Liliana Hamilton

The gritty bar on Rigel was filled with traders from countless worlds, laughing and getting drunk. A woman walked through the crowd. Her intent was simply to be seen. This was not unusual for the venue. But, Liliana Hamilton also intended to be recognized. She walked forward purposefully, and glanced to the right just long enough to make eye contact with her quarry, then moved on. Imag looked at her and licked his lips. His comrade, Magek had marked this one back on the human station and dishonoured her. Now she had come to finish what had begun. He fingered his knife softly and whispered a war chant. The spotted man took a seat next to the Klingon. This was usually a bad move. He quickly ordered a Rigellian Lager on tap. Then, he mumbled just loudly enough for the Klingon to hear: "tonight is a good night to die." He paused. "Isn't it?" He looked in the direction of the Klingon and attempted not to wince as he attracted the Klingon's attention. The bar tables were fitted with a universal translator suited to the patrons so the gruff Klingon understood every word. He slowly turned to look at this intruder but didn't remove his hand from his weapon. "Who are you and what do you want?" he barked. The beer arrived. "My name is Ilsen. I don't know what her beef is with you, but, she's going to kill you. I don't care what it is either... I'm in business, and I sense an opportunity... for both of us. I'll take you anywhere within 10 light years, tonight, for 10,000 ducats, payable in advance." "You have a big mouth little man", Imag growled. "I could cut it from ear to ear if you wish. Why would I be stupid enough to trust an ignorant topah I only just met with my safe passage?" "You don't have to trust me, only my motivations." The Trill took a sip of beer. "She'll be waiting for you in the main terminal. That is where your transport is leaving from, tomorrow, isn't it?" "How do you know that?" Imag asked, gripping the dagger harder, preparing it for use. "You had better get up and leave right now before I lose my temper." "Secrets travel fast in a joint like this. If I can find them, you think the assassin can't? I took a risk by coming here. Even talking to you associates us, and puts my neck out on the line. 5,000 now, 5,000 when we get there." The Klingon grabbed the Trill by the the front of his shirt and held the dagger to his throat in one quick motion. "I am going to put this knife in your neck. Maybe then you'll shut up." He snarled. "You *can* kill me where I stand, but where's the profit in that? For either of us... 9,000 - half in advance, half on arrival. Final." Ilsen tried his hardest to sound like a money-grubbing weasel who wasn't worth even the effort to cut up. Imag roughly let go and re-sheathed his knife. Then he downed his bloodwine and spoke. "I do not care for profit fool. And I do not fear that dishonourable, pathetic human female. However, if she knows where I am, others may know too. It is for that reason that I will take your offer. Where can you take me?" Ilsen downed a large quaff of the lager. "Wherever you want to go ..." "Kronos. Now give me your details." Ilsen emphasized "... within 10 light years..." Then, he continued. "Beta Crucis, it's halfway there and isolated. I run at the first sign of Klingon ships. You tell your friends to stay away until I'm long gone." He ran off a list of conditions of transport, most of them involving how he was going to turn back at the first sign of any trouble. "My ship is in airlock C. I have a cargo run to make, and I'm leaving in one hour, with or without you. 4,500 ducats gets you onboard." Ilsen finished his pint and walked away from the Klingon. ~~~ One hour later, in airlock C, a rusty old cargo ship was preparing for departure. Imag waited outside. When he saw the spotted merchant emerging from the airlock he threw a heavy pouch at the floor, containing his fee. Ilsen exited the airlock, bent down, althewhile looking upwards at the Klingon, hoping he wouldn't be stabbed in the back. He opened the pouch and refused to open the airlock for the impatient Klingon as he counted every last ducat. "I expect 4,500 more when we get to Beta Crucis." He opened the airlock door and let the Klingon enter. "The ship is pressurized to 0.9 atmospheres. When the green light goes on, you can enter." Without the help of a universal translator, the Klingon had no idea what the bloodsucker was yelping about so he simply grunted. Then he waited until the light would change and the door would open. As the airlock door opened, a ray of light flashed from the inside of the ship. Crewman Liliana Hamilton stood there, almost stone faced, as she shot the phase pistol on heavy stun and downed the Klingon. She pulled him into the ship and allowed the airlock door to close, all the while resisting the urge to turn the Klingon's face into an unrecognizable mash, which, she thought might actually be less ugly. The airlock door reopened as Ilsen entered from the outside. He looked down at the Klingon and at Lily kneeling down beside him. He then sifted through the Klingon's clothes, removing his weapons. In a pocket of his boot, instead of the expected dagger, he found a data crystal. "I just want him. You may want this." He passed it to Lily. Her reply was simple, but expressive. "Thank you. For everything." ~~~ Ilsen Gibor put the Klingon in stasis and set a course for the Trill homeworld. With the Klingon in hand, it didn't take long for the Diplomatic Corps to establish contact with the House of Teelok. On Ilsen's second return to the Trill homeworld, he carried with him a jar containing the Lo'Ami symbiont, badly injured from the Klingon "medical" experiments, but alive. The next time he left the homeworld, he still carried the symbiont. Only this time, its experiences were part of his, and he was part of it. ~~~ The next day, Liliana Hamilton began her return journey to the Sol system from Rigel aboard ECS Bonaventure. With her, she carried a store of rumors, some true, some false, a Klingon data crystal, and an unexpected surprise. -- Imag Crewman Liliana Hamilton and Ilsen Lo'Ami nee Gibor

Ilsen Gibor took a seat at the table opposite the Earth woman. After taking a quick glance back at the Naussicans, he tried to strike up a conversation. "You have some swing." "He got on my bad side." "I'll try not to be on the receiving end." Ilsen looked at the woman. She had a prominent X-shaped scar on her neck. "Ilsen Gibor of Trill." He clumsily extended his hand, palm facing downwards. The custom of "shaking hands" was a quirk he had learned from other Earthers. "Lily Hamilton ... of Earth." She accepted his hand, righted it, and gave it a strong shake. She eyed the young man's seat. "Business or pleasure?" "Business. There's a Klingon here who might be of interest to both of us." "I'm listening." The word 'Klingon' stimulated a noticable reaction from Lily. "He came with a Tellarite freighter through Epsilon Indii, as a paid passenger. No Klingon would ever lower himself to that. They're too proud. Word on the street is that some Klingons attacked an Earth facility. He's one of them." She was surprised at how quickly word spread about the attack. And, she knew he was right. Just a day earlier, she had spotted the vile thing out of the corner of her eye, getting drunk in another bar. She practically stared at him from behind a wall, wanting nothing more than to go in there and end his miserable life. She would never forget that ridged forehead. Ilsen continued. "No doubt your government is paying you a handsome sum for his return... that's why you're here, isn't it?" She made a mental note that he had been following her. Creepy, but, possibly to her advantage. "And what is it to you? You can't kill him yourself so you need a hired gun?" "I don't intend to kill him. I intend to prevent you from killing him." "And why is that?" "Because I intend to give him something worse than death." He paused and then pronounced the word that would be the Klingon's sentence: "dishonor." The Klingon 'honor code' was something of a legend among the traders, and less known among Earthers. Lily didn't know whether she could trust the man, but, her desire for revenge was getting the best of her. "You still haven't told me why you want this Klingon ... dishonored. What did he do to you?" "He, himself, didn't do anything to me. But, his clan did. They kidnapped one of my people. That Klingon's return in dishonor could be enough of a bargaining chip to ransom him. All I need you to do is simply stay out of it." "You probably know this, but ... I can't do that." Catching the Klingon terrorist was beyond her mission. Had this been an ordinary criminal, she would have simply forwarded a secure transmission to Starfleet advising them of his presence and awaited orders. Revenge had taken over her mind. Ilsen leaned over the table, and emphatically requested: "Then help me." Ilsen and Lily left the bar. The details of the plot were then worked out. By dawn, Lily and Ilsen had exchanged more information than she had obtained the whole previous week. He was an apt listener. Having been on Rigel for a month, he knew . But, beyond information, they also began to share something uncommon among conspirators in crime - trust. And, that was not all they shared that long night ...

The Naussican fell to the floor with a thud. Crewman Liliana Hamilton's trip to Rigel X had fallen somewhere between an information-gathering mission and a continuous barfight. She waved her hand, making sure she still had feeling in her knuckles as she walked towards the bar. Being a woman didn't make it any easier. For many of the traders here, she was prey. Sometimes it helped. There's no better way to attract attention and get someone to talk to you than being an eligible-looking woman. Sometimes, it didn't. She put two ducats on the bar. "For the glasses and the table." The bartender accepted the money and looked on silently and slack-jawed as she walked back to her table, now alone, while two Naussicans dragged their comrade away. She collected her thoughts. So far, she had heard quite a few rumors. Beyond the traders' daily worries about making a few ducats, many had opinions about the future of local galactic politics. They actively debated which was greater: the Klingons' appetites for territory or for fresh, exotic meat. And yet others thought a grave threat was coming from the reclusive Rihannsu Star Empire that had started mining and defending its border. Some of them even thought we were in the hot zone of a "temporal war" of some sort. Earth was high on their minds, having come to their attention by the Andorrians' blockade. The majority of the merchants were of the mind that it was going to be just another "minor" skirmish in the power struggle between the Vulcans and Andorrians, leading to another stalemate and a lot of lost business. Small minorities strongly held that the little nothing of a backwards planet was either (1) the greatest danger to their freedom since the Vulcans, or (2) the greatest boon to safety since the Vulcans. Captain Archer's "police action" against a group of Naussicans had made an impression on more than just the pirates. ~~ Ilsen Gibor took a sip of beer and watched the cleanup from his back table. It hadn't been a fair fight. He didn't know the woman, but, he knew that she came with an Earth Cargo Ship, and he sensed that she might be able to help him. He only had to find something he could offer her in exchange. A lone Klingon had been spotted in the city. It was a rare opportunity, and perhaps a ticket home for the lost symbiont. He gathered up his courage, raised his glass from the table, himself from the bench and walked over to Earth-woman. "Mind if I join you?"

Crewman Liliana Hamilton sat at the computer terminal and checked her mail. It contained an assortment of departmental meeting announcements, unsolicited sales pitches, and random forwarded material from friends and relatives. It also contained a secure transmission from command on Earth. Before opening it, she knew its contents. After listening to the message, and prompty rescrambling and deleting it, she went on to her next message. It was a reminder to commemorate the "birthday of nuclear war." She turned the terminal off and headed to her quarters. *** Lily was dressed in civilian attire. She looked back at the hallways of the construction platform as she carried a duffel bag onto ECS Bonaventure, a warp-3 capable cargo ship. It had just finished unloading its supplies to the Challenger construction crew. Her ordinary duties would involve sorting through the supplies for those relevant to the armory, and helping to direct them to the proper sector of her department. Instead, her destination was the Rigel system, a sprawling trading post less than a week away. The mission had been assigned months ago, but the blockade had prevented it from getting off the ground (or, out of Mars orbit, as the case may be). The Klingon terrorist attack, the blockade by the Andorrians, and rumors circulating about a mysterious "Romulan" menace made the mission as relevant as ever. As of now, she was a crewmember-in-training on the cargo ship. When she arrived, aside from performing the menial duties that would be assigned to her by her new "commanders," she would roam the trading posts of Rigel, and she would listen. It was a conceptually simple and yet practically difficult task. She was to find out what the galactic "general public," the merchants, smugglers and cargo runners of their corner of the Milky Way, knew about and thought of Earth. Effectively, she was to become a lightning rod for the rumors of the myriad traders. Doubtless, most of the talk would be impossible to substantiate, and would likely be false. But, some and hearsay have a basis in fact. The analysis would be left to others. She was unsure why she had been selected for this mission. She was not an intelligence agent. Her minimal field training had been in paper-pushing and basic infantry combat. Her linguistic abilities were average for a native-born Earther, meaning almost nonexistent on an interplanetary scale. But, she vowed to do her best; a heavy duty had been assigned to her; it was possible that the future of her planet dependend on her. The airlock door closed behind Lily. She walked the cramped and narrow corridors of the cargo vessel and dropped her duffel on the third-level of the left set of bunkbeds in the womens' quarters. The mission had begun.

eh... teaches me to edit my posts -- make that "ANY" Klingon!

=/\= BEGIN TRANSMISSION =/\= Joel, I know it's been a while since I've written back. No excuses, really. :-) My recovery is pretty much complete, except for that nasty scar. (Let it be known that if I ever get my hands on that Klingon again, an X will be the last thing it sees). I know what you're going to say... don't go looking for trouble. Speaking of trouble... there was quite a party after they towed Challenger in to the new spacedock. Let's just say our hangovers didn't make the officers happy the next day. It was quite an awesome sight. Even the skeleton of an NX-class ship evokes the joy and power of spaceflight. I could sense that I wasn't the only one wishing back for the days when we went out there just to say "hi" to our neighbors. If only they didn't want to blow us all to bits or block us off from the rest of the galaxy. Even with the tension from the blockade, things seem to be moving a bit more smoothly ever since we left command a few million miles back at earth. There are still the crazy deadlines and the crazier work hours. But, at least they're not there to breathe too heavily on our backs. And then there are the ongoing disputes with the colonists as to whether we should be keeping the extra half hour in their day. They don't like it when Starfleet calls them in at 3AM because we're still on Earth time. I can tell you that from firsthand experience. Hope everything is going well with you. Say hi for me to mom and dad, Ellie and Sam. Love, Your Martian Sis, Lily =/\= END TRANSMISSION =/\=

Lily attended the memorial service. Being new on the Challenger crew, she didn't know many of the names that were being recited, nor did she know the lives they represented. The vessels that held them were now being buried, cremated, or ejected into space according to the rites and customs of their respective traditions. She was quite aware how close she had come to being one of those names. She pulled down the collar of her uniform and touched the scar on her neck; an X. The ghastly Klingon's symbol that his deeds should never be forgotten. He was now dead; his companion was in Vulcan custody, pending transfer to Starfleet. What they would do with him, she did not know, nor did she care. She returned to attention, listening to the eulogies for the slain. Today was their day. When the service ended, Lily returned to her assigned quarters and checked her overflowing mail box. A large email and a smaller email were there. The large one carried a set of orders, and a cargo manifest, directly from the office of Commodore Moose. The second bore the same signature and security clearance. "If you're still up to it, ECS Bonaventure leaves in a week."

Crewman Liliana Hamilton carefully inspected the equipment lockers in the armory warehouse, test versions for the weapons storage onboard Challenger. She wouldn't be around long. Commodore Moose had booked her on a warp 3 capable earth cargo ship to Rigel on some kind of intelligence mission. The trip would give her two weeks off duties on Challenger. The engineers had done a wonderful job. The equipment lockers were accessible enough that weapons could be obtained easily in an emergency, yet the design should be secure enough to prevent an intruder from gaining unlawful access. Lily tested the handprint identification system. About 1/10 of the time, it would reject her access authorization. This seemed to be a problem when she held her hand at too great an angle. The engineers would have to take a look at that. Lily began loading a test shipment of phase pistols and plasma rifles into the lockers. Suddenly, a klaxon blared. Recently, the engineers had been testing the security alert system. This time, the announcement was different: "Tactical alert. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Intruders are heading to engineering. All security personnel respond. Set phasers to heavy stun. All civilian personnel begin evacuation. Tactical alert..." Lily had been through training, but she had never been in actual combat. Her duty was clear. She picked up a phase pistol and headed in the direction of engineering. The ship's corridors were a mass of confusion. Lily found herself going against the flow of people in some of the hallways, and with the flow in others. She pointed more than one scared civilian worker towards the docking ports as she made her way to the lower decks. As she dropped into the nearly empty hallways of H-deck, she turned a corner. The lighting on this deck was being provided by termporary construction lights while a power-transfer test to Challenger was underway. She heard loud voices in an unfamiliar language and instinctively fell back behind the wall. She had expected to encounter more scrambling security personnel by now. With adrenaline rushing into her system and a heart pounding faster, she pressed the button on the comm panel to alert Starfleet of the intruders' location. Nothing. The comm panel was not powered either. The voices moved closer from the other corridor. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Klingons kept moving fast, sweat and blood matted their hair. "This way!" Magek shouted. "Keep up! You will make us fail our mission!" "I'm moving as fast as i can sir!" Imag whined. "But this backpack is so heavy!" "Snivelling dog! Weight means nothing to a klingon warrior!" The pair turned around a corner, to find a starfleet officer pointing a phase pistol right at them. "Imag! Get out the way!" Magek yelled. The phase pistol discharged, and one of the Klingons fell to the ground with a thud. Imag hadn't reacted fast enough and it was he who had been fallen. Magek had leaped aside and now he quickly grabbed his comrade and dragged him back round the corner. "Imag!" he shouted. "Imag! Speak to me" The klingon groaned. He wasn't dead, just stunned. "Imag wake up", he gave him a stern hit across the face and a klingon hit is definitely not that gentle. Imag came out of it a bit. "Imag? Can you move?" Magek asked. The only answer he got was a groan and a shake of a head. "Imag, i must go on without you, but" he said grabbing Imag's rifle from the ground and shoving it in his hands. "If anyone comes near you, blast them. If you hear the blast of the explosives in my pack going off, detonate yours. If you don't hear it after a while, detonate yours anyway because i'll probably be dead." Imag nodded solemnly. "I'm sorrrrrrrrry" he slurred. "There is no need to apologise" Magek barked. "You have fought like a warrior. Magek stood up and surveyed the situation at hand. The hallway was a deathtrap. This human had skill and he would be easy pickings if he stepped back out there. "What to do? What to do" he muttered as he looked left, right, down and up...up, at a ventilation shaft. Magek grinned a sharp-toothed grin as a plan came to mind. "Qapla my brother" he said to Imag before hoisting himself up. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lily had desperately attempted to hold off the Klingons. The lighting panels went on as the power-transfer test was finally called off. With her heart racing, she barely noticed that the disruptor fire from the Klingons had subsided. She slammed on the nearby comm panel, trying to get a message through to security. Suddenly the sound of a metal portal opening came from above and behind her. She quickly turned around. The 5' 5" tall crewman found herself stunned, looking upwards face to face with an angry, 6 1/2 foot tall Klingon. He slammed his head into hers, then it all went black.

It seems like it's a bit premature to be seeking intended positions. I have no idea whether I will want to continue this character when the sim starts in September. It's somewhat dependent on how much RL time I have available, and when. During the summer, though, it's a chance to build a character I might not otherwise have gotten a chance to play.

Acting Ensign Ng interrupted Lt. Jackson. "Sir. There's a crewman here to report to you. She says HR sent her over here, but we've had no communications from them about more personnel transfers. I checked over her orders and they look authentic. " Lt. Jackson exited the glass-walled office overlooking the armory complex and walked towards the new crewman. A slightly dissheveled woman in a Starfleet uniform stood at attention, waiting for the lieutenant. "Crewman Liliana Hamilton, reporting for duty, sir" She held out her transfer orders on a datapad. By now, she knew the drill. The datapad bore the marks of four other Challenger-project departments, each with one-or-another administrative reason to transfer her on to another unit. Jackson accepted the datapad, and looked forward to the prospect of adding a new crewman to their understaffed department. He had put in multiple requests for more personnel, all of them hitherto ignored. He gave a quick look over her Starfleet CV, and his face changed. He attempted to hand the datapad back to the crewman. "Go back and tell HR that we don't need another paper pusher." This time would be different, this time, she asserted herself to the lieutenant. Anyway, rumors had it that Jackson would soon be replaced by a new lieutenant who was recently recalled from vacation. "Sir, with all due respect, I've logged more frequent flyer miles on Starfleet transports in the past two days being bounced from one department to the next than I'd care to admit. I've been through training and you will find that I'm very adaptable." Jackson looked back at the woman, then the datapad that was still mostly in his hands. He retracted his arms and put his thumbprint on the pad. "Get cleaned up and report to Ens. Ng." He then returned to his office, packing the past year of his life into cardboard boxes, preparing for his own transfer.

In the evening, Liliana Hamilton went off-duty, then straight to the small gym to work off whatever the day threw at her. Recently, orders had been up and the deadlines grew ever shorter. The dark haired, 5' 5" woman was dressed in a grey tank-top and blue shorts, punching at a sand-filled bag that hung from the ceiling by a metal chain. Lt. Ferguson walked into the room. "Lily..." Lily stopped punching the bag and looked in towards the lieutenant standing at the door, in uniform. The armory procurement division was quite small, and the close-knit group frequently dispensed of formalities, such as saluting. "Sir?" she replied, slightly annoyed, as she wiped the sweat off her brow. She looked at the clock hanging from the wall - she had been off duty for nearly an hour. "You've been transferred," Ferguson held out a datapad and continued, "effective immediately." "Transferred? Where?" She looked at the Ferguson, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She had been passed over for duty in space on three occasions - Intrepid, Enterprise and Columbia. While procurement was a necessary part of the war effort, occasionally, she thought that she didn't enlist in Starfleet to sit at a desk in a warehouse. "Challenger. Starfleet is, shall I say, aggressively pursuing its early completion. You might want to pepare yourself by reading the appended email from the construction foreman." He handed over the datapad that Lily quickly skimmed. She was to report to a Starfleet transport at 5am local time the next morning. Upon arrival, she would report to the armory for assignment. "Send us a postcard," Ferguson said as he opened the door to exit the room. "I might even miss this junk heap," she replied and smiled. Ferguson let out a grin, turned around and closed the door behind himself. Lily put down the datapad, after having glanced at the briefings on the construction's progress and its schedule. "'Challenger,' she thought... how aptly named." She then continued giving a whipping to the sandbag. Many a time, she had imagined this bag as a Xindi; it was her own imagined act of revenge for Florida. She only hoped she would not soon be picturing Cmdr. Moore.