When You Least Expect It - #132

Melissa had thought after the meeting she would be free to return to her quarters and do what she wished. This was not to be so because, Admiral Anasazi wanted to give her a guided tour of The Insurrection.

So she, T'kell, Skorr and Fatou, traipsed along behind Tyr as he proudly narrated interesting facts and showed off “his baby”. It was the easiest job she'd every done because all Skorr had to do was record the audio and video like a documentary.

Tyr had saved the best for last. As soon as they entered Sickbay's doors, Darwin (in his anti-gravity planter) whizzed right up to them. Scaring the stew beans out of Melissa, fascinating both T'Kell and Skorr and irritating the heck out of Tyr. Fatou liked Darwin so she merely pulled her whiskers back with mirth.

“Greetings folks! How my I help you?” Darwin asked. Further shocking Melissa, as she had never seen a plant with such googly eyes, nor heard one speak until now.

“I was not aware that Sickbay had an official greeter.” Tyr deadpanned.

“DARWIN! Who are you harassing now? This is Sickbay, not a cheesy brothel on Risa!” Kori's voice shouted.

“Ops! Time to get the hell outta Dodge!” Darwin said, as he shrunk down into his planter and sped away.

“Fascinating. A Kensington-Smythe Plant.” T'Kell stated to Skorr through their marital link.

“At last I'd heard they were extinct.” Skorr thought back.

“Apparently not. At least he is not. . . ” T'Kell thought back.

“What the hell was that?” Melissa asked aloud.

“The plant or the loud harridan shouting?” Tyr asked, with no trace of humor whatsoever. Behind them Fatou chuffed.

“Both.” Melissa stated.

“The ficus is a Kessington-Smythe Plant. It is a very intelligent and social plant, is capable of speech, is somewhat prehensile, and nosy as hell.” T'kell explained.

“The loud femme fatal roar you heard was none other than my Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Kori. . . . .” Tyr started but never finished.  The one whom he was speaking about chose that very second to make an appearance. Melissa backed up because the good doctor was a tall Klingon female, dressed in Starfleet Medical blue (including white coat) who was also carrying a pair of old fashioned hedge clippers.

“. . . . . If I get my hands on that Darwin, I'll, I'll.” she muttered. “Oh hello! I was wondering when The Admiral was going to bring you down to meet me, Ms. Culpepper. I've heard all about you.” Kori said by way of introduction. Though honored, Melissa gazed at the clippers dubiously.

“Oh, don't mind this old thing. I just use it to keep Darwin in check. He tends to get cheeky at times and it helps to remind him who's boss. . . .” she continued, as she handed the implement off to one of her staff.

“Why don't we retire to my office where we can have Raktigino and crumpets.. . . . .” Kori stated as she led the way. Melissa was shocked to find the Chief Medical Officers inner sanctum was a miniature version of Hydroponics. There were plants sitting on every available space except her desk. There only one plant sat.

After everyone sat there was one chair left. Everyone silently gazed back at The Admiral who was still standing at the door.

“I'll stand, Thank you.” he stated to no one in particular. Fatou refrained from chuffing because she knew why.

Out of the corner of her left eye, Melissa caught a slight movement, but before her mind to register it, she was thrown to the deck and covered by T'Kell. Skorr stood in front of the Good Doctor's desk poised in a martial arts stance with his arms up and ready to battle against. . . . VuVu's reaching tendrils.

“No! VuVu! Bad, bad, girl! Bad!” Kori fussed at the plant. VuVu whimpered and drew back. “I am so sorry I didn't warn you about VuVu. I'm so used to living and working around her that I forgot about her insatiable curiosity. She knows you're here Admiral. Why don't you say hi?” Kori asked of the chocolate colored Nietzschean statue standing at the door. By way of acknowledgment, Tyr grinned and waggled the fingers on his left hand at VuVu.

“Oh my, I thought you two had gotten beyond that stage.” Kori said, as Melissa and T'Kell stood, dusted each other off and sat. Skorr returned to his seat and frowned.

“Hey! I know what kind of plant that is. It's a Thief Plant.” Melissa said.

“That's close. She's actually classified as a Pick Pocket Plant.” Kori replied.

“The Ferrengi made liberal use of them in their Dabo Parlors and drinking establishments.. . . . .” Skorr started.

“Hello! Did anyone miss me?” Darwin asked as he burst into Kori's office, nearly knocking Tyr flat.

“Serves him right for standing in the door like some kind of sentry. . . . .. “ Fatou thought, as she swept her whiskers with mirth.

“Ensign Jeffers, can you please bring a pot of Rakitgino and a plate of pastries to my office?” Kori said over the comm. 


“Am I correct in assuming that you would like some aspirin with yours, Admiral?” Kori asked sweetly.

Tyr grunted and rolled his expressive brown eyes, as he sat in the last seat available. The one closest to the edge of Kori's desk. So, VuVu was able to reach out and curl one leafy vine about his left bicep. On his right sat Darwin in his anti-gravity planter as he gazed questioningly at The Admiral. Tyr was effectively surrounded. Melissa locked eyes with Fatou, then TKell, and Skorr, last of all Kori who winked and smiled.

“Catch!” Kori said, as she tossed the packet of analgesic tabs to Tyr, which he expertly caught it on the fly with his right hand. Ensign Jeffers handed around cups of Rakitgino, and set down a tray of pastries. Tyr opened his packet and dumped the tabs directly into his cup of hot liquid. He took a sip and frowned. The aspirin had made his Raktigino bitter.

“Bitter, eh?” Darwin asked.

Tyr grunted, grabbed a scone and bit off a third of it to kill the taste.  It also prevented him from firing off a snarky remark to Darwin.

“So, Ms. Culpepper, how did you become interested in Intergalactic journalism?” Kori asked, pleasantly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile back on Deep Space Ten, a Nietzschean couple with a five year old daughter was ushered directly into Fleet Admiral Haxhis office. Upon seeing the Katay Admiral and Councilor Khan, the little girl stared up at them in open eyed wonder.

“Anne. It is rude to stare so. Say hello to the nice Admiral and her aide.” her mother chided.

“Hello.” Anne said.

“Actually her name is Anemone.” her father pipped up proudly.

“Hello Anemone. My name is Haxhista and he is Khan.” Haxhis started as she pointed to herself and Khan, by way of introduction. “ I hear you have a message for me.” Haxhis said as she knelt in front of the little one. “Who is it from?”

“Queen Mother Victoria.” the little girl replied. Haxhis looked up at her parents for confirmation. Both looked as serious as a heart attack.

“Forgive me for asking, but are you both. . . . .?” Khan asked.

“No we are not, but she is telepathic.” the mother replied.

“What do you have to tell me, Anemone?” Haxhis asked.

“Queen Mother Victoria greets you in the name of The Divine and says to tell you that she is safe. She will be in touch with more information soon.” Anemone recited.

“Thank you, Anemone. Will you please relay to her my greetings and heartfelt joy that she is safe? Also, please tell her that we are still hard at work on the project.” Haxhis said. She trusted Victoria was savy enough to know “the project” was the hunt for her son, his ship and crew.

“Yes I will, Ma'am.” Anemone replied. She blinked and concentrated a bit, then smiled a beatific little girl smile.

“All done, Ma'am.” she replied.

“Thank you.” Haxhis said. “You are both welcome to bring her back anytime you want.” The Admiral stated as she stood and addressed her parents. Obviously, Anemone was going to be her contact person while Victoria was in exile.

“Thank You Admiral, but we have not introduced ourselves.” The mother started.

“You are Helena and Dionysus Wolffe. My children are in Anemone's class.” Khan said, as both parents smiled.

“Yes, she is.” Helena replied.

“Have you also considered having her enrolled in Vulcan telepathic training?” Khan asked. He had to ask, it was his calling to always ask. . . . . .

“As a matter of fact we have an appointment to see Professor Thall in ten minutes about that subject.” Dionysus replied.

“He is one of the best.” Khan replied approvingly.

“And you mustn't be late.” Haxhis said. “Thanks again.” she continued, as the small family left her office. Before the door closed Anemone turned and waved. Both Haxhis and Khan waved back.

“Now, Counselor, can you please explain how Anemone received that message?” Haxhis asked as she reseated herself.

“Pride Secreto has a form of telepathic communication called strangely enough, The Moccasin Telegraph. The history of those words date back to the Old Earth American Indian tribes who used to receive news when tribe members walked from one location to another to visit.” Khan began.

“Oh, I see, it's something like the grape vine.” Haxhis replied.

“Yes, only it is done telepathically. The message is passed from one telepath to another like that Earth game “telephone” until it reaches it's destination. However, when the message reaches the destination it is not all fouled up like the game of telephone is supposed to do. It is precisely what the sender meant to send.” Khan replied.

“And a child shall lead them. . . . . . By the way, how are your children doing?” Haxhis asked, turning the tide on Khan.

“They are having a wonderful time. It is I who is suffering.” Khan replied, as he pulled back his whiskers with mirth. “I had no clue mothering was such an arduous task!” he continued.

“Welcome to the parent club, Khan.” Haxhis chuffed.

“I've always shared the task of caring for our kits, to do everything alone it is nearly impossible. I can see why Nietzschean males marry multiple wives or why some races have slaves.” Khan joked. “Not that I would ever enter into such practices.” he further justified.

“They are old enough to do simple chores around the den now. It may not be done perfectly, but let them help anyway. It will keep them busy, out of trouble and teach them to be responsible.” Haxhis said, recalling her mischievous nieces and nephews.

The first thing she did when she had them over for a visit was to put them to work. As a consequence they all hated coming over to see her. Their stances changed as they got older and took on mates. . . . . .

“I know you miss Fatou.” she stated.

“I most certainly do.” Khan replied. “The kits not so much, only in the beginning because I cannot cook.”

“Khan! It's the easiest thing to put a couple of fish the grill or. . .” Haxhis started.

“I stink at cooking so much that the poor kits refused to eat whatever I produce. I couldn't stomach it either, so I made arrangements with Tabji to prepare meals for us until Fatou returns.” Khan replied.

Tabji was an older Katay female who'd opened the first Katay restaurant on Deep Space Ten. Tabji's was an instant hit with the Katay (The Fleet Admrial included), and those who loved fish dishes. What Tabji and her staff did to their food was simply magical.

“We are doing all we can to get them back, Khan.” Haxhis said softly.

“Thank you Haxhistia. I know and appreciate the effort. But, rescue will not be for a while yet. Past the six week deadline as a matter of fact. So I advise you to prepare for the impending diplomatic and media firestorm.” Khan replied.

“That bad?” Haxhis asked, now on alert. It was very rarely Khan gave her one of his infamous predictions. Every time he made one, of course it was right on the money.

“Yes.” Khan replied simply.

“What about Tyr, his ship and crew?” she hazarded. After all, if he was willing to impart one prediction, perhaps another. . . . .

“They will be found safe and sound. However, some will have to endure the crucible.” Khan replied. Haxhis' jaw dropped.

“I cannot tell who or whom, but these things must happen.” Khan said in response to her reaction.

Haxhis reached over and tabbed the button on her desk console.

“T'Lar. I need you to clear all of my appointments for the rest of the day and alert all of my immediate command staff that I wish to have an emergency meeting with them, here in 30 minutes.” Haxhis ordered.

“Aye, Ma'am.” T'Lar's voice responded.

“So it begins.” Khan said.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile on the Insurrection, Ms. Culpepper aka Ms. Sirus was having a lively discussion with Dr. Kori when, when her desk comm cut in.

“Doctor Kori, you are needed in the main ward.” Nurse Summers voice calmly said.

“What is the problem?” Kori asked.

“Captain McPhearson and Lieutenant Xenia just brought Desdemona in. Her water broke.” was Summers response. The words hardly left her lips when Kori vaulted over her desk and charged out of her office, followed by Tyr. Melissa, T'Kell, and Skorr.

“I must remember to ask the Good Doctor if she learned that move in Starfleet Academy.” Melissa thought to herself.

Free Enterprise - A Deal Is Struck #131

Melissa started out of her sleep by someone calling her name mentally. She smiled crookedly because she recognized the voice as her “consort's”.

“I know this is your day off, and I'm sorry to wake you, but The Admiral wishes to see you ASAP.” Dragon said.

“Awwwww fudge!” Melissa fussed as she tossed back the covers and ran for the fresher.

“You must be ready for me to escort you to The Captain's Mess in ten minutes.” Dragon thought.

“Hell, the only way I can be ready in ten minutes is to get dressed while I'm in the sonic shower.” Melissa fussed to herself as she turned on the sonics.

Two minutes later she dashed out of the fresher in a panic. She hadn't a clue what to wear until she espied her clothes rack. T'Kell had laid out one of her suits, a pair of shoes and a matching shawl.

Melissa was dressed in five minutes flat. She stopped at the mirror to check her clothing and face, apply a soft shade of lipstick, then dashed out of her quarters. Out in the corridor she blundered into Dragon and nearly fell flat.

“What. . . . . what. . . . You are early.” she fussed as he steadied her.

“Yes, I am.” Dragon said and smiled. “Come. The Admiral is not a patient man.” he continued, as they headed to the nearest lift.

“Don't I know it.” Melissa chuckled.

Upon arrival at The Captain's Mess, Dragon escorted Melissa in and made a hasty retreat. The experienced INN reporter immediately took stock of the situation.

Admiral Anasazi was sitting at the table with Captain McPhearson and Fatou. His third wife Desdemona was helping Gynn, the Andorian head steward and cook, set out a breakfast spread. Melissa smiled as she noticed Desi's belly.

“She looks like she's about to drop her load any minute now.” she thought.

“Good Morning, Admiral.” she said pleasantly.

“Likewise Ms. Culpepper, or should I call you Lady Sirus instead?” Tyr asked.

At the mention of that name, all four women stopped and stared at The Admiral. Melissa was flabbergasted, as she thought they had kept their relationship under wraps.

“It is my business to know what transpires on my ship, even if it may be gossip. I believe congratulations are in order.” Tyr replied and smiled. A genuine smile that lit up the entire room.

“Jesus. No wonder the man has eight wives.” Melissa thought.

“Thank you, Sir.” Melissa replied, as she smiled and blushed.

“You are welcome. Now, please have a seat. We have much to discuss.” Tyr said.


* * * * * * * * * * * * *


Queen Mother Victoria had arrived at her destination. Her Ceremonial Guard formed up around her followed by her attendants, Ladies in Waiting and staff.
It was an impressive entourage which was met by an equally impressive one. A delegation of Pride Secreto.

“Greetings Lady Anasazi, Queen mother of all Nietzscheans. I am War Cloud, Chief Elder of the Governing Council. Welcome to Xibrus, our humble abode.” an American Indian male said, as he held up his right hand in traditional greeting. War Cloud was dressed to the nines in ceremonial garb, including an impressive warbonnet.

“Greetings War Cloud. Thank you for taking us in at such short notice.” Victoria replied as she looked up.

Xibrus was a world ship, a totally artificial construct which was a testimony to the Nietzschean's fierce determination. If they didn't have a planet to live on, they built one. This particular world ship was smack dab in the middle of the badlands, where no one would ever think of looking, and if they did, they wouldn't last long doing so.

Outside Xirbus looked similar to a Borg Cube, only it was round. Past the outer shell where ships entered and egressed, there was an inner shell with a living, breathing environment with real parks, grass, trees, vegetation and cities.

Victoria looked up at the outer gantries where the residents had gathered to welcome her. There had to be millions present and they were all singing.

“This is where Secreto has been all of this time?” Victoria asked in awe.
“Yes, Lady.” War Cloud replied. It was then Victoria noticed a large contingent of Vulcans and Katay.

“Who better to teach Pride Secreto how to harness and utilize their talent.” she thought.

“Lady, we have lodging prepared for yourself and your court. Please come with me.” War Cloud said, interrupting her wool-gathering. As she followed War Cloud, Victoria remembered the song Xibrus' residents were singing. It's was a child's welcome home song.


* * * * * * * * * *


Meanwhile back on the Insurrection a big powwow was being held. However, there was no drums being played, no singing and no passing of the peace pipe. Only passing of the plate of eggs, butter, pancakes and other breakfast foods.

Tyr had finally gotten down to the business of discussing with Melissa the idea of her being his personal news correspondent.

For now, they had each buried the hatchet (thankfully not in each others backs) and were dealing with one another in a civil and professional manner. Possibly enhanced by the fact that Tamara, Fatou, and Desi were present.

“In order for me to work exclusively for you . . . . Viceroy, you would have to provide compensation for my associates and I. That means a larger salary than we are already receiving from INN, plus room and board.” Melissa said. She'd decided that she was going drive a hard bargain.

“What is your currently salary?” Tyr asked. Melissa quoted a figure. Seated to Tyr's right Tamara raised her right eyebrow in typical Vulcan fashion.

“If I served in Star Fleet for the remainder of my days I would never see that amount!” Tamara thought to herself.

“How much do your associates earn?” Tyr asked. In response Melissa quoted another figure. Tyr sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers and looked for all the universe like a Dread Locked Vulcan.

To the left of Desi where Fatou sat, The Katay rolled her eyes.

“Oh my Divine! It's such a haaarrrdddd decision!” she thought. “The man is such a drama king!”

“Consider it done and your employment begins now. I will have Ensign Siddiq draw up the legal documents for you and your associates to sign ASAP.” Tyr said. “In the meantime my restriction on your ship wide access has been rescinded. However, Engineering and the Bridge will remain off limits to you unless you are escorted by myself, senior personnel or your consort. I need not remind you what will happen if you are caught in those areas without an escort?” he continued.

“No you don't, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Melissa replied, as she imagined the uproar they were going to cause at INN when all three of them filed their resignations. . . . . .

“That's if The Insurrection ever gets out of this bubble we are stuck in.” Melissa thought.

Free Enterprise - Dinner With Dragon #130

Melissa and Dragon were out on their first date. They didn't consider it a date though. The meeting as a sort of get together around a good meal to find out a little more about one another. In reality it was to size up and scrutinize each others potential.

Melissa didn't consider herself dressed up. She didn't bring any of her dressy clothing on this particular outing. She'd packed just enough to tide her over. Whatever else she needed had to be replicated. T'Kell had replicated a rose colored Sari outfit which Melissa wore with a pair of ballet like flats. She looked very exotic and feminine.

Dragon was a different matter. He was was dressed in his Nietzschean best. He was garbed in a matching light gray body hugging outfit which was made from leather. The shirt had no sleeves which placed great emphasis on his forearms, biceps and wide shoulders. He wore black boots and black bone blade gauntlets. He was the perfect Nietzschean Man 'O War and Prince Charming rolled into one.

An Ensign had led them to a private and reserved table, and handed them each a menu after they had settled into their chairs.

“I thought your eyes were brown.” Melissa said, as she frowned at Dragon.

“They are, but they tend to change according to what I wear or how I feel sometimes.” Dragon replied.

“You have mood ring eyes.” Melissa remarked, as she removed her combo veil/head covering, and arranged it around her shoulders like a shawl.

“Mood ring eyes? What are mood rings?” Dragon asked.

“They were a big fad back on Old Earth in the 1970's. The rings were made from cheap metal, topped with an equally worthless color-changing stone. Lots of people wore them because the stone supposedly changed color according to one's mood. There was a sort of color chart and according to it, red meant you were angry, blue meant you were calm, I forget what black and green meant. A friend gave me one as a gag gift two years ago, but it always stayed black when I wore it . . . . . ..“ Melissa replied. She had been told black either meant she was either cold hearted or she was stressed out.

“Why would. . . . . why would people want to wear something that clearly broadcasts what kind of mood they have?” Dragon asked.

“The same reason two people would get together to have dinner and talk. To see if they are a potential match.” Melissa replied, as she gave him the age old “You know what I mean.” look.

“No, I would not know. My people as a rule do not engage in such dalliances.” Dragon replied. Though young, he was incredibly astute.

“Hey, what are we having for dinner?” she asked, as a means of distraction. She had scanned the menu and wasn't really sure what she wanted.

“Let's see what he orders.” she thought.

“How about Chicken Cordon Blue?” he asked and smiled.

“Wow!! Fancy shmancy!” she replied. Melissa was impressed.

“I usually stick to plain meals and salads, but I like to have something nice once in a while. And this is a special occasion, isn't it?” he asked.

“Sort of. I haven't had Chicken Cordon Blue in years.” she replied as she put up her menu. Seconds later the steward returned and Dragon gave him their orders.

“So tell me about your Starfleet Career. What was the first ship you served on?” Melissa asked.

“The first ship I served on straight out of the Academy was the USS Nimitz. I served on her for five years. The next ship was the USS Sally Ride for another five years. I was just transferred on to the Insurrection six months ago.” Dragon replied. Melissa did some quick calculations in her mind. . . .

“Wait a minute. How old are you?” she asked and frowned.

“Twenty-five.” he replied.

“OMG! I'm robbing the cradle!” she thought to herself.

“How. . . .how old were you when you entered Starfleet Academy?” she asked hesitantly.

“Fifteen.” Dragon replied. Melissa stared in horror.

“I thought Starfleet did not take beings until a specified age.” she stammered.

“This is true, but that is based upon the Human standard, and Nietzscheans are an exceptions to that rule. Due to our accelerated growth factor, we are mentally, and physically, mature, and considered legal adults at age 15.” Dragon replied. Melissa tried to picture Dragon at age 15 and failed miserably.

“So you are how old. . . . .” Melissa started.

“Twenty-five.” he replied. Melissa comforted herself with the fact that she was just ten years older than Dragon, not twelve or fifteen, as she had originally believed.

“What kind of Starships did you serve on?” Melissa asked, changing the subject. At the same time the food arrived.

“The Nimitz is a Dreadnaught Class. The Sally Ride is a Voyager Class, and the Insurrection. . . . .” Dragon started.

“. . . . . . .Is an Akira Class Star Ship. She'd heavily armed and loaded for bear. She is designed to provide armed escorts, attack, defend, pursue and destroy.” Melissa finished.

“You've certainly done your research.” Dragon said and smiled.

“When you are INN's top correspondent, you must stay on top of as many things as possible.” she replied. “Speaking of which, Sally Ride was Old Earth's first female astronaut, wasn't she?” Melissa continued. She was about to say more when Dragon put his finger up to his lips signaling quiet.

“Yes she was, Melissa. But, please eat your food. Cold Chicken Cordon Blue is disgusting.” he admonished. They both tucked in.

About three hours later, both were still sitting at the same table, and both were talked out. Both told everything from childhood stories to career horror stories. The 88 Lounge wait staff had cleared off all of the tables. They were discreetly hovering about in the background waiting for the couple to leave. They wanted to complete their cleaning and close up, like yesterday. . . . . .

“Thank you so much for the dinner. I had a wonderful time, but I'd better get going. I've got duty tomorrow.” Melissa said.

“You are welcome. But before you go. . . . .” Dragon started as he gently took her right hand in his. Melissa's eyes bugged and she squeaked in surprise. Just like that, he was present in her mind.

Melissa was well aware what telepathic links were like, because she shared light ones with T'Kell and Skorr. But this one was nothing like that! Instead of the typical slow Vulcan mind meld decent, Dragon's link could be likened to him opening a door, stepping in and finding Melissa in her undies. . . . . . .

“Are you alright? I did not intend to frighten you.” Dragon thought apologetically, as let her hand go. Though they were separate, the link still remained.

“My God! I did not know.” Melissa thought back. “You are a Tele-Nietzschean aren't you?” she inquired. Melissa sensed him wince, and regretted asking.

“We have not called ourselves that since The Great Cleansing. We've re-named ourselves Pride Secreto.” Dragon replied.

“Wow!” Melissa thought.

“Oh my, we better go. These poor folks need to clean up and close.” she said verbally as she rose. Dragon rose with her.

“Walk you home?” he asked.

“It's not far.” Melissa replied. Knowing full well he probably knew every nook and cranny of The Insurrection.

“It doesn't matter.” he replied.

“And I won't mind the company.” she said, as she pulled up her shawl to cover her head. They both thanked the 88 Lounge staff and apologized for holding them up, then left hand in hand.

Much to their dismay, even when they walked slow, it took them less then ten minutes to arrive at Melissa's VIP Quad that she shared with T'Kell and Skorr.

When they arrived at the door, Dragon meant to let go of Melissa's hand, give her a chaste kiss on the forehead and leave. But she held fast.

“You might as well come in.” she thought and smiled.

Dragon quickly glanced down the corridor in both directions, then ducked into the quad with her.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile both T'Kell and Skorr lay wide awake in bed like two worried parents. After raising a successive line of children, grand and great-grand children, Melissa was more of an adoptee to them than an employer. They had been hired to look after her, and they took their charge very seriously.

“A telepathic Nietzschean?” Skorr asked his spouse with both eyebrows raised.

Both Vulcans had detected that Dragon possessed an unprecedented amount of mental shielding as if he were a Kholenar Adept. Naturally the next most logical question was: “Why would a Nietzschean have such shielding, unless?” But the answer seemed to be far fetched.

“Damned Skippy.” T'Kell replied.

“T'Kell. Your response is most illogical.” Skorr replied.

“That is precisely why you married me, Skorr.” Tkell replied.

“I suppose so.” he replied.

“Now, who is being illogical?” she asked.

“T'Kell, this is not the time to discuss logic.” Skorr replied.

“No, it is not, my husband.” she replied.

Free Enterprise - After The Fall #128

Ares sat back as he listened to the latest update from Cassius. The news was bittersweet. Ares was very close to and dearly loved his older brother. he had no clue the man had been planning a coup. According to Cassius, Agamemnon also had designs on seceding The Nietzschean Empire from the Federation.

“What was left of it after civil war, and war with the Katay. . . . .” Ares thought.

“The rest of his dissident followers are being tracked down as we speak. I suspect many have gone into hiding and some have fled Pinnacle, but we will find them.” Cassius reported confidently.

“What about that ship Agamemnon sent to Deep Space Ten?” Ares asked.

“The Abakan? It suddenly and mysteriously exploded on it's return trip to Pinnacle.” Cassius replied, as casually as if he was discussing a solar storm. Ares simply stared at the man.

“It was a simple task one of my small ordinance specialists took care of.” Cassius said, in reply to Ares unasked question. Ares had heard that The Enforcers where a whole different breed of Nietzschean, but he had no idea how much so until now. . .

“I suppose one would have to be in order to hunt down and kill one or more of your own race. I just hope it is not all for naught.” Ares thought as he pictured his mother's face.

It had been three days since Victoria had left Pinnacle and went into exile, and he had not heard from her. She had forewarned him it may take some time to find a new and untraceable way of communicating that she was safe.

“Excellent job, Cassius. To quote Drago: When the head is crushed, the snake will die.” Ares said. “I want twice daily updates on your progress until this threat is fully eliminated.” Ares ordered.

“Yes, My Lord.” Cassius replied, then cut the link.

Ares then faced the men and women who were standing in his office.

“I want every member of Agamemnon's clan rounded up and brought here, immediately.” he ordered.

“Yes, My Lord.” The group leader said. Then they all turned and marched out of his office.

“I also want . . . . . . “ Ares then rattled off three names “. . . . . . present.” he said to his assistant.

“Yes, Sire. Right away.” the assistant replied and hurried away.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *


What happened was a Spanish Inquisition like hearing for every adult member of Agamemnon's family. It was held in the throne room and in the presence of hundreds of faithful officers. Each family member was escorted in and questioned about their loyalties to Tyr Anasazi as their Viceroy.

The three people Ares requested to be present were one female and two male. They were members of Pride Secreto and naturally all telepathic. So, even if someone lied to save their miserable hide, there were not going to get away with it. Since they were mixed in with the rest of the Nietzscheans present, no one but Ares' officials and he himself knew who they were.

They had also prearranged signals that they would give for yay or nay.

The first one to step up and give account of herself was Agamemnon's First Wife, Hera. Proud and arrogant, she was as she proclaimed her fidelity to Tyr. A sympathetic person would have fallen for her impassioned speech but not Ares. There was too much at stake to just take a person's word for it. When it came to the safety and future of his people Ares didn't trust anyone, not even his own flesh and blood.

“As Ambassador Spock once said: “The needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few.” Ares thought.

He glanced at the crowd and the representatives of Pride Secreto. Their faces all said: “The witch was lying through her teeth.”

“Escort her out, please.” Ares ordered, and watched as four officers led Hera out of the room, to her certain death.

So it went for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Out of the 79 members of Agamemnon's family, he had only told his head wife and his two oldest sons.

The rest had not a clue what their father was up to. All they could recallwas the fact that he was always traveling on account of his business. With those threats eliminated, Ares was now free to move on. First to check out Agamemnon's former business associates, no telling how many would have to “taken out”. Then Ares had to make provisions for the the family to survive without their First Lady and her consort.

“All in a days work. When Tyr returns I would gladly return the helm controls to him. Ruling is definitely not my cup of Raktigino.” Ares sighed.


* * * * * * * * * * * *

“And so, the dominoes are starting to fall.” Janeway said sagely from her multi-verse box seat.

Free Enterprise - Another One Bites The Dust #128

The usually impeccably dressed Nietzschean Queen Mother was dressed down in jeans, trainers, t-shirt, and large hooded sweatshirt, and she had the deep hood over her head. Victoria's Ceremonial Guard surrounded her and escorted her to an undisclosed merchant vessel.

Before the hatch closed, Victoria's stood in the doorway and cast a longing gaze at Pinnacles countryside.

“Lady. We must leave now or will lose the window of opportunity.” the vessel's captain said respectfully.

“So be it, then.” Victoria replied. She was led away by her Ladies In Waiting to her accommodations, as the crew closed the hatch and prepared to lift off.

Minutes later, twenty ships left orbit and immediately went into warp. According to Space Central's records, all of the vessels were merchant ships heading for various destinations and trade routes. So, no one was the wiser that The Queen Mother and her entourage had left the planet.


* * * * * * * * * * *

From quite some distance away, the Q silently watched. Earlier they had discovered Q's hiding place. Most were dismayed to find he had set up his own private box seat, with refreshments close at hand in case he needed a snack.
He also had New Year's type noise makers, foam fingers, confetti and. . . .

“What is this substance?” the Vulcan Q asked, as he held up a half eaten bucket of the stuff.

“It's Crunch and Munch. A popular peanut and popcorn Earth snack food. It's usually eaten during sporting events or during movies.” Janeway Q explained.

Herein was the difference between those Q who were just WERE, and those who were accepted into their ranks after death. Katheryn Janeway had already experienced life, therefore KNEW the intricacies of life whereas the others only KNEW ABOUT life.

“It was a personal childhood favorite of mine.” she added as she sat in one of the cushy stadium seats which resembled an armchair. She waved a hand and the multi-verse focused on one scene. A young Nietzschean male was hiding somewhere on Deep Space Ten and whispering into a hand held communications devise.

“My, what have we here?” Janeway asked no one in particular as they watched.

“ . . . . . . .it took some doing but I finally got some answers. It appears that Rear Admiral Tyr Anasazi's ship is missing.” The young man said.

“Missing? How?” a female voice inquired.

“The 10th Fleet was set to go on a charity and rescue mission to Avon Six however, at the last minute the station received a distress call. All of the ships went to render assistance. All have returned and since gone on to Avon Six except The Insurrection.” The young man reported. “They have been searching for his ship and have not found it yet. Of course they've been keeping this hush-hush. . . .” he continued.

“Excellent. This is just the thing Agamemnon needs to hear. Now get your butt off that station and back here ASAP! We've got serious work to do back on Pinnacle.” she ordered.

“Yes, Lady!” the young man said. He immediately closed his devise and hurried to the nearest DS10 public transporter. Ten minutes later, he was back on the undisclosed vessel and it flashed out of sight as it went into warp.


* * * * * * * * * * *

In the multi-verse theater the Q watched as the female captain of the ship had a conference call with Agamemnon. They watched as he heard the news about his youngest brother being missing without batting an eyelash.

“You'd think he would show some kind of distress.” one female Q stated.
“After all, it is his brother.” a male Q stated.

“. . . . . And the Nietzschean Viceroy.” still another female stated.

“There lies the problem. Agamemnon wants his brother to be either permanently missing or dead, so he can take the throne, which he believes is rightfully his.” Janeway stated.

“Then we will release Tyr and let him return to Pinnacle. . . .” yet another Q piped up.

“No, even though that seems like the most expedient thing to do, we cannot do it. We must consider every alternate timeline.” Janeway explained. “Currently there are two. If we set Tyr free and he returns, Agamemnon will not reveal his rebellion until three years from now. By then his so called fledgling movement will have become a cult following. There will be a horrendous civil war and millions of lives will be lost, including Tyr, Victoria, and most of Pride Kodiak. The other option is to allow The Insurrection stay right where she is and allow the events to play themselves out.”

“What about that vessel?” the Vulcan Q inquired as he gazed the so-called merchant vessel that streaked along at warp ten. This fact had given the Vulcan Q reason to wonder. After all, no mere merchant vessel had the capability to travel at such speeds. And if the vessel itself was suspect, so were those on board her.

“That ship? Oh, it's about to suffer a very nasty accident.” Janeway replied, as the ship exploded.

“As an old Earth song succinctly said: Another One Bites The Dust.” she stated.





* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


On Pinnacle, Agamemnon was having a private meeting with five men who he considered to be his most trusted lieutenants. These five men were not part of his family, nor members of Pride Kodiak. They were outsiders who he had gathered together as comrades in his struggle to return the throne to the rightful heir. Himself.

They were currently dinning in an exclusive restaurant named River City. They had reserved a private room, which included their table being waited upon by a private waiters. Food served, the wait staff retreated leaving them to eat in peace.

The purpose of said meeting was to discuss the future of the Nietzschean Ruling Class. Agamemnon opened the meeting by telling them the news he had just received from a spy he'd sent to Deep Space Ten by way of a troop carrier. Which by the way was disguised as a merchant vessel. The so-called merchants on board were renegade members of the Nietzschean military. . . . . . .

Agamemnon was starving and had nearly finished his meal before noticing that his compatriots had barely touched theirs.

“Agamemnon. Look at me.” the leader named Casius stated. Agamemnon did.

“There are not many things that can poison a Nietzschean, but there is a secret formula that only the Enforcers use.” he continued. Agamemnon's eyes widened as the word “Enforcers“ hit him like a brick upside the head.

“You should be feeling strange right about now, as your autonomic systems start to shut down one by one. . . . . .”

“A genetically modified Neuro-toxin. . . . . .” Agamemnon thought helplessly to himself.   He would'e said the words, but his mouth no longer worked. . . . . . . .

“ . . . . . . . . . You should have known that we could not allow you to execute what you've planned. Barbarossa had his suspicions about you and that is the reason you were not chosen to inherit the crown and throne. This is also the very reason Barbarossa set 'the hounds' upon your heels. Victoria is safely in exile, and every one of your so-called compatriots are being hunted down and dealt with as we speak. Your plan has failed, Agamemnon.” Casious stated.

With that, Agamemnon breathed his last and died.

Free Enterprise - The Winds of Discord #127

Fleet Admiral HaxHis and Counselor Khan were having a secure three-way video conference with Captain Sherra, First Officer Rommie ( who standing in for Captain Hunt who was still “indisposed”), and Victoria Anasazi.

“According to my timetable we have a little more than six weeks before the rescue fleet completes it's mission on Avon Six and returns.” The Katay Fleet Admiral began.

“Six weeks, three days, nineteen hours to be exact. When The Fleet returns, people would have to be blind as bats not to notice The Insurrection is not with them.” Khan added.



“And wonder what the heck?” Sherra asked.

“That is when rumors will fly and the proverbial kimshee will hit the fan.” Rommie added. HaxHis could clearly see a diplomatic firestorm in the making.

“Victoria, do you have a contingency plan in place in case. . .in case. . . . .?” HaxHis started but hesitated to finish.

“I am prepared to go into exile.” Victoria replied.

“Exile! Why exile?” Rommie asked, voicing the question everyone else thought.

“My son Agamemnon was extremely displeased, to say the least, with Barbarossa's decision to place Tyr on the throne instead of him. Nietzschean law dictates that the crown must be passed down from The Viceroy to the First Born son, unless The Viceroy suspects the First Born has ulterior motives. Barbarossa may have detected something amiss for I've received recent news from one of my spies that he has been secretly fomenting.” Victoria replied.

“Oh my Divine! You mean your own son. . . . . would . . . . . assassinate you?" Hashish exclaimed. In response, Sherra shook her dreadlocked head.

“It is indeed a sad day when one of your own pups that you've suckled at your breast turns on you.” she thought.

“It is not the first nor the last time this has happened. To quote Drago: 'Thine own worst enemy are the members of thine own household.' This is the Nietzschean way, Sherra. Only the strongest survive.” Victoria replied. “Since I am only ruling in Tyr's stead, if Tyr is missing or deceased, I will be a tempting target for Agamemnon.” Victoria said. “I have a standing army of millions at my command, however, I do not wish to risk civil war over this.” she continued.

“But if you are in exile, who would rule in your stead? It obviously cannot be Agamemnon because that's exactly the very thing he wants.” Rommie stated.

“Most likely he would never abrogate the throne once he's gotten it in his clutches.” Sherra responded.

“That is why I am turning over ruling power over to my second son Ares. He is completely loyal to me and will stop at nothing wipe out any opposition.” Victoria replied.

“Divine have mercy! If this doesn't work, this could the making of a civil war!” HaxHis exclaimed.

“Indeed my friends. Let us pray that there will not be one. Far too much innocent blood has been shed already.” Victoria replied, thinking of the recent dustup with Osiris and his ilk.

“Do you need any assistance, Victoria?” HaxHis asked diplomatically.

“No thank you, Haxhis. In fact we are all packed and are leaving within the hour.” Victoria replied.

Meaning her entire household including Ladies in Waiting, Ceremonial Guard, cooks, assistants and other staff, were leaving at oh-dark-hundred. Nietzscheans loved making early morning assaults and departures.

“My Divine! So soon?” HaxHis exclaimed.

“I must, HasHistra.” Victoria replied calmly.

“Any particular location?” Haxhis asked.

“Definitely not here on Pinnacle. I cannot tell you where, but I will let you know once I've arrived safely.” Victoria replied.

“And what of Agamemnon?” Khan asked.

“I left orders for Ares to set a counter plan in motion. But, I also made him promise not to do anything until I'm off planet.” Victoria replied. Meaning, she'd left orders to “take Agamemnon and his fellow malcontents out”. She just didn't want to be anywhere around when it happened.

A young female Nietzschean came into range of the visual pickup and whispered into Victoria's ear. The Nietzschean Queen Mother nodded and smiled sadly. The young lady hurried away.

“Everything is ready and they are waiting for me. Thank you for everything, HaxHista, Sherra, Khan, Rommie. Please find my son.” Victoria said.

“We will do our best.” HaxHis replied.

“May the Divine's blessings and protection be upon you, Victoria.” Khan said.

“Thank you, and same to you Khan, everyone. Thank you for remaining discrete and understanding. I will be in touch as soon as possible.” Victoria replied.

The screen went dark and was replaced by the Nietzschean governmental symbol. HaxHis privately wondered if she would ever see her dear Neitzschean friend again.

“Gentle Beings, I would appreciate it if this information stays within the confines of only us five. I realize Rommie will have to apprise Captain Hunt later.” HaxHis said.

“Yes Ma'am.” They all replied.

“Now lets do what the lady asked us to do, find Tyr.” HaxHis said as she stood.

Free Enterprise - Connections #126

In the Great Hall of the Q, one hundred Q stood at parade rest in front of Janeway Q, and waited, waited, and waited. No one dared say a word for they all knew their leader was ticked.

“Two weeks, three days, twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes after I gave the order to find, capture and return Q to me, and you still haven't found him?” she asked calmly.

The leader of this particular group chose to step forth and speak. Contrary to popular thought and belief, the Q were not exclusively Human. This one was a stern looking Vulcan who strongly resembled Spock's father, Sarek.

“We have initiated a multi-verse search grid which was partially successful in only discovering where he had been.” he replied.

“Oh? Where?” she asked, patiently.

“He made multiple trips to Pinnacle and Deep Space Ten.” he replied.

“Pinnacle. That is the main Nietzschean home world, isn't it?” she asked.

“Yes it is the official seat of Nietzschean government.” he replied.

Though the Nietzscheans inhabited many planets and world ships, if Teddy Roosevelt were a Nietzschean, he would've said of Pinnacle “The buck stops here.”

“So what recent and significant event would've happened on Pinnacle to attract Q's attention?” she wondered aloud. Not that she didn't already know. For Q was unfortunately attracted to certain important events like a crow was to shiny objects.

“The death of Viceroy Barbarossa Anasazi. It was made significant by the fact that in totally breaking with Nietzschean tradition, Barbarossa chose to pass his crown to his youngest son, Tyr instead of his oldest son, Agamemnon.” The Vulcan Q replied.

“BINGO!” she thought.

“Viceroy Tyr Anasazi also happens to be a highly decorated Star Fleet officer, is he not?” she asked.

“Affirmative, Q." the Vulcan Q replied.

“So Tyr Anasazi is either blessed or cursed with being both. Q enjoys sticking his foot out and tripping people like him.” she replied and stood. “We are going to Deep Space Ten.” she said in answer to the questioning looks on everyone's face.

“We?” the Vulcan Q queried, as he raised his right eyebrow in a typical Vulcan manner.

“My father always said, if you want something done right, you must either do it your self, or personally supervise the task . . . . . .” she replied, as she and all 100 Q blinked out of existence.


* * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile Captain Dylan Hunt was having an in-depth conversation with Captain Sherra of the Dolgarian ship Sojourner. Currently Dylan was in a quandary because he was both extremely tired and did not know which end was up Sherra.

The Dolgarian Captain was a black Human sized Pule, who had long black dreadlocks hanging over her face and eyes. The only hint he was talking to her face, was her moving snout and the occasional flash of her white canine teeth, and pink tongue.

“I can't believe I'm talking to a giant dog who is has dreadlocks like Tyr. First, human sized talking cats, now this. What's next? Talking elephants? If I run into any of those, I'm handing in my papers. . . .” Dylan thought wearily to himself, as he barely suppressed a yawn. He thought had done a good job of covering it up, but. . . .

“Captain Hunt. When was the last time you slept?” Sherra asked.

“Ops!” Dylan thought.

“Uh . . . . .Uh. . . . . . Forgive me. . . .” Dylan fumbled.

“I understand the Rear Admiral is a very close and dear friend, however, you must rest, or you will not be of much use to anyone. Not to yourself or even The Admiral should find him. Take some down time, Captain and Divine willing we will speak tomorrow.” She admonished. Dylan blinked because he swore he saw one of her alert brown eyes gazing back at him in the video pickup.

“Alright Captain, we will continue this conversation tomorrow at this time.” Dylan replied.

“1300 hours. Aye.” Sherra replied as she signed off. Dylan immediately called Rommie into his Ready Room. The second she saw him, she ordered him off the bridge and to his quarters to rest.

“Hey, you can't do that! You're my XO!” Dylan protested.

“I can if I see that you are unfit for duty. Which is a lot better than what Trance would do. She'd haul you down to Sickbay and give you a sedative.” Rommie replied. “Captain, go get some sleep, I'll take care of things here. Remember, androids don't require sleep.” she continued.

With that Dylan left the bridge and headed to his quarters. Once there he only had enough strength to remove his boots before he stretched out on his bed and fell asleep fully clothed in his uniform.


* * * * * * * *

Back on Deep Space Ten, the Janeway Q and the rest of her compatriots showed up on the station in a random manner. Some were disguised as merchants, others as crew, still others as tourists.

However, she personally decided to disguise herself as a ten year old girl. Nancy Cox was a child genius who'd won The Intergalactic Tesla Award for inventing some scientific thing of a bob. One of her prizes was an all expense paid trip to and a tour of Deep Space Ten.

“Why a child?” the Vulcan Q had queried.

“No one fears a child because for the most part, they are innocent, and because of that, people tell children everything.” she replied, and smiled. “I wager after speaking to a few key people I will be able to track down Q faster than your entire team.” she challenged.

“But, Q we have been using these methods for the past hundred eons.” the Vulcan Q replied.

“Perhaps your methods of investigation need a serious update.” she said. “That is precisely why Q was able to spring the trap without being caught by the noose.” she continued.

The Vulcan Q did not bother to reply. Janeway knew he was displeased, but she couldn't help that. Obviously Q was not an amateur, but neither was she. . . . . .

“First things first. We go to meet Fleet Admiral HaxHis. I never met a Katay before but I've heard a lot about them.” Janeway said, as she skipped along side the tall, austere Vulcan male as they made their way across the Upper Promenade to the bank of lifts.


* * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, Tyr and Tamara were spending quality “cuddle” time with each other. They had just gotten comfortable when

SQUEAK!

“What was that?” Tamara asked as they both jumped nearly a mile high off the bed like scalded cats.

“I don't know.” Tyr replied, as he grabbed the end of the duvet and shook it out, expecting to find one of his sons squeak toys in it. He then unsuccessfully searched the bed itself, to no avail.

“False alarm.” he said as he shrugged his shoulders and got back into bed. Tamara followed him and curled up into his arms. Back to business at hand. . . . . .

SQUEAK!

Both Nietzschean and Vulcan started again and stared at one another.

“It's you.” Tamara accused.

“Me? How the. . . . .” Tyr asked. In reply Tamara pressed the tip of his nose with her right forefinger and . . . . .

SQUEAK!

Tamara put both hands over her mouth as her green eyes became as wide as saucers. The look on Tyr's face was of utter stupefaction, then the realization dawned.

“Tamara. Do not laugh!” Tyr commanded.

“Your nose squeaks like a clowns nose and you expect me not to laugh?” Tamara thought through their marital link. She didn't exactly trust herself to speak at this particular time. . . . . . .

“I will beat you from port to starboard if you laugh.” Tyr threatened.

“Tyr Anazasi! I thought Nietzschean men did not beat their wives!” Tamara thought. Despite her best intentions she chuckled. She pulled away as he reached for her, and dashed across the room.

“There are always exceptions to that rule. . . .” Tyr replied and the chase was on.


* * * * * * *

In the meantime, Q was on the floor of the multi-verse rolling with hysterical laughter.

“You should've seen the look on your face when she pressed your nose, Mr. Neitzschean! What a hoot! I haven't had so much fun in ages!” Q said, as he applauded.


* * * * * * * * * * * *

“I'd love to give him one up side the head.” Fatou thought sourly, as she stared up at the ceiling, through the many decks of The Insurrection, out into space at the exact spot where Q was hiding.

Q sensed Fatou's disapproving gaze. He looked back, gave her a raspberry, stuck his thumbs in his ears and twittled his fingers.

“Divine preserve us! Q is but a big child and Tyr is just his personal plaything!” Fatou thought in distress.


* * * * * * * * * * *

The mood was clearly broken so now the two love birds lay entwined in each other's arms. They'd both figured out, if they didn't touch Tyr's nose, they wouldn't have any problems.

“You do know that you have to go to Sickbay, right?” Tamara asked.

“I most certainly will not.” Tyr replied.

“Tyr!” Tamara exclaimed.

“And exactly what am I going to tell the Good Lady Doctor? That my nose squeaks like a child's toy? What remedy can she possibly recommend? I know no other except to find that low down filthy scum of a Q, who caused this mess in the first place and crush him like a rodent!” Tyr said. “I tell you what she's going to do. She's going to laugh her rear end off, just like the rest of the crew will do when they find out.” Tyr continued.

“I'm pretty sure she's not going to laugh at you, Tyr.” Tamara replied. At least she hoped and prayed Kori didn't. Klingons had the tendency to be unpredictable. . . . .

“That remains to be seen.” Tyr groused.


* * * * * * * * * * *


“This is so embarrassing.” Tyr thought to himself, and rolled his expressive brown eyes toward the ceiling. “I should've not only bet money Kori was going to laugh, but extra because she is howling too.” Tyr continued to think somberly.

You see, Klingons unlike Humans did not twitter, chuckle, chortle, or giggle. They roared with mirth, and since Kori was a typical Klingon she let it all hang out. Tamara wondered if the woman was going to howl at the moon next.

“So, what do you recommend?” Tyr asked as Dr. Kori calmed down.

“I have no recommendations except to not touch your nose.” Kori replied.

“Not touch my nose! That is impossible! I have to wash my face and blow it . . . . . .” Tyr started.

“Now you must find somewhere private if you need to do that. Oh and by the way, watch out for your sons. Once they find out your nose squeaks like that, they will never let you rest. Plus if the entire crew will find out. . . . .” she said, as she shook her head.

“And I will be the laughing stock of Starfleet. . . .” Tyr groused as he thought of Alexander's little reaching arms and grabby hands. Lysander was equally precocious. Kori was right, there was no rest for the weary.

“Thanks a lot Q! When I get my hands on you, you'll be deader than Elvis.” Tyr thought fiercely.


* * * * * * * * * *

“Oh my! I don't like that look on your face Mr. Nietzschean. Should I be afraid? Should I cringe in abject terror or should I laugh my butt off? I chose the latter! Oh, this is soooooo much fun!” Q said, as he dry washed his hands with glee, just like a mad scientist.


* * * * * * * * * *

Fatou narrowed her amber eyes. She was having her own private thoughts on what to do about Q, and they were not civil.


* * * * * * * * * *

Janeway Q had in the guise of Nancy Cox had just completed her tour with none other than the Station Commander, Fleet Admiral HaxHis. She and her compatriot Q were now all gathered in a safe corner of the multi-verse.

“Here is what I found out. Three and a half weeks ago, Admiral Anasazi was scheduled to lead a convoy of 12 relief ships to Avon Six. However, at the last second they were diverted due a distress signal which came from the Antares sector. They went to assist with Tyr's ship in the lead, however, The Insurrection and her crew simply disappeared.” she reported.

The other Q looked at one another with quizzical expressions. The unspoken question was "How the heck did she find all of that out?" Even though they were Q, there were some limits to what they could do especially when pitted against one of their own who had gone rogue. He was obviously using his limitless power to hide from them.

“HaxHis had the padd with the report on her desk, and I just happen to know how to read upside down.” Janeway replied, with a smile.


* * * * * * * * * *

There was no problem getting to the Antares sector, in fact it was a piece of cake. However, finding where Q had secreted himself was another story. At Janeway Q's orders the Q fanned out in pairs into as many directions as possible to begin an intense search.


* * * * * * * * * *

Q was in the middle of being up to no good as usual, when he froze in mid action.

“Oh shhhhhhhhhhhhh...............” he said. “I thought I put up enough shielding to protect and hide me from them!” he continued. He waved his right hand in Tyr's direction.

“I'll be back.” Q promised impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger's “Terminator” charactor, then blinked out.


* * * * * * * * * *


Seconds later Fatou was heading towards the Bridge in a professional panic.

When the lift opened Tyr was sitting in the Central Seat reading and signing padds. He looked up, saw Fatou, and she gave him the signal that she wanted to speak to him and Captain McPhearson in private.

Once they were all situated, Tyr standing in his favorite place in front of the window, Tamara standing at parade rest, in front of Tyr's desk. Fatou spoke.

“I don't sense Q anymore.” she said simply.

“Oh? Why didn't you tell me you were capable of sensing him?” Tyr asked, raising both eyebrows in surprise.

“I didn't tell you because I considered my sensing his presence to be unreliable. I can only sense him when he uses his powers and I didn't want you to hang your hat on that, so to speak.” Fatou explained.

“Does this mean we will be able to go home?” Tyr asked.

“No, unfortunately it does not.” Fatou replied.

“Why not?” Tamara asked.

“Because I distinctly heard him say that he would be back. Then he blinked out.” Fatou replied. She tactfully left out Q's Arnold Swartzinagger impersonation. . . . . . .

“What cause him to leave in such a hurry?” Tyr wondered out loud.

“There are others here, now.” Fatou replied.

“Others? You mean other Q?” Tyr asked

“The Q Continuum consists of possibly hundreds of their kind. The majority of which are peaceful, co-exist with us, and occasionally help us out.” Tamara replied. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the one we encountered." she continued.

“So, they obviously are hunting for their rogue compatriot.” Tyr stated.

“I guess in the meantime we have to cool our nacelles until they either find him or set things straight.” Tamara said. Referring to being released from the "bubble" Q had trapped The Insurrection and her crew in.

“Or rather until they find him and MAKE him set things straight. Divine only knows, he may have set things into motion which only he can undo.” Fatou said sagely. The small hairs on Tyr's neck stood on end. That was not a good sign.

“You mean I'm stuck with this for the duration?” Tyr asked as he touched his nose, expecting to hear a resounding squeak. But, there was only silence.

“Stuck with what?” Fatou asked innocently.

“Never mind.” Tyr covered. “In the meantime I must have a meeting with the Quartermaster and Lieutenant Torres of Hydrophonics. I don't know how long we will be stuck here and if necessary I may have to institute rationing of resources and provisions to the crew.” Tyr continued.

The Insurrection was an Akira class Star Ship and not considered a long range vessel like the old Constitution or the updated Enterprise class. So, if Tyr instituted the “Voyager Protocols (made standard practice by Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Voyager while in the Alpha Quadrant) his crew and family would be able to survive a long term mission if need be.

“The first order of the day is to reduce power to all non-essential areas.” Tyr said to Tamara. “Other orders will be forthcoming after my meetings have been concluded. Dismissed.” Tyr continued in command mode.

“Aye, sir.” Tamara responded, executed a textbook military right and left. Leaving Tyr and Fatou alone.

“Now, what was that about the possibility of Q setting something in motion only HE can undo?” Tyr asked of Fatou.

“I said what I meant, and I meant what I said.” she replied succinctly, leaving no doubt in the Nietzschean Admiral's mind.

Fatou's Spanish was rusty, but she was positive Tyr's response was nothing but swear words in that particular language. . . . . . .


* * * * * *


Meanwhile, in the 88 Lounge (The Insurrection's Mess Hall), Melissa and Dragon were sitting together at a private table. They had agreed to coordinate their meal breaks to meet, chat and chew.

Dragon was outfitted in his modified version of a Starfleet Security uniform. Melissa was dressed in Starfleet Hydroponics coveralls. He had taken liberty of ordering food and drink for both himself and Melissa.

“How is your Chai?” Dragon asked, as he watched her hesitantly sip from a steaming cup.

“It's positively delicious!” Melissa proclaimed and smiled, after taking her first ever sip and taste.

“I'm surprised you've never had Chai before. After all you've traveled so far and wide. . . . .” Dragon said.

“Dragon, you wouldn't believe the stories I have of people trying to poison me. That's why I have my team along.” Melissa replied.

The life of an intergalactic news correspondent was not all it was cracked up to be. When dealing with shady characters, one did not eat what they offered you, no matter how hungry you were, or how tasty it looked. T'Kell always brought along a supply of meal bars and water pacs just in case. . . .

Dragon glanced off for a second and espied the Vulcan couple on the far side of the room engaged in lively discussion with several officers from Cartography. He was not fooled by that rouse one bit. They were attuned as to his every move as he was of theirs.

“What kind of sandwich is this?” she asked, as she gazed at hers then watched Dragon pick up his.

“It is a CLT. Cheese, lettuce and tomato on toasted multi grain bread, with a hint of mayonnaise.” he replied.

“No bacon?” she asked. .

“Yuck. Bacon contains far too much nitrates and fat.” Dragon replied. She'd forgotten that Nietzscheans were consummate health nuts and were extremely picky about what they ate.

“You should eat yours before it gets cold.” he admonished. Melissa took a bite and agreed it didn't taste bad.

“Okay, here comes the five thousand bars of gold plated latinum question. Why is your name Dragon?” Melissa asked. They had both finished their meal and the dishes had been removed by a steward. Dragon smiled shyly, dropped his head and sighed. Melissa was immediately sorry she'd asked.

“There was a slight error when my parents filed my official birth documents with The Hall of Records. My father had named me Dragoon, but somewhere along the line an “o” was omitted. The error was not discovered until I entered primary school. My father was furious and could have changed it back, but my mother loved the name Dragon. Since we Nietzscheans have a Matriarchal society and whatever the lady of the house says, goes, thus Dragon it stayed.” Dragon explained.

“Dragoon?? That's either a light infantry or a pirate ship isn't it?” Melissa asked.

“My father is an ardent fan of old Earth military history, and that's how he chose my name. It is a light infantry, where the soldiers originally rode horseback and carried light weaponry so they could move quickly.” he replied.

“So, how do you feel about your name now?” she asked, in full interview mode though she didn't intend for it to be so.

“I have no problem with it because I've been told on numerous occasions that I am as fierce as my namesake.” Dragon replied and smiled.

At that particular time, Dragon didn't look fierce. However, the man was second in command of Security on Tyr Anazasi's ship. That alone was no mean feat.

“So I'd say you were appropriately named.” Melissa replied.

“Yes, my father knows that now.” Dragon said as he smiled.

Melissa had so many other questions to ask but realized their meal break was almost over.

“Would you like to share dinner with me later?” Dragon asked. “That way you can ask all of the questions you want and I can ask some of my own.” he continued.

“I don't see why not.” she replied.

“How about back here at 1900 hours?” he asked.

“Excellent. I'll be here.” Melissa said as she rose to go. She didn't have to look for T'Kell and Skorr, because they were already approaching.

She waved as she left the 88 Lounge, and it was back to work for her.

“Ah! Isn't it great when love is in the air?” Ensign Palmer asked her fellow crew member Ensign Chee as they bussed The 88 Lounge's tables.

“Yeah. Those two will not be able to keep their minds on work for the rest of the afternoon and evening.” Chee replied.

“Oh the horror of it all!” Palmer replied as she playfully poked her friend in the ribs.