T'aral

T'Aral got into her surgical uniform while the medical team prepared the patients. The surgery was divided into two sections, since the operations required were similar and required the same equipment. Both patients were prepared and immersed in abiotic fluid adjusted to each patient's individual physiology to facilitate a clean operation. It was determined that Commander Wesley would be operated on first, as scans indicated internal injuries including a slightly punctured lung. Clearing her lungs of fluid and mending her ribs enough to prevent a relapse was a priority. As T'Aral set and fused bone, Lt. Ellis monitored Byblos. The young medic examined the Naussican's wounds to catalog them for surgical priority. She turned to T'Aral. "The medics say that they were beating each other up." T'Aral nodded as she worked. "That would be consistent with the nature of the injuries in question." Ellis cocked her head slightly. "So ... a decorated veteran Starfleet Officer and an accepted mercenary contractor decided that an unsecured combat zone was a good place to beat each other to a broken pulp?" T'Aral nodded again. "That is also consistent with the available evidence." "... and officers in the area ... just let them?" T'Aral nodded again. "You have a developed understanding of the situation, Lieutenant." Ellis turned back to the monitor, shaking her head. "This makes no sense at all." T'Aral finished fusing the last of Wesley's fractured ribs. "Your analysis is sound, if unnecessary." Ellis cocked her head slightly. "You're not the slightest bit curious about what happened?" T'Aral sealed off Wesley's lung, then activated an areator to clear remaining fluid. "No, Lieutenant, I am not curious. The nature of the altercation has no bearing on the nature of their injuries, and it is not my responsibility to pass judgement on their actions. My duty is to tend to their injuries, and to do so with my undivided attention." Ellis smirked under her mask. "What if the Commander draws a Court Martial?" T'Aral carefully sealed her incisions; the protoplaser secured and knitted the Commander's muscles and skin to assure that there wouldn't be so much as a blemish to indicate that surgery had ever been done. "If that occurs, the Commander would have to face a tribunal made up of her peers. It is unlikely that I will be called to serve. If I am, then I will take an interest in the matter." She examined Wesley's other injuries. There was a lot of soft tissue damage, and a heavy amount of dental reconstruction was needed. "Lieutenant, this will take far more time that I anticipated. Summon additional staff and begin repairs on Mr. Byblos' leg. Also: call up data on Naussican skeletal structure for the purpose of mandibular reconstruction." Lt. Ellis nodded, smirking under her mask. The work would take hours, but although she never would admit it Doctor T'Aral had her pride. A patient could expect a curious mix of gentle care, disgusting medication, and excruciating torture ... but they all left the Medical Bay in perfect health. T'Aral would have it no other way - Vulcan pride, after all.

T’Aral awoke an hour after midnight. This was not unusual of late, as her condition made doing anything ( including sleeping ) increasingly difficult. She would meditate, calm herself, and seek additional rest – except something was wrong. It was nothing she could quantify: there was no unusual sensation, no unidentifiable discomfort, and no unfamiliar sounds. Therefore she could not logically identify a reason for her unease and would normally put it out of her mind with a meditative session to calm her thoughts. It was therefore uncharacteristic both as a Vulcan and as herself that T’Aral chose not to, but instead decided to wake Ensign Khora. “Ghh … nhuhh … wha’? Miss T’Aral … is something wrong?” Khora did her best to pull her wits together; she wasn’t a ‘night’ person nor was she an early riser. “I have no reason to believe so. However, please perform a full diagnostic.” It was an abrupt request, and as Khora pulled herself together T’Aral regretted that it was not Vulcan custom to be sympathetic. Khora’s efforts during the last several months were tireless and T’Aral did appreciate them. It was unfortunate that she could not properly demonstrate her gratitude. Khora gathered up her tricorder and scanned T’Aral twice, making sure all readings were consistent. After checking them over, she smiled and gestured towards an inner room. “It’s going to take me a few minutes to go over this; why don’t you find a spot to relax?” T’Aral nodded and made her way into the hallway. As soon as she was out of sight, Khora whipped out a communicator and pushed a shiny red button. On board the Comanche Creek, an identical communicator lying on a bedside table began to chirp furiously. Ensign Gabriella Ellis slung an arm towards it, smacking it sideways but managing to grab it before it hit the floor. “Hello?” “Gabby? It’s T’sh! I need help and fast!” Ellis flung herself out of bed. “Ok, deep breaths. What’s the situation?” “If I’m right, we needed Khole and a surgical kit five minutes ago.” Khora did her best to keep her voice down, but it was clear she was frantic. Ellis stepped over to her terminal and pressed a few commands. “Expect us in about ten minutes, and try to keep calm.” Khora snapped the communicator shut and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to have T’Aral upset. She needed to believe everything would turn out all right. Stepping into the next room, her jaw dropped as she found T’Aral clearing off a table. “What … what are you doing?” T’Aral turned. “Ensign Khora, I have considerable experience with human medical officers. I am well versed in your diversionary techniques, and they are unnecessary. The facts of the situation will suffice.” Khora took a deep breath and handed T’Aral her tricorder. “I think that there may be complications; I’m not sure though … it may be nothing.” T’Aral looked over the readings. “You have called for assistance – including a surgeon?” T’Aral offered gentle approval at Khora’s nod. “You underestimate your perceptive nature. A different medical officer might have chosen simply to observe. The safest path, however, is the one you have initiated. You should prepare the room and set up your incubator – it will be required.” T’Aral watched as Khora worked; there wasn’t much that had to be done, but it would keep her busy until Khole and Ellis arrived. Khora needed to be kept busy; she tended to worry too much. It wasn’t that long before the ‘Creek’s lead medical officers stepped in and began to set up. Khole was checking her instruments while Ellis walked over to greet T’Aral. She responded by handing over the tricorder. “Ensign Khora’s analysis is accurate; Doctor Khole – have you performed a tenkon-snem before?” Khole checked her protoplastic sealers. “No, but I’ve been studying the procedure. I’ll have to be a bit careful initially and a proper closure is kind of involved, but it seems to be a fairly straightforward operation.” T’Aral nodded as she made her way to the stone table. “You have performed far more difficult surgeries in far worse conditions, there is nothing to be concerned about.” Ellis helped her onto the table. “That’s our line, Doctor. You’re the patient this time. Now lie back.” Khole finished setting up the portable sterile-field generator and nodded. Ellis drew out a hyposprayer. “Time to relax – see you in a few hours.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On board the Comanche Creek, a single entry was added to the ship’s log by Lieutenant Odee: *CMO and surgeon summoned to New Vulcan at 02:47. Anticipated return entered as 14:00.*

T’El entered the balcony where T’Aral was sleeping. She didn’t want to wake her cousin, but their guests would likely not wish to be detained. T’Aral stirred almost immediately, her condition making her an increasingly light sleeper. T’El straightened. “I am sorry to disturb you, but you have guests.” T’Aral looked about to see three adepts in dark robes. She raised a hand to Khora as the Ensign stood in protest to their sudden entry without invitation. “It is quite alright; please leave us.” She raised herself to a reasonable pose while gesturing for the visitors to sit. “I expected you a while ago; it is illogical for you to have delayed your visit.” The figure in the center spoke for the group, as was tradition. “Your continued activities related to Starfleet made it necessary to await a discreet opportunity. Your words indicate that you understand the purpose of our visit.” T’Aral nodded. “Measures are being taken to remove me from the Order.” The three looked at each other briefly. “That is not correct: your condition creates certain ethical complications. We have come to resolve them.” T’Aral gazed intently at the speaker. “I am pregnant. This did not occur in a manner that would be approved by the Order. I do not consider this to be an error in judgment, which the Order would not approve of either. Allow me to assist in your investigation by stating for the record that I refuse to identify my children’s father. He has been notified and advised that if he wishes to step forward he may do so. He has asked for my permission to remain anonymous and I have granted it. My family is fully capable of raising my children without assistance.” She paused briefly to allow the visitors to take in her words before continuing. “None of what I have stated is acceptable within the Order; I understand this, and it would be illogical to seek an exception. What must be done must be done, and I would prefer that it proceed without emotional complications.” The three looked at each other, then nodded. “That you do not seek conflict honors yourself and the Order. May we report that you have chosen to resign?” T’Aral nodded. “As I expect the Order would wish a discreet resignation, I state my reason as ‘professional conflict’: I have come to the conclusion that I cannot carry out my role within the Order effectively while continuing in my role within Starfleet, which is still necessary as our race finds itself obligated to the Federation.” A respectful bow from the three indicated that this would be the report, making a reasonable effort to maintain her good name within the Order’s records. “If there is no other matter to discuss, then I would ask you to take your leave as I find myself tired of late.” The three figures nodded. Two walked out, but one remained. “Your departure leaves the Order diminished. It is regrettable.” T’Aral recognized the voice but refused to speak his name – it wasn’t appropriate. “That you were sent proves the Order’s intent to be honorable. I am fairly treated; there is no need for this to be unpleasant.” The visitor saluted her. “Health and long life, T’Aral.” “Live long and prosper – as may we all.” T’Aral settled back on the couch, grateful in a way to have the visit accomplished. It was one less thing that needed to be done, allowing her to focus on the more important task at hand.

T’Aral leaned back on her couch, tapping notes in Vulcan script while Lieutenant Thomas Keefer draped himself on another couch across the room – spilling his guts to whomever would listen. She had sent T’Shia and the two security officers outside, but within minutes it was clear that she would not need the phaser in her lap. Keefer was alone and tired, and she was a sympathetic ear. He wove a sad story of a Lieutenant with the highest ideals being given an undisciplined ship with a command staff that undermined him at every turn. There were issues of dress code, of maintenance, of standard reporting procedures which painted a pattern of insubordination. The ‘Strawberry Incident’ was, to use a human phrase, the topping of the dessert. “They never respected me – never respected Starfleet discipline. My staff officers always turning a blind eye or undermining me directly; but now I had them! There was supposed to be enough in the ship stores for two servings for everyone, and we ran out! All we had to do was to check access logs and we would’ve known who the thief was, but they wouldn’t support me – they never supported me in anything!” T’Aral nodded patently. She knew better than most that there were times which a subordinate officer felt the need to stand contrary to a commanding officer, but those times required justification. For there to be order the Captain had to be in charge, and no order could be refused without a reason which stemmed directly from regulations. “If you were in their position, could you think of anything which would give them reason to stand against you consistently?” Keefer paused briefly. “I know that the crew hated what a stickler I was regarding discipline; they probably just didn’t want to make the hard choices needed to maintain respect for command. I know that there are rumors about my writing – well, even a ship’s Captain needs some way to unwind now and then, doesn’t he?” “The ability to release stress in a constructive, or at the very least non-destructive, manner is considered essential for all species. Even Vulcans require this.” T’Aral nodded to Keefer as he turned to her to confirm what she said. “We engage in meditation; this is our method. Yours would understandably vary. If I may, I would appreciate your permission to read your work. I believe it would allow me to understand you better.” Keefer smiled slightly. “I think I’d like that.” He then frowned. “You get it, don’t you? They were cadets, and it was my job to make them Starfleet officers. There had to be discipline, there had to be order, and theft – that just couldn’t be allowed!” “It is all right, Lieutenant; I do understand.” T’Aral typed a few final notes before closing her datapad. “Mister Keefer: regulations require that you remain under guard during the inquiry. Please co-operate fully with Security, as acting contrary to orders will only hurt your case. I will be filing my report once I complete my background investigation. You are dismissed.” As Keefer nodded and left, T’Aral began to access the Caine’s database, reading through all the senior officer logs as well as the Lieutenant’s novel. The picture of what probably happened became clear, and along with that came a certain admiration for the lieutenant. As a writer he had considerable talent, although she made a point to leave him a personal note to review his last chapter … the stress he was under was beginning to show. ------------------------------------ Medical Report: Evaluation of Lieutenant Thomas Keefer A physical examination was performed by Ensign T’Shia Khora. Lieutenant Keefer is in reasonable health, and shows no sign of neurological degradation. There are signs indicative of a lack of sleep and indications of an elevated level of Epinephrine ( adrenalin ) for an extended period of time. All readings suggest that this was naturally produced and his body is filtering out the hormone steadily. His current adrenal production appears slightly depressed, as would be expected following a period of elevated stress. Subject’s manner is currently slightly erratic, but not dangerous. Lieutenant Keefer is in full command of his senses and does not exhibit any delusional tendencies regarding hallucinations or a heightened state of general paranoia. A review of the ship’s logs indicate that the senior staff maintained a consistent lack of confidence in the Lieutenant’s command abilities and an objection to his strict interpretations of Starfleet regulations. Examination of Keefer’s own logs and personal writings demonstrates a highly perceptive mind. Therefore any accusation of paranoia should be tempered, as Keefer most likely was aware of his crew’s overall attitude. Recommendation: Lieutenant Keefer should be given a leave of absence not to exceed 336 standard hours ( coloq.: 2 weeks Earth Standard ). Following this he should be given administrative duties in an established post with no standing incident reports. Eventual promotion to supervisory duties is recommended pending further positive evaluations, though a return to a command assignment of any sort is not recommended. ----------------------------------------- T’Aral dispatched her report, sending a copy to Captain Calestorm and Commander Wesley with a personal note attached. *To quote a human phrase: it is not paranoia if they are out to get you.*

Shan suited up for quarantine and came out of the shuttle cockpit with phaser rifle in hand. As the door opened, he leveled it at the brightly clothed passenger of the collected escape pod. “It seems your ill behavior has finally caught up with you, Mudd.” “Young man … setting aside the fact that I have no idea what you are talking about, it is a dangerous practice to point those things at people. That thing could go off at any moment.” Mudd was doing his best to smooth the wrinkles out of his clothing while Lieutenant T’Aral completed her initial medical scan. “You would think Starfleet had no regard for the safety of civilians!” “It’s my safety that I’m concerned with, Mr. Mudd.” Shan held the rifle steadily. “The last time we met, I was treated to a concussion. I have no intention of repeating that sensation.” Mudd turned to T’Aral. “Young lady: please explain to your fellow officer that I am a friend. As a simple pilot and merchant, it would hardly be sensible for me to assault anyone, much less a Starfleet officer.” Shan was becoming irritated. “I suppose next you’re going to say that you’ve forgotten all about Tch’ana.” “Hmm … can’t say that I recall the name, although something about how you say it makes me wish that I could.” A roguish smirk spread widely under Mudd’s bushy moustache. Shan’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I can refresh your memory: grey skin, light hair, sharp teeth, all bundled in a corset that will make your eyes pop out …” T’Aral snapped shut her tricorder and removed the containment suit’s hood. “He is free of anything immediately communicable.” Without a pause she opened the cargo hatch and waived in two security officers. “Take him to the Medical bay. I wish to complete a full examination.” As the guards led Mudd away, T’Aral held up a hand to stop Shan from following. Shan turned to her crossly. “Just like that? No interrogation … no questions about what the blazes he’s doing here or what happened to the Vulture?” T’Aral sat on a bunk patiently while Shan vented before proceeding. “Lieutenant, I do not believe you fully comprehend who you are dealing with. Harcourt Mudd is a professional liar: I do not state this as insult, but as fact. An interrogation will provide no information, as he has no doubt prepared himself for this encounter. While I am aware that he is one of only two logical suspects in the theft of the Vulture, there is no hard evidence regarding any possible involvement in the matter. If you were to interrogate him you would receive a story which implicates your friend as mastermind of the entire crime. While I would not believe such a story, there is no evidence to the contrary.” T’Aral stood. “As obtaining false information is counter-productive, I saw no logic in pursuing the matter further. We should leave this to the Captain and Colonel Tavington.” Shan’s eyes narrowed. “You admire him.” T’Aral turned, completely unaffected by the accusation. “I admire his intelligence and focus. There is much to Harcourt Fenton Mudd which is underestimated. He is a competent pilot and a capable negotiator. The fact that he uses his talents and abilities in a socially unacceptable manner should not be taken as a reason not to recognize them.” She gathered her materials and turned for the hatch. Shan stopped her briefly. “You talled Tch’ana my friend – am I that obvious?” T’Aral lifted a single eyebrow. “Of course, Lieutenant; you always have been.” As Shan sagged in embarrassment, T’Aral made her way to a turbolift. Settling in for the ride, she eventually returned to the medical bay where Harry Mudd was waiting. “Thank you, my dear … I do believe that young man may have wished to harm me.” “It is not in Lieutenant Shalin’s nature to be violent.” T’Aral put her appliances away, gesturing for Mudd to step to a back alcove. “You will find medical garments available; please change into them.” Mudd was taken aback. “Excuse me – are you ordering me to strip?” T’Aral paused, then faced Harry directly. “You will find a rear chamber which contains a medical shower and bath facility. I have reason to believe that you were in that pod for an extended period of time; I therefore assume that you would wish to take advantage of our facilities while your clothes are cleaned. They will be returned to you when you are done.” Harry straightened, and then smiled slightly. “Well, this is … hospitable!” He turned back to T’Aral. “I must confess that I hardly expected such generosity from a Starfleet officer, even if she is a doctor.” T’Aral stepped back out of the alcove. “While there is no doubt that you are a fugitive, you also assisted us on Rura Pente. If one sets aside the fact that you had your own motives, your effort can be appreciated. As part of your rehabilitation I choose to reward you for that effort. Therefore: enjoy a nice warm bath or shower while we clean and freshen your clothes. The Captain will arrive soon enough to indicate her preference for your quarters.” Harry Mudd smiled briefly before closing the alcove curtain. T’Aral sent in an orderly to tend to his clothes once she heard the water running. There was no cause for concern: there were several security officers in the outer bay and his girth was far too wide for the ventilation ducts – he was going nowhere without the Captain’s permission. Besides: she would have the clothes scanned as well as cleaned. If he had any clever little devices hidden within his garish garments, the Captain would want to know that as well. In any case he needed to be cleaned at some point and this way was far more humane than handing Lieutenant Shalin a fire hose, regardless of how much the helmsman would’ve preferred that.

*Personal Log - Lieutenant T'Aral, Stardate 2261.93* I have returned from M-113, having completed my objectives. Professor Robert Crater and his wife Nancy remain along with the indigenous life form; a situation I perceive as hazardous. However: as the Craters are not Starfleet officers, the fleet has no jurisdiction over their activities. I can only advise the management of Starbase Harrington to maintain regular contact, and to remain vigilant. My encounters with the M-113 subject have caused me to question myself. In these encounters the creature sought to engage an emotional response from me, apparently convinced that I would act irrationally if emotionally engaged. While the creature's logic was sound when applied to an emotional species it did not take into account that I was a Vulcan, and therefore resistant to its efforts. Resistant, but not unaffected. To influence me, the creature projected a series of forms which it apparently believed would be advantageous to its cause. Their effect, while ultimately unsuccessful, was profound and disturbing. I am left with the challenge of examining myself through these encounters. Was the creature projecting what it sought, or were my responses partially or entirely my own? In the process of serving have I become emotionally attached to this crew, thus compromising myself as a Vulcan? Is this merely an effect caused by my pregnancy - one which will pass in time? If not, how should I proceed? While there are rituals to separate myself from these attachments, they involve creating artificial mental barriers to memories. These barriers would diminish me as a whole. An additional challenge involves the individuals; it seems improper that a parasitical life form would know more about my views regarding my fellow officers than the officers in question. However: when I consider discussing the matter, I find I am at a loss. Vulcan society does not address such issues, and cultural references make it clear that interpersonal entanglements become problematic if not handled correctly. *End Log* T'Aral knelt on the floor of her room, a single candle providing illumination. Focusing on the flame, she stilled her mind until the peace of logic and reason were again hers. She would not speak to anyone, for it was illogical to do so. She required nothing from the others, and they seemed to require nothing of her. Her relationships were in a sustainable equilibrium: to do anything that would disturb that balance was illogical. The longer she meditated, the more convinced she was that she was correct. The stresses of her mission and her pregnancy had disrupted her balance, and she did not have an opportunity to meditate properly for the last couple of weeks. In her quarters she was no longer disturbed; stresses could be set aside and she could find herself again. T'Aral was content with this. In approximately 36 weeks she would give birth, and then her body would resume its normal equilibrium and all would be as it was before. She simply needed to be patient.

T’Aral patiently walked the secure halls of Starbase Harrington, with Ensign Khora dutifully at her side. She had tried to explain that the Ensign’s presence was unnecessary; this would be a routine duty assignment with plenty of security - she was not in any danger, and the pregnancy was progressing very well. Khora, however, was adamant about attending - threatening to take it to the Captain if she wasn’t allowed to come along. While T’Aral believed the threat to be empty, humans were unpredictable. Cale already didn’t like T’Aral pursuing this mission; it was entirely possible that she would be just irritated enough to add a chaparone. Best to maintain her authority. Passing through to the secured offices, she cleared herself and Khora with the guard before stepping into office K-513. Inside was a cluster of technicians all taking ques from a single leader. Recognizing him from the dossier, T’Aral stepped forward. “Greetings, Professor Crater.” The man turned and curtly nodded. “Good day, Doctor T’Aral. This is my wife Nancy; she will be advising you during our mission.” He grumbled unpleasantly. “This is entirely unnecessary and a severe imposition. Just the kind of over-management I’ve come to expect from Starfleet.” Nancy Crater drew T’Aral aside with a gentle smile. “Please forgive my husband. He doesn’t like outside interference with his work. Now - I have read your reports and appreciate the work you’ve already done. To me it seems only sensible that you be allowed to continue. As you’ve begun to develop a relationship with the subject, your presence increases the probability of a safe journey - for all of us.” T’Aral nodded in agreement. “May I ask why an archeologist is interested in the subject?” Nancy looked at T’Aral, smiling. “ ‘... the subject ...’. Our friend really needs a name.” “That, Ms. Crater, is evading the question.” Nancy smiled wider. “So it is … but there’s no reason not to tell you. Robert believes that the creature comes from M-113; a planet with ancient ruins. He believes that this is his best chance to truly understand the ancient civilization through the mind of one of its survivors.” T’Aral nodded even as she frowned. “That is assuming that this creature has knowledge of that civilization. The details of ancient civilizations are often lost to modern cultures: the subject may be unable to assist.” “Possibly, but nothing ventured nothing gained. We have to at least try.” Nancy led T’Aral to the lounge. “Would you like something to eat? We’ll be holding over here for another day or two while Robert confirms a few things. He wants to run some tests … perhaps you can assist? They’re harmless, I promise - just some residual element tests to hopefully confirm his beliefs regarding the subject.” “I will certainly assist; and some plomeek soup would be helpful.” It had been a while since T’Aral had eaten, and her body had grown more insistent regarding regular meals. Hopefully this would not prove to be a complication - Cale would not approve.

( Part 4 ) The Epson’s arrival at M-113 and debarking proceeded without complication. Given her experiences, T’Aral found this both unusual and troubling. Activities such as this always had complications; the fact that there were none most likely meant that the complications were still forthcoming. She couldn’t identify any, however, as the creature was removed from the secure bay and beamed down to the surface. With the security team watching it proceeded to migrate away from the ruins into the surrounding hills. Professor Crater was less than happy with the situation. “We have no idea if it will stay nearby. If you drive it away, our work will be set back for years.” “We are not ‘driving it away’, Professor.” The heat of M-113 was quite comforting to T’Aral. In most respects the atmosphere was very much like Vulcan’s was. “We are seeking to settle it a safe distance from your camp, so that it will not pose a threat. The creature came from this planet: I am certain that there is a suitable location in which it will thrive.” Nancy shook her head. “The creature would pose no threat. We have plenty of supplies for all of us, and have established a regular re-supply schedule which will keep us from running out of salt. Your concerns are unwarranted. Besides …” She looked about sadly. “It is entirely possible that there are no others of its kind. If this is true, then sending it to another location would be condemning it to a life of solitude. It would be inhuman.” “Perhaps it is not human, but it is logical.” T’Aral remained passive in face, but firm. “As long as the creature is present, you and Professor Crater are in grave danger.” “Enough!” Robert Crater marched up to T’Aral, pointing to the transport point. “Our camp is established and we do not need additional support any more. You have seen to it that the creature has been returned to the planet safely, and you have spoken your peace. We do not require your interference or your oversight. We are quite safe here - go!” T’Aral looked to the shuttle then nodded. Stepping back to the entryway, she nodded to Ensign Khora. “We are to leave now.” “What about the creature?” Khora looked deeply concerned. “Surely they don’t trust it?” “They do. It is their nature to trust, even as it is my nature to observe and analyze.” T’Aral stepped into the shuttle and settled into a seat. Khora quickly sat down beside her. “Surely it’s too dangerous. While it is possible that they will live in harmony, the danger is simply too great. They must be made to listen.” T’Aral shook her head. “They are not Starfleet officers or crew. Their decisions are their own, and we must respect that regardless of our personal views.” She strapped herself in for flight. “I will advise the support staff on Starbase Harrington to keep in touch with the Craters, checking in regularly and taking such action as deemed appropriate to assure their safety. Beyond that we can do nothing, and are obliged to do nothing.” The shuttle shuddered as it took off, leaving the Craters and the M-113 native behind. T’Aral was satisfied with this: soon she would be back on the Comanche Creek, dealing with more familiar problems. Deep inside her, a quiet part of her looked forward to seeing the Captain and crew while dealing with their peculiarities. It was, in a way, comfortable.

( Part 3 ) The next two days were more of the same, with the creature taking one form after another in a continuing effort to win T’Aral’s confidence. The creature had taken the form of Lieutenant Kvar and Commander Wesley in turn, with the latest being Captain Calestorm. In each case T’Aral could sense a force seeking to manipulate her emotionally - to respond to the images of each person as if they were that person. With practice she improved her own responses, keeping herself under control emotionally while restraining her reactions to the creature in the cell. As she walked towards the security section once more, she felt that she had herself under control and prepared for whatever she found. Finding Ensign Khora in the cell, however, was something of a shock. “Lieutenant! Get me out of here - please!” T’Aral stepped over to the shield control. “How did you get in there, Ensign?” “I was examining the subject, and somehow it got the shield open. I thought it was going to kill me! We need to search the ship to find it!” Khora paced by the shield, waiting for T’Aral to open it. T’Aral, however, clutched her hand tightly. “Perhaps … we already have found the creature.” Stepping out of the security section, she walked up to a com panel. “Ensign Khora - please report to the Security Bay.” T’Aral held herself stiffly, and under total control with a binding will for several minutes until a familiar figure turned the corner into the hallway. “Doctor - is there something required?” Khora looked over to T’Aral curiously. They had been working closely the last several days, but it was rare for T’Aral to call her down to the Security bay. T’Aral kept any expression of relief tightly bound. “I required confirmation that you were not in the creature’s quarters. The subject has chosen to take a new approach in our encounters.” She drew out a tricorder and began to record her latest findings. Khora began to look concerned. “Why would the creature be impersonating us?” “To obtain our trust through the quickest means possible in order to free itself. This is troubling, as I have spoken to it many times regarding the need to respect limits and boundaries. The creature is clearly unwilling to do so, which demonstrates a malevolence I was not prepared for.” Closing the tricorder, she began to walk down the hall. “We must discuss this with the Craters. I have no doubt that the creature will try to engage their trust, only to betray it over time.” Locating Professor Crater was simple enough: getting him to listen was another matter. “Lieutenant, you see the creature’s actions through a military point of view. You fail to see the value of working with it.” He walked over to a display. “I’m certain the creature comes from M-113, and that it has insight we need.” “I am well aware of the elemental resonance scan, and the results.” T’Aral performed the scan herself - there was an atomic resonance within the creature which matched samples taken from the planet. “That is not at issue. The issue is that the creature has shown potentially hostile tendencies.” “That’s rediculous!” Crater was becoming increasingly irritated. “I have met with it several times and never did it display the least amount of hostility - and it has identified the purpose of over a dozen artifacts!” “Robert … please, let me.” Nancy Crater stepped up to T’Aral, smiling softly. “Lieutenant; I want you to know how much we appreciate the way you care for our safety. It’s just that we’ve come to understand the creature - its needs and its wants. It is a social being - alone and yearning for company. That’s why it tries to get you to open the security door. It knows that we can’t, so it doesn’t try any tricks with us. It’s been extremely friendly and co-operative.” “That may be the case, Ms. Crater, but what will happen when we reach our destination?” “When we arrive we will have supplies and room to move. Once we’re established it will be just Robert and me, so the creature will not pose a threat to anyone.” T’Aral resisted the urge to frown. “Except for the two of you.” Nancy continued to smile. “Lieutenant: I know it is the Vulcan way not to trust, but rather to observe and react. I, however, believe that worlds can change with trust. We will have plenty of supplies, and the creature will have no reason to harm either of us. Please don’t be concerned: you have nothing to worry about.”

( Part 2 ) Now on board the Epson, T’Aral moved through the ship’s corridors to meet with the subject again. They were now en route to M-113, and soon would arrive. Professor Crater would establish his research center, and hopefully would have a native to aid in his study of the culture which once existed there. All T’Aral had to do was to make sure the creature was well cared for so that there could be a suitable beginning. As she turned the corner into the secure bay, however, she was brought to an abrupt stop by what she saw. In the cell stood Steln in his usual stance: tall, confident, and yet relaxed all at the same time. It was more than heartwarming to see him - it was quite astonishing given the fact that his death was a documented fact. All the same it took her a moment to restore her composure. “Your choice of appearance is illogical.” “It was your train of thought which has given me this appearance, and I disagree with your assessment. In this form I can communicate more directly; my responses will be clearer and my tone more even. It may also foster additional empathy between us.” The creature even spoke like him - the same inflections, the same analytical approach to any subject. It was enough that T’Aral had to remind herself again that Steln’s presence was illogical; this was a camoflage - a chosen appearance to facilitate communication. T’Aral straightened, then drew out her tricorder for readings. “I have gone over your records: you appear to be in restored health. Your salt, water, and nutrient intakes have all stabilized. Your metabolic readings appear to be in order. In all ways you appear to be in good health.” Snapping the device and sheathing it, she looked up. “Is there anything you require?” “Would it be possible for me to tour this vessel? I have not had the opportunity to see the vehicle I am being transported in.” Steln stepped back, clearing the entryway. T’Aral stepped forward: it was a reasonable request, after all. Most all passengers are given some freedom, and Steln hadn’t shown hostility towards anyone for as long as she had encountered him. Her hand reached up to the door’s control panel … and suddenly closed. “You … are not Steln.” Closing her eyes, T’Aral began a meditative exercise, closing off one thought after another in a deliberate, methodical sequence. After a few moments Steln began to respond. “What … what is it that you are doing? Your actions are … illogical. You should cease … you are responding emotionally. You must … must stop. I cannot … cannot …” Then in a blur Steln was gone. In his place was a snaggle-furred biped with circular suction pods on its fingers and a round, narrowly fanged mouth under hollow eyes. The creature looked to T’Aral with its head cocked sideways before walking to the back of the room. T’Aral exited the corridor quickly, pausing only to speak with the security team. “No one is to enter that corridor. The creature is to be fed remotely. If it is necessary to interact, the entire security team is to be present, and everyone is to acknowledge the form in the bay room before the security field is lowered. Are my orders clear?” The officer nodded and T’Aral went on her way. Returning to her quarters, T’Aral sat and tried to meditate. This encounter changed everything. The creature was everything the Captain had feared it was: cunning, deceitful, and manipulative. Further, T’Aral was convinced that its abilities went farther than simply creating perception: She had felt herself being mentally manipulated into thinking of the creature as Steln, rather than the creature taking on the form of Steln. It was a fact that a Vulcan should have been easily capable of processing and maintaining, yet T’Aral found it difficult. She would have to take steps to warn the Craters; the creature posed a far greater threat to them than they accepted.

Lieutenant Khole ran through the ship with the litter team racing the injured Nausicaan to the Medical bay. The paralyzer had stabilized him momentarily, but his system was weak. She needed to purge his body of the medication in favor of a suitable metabolic solution if they had a hope of keeping him alive. She uploaded her tricorder readings to the medical computer to get a synthesis developed while she cataloged his injuries. Wide eyes took him in with a glance. "Thirty-seven varied injuries: twelve minor, four intermediate, ten severe, and one critical. Open surgical bay seven and have surgery teams two, four, and seven report immediately: anesthesiology team three to support." Her intention was dangerous to the patient, but less so than to have him wait for care. The Nausicaan would have three additional surgeons operating on him at once; each taking responsibility for stabilizing a separate section of his body. Khole, as lead medical officer, would be responsible for the knife. The patient was swept into the surgical bay to be prepped and stabilized while Khole and the other surgeons entered the sterilization fields. As they masked, gowned, and stepped into the purification beams, they discussed the seriousness of the situation. One of the nurses winked at Khole. "Heck of a first day as CMO." Khole nodded in reply. She had been lead medical officer before, but the crew was almost always on leave. She had never faced an issue such as this one. Yet Khole was a well-balanced soul; always one to mentally land on her feet, which was why T'Aral left her in charge. She was unshakable. "Working together, we should be able to clear the debris in a matter of minutes. After that it is simply a matter of sealing off his wounds sufficiently to allow him to recover. Do we have sufficient myomer prepared?" Ensign Ellis chimed in over the intercom. "It's in the bay waiting for you: enough to knit yourself a whole new Nausicaan if you had to." Khole looked to the others, smiling behind her mask. "It may well come to that." The blue light faded and a door to the surgery opened. "Colleagues - let us begin."

T’Aral exited the brig and made her way to the turbolift. As she did so she prepared a message for the Captain, indicating that she required a meeting as soon as possible. While it was not her desire to interrupt as Cale returned to what passed for routine, complications regarding the disposition of the creature required immediate attention. Observing the interview on the closed circuit surveillance cameras stationed within the brig area, the incoming message came as no surprise to Calestorm; it was not every day that one had a...creature or being of unknown origin held in confinement. She merely nodded to Maya, the gesture conveying both understanding and that she would be on site shortly. Leaving bridge operations with the young officer manning FOPS - she was pretty sure the NCO’s on duty would keep an eye on her - Crash quietly exited the bridge into the turbolift. T’Aral’s lift exited on the crew deck. Although she would normally return to the Medical Bay, she had been on an extended shift and was feeling abnormally tired in addition to the normal aches and mild upset stomach which accompanied her condition. She needed rest, some comfort food, and an opportunity to let herself be weak for a while. None of that would be available in the Medical Bay; she had to return to her quarters. As she stepped past the door, T’Aral’s fingers stretched and opened reflexively. While the 22C standard was held throughout Starfleet common areas, the temperature within an officer’s quarters was set at their own discretion. Given her developing needs, T’Aral only recently conceded the need to set her quarters at a more temperate 35. Making her way to her bunk, she laid back under a warming lamp and let herself relax passively. Exiting the turbolift on the senior officers deck, Calestorm headed for the CMO’s quarters to update the doctor on the creature. It was a bit unusual per protocol, though allotments were made in view of T’Aral’s condition. She pressed the inset on the communications pad set into the bulkhead, chiming for admittance. T’Aral tipped her head to the door. She had not expected Ensign Khora so soon, but then it was illogical not to. She had chosen Khora as her caregiver for her dilligence as much as for her understanding of Vulcan customs. She should have expected a visit the moment she was available. As she hadn’t returned to Medical it was only logical that Khora would pursue her here. Turning off the lamp, she reached over to release he door. “Enter.” And Great Bird of the Galaxy...it was hot in here! The blast of heat hit Crash as soon as the entry way opened. T’Aral rapidly stood. When the door chimed she was expecting someone else; showing such weakness in front of Cale could not help but be embarrassing. “Captain; I didn’t expect you to answer my page so swiftly. I will come directly to the point: the creature is sentient. It’s actions were not borne of malice, but of a need to survive. Viewing these as extenuating circumstances, we can no longer simply release the creature for study as if it were a specimen animal. It is intelligent, and all decisions regarding its disposition must be made with that in mind.” I will not pass out...I will not pass out...having flashbacks to desert survival training. “Doctor, I know that you will anyways, but please include that viewpoint on your hard copy report directly as it will further aid the.....sentient creature.” “As you wish.” T’Aral stepped to a reasonable distance from Cale, taking an attentive stance. “It is not that I doubt Starfleet’s dilligence. The difficulty comes from the fact that, while sentient species consistently speak of striving towards the highest of moral standards, their resulting actions fall far short of their stated objectives. I do not mean to malign any specific species: this trait is consistent regardless of species - with Vulcans being no exception.” Calestorm half leaned against a bulkhead and attempted not to sweat. She crossed her arms over her chest and spoke plainly to the Doctor. “This is classified, currently only myself and the Commander are aware of the full extent of the situation beyond our orders to drop the creature at Starbase Harrington. Professor Crater is highly esteemed within the archeological field. A colleague of his was on a dig on planet M-113 a few months back and Crater feels as if some of the imagery taken from the dig resembles our...being. The creature will not be studied. Crater and his team will oversee the effort to return the creature is returned to M-113.” “Why all the hush hush? Starfleet is investigating exactly how the creature came to be transported off the planet. Somewhere, our patrols were circumnavigated to say nothing of Federation regulations regarding the removal of indigenous life - should the creature be in fact found indigenous to 113, mind you - from a natural habitat.” T’Aral listened quietly, nodding occasionally. The Captain was slightly in error: regulations regarding the transport of animals only applied to those found harmful to other species. Pointing that out, however, would be a distinction without a difference given the subject of conversation. “Of course, there are those who are opposed to this.” Cales expression was one of distaste, directed at who exactly was unknown. “There are those officers at San Francisco Command who view the attacks on the Osiris Prime survey team as purely hostile and they are seeking termination of the creature.” T’Aral nodded in understanding. “To see matters in distinct categories is, regrettably, a common trait.” To many sentient beings things were either good or evil; beneficial or malevolent. The idea that such judgements are founded in one’s own point of view was unfortunately rare in the galaxy. “Captain: I understand that you are limited by your orders. All the same, I am curious if it could be arranged for me to escort the subject to M-113. I have begun to develop a rapport with it, which would be condusive towards a peaceful resolution.” Crash’s facial expression changed; every age line was visible and her visage was stern. There was no way... “That is a big time negative, Doctor. Crater and his team are capable of handling the return and escort of this being to 113. If you’d like to remain with the creature during layover at Starbase Harrington and observe the preparations? That’s doable.” “That is an acceptable course of actions, at least initially.” It was rare for any Starfleet officer to be granted any request without conditions or modifications. T’Aral knew that she was no exception, and that compromise to accomplish at least some part of her intentions was far more logical than to demand all and ultimately obtain nothing. With an effort she relaxed and her expression softened. “Doctor, it wouldn’t be very wise to authorize such an off the books escort mission, your current condition aside.” T’Aral’s eyebrows jerked up sharply. “Captain: I am quite able to assess my condition. I am currently capable of functioning as effectively as any equivalent Starfleet officer - I am not hindered in any way.” She kept her voice steady, forcing her body to remain relaxed. The last thing she intended was to begin a battle of wills with Cale. Rank alone established the outcome of such a conflict as a foregone conclusion, and this time the Captain was well within her discretion. Crash decided to engage diplomacy and devils advocate skills, saint and ministers of grace defend them. Sure, a lot of people considered her the ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ type and the reputation wasn’t entirely unfounded. What was often overlooked was her Southern heritage and therefore, the inborn ability to turn on the charm - and the diplomacy - when needed. “Doc, this creature has already demonstrated it is quite capable of killing, maiming. Yeah, ah know the circumstances weren’t ideal and the poor thing was basically treated poorly what with being snatched from 113 and ending up dumped on Osiris. How can you be sure this being won’t revert, won’t turn on you? What if it hurts the baby? What if you lose the baby?” T’Aral suppressed the need to sigh; Cale meant well, even if her presumptive nature was getting the better of her. “First: the proper coloquial term is ‘babies’. Ensign Khora has detected two distinct and effectively equal developing embryos. Second: you are proceeding from an illogical premise. It is my wish to see to the creature’s well-being as a matter of principle. This should not suggest for a moment that I trust it. I shall seek to maintain defensive screens and security officers between myself and the subject at all times. Third: I could also bring up the fact that my research suggests that the creature requires iron-based hemoglobin in order to ‘process’ its victims. Vulcan blood chemistry is based on copper; so although it is clear that the subject’s camoflage talent works on Vulcans as well, I should be functionally immune to a feeding attack.” Crash tramped down on the desire to exhale loudly in exasperation through her nose. Perky and determined Vulcans. What’re you gonna do? She regarded the Doctor quietly, hazel-green eyes intent. Her mind involuntarily recalled a moment in time when a peer had taught her that there were going to be moments when a commanding officer needed to recognize when to ‘let it go’, to let a subordinate ‘do their thing’, so to speak. Her people were capable. And maybe it was a safe bet to have a Starfleet representative riding shotgun with Crater’s team as the creature was relocated. The team were civilian contractors with the Federation, not Starfleet officers. “Permission granted, Doctor. Myself and Commander Wesley will clear this with Professor Crater as well as Harrington Base Command.” She raised one finger to emphasize her next statement. “We’ll also expect updates, and if anything remotely hinky goes down? You let those Security grunts do their job and protect, hear me? No heroics.” T’Aral’s eyebrow twitched a final time. “Captain: when have you ever known me to engage in ‘heroics’?”

T’Aral sat in the medical bay office awaiting the arrival of the Captain. It was the worst part of her condition: the fact that complications were making her performance in stressful situations unreliable. This meant sending subordinates, which meant taking in second-hand information. Such information relied upon the observations of others as well as their own recollections. Even with the best of intentions, error was possible. Heading straight for the medical bay after hitching a ride on one of the SAR shuttles, Captain Calestorm was still clad in tactical vest and holstered phaser, smelling faintly of sweat and the seasonal flowers in bloom on Osiris Prime. “Crewman”, she spoke kindly yet directly to a passing medical technician, effectively getting the man’s attention, “Where’s Doctor T’Aral?” “I believe she’s in her office, Captain.” Yeoman Briggs gestured to the medical office. “She’s almost always in there.” Seeing the Captain across the bay, Ensign Khora stepped swiftly into the office to advise T’Aral of Cale’s arrival. T’Aral nodded softly in appreciation, grateful for the chance to solidify her composure before the Captain entered. Nodding thanks to Briggs, Calestorm walked the short distance to the CMO’s office; she hovered in the entryway and asked. “How ya feelin’ Doctor?” “I am relatively unimpaired. My condition is proceeding normally.” She looked up to Cale, then stood up while smoothly sweeping up a tricorder.. “What about you, Captain? You had a rather close encounter. Are you injured in any way? How is your recovery time?” She began scans to see how well Cale’s body had recovered from the exertion. Medical scanners, deploy! The captain allowed a slight grin. “Doc, I spend most of my time running through the flora of Osiris Prime being chased by previously undiscovered creatures that can suck the salt from your body. With that said, I’ll be fine after a shower and some chow.” T’Aral nodded as her tricorder bore evidence which concurred with Cale’s self-assessment. “It is good to see that you keep yourself in relatively excellent health. Given the frequency and intensity of serious situations that you encounter, remaining fit is essential.” The Captain proceeded to inform the Doctor of the events of the afternoon. “I had ordered my escort back to camp. I wanted to survey the perimeter on my own. Next thing I knew, I was staring across a clearing at the Salt creature. Whether it had purposely been tracking me, ah’ve no idea.” Leaning casually against the bulkhead, Cale crossed her arms over her chest and continued to tell the tale. “The creature gave chase. I cleared the treeline with the Salt Vampire doing so a few seconds later. Marine and Security teams maintained orders and stunned the creat…the being.” Cale had no idea if Salty was a creature or a being. What she did know from the science and medical speculation was there was a sort of intelligence at work along with the baser predator instincts. She figured it was a safe bet to call the thing both creature or being. T’Aral’s brow furrowed. “I do not believe I need to remind you that a staff officer in a potentially hostile environment is supposed to have security escort at all time.” Cale’s independent nature often left her with a certain level of frustration. “I am also concerned with the fact that my request to pursue a peaceful encounter with the creature was not taken under stronger advisement. Capturing the creature in a hostile manner makes the situation far more difficult to resolve.” Crash opened her mouth to comment on the staff officer observation, decided against it and snapped her mouth shut. Choose your battles. Clearing her throat, she directly addressed the second aspect of the discussion instead. “Doctor, nothing would have pleased me more to have the encounter be less hectic. But when a large, bipedal creature proceeds to take on a squad of my Marines and Security, instincts besides the point?” Cale shook her head in the negative. “No. Unacceptable. Now that we maintain custody of the creature, mebbe it will expose the intelligence that Lieutenant Asher hinted at.” T’Aral set down her tricorder. “Captain: I am not objecting to how you responded to the situation you found yourself in. I am objecting to the events that lead up to that situation. If you had taken action on my suggestions it is quite likely that you would not have found yourself in a critical encounter, and we may have been able to encounter the creature in a much less intense manner. “It is, however, quite curious: the subject’s behavior has proven most illogical. You should not have been able to surprise it, and in such a state of surprise it should have camouflaged itself to appear as a security officer or a member of the survey team.” T’Aral’s brow furrowed. “There is no logic to the creature’s actions at all.” Cale gave a wry grin. “Doc, I believe I was the one surprised. But, that’s besides the point.” T’Aral’s eyebrow twitched. “I disagree, Captain. In an analysis of the creature’s state of mind, a complete analysis of its behavior is critical. It should not have allowed you to see it in its natural state.” She pondered the possibilities. “The creature is clearly in a more desperate condition than was previously presumed. What has become of it, Captain?” “The creature is currently under transport to the ship and will be held in the brig. Medical and Science staff are to have access to insure health and safety. Security will maintain a watch and myself and the Commander have left orders for Salty to remain under light to moderate sedation to avoid incident.” T’Aral sighed, weakened by all she was encountering. “Captain: while I agree with strict and thorough security measures, I must log my objections to sedation of the creature now that it is contained. If you would examine the situation from the subject’s point of view, I believe you will agree that we have done everything we can to evoke a hostile response from it. We have hunted it, shot it, captured it, and restrained it while drugging it. If you were similarly treated, I believe that you would find your situation most unpleasant and thus seek to retaliate against your captors by any and all means at your disposal.” She looked downward before continuing. “Negotiation … perhaps even civil communication may now be impossible.” Crash sucked on her teeth, the silent gesture twisting her mouth as she considered options. The ‘Salt Vampire’ was now in their custody. In controlled circumstances, could negotiation even be attempted? The creature had demonstrated a predator intelligence, but would it respond to civil communication? Her tone neutral but her facial expression stern as she replied. “Hostile has been the norm throughout this situation. This creature for whatever reason is dumped on Osiris Prime by a cut-rate transport company with a affable rogue as CEO.” The captain then paused for a moment and gathered her thoughts. Cale referred to one Harcourt Fenton Mudd, of Mudds Transport Incorporated. It seemed Mr. Mudd had gotten into other enterprises since his liberation from the Rura Penthe gulag. Oh yes, that rascal had handed himself on the radar of the First Threat Response program with this little air-mail incident...but that was another matter to be dealt with at a later date. And Calestorm intended to highlight that suggestion in her Osiris Prime after action report to Admiral Coyote. For now, the matter at hand was the Salt Vampire and she continued with her initial line of thought. “Putting aside the how or why Salty ended up on Osiris Prime, it proceeds to attack an unsuspecting survey team and the evidence we have ascertained from eyewitness statements indicate that the team did nothing to provoke this...salt sucker being.” T’Aral remained unmoved. “Taken from a different point of view: it was abandoned in an environment that it is not suited to, and proceeds to use its natural abilities to survive by preying on the same race of creatures which placed it in such a hostile environment in the first place.” She eased herself back into her chair. “The question of ‘hostility’ must be examined from all perspectives.” The captain continued to pace slightly within the confines of the office, hands on hips. She muttered quietly to herself regarding ‘always getting the weird missions’ and San Francisco Command ‘needing a boot’ in a certain orifice. An eyebrow cocked softly while T’Aral kept herself from smiling. “ ‘Wierd’ is merely another word for that which has not been encountered before. We are, after all, border patrol.” The older woman’s attention winged back to the chief medical officer, her gaze critical as if appraising TAral, one eyebrow raised. With a slow smile, Calestorm agreed with a, “This is true.” The smile dropped as she then considered other matters. “Doctor, you’ve permission to attempt speaking with this creature, being, whatever. Ah want the session completely recorded and logged, I want protection at all times. In your condition, I’d prefer you not be directly involved. Have one of your right hand people to take charge of the effort and in addition I want Sciences drawn on as support, ah’d say Doctor Maturin would be a likely candidate.” The directives were blunt and she meant business. There was no room for discussion, it was what it was. T’Aral nodded. It was an improvement: far from ideal, but still an improvement. “Actually, Captain, an initial analysis suggests that I may be an almost ideal candidate. My blood chemistry varies from the human norm, which should offer me some protection from the creature’s attack. Additionally: I have no intention of putting myself in harm’s way.” “Fine. If this thing can in fact project mentally? Ah want safeties in play for that as well. And ah do not want any mind melding, do you understand me?” Cale had leaned slightly over the desk and towards the Doctor as she mentioned the concept of melding, palms flat on the surface. Her movements weren’t threatening, but she definitely projected that she expected the non-meld order to be followed to the letter. “Captain: your concern is appropriate, but unnecessary. I intent to interview the creature from the far side of the brig cell restraint field with one attendant and two security officers present at all times. There will be no opportunity for physical contact, and three others will always be present to observe any changes in behavior.” T’Aral pondered the situation. “As a precaution, I would suggest deactivating the local command pad for the security field and retaining full control of the defense screen at the brig’s main security desk … just in case the creature is capable of projecting some form of suggestion.” She paused for a final appraising look at the Chief Medico and then gave a curt nod of grudging agreement; trust was a two-way street or say they said, “Acceptable and go for it, Doc. Myself and Commande. Wesley are to be given an outline of the communication plans and an after action report on the results. You’ve forty eight hours to conduct your...interview? Then we’ll arrive at Starbase Harrington to offload the creature to Professor Crater.”

Just got through watching the TOS episode 'Galileo 7'. In the epilogue, the command staff harangues Spock over the fact that he performed what would be considered an 'act of desperation'. Spock responds that his actions were logical. Am I the only one who sees that Spock's actions were, indeed, completely logical? Given: The Enterprise has to be en route to Marcus III. Given: Sub-space interference preventing sensors/communications. If the Enterprise is still looking back and a flare is fired, there is a possibility of detection. If the Enterprise is not looking back, there is no possibility of detection. If no visible action is taken, there is no possibility of detection. The only possibility of detection assumes the Enterprise is still looking AND the flare is fired. THEREFORE: the flare must be fired. It's Totally Logical! Just because a positive outcome is unlikely, that doesn't make it illogical. Thoughts?

The fuel dump would have been a gamble if there was anything to lose, for the outcomes were as follows: Do not dump the fuel and ignite: burn up in 40 minutes. Dump the fuel and not be detected: burn up in 10 minutes. Dump the fuel and be detected: potentially be rescued. The shuttle passengers were essentially dead given their current circumstances - the waiting was all that remained. Providing a signal was the only logical course of action, even if one didn't expect anyone to be watching. Do nothing: you die. Do something: you'll probably die sooner, but you might just live. As for your other comments: they are essentially correct. Logic is a fine tool, but it only functions if the premises are correct. Spock's premises were, in several cases, erroneous.

Captain: have you ever read Dreadnought? Diane Carey didn't miss that particular detail, either.

You missed my point: they had no right to tease him. What he did was perfect in its logic.

T'Aral paused after exiting the turbolift, nodding to a Security officer before continuing on to Medical. Even at reduced speeds she was having momentary dizzy spells when it came to lifts; she'd have to investigate the matter further. Security was tight on the Creek. The Captain was prompt in locking the ship down; it was likely that she was growing weary of casualty reports. T'Aral did not object to the Captain seeking to be cautious; that was advisable given the nature of the situation and the behavior of the creature in question. It might even be appropriate to terminate the creature, if its predatory nature was more characteristic than a reaction to desperate circumstances. However, as it was an inteligent life form it was only proper to offer an alternative before responding in a purely instinctive manner. Upon entering the Medical bay, T'Aral examined the department report and greeted the new security officers. The extra eyes to watch for suspicious activities were welomed, after which she made her way to a recovery bay where Ensign Khora was sitting up, frowning at her slightly. "You said we needed to stay together - then you left." T'Aral stepped in, her expression completely unaffected. "Under other circumstances I would consider your tone insubordinate. In this case, however, it is not entirely undeserved. I left because you had fallen asleep - understandable, as you had been on active duty for over thirty hours straight. I expect that you are still fategued." Khora sat up, determined even though she was clearly still tired. "You've been up just as long. You need to take in rest as well, Doctor." A tricorder was swept up and Khora began scanning. "You're showing all the signs of fategue, and you're in no condition for that." T'Aral looked at Khora briefly, then nodded. It was illogical to appoint her as caregiver and then not accept her advice. Stepping over to a wall panel, she activated a security field for the bay and then folded down an emergency bunk. "Very well, Ensign. I will rest for a while, under the condition that you do so as well." "Yes Ma'am, only you get the bed. I'll be fine on the bunk." Khora stepped over to grab T'Aral's arm in a leading manner. It was little more than a gesture; they both knew that T'Aral could still throw her across the room if she was inclined. Yet it was a gesture that T'Aral chose not to oppose. "This is unnecessary, Ensign. I would've been adequately comfortable on the bunk, and it is not necessary for you to, as the humans say, 'fuss' over me." "Ma'am, 'fussing' is what caregivers across the galaxy do." Khora settled on the bunk as soon as she was certain that T'Aral had actually begun to rest. T'Aral folded her arms and relaxed, her body twinging slightly as she set the bed to an optimal position. While it was true that she needed to influence the search for the creature significantly, it was also true that she would be in no way able to do so if she did not rest at least for a while. The room secure and the light were dimmed. T'Aral settled into a rejuvinating meditation, confident that allowing herself a few hours of recuperation would be to everyone's benefit ... even the creature, if it would allow it.

Medical Log: Lieutenant Asher and party have received their examinations. All appear in adequate health when their circumstances are taken into account. The quartermaster is reviewing any immediate requirements they may have while staterooms are provided. ------ T'Aral looked up to her office door as it chimed. "Come in." Ensign Khora stepped inside and sat down as the door slid shut behind her. "Ensign: we have a complicated problem. Lieutenant Asher has verified your analysis of the predator in question. Furthermore, the lieutenant indicates that the creature is capable of disguising itself as an individual known to others." Khora's eyes grew wide. "A shapeshifter? We're dealing with a polymorph?" T'Aral considered the thought. "I would consider that unlikely, Ensign. The amount of energy required to convert a form is considerable, and then there is appearance to consider. It also seems that the creature takes on not only the form, but the attributes of the individual in question." Khora turned concerned. "How would that even be possible?" T'Aral paused for a moment before answering. "Ensign, there are disadvantages to being a member of a logical race. The greatest being that we cannot generate conclusions without information." She locked eyes with the Ensign. "You are human. Your foster parents gave their best efforts towards raising you as a human. In addition to your insightful nature, you are capable of moving beyond logic. It is that ability that we need now." Khora nodded and furrowed her brow in thought. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "What if the creature's a telepath - a really powerful one?" T'Aral considered the thought. "Let us assume that its abilities are unlimited for the time being. Such a creature would be capable of reading the thoughts of those around it in order to know how to behave." "Not just 'read', Ma'am ... but also project. What if it makes you see something that isn't there?" Khora clenched her hands - she was on a roll. "To be able to offer a projection to anyone who looked at it would require abilities far beyond anything previously documented; however, it is not inconceivable." T'Aral nodded. Khora bit her lip with excitement. "That also explains Corporal Tremaine! If the creature can generate a telepathic influence, it could freeze the mind of its prey to render them motionless." T'Aral sat back, stifling the need to sigh. She was feeling unusually tired lately, and the beginnings of her pregnancy included predictable side effects. They were tolerable, but they did wear on her endurance. "While there is no evidence to support the supposition, this hypothesis does fit the available facts. However: it also presents some disturbing possibilities." She folded her hands and looked at Khora. "Ensign: how would such a creature get on board this ship?" Khora only needed to think for a second. "It could just walk onto a shuttle, projecting the form of someone it killed that no one knew about yet. It could read the proper responses from what people were expecting from it, and feed them right back to those surrounding it." "... and the medical exam?" Khora gasped slightly. "If ... the creature could make us see it the way we were meant to, there's no reason to think it couldn't make us see sensor readings the way it wanted us to." She looked to T'Aral with a face painted in fear. "Lieutenant ... it's here! It has to be!" T'Aral maintained her composure, bidding Khora to do the same with a small gesture. "Assuming all that we have hypothesized is correct, your conclusion is possible. It is rather a leap beyond logic; however, we will brief the Captain and proceed appropriately." She turned to face her communication pad. "Oh, and Ensign: it is advisable that we do not leave each other's presence for the duration. It is important that we each have someone we can trust." Khora looked over to T'Aral. "How can we even trust each other?" T'Aral paused, turned to face Khora, and then set her hand in a traditional Vulcan salute. Khora nodded in reply, quickly meeting T'Aral's right hand with her left. The contact between them was slight to the point of being etherial, yet it was there. T'Aral sensed Khora's energy - the emotion and intensity behind a nervous face struggling between two worlds to be something it wasn't regardless of which way she turned. Khora sensed T'Aral - a spirit just short of serenity, constantly finding herself having to compromise for the sake of pragmatism. Looking at each other, they nodded in unison. While each found the other familiar, there was something within the gesture that was not expected for both of them. "You will not leave my presence, Ensign, and I will not leave yours. This will hopefully give us a starting point to work from." Khora nodded as T'Aral turned to the com panel. "Medical to bridge - please patch me through to the Captain."

T’Aral sat with her medical team in a conference room to discuss the discovery of Corporal Tremaine and the implications of his posthumous condition. “It was a most unusual discovery; if we had not run a full-spectrum mineralogical scan, it might have been overlooked. The Corporal had apparently died of sudden desalinization: there was virtually no salt in his body – ionized or composite.” Ensign Khora looked over to T’Aral. “To do such a thing would require a complete filtration of the body’s circulatory system. How would that even be possible?” “The human body is capable of processing and expelling conspicuous levels of salt depending on intake, Ensign. In the Corporal’s case we will examine the rings along his face and neck. Close examination shows an intrusion into the capillary structures within these rings. Focused examination of the skin at the center of the marked regions indicates swollen sudoriparous glands.” Ensign Ellis looked across the table. “He was forced to sweat to death?” T’Aral nodded. “Through a previously undocumented process, the salt in the Corporal’s body was drawn into his bloodstream and extracted through the center areas of the mottled rings. The red marks are a point of introduction for a chemical extractor … as well as possible suction bruising.” Ellis looked to T’Aral with a furrowed eyebrow and a worried look. “Ow?” She nodded in reply. “The process would likely be extremely painful on several levels, disrupting both circulatory and neurological processes. While the intensity of sensation would be unknown, it is possible that the entire body would experience some level of discomfort.” She leaned back slightly, shifting in mild discomfort from her developing condition. “Analysis: what are we looking for?” Khora leaned forward. “Biosurveys indicate a relatively low saline content in the local plants. An examination of insect matter provided by Lieutenant Shalin suggests that the region’s animals also subsist on a low-saline level. The creature in question, however, clearly has high saline requirements. This suggests that it is not indigenous, or that it cannot process salt through normal digestive functions. Under the conditions that the creature currently finds itself, humans would prove irresistible.” T’Aral looked over to Khora. “ ‘Creature’? You have discounted the possibility of a plant-like organism?” Khora nodded. “There were no plants in the area around Corporal Tremaine with a floral structure capable of producing the mottled marks. Predatory plants do a poor job of disposing of carcasses – the remains of a victim is usually quite close to the plant itself.” T’Aral nodded in reply. “Quite logical. Please continue.” Fighting off the urge to blush from the praise given, Khora pressed onward. “The marks resemble indications from a cephalopod, though not in the traditional sense. The absence of floral damage in the region around the Corporal’s body or any sign of significant subterranean passages suggests a multi-pedal organism. It is probable that the creature has additional mandibular structures, as salt alone is inadequate as a complete dietary program.” She then punched a few key on a terminal. “I have approximated some possible biological configurations.” T’Aral examined the images critically. “Curiously Cthululian, Ensign.” Khora blushed again. “Agreed, Ma’am, but the victim would need to be restrained. That and the ability to move in and out of a region without ground disturbance suggests these options.” T’Aral nodded one last time. “Thank you; I will advise the Captain.” “Ma’am: one last thing …” Khora breathed deeply to calm herself, embarrassed to interrupt so. “The fact that the survey team didn’t note the presence of such a creature suggests intelligence. A creature with an animal’s intellect that was capable of this would attack an individual or a small group. A survey team examining the natural environment would’ve observed such a creature and have had time to make notes, unless they were overrun en masse. If that were the case, the bodies of the survey team would’ve been left behind. The attacker or attackers have covered their tracks. What happened here was done with stealth; that is a trait of intelligence.” T’Aral raised an eyebrow. “Well observed, Ensign – I will advise the Captain of that as well.”

Having escorted Lieutenant T’Aral to medical exam room 3, Ensign T’Shia Khora paged Captain Calestorm to the Medical bay, before pacing nervously. She tried to remember everything her parents taught her about emotional control and the need for logic, even if she was an emotional human. She was going to be addressing a superior officer, the captain of the ship, to brief her on a sensitive matter. She needed to be respectful and polite at all times; T’Aral would be most disappointed if she were to prove otherwise. She waited as patiently as she could, constantly watching the bay entrance until the Captain finally arrived - at which point she immediately straightened. “Thank you for coming, Captain. All initial scans verify our findings on the bridge; Lieutenant T’Aral is in fine health. If you will come with me to the doctor’s office, I will attempt to explain the incident on the bridge.” Her voice was steady and pleasant, with an even meter that was not at all rushed. T’Shia couldn’t help but be proud of herself, hoping that T’Aral could hear her. A good performance would honor T’Aral, and further honor the Vulcans who raised her. The older woman regarded the newbie medical assistant, mentally noting on a subconscious level that she’d been assigned for several weeks now. Khora, several postings previously, human by birth and raised by Vulcans. Calestorm nodded, indicating she proceed with the report. “Ensign, what’cha got for me?” Khora began as she led the Captain. “Lieutenant T’Aral suffered a momentary loss of blood pressure in her upper body, the result of turbolift acceleration. As a former pilot, I am sure you are familiar with blackout due to acceleration. Turbolift acceleration is minor by comparison, and is commonly compensated for in most species internally and is unnoticed...” She waited until the Captain had entered the office and the door had closed before continuing. “... unless the body is operating with an alternative set of priorities. When the body has a condition which takes priority, that condition is maintained and other functions are subordinate.” “A condition? Is the Doctor alright?” A tinge of concern colored the words. Khora took a deep breath. “I hope the Captain will pardon me, but I feel it’s important to brief you privately before going further. There are conditions among the Vulcans which need to be handled ... well, delicately. Situations which involve their personal lives are especially sensitive. If such a situation is approached indelicately, the result is an infuriated Vulcan.” She raised her hands slightly to emphasize. “I’ve seen it happen - it isn’t pretty!” Cale’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “I’d imagine not, nope...” Khora breathed again, finding it difficult to get to the point. “Vulcans have a way of handling personal matters in a way that is orderly and logical. When their homeworld was destroyed, it pretty much threw their way of life into chaos. They’re trying to rebuild, but reorganizing such an ordered and disciplined society takes time. In the meantime Vulcans are suffering as they try to deal with ...” She stopped, knowing that she was doing this badly. Her parents wouldn’t approve, and T’Aral wouldn’t approve. The Captain didn’t need a lecture, she needed Khora to get to the point. She winced slightly, deciding it was best to just blurt it out. “Lieutenant T’Aral is pregnant.” Covert rescue missions. A vampire cloud-being that had jumped from body to body. A zombie virus. The Orion Cartel. The Grayson political situation. The Jericho Colony evacuation. Crash had seen and done a lot in her career and not much surprised her anymore, but she definitely wasn’t expecting to hear this tidbit of news “Wh-How?” As soon as the question left her lips, the Captain pointed a finger and waved it almost comically in the general direction where Khora stood as she amended, “Waitaminute, ferget I said that. I *know* how it happened...” The Captain’s statement came as a relief to Khora, as she was not at all certain how Vulcan society would view her explaining the mechanics of Vulcan biology. Instead she simply nodded to the Captain. “The fundamentals are typical for sapien-type life forms, though the particular circumstances have not progressed in the traditional Vulcan manner.” Starfleet had policies regarding fraternization and pregnancy but generally left up to the discretion of the command staff to enforce the rules in the manner that they saw fit and the Comanche Creek was no exception. Officers and crew were not strung up for engaging in relationships and Calestorm and Wesley expected only discretion and respect in return. Still, this was a delicate situation and Crash was way more comfortable zipping around the galaxy in a starfighter. “I gotta sit down.” She half-sat on the edge of the office desk, leaning her weight on the supported leg. “Does the Doctor realize?” Khora nodded.“She is aware of the situation; the tricorder readings taken on the bridge left little doubt, and bio-bed scans have confirmed. Currently, she is considering her options.” “So, basically what yer tellin’ me here is there was a...situation? And in order to handle it properly and privately ‘cause of Vulcan beliefs, it necessitated a pregnancy?” “Mmm ...” Khora considered carefully. “... that is mostly correct except for the last part. The pregnancy was unanticipated, which is proving curious. Factors in Vulcan physiology have historically made such surprises non-existent.” Khora straightened. “However, that is unimportant. What matters now is helping the Lieutenant get through this with her dignity. Pregnant Vulcans are much like pregnant Humans: periodically moody due to the hormonal changes they are undergoing. Her mental disciplines will be under stress, so we need to keep things strictly business to help her maintain her composure.” Calestorm made a mental note that the pregnancy was a surprise but chose not to comment and she wasn’t an expert in Vulcan biology, but an educated guess she could do. “Ensign Khora, surprises may be the new normal with regard to Vulcans especially without the homeworld as an anchor - spiritual, emotional, physical...are you able to help her if she should have any lapses in control?” Khora bit her lip in a moment of complete honesty. “Other than to try and isolate her for some alone-time ... no. Hopefully that will be all she requires, for there’s little else anyone can do. It’s the kind of thing that just has to be allowed to run its course. Attempting anything more would pose a threat to the Lieutenant, her child, or both.” She trailed off, not sure of what else to say and cleared her throat. “I’ll be discreet and you can assure the Doc that it’ll be business as usual much as she needs it to be. I suggest you inform Commander Wesley if the Doctor isn’t up to the conversation.” “Yes Ma’am.” Khora very much hoped that T’Aral would be feeling up to bringing the matter up with the Commander personally. Among a wide variety of things that scared Ensign Khora were Orions and Command Officers; Commander Wesley was both. “T’Aral would like to speak with you, if you can spare the time.” Removing herself from the seated position on the edge of the desk, the Captain indicated with a gesture that the young medical officer lead the way. Khora guided her to exam room 3 where T’Aral was reclining, stepping out of the room and closing the door as soon as Cale had entered. Seeing the Captain enter, she straightened and sat up immediately. “Captain - I expect the Ensign has provided you with the necessary details. I apologize for this situation, and am curious regarding your views. What would your recommendation be regarding my continued service? I have, after all, made a commitment to the ship, however I would prefer not to adversely effect the good order of the ship’s activities.” Calestorm leaned a hip against the edge of the bed and half-sat, respectful of TAral’s personal space; there was a time and place for formality and this wasn’t one of them. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the CMO with open honesty. “Yep, the Ensign briefed me and ah see no problems with you maintaining your duties as CMO as you’re able. A leave of absence can be arranged when needed.” T’Aral nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I ... wish to make a request.” She breathed deeply, only once. “It is customary among Vulcans that the course of a pregnancy be attended by a single trusted caregiver. As I will be continuing to serve for some time, I respectfully request that arrangements be made to allow Ensign Khora a similar leave of absence when that becomes necessary.” “No problem, Doc.” The answer was immediate and without hesitation. “And when the time comes, myself and the Commander will handle the necessary paperwork. I wish you the best and congratulations are in order, Lieutenant.” Crash offered a hand to TAral with a half-smile and a roguish wink. “Can’t be letting the father take all the credit now, can we?” T’Aral accepted Cale’s hand - not shaking, not moving, but just holding. “There will be no ‘credit’ taken, Captain, nor is there a desire for congratulations. As the Ensign’s efforts were clearly not entirely successful, I must explain further. This situation is ... an embarrassment. Such a disruption in the good order of the ship is not excusable. An unplanned pregnancy is an undesired situation, at best tolerated for the greater good of restoring the Vulcan race. The father will likely not wish to be identified, as that would open more questions than he would wish to answer.” T’Aral released Cale’s hand. “It is my hope that you will understand - or if failing to understand, that you will accept what I am saying. The situation is accepted, but it is not one I have sought.” Crash sobered, but not from anger. She cocked her head to one side and regarded the Chief Medical Officer, a gentle ghost of a smile remaining on her lips. “Then how ‘bout we both view this as restoration to the Vulcan race? As for embarrassment, that’s somethin’ that you need to work out yerself...it ain’t real healthy to dwell on this for an extended period of time, just my opinion...y’all hear me now T’Aral?” The doctor cocked an eyebrow. “You are sufficiently audible; a trait you consistently demonstrate.” Withdrawing her hand, she looked to the bed monitors before setting her hands upon the bed edge. “My readings have sufficiently stabilized. If I were anyone else, I would be discharged. As it stands, I am notifying you of my intent to return to my duties.” An eye squinted in amusement at the ‘audible’ comment and then Calestorm nodded her assent. “Notification is...noted. Intent is accepted. I expect your physical condition to be monitored for the next few hours by someone besides yourself to avoid a repeat of the episode on the bridge.” This last part was more an order then suggestion. “As my duties require me to remain in the Medical bay for the next several hours, I am quite certain I will be adequately watched.” Although her expression had not changed, there was a subtle tonal shift which accompanied her words which suggested that her patience was beginning to strain. “If there is nothing more, I have a considerable amount of work to do.” Do not annoy a pregnant woman. Ever! Didn’t matter the species. Captain Calestorm offered a nod and retreated out of the private room. In truth there was little department work needed. T’Aral’s concerns were far more practical. She needed to contact the Vulcan colony to determine if any recognizable names among her clan had survived. She would require assistance in the later months, and it would not be advisable to seek help among the priesthood. What she had done was necessary, but controversial. Becoming pregnant would make it moreso; it would be best if she were to quickly vanish upon arrival at the colony.

"I'm so glad you accepted our invitation, Doctor. I didn't want you to think we didn't appreciate the caution you took during the transfer." T'Aral walked easily next to Doctor Warner. "The gesture is appreciated. You understand that I do not wish to malign your staff in any way. My concern was solely based in the fact that the crossing required a number of diversions; we would not have wished to make it all that way only to accidentally transfer the shipment into criminal hands." "Yes, of course. Everyone understands the need for security; it's just that you caught the technicians by surprise. Repeated confirmation of security protocols is normally not needed." T'Aral nodded. "If this was a normal cargo transfer it would not be. The responsibility is mine." "No need for such talk. Now if you would walk this way ... " Warner looked up to see T'Aral visibly wincing. "Doctor - is there a problem?" "No ... just an odor ... so strong ..." Warner caught T'Aral as she stumbled back slightly. "I am all right, only what is that odor?" Warner sniffed the air. "Diluted sodium hypochlorite ... antiseptic bleach. We use it to help sterilize laboratory rooms prior to experiments; to this day nothing works better than a strong solution, but surely you've encountered it before?" T'Aral nodded. "It was just overpowering; what is your concentration?" "Half-percent for nominal cleaning ... it's far from concentrated." Warner began to look worried. "Are you sure you are all right?" "Quite all right, doctor ... perhaps a visit to your hydroponic laboratory?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ T'Aral thought little of the incident as she returned to the Comanche Creek. The doctor was probably mistaken, or an enthusiastic staff member might have concentrated the bleach in an effort to assure a sterile laboratory ... All thoughts stopped suddenly as she passed a workshop. It was Lieutenant Shalin's - one he maintained in a neverending effort to make life on board a starship slightly more decadent than most of the fleet was allowed to enjoy. From the odor, today's experiment entailed some kind of meat and spice combination. Stepping inside, she found the lieutenant grinning at a makeshift oven. Shan turned and offered a wave. "Hello doctor - something I can do for you?" "You are cooking something?" Shan smiled. "Yup, and it'll be ready right ... about ... now!" With a flourish he opened the oven, pulling out a rack of ribs slathered in barbeque sauce. "Practicing for an upcoming 'dinner night' for the ship. If I can get ... oh, about a dozen cooks, the ship will feast like kings! Here ... want a taste?" While T'Aral was not a vegetarian, she tended to keep away from red or pork meat. Fish and chicken, simply prepared, sufficed quite adequately. Yet the aroma of Shan's experiment was intensely enticing. "Perhaps ... a little." Shan quickly served her up a half-rack in traditional style. Although T'Aral maintained her dignity - eating with utensils rather than the more primitive manner she understood was proper for such a meal - her enthusiastic response to the ribs caught Shan by surprise. Within two ribs she had perfected the technique of separation such that no meat was left behind, and in a fit of focused eating had finished off the offered half-rack in less than three minutes. "Thank you, lieutenant; I am certain that your efforts will be well received. Excuse me, please." Shan waved goodbye, only slightly startled at what he had seen. "Sure ... glad you liked it." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ An hour later, T'Aral sat comfortably behind her desk, hands folded in her lap, while Ensign Khora waved a scanner about her. "So: we have an excess of caution, hyper-sensitive senses, and abnormal preferences in food. That doesn't sound like any of the diseases we were carrying ... " She examined the tricorder readout. "... and the scans confirm - no unidentified foreign bioagents. You're carrying nothing that isn't totally typical for a member of Starfleet." T'Aral examined the tricorder's readings. "Slightly irregular hormone levels ... elevated synaptic activity ..." Khora looked over the doctor's shoulder. "All well within Vulcan norms, though. Is it possible that it's just stress?" T'Aral considered the suggestion. "Under ordinary circumstances I would dismiss the possibility. However, I have not been able to meditate in my usual manner since the mission began." Khora nodded; having been raised by Vulcans, she understood the Vulcan preference for routine when it came to their mental disciplines. "We should probably let you settle back in and check in a day or two. If things haven't sorted themselves out by then ..." T'Aral set the tricorder down. "Agreed; thank you for your help, Ensign ... and it would be appreciated if we could maintain this as an informal investigation?" "What investigation?" Khora packed away the instruments. "A post-mission check-up is normal on missions like that. You're in fine health." T'Aral noted Khora's exit and logged the necessary mission entries, avoiding mention of the abnormalities. No doubt the nurse was right; she would settle in her routine and be herself within two days.

T’Aral felt a slight shift in the Dover Castle’s hospital pod. A check on a terminal confirmed that the ship had come out of warp long before schedule. Contacting the bridge, she found that the ‘Castle and the ‘Creek had exited warp by a minor, uninhabited system to adjust their course. There was so much pirate activity in the area that it was decided to pause for a moment to plot a safe course rather than to push ahead further. This was opportune, as T’Aral had a small matter to deal with. Arranging for a transport back to the ‘Creek, she made her way to the Captain’s ready room. It was 19:32 ship time … the Captain would be going over the daily reports. Making her way to the Captain’s office, she chimed the door lightly. “Captain - can you spare a minute?” Calestorm toggled the communications access on her desktop and verbally acknowledged the chime. “Aye Doctor, door’s open.” T’Aral stepped in, methodically waiting for invitation before settling into the chair opposite of Cale. “I will attempt to be brief; it has come to my attention that you have been barred from fighter duty for the immediate future …” That T’Aral was aware of this development should come as no surprise to the Captain. Among the medical staff there was only one thing that spread faster than an unknown virulent disease, and that was a juicy rumor. “While this is a minor matter, it has become rather a pattern. Given that you have only recently been re-instated as ship’s Captain, I felt that it would be appropriate for us to discuss your more … rebellious tendencies.” Calestorm set aside the digital data slate she’d been perusing, folded her hands calmly and regarded TAral through her new specs. It was true that the Captain had a long standing love affair with fly bys: control towers, listening outposts, border watch forts, starship bridge modules...if it was there, she’d buzzed it. As Cale had gotten older and settled into CAG* and command positions, the fly bys had dwindled and she’d cleaned up her act. To a point. Sort of. Maybe. What she said was, “Doctor, I’m not rebellious.” T’Aral’s eyebrow raised slightly. “Captain, I do not believe that we need to go over recent history. While the crew is pleased that sanctions have been lifted and you have been returned to the center of the bridge there are concerns that you will not be remaining there for long, and your behavior has done nothing to address those concerns. In most intelligent species there is a period of time after disciplinary action has been received during which the individual attempts to be on ‘best behavior’ in order to avoid further disciplinary action. This time allows all parties involved an opportunity to relax and re-evaluate their positions.” T’Aral stared directly into Cale’s eyes, watching to gage her reactions. “You have not followed this pattern, but have instead violated regulations at your first opportunity.” “...okay, fine, I can have my moments. But I’m mostly loveable.” “Indeed, Captain …” even behind disciplined Vulcan restraint, T’Aral’s amusement at Cale’s response was undeniable. “... however, I must note that Starfleet regulations bear no regard for the amiable nature of the subject of an inquiry. Regulations regarding maintaining distance between flight vessels are established. You are well aware of them, have been repeatedly reminded of them, and yet you choose to disregard them. Starfleet expects their command officers to enforce their regulations, not violate them.” Crash held her hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Alright, I’ve been rebellious and went crazy with the fly bys!” T’Aral nodded in agreement. “A tendency which has consequences.” She settled back in the chair. “Crews look to their captain to set the rules for the ship. The respect you show towards regulations, or your disregard of them, will be reflected by your crew. A certain level of decorum is expected of the captain, both by the crew and by Command.” “Ah admit I can be free spirited and was having a little fun is all. These past several weeks I’ve been feeling...good about the reinstatement. And, if you can’t buzz your own command, what’s the point?” She gave the Doctor an easy smile. “Captain …” T’Aral’s voice softened, not so much in meter but in tone. “... it is my hope that you understand my intention. I do not seek a confrontation over this, for you are correct - it is a minor matter. I have served with you for some time, during which time I have sought to understand you. In this situation I see nothing of importance; your behavior is not out of character nor is it particularly erratic. It is consistent with your character.” T’Aral’s shoulders eased slightly. “I am making this inquiry in the event that the incident prompts inquiries from Command. Should I be approached, I can now report that I have performed a initial psychological evaluation and have found no cause for concern. Humans have a phrase for this: ‘covering one’s assets’, or something phonetically similar.” “The covering one’s assets is acceptable for polite company.” Calestorm smiled. Leaning back in the desk chair, she continued speaking. “The inquiry is appreciated, but there should be no inquiries from Command. As for the crew? I’ve no true concerns even with my little fly by as examples. Yes, we’re loose with the discipline but most realize myself or the Commander will swoop in like demon wraiths should a situation really get out of hand.” “As for my usual character?” Cale paused, leaning back in the desk chair and twirled a stylus pen in between her fingers. “Admiral Coyote recently expressed that she was worried I seemed to be behaving too well. Aside from that, I’m pleased with a particular officer’s response on the matter: Lieutenant Honor-Scar.” “Pleased?” T’Aral’s face appeared to lengthen. “Perhaps the Captain would like to elaborate on the experience. It was my intention to speak with Commander Wesley regarding your lead pilot and her views regarding superior officers; according to rumor, she not only reprimanded you - she dressed you down.” Noting that her posture was stiffening, T’Aral forced herself into a more eased pose. “I would be concerned if I had to be the one to remind the Captain of the need to respect the chain of command, even - or more to the point especially - in those circumstances where a junior officer is called upon to reprimand a senior officer.” Calestorm interjected, “I swear rumors spread faster on this ship then infections at a speed dating convention. Let me clarify: the Lieutenant didn’t dress me down. We had a discussion, in private.” And I’m surprised the kid didn’t spontaneously start shedding right there in the office, but she chose not to relay that information to the doctor. “That is reassuring, for respect for rank is necessary in any military organization. If that respect is lost, then discipline among the ranks is lost.” T’Aral settled into her chair to examine Cale’s reaction to her carefully. “I believe you will agree that we have already had sufficient experience with such circumstances.” The Captain shook her head in the negative. “There’s no need to speak with the Commander. As lead pilot, Mister Honor-Scar handled the matter with respect.” She emphasized the word, then continued, “She’s our CAG and told me to cut out the bridge fly bys. The lead pilot is the lead, don’t matter their age or rank; that’s her job and it’s my job to listen to her if I expect to fly a starfighter.” T’Aral raised an eyebrow. “Ship’s Captains are generally known for making their own rules, which tend to include minor infractions of Regulations. Often it is seen as the Captain establishing themselves as the final authority on board their vessel. I take it you disagree with this position?” “Doc, in the fighter pilot and shuttle pilot professions you’ve different egos, personal backgrounds, and skill sets. Some people - and non-Humans - are born pilots. Others are no nonsense, fly ice cold and make no mistakes. Some blossom in training and find a particular specialty such as search and rescue, reconnaissance patrol or providing close air support for ground operations that they’re good at. Me? I’m a good pilot, not a great pilot. I chose to retire from combat flight status ‘cause you need to be aware of your limitations and that knowledge comes with age and experience. “With that said, some of the younger vacuum riders are frisky as they work out their place in the wolf pack, or in our case the black sheep herd. Veteran pilots such as Lieutenant Honor-Scar maintain order and she’s a good CAG.” The older woman paused and then continued speaking. “A concern is that she’s in a position that has a high burnout rate provided she doesn’t set clear parameters. Such as letting your pilots, all of your pilots,” she pointed a thumb at her own chest to illustrate the point, “know what you expect and don’t expect from them. I’d say her response to me was right on the mark.” She cocked her head to one side, the gesture coming across as mischievous. “... except that you are not her pilot; you are her Captain.” T’Aral straightened slightly. “The only authority she has over you is that which you permit. This is something that must not be forgotten, and will tend to be forgotten by one who is biologically and psychologically conditioned to be an Alpha-personality. Grant her leniency in this matter, and you will eventually lose control.” “Doc, the Lieutenant is not that sort of officer to allow this matter to cloud her judgment. An Alpha personality? That’s a unique term to use. Are you referring to her as a Felinoid or her personality in general Doc?” T’Aral straightened, preparing her dissertation. “The ‘Alpha’ term is derived from studies of canine-species mentality. When creatures of a similar species operate as a collective, a leader typically arises. This leader tends towards considerable levels of self-confidence and a predisposition towards aggressive, though not necessarily violent, behavior. These individuals are seen as leaders because they tend to solve problems and address issues which trouble them directly. Traditionally the term was ‘alpha male’, but has been expanded more generically to refer to an individual without gender bias. Lieutenant Honor-Scar has the personality traits of an Alpha; the result of both her biology and her experiences.” “You were not there for the interaction between myself and the Lieutenant. Alpha female or not, it took a lot for her to approach me and a mark of a good officer is being able to know when to say something and when not to.” T’Aral frowned slightly. “Not necessarily. Alphas tend to look at such situations as opportunities. They are eager to engage in confrontations where they are clearly ‘right’ in order to establish or expand their authority.” Her expression then eased. “Please keep in mind: my concern is for the well-being of all involved and the good order of the ship. The Lieutenant must never develop the opinion that she can second-guess you. She is the lead fighter pilot; her function is to obey your orders. She does not know the greater picture and she is not supposed to - contemplating greater issues than the immediate creates delays and distractions. A simple question for you, Captain ... were you in complete control of the conversation with the Lieutenant?” “That was my intention, yes. Honor-Scar was pretty dang wild when she came to this assignment and has since ‘grown up’ in the intervening months. Let’s say I’m doing for her what was done for me a long time ago in similar circumstances.” Crash however, did not elaborate further. “Commendable, Captain - but in the process you are compromising your command. By virtue of disciplining a superior officer, Lieutenant Honor-Scar has engaged in insubordination. This conclusion is unavoidable; she has acted as your superior officer, not your inferior. Insubordination is not an action to be taken lightly - it requires conditions of an extreme nature that cannot be overlooked.” T’Aral fixed Cale with a steady stare. “Examining the situation logically, you have established a no-win scenario for yourself. “If the ‘fly by’ was as we discussed, it was a minor matter and did not warrant an act of insubordination by a junior officer. By accepting disciplinary action you compromise your authority, indicating that your junior officers may feel free to second-guess your orders if they feel that you are acting rashly or unwisely. T’Aral turned a hand slowly. “If, on the other hand, you insist that Lieutenant Honor-Scar was warranted in her actions, then you are indicating that the ‘fly by’ was not a minor or incidental matter - calling into question your judgement. This indicates to your junior officers that they must evaluate your decisions, and they may feel free to second-guess your orders if they feel you are acting rashly or unwisely.” She settled back in her seat. “In either case, you have logically compromised your command at a time when it is vital that you re-establish your authority with your crew. This is not advised.” Calestorm’s jaw tightened and she squinted her left eye, her gaze intent on the Chief Medical Officer. “You’d be a hellion on an intergalactic debate team, you know that Doctor?” T’Aral’s response was a simply raised eyebrow. “Vulcans are prohibited from participating on Academy debate teams.” “Doctor, I’ve not compromised my position and I expect no problems from Lieutenant Honor-Scar or any other officer. You do make valid points and yeah, I will and need to pull back on the flybys especially after coming off probation.” Still twirling the stylus pen in an easy manner, the thin object moved easily up and over her knuckles in check with the easy body language as well; Calestorm was comfortable despite the heavy topic conversation. “The probation was necessary and there were several factors involved that I’m not at liberty to discuss at this time...” She’d never had any patience for politics and political maneuvering....but it was what it was and she made the call regarding Grayson. Didn’t regret it. Regretted politicians, some of ‘em - not all - had never even seen action on the front lines.... T’Aral straightened slightly. “Captain - you know that I am bound by medical oath not to divulge matters discussed under my function as medical officer. I am trying to assist you in reviewing your recent decisions with the intent of establishing healthy patterns of behavior. In pursuit of that end, it would be helpful if I were properly informed. You can be assured that anything shared is held in the highest confidence.” Calestorm nodded her understanding, but continued forward with the conversation. “You know I lead by example, TAral. My parents were both ‘by the book’ officers. They led by example and I was taught that as well. I can be very ah, exuberant? and throw the book out the airlock? But I’m still mostly loveable.” T’Aral’s face stiffened momentarily, then relaxed. “There is no doubt that your crew adores you, Captain. That is not at issue. I am not suggesting that you reduce your number of eccentricities, nor that you increase them. I seek to help you see your actions and their consequences from a different point of view with the intention of developing a consistent pattern of thought and behavior which will strengthen your authority.” The Captain flashed a brief smile and then leaned forward to place the pen down and fold her hands together on the desktop. “Command of this vessel remains with me and Doctor, I’m aware of what I’m doing. If I show a tendency to put this ship and crew in danger, Commander Wesley will not hesitate to remove me from command. The day I cut myself off from my people, don’t fly side by side with them, don’t accompany an Away Team into the unknown and become distant? I retire or I’ll be dead, whichever comes first.” T’Aral nodded slightly. “Command remains with you; whether or not the authority of command remains with you depends on your approach. It would be my preference that the results prove favorable to all concerned.” “....I’ve been told I’ve a unique approach to command.” Crash offered a brilliant smile, all teeth. “Indeed ...” T’Aral held herself deathly still for a moment, suppressing the inner sigh all Vulcans felt in the presence of humans at one time or another. “I have expressed my concerns; I appreciate the time you have spared to listen. Does the Captain have any concerns regarding me?” “Actually, there is a report...” Crash reached for a digital slate and quickly thumbed through the updates and personnel reports to glance at the file,” from Dr. Drass. He indicated that it was a minor incident that you handled regarding Medical Technician Senekt?” She raised her own eyebrow in a good imitation of a Vulcan. “There something going on there with him I should be informed of Doc?” “Nothing of importance. Technician Senekt was suffering from a minor medical issue. There was concern that one of the pathogens had broken containment; though that concern was swiftly dismissed as in error.” T’Aral’s expression remained perfectly calm, having reported nothing more than what humans would refer to as ‘the common cold’. It was a time-respected technique to report just enough truth to satisfy curiousity without delving into details. She rose from the chair. “There being no further matters to discuss, I will take my leave with your approval.” A casual gesture from Cale was enough to allow her exit. As she returned to the Medical Bay T’Aral pondered her conversation - what went well, what could have gone better, and how to improve in the future. Common thoughts for a Vulcan ... it was only logical, after all.

Lieutenant T’Aral and Ensign Khora sat in an office, checking medical records and confirming that the hospital staff was healthy and that no virus had spread. They had just finished clearing the staff and were finishing the daily report when the hospital’s CMO came in to see them. “Excuse me, but we have a problem. One of our technical staff has been exhibiting the strangest behavior.” T’Aral nodded, gathering her kit and following Doctor Drasis. “It would be most unusual for us to have an outbreak, given the safeguards we have established and maintained. Further, your technical staff have not been in direct contact with the sample containers. I would have expected a member of the medical staff to contract a virus first.” Doctor Drass nodded to T’Aral. “Agreed. However Senekt has been an excellent officer, and as even-tempered a Vulcan as anyone has ever known. The idea that he would ever lose his temper is unthinkable, but of late he has been … well, irritable. I had him report for an exam, and the results were unusual to say the least. “This is worrying, Doctor. I can’t find any sign of infection, but it’s like his system is burning itself up.” He ran through the scanner readings again. “Given our circumstances I would suggest the Rabi-virus or perhaps SRN-1T, but the containment appears sound and he’s not demonstrating the complete spectrum of symptoms … then there’s these hormonal readings. None of the pathogens have this particular symptom.” T’Aral examined the readings, nodding as Drass spoke. “It would be more concerning if his blood indicated signs of infection. All that can be confirmed is that Officer Senekt is exhibiting unusual behavior and elevated bio-readings.” She closed the datapad and stopped Doctor Drass at the door. “I believe this can be successfully resolved. My assistant and I shall tend to Officer Senekt. If we require further assistance, you will be advised.” “Doctor …?” Drass was a bit confused. “I apologize, Doctor Drass, for I do not mean to undermine your authority. However – in this case I must ask for latitude; Senekt should be tended to by a fellow Vulcan. There are some indigenous treatments and meditation techniques which should prove effective in addressing the issue. You understand, of course, that like most species Vulcans find medical issues to be a sensitive subject. It would be helpful if involvement of others was kept to a minimum.” Drass stepped back. “All right; I understand, but if you discover that there is some viral activity …” T’Aral bowed respectfully. “… I will inform you immediately if there is any concern to the hospital.” Gesturing for Ensign Khora to follow, she closed the door to the isolation ward then turned to her nurse. “Now Ensign, you are to follow my instructions exactly. The isolation ward is to be cut off from the hospital and the rest of the vessel – no communications at all.” Khora paused, suddenly concerned. “Doctor – are you sure? From all indications Senekt may turn violent, and you should be more cautious …” “That will not happen.” T’Aral put on an isolation suit. “If it does I will defend myself in a careful retreat, and I do take reasonable precautions. Nurse – you will accept my instructions.” “Yes Doctor.” Khora locked off all dataports. “Please be careful.” “I shall, Ensign.” T’Aral entered the isolation ward and examined her patient. Senekt was a young Vulcan, seemingly healthy but clearly agitated. After several scans, T’Aral took off the isolation suit. “Senekt, I am T’Aral. I am here to help you.” Senekt looked to T’Aral crossly, barely holding on to civility. “There is nothing to be done. This isolation room is unnecessary … I should be secured in my quarters.” He gripped the bio-bed firmly, his hands shaded green from the stress. T’Aral set the isolation suit aside. “There should be truth between us – there is no viral threat.” She found a small bench to sit on. “When did it start?” Senekt looked over to T’Aral, feeling a certain amount of relief to be able to speak plainly with someone who would not say what didn’t have to be said. “It began three days before our assignment. I had requested leave which was initially granted, until our orders came and the approval was withdrawn. I could accept it initially; T’Bel … was on Vulcan.” T’Aral silently nodded, comprehending. “I do not feel drawn to any place, for I know Vulcan is gone. However, my condition continues to accelerate.” T’Aral nodded again. “I understand; I have gone through similar experiences.” Senekt looked over to her. “Perhaps, if you understand the process, there is something that can be done?” T’Aral looked to him calmly. “From the time of the Awakening, Vulcan medicine has tried to gain understanding, develop control, and eventually discover a cure without success in any way. It is illogical to assume that our efforts in the next several hours, or even days, would prove more fruitful.” Senekt bowed his head, gathering what little patience he had left. “I do not see an alternative.” T’Aral stood and looked to him, straight and deliberate. “There are always alternatives …” ------ Drass sought to question T’Aral for hours. “Are you certain you cannot share your techniques, Doctor? Senekt’s recovery … it’s simply amazing!” T’Aral continued to examine tricorder updates on the viral cargo. “There was little to recover from. Senekt was suffering from a minor neural imbalance. It is a Vulcan condition; rare, but curable through meditative techniques.” “You’re being evasive, Doctor – hardly what I would have expected from you. Your reputation as a neurotherapist is established and respected. I can’t see why you can’t explain what you did. Think of the benefits others could gain …” “Senekt’s condition is isolated to Vulcans, as is the cure. It would not have the same effect on other species, as the condition does not occur in other species.” T’Aral continued to examine the reports, patiently evading Drass’ questions over and over again. He would tire, eventually reaching the conclusion that T’Aral wasn’t about to divulge anything. At worst he would file a complaint, which she would answer citing confidentiality while assuring her superiors that there was no general risk – using Drass’ own scans, tests, and lab results as evidence. Perhaps she would be reprimanded, but it was nothing that her overall record could not tolerate. Senekt was back to work, briefed on how to respond to any questions from his fellow officers. Their explanations would be consistent and evasive, and eventually this event would be forgotten.

Medical Log: bio-toxic substances for transportation to Cold Station 13 WARNING: All bio-agents being transferred are without preventative treatment at this time. Transfer of materials to Cold Station 13 is required to increase resources to establish preventative treatment. Maximum caution and security is recommended for duration of transfer. Summary as follows. ---- Rabi-D56, Aqueous suspension, 1000 cc Type: Viral bio-agent Origin: Synthetic Family: Lyssavirus Pathology: Passed through salivary injection ( bite ). Virus is neurotoxic, attacking the cerebral cortex of the subject while stimulating the basal ganglia. Subjects lose higher-level cognitive functions while becoming increasingly agressive. Treatment: No established cure. Termination of infected subject is recommended. ---- 2T-(FRU)T, Aqueous suspension, 1000 cc Type: Viral bio-agent Origin: Synthetic Family: Orthomyxoviridae Pathology: Airborne virus. Neurotoxic with perception-altering effects. Simultaneously stimulates hunger and sexual drives while partially suppressing higher-level cognitive functions. Subject becomes driven by a mixture of hormonally-driven appetites, resulting in cannibalistic behavior. Virus also alters pheromone output, rendering the individual as repellent to others for the purposes of appetite. Treatment: No established cure. Termination of infected subject is recommended. ---- Vericusian Chromatic Death, Aqueous suspension, 1000 cc Type: Bacterial bio-agent Origin: Synthetic Family: Streptococcus Pathology: Aqueous-borne bacteria. General biotoxic resulting in nominal responses to infection including fever. Release of toxins into body results in a series of changes in skin color ranging through full visual spectrum. Treatment: wide-spectrum antibiotics results in 35% chance of recovery, -1% chance for every hour of delay between initial infection and treatment. ---- Hofarian Resplendent Immolation, Aqueous suspension, 1000 cc Type: Viral bioagent Origin: Synthetic Family: Nano-viral Pathology: Aqueous-borne viral pathogen. This synthetic virus breaks down the chemical structure of an organism, recombining into volatile compounds. The course of the pathology results in the death of the subject which may or may not occur at the completion of the pathogen’s cycle, which finishes with the subject’s body spontaneously combusting. Treatment: Development of a counter-nanovirus has proven effective. 100 cc of counter-virus ( aqueous suspension ) has been included with the shipment. Once treatment with the counter-virus is complete, anti-viral protocol 53c is required to purge the body of the counter-agent which is lethal to subjects who are not infected with H.R.I. ---- SRN-1T, aqueous suspension, 1000 cc Type: Protozoan bioagent Origin: Synthetic Family: Trypanosoma Pathology: Airborne protozoa, genetically engineered to release low levels of tryptophol into the subject’s cerebral cortex, resulting initially in docility progressing into lethargy eventually leading to coma and death. In 10% of cases the pathogen produces a contrary result, generating violent behavior without reducing cognitive ability. Treatment: No established cure. Termination of infected subject is recommended. ---- Genarian lumivenom, 100 cc sample at 100% concentration, 2x Genarian cephalopods in cryostasis Type: Digestive venom Origin: Natural species Family: Vitreledonella Pathology: Injected viral toxin, spread through a body via circulation which generates rapid decay in flesh, converting all organic material to a semi-gelatinous liquid. Toxin is activated when in contact with blood plasma, and can be externally resisted by most forms of epidermis. Treatment: External contact – clean site and sanitize immediately to prevent infiltration into circulatory system. Injection - immediate amputation of injection site to prevent infiltration into host body. Infiltration into body core is 100% fatal. ---- Report ends --------- Footnotes: 2T-(FRU)T appears courtesy of 2000AD ( Judge Dredd – The Cursed Earth ) Chromatic Death, Resplendent Immolation, and Lumivenom appear with thanks to Phil Foglio’s Girl Genius SRN-1T developed with deep thanks to Joss Weaton, despite how much I hate his tendency towards killing and maiming his best characters. Rabi-D56 … that’s our li’l precious.