OdileCondacin

Odile flinched as another console started to spark, then hissed as anti-inflammatory measures kicked in. What a grozing mess she had on her hands. She glared at one of the controls on the miserably-flickering display closest to Harper's chair, slightly mollified by the readout; that there were a few repairs underway was lovely, of course; she already knew that there were some things that were getting "fixed" -- their comm systems being the prime example -- and others which were in the process of being "fixed". The torpedo tube, for example. That was something they were "fixing". And it was something Odile was going to be very happy about once it indeed was fixed. In short, she was trying very hard to keep herself from thinking too hard about the fact that she was the ranking officer on Alpha bridge, and therefore, by some cruel stroke of divine* will, was at least de facto in command. Even though Harper and the cat were okay... even if they were out and unable to do colonel-like things, the current situation was terrifying. Odile wasn't entirely sure that she liked this whole "command of situation" thing. For if something went wrong -- which happened fairly regularly -- Odile would be help responsible. It did, after all, tend to turn out that way. What a lovely time for this calamity to strike, too. It wasn't like they could go unconscious on a quiet day. No no no. They had to choose the worst possible time to be knocked out. Now Odile was left with the joyous decision of whether or not to slink back and let Agincourt lick her wounds, or to charge into battle screaming foul oaths at the blue bastards. Odile, for reasons that to her seemed fairly obvious, had chosen the latter. After all, there were Starfleet ships out there that needed help as much as Agincourt, and by a bit of divine providence, they'd managed to stumble upon a weakness that could be exploited with the combined firepower of a few ships' torps and phaser arrays. Therefore, into the clusterjumble went Agincourt, even if Condacin expected there to be a few mumblings from various greasy-goldshirts later. After they survived, of course. With a tense sigh, she tried to sit back in The Chair, pretending for all the worlds like she belonged there. She really didn't, despite what all of those nasty people and the equally nasty deities kept trying to elbow her into. Officer commissions, promotions, and now this. Somewhere, she knew there was a dog-eared admiral who would be rather entertained once he heard of this. She also planned to have a stern talk with Harper about going unconscious in the middle of battles. That simply wouldn't do. And for that matter, she also planned to have an even longer talk with any potential Soltan captives they took, and explain exactly how much she liked being shot at. That would feel rather good. Assuming they lived, of course. That would also be a plus. * - As an OOC note, divine in this case may refer to the cruel, insidious whims of the gamemasters. They may choose to blame it on the gods if they so prefer.

The shuttle dropped down onto the surface of the planet, and after it powered down, Odile made her way off of it. It really seemed like forever since she'd breathed air that hadn't been recycled two hundred times over; one got used ot it after awhile, but she still swore that it was possible to tell the difference. She nodded over to Ensign -- Holt, she thought was the name -- the boy from security who had apparently been waiting to rendezvous with her, then turned her looked up at the facility she'd "parked" next to. It looked like a typical research center; white brick and probably hermetically sound -- the kind of place that white labcoats went in and out of, and not much else. Had a good forcefield set up around it, too, she noted, glancing skyward as the bubble surged back into place. With Holt in tow, she made her way into the atrium of the facility, looking at bronzes adorning the walls while she waited for a tourguide of some kind. Wandering usually led to arrests, Odile had learned the hard way (on multiple occasions), so she employed "sense" (a much less common tactic), tucked her hands neatly behind her back as not to touch anything, and inspected the plaques curiously. They seemed fairly basic; silhouettes of the lead researchers the facility had boasted at one point or another in its thirty-year history. Fairly diverse bunch, too, though there was no surprise that the majority were seismologists and geophysicists of one sort or another. No one jumped out at Odile as particularly revolutionary or legendary -- but then again, she knew the basics of tectonics, and that was it. A geologist Odile was not. "Commander Condacin?" a tired, but firm voice greeted her, and she turned, smiling faintly at the face behind the voice. "That would be me, yes," she answered, offering a hand that was rather crushingly shaken. "You must be Doctor Santos." "Call me Isaak," he replied with a nod. "Please, come this way." Odile nodded as he activated a genetic scanner, allowing them into a sealed side corridor. "I apologize for not being available to greet you when you arrived. We weren't exactly expecting visitors -- especially in light of the calamity..." She shrugged. "Understandable. I suppose we should have alerted you to our plans to visit sooner. Though, I'm not sure we knew much earlier." Santos glanced sidelong at her for a moment, then frowned. "I'm not certain that I'm entirely understanding your reason for visiting this facility." An eyebrow arched. "Aside from it being triangulated as the epicenter of the first quake, you mean?" she asked, a bit rhetorically. "Our researchers are doing everything they can to determine the reason for that. I highly doubt it had anything to do with our work here." "Is that something you can elaborate on?" He shook his head slightly. "There really isn't much that you don't already know..." "Remind me," she answered, not intending it to sound as accusatory as it did. "We study the intermediate-depth earthquake that this planet's are associated with. Mostly we're concerned with whether or not they're affected by the subduction..." Odile nodded, waving off the scientistic to stop him before he began to babble. "And exactly how do you... study them?" "Deep-penetrating sonar... high EM scanners, electronic displacement waves. We just have some better equipment. That's all." He turned into a cavernous room, dominated by a huge machine that was sending out strong enough pulses that the room fairly shook from them. "Like this." "And this is, exactly?" She wrinkled her nose slightly, trying to make sense of the behemoth. "The most advanced seismic prediction technology of our day. It's actually been quite good at forecasting quakes -- until these last few." "Any idea why not?" He hesitated -- briefly -- then shook his head. "It's a mystery to us as well. If I knew... well, if I knew, I'd tell you." "Of course," she answered, moving a bit closer to the... thing... and frowning up at it. "I'm sure you noticed how... metered the energy was the quake put out." "Yes. We haven't been able to account for that," he answered shortly. "I see." She gave the predictor a last glance, heading back into the corridor. "You're researching the deeper end of "mid-focus" earthquakes, aren't you?" A hint of pride slipping through, he smiled slightly. "That's right," he answered. "Most research stations either study the shallow or deep ones -- and not a lot in between. Most planets are only troubled by slippage in the upper crust. Deep-focuses are mysterious, but this planet gave us a rare opportunity to see something in the middle that was still valuable." "Hmm. That would require quite a bit of energy, wouldn't it?" Odile mused, veering towards the next major-looking door. He paused for a moment, seeming a bit off-put by her questioning -- and the fact that she was taking out her tricorder when the door wouldn't open. "Not really, no. We use efficient technology. Now, was that all, Lieutenant Commander?" She knew she was being nosy. She didn't particularly care. "Is this off-limits?" she inquired, releasing the tricorder back to her hip and gesturing to the door. "It's restricted." Santos hesitated for a moment. "It was affected by the quake -- some radioactive material was spilled during one of the aftershocks." "Ah. That would explain the lack of readings from this," Condacin commented, patting the scanner at her hip. "Oh. Yes." He nodded, then glanced to a group of scientists that emerged from another door at the end of the hall. "Well, Commander, I thank you for your visit, but we have new data to process -- perhaps you can come back later?" He smiled, but his tone was edging towards "cold" and far from welcoming. "Of course. I wouldn't wish to intrude." She returned the smile, even if it did look pained. "Good luck."

Things were going boom. Well, not "boom", exactly. "Shake" and "crash", maybe. Maybe even "clunk". Now, to be sure, earthquakes were moderately common on tectonically active planets -- and a fair share of ones that were not. However, even though Odile wasn't a geologist she was loosely aware of the fact that large-scale earthquakes were verging on "common" as well. But multiples along unconnected faults? Now that was odd. Her gut reaction -- well, second -- was "weapon". It wouldn't be a horrible shock to her if the Soltans had found some awful way to exploit seismic disaster to their advantage. It would be just crafty enough for a few other species, too, if they wanted to start playing nasty and take advantage of the Federation when it was down. Odile frankly wouldn't put it past the Rest of the Universe. Well, idle speculation was foolish, especially with the readings they were getting. Frankly, the wave patterns were erratic. Too erratic to to constructed, really. Most of the play with SAT (Seismic Alteration Technology) that Odile had seen needed even pulses of energy to maintain the seismic waves -- even pulses that manifested themselves in similar bursts through the planet's crust. Unless something went wrong, there were always patterns. Odile paused, her train of thought derailing. Now, there was an idea. Could something have gone wrong? Not a weapon, per se, but something? A new energy technology, or research, or... well, scientific progress gone kersplat? With a growing frown, she started poking at some more information, as well as some sci-journals coming out of it. Something was amuck.

It was good to be looking at the ship, instead of being on the ship. Being away from the bloody, scorched mess of her secondary lab was especially good. It gave O'd'yl less visual reason to fume, for one thing. For a second... well, it was good just to have breathing room. This was, for certain, not exactly the kind of therapeutic R&R that gave her time for zen meditation and yoga. Most of the time, just as now, the Xenexian was pacing, glaring at Agincourt through the viewport and past her at the abyss beyond. Pacing kept her busy. Pacing kept her from ranting at the Gorgon. Pacing kept her from launching a grand, vendetta-drive raid on Station Security to commit vengeance against the grozing bastard who blew up her Lab. Pacing therefore kept O'd'yl out of the Brig, out of trouble, and still sane. Would that have done anything to soothe her bruised sense of justice? Hell. No. Really, at this point, she wasn't sure that even ripping out... what was his name? Murderer-with-a-face-like-an-ape? The Butcher? Oh, right -- Chase. Even if she ripped out Chase's heart and roasted it in the secondary lab along with other sacrifices, it wouldn't make her feel any better, which was distressing. And why not? Hell if she knew. Even the prospect of beating the little dissident to a pulp didn't bring her any joy. It made no sense -- then again, none of this did. It wasn't as if she'd never lost men before. It was something she came to accept years before, and while she was -- what had someone once accused her of being? A mother hen? -- she still knew that one couldn't launch grand "clan warfare" just because someone went down. She wasn't a fool. So again, why was this bothering her so much? If anything, she was tempted to believe it was almost a "straw breaking the Xenexian-camel's back" sort of thing. Earth going boom, Agincourt generally going the route of Hell in a handbasket, general malaise in the Federation... adding internal terrorists did nothing for her already sparkling, peppy personality. Luckily, even if a blood and gore sacrifice of assorted Midshipman "I Deserve to be Quartered" Chase body parts wouldn't make her feel better (and was slightly impossible), O'd'yl still knew something that would. She was going to need whiskey for this. Strong. Barrels. Of. Whiskey. Many strong barrels of whiskey. Whiskey galore. More whiskey in her veins than blood. Then, then maybe O'd'yl would find peace. And so, the Xenexian tore herself away from the viewport, and made her way to the station's bar.

Odile was approximately thirty minutes from going to bed (she had to admit, the Vulcan suites the Agincourt-ers were granted were... very nice) when she heard her communicator. An hour after that, and she was unloading off an equally cushy Starfleet shuttle that landed somewhere south of Shi'Kahr. "Oh, good, you're here." A nondescript-looking (and rankless) human scurried out to the landing pad, greeting her without any exceptional amount of warmth. "And why am I here?" she asked, looking around the assorted buildings at the base, which could at best be described as... isolated. "The comm from the admiral wasn't exactly... specific." She glanced up at a circling craft, still high in orbit, and raised an eyebrow. It gleamed in the reflected light from Shi'Kahr, kilometers away. "What in hells..." "It's a chromium-plated shuttle," the human explained, and she watched as it circled for approach. Two Starfleet fighters flanked it, but it was the lead ship that left her jaw slack. "Amazing." "Yes yes -- hurry on, come inside..." He led her in, through a waiting area and towards a large, cavern of a room, clearly set up to be a weapons testing center. "We're beginning some preliminary laboratory tests on the Soltan weaponry," he finally answered Condacin. "The rest of the team will arrive shortly. Feel free to make yourself at home with the equipment -- you're familiar with the subjects, of course." "Of course," Odile answered numbly, and looked over the case of the silver-green weapons. Left alone with the weapons, she experimentally picked one up, turning it in her hand and half-expecting the glove mechanism to engage. "Commander?" Another rankless one, this time Andorian, said to her, appearing seemingly from nowhere. "We've brought in someone who has some experience with mind-linked weaponry; his shuttle will be landing down very soon." She started at the voice, nodding. "Well, send him in when he arrives, then. I'm going to..." Odile gestured with the weapon she was holding. "Experiment until he gets here." The Andorian nodded. "He's a telepath. 'Fleet took your suggestions to heart." A grin spread. "You know," she said, cryptically, and the Andorian looked slightly confused, "I could get used to being commissioned!" He nodded a few times and departed, leaving Odile in silence again. She looked over the familiar weapons, this time willing the one she selected to activate. That in itself took time -- and it seemed to take forever for it actually to wrap around her wrist. "Finally," she muttered when it rehardened in place, and she gave it a hearty glare -- to which it replied with a slight shock. "Ow." All right. Time for practice. She'd had a little too much time since her last trial-run to feel comfortable demonstrating to a novice; a quick refresher would be good. Ready, aim... fire. Nothing. Not even a spark. She felt like an old-legend mage who found that her magic wand was, in fact, a non-magical twig. "Grozit," she swore, shaking at the weapon clinging to her wrist. "Work, damn you..." Frustrated, she raised it to firing height again, letting her anger at the inanimate object channel... She was knocked back a good stride's length, the weapon lay across the room, and promptly exploded. "Grozit!" Odile exclaimed again, rubbing at the skin more out of anger than hurt, and glared at the remains of the ball-weapon. "You know," a voice suddenly said from behind her, "it's best to keep weapons in your hand." She shot off an irritated answer, still staring at the smoldering mass in the corner. "Clearly, I didn't mean to do that." "I'd hope not." She turned, an eyebrow arching as she considered the man who'd just managed to appear. "You're not Starfleet?" "Not anymore, no." He picked up one of the silver-green balls in his hand and looked at it for a long moment, examining it carefully. "Neat toys." "Careful with that!" she yelped, prying it out of his hand and putting it back in the case. "Have you been briefed on these, or did they give you as much advance notice on this testing as I did?" Stifling a snort, the tall, dark figure of a man handed over the ball. "I read your report on the way here, as well as some early observations from the scientists heading this unit." "I admit, this sudden research was... unexpected," Odile admitted. "Though not unappreciated. I was hoping I would have more time to study the Soltan tech in a better environment. Starships are hazardous places to test weapons, I've decided." This time, unable to cover his amusement, the man smirked. "I take it you learned that the hard way," he said, then added in Xenexian something (that translation wouldn't do justice to) that effect summarized Odile's feelings about the weapons. Her eyes widened considerably, and she babbled in the same language. "You speak Xenexian?" "A little here and there," he admitted. A grin took the place of her surprise, and she wiped off a slightly sooty palm on her other sleeve. "O'd'yl of Condacin," she introduced herself. Extending his own hand, he shook the Xenexian female's firmly. "Koshic N'Dak." She blinked. "The Koshic N'Dak? The Elasian one?" Absent-mindedly, she returned the gesture. "Lord Regent Koshic N'Dak?" Mildly amused, Koshic nodded. "My reputation precedes me." "Well," she admitted, "Elasia is fairly close to Xenex." "Yes, I spent some time on your world some years ago." He paused, assessing the female. "You would have been a child then, I suppose." "Interesting," she mused. "When? What were you doing?" "Getting into trouble." He smirked, glancing back to the weapons again. "And doing some time at a Starfleet dig near Jakon province." "You were at that dig?" She grinned. "The first expedition in the fifties or the return when they uncovered the burial mounds?" "The return." "You're joking..." She inhaled sharply. "I wish I were you," she sighed, wistful. "They weren't even open to the public when I went... and it wasn't like Condacin was on good enough terms with Jakon to swing political favors." Her gaze fell on the weapons, and she broke from her reverie. "Anyway, I guess we should... work on this stuff..." He nodded, "Yes... they dragged me hear all the way from Elasia in the middle of elections. We'd best make good of the time we have together." "All right. So." She picked up one of the weapons carefully, keeping a light touch on it. "Pick one out, and it takes a little work, but you can sort of... push on it for awhile, and then it'll activate. Icky gel," warned. "Don't get scared, it's not dangerous, we don't think. And it won't hurt or anything -- it just has to meld to your hand." Koshic picked up one of the balls and rubbed it in his palm for a few moments. Slowly, carefully, he squeezed the ball and it formed around this hand and wrist the trademark "gun". "Like this?" "That was damned easy..." Odile stared for a moment, and sighed. "We needed a teep from the beginning." Without speaking, Koshic closed his eyes for a moment, aimed at the target-wall at the far end of the room and "released". It took her a second to process. Then, "The first time... that... that took me almost an hour just to get it to fire!" Odile exclaimed, staring from the scorch on the wall to the weapon to the telepath. "Congratulations!" "Your notes were a great deal of help." She looked stunned for a moment, then smiled. "Thanks," she answered, blushing slightly. "Let's try to see what this thing can really do, eh?" "I don't really have any gauge on its power... that's the hardest part to control. 'Aim and shoot' is easier..." Koshic nodded, then stepped away from the table and Odile. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The weapon morphed slightly, wrapping further up his arm to his elbow. He took a deep breath and released again. Thirty seconds later, Odile had backed even further away, and watched as the automatic safeties tried to preserve what was left of the wall. With a worried, rather frightened expression, she glanced up at Koshic. "And I thought blowing up the garbage can might have been on the top setting..." she commented, dryly. Koshic flexed his forarm a few times--it hurt. "Ouch." "Burned it?" "No," he said as he deactivated the weapon. "Just got some bioelectric feedback." "How in all the gods' names did you do that?" she asked, letting him put the weapon away himself. "It only shocked me when I was trying to hack it to bits on my hand..." "It seems to respond to telekenetic impulses... it was a hunch." "They, uh... said you had done things with telepathic weapons before." Grimacing and still feeling the pain in his arm, he answered. "Yes." "So you're used to... bioelectric feedback?" "It's been a long time," he said honestly. "Though occasionally normal telepathy can give you some... but nothing that strong." "What triggers it?" she asked, peering at him curiously. "With most telepathic-link devices the user has to 'envision' what he wants to happen; this seems to be something similar... though not precisely. Of course, it's not really configured for my biology." "Naturally, unless you're blue and are hiding an extra pair of arms" she answered good-naturedly. "Do you need a medic?" "No," he said. "I think I'll be fine. Just won't be trying that till we know more about it's responsiveness." "Build up slower, then, next time?" she suggested. "Try controlling the power to a lower level." "Yes." "All right then." She set up a second tricorder, placing it on the table near the weapons. "Precision, too -- try aiming for the targets and not destroying the wall," she teased. "You think I am putting that thing on again till I've had time for my arm to regain feeling?" "Oh." She paused. "You're not ambidextrous, then? I mean they have four arms, so it'd work on either..." Another pause. "Grozit, that was probably classified or something..." "I've been given the most recent council briefings," he said, with a smirk. "Advantages of being an Ambassador, no?" "Ah. Good." She considered, looking relieved. "Shouldn't you be on the council? Or at least up for election?" "We appoint our Ambassadors," Koshic said, still rubbing at his forearm. "Thankfully I wasn't on Earth when the attack happened." She looked over the weapons, considering the ramifications of their project down the line. "Lucky for all of us," she said, quietly.

Mishra: How does Soltan technology work? Condacin: To put things simply, Soltan responds to brainwaves. The brainwaves trigger the different "pieces" of technology to assume different forms, based on what the operator needs at the moment. Mishra: And how does the operator interface with the technology? Condacin: Touch. It responds best to Soltan DNA, though we had limited success activating and operating the devices ourselves. It was unpredictable what "form" of the technology -- in our case, specifically, an engineering console -- we would get. Think of it like trying to listen to a conversation on a nearby frequency to the one you're using, but not the same one, exactly -- the device would get some of what we were trying to tell us, but not all the little details. Mishra: Did you test this with different races? Condacin: Several. Xenexian, human, Caitian, Romulan, Nightflyer, Shadow... Mishra: Did you test it with any psi-positive personnel? Condacin: No. Shadow aside -- and whether or not that counts as psi-positive is for someone aside from me to answer -- we operated with non-teeps. Mishra: But if if functions on brainwaves, wouldn't that be the logical step? Condacin: It would be. That didn't occur to us. Under the circumstances we were also working to install the subspace drive which the devices controlled, and I suppose things were a bit more muddled than ideal laboratory conditions. Mishra: Understandable. Khren'nos: It ought to be our first avenue of testing, anyway. Mishra: Agreed. Tell us more about the way the technology changes state. Condacin: The devices go through a series of changes as it morphs. First a gel-like, viscous state, then to solid after it "remembers" the state the user desires. We counted six (correct if there's a canon number) different states in one "console"; who knows if there were more we couldn't access or even imagine well enough to retrieve. Mishra: But how can it configure itself so many ways? Condacin: Shape-memory. It's... "trained"... and gods if I understand it entirely... to retain several forms. The Federation's tried something along the Soltan's lines, I know, though not so extensive. Mishra: And not nearly so effective. Khren'nos: This change -- it's a true shape change, not merely a configuration such as we use on bridge consoles? Condacin: It's a true shape change, yes. Their weapons -- hand-weaponry, that is -- work the same way. They go from a ball to a hand-encasing "glove", and then back again. Khren'nos: That sounds like there's a mass change involved. Condacin: The mass remains the same. Only the shape changes. Khren'nos: But such a drastic alteration.... and where does the power supply go in the 'ball' mode? Condacin: It's biopowered. As for where it "goes" -- as far as I can tell, it's able to shift position -- unwind and wrap with the rest of the device, if you will. It's a little difficult to dissect, if you will, because the only way to get at the thing in "glove" form is by cutting it apart while it's on a living subject. Khren'nos: It can't be removed from the hand? Condacin: No, and if it was able to be, it would revert to ball-form. Khren'nos: And how does this weapon function? Condacin: It's another mind-linked device. It uses links to the user's brainwaves, again, to control both the targeting and the power settings. These are both hard to control -- at least for me. Again, with a telepath, perhaps you'd have more success. The power settings are the more tricky of the functions, too. Khren'nos: How strong is it? Condacin: Very strong. I would hazard a guess, from preliminary tests, stronger than the average Fleet phaser.

How kind of you to offer.

Harrison: We thought we'd start with a smaller gathering before subjecting you to the whole Council. It'll go faster... hopefully. Harper: Thank you for that, sir. Harrison: Sit down, and don't look so nervous. Heiran: We'll want to hear everything, but the most important thing is the tactical information on this new threat. How much data were you able to gather on their ability to just... appear in our space? Harper: To JoN's and Condacin. I think that's a project you both worked on. Condacin: Basically, as you all know, the Soltan use subspace technology. While what we're now calling the "early-warning system" wasn't so important to us when we were in Perseus Arm, we did acquire quite a bit of data that's helping us coordinate now, with several other ships in the Fleet. JoN's: This early warning system is a viable defense now. It always was, but now even moreso. The Soltans can effectively cloak themselves using the subspace, and we don't always know where they can pop up. Condacin: When we were first pulled into the subspace "bubble" with the rest of the fleet -- when we were pulled into Perseus for the first time -- we picked up several fleet subspace frequencies. JoN's: Those frequences could herald a Soltan ship. Condacin: Now we have some single-ship signatures too -- we think -- but we haven't had as much time to study those, as they were from the fleet that attacked Earth. We have a Soltan drive, too. JoN's The drive enabled the ship's engineers to enable us to tag along with a Soltan fleet in the subspace. The warning time for one of these fleets hawking in on you is really short. Any theories are untested, but there isn't much of a window to work with. Rieve: While we have a chance to know when or where they might appear, the initiative is all the Soltan's. If we wait on the defensive, our response time will be improved, but they will have the tactical advantage in any attack. JoN's: In addition to their tactical superiority, they also have a nice little ability to turn a species into a Soltan.

Skrov: Let's return to the subject of this 'Soltanization' you keep referencing. What, precisely, is it you mean by that? Condacin: It's almost like a Borg transformation, though this happens on a biological, cellular level. The Soltans are literally able to convert other beings to their own species. Skrov: That seems rather far-fetched, Commander. How exactly does the process work? Condacin: It basically rewrites the DNA on a cellular level. It's a virus, technically. It toys with the chromosomes, and after a certain amount of time, the former human or whatever turns blue, grows an extra set of arms, and has virtually none of the personality it possessed before. Skrov: Let's be clear here, Commander -- you're talking about an extensive genetic change, and neurological processes? Condacin: I am. If "extensive" is taken to imply "nearly complete ". Skrov: How were you able to identify... Soltanized... individuals? One Crewman Burne, I believe? Condacin: The Y'l'Sai entity -- Burne's Soltan persona -- still retained certain memories of Burne. There are still traces of the prior individual. Unfortunately as the Soltanization process is more... complex... than the introduction of the Borg's hive mind and implants, the individual may not be as retrievable as those recovered from the Borg Collective. A point to ponder is that this makes the Soltan more potentially dangerous and certainly more frightening than their cyborg comparison-counterparts. Another point of interest is that while chromosomal, nuclear DNA is destroyed, mitochrondrial DNA is left untouched. Skrov: The identification of Y'l'Sai as Burne was then based on the mitochondrial DNA? Condacin: Correct. Skrov: What is the infection pattern of the virus? Condacin: The infection is spread through physical contact. Over approximately three days, though this is not by any means a proven estimate, the DNA is replaced with Soltan genome. The previous individual fades until it is replaced with the new Soltan identity. Skrov: And what progress has been made on preventing or reversing such an infection? Condacin: Some. A medical-science initiative was put forth on Agincourt to attempt to reverse the virus. Unfortunately, this has not succeeded on a live subject. Sands: Wryly. It's succeeded on a deceased one? Condacin: We had some success when dealing with material not currently alive, yes. Skrov: Interesting. What process did you use? Condacin: There was a combination of attempts and methods. We took the most recent "normal" genetic scan of the individual and used it as a base from which to "repair" the DNA. That had more limited success than the retrovirus, which basically worked to literally reverse the effects of the Soltan's virus. Harrison: What about preventing infection? Condacin: Avoiding physical contact is the most we've done. Preventative measures haven't been as much of a priority as "fixing" the problem, Sirs. Skrov: You have no leads on how to protect planetary populations against this threat? Condacin: No. Not as of yet.

I utterly hate Charlotte Harper. Yes. I know that she prefers Charlie. Or Medusa. But right now, I have half a year's irritation built up, and I feel like calling her Charlotte and thus, irritating her, too. Because she's done many nasty, mean, and downright evil things to a poor, poor Xenexian enlistee since I joined onto Agincourt. Thanks to Ms. Charlotte Harper, I'm an officer now. And not just an ensign. No. Not just an ensign. Not a junior lieutenant. Not a lieutenant. A lieutenant commander. The woman, clearly, wants to make me as miserable as possible. Lieutenant-fracking-commander Odile Condacin. Why? Why?. And I'm not just a commander-in-the-back-corner-working-on-a-bunsen-burner. She made me chief of sciences. Chief! Chief!! This is torture! This is inhumane! She knew what she was doing! She's not innocent... or ignorant of what she was doing. Not that the dog helped any. Corizon's on the same list as Harper. But in spite of all that, I still, somewhat, liked Charlotte-darling. I mean she had excuses, even if I didn't like them. But this... this... this is utterly unforgivable. A week in front of a bunch of bureaucractic, nosy, hard-headed, dull, self-righteous, brassy L'k'nth'zs who know nothing about Science and will ask a thousand stupid questions. Why me? For that matter, why poor Kitty? And Rieve? And Casper? Couldn't Harpy have done this herself -- or best of all, dropped off a bunch of data tapes and let Admiral Naht-so-bryte and Admiral Dum-bee figure it all out on their own? Walking down the sandy path, she kicked a rock. At least Vulcan was homey. Deserty. Not quite vegetated enough to be Xenex, no, and too red... but that "blast furnace" feeling you got upon arrival... that was familiar. Comfortable. Odile sighed. At least the Council didn't set up on Andor. Thank the gods for small favors.

Something went sailing from Odile's office through the air, collided with a cabinet, and fell unceremoniously to the floor. Upon further inspection, it bore a Starfleet insignia and a few lines of basic text beneath it. "I don't believe this!" Odile raged, storming out of the office. "I can't understand!" Flipping her long, shimmering black hair, Aiella looked over to her department head. Then, as dryly as a martini, she asked, "Understand what, sweety? It's a padd. It has words. You read them." "This is all his fault! I just wanted to get commissioned without going to the academy for years! Did he arrange that? No! He had to go and get me promoted!" "Who?" she asked, laying down the scanner she had in hand and turning on the stool to face the Xenexian. "Him -- the captain, my old friend... the Dameon!" "Oh! The puppy!" "Yes." Odile nodded eagerly. "Capt -- Admiral Puppy. He said he could help me skip out on the Academy nonsense, but he didn't say anything about this. This is just... travesty." Aiella smiled widely and ruefully at the Xenexian, who was about one straw across the proverbial camel's back from having a major breakdown. Now if only she could find... "You must have been some yeoman..." Odile's eyes widened. "It wasn't like that!!" she answered. "Oh my gods, how can everyone think that it's impossible for a commanding officer and a yeoman to be friends without having to imply that there was..." She flushed darkly. "You know..." "You mean you didn't even try to find out?" She cast a look. "It really is true what I've heard about you, then..." The Xenexian very nearly growled. "What have you heard? And no. I didn't try to find out anything. There's nothing to find out." "Oh, well, your loss then." Aiella leaned back into her chair and crossed her legs, looking over the Xenexian again. "Really, I don't understand why you're so upset, most people would kill or worse for a promotion." Actually, the "worse" sounded far more enjoyable, but Aiella wasn't going to say that aloud to the repressed one. Odile shuddered. "I hate rank. I liked my rank -- when I was a petty officer," she added. "But no, now Medusa had to make me a chief, and now Puppy has me a fancy Lieutenant Commander." She sighed, flopping into a chair defeatedly. "I don't want to be a Starfleet mucky-muck." Aiella pursed her lips and narrowed her glance at Odile. "You know some people never make it above jay-gee, let alone ell-tee or Lt. Commander," she said. "And all you had to do was go on a shuttle ride with a puppy. I mean, it could be worse... I know he's not that Calhoun guy, but..." Somebody was very near to being strangled alive. "I," she stated coldly. "Did not. Do. Anything. On. The. Shuttle." The breaking point was getting closer. "Oh, it's not thing to be ashamed of, Odile... I mean Commander..." Her hands balled into tight fists, knuckles turning white. "I... I can't believe," she stammered, flushing with rage. "We were on a rescue mission, and I would never..." This was so going to be worth whatever awful payback the Xenexian thought up. "J'gztch't? Of course not, not while flying a shuttle... I mean unless he was on autopilot?” The chair clattered when it tipped; Odile was on her feet. "You're out of line!" she hissed. "Don't get mad at me," she said, barely able to hold back laughter. "I am just prepping you for the ship gossip. Speaking of which, how long have those orders been in?" "I don't know," Odile answered, flustered. "I can't believe this, though. I'm tired of this happening." "How long did it take when Ensign Khanele and 'Q-jzke had that "Pouch Incident" for it to be all over the ship?" "A day?" she answered, getting nervous. "But... no one needs to know..." Aiella stood up, walked over and picked up the padd, reading over it. "Well, you still have a few hours then... these orders are almost seventeen hours old." "I don't check my messages. I swear, though, I'm going to kill something if these have to stand. Can't I refuse orders?" "And spurn your dear puppy?" "He's not my Puppy!!" Odile hissed, storming off.

::headdesk::

Odile nodded to Shadow in dismissal, leaving her office to marine doctor and Xenexian. "So then -- I hear you might have some magic that can take away this hangover, hmm?" Troll was not quite certain what was really going on; Sin was being ... well, nice! He decided it was time to help Sin out in hopes of returned favors. Grinning at her, "I've been studying my spells, so this should do the trick." Activating his medscanner with its holographic display in HUD mode, Troll placed his right hand at certain pressure points along Sin's upper spine and back of neck. A bioelectric field manipulator in his left hand re-adjusted her body's energy field to a more healthy pattern. She nodded, sighing happily as the nausea and headaches started to subside. "Thanks -- I appreciate it. And... could you not make a note of this on my record? I don't quite want to be known as the ship drunk, you know..." "As a favor to you, this was just a.... social call, shall we say? Even though I did stop by as a medic it wasn't in response to a call for services needed. Will that work? No service performed equals no report to file." "Sounds fair to me." The Xenexian gave him a mischievous grin. "So why did you drop by?" she asked. "With this double duty dropped in my lap," he said, gesturing to his field CMO tabs along with his Marine insignia, "I've become a touch dissatisfied with our current capability to respond to medical incidents during potential combat situations. I want to redesign the 'med shuttle' and its two escort 'combat shuttles'. I know a lot of this falls to Engineering, but the sensors, medical programs and bio-combat systems are more your area of knowledge. What do I need to do to acquire your time and services?" "Hmm... they do tend towards Engineering," she agreed, and smirked. "Hmm... I suppose I could have medical owe me a favor, since I don't think either Science or I need anything at the moment..." Grinning slightly, "Medical wouldn't owe you anything... however, I will pick up your tab when you call. If that isn't good enough, then it's back to the drawing padd on this one." Troll seemed slightly tense at Sin's comment about Medical owing her favors. Odile shrugged. "Oh, very well. So what improvements are you looking at making? I assume -- upgrading the sensor pallets, maybe boosting some of the weapons..." Another shrug. "You could talk to Kitty for that, but I think I can more than likely help. Now -- what's this about biocombat?" Seeming a little too calm, "I'm just wanting to be ready to take on anything like the Soltan effect, at range and on board these new runabouts. Preemptively, if necessary. But I don't want those systems to be easily noticeable or identifiable" "So something... under the radar, so to speak. And the shuttles shouldn't even look Federation in origin? Nondescript? We'll need to take out the transponders, I think -- or use some sort of material to mask them when we want. Maybe a mixed electron field..." Odile pulled up a padd, noticing how nice it was to be able to concentrate again, and started keying in a few ideas. "Actually, I don't want nondescript, but I agree on them not having much connection with Federation styles or designs. I also want them to be atmospheric-capable and as low-emissioned as we can possibly make them, for when they need it." Tossing that about in her mind, she nodded. "We could do some sort of emissions cloak, probably." The Xenexian smirked. "Sure you don't just want to make it a black ops project? Troll handed over an isolated padd, with ship configurations not unlike the ancient Kzinti ships. "I prefer clear as crystal, and as substantial as vapor. By the way, I need your bioprint here please," he said, gesturing to the access point of the padd. "I can understand that. So will we be keeping this project between you, me, and the Romulan, or do you jarheads mind me sharing it with the rest of my department?" she asked, pressing her thumb against the screen. "I prefer it filtered, but use your judgement. By the way, this is a personal project at the moment; the other jarheads aren't aware of it yet. I'm currently filtering this project both up and down the chain" "If this bends Starfleet protocols I'll take the slap-down that goes with it. I prefer the fewest heads on the chopping block if I go too far with this." Condacin snorted. "Oh, don't even bother making the promise -- I've heard it before, and in the end all heads end up chopped off. Besides -- Starfleet would have kicked me out by now if they were going to. I'll speak more with you after I've had the time to look at some specs?" she offered. "By the way, do you have a sparring partner to keep you in shape? And could you use another?" "The cat, occasionally -- sometimes Medusa when she's feeling nice," Odile teased. "Why -- offering?" "Actually, yes. And it would better explain any time we spend together beyond those needed for the official upgrades," he added, flexing his hands and grinning. "That it would. Very well -- talk with you more in a few hours?" she offered. "That'll be fine" Troll nodded, then headed off looking for Shadow.

Welcome!

By every god of revelry and feast was Odile hungover. It wasn't just that... vague headache, either. Oh no. Amazingly, she'd woken up an hour earlier than usual -- thank you, spiked punch, for making her sleep patterns wonk -- and had spent the extra hour sprawled somewhere between bed and latrine. Odile hadn't remembered drinking that much. Which was probably a bad sign. No, wait... yes, she did. After the spiked punch (which she swore she didn't have anything to do with) there were the pina coladas, and after the pina coladas, well... there was the whiskey back in her quarters. But she'd deserved it! A whole night being nice to dignitaries, planning the reception, cleaning up after the reception (which she'd insisted upon for good measure, even if it had meant that she'd dropped and broken a few dishes in her... now, stupor wasn't a fair word. On shift in forty minutes. Oh, gods, if she were home, she'd be dragging herself (or be being dragged) to the household altar of B'z'jkytt, to beg for divine wine-related intervention. Then again if she were home, she wouldn't have let her alcohol tolerance slip. Here, when blue, multi-armed things attacked all the time and giant birds pecked at you and Medusa made you be chief o' sci... ughhh, you didn't want to be caught drunk. Odile dropped last night's dress uniform (which was amazingly uncomfortable when worn overnight) into the nearest laundry receptacle. She certainly hoped she'd not be in that any time soon. Then she piled into the 'fresher, slumping as the sonic shower took effect. Didn't seem to do much good, though. She still felt like k'l'n't when she got out. One sloppily assembled uniform, a distinct "Grozit" at the light intensity, and a disturbingly... intense turbo-ride later, Odile arrived in Science. Gods. This was not going to be a fun day.

Aww. I liked Quark's bar.

Lieutenant Commander Kansas JoNs quietly entered the sciences offices, and was thankful that the offices were relatively quiet. She clutched a data padd in one paw and her keen green eyes searched the immediate area out the head honcho scientist and operations guru. Her ears were a bit flat and her whiskers drooped, almost as if she were tired. "Kitty?" a friendly-sounding voice called out. "That you?" Odile popped her head out of her office, smiling slightly. "Oh, damn -- you look awful." She disappeared into the bowels of her lair for a moment, re-emerging with a fresh mug of coffee. "This is for you. Put in paw, lift to mouth, and drink." Kansas had never been one for coffee, but she placed her padd on a convenient work station and gently took the offered caffeine from Odile. She cradled the warm mug between her paws and took a sip of the slightly strong coffee before speaking. "Thanks, Odile. Apologies for being a bit late, I know we needed to touch base on the dinner plans. I needed to check with the teams on patrol around the VIP quarters ... and stuff hit the ocillating device ..." "Uh oh." Odile pointed to a stool at the counters, hitching up onto the counter itself. "What happened?" The feline deftly parked it on one of the stools and once she was settled, her tail curled around one of the support legs. It was just the security chief and the sciences chief, so that was all well and good. "I have no idea what the senior sharks are going to do yet, but ... I got attacked by a crewman, and I shot him point blank in the back with a concealed disruptor pistol. The sensors didnt go off because the hideaway pistol is illegal and has an internal dampening chip. Ah frag..." The cat took another sip of the warm coffee. "Please keep that info to yourself for now Sin..." "I won't tell a soul. You killed him, Kitty?" she gaped, and her expression was shocked. "Not that it's a bad thing, but you hardly seem the... illicit weapons type..." The golden cat sighed. "No, he's not dead, medical got him stable for now. He's still sedated until he can be questioned. I started carrying the weapon on me shortly after that whole mess in Africa. Damn thing had been stored in a protective container for years." Her sad eyes locked onto the Xenexian. "Do you know how hypocritical that is? A security officer carrying an illegal weapon?" "Do... uhm... the colonels know?" she asked, stiffly, trying to decide what the frack she would do if they didn't. "Medusa does; I reported the situation to the bridge when she was still on duty. I'm sure Paradox will know shortly. I really couldn't tell what Harper thought on the whole matter ... "a golden paw waved through the air, "she had that whole... marine ....deadpan tone thing? You know, flat vocals? And you can't tell if you are screwed or not?" The feline lieutenant commander ran a paw through her short cropped mane. "I shot him in the back Sin ... " her purred voice didnt shake, but it decidedly did not have the aforementioned Colonel patented dead pan tone. Just to have something to do, Kansas entered a start code into the data padd, booting the device up; a red colored schematic of the intended room for the reception popped onto the screen set on a black background. She set her coffee mug down, and the clink of the porcelain mug on the table top surface was loud in the now quiet lab area. Odile was quiet for a moment. "Was he still armed?" she asked, softly. A paw gently traced the schematic outline on the padd's data screen, and the younger feline woman wouldn't meet Sin's eyes. "He didn't have any weapon." "You didn't kill him," repeated O'd'yl, barely above a murmur. "You're still ahead of me." " ... I fired with an intent to kill. I felt scared ... " JoNs trailed off and twitched an ear toward Condacin before turning her bright green eyes on the bronze-skinned sciences chief, "Ahead of you? What do you mean?" O'd'yl's jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms. It was a long silence before she answered, tight and a little clipped. "Before I enlisted, I killed an unarmed Danteri that I'd knocked unconscious after he tried to kill me." Feline ears drooped in sadness, but the investigator in her was curious. "Were charges brought up against you?" She phrased the question gently. "Three -- now four -- people know what happened." She sighed, slumping against the tiled backsplash for the counter. "All but one are on this ship." A long silence stretched between the two friends, and then the Caitian second officer ventured to speak again "I know the Danteri were the demons to the Xenexians during the occupation ... but I have no idea why Holmes went for me ..." The feline paused, and then continued, " ... but it smacks of the mercenaries I encountered on Earth. Anti alien, that sort of crap." O'd'yl nodded slowly, looking down at JoN's' padd for a moment as her mind cleared. "What's this?" she asked, pointing to the screen. The feline went with the distraction, thankful for a diversion to the conversation. "The observation lounge. The view, as you know, is spectacular. It should make a great backdrop to the reception for the secretary and her staff, and my guards will be able to lock it down discreetly for the duration of the shindig ... is that what the human call it? I wanted to run the location by you first; I already have the prelim clearance from the Colonels." She smiled, brightening a little. "I was thinking about this earlier -- what to do with it and whether we needed one. I have contemplated a memorial..." "That'd be real nice. Ideas?" "Well..." Odile grinned, slipping into the change of topic. "I thought about a nice pig-roast. You know... ever been to Hawaii? Like a luau centerpiece? Apple in the mouth? We always had something similar on Xenex. Naturally we don't have a wild boar to put on a spit -- and we can't go through all the Xenexian customs that would have Harper tear the swine apart bare-handed, but I think a replicated -- and properly skinned -- substitute might be kind of... nice. You know... something to take our mind off things. That's why I decided not to propose a memorial." "Um, no - the tearing said swine apart bare-handed probably would not befit either commanding shark. But, I really like that whole concept." The Caitians tail started to swish a bit as her mind was distracted to the more mundane matters of the party. "See it's this whole thing of power and using the power to welcome someone and make their feast enjoyable... they tear off a leg and present it to the most honored guest..." Odile trailed off, blushing. "Anyway, maybe a little bit of a tropical theme then, for drinks and side-dishes and such. I bet we could home-grill some pineapple." "I took a couple of vacations in the tropics, the food and theme setting would be doable, as long as we don't go overkill or anything." Kansas started to make some notations on her padd. "Right... no hula dancers," she agreed. "We won't have a luau by any means -- I am thinking just a little bit of a motif. And it's not even casual -- I was at a formal dinner for some councilmember a few years ago -- not on Xenex, either, and we had roast pig. We'll just use our best dishes and tablemanners... and no entertainment." Odile snickered. "Besides, I had a bad experience with a hula dancer when I was in Oahu..." "I sense a story best told over either a good stiff drink or a mug of caffiene." Odile pointed to her feline friend's mug. "S/he was trying to teach me, and I was drunk... yeah..." A chuckle worked its way up from the cats chest, and she started on a purred giggling jag. "Ah, when worlds collide!" "S/he thought I was a little cute..." She hushed her voice to a theatrical whisper. "I think I still have Harper convinced we hooked up, but I swear, nothing happened!!" Kansas teased Odile. "Uh huh." "We didn't!" she insisted, looking decidedly frightened. "I don't know. Those grass skirts can hide a lot." Odile lifted both palms to her face. "Ye gods, I shouldn't have ever mentioned it..." The feline toned down the teasing, but her green eyes still held the mirth, "Sorry Odile, I couldn't help it. I'll give my guards explicit instructions to remain out of the way of the festivities, but they'll be a ready and steady presence if needed. I really don't anticipate any problems ... provided we don't have a crewmate going off the deep end again ... like Holmes did for whatever ... " Kansas trailed off and stared down at the decking. Odile nodded. "I think we'll be okay. Just keep sec on standby. Well... that all, kitty?" she asked. "We can talk... more... if it'd help..." "Nah. The talking did help, but not much can be done at this point. I'll tap the Master Chief as a lead guard for the reception; he loves parties, but he keeps a good watchful eye, so he'll be perfect as the lead watchdog for the gathering." Kansas rose from her seat, and started to gather up her padd from the counter top; abruptly, the feline looked at Odile. "Sin, do you think I'm a screw-up?" The feline sliced a frustrated paw through the air. "You've served longer then I have. Came up through the enlisted ranks. Am I a gold plated goof off? Everytime I make a decision I seem to smash straight into a bulkhead or shark." A sigh. "Kitten, on my world, if someone tried to kill a high-up -- especially after an attack -- they'd be brought to the Great Square and stripped of their skin layers in successive order. So if that's what you're worried about, no. You're a good kitty," Odile reached over to affectionately pet Kansas between the ears, "and a good officer, and you do most things right. Now, considering I spent the majority of my enlistee training trying to illicitly carry a dagger, I'd be hypocritical to chide you on the disruptor... but putting on my 'mentor' face... that was dumb, and I'd expect my paws to be welted with all the smacking for it. But are you a failure? Nope." The Xenexian smiled. JoNs let the kitten comment -- and the petting -- go, as Condacin was on the short list of beings that were allowed to call her that designation. The gold Caitian flipped an ear back at the insight into Xenexian culture however - stripped of skin layers? Well, alrighty now. Ick. "The custom started after the Danteri did it to us," O'd'yl commented, a mixture of wry and sad. "But anyway -- I recommend a drink when you get off shift and sleep. I'll see if I can get some nice -- and no, not Xenex-nice -- decor items replicated, and you... rest... or something. 'Kay, cat?" "Actually, if you're going for a sort of tropical tribal look? I can help out with some genuine articles. I have a Caitian walking staff, shield decoration, and centerpiece on my coffee table that will work out pretty well. And I will rest. I promise." "Good. I'll pick them up later. Now get the hell out of my labs, and go chase mice or whatever makes kitties happy again." Odile paused. "No, wait -- I don't want more complaints from Tay. Just sleep." A purr sounded through the offices. "No, there will be no stalking of the Tay. Thanks Sin, " Kansas squeezed one of the Xenexian officers hands with a paw in thanks and then started to make her way out of the offices. "Later, taboo cat," she teased, retreating to her offices again.

2376 The sun blazed down, hot and savage across the dry sands of Xenex. Fiery in its ravage of the desert world, it burned on, uncaring of the events transpiring on the small world. Far, off in the distance, clouds of smoke formed. One after another, they became a dark haze, spreading like a cancer over the land. Another billow here, more flashes of light across the flatlands in another direction, and an occasional peal of quiet thunder in the distance beyond. The melee grew nearer, louder, until finally, an explosion rocked the waiting city of Calhoun, setting the almost silent town suddenly ablaze with screams and retaliatory weaponry fire. Grozit, a fleeting thought passed through her mind, they're using goddamned grenades when they could just as easily finish the battle cleanly. But no, she realized; their foes were content to pick off a few city-dwellers at a time, waiting for the metaphoric white flag to raise over the city walls. It's not happening. Roughly, she brought a clenched fist into the stone border of the window, shallow abrasions splaying traces of red against otherwise white knuckles. Another tattered legion rushed through the gate, and she cursed herself for not being with them. It only took another few minutes for the next wave of stench to reach her nose as the troops roasted on the sands, their drained weapons and metal blades no match for the endless arsenal of Elasian plasma rifles. Gods be damned for reverse-engineering taking too long, thanks to the infiltrators who'd managed to sabotate the bulk of their work. And, she thought, gods be damned for the next round of Xenexian fighters assembling within the barricade to go and die. Young ones -- even younger than the young leader of Condacin, she realized with a chill belying the dry heat of the day, made hotter to her by the rising anger in her soul. Before the next ill-equipped Xenexian onslaught could disappear from her sights in the window, O'd'yl paced back into the third-level room, fury claiming her as a prize as she glanced around for a shield in the cavernous room. She'd take a toppled dinner platter were it available -- it'd still leave her better prepared than most of their men. Locating a thick piece of heavy, burnished metal -- from a wrecked piece of... some piece of recovered Elasian communications technology she'd once had a look at, was it? -- she stormed towards the corridor and stairwell, bent on joining the futile path of destruction her countrymen were set upon inflicting upon their would-be oppressors. She went by several rooms on her trek towards the ground level, a figure emerging behind her after she'd passed his chamber. The woman heard him step out behind her, pause to inevitably assess her purpose, and let out a long sigh. And there she headed off the carefully-phrased lecture that was sure to follow. "I'm going down there, Sh'nab," O'd'yl announced, quietly, breaking her stride only to report her plans, then continued her march. Quiet, slower steps followed her, words that trailed her bringing her to another begrudged halt. "It's no use, O'd'yl. It'd be a waste of your life." Finally turning, she made a brief assessment of the older, mentoring man behind her, and gestured abstractly to their unseen remains of an army beyond the walls of the so-called fortress; in reality just a half-protected estate in the heart of the city. "And their lives aren't being wasted?" "They're soldiers." "And so am I." Another slow exhalation. "You know you're more valuable than that, especially now. It's useless. All of it," he mumbled, bitterly. "Even with all your pessimism, I've never heard you speak so of the fight. Even if we're facing annihilation, we're still doing the right thing, and you know that. So now, in the face of bloody defeat, that's when you decide to doubt the cause." "No!" he exclaimed, seizing on her words with venom. "It's not the cause that I question. You don't understand -- the war is over! There's nothing we're fighting for at all now." It went quiet in the hallway, only the faint hint of screams and warcries outside the fortress walls breaking the acidic quiet. O'd'yl approached, eyeing the older man with mixed confusion and revulsion. "What are you saying?" "D'n'dai is panicked without his brother to lead. He's in communication with the Elasians now, negotiating a temporary cease fire." "He's surrendered us?" The leader of Condacin drew back in abhorrence. Sh'nab's head dropped. "He has, O'd'yl. He has." * * * Only the slightest hint of well-rooted respect for someone who'd offered her his hospitality in time of dire need kept O'd'yl from backhanding the leader of the Calhoun province where he sat. "You, D'n'dai," she began, spitting the words like so very foul bits of drink, "are peerless among fools. Peerless! After all your brother has done, all he and our comrades have done to prevent this, you have to go and do something so moronic -- so cravenly. I hope you burn in the darkest levels of hell for this -- along with the Elasian bastards who you've just welcomed into the clans with welcome arms." She paced, her hand upon her dagger as she glared at him, eyes chillingly cold. "Calm yourself, O'd'yl," he replied evenly. "Hysteria won't help any of us --" "Your brother is gone, and has likely died for this planet's freedom, and you want me to calm myself? Are you insane? No, wait. I already know that answer," she interrupted, continuing her tirade. He rubbed at his temples for a moment, closing off a monitor still displaying the red eye and insignia of the Elasian Navy. "Would you rather see our species completely obliterated, like the Danteri?" "Don't even try bringing the Danteri's fate into this. They died as cowards, and that lack of resolution was undoubtedly what they lacked to be valuable to the Elasians. And yes," she hissed at him, "I'd rather see every last Xenexian a corpse than used by those bastards like we were under the Danteri. I won't put my people through that not a second time." "Unfortunately, O'd'yl," he paused to rise, looking at her from increasingly annoyed eyes, "they're not your people to command. They're mine. You're merely a guest -- a refugee in my household, and this is not Condacin. Or," he reminded, bluntly, "the smoldering remains of Condacin." She shook her head in a furious retort. "They're clansmen of yours. They're still Xenexians. They're still my people." Her tone softened in a ploy of bargaining, and she glanced away to disguise the remaining anger in her gleaming golden eyes. "D'n'dai, you know your brother would never have done this." "As you mentioned yourself, he's disappeared; missing if not dead. And you forget, O'd'yl, in either case, I control the affairs of state, while M'k'n'zy only maintains authority over the militaristic matters." "This is a matter of the military!" "Not when it's me who the average citizen looks to for guidance in how to live their lives -- and their lives are the ones that are being thrown away now. You know this. But it's a moot point. He is gone, which leaves control of our fate to me, regardless of prior arrangements and agreements with M'k'n'zy." Brushing past her, he gestured to the door of his study to the huge meeting place beyond. "Out, beyond the main entry to this building," he said, pointing towards the heavy-doored entrance of the combined meeting-place and estate, "is the Great Square. Tomorrow, at dawn, the Elasians are landing a party in the heart of Xenex to determine our species' fate. They've demanded the survivng leaders be in attendance, as well as any eminent scholars, military officials, ministers and advisors... hell, they've even demanded local religious authorities." "Y'tan committed suicide after Seanwin was seized," he continued, mentioning the leader of the third eminent province on Calhoun. "You're here, M'k'n'zy has gone missing and will likely be found dead or alive by morning, and I've alerted most of the other foremost names on this world to be here, or face my wrath." The leader of vanquished Condacin stared. "You're doing as he said? Gathering us all in one place to be killed like fish in a barrel? You're even more of an idiot than I thought." "We're pacifying them, showing good intentions after these nightmarish few weeks." A pause. "They're not fools. They know that it would be difficult managing Xenexian affairs without the guidance of natives familiar with the affairs. They're not going to kill us, O'd'yl." He turned back to his disheveled desk, strewn and abandoned strategies and plans lying across the metal surface. "You have one night, then it'll be a new world." A kindly light struck his eyes, almost condescending in its overwhelming pity. "And with dawn, you'll see that this was the right decision to make. In a way, we'll have won -- undoubtedly we'll exercise our own control, just paying tribute and occasionally pacifying the Xenexians, and in turn, we'll be safe from other threats. Total autonomy isn't always the right choice. We have no way of knowing that they'll run a dictatorship like the Danteri -- perhaps this is for the best, after all." O'd'yl stayed herself against the door's frame, not offering so much as a glance back. "Everything we've fought for and everything Xenex is will be gone come sun-up. I hope you're prepared for that." * * * The fading sun chased O'd'yl to the village center's sandy courtyard, a safe bit of natural Xenex accessible without venturing past the surrounded city walls. The woman knelt in the dirt -- somewhere, she pondered, after their ignoble defeat, she thought she belonged, and listened to the near absence of sound, shockingly different from the hum of phase weaponry and clash of sword; pelting of rock and the screams of the dying. It was quiet, apprehensively serene, and should not have been. Assured that she was alone, assured in her convictions that she'd deserved a very hellish afterlife to be met the next day, assured she'd failed in every station she'd inherited, and beyond all things, assured that Xenex was lost to her forever, O'd'yl of Condacin wept in the sands, falling from her crouch into the sandy dirt and into Xenex itself. And there, she found herself the next morning, dawn threatening to come with every brightening minute. There she'd spent, what she was sure, was the last night of her life.

Happy birthday to Jones! Happy birthday to Jones! Happy birthday dear kitty! Happy birthday to Jones! :) :lol:

Two days. Two days to think and breathe. No. More like... two days to not think any more than was necessary. Yes. That was what was needed. The chance to let thought give way to a sort of quiet oblivion. For the moment -- though she did still harbor some guilt at the fact -- Odile did have a few "quiet moments". Sailing away from Earth was helping to alleviate some of that guilt. There wasn't the constant, smoldering reminder out the window when you were back in space. Odile'd had half a mind to raise a hell worthy of holiness when she'd heard they were departing Sol system. But one, somber fact had stayed her sharp tongue -- after ten... twelve... however many days it'd been, survivors of the initial attack were either rescued or dead. Blunt, yes, but it did mean that Earth wasn't in desperate need for as many hands to dig as possible. So yes. They had downtime. And if Odile was needing it... well... her homeworld hadn't even been the one attacked. Certainly her Earth-raised comrades were needing it. So the Xenexian grudgingly accepted "rest", and accepted that it was "good", and therefore did not complain to either colonel. Rigel was pretty, or so she had overheard from one of the Argosian twins on Beta shift. Though, Odile highly doubted (and decided not to tell them), she doubted they'd be getting shore leave. Vulcan was more likely -- and more welcome to the desert-born Xenexian -- assuming they weren't called somewhere else when their ferrying was over. Under normal circumstances, Condacin would have liked to poke fun at the bureaucracy they were headed to retrieve, but this time... she really couldn't bring herself to. She couldn't even come up with a private quip about the Federation having a severe lack of good, rugged, sword-bearing clanleaders. Odile was losing her touch. Ah well. Maybe with the few extra hours of sleep she'd been able to pilfer, her wit would return. Odile wasn't really sure about much concerning the secretary of state and passenger of honor. She was on Rigel, and she was a "she" by all accounts. The Xenexian had never cared much for politics (aside from critiquing Federation leaders' methods of not waving swords around -- literally) and thusly she was, so to speak, "out of the loop". She rather liked it that way, quite frankly. Childhood spent being coerced into learning the intricacies of Xenexian governship was quite enough time spent on the subjects for one lifetime, thank you very much. On the other hand, she grudgingly knew enough hostessry and protocol to say to some degree of certainty that they would need to hold some sort of... event... or meal... or something, once said secretary appeared on board. Even if a good swine-roast was neither appropriate nor feasible (and Odile struggled to see Harper making a good showing of breaking the first pig's leg off said roast -- proper custom for the most senior leader present), there was surely something they could do. She'd talk it over with Harper, Odile mused when she made her way from the lift, and leave the Federation parties to her to conceive. She had a bad feeling that if she planned it without Harpy's direction, she'd end up smacked -- or worse -- it might work out too well, and she'd be made events-planner for all their gatherings. And that was anything but a happy thought.

LOL, Khal, I was trying to find a lol like that. Good one. :D

The following is a tribute to "famed" Skippy's List . While Odile's version is (fairly) free of more mature-content, be advised that the original is less restrained. :) 1. Not allowed to threaten anyone with black magic. 2. Not allowed to challenge anyone’s disbelief of black magic by asking for hair. 3. Not allowed to add “In accordance with the prophesy” to the end of answers I give to a question an officer asks me. 4. Not allowed to add pictures of officers I don’t like to war criminal posters. 5. Not allowed to purchase anyone’s soul on Starfleet time. 6. Not allowed to purchase anyone's soul off of Starfleet time. 7. Not allowed to join any militia. 8. Not allowed to form any militia. 9. The gods may not contradict any of my orders. 10. May not call any officers immoral, untrustworthy, lying, slime, even if I’m right. 10a. Especially not if I'm right. 11. Must not taunt the Danteri NCO. 12. Even if it makes a disparaging comment about Xenexians. 13. Must not kill the Danteri NCO. 14. Even though it makes disparaging comments about Xenexians. 15. Must not tell any officer that I am smarter than they are, especially if it’s true. 16. Never bring up Cheron to a Romulan, Khitomer to a Klingon, or the Dominion War to anyone. 17. Don’t take the batteries out of the other enlistees' alarm clocks (Even if they do hit snooze about forty times). 18. Not allowed to wake an Non-Commissioned Officer by repeatedly banging on the head with a bag of trash. 19. Not allowed to let sock puppets take responsibility for any of my actions. 20. Not allowed to let sock puppets take command of my post. 21. Not allowed to chew gum on away teams if I didn't bring enough for everybody. 22. (Next day) Not allowed to chew gum on away teams even if I did bring enough for everybody. 23. Can’t have flashbacks to wars I was not in. (I therefore cannot remember ever fighting Xindi.) 24. Not allowed to ask for the day off due to religious purposes, on the basis that the universe is going to implode, more than once. 24a. Not even if I'm using an alien calendar. 25. I do not have super-powers. 26. Not allowed to trade military equipment for “magic beans”. 27. Not allowed to sell magic beans during duty hours. 28. An order to “Make my boots black and shiny” does not involve electrical tape. 29. The proper response to a lawful order is not “Why?” 30. May not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command. 31. “The Giant Space Ants” are not at the top of my chain of command. 32. Nor are "The Giant Space Scorpions". 33. Unless a Scorpiad really is in command, in which case they prefer the proper term, "Scorpiad". 34. If a Marine has a 2nd Lt bar on his uniform, and I have an E-4 on mine, it means he outranks me. It does not mean “I have been promoted three more times than you”. 35. It is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, no longer applies to Odile Condacin. 36. Command decisions do *not* need to be ratified by a 2/3 majority. 37. There are no evil clowns living under my bed. 37a. Or in my closet. 37b. Or my fresher. 38. I may not line a helmet with tin foil to “Block out the space mind control lasers”. 39. Even if we do have an Elasian aboard. 40. Especially if we have an Elasian aboard. 41. I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication. 42. May not conduct psychological experiments on my chain of command. 43. Must not start any situation report with “I recently had an experience I just had to write you about….” 44. Must not use Colonel Medusa's yacht to “squish” things. 45. Even if they were on the hull. 46. Anesthezine gas is not funny. 47. Crucifixes do not ward off officers, and I should not test that. 48. Even though they do drink blood and have fangs and hide from ultraviolet. 49. I am not in need of a more suitable host body. 50. Even if I do paint on spots going down my neck. 51. My commander is not old enough to have fought in the Earth-Romulan War, and I should stop implying that he did. 52. Romulan Ale, mint extract, and an empty mouthwash bottle is a bad combination. 53. Must not mock command decisions in front of the press. 54. Should not taunt members of the press, even if they are really fat, exceptionally stupid, and working for FNS. 55. I am not qualified to operate any Federation, Romulan, Klingon, Breen, Scorpiad, or Soltan armored ground vehicles. 56. I should not speculate on the size of genitals belonging to anyone who outranks me. 56a. Or anyone who doesn't. 56b. Even civilians. 56c. Especially alien civilians. 57. Even if we do it on Xenex. 58. I cannot arrest children for being rude. 59. Two drink limit does not mean first and last. 60. Two drink limit does not mean two kinds of drinks. 61. Two drink limit does not mean the drinks can be as large as I like. 62. “No Drinking Of Alcoholic Beverages” does not imply that a hypo of Saurian brandy is acceptable. 63. “I’m drunk” is a bad answer to any question posed by my commander. 64. The shipwide comm is not a forum to voice my ideas. 65. The shipwide comm is not to be used to replace the radio. 66. Should not show up at the airlock wearing part of a Bajoran uniform, messily drunk. 67. Even if my commander did it. 68. I am not authorized to sell mineral rights. 69. Not allowed to use my dagger to disprove “The pen is mightier than the sword”. 70. The proper way to report to Medusa is “Lieutenant Commander Condacin, reporting as ordered, Sir!” not “You can’t prove a thing!” 71. Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command. 72. On training missions, try not to shoot down the Captain's shuttle. 73. We do not “charge into battle, screaming, like our Xenexian forefathers”. 74. Any device that can crawl across the table on medium does not need to be brought to the senior staff meeting. 75. My chain of command has neither the time, nor the inclination to hear about what I did with six boxes of Fruit r'Ollup. 76. When operating a military vehicle I may not attempt something “I saw in a cartoon-vid". 77. My name is not a killing word. 78. I am not the empress of anything. 79. Must not make s’mores with the bunsen burners in the Lab. 80. The proper response to a briefing is not “That’s what you think”. 81. Shouldn’t take incriminating photos of my chain of command. 82. Even if I wasn't planning for them to be made public. 83. Even if the lampshade she was wearing looked like a really cool hat at the time. 85. Shouldn’t use Photoshop 2395 to create incriminating photos of my chain of command. 83. “To commit genocide upon all Danteri” is a bad long term goal to give the enlistment office. 84. Not allowed to get shot. 85. Not allowed to play into the deluded fantasies of the civilians who are “hearing conversations” from the microchips implanted in their brain by the Obsidian Order, Section 31, ATAG, or the Tal'Shiar. 86. Do not convince anybody that their razorbumps are the result of microscopic, flesh-devouring parasites. 86a. Do not convince anybody that the rash from microscopic, flesh-devouring parasites are just razorbumps. 87. Duct tape is not a cure all. 87a. It is conceded that duct tape may be used to cure certain mechanical problems. 87b. Duct tape may not be used to ensure that no civilian personnel are lost. 87c. Anyone requiring duct tape for legitimate purposes will be required to fill out a requisition form with the signatures of two senior officers. 87d. A list of banned uses of duct tape is kept next to the list of forbidden items. This list is also kept up to date. 87e. Duct tape cannot seal fissures in the plasma conduits. 88. “It followed me home!” is no excuse. 89. "It was cute!" is an even worse excuse. 90. Diamonds are not a girl's best friend. A girl's best friend is her dagger. 91. "I wonder what this does," is not something your away team wants to hear. 92. Nor is "Hey! Look what happens when I do this!" 93. If the natives believe you to be male because you are wearing trousers, allow them to continue to believe it. 94. Respect the colourful fauna. Warning colours are very pretty. 95. "It was like that when I found it," is not a suitable excuse when writing a sit-rep. 96. I am not a citizen of "Xenex and those other, lesser worlds". 97. If the thought of something makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it. 97a. If the thought of something makes me giggle at ALL, I had better file a written request for permission. 98. "Hairballs" is not a proper excuse to give for a day of medical leave. 99. I cannot "catch hairballs" from the second officer. 99a. Or the X.O. 99b. Or the helmsman. 100. Not allowed to sing Klingon drinking songs on Away Missions. 100a. Even quietly. 100b. Even the "clean" ones. 100c. There are no "clean" Klingon drinking songs. 101. Not allowed to hide all the decaf coffee. 102. Not allowed to hide anything. 102a. Especially the bodies. 103. Calling someone an “targ-kissing idiot” is (barely) acceptable after I get off the comm, not when I think the comm is on mute. Which it wasn’t. 104. Not allowed to refer to subordinates as "my minions". 104a. Or "my zoo". 104b. Or "target fodder". 105. The bridge's fire supression systems do not need 'live testing.' 106. Not allowed to run away from superior officers. 106a. Especially if I know I'm in trouble. 107. I cannot force other crewmen into straightjackets. 108. I am not allowed to tempt someone into a straight jacket to see if they can get out while they are logged onto the bridge conn, and then write love notes on their terminal ID to other people in their department while they frantically try to turn off the computer by kicking it. 109. Not permitted to release ducks into the barracks. 110. Not permitted to release any avians into the barracks. 111. Not permitted to release any non-sentient creatures into the barracks. 112. I may not offer catnip to the second officer while on duty. 112a. Or the executive officer. 112b. Or the helmsman. 113. Not allowed to reprogram turbolifts to "take the scenic route" 114. I am not allowed to distribute SRM to anyone. 115. Setting up a “secret communications frequency” in order to play Xenexian drum music is… you guessed it, not authorized. 116. Pen Flare/Cluster Flare/Parachute Flare wars can, and will, start forest fires… which Oddly will be held responsible for. 117. Not allowed to tell a lieutenant (who then outranked me) “I don’t have to listen to you, you’re just a Lieutenant!” (Note that this never actually stopped me.) 118. I am not a "slave of the evil Federation". 118a. Or Medusa. 118b. Or anyone else for that matter. 118c. This is not the mirror universe. 119. I should not test how sharp my knife is on living things. 119a. Even if they were touching it. 119b. Even if they were doubting how sharp it is. 120. I can't set up a "Secret Xenexian Base" in Jeffries Tube Five. 120a. Even if I also set up a spot to make hooch. 120b. Even if there's enough hooch for everyone. 120c. Especially if there's any hooch at all. 120d. The "Secret Xenexian Base" can't include large-scale, full-color diagrams of Danteri, Danteri anatomy, or their most vulnerable points. 121. I'm the only one who thinks "Danteri Blood Soup" would taste delish, and I can't suggest it to the chef. 121a. Or send the idea for the division that creates emergency ration packs. 122. Aquatic pets are strictly forbidden. 122a. Even if I think they're cute. 122b. Even if I think they resemble my CO. 122c. Especially if I think they resemble my CO. 123. Canine pets are equally forbidden. 123a. Even if I think they're cute. 123b. Even if I think they resemble my CO. 123c. Especially if I think they resemble my CO. 124. I am not allowed to make any sort of animal jokes while on duty. 124a. There are too many cats, dogs, bats, and spineless sea creatures in Starfleet for most of them to be in any way funny, so this is not a valid excuse. 125. Rigging yarn to drop in front of the second officer *is* funny, but is not a good idea. 125a. Or the X.O. 126b. Or the helmsman. 126. I am not allowed to test the scientific properties of any hallucinogenic plants while on board the ship. 126a. Or off the ship. 126b. Or anywhere else.

Note - Takes place before "Servo Nos", by Socom and Shadow. Odile was starting to pace, glancing up at the hazy cloud-layer and then back to her wrist chrono repeatedly. "He said he'd send a shuttle," she muttered, too quiet for the rest of the rescue team to notice. Then, she supposed, it'd barely been three minutes since she'd commed Excalibur. Patience really wasn't her virtue. The Lady of the Lake entered the upper atmosphere and began a descent towards Odile's last coordinates, knowing her she'd be already griping. Patience was not a Xenexian virtue. "Sir," the comm officer piped in. "That woman wants to know where you are..." Corizon looked up, ears flat. Never failed. "Tell her I'll be there soon enough." The gravel was well-compacted under her boots by the time the shuttle was in visual range, smashed by the constant pacing. A sigh of relief sounded as she tried to make out the name from a distance... But something was amiss. It didn't look like a shuttle... ... oh, no ... ... not a shuttle. Oh, gods, he sent his yacht. Corizon swung the yacht around and brought it in for a final approach, a few feet from Odile. It would be good to see how the Xenexian was holding up after all these years. Impatiently, for starters. She half stalked towards the little craft, half nervous (because she didn't want to break it, obviously), and, watching from a safe difference, waited for the hatch to open. The hatch opened and the silver-haired figure clad in an admiral's tunic strode forth with a grin. "This is the welcoming party?" Odile's eyes widened to saucer-size, and she was dumbfounded for what seemed a very, very long time, jaw slack. Then, suddenly -- there was only one word for it -- she pounced, catching the Dameon in a death-grip's bear-hug. Now the blinking was left to Corizon who was embraced by the Xenexian who'd once served as his yeoman on the Excalibur-C some years ago. "Nice to see you too." "You're here!" she happily proclaimed, nearly bouncing as she slipped into the yacht! "I never thought you'd bring down the shuttle yourself..." "Well," he said as he followed the... giddy Xenexian carefully back into the yacht. (There are few things scarier in this universe.) "I couldn't just up and have one of my assistants take a craft off recovery, and the yacht wasn't getting any use..." "We have to work quickly, if carefully," she informed with a nod, sobered for a moment. "The people aren't in immediate danger, so slow and steady with the tractor." She paused, smiling a little sadly. "Thank you for the yacht. It means a lot -- too everyone down here..." He nodded at let her take the controlls. He knew it meant a lot to her, but he didn't push the point. "Take point..." "Aye," she answered. "One-quarter tractor initiating." She glanced him over. "How'd Excalibur hold up?" "About as well as can be expected," he said as he adjusted their position carefully. "She's seen worse..." "Yes," Odile answered, narrowing her eyes at the Dameon. "And you, Captain? Er... no... Admiral, now..." An ear lifted slightly, "Well, Lieutenant Condacin," he said, smirking. "Other than some emotional stress, which is to be expected, I am holding up. Can't let the humans see me all weepy because I lost my home." She frowned decidedly. "I'm sorry, Sir... Well..." O'd'yl paused, considering. "If you ever wished, there's plenty of room in Condacin's grand hall for a much-honored guest." "Oh," he said thoughtfully, "I appreciate it, but I still have the homestead on Dameon Prime and a place on Avalon..." His thoughts drifted to Avalon, Camelot and the Gamma Quadrant. Odile nodded. "The offer's always open," she answered. "I had a little apartment -- just for storage, really, in San Francisco, but I never settled on Earth..." "I lived there pretty much off and on since graduation," he responded as he once again adjusted their position to give her better access with the tractor beam. "I had a place in Tokyo..." She swallowed hard. "Anything salvageable?" "Don't know yet, haven't had time to look... there are people who need to be saved." "Of course," she answered briskly. "Perhaps it's not all lost... and if it has been... it's only a house," she said softly. "Excalibur is your home." "Yes," he said. "And Agincourt yours?" "Agincourt and Xenex." Odile sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly. "I have been thinking lately, perhaps I've been too... detached... from Xenex..." She went quiet, nibbling her lip. "I've... worried that perhaps I should return home. Resign from Starfleet and go to Xenex -- help them there. Gods, after this attack, they'd probably adore having the help..." "I thought about it..." he said thoughtfully. "Leaving the fleet when my homeworld was besieged by the Dominion. And again when they made me a Captain and tossed me out into the Gamma Quadrant... "I thought about it after the Romulan War too..." he said, leaning back in his chair. "I've seen so much death, so much suffering a pain. I started to ask myself was it worth it. Was it worth the emotional wear and tear, was it worth the headache of command. Especially when they gave me these pips..." The Dameon pointed a clawed finger to his the two boxed pips that represented his rank as a 'rear' Admiral, upper-half. "It's a big decision. Deciding how long you want to stay committed. I've spent most of my life in service to the Federation. I've shed blood, both mine and others, on more planets than I care to remember. "In the end though, it comes down to something really simple..." "Yes, Capt -- Admiral?" O'd'yl corrected a second time, quietly. "You have to decide if all of the sacrifices you been made are enough... if the sacrifices you've made are so great that you've filled your duty. I told myself once that they were... that the Federation had asked so much of me, so much that I'd done more than they'd done for me. Then it hit me... "That's not what it's about. I pledged my life to the Federation so that I could protect those who cannot save themselves. Yeah, I could walk away now. I could let someone else fight this war, but then would I be honoring my oath? I pledged to protect and serve the Federation. If I walked away, would I be doing that? Would I be giving them the best chance to win? How many people would suffer so that I could retire happily and not worry about a a few trivial inconveniences?" Odile was silent for a long moment before answering. "I didn't... think... so much of oaths and honor when I joined Starfleet," she admitted. "You know Xenex -- I mean... we're Federation, but so loosely. It wasn't so much allegiance, but... an escape. "But now I don't know... I feel as if I'd be turning my back on friends if I left, and some of those people," she added, with a pointed glance at the Dameon, "are as important as Xenexian kin, now. I've never been...afraid of getting myself killed, but... what if something happened to someone like Harper if I were back on Xenex pretending to be of use there? I don't know if I could forgive myself." She sighed. "Potential guilt is a powerful motivator, almost as much as honor." "My parents both died when the Dominion besieged my world," he said with a thoughtful nod. "People I knew my whole life died. The world I grew up on... it was changed forever. "For a long time... I questioned myself... questioned if I should have followed the path I took... becoming a Starfleet officer. I blamed myself... that I should have been there when the Dominion attempted to take my world. "Then it came to me that one more person wouldn't have mattered in the end. That by staying in Starfleet I was serving a higher purpose. I was doing more than just protecting my homeworld; I was protecting every citizen of the Federation. How many lives had I saved on hundreds of worlds? Yes, it hurt me to know that I couldn't do anything but watch from a distance, and then only through the scattered reports of our forces in the area about what was happening on my home... but my duty, my service to the Federation was a higher calling." Grimly, a small smile spread. "Though I'm not exactly the brilliant Corizon," the Xenexian commented wryly. "I suppose I could be... useful..." "I am sure Medusa would appreciate your continued talents. I am certain she values your unique perspective as well." " 'Odd', is the term, I believe." She grinned, looking more like her usual self. "Though, matters of honor and duty and glory aside, there's been a small question raised over the validity of field commissions...." "Given our current situation," he said, his tone quickly switching from introspective mentor to career officer. "I don't think anyone would particular raise a concern to that commision being rolled over to a full time appointment." He smirked, dubiously. "And if they do... I am sure someone in Starfleet Personnel owes a certain Admiral a favor... or three." Odile bit her lip to avoid grinning wider (and failed), bouncing slightly in her chair. "If that's so, then I'm sure there's a former yeoman on Agincourt who'll owe you about a life debt." Grinning, showing his fangs for the first time in the conversation with his former yeoman, he nodded. "Get them in touch with me... I'll make sure the paper work is handled. We have far better things to be doing than quibbling over a field commission." Aye, aye, Sir!" Condacin snapped off a crisp, if slightly lopsided salute, not wiping the grin off her face. "And... Ah-Windu?" she asked, managing the Dameon pronunciation slowly, if almost perfectly. "Thank you -- a lot." "You're welcome... Oddly," he answered with a wink.

I like Donatra.

Acrid fumes burned at Odile's throat and eyes as soon as she'd materialized. It was different from the scent damage on a starship, somehow -- it was as if everything destruction touched on a world burned life as well as conduits and metal; the Xenexian felt as if she were going to retch. "Three? Good." From somewhere off to her left, a med staffer had brushed by them, dispensing a quick tri-ox shot to each. "We're getting gas masks replicated on the ships as quickly as we can, but for the moment... Ah, thank the stars, another doctor," one commented, noting Odile's raid on Agincourt's staff. She nodded, separating from the rest of the group as she approached a few clumps of personnel that seemed to be gearing up to head into the mess beyond the base camp. "You thinking of going out?" a woman's voice stopped her before she could even approach. Bajoran -- and in civilian wear, not even uniformed. Not that it mattered. "We don't even have enough gear for everyone -- my group's sharing two masks with six -- not to mention only two med-kits." Odile glanced her over, nodded. "Doesn't matter -- I'm helping." The other seemed relieved, leading the Xenexian towards a group which looked like it was otherwise made up of Vulcans and humans. "We're Group Twenty-Six, if you need to identify on the comm," she added briskly. "Ensign Pelara, and you're Lieutenant..." "Condacin. Ensign?" Odile repeated, and instantly regretted it. "Is that a problem?" she snapped back contemptuously, and Condacin couldn't recall the last time she'd heard such a junior worn so thin. Again, it hardly mattered. Odile shook her head, and received a curt nod of reply. "Very well, then. We're moving out. Westerly. Least probed so far." They all nodded, and the Bajoran hefted a large pack over one shoulder; Odile managed a heavy pack full of equipment that one of the Vulcans had gestured she take. It was slow going in the rubble -- there were places where the haze was so thick that she could barely see a meter in front of her. Progress was most times very little, forging trails through the unstable, thick debris. But it wasn't taking long for her to see why the little teams had been setting out instead of waiting for shuttles and thus tractor beams to come available. Half the task was actually finding; some they found were barely hurt – or could be marked and radioed in for med teams to take over from the less medically-inclined search parties. The other half of their finds was... grisly. Battlefields weren't something Odile had spent overmuch time with, and she was grateful that she hadn't been in such... hell... sooner. "Over here," the Bajoran's voice called, gesturing to a large, half-melted former structure of metal. "About eight life-signs. About five meters below here. Oxygen, too... could have been a turbolift shaft." "How the hell are we going to get in there?" Odile asked, eyeing the huge structure dubiously. "I suppose if we all started working on one side of the mess, we could try to drop down through one side..." "Good idea," Pelara commented, already drawing her phaser. "Phasers on setting four..." Six beams shot out, the heavy metal reacting slowly to their efforts. "Scan the area," Condacin ordered from her stance after a few limitedly-successful minutes, finally resorting to using amping up her phaser to maul at the titanium. "See if this is all in the vicinity." There, it finally gave. But the miniscule victory didn't last; Pelara was speaking already. "That I can see... there's a single lifesign just over that mess of metal there. And not even buried," she added, softly, and Odile was already on her feet. "Bring a med-kit," the Xenexian instructed. "Hurry on -- these ones can get to the air-pocket." "Aye," she answered, following quickly with the pack tucked under one arm. They scaled the little ridge of destruction quickly, and Pelara snatched her arm, half dragging her down the shallow slope as they went. "There." Yellow-clad, the mangled form was barely recognizable as anything humanoid from even a few meters away. "Here... the pack," Odile demanded, yanking it open before even getting a look at the cadet. Med-corder out, she started the scanning, and the Bajoran eased him from under the rubble, glancing up at the Xenexian when she'd realized Condacin had frozen. "Ma'am, the scans...?" O'd'yl was shaking, her voice suddenly stricken. She wordlessly handed the tricorder to Pelara, her lips parting and sending her face into an expression of sheer agony. The burns -- gods, they'd have to have surpassed third-degree -- covered the half of his body he'd rested upon, half of his burnished tan face horribly charred and swollen. How he was even alive... The cadet stirred. ... oh, all the gods, he was conscious... His intact eye opened, and Odile started back -- and twice, once she was able to register what she was seeing. His iris was brilliant, burning indigo. There was only one world she'd ever known that produced eye color that intense. Xenex. Oh, by every god worshipped... He was reaching up towards her jerkily, body spasming slightly with the effort. A groan escaped, and she leaned in closer, ignoring her urge to shrink from the hideous burns in revulsion. Somehow his voice was clear -- quiet but clear -- and it startled her. "Mother?" he asked. No. Begged -- and then O'd'yl realized it wasn't in Standard. O'd'yl had broken out trembling completely now, resting a gentle hand against his arm as she shook her head. "No," she answered, then repeated it again in the language he'd used. Gods. Her language. She glanced at Pelara, who almost imperceptibly shook her head, setting the tricorder aside. "Looks like you... her... your eyes... I thought she'd come..." he mumbled, and his head lolled back. Somewhere, far off in the half-meter distance away, the faint, unsteady beep had turned to a solid, quiet whine. Odile clutched at his arm, shaking him slightly. "No..." she murmured, then jerked at the corpse more solidly. "No! "He's gone," Pelara said quietly, even though O'd'yl thought it was obvious she already knew. A few fingers passed over the open, unseeing eye, setting him to rest, and forced herself to release the tattered cloth at the shoulder. Her knees almost buckled beneath her as she tried to stand; she braced herself on a nearby piece of wreckage, staring at the still form of the Xenexian at her feet numbly. "Lieutenant, I'm sorry..." There was no response, no movement, just O'd'yl staring at the body. "Xenexians have a pantheon, no?" the Bajoran tried, softly. "He's with your gods now, isn't he?" she asked softly. O'd'yl's eyes stung, yet dimly she was aware that tears were not falling -- were not even welling up. "Gods?" she asked, a bitter laugh coloring the question. "What gods? Xenexian gods?" she demanded, every word choked and forced, "How could any... omniscient, omnipotent presence care about the all the people on some insignificant, ugly little chunk of rock if they couldn't..." Her voice broke. She looked off away from the cadet, through the billows of smoke and past uncontrolled pockets of flame scattered around the wasteland. Through the chaos she could barely even hear herself; Pelara had to strain to hear what the Xenexian was saying. "If they couldn't even watch over one... one little one so far away from home..." The Bajoran woman didn't dare reach out towards Condacin, keeping a respectful few steps away. "The Prophets watched Bajor be ravaged by Cardassia after all, but they still cared..." "All the more fools your kind, then. And us, for bludgeoning on with hope after the Danteri..." It was short and brief, more clipped than she planned it, and somewhere mixed with her harsh response, she realized that her cheeks were slightly damp -- the trails of tears drying quickly in the heat blowing over them. It was clear the matter was closed from O'd'yl's tone -- though Pelara's concern remained. "Ma'am, if you wish, we can arrange someone to take over for us... you can take a break" There'd rarely been more venom in O'd'yl's fierce gold eyes than then -- the Bajoran took an unconscious step back. "You may do as you wish," she answered, her voice darkened and coarse with rage. "I will be here searching until my hands are bloodied to the bone or until I fall in exhaustion. Is this clear, Ensign? She visibly swallowed. "Yes, Sir." "Good," Odile snarled, gesturing towards the body without quite looking to it. "Tag the body." Her jaw set, and she didn't even cringe as she looked down the long path of destruction before them; she gave a slight nod to the rest of their team joining them. "Three-fifths of seventy thousand cadets are dead or dying within a six kilometer radius of our position. I suggest we resume moving immediately."