Charlotte Matsumura

Change of Plans CAPT Roane Townsend (NPC) LCDR Anna Lorraine (NPC) *** Arriving from the Gamma Quadrant in the darkness of morning, the tangle of emotions flowing over her link with the Director of Operations, Roane Townsend, had threatened to overwhelm LCDR Anna Lorraine from the moment her feet touched solid ground. Curiosity, confusion, frustration, relief, anger -- the unrestrained tidal wave made for a very restless few hours. Having given up any pretence of sleep, she showered and dressed, then found her way to Intelligence headquarters. She swept past the yeoman with little more than a nod, entering the Director's office. "Has anyone ever told you," she drawled, "that you think too loud?" Roane turned from his window. "A time or two." A rueful smile twitched across his lips, his thoughts mingling with her own. Sorry...I'd forgotten how easy this was. Her own lips curved into a mischievous grin. It always amused her that even his mental voice had inherited his mother’s Australian accent. Did you forget I was coming? She felt his chuckle as she crossed to the replicator, ordering up a double shot latte. The warmth radiating through the ceramic was oddly soothing, the scent calming. She drew on the comfort and conveyed it across their link, smoothing over the spikes of emotion between them. "So why don't you tell me what's going on?" Folding herself into a chair opposite his desk, Anna watched as he frowned, struggling to express himself verbally. "You remember the loud, nosy ambassador on Betazed -- the one who kept saying that only an idiot fights a war on 2 fronts?" he finally asked. "And the heir to the throne of the kingdom of idiots fights a war on twelve fronts?" "That's the one." Captain Townsend jerked his thumb at his chest. "Meet the heir to the throne." Anna winced. "That bad?" The Director offered his own grimace. "Some sort of new subspace anomaly has popped up between Deep Space Nine and Camelot and it's playing hell with our communications. We're getting echoes and disruptions all over the place, which means more messenger boys and more cryptogeeks into the void. "We're still neck-deep in Council hearings, thanks to my predecessor and the...stormhe stirred up, and now, as a direct result, I have orders to pull my station chief from Camelot, and assign detached duty with the Diplomatic Corps." Anna stopped, blinking over the rim of her cup. "Oh." "Yeah," Townsend said, "oh." He rubbed his face with his hand, exhaling, then leaning on the high back of his chair. "Combined with a few other situations on the rise and a shortage of personnel, I finally see what the ambassador meant." "And Mal isn't going to like being pulled." "He's going to like it even less when he finds out what it entails." There was only one reason why Mal would be specifically requested. "Romulus?" Anna asked. The Director nodded. "Accompanied." "So not tr'Argelian." "Not this time; it's sanctioned." He paused. "Sort of." Lorraine arched a brow. "Sort of?" "You remember how this mess started, with Excalibur charging off after a bunch of arms dealers?" "Vaguely. Mal's filled me in on a few things, but I was still on Betazed for most of it." "Well, Command sent the Republic after her. Her captain and the higher-ups made some sort of exchange deal with the Rommies -- one of theirs for one of ours, to try and smoke out the arms dealers on both sides of the fence." "And now Mal will serve as one of ours." Roane nodded. "Exactly. Using one of his established covers is out of the question -- we can't afford to blow something we might need to use later." "So the Romulans have provided his cover?"Anna asked, brows raised. "That doesn't seem smart." "I may be operationally limited, love, but I'm not that stupid." The Director smirked. "We had a little help, yeah, but not all...open. We do still have a few moles here and there. Turns out we didn't need as much help from Galae as they thought." "I'll bet that went over well." The smirk widened. "Like the proverbial lead balloon." Chuckling, Anna shook her head, feeling his amusement with her own. "Well, when do you break the bad news?" "Provided Mal gets his marching orders in time?" Roane glanced at his terminal. "In about...four days. He has a pit stop to make at Deep Space Nine -- pick up Lieutenant Matsumura." Lorraine felt a knot rise in her throat. She took a swallow of coffee, forcing it down. "And hercover story?" A grin slipped across her former lover's features, matched with the gleam in his eye. Wicked amusement and understanding vibrated across their link. "Either his servant or his bondmate. Of course, I thought bondmate might be more appropriate." Anna nodded. "...on their honeymoon." This time, she choked. "Of course," she rasped. Reaching down, Roane took her cup from her hand, sipping from it himself. He grinned as his eyes met hers. "I'm not the only one who thinks too loud." ***

It's like Tatooine and Hoth, all rolled into one...

Plan 9 from Camelot Station CAPT Roane Townsend (NPC) LCDR Anna Lorraine (NPC) *** Securing the sash of her robe around her waist, Anna Lorraine stepped out of her bathroom as the LCARS terminal signalled an incoming transmission. A glance to the screen identified the caller. With a sigh, she flopped into her desk chair, booting up the terminal. “I go out here as a favor; you never call, you never write...” A wry grin twitched across the lips of Roane Townsend as he regarded her across subspace. “I know, I know. I'm a horrible friend. How ever will I make it up to you?” “Well,” Anna drawled, leaning back in her chair, “you can start by telling me why you're calling, and we'll go from there.” The wry grin reappeared, intermingled with a mischievous flicker in his eyes. “What? An old friend can't call out of the blue, when he hasn't been heard from in months, and you've already got a world of trouble on your doorstep?” It was Anna's turn to smirk. “Something like that.” “I'm calling about the Augustine.” Lorraine narrowed her eyes briefly in appraisal, a slight stirring along their link, despite the distance. “You've got a line on her orders.” The Director of Operations nodded. “One of our friends on the Council arranged to cut her orders. Details were classified, but it's what we expected: She was sent to verify the quarantine, deploy a few new-fangled sensors to feed information back to the bug-boys here at HQ, then report back to Camelot Station before heading for some R-and-R.” “...and when they never made Camelot, they sent in Excalibur to find out what happened.” “Something like that.” Townsend pushed aside a PADD. “What are you hearing from the field?” “Nothing good.” Anna paused, reconsidering. “That's not entirely true. The Excalibur away team – the one transported to the surface – has been retrieved. But there was a reactor incident aboard Augustine, and the team aboard was lost.” The captain frowned. “How many?” “At least 4. Mal has the full report.” “Plus the crew of the Augustine.” Townsend shook his head. “Whatever is down there can't be worth that – especially if it had the Klingons running scared.” “I completely agree. But Swain seems dead set on finding out just what happened.” “And what do you think happened?” Folding her arms across her chest, Anna scowled. “I think that the Augustine was dispatched to verify the quarantine surrounding the Dominion base, and to deploy those new science toys for observation. Once they deployed those new toys, someone aboard had to have figured out how to read the transmissions. Then, for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom, someone convinced Ostander to send down an away team. “The team went down,” she continued, “and came back with something in containment – a sample of some sort. Frell, at this point, I have to wonder if they didn't bring back a complete-bloody-specimen. Either way, containment was obviously breached, and the entire crew became the main course for whatever science fair project lives down there.” Townsend sighed, rubbing his face wearily. “Sounds like the plot to every bad science fiction movie going back to the Pre-Eugenics days.” To this, Anna nodded. She reached absently for the cup of tea just beyond her screen, cradling it as she considered the situation further. Her lips thinned over the rim. “And if we don't get Excalibur out of there soon, we're likely to have the really bad sequel.” “With one of our agents in a starring role,” the captain added. Anna recognized the edginess that crept into his voice, at once frustrated and exhausted. “All right – get an updated sitrep from Excalibur. Containment must be maintained. Make her aware; she may yet get a chance to practice her skillset.” “Done. Anything else?” Townsend shook his head. “Just keep in touch. We may have to act quickly.” “The usual, then,” Anna replied with a chuckle. “Speaking of – shouldn't you be having this conversation with Mal?” “Probably,” Roane admitted. “But...?” “But he doesn't look nearly as lovely in a bathrobe.” With a wink and a lopsided grin, the image of Roane Townsend blinked out, replaced by the UFP logo. Anna stuck her tongue out at the screen. She really hated it when he did that. ***

A Likely Hypothesis LTJG Charlotte Matsumura CDR Malcolm Alexander (NPC) *** “Please tell me you're not stepping out for a bit of fresh air.” Charlotte regarded Malcolm Alexander with a wry grin, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. It was a natural movement, made more difficult by the extra layers of her hazard suit. “Hardly. Try compressed, stale air aboard a very derelict Augustine.” The commander raised his brows. “You found her?” “We did,” Matsumura replied, “with no evidence of her crew, other than some disturbing organic substances that remind me of the snake house in spring.” Now removed from the situation, she allowed herself a small shudder. Snakes were one of the few things that still made her skin crawl. On the LCARS screen, Alexander grimaced. “There's a cheery thought. Don't suppose the Augustine's crew is being slowly digested by a giant space snake? They do have those sort of things out here, don't they?” “I'm quite sure there are no snakes on this...ship.” Her eyes twinkled as she responded. “As to the local flora and fauna, well, there are vampires and overgrown scorpions, so why not an overgrown space snake? It seems as likely a hypothesis as any.” Reaching up, she tapped a few commands into the terminal. “I'm transmitting our current location. The Augustine apparently took up orbit above an equally derelict Dominion base. What I've read indicates it was taken over by the Allies at the end of the war; it seems to have been marked off-limits shortly thereafter.” “Nothing odd about that... There are Dominion bases all over that sector, left over from their push into our space.” Mal narrowed his eyes, looking off to his left as he surveyed what Charlotte assumed was another data screen. “Now that's a little odd...” “What's a little odd?” Alexander focussed on the data screen, rather than looking to Charlotte as he spoke. “Well, you're right: The base was taken by the Allies after the war, then turned over to the Klingons as part of the treaty. But they turned it back over to the Federation almost immediately.” Surprised, Charlotte blinked. Her brow furrowed as she took in the information. “I've never known the Klingons to cede spoils.” At this, Mal glanced to her. “Me, either,” he replied. “Official record says it was a case of undetonated ordinances.” “Undetonated – Wait. Official record?” Matsumura leaned forward, resting her weight on her forearms on the desk. She cast a glance around, checking the location of her fellow security officers. Most were occupied with other tasks. Should have taken this in my quarters, she thought. Too late now. “So what does the, ah, other record say?” His expression was grim as he regarded her across subspace. “It was quarantined under recommendation from the Chem-Bio team.” Charlotte fought back another shudder. The Chemical and Biological Warfare Unit had a reputation for facing down some of the nastiest bugs and compounds in the known galaxy. That the base had been quarantined spoke volumes as to the threat; in her suspicious mind, it also suggested the Federation might be interested in what resided there. It would explain why the base had been quarantined instead of simply destroyed. “So what was Augustine doing here?” “A more important question is how long are you going to be there?” The wry grin twitched across her own lips. “Asking for professional or personal reasons?” “A little of both.” There was a warmth to his eyes, tempered with concern – a fine line between the professional and the personal. “I might be the tiniest bit biased, but it is off limits for a reason. The last thing we want is to lose another ship to...whatever it is, lurking in the shadows out there.” “I've never been afraid of things that go bump in the night.” “No, but slithering things definitely put you off your game.” “We owe it to the Augustine.” At this, Alexander could only sigh. “I'll make some calls. If I can't find out what you're up against, I can at least find out what Augustine was doing out there.” Charlotte felt a pang deep in her chest, suddenly wishing she were back on the station; back on familiar ground; back with him. She offered him a soft smile. “Thank you, Mal.” “Anytime, love. Check in again soon, hm?” “I will.” There was no further comment as the screen went black. The bad feeling she'd felt aboard Augustine had just grown by leaps and bounds.

For the Team CDR Malcolm Alexander LCDR Anna Lorraine Note: Takes place just prior to dinner in the pub during liberty/shore leave. *** A scowl shadowed Malcolm Alexander’s features, the PADD in his hand dropping to the desktop with a clatter. "All that and the damned thing doesn’t work?" Anna Lorraine felt the frustration radiating off her colleague in waves – not that she could blame him. Since the end of the war, the general belief was that whatever contraption the Dominion had been developing had fallen into the hands of the Kalith: Intelligence had never been able to confirm the suspicion, one way or the other; the Kalith had done nothing to disabuse them of this assumption, instead fanning the flames wherever possible. It was a proverbial brick wall that taunted the organization for over a decade. During the course of this mission, the Camelot team prioritized the raw intelligence data. Their analysts spent countless hours and many sleepless nights pouring over the information, trying to pull something together. With the addition of the Masovian download, a new assessment began to emerge, complete with a new security dilemma: If Starfleet could get the mystery device to work, then it might set the power struggle in their favor. That, Anna thought, is a very big if. “Not at the moment,” she replied aloud. “But you know us... we've got a slew of those gifted engineers back home; they’ll probably make quick work -- change the political constant of the universe or something.” She sighed as she leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Though I suppose it still does, doesn’t it?” “Change the political constant of the universe?” Mal echoed, and she nodded. The senior officer sighed. “S'pose it does. We know that the Kalith know it doesn't work; we know that the Masovians know it doesn't work. We also know that the Kalith don't know that the Masovians know it doesn't work.” A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. “Have a headache yet? Anna gave a snort of laughter, massaging her temple for effect. “I think feel one coming on...” “So if we know the Kalith don't know that the Masovians know,” Mal continued, “then we can barter a deal with the Masovians and play dumb with the Kalith.” Furrowing her brow, Lorraine pushed errant locks of black hair from her eyes. “And that gets us what, exactly?” “Two sides against the middle, and us with wearing a refs jersey.” “Almost like wearing a target – stands out about as much.” Anna paused, biting her lip as her thoughts clicked over. “What about the intel Charlotte downloaded from the Masovian ship?” Alexander grimaced, shoving the PADD further across his desk. “Confirms the data pulled from the shuttle. The analysts are still chewing on the rest. If there is anything of note, Headquarters will probably sit on it until it’s past its expiration date.” The lieutenant commander regarded the station chief for a long moment. Frustration intermingled with a hint of bitterness now, almost palpable on her tongue. “Look, Mal, it’s been a long push and even longer since you had a break. Why don’t you find Charlotte and, I dunno, take her out for dinner or something?” There was a momentary hitch in his movement, one that anyone else might have missed. “Well, it has been a while since we’ve caught up…” “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Anna arched a brow at him, wry grin twitching across her lips. “Anna –“ “Look, we're friends, okay? I know you well enough to read you, and there's this" -- she paused, searching for the right term -- "background clutter between you. I won't say anything to anyone -- Goddess knows I have enough of my own issues in that department." She shook her head. “Seriously, go; relax; have a good time. I’ll look over the draft estimate and make sure our new ensigns don’t blow anything up.” “Maybe I should be more worried about you blowing things up.” The smile he offered was a touch forced, but a hint of mischief glinted in his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet; she could feel him struggle to lighten his own mood. “Not a chance! My eyebrows are finally growing back nicely…” “Fine, fine... Call me if anything comes up?” “You know I will.” Mal regarded her for a long moment. “All right – see you next shift.” Anna nodded and stood watching until he disappeared down the corridor. She then turned her attention to the PADD on the desk, perusing the new intelligence estimate her commanding officer drafted. “This is definitely taking one for the team,” she muttered. ***

Tightrope CDR Rue Wydown CDR Mal Alexander (NPC) *** Commander Wydown flopped down in her desk chair and scrubbed her hands with her face. She had one hour left before the senior staff meeting to finish shifting through the multiple situation reports and come up with a clear timeline of events and actions. Dealing with different individuals POV made the job all the more interesting. A bit like trying to follow the moonwalking bear in the middle of dribbling contest. In addition, she was still waiting for the status updates from the Cape Horn and Valorous, the two SF ships who’d accompanied Excalibur on their mission. Both ships were to regain formation with Excalibur now that the missing freighter had been located, but Cape Horn was once again having difficulty with the ion storm. She hoped that the Cape could pull it together long enough to return to Camelot for that long overdue overhaul. She punched the button on her computer to accept the incoming call from...weeeeelllllll... she wasn’t quite sure where the call was form. She hadn’t been paying all that close attention when the OPS officer on duty had told her she had an incoming transition. She assumed it was from the Valorous, but maybe it was the Cape Horn. She answered in a distracted fashion as she tried to dutifully organize her notes for the senior staff meeting. “Whotcha.” "And a good afternoon to you, too," came the familiar voice of Mal Alexander. Looking up, Rue found his familiar features on her screen, a droll smile curving his lips. "How's my favorite Ralafean doing?" Thinking of only one reason why Alexander would call her, Wydown decided to cut the small talk and go right to the main event. She flashed a cat-like grin and leaned back in her chair, arms folded across her chest as she prepared for the entertainment soon to come. “Wuzhe done distime?” Her question about her ex-husband’s antics coming out like a run-on sentence. “He?” Mal furrowed his brow momentarily. “Oh, Clay! Oh, well, nothing -- that I know of, at least. He’s still on Terra Firma... though, with Jamie hovering nearby, I’m not going to make any promises. God save the planet if they get bored.” Smiling through her confusion as to why then Mal had her on the comm if he wasn’t calling to share some mischief caused by Clayton, she shrugged. “Lucky we’re out here then, aye?” “Not so much, no,” he replied, drawing the syllables out. This was the first confirmation for Rue that this was not a social call. Cautiously she asked. “What makes you say that?” Her own accent made ‘what’ sound like ‘wha-ought’. Leaning back in his own chair, the intelligence officer mirrored her position. “Well, let’s see. On one side, we have the Vorta and the Jem Hadar acting like dangerous amateurs; the Scorpiad and Al-Ucard fighting to see who’s on top; and the Federation behind us. I’d say luck has very little to do with it.” “See now, I think luck has everything to do with it.” She grinned, relaxing for the moment. “We’re lucky none of these factors can get their act together or we’d have our collective a...” -- she paused, rephrasing her comment for public comms -- “bustles in a bunch. And we’re lucky we have such awesomely skilled ‘Fleeters to handle it.” “Yes, well, I suppose Swain is something of an improvement over the mutt,” Alexander muttered. “Speaking of... I’m afraid I’ve something of an unusual request.” “And there’s the shoe....” She sighed, tensing up again. “What is it?” “You’ve been copied on on the comms traffic from headquarters about the Kalith-Hakarian situation?” “Yesssss?” “And you’ve read the intelligence estimate we did on the Kalith after the war?” “Emh, what intelligence estimate?” Rue raised a brow. Mal grimaced, shaking his head. “As I was saying about the Federation behind us,” he said under his breath. “You know the Changelings have all but buggered out, leaving the Jem Hadar and Vorta to fend for themselves.” He paused, watching as Rue nodded, still eyeing him skeptically. “It’s not a very stable situation, and several powers are lining up to take advantage -- the Kalith being one of them. “Toward the end of the war, intelligence sources reported Dominion R&D was working on some sort of...superweapon, something that would cast the war in their favor. The war ended before they had much of a chance to play with it, but the key research facility was located within the Hakar Empire. That facility is now in the hands of the Kalith.” “Oh lovely. That explains a wee bit about the firefight we walked into.” She paused, trying slide this new information into what she all ready knew. “I think.” The commander smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, wait -- it gets better.” “Just like Christmas and Birthdays all rolled up into one, isn’t it? What more do you have for me, luv?” “Well,” he drawled, “the data we downloaded just might indicate that the Hakarians have stolen that data from the Kalith. Using a spy, or maybe a double agent.” “Wow, it does getting better and better.” Rue actually grinned instead showing worry about this new information - like she should have been. “What’s next? Any spoilers?” “Spoilers would be really helpful at the moment, actually...which brings me around to why I called.” Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck. “We need eyes and ears in your meetings with the Hakarians and the Kalith. The Director is going through proper channels to ask for assistance from Swain, but...” “But...?” “But I’m not entirely certain how far Swain can be trusted -- or even how useful he’d be as an intelligence asset. Whereas you --” “Are an old friend you can trust.” There’s the second shoe, she thought. He at least had the grace to give a sheepish smile. “Something like that, yeah.” “This is the first time you’ve asked me to do something like this. Why now?” Rue was cautious. She’d known Mal for the better part of twenty years. While she was pretty sure that several of Mal’s innermost circle (her ex-husband included) suspected that he worked for Intel, they all had a “monkey see no evil” blinders on. Plausible deniablity. It wasn’t until the whole disastrous mission last year that Rue had any official confirmation of what Mal did, when she had to rescue him from out the paranoia of her own crew. Apparently putting the blinders back on after the cat slipped the bag was no longer an option, especially since she’d moved up the ranks to Executive Officer. To make matters worse, she didn’t know where the lines were drawn and how close -- or how far across -- she could stray without getting herself thrown into the furnace. Being burned by Corizon’s previous actions didn’t help much, either. “Honestly? Because we don’t have any other way in; because I know you’re a reliable source. I need observations -- human ones -- to tell the other side of the story, and I can’t get that from a listening post.” He cleared his throat. “And, well, I was rather thought I could trust you not to blow my cover.” Wydown gave him such a look of reproach for thinking that she would ever compromise his position, even when he was asking her to do the same. If he had been within slapping distance, she’d have given him such a thwap to the back of the head right then. She shook her head, scowling rather sourly at Mal. “What is it you want to know?” “They’re going to have stories about what’s going on -- why they’re shooting at one another, and why there was a sabotaged pod drifting in space. I need to know what those are so we can do a little research and try to sort fact from fiction. And trust me -- there’s a lot of fiction going on with these two.” “Exhibit A - our ‘guest’ on board.” “And how is your ‘guest’? Has he regained consciousness?” “Aye, and was questioned a fair bit by our security team. His story wasn’t quite adding up to what we were finding with his escape craft. Apparently after the last round of questioning, he panicked or figured out the jig was up, so he decided to have a right good time in sickbay. Bloody cheeky of him, trying to hold sickbay hostage.” She smirked. “He’s been moved to more accommodating accommodations.” There was a flicker of concern before he could resume his neutral expression. He cleared his throat. “Everyone’s all right?” Wydown was trying very hard not to laugh, highly amused by life or death situations. “No worse for it.” Her facial expression resembled that of a three year old with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “Wellllllll...I sorta gassed the place. Felt it was the most humane way to end the conflict.” Wydown shrugged innocently. “My self defense guru said I wasn’t playing cricket. I should’ve let the Marines storm the place. Oh, and, erm, my CSEC is apparently experiencing some...” she cleared her throat. “...extended effects of the sedative.” She held a hand over her mouth, unaware that the mic could pick anything as she muttered, “Loopy as a loon, that one is.” “Good, good,” Mal replied, visibly relieved despite his best efforts. Leaning in, he rested his elbows on his desk as he tapped a command or two into his terminal. “I’m forwarding you an eyes-only copy of the data we’ve cracked so far. It’s not much more than a barnstormer list: Names of deep-cover Masovian spies, the ones who probably ‘liberated’ the information to begin with. We suspect the spies may be aboard the transport... and so the Kalith want to kill several birds with one phaser shot.” “Um, luv, how much of this can I share with my Captain?” Rue had no blueprints on how this worked. She had started a decent working relationship with Swain and really, really didn’t want to lie to the man. “And how do I share it?” “Townsend will see that Swain gets copies of the report I’ve just sent you, and catch him up to speed on the Kalith situation. I’d, ah, prefer if you not tell him you’re going to feed information back to me, though. Trying to protect my assets.” Wydown cheekily peered over the viewscreen, pretending to examine said ‘assets’. “Your assets look just fine to me” She teased, winked. The two of them had been friends long enough, that a bit of teasing was always in order. “So watch, learn, listen and send information back. Erm, and how do pass on information to you?” Mal smiled. “Phone home,” he replied simply. “I can encrypt the call from my end so the data stays secure.” “You telling me this whole conversation has been encrypted?” “Yep,” he said, popping the “p.” “Never call Excalibur without it...well, rarely.” “I hope this isn’t going to become a habit between us,” Rue pulled a face. “This is only a one-off, so to speak, aye?” “Can’t guarantee, but, for the record, I didn’t want to ask.” She should have probably hesitated more when she answered, but that was one of her weakiness, “All right, I trust you.” and she did. She trusted him not to lead her into a Corizon-sized trap. She nodded. “Anything else, mate?” “At the moment, no.” He leaned back in his chair, once again folding his arms across his chest as he regarded her. “S’pose I’ll owe you a drink after this, hm?” “Was there ever any doubt?” Rue smirked. “Perhaps I should prepare a tab, hmmm?” “Let’s just say I’d rather not make this a habit... But I do pay my debts.” He paused, looking down, then back up, keeping his chin lowered. “Most of the time.” “Bollocks! You still owe me for the last time,” she snickered softly, then glanced at the chrono. There was another soft curse uttered under her breath before she turned her attention back to the screen. “I’ve got to get moving. I’ve only got a few ticks before I have to be at the senior staff meeting. Check in with ye later, aye?” “Aye,” he echoed. “And good luck.” Rue finger-waved at him as she shut off the comm, then leaned back in her chair. “What the bloody hell did I just agree to?” She sighed softly, squeezing her eyes shut. Another stream of Ralafean poured out of the Executive Officer’s mouth. A sticky widget this one was. She knew that Intel was on the same side as HQ, and providing insight to Alexander into the situation was the right thing to do. But for some reason it felt wrong. Well, not quite wrong, per se, but weird. How does he do it? For how many years now, too? How does he walk this tightrope? Rue pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaled deeply through her mouth, then threw herself back into compiling reports before the staff meeting. She had her own circus act to prepare for. ***

Dangerous Games, Pt. 2 CDR Mal Alexander CAPT Roane Townsend Note: Takes place just prior to 22 Jan sim. *** “And the Council was worried you’d never be at your desk.” Mal looked up from his report, the familiar features of Roane Townsend gracing the screen of his LCARS terminal. “Hello to you, too, Roane,” he replied, placing the PADD aside. “So nice to see you minding your manners.” “Sorry, but I don’t have time for pleasantries,” Townsend said. “Your girl – Charlotte – she’s still aboard Excalibur?” “She’s the one that submitted the encryption I sent you a few days ago.” “Good. We’re going to need eyes and ears – and some cooperation from the commanding officer.” Townsend leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “How reliable do you think Swain would be?” Mal frowned. “No way to be sure, really; he’s an unknown quantity in a situation like this.” “Do you think Charlotte will be able to fill in the gaps?” “Hardly. In security, she’ll be acting as escort for any visitors, but she won’t be privy to any of the senior level meetings. To get her into those meetings might create a bit of suspicion.” He hesitated. “If there’s some concern, I could ask a favor of the executive officer…” The Director of Operations raised his brows. “Friends?” “Wydown is the wife – er, ex-wife – of an old schoolmate; we go back a bit. She was responsible for getting us out of that Romulan mess a few months back, under the dog’s watch.” Mal cleared his throat. “She might be willing to pass along some information.” “See what she’s willing to provide. I’d like to avoid compromising cover stories this early in the game, if possible.” Alexander nodded. “Understood.” Making a note on his PADD, he turned his attention back to the screen. “Why the press?” “You’re aware of the weapons technology the Dominion was rumoured to be researching just before the end of the war?” “The one that might have ‘turned the tide’ for the Dominion? I did. Never paid it much mind.” “The research was being conducted on an outlying world in the Hakar Empire,” Roane explained. “Three years ago, the Kalith absorbed the planet into their own territories, and our sources reported that they’ve adapted the technology for their own use.” “Which explains why the diplomatic corps have been handling them with kid gloves.” Mal grimaced. “The data we’ve decoded so far suggests the Hakarians may have stolen the information.” “Which leaves us high and dry if we don’t get a better read on the situation.” The senior officer sighed, rubbing his face. “We need to know if the Kalith have the technology. And, if the Hakarians have stolen it, will they trade?” “Thinking of levelling the playing field?” “If we can. The Scorpiad situation continues to deteriorate, and the Dominion are continuing to tuck tail. We can’t afford an unbalanced threat from the Kalith as well.” “I liked it better when all this was above my paygrade.” Mal shook his head. “All right. Go through your channels to reach Swain; I’ll do what I can through my contacts.” Townsend nodded. “All I can ask. I’ll copy you on the headquarters message traffic.” “Understood. Alexander out.” Mal slapped the comm button on his console and Roane’s image blinked out. He could only hope to maintain a stable subspace channel long enough to gain Rue’s cooperation. If she was willing to cooperate at all... ***

Dangerous Games CDR Malcolm Alexander LTJG Katharine ("Kate") McKnight LTJG Ivan Kaufmann ENS T'Kiri Ataahua Note: Takes place parallel to the events of the past couple of sims. *** A shadow stretched across the dispatch she was reading and LTJG Katharine McKnight looked up. Ivan Kaufmann, a fellow JG, hovered before her, a broad grin across freckled features. His colleague in signals, ENS T’Kiri Ataahua, stood to his right. Even she looked excited – for a Vulcan, McKnight thought. She knew what he would say before he spoke. “We need to see the chief,” Ivan said. Kate shook her head. “No can do, Ivan. He’s finally sitting down to do his sitrep, and if I interrupt him, it’ll never get done.” “He’s going to want to see us, Kate – really.” The ginger junior grade leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “We cracked it.” McKnight blinked. Once Chief Alexander and LCDR Lorraine had reviewed the encrypted signals intercepted by Excalibur, the data had been handed over to Ivan and T’Kiri. Judging from the stubble across his jawline and T’Kiri’s matted hair, Kate guessed they had done little else since assignment. That had been days ago…and now it seemed their efforts had paid off. She hesitated only a second longer before sounding the interoffice comms. “Chief? Ivan and T’Kiri are here. I think they have something for you…” *** Malcolm Alexander regarded the eager junior grade and his calmer colleague across his desk. It sounded so simple – using daily status reports as a crib to break encrypted data – and yet he knew it was a complex operation. More surprising, however, was the fact that it hadn’t been Hakarian reports that ended up being key. It had instead been a stack of Kalith reports on a nearby ion field that provided the way in. “So the stored data is Kalith?” he voiced aloud. T’Kiri nodded. “Indeed, sir. Once we realized it was a ten-channel cipher instead of a five-channel, it became clear that the syntax could only be Kalith.” The station chief looked to the PADD in his hands, scrolling through the plaintext. “But the names here are Hakarian.” “Masovian, actually,” Kaufmann replied. “They’re a Hakarian ethnic group, one of many that composed the Hakar Empire. The Federation granted them asylum and safe passage about six months ago.” “I was just reading about that,” Alexander replied. “With the Dominion falling back even farther, the Hakarians are ceding territory to the Kalith on a daily basis; the Masovians will be just the start.” He frowned. “So if the data Excal downloaded from a Hakarian pod is actually Kalith, then odds are, we’ve stumbled across some form of espionage.” “We are not analysts, Commander,” the Vulcan began slowly, “but the conclusion seems logical.” His lips thinned as he considered the new facts. After a long moment he placed the PADD aside. “Your work on this is appreciated,” he said. “How long have you two been at it?” Ivan shifted in his seat. “Since Commander Lorraine delivered the data, sir.” “Then you’re both about four days overdue for some rest,” the chief replied. “Hit the showers, get some sleep, and next shift, take some time in the holosuites – just have them charge my account.” “Sir, we really couldn’t –“ Mal raised his hands to silence any further objections from Kaufmann. “You’ve both earned it.” He leveled a gaze at T’Kiri. “And even Vulcans need some down time.” The junior officer inclined her head. “Thank you, sir.” “More than welcome,” Alexander said. A grin broke across his features. “Now get the hell out of here so I can make sense of this!” “Yes, sir!” *** Mal watched with amusement as Ivan and T’Kiri filed out of his office. The smile was short-lived, however, as he regarded the information the two cryptanalysts provided: The names of Hakarian spies collected by a Kalith agent, unwittingly retrieved by a Starfleet Intelligence operative. It was enough to be a comedy of errors – or a very dangerous game. The Federation would have to tread carefully. Powering up his LCARS terminal, the commander selected the summary dossier on Kalith. Slowly but surely, the Kalith were making a name for themselves in the Gamma Quadrant, expanding into the vacuum left behind by the withdrawal of the main Dominion powers. His mind sought a familiar parallel, finding one in Earth history: The expansion of communism into the “Eastern bloc” countries following World War II. The major difference was that this was not a careful balance between two powerful nations. It was a diverse, chaotic region of space where intelligence was then and the actors were less than predictable. “Never a dull moment,” he sighed. Turning, he began prepping his report to headquarters – and his favorite field agent.

With the Territory CAPT Roane Townsend LCDR Anna Lorraine *** Note: Takes place well prior to Excalibur's last departure from Camelot, allowing for LCDR Lorraine's arrival during a TBS. *** "Nice office." Captain Roane Townsend looked up from his terminal, finding a slender brunette smirking at him from the doorframe: His former partner, Lieutenant Commander Anna Lorraine. Returning the smirk, he rose from his desk, meeting her halfway across the office and drawing her into a strong embrace. "I take it you got my message?" "I did." Anna nodded, flopping into the chair opposite his desk. "Though I had to wonder who 'Captain Townsend' was," she replied. Her lips twitched. "I take it the office comes with the job?" "And the pips," Roane answered. Leaning against the front edge of the desk, he folded his arms across his chest and regarded the junior officer. The long, dark hair he remembered far too well was pulled away from her face in an elaborate braid, accenting beautiful high cheekbones and hazel eyes that twinkled with mischief as she looked at him. Despite all they had seen, and the strain it had placed on her, she looked almost as she had when they said goodbye years before. I've missed you, he thought. The mischievous gleam gave way to something warmer and her smirk softened to a genuine smile. When she spoke, her voice emerged an octave lower and with some visible difficulty. "I missed you, too," Anna said. She gave a nervous laugh. "You haven't changed." "Yeah, I have." The rough edge of his native accent crept into his syllables, despite his best efforts. Roane grimaced. "Lots more gray hair, and a few extra pounds to go with the desk jobs." "Then Kate's been taking good care of you." "Ah, yeah, well... She was. Until about a year ago, at least. She and the girls live here in San Fran now," Townsend said. "Thought maybe we could work it out, but..." "No such luck?" Roane shook his head. "Seems I can't find a woman willing to live with me." "You've only tried twice." "Yeah. But I'm oh-fer," Townsend said with wry grin. The grin remained in place, blue eyes softening. "It seems silly to say, but it's...good to see you again." Anna returned the grin but diverted her eyes to the floor. In the back of her mind, the tenuous link between them practically vibrated, springing to life with renewed energy. She struggled at the familiar rush of their emotions as they intertwined. Linking her hands in her lap, she swallowed the knot that rose in her throat as she struggled with her control. "There's a lot we didn't say," she whispered. "But... you didn't call me here to talk about that." The captain shook his head. "Not yet. I don't think either of us is ready for that right now." "No, probably not," Lorraine replied. She cleared her throat and looked back up at him. "So what did you call me here for?" "The powers that be are requesting a special intelligence estimate on the Gamma Quadrant situation and I...I need an assessment of Camelot Station – background info, what assets we might need, so on." Anna furrowed her brow. "Wait – didn't you just send Mal Alexander out there?" "I did," Townsend answered with a smile. "But with all we've had going on at home, I want to make sure out bases are covered. Mal was on station when Corizon went rogue, and there's been some rumblings about his going back out there." "Are they suggesting he could have stopped the smuggling operation on his own?" Roane nodded. "They are. And they may be right – by the time he got the information from his Romulan contact, he might have been able to bust it open, and through appropriate channels." "But?" "But... he was behind the curve, and Corizon jumped out ahead –" "And we ended up with this mess." "Right." The captain shrugged. "So, I have his assessment; now I need a second opinion." Anna allowed a slow grin, eyes dancing with renewed mischief. "And you trust us not to blow up the station?" A frown flickered across Townsend's features. "They proved that was an accident." He cut her a glare. "Besides, you won't be running ops together, you know." "So you feel pretty safe then?" "Yeah, I feel pretty safe, all things considered." Roane folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with furrowed brows. "Any reason I shouldn't?" "No, no," Anna replied. She batted her eyelashes at him, crooked smile curving her lips. "At least it's not you and me on an op." Shoving his hands down into the pockets of his trousers, Townsend gave a rueful smile. "Probably for the best." "Yes, probably." A long moment of silence stretched out between them and Anna struggled briefly as memories washed through her mind's eye; she could feel the emotional twinge as Roane did the same. Distance between them would be good – very good, she thought. "So... when do I leave?" Neither she nor Townsend could miss the unspoken the sooner, the better that floated between them. "I'm having orders drawn up right now, and your transportation's been arranged," he replied. "You can leave as soon as you'd like." Pushing herself to her feet, Anna stood before her former partner. "Then I s'pose I'd better go pack a bag." She turned to go and paused. "It was good to see you again." Roane reached down, taking her hand in his, and bringing it to his lips. "It is good to see you again. Call when you reach Camelot?" "Of course." Anna nodded, even as the uncertainty between them threatened to overwhelm her. "And call me if you need?" Townsend nodded. "I will, love. Be careful out there. If you're up for it, we...we'll talk when you get back." He gave a genuine, if forced, smile. "We have a lot to catch up on." "We do. Until then, subspace will have to do." Lorraine leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek. As she drew back, her lips thinned to a rueful smile. Then, with one final squeeze to his hand, she slipped free and disappeared down the hallway.

Name: Anna Isabel Lorraine Rank: Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) DOB: 24 October, Riix, Betazed Age: 39 Parents: Joseph Lorraine and Cerise Dazet Current Duty Station: Camelot Station, Gamma Quadrant Support Training History Starfleet Academy Basic Training Starfleet Academy Bachelor of Science, Security Studies Minor: Information Systems Starfleet Intelligence Intelligence Officer (Accelerated Series) Starfleet War College Masters of Science, Information Management Personal History Captain Joseph Lorraine, Starfleet Diplomatic Corps, first met Cerise Dazet, a professor of psychology from the Academy, while both were assigned to a joint mission on Betazed, as the planetary leadership renewed several memorandum of understanding between themselves and the Federation. The two struck up a friendship that, once returned to Earth, blossomed into a long-term relationship. Their daughter, Anna, was born some five years later in the Betazoid capitol of Riix, as Cerise returned home to visit family. Raised as a daughter of two worlds and two very busy parents, Anna sometimes struggled to belong. Her primary school record is full of reprimands as she bounced between social groups, some of whom provided negative influence, and encouraged her to act out. Indeed, her career in Starfleet began inauspiciously: Caught stealing artwork from a local gallery, the magistrate recommended enlistment into Starfleet. Given the choice between incarceration and enlistment, Anna chose to enlist. Basic training was not easy for the only child, but instilled her with a sense of discipline that had been missing. Trained as an information systems analyst, she excelled in her new profession, supporting intelligence operations. She was promoted to chief after seven years of service and enrolled in Starfleet Academy. The Dominion War brought changes to the galaxy, however, and by the time she commissioned, Starfleet Intelligence had been heavily recruiting Betazoids for their obvious skills. As a half-Betazoid, prior-enlisted officer, Anna was just the sort they were looking for. After an accelerated training program at "The Farm," Anna and her partner, Lieutenant Roane Townsend, were smuggled to Betazed in 2374, contributing to the eventual liberation of the planet. Peace brought Anna and Townsend back to a very different Earth – and the news that her parents, Joseph and Cerise, had perished in the skirmish to liberate Betazed. They were buried with full honors, with Anna, then a full lieutenant, providing eulogy. She then requested and received assignment back to Betazed to assist in recovery efforts. Four years later, she was reassigned to field operations. When her partner requested transfer to regular fleet, Lorraine returned to support further security efforts on Betazed. She was recently promoted to lieutenant commander, and assigned to security aboard Camelot Station. Psychological Profile Despite being half-Betazoid, LCDR Lorraine exhibits only slight telepathic or empathic abilities, requiring establishment of a long-time or strong emotional bond. As a result, she is mentally stable, and functions easily around others. It should be noted, however, that, like most field operatives, she faces life with gallows humor and a cynical eye. I find the commander suitable for duty, though she is not without her scars: She has been treated for survivor's guilt, relating to the death of her parents, and post-traumatic stress, directly associated with her actions in the liberation of Betazed. For this reason, I recommend continuing her quarterly sessions, with the possibility of tapering off to bi-annual, provided she is continues to improve. Dara Kimball, Ph.D. Chief of Psychology Starfleet Intelligence

Hoi Polloi CDR Rue Wydown CDR Malcolm Alexander (NPC) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura Mr. Clay Wydown (NPC) Note: Due to the TBS, the events in this log take place approximately two weeks prior to this evening's sim. They follow immediately after "Best Laid Plans," taking place later that evening. **** The restaurant Clayton chose to meet his friends was one of the best sushi restaurants in the London area. While not nearly as good as actual Japanese sushi in his opinion, it was convenient enough. Besides, Wydown knew his wife - ex-wife - would have had an excruciatingly long day catering to diplomatic figure heads and he wanted her to feel relaxed, comfortable and happy. The host showed Clay to a booth with a decent view of the front door, provided they didn't fill the tables in front of him. He slid into the booth, slipping all the way over to the wall side as if he was expecting someone to join him and plucked the menu out to peruse the offerings. After a moment or so, he waved down a passing waitress. "Hello, love. How about a beer when you get a chance?" He flashed his best lost-puppy "pleading" grin, hoping to charm her into feeling sorry for him. She blushed, giggled a little, and took his order. Almost as if on cue, Malcolm Alexander stepped into the small, family-owned establishment, shaking a bit of rain off his jacket, and running a hand through his hair. He looked the same as he always had, really, with only a few more lines and wrinkles around the eyes and dimples. As Clay rose to greet him, however, a woman stepped around him, echoing Mal's actions. She was younger and a good deal shorter, with flowing black hair and almond-shaped eyes. Clay's interest was immediately piqued. Must be the date from last night, he thought. Reaching down, Mal took the girl's hand in his, approaching the table. "And here, they were telling me they kept out the riff-raff," he said. The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled, extending his hand. "Who are you calling riff-raff? I'm more hoi polloi." Clay grinned, gave his best mate a hearty handshake-back slap sort of greeting before turning to his female companion. At closer inspection, she was even lovelier, with a sort of exotic mixed heritage in her features that made her interesting to look at. He also noted that there was also an intelligence and no small amount of sauciness reflected in her eyes. It that didn't stop Clay from attempting to charm her, however, to see if she was good enough for one of his best friends. Slipping into one of his boyish smiles, he greeted her. "And who is this beautiful, charming young woman who shines so brightly in this low establishment?" "Ah, yes," Mal began, clearing his throat. "Clayton Wydown, I'd like you to meet Charlotte Matsumura. Lottie, this is Clayton -- or, Clay, as we all know him." Clay offered his hand, but instead of shaking hers, he brought it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to it. A very cheesy move, and he knew it. Clayton also knew that it might rankle Mal just a bit, which was more his motivation than impressing the girl. "It is pleasure to meet you, Charlotte Matsumura. I hope you're not too off-put by your companion's lack of social graces." He flashed one of his more charming smiles. Charlotte chuckled, shaking her head; beside her, Mal rolled his eyes. "Relax, Clay. She's heard all about you." "Now what the bloody hell did you do that for?" Clay snapped his attention to Malcolm, dropping the act while he feigning aggravation at being called out. "Because he wanted me to know what I was getting myself into when I accepted his invitation," she answered. Her accent was British, with the slightest hint of something more. She was still grinning as she slid into the booth, followed by Mal. "Taking all the fun out of this," Clay slide into his side, reclining sideways a bit against the wall so he could have an unobstructed view of both Mal and his girl as well as the door. "Spoil sport." "That doesn't mean you have to stop being charming," Lottie replied. There was an impish gleam to her eyes as she reached over and plucked up a menu for herself. "Your wish is my command, my dear lady." He grinned, saluting them with his beer. Having deposited Clay's beer, the waitress looked to Charlotte and Mal expectantly. "Something to drink?" "Junmai Ginjō-shu," Charlotte answered, ordering a mid-grade chilled sake. The waitress -- her name tag said "Anne" -- then looked to Mal. "I'll have water. No -- wait. Beer -- pale ale, if you have it." Clay muttered, "No beer? Was beginning to wonder. Thought you were turning into a monk on me." Mal shifted uncomfortably in his seat, even as Charlotte passed him a menu. "Decidedly not," he muttered. Aloud, he looked to Clay and asked, "Gyoza? Or edamame? The tempura was a bit...ugh...last time." "Why do we keep coming here? Why aren't we going to Japan for the real stuff?" Clayton accused as if this particular restaurant wasn't his idea. "Well, for one, we're home. We all know British food is far from...adventurous, and you're a damn sight safer going for the imports," Mal opined. The waitress grinned as she approached, hearing his explanation. She placed the sake in front of Charlotte, and the bottled pale ale before Mal. "And second, the beer here is better." "Here, here." Clay grinned and winked at the waitress. "And far more pleasant scenery to partake of." Then he cast a glance to Charlotte. Mal rolled his eyes. "Down boy," he said with a chuckle. "Speaking of scenery... where's Rue?" "I don't know." Clay glanced at the door, his smile fading into a concerned frown as he searched the entrance. When he turned back to the couple he put a brave face on the fact that his half of the booth is unoccupied. "I vote for edamame." Mal looked to Charlotte. "Lottie?" "I'll pass," she replied, "and wait for my sashimi." Appetizer ordered, Mal folded his hands in front of him and regarded Clay. "You sure you haven't killed your roommate yet?" It was Clayton's turn to squirm in his seat, "No, my roommate is alive and well. Neither have has she attempted to kill me either...yet." Clay shook his head, remembering the odd proposal that Rue had made that morning. Something about zip-lining in the dark had him uneasy, yet intrigued. Alexander smirked, then sipped his ale. "How does the girlfriend feel about the roomie?" "She's fine with it." Wydown answered with a flick of the wrist and a wave of his beer bottle. He was, in fact, not very good liar in some areas. And in particular not with friends. While in the boardroom and withing his social circle, he attempted to be just as charming and persuasive as he could. But there was always a protective wall to up to keep the backstabbers, thieves and liars (aka, his brothers) or the gold-digging throne-hopping harpies (aka, often his girlfriend flavor of the month) at arms length and his heart out of harms way. It was with his closest friends that he let his hair down, figuratively speaking. With his friends, he had permission to be just his warm, friendly, cocky, boyish self, and to be...well...stupid sometimes. So when he was asked whether his current girlfriend was okay with the arrangement, in truth, the girlfriend, Evelyn Harrington, had no knowledge that his roommate was in fact female and was his wife...err...ex-wife. "In fact, she's very supportive of the situation. After all, I can't exactly throw my roommate out on the street, can I?" He glanced at Charlotte who seemed to be watching the two men with rapt attention. "So love, what is it you do?" Charlotte chuckled at the change in topic, reflecting that for two grown men, they certainly sounded like an old married couple. "Security aboard the Excalibur," she replied. "Not terribly exciting, I'm afraid, but it does pay the bills." Clay shifted his gaze to Malcolm, slightly started look. "Oh, you didn't tell me that this morning." "Didn't tell you what?" Rue Wydown flopped into the seat next to Clayton after physically moving his outstretched leg out of her way. Once settled, she grabbed his beer and managed to drain half of it before turning her attention to her husband - ex-husband - and leveled an expectant look at him. "She's on Excalibur, too." Clay gave a little finger wave in Charlotte's attention. "And that's my beer." "Consider it my alimony payment. Buy another." Rue held the bottle out of his reach and turned her attention to the couple sitting across from Clayton. She'd recognized Mal when she entered. She didn't have a chance to see the young woman sitting next to him who'd been blocked from view as she entered. Now that she got a good look, she arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Matsumura. Hi." She blinked, trying to hide the surprise of finding one of her junior officers sitting across the table. When she turned to Mal, she arched a brow at him. "Date number two, or a continuation?" Mal glared. "Do you really expect a gentleman to answer?" Clay turned to the other Wydown. "He has you there, love." "Since when are you two gentlemen?" Rue grinned, then, as was her custom, veered wildly onto the next subject. "Have you all ordered yet? I'm starving." She flagged down the waitress, motioning with Clayton's bottle and indicated that she needed two more beers. Then she glanced back to Mal and Charlotte, her eyes drifting from one to the other, wondering when the hell the flirting on the ship progressed into a night on the town. She'd heard rumors on Camelot that the two of them had been semi-dating, but this was a whole new can of awkward. "Sooooooooo....." Charlotte shifted somewhat uncomfortably under the attention of the executive officer. She exchanged a glance with Mal, who chuckled slightly. "Soooooo...what? I suspect there's a question in there somewhere," he replied. He arched his own brows as he lifted his ale to take a long draw. "So how'd you two meet?" Clay grinned slyly, looking for dirt. Rather than have Mal and Charlotte explain that they'd been flirting all over her damn ship or explain that Mal had been engaged in that a covert op recently and break the cone of silence, Rue choose to answer before she thought Mal or Lottie dug the hole deeper. She smacked Clay's arm, leveling a look at him, "Matsumura. Get it?" It took a good few moments before recognition dawned on Clayton's face. "Oh. Oh. Oooooooh!" He grinned back at the other two. "That Matsumura." He glanced at Charlotte. "Does your father know you're here?" "He and Mum know I'm in London --" "And I offered my flat." "Hello, Kettle." Clay snarked. Rue, not being a part of the previous conversation, watched them like a ping pong match, waiting for the next volley. "You're one to talk, Pot," Mal replied. Rue shook her head and looked over to Charlotte. "I have to point out, in case you haven't all ready noticed: We are the only two adults at this table, yes?" "I'm beginning to notice," Charlotte replied. She smirked. "Have they been like this long?" "I think since nursery school." Rue finished the rest of Clay's beer and then smiled up to the waitress as she approached with fresh ones and their appetizers. "Thanks, luv. You're a life saver." She took both bottles from the woman, putting both in front of her only to have Clay take one away. "We ready to order?" Looking up at the waitress, each placed their respective order, selecting from the available nigri, sashimi, maki, and donburi. Mal tacked on another ale, and Charlotte another small sake. As the waitress made her way back over to the sushi bar, Charlotte looked to Rue. "I take it you completed your deposition today?" "Signed, sealed, and delivered." She raised her glass. "As is my career. It was nice knowing you." She took another long draw from the beer and then set it down on the table. "By the way, fair warning -- those JAG officers have no sense of humor." She picked up one of the edamame and proceeded to suck the soybeans out of the pod. This little action had attracted Clay's rapt attention, watching her. "I rather got that impression," Charlotte replied. She frowned. She hadn't meant to cast a pall on the evening activities, but she had suspected the reason for Rue's mood. "I was able to give my deposition last week, and I was not impressed. I suppose I should be thankful that I was early on the docket." "Eh." Rue shrugged a little. "It is what it is. We're all alive. Most of our bits and bobs are still in place. What could be worse than....What are you staring at?" Rue swiveled her head in Clayton's direction as she noticed he seemed to be in his own private world. "Nothing." Clayton shot her an innocent look, laying his arm over the back of the booth. He wasn't about to admit he'd been watching Rue's mouth. "Nothing at all." Rue turned to Mal. "Squirrel?" Mal nodded, sipping his ale. "Squirrel." Charlotte looked to Mal. "Do I even want to know?" "Not really, love, no." Alexander furrowed his brow, turning his attention back to his old school mate. "Wait. What about Evelyn?" "What about her?" Clay raised a brow. "Oh, she's still around," Rue smirked, giving Clay that 'look'. "But that doesn't stop him from scoping out the next one. Seriously? Her?" She motioned to the woman, a cute blonde thing, she thought Clayton was staring at. "She's cute." Clay shrugged, coloring a bit, afraid he'd be caught out again. Mal followed his gaze, noting the younger woman seated across the restaurant. She was a tall, willowy thing, with dirty blonde hair, excellent curves, and well-manicured fingers. "Not bad," he commented. His attention drifted to the table beside her, where a stack of PADDs rested, a backpack beside her on the upholstered bench. "Though I think you'd find her overeducated for his usual tastes." "Yes. She seems to have an IQ bigger than her bra size." Rue quipped. "Now come on, they're not all bad." Clay growled. "Name. One." Rue challenged. "Lilith." Clay offered after a few moments consideration. "Exhibit A: Lilith. Mal, would you like to take this one? Charlotte, I'll let you be judge, jury and executioner." "The fair Lady Lilith," Mal drawled, "eldest daughter to Sir Eric, and quite possibly the most...icy...woman I've ever met. In fact, she might as well be Exhibit 'C' for 'cold fish.'" He took a sip of his ale. "There were no public displays, always a peck on the cheek; and a nose stuck so far in the air it could have sunk the Titanic. Always treated your best mates as though as though they were something the hired help dragged in. Next?" Clay frowned. "Now what a min--" "The prosecution said next exhibit." Rue gave him a look. After a bit of a struggle, he pulled out another name. "Zadia," Clay's face transformed into a wistful expression. "She was very...well, I shouldn't go much further in mixed company." Mal chuckled. "Passionate, I think is the word. Though that extended outside the bedroom, as I recall." He paused. "Wasn't she the one that chased you through Covent Garden with a rolling pin?" "Yes," Clay deflated, giving Rue and Mal a shifty look. "What is this? Pick on Clayton night?" Mal shook his head, clearly disagreeing with his friend. "When isn't it 'Pick on Clayton Night'? Has been ever since boarding school. Didn't you get the memo?" "Shall I bring up one last example of Clayton's poor choice in women?" Rue leaned back, giving Clayton an evil look. She made the slightest flick of the wrist to hint at what was to come. "No. No. No, please god no. Let's talk about anybody but her. Please. I'm begging you." Clay cupped Rue's face with his hands, giving her a big, sloppy, wet kiss on the lips. "Please, for the love of all that is holy, don't say her name." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Please." He would have followed up with another kiss if Rue hadn't reared back. Rue flipped her hair back, head bobbing from left to right as she said, "Kourtney!" When she pronounced it, however, it was with equal emphasis on both syllables, so it ended up sounding more like, "Court-knee!" "You need to work on your powers of persuasion, mate." Mal regarded the two with his brows raised. Rue did another hair flip. "So Kourtney was a love interest that, like, was so awesome, that, like, she was unforgettable, that, like, she was so cool." She grinned manically. "Oh, God, no." Clay buried his head in his hands, then sank to the table top, his forehead pressed against the cool surface. "Make it stop; make. it. all. stop." Alexander looked to Rue, impish gleam in his eyes. "I think he's done for." "Remember that dress?" Rue was on the verge of a giggle fit. She'd fully relaxed, forgetting that Charlotte was one of her junior officers and not new to the group. "What dress?" Mal regarded his former classmate with raised brows. "Let's just say I would've been embarrassed to wear it in public." Rue pause a beat. "Hell, an escort would've been embarrassed to wear it out in public. Good God, that woman gave me fits of laughter for weeks after I met her." She flipped her hair again, giggling, breathy whisper, "Hi, my name is Koooourt-kneeee...and I wanna marry a smart man to take care of me forever and always. Will you be my pet husband?" Wydown made cow eyes at Clay, teasing him. "I can't find my way out of a paperbag, but I do know my way around Mercers & Rodgers store." Another hair flip, then, "Buy me something from Tiffany's, Clay-ee-waaay-ee..." Mal looked at his friend with something akin to sympathy. "For a really smart guy, you make some of the stupidest choices." He shook his head. "Especially when there are better, more obvious answers." "He obviously needs to be neutered," Rue quipped. "Or stop ignoring the obvious," Mal muttered behind his bottle. Beside him, Charlotte choked on her sake. He immediately reached over, patting her on the back as she coughed her way clear. Once he stopped patting, his arm stayed around her shoulders. "Sorry, love." "Warn me next time," she whispered. Alexander winked at her. "I tried to tell you." Clay picked his head up off the table. "Are you done yet?" He asked tiredly. Rue smiled, giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "Aye, mate. I'm done." She laid her head on his shoulder and glanced up into his face like a little limp. "You know I only say these things 'cause I love you." She fluttered her lashes at him. "I'd be more afraid of what you'd say if you didn't love me." Clay shook his head. He slipped his hand down and took hers, holding it and rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand. It was an unconscious move that those who knew them had seen countless times. Something in Clay's body language changed when he did it. And that was when the food arrived. Blushing slightly as she obviously interrupted a quiet moment between the couples, the waitress placed the wooden blocks of rolls and sashimi in the center of the table, then offered each a set of ebony chopsticks. She smiled. "Enjoy." After a few moments of chewing, attempting to muster his courage, Clay cleared his throat. Unfortunately, it made it sound like he was choking so Rue reached over and patted him soundly on the back. He wrestled her hands away, capturing them in his and not letting them go. "So, seeing as we're all here...." Mal broke his attention away from Charlotte, forcing a nonchalant expression at his friend. "Announcement to make, old friend?" "As a matter of fact, I do." He looked at Mal, whose expression puzzled him. He then followed Mal's line of sight and realized his friend was looking at his hands, entwined with Rue's. "Wait. No! Not that." He let go of Rue's hands and sat a bit straighter. "We're having a big shindig in a few days. An opening of a new division at Sterling. Going all out for it, too. Big bash. Wanted to know if you all would like to go." Rue knew he was asking not to share the party with his friends, but because he was hoping for moral support while he was stuck in a den of vipers (commonly known as his family members). She'd all ready been asked once. She didn't think Clay was going to have the courage to ask a third time. She smiled, "Sure, why not. I could do for a laugh." For his part, Mal grimaced. He knew all too well the circles in which Clay regularly travelled -- circles he tried to avoid. At the same time, he knew the importance of a friendly face among the snakes. He sighed. "Where and what time?" Clay shook his head. "Don't sound so enthusiastic, Mal." "Sorry, Clay, but you know how much I try to avoid that lot." "No problem. You don't have to go. I just thought it would be fun." Clay smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll just solider on without you sorry lot." He teased. Meanwhile Rue was watching the action between the two friends. She shifted her glance first from Clay to Mal, then back to Clay. Finally at the end of Clay's speech when it appeared that Mal wasn't going to answer, Rue gave the stubborn Intel operative a swift kick to the shin. If he could survive Corizon for weeks on end, he could live one night amongst Clay's family. Hell, he owed her one, anyway. Mal swallowed back the verbal reaction to the kick, glaring at Rue. He shook his head subtly, to which she responded by nodding surreptitiously. Giving in, he rolled his eyes. "I'll ask again: Where and what time?" "Friday night. Drinks start at 7 pm. Dancing at 8 pm. It's black tie." Rue answered for Clayton. Having spent most of the evening observing, Charlotte recognized the body language, tone, and facial expressions passing between the friends. Under the table, she placed her hand against Mal's thigh. "We'll be there." She smiled. "So dashing and debonair in a tux." Relief was evident on Clay's features. "So," he said, reaching for another roll, "where should we go next?" "Moonlight zip?" Rue offered. Charlotte regarded her senior officer with a furrowed brow. "Moonlight zip?" "Aye. You hike up a dark hill. You snap into a zip line. Then you run down the hill. Full tilt. Until your feet leave the ground. Leaping off a cliff and then go flying through the air. Did I mention this is all in the dark?" "And here, I was thinking we should just work a pub crawl," Clay muttered. Mal, his hand over Charlotte's, looked to his friend. "And you promised it would only be a quiet dinner." "Is it ever quiet with us?" Clay smirked. "Besides, I told Jamie we'd meet him at the pub around the corner at 10." Mal hung his head. "Oh, bollocks." ***

Best Laid Plans CDR Malcolm Alexander (NPC) Clayton Wydown (NPC) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura *** Somewhere in the aether between waking and sleeping, Malcolm Alexander could hear the repeated chime of his LCARS terminal, signaling an incoming call. He opened his eyes to slits and glanced at the bedside clock. The bright numbers informed him it was after nine. He sighed. He couldn't complain about whomever it was calling too early, then. "Keep your shirt on," he muttered as he tossed back the covers. Rubbing his face, he stumbled across the room to the desk where his LCARS terminal sat. He then flopped unceremoniously into the chair, slapping at the access key. "This had better be important." "Whotcha!" Clayton Wydown grinned into the camera. "Damn, you look like....Up late last night?" "You could say that," Mal replied. "I'd ask why you were so bloody cheerful, but I think I have a pretty good idea." "I don't know have any idea what you're talking about." Clayton feigned looking hurt. "I'm always this chipper in the morning. Early bird, worm, and all that." He flashed another grin. "So, I have a fantastic idea. You're going to meet me for dinner tonight." Clearing his throat, Mal fought the urge to glance back over the bed behind him. "And if I already have plans?" "Change them, mate." Mal hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Clayton --" "No pub hopping. Promise. Just a quiet dinner out. Sushi. You, me, maybe Rue? How many times do you come to Earth, anyway?" "I know; I know. It's been a long while since we've had a chance to commiserate over a pint or twelve," Alexander replied. A smile flickered across his lips as he chuckled, shaking his head. "All right. Dinner it is. The one over by Regents Park?" "Perfect. 8 pm. Or, um, how do you military types call it?" Mal chuckled. Clay had never been Starfleet, and Mal doubted he would ever pick up on the standard lingo. "Twenty-hundred hours." "Excellent." Clayton grinned. "Cheerio!" "Cheerio? You really have been around Rue too much, mate," Mal said. He laughed. "See you tonight." The screen went blank and Mal sighed. With another shake of his head, he pushed himself up out of the chair and made his way back to the bed, crawling back under the covers. A softened smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his gaze fell on the sleeping figure enveloped in the white comforter and pillows beside him. "I take it our plans for tonight have changed?" Charlotte asked. She didn't open her eyes. "Afraid so, love." Reaching over, he gently brushed a lock of dark hair from her face, his fingertips tracing the line of her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered open and she rolled over onto her back, smiling. His expression mirrored hers as noted her superfluous attempt to keep the covers tucked under her arms. He was still grinning as he lowered his head, brushing his lips lightly across hers. "I'm afraid if we don't meet him, he'll show up unannounced, and that would be a very, very unwelcome interruption." Charlotte sighed as she turned her head, allowing him better access to the curve of her jaw. "S'pose that means we're not ordering in?" "Not tonight," he whispered against her neck, "but I promise to make it up to you." "Hmmm," Lottie murmured. When he lifted his head, he found her lips quirked in a lopsided grin, eyes aglow. The intensity was enough to send a jolt through him. "So long as you promise." ***

A Different Can of Worms (4/4) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura CDR Malcolm Alexander Dr. Elisabeth Blair LCDR Ronin Matsumura (Ret.) *** It was rumored among her students that Doctor Elisabeth Blair had eyes in the back of her head. There was no other way, they said, she could be so perceptive and know exactly what mischievous plan they were hatching. The reality was that experience itself was a good teacher: As original as her students believed themselves to be, they weren't – it had all been tried before. But if they wanted to mark it up to the supernatural, who was she to argue? Occult powers or no, the strange interaction between Charlotte and Malcolm Alexander caught her completely off guard: His hand hovering at the small of her back; the way he assisted her to her seat; monopolizing her time on the dance floor. There had also been no small amount of silent communication between the two, much conveyed with a single glance. They were all little details – things a stranger might miss. But as mother, friend, and nosey professor, Liz noticed. She wasn't yet sure how she felt about it. Then again, she thought, she wasn't quite sure what 'it' was. Friends? Lovers? Partners? There was a gamut of possibilities. She knew, too, that time in the field encouraged close relationships. Mal and Ronin became brothers, often capable of their conversations without a word spoken; there was a bond of shared experiences even she could not entirely understand. Between a male and female operative, Liz could see where such a relationship could be easily misconstrued – especially when combined with the innate chivalry Mal possessed. Still, there was something...off. Liz just couldn't quite put her finger on it. She looked to her daughter, seated next to her. The young Starfleet officer absently scraped at a flaw in the tablecloth, lips taut and brow furrowed in contemplation. It was a trend that began in the flyer, and carried over well past dessert. "Farthing for them," she said quietly. Blinking, Charlotte looked up. She gave a sheepish smile, her fingers still playing with the pick in the fabric. "Sorry, Mum. I don't mean to be so quiet." "S'alright, love." Liz reached and placed her hand over Charlotte's. "I'm sure there's a lot running through that head of yours. But I am here, if you need to talk." Charlotte visibly struggled, casting a sideways glance toward her father, Ronin, and Mal, now standing across the room. They were speaking quietly with the interim Director of Operations, Roane Thompson. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and barely audible over the background hum of the club. "Mal and I have led others to believe that we are...involved, or at least close. Aboard Camelot, it gives us cover to spend time together, where the truth might be uncomfortable. But all of this" – and here, Liz knew she referred to the inquiry – "I need time to deal with it. I just don't think I can, if I'm continually worried about being blown." She paused a beat. "I need some time to be myself, and I'm never going to find that so close to Headquarters." Well, that answers that, Elisabeth thought. She frowned. "I'm loathe to suggest it, but have you thought about leaving San Francisco for a few days?" "I'd thought about it, yes," her daughter replied, "but I just got home. I didn't want to pick up and dash away again." Movement to her right caught her attention, and Liz looked up as Ronin and Mal approached the table. "Well, I'm in no hurry to let you go again, but this isn't like you, love. If you need time, you should take it." Mal lowered himself into his seat. "Need time for what?" Liz looked to their old friend. "To recoup – recover. To deal with all of the goings-on." She waved her hand, as though indicating the situation surrounding them. "She's apparently feeling smothered by the uniform." "There's a feeling I understand." Alexander gave a snort, then took a sip from his wine glass. "And not for the first time, either." "I was just suggesting she duck out for a few days." Elisabeth turned her attention to her husband. "She could head to Niigata?" "If she chose," Ronin replied with a nod. "Though staying with her grandparents may not be as restful as she may hope." Charlotte chuckled. Older they may have been, Miya and Kaemon Matsumura had not slowed down; volunteer work, training, consulting and, for Miya, the occasional new holo role kept them extremely busy. "No, it usually isn't." Mal cleared his throat as he lowered his wine glass to the table. "What about London?" "London?" Arching her brows, Elisabeth looked to Mal. "It's not very restive, either, Mal." "No," he conceded, "but it's not here. And I happen to know her English is much better than her Japanese." Lottie straightened. "My Japanese is just fine, thank you. Better than your Welsh." Liz bit back a laugh even as Mal winced, shaking his head. "Point taken," the old friend replied. "If you wanted, you could even stay at my flat in town proper. I've got a bit of a guest room – hardly more than a closet, really, but it's yours if you want it." "I-I don't know. It's your flat, and –" "You know as well as I do that I've a lot to do here." Mal leveled a gaze at her and another silent conversation ensued. Liz couldn't be sure what was intended, but it was a long moment before he spoke again, smirking. "Either that, or you can stay with your cousin, Enid." At this, Liz laughed. Enid Fulton was her niece, and probably one of the most shallow individuals she'd had the displeasure of knowing. Takes after her father that way, she thought, inwardly grimacing at the thought of her former brother-in-law. They were the few members of the family that drove Charlotte to threats of physical violence. Beside her, golden eyes danced with amusement as Ronin regarded his daughter. "It would seem he knows you, Matsumura-chan." "Not helping, Papa." Her father only grinned in return. Charlotte looked to her, and Liz could only smile. "When do you pack, love?"

A Different Can of Worms (3/4) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura CDR Malcolm Alexander Dr. Elisabeth Blair LCDR Ronin Matsumura (Ret.) *** "Seems you may have a guest to entertain," Elisabeth Blair observed as she and her husband returned to their home. She paused on the sidewalk, nodding toward the vehicle parked at the curb. Her brow arched in curiosity. "That's Mal's, isn't it?" Ronin nodded once, but said nothing. He offered her a flicker of a smile as she readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back. Opening the door, he allowed her to enter first. "Mal?" she called through the house. Her bag was dropped by the entry table, and he could only chuckle as she made a quick inspection of the usual hiding places. Finding him nowhere indoors, she made a direct line for the back exit. "Malcolm Alexander," Liz began in tones that already told the garden's occupants that he was in "trouble." "How dare you come back and not even tell us! We could have a proper welcome home dinner and..." Her voice dropped off as she entered the gardens and for a moment she wasn't sure she could believe her eyes. "Lottie?" she questioned softly. Her breath caught in her throat; she hadn't been certain she'd see her daughter alive again. Since Excalibur's return, however, she'd been waiting with bated breath for her daughter to arrive. That moment had finally arrived. Motherly impulses took over and she hurried out into the garden toward her daughter. Lottie chuckled and smiled as her mother all but tackled her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Hi, Mum," she said simply. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the welcome. Golden brown eyes full of unspoken emotion, watching as the two women in his life embraced, Ronin approached the trio and hovered. He glanced up at Mal, nodding a silent greeting. "You brought her home," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Wish I could claim credit, but she was the one who saved me this time," he answered quietly. He gave a taut smile. "She's a good girl, she is." Ronin chuckled at the reference. "She is." Elisabeth looked up, one arm still around Lottie, but her other hand moving quickly to swat Mal's shoulder. "You," she said lightly, "are incorrigible." But there was gratitude in her eyes that they had both returned safe and sound. "At least you brought us a nice surprise." She smiled at her daughter. "You'd better say hello to your father, dear, before he decides to do something rash." It was an old joke: Elisabeth had always been the social butterfly; Ronin, the quiet, observant sensei. His patience had tempered her exuberance, and she had drawn out the romantic hiding inside the oyster, so to speak. Thus, his emotional displays were rare, and could only be characterized as reserved. Charlotte laughed. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around her father's neck, and impulsively planted a kiss to his cheek. "It's good to see you," she said. Like her mother, she had the gift of understatement; like her father, she frequently relied on her actions to speak for her. She felt her heart constrict in her chest, suddenly overwhelmed with the reality of being home, in her parents' garden, with her mother, father, and Mal beside her. Still, she found she could not voice the thought. Instead, she briefly gripped her father tighter, before releasing him. She wiped her eyes as she drew back. Beside her, Mal swallowed back the lump rising in his throat. There were too many ways this whole fiasco could have gone wrong, too many ways this mission could have been their last. She knew it, he knew it; Ronin, who had been in stickier situations during his career, suspected it. Mal wasn't in a hurry to confirm that belief. He coughed theatrically. "I should probably go --" "You'll do no such thing," Liz said. She folded her arms across her chest regarding him for a long moment before turning to her husband. "What do you think, my dear? Occasion enough to visit The Seasons?" Owned by a friend, The Seasons was a little more extravagant than they might normally do, but this was different. Family had come home. At this, Ronin had to smile. "I think that will be...very good," he said, purposefully keeping his answers succinct. "I'll call and make reservations." He winked at his daughter, knowing that playing up his role as sensei would annoy his wife while at full steam. "That's it? Our Lottie comes home and all you can say is that it's 'very good?'" Elisabeth charged. Her ire, however, was just as overstated as his statement had been subdued. "God save us, if a little excitement should be had." She fought to keep her expression neutral, even as a laugh threatened. "Maybe I should go and make the reservations, hmm?" Smirking, Mal stepped around Ronin and headed for the house. "Maybe by then you'll have it all sorted." Elisabeth now chuckled softly. "Some things, will never change." Happy, she impulsively took the few steps to her husband's side and graced him with a soft kiss. "And I would not have it any other way," she murmured. "She's home..." Her whisper was soft, fluttering like a butterfly against Ronin's cheek. Ronin roped his arm around her waist, watching as Charlotte followed Mal into the house, tossing a grin over her shoulder. He leaned over and planted a kiss on his wife's temple. "Come, wife," he said. "We should visit while we can." "Indeed." Elisabeth smiled. "I knew you were excited." She bumped her hip lightly against his and then she was bustling into the house, ready to corner her daughter while Mal and Ronin took care of the evening's arrangements. "Lott, come up with me. I've got just the thing—" "Really, Mum, I've been dressing myself since I was five." "Oh, I know, love, but it's a celebration, and you should definitely dress the part." Elisabeth had a bright sparkle in her eyes. Charlotte shook her head slightly, but there was a smile forming even as she crossed the room toward the stairs. "If it'll keep you happy," she said cheekily, "I s'pose I could do that."

A Different Can of Worms (2/4) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura CDR Malcolm Alexander Dr. Elisabeth Blair LCDR Ronin Matsumura (Ret.) *** Lunch, as it turned out, was a couple of take away sandwiches from their favorite café, seated on a bench in the Japanese style garden built by her father, Ronin Matsumura. Water rushed over hewn rocks, filtering down into the koi pond before them. The koi themselves provided a splash of color, streaks of orange and silver as they swished just beneath the surface of the water. "I've always wondered what your father fed them, to make them so big," Mal said. He kept his voice quiet, reflective of their surroundings. Charlotte smiled. "I've never asked. If it was something disgusting, I didn't want to know. Especially since it was my job to feed the things." Alexander looked at her, wiping his mouth with his napkin, eyes sparkling. He turned sideways so he was straddling the bench and facing her. "So you're to blame for it." Recognizing the twinkle, she blushed slightly. "I wish I could say I was farming them for dinner, but I'm not sure we'd want to eat that." "No, probably not." Mal chuckled. With a sigh, he shoved his napkin into the container his sandwich had come in, and took a sip of his drink. "Though I suddenly have a craving for sushi." Charlotte couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe we can have sushi for dinner." "Is that a date?" Something in the tone of his voice caused Lottie to look back to the taller, senior operative. She found him watching her, his gaze visibly tracing the curve of her cheeks, her eyes, and the way her hair now fell around her face. Warmth crept up her neck and across her cheeks. How could he continually manage to make her blush with just the tenor of his voice? Reaching up, she tucked the errant locks of dark hair behind her ear. So much time alone – and apart since Excalibur docked – had left her with plenty of time to think. She'd known for a long while that what she felt for Mal stretched far beyond the school girl crush she'd once marked it up as. Denial, however, had a strong pull, and as long as she didn't admit the depth of feeling for him, she could continue as normal. They'd be friends, and that was fine. But the prospect of losing him frightened her more than she cared to admit. He had been there through her late night study sessions, answering random questions via subspace at two in the morning; had rescued her from the claustrophobic clutches of her parents during commissioning; had been her friend and mentor, what seemed a universe away. He was a warm, welcoming constant; his absence – his loss – would have left a gaping hole she would never be able to fill. That realization, coupled with a similar admission from Mal weeks previous, left them with two sizeable problems. The first came in the form of the Operations Directorate: They were decidedly less than supportive of relationships between operatives, and even less so when dealing with chain of command. Given Starfleet policy, they could not forbid such relationships, but revelation could result in permanent removal from the field. Neither she nor Mal were quite ready for retirement. Second, were her parents. Malcolm Alexander had been partner to her father and friend to both her mother and father since before she was born; he was as close to a brother as her father ever had. By the same token, she wasn't at all sure how her father would react to his little girl jumping into a relationship with his forty-plus year old friend. "Charlotte?" Blinking out of her reverie, Charlotte focussed once again on the familiar features opposite her. "I'm sorry, I'm just –" "Thinking it through?" She nodded. "I know what I want," she began, "but I keep asking myself if we should. Starfleet could pull us out of the field. And, even though it's my decision, I still can't help but wonder what Mum and Papa would say." Mal swallowed, the bob of his Adam's apple visible just above his uniform collar. "That's a thought," he said, sighing heavily. "I've had more than a few sleepless nights over that-- nightmares of your father and a katana. Not very pretty." Charlotte couldn't help but chuckle at the dark image, rendered somewhat comical by her own mind. "No, I would imagine not." "When we were in the lift, just after Rue ruined my complexion," he continued slowly, "do you remember what I told you – that I felt a lot more than I could say then?" In response, she could only nod. She knew he wasn't finished yet. "I meant what I said, Lottie. And, eventually, when all this settles out, I think your mum and da will see it, too; they know me better than that." "After all this time, I'd like to think so." Her smile was slightly lopsided, wryly amused. The amusement faltered slightly, however, as she thought of problem number one. "And Operations?" "Operations…" Mal rubbed his hand over his hair. "I've had a good, long run and I've more than outlived the life expectancy for operatives in my class. I mean, I'm not ready to be put out to pasture yet, but, as a station chief, I already have one foot in the grave – as it were." "But can you handle sitting at a desk while I'm out in the wild, dark yonder?" She frowned. "Because I'm not ready to give this up yet; I've only just started." At this, Alexander shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure. But I'd bloody well give it my best shot." "Then…" Drawing in a deep breath, Charlotte released it slowly. She forced back the overwhelming surge of emotions at the implications of their conversation; there was permanence inferred she wouldn't even begin to address. For now, she could only take things one step at a time. "I'd say we have a date." There was an impish gleam to Mal's eyes as he leaned forward. "Good. I have just the thing." "Oh?" "Mmhmm." Charlotte shifted, her expression and posture mirroring his. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her, anticipation singing through her. "Not going to tell me?" His gaze flitted over her shoulder toward the house, then back to her, a frown flickering across his features. "Can't." "Can't? Why?" "Because," he said, pausing long enough for a too-quick kiss, "your parents just got home." Sighing, she watched as he swung his leg back over the bench the way one might dismount a horse, and stood. His expression was apologetic as he extended his hand. "We'll have time, love." Charlotte could only give a smirk. "You do know my parents, don't you?" "Point taken." He chuckled as she rose, standing before him. She was careful to ensure the distance between them could be considered "platonic." "How does London sound?" At this, Matsumura blinked. Her brow furrowed as she looked back toward the house, seeing her parents milling about in the living room. It was only a matter of time before they were spotted. "Are you asking me to go away with you?" "Is that what it sounded like?" Mal continued holding her hand, his body blocking any view her parents might have. "I thought perhaps I was just offering a friend a place of refuge during a very trying time." "You're incorrigible," Charlotte replied. In reality, she felt torn. It had been over a year since she had seen her parents, had spent any considerable time with them. She wanted to stay. She wanted to chat with her mother over tea; to train with her father; to sleep in her own bed. She even wanted to catch up with a friend or two from the Academy – anything to keep her mind off the troubles at hand. By the same token, she was also swept up in the first blush of a relationship with her best friend, a man she'd been in love with for years. Escape would provide them the much needed time to work through the jumble of emotions. It would also, she thought wryly, give them plenty of time to work through the rush of hormones they'd barely kept at bay thus far. And the distance from just about everything Starfleet didn't hurt much, either. She smiled up at him. "One condition." "Anything, love." "Dinner with my parents tonight. I owe them that much." Mal nodded. "Done." He paused, then added, "What will you tell them?" "Just what you suggested: You're offering a friend a place of refuge during a very trying time." She placed the back of her hand against her forehead, affecting a dramatically withering expression. "It's all so overwhelming." "You'd better be a little less dramatic, and a little more convincing." He smirked, turning as he heard Liz and Ronin finally entering the garden. Charlotte returned the smirk. "I'm an operative. Convincing is what I do."

A Different Can of Worms (1/4) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura CDR Malcolm Alexander Dr. Elisabeth Blair LCDR Ronin Matsumura (Ret.) *** Outwardly, Charlotte Matsumura showed no signs of nervousness as she sat outside the office of the Director of Starfleet Intelligence. She'd watched captains and admirals breeze past for the last hour, and felt greatly out of place. What was it that she, a lowly, LTJG, might contribute to the current discussion that the more seasoned professionals wouldn't? Especially, she thought, since they already have my report and my debrief. She frowned. Her debrief. While the rest of her crewmates were meeting with JAG officers, giving depositions and receiving the advice of counsel, she had been met by two senior officers, one operations, one intelligence. Both were unfamiliar; both handled her with a professional detachment bordering on clinical. During the interview, she adjusted her own attitude to suit. As the debrief progressed, it became increasingly clear that much of the information obtained by Excalibur and by Mal caught both directorates by surprise. This in itself surprised her: She'd never been naïve enough to believe Fleet Intelligence omnipotent or omniscient, but to not know your own was involved in weapons smuggling? It was either a sad commentary on the agency, or spoke highly of the deceiving officers. She decided maybe a little of both. That had been two days previous. There was nothing she could have added; nothing to revise. She only wanted to get on with it, and get back to her life. Sitting outside the office of the DIRSI did not figure into that plan. A few more minutes passed and finally, the doors to the admiral's office parted. As she looked up to see who was exiting, she felt her breath catch: Without his make-up, clean shaven, and once again dark haired was Malcolm Alexander. He crossed the office with a broad smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with the effort. "Surprise," he said quietly. He took her outstretched hand in his and covered it with his other hand. Louder, he said, "I was beginning to wonder where you'd disappeared to." "I could say the same about you," Charlotte replied. She maintained the same friendly, professional tone he had offered. "It's really been too long." "Well, I've a remedy to that." "Oh?" An impish gleam lit the green-hazel eyes, lips still curved into a smile. "Had your lunch yet?" "Not yet, but I received a message to be here –" "About that," Mal began slowly, "I'm afraid I've a bit of a confession to make: I'm the one who sent the summons." Charlotte huffed. "You? I've been sitting here an hour, trying not to go into a panic, and you're the reason I'm here? I think you should eat lunch on your own." The senior officer leveled a gaze at her. "Maybe, but I think we have a lot to discuss, you and I." She noted the quieter tone, the intensity in his eyes that belied the smile still across his lips. "Now?" she asked silently with raised brows. He nodded. "Now it is, then." As he escorted her out of the office, she could feel the warmth of his hand as it hovered at the small of her back. They walked together down the corridor to the lift, where Mal called for the next pod. "You might be interested to know," he began, "that Captain Clark has been dismissed as Deputy Director of Operations." "That explains the low-level panic around here." The doors parted and Charlotte stepped in first. "Any ideas who they'll be asking to replace him?" "Interim, it will be your favorite and mine, Roane Townsend." Charlotte furrowed her brow. Townsend had been her recruiting agent and, while he didn't strike her as completely useless, she felt he might be a little too concerned about appearances to do the job properly. "You actually like him?" "They could do worse," Mal answered. He allowed her to step out of the lift, falling a half step behind her. "Though it's only temporary." The northern California sun was bright and warm as they stepped out of the headquarters building, and Matsumura squinted against the change. "I have to wonder who they'll get permanently into position." She stopped, pursing her lips. "Wait, if Clark is gone, what about our orders to Camelot Station?" "And therein lay the real question." Mal brought his hand against the small of her back, encouraging her to continue walking. "Operations and the Director aren't yet sure what motivated our posting, but they recognize there is some importance in maintaining presence." "So...?" "So, when all is said and done, we'll probably head back to Camelot Station aboard Excalibur." Her expression deepened into a scowl. "I'm not quite sure how to feel about that." "Nor am I," Alexander admitted. "And now we have to sit and wait for the bureaucrats. At least we'll be home while they take their sweet time." "And the court martial?" Mal grimaced. "That will unfortunately go as the boys discussed in your debriefing: A formal reprimand, removed with the expiration of the Secrets Act on the mission." "Great," Charlotte commented with a sigh. "So, in twenty years, I'll finally see full lieutenant. Brilliant." "Oh, I dunno about that. The new Director seems to think you acquitted yourself well...and you certainly saved my bacon." Matsumura cut him a sideways glance. "Me and Rue." "Yes – you and Rue." A moment of silence passed between them as they continued along the sidewalk, officers bustling about them, scampering from one building to the next. Charlotte spoke at length. "The two of you go back a ways, yeah?" Smile flickering across his lips, Mal nodded. "My senior year at the Academy. She was dating my best mate from Eton, Clay." "So now she really knows where all the skeles are buried." "That's what I'm afraid of." They stopped before a speeder Charlotte recognized as belonging to the senior operative. Mal smiled, keying open the door for her. "Your carriage, m'lady." Matsumura smirked up at him. "Why thank you, kind sir." She slid gracefully into the passenger seat. "Where are we going, anyway?" "That, love, is for me to know, and you to find out." Smirking, he closed the door. Within a few moments, he had climbed in, started the engine, and they were on their way.

Picket Fences CAPT Roane Townsend (NPC) CDR Malcolm Alexander (NPC) *** Malcolm Alexander knocked on the open doorframe leading to the office occupied by Roane Townsend. Storage boxes cluttered the floor and every flat surface; the walls had been stripped of all the personal photographs and memorabilia. Townsend himself stood behind his desk, a PADD in each hand, frowning as he reviewed the information. "Please tell me you're not stupid enough to be mixed up in this, too," the operative said. Townsend looked up and, for the first time, Mal saw that he now wore four pips on his collar. The senior officer raised his brow. "Please tell me you know me better than that." Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Alexander hunched over, entering the office. He shrugged a shoulder. "Thought I knew Clark, too." "Point. Though neither one of us was surprised." At this, Mal shook his head. "Not in the slightest. Always struck me as a slimy bastard, anyway." He offered a lopsided grin. "Congratulations on the promotion." Roane raised his brows, then snorted. "Ah yes. Took twenty five years and my CO resigning in disgrace, but thank you." He gestured to the empty seat in front of his desk. "Tea?" "Coffee, actually," Alexander replied. He folded his wiry frame into the chair, shifting a box aside with his foot. "Black, two sugars." Townsend chuckled as he turned to the replicator. "Black coffee? Next, you'll be wanting 'cookies' instead of biscuits." "Cookies, biscuits; chips, fries..." Mal looked up at Townsend as he returned with two cups. He took his carefully, a grin curving his lips. "Doesn't matter what you call it, so long as it tastes good." A pause. "But you didn't send for me just to argue the merits of Queen's English." The captain chuckled, lowering himself into his own chair, then sipped his tea. "No, I suppose I didn't," he replied, "though I'd suggest for you to get thee back to Albion, my friend." "As soon as is humanly possible, Roane. But first...?" "But first, I have a job to offer you." "Roane –" Raising a hand to cut short any protests, Townsend shook his head. "C'mon, Mal. You're a straight arrow, and you have field experience that far exceeds my own; there's no way in Hell you'd pull what Clark did. And we need people we can trust now, more than ever." "I can't, Roane. I really can't." Alexander sighed. "I took the job at Camelot as a favor – to Charlotte and to Ronin. I didn't take it because I'm ready to be put out to pasture." Roane arched his brows."And you think serving as director would be putting you out to pasture?" "Another five years, and it might sound pretty good. But for now, yes, it would be." Mal shook his head. "You're much better suited to this than me; you and I both know I'm still too rough around the edges to tolerate all the...bureaucracy." "That's incredibly ironic coming from someone who has specialized in Romulan infiltration." Chuckling, Mal took a sip of his coffee. "Point taken. But you know as well as I do that working undercover draws on a very different set of skills." "Skills you already have." "Skills that draw on reserves and tax my system because they are learned. I have no talent for diplomacy, Roane; it's never come naturally to me. Ops would be much better off putting you into the position permanently." The captain shook his head. "I'm not sure that's true, but thank you." "You're welcome," Alexander replied. "Look, despite our differences over the years, I know you're a good man who wants to do a good job, and can handle the upper echelon a Hell of a lot easier than I can. You have a wife and kids, and white picket fence. Just – take the job and enjoy them while you can." "Very philosophical, coming from you." The corners of Townsend's lips twitched in quiet amusement. "So what happens when you find a wife, and decide to start a family?" "I may find someone eventually," Mal said, giving a wry smile, "but I'm not the white picket fence type." "And if she is?" "She won't be." This piqued the captain's curiosity. "Already met her, have you?" Alexander leveled a glare at his commanding officer that was at once withering and amused. "Any news on my orders?" "One of my first meetings as the director," Townsend replied, "was to discuss the situation with Admiral Taren. Clark's actions leave the situation very much in question. By the same token, The Powers that Be feel it is essential to maintain assets in that sector. Given the ambiguity, you'd be well within rights to request a return to the field." At this, Mal nodded. "And Matsumura?" "DIRSI has left her placement up to my discretion. She's obviously green, but her reports show excellent progress and analytic ability. Given that she's just getting her feet under her, I'm not sure I'm ready to pull her back just yet." "Then I stay at Camelot." Roane arched his brows. "Oh?" "You said yourself that she's green, and just getting her feet under her. If you continue to use her as an asset, she's going to need a station chief out there she can trust; she trusts me." "Mal, I know you and Ronin are old friends, but there's no need for you to protect her. I'll make sure she gets someone capable." "Not someone capable. Me." Mal shook his head. "I made a promise, Roane. Help me keep it." Townsend frowned. "You're making this personal, Mal." "I am. But you and I both understand that I'll never make admiral, and you know that I'll never be sitting in that corner office." Alexander looked directly at his interim commanding officer. "Personal is what counts." The captain gave Mal a long appraisal, but chose not to voice his thoughts. At length, he nodded with a sigh. "Done." Mal nodded. "Thank you." Draining the last of his coffee in a gulp, he stood and placed the empty cup on the desk. He looked around. "Good luck with the move." "Going to take more than luck, old man," Roane replied with a dark chuckle. A wide grin broke across Alexander's features. "You said it."

Transformation CDR Ruth Wydown CDR Malcolm Alexander/LT Adam Pierson LTJG Charlotte Matsumura "Wakey wakey. Eggs and bac-ey!" Commander Wydown cheerfully grinned down upon the groggy Intelligence officer as his eyes slowly focused on her. "Give it a few moments, luv. The sedation will wear off shortly. Let's try sittin' up a bit, aye?" She flicked the controls to the biobed to bring the new and improved "Adam Pierson" up into a more reclining-sitting position. Even Rue had to admit that she was taken aback by his appearance. For "Adam" looked nothing like the man she knew was underneath the carefully, artfully, manipulated features. Not only were the Romulan features now missing, but so were the dark eyes, hair and bone structure that Rue would have recognized. If she didn't already know who he was, she wouldn't have given him a thought if she'd passed him in the halls. Yes, gone was the once young man who'd served as her husband's -- ex-husband's -- best man at her wedding. He was replaced by this rather ordinary looking blondie, half sitting before her. She stood back to admire her work. "Y'look like a regular on Temptation Lane," she teased, grabbing the nearby PADD and activating the 'mirror' app on it. In reality, "Adam" looked like the average non-descript security officer, nothing that would stand out in a crowd or on his own. But that didn't stop Rue from mercilessly teasing the man because he looked so different than both Wydown and Pierson were accustomed. "What'cha think?" Malcolm grimaced, feeling as though he'd woken with something three degrees worse than a hangover. His mouth felt like cotton, his head was pounding, and his face itched. The whole experience was reminiscent of the final pub crawl he and Clay had attended prior to departing Eton. He was glad Rue hadn't been around then. She was altogether too noisy for such a condition. Reaching out, he took the PADD and frowned into the makeshift mirror. Was that really his face, he wondered. His gaze drifted over the fuller cheeks, rounding out the usually-squared jaw; the closely-cropped, dirty blond hair atop his head, replacing dark brown in a similar style. Moving his jaw up and down, he watched as the reflection did the same. Logic told him it was his own reflection, yet not. He frowned. "That's... different," he said aloud. "I was going more for Rory McDaniels but I got more Moondoggy. I think. Which works, 'cause I was going for the surfer vibe -- very chic - instead of ex-classmate. Plus, I know you can do the accent. Duuuuuuuude." She dropped her own oddly-formed accent for one reminiscent of surf culture along western coast of North America. Laughing softly, Rue slid up on the foot of the biobed and sat, kicking her feet back and forth like a six year old on a sugar rush. "Not bad though, if I do say so m'self. Not even yer own mother will recognize you." "Not sure Mum would recognize me, anyway," he muttered. He sighed, turning as the surgical suite doors parted and Charlotte entered. "The question is, does she recognize me?" Charlotte paused just inside the door. Her expression was one of blatant surprise, her gaze taking in the unfamiliar features. "Oh, dear Lord." "Well, that's either ringing endorsement, or I'm the next Hashimodo." Mal-as-Adam smirked at her, impish twinkle in the unaltered green-hazel eyes. "Should I be requesting sanctuary?" "It'll take some getting used to," the junior officer replied. She approached the biobed, rounding to stand next to him, opposite Rue. "At least it's temporary." His smirk widened, lowering his jaw as he regarded her with a dangerous expression. "Should I turn on 'the smoulder'?" He waggled his brow. "'The smoulder,'" Charlotte drawled, "would work better with you as you." "I'll keep that in mind." "'ellllloooo! You do realize I'm sitting right here, yeah? Or should I leave you two alone?" Rue raised a brow, not sure how to read the flirtation between the two friends; she was both amused and somewhat concerned by it. She knew "Gauis" from "Adam" and knew what he was like. Was this part of his new persona or was there something on that she should be aware of? "What? I give you blond hair and suddenly you're Casa-bloody-nova?" Mal cleared his throat, straightening, as he was reminded of Rue's presence. "Yes, well," he said. "I'd say the alteration is sufficient for now." Tapping the screen on the PADD, the home menu was displayed, and he pulled up a time display. "Right. A little less than an hour. I should probably take a look at that data chip." Rue slipped off the bed. "I've got one more thing for your transformation, luv." She walked over to the cabinetry in the corner where a small tray held the dentures that would make Adam's new look complete. Taking advantage of Rue's shifting attention, Charlotte slipped her hand under Mal's. She felt a blush creep up the back of her neck as her heartbeat quickened slightly at the contact. His hand closed over hers. Holding on a moment, he then took the small isolinear chip she offered, palming it as he drew away. He offered her a small smile. When Wydown turned back to the two, saw Charlotte blushing and frowned at Adam. "Would you please stop flirting with my crew members? Keep this up, and I'm gonna make sure you're stuck with an all-male assignment." She motioned for Charlotte to back off a bit before presenting Adam with a set of dentures. "Here. And be glad these aren't buck teeth. I was sorely tempted." She smirked. "This should complete the 'surfer dude' look. Like whoooaaaa." Mal looked askance at the dentures. "Are those really necessary?" "Yes, duuuude." She foisted the teeth on him, giving him a shaka wave. "As was the ab surgery. You want this to work, aye?" "Ab surgery?" Alexander blinked, looking down at his torso. "My abs didn't need any help, thank you." "Wanna bet?" Rue raised a brow expectantly. She glanced from Adam to the junior officer, who seemed to suddenly be very interested in anything other than Adam. For her part, Rue was doing an extremely good job of keeping a straight face during her jest as she then turn back to her patient. "Bloody tosser," he muttered, reading her expression. He caught the slightest devilish gleam in Rue's brown eyes and knew the woman was messing with him. "Our imaginations are so much worse than reality." She smirked, enjoying the fact that she could torture Adam for getting her into this mess in the first place. She slapped his knee, "Feeling well enough to get your arse out of that bed yet?" "More than." Slipping off the biobed to his feet, Mal stood still for a moment, regaining his equilibrium. "I'll head down to security to alter the files, and then meet Captain Kwai as planned." "Okee-dokey, then." Wydown grinned, motioning to the door with a flourish. "By your leave, kind sir. Be careful on your way out." She dropped the comic act as she completed her instructions. "Try not to get spotted. If you do, remember you're part of the Republic crew and Matsumura brought you down here to get checked out. Fake tummy ache, brain tumor, or something. I'll check in with you later to make sure you're not feeling any ill effects." She paused adding one final jab. "Or see if you need to borrow any hair product." Rue motioned to the dirty blond spikes on his head. Charlotte smirked. "He can borrow mine." Mal cut her a sidelong glare. "The only ill effects I'll feel are when I look in the mirror." He shook his head, chuckling as he and Charlotte headed toward the exit. He then paused just before the doors as they parted. "And Rue?" "Yes, luv?" She flashed a toothy grin. "Thanks." He gave a rueful smile, then disappeared with the junior officer in tow. Wydown waited a few beats, silently counting down the seconds until she felt she was safely alone in the surgical suite. She then sagged against the biobed. Layers of denial about "Adam's" vocation, carefully crafted over the years by her and her husband -- ex-husband -- had been flushed down the drain with one odd turn of phrase, one that caused her to catch him out earlier. A common term that had become an 'in-joke' in her circle of friends. So when she heard it, it wasn't so much what he said, but the way he said it that caught her attention. Now she felt like Hercules, holding the world on her shoulders while Atlas took a wee coffee break. The tosser. Rue had even gone so far as to not use or acknowledge Adam's real name, not even when she first put two and two together. It just felt like if she said it, if she acknowledged it was him, the whole situation seemed far too real. Yet, if she failed "Adam", she'd never forgive herself. Nor could she have ever faced Clayton again. All of it was a hard burden to carry, even for an alien nutter like her. She sighed. The Cone of Silence was broken, she thought, and now was the time to use selective amnesia. ***

Really well done, guys.

Parity* LTJG Charlotte Matsumura CDR Malcolm Alexander/LT Adam Pierson *Immediately follows on "Transformation" Charlotte Matsumura stepped quickly out of medical, rushing to catch up to the man now known as Adam Pierson. Walking silently, they fell into step as they made their way to the lift. The doors parted and Pierson paused. "After you, Lieutenant," he said. There was no trace of the Welsh-Old Etonian posh that had once been so welcoming. "Thanks," Lottie replied. She stepped past him into the lift, taking position toward the back. Adam nodded. Offering a smile, he stepped into the pod. "No problem. Ladies always first," he said. Then, to the computer, he added, "Deck 14." The doors to the lift closed and the mechanism went into motion. Almost immediately, Charlotte called the lift to halt. "I know I'm supposed to be a professional, and this shouldn't bother me, but you – we –" She stopped, grimacing and forcing herself to slow down. "We're friends. We've been friends for a very long time. But now things have been said, things have been done that push well beyond that, and I –" "Lottie – love," Mal began, stepping closer. He allowed his voice to drop into the familiar tone, hands coming to rest on her shoulders, locking eyes with her. There, he could read the concern she sought to voice. "You are a professional. But you know that, in this job, we make friends, and when things get hairy around them, we – well, we can have trouble sorting it all out. "We don't shut that part of ourselves off. We just…postpone things a bit." Charlotte nodded. "So much easier in theory than practice." Her eyes traced the unfamiliar features and she frowned. "All the flirting, the banter, the by-play – is it you? Or is it just part of Adam Pierson? Do I trust the way it – the way it makes me feel, or do I just go along with the ruse?" Mal-as-Adam sighed. "Human or Romulan; Gaius or Adam – it's all still me," he replied. He hesitated, struggling with his next words. Charlotte knew as well as he did, that now was not opportune, but she had a point: They had yet to discuss what had happened between them, and the continual stage production made it impossible to figure where she stood. She – the younger, less-experienced of the two – had laid herself metaphorically bare before him, a man (and superior officer) almost twice her age. He'd read her psych profile, been a friend most of her life; he knew that emotional relationships were not her strong suit. That would ease with time, but for now, he had to find a way to balance the scales. In his heart, he knew what he needed to say. But in a turbolift, buried under a bevy of prosthetics, and in the midst of what could easily become an interstellar incident, this was not the time to say it. "No matter what I look like – what's on the outside," he continued slowly, "I can't change how I feel about you. This isn't a ruse or a fling; there's a lot more going on here" – he placed his hand over his chest – "that we can afford to deal with right now. Do you understand what I'm saying – what I'm trying to say?" Letting loose a breath she didn't know she was holding, Charlotte stepped forward, hands at his waist. Her voice was thick when she finally spoke. "I understand." She swallowed. "I-I'm sorry to ask." "No, love; you have every right," Mal answered. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead, and allowing his lips to linger a moment. "We just need to work on our timing." "Right." She laughed, the sound tight and forced, more a result of tension than amusement. Patting his sides, she stepped back out of reach. She resumed her position at the back of the pod. "Resume." The computer chirped, and the pod continued its descent. Mal glanced back at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Does that mean I have to stop flirting with you?" he asked as the doors parted. Expression mirroring his, Charlotte stepped past him into the corridor. "Not on your life." Adam Pierson was still smirking as he stepped off the lift behind her. ***

Damage Control Captain Rian Kwai, USS Repubic Commander Ruth Wydown, USS Excalibur Gauis tr'Argelian, Starfleet Intellengence Lieutenant (j.g.) Charlotte Matsumura, USS Excalibur If anything made Rian miss the flying waffle (Republic-D) more than ever, sitting in the Captain’s ready room on Excalibur did it. She’d just gotten used to the Republic-E’s quirks. Now she found herself here, on this Akira class starship, trying to figure out what was where. She was flattered that Rear Admiral BluRox had entrusted command of the Excalibur to her on their return trip to Earth. But she would have much preferred to be in her own bed. Captain Kwai glanced up as Commander Wydown flitted around the room, collecting a chair to sit directly beside the “Romulan” introduced as Gauis tr'Argelian. Of all the humans Rian had dealt with in her lifetime, Wydown was by far the weirdest one. Certainly the weight of an impending military tribunal would make anyone anxious, nervous, angry, or scared. Not Wydown. When told, Rue merely shrugged it off and continued on her merry way. Of course, Rian had also been told she’d shrugged off a concussion and laceration to the back of the head as if it’d been a light tap. Was this woman’s brain wired correctly? “Why is every where I go lately, I keep running into Romulans?” She muttered to herself as she took her own seat behind the desk in Captain Corizon’s chair. “Whot? You have a pet Romulan too?” Rue asked, folding her arms across her chest. Rian looked up sharply and shot Wydown with a piercing dark glare. Rue again shrugged it off. “I heard ye been keepin’ one aboard for diplomacy sake. Heard one of your boys” -- she yanked a thumb back towards to the bridge as she referred to the Republic security teams stationed through out the ship -- “talking about her. Sounded like she was easy on the easy and had wicked good right cross.” Rue flashed another grin. Great, just what she needed, another ship full of Romulan-panicked crewman. Rian sucked air through her teeth before talking slowly, deliberately. “Arrain t’Mirok is a respected guest of our ship. And while we intend to keep t’Mirok aboard the Republic, if she were to encounter any members of your crew, I would expect that you will convey to your crew that she is to be respected. If I catch word that any one member of this crew treats her with anything less than the full respect and honor, they will be spending quality time with your Captain in the brig, is that understood?” “Aye, ma’am.” Rue nodded solemnly. “Of course. And I’d expect the same of our wee guests here.” She nodded towards Gauis who seemed to be watching the two women intently. Rian glanced up at the Excalibur security officer guarding the door. “Lieutenant, you can be excused.” “Wait,” Rue spoke up, a finger in the air. “I’d like to have Matsumura stay, if you don’t mind. She’s been acting as tr'Argelian’s escort and probably knows as much about the situation as I do.” Wydown gave Charlotte a meaningful glance, then turned back to favor Kwai with a toned-down version of her usual grin. Rian studied the three officers before her carefully before weighing her decision. “Very well, you may stay, Lieutenant.” She then directed her gaze to the “Romulan.” “So, the beginning please…” She nodded for Gaius to being his explanation of what was going on. tr’Argelian settled into his chair, idly wishing he had a beer. “It may be hard to see now, but I’ve been working field operations for almost twenty years now. A majority of that time has been spent as you see me now -- under the brow and fringe of what you might call a Romulan privateer: I freelance, supporting Tal’Shiar, Galae, the Senate -- wherever my services -- in this personna -- were needed. “When it became clear to our assets in the Gamma Quadrant that Romulan weapons were being illegally transported through the sector, popping up in areas that we already consider powder kegs,” Gaius continued, “I was dispatched to see what I could unearth.” “To make a long story short, I was able to obtain some choice information and make for Federation space. Unfortunately, my ride -- the derelict currently sitting cargo -- had been left a little too long, and wasn’t up to the task.” He sighed. “I was left drifting. Excalibur happened to be the closest Federation ship. I sent up a flare and was very reluctantly rescued.” The Trill leaned forward, her elbows resting on the smooth desk surface before her. “Two questions for you. First, was your rescue in conjunction with the Excalibur’s jaunt into the Neutral Zone or was it a side excursion while they were all ready out and about?” She glanced to Wydown to see if the Commander would react to the accusation. When the woman did not react, she turned back to the man before her. “And second, has the information you’ve brought back been vetted or verified in any way?” Gaius pursed his lips momentarily, considering her questions. “First, let’s just say I was very lucky they came along when they did,” he replied. “As to the second, the information was obtained from a very reliable source -- for very appropriate reasons. The chief engineer was able to verify the information to Captain Corizon’s very exacting, paranoid standards.” Kwai paused, considering for a moment before speaking again. “We have a member of the Romulan Miltary onboard our ship, as I mentioned earlier. I’d like to provide her a copy of the material for outside verification, as well as for diplomatic reasons. Considering this investigation is a joint venture between our two governments, I don’t anticipate any issue with that?” “Given the...limitations... placed on my stay aboard Excalibur to this point, I haven’t exactly had access to a terminal. I would prefer to sanitize the data somewhat before turning it over to a member of the Romulan government,” tr’Argelian answered. “I need to do what I can to protect my source -- especially given the nature of the information.” “Understandable.” Kwai nodded. “Commander Wydown, you’ll see to it Mr tr'Argelian has what he needs, yes?” “Aye, no problem,” Rue Wydown replied. It was the first time Rian observed the woman to be docile and quiet. “These limitations that were placed on you. Can you explain a bit further?” Rian raised a brow, wondering what it was that crew did not trust about this man. Was there something she was missing? She glanced briefly at the security officer at the door, then to Wydown to see if she could get a bead on their thought process. The security officer, for her part, was unreadable; Wydown seemed to be avoiding her gaze, picking invisible pieces of lint off her pants. “As I was brought aboard, it was assumed -- by my appearance -- that I was a Romulan. At first, I’d no reason to disabuse them of that belief. I had information originating from a Romulan source. Had I been able to deliver that information to a proper intelligence contact, I might have been saved the trouble of all this subterfuge. As it was, Captain Corizon and I got off on the wrong foot, and I seem to continually be treading on each other’s toes.” Gaius gave a rueful grin. “When they tossed me into the brig, I was compliant with their demands; I even turned over the information I’d acquired for verification.” His brow creased, his mind churning over the order of events since his arrival. “I was quite literally sniffed out by the Al-Ucard on board. A blood sample was taken to verify the identification. By that time, they knew I was human, suspected I was Fleet Intelligence, but treated me with no small degree of suspicion.” “Well, you sort of dug that hole there, yourself.” Wydown smirked, glancing at the Romulan. “True,” he replied. “In their defense, it’s clear from previous events and the data I brought back that elements of our own Intelligence have been involved in this operation. So some suspicion was warranted.” The young lieutenant in the back of the room finally spoke up. “Not to the degree we all witnessed.” She shook her head. “We all understand that field work requires a very different mindset. But, from what I saw, Mr tr’Argelian was treated as though he’d already been tried and convicted.” Wydown shifted in her chair, her brow furrowing into a frown. “Things have been a little...intense lately.” She glanced up at the Captain. “I’m not sure I fully understand what all has been going on and the why-fors the way that Mr tr’Argelian was treated.” She waved a vague hand in his direction. “The Captain had his reasons, and I can’t speak for him -- without mucking it up.” She sighed and then continued for the group’s benefit. “If you want information about that, you’ll have to speak to the Captain himself.” Kwai narrowed her own eyes at the Commander, scrutinizing her reaction. The woman was clearly not happy with something. Rian could tell by Wydown’s body posturing that if pressed, she’d do nothing more but continue to deferred further questioning to her commanding officer. “I hate to ask this, but how do I verify that you are truly Starfleet Intelligence? And I’m not asking for your identity, but some means of proving you are who you say you are.” “Given your limited experience with the intelligence community,” tr’Argelian drawled, “a more efficient way might be to check my service number -- and the encryption of the intelligence that was handed over.” He rattled off a series of numbers, which Charlotte took down on the small PADD generally worn on her hip. She then crossed and offered the device to Kwai. Rian took the PADD and alternatively studied it and the man sitting in front of her. The service number provided access to a datafile with enough proof of identity to satisfy the Captain. She handed the PADD back to the Lieutenant with a nod before turning back to Gauis and Rue. “So the Commander,” Rian gave a vague wave towards Rue, “stated that you did not want to return to Romulan space. Your assignment is completed then?” “I accomplished what I was dispatched for, yes,” he answered. “Provided that my means of transport had survived the trip, I would have simply returned to my home port.” “Okay, so what seems to be the problem then?” Kwai directed her question to Wydown. “Welllll.....” Rue winced. “Captain Corizon’s attitude seems to have...rubbed off... onto other members of his crew. Not to mention the fact that I’d really like to avoid being shipped back to ch’Rihan with the rest of the guests. Might be detrimental to my health,” the pseudo-Romulan offered. Rue jumped into to clarify. “Look, my people are good people. Really, they are very good at what they do and their loyalty to the Federation.” Her eyes darted from Gauis to Kwai as she defended her crew, as if she wasn’t just trying to convince Kwai but the ‘Romulan’ as well. “And I know that in light of what’s happened, you all probably think what I’m saying is a load of rubbish. Unfortunately, right now, they are also under a lot of stress. And frustrated. This mission has taken a lot out of them, and the end result wasn’t as productive as we would have liked, considering the risks we took. We put not only our lives but our careers in jeopardy and came out of with a handful of prisoners, tr’Argelian’s data and a few cases of weapons---” Kwai’s brows shot up at the mention of yet another surprise. “Cases of--” “--I’ll explain that in a bit, mate,” Rue interrupted. “At any rate, we didn’t find the smoking gun, just the bullets. So they’re upset and looking for a convenient scapegoat. I’d prefer it not be Mr tr’Argelian. The man risked his life to bring this information back. It’s not his fault we plucked his sorry a--” She paused, thinking better of cursing in front of the Captain, and regrouped quickly. “It’s not his fault that this mission took a nosedive. And I don’t need my crew taking it out on him. “Not to mention I owe him one for tending to a wee bit of an issue I had earlier,” She rubbed the back of her head, examining the injury that Kwai knew she’d sustained earlier. “He didn’t need to step up and help. So....” Wydown shrugged effortlessly. “What are you proposing we do?” Rian crossed her arms, sitting back with a wary expression. “Well, I have a plan.” “What sort of plan, Wydown?” “Return Mr tr’Argelian to his natural form.” She shot the man with a Cheshire Cat grin, then turned her attention to Rian. “And have him blend in with your Republic security staff.” “Say what?” Kwai’s eyebrows shot up. Matsumura stepped forward. “Commander Wydown, I’m not sure --” Gaius watched the scene unfold, attention focused on Rue. As if sensing his focus, she glanced at him. He knew then that she had more in mind than she was willing to admit. “What did you have in mind, Commander?” “They’re looking for you, Gaius; they’re trying to figure out who you are. To see if they’ve met or seen you before. And to preserve your cover with the Romulans, you can’t stay like this for much longer or they’ll want to take you back as well. So if we return you to a human form to keep you from Romulan hands, we’re going to have problems with the Excalibur crew doing their best bloodhound impression, sniffin’ about.” “I know we’ve got about 500 officers, but they know each other so they’re going to notice if we suddenly have a miscellaneous crew member from an off shift -- you’ll catch hell. But with the Republic crew wandering about, who’s going to notice another one of them mucking about.” She turned to Gaius. “Heck, I can barely keep them straight. And I know you can blend in. So we make you a member of their crew, one of the security team. With Kwai’s permission, of course,” she said, glancing at Kwai, “and with the stipulation that you can’t leave Excalibur since you aren’t technically Republic crew. And you should probably avoid prolonged exposure to our Al-Ucard, just in case. That’d make the Capt ‘n happy, aye?” “It’s possible.” Rian stood up, starting to mull things over. She stood and faced the viewport staring at her reflection. The plan seemed to be simple enough. Not only would it help protect the Intelligence operative, but it would also keep Gauis away from t’Mirok. She studied the reflection of the three individuals behind her, watching as Rue started to open her mouth to add more to her argument, only to be waved off by the man calling himself Gauis. It was an oddly familiar exchange that gave Rian the impression that these two individuals knew each other or had become friends recently. She turned a little so she could look at Gaius and Rue over her shoulder. “How much damage control will we have to do with our other Romulan guests?” She watched Wydown turn to Gauis with a raised eyebrow. Gaius narrowed his eyes, drawing a deep breath. “I’ll need to talk to your mission specialist.” “I think we can have that arranged.” Rian nodded. Out of habit, she started to chew on her thumbnail as she mulled over the situation. “I’m assuming that you’ll want to have this meeting after we’ve taken care of” -- she waved at him from toe to head -- “this, yes?” She took another breath, scrutinizing the two officers sitting before her. She watched Rue give Gauis a look that seemed to be a mixture of amusement and repulsion, as if the woman wanted to do some sort of bodily harm to the Romulan. Like a good smack to the head. If Gauis noticed, he wasn’t reacting to the Executive Officer’s body language. Kwai took one last cleansing breath. “Okay, you have two hours to perform this alternation to your appearance and ‘sanitize’ your information.” She glanced at Wydown. “You’ll coordinate with your medical department?’ “Actually, I’d like to handle that myself,” Rue said as she glanced from Kwai to Gauis. “I owe him one. And I promised I’d do what I could to ensure his safety on this ship. Limiting the number of people involved, we also limit the chinwaggin’ and can control the situation easier.” She grinned a much more sedate sort of smile. “Okay. When you’re done, Mr tr'Argelian, report back here. I’ll contact your new ‘chief’ and get you set up as one of our crew temporarily.” Rian sighed softly. “I hoped to gods this works.” She pinched the bridge of nose. “Wydown, when this is wrapped up, you and I need to have a little talk.” “Aye ma’am.” Rue grinned again, standing up. “You two, meet me at the back entrance of sickbay but don’t do anything until I get there. Understood?” Gaius nodded. “Understood.” He rose and looked to Matsumura, gesturing toward the ready room door. “Well, Lieutenant, shall we adjourn to sick bay?” Charlotte offered a smile. “Of course. I think, under the circumstances, however, I should follow you.” “As you wish, Lieutenant.” The operative nodded first to Rian, then to Rue. “Until then.” “And when you return, Mr tr'Argelian, how should we address you?” Kwai asked. She watched the group heading to the door. She found it difficult to suppress a smile at the way the pseudo-Romulan introduced his soon to be human alter-ego. It reminded her of an old holo-video. “Pierson. Lieutenant Adam Pierson.” ***

Death Before Dishonor (Pt. 2) LCDR Mark Garrison tr'Salik Gaius tr'Argelian *** Ushering them out, the trio took a short walk to a small room with a single private cell. Standing by the force field controls, he gestured for Gaius to put tr'Salik in. Entering first, tr'Argelian paused, gesturing at the bench against the far wall. "Fhaen, join me." Na trusting this Rihan who consorts with Lloannen'galae, but having little choice, he moved to the bench and took a seat. "Au still have na authen why au are fahd with these," makes a deprecating nod towards the doorway, "Lloann'ah." Garrison acknowledged the Romulan with an equally deprecating frown, before turning the force field on. Down the corridor, Burris yells down at Garrison, "Hey....when do we get fed around this place?" Frowning, Garrison looked over to Gaius. He figured that the real Romulan wouldn't say anything while he was in the room. Perhaps he could pump the freighter crew for some information, or at least shut them up. "Sure, I'll feed you." A small grin grew on his face as he exited the room. Gaius stood, clasping his hands behind his back. "I have provided sufficient authen," he replied. As Garrison disappeared down the corridor, he adjusted his stance slightly. "And hna, it's just au and me." Having been promoted recently to the executive officer, tr'Salik was na veruul, he knew that the Rihannsu and Lloann'ah were working together to get information from him. Curious though that they also had the freighter crew hrrau custody as their th'ann. At the siuren, he was unsure what this other Rihan was hoping to find khoi from him. "So, what is it that au wanted to say, away from the others?" "I know au are caught between a rock and a hard place," Gaius began slowly. "Au have been compromised; au cannot return home, nor can au return to Galae. Before au consider aur dathe, I ask you io ehlrh: Who are au working for?" "I suppose it really does na matter anymore, I have failed hrrau my duty, and I deserve to yy'a for that failure. At io point, I had been a member of Galae, but family ties, after my first tour of duty, demanded that I enlist with the frontier fleet and help protect our interests out here on the fringe. I do know that some of the assignments we've had, are along questionable lines, as the politics of the outmarchs and the outer sectors is often far from the view of the homeworld. Some of the dealings, I'd say border on a level of dissent, almost a view that they should break from the Empire or reforge the power structure in these sectors... “I've met very few I would trust since joining this fleet,” tr’Salik continued, “though the Enarrain, she was io of the honorable I've dealt with, though she was Galae, na from our sectors. I do na know the specifics, but they held something over her, some sort of blackmail to get her to work for them, though I know she despised it every day of her life. It is most likely why she decided to blow the ship rather than have it captured. Galae training au know.” To this, tr'Argelian nodded. "Ie, I understand. Did the Enarrain ever tell au who was blackmailing her, who was sending her on these missions?" "All I know, it was someone of power, a Deihu I believe. Io that wanted to become Fvillha io eisn. But exactly who, I do na know. I only serve and do my duty. It is na my place to question my superiors. However, I na longer have any future, either with Galae, or the outworld fleets, as I have been captured, made th'ann, and am considered ‘compromised.’” At that, Garrison walked back into the room, with a frown worse then he'd left with. One didn't have to guess his talk with the freighter crew didn't go very well. "Au may leave it to others, to question aur superiors," Gaius replied. He leveled a dark, serious gaze. "Hann'yyo, Daise'Erei'Riov." Hearing Garrison enter behind him, he turned, brows raised in silent inquiry. While the other Rihannsu was turned towards the dheno, tr'Salik felt at the hem of his tunic sleeve, pulling a small thread revealing a tiny pocket with a small flat chip. Slowing removing it with the tip of his finger, he placed the chip under his tongue to dissolve, and fell to the floor. "Damnit!" Garrison yelled, watching the Romulan ingest the item. Deactivating the force field he rushed in, checking his pulse while calling for medical. Tr'Argelian took position next to tr'Salik on the floor, kneeling. "Felodesine," he said, by way of explanation. His gaze drifted up to the face of the dying Romulan, and watched as the tension released from his features. He then reached up, silently lowering lids over vacant eyes. "Medical will be of no use." Disgusted, Garrison let the already dead Romulan go, quickly calling off medical. Somehow this managed to turn out worse than interrogating the freighter crew. He turned to Gaius, a livid look on his face. "What the hell happened!?" "A Romulan officer will not generally submit to questioning. Rather than face dishonor, they often make use of poisons to take their own lives -- not unlike the defeated samurai warrior in Earth history." Gaius rose, straightening his tunic. "He gave us information, but it remained for him to perform his final duty." "Well this is just lovely," Garrison sighed, rising from his kneeling position. "Did he give you anything of use?" "There is a powerful Romulan politician seeking to solidify power...or, conversely, stir anarchy among the Outmarches," the pseudo-Romulan answered. "They are coercing t’Rahks into her cooperation -- which we already knew." He paused. "Were it not for our own Intelligence involvement, it would appear this to be a 'family issue.' "Unfortunately, he couldn't tell us which of the great uncles was creating havoc." "Well, we have four more Romulans to interrogate…" Mark trailed off, looking unapologetically down at tr'Salik. "Make sure none of the others manage to kill themselves. I'll try to keep opening up the freighter crew...and then brief Corizon." Gaius nodded, accepting what amounted to marching orders. "Is it all right if I have your staff provide our guests other garments? I'd hate for us to have four more dead Romulans to explain." “I’ll take care of it,” Garrison said. “The last thing I need is for the inmates to be running the asylum.” With a sigh, he swept out of the room, headed down the corridor. Tr’Argelian looked down at the corpse of tr’Salik. “Godspeed, Daise'Erei'Riov.” ***

Unmasked (Pt. 2) LTJG Charlotte Matsumura LCDR Malcolm Alexander *** Charlotte blinked. A chill washed over her, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "What did you just call me?" "Lieutenant." "That wasn't what you said. You – you called me –" Their eyes locked. Intense emotion flared briefly, stealing her breath before it was blinked away. His voice was different when he spoke, syllables tightly controlled. His accent was softened by a hint of Romulan. "What is it you think you heard, Lieutenant?" The low timbre sparked memories, and recognition settled over her. She felt a lump rise in her throat. The easy rapport, the familiarity, the voice, the accent...it all made sense. And now that it did, she recognized the cut of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the high cheekbones. Her heart swelled with conflicting emotions. Garrison had not been the only one off balance with the onset of this half-baked, unofficial mission. And it wasn't that she believed Starfleet inviolate; she knew some things were more important than maintaining a rulebook. But venturing deep within Romulan space, concealed by an illegal cloaking device, chasing weapons that could spark both violent and diplomatic revolutions was something that had wide-reaching implications, should anything go wrong. Apprehended by the Romulans, they would have faced death; returning to their own side, they faced court martial. Yet here was a man she knew, someone who had survived behind the lines time and time again; someone she could trust when it all went to Hell. She wasn't sure she could say the same for her captain. Not now. Not yet. But such relief was tempered with anger, frustration. He was her station chief, her best friend. He was supposed to be tucked up aboard Camelot Station, not gallivanting across Romulan space in a stolen ship, looking every bit like those they were trying to elude. He was supposed to be watching her back *there*, not here; he was supposed to be safe. "What are you doing out here?" "The same thing your captain's trying to do: Try to find the source of those weapons." “And just like him, you had to come and see for yourself? Are you mad? You very nearly got killed out there!" Her frustration peaked, her chest tightening. "What would have happened then?” “I left instructions.” “Oh, yes, because that makes it perfectly all right,” Charlotte shot back. “It’s part of the job, Charlotte. You know that.” “Part of my job, Mal. I don’t give a damn what your scope of operations is. You’re my station chief. You’re supposed to be tucked away, nice and safe aboard Camelot Station. You’re not supposed to be out here, risking life and limb on some God-forsaken alien planet.” “And where was that getting us, exactly?” Alexander gestured with his hands. “Please – enlighten me. Because it seems to me, that up to this point, we’ve gotten nothing but a fair load of embarrassment. Weapons disappearing from custody; a Romulan ambassador dead on our doorstep; and a captain disobeying direct orders by gallivanting off into Romulan space – with a stolen cloak, I might add! Yes, I can see we were getting so very far!” Charlotte clenched her fists at her side. The knuckles turned white and she could feel her fingernails digging into her palms. Fire burned in dark eyes as she looked up at him. “Then tell me one thing, Mal: Was it worth it?” Sighing, Mal rubbed his right hand over his hair, before regarding her with both hands on his hips. “The intelligence I handed over to Corizon was actionable – names, dates, suppliers. It’s enough to get things started.” “But will it stop it – for once, and for all?” The senior operative exhaled. “No. Probably not. In the end, they’ll be like cockroaches –just go deeper into the shadows.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “We’ll do some housecleaning and they’ll lay low for a while, but they’re driven by ideology, by power. All of it will come back around again.” “So you’ve bought time.” “For us, I’ve bought time,” Alexander sighed, “but for the ambassador and the clan, I’ve bought revenge: Once that information reaches a few people on ch’Rihan, there are a few Rihannsu that will pay for their part in this with their lives. That part is definitely worth it.” Charlotte regarded him with her brow furrowed. “Revenge and pride are hardly good enough reasons to risk your life for information you couldn’t be sure existed.” “Don’t be so naïve, Charlotte. You’ve read the classics, the modern era histories. You know as well as I do that entire wars have begun over smaller things than revenge and pride. In this case, we’re talking about weapons and-and a bunch of planted evidence that could start a war. Risking my life to avoid that? That’s a small price to pay to keep peace.” Matsumura swallowed back the knot in her throat. “Your life, Malcolm Alexander, isn’t a small price,” she said. Her voice was taut; she struggled to maintain control of her vocal cords, of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “It means something – to your mum and dad; to your friends; and to…me.” A long moment of silence fell between them. Charlotte studied his modified features intently: The prominent forehead, the darkened eyes, the black fringe of hair above them. It was so strange, she thought, to hear his voice, his quirky turns of phrase, and yet not entirely see him. She suddenly longed for his plain visage – the Roman nose, impish green-hazel eyes, closely-cropped dark hair – it was all there, under the surface. Taking one hand, she slowly reached up, tracing her fingertips across the curve of his brow, down his cheek. She heard his breath catch at the contact. Placing her palm against his cheek, she gently dragged the pad of her thumb across the bone. Scenes of arriving back on Camelot, only to find he'd been killed or captured raced through her mind; she forced them back almost as quickly as they appeared. "This all could have gone so differently." His expression softened, and Charlotte thought she saw a hint of the green lurking behind the dark contacts. "We don't always get goodbyes, love. You know that." “I know,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I could have lost you.” “Charlotte, don’t –“ Closing the distance between them, Charlotte allowed her eyelids to drop, her lips brushing his tentatively and stopping him in mid-sentence. As Mal remained motionless, his arms at his sides, her heart sank and panic gripped her. Had she read the timbre of his voice, the intensity of his eyes – all of it wrong? Had she now risked years of friendship, the way he’d gambled with his life? Eyes stinging, she began to draw away. But before she could disengage, his hands tangled fiercely in the loose hair at the base of her neck. He pressed his advantage then, and she felt his tongue dance across her lips before parting them, sliding against hers with an intoxicating rhythm. A soft moan escaped her as heat began pooling in areas she suddenly longed for him to touch; he echoed her as she gripped two hands full of his black tunic and eliminated the gap between them. The silence that followed was punctuated only by increased tempo of their breathing and the occasional sigh. Mal's fingers danced lightly over her neck, followed by his lips, as his hands eventually came to rest against her shoulders. Planting one last kiss to the curve just under her jaw, he drew back slowly, gently enforcing some distance between them. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “We can’t do this, Charlotte.” Her heart pounding in her chest, Charlotte could hear the rush of her blood in her ears. As her mind cleared, processing his words, worry crashed over her and dragged her out of the fog. “I thought –“ “And you were right,” Mal corrected. His gaze swept over her, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as he visibly fought for control over himself. Reaching up, he gently swept a lock of hair back behind her ear. “But now is not the time, or the place for this.” He leaned down and captured her lips with his own, despite himself. “You really, really need to go.” Taking a step back, her shoulders brushed the bulkhead: She was pinned between the wall and her best friend. His hand brushed her lower back, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks in an instant. Suddenly, the doors beside her parted and he widened the gap between them. Maneuvering quickly, he whirled her around, and Charlotte found herself standing in the corridor. He swallowed as he nodded once. “Dinner. Bring enough for two, and don’t be late.” The doors closed and Charlotte staggered. Reaching up, she smoothed her hands over her hair, then drew a cleansing breath. She was at once glad the guards were no longer necessary. The flush to her cheeks would have been an awkwardly visible souvenir of the past few moments – and one she was better off not having to explain. Maybe if I could explain it to myself first, she thought. She shook her head. Five hours till dinner. Five hours to worry that maybe – just maybe – she had ruined a perfectly good friendship for a chance that was never going to happen. ***

Unmasked LTJG Charlotte Matsumura LCDR Malcolm Alexander *** Carefully balancing a small tray in one hand, Charlotte Matsumura reached for the doorchime to the quarters assigned to their Intelligence guest, "Gaius tr'Argelian." Before she could reach the panel, however, she heard his voice behind her. "Surely you have better things to do with your time than to play attendant to me," he said. Turning, she offered a weary smile. "Certainly. But, as I wasn't sure if they had instated your replicator privileges, I thought I might try again. Even pseudo-Romulans require sustenance for survival." "Despite the fact that your senior officers might prefer me to wither and die?" Charlotte noted the mischievous gleam to his eyes, the teasing tone, and felt a blush creep across her cheeks. "Yes, well, given our current predicament, I thought it might make things worse if we allowed one of our own to die of starvation simply because we didn't like what he was wearing." Their guest chuckled darkly. "I'll try to dress more appropriately, next time I'm aboard." His eyes still gleaming, he stepped closer to her – close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him – as he reached for the access controls. Without losing eye contact, he tapped in his code. "After you," he said. She stepped quickly into the room, glad to put some distance between herself and tr'Argelian. She then crossed to the coffee table and carefully lowered the tray to the surface. "As before, I wasn't quite sure what your preference might be, so I brought some of the basics: Black tea; lemon and cream – your choice; biscuits; and a scone with some clotted cream. No cucumber sandwiches, though; the lounge replicator just can't get them right." "And how, pray tell, did you deduce I might want tea?" "Your accent." She smirked as his brows raised in surprise. "You cover it well, but I recognize it: it's Welsh, with a touch of Old Etonian posh." "I see." Abruptly, Gaius looked away, approaching the coffee table and directing his attention to the tray. He made a show of examining the various biscuits on the tray; Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling he was avoiding her eyes. After a moment, he selected a thin, oval shortbread with a light coating of chocolate along the bottom. "And you're familiar with such an accent?" "Very; it reminds me of home." Her mind drifted back to the owner of said accent, Malcolm Alexander, and she felt a slight pang. Even after her time aboard Excalibur, she found forming friendships among the crew difficult. She'd once thought to call Garrison friend. Now, she wasn't sure. A friend, maybe, but not a close one, she reasoned. Still, a friend aboard ship would have been a comfort amidst the uncertainty they now faced. Perhaps that was why she felt drawn to their unwelcome visitor? "Well, then," Argelian said at length, "I'm glad I can offer a friendly reminder." Clearing her throat, Charlotte decided a change of topics was in order. "How did the discussion with our – ahem – real Romulan guests go?" The pseudo-Romulan offered the small plate of biscuits toward her. She waved them away with a smile of thanks. "About as well as can be expected," he replied. He returned the saucer to the tray, then seated himself, directing his attention to preparing a cup of tea. "The commander played her cards close to her vest. Most of her crew had no knowledge of the finer details; those among our guests that do, well, they aren't going to offer." She nodded silently."I suppose we could apply some pressure –" "After the incident in the brig, and given that Excalibur is holding them illegally – they were brought aboard in the naval tradition, not as prisoners, after all – I'd say Mister Garrison couldn't risk it." "He's good at what he does," Charlotte replied. She could mentally envision Garrison attempting to pump information from their reticent Romulan guests. "What happened earlier... it was a bit out of character for him. This whole mission has everyone off balance." "Understandably so." The intelligence operative sipped his tea experimentally, wincing as he found it a touch too warm. He leveled a gaze at her. "Though worse tactics have been used in some instances." The steady gaze sparked confusion and Charlotte fought to keep the crease out of her brow. Surely he didn't know she was Fleet Intelligence, did he? "Not generally by serving line officers. Worse tactics are generally left to...specialists." "Specialists in controlled environments," Gaius replied, "of which the Excalibur brig is not." A slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips over the rim of his teacup. "But slight accommodations can sometimes be made to great benefit." "You got something from them, then?" "We were able to verify some of the intelligence we've been able to glean... and offered a few new insights." He shrugged a shoulder. "In the end, probably not so much. Enough to add to the file, at the least." "At this point, I suppose we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." Gaius gave her a lopsided grin. "Unless of course, they're Greeks." She quirked an eyebrow. "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts?" "Exactly." The smile she offered in return faded slowly, a strangely heavy silence falling between them. At length, she cleared her throat in an attempt to break the tension. "Yes, well, I suppose I should be getting back." A gentleman beneath his makeup, Gaius rose as she turned to leave. He crossed to escort her out and Lottie could feel his hand hovering just at the small of her back. "Thank you for the tea. It's greatly appreciated." "You're quite welcome." The corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly as he smiled down at her, but his eyes were somber. "Do be careful out there, love." Charlotte blinked. A chill washed over her, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "What did you just call me?" "Lieutenant." "That wasn't what you said. You – you called me –" Their eyes locked. Intense emotion flared briefly, stealing her breath before it was blinked away. His voice was different when he spoke, syllables tightly controlled. His accent was softened by a hint of Romulan. "What is it you think you heard, Lieutenant?" (TBC...)

Death Before Dishonor LCDR Mark Garrison tr'Salik Gaius tr'Argelian *** Gaius entered main security, glancing about, his hands clasped behind his back. Theoretically, he already knew what security should look like aboard the ship, but it was still the first time he had actually seen it in person since arriving aboard. He glanced over his shoulder at Garrison even as he sauntered toward the brig. "Nice office," he said. "Well, there has to be something nice about the ship." He sternly replied, stopping Gaius at the door, pulling him aside. "How exactly do you plan to get anything out of the Romulans?" He decided not the mention the previous attempts at interrogating the freighter crew, with the shooting and all that badness. "I thought maybe I'd start by asking nicely," he replied, then grimaced, "though I have to admit I'm not expecting much. Their commanding officer has a good track record. As a result, she'd play things close to the vest: most of her crew wouldn't have the slightest idea where they fit in the grand scheme of things. Far too often, it's better not to ask too many questions." He paused, waiting for the chief of security to key them entry into the brig. Reaching forward, Garrison entered his access code. "Well," he said, looking impatient. "Let’s get to it." The psuedo-Romulan visibly straightened as they stepped into the brig, smoothing his hand down the front of his black tunic. He approached the Romulan cell, footfalls steady against the deck. Once there, he stopped before the forcefield. His feet were planted shoulder width apart, jaw lowered, his eyes dark and steady as he looked at the guests. "Welcome aboard the Lloann'na ship, Excalibur," he said. "I hope au are as comfortable as circumstances allow?" Tr'Salik rose from the bench he had been sitting upon, and stood at the door of the cell, looking at the Rihannsu standing with the Lloann'na. Obviously this traitor had assisted them in their treachery. A cold look hrrau his eyes, he remained silent, refusing to give the traitor the satisfaction of an authen. Mark observed the staring contest with a frown, expecting this to go as well as with the freighter crew. "The strong, silent type, I see," Gaius replied. The corners of his lips twitched, amusement touching his eyes. "Commendable, commendable. At least, so long as your silence guarantees the safety of the Empire." Tr'Salik continued to stand in silence looking at the man on the other side of the forcefield, while behind him two of the other oira officers mirrored his stance. In the adjoining cell, the remaining two officers moved to the doorway to observe. Across the way, Lobo called back to Nathaniel, and Burris White, that the ship was starting to get overrun with Romulans. Shifting his stance slightly, tr'Argelian ignored the rabble behind him and pressed on. He tilted his head to the side. "Au do realize aur actions have wide-reaching repercussions, ie? Stirring unrest among client worlds, supplying them with weapons. Did au not think au would be discovered? That au were untouchable because of aur sponsor?" Tr'Salik continued to stare at the uncaged Rihannsu. Burris yelled across the brig at the free Romulan's back, "That she devil is the one behind this." Gaius pivoted slightly, his hands clasped behind his back. "She devil, hm?" Looks back to tr'Salik. "Not a very nice description of aur commanding officer. But then, she's left au here, to fend for aurself." He narrowed his eyes in appraisal of the Rihannsu who stood on the opposite side of the field. Tr'Salik looked over at Burris calmly, "Too bad au were able to escape our torpedo, but I see au have new friends." "Yea, but I see you here too you big overgrown elf," Burris snapped back. "We’re all great friends here," Garrison commented. "Friendly enough that our medical officer got shot during introductions.” "Friends...talk to io another, do they not?" Tr'Argelian gave his most disarming smile, though it did not reach his eyes. His gaze flitted toward the remaining Rihannsu in the cell, then back to tr'Salik. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, intended only for the Rihannsu standing opposite him. "But au make friends in service, au develop loyalties. And when io starts acting out of character io notices, ie?" Tr'Salik turned his head ever so slightly, as though interested hrrau this Rihannsu in front of him had to say. He also threw a slight look over his shoulder, making sure they were na listening too closely, but knowing they would be. With a nod that was barely perceptible, Gaius looked back at Garrison. "Perhaps we should give our guests a bit more room. There are several more cells available, yes?" Mark stood nearby, appraising the freighter crew with a frown, before turning to look at Gaius. He then turned his attention to the Romulan prisoners. "You," he said, pointing at tr'Salik. "Come with us." Calling in the two guards, they lowered the force field, phasers drawn, motioning for the Romulan XO to follow. Tr'Salik clasped his hands behind his back, and silently stood there a siuren. "I am prepared to yy'a. Au might as well yy'a me hna." Gaius arched a brow, glanced back at the armed security personnel, then looked back to tr'Salik. "I'm certain that can be arranged... But first, we need to have a little chat." He nodded and one of the security guards, after a momentary hesitation, entered the cell, grabbing tr'Salik by the arm. Letting himself be pulled from the cell, tr'Salik then turns to Gaius, "What is au role fahd, with these Fvai? Traitor? Or io of them?" Garrison couldn't resist a small smirk at the irony of the Romulan speaking to the pesuedo-Romulan. Gaius could almost feel Garrison's smirk. "Just consider me...auethnen." Tr'Salik narrowed his eyes at the other Rihan and the dheno, then nodded for them to lead on. (TBC...)