Pher

After the mess of a meeting, Pher pulled Joe aside for a few words. “Joe? You haven’t much worked with Ethan. He reminds me more than a little of you. Keeps his secrets. Likes to pull the strings himself. Doesn’t like anyone else to see what string he's going to pull next. Seems he’d rather die than let anyone see how fragile his plans are, or, First Energy Being forgive, to contribute to his plans or prevent onrushing disasters. Stubborn about it. I don’t so much mind that he’d rather die than play well with others. That's his privilege, and I'd hate to get in his way again. It’s his willingness to kill us all in the process that’s the problem. “Watching you two posture over the fate of the nebula made me want to head bash the table, or maybe bash your head into his. Don’t know that either of you are capable of learning, but could you try to remember there’s more to this than proving who has the greater weight of junk between their legs?”

Blue flashed throughout the small Engineering Lab next the Engine Room, pulsating and filling the tiny space. Shane's massive bulk was hunched over over the workbench at the back of the lab as he worked the quantum welder expertly with the object on the counter. Parts of the stolen Klingon disruptor was strung out in front of him, along with several sizes of force-field emitters. The cyborg's brow above the welding goggles was furrowed in concentration. Pher quietly entered the lab, noted male humanoid at work, and settled in quietly for a pause between welds. Pher sighed. On more than one occasion she'd wished she had skills vaguely useful towards operating a spaceship. Oh, driving an underwater jet rig had taught her enough basics that she could sit down at a bridge console, and she'd ad-libbed enough that people were starting to trust her. Should she trust herself? As Shane paused to examine his work, she spoke his name just loud enough to be heard over his equipment. "Shane." The cyborg stiffened slightly at the sound of his name, then let out a sigh as he recognized Pher's voice. When the word of the new first mate had reached his ears, Shane had been...less than enthused. He knew there had been no chance in hell that he would get a position like that on the Qob; nobody trusted him. He felt most of the time that the only reason Joe kept him on board was because he was good with a wrench. "Making friends" hadn't been an interest of his for quite a while, he tolerated the annoyances that some of the crew members caused him. But now the one that irritated and mist-trusted him the most out-ranked him. Life had a way of jyking with you. Slowly, Shane straightened up and turned his shoulder to cast his cold grey eyes on the green-skinned Orion at the door. "What?" he asked with slight impatience. "What? We haven't been on the same page, Shane, not since you came aboard. When you were engineering and I was security, wasn't my job to straighten things out. Now that I'm playing at XO, I've got to. I'll start with a congratulations. You got away with something our other down on leave, working with Byblos rather than thumping him, though somehow he wound up thumped anyway. Just seeing you play one of your games more or less with a partner left me reluctant to crash it. Still, I'm curious. Just what was it that you took apart afterwards, before you headed out?" Reaching back behind him, the big man picked up the object he was working on and held out. It looked the elaborate handle of a cutlass with a thin meter long pole instead of a blade, yet bigger and interlaced technological components. Thumbing a switch on the wire wrapped handle Shane held the object away from himself as the pole swiftly lit up and a glowing blue sweeping blade flashed into existence. "A force sword, built usin' components from the Klingon disruptor we "recovered" and spare force-field emitters for the Qob's impulse engines. The fields are altered and shaped to create a blade that's cool to the touch with a molecular edge." Shane rotated the humming blade, inspecting it with an appraising eye. De-activating the blade, he tossed it to Pher while he continued, "Its a replacement for Byblos's sword." Pher caught it smoothly, felt the weight of it, then performed a brief dance. Her moves weren’t quite right for the blade. It was an edge weapon, while Pher worked primarily with the tip. Her movements would also look wrong to a practical fighter who learned in the military or on the streets. She looked more like a dancer, or perhaps a religious fighter who treated swordplay as a form of discipline or prayer. But it wouldn’t be a celibate religious order. “Nice,” she said, reversing the blade and presenting the hilt to Shane. “A bit heavy for me, but I imagine Byblos will be quite pleased.” She hesitated. “Is it built for abuse? Would you want to bash down doors with it, or should I be careful in what I ask Byblos to do?” Grabbing the hilt with his good hand, Shane swung the flat of the blade hard against the green bulkhead behind the workbench. The sword fizzled in protest, but remained sturdy and strong. The big man de-activated it and set it back on the bench. "The only limiting factor is the power pack, which will last over 24 hours with constant abuse. He'll just need to carry extras." Shane look back to Pher and leaned against the bench, which creaked under his weight. "Did you have something else to say or were you just being nosy?" “I’ve a problem in cultural perspectives, in etiquette perhaps.” She paused briefly, considering. “I’m no expert in The Klingon Way, but as I understand it they’re not so much into law, logic, or latinum as other races. They care about honor. If they have a problem, they don’t expect any government or security force to handle it for them. No, they’ll handle it themselves, if necessary with the support of comrades and clan. Anyway, if some Klingon encounters someone who might be consider from their particular perspective to be a cowardly lying thief who besmirches one’s honor and strikes, what was that phrase, ‘with hidden face,’ I believe it would be a big deal for them. So, anyway, a question. Did you get the name, clan and ship of the individual you acquired parts from? I suspect we might be hearing from him again, him or his clan. I thought being prepared might be nice.” Shane held up the fingers of his good hand, counting off. "One, he was drunk. Two, he was the only Klingon in the bar. Three, he never saw my face only Byblos's. And what egotistical ridge-head is going to admit that a Naussicaan got the better of him? Not any one I've ever met." The big man straightened back up and walked towards the door directly behind Pher, stopping just short of the Orion woman and looking down at her. "I've got engines that need lookin' after." “Shane? I know about pain. I know about anger. I grew up into a difficult profession. You do the best you can, and you’re treated like some crawling thing that lives under a rock. If you object, you find yourself living under a bigger rock. Had to learn to smile while keeping the customer happy. Had to learn to do others favors so you could collect them in return. Had to learn patience, teamwork, discipline. Had to learn to choose enemies carefully, and to make it look like an accident. “It’s clear enough you’re hurting,” Pher continued. “It’s clear enough life has taught you different lessons. I’m sure you’ve got a tale to tell, and no desire to tell it. Thing is, most everyone on the ship carries a gun, and too many think they’ve been appointed security chief by the First Energy Being, with the right to start whatever trouble they like, for whatever reason they like, whenever they like, not caring what consequences might fall on the head of anyone else. “This can’t continue.” Shane's cold, grey eyes narrowed slightly as they stared down at Pher, as though he were about to give an angry reply. But after a moment, the emotion was gone. The cyborg brushed past the new First Mate roughly as his low voice rumbled, "What I do on leave is my own business." With his bionic whirring and hissing, Shane left the lab and stomped heavily through the double doors to the Engine Room. "Everyone on this ship is a jykin' psychologist..." “Not a psychologist,” Pher yelled at the rapidly closing door. “Whore!” She turned, heading back to talk to Joe. Did first officers have a say in making up shore leave schedules? “Psychologists are far too over specialized.”

Captain Joe I have been thinking a bit more on the news Ethan shared. I had long thought the Rainmaker approach irrational. Destruction will not bring the Feds back into Bull's Head. They would return only to a stable profitable Head able to produce enough warships to increase the Federation's power, not to be a burden. The Rainmakers also seem to expect a suicidal loyalty of their people, and do not respect the interests or lives of the people they are purportedly trying to fight for. The threat seemed crazy enough that I had difficulty taking it seriously as a long term threat. If one looks at it as an alien infiltration rather than a home grown terrorists threat, if one considers that individual goo based life forms might not be considered valuable, the nature of the threat changes significantly. They would have no interest in or expectations of a Federation return. The loss of operatives means nothing. Destruction of cities and populations would not be a significant loss. If anything, destruction and death is a bonus in that it weakens the enemy, which would be most anything that uses legs. When I heard the goo head talking on Zoalus, I thought he sounded like a Rainmaker. Thus, I thought the Rainmaker in charge. I doubt this now. The Rainmakers would be the goo heads. The destructive care nothing for life terrorist persona would be the Goo Head Way. This might also make the search for Minos irrelevant. Are all goo heads one? Does one less goo head matter? I have had reason to think on setting seeds for revolution, and the problem of secrecy. If one is too secretive in building a revolt, one never has the numbers to do anything. If one is too open too soon, the goons in place will quash you. Hitting the balance isn't a trivial exercise. Now, Ethan speaks very vaguely of some group resting the goo heads, but want to keep themselves secret. This might be fine so long as they are on a clean path to success. It seems a given that the Guardians have been infiltrated by goo heads. Giving the Guardians any knowledge of Ethan's group might thus expose his group. On the other hand, not telling the Guardians what we have learned of the Rainmakers would leave them continuing to fight their enemy blind. I have no love of Guardians, but it is their status quo that needs to be defended, the Rainmakers are not a real choice to be chosen, and somebody bigger than a breadbox has to put their feet down. I'd also consider what we tell our own crew. Clearly the doctors and Troy have to know. They are already working it. Do we keep the rest in the dark? My other shot in the dark thought is that Maxwell's notion of hijacking and destroying his own fleet and crew makes no more sense than the public Rainmaker way of doing things. Again we see the lack of respect for life. Again we see destruction and death as a natural result of the tactics chosen. This might be a case of my seeing childhood monsters beneath every bed and hiding in every closet, but I've a sudden desire for a Captain Maxwell blood sample. I would like to ask Chris, Kaara and Tony to come up with a goo detection program for Audrey and her relatives. The goo heads on Zoalus were quite obviously infected by something, but it seems that many so infected are not so obvious. They pass unnoticed. Is there some subtle difference in coloring that might be picked up? Can something be done passive sensors, and how much would be gained by going active? I am also concern with Ethan, but in a different way than yesterday. Are we sure he isn't going to go goo head? If he does turn, will we have a goo head that knows about the group Ethan is supposed to be working with? Even if we accept what he is telling us now, will we know if the infection worsens? Is The Goo in any sense a hive mind, sharing goals, politics, memories, thoughts? Can we be absolutely sure there are no tiny little Goo amoeba bits under my bed or in my closet? Excuse me, but Audrey and I are going to go search my room. Should I do yours while I'm at it? Might it be prudent if I visit everybody's bedroom? Is it true that if you pull your blanket up over your head, night monsters can't get you? Pher

While Atragon is allowed his opinion, if you can't get enough Voyager, you might try to Google "Voyager themed flat." It seems like a more appreciative fan than our Admiral spent a good deal of effort establishing a proper theme and flavor, but his girlfriend wants to sell. Act fast. It might be on the market.

You'd think they could use the need for repairs as a source for plot lines, at least. I'm not sure I would say a ship is a character, but the ship and its culture does set an envelope of sorts on what sort of characters comfortably belong aboard. Some characters that can fit quite conformably on DS9 just wouldn't belong on Picard's Enterprise, and of course visa versa. The future, of course, is changing, and not just with the latest movie turning things upside down. Gritty realist militarism is in. Hope, morality and optimism are out. I for one miss Roddenberry's vision, and am finding it harder to find places to role play classic Trek cultures and world views. What does one do? I've found an off line Middle Earth game to get my idealism fix, and created an Orion character designed for a Firefly culture here. As not every modern cop TV show is for everybody, neither is every starship.

Captain Evaluate… everything? Yes. Of course. There’s a lot that might be said, and you’re the one to hear it. I’d just ask that you keep this to yourself. I’ll start by saying I’m as disappointed in myself as much as anyone else. Managing a resort beach is not at all the same as running a starship, no matter how edgy the beach. I’m still learning on the job, and not quickly enough. There were a few times I nearly blew it, and these will be touched upon. I’d like to start, though, with the first Zoalus expedition. In hindsight, we had three separate agendas. Sal’s was proper and benign. He was working the language and culture angle from the start, making decent progress in the end. As such, this was a science mission. Sal had to do what he had to do, while security was there so he could do it safely. As time developed, I developed my own agenda. We had to develop a pattern of behavior that would not draw attention from the drones. I was thinking less in terms of getting the most out of the first expedition, but in learning how future expeditions could work with acceptable risk. This meant stealth. This meant keeping equipment turned off, freezing when drones approached, staying quiet, staying in the shade, leaving few footprints and not activating equipment connected to the remnants of the Zoalus network. None of us, including myself, managed adequate discipline during that first trip. We did much better on the second trip, when we beamed down to recover Ethan. In the first trip, not so much. In particular, there was a tendency to be heroic. If it seemed likely that the drones might be about to pick us up, someone or another would draw attention to himself rather than allow the team to be picked up. A nobel thought, perhaps, but the result was that the team was picked up every single time. We might do it deliberately some other time. We might build some delta radiation grenades, portable expendable distractions, designed to deliberately draw attention away from the AT. Powering up one’s weapon or tricorder doesn’t achieve the same effect. At any rate, if we intend extended stays on the surface, we need more discipline and perhaps less ambition. I shan’t pick on anyone in particular. We were all in it. The third agenda was Ethan’s, and his opposites, the modified drones. Avoiding the native drones seems possible with discipline. The Rainmaker drones (if they are indeed Rainmakers) had better sensors and were seeking Ethan specifically. The rest of the party would power up and fire when Ethan was under threat, drawing in the native drones. I do not know what Ethan was striving to do, but he was constantly arguing to use sensors more, and his presence defeated any attempts at remaining hidden. At the same time, I have the impression Ethan has significant professional security experience. When he was being cooperative, he knew what he was doing and played a team game. If he shared information, if he were not running a hidden agenda, if he did not draw hostile attention, if he didn’t argue quite so much, he could be a significant asset. He’s a pro, not a glorified lifeguard somewhat over her head. Unfortunately, that is a lot of ifs. Chris. I love the guy. He has a lot of common sense. He’s respected. He’s still fighting off an overdoes of Redera. When he is lucid, when he is there, he’s great. There are times he drifts off into dreamland. I don’t care who he is dreaming of, well, maybe I do, but I’m not sure he has recovered enough from a certain bald Rainmaker to lead a team in tight spot. Kaara… I respect her. I’ve no where near her education in medical areas. Well, I don’t have her education, period. With the possible exceptions of reviving drowning victims and managing sexual addictions, I would not think to cross her on medical matters. Yes, it would be logical for Chris to take a few drugs, tighten up his mental disciplines, and will himself to disregard women entirely, except perhaps for a brief time every seven years. It would be logical, but not human. I also have my own needs, not entirely unlike Chris’s. I don’t doubt there are fine options for treatments somewhere between Kaara’s ideas and mine. I don’t know. It’s just that what I’ve been trying to do for Chris isn’t complete. Soon after beam up to Capricorn we had extreme confusion in command. Troy was in charge of the Capricorn group. Chris was senior person present. I was security boss. Neither Chris nor I thought to debrief Troy, to learn what was going on. With hindsight, Troy and Shane, distrusting Ford, mucked with Ford’s ship in a way many a engineer wouldn’t accept. I believe Maxwell or one of his followers used this as an excuse to tick Ford off. Maxwell’s intent was likely to clear the way for his own personal take over of Capricorn. As I hadn’t asked questions, as I didn’t know what was going on, it just seemed like Ford and Shane had gone nuts. My thought was that security was supposed to prevent people from getting hurt, that fighting between crews was not constructive, that it should stop. Shane, Ford, and later Alex and Maxwell acted as if the answer to violence was greater and more decisive violence. My attempts to get anyone to stand down were futile. Shane in particular would not recognize the orders of the security chief on security matters. William and Troy later decided blowing up a few things would be a good idea, and acted on their own initiative. Attacking with the ship’s equipment and attacking the ship’s equipment became common tactics. My objective became to stop the madness while we still had enough functional starships to get home. At any given time there were only a small number of rogues that needed to be subdued or talked down, but as rapidly as one group was handled, another group would have some brilliant idea. Kill someone. Blow something up. Starships are fragile deadly battlegrounds. If there is to be a winner in a clash aboard a ship, both sides have to want to take the ship intact. It is just too easy to disable a ship, to kill crew in large numbers. In this case, both sides seemed to care more about not losing than winning, seeming quite willing to destroy what they were fighting for. I shan’t say this is always a bad idea, but everyone has to understand the consequences of taking off the gloves. There was a point, about half way through the confusion, when you asked for three engineers and bridge crew for the Qob. I nominated Shane as I could not control him. He is angry, lethal, and does not take orders well. I wanted one less problem, and gave him to you. I nominated Chris as he was confusing the command situation. When he was there he was there, but he often wasn’t. I nominated Sal as he’s solid bridge crew and you needed solid bridge crew. There was a time, a little later, after Troy went rogue, when I was second guessing myself. Perhaps I should have sent Troy and kept Sal. Either way, I felt confident that you could make constructive use of anyone, but I could not. Mind you, some of the spontaneous violence might have been appropriate, might have been necessary to the more or less successful end result. With the Qob missing and Maxwell sailing off in Capricorn, I was not at all sure how the Qob crew on board Capricorn could be recovered. The subsequent explosion on Capricorn might have been a good thing, even if it was much more of a good thing than I’d have preferred. It is possible that any of the individual acts of violence during the chaos might be justified, either in the long run, or in terms of urgent personal needs to hurt somebody. I am not truly interested in pointing fingers and walking through the last few days incident by incident. There would be no lack of fingers pointing back. But the overall effect was bad. I also had trouble with Byblos. Once a fight has started, I’ve worked with him well. We have a similar rhythm where one of us causes a distraction that allows the other to clobber someone. Still, he has a distinct lack of confidence. After losing his gang to the Guardians, he has been left with a feeling of inadequacy that surfaces in times of high stress. When Ford first caused a ruckus, he seemed unable to cope. More members of the Qob crew seemed focused on calming down Byblos than dealing with Ford. Later, when things got rough, he felt a need to turn in his weapons. Even in the recent meeting down in the cargo bay, he asked me to order him to keep his mouth shut. I’d feel good with him at my back if the shooting is about to start, but if the shooting is still in the vague future, if he hears bad news he doesn’t have an immediate answer for, he needs someone to calm him down and hang on to his weapon for a while. I don’t really mind playing the nursemaid, but the times he needs coddling are often just when my attention has to be elsewhere. I think we can work through this. I’m hoping, if Byblos isn’t busy full time in engineering, to settle down for a talk. Then there is you, Joe. It is an honor to be given a team and the freedom to act independently. I understand that you have to think of the ship, and profits, and keeping everything together. I understand you play your hand close to the vest, use surprise, and keep everyone guessing. But when I put together my last coalition, when I walked into Capricorn’s main engineering to find out who won the last fight between Maxwell and Halstrom, I didn’t know you already had a deal on with Halstrom. I vaguely thought I’d likely be on (ugh) Maxwell’s side. This thing about the right hand not knowing what the left hand is stroking might possibly be taken too far? Between much of the crew free lancing and your own hidden and changing plans, I felt very much like a free agent myself, making my own choices for my own reasons. And I might not choose as others do. My world is owned by rich arrogant scum, but they aren’t the enemy. No, they exist to be cajoled into putting you on your back and quieting the itch for a while. You don’t raise your hand against them, not without carefully choosing the time, the place, and making sure it looks like an accident. Once you’re out of dust, pain hurts. You can always strike, but you can’t ever give them a chance to strike back. No, you don’t fight your owners and clients. You fight your friends, and you’d best look graceful and sexy while you’re doing it. These big strong males, lashing out at the slightest slight? I don’t understand how they are tough enough, smart enough, to survive in a really tough spot. Could they stubbornly fight to hold their place in paradise - hell, knowing the other side of the island is in no way paradise? How do they forget Capricorn’s bridge crew, Verbistul’s security people, or the civilians of Tranquility? How hard and how long does one fight for profit when other things might be on the line? I don’t know that you want me free lancing. You might want to say a bit more about where your left hand is. I’ve heard some groups, elite warriors, bands of brothers, don’t leave one of their own behind. When you sent us back to get Ethan, I wondered. I wondered, but I went. We bumbled through it somehow, pulling mostly together for once. We all got home. We’re not that sort of group yet. I don’t know that we’re ever going to be. This is a job, not a crusade? Each of us is supposed to get some latinum from this? It doesn’t all go to the ship’s account? And yet, to some degree, if one of us gets in trouble, the rest of us try to get him out? I just think, if each person’s mess is to fall upon every one of us, each of us might spend more effort keeping out of trouble? You’re something of a maverick. So am I. So are we all. And you know, if sometimes one of us goes off on a tangent, that adds spice to life. A mix of talents and styles can be a good thing. If it is hard at times to hold the leash on this bunch, there is also a certain unholy joy in letting them loose, in crying havoc. But chaos can be over done. Perhaps we need a maverick hat? You’re not allowed to go wild, howling at moons, until you’ve secured the hat and can be sure that no one else will be wildly howling at the same time? Without the hat, you’re required to be vaguely sane? And who am I, you might well ask, to judge what sanity might be? I don’t know. I’m not happy with my own performance. Then again, I’m not happy with anyone’s performance, except when Chris and I can find time to be alone. I don’t know.

The excuse would be replicators. If a shuttle gets a scratch on it, you just replicate a new one. So long as you've got a working replicator, your stuff can be as pristine and new as you want it to be. Lose the replicator, and you need bases and spare parts.

The mood in the transporter room was good. Pher thought it would be easy to go with it, to find herself a shower, to relax the too long tension of the last several days. Still, things seemed to be coming together, and in a way she didn't like. She had heard legends of giant space amoeba, but not of middling sized land amoeba. Yet, the black goo had crawled out if its vat to get her people. The three rainmakers seemed infected by something that turned their blood black. They had wanted the Qob folk to take a swim in the goo, though Ethan had said it was a bad idea. Ethan was bleeding black too. "Doctor Soora, please assume Ethan is infected and contagious. In particular, avoid contact with his blood. Kindly do what makes sense to keep it from spreading. He might not be absurdly contagious. It might take immersion to guarantee infection, if what was said below is right, but don't count on it." She started to add things up. A planet where few if any large animal life forms were left. A biological agent that the Rainmakers were interested in. A set of drones left behind that might be programmed to destroy all animal life forms that might carry the infection. Fickle Pher. Was she really on the side of the kill everything drones at this point? Sentient goo? Talking to Joe might have to come before the shower. Probably just as well that she hadn't put an explosive round in the vat.

Pher continued along, following their guide, though trusting it not a lot. How should she put it? "Guys? We should be far enough under the shield that we might briefly turn on stuff if we have to. Let's not do it lightly. I'd like there to be a specific need. Still, if you see anything old with the language Sal has been looking for, let's quickly scan it in. "Newer stuff? I'd rather be courteous to our host here."

“So, Pher, what are you going to do when you leave New Risa?” “Who says I’m going to leave New Risa?” “Oh, come on. You’re too good with a stick to stay out of the arena. The suits get a cut of the bets, and won’t be content with a cut of nothing. Once you’re in, the only way out is up, and you’ll need to do it before your nerves got fried.” “I don’t know,” Pher replied. If you listen to the off world recruits, life elsewhere is no picnic. They signed contracts to come here, after all. Pimps are pimps.” “But how many of them regret it?” “What’s not to love? I’m chief lifeguard. I get to play with all the toys the tourists play with, eat the same food, dress as elegantly, and even share the same beds. Where else could I do that?” “The arena, Pher. If you don’t want off planet, you shouldn’t have started training.” “I was stupid.” “Stupid in what way?” “I had a brother,” Pher said with exasperated distain. “He was an crazy fan of the holodrama, Qob Victorious. Big frigging glorious shining battleship. King of the space-ways. A glorious icon showing how Klingon honor and courage could overcome the corrupting degrading influence of the Ferengi and Humans.” “I’ve heard of the show.” “Anyway, my brother was going to stow away on some ship at some point, find the Qob, and sign on as a warrior. You understand that the story lines are based on legends that might be based on some real battleship allegedly still lurking about the great unknown? He figured if he showed him them his innate courage and honor, they’d make him captain. He was going to come back to New Risa some day, blow away the suits, and everyone would regret dismissing him as a useless good for nothing male.” “Where is he now?” “By night he weaves grass into fishnets. By day he wades off the beach catching fish. He still daydreams.” “While you’re the one who became the great warrior?” “Great warrior?” Pher shook her head. “I’ve spent years learning how to wave a stick while seducing an audience at the same time. Suppose I had a stick in my right hand, and a cricket phaser set to wide angle stun in my left. Which hand would be the more dangerous?” “There’s that. Still, pain sticks are much more entertaining for the audience. They trigger a lot more dust.” Pher made a face. “I used to tell him that if I ever found the Qob, forget courage and honor, I’d just seduce the captain.”

"Audrey? I need to talk to Joe, scrambled please." "Joe, I'm as likely as not with you. Plan B might be to get the reasonable people of Capricorn then blow up Capricorn. Right now Maxwell and Holstrom are having a nice firefight, and may both sides be deadly. Still, I've got Alex to gather Verbistul crew, Taj to gather Capricorn crew, so it seems possible to build up a numbers advantage that would make even Holstrom think. "So, before we abandon Capriocrn, could you give me a chance to see what sort of numbers I can get, and see if I can talk sense into Maxwell and Holstrom? Well, 'talk sense' might not be the right approach. If I have numbers, I'll talk hardball. If I don't, I'll have everyone take to the pods. "Whatcha think, Joe?" "I think no one's headed for the pods," Joe answered, "except folks who ain't doin' anyone any good over there. That means all the battle casualties they've got in their cargo bay. More important, our own crew had a chance to hear my voice -- we've already got Doctor Soora back on board. "I'm on board with your plan. If we can save Capricorn, that's grand. I'm sure the people who are thinkin' the same thing are keepin' away from the lifepods. And if they're fightin' over engineering? Well, I may have just planted a seed or two of doubt in some of their minds. That gives you a fine window of opportunity. You'd best seize it before it closes. Remember, Pher -- your Captain's always watchin' out for you ... "

About to board the shuttle, Pher gestured for Troy and Byblos to go ahead, then turned to the Verbistul security chief. “Alex? I’ll still welcome you on this jaunt if you are so inclined, but I’m having second thoughts. If the explosions are as bad as Joe and Simmons are saying, there will soon be a bunch of life pods that will have to be tractored in. Some of them are likely to be full of armed bad guys, others full of injured. You might want to decide which pods should be brought in first, who gets disarmed, who gets locked up, and who gets copies of the Gold 7 files. Remember what Troy and Byblos did coming off the shuttle, and you might not want to let it happen again. “Joe wants me got get the Qob people off Capricorn. I’m intending to tell my people to hit the life pods, and tractor them to the Qob. After that, I hope to be at your service. I’d like to keep Troy and Byblos for a while. We might end up boarding Capricorn, but at the moment I’m hoping to avoid it. I'd rather put an end to this one life pod at a time.” Byblos spoke. "Pher, last time I flew this thing I nearly crashed it. I'm not a pilot, and I don't believe Troy here is either." He glanced at Troy. "Oh and the pilot seat is missing. But one can sit on the floorboard and pilot the shuttle, but I suggest yourself or Alex." Pher tried not to groan. She was damn good with a surfboard, sailboard, underwater jet rigs, and all sorts of small water craft. Shuttles were not the same. Still, she'd be OK if there was no need for anything fast or fancy, and if she could convince her hands that vacuum gave a lot less resistance than salt water. Alex looked almost frantic as she glanced between Byblos, Troy and Pher. "Wait, wait. Va! I'm gettin' jykin' benched again?" she directed at Pher. She didn't give Pher the chance to answer; no doubt Pher wouldn't understand what she'd meant by again. The one consolation was Byblos's suggestion that she pilot the shuttle. But her anger had her blinded, convinced that Pher was intentionally acting against her and there was no way around Pher's 'second thoughts'. "Fine," she growled and then whipped around on her heel. She threw up her hands, muttering a linguistically rich string of curses as she left the shuttle bay. Pher didn't quite laugh. "Not benching her," she muttered for Troy and Byblos's consumption, while heading up towards the pilot's seat, or lack thereof. "She's playing goaltender, and I'm about to send as much trouble as possible right at her. Hope she figures this out. We're running out of starships." "And people," Byblos observed as Alex left the shuttle. "I think we could of used her gun on Capricorn sir. But I've got your back. Only wish I had a blade or another rifle to make up for our numbers." Byblos looked at Troy then back to Pher placing his phaser rifle on stun. "Ready." "Good nuff," responded Pher, "but if I had another blade or rifle, I'd keep it for myself. Right now I've got no weapons but sweet talk, which is what I intend to use. If we have to board Capricorn, I intend to visit Qob first and grab the girlie gun and a spare pain stick, and get you a blade. Still, Plan A is to get folks into life pods and control the movement of life pods. I want this shuttle to wield the decisive puny little tractor beam that decides this mess. The three of us on Capricorn would be in an uphill fight. We'd just make more trouble on a ship that doesn't need more trouble just now. This ugliness has got to stop, and it won't stop if everyone's first thought is to draw weapons and charge, while their second thought is to blow up some vital part of one ship or another. Objective one is Qob people off Capricorn. Objective two is Capricorn people off Qob. Poor Alex is bored. I want to give her all the excitement I can, and hope she doesn't get our one intact starship too badly damaged." She glanced back at the others. "Are you two with me?"

Federation ships were supposedly built for five year exploration missions. They had a reputation for wasting space on the sort of luxuries that made their people soft. Capricorn had been in the hands of raiders for long enough that the remnants of the luxuries were rather worn. Still, Pher and Byblos managed to find a rather worse for wear ‘lounge’ with a view. If it was nothing compared to New Risa’s tourist accommodations, it was still far ahead of what they were used to on the Qob. “Byblos? Feeling better?” Pher asked. “Much thank you Pher. We Nausicaans do have some personal pride.” “A fine thing, pride. I might have to experiment with it some time.” “Well, I mean. Most everyone thinks Nausicaans are savages.” Byblos looked about for a chair, and not finding one large enough for his frame, leaned against the wall. “I guess I haven't helped that stereotype.” Pher snorted. “I know about racial stereotypes. Our males are expected to be pirates or gangsters. Our ladies are expected to be sluts. There's enough truth in it not to like it, but…” Pher shook her head. “I guess I'm not doing any better than expected.” “I don't understand,” Byblos replied, leaning his head to one side. “No? I grew up as… well…” She considered. “The polite phrase is 'sex industry professional.' Hardly anyone uses the polite phrase, and there are so many less polite ones.” “Yet," the Nausicaan paused, "you are not the most petite Orion female I have met. You are taller than most. Stronger.” “True.” “Listen if you don't want to talk about that aspect of your life I understand. Well, sort of.” Pher considered accepting the offered out, but he wouldn’t understand her without understanding her past. “I guess I don't want to go into details, no. Still. I do understand that belonging to one species or another means you carry baggage.” She smirked. “At least we don't have to be logical all the time, and only come into heat every seven years.” She faked a mock shudder. “How do they stand it?” “Hmm, Nausicaan women are very," He had to think of the word, "Homeloving." You don't see them off world. It's a Culture thing, I'll explain that to you when we are in a non-combat zone, it takes some time. Ah, but you wanted to talk about something else.” “Just… Are you still comfortable working security? We've had a really bad breakdown in the chain of command. I'm not liking it. It's not going to go away. Do you feel you can handle it?” “Okay, the boss assigned Troy to command the mission to Capricorn. That threw me a bit because It seemed more your expertise. But the Boss..being the Boss I felt I had to comply. Did it work?” He gestured with his hands in a way to make the question rhetorical. “No. I'd rather answer to you than..a scientist.” He scratched the back of his clean hair. “I'd have preferred to work with you myself,” Pher answered with sincerity. “Troy… is something of a wild man. He might be a scientist in name, but he will meddle in security often enough. He has some very useful security skills. I'd like to be able to point him in a general direction and duck behind cover. Thing is, I was needed down on the planet. With two missions being run at the same time, security personnel had to split. It's going to happen again, I'm afraid.” “Yes. Most likely. What surprises me is given our lack of crew we would do that, something my former boss on Tranquility never did.” “Heck, when I went down to the planet, no one knew Capricorn was going to show up. It's not that it was planned. Did things go to plan in your old gang?” Pher sounded a bit dubious. One strove to act to plan, but the universe was not always cooperative. “Good for a while,” he responded, “until some "Brain" like Troy dropped into our city and fixed the Guardians' equipment. Basically if the Guardians showed up unexpectedly, we could run on our bikes. This human Pet`aQ shows up, gives them them the ability to chase us, everything went downhill. He turned their speeders into racing vehicles; and they had a Guardian who us ODRIs, like yours... in a way I never thought a Guardian would.” He growled, showing his opinion of brains and guardians. “Finally killed that jykin' Guardian in an OP, but by then it was too late. The Cycle Gang had been basically overrun.” “Yah. Even if it hadn't been, there are always too many Guardians. Some things can't be taken head on.” “What can a Nausicaan do if he is instantly declared a criminal even if he's just drinking bloodwine? Nausicaans were profiled. There were not many of us on Tranquility to begin with; maybe a couple of thousand. I imagine you know what that term means from Risa, to be Profiled? ” “Well, we weren't profiled. Or perhaps we were. We were raised with one profession in mind, and not given much in the way of alternative life choices.” Byblos had to ask.“But your clients, were they not "profiled" aggressive, criminal, gentle, cheap or greedy?” “Yes and no.” Pher considered briefly. “They were generally aggressive, criminal, greedy, overbearing, used to getting their way. You see, they could afford to go on interstellar vacations. We got to know these real 'quality' people. the people that live on the top of the towers, who own the banks, who tell the Guardians where to go and what to do. We got to know em up close and personal. Not nice people, a lot of em. But we gave em what they wanted, so we got to play at living their life style.” Byblos considered that for a moment with his hand on his chin, thinking what has Pher been through. He thought he had it rough. “But someone must of… protected you from… known... or presumed Pe`taQs.” “Some protected me.” Pher considered. “I did eventually got off the world. A lot of the tourists were the Pe'taQs, but not all of them. There were security goons too, that in theory provided protection, but their job was to keep the customers happy. They figured that the best way to assure we kept the customer happy was to make us unhappy if we didn’t, and they looked for any excuse to sample the merchandise. We girls found it best to solve any problems without involving the goons, but rule one was still to make the customer happy.” Rule two, assuming rule one was unacceptable, was to make it look like an accident, but even this far from New Risa, that was best not mentioned. “Listen, Byblos said. “If the boss ever puts you in a spot where he wants you to…” He thought it best left unsaid. “I'll object. Of course, that would be the end of my job too.” Pher smiled sadly. “Not to worry. I think I was made to enjoy my work, or maybe all Orions are like me, or… I don't know. Even Orion Animal Women look down at New Risan lifeguards as being a lower class of slut. Anyway, I need more than any one male can give me. My problem with Joe isn't that he forces himself on me, but the opposite. The Qob is a ship of prudes." “Uh... Prudes? Where is the Feddie UT when you need one?” “Prudes.” Pher mocked the stereotypical Fed science officer talking down to the unwashed. “When a highly passionate over sexed female is overwhelmed by desire, a prude is one who isn't willing to risk getting addicted to her pheromones just so she feels better.” She paused. “Do you need a definition of slut?” Then she thought better of it. “Sorry.” “There are no sluts on this crew. Wait-” He paused. “Are you saying you need certain...attention? Other than what the XO Provides?” “He…” Pher considered. “We need each other, but he got himself overdosed by Redera. I have to keep cutting back or he will have the same sort of problems many recreational drug users have. I would… Well.” How should she phrase this? “The short answer is yes. I'm not sure 'need' is the right word. I can survive. I just… Maybe need is the right word.” “Well, I could certainly arrange for that need…” Byblos stepped a little closer to Pher. “Problem is, I have not been in the best...what would a lady say?” “I'm not sure I can answer that,” Pher replied, stepping into Byblos in response. “We never had ladies on New Risa.” “But, there had been on Risa, shall I say cleanliness?” “Water we had,” Pher replied. “Water was one thing that was always there in abundance. It was land we were short on.” “Space is dry ,cold and harsh. Being with a crew full of scum would, I imagine make it worse. Pher you are smart and strong. I respect that, I also respect you, as well as I have certain needs sometimes.” He came closer still. “But,” he put a hand up close to Pher, “only if you wish. Not on my insistence. You are better than that.” He stepped back. “Besides you can kill me quite easily I suppose if 'things' were not up to your specifications.” Pher blinked. “Not to worry. I slept with a lot of Pe'taQs, and never felt an uge to kill them.” This wasn’t precisely true, but if the Sisterhood killed every tourist guilty of really bad sex, it would have wrecked the New Risan economy. “I might not have the sort of stink one can wash away in a shower, but I know I can't judge.” Pher smiled, relaxed the hold she kept on her emotions, stepped close to Byblos, and let little dust fly. Audrey chimed. No one was pleased. “Oh dear, “ Pher said, after a glance at Audrey’s screen. “Time to plot and plan.” “Agreed.” Byblos unaffected from any dust Pher used, reached towards his backsheath. “Oh by the way my sword is gone. Got that rifle?” “Aye. So I do,” she replied, returning it. She’d have to see about arming herself later. Byblos would need a weapon. For a while longer, Pher felt more comfortable not seeming to be a threat. “You'll stay by me?” “I have your back,” he replied with a wink. “Let's fix this mess.”

“Alex? Troy? Everybody? Listen up. I think we just talked ourselves out of the initiative. Maxwell has just taken his toys and gone away. Capricorn is hurting, but Verbistul hasn’t the guns to chase. I think there are things we have to do before we go another round of talking, and nobody can afford another round of shooting. If you’ll allow, I’ll try to lay it out. “I’d like every passive scanner you’ve got on Capricorn. She’s hurt. She ought to be leaving fine ion and warp trails. Take every reading you can that might help us chase her at some future date, but I think there are other things to be done first. “Alex? Maxwell took somebody from the brig? We might want to find out who, and make sure he locked the brig door before he left. “I think Qob is in a low orbit that might be turning into a hot orbit. I’d like to render due assistance, which might involve getting close enough for a tractor beam. Problem? I suspect Joe is going to be rightfully ticked at Maxwell, which means he might be not so rightfully ticked at anyone or everyone associated with Verbistul. You might want to let me do the talking. You all might want to pretend you don’t like Maxwell either, which ought not to be too difficult at this point. “Maxwell promised to retrieve Ethan. I believe that promise has just slipped his mind. Without Capricorn’s transporters, this might force a shuttle ride to the surface, and I expect the surface will be quite unfriendly just now. We also don’t have that many people who’ve been down there. Problem? Ethan is running some sort of private agenda. If he's in trouble, and he is late on his pick up call, any relief team will be flirting with trouble too, and he hasn't been exactly forthcoming with what he's up against. If anyone here knows his plans, and is withholding information that would be helpful is saving his rear end at minimum risk to the rescuers, now might be the time to speak up. “Troy. You’re Qob’s science god. I will defer thoroughly to you on issues involving science. I’m security god. For a while, I’d like you to try deferring to me on issues involving security. Our approaches to security are… somewhat different. I can’t do a thing with you ad-libbing off on dangerous tangents and changing course every thirty seconds. I’d like to get the Qob and Verbistul crew working together. You like explosions, shooting, lies, confusion, threats and bluffs. For now, could you just cut it out? We are Verbistul’s guests. You’re making our hosts nervous. I’d like to establish that there are no bombs, no dead man switches, that while you don’t like Maxwell you have no problems with the people in this room, and that you can act peaceful and cooperative without being disarmed, cuffed, and thrown in a cell. “Byblos, you too. Our enemies aren’t on this ship. Stand down, and I’ll try to get you a bath and change of clothes. “Unless I missed something, let’s form teams for each project and get about it?”

(While others have been doing stories revealing the background of their characters, I’ve been hoping to slowly dribble out Pher’s background in play. Alas, the action has been a bit rapid paced. Finding time for talk about the past has been hard. Thus, a brief conversation that took place on Pher’s home planet of New Risa not too long before she left for Tranquility.) “Was that... really required? My employer is another Orion, and I don’t think she’ll be pleased if I come back from New Risa with my nose permanently swinging towards her crotch.” “You have some mysterious secret to talk about, right? You’ve got to maintain your cover. Right after your first close up encounter with a real Animal Woman, you should have this real happy dizzy dusted look on your face. That’s been taken care of. Simple.” “And I had to buy you a present?” “I’m the ‘it’ girl this month. You’re OK, but you’re not all that pretty a fellow. If this is supposed to be some sort of clandestine charade, you have to make it believable.” “You have expensive tastes. I’m on a budget.” “If you’re trying to pass as a typical New Risan tourist, remember, budgets are for little people. You yourself don’t do budgets.” “Sorry, Pher, but I was hired by a progenitor, and she did give me a budget. Not your progenitor, but the progenitor of another New Risan… What is the polite word?” “Lifeguard. We Orions on New Risa tend to work as lifeguards.” “Ah, yes. Lifeguards.” “How certain are you of the cloning? We know the same faces and bodies keep showing up from generation to generation, and that there are new faces that show up from time to time. We’ve been pretty sure they’ve been cloning, but we haven’t had solid proof, or reliably identified DNA sources.” “The advertising claims you have the most exotic and beautiful women in the galaxy here.” “And addictive.” “That too. Well, a friend of my client spent more than one night with both my client and one particular and very familiar looking lifeguard. He thought it ought to be looked into.” “I’ll bet he did more than just look.” “No bet. Well, both ladies have unusually intense duck like blue eyes, sway their respective hips like ducks, both have very similar duck like walks, and the DNA signature taken from a pheromone sample I took a few days ago…” “Duck?” “Definitely a duck.” “And how do you expect Mama Duck to respond to this news?” “When she gets confirmation on this, she is going to be one angry duck. I’ll add that she too is an ‘it’ girl, and she doesn’t have any need to sell herself for baubles.” “Are you looking for other progenitor lifeguard pairs?” “That’s part of why I’m here, yes. I’ve been quietly taking pictures, taking dust samples, and we intend a Federation wide facial recognition search. Won’t be easy. Mama duck doesn’t have the slightest clue how the DNA sample was taken. Could be as simple as buying a girl a drink, then palming the glass.” “And just why did you want to talk to me?” “There are stories about something called the Sisterhood, that the… lifeguards have some sort of underground. If one treats a lifeguard too poorly, one has an accident. Security supposedly doesn’t run the place, the lifeguards supposedly quietly police themselves. Every once in the while, out of no where, a lifeguard appears wielding a magic pain stick and righting all the wrongs in the world.” “I hope you don’t believe the stories.” “I was told you’d know all the stories, that you were the ‘it’ girl.” “I don’t have a magic pain stick.” “But you are undefeated?” “Surely, you’ve heard that the arenas have been shut down?” “Yep. You hear that all the time, but it still isn’t hard to learn the odds for the next fight. People all over New Risa are willing to take a tourist’s latinum.” “Fine. What do you want me to do with my special enchanted pain stick? Slay some monstrous beastie so you can rescue Baby Duck?” “Mama wants to tear it all down. The idea of sex slavery is unacceptable in the Federation Core, especially if one’s twin daughter is involved.” “Sex slavery? You gave me a gift of your own free will. I spontaneously showed gratitude.” “Spare me the manure.” “I’m no lawyer, but I know the suits have got em. I also know that this set up was going strong before the Federation left. Prime Directive. Can’t interfere with local customs. Official Federation representatives could look at anything they liked, including the ladies, and it was mostly the ladies they inspected, but somehow things worked backwards. The Fed visitors received gifts instead of giving em. Mama Duck might quack loud and often, but she isn’t going to get Starfleet enforcing the Guarantees out here in Bull’s Head. At least here on New Risa, they never did.” “These stories about the Sisterhood... Are any of them about an upcoming revolution?” “Not to speak of. Most of the stories are about maintaining the Delusion.” “The delusion?” “You’ve seen Evenstar Bay. Lifeguards walk the same beach as the tourists, share the same feasts, play with the same toys, wear elegant gift clothing that would envied by women on many worlds, and we even get to share the same well cushioned beds as the tourists. The difference is that the poor overworked tourists can only afford to stay a short while, while we lucky lifeguards can stay here in paradise forever.” “Does it matter, when you are equitably sharing these all so soft and welcoming beds, who is on top?” “I am not sure you could understand just how much it matters. Mama Duck will. The addictive races, the species with reputations among those who don’t know better for being ever so desirable sluts, are usually deep down in their DNA, romantics. We bond for life. Orion and Deltan pheromones, Elysian tears, the projecting empaths... Male and female are supposed to become One. The First Energy Being owes each and every one of us Prince Charming. If he didn’t arrive on the last starship, he surely has to be on the next one? Surely, the First Energy Being didn’t intend us to let go of our life mate every few days to prevent him from becoming addicted to a highly dangerous recreational drug?” “And this delusion is…” “We are all having fun in paradise. Those who can walk on golden sands with their life mate of the day while smiling get to hang on to the Delusion. There are just so many lifeguard jobs on this side of the island. On the other side of the island, one dances in cages, with tiny little fans distributing dust. Then there used to be these arenas. The fights were on the other side of the island. The Sisterhood? We try to give everyone who deserves it their best possible chance to stay on this side of the island.” “And there are no stories of the Sisterhood and revolution?” “Not to speak of. Look. I get that Mama Duck is going to be pissed. I get that you’re sincere. One of our empaths tasted your sincere, tasted your pissed, and it tasted good. We just can’t afford a Mama Duck who is feeling pissed and acting pissed. Just to hang on to the Delusion is a tightrope act. One mistake and you’re dancing in a cage. I want more friends than enemies, as do my sisters, but it somehow seems that one ends up with too many friends that act an awful lot like enemies. I also want to be owed more favors than I owe, but the people who can really do you a real favor are people you wouldn’t want anything to do with. I want to stand by friends who stand by their friends, but the males around here have odd ideas of friendship. I don’t want to be standing next to an idiot who thinks she can get justice at gunpoint without drawing a heck of a lot of return fire. Naive do-gooders are an endangered species around here. I just don’t want to be standing next to someone with a gun who is too pissed to think of consequences before drawing it. If Mama Bear has just figured out she has a long lost twin sister in hell, I’m the one trying to pretend I’m running hell as a favor for my close companion, the devil. I’ve been trying to keep her sister out of the deepest part of the fire, but I can’t afford pissed off ‘helpers’ who are too angry to think straight.” “Forget about a revolution?” “I can’t afford to talk about revolution. Look. Even if we could topple the suits, the New Risa economy is dependent on the tourist trade. Topple the resorts and cash flow problems would make the Delusion feel good in comparison. You also can’t just target the suits. The tourists would want to play too. They are rich, connected, selfish bastards, and won’t want to lose a favorite playground. Mama Duck should forget about dabbling in violence and invest in marine agriculture.” “Marine agriculture? Any particular company you’d recommend?” “Do your research. Not many companies work in Bull’s Head. There is one in particular that has a practical attitude, though. They’ve figured out that mermaid farmers will need protection from sharks. They’re working on some interesting stuff.” “I’ll look into it. Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.”

Pher glanced briefly at her console on Capricorn's bridge, then spoke to the others in a tense tone. “Small arms fire on Verbistul. Multiple shots. Settings look lethal. Shuttle bay.” She hesitated. “Troy… Our science guy. Usually low key, but he’s got a type Bull’s Head personality. Doesn’t like to be disarmed or issued orders at gunpoint. Doesn’t trust a lot of strangers unless he’s got em at gunpoint. Shane was also like that. The two of them were supposed to be securing Capricorn for Joe, about the same mission as you gave Alex. They decided they need computer trojans to keep the Capricorn people in line. Unfortunately, Ford was also a type Bull, objected to being covered by trojans, which triggered a lot of the violence. Alex, Taj and I took Ford and Shane out of play, but not Troy. Alas your dislike of armed strangers and need to coerce them at gunpoint is apt to set type Bulls off. I can try to talk them down, but they are taking stupid risks right now, and likely won’t want to stop and negotiate until they can negotiate from strength. At that point, more people will be dead and more equipment damaged. I’m guessing we’ll have to disarm them, and issue them orders at gunpoint.” She tried not to lay the irony on too thick. She paused again. “I wouldn’t have thought Troy would have gone lethal, though. At a guess, he’s got Byblos with him. Byblos… is your classic type bull in a china shop. He’s great if you point him in the right direction and don’t mind some collateral damage.” She decided it wouldn’t be necessary to list any of his hypothetical flaws. "You lied," Alex spat out, running on half-cocked instinct. "You knew Byblos was in that shuttle. You were covering for them!" She whipped her attention to Maxwell, demanding: "She's not gonna give up her guys! How can you trust her if she's lying to you?!" Pher turned first to Alex. "Look, I warned you Troy was likely free lancing. I thought Max had given the right orders. I assumed your people were better than they turned out to be. I did not know where Byblos was, though I should have guessed given 20 20 hindsight." She then turned to Maxwell. "But Alex has caught the bug too. She won't trust a stranger except at gunpoint, and won't be happy if she is held at gunpoint. Even when we were clearly working for the same objective, working against the same list of bad guys, she wanted to shoot em, while I wanted to talk em down." Pher shook her head. "Alex may be the best person you've got if you want to end the killing and destruction, but she's no good. She'd rather join the rampage than stop it. Look at her, frothing at the mouth, spitting poison. Could be it can't be stopped at this point, that too many idiots are too mad at too many other idiots. I'll tell you though, that if you can only command at the point of a gun, you might as well lock me up too. I won't be able to help you." "Both of you be silent," Maxwell snapped. Small beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow. He turned to look at Lazarus, patiently waiting behind him with his blood red eyes dancing slowly between Pher and Alex. "Verbistul has been locked down," the engineer announced, his eyes fixing on Maxwell. "Bulkheads are sealing around the intruders and the shuttle bay is closing ... though with our weapons very close to being restored, escaping via shuttle would not be a wise course for them. "Unfortunately, Verbistul just lost four security guards, more are here on Capricorn, and one was lost on Qob. That leaves Verbistul fairly depleted of security." Maxwell returned his gaze to Pher. "I don't care how good this Byblos is. That was a team of security guards well-trained by Xorax colony and they were overcome with seeming ease despite being alert and prepared. Your two friends are working with an advantage here. If you want to earn my trust in you, I suggest you find out what that advantage is." Cut off by Maxwell -- perhaps prudently and just in the nick of time -- Alex steadily glared at Pher, waiting to see what the Orion would do next. The only person she currently had a problem with was Pher; and there were plenty of 'poisonous' words she wanted to 'spit', as Pher would say. But they were left to boil behind seething eyes as she obediently and just barely choked them back; though it was not solely out of consideration for Captain Maxwell that she did. At least she could take some satisfaction in knowing that despite the loss of four men, the Verbistul would not be easily overcome by Pher's friends, and the corner of her mouth hinted at a crooked smile. Pher briefly considered. "First… you should care about Byblos. He's Narciscian. Grew up in mean streets. Became head of a criminal gang the hard way. Had it taken away by the Guardians, the hard way. From a scientist's perspective, uneducated, ignorant, brash, out of control. From the perspective of one of your 'trained men,' he's been there, done that, and taken the enemy's head. Did any of you figure out what happened to the Capricorn pirate leader's head? Alex, how many of Ford's 'trained men' did Shane take out when he escaped his ad-lib prison? Byblos is just about as good as Shane. Joe needed dangerous people, and couldn't afford sane dangerous people. Anyway, last time Qob people took Vestibule, Byblos was point man into the engineering spaces." Pher figured there was no point in identifying the point woman. "Troy… he may not be Qob's best hacker, but he's good. Last time Qob took Verbistul, he was our intelligence guy, putting together floor plans, tracing routes through jeffries tubes, opening doors, figuring out what the pirates were doing. He too, in a more specific sense, has been there and done that. You are likely correct, Captain. He'll be looking for an advantage, same as the Capricorn pirates looked for the advantage. Get to the warp core, threaten an antimatter explosion? Visit the impulse engines, and promise a fusion explosion? Blow open the warp cooling system, and flood the ship with poison gas? Blow the computer core, and turn the ship into a inert lump? Tinker with the inertial compensaters, create a 500 G gravity field, and turn everyone on the ship into thin red paste? Heck, if he makes it to a cleaning closet, he can mix ammonia cleaners and bleach. If he's playing by the same set of rules everyone else is playing by, which is to say no rules at all, I don't know that you have enough people to secure everything you need to secure without stripping everyone you've got from Capricorn and inviting trouble here. Rather than disperse all over the Vestibule securing everything you need to secure, and being weak everywhere, you'd likely be better off going on the offensive, putting your 'trained men' against Byblos head on. "Or cut your losses, captain. Yield Troy temporary control of Vestibule under the condition that he take her back to her home port, immediately. Capricorn is a valuable prize. The crews of Lucky Hand and Qob did their share of the work in helping take this prize. Offer the traditional crew's prize share to the survivors of the Hand and Qob if neither Capricorn or Verbistul take further damage. There aren't many of us. It's a small loss. You are risking far more. "Or, you can roll the dice. I don't recommend it." "Your recommendation is based on two very critical misassumptions -- " Maxwell locked a hard stare on the Orion. "That I will just be sending 'trained men,' and that Capricorn is, in fact, the prize." He looked at his security chief. "Alex, I want you aboard the Verbistul leading the remaining security personnel there. I want these two intruders contained, even if it means shutting down systems that they could compromise. Once we have them bottled in, at least for some time, then we will take steps to convince or coerce them to stand down. Perhaps a deal of some sort would not be out of the question, but presently I doubt their willingness to listen. "You," he continued, looking again at Pher. "Will join her. I'd say the odds of Byblos putting up an uncontrolled resistance or Troy delivering widespread damage diminish drastically if they know that your life is on the line. You say you are committed to peaceful resolutions -- now is a good time to prove it by talking them down in person." “Do I look like that pink skin yellow haired human princess that can spin straw into gold?” Pher asked. “Starships are dangerous fragile places. If you don’t put an everyone wins deal on the table, everyone loses. If you don’t like my everyone wins deal, come up with another one. Think on what’s been happening since the Capricorn showed up, and call me if you come to your senses.”

“That drone’s different,” Ethan observed casually and left it to take the conversation where it would. "No kidding," responded Pher. "We might have three drone groups. First the gardeners. I'd keep away from them, but they aren't a big concern. "The second I'll call the soldiers Five of them in the recent encounter. They use lethal force, have poor sensors, and seem programmed to defend territory, purge animal life, or something to that effect. I don't think sensors could detect low powered or passive stuff at any range at all, but still think it prudent to power down when they are nearby. "The third I'll call the science group. Three of them in the recent encounter. Some of them have advanced sensors which are fairly easy to spot. They picked up Audrey's brief scans for life forms from respectable distance. They also tried for a stun and capture. Not lethal. They want to learn stuff. They might even want to communicate. I am intrigued. However interesting they might be though, they are still a pain. "I'm not thrilled by experiments based on turning on stuff and seeing if we get shot at. I am less thrilled if such experiments take place far away from the shuttle. If things go wrong, I don't want to have to hump farther than we have to to get clear. If we must bait the targ, let's do it smart. Still, if anyone has a good reason to briefly power up low power passive stuff, and no drones are in the area, we might talk about it. "On the other hand, by accident, we might have stumbled on a way to win a fight. We could try a clever plan. Flash on something low powered to draw in a sensor drone. Concentrate fire on the sensor arm of any modified drone. Power down and let the science and soldier drones argue with each other. I figure this is a fine and dandy plan, which ought to last as long as any plan ever does, which is until first contact with the enemy. I'm not looking to deliberately bait the targ, but if any of you are eager to power up stuff and draw in trouble, I'd suggest targeting the sensor arm of the funky guys then powering down. We aren't going to win a straight up fight, but we might be able to take out the only real threat. "Me? I'd like two things at this point. I'd like enough writing for the universal translators to chew and digest. Sal? You've been saying most languages have so many sounds, and follow such and such a pattern. I'm starting to think this isn't 'most languages' or the universal translators would have spotted the patterns by now. Anyway, I'd like enough written material back in the shuttle, and the shuttle far enough away that we can let the computers chew on what we got. "I'd also like somebody to take this modified arm apart. I want to know what their sensors can do. Again, back in the shuttle, or perhaps back up in a big ship, and let's do it right. "Maybe a third thing. I'd also like to build some experiments with timers. If we are going to turn stuff on to see if it gets shot up, I'd like to build some disposable stuff designed to be blown up with no tears being shed. We didn't bring enough people down that anyone can be regarded as expendable. Again, this implies back to shuttle or ship and geeks spending some time in the lab. "If anyone else wants to propose things to be done before the first phase one exploration is over, I'd like to hear it. At this point, I don't know that we should be thinking in terms of random fishing for whatever we stumble on. I'd like a short list of meaningful objectives, then we go topside to get ready for the second trip." She looked about for further comment.

It's center is on Harry Potter, but Time wrote an article on fan fiction (time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,2081784,00.html) that might be worth reading. In this telling, Star Trek and The Man from Uncle had large roles in starting the art.

Pher settled down next to Chris, comfortably, meeting his eyes but not exactly in a 'time for an addiction treatment' way. She spoke, not particularly quietly, and with a glance around to the others that invited them to join in the talk. "Luv? Tried to talk to Joe about plans. Wasn't interested. This is your show, not mine, but I'd like to make sure we're on the same planet. "First, we're not going to win a war of attrition. The bots have us outnumbered and out gunned. Still, they were programmed by biologicals. It may be that they won't kill biologicals unless they have to. I'm just guessing, but it's consistent with how the air defenses are reacting. "So, I'd like to push for rules of engagement… Don't fire unless fired upon. If threatened give ground. Do nothing to provoke the bots. Minimize energy signatures. Passive scanning, not active. Communications silence. If we are fired upon, if we're forced to fight and win the first round, I'd like to retreat immediately to the shuttle and get out of the area fast. "Second, let's talk landing location. First landing, I'd like to be way away from major settlements. I'd like an isolated village or residence. There should be fewer sensors, less weaponry. Might be nothing the machines are programmed to defend. Heck, we're trying an amphibious submerged landing without proper equipment or training. I'm half mermaid, but most of us aren't, and even I'm out of training for long dives. First trip to the beach, I want a practice run, not under fire. Second landing, maybe we want to be within walking distance of a major site, but let's see what we learn way out first? "Is this right?"

Joe New Risa, we had two sorts a sharks. One type walked on two legs and we went for their money. The other had fins and teeth, and came after us. I'd like to talk a bit about how we handled the type with fins. We had three defensive zones. If they were way out, we hadn't the sensor range or weapons to touch em, and we didn't much care. If they started getting close, we'd let em know we knew, tried to scare em off with loud fishy noises. Most of em would get the message and run. The ones who were too stupid or too hungry to swim away… we played harpoon tag. Point is, the robots down there seem to have the same sort of zone defense. Far enough out, they leave us alone. Get close, they rattle their guns. Get real close… zap. I think we can get on land. I think we can sneak in close on foot, maybe get to the inner lethal zone. Problem is, if we are really cool and manage to sneak into the zone where they shoot at stuff, a slip would be unhealthy. The other question is how they tell a bad guy from local animal life. Might be that if we don't shoot em, or if we don't carry tech stuff, or if we don't mess with certain locations, maybe we don't get shot. Alas, I can't tell you how their no shoot rules are programmed. I'm not really eager to find out the hard way. Might not be fun. I'd also suggest that there are lots of ways things could get ugly if we guess wrong. Heavy guns might get us in trouble, but if we get in trouble without having heavy guns we're really in trouble. Anyway, I'd like to launch one more probe to circle all the major continents. We've got a bunch of places we might want to visit. Any time we see active sensors and turrets popping up, we'd increase the range in order to keep the probe flying. It might be worth it to find out where the middle zones end. Do all the areas with major ruins have still working defenses? Are there gaps between the major settlements where we can land without their sensors going active and the turrets popping out? Are there minor settlements in these gaps that are worth looking at before we push the submarine games? I'm also wishing I had a surfboard, kite and/or war canoe. Might be that if we show no power we won't be shot at so much. Big risk. Not eager to play that game. I'd like to know what you think, though. Pher

"Sometimes there are reasons to be secretive,” said Pher, speaking of the Bynar, “though I have a feeling they keep to themselves for their own sake. But the same might be said of a lot of folk…” She paused, looking at ‘Selek’. “My next question. Is your trouble back on Tranquility apt to reach out this far? Shouldn't have to worry about anything till we get back to civilization?" Ethan answered frankly. "As long as no one's tipped them off; but," his brow lifted and he inclined his head, "there's a small chance they'll get out this far if they know." "Hmmm…. Would you care to elaborate on that?" He gaze on her narrowed as he considered it and then he flatly smiled. "I don't think that's in my best interest right now." "Uh huh…” Pher looked dubious. “I can sort of understand that. It's just that it leaves me speculating in odd directions. Do 'they' want you badly enough to send starships after you… which would be pretty badly indeed. Or, do they want something else out here, which opens all sorts of possibilities. I've got enough secrets of my own that I can't twist you too much, but if things start showing up that put the contract at risk, might you speak up?" He stood from the bunk and walked to his duffle, stuffing the book that lay on top back inside. "The answer is: they want both. But if they show up, I'll give myself up before they put you at risk." Pher considered that too, not looking pleased. Still he was the customer, not crew. "But this remains unlikely, right?" "Let's hope so," said Ethan. "I guess I can let it stand at that. Don't know that I like it." "Neither do I." He smiled again; he seemed to do that a lot more than his personality implied he would. He was hard to read at first, but with enough time to study his expressions, the more subtle nuances became apparent that could open the whole world of his thoughts for plain view. At the moment he was subconsciously wondering how long an Orion and a human male could platonically stay in the same room for any given amount of time. "So how's your first mate?" He grimaced slightly and demonstratively gestured at his own head. "He looked a bit under the weather earlier." "If that's all he appears to be, Soora and I are doing much better than we have a right to expect." She hesitated. "Have you caught any rumors of recent history at all?" "Only that he might've had a bit too much female attention at one point," he replied. "A healthy understatement, or an unhealthy understatement. Not so long ago, he was kidnapped by a Deltan who had no good intentions or compunctions at all. You know much about pheromone addiction?" His brow had shown surprise as she explained. "I know a bit about it," he replied. He intentionally neglected to mention that he used to undergo inoculations against it until four years ago. "Well, Chris was no accident. It wasn't a case of him being a bit sensitive, or her being a bit careless. She wanted to use him, and did to the point of trying to break his will with her dust. He needs some careful care. Soora and I, in very different ways, are trying to pull him through it. It isn't easy. Won't be. Can't be." "But it sounds like he has some good friends to help him through it," he encouraged. "I know enough about pheromones to know that I'd rather have a clear mind in any situation." "Think so? I'd have though playing Vulcan ought to have cured you of that." He smiled again and was apparently amused. "Don't have to pretend to be Vulcan to appreciate being able to think for yourself without external influences." "Ah, but all females are external influences. You think it matters a lot whether someone blows in your ear or lets dust float some? The reactions inside are the same. The attraction to the source of the feelings is the same. It's just whether one is strong enough to want to ride it, if one can ride it without losing one's self, if one wants to lose one's self." A frown crossed his face. "Maybe," he remarked somewhat remorsefully. He stared at her and seemed to lose himself for a moment; then he shook the feeling away. "But given there are vaccinations available for certain pheromones, someone obviously thinks people like me will unwillingly lose themselves." "Well, yes. Thing is, you catch someone that way, they aren’t worth keeping. The way you ran from the group when we first met, I kind of thought you were heading for a cold shower. I've been trying to be careful since." "Thanks," he said with a dull smile. "Did break my concentration a bit." It flashed again through his eyes; that sense of deep remorse. "Of course, if you don't want me to be quite so careful…" There was a sort of sound that escaped him, almost like a laugh that wasn't finished. He shook his head. "No. Don't get me wrong; you're attractive. I just… Maybe in another place and time…" he faltered. "'You and I'," he gestured between them, "never really crossed my mind." "OK. Well. Let it cross your mind. Well. My people? We're not Vulcans. Emotions evolved to encourage people to do what they ought to be doing. They are to be celebrated, not denied. I was once taught not to drag people where they don't want to go. It's just harder to ignore what's inside myself." He finally let his attention wander and briefly turned, rubbing the back of his head as he thought. "Look, it's not that it's somewhere I don't want to go. I'm not trying to deny my feelings," he explained with a telling but flat smile. "It's just, since I met you, I can't stop thinking about someone I used to know." "Would you care to talk about it?" He seemed surprised by the offer, revealed by that unfailing rise in his brow. "Not much to tell." "No?" "Didn't work out," he minimally explained and shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it for a while." "OK." She considered. "Well, if you're ever feeling adventurous, you can come down to the cargo hold when I'm dancing." "Thanks, but sounds like too much adventure for me," he dryly joked. "One of the problems with males is the ones you really want chasing you seem to want to run away." He knit his eyebrows and then a slight grin followed. "I'm not running." "You could fool me." "I'm still here," he pointed out. "Then perhaps I should run. Best that I got to know Byblos better." He smiled. "Yeah." Funny thing about women who want you to chase them, he thought ironically; they run when you don't. "See you about." "Hmm," he sounded and settled back on his bunk.

Taurik was never very far from Ethan's mind; he hung over everything like the iconic angel of death with his sickle readied for the deathblow. He couldn't help but think he was being watched now, closer than before. He had returned to Creedo's shortly after Joe Manning and found the crew waiting. He answered minor questions on Zoalus; pointed out shops to fill their wish lists. Given Xorax's annoying penchant for spying on their own, anything more critical would be discussed later on the Qob and hopefully once they learned more about their destination. He was certain nothing particularly supportive of Taurik's theory came out of the meeting in Creedo's. But the longer Ethan lingered around the Qob's crew, the more they looked like the unwitting sickle's blade in Taurik's hands. Once they knew what they were looking for, they didn't need him hanging around. He was intent on separating from their group - saving their collective business image. He had cleared the door of the bar and earshot of the rest of the crew, when Pher stopped him and reminded him in more ways than one that she still wanted to talk. Ain't no rest for the wicked, Ethan mused. "Somewhere private," Pher suggested only slightly suggestively. "Too many secrets been blown away already." His jaw momentarily tightened as he looked at her. Thoughts went to her pheromones and their historical usage; he wasn't keen on getting another dose. Living in Federation Space had given him advantages when it came to Orions. He was starting to realize he'd taken them for granted. From his point of view, Chris Nickles was barely half-functional under her spell and with her looks he had to wonder why Pher bothered using them. He didn't like his own conclusion. It might have been for the romance, though why any self-respecting person would want their partner less than coherent escaped him. Not aware of the real details, the only other explanation he knew of was control. He exhaled; the sound was quiet but audible. "All right," he said without his Vulcan pretenses. She already knew he was human. He suspected that their conversation would eventually touch on what she knew. Not more than an hour earlier he'd planned to keep playing the full game. He'd brush off her fishing games with feigned ignorance or fear and appear like a dense human-Vulcan who didn't know his head from a hole in the wall. But when the time came he followed his instincts without hesitation. Be prepared but be fluid. He made a Vulcan-like gesture for the cameras. "Walk with me." Pher nodded, and walked with him. Now, to figure how he played the game. ###### for tat. She’d start with stuff he could confirm and would learn anyway in time. “I figure you should know a bit about what you’re getting into. My title is ‘security chief,’ but I’ve been with the QoB not two years. Everybody senior to me on the security side is either dead or off the ship. We’ve had that much turnover. Lots. The new people have the skills, but team play is a work in progress. “I’m new to ship board security. QoB is my first ship. I’m not new to security concerns. I was Queen of the Beach once upon a time on New Risa, which involved keeping a lid on a mix of rich arrogant oversexed male tourists and dirt poor oversexed pheromone loaded female employees. I’m good at some stuff, not so good at other stuff, and this will be my first attempt at watchdogging scientists. I’m hoping they will be easier to manage than randy kids. Hopefully, this isn’t too irrational a hope? “Now, I can buy equipment and make plans, but Joe is a hands on type of captain. When the soft brown stuff meets the rotary artificial wind generator, any plans I might have made will yield to what Joe wants to do, and I don’t get told much in advance about what Joe wants to do.” She turned to meet the 'Vulcan's' eyes. “Now, your title is Security Advisor. From that and from what I caught back on Tranquility, I’m guessing you have no more real authority or seniority than I do. I figure you do have a lot better chance of getting real weapons on your ship than I do on mine. I’m hoping you can advise your scientific team to stay more or less together rather than spreading themselves thin all over the planet. “I’d like to know as much as I can get on how your geeks run a dig. I hope they keep it simple, cause the best I can do to secure them will have to be simple. Whatcha got?” Ethan was quiet for a bit. High turnover and poor teamwork among mercenary crews wasn't new. Neither was changing plans on the fly. But a 'queen' turned security; he hadn't heard much like that before. He briefly laid eyes on the thin crowd that passed behind Pher and then up the walls of the sprawling cavern. The cameras he knew were hiding in the dark corners would see them everywhere they went until they couldn't. The only place they'd find 'privacy' without attracting attention on Xorax was in public. They would have had more if they'd waited until he boarded the Qob. Then again, maybe it was better this way for at least his sanity. "A dig isn't at the top of their list," he said, passing over her remarks on Tranquility and his position for the moment. He clasped his hands behind his back – seemed like a Vulcan thing to do – and resumed strolling. "We're not sure if we can get to the surface and hold ground long enough to start one. They don't know where to start one. To tell the truth, we're hurting for data on Zoalus. "This is what I've been told and the plan so far: Our biggest obstacles are the surface-to-space batteries and sentry drones. We need more intel. The scientists pointed out a few sites of interest. We'll pick one and fly in with an advanced scouting party and do some recon. We're going to find out how the planet's defenses operate; their ranges; what provokes them; if they can be disabled. Spiking the batteries is an option, but it could draw a lot of unwanted attention. Same for the drones; we want to keep a low profile and save fighting for our last resort. There'll be two six-man teams. I won't tell you how to organize your people, but you've got five spots to fill. The other merc ship will make up the other team, plus the expedition's head of security from the Verbistul. "If we do manage to clear a safe LZ, we'll provide force security while the scientists conduct their surveys and then start excavations. All scientific activities will be restricted to daylight hours and because of manpower we're limited one dig or two survey teams at a time. We're planning on eight guards per survey team; six guards for each standing daylight watch, four minimum and two at night. Standing watches are four hours a piece. You can organize your watches how you want, but I imagine your scientists will want in on the surveys and digs. And I suggest you keep your medics off force security. They're more useful to the scientific side and they won't do anyone any good if they end up casualties. While on the ground, we'll be running each ship through start up at regular and staggered intervals. If things go south, we might cut down on time if we have to run. "Now best case scenario: the first spot is good enough; we get what we came for and get out intact. Otherwise we might be doing it all over again from step one. Worst case: we can't secure a good LZ and the expedition's scrapped. "As for weapons: all our ships are carrying small arms and the other merc ship is carrying some improvised explosives. But we're short on support weaponry and Xorax is a dry market for hardware. Anything larger or more powerful than small arms would be ship-based." Pher considered his outline. She might want to tweak it a bit, but it seemed essentially sound. Vague, but sound. "You had much of a chance to look at the maps? I've had a few thoughts." "A bit," he nodded. "What are you thinking?" "I'd like to enter the atmosphere over water,” she replied. “Least threatening. Hopefully, no defenses. This made me look at the sea side locations a little harder. Site Eight reminds me of home, a tropical island. Might be imagining things, but it might be a wealthy resort area. Interesting stuff there if so, but maybe not sensitive stuff. Might not be as well developed or well defended as other places. Site Three makes me nervous. Feels like it ought to be their major harbor. Feels high risk high reward, but the rough terrain gives us nice mountains to hide behind on the approach. Site Two feels sort of middle of the road. Older settlements. Maybe older defenses. Feels like a decent place for a not too high intensity first probe. “Anywhere strike your interest?" Ethan's shoulders noticeably rose and fell as he thought. "Site Seven," he said. "It's the least developed; least likely to have the heaviest defenses. But the scientists probably won't like it; there's not much there. "Mountains and cliffs make good cover,” he continued, “but they make just as good weapons emplacements. Site Two might be a good second choice, but I'd avoid the river delta. And it's attached to a significant landmass – higher chance that we'll run into reinforcements sooner rather than later. Site Eight; could be great or really bad, depends on how much they know about Iwo Jima." "Iwo who?" He looked at her and grinned a bit. "Iwo Jima: an island and the place of a battle in 1945 on Earth. You should look it up some time." "Uh huh.” Pher had a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Right after you visit Evenstar Bay." The remark caused Ethan to pause and he knitted his brow. "For?" "I have the feeling you'd be about as comfortable among a bevy of pheromone loaded females as I'd be in the middle of a major battle, or am I misreading?" A mild surprise crossed his face and he couldn't help smiling. "You're probably right." "Sorry about that. Vulcans aren't supposed to be effected, and Chris is suffering from a Deltan Dust overdose. It's complicated. I might explain more later, but back to landings. Or can we say much more? I have a feeling our security concerns aren't firm enough to override what the scientists want to do. We just don’t know enough" "It doesn't help that we've got next to nothing to go on." “Details,” Pher answered, with not a little irony. "So we get the scientists somewhere they think they'll be happy, avoiding the most stupid of risks, then ad-lib." "Better hope we're good at it." "Don’t worry about it. Everything is the Captain's fault in the end."

Pher had finished explaining the data on her ODRI to the Robes – not only was the so-called Vulcan, Selek, not a Vulcan, but he was apparently a wanted human. Looking up from Pher's ODRI the Robes shared glances. "Curious," said the Vulcan with a raised eyebrow. The human seemed less amused when he looked at Pher. "You wanted to talk somewhere private?" Pher was trying not to be overly sexual or provocative than she could help. For the most part she was succeeding. "I come from a somewhat paranoid culture, and understand that mine is not the only one. If you don't object, things could come up that might want to be kept quiet." "Come with us." The Robes divided; the human took point and the Vulcan brought up the rear. Pher calmly followed. There was no question that Chris would tag along, given his needs weren't about to let Pher get too far away. Upon exiting the cavernous visitor's center, they walked for several more minutes before crossing a busy chamber and entering into one of several, smaller offices. The human Robe shut the door behind them. Pher settled in, looking as earnest as she could and deciding it wouldn't be polite to scan for bugs. "This poster on Tranquility," began the human. "D'you think it's legitimate?" "For Tranquility, yes," Pher replied. "I believe someone is willing to pay a good deal of money to get custody of this man. One doesn't offer large amounts of money for kidnappings then renege. That would be unhealthy. But it wasn't a Guardian contract, or a contract from any sort of official police agency. It could have been anybody. I would say it is part of a private rivalry rather than an official police action." This time it was the Vulcan Robe that spoke. "And this is why you used your ODRI, despite our strict policies?" "Yes. I'm sorry. I believed the policies were to protect your academic and industrial secrets rather than to enable fraud." Perhaps not the best wording, Pher thought after that came out. A little strong. The human Robe sneered and passed Pher's ODRI to his partner. The Vulcan accepted it and reviewed the activity log again before nodding. "We are aware of Selek's makeup," the Vulcan remarked, but he didn't elaborate further. Surely they didn't expect that such a matter had gone unnoticed by Xorax officials. The bounty was a new development but one that didn't concern them, given his position with Dr. Phantos. The human Robe sat on the edge of the office desk. "Since you've been a good girl and didn't steal anything that doesn't belong to you, you can have ODRI back in one piece. But don't forget this: we won't take kindly to any attempts at bounty hunting here." "Selek's a protected member of Dr. Phantos's staff on Xorax," the Vulcan strangely offered. "However, we won't be able to stop you if you decide to collect your bounty after leaving." "Kidnapping one's employers isn't a good working practice,” Pher replied. “You can't do that too often." Twice in a row would be bad if news got around. "It would be bad for business." The human Robe irritably ticked and snatched the ODRI. He waved it in front of Pher. "Take it. Get out. Don't do it again. Got it?" Pher accepted Audrey. "Got it." (Pher the Green with Ethan Neufeld)

Chris? Do mothers on Earth tell bedtime stories? Fairy tales? Stories that teach how nature works, that prepare a kid for the adult world? I was told there were planets like this out there. You get in trouble. It’s all in how you handle it, and you take it one step at a time. In the fairy tale at least, first there is the cop who is too fast, then the cop that is too slow. There is the cop who is too big, and the one who is too little. There is the cop who knows too little about female anatomy, and the one who knows too much… Anyway, if you listen carefully to what your mother teaches you, and if your boobs are big enough, you eventually get to the very problematic cop who is just right, then the judge, then the president for life. If one has been a pure sweet good little girl… not… one becomes a princess, changes the world, and everyone lives happily ever after. OK. I understand. It’s just a fairy story. Fairy stories don’t always happen in the real world. Everyone can’t become a princess. But did Joe have to go to a planet with Vulcan cops, and that values information rather than big boobs? What was he thinking?

All those great questions... "What do you want?" "Who are you?" "Where do you want to go?" "Are we there yet?" :D