Stardate: 2374.09.01 USS Charon – Captain’s Quarters – 0545 hours
Kel sat in darkness. His elbows rested on his knees, his shoulders were slumped. The captain of the Charon’s eyes were open despite the early hour, and though his head was hung, he peered up at the shattered room about him with a glowering hatred that should have been capable of lighting fires. His quarters were torn apart, books scattered across the floor, the glass of his coffee table broken into a thousand shards below his feet, broken PADDs nearly entombed in the walls where he’d “encouraged” their flight to end. He wasn’t spent…no, Captain Gavison was fueled. The anger that he’d felt at the beating they’d taken was now just an undercurrent to the rage smoldering within his chest, welling up inside of him, and barely contained.

Those bastards at Fleet HQ had slated his ship for a suicide run—his and Mac’s. They were putting a stop to his vengeance upon the Dominion. That had been the conclusion to Kel’s previous discovery, but it was no longer the envisioned outcome. An hour of destroying his quarters followed by eight of dark contemplation had driven Kel to one conclusion: He was going to take the Charon and the Cerberus into the GQ, spin those spiked-chin drug addicts on their turtle shells, and drift back through the wormhole without so much as a ‘howdy’ at the Dominion, just like Star Fleet wanted. And for what reason? Nothing short of tracking down the fool who’d made the orders and stringing him up from a yardarm by his own gizzard.

Kel’s tongue dusted his lips in anticipation of the thought. His eyes blinked away their dulled vision, sparked by the action of wetting his lips, and the captain realized he was hungry. Rising from his couch, Captain Gavison made his way to the replicator.

“Coffee and brandy…90% brandy. Temperature: eighty degrees.”

The slate gray mug materialized in the bay and Kel slowly lifted it to his lips, savoring the spiked liquid with closed eyes. The fire coursed down his throat, warming his insides and momentarily quelling the raging inferno that dwelt there. Placing a hand over the replicator, Kel leaned against the wall, taking one slow sip after another. Most replicators were set to deliver synthahol, but not his. Kel had paid a Dosi visitor to DS9 a small fortune to have his reprogrammed to allow for real alcohol.

“Eggs, over easy,” he mumbled, the brim of his mug still touching his lips. “two pieces of toast, ham, thinly sliced.”

The plate materialized with a fork, knife, and spoon. Lifting the meal from its tray, Kel turned and surveyed the mess, searching for a place to set his plate down. Despite the crunch of glass underneath his boots, he barely noticed the state of things. The plate found a home on the couch next to him as he returned to his seat.

Kel shoveled the eggs onto his toast and then slapped the ham over the top of it, making a sandwich. There was only one PADD that remained intact: the one that showed the briefing for Operation: Persephone. Picking it up, he scanned the estimated dates of arrival. Within the reflective screen, Kel caught sight of his scruffy, scarred face, disheveled hair, and the black circles under his eyes. He’d need to clean himself up in order to present the situation to his command staff.

Punching a couple of buttons on the PADD, Kel sent a directive to Fletcher, Jones, Talon, and the rest of his senior staff: meeting at 0900 in the Captain’s Ready Room. That done, Kelsey finished his breakfast and set about the daunting task of cleaning himself up. The quarters would wait until he was through savoring the sense of chaos such a battlefield instilled within him.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Charon – Security Chief Office/Quarters – 0845 hours
Lt. Cdmr. Talon had just come from instructing the tactical crews in continuation of their seemingly endless simulations. Overnight he had developed some new simulations that concentrated on the flaws he saw in their operations; timing, angle of attack, recognizing the enemy’s weak spot, etc. He shook his head at the inefficiency of the Federation crews and wondered if any of them paid attention in Tactical School. Such dereliction would not be tolerated aboard a Lyran ship; if you hesitated in combat then any officer would likely rip your throat out and take your station.

But this was the Federation and no matter how much he would like to handle the crew like he wished, such tactics were frowned upon here aboard this ship. Though after the beating they had taken he thought he might once again bring up his ‘suggestions’ to the Captain. Maybe he would look so kindly upon the crew now that they had failed.

Failure, it was you had to call it. Yes they had made it back to DS9, but just barely and in disgrace. It made Talon’s blood boil with anger and if he was any judge of character he was sure that it was chapping the Captain’s butt as well. The Captain was the only human that Talon had ever met that came close to matching a Lyran in sheer tenacity, rage, and violence. He would make a great Lyran Commander; too bad he had been born a human.

Talon picked up his PADD to check his schedule for the day:
- Continue Tactical Simulations - That has been take care of and was underway. The crew had been improving and he had no doubt they would be at an acceptable level by noon. If so he would cancel any further drills.
- Lunch with Lt. Myers – He sighed and wondered how he had let that get on his schedule. Myers always irritated him but yet Jake was the closest thing to a friend that Talon had aboard. The man defiantly talked too much and sometimes, no.. most of the time, it got on Talon’s nerves and he had to threaten to rip out the man’s throat in order to get him to stop. It had never come to that but who knew what the future might hold.
- Senior Staff Meeting – Captain’s Ready Room – 0900 - He frowned, this was unexpected and sudden. He glanced at the time on the PADD screen and with a grunt he tossed the PADD on the desk and stormed out. He wondered what was up; new orders perhaps? Maybe they were going to be given another chance at the Dominion, he grinned and welcomed it. It would not be the same as last time, his crew would be ready.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 0855 hours
Lt. Cmdr. Talon strode into the Ready Room and looked around at anyone else who may have already arrived and offers them a nod of his head, the usual greeting from him. He started to sit down in his usual chair but stopped short and began to pace; the usual sign that he was impatient about something. The pacing usually served as a reminder that his people were feline in nature and everyone had learned by now not to mention that he looked like a cat pacing around waiting for its dinner.

As he paced he thought of what this could mean, another chance at the Jem’hadr? He grinned and flexed his claws as he itched at the chance to even the score. He would continue to pace, as usual, until the Captain came in and told him to “Stop that and sit down!” Captain Gavison was the only one who spoke to Talon that way and he was the only one who seemed to be able to control the Lyran’s violent mood swings.

When the Captain came in and told him to sit, he would sit down stiffly in his chair and lean expectantly on the table and unable to contain his eagerness to know he would ask gruffly almost before the Gavison had sat down completely, “Is it new orders, Captain?”

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Bridge – 1040 hours
Rrowl had continued to stew all the way to his meeting with the captain. The arrogance of the Romulan centurion, that she would dare to order him to do anything, had thrown additional fuel on the flames of his hatred for her and her species. At the very least, she deserved to be backhanded to the ground, to be put in her proper place, but such an action would only end with himself relieved of duty before the mission even began.

Frustrated, Rrowl punched the entry chime, and entered after the captain had granted permission.

“Reporting as ordered, Captain,” Rrowl snarled as the hatch closed behind him. The TAC officer did notice that MacTavish had donned the command reds, and now looked the part of a commanding officer.

The Scotsman explained the Romulan situation without making excuses – a personality trait Rrowl had always admired in the man. For some reason, most monkeys seemed intent on deflecting responsibility no matter the situation, and it irritated the kzinti to no end. When MacTavish used kzinti terminology to describe the virtual ambush that the Romulan situation truly was, Rrowl found himself beginning to calm, and he accepted the captain’s invitation to sit.

“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,” the captain stated.

“You are correct, captain,” Rrowl answered. Everything that was possible was already being done to keep tabs on their “visitors” – and both officers were well aware of that fact. Rrowl wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if MacTavish had already tapped into the security feeds himself.

“… 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’?”

Rrowl bared his teeth for a moment and allowed his ears to flatten briefly. “Perfectly clear, captain.” He would relish the opportunity to at the very least toss the lot of the Romulans into Cerberus’ brig, and there was little point in pretending otherwise.

The captain then went on to refer to Rrowl as a friend, a term that the kzinti found rarely (if ever) applied to him by one of the monkeys, then informed his TAC that he had shared the needed intel with him.

“Disseminate tha’ information ta Intel an’ Security as ye deem appropriate, aye?”

“Aye, captain,” Rrowl answered. It was the only thing to say.

“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?”

For once, Rrowl was caught off guard. He had served in Starfleet for nineteen years, but had never once come close to a posting that placed him in a ship’s chain of command. Whenever he allowed himself to dwell on that fact, it stung more than a little – Rrowl knew well that were he still in the Hegemony, he’d have long since had his own command. Unfortunately, his aggressive personality and warlike philosophies had pretty much ensured that the kzinti would never progress in Starfleet beyond a department head posting.

Rrowl wasn’t so modest as to pretend that he didn’t think he deserved the job; MacTavish’s assessment was dead on. Were circumstances to somehow call for Rrowl to take command of the Cerberus, the kzinti would insure that she completed her mission or that she were destroyed in the process; there would be no surrender. Still, he was surprised to be properly recognized.

“None, sir,” Rrowl answered as his tail-tip lashed. “I am honored by your choice, captain – I will not let you down.”

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…”

Rrowl allowed his ears to flicker in humor at the captain’s jibes at his own expense. Many men might find themselves nursing a broken limb for such insults, regardless of the intent, but MacTavish had long ago earned Rrowl’s respect, and the kzinti was able to take the jokes in the spirit they were intended. “I would be honored to take you up on that offer, captain,” Rrowl answered, “but first, perhaps we should determine the skill of our ship’s doctor. I doubt it would do my service record any good to be the cause of Starfleet having to find a replacement commanding officer for this vessel while you recover.”

OOC: any response, if you like, assuming something good natured, if anything at all

The newly appointed second officer of the Cerberus gave a salute, then returned to his duties.


*******************

USS Cerberus – Bridge – 1215 hours
A human male lieutenant in science blues stepped off of the turbolift as Rrowl prepared to board it. From the way he stared at the TAC, Rrowl wondered if perhaps the man was going to ask for a sampling of his fur or somesuch. Instead, he stuck out a hand in one of the monkeys’ typical gestures of greeting.

“Royelle Solus … Good evening, lieutenant commander ………” Solus stated, presumably looking for a name.

“Rrowl,” the kzinti answered in a deep, growling voice. “I am the Cerberus’ chief tactical officer… and second officer.”

“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,” the man responded.

At least he doesn’t cow, Rrowl noted with approval. Though what he thinks I will need from him on a covert military mission, I am unsure. Still, Rrowl tried to play nice, as the monkeys seemed to expect.

“Thank you, lieutenant,” Rrowl replied. “Welcome aboard the Cerberus.”

Stardate: 2372.09.01
USS Cerberus – Deck 5, Holodeck 2 – 0838 hours

Snow swirled down from a frozen sky and covered the contours of the land below in a white, powdery blanket. Everything as far as the eye could see was lost to that infinite whiteness, from the peaks of epic mountains to the broad expanses of icy rivers. Everything except for one long figure skipping deftly through the snow.

Vaela smiled and stuck out her tongue, letting a snow-flake fall upon it. It had been a long time since she had been home, and, she knew, it would be a longer time still before she would see it again.

‘Not that this is the memory I have of home,’ she reminded herself.

For as long as any knew all Andorians had been compelled to travel into the frigid wastes of Andor upon reaching adulthood, so they would know of the hardships their ancestors had faced. It would be a death sentence for most races in the galaxy, such was the bitter cold, the scarcity of food, and the ferocity of wildlife upon Andor’s surface. Even Andorians, physically hardier and stronger than the typical Terran, found it difficult to survive and only four fifths of those who ever embarked on the journey ever returned.

Vaela had never known whether she would have succeeded. Her mother had ridiculed such a ‘barbarous’ practice, had regarded it as beneath any child of the Aenar, and had closeted her daughter away in the safety of the Andorian Academy of Arts. It was something Vaela had never forgiven her for.

“Good old mother,” she commented bitterly, feeling the resentment and repressed anger she held for her mother bubble to the surface.

=/\\=Larya to P’Tammah.=/\\=

The soft tones of Ensign Larya reverberated around the world Vaela had constructed. She had to fight the urge to ignore the voice and continue her trek through the snow, and even when she ordered the Computer to freeze the programme she did it with a heavy heart.

“P’Tammah here.”

=/\\=I…sorry Sir, am I disturbing you?=/\\=

“Not at all,” Vaela lied. “How can I help you?”

=/\\=Well Sir I’ve been working on a diagnostic on the Santiago – it’s a type 9 shuttle that’s been designated for troop transport. The problem is that the weight on the shuttle is throwing it off centre. I can’t even get it to fly in a straight line out of the shuttlebay doors=/\\=

Vaela sighed. “Don’t worry I’ll come down and give you a hand. It probably needs to be re-aligned manually.”

=/\\=Thank you Sir.=/\\=

Vaela took one last look at the scene before her. As she left the holodeck, she wondered when she would next have the chance to visit.

XO's Office
Stardate 23740831 1905 hours

Commander Sitok walked into his office. It was sparce almost spartan, but that would change though not much as Sitok didn't carry a lot of personal items.

"Chef Salad." Sitok orders dinner from his replicator. Normally he would prefer to eat in the Lounge and perhaps get to know his fellow crewmates, it was only logical to know the people that you may one day depend on, but that was not to be. Not with the work that was needed to be done. Sitok looked at the PADD that Captain MacTavish had handed him.

“Operation: Persephone,” headed up the file. Beneath that were the standard verbose classification, dissemination, and restriction clauses and, following a nearly tiresome scroll through those, the document, at last, began outlining the particulars of Cerberus’ inaugural assignment:

…receive RSN liaison and technicians at SB-10… facilitate and assist in installing Gen V cloaking device aboard USS Cerberus: NCC-83964…

…deploy for Federation Outpost: Deep Space Nine… perform testing an final calibration of installed cloaking device en route… ensure security and integrity of second Gen V cloak…

…rendezvous with USS Charon: NCC-79358… oversee transfer and installation of GenV cloak aboard the Charon…

…Coordinate with DS:9 Tactical Operations (Captain Benjamin Sisko; CO) for temporary deactivation of minefield… access to Bajoran Wormhole…

…infiltrate Dominion space…locate ‘Detention Facility’ (SF designation: UO/PF 191-38-7-4.19202)…

"Hmm so it isn't going to be a joy ride. Not that I expected it to be since this is a warship and we are at war but an infiltration mission with two ships. Starfleet must be getting fairly desperate." Sitok spoke his thoughts out loud when he was sure no one was listening. "And I thought that Starfleet was pleased with my performance, oh well. Perhaps I should have a look at the Romulan Contigency."

Sitok opened the computer panel and waited for it to load. He entered his codes and tapped into the file on the Romulans. It would e an exaggeration to say that it was not extensive. In fact the only service jacket Starfleet seemed to have was for Lt. Pardek, and it only showed the ships she served with.

"Well we're already keeping an eye on them, I just hope they strike before we're in Dominion space." Sitok closed the Romulan files and opened the files for the crew. "It would be best to get to know the Department heads first, then I will look at others as there is time and they show up in reports."

"The Engineer officer might be trouble perhaps I should alert the chief of Security about him. And it appears the Tac Officer has a temper but ten again Kzinti do if one does not think before communicating, he does appear to be a good officer though." Sitok closed the personell files.

"Computer please alert each officer at 0900 that they are to report at 1000 hours to the conference room. And send a private message to Lt. Valberg's office that I suggest he keep an eye on Lt. Tier as he has a record for trouble."

=/\\\\=Messages sent=/\\\\=

"Thank you" Sitok rose and procceeded to his room.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1125 hours
"Lt. please stay with the Centurian until, I get back. I have to stow my gear and take care of a few things. I should not gone be more than and hour, ships time. On second thought, Talon walked over to the replicator,

"Computer, 6 Starfleet chronometers set to the proper time aboard this vessel."

In a few minutes the requested watches appeared. He took two, and handed the others to Lt Rhianna, "Pass those out when you get back." As he puts on one and lays the other on the table where he was working, and then picks up the Romulan equivalent of a PADD.

"For now, I will leave you with your patient."

"As you command, Lt. S'Talon," Lt. Rhiana responds appropriately. She always tries to maintain the proper military etiquette. The military sort of expect it and it was just easier to go along with that, not that she found it difficult in any way.

Lt. Rhiana accompanies S'Talon to the door, "Sir, I understand that we who have accompanied the Centurian have all been cleared by the Intelligence, I would expect no less. But that does not mean that the Tal Shiar has not got its hands in on this mission. There may not be a mole but they could have their claws into someone or there is possibly one of the Starfleet operatives about. I trust her, you trust her, we don't know each other well enough to have that same level of comfort with each other, I wouldn't expect it this early, but we do have a common purpose. Not only the Centurian's well being and return to her rightful position, but for me it is also the more open relationship with the Federation. I want that to work too for my own sake. That is where I stand. I just wanted you to know that."

At his command the door opens. He looks over both guards scarefully with his best Marine Sgt. face. As he turns his head back to Lt. Rhiana a slight slow smile crosses his face. The guards were expected, He would have done the same if he were the Captain. He stores that as a positive point for the man--one small point.

Turning to one of the guards, "Security, see that Lt. Rhianna is granted access to this room."

Rhiana steps up to the door and turning to the Security guard on the left. "Please, show me how I can be given access." Rhiana requests, as she regards the two guards her coppery eyes inquisitive.

Stardate: 2371.09.01 USS Cerberus – Conference Room – 0854 hours
Lt. Hash had left sickbay after disabling the MHP, spending a little time reviewing the personnel files of those coming on board, and generally entertaining pessimistic thoughts about his new assignment. He knew absolutely nothing about his fellow officers but what was public record, and the fact that everyone seemed green in command did not sit well with the abrasive doctor. It had made for a rather uncomfortable bout of tossing and turning as he tried to stomach his dissatisfaction. When the computer had woken him up by reciting public news articles of preprogrammed interest the following morning, Jon was miserably tired.

He’d dressed in his blues after his ion shower and a brief breakfast consisting of a bagel with cream cheese and a coffee, then he’d snatched a PADD from the counter and as he’d made his way from his quarters towards the lift, he’d begun to peruse the medical files of the command officers: particularly the last time they’d been in for a physical. With the war in full swing and all of the away missions to various planets, it was always too easy to become infected with something unknown. He’d been aware of at least two ships since the inception of the Dominion-Cardassian conflict that were rendered out of service due to an alien bug infection, and he’d be damned if it was going to happen on his watch. With the influx of personnel from all over the quadrant, it was just too likely that something like that could happen despite the cleansing features of the transporter. Too many were arriving by shuttle for his taste. When will people learn that the technology is there to protect as well as make life easier?
Hash made minor acknowledgements towards other personnel who arrived in the lift on his way to sickbay, and so was really unaware of the surprised expressions on the faces of two female redshirts when the message warning him of his meeting at 1000 hours arrived on his PADD resulted in a growled expletive. With a shake of his head, Jon pressed the “acknowledge” option, and then went on about his investigation of dossiers.

Sickbay was just as he’d left it the night before: clean and sterile. Walking through the small admittance chamber, Jon made his way into the glass semi-circular room that was his office smugly pleased that the annoying hologram didn’t present its ugly face. Dropping the PADD on the desk, he rolled into the seat and transferred his investigation to the main screen.

“Captain, my captain,” he muttered as MacTavish’s profile presented itself. “Been a while since you’ve turned your head and coughed, now hasn’t it…” Jon Hash’s eyebrows raised up as he scanned the numerous visits to the infirmary by the man. Broken bones, lacerations, severe skin surface trauma, damaged retina, burst eardrums…the list of injuries went on and on with only the occasional phaser burn. “All signs of physical confrontation…the man likes to get into it with his hands, huh?” Again, the issue of technology…range weapons were invented for a reason.

The review continued, ending when Hash sent a message to Yeoman Weatherly:

Please schedule a preflight medical evaluation for Captain MacTavish as soon as possible. – Lt. Hash, CMO
Then it was on to the next file: Commander Sitok. “Vulcan…” Hash’s eyes flickered back and forth across the screen as he reviewed the immaculate medical history and the recent date of the last check-up. “Leave it to a Vulcan to have everything in order.”

/=\\ Lt. Hash, your meeting with the command staff is in fifteen minutes./=\\

Jon glanced up from the file at the ceiling as though he could see where the disembodied voice of the computer was coming from. With an irritated sigh, the doctor closed down the files—his position allowed him access to particular information he didn’t want just anyone accessing. As he rose up from his seat, he could see that his medical team had arrived. Jon had briefly encountered their personnel files while in transfer from his last post, but now was not the time to get cozy.

“Prepare for medical evaluations, Ensign,” Jon barked as he entered the main partition of the sickbay once again. “Get with the department heads to schedule the appointments—anyone who has not come aboard by transporter will be top priority, but you can ignore those who’ve had an evaluation within the last month without any away missions, or combat experience in that time frame. These start immediately, understood?”

“Yes sir,” she replied, blinking in surprise at the blunt approach of her CO, the PADD evaluating the medical overhead still beeping in her hand.

Jon gave a nod and was out the door, advancing quickly on the lift. These meetings rarely had anything to do with medical personnel, and Hash usually found them to be an unwelcome distraction to his duties. This one, so early in his tenure aboard the Cerberus was likely to be just that, and when he had so much he had to get done before the umbilical was cut…

Stepping into the conference room, Hash found himself a minute late. He didn’t bother to nod, appraise, acknowledge, or otherwise delay his taking his seat, and when he’d deposited himself in his chair, the CMO leaned back and awaited the business at hand.

Stardate: 2374.09.01 USS Charon – Captain’s Quarters – 0750 hours
Kel had cleaned up. He now appeared the quintessential Star Fleet captain, but for the extreme, ugly scarring that marred the left side of his face. Turning from the mirror, he tugged at the bottom of his shirt and made his way towards the door to his quarters. When it slid open he was met by a surprised, and slightly frightened, yeoman who wore the insignia for the station.

“Captain Gavison,” the young man snapped off a salute.

“Well?”

“I—I, uh, have a delivery for you, Sir.” The yeoman held out a small, red box with Bajoran markings along the outer surface. Kel stared at it for a moment before taking it from the man. He didn’t bother thanking the yeoman, or even ending the conversation, he just turned back into his destroyed quarters oblivious to the expression of horror that dawned on the man’s face as he was presented by the condition of the room. The door closed sharply in the young man’s face.

Kelsey handled the box gently as he turned it over and over in his hand. He hadn’t been expecting anything, and in these times, with his mindset, he wasn’t at all sure that this wouldn’t turn out to be a poisonous viper, or a small, detonating sphere. Despite Bajor’s assistance in the war, there were still those who believed that Star Fleet had no business in their space. Kel, and the Charon were public enough figures that killing him would make a pretty loud declaration.

Still, it wasn’t fear that gave him pause; Kelsey Gavison no longer feared death. No, it was the incessant curiosity that screamed “OPEN IT” that gave him pause. He didn’t like to be told what to do…even by his subconscious. After a while of torturing himself, the captain pressed the release latched with his thumb. A red glow surrounded his flesh, the computer iris inside reading his print and delving deeper to sample his DNA. There followed a click and a small voice saying, “Authorized access”, and then the lid popped open. Kel lifted it further and frowned at the small, amber crystal contained within. Pulling the item from the box Kelsey held it up to eye level, his brow furrowed.

Pain burrowed deep inside his skull, straight between his eyes and down to the frontal lobe of his brain. Kelsey gasped and staggered, dropping to one knee on the shattered glass about his coffee table, his right hand dropping the box to grasp the edge of the ruined table for support. His vision failed him, swirling away to black, only to be replaced by a brilliant white laced with fluorescent blues. Kel took in a sharp breath as the pain subsided and a shadowy, robed figure emerged from the swirling lights before his inner eye.

Struggling to maintain his equilibrium, Kelsey Gavison rose up, his ugly face in a grimace while he tugged at the bottom of his shirt once more, the crystal still held in his hand.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled, his right hand dropping to his belted phaser.

“That will do you no good, Captain,” the figure said calmly. “What you are seeing is insubstantial.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

The shadow remained about the visitor, shrouding his visage and hiding his identity. “I did not intend it to. I merely wished to point out that though your mind perceives this reality, it is but a fabricated existence—a shadow of my mind, if you will. You are a guest in my home, Captain Gavison.”

“Guest? I don’t remember receiving an invitation.” Kelsey’s mood was not improving.

“Forgive the method of delivery, Captain, but matters at hand require the utmost of care lest all we strive for become lost.”

“All we strive for?”

“Yes, Captain. Our agendas are in sync.”

“If that’s the case, then why the brain tap? Hmmm?” Gavison flung his hand towards the figure, angrily illustrating his next point. “Why the special effects?”

“As I said, Captain: The nature of this meeting is a necessity. There are factions within factions, layers of bureaucracy, shadows that begot shadows. This--,” the shrouded man’s arms swept the height of his body. “—is for your protection as much as mine.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“That, Captain, is something only you can answer.”

Gavison’s lip curled in disgust at the nature of the game. “What would you have of me?”

“You are scheduled to embark on a mission—“

“How--?”

“Please, Captain, do not interrupt with questions pertaining to method. You know I’ll not share my instruction with you, you knew that before the question formulated. I will do you the favor of delivering to you the information you will need to proceed with the highest possible levels of success, but you must not question my intelligence. Understood?”

There was a brief pause while Kel considered what he’d just been told, and then, with narrowed eyes and a scowl upon his face, Captain Gavison offered the briefest of nods.

“Thank you,” the figure said. “Now, you must keep the method of our conversation close to your heart, for you will need my guidance. For now, know that those whom you seek are of top priority to the war effort, though your own command does not place as high a priority upon their rescue as they should, at least they have realized some of the benefit the rescue operation will provide. This is a start.

“I’m afraid that they will not realize the full potential until the mission is well underway, if they do at all. By which time, it will be too late to change their approach. So, you must be prepared to take the reins, Captain—“

“I am in joint command of the operation—“

“Yes, I know. With Commander MacTavish…an old friend, I understand. He’ll need to understand the direction and importance of this mission, Captain, and I’m afraid that you’ll need to be the one to convince him of it.”

Kelsey scoffed. “How, when I don’t even understand what you’re getting at?”

“Oh, I’m confident you’ll figure out a way.”

“I need more information before—“

“There will be more information given; when the time is right.”

Kelsey’s scowl turned into a frown as the lights about him began to swirl. “Wait!”

“In time, Captain Gavison. In time.”

With a gasp, Kel found himself standing in the center of his shattered room once more. Blinking away the residual pain, he stared down at the crystal held in his hand and felt hatred grow inside of him. Thrusting the item deep into his pocket, Captain Gavison headed for the door once more.

“Computer: time.”

/=\\ It is 0835 hours, Captain Gavison /=\\

Kelsey’s neck twitched, causing his head to turn slightly to the right as he stepped into the hall. That encounter had taken quite some time. Who was it with? What was their agenda? Could he trust them? How did they know what the mission was? There were so many questions, so many doubts, and Kelsey Gavison was never one to act without securing his position. His walk was deliberate, filled with the energy of someone with a dangerous purpose as he made his way to his ready room.

Kel greeted each of his officers with a shallow nod, the scowl never leaving his scarred face. When they were all present and accounted for he began.

“Operation: Persephone.” The view screen behind him flared to life showing the details. “That’s our next mission. Star Fleet has teamed us up with a Steamrunner Class that should be arriving within the next few days. The Charon will be in top shape by then, all personnel accounted for. There will likely be a short delay while the Cerberus--the other ship—restocks, and the cloaking device is installed on the Charon, but I’ll have all systems in order and all personnel ready to depart before the Cerberus is in port. If that means requisitioning additional personnel from DS9, so be it. Just make sure it happens.”

Kelsey turned to Jonathan Fletcher. “There’s a Bajoran temple on the Promenade. A priest by the name of Shilotte runs the services there. He was a fairly influential spiritual leader before the War. The intel we have on those we are to retrieve is slim at best. See if you can get any further information from him—see if he knows any of those on that list, John. Take some of Talon’s team with you who are versed in intelligence gathering. Something…tells me, that there’s more to our mission than meets the eye, and we’re not going in blind.

“Lt. Cmdr. Talon, You’ll handle gathering intel on ship operations through the sector. I want to know what we’ll need to expect once we’re through the wormhole. Get with Flight and plot a practical course. We’re going to be lead once we go through as we’ve been there before. I know the captain of the Cerberus and he’s a brilliant tactician. He’s also got the balls to compliment our operation, so let’s make sure we have the information in hand that will help us with the mission.”

“Jones,” Kel turned a fiery eye on his CEO. “I don’t care if you have to strip a passing Ferangi freighter; get the Charon operating at full capacity before the Romulan contingent comes on board, and make sure that everything is secure. I don’t want those pointy-eared bastards to have access to anything that isn’t necessary for them to install that bloody cloak. You understand? They are under surveillance the second they step foot on my ship by your engineering crew. I also expect your crew to get as much knowledge as possible pertaining to the cloak. I don’t want to find ourselves in a situation where we need Romulans aboard when it gets hot—I’ll let Mac deal with that little issue.”

“Talon, your responsible for the security detail that escorts them. I’ll also want you working with Operations to secure all vital systems. Those Romulans are our first threat as far as I’m concerned. We’ll not allow them a chance for sabotage.

“Lt. Hamilton, work with Operations and Engineering. I want to see if we can’t work in some sort of structural scan to our system biometrics. There’s bioengineering and structural reconstruction technology available that would allow an individual to pose as a Romulan—or any other person for that matter—and gain access to our ship’s systems. I want to see if we can catch that problem before it rears its ugly head.”

Gavison took a deep breath, looking very much the part of an ogre. “Gentlemen, I have every reason to believe our mission has been compromised before we’ve even launched. It is up to you to make sure that we’ve recovered before we enter that wormhole, because once we’re on the other side…well, you all know what kind of chance we have of correcting a problem as large as that without endangering the mission objective. Any questions?”

Stardate 2374.90.01
USS Cerebrus - Solus Chambers - 0730 hours
"Enter" Solus called out and the door to his chambers opened. Lt. Lassiter arrived with a bottle of wine in hand

"G'd evening sir. I brought you a little welcome aboard present. This isn't synthehol sir. It's the real deal. So use with caution." Lassiter handed over the bottle with a smile and Lt. Solus grabbed the bottle quickly looking carefully at the label.

"That's a nice gesture Lassiter. I think one glass with dinner will not hurt." Glasses were already set on the table and the two friends sat down and began a meal together. It was nice to get a chance to talk about their anticipated mission and about life in general.

After about an hour and a half of conversation, both men were startled when the computer came on with a message. Looks like an important meeting at 1000 hours. Better get things in order and put this bottle away for the night.


Stardate 2374.90.01
USS Cerebrus – Corridor – 0950 hours

Lt Solus and his first officer Lt. Lassiter made their way down the corridors of the Cerebrus towards the meeting. They were discussing what the meeting might be about when they passed a Romulan in the hallway. Thats odd Solus thought to himself. As he passed by the Romulan he smiled directly at her while his first avoided eye contact at all.

Once she passed by Solus and Lassiter returned to conversation. "So .. thats not something you see every day .. what kind of mission are we on again?" Lassiter asked.

" I'm not sure .. but I guess we will find out in this meeting. Soon enough. But let's not judge too harshly Lassiter. Romulans make better friends than enemies. "

and with that they entered in the conference room

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 0910 hours
“Operation: Persephone.” The view screen behind him flared to life showing the details. “That’s our next mission. Star Fleet has teamed us up with a Steamrunner Class that should be arriving within the next few days. The Charon will be in top shape by then, all personnel accounted for. There will likely be a short delay while the Cerberus--the other ship—restocks, and the cloaking device is installed on the Charon, but I’ll have all systems in order and all personnel ready to depart before the Cerberus is in port. If that means requisitioning additional personnel from DS9, so be it. Just make sure it happens.”
Lt Cmdr. Talon’s expression gradually grew darker as he read the details of the mission.. His claws slowly scratched into the top of the table leaving furrows deep in the surface. He didn’t like what he saw.. This was a suicide mission… chances of success were slim to none that they could succeed with so small a force. His ire was growing the more the read…. he realized the Capt was talking directly to him and his head came up to look as he listened.

“Lt. Cmdr. Talon, You’ll handle gathering intel on ship operations through the sector. I want to know what we’ll need to expect once we’re through the wormhole. Get with Flight and plot a practical course. We’re going to be lead once we go through as we’ve been there before. I know the captain of the Cerberus and he’s a brilliant tactician. He’s also got the balls to compliment our operation, so let’s make sure we have the information in hand that will help us with the mission.”
He nodded and gave a faint grunt of acknowledgement as he went back to the details. He couldn’t believe it.. Romulans here aboard his ship. He would sooner gut them and toss them out into space then let them set foot on board his vessels.

“Talon, your responsible for the security detail that escorts them. I’ll also want you working with Operations to secure all vital systems. Those Romulans are our first threat as far as I’m concerned. We’ll not allow them a chance for sabotage.
Yes he would see to it personally .. That was sure… he began typing in notes to his PADD about limiting the Romulans to only the number needed to install the cloaking device.. Full time security to oversee each and every one of them.. He would personally watch over the operation from the moment they stepped on board to the time he blasted them into tiny bits and ejected them into space.

Gavison took a deep breath, looking very much the part of an ogre. “Gentlemen, I have every reason to believe our mission has been compromised before we’ve even launched. It is up to you to make sure that we’ve recovered before we enter that wormhole, because once we’re on the other side…well, you all know what kind of chance we have of correcting a problem as large as that without endangering the mission objective. Any questions?”
Talon immediately jumped to his feet leaning on the table his claws threatening to make the gouged furrows even deeper as he growled” Captain! Romulans about this ship? Is this necessary? I thought Federation engineers had been working with Cloaking devices for year.”

(Room for reply)

He growled his frustration as he slumped in his seat, “I do not trust them…. I will demand they only have the number of personnel they need to install the device.. I will personally attend to the security details.. and I will blast the first one that even ‘hints’ at stepping out of line.”

(Room for any further reply)

After the meeting he stalked down the hallway tapping on his PADD, actions to attend to… Securing all vital systems… … Have his best intel men report to the XO for assignments… Contact Flight to go over course and review charts and intel of the mission area.. Etc.

He continued to scan the mission details on his PADD and the info about the USS Cerebeus… he paused suddenly in the hallway almost causing a junior crewman to run into him, seeing it was the hulking Lyran Security Officer the crewman restrained from any comment and beat a hasty retreat.

A growl began in Talon’s chest and it grew and grew until it became a roar echoing down the hallway. He whirled and stalked down the hallway, now cleared of personnel by his bellowing and headed to the Captain’s Quarters. (assuming that is where he went after the briefing, if not he will find him through the computer and barge in there).

Barging into the room with the Captain without annoucement, he bellows out at Capt. Gavison, “A KZINTI! … The Cerebus has a Kzinti onboard!” He manages to get out through his rage. “I would sooner have an entire ship of Romulans than a Kzinti onboard!” His rage overcame him and he began to rage in Lyran becoming incomprehensible to the Captain. Talon paced through the mess that was strewn about the floor of the Captain Quarters apparently unaware of the items he was further destroying in his ire.

Stardate: 2372.09.01
USS Cerberus – Deck 5, Holodeck 2 – 1053 hours
Vaela tapped her fingers impatiently against the PADD she carried in time to the gentle thrum of the turbolift. Unfortunately it didn’t make the lift go any faster and only seemed to irk the ship’s Computer.

=/\\= Error. Please restate command. =/\\= the Computer huffed as the turbolift shuddered to a halt.

Vaela scowled in response. She had only learnt of the officer’s meeting a few moments before, because she had been busily embroiled in re-aligning one of the Cerberus’ shuttlecraft. What was worse was that the Andorian had also learnt she had been requested to attend a ‘full medical evaluation’ later in the day.

She hated that prospect even more than slow turbolifts. Some years before Vaela had spent six months of her life being prodded, poked and scanned by Starfleet medics and ever since then she had strived to avoid medical examinations whenever she could. Sadly playing truant did not seem a viable option this time.

“No command was given,” Vaela commented with a sigh to the Computer. “Resume journey to the original destination.”

The Computer chimed its accord, and continued its laborious assent.

USS Cerberus – Deck 2, Conference Room – 1057 hours
Vaela’s antennae twitched as she walked into the stoney silence of the Conference Room. The men and women in attendance at the meeting all seemed to sit primly in their chairs, afraid to even look at their nearest neighbours.

‘How very human,’ the Andorian thought dryly, as she walked across to the far side of the room and selected an empty chair upon which to sit.

“Hello there,” she remarked to those sitting near her, if only to break the ice.

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1430 hours
Eyes blink, head moved, one arm and a time and then legs. Sienae felt out her body in the act of rising. Looking to her wrist her eyes open wide. 5 hours she had been out. She rose carefully shielding her back as she righted herself. She stood and went to the fresher, stripped and "showered". She was surprised to find a bathing tub in the room.

Redressed in a clean uniform she went out into her sitting room and found Rhiana there.

"SO, will I live?"

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1450 hours
Rhiana was a the com screen when Sienae setpped into the sitting room. She was engrossed in study the computer readout. She had poured over medical information available, directly related to muscle and nerve regentation and rehibilitation that were available from the computer.

Rhiana stands and salutes as appropriate. "Yes Centurion, you will live though your back will not get better any faster unless you get it seen too on a regular basis. It is not something I can handle as well as Star Fleet can."

"I have been looking over medical information they have available, especially on nerve and muscle regeneration. They certainly have some new treatments and medicines that have had good results with humans and Vulcans."

"Centurion, I recomment that you go see their chief medical officer and see what he can do for you. I have to say it but Star Fleet does seem to vare much about rehibilitating their personnel and not just cashiering them out of Star Fleet as unfit like we do. The sooner the better for your recovery."

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1455 hours
"Medical advise taken," says Sienae, returning her under officer's salute.

"Now, you can return to your quarters and alert the others that we will have dinner here at 1800 hours, ship time. I also want you to check with the PTB (Powers That Be) for holodeck time to do a few dry runs on installing the cloaking device on the Cerberus."

Sienae then turns to look out of the great window passed the space docks and into the far reaches of space.

"We are not the most welcome guests, are we."

Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – Deck 3 Centurion's Cabin – 1460 hours

"Permission to speak frankly, Centurion."

Rhiana waits for Sthe Centurian's permission.

(If given) "We are not, Centurion, did you think we would be or just hope for some indication pf mutual cooperation. They are vastly different in degree, the later is more expect and yet not at all probable with the history of conflict between the RSE and Star Fleet." Rhiana does not include herself in the RSE's imperative to control space. For years she had questions, privately such an political agenda.

"Premission to depart, Centurion, I will be going to the crew lounge with my my roommate. She seems a sensible sort, as far as I can see on such short acquaintance."

Rhiana exits the Centurion's room and goes back down to her assigned room. She was a bit surprised to see her roomate stillthere. "I was unavoidabley delayed. Do you still want to go to the crew lounge? We have about an hour oh and I have to let the others know that dinner will be with the Centurion in her quarters tonight at 1800. Formal attire." Let me just send that on to the others while you get ready."