Stardate: 2374.09.02
USS Cerberus - Captain’s Ready Room – 2356 hours
For the third time, Mac tried to stretch out on the couch in his ready room and force himself to catch a little rest but, try as he might, he couldn’t get his eyes to stay shut or his mind to slow down long enough to even try to coax it into any sort of relaxation. His first three days of command had been fuller of sheepshyte, politics, and bureaucracy than he had been prepared for and, especially in the case of the Romulans, had tested the limits of the Scot’s diplomatic abilities. More than once in the past couple of days, Captain MacTavish had found himself calling upon ‘lessons learned’ from his time spent aboard the Discovery - “what would Blair do” moments, as he’d come to call them – and, even more regularly, calling upon the stress and anger management techniques that Arevaci had taught him, as well. In the end, it seemed, everything had gone well despite the mad scramble of chaos that had accompanied Cerberus’ preparations for deployment.

Aye, he grumbled inwardly, staring blankly at the ceiling, Fair enough fer wha’s ta come, I s’pose…
While the crew’s distrust and, in many cases, disdain for the Romulan contingent aboard was still obvious, relations between Starfleet and RSE personnel had become a bit less turbulent. MacTavish (at Weatherly’s suggestion) had been sure to include Centurion Sienae in all meetings pertinent to the mission and had listened respectfully when the woman had given her input and recommendations. He had also done his best to see that whatever resources the RSE contingent might have needed were available – he had bristled at their insistence of using one of the holodecks to perform test scenarios and such, ranting on about how they should have had plenty of time to perform their testing before they boarded his boat but had finally conceded when Rrowl, Valberg, and Operations ensured him that all appropriate security measures would be taken to mitigate unauthorized access of anything the point-ears shouldn’t see. “Run yer fargin’ tests, then,” he had growled at a typically smug Sienae, “but, lass, if tha’ cloak is no’ installed an’ operational ‘fore we untether from this dock, I swear ta Charlie, I’ll toss you lot inta this bairds warpcore an’ fergit ye ever sullied me ship, aye?”

Och, a disbelieving smirk tightened Mac’s lips as he recalled the Romulan’s reply, I cannae b’lieve I’ve actually become accustomed ta arguin’ wi’ th’ lass… Let alone startin’ ta like th’ woman! As irritating as she was, Mac had come to realize that she and her crew were more than proficient in their assigned duties and, so long as he would allow them to, might actually be able to meld seamlessly into the Fleet personnel by the time they reached DS9 and work side-by-side with them before it actually became imperative to do so. He still didn’t completely trust them, of course - he’d spent far too many years patrolling the NZ and being an active participant in the ‘cold war’ between the Romulan Empire and the Federation to ever do that – but he had managed to see that they could work together and, if this mission was to even launch (let alone be anything nearing a success), that they would have to… An’, o’ course, tha’ bloody lot o’ haggis’s gotta start wi’ th’ cap’n er th’ whole blinkin’ crew jus’ follows right along, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to force his eyes closed.

Thoughts of ‘getting along,’ of course, turned Mac’s mind toward Lt. Hash. The Cerberus’ doctor, after having his requests for the Captain to report for a physical repeatedly ignored, had actually chased Mac down two days ago, cornering him in engineering as he watched the Romulan technicians and his ENG crew make final calibrations to the cloaking device’s mounting hub and control interfaces…

“MacTavish?” the doctor had boomed, leaving off the rank. “Time for your check-up. Now, the way I see it, we can do this out here in front of everyone, or we can retire to a more private chamber…sir.”

Mac’s shoulders had tensed and his jaw clenched; “Aye. Makin’ sure I’m healthy enough ta lead us all off ta die’s impairtant wairk, is et no’?” He had allowed his eyes to drift away from the goings on in the engine room long enough to glance at the doctor. “If ye’ve gotta do et, lad,” he chuffed, “ye may’s well do et ‘ere. I’ve no’ go’ th’ time nor th’ inclination ta go bandyin’ aboot th’ ship jus’ fer a turn yer ‘ead an’ cough!”

Hash, of course, to the crew’s disbelief had, in fact, simply shrugged, and performed the physical right then and there, tersely warning the Captain about his penchant for physicality, the danger of his blood pressure, the necessity of taking his medication regularly, and a handful of other things that had peppered his medical and psych records for the majority of his career. The Lt’s demeanor, while not typical of any fleet doc Mac had ever encountered, had actually scored the man points in the Captain’s eyes… it wasn’t often that an egghead tolerated, let alone, challenged the gruff Scot, and Hash’s ‘devil-may-care’ willingness to perform the physical right ther in engineering with a handful of crew present spoke volumes as to why he had been assigned to this mission and this ship. When it was all over Mac had nodded a curt thank you to the Doctor and returned to his supervision of the cloakworks… surprisingly, he didn’t even have to chew anyone’s arse off for making smart-alec comments, either.

Fargin’ Hash, Mac chuckled, coming to the realization that he still wasn’t going to get any sleep and rolling into a seated position, Sure an’ Fleet dinnae jus’ gather all th’ bloody misfits in ‘er ranks an’ put ‘em abaird th’ Cerberus… makes me wonder as ta wha’ Kel’s lot onna Charon might’ve done ta pess in Command’s boots… He yawned, rubbed a hand over the salt and pepper bristles ofhis short cropped hair, and then scratched at the whiskers at his chin before shoving himself off of the couch and moving for his desk. “Computer,” he demanded, retrieving a near empty bottle of Glenlivet from a drawer, “Time.”

=/\\=The current time is zero-zero-zero-three hours and eighteen seconds.=/\\= Cerberus intoned as Mac poured the ramins of the scotch into a short glass and settled into his chair.

“Launch day,” Mac nodded, his fingers flicking over the console to open a secure, subspace channel, “Long past time ta get this done.” The last time he had seen Kelsey, it had been in a Starfleet medical facility and the Discovery’s former XO had been in no kind of shape (physically or mentally) to carry on any sort of conversation. Even if he had been, Mac remembered thinking, what would one have said to him? The loss of his wife and daughter to the Jem’Hadar had changed Gavison, he knew… that much was evident in the cold, hollow eyes that stared back at Mac from behind the bandages that day… and, despite the sincerity of them, the sympathies and condolences that Mac had offered that day had felt as empty as Kel’s soul must have. MacTavish, of course, had kept track of Gavison’s career following that and had even sent a brief message to the man on occasion, but speaking to him directly was something that Mac had avoided – much as Kel had always avoided any mention of Ian after Mac had been forced to kill his younger brother all those years ago – out of respect.

A theng too long avoided, he sighed, taking a sip of the scotch and ensuring his transmission was properly encoded, an’ c’n be delayed no longer, I s’pose. The desk-mounted display lit-up and displayed the Starfleet Emblem as he completed keying in his security code and the specified channel to the Charon’s CO.

=/\\=Connection completed,=/\\= the computer confirmed as Mac procured a cigar from the drawer and dipped one end into the scotch before clenching it between his teeth, =/\\=Channel secure. Begin transmission.=/\\=

“H’lo Kel,” Mac began, after lighting the stogie and turning his gray eyes to the now black screen, “been quite a while, m’friend. I’ll no’ tippy-toe aboot ye an’ assume tha’ this message’ll find ye well er none o’ tha’ drivel, lad, as I know tha’ bein’ well, where yer consairned, is a far sight off from wha’ et once was…”

Fer the luv o’… The lit end of the cigar flared in the darkness of the ready room as Mac puffed in a lung full of the aromatic smoke and he chastised himself for sounding like a fargin’ bureaucrat. “I should’ve contacted ye sooner, I reckon,” he continued, “but sure as ye’ve been scramblin’ ta get prepped fer this suicide run tha’ fleet’s tossed ta our feet, so’ve I been. It’s no’ been a field o’ heather havin’ the Romulans abaird as I’m sure ye c’n imagine but, et’s no’ been th’ wairst theng ta happen, either. Seems tha’ they’ve managed ta install the cloak abaird Cerberus wi’oot blowin’ us an’ SB10 ta kingdom come an’, I reckon, they should manage ta get the device plugged inta yer boat a sight more expediently’n they did, here.

We’ve go’ a bit less’n four hours ere we’re scheduled fer cuttin’ the umbilicals an’ puttin’ this quadrant in our wake,” Mac noted following another sip of the scotch, “We’ll be shakin’ oot the bugs en route an’ should be dockin’ wi’ DS9 en a matter o’ days. I’m lookin’ farward ta seein’ ye, Kel… an’ gettin’ yer take on this operation…”

((OOC: Up to you, Brom, if Kel is awake and/or receives this transmission ‘live’ – if so, we can back and forth as you likeon where this convo goes – or if Kel gets this one as a recorded message.

OOC2: Here comes the ‘woof’ moment, gang…. A couple of assumptions that I’m making here for the reference of all concerned. 1) The cloak has been installed aboard Cerberus and, according to the Romulans, is operational and ready for final field testing. 2) The Starfleet and Romulan crews aboard Cerberus have started to tolerate each other a bit better - even if they don’t particularly like or trust each other they are starting to work together as a ‘unified crew’. 3) Our alien saboteur, ‘Stan’, is still loose on the ship and has yet to be identified or noticed (hello security?). 4) The crew has been briefed on the mission and introduced to one another via the staff meetings and dinners that have been hosted… There’s probably more but, IMO, those are the important bits right at the moment. Anyhoo… the quality kind of sucks but at least there’s a post to ‘get the ice broken again’… got another one coming up soon where we’ll actually get this boat into motion. Scramble your alpha shifts, Cerberus…))

Stardate: 2374.09.03 - 0247 hours
Starfleet Runabout Xerxes, en route to starbase 10
So much has happened, thought Lieutenant Duncan Cameron. That's Lieutenant Commander now, he mused, as he absently fingered the new pip at his throat. As he sat at the unused tactical station in the small runabout, he gazed out the window at the rainbow of stars rushing by that was the trademark view from a ship at Warp, and reflected on the seeming whirlwind of change that had brought him to this point in his life and career.

If one thought in strict terms of stardates, he was over a hundred years old. Granted, that was relatively young for a human these days, but it was a bit more surprising when one considered that biologically, he was only 34.

He thought about the first days of his career, so long past now, when he was just a fresh-faced recruit at the Academy, brimming over with the youthful excitement of knowing he was going to travel among the stars, and his own hands would maintain the ships that took him there. He thought about his early days as a Junior Engineer's Mate aboard the Excelsior, and how he had constantly doubted himself and felt as if he had two left hands, constantly fumbling over even the simplest tasks, even earning himself the nickname of "Sticky", after a particularly embarrassing incident with a tube of hyper-epoxy. It was then that Captain Hikaru Sulu himself had taken the clumsy ensign under his wing, and through intense fencing lessons and patient, caring tutelage, helped Duncan find strength and grace in his movements, and confidence and self-esteem in his mind. It was largely due to Captain Sulu that he was able to become an effective, sure-fingered and quick-witted engineer and a better man. He fondly remembered Captain Sulu's proud smile when he affixed the Starfleet Medal of Valor to Duncan's chest after the Khitomer Incident, while Captain James T. Kirk himself had looked on. As Kirk had shaken Duncan's hand and congratulated him afterward he told Duncan "You couldn't have asked for a better mentor". Truer words were never spoken.

He thought about his days as a freshly minted lieutenant aboard the USS Bozeman, under the command of Captain Morgan Bateson. His time as an Engineer's Mate on that fated ship brought him more excitement, horror, wonder and adventure than one being should be entitled to endure in a lifetime. He remembered with wonderment how, only three weeks out of spacedock, the Bozeman had entered the Typhon Expanse on a routine mapping survey, only to emerge 90 years later in a temporal causality loop, destroying the Enterprise-D. Duncan only knew of the Enterprise's destruction secondhand, since the Enterprise crew apparently stopped the loop and saved their ship. But in the wake of the averted tragedy, the Bozeman was still there, 90 years out of her time, with a crew full of people whose friends and loved ones were, for the most part, long dead and gone. While Duncan himself had no real family left, he had been engaged to a beautiful girl named LeAnna, and his anguish was unbearable when he confirmed that she had been dead for many years. When the now-antique Soyuz-class Bozeman was retired in 2371, he joined those of the original crew that joined Bateson on the shakedown of the Enterprise-E, and later launched aboard the newly-christened destroyer Bozeman in 2372. He performed his duties well on the new ship, knowing nothing else to do to avoid complete insanity at the loss of his love. He even received another Starfleet Medal of Valor last year, after he saved a fellow crewman from Borg assimilation during the Battle of Sector 001. But whether it was the faces of his shipmates, the knowledge that Captain Bateson refused to take the ship back to its own time regardless of the fact that the timeline had been polluted and travel back wasn't allowed, or the the irrational belief that the damned ship has stolen LeAnna from him, he could take no more of life on the Bozeman. Perhaps not surprisingly, Captain Bateson had understood completely. He had warmly shaken Duncan's hand, and with a smile of genuine warmth and a hint of sadness in his eyes, had told Duncan "Sometimes the past chases us faster than we can run. I know that well. You're a good man, Cameron, and I wish you well. You'll always have a place on my ship if you want it".

In a show of genuine kindness and respect for Duncan's engineering abilities, Bateson had fast-tracked Duncan's transfer to the USS Excalibur under the command of Captain Mackenzie Calhoun, where an opening for an Assistant Chief Engineering Officer had come available. At first Duncan had scoffed at his new crewmates' tales of how Captain Calhoun had started out as basically a barbarian warrior, leading a slave revolt on his home planet of Xenex and becoming the planet's Warlord, but when the Excalibur was on station in Sector 221-G earlier this year during the opening salvos of the Dominion War, Duncan had seen Calhoun's barbarian ferocity and warrior cunning send many Jem'Hadar ships and their crews to whatever Hell existed for them. Duncan came to respect Calhoun's directness, his courage and his command style, and began to enjoy his work again under CEO Burgoyne 172, a dual-gendered Hermat who was one of the most amazing engineers Duncan had ever had the privilege of working with. But just as the specter of loss and death was beginning to fade, the Excalibur had disappeared without a trace 2 months ago while he was on shore leave. Again Duncan was faced with the loss of those he had come to care for and respect. Over the past 2 months he worked at Starbase 7 helping maintain the ships of the Seventh Fleet, but he again found himself losing enjoyment of the work and battling depression almost on a daily basis. But fate just might have given him some light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Just yesterday he had gotten a Priority One communique from the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, ordering him to report to the USS Cerberus as its new Chief Engineering Officer. And to his surprise, accompanying the orders was notification of his promotion to Lieutenant Commander. During a somewhat-hurried ceremony, the Admiral of the Seventh Fleet himself had affixed the new pip to his collar, shaken his hand, congratulated him, and promptly directed him toward the base's hangar for departure with barely enough time to grab his duffel first. As soon as he stepped aboard the Xerxes, the pilot had gone to Warp and had been taxing her warp core almost to its limit for the whole trip. He didn't know who had put through the request for his services, but here was a chance to throw off the shadows of the past and make a fresh start. He was actually getting excited, a feeling he'd not felt in a while. He made it a point to keep up with Starfleet Tech Manuals and the Starfleet Engineering Journals, so he was fairly familiar with the Steamrunner class. He had even seen some in action at the Battle of Sector 001, and he was fairly impressed with their performance. And a brand-new ship: here he could sink his teeth into the work he now knew he was born for. Here was a chance to honor those that had been lost by putting his utmost into caring for this ship, this symbol, for him, of hope and renewal.

So much has happened, he thought again, as the runabout's pilot spoke up, interrupting his reverie.

"ETA 5 minutes, sir", said the pilot. "Thank you, Lieutenant", Duncan replied, and rose from the Tactical seat. He stretched, working out the kinks from being seated for a long while. He stepped into the back and made sure his duffel and uniform were squared away, and by the time he was done he could hear the young pilot getting Priority docking clearance from Starbase Ops. This MacTavish must have some pull, he thought with a hint of amusement as the runabout got booted to the head of the line. He thanked the pilot for a smooth ride, cautioned her to keep a weather eye on her well-taxed warp core on the trip back, and made his way through the hatch into Starbase 10. He made his way to the Transporter Control Center and identified himself to the transporter operatior. "Lieutenant Dunc...er, Lieutenant Commander Duncan Cameron reporting as CEO for the Cerberus", he said, chuckling a little. "Aye, sir", replied the operator, "Cerberus is ready to receive you". He stepped onto the glowing pad, double-checked his uniform again (got to make a good first impression, he thought with a smile, fondly remembering those exact words of wisdom from Captain Sulu, oh-so-long ago), and spoke the word that would send him to his destiny.

"Energize."

Stardate: 2374.09.03
USS Cerberus - Captain’s Ready Room – 0410 hours
MacTavish stood in the darkness, nursing a second cup of coffee as he studied the activity beyond the office’s window. The battalions of workbees and shuttlecraft that had been ever present around the Cerberus for the past few days had diminished to but a handful, now. Those few that still tended the starship were tasked with ferrying personnel between the Steamrunner and Starbase 10 or were in the process of transitioning the ship’s crucial systems from their supplemental draws from the spacedock to full self-reliance. He had heard the computer react when the life-support umbilical had been detached and the shipboard systems ramped up to compensate and, almost immediately following that, heard the door to his Ready Room whisk open accompanied by Weatherly’s surprised gasp.

“G’marnin’, Weatherly,” he rumbled, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the Yeoman, “Yer a wee bit onna early side, are ye no’?”

“Good morning, Captain,” came the reply, “A little early, I suppose, sir. I had hoped to prep the Ready Room for our departure befre you arrived but…”

Mac stood, still watching the activity beyond Cerberus’ hull, and waited for the Petty Officer to continue. When, after a long, silent moment, the young woman still hadn’t said anything, Mac turned to face her. The look on her face belied the struggle she was having with finding the appropriate words to finish her thought. “But?” Mac prodded, following a sip of his coffee.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Aye.”

His acquiescence to her request hadn’t seemed to make much difference in her demeanor, she still had the look of an NCO who knew that whatever comments she wanted to make would likely be considered inappropriate when directed at a commissioned officer, but there had been a hint of… Wha’? Consairn? Och! …in Weahterly’s eyes just before she mustered the courage to speak her mind.

“Sir,” the yeoman beagn tentatively, pausing briefly to lay her ever-present PADD on the edge of the Captain’s desk, “have you even seen your quarters since you came aboard?”

“I’ve passed ‘em by a time er two, lass,” he nodded, “aye.”

Weatherly heaved an exasperated sigh; “What I meant, sir, is have you slept in your quarters or so much as unpacked since you boarded? According to the computer, the only person to have accessed your quarters since your arrival has been me and that was thirty-six hours ago or better.

You know, sir, as your yeoman, I have access to your medical records and Dr Hash’s last report was…”

“Ye c’n belay tha’ shyte, Weahterly,” Mac interrupted, stepping away from the window, at last, and unceremoniously plunking his mug down on the desk, “Until yer name’s Chantelle er ye’ve go’ th’ pips on yer collar ta trump th’ ones on me own, ye need no’ consairn yerself wi’ where I may be catchin’ me winks. We clear onnat, lass?

There’s more ta trouble yerself wi’ than worryin’ aboot where an’ when th’ Ol’ Man might be sleepin’, Weatherly, but, if et makes ye feel any th’ better aboot et, I’ll be sure ta visit me rooms ere th’ cruise es done, aye?”

“Aye, sir,” the yeoman responded, “but Dr Hash’s report…”

“Weahterly!” Mac barked, shooting her a look that said letting the topic go would be well advised as he lifted her PADD from his desk.

“Aye, sir. Shutting up, sir.”

“Grand,” he muttered. His eyes skimmed the information on the data tablet as he stepped towards the replicator. “What happened to Tier,” he asked, noticing that a certain Lt Cdr Cameron had recently boarded and was assuming CEO duties. “Tea,” he told the replicator, “Catullan Rose.”

“Something about an altercation with a superior before he was to ship out, I believe, Captain,” Weatherly answered, trying not to smile at the fact that the Captain had ordered her a cup of tea, “Called some Corps of Engineers Commodore a gokk-bonking something or other and earned himself a nice liberty in a six by eight.”

Mac nodded… Steward, lad, yer a brilliant engineer but yer gob’s ne’er gonna let ye break, lieutenant, he smirked, Sounds a wee bit like another I know.… “A’right, then, lass,” he said, handing Weatherly the PADD, first, followed by the freshly replicated tea, “Wha’ else ye go’ tha’ needed done ere I was s’posed ta be ‘ere?”

“Thank you, sir,” the yeoman smiled, accepting the beverage and returning her PADD to the desktop where she could still view it, yet have a free hand. “I had planned to simply transfer the latest departmental reports to your terminal and, after straightening up a bit, had thought I might coordinate with you regarding departure protocols and the disposition of the Romulans during launch. I know, earlier, we had discussed that they would be confined to quarters when…”

“Belay tha’, as well, Chief Petty Officer,” the Cerberus’ CO sighed with a wave of his hand, “Ef th’ bloody point-ears need ta be huddled aboot th’ bloody cloak as we leave port, so be it, I s’pose. I still dinnae trust ‘em any further than I might toss this ship, lass, but they ‘ave proved, so far, tha’ they’re no’ set upon sabotage. Check wi’ Commander Rrowl an’ ensure tha’ there’re no’ any viable security issues an’, if no’, ammend those orders. Extend an inv’tation ta Centurion Khnialmnae ta join me onna bridge a’ 0600 fer launch… I s’pose ye c’n extend tha’ ta include ‘er second, ef ye see fit. An’, ef the Centurion thenks et’s necessary, ‘er techs c’n attend in main Engineerin’. Eyes on ‘em a’ all times, o’ course, lass.”

“Aye sir,” Weahterly nodded, honestly surprised that Mac had seen past his bias against the Romulans to play diplomat and allow their leader aboard the Cerberus’ bridge, “I’ll inform the Centurion personally afte conferring with Rrowl..”

“Brilliant,” the Captain nodded, “an’ ‘ave Lt Commander… Cameron, was it?”

“Cameron. Yes sir.”

“Have Cameron see me ere we ship oot. I’m sure ‘e’ll be onna bridge a’ th’ time, bu’ I’d like ta ‘ave a chat wi’ the lad ‘afore ‘and.”

“Consider it done, sir…”

“It cannae be done wi’ ye standin’ there eyeballin’ me, Weatherly,” Mac observed, retrieving his cup from the desk, “Take yer tea an’ get yer arse ta wairk. We’ve less’n two hours ta launch an’ I’ve yet ta see Cameron in me Ready Room.”

((OOC: Okie doke… soft tosses to Tac, Security, and Engineering here, as well, as to the Rommies… expect (and feel free to post, if you see fit) a visit from the Captain’s Yeoman. Backposts as necessary… now let’s get outta here, shall we?... Still have a bit to finish up on the actualy departure but figured i'd post this much to provide a bit of fodder, etc... part 2 coming soon.))

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Charon – Fletcher's Quarters – 20:41

After a final review, the Charon's XO saved his report on the day's fact-finding mission to the Bajoran temple to his PADD and called up the latest sector intel data. Not normally one to dwell too heavily on the minutia of battles and ship movements over which he had no control, Jonathon was all too happy to turn hs mind to mundane figures after the afternoon's activities.

Shilotte had been, in a word, unsettling. Commander Fletcher knew that he had been a very influential leader in Bajoran society before the war, and that he still maintained a wide net of contacts. In the officer's opinion, though, the man had slipped down the road in fanaticism. The memory of Shilotte's wide, piercing eyes, and raving proclomations was a rather unsettling one.

In the end, though, Shilotte had proven to be in possession of intel that might be useful - and he of course had been willing to part with it for the right price. If the Bajoran's information was correct (and Jonathon had no reason to doubt that it was not), there were indeed some interesting personnel being held at the target facility. The piercing eyes made themselves remembered again, and the XO redoubled his efforts to concentrate ont he report at hand.

He was understandably a bit behind on this report - the past week or so had been more than eventful - so it took some time to wade through all of the information. The general feeling that Jonathon got from the cold facts on the screen was that things were not going well for the Federation. The war had been too long already, and the losses too high, and there seemed no end in sight.

Jonathon sat back from the display, ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed. The joy had gone out of this job, there was no doubt of that. The life of a starfleet officer was never an easy one - there were so very many responsibilites that came with the territory - but it had perks that no other life could hope to match. The chance to discover new worlds, to forge peace between others, to increase the knowledge of all of the galaxy. With the war, the Federation had understandably shifted its focus away to military matters. Fletcher's youthful idealism had burned low years ago, but the war had almost choked it off completely. He was quite cognizant of that fact, and it worried him deeply.

He allowed his thoughts to wander to Miranda - where she might be, what she was doing now. The last he had heard, she'd taken command of the Blackwell, a medical ship, and was working to provide relief to various areas affected by the war. He remembered the day they had graduated the Academy together, and had decided to end the relationship amicably, both of them knowing that they would be career Starfleet officers with little time for a family. They had stayed close through the years, keeping in touch with messages, coordinating the occasional leave date when time and tour of duty permitted. He knew that it had been the right decision, but sometimes, late at night, or when he was feeling especially alone, Jonathon found himself questioning the choice.

Her crooked smile, the shock of her dark hair that would always fall in front of her face, the way that she truly understood how he saw things, and more times than not, felt the same way. She had always been smarter than him, and had proven to be an excellent scientist and officer, and had earned a command of her own much sooner than Jonathon would. He could never begrudge her the success, though; no one had been happier for "Manda" than he.

It had been too long since he'd heard from Miranda; doubtless, her command had her buried in important work, so he'd make a point to send her a message of his own. There would be no shared shore leave anytime soon, but hopefully, he could bring a little of the joy into ther life that she brought him with her messages. It occured to him that if he was going to send a message, he'd better do it soon; once the Charon went through the wormhole, there would be little point in sending a missive; not only would be message be terribly delayed, but security would never allow such a thing.

Fletcher glanced at the chronometer, and seeing that he still had a little over an hour until dinner with Captain, decided that now was as good a time as any. "Computer," he spoke, "record message. Recipient, Captain Miranda Banner, USS Blackwell."

There was a pause as the computer looked up the frequency information for the vessel in question. =/\\= Error, =/\\= the computer spoke. =/\\= No active vessel found by that name. =/\\=

"What?" Jonathon wondered aloud. Irritated, Jonathon made a mental note to complain to Commander Jones about this issue. Carefully, he annunciated the name again. "Captain Miranda Banner, computer. USS Blackwell, the medical vessel. Registration NCC-58931."

This time, there was no delay in the response. =/\\= The USS Blackwell is no longer an active Starfleet vessel. No message can be sent to this ship. =/\\=

Suddenly, Fletcher felt an icy knot of terror form in the pit of his stomach. He returned to the intel report and ran a query against it. There it was, in block letters.

Stardate 2374.08.27
USS Blackwell, NCC-58931, destroyed by Dominion forces near Aldeus IV. All hands presumed lost.

Stunned, Fletcher sat back into his chair and stared blankly into space.


********************************************************************************************************
USS Charon – Officer's Dining Room – 21:54

Commander Fletcher stood in the hallway just outside of the door for several moments, gathering his emotions. He ached inside, felt as if he had been emptied. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his bed, pull the covers up, and stay there for the next week. The tears hadn't come yet, for some strange reason, though he was sure that they would.

Still, he would not present a simpering face to Captain Gavison. Jonathon might have lost his best friend, but that man had lost his wife and child, and he still managed to do his duty. There would be time for mourning, but that time was not now. He stepped forward, and the doors hissed open.

“I hope your day wasn’t nearly as eventful as mine, Jon,” Kel said, motioning unceremoniously at the seat kitty corner from him. “I’ve ordered Bajoran summer squash and lamber bird with some speckled something-or-other on the side. There’s a nice red wine to go with it as well.”

Flether did his best to offer a grin, but failed miserably. "Eventful enough, I suppose," he gave by way of an answer. The XO took a long pull from his wine before touching the food, which he mostly picked at and pushed around the plate. "No replicator fare tonight, eh?" he asked by way of conversation.

After allowing enough time for social niceties to which Fletcher had to make a conscous effort to contribute more than monosyllables, the captain turned the meeting to business.

“How was your meeting with Shilotte?” he asked.

Flether shook his head and placed a PADD on the table. "Shilotte gives me the heebie jeebies, to be quite honest. I have little doubt that he'd stuff his own mother in an antimatter chanber and call it a divine-mandated sacrifice if he thought it would advance his cause." He paused. "Bad thing is, he'd probably believe he was doing the right thing, too."

As the captain began to examine the data, Fletcher provided commentary. "I don't know where or how he gets his intel, but the word he, he's usually very accurate. Scary accurate, in fact. If the priest is right, we're looking at a handful of cutting-edge science types, as well as a couple of command-level officers, in this group of prisoners. Not sure what they want with them, but it can't be good - otherwise, I don't see them expending the effort to keep them alive."

(OOC: leaving room for questions, conversation, etc, if desired. Otherwise, Jonathon will hit his quarters and drink himself to sleep.)

Stardate: 2374.09.02
USS Cerberus - Deck 5, 2100 hours

Three days of working on the installations, Shiarrael is confident that the installation of the second one will go faster, now that she was familiar with Federation technology and what was needed to adapt on the devices. One day or less will now do. She was a bit surprised when the medical doctor ran down the captain to give him his medical exam.
She will politely ignore the exam taking place while she completed the modifications to the power coupling she was working on.

Returning to her room she will take a shower and get cleaned up. Grabbing her stuff she will head towards her side of the room clad in only a large wrap around, carrying her clothes, shoes and PADD.

After stowing her things she will lie down on her bed and stare at the ceiling mulling some things over She had heard that Star Fleet Captains were lazy womanizers. This one was different “Stress???? Yes, judging from the fact he was doing a good job of being everywhere at once, He must be new to the job. Unlike these people assigned to engineering at least he LOOKS like he knows what he is doing, I just might live to get back home…maybe…., this is still a suicide mission with that in mind she will sit up reach for her PADD and compose a letter to her parents letting them know that she still loves them and not to worry about her. If she does not make it home in 2 years or not write to them before then, They are to take possession of all her belongings and do as they wish. After that is done she will use the standard encryption and store the letter for later sending after they get to DS9. Getting dressed in fresh cloths Shiarrael will head to the lounge for some food and drink.

Stardate: 2374.09.?? (leading up to the launch)
USS Cerberus
The meeting with her team had gone well, and it seemed someone had suggested to the Captain that he should invite the Centurion to attend all the meetings pertinent to the mission, she doubted that man would have done so on his own. She could understand his feelings, and would have felt the same way if their situation were reversed. Well maybe not as hostile as Capt. MacTavish, but then Terrans had a different code of morals than Romulans. So during the meetings Sienae endeavored to just be one of the officers, she listened to what all that others said, and had given her input when she felt it was needed.
Now Centurion Sienae was faced with a somewhat daunting prospect of requesting holodeck time, face to face infront of others. After receiving numerous replies, which did not satisfy her, she went to face the proverbial “Lion in His Den or was that Wolf in his Lair.”

“Run yer fargin’ tests, then,” he had growled at a tyoically smug Sienae, “but, lass, if tha’ cloak is no’ installed an’ operational ‘fore we untether from this dock, I swear ta Charlie, I’ll toss you lot inta this bairds warpcore an’ fergit ye ever sullied me ship, aye?”
“I assure you it is for the good of your ship, that my people are fully acclimatzed and familiar with your ship,” and knowing he might take it in the wrong way, “as to the installation of the cloaking device.”

Och, a disbelieving smirk tightened Mac’s lips as he recalled the Romulan’s reply, I cannae b’lieve I’ve actually become accustomed ta arguin’ wi’ th’ lass… Let alone startin’ ta like th’ woman! As irritating as she was, Mac had come to realize that she and her crew were more than proficient in their assigned duties and, so long as he would allow them to, might actually be able to meld seamlessly into the Fleet personnel by the time they reached DS9 and work side-by-side with them before it actually became imperative to do so. He still didn’t completely trust them, of course - he’d spent far too many years patrolling the NZ and being an active participant in the ‘cold war’ between the Romulan Empire and the Federation to ever do that – but he had managed to see that they could work together and, if this mission was to even launch (let alone be anything nearing a success), that they would have to… An’, o’ course, tha’ bloody lot o’ haggis’s gotta start wi’ th’ cap’n er th’ whole blinkin’ crew jus’ follows right along, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to force his eyes closed.
The first two “dry runs” on the holodeck went off without a hitch, though the Centurion withheld her praise and kept her comments to exactly what was done and not done to their best ability.

The 3rd-6th dry runs were different, for she asked for the presence of the Cerberus’s engineering personal, those with the needed qualifications of being able to handle the technology of the cloaking devices. Sienae was not Romulan snob when it came to knowing that the Federation could have had a cloaking device, if they wanted one. Again their different morals and strange code of conduct kept them from creating that piece of technology. So it was that she had her team working with the Cerberus crewmen to teach them emergency repair and, after weeding out the lesser crew, she had 4 of the Cerberus’s best, 2 females and 2 males, changing places with her team to handle emergency situations. Sienae had no idea what the Captian of any of the other officers thought about her bringing in Feds on what was to be a Roumlan operation, she did not care. Even when a couple of the male Romulan techs shifted their brows at her announcement. Rhiana and Shiarreal had no trouble with the arrangement, neither did S’Talon, of them she could be certain as to there relationship to the Federation, though sometimes she wondered if she really understood her own feelings about them.

Finally came the day when Sienae with her crack team members, and 1 of the Federation’s junior engineering officers, a young Terran male, tackled the real installation of the cloaking device. it went like clockwork. She promised all ten a celebration when they completed their first cloak successfully.

The final preparations of the launch were now entirely up the Federation, her duty had been performed, except for one. She had promised S’Talon that as soon as the CD was in place, she would take her medical records and herself to the doctor, who was now one board. She had heard Shiarreal telling about how the doctor had run down the Captain for his physical and when the Captain did not accompany him to Sickbay for the examination, the doctor had done it while he was in Engineering.

That sounded exactly like him, indeed that mountain had to move to him, because he was not moving to the mountain. It was going to be a VERY interesting mission. She would have said voyage earlier, but little inklings of events made her think that the Romulans might have some part in all this mission.

Stardate 2374.09.03 - 0330 hours
USS Cerberus Transporter Room 1
The first thing Lt. Cdr. Duncan Cameron noticed when he materialized in the Cerberus' transporter room was the smell. It was the smell of new. He inhaled deeply, drinking in the brisk tang of brand-new carpeting, the smell of newly-finished plastics and polymers, the slight metallic scent of recently-finished duranium and tritanium, the ozone-hinted aroma of brand-new isolinear chips and computer circuitry...in short, the smell of new beginnings.

He looked over at the transporter technician and smiled. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Permission granted", replied the ensign. "Welcome aboard, Sir."

"Thank you," said Duncan. "Now, since I've arrived at about as last-minute as you can get, if you'd be kind enough to direct me to my quarters I'll get my gear stowed and report to Engineering, Ensign...?" He raised an inquiring brow.

"Figura, Sir," the young officer replied, "Dan Figura. I've been filling the CEO shoes until your arrival. I figured I'd meet you personally and give you any briefing you might require. You're on Deck 3 now. Your quarters are on this deck, just down the corridor. I'll be happy to walk you there."

Duncan shook the young officer's hand and gestured toward the door. "After you, Ensign."

During the short walk to Duncan's quarters, Figura briefly filled him in on the general current status of the Engineering department. He had just gotten to the installation of the Romulan cloaking device when they reached Duncan's quarters. Shaking his head in wonder at the memory of a time when the Romulans were mortal enemies and the prospect of having them installing equipment on your ship was unthinkable, Duncan entered the room just long enough to take a quick look around and toss his duffel on the bed.

"All right, Figura, let's head on down to Main Engineering and let me have a look around the floor and have a look at our new cloaking device before I have to head up to the Bridge. I was reading up on some of the power-comsumption ratios on my way here, and I may have a couple of ideas to lessen the power drain on the EPS grid."

Figura gave him a brief chuckle as they entered the turbolift. "Deck 7, Engineering," he told the computer, then turned back to Duncan. "Hopefully Centurion Sienae won't be too offended. She's awfully protective of that device, treats it like it's her kid or something." Having read the status reports, Duncan knew Figura was referring to the Romulan officer that had been overseeing the cloaking device's actual installation.

"I think I can keep from hurting her feelings too badly," he said with a smile. "We hosted an Engineering symposium last month at Starbase 7, and one of the seminars I attended dealt with some interesting new ideas about maximizing power usage and increasing efficiency in EPS grids. Some engineers on ships out on the front lines came up with the ideas during battle conditions; at least it's a little bit of a silver lining to the war. Anyway, given what I've read about the power that cloaking device is going to draw when it's fully active, I think I can put some of that info to good use. But, I'll make sure to meet with Centurion Sienae before I go molesting her child. Heh." Figura chuckled with him, and resumed reports on various Engineering minutiae as they continued on to Main Engineering. Duncan briefly wondered what kind of person Sienae was, and whether they would get along. He knew that although he came from a time when Romulans were a hated enemy, life was too short for prejudice and bigotry. But does she feel the same way? Time would tell.

The Engineering doors opened and they entered a room bustling with the activity of getting the ship prepped for launch. Figura called for everyone to stop what they were doing and meet the new CEO, but Duncan waved it aside, "We'll have a department meeting once we're underway, folks. You've got enough on your plate for now. As you were."

Duncan spent the next half hour wandering around Engineering, familiarizing himself with the layout, making a few adjustments here and there, and checking the table for status reports on the ship at-large and consulting the list of the main tasks that the Engineering department still needed to see to. Nothing too major, he noted. Figura seemed to have taken decent care of the ship; this was nothing a few dedicated teams couldn't handle over the course of a week or so. He was checking some system readouts when he heard a woman's voice behind him.

"Lieutenant Commander Cameron?" He turned to see a rather harried-looking young woman with the insignia of a Chief Petty Officer standing there, PADD in hand.

"That's right," he replied with a smile. "And you are?"

"Chief Petty Officer Weatherly, Sir. I'm the captain's yeoman. He'd like to speak with you in his Ready Room before we launch."

"Understood," he replied. "I was just about to head to the bridge anyway." He watched the frazzled young yeoman leave, smiling inwardly. Bet the Captain's keeping that one on her toes, he thought. He took a final appraising look around Engineering and headed for the turbolift. Noticing a slight stick in the turbolift doors as they slid open, he made a mental note to add that to the to-do list. "Bridge," he told the computer, and the car slid into motion.

When the turbolift reached its destination, Duncan stepped out onto the gleaming new bridge of the Cerberus. Looking around at the various stations, taking special note of the Engineering stations, admiring the sleekness and the pleasing lines, he nodded and smiled in approval. A fine ship, he thought. Hopefully a fine crew as well. He still had yet to really meet anyone, aside from Figura, Weatherly, and the crewpeople he had seen in passing.

He strode to the Captain's Ready Room door and touched the door chime, ready for his first meeting with his new captain.

Stardate: 2374.09.01
USS Charon – Officer’s Dining Room – 22:20 hours
When Jon had arrived, Kel knew immediately that something big had happened. He’d flown a lot of tough missions with this XO, and he knew the mannerisms and affectations the man wore fairly well. He also knew, however, that should Jonathan feel it necessary to share what he’d just learned, he would. So, Kelsey remained cordial, distractingly relaxed, and then direct and to the point.

As he reviewed the information Fletcher had gathered, Kel listened to the man’s insight with a ready ear. He’d learned long ago that no matter what his own opinion was on any matter, an open forum was the best source for determining the proper resolution.

"I don't know where or how he gets his intel, but the word he, he's usually very accurate. Scary accurate, in fact. If the priest is right, we're looking at a handful of cutting-edge science types, as well as a couple of command-level officers, in this group of prisoners. Not sure what they want with them, but it can't be good - otherwise, I don't see them expending the effort to keep them alive."

Kel nodded a slow movement; something that may be mistaken for tiredness, but to those who knew him, it was his consideration nod. “Worth the lives of a few hundred Starfleet personnel in any case.

“He didn’t say what the spread was, did he? I mean, Starfleet versus Bajoran?”

(OOC: no matter the answer.)

“So, Mac’s to rendezvous with us, and we’re to fly into Dominion space on a rescue mission thought valuable enough to expend—“ Kel stopped short, his temper rising. “We better be damn sure that we are at one hundred percent, Jon. We’re going to need the blessings of Sisko’s Prophets on our side for this one.”

The dinner was over fairly quickly after that. Jonathan was obviously still awash in his own emotion, and Kel was rapidly becoming more and more irritated with things.

He’d been strapped with a communicator from some unknown being instructing him on some unknown—as of yet—mission during what was looking to be more and more like a suicide mission…yet Starfleet wouldn’t be risking two ships if they thought there wasn’t a chance for success, and wasn’t it Kel who usually sought out missions just such as this? No, he thought grimly as he and Fletcher said their good nights. I normally seek the missions where I can cause the most damage to the Dominion as possible, not throw our lives away on some clandestine meeting with a bunch of high-ranking political prisoners!
As the door to the ready room closed, Kel’s fist slammed into the frame.

“I’ll still cause the damage,” he growled to the dimly lit room. “You’ll see.”

As the night progressed, Kel’s mind kept returning to the containers that should now be in storage.

Stardate: 2374.09.03
The Charon – Captain’s Cabin – 00:04 hours

Kelsey’s narrowed eyes darted to the now glowing console. The screen depicted the Starfleet emblem on a blue field, just before the visage of a sleep-deprived Jack MacTavish appeared.

“H’lo Kel,” Mac began, after lighting a stogie and turning his gray eyes towards where Kelsey sat in the dark, “been quite a while, m’friend. I’ll no’ tippy-toe aboot ye an’ assume tha’ this message’ll find ye well er none o’ tha’ drivel, lad, as I know tha’ bein’ well, where yer consairned, is a far sight off from wha’ et once was…” There was a pause as the lit end of the cigar flared in the darkness of the ready room and Mac puffed in a lung full of the aromatic smoke.

“I should’ve contacted ye sooner, I reckon,” he continued, “but sure as ye’ve been scramblin’ ta get prepped fer this suicide run tha’ fleet’s tossed ta our feet, so’ve I been. It’s no’ been a field o’ heather havin’ the Romulans abaird as I’m sure ye c’n imagine but, et’s no’ been th’ wairst theng ta happen, either. Seems tha’ they’ve managed ta install the cloak abaird Cerberus wi’oot blowin’ us an’ SB10 ta kingdom come an’, I reckon, they should manage ta get the device plugged inta yer boat a sight more expediently’n they did, here.”

MacTavish took a sip of what Kel assumed was scotch. “We’ve go’ a bit less’n four hours ere we’re scheduled fer cuttin’ the umbilicals an’ puttin’ this quadrant in our wake. We’ll be shakin’ oot the bugs en route an’ should be dockin’ wi’ DS9 en a matter o’ days. I’m lookin’ farward ta seein’ ye, Kel… an’ gettin’ yer take on this operation…”

“My take,” Kelsey activated his view, knowing he’d quite suddenly flare to being in front of Jack’s eyes. “Is that you and I have finally done it, Mac. We’ve twisted enough Starfleet admiral’s short an curlies into knots that they’ve decided to do us in once and for all, hoping we do some damage to the Dominion in the process.” The Charon’s captain’s face was an unearthly glow of blue in the midst of the dark see of his quarters. He took a deep breath and shook his head, the fire in his eyes burning back any weariness he was feeling.

“No, Mac. I’m overreacting. It’s late, and I’m pissed as hell at developments—probably because I didn’t get to choose this mission and we’re going in wearing slippers instead of Klingon combat boots.”

“Romulans, huh?” Gavison suddenly shifted gears. “Ever think you’d see the day they were on your ship without phaser burns through their chests, or security bracelets about their wrists? Let alone aiding Starfleet in a critical mission?”

(OOC: allowing for some back and forth…)

Stardate: 2374.09.02
The Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 1015 hours
Talon paused to look at the Captain, his countenance showing no hint of humor now as he concluded, “If I had it my way, I would rather beam them out into open space where they would do the most good.”

“Wouldn’t we all, Talon?” Kel answered grimly. “But we will afford them all of the diplomatic interaction necessary to make sure this mission is a success nonetheless.”
Lt Cmdr Talon merely nodded brusquely and sat down as the Captain turned his attention to the late arriving Lt Mas’Riat.

Talon was impressed with the Lt’s plans and nodded his approval of her suggestions. He then listened to the new CSO’s intel on the mission and he was impressed by the man’s info having only arrived a few hours ago.

“Well done,” the captain offered up one of his rare compliments. “Take note of the flight plan, Kato. You’ll want to further instruct yourself in the regions we’ll be passing through.” Turning his attention to Lt. Cmdr. Jones, Gavison continued. “How are the repairs coming?”
Talon picked up his PADD and was making some notes on things to check after this meeting, when he received a notice from one of his security officers, Lt. Myers, about a a unscheduled use of the transporters shortly after 2000hrs last night. He frowned at this and checked his schedule and then raised and eyebrow ridge, he had received a note from the Captain and he was having a special cargo beamed aboard last night and that it was done on his order. Talon nodded and tapped out a quick response to Lt. Myers telling him that it had been approved by the CO and to keep up the good work at bringing any anomalies to his attention.

Talon looked up at the Captain sitting there, silently wondering what it was that the Captain had brought aboard yet felt the need to keep it secret even from his Chief of Security. He shrugged and only assumed it had something to do with the mission. He had no reason to suspect the Captain about anything; he had fought too many times next to the human to doubt the man’s judgment. He decided that if the Captain felt he had a need to know then he would tell him when the time came. Still, his curiosity was high, it was a trait, or curse, of his race.

(Do we have someone for Lt Cmdr Jones? Not sure who that is after all this time. )

Stardate: 2374.09.03 Cerberus – Jefferies Tube B, Deck 4 – 0930 hours
Stan…he’d become used to that moniker now, and had decided that it had been a fortuitous event leading up to his selection of this rather slovenly human for a disguise. The crew tended to leave him be due to his nature and appearance. Even his CO seemed to find it difficult to spend time around him, giving him duties that—thus far—had put him in remote regions of the ship, and giving him time to renew himself in relative privacy. Wandering the Jefferies Tubes had also given him a much more in depth view of the ship’s inner workings; far better than the floorplans he’d committed to memory. He still hadn’t decided where and how he was going to ensure that the Cerberus and her crew never reached the Gamma Quandrant, but he was even more confident than he’d been to date, and that was saying quite a lot.

For the time being, he’d play it smart; remain in disguise, follow orders, and continue to work his way around the ship until he’d found the best method for enacting his mission directive. His only regret thus far was the rank of the poor sod he’d fed to the nanites: an officer would have afforded him so much more access. He’d almost remedied that in the lift yesterday when fortune had found him alone with the ship’s doctor for a brief period of time—too brief. It was unfortunate as being ship’s doctor would have allowed him such freedom…

Practicing a dismissive sigh—so unlike his kind—Stan hefted his portable scanner and continued his registration of subatomic stress on the support tresses in preparation for launch.

Stardate: 2374.09.03 Cerberus – Sick Bay – 0830 hours
Lt. Hash stepped from his office and tossed a PADD to Ensign Braff without ceremony, nearly causing the young man to drop it in his haste to react.

“Decent,” Jon growled. “I might even go so far as to say adequate, but I’m afraid that if I do, well, it would just go to your head and then you’d have trouble getting your under shirt on in the morning. That would, of course, lead to you being unable to show up in uniform, which would be cause for a reprimand. And guess who has to file those. You guessed it. Me! Good lord, man! Do you see what kind of work you’re adding to my plate by being adequate? Go back to being ineffective and we’ll call it a day.”

Shaking his head, Hash turned about, taking in his crew. “Like it or not, kiddies, we’re about to leave this birthing chamber and head off into the wild black yonder. Now, I’m betting some of you girls and boys want to take some time to send those last minute, tear-ridden missives back to mommy and daddy before we take off, but you know what? I just don’t care, there’s work to be done!

“What? You say, with your little baby blues all wide and alarmed. I thought we’d finished with all of the initial what-to’s and such when that last bushy-tailed crewman skipped his lily white ass out the door and on his way. What more do we have to do? Can’t we return to our knitting? Isn’t there hugs of appreciation in our near future? What about starting a camp fire and singing Koombayah, or whatever the hell it is called?” A look of disgust washed over the doctor’s weathered face. “Ugh. There’s no hugs, no campfire songs, just long hours of reviewing every tiny, little detail of each and every crewman we’ve surreptitiously scanned, prodded, and basically embarrassed with questions like: are you sure you aren’t a test tube baby? I swear I had that tricorder a moment ago, could you bend over so I can see if I left it there? And—oh, this is my favorite—were your nipples that color when you came on board? Leave no stone unturned, no leaf untouched, and no baby birds in the nests, people! Get to work!”

As the suddenly barked order cleared his throat the room became awash with activity. Medical staff rushed to be about their duties, PADDs and medical tricorders in hand so as to at least appear to be busily about duties.

“Ensign Tort!”

The young woman stopped short and turned to face her superior with a guilty look on her smallish face despite knowing that she’d done nothing wrong to date.

“Yes, Sir?” she answered with a slight squeak.

“Did you just hiccup? My hell, what was that? If you’re going to go hiccupping all over my sick bay, I think I’ll throw up. That’s pathetic. How can anyone possibly take you seriously if you’re hovering over them going—HICCUP! HICCUP! HICCUP!—in their face the whole time?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did you just ‘yes, sir’ me about a hiccup?” Jon stared at her incredulously. “Grow a set, and come here.”

The small woman rushed forward to stand sharply at attention before Lt. Hash. He scared the living hell out of her. After her first encounter with him she’d heard nothing but horror stories from the others—rumors all, but there was always some truth to the rumors, and everything she’d heard frightened her.

“At least you can do that right,” Jon sighed as though talking with her was more stress than he was used to. “Get those Romulans in here for a complete body scan. They’ve been aboard long enough to have their legs under them, or to dry the wet from behind their pointy little ears, or whatever those sublimely evil little bas—Did you just gasp? Seriously? Oh! Oh! What’s with the quivering lip? Are you going to cry? Ensign Braff! Get over here! You…Ensign Tort, are dismissed. There will be no crying in my sick bay. How the hell did you enlist? You do know that it’s a crime to lie about your age. Do your parents know you’re playing doctor?”

Ensign Tort spun quickly on the tip of her toes and rushed from the room before her tears could actually cascade down her cheeks as Ensign Braff shuffled up. Braff made every effort to not show fear. To him, Hash was like a wild beast, feeding on the weak in the herd, and Braff was keen on exercising the age-old adage of he who runs fastest doesn’t get eaten.

“As I was saying,” Jon looked Braff dead in the eye. “Get those pointy-eared, evil, soul-sucking Romulans in here by this afternoon for full body scans. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“You’re not a bloody MACO, Ensign, and I’m not deaf—well, at least not until a moment ago,” Jon turned and started making his way back towards his office, glancing back over his shoulder at the zealous young man as he went. “Cut back on the sugar, Lollipop. Can’t have you bouncin’ about all a-flutter. You might slip and wind up with a boo-boo.”

Ensign Braff didn’t wait for the lieutenant to disappear behind closed doors before immediately finding his way to the table computer where he brought up the registered information pertaining to the Romulan contingent.

“I swear,” Ensign Maguire whispered at his side. “If he tries treating me like that I’ll—“

“You’ll what, Jordan?” Braff asked out of the corner of his mouth with a derisive snort to accompany it. “Tattle? He’d have a hay-day with that. The guys a beast, that’s for certain, but I hear tell that he’s a top-notch field medic. I was told that I could learn a lot from him, and I intend to.”

“Yeah,” Maguire snorted. “You can learn how to make sweet, little girls cry. That’ll get you far in Starfleet.”

“Tort can take care of herself—“

“Like just now? She took right care of herself. Ran right out of the room and is likely crying, humiliated in her quarters. I swear—“

“Yup, you’re a brave one. You were right here, Jordan, same as me, and you did nothing same as me, so don’t go puffing up your chest pretending you’d do something you won’t. Duck your head for a bit and remain innocuous. We’ll figure this beasty out, just like we did the instructors in the medical program at Starfleet. We just need some time.”

“A lot of good it will do us,” Maguire commented wryly. “Did you hear that Hash performed Captain MacTavish’s physical right there in engineering? Walked right into the room as I hear it told, and demanded that MacTavish make himself available, and the captain complied!”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Braff hissed as he thumbed in the established appointment times for each of the Romulans, setting the computer to inform them of their pending reviews. “I heard that Captain MacTavish was something of a bear himself. I’m not so sure that our mission isn’t to survive the command staff—did you see that security officer? This is like a who’s who of intergalactic boogiemen, Jordan, and you, me, Tort, everyone; we’re going to have to figure out how to survive. So, keep your nose clean, and your head down.”

“Yeah,” Maguire intoned distractedly. “Maybe I’ll put some laxative in his coffee…”

“Beggin’ for trouble…” Braff shook his head in dismay and sent off the appointment times. “Beggin’ for trouble.”

Stardate: 2374.09.02
The Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 1016 hours

Mas'Riat sat quietly, taking in the reports and conversation, filing them away for future reference. Her mind returned again and again to the flight plan, to the trajectory through space which the would take, bringing her back into the heart of darkness, into the hands of the addicts of The White, that strange and sickening substance which the Jem'Hadar craved.

But the plan was incomplete. She had only shown them the path, not the way in. The Jem'Hadar were known to be ruthless, efficient, and organized. After all, they had the Federation by the-

Mas'Riat shifted uncomfortably in her seat. If she were a creator, she would have taken the logic of the Vulcans, the efficency of the Borg, and the persistence of the Cardassians, as wel as their desire for dominance, and poured them into a vessel. The end result would have been the Jem'Hadar.

She had to craft a flight plan out, a way "home," give the rank and file a gentle nod of encouragment. With the heavy losses suffered daily by the Federation, everyone knew someone who had died in this war, and for a crew, no matter how brazen or skilled, to hear they would be heading into the mouth of madness would be difficult to take and still smile.

Se could hear them now, even now in the safety of the ship, she could hear the lash as it bit into her skin. Felt the chains dragging at her limbs.

Damn them all, se would make sure she got out again.

Stardate: 2374.09.03 Prior to Launch
USS Cerberus – Romulan Centurion’s Cabin – 0500 hours

Sienae was in her cabin when the door chimed. “Enter,” she speaks clearly and knows now the computer will pipe her words to the speaker in the door.

She turns carefully from her computer and looks up. She is surprised to see Yeoman Weatherly, though nothing shows on her face or in her demeanor. Sienea had dealt with the yeoman on a number of occasions awaiting clearance to run the holo simulation programs.

“Yeoman Weatherly, to what do I owe this visit?” In all her dealings with the Star Fleet personnel and the Captain in particular, Sienae had remained perfectly, and politely diplomatic, and infatigably resolute. There was not rancor or ill feeling as to the treatment they received, she knew exactly how most of the crew felt about their presence, and she would have felt the same way and the tables been reversed. So it became water under the bridge, as if none of it occurred and Sienae and her team were just engineers doing there job.

Not that it stopped the Captain’s moments of argument, but Sienea quickly learned how to deal with them. She would just smile and agree. The first time she tried that tactic on Captain Mac Tavish, she caught him flat-footed. It is hard to argue with someone who is agreeing with you.
Another tactic was to become what Terran’s would call a broken record, like getting the holo deck time, she kept sending the same polite request through the proper channels every few hours until it was finally granted. Those precious moments brought Sienae some satisfaction.

“Captain’s compliments, Sir.” The young woman saluted, “He extends an invitation to you and your Second in Command to join him on the bridge for the Launch. And if you wish you team can stand by in Engineering.”

“Thank You, Yeoman. Please inform Captain Mac Tavish that I and S’Talon would be honored to accept. Please alert me 20 minutes prior to launch, as I have noticed that the time for the Launch is tentative at this moment.” Which, if the Yeoman was alert, would indicate that the Romulan Commander was keeping tabs of what was happening onboard the Cerberus.

“I will convey you answer to the Captain.” The yeoman saluted again and departed, the door closing automatically behind her.

“All Romulans,” Sienae touched her com-link. She had the computer create a special protocol so that when she used the com-link and stated, All Romulans, all her team got the same message at the same time. “You have been invited to be in Engineering for the launching. Contact me if you wish to do so, otherwise just continue as you were. S’Talon you will be with me on the bridge. Standard uniforms, this is not a ceremony.”

(OOC: Eol, picking this one up just after Cameron's Ready Room meeting with Mac; feel free to backpost that meeting if you want, am curious to see how he and Mac will interact-hehe. )

Stardate: 2374.09.03 - 0445 hours
USS Cerberus - Bridge
Duncan emerged from the captain's Ready Room with a smile and a renewed sense of purpose. I think I'm going to like it here just fine, he thought with a grin, replaying the meeting in his mind. Captain MacTavish's rolling Scots brogue reminded him of Montgomery Scott, whom he'd met during a particularly fun shore leave personally arranged by Captain Sulu, back in the early days of his career. Scotty had taken him on a whirlwind tour of Glasgow's best pubs, making sure he tried prodigious amounts of the finest Scotch whiskey that each had to offer. The hazy memories of rowdy Scottish drinking songs, dancing with a particularly beautiful red-headed Scots lass, Scotty's various creative drinking contests, and the last of the evening spent with said lass at her flat, were some of his fondest. That, however, led to thoughts of LeAnna, whom he met later, and he was snapped back to the present with a pang of loss. Nothing like heartache to focus you on the moment, he thought.

He strode to the Engineering console and began configuring it to show him all the pertinent information he would need as the moment of launch approached. He brought up readouts on all major ships' systems, checklists from the Engineering teams scattered throughout the vessel, and a readout of the warp core and its power distribution to the rest of the ship. He went over all the information laid out before him, confirming that all systems seemed to be operating perfectly normally so far. He noted that most systems were operating in low-power mode, merely marking time until the warp core's run-up to full power prior to launch. Noting the current time, 0500, only one hour to launch, he decided there was no time like the present.

"Lieutenant Commander Cameron to all Engineering personnel," he said. "For those I haven't met yet, I'm sure you're all aware by now that I'm the new CEO. I look forward to meeting all of you when time allows, but I believe we have a ship to launch in the meantime. I'm going to poll all systems, and when we're green, we'll run the core up to full power and enter Standby mode until the word is given."

Despite his many years as an engineer, Duncan still felt a thrill of excitement right now, eclipsing his moment of bittersweet remembrance. This is what I was born for, what I was meant to do, he thought. A mighty starship in his hands, ready to embark on a grand adventure across the stars. Okay, enough melodrama, he chided himself. Make sure the "mighty starship" ain't gonna blow a fuse when someone hits the "Go" button.
He focused on his console and tapped his combadge again.

"All stations: give me a go, no-go for launch."

"EPS Management." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Back-up Power Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Main Computer." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Sensors." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Structural Integrity Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Inertial Dampening Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Deflectors." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Shields." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Navigation Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Tactical Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Weapons." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Communications." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Transporter systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Shuttle and Shuttlebay Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"RCS Thrusters." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Impulse Engines." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Warp Engines." =/\\= Go. =/\\=
"Cloaking Systems." =/\\= Go. =/\\=

He continued through the list of ship systems, confirming that every component of the Cerberus was ready for the launch. When all systems were confirmed ready, he again addressed Engineering.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, bring the warp core up to full power. Let's light this candle!"

Immediately, he felt the thrum of warp power coursing through the ship, rising in pitch and frequency as the ship's heart really woke up and started to beat. Keeping a cautious eye on his console, he noted with satisfaction that all systems remained in the green as they were brought up to full power.

=/\\= Figura to Cameron, =/\\= came the call from his combadge and the console itself. =/\\= Warp core output is at seventy-five percent...eighty...eighty-five...ninety percent and holding, Sir. All systems nominal. =/\\=

"Nice work, Mr. Figura," said Duncan. "I think we may have ourselves a ship." Figura replied with an affirmative and a chuckle, and signed off. Duncan turned to address Captain MacTavish. "We're as ready as we'll ever be for launch, Sir."

(Mac's reply)

As he took his seat to await final launch commands, Duncan took some time to look around the Bridge. He watched the bustle of people manning their stations, the rush of technicians making last-minute adjustments to the various workstations, and the general frantic but organized activity associated with the imminent launch of a starship.

As the moment of launch drew closer, he took note of the senior bridge crew arriving to take their places. He saw the gleam of excitement in Captain MacTavish's eyes despite the other evidence of weariness and sleeplessness as he assumed the center seat. He saw the Vulcan XO barely nod in approval as he looked around at the activity. He watched an exotically beautiful, lithe Andorian female take her station at the helm. He started briefly when a hulking, tiger-like officer stalked onto the bridge and took his place at Tactical; he was of a race Duncan hadn't yet encountered. He watched a rather surly-looking man in the uniform of a Medical officer tromp onto the bridge and station himself. And as the Science, Communications, Ops and other stations became occupied Duncan saw what he took to be a capable and ready team, taking up the reins of a fine ship, prepared to embark on a journey that would affect them all forever, in one way or another.

As launch preparations neared completion, Duncan looked over to see two Romulans emerging from the turbolift doors. Years of seeing Romulans as the enemy gave him brief pause; then he mentally thumped himself, remembering that things were different now; the whole universe, it seemed, was different now. He took note of the Romulans' elegant features, their proud and robust military bearing, and the intensity in their eyes as they looked on. The female Centurion, Sienae, if Duncan remembered correctly, had that mysterious and exotic beauty and allure that all non-human humanoid females seemed to share. Duncan hoped that their working relationship would be cordial, and knowing Romulans' opinions of humans in general, hoped that they could work together as equals in a productive fashion.

Putting aside his people-watching for the moment, Duncan turned back to his station as the final moments before launch approached. He polled all ships' systems one last time, making sure everything was in readiness. He initiated control links with all major system structures, did some final programming for the nonessential bits that could be automated, and called around to make sure that all Engineering personnel were in place and prepared.

When all was in its maximum state of readiness, Duncan settled in, again feeling that rush of excitement and wonder, and awaited final commands, and the words from Captain MacTavish that would begin the great adventure and send the mighty USS Cerberus on her way.

Stardate: 2374.09.02 to 03
USS Cerberus - Deck 5, 0200 hours or "Oh my lord its too early"


As Shiarrael enters the mess hall she hears some crew members ordering some coffee. (What is Coffee?) And watches as the cup of black delicious smelling beverage appear and is taken away by the crew member. She will order some fish with rice and vegetables for the meal then a cup of coffee black just like the previous person ordered, when the food arrives she picks up the tray and carries it to a table, her PADD is under the tray supporting it, picking a spot that will give her a full view of the door, she will eat her food. Coffee…..a bitter yet satisfying drink she must learn a bit more about it. After finishing her meal and taking care of her dishes she will return to her room.

Too keyed up to rest she will start doing some stretching and a few isometrics to help her to relax….no good, (why am I so wound up?) her meal was normal activity during the day. The only thing different was the coffee.

Going to the computer terminal in the room she will start researching about coffee.

After reading it a bit she will realize it is not a drink to have before going to bed. The caffeine acts as stimuli for the nerves. Realizing that the file is long she will have it down loaded onto her pad. Going back to bed she will meditate first then empty her mind, willing herself to sleep and succeeds at about 2am ships time.

Only to be awakened by the announcement at 5am from the Centurion. =/\\\\= “All Romulans, You have been invited to be in Engineering for the launching. Contact me if you wish to do so, otherwise just continue as you were. S’Talon you will be with me on the bridge. Standard uniforms, this is not a ceremony.”=/\\\\=

With a groan Shiarrael will reply crisply =/\\\\= I will be there Shiarrael out. =/\\\\=

Shiarrael will get up and dresses, Grabs her PADD then head out the door to Engineering. A good engineer will turn up all systems BEFORE the ship is engaged to allow the ship to warm up properly prior to warping. She did not see that quality in the staff she was working with. It would be best to be on hand if something did go wrong. After all she was on this ship too. She will arrive at the cloaking device and notices it has been powered up at aprox 4:40 and had just finished inspecting it after relieving the Tec who had powered it up (Why was she not told earlier?) she will reply ." =/\\\\= Go. =/\\\\= after an unfamiliar voice asks for a go or no go on "Cloaking Systems." She will continue at her post till she is relieved.

BTW: she is tired but keeps any sign of fatigue well hid. she will be very precise and crisp on all replies and answers. But not rude. Anyone who has dealt with a Vulcan who is focused on the job on hand will notice the same type of mannerisms with her.

Stardate: 2374.09.03
The Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 11:02 hours
The meeting had been a long one, as most debriefings were. Kelsey had listened to each of his officer’s reports on their findings, the limited information they’d received pertaining to Operation Persephone had given them some direction, and they’d made good on what information they had. He had to admit his satisfaction on their performance, and as the last one sat he tapped the table a moment in silent consideration. His senior staff had changed a bit since their last mission; there were those among them who weren’t familiar with Kelsey’s method of operation, and that gave him hesitation. Yet, after some contemplation, he had to conclude that they’d have to come to grips with it sooner rather than later if they were to perform as he needed them to. The scarred man’s gaze went slowly around the table, peering at each of the officers from beneath his brow.

“You’ve all done well,” he began in a low, even tone. “What I’m about to relay might come as a surprise to some, to others it is what was expected, though I’m sure the details are what you’re avidly awaiting.”

He was sure he had their attention now.

“Chief,” Kel turned his attention to Cathica. “You’ll need to make an adjustment to your flight path. I want you to take the Charon on a path that takes us within a few hours of this planet—“ The captain brought up the Gamma Quandrant in the holographic projection. One of the unmarked planets en route to Calinon VII was glowing with an undulating radiance. “It doesn’t have a name—at least not one that Starfleet has recorded. This new path needs to be recorded on the internal systems only, with a security rating accessible only by command staff from this ship. Do I make myself clear?”

(OOC: assuming there isn’t any argument.)

“Last night, Lieutenant Kennedy oversaw the transport of some containers to our cargo bays. These containers are to be left alone. Tampering with them will result in a whole hell of a lot of time in my brig. The containers are filled with argine. Are any of you familiar with that substance? It is very destructive explosive. There are thirteen containers…just enough to completely destroy an orbital platform.”

“My sources tell me that there is a Jem’Hadar incubation platform in orbit around that planet, and we’re going to use this little mission of Starfleet’s to strike a major blow against the Dominion.”

Kelsey paused once more to eyeball the new additions to his ship before turning his attention to Talon. “Lt. Cmdr. Talon, you’ll put together the usual compliment to join us in the infiltration of the base in order to plant the localization device so that we can beam the explosives past the platform’s shields. Jones, I’ll need you to perfect the modulation of the disruptor frequency on both the localization device and the shuttle we’ll be taking. Ben, I want you to pay real close attention to that cloaking device once the Romulans bring it aboard. See if you can’t use it, or its technology, to aid us in this endeavor.”

Turning sharply to Cathica, Kel reiterated, “Make sure that our flight path affords us the proper window to detach our shuttle from the formation, and return. I believe such an operation should take two hours, or so to reach the platform, a fifteen minute block to set the explosives, and two hours to return.

“I need not remind all of you how important it is that this remain under the utmost secrecy. Our lives, the crew’s life, and countless Federation souls depend upon it.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Kel allowed the information to sink in. Then, he stood up indicating that the mission briefing was at an end. “Work whatever you need to out through Lt. Kennedy to coordinate departments. Any questions?”

(OOC: will field questions as needed.)

“Time is running out, people. Dismissed.”

Stardate: 2374.09.02
The Charon – Bridge – 15:28 hours
Captain Gavison sat in the command chair, Flight Control’s empty seat before him, only three engineering personnel in the room with him, their tasks prearranged by the shift officer. At the moment, they were underneath the science console, working overtime to resolve an issue that was buried in Kel’s reports somewhere. The captain was in the process of reviewing personnel files of his new officers; the information he’d dumped on them, his direct orders to keep his mission secret from Starfleet, and his assumption that they’d show a huge amount of loyalty to a captain they’d just met was weighing heavily on his mind. After the meeting, he’d tried to dismiss his paranoia as just that, but eventually had given in to his distrustful nature, spending time perusing their files for any indication that they might contaminate the purity of his mission.

Cathica Mas’Riat’s record was doctored. Kel had reviewed enough records in his time to be able to tell. All that was there was what Sisko wanted him to see—what he needed to know about her to trust her at his helm. This, alone, didn’t worry the captain. Sisko knew enough of the way that Gavison operated to know that he’d likely try to annihilate any and all Jem’Hadar he encountered provided he could get away with it. The chances that Benjamin would put a spy on board his ship were slim. Still, Kelsey had a hard time not wanting to read between the lines.

Kato III was even less likely to be a spy, which put him top on Kelsey’s list. The man was an exchange officer from a culture that was not entirely for Federation ideals. He was an eager addition to their crew…something Kelsey hadn’t seen in quite some time. Most transfers to the Charon were filled with trepidation, fear, or resignation. They knew that they were a short distance away from death—the insignia on the assignment patch had become an ominous indication of their future—at least that was the assumption. Most transfers of late had been volunteers, but that didn’t make them any less concerned for their future. Kato’s enthusiasm was a little disconcerting.

Settling back in his chair, Kel switched the arm-view computer off and scowled at the blank viewscreen, the sounds of the engineering crew working away echoing dully from the bulwarks. With a shake of his head, he determined to have one of his patented “heart-to-hearts” with the two of them. He thought about the correct time, the proper method, maybe altering his usual abrupt nature…thoughts that kept him occupied for a number of minutes. Eventually, he came to the determination that there was work that needed to be done.
Switching the computer on once more, Kel began programming the holodeck program he’d use with the team Talon put together to practice their infiltration.