Stardate: 2374.08.31
USS Cerberus – 1500 hours deck 5 The Lounge


Of course there was not reason to exchange their P.A.D.D. across the table. They could as
Easily sent it to each other but the oddness of it might just alert their watchdogs who, Sat nearby watching them like hawks. This pleases Rhiana not end. Ah well it would give them something to discuss about and wonder and fill up their empty hours on their watch.
She sat back satisfied with their little exchange.

"Tell me what you think about this." she asked Lt Shiarrael as she passed her P.A.D.D back yet again. I think this might work out. As she did one of their sentries stood up, and tried to see what was on the screen even though it had a privacy screen on it. Only those looking at about 85 to 95 degrees of the screen could see what was on it.

She typed in the words. //Oh, we got one looking right now// and finished passing it.

Shiarrael will take the PADD, read it, jots down another line and passes it back to Rhiana.

Out loud “I REALLY got to fix the send button on my PADD, This passing back and forth might get us in trouble”. She will then turn to the guard and coldly asks, “Is there something you need?” An arched eyebrow is all that moves on her poker face.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1827hrs


The attendant slipped the drink onto the tablle and hurried away without speaking, surely glad enough to get out of the way of what could have been abloody, if not unfomfortable situation. Mas'Riat took hold of the glass and sipped at it slowly, savoring the flavor on her tongue, and her lips curled into a sly smile. A delicate brow arched in amusement. She supposed it was in poor taste to be so amused by his frustration, but she could not help herself.

Setting the glass down, she sighed. "Flight Control."

She watched the words wash over him and waited for a reaction. After a long moment's pause, she leaned back in her seat and cracked her neck.

((ooc: Sorry this is so short, i've overdone it a bit today))

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1827hrs
Talon watched the Bajoran closely, his highly trained and inhuman senses noticing ever twitch and movement of muscles in her face, the subtle hints of body language, he didn’t miss the sly smile that crept to her lips.

Setting the glass down, she sighed. "Flight Control."
He smirked at her and then laughed and sat back his tenseness easing visibly.

“Well then Lt. Mas’Riat,” he said as he picked up his glass again, “you and I will be seeing a lot of each other then.”

He took a sip of his drink then leaned forward looking into her face, the edges of his eyes lifted upwards in what looked like amusement.

“I hope you can fly as well as you posture yourself,” he smiled which gave him that scary looking visage that some people found intimidating but she could tell he was not threatening her now.

“Are all Bajorans such loud mouth braggarts?”

(OOC: No problem, know you have been ill and getting better is more important. Besides I have no excuse for my short posts. )

Mas'Riat laughed, her soft low voice for a moment transformed before it left, a fleeting ghost of who she might have been. Yet her smile evened out, and once could see no malice or artifice within.

"Half, actually. But at least when I get wet, I don't smell like Cardassian foot fungus."

She sipped some more and set the glass down. AS ferocious as he may be, she had to admit he was also impressive. Others would have struck by now, but he had an impressive amount of self control. It helped that he was amusing.

Strategically, it made sense to ally herself with someone as imposing and as potentially violent. Though she knew Starfleet was a convoluted mess of mindless drones existing only to follow orders, she had to be ready. She had to have a plan.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1827hrs

"Half, actually. But at least when I get wet, I don't smell like Cardassian foot fungus."
Talon started at her remark and his eyes widened, then he smiled and burst out in a loud boisterous laugh.

“Well Lt. I know which -half- you belong to.” He said with a grin.

He took a sip of his drink trying to understand this Bajoran. No human he had ever met had the guts to speak to him so, he admired her Kerz’aszt and liked her seeming fearlessness already.

“So tell me Lt Mas’Riat… what did you do get assigned to this Fr’itzs’san mission?” He asked using what she can only assume is a expletive in his own tongue.

He reclined back in his seat, his drink in one hand while with the other hand he absently scratched behind his ear reminding her so much like a common pet cat.

Mas'Riat, she warned herself, keep cool...
But the playful fire in her eyes did not waver despite the cold steel shine.

"I killed a man to watch him die," she deadpanned, and waited several beats before the corner of her lips turned up in a tight, momentary smile. Would he believe her? Would he think it a joke? She sighed easily and took another few sips, draining her glass.

"I have," she whispered, her voice conspiratory in quietness, "the distinction of having flown a Dominion craft from the very darkness of Hell itself."

She allowed a moment for the full implication of those words to sink in, and she wanted to kick herself for offering up trust to a stranger so easily. And if i can pilot that, I can fly damn near anything. Now..."

She sat back and watched him carefully through narrowed eyes. "...why would Starfleet be so interested in that?"

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1828hrs
"I killed a man to watch him die."
The only sign Talon gave that he had even heard her words was that he stopped scratching behind his ear. He downed the rest of his drink and banged the glass down on the table and when one of the wait staff looked over he gestured to his drink indicating he needed a refill.

He turned his attention back to the Bajoran woman trying to tell if she was joking with him or not. Humans were hard to read; Lyran expressions were all usually fierce looking and he imagined that humans had the same problem with Lyrans. He saw the small smile she gave and he chuckled slightly, maybe she would think he didn’t believe her but for some reason he didn’t doubt she was capable of murder.

"I have," she whispered, her voice conspiratory in quietness, "the distinction of having flown a Dominion craft from the very darkness of Hell itself…. And if i can pilot that, I can fly damn near anything. Now..."

She sat back and watched him carefully through narrowed eyes. "...why would Starfleet be so interested in that?"
He studied her while the waiter came up with a fresh drink and taking his empty glass hurried away. He didn’t know how much she might have been told about the mission and he was sure he wasn’t at liberty to discuss mission specifics with someone recently assigned to the ship.

“Well …” he said lifting his fresh glass, “..I hoped you enjoyed your stay in Hell, Lt. Mas’Riat… because the –boatman- will be giving you a round trip return.” He grinned and downed half the glass in one gulp, then he laughed. He was sure there were extenuating circumstances to why the Bajoran was assigned to the Charon at this time, to him it felt more like a punishment then a gift. With her abrasive attitude he was thinking that maybe she had angered someone who had authority and here she was, like it or not… probably not.

Stardate: 2374.09.01 USS Cerberus – Sick Bay – 1140 hours
Jon didn’t need much time to process the information delivered by Commander MacTavish in their debriefing. He’d always scored high on comprehension tests, and it didn’t take a warp core engineer to figure out this wasn’t going to be an easy mission. The presence of the Romulans made things even worse, but he couldn’t help but salivate at the opportunity to actually doctor Romulans. There weren’t many Star Fleet doctors who could claim such a thing, and he was really looking forward to getting under one’s skin.

Stepping into what would be his second home, Lt. Hash was pleased to see his sparse medical staff hard at work. The ensign he’d seen earlier was busy working at one of the desk stations while another that he hadn’t met yet worked on cataloguing their supplies.

“How’s it look?” Jon’s voice sounded harsh no matter what curb he tried to put on it. Both ensigns jumped.

“I’m nearly finished scheduling check-ups for all of the senior staff members, sir,” the female ensign hurriedly replied.

“And I’ve nearly finished confirming all medical supplies,” the male ensign replied a little uncertain as his eyes flickered towards the female with obvious question. “Uh, sir?”

Jon walked over and snatched the PADD out of the man’s hands so that he could investigate the work. “What?”

“We’re loaded for bear, so to speak,” the question still remained in the ensign’s voice. “Are we going to the Front?”

“We’re going wherever the hell the captain says we’re going, Ensign…”

“Ensign Braff, Sir.”

“Well, Ensign Braff,” Jon handed the PADD back and made his way to his office. “We’re going beyond the Front, so I’d suggest that you suck it up Princess, and make sure my sick bay is prepared for anything.”

“Y-yes sir!”

Lt. Hash entered the enclosed space of his office with its clear glass view of the floor beyond and dropped into his swiveling chair. Turning to face his desk computer, he activated his department’s personnel files.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath as Braff’s file presented itself. “I was half expecting him to be a her. Kid’s balls haven’t even dropped yet.”

That said, Hash continued to review those who would be working for him, annotating their files with personal comments accessible only by senior staff, and none of the statements were all that kind despite their achievements. He was a harsh task master, but he was more harsh with himself. Braff, Tort, Maguire…all of them would learn that soon enough.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1829hrs

She chuckled, feeling the small, uncomfortable flow of truth to his words, and smirked.

"Well. That sounds... like a vacation." She brushed an unruly strand of hair from her eyes, watching the Lyran for any change, any darkening of mood or telling twitch.

"Any words of advice? Sage wisdom from the furries? Bits of irrelevant gossip for a new Starfleet vic- crewmember?"

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1829hrs
"Well. That sounds... like a vacation." "Any words of advice? Sage wisdom from the furries? Bits of irrelevant gossip for a new Starfleet vic- crewmember?"
Talon chuckled slightly at her remarks, she was trying to play the big front it seemed to him, he decided to press the matter while he had her attention. Leaning forward he locked eyes with her, the yellow vertical slits narrowed slightly.

“Well.. I will give you one word of advice, Lt Mas’Riat,” he says his smile gone, his tone menacing, “You do your job and you do it right aboard the Charon, for if you do anything to endanger my ship.. This ‘furry’ will rip your throat out and leave you to bleed upon the deck.”

The look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, the slight growl in his throat, all would tell her that he was completely and deadly serious in his remarks. She couldn’t know that aboard a Lyran vessel, officers maintained the strictest discipline by physical abuse and even death to those that were negligent in their duties. To fail in one’s job, especially in battle, was a instant death sentence. Many a junior officer’s last sight was that of his superior standing over him with bloodied talons as his vision failed and his life essence seeped out upon the cold steel deck plates.

Talon sat back picking up his glass again, his eyes still locked on the Bajoran woman across from him.

“Do I make myself clear, Lt Mas’Riat?” He asked and then drained the rest of his glass in one gulp as he waited for her answer.

“Do I make myself clear, Lt Mas’Riat?” He asked and then drained the rest of his glass in one gulp as he waited for her answer.
Oh, she wondered, if he only knew.

"That ship is what's going to keep me alive. If that metal casket's going to keep me from going back to a Dominion prison, then you bet your furry..." she intoned, her voice dropping all softness, all charm. She was unable to hide the echo of her past, and she felt a haunted shudder pass through her. She pushed away the Dominion prison from memory, and focused her will on the present, the now.

"You won't have a thing to worry about," she added.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1829hrs
"That ship is what's going to keep me alive. If that metal casket's going to keep me from going back to a Dominion prison, then you bet your furry..." she intoned, her voice dropping all softness, all charm "You won't have a thing to worry about," she added.
Lt Cmdr Talon watched the Bajoran closely as she spoke; he noticed how she reacted when speaking about being in a Dominion prison. Lyran had a hard time understanding human species, their manners, their sense of humor, but despite all that he believed this woman when she spoke of being held captive by the Dominion. He also believed that the experience hardened her in ways more humans would never know.

“That’s good, Lt,” he said nodding to her, “I believe you will do fine.” She might not realize that such simple praise was rare coming from this officer, he seldom acknowledged anyone’s accomplishments and often focused on the negatives of which he usually saw many.

“The Captain might take more convincing that I however,” he said with a chuckle, “I believe you will find Capt Gavison a real ball buster but since you both seem to have similar temperaments I imagine you will come to an understanding.” He grinned, again showing all of his teeth.

Stardate: 2374.09.01 Starbase 10 – Shuttle Bay 4 – 0630 hours
It had a destiny, a preordained fate, and a mission. Standing in the shadow cast by a large freight container filled with parts destined for the engineering department aboard the Cerberus the alien watched with borrowed eyes as crewmen worked to secure the shuttle contents. It was patient, calm, there was no blood pulsing through it, no heartbeat to cause palpitations in preparation for what it’d already resigned itself to do. In fact, resigned wasn’t the proper word to describe its state of mind. It was just prepared. These weren’t living beings working away their time before it, but tools, and it had need of one of them.

Humans were so predictable in their habits—dirty, clean, it didn’t matter, the habit made humans easy to mark, such as the one it had been watching the whole of these past couple of days, ever since it had received its assignment by secured messenger. It knew that the one it watched would break at 0630 hours Earth Time. It knew that the one would make its way to that particular corner to sneak a few minutes of time alone, eyes closed, before being called back to finish the job. More importantly, it knew that the one it had singled out would be accompanying the cargo to the Cerberus, would be joining the crew of the Cerberus, and would be accompanying them on the mission. It was only to wait a few more seconds—there. The heavyset man with the drooping eyes and the hanging jowls was waving off a couple of the other humans working with him and walking towards the crates. There was laughter, jostling—what did the humans call that? Oh, yes. Good-natured ribbing. Then he was passing the shadowy alcove in which it hid and settling his back against one of the crates, sliding to the floor.

It gave the human a moment to settle before making its way to his side in a soundless manner its borrowed body wouldn’t have been able to of accomplished prior to its arrival. Had someone been watching the scene they would have seen a petite woman wearing the blues of the science department and the insignia of an ensign standing over a slightly overweight man of middling years, her face impassive, the strangely curved blade in her hand glinting dully in the pale ambience of the shuttle bay. They might have been able to call out a warning as she suddenly stooped, passing the blade into the back of the man’s exposed neck and hooking violently, with supernatural strength to sever the head from the shoulders as smoothly as if the knife had been a Klingon Battlemaster’s battlif in the hands of an expert. Even before the head rolled across the floor, the small woman’s hand—its hand—was dipping into the blood gushing from the wound.

Its arm began to ripple, the shape of it changing, the color growing amber-gold. This effect climbed the length of the appendage, chased by the black sleeve of a Star Fleet uniform once more until it carried across the bosom of the girl, replaced by the gold of engineering and the heavier chest of the slain man. Within seconds, the man at its feet was duplicated in it, standing over the decapitated corpse.

Phaser discharge within the starbase would be registered by the computer. Perellian Flesh Worms would not. It had brought these from a deep part of space that was unknown to most and uncharted to the rest. No known sensor could pick them up, and it had been able to encompass the grotesque little creatures within itself when it had been shuttled aboard allowing it to ignore security. Now, opening the small, glass vial, it dumped the translucent creatures onto the body, reserving a couple for the head. The slim, squirming bodies were about the length of a human fingernail, but had a voracious appetite, and didn’t stop at the flesh of their victim. It watched dispassionately as its victim was completely devoured by the creatures, like a school of piranha tearing apart their meal in under a minute, the worms did their work leaving nothing by the bloodstained uniform, devouring bone, muscle, tendon, internal organs…everything else. The problem with Perellian Flesh Worms was that they did not do well with metal, and the instant they touched the surface of the shuttle bay floor, they squirmed in agonizing pain, dissolving into a tiny, light gray series of spots on the floor no larger than one centimeter in diameter.

Retrieving another vial from within itself, the alien released a series of nanobots onto the uniform, waiting patiently while they deconstructed the very molecular structure of the cloth, reducing it to dust. The nanobots dispersed as well, their program complete, their existence at an end, caught up in the filtration system, left to die in the cracks and crevices of the human construction. The dust was summarily scattered. All of this completed just as the doors to the shuttle bay opened admitting the two crewmen who would be accompanying it to the ship.

“Hey, Stan,” one called with a nod. “You must be eager to join up with your new post. We normally have to wake you up when we come off break.”

“What can I say?” the alien replied in the guise of Stan. “I’d die for a change of scenery.”

Stardate: 2374.09.01
Deep Space Nine - Quark's - 1830hrs


Mas'Riat considered, for a moment, that perhaps it was his smile that was the most disturbing. Surely it must unnerve some, perhaps filling weaker vessels with unease and fear, they way a snarling dog standing perfectly still can.

"I'm looking forward to meeting him, actually. Although, I really must admit, I am anxious to see the ship and go over the more technical aspects of my new life."

Small talk, she decided, was an art whose form she was completley lacking in, and yet it was good for her. Though she was uncomfortable sittingn in the open, drinking with a stranger, especically a large furry one capable of shredding her instantly, she forced herself to remain seated, to talk, because she needed it. If she was going to succeed at this, she had to be completely comfortable with it and in order ot get there, she had to suffer a little.

She hoped it got easier, this aching need to flee, hoped the craving of freedom and solitude passed from her quickly. At least by mentioning the technical aspects of the job, she had now established a reasoning to explain why she may appear antisocial.

"When are we supposed to report to he ship?"

"When are we supposed to report to the ship?"
Lt Talon eyed her and smirked as he leaned forward on one elbow to look her directly in the face.

“Who is this -We-, Lt?” he half snarled.

Reaching down to his belt she might have thought he was going for his phaser at first, but he came up with his small, alien looking PADD, he tapped the screen with one talon and scanned the information. A slow smile came to his lips at something he saw and looked up at her.

“Seems you were due to report at 0900 this morning, Lt.” He stated then laughed uproariously. Everyone in Quarks looked around at the Lyran as it was rare when the large furry creature laughed and when he did it usually was bad for someone.

“The Captain may have your guts for breakfast when you do decide to report,” he said when he finally got his laughter under control.

Talon finally regained his composure and looked at her, the amusement still shining in his large yellow feline eyes.

“Well Lt,” he says softly, “hope you have a good excuse for this dereliction of duty.”