Ethan Neufeld

Recall having this discussion once already. Had you desired to, think you could've planned something at that time. ::shrugs:: Don't know why you didn't, when the opportunity was there. Maybe you just weren't up to it, given your apparent mood at the time. Look, force yourself to listen or don't. ::shrugs:: I don't like operating without a plan anymore that you do. But I'm not in a position to make the decisions, and nothing'll happen if you expect it to come together without a little 'good grace' and a lot of decision-making on your part. Not off to a great start. Hearing a lot of doubt and, maybe, irritation here. Sharing the intel we have on the Rainmakers too soon is the only objection I've heard recently. I've advised against a few things like cover IDs. Do what you want with my advice. But don't make it what it isn't. I've explicitly objected to only one thing; don't think we need to revisit what that was. You going to this party wasn't it. You might not learn a whole lot as yourself, but you won't know until you try. I wouldn't shoot down your own idea yet. But we don't have to focus on a single approach, either. We have clearance to enter Gular. I still suggest you select a small team to observe the district where we have access for a while. Visit the shops; get to know the layout and the traffic. Learn everything they can about the area. Look for opportunities: openings for business, things to exploit. Any intel we get is more than we have now. Build on your plan from there. Like you said: it's not an end-game.

“You’re sure Pher hasn’t bugged your room,” he said, and it was difficult to tell if he was being flippant or serious. Ethan rubbed his face and exhaled. “About a year ago, we were approached by the CEO of a hard currency reserve,” Ethan explained. Then in anticipation of the inevitable questions, he clarified: “Our private security company was approached by the CEO of Ataraxia Holdings, Yuri Miroslav. “Miroslav had received an anonymous tip alerting him that unknown parties were conducting surveillance on his firm. He assumed the worst and hired us to improve his security and identify who was casing his firm. I lead the team. We played it close to the vest, kept a low profile. Whomever was casing the firm must have moved on; nothing happened for a few months. “They hit the firm in August. They came in hard and with a lot of enthusiasm, but they weren’t expecting us. Except for a couple guys, I wouldn’t call them technically proficient. They didn’t make it very far or very long; and, turns out, one of their own sabotaged their mission from the inside. By the time the smoke cleared, she was the only one left and not in a condition to resist. We took her into custody and that’s when things got really interesting. “We believed her when she told us that she and her team were Rainmakers. They’d planned to empty the bank’s vault, and level the entire building in which that firm wasn't the only business. She told us she was a die-hard and, given she’d turned on her team, we also believed that. Then she told us this wild story about parasites that had seized Rainmaker cells and were forming a splinter group. We weren’t so sure about that. Not until the autopsy reports on her dead teammates. “Her name is Sapphira Mazar. We ran an extensive background check on her. She was born and raised in Bull’s Head; joined the Rainmakers as a teenager, back when they were just peaceful occupiers. She still believes in the old civil disobedience and thinks these parasites are responsible for Rainmakers’ new penchant for terrorism. “She wanted our help figuring out what was going on. The coroner couldn’t pull a clean sample of the ‘goo’ from the autopsies. We were told we needed a sample from the source, and tracking the source meant going back to the Rainmakers. But we had a couple things going for us. “Donno if you’re aware, but the Rainmakers don’t operate as one, large organization. They’re compartmentalized into small, semi-autonomous cells; the leaders know each other and that other cells exist, but the rank and file are recruited locally and vetted at the cell level. After wiping out her entire cell at the bank, going back to the Rainmakers as the last two survivors of a heist gone wrong, was an easy pitch. “She gave us the possible location of a cell group she believed was infected by these parasites. Once we knew where and what to look for, one of our teams set up site intelligence; observed their activities for a couple weeks, while Sapphira recovered from her injuries. “We approached the cell and, thanks to Sapphira’s connections, their leader took us in without a lot of questions. Some of the local core group were infected. It took time, but we earned their trust and learned about Zoalus. They asked us to seed a new cell. That’s when I went dark. I arranged for a lab and started looking into how I was going to get to Zoalus without drawing attention. Given Sapphira was taking care of the details in the new cell, the Rainmakers wouldn’t expect to hear from me. But, at some point, someone must have discovered I was missing and grew suspicious. A bounty with an unknown sponsor turned up before I learned about the expedition being funded by Xorax. I underwent cosmetic surgery, posed as a Vulcan academic, and used some local contacts within Xorax security as references. “As far as I know, Sapphira’s still running that cell and sends the company the intelligence she gathers. Gabriel - the guy Pher talked to on Zoalus - was in the cell I originally infiltrated. I didn’t know he’d be there and he recognized me. He must have been infected after I left. Can’t tell you if he had the chance to report me to his superiors or not. "You know the rest.” Joe had been sitting on the end of his desk sipping his flask of bourbon while Ethan related his story. Either the story was too elaborate to be fiction, or Ethan was one of the most creative people he'd ever met. Either Ethan seemed to be genuine, or he was one of the best actors. Joe's instinct was telling him that Ethan was being honest, but the truth was no easier to swallow than dishonesty. "So you work in private security. That's who operates the lab. You infiltrated the Rainmakers. The Rainmakers put the bounty on your head. And you don't just mock yourself up as a Vulcan because you like the pointy ears. Interesting information," Joe mused. He looked down at the floor for a moment, wondering -- were his quarters bugged? No, Pher wouldn't do such a thing. Joe's sense that he was being watched was just paranoia fueled by the revelation that the Rainmakers were hunting someone on his ship. "One thing I don't understand. You took a pretty big leap from protecting some small-time corporation to posing as an extremist to investigate sentient goo. What's your firm's interest? This woman can't be paying you all that much. So are you really just good Samaritans looking out for Bull's Head, or is it possible that someone else is funding your efforts?" Ethan rocked his head in a gesture that suggested Joe was close. “We have the resources to self-fund most of our projects as needed, but we did call in a few favors this time. The lab for one. We don’t operate it, but they want the same thing we do and we trust them. “This isn’t about money; it’s more than that. We only want to stop the threat. Most of us are veterans,” he said, gazing steadily at Joe. “We still believe in what the old Federation stood for. What's worth the price is worth the fight.” Joe nodded slowly -- he understood, even if he wasn't fully ready to believe it. "Boy scouts ain't too common in Bull's Head; it's the sort of phenomenon I need to see to believe. Still, my instinct -- whatever that's worth -- is tellin' me that you can be trusted. Pher thinks you can be trusted too, even if she sees you as a bit of a loose cannon.” Ethan didn’t hide the brief hint of a smile at the mention of Pher, but he reserved his thoughts as Joe continued. "So I won't ask you for any more info on this firm you work for. But I still want to put in some due diligence. This 'Ataraxia' probably has offices here on Andus Station; I'll make some discreet inquiries, find out what sorts of things they're willing to tell me about Rainmakers, see if parts of your story add up. In the meantime, give me the contact info on this lab and I'll look into that too. "If I don't come across any red flags ... " Joe gave a slight shrug. "I'll turn the vial back over to you." Ethan nodded in understanding. “Everything you need is on the drive I gave you.”

Beg to politely differ on a couple points. Last I checked, you could sign in by typing your chat name, if different from your board login. You can also sign into the board with your original login, and enter the chat under that account via the link on the board (while viewing the board in "full version" on an iPhone, at any rate). Neither require changing logins and/or chat names to be the same. Not sure if logins can contain spaces like chat names, so this might be convenient for those who don't want to change their chat names. (Would like to know more on what's allowed in a login before I consider changing?) When entering from the board, you won't see a list of available rooms, but you can still navigate rooms by typing the basic IRC /join command into the message window (e.g. /join Manticore). You'll need to enclose rooms with spaces in quotes (e.g. /join "Comanche Creek") and include the preceding dot on the lobby, holodeck, and ready room. Once you've entered a room, you can also switch to another room via /join without signing out and back in (and this works whether you signed in via the board or the website link). If I'm not mistaken, I've also used /join to join the user-created rooms, if I knew the name.

She’d been here before, though not under the same circumstances. This time she had a real purpose, a ‘target’ of sorts that made the encounter all the more meaningful beyond the usual game. It was intriguing. She was glad Samus was finally giving her the more challenging assignments. According to Semus, this one was ‘important,’ though he’d not given her any more orders than to ‘find out what you can.’ It was definitely not one of the usual carnal encounters demanded by the station’s less discriminating patrons. But those encounters had gotten her in the door, and that’s what mattered. Evening bag in hand, Stelara adjusted her black gown so its fine silk draped gently over the curves of her body, allowing it to tug enticingly where it counted, to accentuate and plunge, revealing just enough, not too much. She found it best to leave quite a bit to the imagination. Upon entering, she spotted her assignment sitting on the far side of the room. He was a human, trim and muscular, though not overdeveloped. It was the kind of build brought on by the demands of action rather than egotistical body-building, visible fresh scars and yellowing bruises attesting to the former. She guessed him to be just over six feet tall, though his forward lean on the couch made that judgement a bit difficult. His hair was dark, his eyes sharp, though brooding. The brooding struck her as odd but there was cause for brooding these days. Yet, she couldn’t help thinking he didn’t want to be here. So why was he here? Her attention to detail heightened, and she noticed that, though sitting, his balance shifted forward. Definitely a man of action. Possible ex-military? No wonder Samus was interested. A gentle toss moved her soft, raven hair to the side as she approached him. She stopped just short of his personal space and waited for his attention. Ethan’s gaze smoothly transitioned from the spot Pher had vacated just a minute earlier to Stelara. The scrutiny he gave her veiled a persisting calculation, as he straightened and visually swept her figure. It was obvious by his expression that he was making a threat assessment, not an invitation or self-indulging. “Can I help you?” Her shoulders slumped slightly as she sighed. “I was about to ask you the same question, but since you asked first....” An easy nod in the general direction of the crowd accompanied a look of boredom. “If there’s any fresh air around here, I’d sure like to find it... if I’m not bothering you, that is. But I wouldn’t want to go by myself, know what I mean?” His brow rose a bit and then he permissively inclined his head, wearing a subtly begrudging expression; and standing from the couch, he quietly gestured with an open hand. Dutifully taking the lead, she weaved her way through the crowd to a semi-secluded alcove in the lobby. There, a small table and two chairs stood intimately arranged in the recesses, tall palms and a ficus strategically placed to shield a reclusive couple from prying eyes. She pressed a button on the wall and fresher air circulated the dankness from the area. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward,” she began, moving a chair away from one of the plants that seemed to want to take over the entire alcove. “You don’t seem to be the usual type to come to Andus, and you certainly don’t seem to fit into the crowd you’re with. In fact, you seem as out of place as I am.” She kept her voice smooth yet sincere, allowing a hint of regret to creep in. The evening bag placed on the table, she sat easily on the edge of the chair, waiting for him to help her, as a gentleman would. Again, a test of character, to give her a better angle for the game. He fell into the play easily, guiding her chair in without an apparent thought. “How’s that?” he minimally questioned her observation that he was as out of place as she. Grasping the opposite chair by the backrest, he pulled it away from the table and intentionally angled it to put his back to the wall and view on the lounge. He sat down without tucking in the chair, apparently keeping clearance from the table to leave in a hurry. “Well, the economy being what it is, I find work no matter where it is, taking what I can get for the time being, moving on when I either can or have to. Something to drink?” A slight wave indicated the waiter coming in their direction. Left arm draped over the edge of the table, Ethan gestured disinterestedly at the suggestion with his hand and turned his gaze to the waiter. Responding to Stelara’s wave with a pop in his step, the waiter stopped at the table, wearing a flashy grin that furrowed Ethan’s brow. “Water, thanks,” Ethan said. “I’ll have the same,” she said to the waiter, then turned back to face him, somewhat surprised at her own reaction to his presence, as though something were drawing her to him. It was subtle, but there nevertheless. There seemed to be a lot going on in his head than he would never reveal. “My name is Stelara. I’ve worked here several years, and can’t wait to leave. And your name?” Briefly pulling his attention from the lounge and its occupants, he studied Stelara for a moment before answering. “Ethan Neufeld,” he casually answered, and unconsciously picked up a sugar packet that he began to idly spin end-over-end on the table between his thumb and index finger. The waiter returned and left. “So what’s your job here, Stelara?” Ethan asked, eyes again on the lounge and her coworkers’ activities. By the tone of his voice, he’d already deduced the answer, but he evidently preferred tangible and objective information when it was available. “It’s fairly obvious, don’t you think?” she replied, relaxing in her chair, hands in her lap. “I’m here for your pleasure, or for company... whichever you prefer. I’m trained in many things, Ethan. I suppose I could say, ‘I am at your disposal.’” She allowed a brief, easy smile as she watched him twirl the packet, then took a chance. “But you’re not here for that, so I’ll ask you the same. Why are you here, Ethan?” The hint of a smile briefly tugged at the corner of his mouth and he paused fiddling with the sugar packet. “I’m here because Joe is very persuasive and I don’t have a choice.” “Joe. Your boss?” Her brows raised, she glanced to the crowd as though looking for him. “He’s not here; meeting with your boss,” Ethan observed without looking at her. “I see. Which leaves the rest of his little family fairly free to do as you choose?” Ethan inclined his head. “If you’re part of his ‘little family’.” “I take it you’re not.” His loose tongue surprised her, but only a little. Though his expression showed he didn’t care, his eyes showed he knew far more and was far more adept at this game than she - or Samus - had given him credit for. “I’m an asset that owes him,” he replied plainly, the disquieted frustration in his voice apparent only to her. “Hm...” Finding it difficult to keep a professional distance, Stelara sipped her water, thinking. “I gathered as much from the bit of conversation I overheard. You and the Orion?” Her eyes studied the ceiling briefly, as if to call attention to the bugs. Ethan didn’t follow her gaze, briefly twirling the packet again as he watched the lounge. “Gotta feeling I’ll be hearing that again over the next few days,” he remarked. Then he quietly slapped his hand over the sugar packet where it fell flat on the table, and sliding it over the edge, he returned it to the dish with the rest. “What do you want to know?” he asked as he steadily gazed at her, finally giving her a bit more attention than he was giving the room. It came as a shock, but she took it in stride, thanking the higher power for her extensive training. Stelara shifted her position slightly to move closer. Keeping her tone and, given the tendency for prying eyes, her body language casual, she began, “Let’s start with the hold Joe has over you. You’re obviously a very capable operator, so it must be important for you to stay around and Joe must have quite a hold to make you wait.” She gave a slight smile as she opened her purse to retrieve a small object, placed it behind the sugar container, and turned it on. “But that’s more than a start. And now we have privacy.” Her choice of words and actions didn’t go unnoticed, given his expression as he studied her, eyes searching for her angle. He readily and smoothly grabbed her hand as she pulled it from the jamming device, holding firmly but without causing pain. “This ends with you,” he warned lowly with a blank expression before letting her go. As soon as the hold was released, she took his hand in hers, as though she were making progress in her original role. Leaning suggestively closer and allowing quite a bit of cleavage for good measure, she signed three letters into his hand, using her other hand as cover. She smiled, gave it a final caress, then released it slowly. His brow furrowed at her and then his face showed a favorable change. “The vial contains a virulent contagion,” he answered after a minute; “I’m supposed to get it to a lab, so they can engineer a vaccine.” “A contagion.” She kept the casual, suggestive smile, but her tone and vocabulary revealed a more mature, analytical nature she’d not previously revealed. “Biological? Viral? Or is that something yet to be determined?” “Parasitic,” he answered minimally. She turned her head coyly away from the crowd, cameras, and potential lip-readers. “And the ship is docked here.” Her tone betrayed her concern. One foot reached to rub along his leg as she crossed hers. “Play along and keep going.” A surprising smile grew on his face, a smooth but unexpected change in body language from his initial reservations that told observers her charms were winning. He nodded subtly in affirmation of the Qob’s location, visibly relaxing. “Don't want to be enemies with the Qob, but Joe’s holding the vial until I give him the information he wants on my friends and clients.” “And there’s no way to contact them.” She ran a hand up his arm to pull him closer, breathing into the hidden side of his face. “You pull the curtain. I will take the field down.” She made eye contact to be sure he understood that. “We’ll do just enough to make it convincing - you back off with whatever excuse you choose, and... if you trust me... I can get word.” Ethan continued to smile widely a she removed the device, the movement hidden by her figure, but there was resistance in his voice when he spoke. “Rather leave the curtain open,” he said, pulling back with evident discomfort; “and I’m flattered, but you need to stop rubbing my leg.” The smile faded and he finally drank from the iced water glass he’d left sweating on the table. “If you really want to talk about Joe, meet me here at 1215. I’ll tell you all about Apache Actual and his sidekick 0-5, when we fought the wicked witch of the east,” he remarked, throwing in a touch of irony. She allowed herself a clueless laugh as he fed her the information. “I always love a good story. I’ll be here, you can bet on it.”

Stupid tart. She honestly thought it was that easy. That he would give up the sensitive information he refused to give to the Qob, after a ten minute conversation with a convenient prostitute. Ethan didn’t think Samus was that ignorant. Samus must have sent her in knowing that the smallest detail he could gain from her encounter would add to what he had already. But after the way she’d laughed, she apparently thought she was clever. She believed she’d won him over; that he trusted her - a woman whose profession generally entailed masquerading as something she wasn’t, to lure and tempt the weakest of the weak. She wasn’t helping Ethan’s general antipathy for prostitution. For all her self-satisfaction, she’d left the table relatively empty-handed. She learned nothing new about the vial or his mission. Ethan had fed her the same information that Samus would eventually put together from his bug recordings. Granted, the message he’d given her at the end was real, but it wasn’t about to win her ‘employee of the year’. It was a feint. Ethan was more interested in what Samus would attempt to do with it, than banking on her unlikely conversion to ‘girl scout’. If someone in Samus’s organization could decipher the message - and he seriously doubted she could - they’d learn at most that someone Ethan knew might be monitoring the old ‘guard’ frequency at 121.5MHz, and might understand the message. Not particularly useful information, given it didn't name his friends, no one would reply to the message and Samus would learn nothing more. It was unlikely that Samus would take the bait. But if he did, Ethan was looking for Samus to intentionally or unintentionally reveal what he’d done. That Samus would also inadvertently transmit Ethan’s possible location to his friends was a bonus. Either way, it couldn’t make the situation much worse. It was all a matter of strategy, seeking out every possible advantage, point of approach and egress. No different than revealing the Motoroils and his mission to the Qob when things had gone sideways on Zoalus. No different than the move he’d made upon realizing that Samus and Joe were enemies and the Qob was under surveillance. It was just a matter of time before a member of the Qob injudiciously let the vial’s existence slip or, worse, considered selling or bartering with it. Ethan had lost the vital ability to control the flow of information. Somehow, information on the vial would find its way into unscrupulous hands whether Ethan wanted it to or not. Damage control was the best tool he had left. Where Samus was concerned, Ethan made sure he was the first to mention its existence in any depth. That Samus would question every crew member was a given. But Ethan’s intent was to convince Samus from the beginning that if he wanted full story, he would have to address Ethan directly, giving Ethan a better chance to control it from there. Thanks to the Qob’s heady first mate, Ethan had barely begun the damage control in time. She was setting herself up as Samus’s source of information mere hours after their arrival at Andus. Ethan was left hoping that Samus was as smart as he was giving him credit, but he was just one, small problem. There were more comprehensive security issues looming and Ethan couldn’t play the same game with all of them without considerable risk. He’d have to fall back on trying to reason with the Qob’s crew to protect the vial and some would make that an unpleasant task. But Joe had managed to surprise him. That Joe had slammed the door on Pher’s desire to use the vial as a bargaining chip; that he agreed with Ethan’s assessment of the Gular, had allayed some of Ethan’s concerns about Joe. Joe had empowered Ethan’s damage control efforts beyond anything he could have done alone; he’d proposed the very solution Ethan had hoped to reach, if he hadn’t become bogged down trying to reason with Pher. They would spread enough information to not only benefit any humanitarian efforts made, but likely mask details of the vial and its source as rumor. Ethan saw a similarity in Joe’s decision-making paradigm that instinct told him he could trust. Joe hadn’t asked Ethan to throw his principles aside to satisfy his crew; he’d thrown Ethan a line. Ethan was ready and willing to have Joe’s back. He still didn’t trust the majority of the Qob’s crew, but he would set aside lingering personality issues and support the Qob when their job began. The question was if the rest could do the same.

Anything we can do for the greater good, as long as the vial remains NTK. Don't think I need to ask that the sample's exact origin is also kept secret, given they might try to get a sample of their own. And I suggest we avoid discussing plans to get an antiserum at this point. That's liable to solicit questions we don't want to answer yet. But I might be able to sweeten your intel on the Rainmakers; depends on what you've got. At any rate, count me in, Joe. You've got my cooperation, if you want my help.

You're being just as unreasonable, Pher. Listen to what you're saying. You tell us we shouldn't lie and then suggest we - an old employee - should approach the Gular under flimsy cover IDs. I say that doesn't respect their influence or resources. I'm saying we shouldn't hide who we are; but invent a need we can back up without that vial and use someone else as the point man. You're right. I am thinking in terms of good guys and bad guys; they exist and I'm trying to work with the least of a few evils in a sideways situation. Sure, the Gular can keep a secret, their secrets; projects and profit they don't want to share, given aren't sharing with anyone else. We dont need that. We don't need a lot of friends where the goo is concerned. Not the type who expect profit where there isn't profit to be had. This is a humanitarian mission, not a payday. The whole idea is to destroy the sample once the anitserum's found and then float the formula on every network in Bull's Head. For free. We need discretion to make that happen. Sharing the sample or telling everyone we have it isn't part of discretion. But I guess I don't expect a whore or someone who's tunneled on being the main show to understand that. Do what you feel you need to, but dont expect me to go along with it, if you're going to jeopardize the interests I'm protecting for your own pocket. It'll just be more proof that you aren't the type of people I can trust to have my back when I need it the most. I'm trying to work with enough people I don't like already. But your team isn't going to 'jell' if you can't show them you're willing to balance their interests fairly with your agenda. Exposing sources of intel and points of entry are part of suvelliance, and if you're willing to give up sharing the vial, I can back you up one hundred percent. If not...

::dryly:: That explains a few things.

That you're associated with the Qob and Samus was the concern. They're likely to be more interested in your latest activities, and that you didn't stick around New Risa. That you left. Look, I get that you want point and you've got a lot to offer, but the truth might not get you very far if they're concerned you'll wander off again. That was the point. If anything, they're focused on control, power; not mutual aid. Not the first people I'd look to for a conscience and I personally believe this requires a conscience. More importantly, the larger the organization, the more people that know, the bigger the potential leak. We don’t need to add more security risks to the equation. You can't guarantee that someone outside of our influence won't try to profit from this. But if you can't trust that we have the resources to do it without them, there's not much I can do to convince you right now. Given radio signals are generally omnidirectional, an antenna on the Qob should be enough to intercept starting out. Lower chance that someone will inadvertently trip over it. Could search for directional signals from there if we don't find anything. If we can smuggle it in, a small receiver in a pocket might be enough to pick up anything too low powered to make it outside.

I don't like the idea of letting that vial get any warmer, but my advice is to take it slow. Gather information indirectly. Collect all the signals intelligence we can. Eventually, information will leave the station and likely on a subspace carrier frequency. Setting up a receiver to intercept is undetectable and it'd just be a matter of breaking their encryption and transmission techniques. I imagine that wouldn't be a problem for Shane, William or Troy. But hacking networks, wiretapping, bugs, key-loggers, dodging security systems all leave finger prints that we can't hide indefinitely. Save those for a second attempt, if cracking their transmissions or surveillance doesn't pan out. If the Gular are using couriers, that's both physically traceable and possibly easier to intercept away from Andus. But intercepting a courier still carries a high risk of exposure we probably want to avoid. Select a team to observe the Gular's business offices from a distance to start. Find out who gets the most, the least, and what type of traffic they're dealing with on a regular basis. Pher's idea to pose as local entertainment might be the next step once that pattern's established. We could play the Pher's seductive skills on some of the lower echelons. Might learn the routines of their more senior people; gain access to some of their offices that the other team could use. But that source's likely to get burned if we're caught where we shouldn't be. It might take more than a flower and a story to get close to the guys with real security clearance, without an extensive background check that isn't likely to hold up under real scrutiny. They've got more to lose. We'd have to play that carefully; the wrong people are liable to get suspicious if they don't like what they're hearing or who's asking it. And, in my opinion, going in with an unrelated complaint or deal and then asking about their dockyard activies is going to look outright suspicious. But the primary point of contact should be someone else: someone who isn't on the surveillance team or Pher. They're going to recognize our faces after we hang around for while. We'll need to hold one or two faces in reserve to minimize their suspicions. It was already mentioned, but, at this stage, we might want to avoid using anyone who'd stick out, given the ratio of species in the local population. Have to ask yourself how well they can play their parts and if being a memorable face - or green - is worth the risk. They'll be the ones who approach the Gular with something to offer their secret ship-building project: skills, services, resources, contacts. Maybe a new contract. If necessary, cook up a believable, external threat to their business. Present a deal that will at least appear to improve on or protect what they've already got going and make them want to share the information. Can think of a few alternative ways to convince them to give it to us: use psy ops to turn them on each other, blackmail someone important. Maybe the president was slipped a poison or caught a deadly cold. Maybe his VIP has secret he can't risk getting out. Or we could just take the information. But taking anything by blackmail, theft or force should be the last resort or we'll be running for a long time. That said, you probably don't care what I think, but I'd personally prefer we avoid using the Rainmakers' 'goo' as a bargaining chip. In my experience, it only causes trouble. If they're selling illegal ships to clients in rim territories, they aren't likely to be the type we want to trust with that kind of secret. Can't forget why Andus is allegedly here: we're standing on a weapons manufacturing hub and we can't control how they'll use it. Promise a sample and they'll want you to produce. Making a promise we can't keep'll paint a bulls-eye on the Qob. Cover identities might benefit the job in the beginning, but I don't think it's foolproof. Samus is providing our access to the Gular's section. If our faces aren't already known, they'll know Samus is backing us. Study the berthing records long enough and they'll eventually put it together. Given my face is known on Tranquility, I can't help you in the forefront without potentially jeopardizing the mission. But I'm not a stranger to providing overwatch or recon. You might not trust me enough to help you. Your call.

Admittedly mine is an outsider's opinion; haven't seen a lot of Star Trek and I'm shaking the clubhouse tree. I've watched more movies from beginning to end than episodes: The Wrath of Khan, The Undiscovered Country, First Contact, and Star Trek (2009). I enjoyed The Undiscovered Country; won't say I didn't enjoy the rest, but I haven't gone out of my way to watch them again. Not that I haven't tried to watch the series; I just don't feel the draw. I've seen a bit of TNG; but, given I tend to turn it off when Picard starts in on the morality lesson, I haven't seen much. My experience with DS9 and VOY is limited to clips friends sent me. I use memory-alpha a lot to fill in the blanks while simming; before that it took me years to figure out who "Quark" was. I watched most of one TOS episode; was it Errand of Mercy? Thought it was an interesting exploration of Soviet and American interactions. I wouldn't mind seeing more like it, but I'm not interested in sifting through the space opera to find them. It wasn't an accident or unwanted side-effect that Humans writing aliens produced aliens with Human traits. Personally, I think that commentary on the Human condition was the whole point of Star Trek. In my opinion, emboddying Human traits in an alien form is meant to provoke self-reflection: "Geeze, why'd they do that? That was dumb. Do we do that?" But, like I said, I couldn't get into it when Picard took over. I couldn't relate. The rest looked like pure space opera. Liberation is why I came here and I'm enjoying it. Thank (or curse) a buddy of mine for how far I've come; it's his fault I'm in this genre..

Ironic how those allegories work. The aliens, who are supposed to be evolutionarily dissimilar, end up embodding and trapped inside our unwanted traits. Ferengi: greed; Romulans: paranoia; Klingons: aggression; Cardassians: deception with a smile; Bajorians: maladjustment; Vulcans: cold, hard ascetism. Maybe that's what it'll take to reach social enlightenment: forcing aliens to take on our unwanted faults. Honestly never been able to reconcile the Federation's imaginary economy.

And we've returned to the reason I didn't like the show: sermons they had no business making. Ever get tired of going in circles?

Ethan remained at the window for a few minutes after Joe left, a mixture of scrutiny and calculation on his face. He gave little warning when he finally turned his gaze on Pher and strode across the lounge. Taking a seat on the couch nearby, he leaned forward, hands clasped and forearms casually resting on his knees as he decidedly regarded her. "What can you tell me about Samus?" Pher snorted, considered briefly, looking at Ethan, wondering how to answer. "Well, he is the type who'd bug his own luxury suites, then invite in his best friendimies for a party." She laughed. Can't really give you a subtle read on him, not here. If he knew you had it, he'd play you false with it, anticipating. Twisty. Anyway, my angle on him is a girlie one. You wouldn't want to push the sort of buttons I push." She considered. "Still, he's a player. He's trying to be an alpha wolf, his own boss, calling his own shots, making and breaking his own deals, keeping his own secrets, playing loose with other's. He's young for it, but has gotten away with it so far. That implies he's more clever than most who've tried to get this far this fast. I'd rate him as more to the clever side than the brutal side. His pet the Duke plays the muscle and tries to take a bit of the blame, but they're lying in the same bed. He's set down roots, has a place of his own that he'd miss if he had to run. That's a strength and a weakness. You know where to find him. This implies he ought not to make enemies above a given size. He's playing a reputation game. The masseur was a nice touch. He'll pretend to be stronger, more secure than he really is to create leverage that might or might not be real." She shrugged. "But most of that would describe a lot of the nebula's alpha operators. Joe isn't all that much different. Joe's older, more contacts, more secrets, supposedly more savvy with age, but he plays by the same rules or lack thereof. When there are no agreed on and enforced rules defining how to play nice, the game isn't very nice." Ethan smiled subtly at her closing observation. "Little early for a definitive observation, but I'd say they both play by only one rule," he remarked evenly. "Self-preservation." "Nah," Pher replied. "If you're just interested in self-preservation, there are a lot safer career paths than Joe and Samus chose. They didn't become alpha-bulls by accident." "Self-interest," Ethan rephrased with a mildly conceding incline of his head; "a form of self-preservation. They're shrewd, daring; but only as far as their own interests. Taking risks doesn't change that their decisions are based upon principles of self-preservation; considering their interests before others’.” "Joe's apparently interested in getting paid, keeping his secrets, his crew," he said, briefly unclasping his hands to subtly gesture toward Pher and then the bugged room. "Samus is interested in using them to advance his agenda." Pher considered. “Well, you could interpret ‘self interest’ economically, and come up with something like the Ferengi perspective. You could declare self-interest to be logical, and pursue something vaguely Vulcan. You could stretch things and say honorable behavior puts you at the top of the heap, and the Klingon model could come into play… “But I’m Orion. It’s about sex. The best male provider gets the best breeding opportunities. Males in many species have to beat their chest and scramble their way to the peak of some metaphorical mountain. The prize they struggle for to declare themselves alpha might be honor, latinum, logic or whatever, but in a lot of cultures you have some path or another a guy has to prove himself by. “Look at Byblos. He was alpha. He led his own gang, and got it cut out from under him by the Guardians. Now he’s got to reinvent himself. It won’t be easy. Or Shane. I don’t know much about his past, but he has the swagger and the notion that he doesn’t need answer to nobody. Males are males. In abstract, they’ll acknowledge that military groups need rank structures to work effectively, that space ships have to have captains, that for every alpha there’s got to be a bunch of less than alphas making things work. Still, there’s the drive to be at the top, the desire to give orders and not have to accept them, a swagger and some pride. The galaxy doesn’t run on logic, but on ego and passion. “You might not want to agree with me, but I’m Orion, a New Risan. I’ve seen the galaxy from the bottom up, generally from the missionary position. I’ve seen a lot of male alpha types, the only ones that can afford New Risa, up close and personal. They are both more and a lot less than they think they are. “Anyway, if you think to understand Shamus, Joe, Byblos or Shane as logic machines optimized towards self-interest, you’re going to miss quite a lot.” “Thinking of them as fallible men inclined toward self-interest,” Ethan replied, brow slightly furrowed. “Passion, greed, ego: self-interest by any name.” He studied Pher for a moment. “Getting the impression this conversation’s gone circular. Why are you fascinated with alpha males? You obviously have a lot to say about the subject.” “I was Beach Queen at Evenstar Bay, or head life guard if you prefer the public euphemism,” Pher responded in a quiet tone somehow conveyed deep feelings. “Picture a beach full of alphas who paid a lot to get whatever they want, expect always to get what they want, and are used to throwing tantrums if they don’t get what they want. A lot of em felt that vacationing among alphas, they had to prove they were an alpha’s alpha. I was in charge of what they wanted, or were competing for -- Orions, Deltans, Elysians, projecting empaths -- most of whom come from cultures and gene pools where a very strong biological mechanism drives them to mate for life. Most of the ladies had to be biologically, mentally or psychologically crippled lest they damage the alphas, change their values, turning the alphas into something they didn't want to be. "A lot of the ladies had a deep down core belief that Prince Charming was at any moment going to sweep them off the beach to live happily ever after. That’s the way the world is supposed to be when you’re born to have a life mate, when all one’s ancestors back ever so many generations were bred for life mating. You can’t begin to understand the meaning of the word ‘disillusioned’. "I’d no authority over the alphas. Rule one was to keep the alphas happy. If they didn’t all end up happy, it was somehow my fault, or the girl’s.” She tried to meet Ethan’s eyes. “I found a good working understanding of passion, greed and ego kinda important." The last two words dripped irony. “Two alphas want the same girl?" Pher continued. "Seduce one of em. Try to make em both believe they ‘won’ the pissing contest. Some pervert trolling for a youngster who isn’t ready for the rough stuff? Spot him quick, look scared, and pretend you hate rough stuff. For a while I thought there was no problem on the whole wide beach that couldn’t be solved by lying on one's back. ‘Self interest?’ Sure, lying on my back was in my self interest. You can use the phrase if you’d like, but it doesn’t begin to get to the core of the matter.” Pher sighed again. “And if you’re wondering where we’re going circular, you might want to try stretching outside you own values and world view. Not everyone is self interested in the same things in the same way. A world view that reduces all the galaxy’s cultures and genetically driven emotional drives into ‘self interest’ becomes very shallow very fast if you don’t open up to… err… what was that phrase? ‘Infinite diversity in infinite positions’.” Ethan lost the hint of empathy he’d shown as she’d described her life on New Risa. "I haven’t disagreed with you; emotions, motives - people - are diverse and not all of them are self-serving or shallow,” he replied, ignoring that she'd not only misquoted a Vulcan ideal, but spun it into a double entendre. “I get that you're trying to advocate tolerance in the face of a critical opinion; but, right now, I'm more concerned about the result of those self-serving motives." No, Pher thought. He didn’t get it at all. Apparently his choice of a Vulcan disguise wasn’t idle. He seemed not to get the emotional aspects, or at least wasn’t in the least comfortable talking about them. She might have to try a different approach. Rubbing the lower portion if his face, Ethan considered her for another moment. "Ever had to protect someone?" he smoothly asked, evidently a step ahead with an appeal to sensibilities. “I’ve tried,” Pher replied. “Limited success.” She considered. “After the first Zoalus trip comes to mind, trying to protect my team. It was obvious that you knew more than you were saying, but you had your own hidden agenda and lied to my face.” Ethan quietly exhaled. “I chose not confide sensitive information to parties I can’t fully trust, and, given the threat had passed, you didn’t have an exigent need to know. I never intended for you to get involved. “I’m not surprised you’re upset that I won’t freely confide in you, and I don’t expect you to understand. The best I can do is try to help you appreciate my position,” he said, speaking lowly and calmly. He preferred to avoid monologuing, but it was his turn. “There are a lot of people relying on me, and as many or more that would like this mission to fail. I have contacts that would be in danger if their identities were discovered by the wrong people. I can’t risk being negligent with information. There isn’t a ‘logical’ formula for determining who you can trust by their charisma or skin color. I need tangible proof that your intentions are consistent with mine. “What I’ve witnessed on the Qob since Xorax is all I know: a hand-full of people that apply ethics and cooperate when it suits them. Instead of empowering your team, you threatened bodily harm to assert your authority; worked your own angles when you didn’t agree with a teammate. You don't make it easy to believe that you helped the Capricorn out of altruism. That I’m a bought captive and you’re blackmailing me with that vial, has only reinforced concerns that you're exactly the type of people I was trying to avoid. You haven’t given me a reason to trust you; I’ve cooperated this far because I don’t have a choice. “I’m not intentionally being difficult; securing your cooperation is essential if that vial is going to end up where it's needed. But the stakes are too high to forget discretion when I’m backed into a corner. Ethan quieted briefly and the gaze that had rested on Pher as he spoke became intently fixed. “If you were the one relying on me, I’d give up my life to protect you without hesitation. Don’t ask me to give them any less.” Pher considered briefly. “There’s a bunch of stuff there. First, you’re spot on about the Qob’s crew. That’s my problem. Joe hired a whole bunch of new people, and between who was available, who had the right skills and who was willing to hire on, we’ve got a bunch of individuals, not a crew. You aren’t my only headache. I could deal with you as an eccentric with an agenda much easier if I didn’t have a bunch of other eccentrics with agendas. “Seems to me there is more Vulcan in you than those artificial ears. You’re into logic more than emotion. I don’t know that you’ll be able to follow the next bit, or think it important. A crew needs time to jell. We aren’t near there yet. There’s got to be a lot of male bonding, and this takes time, pissing contests, argument and pushing to see how hard the other guy will push back. Maybe you’re into logic more than you’re into emotion, and don’t see how much you’re part of the same problem as the rest of us, how much you’re showing the same symptoms. For sure, what’s important to you isn’t this ship and the people on it. You’ve got your own priorities. You’re not alone. Welcome to the club. “One thing I’d like to get from you is good ideas. Bring em out in front of as many people as possible. Expect them to be evaluated and improved upon. In return, I’ll try to get em blessed and put into practice. I’m trying to change this bunch into a team that can act together. Right now, their own needs, like yours, are more important to them than being able to cooperate. That’s got to change if we’re going to become the sort of people you need. I can’t have, we can’t have, every individual running off on tangents doing their own thing without warning, discussion or apparent cause. This means you, but it isn’t just you. “Yes, you can say you’re mister secret agent man, mutter about need to know and keeping sources secure and there’s something to that, but if you want the crew pulling together in the same direction, I’ll need you to do what you can to suggest what direction we need to pull in and how hard to pull. If there is some need to know protect the sources sort of stuff that is real and still there, I’ll try to honor it, but I’d like you to avoid flaunting it. You may not think you’re involved in pissing contests, but can you try to avoid the appearance of pissing contests, holding your breath until you turn blue or get your own way, all the while radiating righteous virtue? “On a more specific level, we’ve got to get the goo to a lab. Your lab might be a good choice. I know of a few others. I understand you want an antiserum. Good idea. Might not be easy. I want an ODRI / tricorder program that can spot a goo head or goo, preferably in passive mode. That might happen sooner. I’d suggest both you and the Qob get the benefits of the lab work, we try to avoid pissing contests long enough to make that happen, and worry about getting you back to your people when you’ve got something to give em? You with me that far?” A few of the remarks she’d made had drawn a rise or furrow in Ethan’s brow, but he apparently decided to pass them over and focus on other points, dipping his head in a partial nod as his expression relaxed. “I follow you,” he answered. “The lab is the one direction I can point you. Thanks for understanding that I can’t tell you more; I honestly would’ve preferred not to reveal anything, much less gloat. “That said, I’ll need your help if you want me to stop posturing,” he continued, apparently disinterested in conceding that he was part of the problem. “Joe’s holding that vial for information I can’t give him and an ounce of honesty in my position is going to look like defiance. But you’re Joe’s new first mate: you could help him appreciate that I’m not representing or interested in ‘my’ needs. The less he asks for names, the less I need to remind you of my position, the less you’ll hear of fidelity and discretion.” With a telling pause, he straightened in his seat and concluded: “You’re right, the Qob isn’t my priority. Neither is my own life and, honestly, the Qob’s become an obstacle to the needs of those who are relying on and closest to me. But I think you’ll find I’m willing to play along - within reason - and serve the Qob as faithfully, provided we agree to get that vial to the lab.” “Joe is Joe,” Pher observed. “I’ll try to nudge him to stop asking about your friends, at least until the lab work is done. At that point we’ll have to ask questions about how the new toys might best be used. Can your friends stop the goo all by their lonely? Can you convince Joe they can without telling him a lot about your friends? If not, Joe will want to put his own plots in motion, which might or might not mesh well with what your friends will do. Think on that if you would. I might be able to give you until the lab work is done to come up with a scheme that’ll keep everyone happy. I’ll be thinking on it too. I’m hoping more of the male bonding thing might be worked out by then. It might also depend on how well the lab does its work. “If you want to keep quiet about your friends, anything more you can say about our enemies might be nice. If we run into them again, I’d like everyone to be as fully briefed as they might be. “And be useful. Help other folk, and let them help you. I’ve got the feeling that you’ve had more real security training a experience than I’ve had, the conventional sort of security anyway. At some point, without saying where you learned it, I’d like to hear what you can do. I’ve got some stuff to think through first, though. “Anything else you want to add?” “Mm. That your help is all I’ve been asking for and it won’t go unappreciated,” Ethan replied, revealing a mild pensiveness. “I honestly don’t think you need ‘my friends’ to do the right thing with the vial or the lab’s findings. “But,” he said, signalling with his index finger that there was an exception; “build my trust, demonstrate that you are more concerned about the welfare of others by getting that vial there, and I’ll tell you everything you need - or want - to know. Think we’d agree that withholding information is unnecessary once we’ve established a rapport; we won’t need to worry about our intentions clashing. At that point, we can work together to stop this threat or you can pursue your own solution. You’ll have as much claim to the lab’s findings, to use in any humanitarian effort as you see fit, no questions asked. “In the meantime, I’ll help you with whatever you need, you only have to ask. You want my resume; I’ll give it to you. You want information on my enemies; I’ll tell you what I know.” He leaned forward with his forearms on his legs, clasping his hands again. “So what can I tell you about the Motoroils and Rainmakers that you don’t already know?” Pher laughed. “Everything, of course, but not now. Joe’s about due back, and I’m expecting a new set of headaches. I’ll get back to you, though.”

::dead-pan:: I'm not a spy.

Mm, the point was that if Humans in Star Trek can rise above their innate natures, then why can't the other species do the same? What's stopping their behavioral evolution? That said, the fact that Klingons should act "Klingon" is an odd observation to me, given that Humans write these stories and Klingons are a personification of certain warrior and/or aggressive examples in Human society. In TOS, Klingons were an allegory for the Soviets. I've heard TNG Klingons referred to as 'samurai in space'. So, if anything, they do act just like us, and the hypocracy comes into play when they aren't allowed to act beyond their genes like the starring species.

Give you that. There are a few props I'd like to forget. Transporters and replicators make things too conveinent and source too many contrived plot devices. They sap away the precariousness, the impression that these people are living in a reality that takes time and effort to navigate. I could be wrong, but from what I've read, it seems to me that human errancy was still kicking in TOS. In spite of the tolerant society they'd built, they were flawed. Humans hated the Klingons, the Klingons hated Humans. They learned to work around their prejudices, but they did it the hard way and had to relearn how every time. It wasn't until after sustained hostilities that they finally realized they could get along indefinitely. Call me unsophisticated, but I prefer stories where the characters are flawed, decisions are fumbled and the result is never tidy. Sometimes the characters learn and grow; the majority of the time they almost take a step forward and then fail miserably. The few episodes following that pattern I might enjoy if I stopped to watch them. The rest, no offense, sound just like space opera. Of the clips I've seen, TNG seemed to add a sermon on top of that space opera. Humans weren't flawed anymore; the obstacles were external. It was everyone else that had the problem and Picard was always there to lecture misbehaving aliens into repentance between splices of melodrama. Suddenly it wasn't just transporters that required suspension of disbelief. Don't get me wrong; I like the idea of an evolved society. But if you eliminate too many of the internal flaws, I can't relate to the characters. Add to that an apparent hypocracy. I seem to remember a trekkie mentioning that a Klingon can't help but act the way they do because they're Klingon. That sort of stereotyping's a little out of place for a society that has evolved to the point they can confidently preach to other societies. Just couldn't get into it, but maybe Roddenberry's idealism wasn't for me.

Honestly, it wasn't the Star Trek franchise per se that brought me here. I came because it offered nice settings and props, while giving me the room to ignore the character of Star Trek. Isn't a mystery that my first choice was the Qob.

Joe looked across the mess hall table at Ethan Neufeld, now stripped of any Vulcan prosthetics and, Joe hoped, false pretense. The others in the mess hall watched as well, and Joe had no intention of sending them away. Everyone at the table had been included on the team that was sent to the tunnels underneath Zoalus IV to rescue Neufeld. They'd risked their lives for him and, though Joe would be the one to press the issue, they were the ones who had a right to know. Joe had not put himself in the path of mad defense robots and infectious (possibly sentient) tar; he had simply been the target of Neufeld's deceptions and his use of Qob's crew to get what he wanted. To him, Neufeld's actions were merely insulting and his identity presented dangers to Qob that were still undetermined. So he would make a show of being insulted and protective of his ship while extracting the explanation that his crew deserved. He hoped that his initial instincts were correct -- that he had put his crew in harm's way for good reasons. His instincts about people had been failing him more often than not recently. "Why don't we start with the black goo," Joe said. "We've got a vial of it sitting in the science lab, and everyone's been a little worried about it spreading. Tell me everything you know about it." “I already told you everything I know,” Ethan replied honestly; “but if it wasn’t clear before: The ‘goo’ is a colony of microorganisms; some kind of parasitic creatures capable of possessing humanoid hosts. They’re colloquially referred to as ‘Motoroils’.” Clasping his hands over the tabletop, he minimally gestured as he spoke. “They assert that instigating hostilities, anarchy among humanoid species is their entire reason for being. They favor domestic terrorism, but they’ve also claimed responsibility for plagues on several backwater colonies that have cost countless lives.” He glanced at his clasped hands, adding: “I was lucky;” and then paused for a moment before lifting his gaze. “We’ve tried negotiating without success; those they can’t control, they kill. They’ve either aligned themselves with the Rainmakers or they’re behind the radical shift in that group’s methods. They act as one entity in the same room or light-years apart, but there's no evidence that they're telepathic. There are speculations that their raison d’etre is genetically inherited, but no one knows their origin or how to stop them.” Continuing, Ethan’s gestures became more defined, directed largely toward Joe. “I infiltrated a cell in the Rainmakers and went to a lot of trouble to get this far. Right now, my intention, my job is to take that vial,” he said pointing vaguely; “to a lab that’s prepared to study these things in detail within a controlled environment, and explore the possibility of a lifesaving anti-serum. But until I get that vial to its destination, that’s all this is: speculation and good intentions. “The longer you keep me here, the higher the body count.” "Assuming all of this is true,” Joe questioned, “why all the secrecy? Why disappear as a Vulcan on Xorax colony? I assume it has something to do with the wanted posters on Tranquility, the ones with your face on them?" “You know as well as I do,” Ethan replied coolly, alluding to earlier comments regarding a certain ‘Duke’. “You’re going to make some friends and some enemies in this line of work. “I’ve made a few enemies on this contract,” he admitted. “I was on Xorax because my leads were pointing toward Zoalus. But I didn’t have the resources to get there and my face was known, so I posed as a Vulcan academic. The secrecy was necessary to protect my clients, and keep sensitive information and high value targets from falling into the wrong hands. I can’t do my job, if everyone knows who I am and what I’m doing.” "By arrangement with your old bosses on Xorax colony,” Joe said, “I've secured your services. Putting it more bluntly, I bought you -- part of the payment for turning over the prisoners and our Zoalus data. You're on my crew now ... for the time being, while I decide what to do with you.” At this revelation, a faint tap rose from the table where Ethan’s hands settled on the book he’d laid there. Leaning back heavily into his seat, he let his hands fall into his lap from the tabletop as he briefly inclined his head and sighed, evidently displeased with the idea. Joe continued, unabated: “Of course, if there are other people you answer to, I need to know about it. I know Xorax colony didn't hire you to investigate the goo, and you can't be independent. So who hired you?" Ethan stared stonily at the Qob’s Captain. “Donno where to start with that one,” he remarked frankly and considered his position. Shifting in his seat, he licked his lips and settled, answering in a decisive, dispassionate tone. “I’ll keep it simple. You can’t buy my loyalty. I’m not ungrateful, but I didn’t ask to be rescued; you should’ve left me behind. “I don’t answer to anyone. I take on contracts when I want; handle them how I want. No one paid me to come here; I came because it was the right thing to do. “I can’t give you my contacts. I’m a professional and value discretion. I don’t hand out names to the first person that asks. I’m certain you wouldn’t freely give up your crew if you were in my position, and I’d trust you less if you did. So until my contacts are your contacts, you won’t know who my contacts are. "Now, I realize how this looks to you and the last thing you’ll want to do is take me for my word. But you can’t possibly imagine what’s at stake. “I’ve told you about the Motoroils to protect your crew, and banking that you’ll do the right thing,” he concluded, relaxing in his seated position. “Or you're planning to sell it to the first bidder for a paycheck. But if you’re interested in helping me get that vial where it needs to go, then let’s talk business.” Joe shook his head. "I ain't gonna do business blind. Not knowin' who your friends are and who your enemies are. And believe me, I can imagine quite a bit. "I can imagine you're blowin' this whole threat out of proportion. That you were sent here by the Federation to collect this stuff to develop into a bioweapon, that the best thing we could do to save lives is smash that vial right now. Hell, you certainly seem like the Federation type. Or I can imagine that you're the Rainmaker and those zombies we blasted a crater around know you because they've had bad run-ins with you. The Rainmakers I've known seemed more like consummate liars with a scheme for every occasion than the types to let some living sludge take over their bodies. I can imagine all this because you ain't givin' me enough to go on. "Bottom line's this, Ethan. That vial ain't goin' anywhere. Not until I know more about what's at stake here. Who's involved in this and how. I'll warn you right now -- I'll follow up on this by my own means if I need to. I'll tap into my sources around the Hyades cluster, ask about the vial, ask about you. I think you can imagine how messy this can get if I ask one of the wrong people because I don't know who your enemies are and who your friends are." Joe stood up and looked down at Ethan. "We're on our way to Andus station, and it's gonna take a few days. I encourage you to take the time to think things over. If you want to meet me in private to give me some names or at least some idea of who's involved, just call on me. If this threat is as big as you claim, I'm sure you can justify sharing something with me ... and as we're holdin' all the cards in the form of that vial of yours, you've got no choice but to work with us. Like it or not, Ethan, that's how I do business."

“Keep it for me,” Ethan calmly interrupted, returning the envelope unopened; “until I get back.” “Yeah, sure,” Remington promised in obvious bewilderment and wishing Ethan had divulged more, but unwilling to question his closest friend. “Thanks.” A hint of reassurance showed in Ethan’s expression, but that hardly satisfied Remington. “So what’s next?” the carrot-topped ‘kid’ piped up. “Xorax?” “Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid,” Remington said, sipping his Pepsi. “Can’t go walkin’ in there lookin’ like Joe Human. He’s gotta change who he is and drop off the radar; get a fresh start without any heat.” “Why not send somebody else?” “Don’t got that kinda time. Nobody knows this case like Ethan.” “Yeah, but they’re looking for him--” “What’re you paranoid for, kid?” Remington interjected, between savoring his Pepsi. “Risk is part of the game.” “No--” the younger man hesitated; “I mean, yeah, but--” “Kid, there’s discretion and there’s paranoia,” Remington interrupted again. “Can’t hide under your pillow all the time. Don’t take the initiative ‘cause you’re too paranoid and you’ll get nothin’. Clean your own fish and you’ll be a man with sushi.” The younger man blankly stared at Remington, obviously uncertain how to respond, and the latter flashed a grin and twitched his brow before guzzling the last of his drink. Ethan reciprocated with a smirk, shook his head and casually retreated to the exit, as Remington engaged the young man in more of his unique smalltalk, knowing he wouldn't see Ethan again for some time. “Listen, Ethan,” Remington called as Ethan neared the door, waving the envelope. “You are gonna explain this when you get back, right?” Opening the door, Ethan smiled and faintly inclined his head. “I might,” he said and then slipped through the doorway, the lock clicking behind him. Remington could only throw smirk at the closed door, displeased by the mysterious sender of the envelope he held and frustrated with Ethan for his unexplained part in it. *** Ethan didn’t like what the Crewman had told him, but being a ‘bad date’ wasn’t illegal. Contemporary society wouldn’t censure him; the modern service wouldn’t discipline him. A few remarks on social tact might drift around, but the days of really frowning on swingers had gone out with gender stereotypes and the so-called ‘traditional’ marriage. Still, what he had heard left a bad aftertaste in Ethan’s mouth and, as he saw it, there was only one solution. He’d have to step in and clean up after his teammate. Wearing a blank frown, he left a buddy and unfinished drink at the bar and weaved through the crowd of guests, eyes on the spot where the Crewman had last seen her sitting, gloomily nursing a drink. He’d already resolved to offer her a ride home before talking to her, secretly wanting an excuse to leave and presuming she wouldn't desire to stay after her escort disappeared. He wasn’t looking forward to doing the dirty work; it wouldn't end well. Hearing from a stranger that her date had walked out on her and receiving a polite but implied invitation to leave: that couldn't end but badly. It just had to be done before someone embarrassed the Admiral at his party. But as Ethan parted the wall of people that surrounded her table, he found it empty. “Chief?” Ethan turned to address the twenty-something young woman and couldn’t help the hint of a surprised smile. Pleasingly statuesque in her evening dress, she fixed him with intense, mesmerizing blue eyes and brushed a length of loose, raven hair from her fair cheek. “Ma’am?” “Chief,” she said, showing a modest smile. “Would you be interested in a dance?” Ethan felt his smile grow in mild disbelief at his poor luck. “I would,” he answered honestly, “but I’m looking for someone.” “Oh.” Her gaze lowered and Ethan felt a sudden empathetic drop in his chest, but she preempted the few apologies he couldn’t think of with a bright smile. “Maybe I could help?” “Uh, sure," he said, brow rising in surprise at how quickly she’d spun disappointment into a useful positive. "I think her name is Nava; dark hair, wearing a -- uh -- heh.” He faded into a subtle chuckle as the realization hit and he watched her face fill with confusion, shapely eyebrows knitting. “You’re looking for me?” “Yes,” he affirmed, unable to bite back the incredulously amused smile he wore. “Why?” In a brief silence, he considered the answer and then gestured toward the floor. “You still interested in that dance?” He watched her gaze narrow on him and, for a moment, he thought he’d alarmed her and saw the bridge burning. Then, lowering her eyes and briefly masking that enthralling blue with dark lashes, she fixed him with another smile. “I am.”

Activity at the old chancellery had diminished with the greater part of his people away on business, leaving Samuel Remington to enjoy a bit of coveted solitude. Lounging on a taupe sectional with an unconscious smile, he turned the pages of a worn book as a fire snapped lazily in the central fireplace. Remington - a salt-and-peppered, middle-aged man with a slight paunch - bore less the look of a businessman and more a retiree that lived for alcohol and beaches of women, but he wasn’t lounging in a Florida resort. Comfortable furnishings starkly contrasted with the exposed ferroconcrete, harsh lighting, and security of the sub-level rooms that bore testament to a skilled businessman and tactician. Remington and his business partner had recognized the building’s potential as a hardened facility - keeping people out and secrets in - and purchased it for its inherent security at a bargain from the departing embassy’s government. Renovated to strengthen its choke-points, the main floor was still open to the public and retained its original class and comfort, notably in the lobby where clientele formed their initial opinions of his business. But the sub-level that once housed paper copies of sensitive files, servers, an armory, vault, and safe rooms for the embassy, had become a secured center of operations and where Remington spent much of his time. Appearing engrossed, Remington immediately looked up to the sound of footsteps. He set aside his book, standing as his young protege approached and paused at the edge of the carpeted conversation pit. The air felt portentous. “Blind transmission from Rodney Venczel on Xorax,” the younger man said, sullen as he extended a data slate to Remington. “High casualties on the Zoalus Expedition. Neufeld is listed critical.” “What happened?” “Our source says he was contaminated with some of the substance we were investigating, in addition to other injuries.” “Where is he at?” “On a mercenary ship called the Qob. They refused to transfer him to Xorax due to his condition.” “Is the Qob still at Xorax? Do we know where they’re going?” “We don’t know.” “What d'you mean we don’t know? That’s what we do: we know things,” Remington demanded. His mind turned to the slate of legal documents he’d left on his desk; he didn’t want to look at them now. He didn’t want to even think about the ramifications. *** Fingers resting lightly on the thick, alloy frame, Ethan pushed the door closed, the lock engaging with an audible click. He appeared relaxed, but couldn’t help second nature and made a subtle, visual sweep of the interior, again, in spite of his familiarity with the building and its security. He navigated several clear partitions set at the entrance to hamper the progress of unwanted entries, and moved left to meet Remington and a carrot-topped young man. “Hey, Neufchatel,” greeted the young man as he neared. “Neufchatel?” Ethan dryly questioned, brow rising. “Careful who you’re callin’ the cheese, kid,” Remington quipped with a smile. “Sorry, boss,” the young man nervously apologized, unfamiliar with Remington’s humor. Ethan subtly smirked and gestured at the data slate the younger man was holding. “Intel?” “Yeah, latest on the Rainmakers.” The young man relaxed, handed over the slate and perched to follow along as Ethan skimmed the contents. Remington casually sipped from a bottle of imported Pepsi. Finishing in a few seconds, Ethan fixed the young man with a look. “You forward this to the Guardians?” “Yeah, but they’re asking about the client again; they want to know where we’re getting our information.” “Tell them the same thing as before,” Ethan answered. Remington gestured in agreement. “I was just telling him that myself,” he said, waving his Pepsi bottle. “She’s in a bad position, kid. The Guardians have shoddy security and we don’t wanna risk leading the bad guys back to her.” “Already told them,” the young man assured with pride and looked at Ethan. “But she’s been asking about you, too, so I guess we’re still holding out on the client?” “It’s for her safety, kid,” explained Remington. “Plausible deniability and all that jazz." "Right," the young man accepted. Ethan nodded and passed the slate back to the young man; then produced another and handed it to Remington. “Updated legal documents.” Remington groaned and lowered the Pepsi to his side, frowning at the slate. “Well, I was having a good day.” “Can’t be helped.” “Yeah, but you know me and legal stuff, Neufie. We don’t get along, especially when it’s about people dyin’,” Remington complained and stuffed the slate into a pocket. “I’ll read this crap later. “Hey,” he added. “I’ve got something for you, too.” He pulled a white, paper envelope from his pocket. “What’s this?” Ethan asked, genuinely surprised. “Came by courier this morning. Can you imagine? Using a courier to send a letter in this day and age? Must’ve cost a small fortune. Dunno how she knew you were here,” Remington said, trailing off in the hopes that Ethan would explicate. Ethan didn’t immediately respond, eyes fixed on the sender’s return address for a heavy moment. Unable to bear the silence, Remington continued: “Don’t worry; we scanned it for threats earlier. Though with a name like that, I can’t imagine why she’d want to write you, much less kill you, unless--” “Keep it for me,” Ethan calmly interrupted, returning the envelope unopened; “until I get back.” “Yeah, sure,” Remington promised in obvious bewilderment and wishing Ethan had divulged more, but unwilling to question his closest friend.

Soora stood at Ethan’s bed, her eyes on the monitors. Her eyes followed the small changes, which seemed to be an improvement, but she didn’t think that the changes were enough to warrant calling for anybody else. It was just her in the Sick Bay for now, and that was how she liked it. It was quiet, she could do her work, and afterwards, catch up on her reading. She looked down at him then, a thousand thoughts pushing through her mind. Thoughts about that meeting. She had put too much of herself into keeping him alive to want him used, or killed. No, she couldn’t have that. It wasn’t right, and she hoped the others thought so as well. She brushed the hair back from his forehead softly. There was no real point in it, now, but she did it anyway. His fever had broken a while ago, and his wounds genuinely seemed better. That manual suture had worked. She didn’t know the last time she had manually done stitches. What, back in Academy? She shook her head softly to herself, appalled by her thoughts, and brushed his hair back again before returning to her desk. She still had that report to finish. “Chief?” Ethan turned to address the twenty-something young woman and couldn’t help the hint of a surprised smile. Pleasingly statuesque in her evening dress, she studied him with intense, mesmerizing blue eyes as she brushed a length of raven hair from her fair cheek. “Ma’am...?” Ethan stirred gradually, a muted, unintelligible groan rising from him as he languidly turned his head toward a presence in the room. Soora, sitting at her desk, looked up, her PADD going crazy. She stood quickly, coming over to Ethan's cot. She looked up at the monitors, then brushed his hair back from his forehead, saying his name quietly. Was he waking up? She looked up as Chris walked in, saying nothing, sure to keep her face straight. Chris stepped into sickbay after his talk and the request from Joe for him to go back to Medical. He stepped in the doors and looked around to see who was on duty. Chris saw Soora standing over by Ethan and slowly made his way over to them. He looked up at the monitors and down to Ethan and then back to Soora. He said in a soft whisper, "He looks as if he’s improving somewhat?" 'It would seem so,' she said, also in a whisper. She kept her eyes on Ethan, looking for other signs. Ethan didn’t disappoint. The sound of voices and his situational awareness progressively clearer with each second, he opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against a burning sensation as he blankly focused on Soora. He then drew his gaze through his surroundings, pausing briefly on Chris before returning to the Vulcan doctor, and a hint of confusion showed on his face. Chris looked back up to her. "How long has he been in this state? Semi-consciousness..." 'Just a minute.' She pointed to where her PADD sat on the desk vaguely. 'Ethan?' She said then, again, seeing his eyes on her. "What's going on?" Ethan rasped at a whisper, his throat dry. "Where...?" 'Don't strain yourself,' she said then. 'You're on Qob.' Chris looked down seeing Ethan’s eyes open and looking at Soora. "Well, look who decided to wake up. Take it easy, Ethan." Uncertain of his situation, of their intentions or what had occurred since the Capricorn, Ethan warily glanced between Chris and Soora. His gaze always betrayed a sense of steady contemplation, but it briefly grew more profound and rapid; the precise thought-pattern of which remained unclear and open to varied interpretations, lost in the resignation that soon overcame his expression. "Water?" he civilly requested. "I’ll get it," Chris said, moving away. Soora looked over at Chris then back down to Ethan. 'How you feeling?' “Like hell,” he answered, smiling subtly. Her face softened. 'I bet. You were in pretty bad shape there. Was an exercise, patching you up.' Chris moved off allowing Soora to speak to her patient. It was best not to interrupt the bond a doctor had with their patient and it mostly occurred when the patient awakened after being unconscious. Chris went and filled a glass with water and then took it back to the two, handing it to Soora for her to give to her patient. "Here you go, Doctor." Soora took the glass. 'Feel ready to sit up a little?' she asked Ethan, tapping the glass with a finger. “Yeah.” Chris helped Ethan slide a bit to sit up. "Just don't go doing anything too fast Ethan." 'Good,' she said, nodding to Chris before handing the glass to Ethan. Grimacing from the strain to his injured core as he sat up, Ethan gratefully took the glass. It was a practice in patience, calmly sipping rather than guzzling the drink. "Thanks," he said, still vocally hoarse as he handed the cup back, unfinished. "What happened? Last thing I remember was the Capricorn.” Chris didn’t speak. But watched Soora's interaction with her patient. Soora retrieved another pillow to set up behind him, to relieve some of the pressure. 'We transferred you over here while you were still comatose,' she said, softly. 'What all do you remember?' Ethan facially expressed his gratitude as he relaxed against the pillow and reflected. "Just about all of it up until the Capricorn," he soberly answered after a moment. Soora made a small noise in the back of her throat. 'Well, then, you remember your infected wounds, and how you got them,' she said quietly. 'We did the best we could, considering, and they're looking considerably improved.' She paused. 'An interesting substance, that.' His brow furrowing, Ethan regarded Soora before he replied simply: "Motoroils." She stared at him. 'I think my translator just glitched. Did you say motor oil?' Chris looked up at the monitors again double checking his vitals. "I thought I heard the same thing." She glanced at Chris briefly before looking back at Ethan. Ethan faintly smiled at their confusion. "It’s what some call the 'substance': Motoroils." 'Quite misleading,' she said. 'Anything else you can tell me about it?' Chris listened while watching the monitors. With Ethan just awaking, he wanted to make sure the man didn't over do it and would try to intercede before he did so. Ethan pensively exhaled and shifted his gaze. "I know they're capable of possessing humanoid hosts and they've got an agenda, but beyond that -- I donno. That's why I came here: to take a sample back." "Oh we have a sample alright but the way you acquired it I wouldn’t recommend again.” Ethan faintly smirked at Chris’s remark, appearing to agree with the assessment, but making no effort to reply. Soora sent a look to Chris before clearing her throat a little. 'It wasn't worth the risk. But Science is looking into it. Why would you put yourself in harm's way for it?' She had a thousand questions, but she didn't want to push him too far, not in his condition. Ethan fixedly stared at her, ostensibly resolved in the decision he’d made. "If I didn't, who would?" 'We had our team there. I think one of them was working on it right before we left.' "Wasn’t going to ask you to do my job,” Ethan firmly replied. “Didn’t want you involved for practical reasons. I don't know you--" Chris quickly turned to Ethan. "Ethan? Do you remember me?" He glanced between Ethan and Soora. Cut off, the question perplexed Ethan at first. "Not what I meant," he said. "I never worked with you before. I couldn’t--can't,” he corrected; “trust you and couldn’t trust this with just anyone." Soora took in a deep breath, looking at Chris. 'His mistrust is logical.' “I don’t understand, unless he suffering from memory loss also?" Soora shook her head. 'I don't know.' "How do you feel his mistrust is logical?" Chris said as he stepped away from Ethan and towards the drug cabinet. 'He finds himself in a strange place, unsure how he got here.' She turned to see what he was doing. 'Its also logical to suggest his memory isn't fully returned yet. We shall see what the next few you're, or days, bring.' "I know how I got here," Ethan remarked evenly and plainly; unperturbed but taking in the conversation with an apparent, mild disbelief. "My memory’s fine, I just don’t trust you. Never did. That we’re on same payroll wasn't going to change that." Soora raised her eyebrows, turning back to him. 'Alright, just don't strain yourself,' she said calmly. Chris hearing Ethan turned back to face the patient, now altering his plan of action. He walked back over to the man sitting up on the biobed. "I'm the First Mate and you do not trust me?” "Look," Ethan answered calmly. "No offense, but I'm not a member of your crew and didn't know you before this expedition.” He paused before adding: “Still don't know you.” 'I just need to know for your infection. That's why I was asking,' Soora said, her eyes on the monitors. The remark drew only a passing glance from Ethan. Chris looked at Ethan and shook his head. "If you cant trust the first mate and or your doctor whom can you trust?" "No one here," Ethan answered honestly. "But, at the moment, it looks like I don't have a choice." 'Not really,' she said, bemused. "Well that's a start. You have to start trusting someone, why not let that be your doctor here." Chris says nodding towards Soora. 'If I had wanted to harm you, I could have, or just not treated you,' she said, nodding. 'And for right now, all I want is for you to recover.' Ethan gave Soora a grim smile and then turned his attention to Chris. "What are you planning to do with me?" "At the moment getting you well is our main priority, but that can only be done with your help. We need your cooperation for that." "You've got it," Ethan replied. "Thank you." Chris said in a odd tone. "Now can you please answer the Doctors question?" With that same look of profound and rapid contemplation as before, Ethan stared at Chris for nearly a full minute. "You're familiar with the Rainmakers?" Chris nodded slightly. "I am." He then looked to Soora hoping she had the rest of her questions ready for him and then looked back to Ethan. "Then you know what they're capable of,” Ethan concluded. Soora looked at Chris, raising an eyebrow. She then looked back to Ethan. 'What do they have to do with Motoroils?' Chris just nodded allowing Soora’s questions to take over. Ethan inhaled, steeling himself to do what he had intended never to do and wondering if he had much time left. It wasn’t out of trust that he confided in them -- they hadn’t received his full explanation, didn’t fully understand why he was reluctant to share his burden, and his dissatisfaction with the situation was apparent. But, now that they were involved, he couldn't leave them blindly stumbling around in the dark, waiting for his failure to turn into an unmitigated disaster. "A cult surfaced within the Rainmakers around the time they began terrorist operations. That cult was created by the Motoroils." 'Interesting,' she said quietly. 'What did they do?' Chris listened hoping that the doctors questioning got the answers he needed as well. Ethan’s brow rose and he tipped his head. "Other than possessing new cultists against their will and causing the occasional plague on a backwater colony? They carry out a majority of the Rainmaker’s terrorists attacks." 'So... They use this motor oil to infect those they want in their group?' She shook her head in slight disbelief. 'What were you doing down there?' Ethan sighed at the repeated question, but not out of irritation with Soora or Chris. "Taking samples. We were going to use it to make an anti-serum." 'We?' "The client that hired my team to infiltrate the Rainmakers and the lab that's going to formulate the anti-serum," he answered with finality, clearly unwilling to break client confidentiality or reveal much more. Soora shook her head. 'Right.' She glanced at Chris. "Continue," Chris said in a softer and not so challenging tone. 'Did you find anything out before...' she trailed off and Ethan waited patiently for her to finish. She raised her eyebrows. 'Before you were captured?' Ethan furrowed his brow at the broad question. "Like what?" "For the anti-serum?" 'Anything that could help us in helping you recover, or anything we need to relay to ... Whomever,” Soora added. Ethan shook his head, answering: “No.” Fielding questions after a week-long sleep and feeling vocally exhausted, he coughed and his brow furrowed at the pain it caused. "Look, you mind if we pause the interrogation?" he asked, sitting up from the pillow. Soora nodded. 'Something we can get for you?' "Pants might be a start,” he said, pulling medical equipment from his body. Soora bit back a smile, glancing at Chris. 'Sure thing.' She bent down to under his cot, where his things were stored, pulling his clothes back up. 'Had them washed and sanitized.' Chris placed his hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Look, Ethan, we are here to help you. This is not an interrogation. We are only trying to find out more about this substance to be able to help you." Chris looked to Soora. "I'm sorry but I think Doctor Soora and I are going to have to ask you not to try leaving just yet. You can get dressed if you like but please do not leave." Ethan mildly grimaced at the weight of Chris's hand as his core fought to stay upright. "Understood," he answered and then nodded to Soora; "Thanks." He took what remained of his clothing from her: essentials, socks and utilities. Apparently, his shirt hadn't made it. Setting the rest aside, he rotated his feet over the edge of the cot and began to pull on his trousers. “Think I just need to stretch,” he added. "Are you sure you’re up to it?" Chris said in a nice bedside manor, his doctrine showing through. Soora nodded, stepping back, picking back up her PADD, sending a note to Pher, as promised. She kept on glancing up at Ethan, afraid he was still too unstable for such a task. 'If he thinks he is, leave him be, Chris.' "Guess we'll find out," Ethan answered and deftly slipped on his trousers as he guardedly stood from the bed and secured them. He tentatively stepped forward, but the transition from laying to standing took its toll, blood pressure plummeting as he watched a black haze overcome his vision. He leaned back into the bed for support, waiting for it to pass. Chris watched as he stood having a feeling he wasn't ready. As Ethan leaned against the bed Chris took a hold of his arm to help steady him. "I'm betting the world is spinning for you. Maybe you should just sit a spell and try again later?" 'Chris,' Soora said, setting down her PADD, the note sent. 'He'll be fine. Let him go. Two doctors are more than enough to keep him in one piece.' "I'm okay," Ethan insisted and straightened. "Just a dizzy spell." Soora made a small noise of approval, hand on Chris's shoulder. 'If we want his trust, we also have to put our trust in him.' Chris let go of the man’s arm. "I'm just trying to keep him from falling over. He stood too quickly throwing off his equilibrium. I knew it was coming, and I didn't want him to fall face first on the floor. Ethan sit down for a moment. We will get something to help with your balance. Soora I need to speak to you for a moment, please follow me." Chris motioned for her to follow him to the drug cabinet. Soora took in a deep breath and followed him. Smirking at the fuss, Ethan obediently sat on the bed and watched the doctors move away. Chris moved to the drug cabinet and pulled out the vial that Ethan would need to help him retain his balance. "Two things." He then started drawing up the medication into a hypo. Soora narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Behind them Ethan coughed again and cast his eyes about looking for his unfinished cup of water. "Soora it has nothing to do with your medical skills nor your treatment of Ethan and Alex. Your doing fine." Chris handed her the hypo, replacing that vial and reaching for another. "Soora, I’ve been moved back to medical from First mate. I'm not sure how long this will last but..." Chris heared Ethan… "The other can wait a few, lets go tend to Ethan." Soora took the hypo, her stomach doing that uneasy flip again. She didn't like it. She walked back over to Ethan, not waiting for Chris. Chris pulled another vial out of the cabinet and placed it in his pocket then followed Soora over to her patient. Ethan couldn’t bite back another cough as Soora and Chris returned and instinctively held his abdomen through the short bout. A simple cough was hardly an exigent circumstance, but with his head and shoulders still bowed from the painful effort, he quietly hissed in protest at what he saw coating left hand -- blood from a wound that had been sutured a week ago. How...? Soora almost dropped the hypo as she saw his blood on his fingers. 'Lay down,' she said in a quiet voice. Clearly bewildered, Ethan looked up at the sound of her voice and stared for a moment; then nodded and laid down. She looked back at him. 'Bend your knees. It will take the pressure off.' Ethan pulled his knees up without considering it. "What's going on?" His voice was surprisingly calm, but he couldn’t hide his unease. As Chris approached he saw Ethan laying down and blood on his hand. "Dear lord, Soora, what happened?" Chris grabbed a tricorder and handed it to Soora. She touched his wound with light fingers. 'Wound opened back up. Best to keep pressure off of it.' She took the tricorder and scanned quickly, but it was nothing she didn't already expect. She set it back down, and reached for some gauze to stem the bleeding. Light touch or not, Ethan had to close his eyes and grunted faintly while reflexively drawing his abdomen away from her hand. That provoked another cough and he swallowed, shocked by the sudden tightness in his chest. "Soora,” he struggled, wheezing; “can't breathe..." 'O2,' she said to Chris, grimacing as she rolled Ethan over to his side. He left a sizable, bloody mark on the bed. "DAMN," Chris said grabbing for the O2 unit. "This isn't what I was expecting. We are going to need to reset IV Units if hes bleeding this badly." The wheezing progressed, interspersed with ineffective coughing, Ethan’s intercostal muscles and diaphragm visibly straining just to breathe. He knew this wasn’t Soora’s or Chris’s fault; the Motoroils had been toying with him, giving him a final conscious moment so they could terrorize him by tearing it away. If only he could assure the doctors, but he fell limp and unresponsive within seconds. 'Stop wasting oxygen and put the damn mask on him,' Soora said, stemming the blood flow as best she could. Chris placed the O2 mask over Ethan’s mouth and nose as he went limp. He then placed his hands over hers and the gauze. “Go scrub up, you’re going to have to go back in to find that bleeder. I’ll hold it off until you return." 'Check his airway, make sure--' The shaking hit before Soora could leave: Ethan was seizing. Soora frowned, looking at Chris, just trying to keep Ethan on the bed. Chris placed his arms across the seizing man to keep him from jumping off the bed. "Get the Drazimine! I’ll hold him down!" Soora pulled her hands from his, rushing to the drug cabinet, eyes searching, before taking the vial and the hypo, returning to Chris and Ethan, and injecting it in to him. She then took in a deep breath, going to the sink. Chris held Ethan until his body stopped jumping. He then took the IV units and began hooking them up to Ethan once more. He took the vial than she had brought over and drew some of it and placed it into the IV unit to keep him from seizing during the surgery. He then checked the vitals which were not good at all. Soora scrubbed the blood from her hands, then strapped on a set of gloves, coming back over to Chris. 'At least he stopped seizing.' She went to the other side of the cot, applying pressure to the open wound. Chris continued to watch the man’s vitals. "I placed some of the Drazimine in the IV to keep him sedated and to keep him from seizing again while you worked on him. I'm keeping his vitals up. Do what you need to to get that bleeding to stop. An autosuture isn't going to do it. "Also you and I will need to talk once this crisis is over with. Patient to Doctor." Chris looked over to Soora face to see what kind of expression she would have. 'Didn't before and won't now,' she said, her face back to its smooth self. 'Have to do a manual stitch,' she muttered, doing a quick check under the gauze. She glanced up at him, surprised at his words, genuinely thinking he had forgotten about her, but fought to keep her face calm. 'Alright.' She left the cot for a minute to retrieve the needle and thread. Chris replaced his hands on the gauze reapplying the pressure. He called out to her as she walked away. "Is the black goo attacking his organs? Is that why the sutures from before are not holding?" 'Maybe,' she said, shrugging, returning and setting up to stitch him up again. 'Sooner we hear from Troy, the better.' "Agreed." He continued to monitor Ethan’s vitals while Soora worked.

Heh. Can think of more practical things on which to spend $156,000, Trek fan or not.

“Something freaky’s going on with Selek." "Alex's Vulcan friend?" "Yeah, he’s one of the patients we just transferred from the Capricorn.” “Freaky like what?” “You hear about that black goo?” “You mean the stuff that turned a bunch of people on the planet into zombies?” “Yeah. That.” “What about it?” “He’s infected with that stuff; parasites or something. I saw it...” The aide -- outfitted in a bio-suit of sorts per short warnings about possible contagions -- had met Soora and the patient, ‘Selek’, at the Capricorn’s sickbay, ready with O-neg human blood products for transfusion and medical equipment from the Verbistul. They quickly transferred the patient from the stretcher to one of the old bio-beds, prepped and sterilized by the aide. Giving the patient a cursory look over, the aide lifted the Velcro loop and unthreaded the quick-release cable from Selek's carrier; then pulled the front panel up, and with a hand to Selek's shoulder and a sharp tug, freed the rear panel from under his body. The carrier thudded to the ground, the left, interior side and cummerbund and the front bottom edge darkly saturated by blood. A pair of bandage scissors made quick work of the patient's shirt, and the aide peeled it and a layer of bandages away from the wound to Selek's lower abdomen, noticeably flinching at the sight of the tar-like goo contaminating the wound. "Uh... what is this?!" Soora frowned at him, in his silly biosuit, and then straightened out her face and strapped on an extra pair of gloves. She took some gauze to start to clean out the junk. 'Not sure exactly what it is, but we know its bad, and he seems to be very infected with it.' She tossed the spoiled gauze in the trash and then got a fresh set, continuing with her work. The excess goo cleaned from the wound easily, but no matter how Soora scrubbed, the exposed tissues remained discolored, like they had soaked in black dye. She sighed, tossing the gauze into the bin, and getting out some antiseptic. She started by disinfecting and wrapping up the obvious, open, wounds first. The aide watched Soora work for several minutes as he hooked up and struggled to calibrate the old bed's diagnostic read-outs for Selek's vitals. Looking the read-outs over, the aide assessed the paitent and his stats were alarmingly poor: unresponsive, pulse thready, breathing shallow, low sats, dehydrated with a fever of 40C (104F). The aide had heard rumors from the Qob team of people on Zoalus, possessed by the same black goo that exhibited gray skin, blackened veins, and cataracts in their eyes. To his relief, this patient wasn’t exhibiting the same external symptoms; the aide had checked twice. Selek’s eyes were hazel and clear; he was pale and sweating, but his skin retained its natural base color and he was clearly bleeding red. Still, the bio read-outs suggested he was suffering from an advanced case of meningitis, and had congestion in his lungs; the aide already had doubts Selek would survive. Finishing his tasks, the aide held out a portable med kit. "I brought an auto-suture and d-gen from the Verbistul," he said. Who knew where they'd managed to find such a valuable tool like a dermal regenerator or afford it in Bull's head. Soora sighed, brushing back Selek's hair from his forehead again. He was passed out cold, but he was in real bad shape. She didn't like it. She hooked up the saline and then pulled out the auto-suture, pondering as the aide hooked up the first bag of blood solution. A more thorough scan on Soora's ODRI revealed that, miraculously, the knife wound to Selek's abdomen had not resulted in internal injuries requiring surgery. Like his other wounds, the gravest damage affected the musculature and management involved repairing the connective tissues to prevent further infection and stem bleeding. The aide stood by to assist as Soora put the auto-suture to work on the abdominal wound first. “What the...?” the aide murmured as he watched agape. The auto-suture didn't work. It drew the severed muscle tissues together as designed, but the tissues immediately separated when Soora moved the device. Something was interfering with the auto-suture’s anabolic stimulation, preventing the growth that would ultimately suture the wound with new cells. “Is it the tattooing on the wound?” the aide asked, referring to the dyed color of the tissues left behind by the goo. Though Soora appeared to consider the plausibility, she didn’t waste time speculating and sent the aide to dig up an old-fashioned surgical needle and medical-grade thread. Scars could be repaired later, but the added trauma of cutting away the visibly affected tissue wasn’t worth the risk and they couldn’t guarantee it would solve the problem. He was infected; that the black substance had spread throughout his body was a given. It startled the aide when Soora began suturing the wound with the needle and the patient tried to grab the doctor. For a moment, the aide panicked, believing he was witnessing the ‘turning’, where the black goo would certainly zombify the patient. Soora corrected him: the patient had merely metabolized the analgesic she’d administered faster than anticipated, and the aide was relieved to see Selek’s appearance hadn’t changed, though his stats remained poor. The aide refocused, a general anesthesia was administered in lieu of more analgesia and Soora continued working on the sutures. They would reassess the patient’s pain management later, likely increasing the dosages beyond Selek’s actual weight. Sure, that event had been unnerving, but it couldn’t compare to the chilling incident that occurred after. Once Soora finished suturing Selek’s wounds, the aide began to clean up the area around the patient’s bed. Kneeling to grab a particular piece of gaze, his eyes grew wide as something black crept across the floor toward his outstretched hand and he quickly snatched it back. Horrified and frozen where he kneeled, he watched as the glob of black crud inched forward, just like in the burning rumors. He was certain he had met his end. He was almost beyond disbelief when it stopped moving not long after he'd sighted it, and it took several minutes before he worked up the courage to even scan it. “It...died?” “That’s what I said. I scanned it and got nada.” “You tell the doctor?” “Are you kidding? They wouldn’t let me out if they thought that stuff was crawling around and I wanted out of there!” “You're sure it’s dead; you do the scan right?” “Yes, I did it right. ODRI picked up the glob, all the individual cells; but the mitochondria were completely inactive, no cellular respiration, no chemical reactions. I’ll get the scans if you don’t believe me.” “I wonder what killed it.” “Beats me.” “How do you think that stuff controls people?” “Well, Selek’s got all the classic symptoms of meningitis. It's concentrated in the meninges and spinal fluid in his bio scans.” “Think it’ll take over Selek?” “I dunno; seems like it’s trying harder to kill him.” “Wonder why...” “Wonder why it wants to control people more. And who's susceptible.” “Or how we kill it.”

Why don't you just take it, Roy?