has packed his and the Centurions gear on a grav sled and leads the others quickly down to deck 5 to stow their gear.

His commands are few "You have already been briefed and I expect every one of you to remember that briefing and follow it to the letter. The ship's lounge is on this level. Mind you own business, these are ostensibliy our Allies, and don't go thinking of playing spy, nor worry about them stealing the secrets of the Cloaking Devices," that might scandalize a few of them, "but the Federation could have come up with an equivalent had they wanted such a device."

"Cause any trouble and not only will I allow the Starfleet captain to have the last word on your punishement, but that will come only after you have had a training session with me."

"Now you're split in double rooms so stow you stuff and then relax, I know the Centurion has planned of a number of dry run sessions before the actual installation."

The Romulans turn to the rooms, only they know their own thoughts on what they had heard. Though by reputation they knew of Talon's training sessions.

"Eerie Arrain Rhiana Khellian, A word with you."

When the others are gone he nods "The Centurian had another seizure. I got her to take her medicines, but I want to get back and watch her, though when I left, her back had relaxed. When you are done here, bring your medical scanner up to Deck 3 a quarter way round after turning right, down at the end of a short hall, room 013."

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – after Transporter Room 2 – 1045 hours deck 5

Shiarrael listens to the instructions from S'Talon.

She will then proceed to follow one of the crewmen that were escorting them down to door 009. Following his instructions she places her hand on the doorpad so that it may record her hand print, she will walk in, pleasantly surprised at the size of the room. She will choose the bed area off to the left.

It takes her but a few minutes to unpack. As she is unpacking her room mate Rhiana will enter the room. When Shiarrael finishes unpacking she will comment to Rhiana. “I can get to like this place, if only the inhabitants where nicer. I’m a bit curious as to what the lounge holds. Want to join me? I do not think it would be prudent to travel alone on this ship” This last part had a bit of a chuckle to it.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Near and in Rm For Romulan Crew 3– 1059 hours

Rhiana crosses over to the unoccupied bunk in the room. Her bunk mate already having chosen hers. She dropped her things for now, she would unplack later. Taking up her scanner and med kit she turns to her roommate,

"Thanks I would like too, but I will have to join you later. I have something to take care first fo Lt. S'Talon. I’ll be there as soon as I can, but no guarantees. Just take it carefully. Despite what we were told, you could see that we are not well received on this ship. Not that I blame them solely but we are supposed to be working together for a common good. You think they could just put that aside for now. Things have changed, at least for now." Rhiana sighs. She wished it was not true but she koew it probably would not last. She would have loved the opportunites to interact with the various Federation scientists especially their medical personnel on board freely without all this tension. In that the Federation was far ahead of Romulan medicine. That or , she thought it most likely. They cared more for their people when they were injured than Romulans cared for their own. Rhiana herself thought Romulans wasted their people and all the training that went into them when they were injured and not returned to full active status.

Rhiana was a strange one for a Romulan. Her thirst for pure knowledge and truth made her not a good square peg for the square holes of the rigid Romulan society, especially the military side of it but also fir the civilian parts as well. The quest for knowledge and truth as well as Science itself should have no national foundries but unfortunately for her the Romulan social and political foundries had been her stumbling block many times before as she locked horns with bureaucrats.

The trials and tribulations over the years she now put to the side for now and she moved to get to the Centurion’s quarters. The deck and room number and directions were clearly remembered as were almost everything her heard and saw. Retracing her path back to the transporter, she walked with a determined stride, wasting no time to traverse the route. Medical training and education had been one of her first doctorates. She did not have time to specialize afterward and her education continued in other fields she was interested in, but she had a solid practical training and was the best medical person in their contingent.

Stardate: 2374.08.31 USS Charon – Captain’s Quarters – 2015 hours
Kelsey Gavison had been nursing his anger. He knew it was impractical—even ineffective—for a Star Fleet captain to wallow in defeat, so he wasn’t wallowing. At least, not in his estimation. Focusing on his anger allowed him not to wallow. Wallowing was disgraceful, and something a teenager would do when turned down by that hot medical intern. Kelsey was most certainly not wallowing.

Here they sat, broken and feeble, attached to the embracing arms of DS9 while teams of station crew helped his skeletal crew repair the damages wrought by the Dominion in their most recent excursion. It had been the closest thing to utter failure that the Charon had experienced while under his command. Oh, there’d been some close scrapes, but the Charon had always come out on top. Not this time however. No, Kelsey had sat in his captain’s chair, glaring at this display screen that depicted the looming beetle-like Jem’Hadar battle cruiser firing green jets of pulsing lasers upon them and for the first time in years he’d felt helpless. Like any good captain, he’d not shown the defeat he felt to his crew, instead, he bellowed out orders and growled insults at the enemy like the captain of a lost ship railing against the storm: a fruitless effort, but one designed to show resistance to impending destruction.

It had been Lt. Cdr. Talon who had come up with the impossibly brilliant tactic that had broken them free of the pursuit and thrown them into the cover of a magnetic pole while disabling the battle cruiser’s sensors. Chief Jones had secured his place in the report by then converting a power coupling into a conduit to provide juice to their damaged warp drive in a daring exploitation of Star Fleet regulation. Commander Fletcher had taken Conn when the pilot had been killed during a console overload, and he’d been the one to pilot them past the lurking enemy, outmaneuvering their fighters until they could achieve warp. Jones had held the ship together long enough to limp back through the wormhole, so that Kelsey could report the intel they’d gathered.

Looking down at the PADD in his hand, Kelsey sneered angrily at the registration of mission success granted him by Captain Sisko: Complete. Such a word held insult within the compliment. The mission was complete, not successful, just complete. It would have been successful had he not lost five crewmen, damaged the Charon, and suffered the indignation of limping into port.

The scarred man was about to set the PADD down when a message beeped through, directed from the DS9 communications systems since the Charon’s were currently under repair. Kelsey’s eyebrows came together at the designation and the scowl that followed made his scarred face all that much more angry-looking. Leaning forward so that his shadow fell across the coffee table strewn with reports of enemy ship movement, public details of the war, and what little he could gather by way of possible missions he could volunteer for once the Charon was back in working order, Kel activated his security clearance and began to peruse the contents.

The Charon had been selected for a special assignment: Operation Persephone. This was just the sort of mission Kel had been looking for. Driving into the heart of the Gamma Quadrant, at least that’s the way it appeared to the captain at first. Then, as he read deeper, his brow furrowed further and half a dozen curse words were muttered under his breath. It wasn’t a seek and destroy, a demolitions, or even an encounter specific mission. It was a rescue mission. The Charon had been selected because of its frequent passes into the GQ—something Kel wagered had only been done more times by the Defiant under Sisko or Worf. The crew of the Charon was familiar with that section of space, the dangers within, and had been successful in returning through the wormhole, so they were to escort another ship called the Cerberus through to the GQ, follow some pattern outlined by Star Fleet Intelligence that would likely wind up taking them right through a fleet of Jem’Hadar battle cruisers, rescue some personnel, and then hotfoot it out of there with no one the wiser.

His mood was darkening.

Captain Gavison pressed through to the compliment that would be crewing the Cerberus and found the first bright spots of the day. Looks like Mac will finally get that fourth pip, Kel thought, though the thought of that little achievement in conjunction with this mission didn’t sit well with him for some reason. That giant security shag carpet was aboard as well, and the same with the Discovery’s old council. That’s quite the reunion-- The next column of names gave Kel pause. Romulans!?
Another stream of expletives escaped his lips—this time with much more fury. The energy of his anger brought him out of his seat as he stared incredulously at the listing of Romulan scientists. His wide eyes scanned the prescribed assignment for the “guests” and he swore again.

“Bloody cloaks,” Kel growled. That was how Star Fleet Intelligence figured they’d walk them through the GQ without any trouble. Problem was, Kel knew of at least one Dominion sensor array that had been able to detect cloaked vessels. The Charon had been a part of destroying it, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t others. The cloaks would give the crew of the two ships a false sense of security, something would go wrong, and they’d be space dust before Star Fleet had received the distress signal. Wait! That’s it. Kel suddenly realized why Mac’s pending promotion bothered him so in conjunction with this mission: Mac’s personality was grating for command. He had always been one to speak his mind, not be a yes-man, and push his opinion around. Star Fleet wasn’t just desperate for command staff after the Disaster at Tyra, but they’d already figured the odds of success for this mission, and they were staffing up those they felt were expendable!

Kel had never felt that the crew of the Charon were expendable. Sure, he’d been using the ship to forward his own agenda in his revenge on the Dominion, but he wasn’t just throwing lives away. Who the hell were these people that two ships—hundreds of lives—were to be risked to bring them back from some Dominin detention center? That’s the question that took up the rest of Kel’s evening and early morning hours as he researched an answer, cross-referenced previous mission reports from all throughout Star Fleet, and began to piece together what information he could to deliver a higher chance of survival for both ships. Meanwhile, he lay the mission parameters into a program he’d developed and received the probability of success:

/=\\ Mission Operation: Persephone’s probability of success: 12.24%. /=\\

Kel’s face flushed red as he sent the contents strewn across the coffee table across the room with an explosion of expletive followed up by a roar that would have done his Lyran officer proud.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Room 009 – 1045 hours deck 5

After Rhiana leaves, Shiarrael will go to the desk provided with the room and will say out loud “Is the computer in this room voice activated?” /=\\\\ Yes /=\\\\ “Good, Display for me the floor plan of this deck. Mark on it the locations of the lounge with its proper name and this room.” As the computer works on that request she will add “Computer also down load, onto my PADD the Linkage devices, the cloak’s mounting platform and the various systems attached to the unit. And on second thought down load the ships floor plan as well with the rooms marked. Add to the floor plain the most efficient route to Engineering and the lounge.” /=\\\\ Completed /=\\\\ with that job completed she will look at the time, and study the map. She will have plenty of time to explore the ship after the job is done.

“Computer please list the various controls to this room and their functions” after getting the information she will go to the replicater, order a glass of water sit down on the provided couch and make her self comfortable. She then studies the linkage device setup, after a bit she will say “Computer raise the temperature to 80 and lower the humidity to 15 percent” (Much better) after the changes take effect Shiarrael will continue her studies.

Stardate:2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 5 near the lounge – 1430 hours

SSgt Taggart approached the lounge, empty and seemingly untouched. He smiled and tapped the replicator. "Wake up sunshine, I need a drink." =/\\\\= What would you like, Sergeant Taggart =/\\\\= I love that she knows my name his smile was widening when he spoke again. "I'm gonna keep it light for now, how about a Jack 'n Coke." and the drink appeared in the replicator.

James picked it up and took a gulp, pouring the glass down the drain and putting it back in the chamber. "You can do better than that! There's hardly any alcohol in that drink at all!" When his drink reappeared, it was brown, rather than black, and there were hardly any bubbles of carbonation at the top. Tasting the drink, his face flexed and he tossed his head to the side. "Much better, remember my preference for next time please darlin'." He stepped around the bar and sat on the outside, despite the lack of a bartender. He sipped at his drink for a good 20 minutes or so before anyone showed up. His drink was half-empty when he turned to see the young ensign stepping into the lounge. The man had shifted uneasily when James turned toward him. It was Jimmy Loanne who had come to the lounge.

Jimmy was a younger recruit, fresh out of boot for this mission. He hadn't had exemplary marks in any of his physical tests, but was rather quick in the head. He always seemed to have a backup plan during his simulations, which was rare these days. With the wars and all, most recruits were just brutes who were all too eager to smash in heads until the found out how unpleasant it really was. Jimmy only paused for a moment, then straighted his fatigues (obviously he hadn't changed in the process of unpacking) dropped his arms to his sides and walked straight-legged to the bar.

James had found himself liking this recruit, and this was one such occasion that a sense of...pride was it?....welled up in his chest. He really saw Jimmy as someone who could pursue his career a long way. So James picked up his drink from the bar and stood as Jimmy approached. He had long gotten used to the boy's nervous walk. He was bee-lining for the barstool and would not move for anything. James duplicated the walk straight at the man, looking at first like he was headed for the door as well. His smile widened as Jimmy unsuccessfully tried to avoid him (James wasn't making it easy on him) and they nicked shoulders. Staff Sergeant Taggart's drink was jostled and fell to the floor, shattering on impact.

Jimmy's eyes were wide and his cheeks were white. James turned back to him, giving the appearance of being flustered and upset. "Clean it up Loanne," he shouted, as he left the lounge. Darn it he liked that boy.

He went back to his bunk, unpacked and inspected his room. He seemed to have everything he needed here on Deck 5. He could run PT in the gym, hit the lounge in the evenings, and then sleep out here. The occasional simulation would be necessary, but he could find that when the time came. For now, it was inspections. He was surprised to see that the inspections went well, and he found himself ducking under bunks to find anything for which to penalize them tomorrow. Perhaps two hours was too long. Having a scapegoat was one of the most important parts of training new assignments. He was a bit frustrated that he wouldn't be able to rag on one member tomorrow, but he was sure to find someone soon.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Corridor; Deck 6 – 1015 hours
Fargin’ smarmy, condescendin’, bunch o’ point-eared, apple polishers, Mac fumed as he stomped along the corridor toward the turbolift, Beam abaird me ship an’ start right off bandyin’ airders off a’ me crew as ef they were in charge… as ef their bloody fool cloaks’d make all th’ diff’rence in this run. Bloody typical, high an’ mighty, eggheaded…
“Captain MacTavish! Sir!”

He had reached the lift by the time Weatherly caught up with him. For an instant Mac had entertained the notion of stepping through the hatch and ordering the lift back to deck one, leaving the Yeoman in his wake. The notion was dismissed rather quickly though; Weatherly had already demonstrated that she took her position all too seriously and, like the proverbial bad penny, would always be turning up regardless of any efforts made to lose her. “Wha’,” Mac demanded as he turned to face the dark-haired woman.

She blinked, perhaps a little taken aback by having the Captain snap at her, and slowed her pace from an urgent trot to an almost dejected gait. The PADD she had clutched to her chest as she had jogged along the corridor to catch up to him settled into a less protective grip and, blinking again, her eyes fell to the device’s display. “I’m sorry to,” she licked her lips, swallowed a lump in her throat, and blinked again before looking back up to meet MacTavish’s glare, “sorry to have disturbed you, sir… I… I was wondering if…”

Och! Charlie’s knickers! Dinnae tell me th’ lass is gonna start cryin’! MacTavish sighed; “Yer no’ disturbin’ me, lass. Yer doin’ yer job…” I’ve jus’ ne’er been th’ sort ta ‘ave patience fer ye admin types an’ I’ve go’ better ta do then make ye feel important. “…Wha’ c’n I do fer ye, Lorraine?” The lift door squelched open and he stepped aside, ushering his yeoman in with a subtle wave of his hand.

The use of the Petty Officer’s first name seemed to have undone whatever damages his original, less than patient response had caused, and Weatherly almost smiled as she stepped into the lift ahead of MacTavish. “I was wondering, sir,” she continued, turning to face the Captain as he stepped onto the lift, “If you had given any consideration to an all-hands dinner prior to deploying. It is somewhat of a tradition, sir, where newly commissioned ships and new crews are concerned, and I’ve noted, from your own records, that such dinners were fairly common place aboard Discovery…”

“Deck One,” Mac rumbled during Weatherly’s first pause for breath.

“…and I thought, for the sake of tradition and, perhaps to make you feel more at home, sir, that you might want to hold a similar function.

I couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing like that on the schedule and, as busy as I’m sure you are, Captain, I thought perhaps it had slipped your mind. I’d be glad to coordinate with Ops, sir, and get something arranged. Perhaps something for tomorrow evening? Most of the crew should have reported by then and…”

“A’right, Weatherly! A’right!” Mac waved her into silence. “Ye chased me doon, runnin’ all o’er th’ boat, ta ask me aboot a bloody dinner party? Anxious as ye were I’d’ve thought ye ‘ad somethin’ urgent…”

“Well,” Weatherly said as the lift door whooshed open, “it is rather urgent, sir. The Cerberus is slated to leave spacedock in less than thirty-six hours and, once we’ve deployed, I don’t imagine that there will be a lot of extra time for the pleasantries and…”

“Pleas’ntries?! Wha’ inna bloody ‘ell’ve pleas’ntries go’ ta do wi’ all o’ this, Weatherly,” he demanded, angrily sweeping a hand out to indicate the activity on the bridge, “Ye do realize tha’ this is no’ gonna be some sort o’ pleasure cruise, lass? We’re a’ war wi’ th’ bloody Dominion, Weatherly, an’ we’re s’posed ta go sally, dark an’ quiet, through their bloody garden, pick a fargin’ bunch o’ posies, an’ run back wi’ naught but two tiny, li’l ships, an’ cartin’ a gaggle o’ conceited, bullock fer brains, Romulans aboot wi’ us inna bargain! There’s no’ gonna be a single, bloody, pleas’ntry aboot this cruise’t all, lass, an’ th’ sooner ye come aboot an’ dock wi’ tha’, th’ sooner ye’ll ‘ave a snowball’s chance o’ maybe livin’ ta tell th’ tale an’ bein’ o’ use abaird this ship!

If ye wanna consairn yerself wi’ pullin’ repairts tagether an’ ‘elpin’ ta keep us runnin’ smooth an’ clear, lass, tha’d be grand,” he groused. “But, ef ye’ve go’ nothin’ more ta worry aboot than dinner parties an’ whether or no’ I’m wearin’ reds or golds, I’ve no’ go’ th’ time ta be ‘oldin’ yer hand an’ ye might wanna consider requestin’ a transfer ere this boat leaves port!”

MacTavish realized, then, that the heretofore steady buzz of noise and activity on the bridge had diminished into an almost cowed silence. Several sets of eyes were now focused on the Captain and his yeoman, several other sets, wisely, were not. “Get yer fargin’ eyeballs back on yer fargin wairk,” MacTavish barked as his severe gaze panned away from Weatherly and made a deliberate circuit around the bridge stations, “Ye c’n bloody well eavesdrop whilst yer tendin’ ta yer duties, c’n ye no’?!”

Chroist but they’re all kids, aren’t they? Why he hadn’t realized or even so much as considered it before now, Mac couldn’t be sure, but had it not been for Weatherly asking about a welcome dinner and setting him of on his tirade, the newly appointed Captain of the Cerberus might not have realized it at all until the casualties started stacking up and it became necessary to start composing those communications to the next of kin. O’ course they are, Mac’s jaw clenched as his stern glare turned one gawking set of eyes from himself and Weatherly back to the tasks at hand and he tried to swallow the anger that had welled up at the thought of what the mission parameters likely meant for a good deal of them, As far back as there’ve been missions o’ this sort, those in charge’ve always been keen on sendin’ th’ young an’ dumb an’ the old an’ troublesome, ‘aven’t they? The mis’rable shaggers have’nae clue tha’ they’re names’re a’ready queued ta the casualty list… Not until now, at any rate.

Jack’s eyes, a little less stern than they had been a second ago, completed their circuit around the bridge and fell back on Weatherly. Despite the fact that the woman had stood firm against the gale of his rant and, to her credit, was doing a brilliant job of keeping her lips from trembling and her eyes from misting over, he could tell that his remarks had stung her at a more personal level than he had intended – he’d experienced much of the same sort of thing in the early days of his relationship with Chantelle, after all, and had become somewhat of an expert at realizing, after the fact, that he might’ve been a bit more of a ‘gibberin’ arse’ than was likely called for. “Sir…” the yeoman croaked, clearing her throat to chase away the tinge of hurt that was obvious in her first attempt, “Sir, I didn’t intend to…”

“Och! Belay tha’ shyte, lass,” his words were carried to her ears on a heavy sigh and punctuated by his footsteps as he strode for the Ready Room, “Come wi’ me.”

Mac ushered his yeoman through the door of is ready room much as he had ushered her aboard the turbolift just moments ago. When the door slid shut behind them this time, however, there wasn’t the immediate flury of chatter from the CPO that there had been earlier. Instead, Weatherly stood, somewhat nervously, between the two chairs in front of Mac’s desk as if she were waiting for him to take a seat behind it and read her the riot act.

“Coffee,” Jack demanded of the replicator as he prowled past the device, “Blue Mountain; double black.

Wha’ll ye ‘ave, Weatherly?”

“Sir?”

“Ta drink, Weatherly. Coffee, tea, lemonade?”

“Oh. Tea, please, sir,” Weatherly shifted uncomfortably, drawing the PADD closer to her chest and clutching it with both hands, “Catullan rose; hot.”

Jack nodded and, drawing his own beverage from the port, ordered her tea. “Dinnae ge’ cozy wi’ wha’ I’m aboot ta say, Petty Officer,” he rumbled as a clear, glass teacup filled with a startlingly pinkish brew materialized, “fer et’s no’ a theng I tend ta say vera often.” When the replication was finished Mac took the cup from the port and, after pacing off the two steps between the bulkhead and his desk, offered it to the yeoman as he said; “I sincerely apologize.” MacTavish immediately followed the confession with a gulp of coffee, as if the strong, Jamaican brew helped him to swallow the bitter pill of contrition.

For her part, Weatherly could only manage to blink her eyes and gape at him like a banked trout. Both her hands remained clamped firmly to the PADD, holding the device close to her chest as if it were a plate of armor. She hadn’t so much as glanced at the proffered beverage.

“Take th’ tea, Weatherly,” Mac rumbled as his own mug came away from his lips, “Et’s no’ as ef I took a pee in et.”

Another rapid succession of blinks was followed by a nervous titter before the dark-haired yeoman managed to fumble a hand free of her portable computer and, finally, relieve him of a cup of rather flowery smelling tea. “I… I’m sorry, Captain,” she said, “Th...Thank you, sir.”

“Aye,” Mac nodded, stealing another sip from his mug as he settled into his chair, “At ease, lass. ‘ave a seat.”

The woman sat, still having not sipped her tea, and deposited her PADD in the seat beside her; “Aye, sir.”

Mac shook his head slowly, closed his eyes for an instant, and called Chan’s face to mind. When he felt centered, he opened his eyes again and forced himself to focus on Weatherly, sitting rigidly at attention as she was, with the teacup held stiffly at shoulder level. “Weatherly…” he began, correcting himself as he recalled another of Arevaci’s techniques for ‘putting people more at ease’ in his presence, “Lorraine, as efficient as ye are, I’m sure tha’ ye’ve reviewed the mission files an’ sech, aye?”

“Yessir,” she answered as quickly as she blinked, “at least to the extent as is allowed by my security clearance, sir.”

Jayzus, lass! Wha’ bit o’ at ease did ye no’ und’rstand? Mac took another pull from his mug, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “An’ tha’s enough fer ye tae ‘ave an idea o’ wha’ lies ahead, I’d wager, aye,” he continued, adding as softly as he could manage, “I said ta be at ease, Lorraine.”

At first, when MacTavish had leaned forward, Lorraine had flinched; her first instinct, after all she’d heard of Commander Jack MacTavish, urged her to retreat farther into the chair behind her if nowhere else. When she realized, though, that he was smiling – or at least trying to smile – it also struck her that she wasn’t about to be on the receiving end of more of his notorious temper than she’d already sampled. The almost non-jump transformed into a nervous smile just before the young petty officer visibly relaxed. “Yes, sir,” she breathed before finally taking a long sip from her cup.

Well, fer th’ luv o’ heather an’ haggis, et wairked! Sure an’ if ye ain’t a genius, Chrisoph.
“Forgive me, sir,” Weatherly said, now cradling her teacup in both hands, a bit of the apprehension gone from her smile, “It’s just that you have… I was… Well, sir, you see, you have this…”

“Aye,” Jack nodded, “I ‘ave a wee bit of a reputation, I s’pose, as an arse, don’ I, then? An’, lass, I’ll be tha’ fairst ta tell ye tha’ I’ve earned ever’ last bit o’ et. Tha’ bein’ th’ case, Lorraine, an’ knowin’ tha’ ye we’re probably pr’pared fer me ta be th’ overbearin’ arse o’ an ogre ye’d ‘eard tell of, I’m sure ye’ve managed ta gather a bit more intel’n wha’ yer cleared for… jus’ onna off chance tha’ ol’ bastard Mac may be expectin’ ye ta pull it outta yer rosey bum, aye. An’ ere ye answer, Weatherly, dinnae go tryin’ ta blow smoke up me kilt, lass. Yer record cites ye as resourceful, diligent, an’ highly organized. Ef tha’ dinnae translate as crafty, cunnin’, an’ well pr’pared, regulations be damned, ye, lass, are sure an’ tagether onna wrong boat.”

Lorraine’s eyes went wide and she blushed, quickly trying to mask that fact by lifting her cup to her lips again. “Yessir,” she admitted after finding herself unable to take a sip, “I did… er… call in some favors in order to get a look at some of the… er…ah… more high-level files.” She finally managed to coax a hard swallow of the tea past her lips.

“Good lass,” Jack nodded, “I thought as much.” He studied her for a long moment, reading her as he would any tactical situation, for the all-revealing tells that let one uncover exactly what your enemy… opponent, Arevaci’s remembered voice corrected… knew and what they wanted you to think they knew. “So,” he continued after savoring a mouthful of his coffee, “ye do know wha’ lurks in wait fer us, aye… beyond th’ wairmhole?”

For a split-second, Lorraine’s smile hinted less at waivering anxiety and more at uncertainty and fear. “Yes,” she replied, almost whispering the word.

“An’ this bit aboot th’ dinner party an’ fussin’ aboot wi’ me uni’s an’ chasin’ me down willy nilly through th’ ship; tha’s yer way o’ tryin’ ta make et as near tae a ‘normal cruise’ fer th’ rest, aye?”

The yeoman’s reply, this time, was a faint nod and a pursing of her lips, followed by another choked swallow of her tea.

“Aye,” Jack said, “I figgered. An’ despite me takin’ yer ‘ead off fer askin’, lass, I think ye’ve go’ th’ right idea.” He tossed back another mouthful of coffee before rising out of his seat, shrugging out of his jacket, and striding to where Lorraine had laid out a crisp change of Command reds. “Fer th’ sake o’ morale, despite wha’ any o’ we lot may er may no’ be privy to, Weatherly, we’ve go’ tae treat this as ef t’were any other cruise…”

“Precisely, Captain,” she replied, blinking in astonishment and, with the sudden lack of inspirtation as to what else to do, took another sip of tea. This time, it didn’t go down her throat as if it were a rock.

“Pr’cisely Cap’n, my arse,” Mac barked, grinning at the same time. He snatched up the reds and made for the smaller of the suite’s rooms; “Finish yer bloody tea, lass. Then haul yer arse oota me Ready Room an’ set ta arrangin’ tha’ bloody welcome dinner o’ yers. Dinnae fergit ta invite th’ Romulans.”

“Yessir,” Weatherly beamed as MacTavish disappeared into the head to finally change into his reds, “Right away, sir.” The remainder of her tea slid down her throat in one swift, smooth gulp. She exchanged the now empty cup for the PADD she had placed on Mac’s desk and, more than a little relieved at the outcome of this meeting, swept toward the door. “Thank you, Captain,” she called.

“Shaddap an’ get ta wairk, Weatherly,” came the reply.

((OOC: Okay, this bit went on longer than I had planned but I can't bring myself to leave it out... Updates for Rrowl, Valberg, and all the rest of you coming very soon... FYI, as of 0600 on 2374.09.01, all Cerberus crew will have an invitation to the "welcome dinner" (to be held in the lounge on 2374.09.02 at 1800 hours). Senior staff attendance is mandatory, Romulan contingent is "cordially invited" to attend. ))

USS Cerberus – Deck 1, Captain’s Ready Room – 1042 hours
(some very minor liberties taken, here)
Weatherly was gone when Jack emerged from the head dressed in his first set of Command Reds. Grand, he chuffed, tugging at the hem of his jacket and, once more, straightening the pips affixed to his collar, Le’s ‘ope tha’ wee chat go’ th’ lass occupied wi’ more’n runnin’ up me bum.

Keep ‘er occupied an’ yer days’ll be all th’ more peaceful, Jack-lad, he told himself as he retrieved the empty teacup from his desk and returned it to the replicator, At least long enough fer me ta figger ‘ow we’re gonna manage all o’ this…
The admission chime sounded before Mac could get to his desk. Likely th’ Rug, he thought, glancing at the time and reclaiming his coffee cup before responding to the electronic tone. “Enter,” he rumbled after having tipped a swallow from the mug. He was settling back into his chair as the big Kzinti stalked through the door.

“Reporting as ordered, Captain,” Rrowl snarled as the hatch closed behind him.

The Cerberus’ CO nodded fractionally; his gaze, for the time being, was intent on a display that was processing data on the Idran system – the location of the Bajoran Wormhole’s exit into the Gamma Quadrant. “Those fargin’ point-ears arrived much earlier than I was expectin’,” Mac said brusquely, not lifting his eyes from the console – there was no point in beating around the bush with Rrowl, he knew. If such a thing was possible, the Kzinti had even less tolerance than Jack himself did when it came to excuse making. “Ef I’d’ve ‘ad th’ foggiest notion tha’ they’d be comin’ abaird ere I’d ‘ad a chance ta brief ye, lad, be sure tha’ I’d no’ ‘ave scream-an’-leaped ye as I did.

‘ave a seat, Commander,” he said, finally tearing his gaze away from the desk-mounted display and regarding his TAC chief.

((assuming he does… any replies here))

MacTavish offered Rrowl another, short nod as the Kzinti lowered himself into one of the chairs. “Ef et ‘elps, Fleet scream-an’-leaped me wi’ et, themselves an’ I dinnae discover et until I’d a’ready come abaird. Th’ truth o’ th’ matter, Rrowl,” Jack continued, “is tha’, ‘ad I been made aware ahead o’ time, tha’ a Romulan delegation was ta be part an’ parcel o’ Cerberus’ maiden run, I’d likely’ve turned doon th’ offer ta command ‘er, colder’n th’ highlands en winter.

Ye an’ I share th’ same opinions on our vesitors from th’ RSE, Rrowl. Tha’ said, I’m no’ e’en goin’ ta bother askin’ whether ye’ve got ‘em squared away where yer department’s consairned.” Jack was sure that Rrowl had ensured that each member of the Romulan contingent would be closely (and, given availability of resources, redundantly) monitored for the duration of the tour. Most likely, arrangements had been made to have the Romulans’ communicators tagged with trackers and, if it hadn’t been done already, a dedicated terminal was being configured to keep a keen, unblinking eye on each one of them… there was no need to inquire about the details because, Jack knew, those details would be provided via daily reports from TAC/SEC and real-time streams from the protocols that were undoubtedly in place already.

((anything here))

“Whether we like et or no’, me friend,” Jack heaved a sigh as he leaned back in his chair and pinched at the bridge of his nose, as if the very thought of his next statement was enough to induce a headache, “th’ green-bloods’re wi’ us fer th’ duration o’ this bloody theng an’, considerin’ this so-called alliance we’ve forged wi’ ‘em as late, I s’pose tha’ means tha’ we’re ta treat ‘em as we would exchange officers an’ crew from a more trustwairthy lot… th’ Klingons, fer instance, er, per’aps, th’ Borg…

O’ course,” Mac continued, releasing the pressure point between his eyes, “tha’s no’ ta be interpreted as ‘trust ‘em,’ aye? Jus’ b’cause Fleet thinks tha’ their fargin’ cloaks’re gonna make a diff’rence in our traipsin’ safely through Dominion space dinnae mean tha’ I’ll be swallowin’ tha’ load o’ sheepshyte wi’oot a grand dose o’ honey ta take th’ taste off… from all I’ve ‘eard, th’ bastards’ve ways o’ detectin’ cloaked ships wi’ tetryon scans er sommat, anyway… so, ef e’en th’ most junior-rankin’ Rom makes a misstep, Rrowl, I wan’ ever’ bloody one of ‘em locked doon ‘til we’ve decided whether dumpin’ th’ entire lot of ‘em inta space is called fer er if we’d be wiser ta be more… ah… selective. Am I clear on tha’?”

((any reply… responses as necessary))

“Brilliant,” Mac reached for his coffee, again, and drained the mug before tapping out a quick sequence on his terminal, “I’ve jus’ sent ye th’ files on th’ Romulans – sairvice jackets, specs on their fargin’ cloaks, all tha’ sort. Review ‘em as ye see fit. I’ve given’ ‘em a look an’ ‘ave yet ta find any association wi’ the Tal Shiar but, considerin’ there ain’t been a point-ear tha’s ‘ad the bollocks ta venture inta the GQ since they go’ their arses ‘anded to ‘em a’ th’ Omaron Nebula, an’ th’ fact tha’ et was Tal Shiar tha’ ‘eaded up tha’ bloody mess, et would’nae s’prise me if there weren’t some sort o’ their dealin’s as part o’ all this. Disseminate tha’ information ta Intel an’ Security as ye deem appropriate, aye?”

((response?))

“A’right, then, Lt Commander Rrowl,” MacTavish said, “now tha’ I’ve unloaded tha’ bit o’ sunshine on yer fuzzy ‘ead, I’ve also decided tha’ designate ye as Cerberus’ 2O. Fleet’d recommended our Ops Chief fer this slot but, given tha’ I’ve lairned their recommendations get Romulan’s posted ta me boat an’ tha’ I’d trust TAC ta blow th’ ship ere some Nancy-pants monkey-boy from Ops would were it ta come ta tha’, et’s yers. Any questions, lad?”

((If so, speak ‘em… backposts as required… jumping ahead))

MacTavish extricated himself from his seat, then, and made his way around the desk as Rrowl followed suit. “I’m sure ye’ve go’ better ta do than shed on me chair an’ listen ta me fallin’ off a’ th’ gob,” he smirked, extending a hand to the monstrous Kzinti, “So I’ll let ye to it.”

He released the Kzinti’s massive paw and offered another nod as Rrowl turned to take his leave. “I appreciate yer restraint inna transpairter room, Rug,” Mac added, a hint of an amused tone evident in his voice, “I know tha’ could’nae’ve been easy fer ye. If ye feel et’s e’er gettin’ the better o’ ye, lemme know an’ we c’n wairk through those frustrations inna match er two…”

((Next up… The sci-guy, the doctor, and, finally, a post from Charon’s CEO…))

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1057 hours
S'Talon left his security shadow in the hall as he slipped into the Centurion's cabin and crossed to the door to peer in at her.

She was still asleep so he went to the table and pulled out the Romulan equivalent of a PADD and did what he did best, something that would have surprised even The Centurion, and little surprised her. There had been a insidious plan to get the Centurion court marshalled and then discharged as medically unfit.

That had angered the old Marine like nothing had in some time. She was a damn fine officer one capable of hight command, who had been shoved off into a lackluster position and all because of politics and family feuds. Despite someone assigning her to a dead end position, her abilities still shown through and when that Kep-tuk't of a officer turned belly up at the first sign danger, she was there to step in and save the ship.

He was into his own work when the door signal announced someone was outside wanting in.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1100 hours

Rhiana arrived outside the indicated room through the set of Starfleet guards standing near the door. She palmed the pad on the wall to announce her presence, her coppery brown eyes straying to the two guards. She fought to keep a calm demeanor. It was hard. She wanted to laugh, very un-Romulan, but she wanted to. Allies indeed, that was the claim being made. Most of it was political hype. The reality ws that it was advantageous and/or expedient for someone in power to take this currrent stance. Not that is was a bad idea Rhiana thought but it likely wouldn't last-which was too bad for her personally.

Rhiana sighed. She would take advantage of the sitution to further her her quest for knowledge, to find out what Starfleet knew that Romulans didn't. It would last but while it does Rhiana is personnaly going to make as much use of it as she possibly could. It seemede that whenever she started her quest for knowledge, information or whatever in the her current field of interst she ran into road blocks. Mostly potlical road bliocks. That made her ask questions. Questions others did not want asked and certainly did not want to answer except for their stock responses, programed like old non-interactive computers.

Rhiana heard the door slide open. She saluted S'Talon who stood there properly to the man who she had come to respect ever since the accident and the reprecusions of that day.

"Sir Lt. Rhiana, reporting sir, as Ordered."

She let her hand drop from the salute smartly and waited for him to let her enter. She did not assume that he would, one did not assume such things as a more junior officer.

When he indicated she stepped into the Centurion's room. It was more spacious--as it should be--for the higher ranking officers. At least Starfleet had accomodated the Romulan higher ranking officers in better quarters.

She look around the stocky ex-Marine to look at the Centurion.

"She is still alseep? Do you know what medications she took?" Rhianna spoke softly.

The trip here with her still barely recovered, the long wait to be transported hadn't help the Centurion's condition, which is mostly why the sever cramping had flared up again.

Taking her scanner she moved over to the sleeping Centurion and conducted her examination.

She looked over the two vials of medication out on the table and the dossage and frequency indicated on the readout.

"I don't love this stuff. It kills the pain but does nothing to remediate the symptoms that cause them. This one is a bit better at what it does. I hope I can find something better." I will see about using there medical data to see if they have something that might be more edificatious. I will get at that as soon as I can."

Rhianna looks to Talon and turns away from the Centurion over to the divan in the room.

"I hope you don't mind my free speaking. The only good thing I can think of that might happen on this mission is getting her well. I'll make no bones about it, Starfleet has been much better at caring for their injured than we Romulans have. It might be the Centurion's best chance to be fully healed and returned to full active service. Though it is not going to be easy road with all the other things that got her here in this throw away mission to begin with."

"I have run into political road blocks before will again and incurred the censure of our leaders. I don't go through them, I just go into a new field of endevor and try again. In a way I win, but the Romulan Empire loses." Only a hint of disappointment well covered by a grin at her own words was evident.