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Two decks below sick bay, KDaana is working in the near deserted science
lab. Since returning from leave in her homeplace, she has had difficulty
coping with the sound level that accompanies the day to day functioning
aboard the Reciprocity. As a result, she has been doing as much work as
possible in the lab and going so far as to book her duty shifts during ship's
night.
The silence inside the lab is unbroken as she concentrates on the
information provided by Shane and Hawke on the Debarilon encounter.
Analyzing the sensor readings and bridge logs occupies her for the better
part of 2 hours until a tiny sound draws her attention. Without giving any
hint that she is aware of an intruder, she tracks the sound with her ears.
Slowly, she turns her eyes towards the source. Only her extensive training
prevents
her from cursing outloud as she spots the rodent skulking about the labs'
perimeter.
She suppresses a shudder as she recalls an earlier incident. She had
taken a mug of raktajino with her into the lab and had left it in the
anteroom (as beverages and food are not allowed in the lab itself). After
completing her first review of the data, she had gone back to the anteroom to
finish the mug. As she raised it to her lips, she noticed a ghob-fly
floating in the thick brew. Normally, she would have flicked the pest out
and downed
the liquid without a second thought but today she had chosen to throw the
entire mug back into the reclamation unit and replicate a hot replacement.
Now, she realizes that was not a ghob-fly floating in the mug. Rat sh*t!!
she thinks.
Disgusted by what she almost consumed she becomes enraged. Knowing any
motion will give her away to the revolting rodent, she waits and watches.
Her mind runs through the list of diseases and plagues carried by rodents and
mentally makes a list of the medications Doc Rolly and Doc Hooley will soon
be replicating. She makes a note to inform OPS that maintenance crews will
need to treat the ship for the Romulan equivalent of rat fleas. As she
waits for her window of opportunity, her thoughts turn to calculating the
power requirements of an electrical surge strong enough to kill Romulan rats
without harming the crew. She thinks to herself.."It could be done. We
could send an electric current through the ship and fry these vermin"
The rat is steadily moving closer to her console, stopping here and
there to gnaw a few wires. At one point, the rat bites into a live cable and
sparks spit out onto the beast. It shrieks, leaves another raisin on the
deck and hops closer to KDaana. Her fury once again soars as she realizes
the severed cable controlled the lab's data storage subsystem and all her
previous work just went to join the Black Fleet.
The rat moves closer and closer. She wills every muscle in her body
to remain still. She holds her breath as the rodent reaches her console and
she is finally shielded from it's sight. Her right hand moves silently to
her waist and she draws out her dagger. With weapon poised, she waits for
the creature to move around her console. Every muscle is tensed and her
senses tell her that her prey is within reach.
Suddenly the rat leaps up from under the console onto her lap. As it
sinks it's teeth into her thigh, she stands and knocks it to the ground,
snarling as it takes a piece of her flesh with it. As the creature turns and
runs, she throws the dagger. Her aim is good....but not good enough. The
dagger severs a portion of the rodents posterior appendage but does not
deliver a killing blow.
The rat streaks towards the anteroom as she picks up the dagger and aims
again. At that moment, a damage control party enters the anteroom to
investigate the automatic alarm indicator light that had alerted the OPS
officer to damage in the lab. The rodent scurries past the two workers as
they valiantly throw tools and torc wrenches at it. KDaana's second shot is
ruined. She turns and picks up the bloody tail. She attaches it to the
thong
securing one of the small braids behind her left ear. Turning towards the
anteroom, she curses vulgarly and vows "The rest of your miserable hide will
adorn my wall!!"
She stomps over to the chewed cable, oblivious to the blood running down
her leg from the rat bite and begins to effect repairs. The violent threats
and swearing blisters the ears of the DC techs who decide the repairs would
be best left to KD and they retreat to make a report to the OPS officer of
the day.

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ISS Reciprocity
Personal Log
SD 60007.29
FstLt KDaana
Chief Science Officer

Upon returning to the Reciprocity after the recovery of a possible Vordock
Artifact, the infection from the r'hatta bite caused a brief loss of
consciousness. When I was again able to speak, I insisted on being returned
to my quarters. The medical staff, knowing their medicines and treatments to
be ineffective in resolving infection in my race, allowed me to be taken
there. They did insist on placing portable
monitoring devices in my Sanctuary though.

The Tuatha are an immortal race only inasmuch as we cannot die while in our
own plane of existence. Once we leave that plane, we are as mortal as any
other being. While here we age, get ill, get injured and can die. We are
inexorably bound to the energy of nature. Our existence in this outside
world depends on being able to regenerate our bodies in the energy emitted by
the plants, soil and water of our homeplace. Hence the need for a
Sanctuary...a garden of sorts. Everything here was painstakingly carried
through the passageway between realms and set up to provide the energy needed
to survive.

I knew the plants could provide the medicines I needed to heal but my people
so rarely left the homeplace that the knowledge of medicinal properties was
lost eons ago. We simply did not need to know...so long as we stayed in our
own realm. Unfortunately, fighting the infection had weakened me to the
point where I could no longer make the journey home. I was on my own here.

Millennia ago, my people lived in this plane of existence on Earth. We still
retain the physical shape of humans. Likewise, the plants of my home were
also "Terran". I began my search by studying Terran treatments and old
herbal remedies. Willow bark was used for fighting fever and inflammation.
Ergot derivatives and clay, when applied topically, could draw out poisons.
Even molds could aid in curing infections. Armed with this information, I
searched the many plants in the Sanctuary until I was fairly certain I had
identified the cousins of the healing Terran plants. After 18 hours of
drinking willow bark tea..::makes a revolted face:: and alternating
compresses of wet clay, ergot and
hot water, the infection had localized and my mind was clear as the fever
broke.

The old healing folklore teaches that once an infection localizes at it's
point of entry, the flesh must be opened to allow the toxins and poisons to
drain out. Then the area must be kept covered with very warm, wet cloth
until all healed.
::end log::

::KDaana sits in the sanctuary on a patch of thick moss. On one side is a
stack of clean cloths, all neatly folded. A thermal container of hot water
stands beside the cloths. On her other side is a small, covered bowl. She
lifts the cover to reveal a small dagger soaking in a solution of alcohol.
Straightening out her right leg, she removes an old compress and looks at the
red, swollen flesh. Carefully, she stabilizes the tissue and reaches for
the dagger. With the dagger poised over the tortured flesh, she draws a deep
breath. The dagger moves downward sharply. As it enters her thigh, pain
explodes through her body and the room goes dark::

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Personal Log
First Lieutenant Shane Reikson
Chief of Flight Operations
ISS Reciprocity
SD 60008.22

the majority of the reciprocity crew was recently allowed shore leave on the
space station deep space nine following successful completion of the viridon
mission. fortunately, i was not one of those required to stay on duty for
upkeep of the ship. however, i did remain on the ship as the rest of the
senior staff traveled to the station.
while on the ship, i was able to catch up on a few reports and projects i
had neglected, while the rest of my time was spent catching up with a few
days of straight sleep. later, i heard that there had been an interesting
incident on the promenade of the station, but i have few regrets as to the
choice of my shore leave experience.

~end log
<<note: meant to explain my absense in the _sim_ world>>

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Prologue - The First Incident
By: Cannon Hawke

Cannon Hawke boarded the civilian transport and took is seat in the
first-class deck. His vacation was brief, but it gave him enough time to
unwind. From what he had heard, the Reci had completed to Vordock missions
and had returned to DS9. Personally, he questioned Starfleet's method of
appeasing the Aslans at the cost of the Dinalion and Viridon, but that was
his decision.
The transport departed from Risa's spacedock, and set course for Bajor. At
warp four, the transport would arrive in roughly six hours. The captain made
some notes over the intercom: flight time, the weather in Bajor, and of the
such as the transport made way for the Bajorian system. At that point, Hawke
started the Federation Daily Tribute, reading of the recent breakthroughs to
the lost Voyager crew and other headlines. His vacation had been
uneventful, Risa's climate was perfect as always, and Cannon simply enjoyed
the time to himself. He finished the Federation Tribute, and picked up the
Bajorian Herald just as--
A Cardassian male stood wearing a jacket. It was the jacket that first
caught Hawke's attention-- most people took off their jackets when they sat
down. Tucked inside the jacket was a Cardassian disrupter rifle, Hawke could
even make out the "CU," or Cardassian Union. The old Bajorian who say next
to him muttered an, "Oh sh*t," but Cannon motioned to him to be quiet. The
Bajorian complied, but continued to breath heavily. Next came two others
to the right, both Cardassian and dressed nicely, and passed right next to
Hawke's seat as they headed towards the first.
Why the hell had Hawke left his phaser in his carry-on baggage overhead? He
kicked himself for it, making such a beginner's mistake. But he could do
nothing of it now, not while the transport was filled with hapless civilians.
The three Cardassians went to the bridge, an obviously frightened stewardess
leading them. Two entered, the other one watching the entrance. Cannon
could only hope the captain would do nothing stupid and act professional.
Soon enough the captain spoke through the intercom, "This is your captain
speaking. Uh, we're going through some heavy solar winds... so please stay
in your seats for your own safety. Thank you, I'll be back with updates as
they come." Good, Cannon though, the captain had acted coolly. One
Cardassian exited the bridge and joined his comrade already there. The two
then strolled up and down the first-class cabin, looking inquisitively at
each
passenger. One stopped at Hawke, "Who are you?"
"Cannon Hawke," Hawke said, there was no use lying, "My passport is in my
overhead bag if you wish to see." But the terrorist shook his head and went
on. The other, however, was questioning an old Bajorian lady with expensive
jewelry. Her motions were erratic and nervous. Cannon guessed her to be the
Bajorian diplomat to the Federation perhaps? Or the diplomat's wife.
Anyway, it was someone of importance to the terrorists. The Cardassians
seemed frustrated, and now they were bickering with each other. Now, Hawke
could guess the lady was the wife of someone important. The terrorist were
misinformed. Bad intelligence, Cannon said to himself, No one seems to be
the leader. Amateurs. Blown mission. This would be bad: professionals may
be ruthless and trained, but amateurs were unpredictable. The three
Cardassians would get desperate as more time passed, and desperate men do
desperate things. Hopefully, Hawke could use this to his advantage.
The two terrorist went through the passenger list one more time, and
proceeded down the rows interviewing each passenger. Once again, a
Cardassian came to Hawke. This was not the one who he had spoke to early.
"What is your name?" The Cardassian asked harshly. He was at least six
feet tall.
"As I told your friend, I am Cannon Hawke," the Fathom said.
"Show me your passport."
"It is in my overhead carry-on. May I get it?" Cannon asked, and the
Cardassian nodded. Hawke stood and grabbed it, "May I?" Again, the
terrorist nodded, and Cannon opened the bad. Looking through it, he took is
passport out and handed it to the Cardassian. As he looked through it, Hawke
took out the phaser and dropped it towards the floor. With his feet, it
caught it noiselessly, and slid it under the seat out of sight. The
Cardassian handed
the passport back, and Hawke replaced his bag.
The interviews continued for the next half hour. The terrorist, and Hawke,
knew they could not stay in warp forever. Most likely, half the startups in
the sector were already on their way. Even with hostages, they were not
safe. Nevertheless, they would have to dock somewhere soon, flying in space
forever was pointless and did not get their means across. Still, the
Cardassian trio were becoming increasing agitated, which could mean trouble.
Cannon needed to created in opening, a window of opportunity.
"Sir! I must use the restroom," Hawke called out.
One Cardassian walked to Cannon, "No."
"Do you want me to soil my pants? When a you got to go, you got to go,"
Cannon said.
"Very well," the terrorist said, annoyed. Cannon walked towards the rear of
the first-class deck, with the Cardassian behind him. As soon as he was out
of sight from the other Cardassian, Hawke turned around. "Would you like
some tea?" Hawke asked. The terrorist could not even answer when Cannon
knocked him hard in the throat. He followed up with a right hand across his
head, effectually knocking out the Cardassian. Picking up the tea tray,
the turned back to the front of the deck.
"Where is my comrade?" the second Cardassian asked Hawke as he walked
towards him with the tea tray.
"He had to use the restroom. Would you like some tea?" The Cardassian
reached for a cup, but Hawke dropped the tray, grabbed his arm, and gave a
solid blow in the sternum. A split second later, a chop to the throat and
another elbow across the face of the terrorist. And then the tray hit the
ground.
Cannon motioned to a sewards, "Get me rope, cord, anything that could tie
them up." As the sewards did, Hawke grabbed is phaser from under his seat.
With some rope, he tied up the two Cardassians. A bit tight, Hawke thought,
if their hands turn black, too bad. He then asked to the sewards again, "Go
to the bridge, and tell the last bad guy that his friends are asking for him.
Them walk out and stand five feet from the door, facing it.
Understand?" The Bajorian stewardess nodded, and walked into the bridge to
perform her duties. Cannon took up position next to the door. The
stewardess walked back out and stood five feet from the door as he had told
her to. The terrorist followed, but was stunned to see his two friends tied
up in front of him. At that point, Cannon prodded his phaser into the
Cardassian's ear. He then removed his rifle from his limp hands, and lead
him to be
tied up with the rest of his friends. Cannon Hawke was glad there had been
no casualties, and the lower decks had now even know what had taken place.
Hawke walked into the bridge to inform Starfleet of the situation. Little
did he know, this would only be the first incident.

Next: Part One

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Part One - Founding
By: Cannon Hawke

After the incident, the transport had stopped short of Bajor and moved into
orbit around the Tunus system. The pursuing Starfleet ships followed suit,
and soon the civilians in the transport were replaced with a swarm of
Starfleet officers. Starfleet's questioning over, Hawke took a private call
aboard the USS Ranger. It was Rear Admiral Mason, a cheery Briton whom
Cannon had known for a while.
"Cannon, I just got news of what you did. Congratulations, commander," the
Admiral said.
"Thank you sir," Cannon replied in typical fashion.
"My my my... we haven't had one of these incidents happen in a while. Not
since the Maquis were around, I think," Admiral Mason went on.
"Aye sir. The collapse of the Dominion has prompted rises in revolutionary
forces and separatist fractions," Cannon explained. For Starfleet to believe
the postwar galaxy to be a time of rebuilding was foolharty. One side always
had to lose, and the losing side was breeding ground for terrorist movements.
"Well, I think we were all lucky you were there. I don't think we have
anyone trained to handle these sort of things," he chuckled, "As one senior
official put it, you're nothing if not smooth, Cannon."
"Thank you sir," Cannon said again, but went on, "The three Cardassians were
not very well trained or professional. Should they be part of any separatist
fraction, it was a rogue mission." He knew for a fact, paramilitary
uprisings had already or is occurring in the Cardassian Union and Breen
space. Lashing out against the Alpha Alliance was imminent.
"In any case, commander, no one in the Alpha Quadrant is prepared to handle
these sort of situations. This hostage rescue thing is quite novel to us,
but obviously as pointed out in this recent incident, quite real. I've taken
up the subject with the Federation president and some others, and they agree
also," the Admiral said. The pleasantries were over. He went on, "The
Romulans, Klingons, and Cardassains aren't prepared to handle hostage
rescue either. So we have agreed to create an intergalactic task force to
deal with the situation. A bit like firefighters, the task force will
respond to these sort of special situations across the four respective
governments. They will be made up of the best officers: Red Squadron, Honor
Guard, former Obsidian Order, and Tal Shiar. Much like the Reciprocity, it
will be a joint effort."
"What do you want me do?" Hawke asked.
"We understand your commitments to the Reciprocity, and were you available,
you'd be on the team. But we'll need your expertise nevertheless. Could you
work as a consultant? Perhaps stop by the training grounds every so often to
give your opinion, and be there should there be an emergency. I would
appreciate it."
Cannon thought for a second, then agreed, "Alright. Keep me posted."
"Aye, Cannon. I thank you on behalf of the Federation. The operation is
top secret. Expect a report in the morning. Mason out," and he cut the
transmission. A young Starfleet officer led Hawke to the Ranger shuttlebay
where a shuttle would take him to DS9 to rejoin the Reciprocity. The shuttle
was faster, but Cannon missed the first-class service and wine.

The three were fools, Gul Trikuk said to himself, amateurs. But the Gul had
never expected the trio to succeed. Transport hijackings were suicide, a
thing of the far past. Today, starships were faster, Starfleet weapons
technology better. But what surprised Trikuk was that the Starfleet ships
had never even made it within weapons range of the doomed transport. From
what he had heard from the news reports, Starfleet officers were aboard and
defused the situation quickly without any lost of life on either side. Bull,
Trikuk thought, Starfleet officers were more technicians than commandos.
Even the dimwitted trio could have handled a couple of Starfleet officers off
duty. But even so, Trikuk would have to factor in such a rare occurance into
the next operation. His superior was already asking for a second operation,
this time to be done by people with more experience. Personally, the
Gul questioned his superior's motives. What did he hope to acomplish? When
Trikuk was with the Obsidian Order, he had learned to never question orders.
Still he was curious. Nevertheless, he had set up the second operation soon.
It would be ready in two weeks.

Part Two next...

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Enquiring Minds Want to Know!
Rolly's Personal Log, SD60009.30

Snidely Crudwell had a nose for news. A very long nose, indeed. He was
suffering from what he hoped was temporary writer's block, hoping for another
big muckraking story to emerge, when he noticed a brief AP humanoid interest
article about a Romulan Warbird named Reciprocity. It was a new experiment in
cooperation between the Federation, the Klingons and the Romulans, according
to the story. ~Hmmm~, Crudwell thought,
~There just may be a juicy story here somewhere~.
The impressario of tabloid sleaze's face lit up with joy; perhaps his dry
spell was over at last! The Galactic Star's number one reporter lost no time
calling Pa Pah Rahtzee, his favorite videoman, into his scruffy office. "Hey,
what's the deal, Snide, I was just tryin' ta finish my glop on a stick while
writin' my ex her alimony check...hope this is important!", Rahtzee said.
"Which ex, Pops? Oh, nevermind, that ain't important...nobody
would give a hoot if we printed that on the front page...but I smell we could
have somethin' big here, a real story..."
Rolly was busy trying to clean up sickbay...again. The r'hattas, the pesky
Romulan rodents that had been infesting the Reciprocity, were at it again.
Somehow, they'd gotten into sickbay again, leaving their telltale "nuggets"
lying everywhere. "Argh! Just when you thought it was safe to lay down on a
biobed..", the Romulan physician lamented. Pretty soon, Rolly and three
nurses were busy cleaning up the disgusting mess, when all of a sudden...
FLASH! Rolly blinked at the swift flash of blinding light. "Argh!", was all
he could utter. As Rolly's eyes began to readjust, he heard a weasily,
obnoxious voice: "Did ya get that, Pops? We got us a real story here! I can
see it now: Reciprocity Sickbay A Breeding Ground for Vermin! Tell, me,
Doctor...Rolly, is it? How long have you been letting this medical facility
go to the rats? And they tell me you're this tug's First Officer as well as
it's chief medical quack...how can you hope to do either job right, huh? The
Federation's holonews public's just dyin' ta know...or they will be, once
this gets out!" "Er, uh....argh!", Rolly responded. The needle-nosed reporter
grinned and looked to his cameraman. "C'mon, Pops, we'll come back ta this
Rommie creep later....meanwhile, let's get the skinny on the rest of this
vermin-infested boat!"
Crudwell turned to Rolly, a gleam in his eye. "Don't go anywhere, Spock, or
whatever your name is...I'll be back!" With that, Crudwell and Pa Pah Rahtzee
turned and went out the sickbay door, in search of scandal. Rolly's face
turned crimson. "We must alert the crew".

Note: This whole sorry affair is the start of a series of "pass it on" logs.
Whoever can stomach continuing this sinister saga can write the next one,
which is followed by a log by another crewman, and so on...
Who knows what the scruffy reporter for the Galactic Star will uncover next?
Any takers? Muahahahahahahah!

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Personal Log
Stardate 60010.31

Halloween balls had never held Hawke's interest much, if any at all.
The previous year, he had dressed up as Shane Reikson, suceeding in fooling
the crowd, but he reasoned he would not get away with it two years in a row.
So for this year, Hawke suited up a Terminator robot from the old Earth
movies. He had practived the Austria accent the night before, but admitted
to himself it was not every good.
The party went on as most parties at the Reci did, with the punch
spiked and music loud. Rolly had dressed up as Abe Lincoln, sporting the top
hat and Gettysburg Address. He had even manage to memorize a few lines, and
even more amazingly, recite them while drunk. Shane, being especially
susceptible to alcohol, passed out early on in the party. Rolly attempted to
revive him several times, but mostly to no avail.
Towards the end of the party, Ensign Kenny Redshirt ventured in.
Several crewmembers immediately wagered on his life expectancy. All in all,
the odds were against Ensign Redshirt. Hawke himself bet a far above average
of 10 minutes, hoping he could protect the ensign long enough to collect the
money. But Shane, being of semi-conscious state, decided the ensign was to
be a bull's eye marker, and thus threw knives at him. And so, Hawke
lost his money, his month's paycheck squandered away to Bandit the Dog.

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Chief Intelligence Officer, Second Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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Personal Log
Stardate 60011.03

Hawke had always been fascinated with the notion of other universes.
The theory had been first developed in the 20th century, its surge in science
had produced many of the theories used today. Cannon was no science officer,
but he studied some Quantum mechanics to understand the theory of
multi-universes.
In the 20th century, the branch of Quantum theory emerged. It
attempted to explain the physics of subatomic particles. Einstein had
theorized earlier that energy never traveled in a beam, but rather in bursts
of protons. So in experiments, physicists released protons in between two
walls, with sensors to detect where the hit and traveled. They found out it
was a completely random effect, and according to Quantum mechanics, it was
explained by the protons interacting and influencing each other; there were
so many variables to consider, that calculating where each proton would land
would be impossible (so-called Chaos Theory). So later, some physicists used
a very weak light, emitting only one proton at a time between two walls. And
they used very sensitive sensors that could detect where each proton hit.
They discovered that the protons still traveled randomly, even without
anything to influence it. What caused these protons to act in such a way?
Thus proved the theory of multi-universes. Scientists said that the
protons were effected by other universes. Accoding to the theory of
multi-universes, an infinitate number of universes were being created at any
given moment, each acting out differently. The protons were influenced by
the splitting of universes, and that while it split, the other universes
would have an influence on others. And in the experiment, causing the
protons to
respond, apparently randomly. This was a widely accepted theory in the 20th
century, and by now, practically a fact.
Physicists then sought to travel between universes, through the
Quantum foam that bound the universes together. They searched for minuscule
pathways through Quantum foam, so called wormholes into other universes.
Unfortunately, nothing has been able to travel through these wormholes and
emerge on the other end. Only in special cosmic instances where entire tears
were created in space-time where matter could travel through...
Hawke thought about this. In upcoming plasma string could
theoretically produce such an effect. Who knows what would happen...

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Chief Intelligence Officer, Second Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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Cadet Rolly expectantly sat at the helm of CSS Imperator, a silly grin
etched on the eager 19 year old's face. This was the first real mission of
his first cadet cruise, and Rolly could hardly wait for the action to begin.
Rolly thought back on the unbelievable string of good fortune that had
brought him to this moment. Back on ch'Havran, Rolly's parents had insisted
that the young Romulan attend the Imperial Medical Academy and become a
surgeon, but Rolly would have none of that; he had always been squeamish
around hypos and biobeds. Instead, he ran away from home, stowed away on a
freighter to ch'Rihan, lied about his age and joined the Imperial Naval
Academy. At
the Academy, Rolly seemed to have a natural talent for the skills of a
helmsman, and he was assigned his first cadent cruise on board the Axis
flagship, CSS Implacable, Cpt. Wesley Crusher commanding. Rolly didn't like
Crusher; in fact, it seemed nobody did. And nobody shed a tear when Crusher
was brought up before the Three Emperors on the charge of high treason. As a
member of the crew, Rolly got to attend the trial and actually had the
immensely good fortune to meet the Confederation's Emperor, Surak the
Terrible, in person.
Surak was in fact a clone of the great Vulcan leader who had transformed the
peace-loving Vulcans into a great and violent race bent on interstellar
expansion eons ago. Ever since the original Surak died centuries ago, a
perfect physical and mental reproduction of the mighty dictator had been
produced by a highly classified process to carry on the Empire's tradition of
martial glory.
Following the trial, young Rolly had watched the "spacing" of Cpt. Wesley
Crusher on holo-pay-per-view. It had been messier than Rolly had expected,
but hugely entertaining nonetheless.
Emperor Surak himself had paid for Rolly's ticket. "You have a bad attitude,
boy, you're rotten to the core...I admire that", Surak had confided to the
young Romulan. "You see, Rolly, once my people were as sickeningly
compassionate and pacifistic as most of yours are now. But Romulans like you
remind me there's always hope that the example of we Vulcans will one day
make cold- blooded assassins out you yet!" Impressed, Surak had Rolly
transferred
to the most prestigious position available for a young helmsman; CSS
Imperator!

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Personal Log
Stardate 60011.04

Commander Hawke was the fat, overweight intel chief and CO of the
Imperial Marines on the CSS Imperator. Under normal circumstances, he would
have never gotten the positions, and probably beat to a pulp years ago, but
he was of noble blood of the prestigious and influencial Hawke family. His
uncle, Mecrek de Hawke, was the lord of the Hawke System, an important and
powerful planetary system within the confederation. It was his
family name that had gotten into the Imperial Naval Academy in the first
place (his grades and record were terrible), and later for achieving the rank
of commander.
His uncle, Mecrek, was often known as Mecrek de Horrible, for his
tryannical rule of the Hawke system. He was quite currupt, having
influential ties to the Imperial courts and blood ties to the emperors.
Cannon's official title was Duke of Hawke. He grew up a priviledged life,
despising that he had to currently serve with those not of gentle blood. He
particularly hated his CO, Commodore KDaana. Cannon despised women in
command, whom he
considered inferior to the male gender. He was able to get away with his
remarks of the Commodore simpily because of his uncle. And for these
reasons, nearly everyone on the Imperator hated Hawke, even his own Imperial
Marines.
Another thing about Hawke was his obsession with food. He enjoyed
Targ bacon and ribs, Bandit particularly appealed to his appitite. It was
said, in the morning, he would have two pounds of Targ bacon, with four whole
eggs and several glasses of ale. For lunch, he enjoyed a ten course meal,
all of which he finished. During dinner, he demanded three times the helping
than the rest of the officers. The toliet on the bridge deck was in
constant stench from Hawke's expellings.
Cannon was also infamous for his quick and intense temper. He became
infuriated at the most minor things, during in which he would raise his voice
(shouting, in most instances) and pound his fat fist. Junior officers
cowered at the sight of Hawke, fearing his temper as much as his breath.
All-in-all, nobody liked Hawke, but could do nothing about it.

Duke Commander Cannon de Hawke
Intelligence Chief, CO Imperator Imperial Marines
CSS Imperator

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Personal log SD 60011.04 Commodore KDaana reporting

<<Note..this log is from the time period before the Imperator actually
engaged the enemy. Specifically, when we were tracking the Aslan defectors>>

Commodore KDaana sits in the command chair and looks around the bridge
in dismay. "What chance does this ship have of successfully completing
Spock's directive?" she ponders. The antics of most her crew have escalated
over the past few hours to the point where she is hard pressed not to kill
any number of them herself. "This is the finest vessel in the CKR Axis.
What in the name of Surak the Barbarian are the other ships like?"
Her fingers itch as they rest on the handle of her dagger. One by one,
she mentally reviews her crew. My absent XO...probably expelling his stomach
contents in a head somewhere or moaning into his inflatable mate. Her eye
falls next on the cadet at Helms. Rolly is the best pilot I have ever had
but I fear that he will unman himself all over the console at his first kill.
The resulting sparks could very well ignite the foul bridge air
blowing them all to Hell. ::looks at the revolting blob that is Hawke,
erroneously titled 'Chief of Intelligence'.:: Even as she glares at him,
clouds of greenish gas waft up from his massive backside. She wonder how he
manages to walk with abdomen and buttocks both hanging halfway down his
thighs.
Her snort of disgust draws the attention of her senior engineer...Voya
Hooley. Voya is a whiz with machinery but obviously suffers from low
self-esteem judging from her intense need to experience every shaft on the
ship. Her mate is forever in sickbay ridding himself of some infestation or
dripping lesion. The Imperator's Chief Medical Officer is now a well known
expert on the treatment of exotic sexually transmitted diseases and is
growing
wealthy off the royalties from his patented penis cloning technique that he
developed after Voya gave her mate a particularly virulent strain of
Minalayen genital leprosy. ::The Commander's eyes roll as she watches Voya
get knocked across the bridge by Pasek. The perpetually angry Flight Ops
Commander seems disinclined to mate with her on the bridge. How very odd of
him.
Her eyes now light upon the efficient form of KEhleyr. So far, this
brilliant officer has performed with the utmost efficiency and
professionalism. It scares the Hell out of KDaana. "It's just not right!
My gut is in knots waiting for the other shoe to drop. There has to be
something unusual about her for her to be assigned to the Flagship of the
Axis. Maybe she is our token example of 'conduct becoming'. A small smile
plays on the
Commodore's lips. "Time will tell"
As the Imperator moves closer to the extrapolated position of the Aslan
Vessel they seek, the Commodore's thoughts focus on the upcoming battle. Her
posture becomes more rigid and tension mounts. Her Hell-Hound moves to it's
masters side and KDaana's hand ruffles the fur on the beast's massive skull.
She is oblivious to the saliva dripping from the hounds fangs. Their
devotion to each other is well known throughout the Fleet. Even their
enemies know that the Hound will efficiently tear out the throat of any who
challenge the Commodore. Respectively, the Commadore has been known to tear
the heart out of those foolish enough to threaten her pet. Together they
make a formidable team.
The Commodore glances up at her RR door where the Android spy has taken
temporary refuge. She murmurs quietly to the hound "I wish your jaws were
able to penetrate the backside of that walking, talking GI Joe!" As the
beast growls in agreement, KDaana thinks.."Soon either we will be dead or he
will be drifting in space. Problem solved"

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Bandit dropped the dead animal at the Captain's feet, allowing him to believe
it was just a "present".  Soon the Captain would no otherwise, but not yet.
 Bandit would act in his own good time.  He had plotting to do.  He had
scheming to do.  He had work to do.

But with his present work finished, he had most of all, PLAYING to do!
 Bandit trotted happily to Voya's quarters, finding her putting her skirt on.
 What the heck!  Easy access!  Bandit pushed his nose right up her skirt and
took a good whiff, backed up into the "let's play" position, and barked
ferociously at her!  What could she be thinking?  All those men!  Bandit
circled around her, barking constantly, daring her to challenge him.  When he
could
tell that he had made her totally dizzy, he pounced on her, pinning her to
the bed, and continuously licked her lips, trying to pry into her mouth with
his long tongue.  Every forced giggle, he got further.  He was on a mission.
 Her teeth and tonsils would be clean by the end of this play session no
matter the cost!

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"Worries"
a story log by
Captain Adam Android
SD 60011.21

The Android Captain paced. This was not a usual activity for him. He had
relenquished command of the bridge at the first opportunity and now he was
pacing in the hallway on Deck 7 Forward, the Department Heads' Quarters.
He was worried. Or frightened. Or excited. Or angry. He wasn't quite
sure. He paced some more. All of his pacing was centered on one room. His
Chief of Science lay ill in her Sanctuary, and he was worried that it might
be his fault.
He'd already ordered an Ensign in Sickbay to give him a medical tricorder.
He kept scanning KDaana through the walls, checking on her vital signs every
few minutes. She was not getting better as she should be. In fact, she
seemed to be getting worse.
No-one was quite sure how the Tuathan officer's metabolism functioned.
They only knew that it had some kind of connection to the soil and vegetation
of that certain region of Terra known as the British Isles. KDaana's
Sanctuary was surrounded with exotic plants carefully shipped in from Earth
and tended by her. She claimed they emitted energies which revitalized her.
Finally Adam could stand it no longer. Afraid that something was wrong he
stepped up to the door to her quarters and said, "Computer, open the door to
First Lieutenant KDaana's quarters, priority override, Adam Android, Alpha
Alpha One Zero One." The door whooshed open.
The loyal hound, Bandit, growled at him as he entered, but Adam ignored
him. Striding boldly into KDaana's Sanctuary he knelt down beside her bed.
"KDaana? I hope I'm doing the right thing, but I'm taking you out of here."
The Tuathan only mumbled in delerium. The Android pushed his arms under
her and lifted, and KDaana instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and
held on. Standing, Adam easily lifted her and turned away from her Sanctuary
with Bandit on his heels.
Without another thought Adam walked out of KDaana's quarters and straight
to a Turbolift. "Sickbay," he demanded and off the 'lift sped.

In Sickbay, Adam carefully lay the petite Tuathan with the heart of a
Klingon Warrioress on a biobed. Voya was indisposed (someone mentioned that
she was suffering from morning-sickness), and Rolly was enjoying his tee-time
in Holodeck Three (probably around the 15th Hole about this time). The
Ensign on duty quickly diagnosed the problem. KDaana was suffering from an
inflammation of the pneumatic sac surrounding the pulmonary lobes, probably
made possible due to reduced immune system brought on my exposure to a common
rhinovirus. In layman's terms, she'd caught a cold and it had worsened into
pneumonia.
Adam asked, "Is it serious? What should we do?"
The Ensign answered, "Not too serious. All she needs is a dose of
anti-inflammatory analgesic, a little fever-reducer, and a couple of days
rest." Then to Adam's concerned look the Ensign added, "We'll keep her here
and let you know when she feels better. Um, sir."
Adam stood motionless for several more seconds. The Ensign spoke again,
"She'll be fine, Captain. You can return to your duties and I'll call you if
there is any change, sir."
Again Adam just stood there staring at the Tuathan. Finally he spoke,
"So, it's not my fault? I didn't cause her any problems? She's not ... um
... that is, there's no ... um ... I mean, you didn't pick up any ... uh ..."
The Ensign smiled and answered, "No, sir, she's not pregnant."
Adam quickly turned and asked, "How ...?"
The Ensign smiled again and said, "Word gets around. You know the old
saying, 'News travels at warp speed.' "
Adam responded, "It would seem so," and he turned to leave Sickbay.

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       Bandit was searching the Reci for stray r'hattas that had not ingested
the poison, when he spotted Voya and KDaana.  He ran up to them and tagged
both of them, and then made a gesture for them to chase him.  When they did,
he ran them all over the ship, until they ran into the new Commander.  When
they did, Bandit stopped, looked up at him, and stared,
stupefied.

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Having dutifully killed the wild beast and leaving its remains as KD's
Christmas present, Bandit continued his usual rounds of the ship. He found a
replicator. He sat up and pressed his paw on the button that usually
provided Reci Snacks. Nothing. Bandit looked at the contraption and barked
loudly at it. Again, he pressed the button. Again, nothing. What was
wrong with this thing? Didn't it know that he wanted a Reci Snack? He
started barking and barking at the machine, and pressing buttons at will.
Absolutely, positively, NOTHING! He ran around the machine, and made sure
the cord that ran thoughts through to the ship was properly connected. It
wasn't! That was it!
Bandit took the cord in his mouth and plugged it in, receiving a mild
shock. A small price to pay! He ran back around to the front of the ship,
pressed the appropriate button, and was rewarded with a Reci Snack on the
spot. Bandit happily trotted off with his prize and searched for a private
place on the ship to enjoy it.

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Personal Log
Stardate 60012.28

Though normally able to hide his emotions well; there was no doubt about it,
the Tarquebar simply pissed off Lt. Cmdr. Hawke. Perhaps it was just
frustration from his inability to deal with the bureaucratic Tarquebarians.
Such strict attention to protocol and code annoyed Cannon, who had always
been insistent to run things his way.
The truth was, however, that Hawke was perhaps the strongest sticker to
protocol on the Reciprocity. His conservative attitude and attachment to old
tradition was part of Cannon's "cold personality." Still, bending the rules
had long been a way of Starfleet lineage, its apex perhaps legendary James
Kirk. But for Hawke, consistency was equally important, and consistency's
apex was strict protocol. Now, however, Cannon could see plainly the flaws
of a strict protocol. Such enormous civil codes were impossible, their
inefficiency could paralyze a civilization. Moreover, such strict adherence
to protocol created a pattern that could be predicted, a fatal flaw in
battle. Hawke was set about finding this fatal flaw, and when the time came,
exploit it to the highest degree.

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Chief Intelligence Officer, Second Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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A VISIT WITH THE CAPTAIN
Joint Log by
Lieutenant Junior Grade Ian Hooley and
Captain Adam Android
Stardate 60012.31

  The Android Captain sat in his quarters, reclining on the sofa with his
feet propped on the coffee table, sipping a supplemental lubricant, which he
felt "eased his nerves."
  Suddenly, his door chime rang, and surprised the captain quickly stood,
straightened his uniform and called, "Come!"
  The blond-haired and blue-eyed Assistant Chief Engineer stood in his
doorway.
  The Android smiled, happily surprised that someone had come to visit with
him.  "Mr. Hooley! Come in! I don't get too many visitors." He gestured to
the replicator, "Can I get you something?"
  The Lieutenant Junior Grade seemed a touch nervous but answered, "Yes, sir,
jeslip mint tea, sir."
  The Android Captain ordered the drink and the replicator shimmered it into
existence.  The Captain took it and turned around, offering it to the young
Lieutenant, who took it and stood stiffly waiting to see what the Captain
did.
  Adam gestured to the sofa and indicated that the Lieutenant have a seat,
which he did, placing his tea on the coffee table.  Adam sat in a chair
across the table from him and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure, Ian?"
deliberately excluding rank to make the young man feel more at ease.
  Ian began, "Well, Adam, as you know, Jon Linder left the Chief Engineering
post while I was away …"
  Adam responded, "Yes, he was called away by Starfleet Command ..."
  The young man continued, "… and when I came back, Connak Fionn was in
place."
  "Yes, I was desperate for some Engineering personnel.  Connak's style is a
bit ... unique ...," Adam left the sentence unfinished and instead sipped his
mild lubricant supplement.
  Ian nodded and sipped his own tea before continuing.  "But see, Adam, Jon
left one week before I came back."
  The Captain nodded, "Yes, we had several new people join that week ... I
can't recall as active a week since we began."  Suddenly the Captain sat up
straighter, furrowed his brows together and said, "I detect a measure of
displeasure, Ian, are you unhappy with my decisions?"
  The young man boldly answered, "Yes, I am, Adam."
  The Captain sat back, ready to defend his decision if need be.  He said
simply, "I'm sorry you feel that way ... I know you were very attached to
Engineering, but I hope you understand my desire to acquire some capable
Engineering staff.  Or I should say, add some capable Engineering staff ..."
  The young man was nonplussed, "Yes, I understand, that is why I am
requesting a transfer."
  The Captain almost choked on his lubricant.  He sat up quickly and asked,
"A transfer? You're not leaving the Reci?"
  The young Lieutenant smiled softly and answered, "No, to another
department, Adam."
  Adam breathed a sigh and relaxed.  "Oh! Well, that can be considered .…
 What did you have in mind?"
  The Lieutenant had already given it some thought.  He answered smoothly,
"Operations Department."  He sipped his tea.
  Adam sat back with a smile, "Operations? Well, as I recall from your
personnel file, you've performed admirably in Ops on a couple of other ships
..."
  "Yes, that is correct, Adam."
  "May I ask the reason for this transfer? I hope you're not having problems
with Mr. Fionn ..."
  "No, I am not having problems with him, but with Engineering in general.  I
have always loved Operations, seeing the action first hand, controlling
things."
  The Android smiled again, "Yes, as you may or may not remember, when I came
aboard this fine vessel I was the Chief of Operations. That seems a lifetime
ago."
  Ian tilted his head, "No, I didn't know that, Adam, interesting."
  The Captain continued his reminiscing, "I have always served in Operations.
It came natural to me, being that I, myself, am a set of computer programs
and operating codes."  He smiled again, "But I digress. So, you're requesting
a transfer to the Operations Department ..."
  The young Lieutenant replied, "Yes, Adam, I am."  He sipped his tea again
as he waited to hear the Captain's response.
  The Android leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I suppose you
knew the Chief posting of that Department is Open."  He sat back again and
smiled, "I wonder if that may have influenced your desire for transfer too."
  Ian shrugged, "Maybe about 2 percent of it. But not really."
  The Captain grinned again, "I see .... It's the Bridge post you miss, eh?
 Being down in the 'dungeon' as Connak calls it can get boring, eh?"
  The young Lieutenant sipped his tea before answering.  Then he said simply,
"Yes, it can, Adam."
  "You know, Ian," the Captain began as he stood and walked to the replicator
with his empty cup, "Now that you're back from your Leave, you are closer to
getting your promotion to full Lieutenant."  Before the man could comment,
the Captain looked over his shoulder and asked, "More tea?"
  The young man offered his cup and answered, "Yes, please, Adam."  Then he
replied to the Captain's comment, "I understand that, Adam."
  The Captain ordered the drinks from the replicator, then spoke, still with
his back to the young man, "With full Lieutenant can come full Department
Chief ... are you ready for that?"  He turned and handed Ian his jeslip mint
tea.
  Without hesitation Ian answered, "Yes, I am."  He accepted the tea cup with
a quick "Thank you."
  The Captain continued, "I certainly hope so. In the interim, you can hold
the post of Acting Chief of Operations."  Then as an afterthought he asked,
"By the way, have you had any interaction with Ensign Pasek yet?  You'll be
working with him after your transfer."
  Ian sipped his tea again before answering with a slight frown, "He didn't
like the idea of me coming to Operations."
  The Captain was disturbed at this.  "Hmmm ... I don't want to create
tensions.  Why was he against it, do you know?"
  "I guess he had his sights on it."
  "About the Chief post? Well ... as we all know, the Chief must be at least
full Lieutenant."
  "Yes."
  "And he's only Ensign. You should try to smooth out the wrinkles with him
... make him understand that he can be Assistant Chief."  The Captain sipped
his lubricant.
  "I did that."
  The Captain contemplated a brief moment, then answered, "You'll have to
keep me posted on how he reacts to this. Leadership qualities are required of
the Chief ... you'll need to demonstrate those qualities early on if you wish
to maintain my confidence in this decision."
  Ian smiled slightly and said, "Understood."
  The Captain sipped his drink and the room was silent for a moment.  "Was
there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
  The young Lieutenant sipped his tea, then answered, "No."
  The Android smiled then, sipped his lubricant and allowed the silence to
sit a moment.  Then he grinned wide and said, "Well, then, how about those
Saints, eh?"

THE END

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Rolly was practicing llaekh-ae'ri, the Romulan unarmed martial art known as
"laughing murder", in the main holodeck when suddenly he felt a strange,
overpowering urge. "End program!", he snapped at the computer. As Rolly's
simulated Jem'Hadar adversary faded and the harsh desert landscape of
ch'Havran gave way to the familiar grid pattern
of the holodeck, Rolly's stomach started to grumble fiercely.
Rolly scowled. It was happening again. It always did, after a hard physical
workout. There was no use trying to fight it, he had to have it. Soon. Rolly
walked out of the holodeck, turned the corner and jogged down the corridor to
the Plaza Royale, Reciprocity's civilian merchant quarter. ~At least it's on
Deck 4, not that far~, Rolly thought as he sought out the sole establishment
where he could procure it.
Rolly's keen sense of smell guided him to the Plaza's food court. As Rolly
neared the area, his jog slowed down to a brisk walk. He didn't want to
attract attention. He didn't want the crew to find out about it. Beads of
sweat began to trickle down his v-shaped brow ridge as he realized he was
getting near his destination. He stalked by Gagh Express, his eyes darting
left and right to see if he was being watched. Next was Urggle's
Glop-on-A-Stick stand. Not surprisingly no one was in line there. ~Oh no!~ A
canine grin spread across Urggle's shaggy face as he called out to Rolly:
"Say yes to glop?" Rolly vigorously shook his head and kept walking. The
Tellurite merchant frowned, his long furry ears drooping at the side of his
head. "Nobody say yes to glop...slow day." Finally, there it was! Breathing
heavily, Rolly stopped in front of a fancy-looking establishment sporting a
brightly-lit sign that read "Big Louis' Cajun Bar and Grill".
Rolly stepped inside and headed straight for the host, Big Louis. Big Louis
grinned broadly and winking conspiratorially at the Romulan. "Commandare, you
need de usual, yes? Come back to de kitchen, right dis way". Rolly followed
the burly Cajun into the kitchen, warily glancing over his shoulder to see
that no one was paying undue attention. "So, what can I do for you,
Commandare Rolly?", Louis asked. "Well, Big Louis, it's like this...the
replicators just don't do it any justice...I...er...Bandit...can taste the
difference. I've run out of the originals, and I've got to get more of it for
my friend." Big Louis laughed. "Yes, de replicators, dey not make de best
Reci Snacks, no?" "N-no", Rolly agreed. "Don't worry, I whip up anuzer batch
for you, I mean, Monsieur Bandit, n'est-ce pas? I make these from a special
recipe I learned while working at Monsieur Cisco's place in de Big Easy.
Monsieur Cisco's dogs, they can't get enough. No dog can resist it, no?"
"No", Rolly replied. He was beginning to salivate. Minutes later, as Rolly
turned to leave with two heaping bags of the malodorous morsels, Big Louis
called to him: "Remember to use de mouth wash...for Monsieur Bandit, bien
sur.". Rolly nodded and began to stalk back to his quarters, surreptitiously
munching on Reci snacks. He would diligently try to save a bag for
Bandit. If not, there were always the replicators.

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<X> Disaster <X>
Lieutenant Commander David Cobachk
Chief Tactical Officer
ISS Reciprocity

David Cobachk was laying in is room sleeping. His eyes flitter in dream. It
is about 0300 hours, when a beep comes from the intercom. David's eyes open
as he yawns and taps the control panel beside his bed.
"Yes?" he asks.
"Lieutenant, you have an incoming transmission from Starfleet Command,"
an ensign replied.
"Put it through in my living room, please."
David wiped the sleep from his eyes as he walked into his living room,
kind of hoping to see his wife sitting on the couch. He sighs, upon not
seeing her and turns on his viewscreen. And admiral comes onto the
viewscreen.
"Admiral! I-I'm sorry, I'm not in uniform. I was sleeping," David
explains.
The admiral shakes his head, "No, Lieutenant. That's quite alright.
I...I'm afraid I have some rather bad news..."
David walked closer to the viewscreen, "What is it, Admiral?"
The admiral sighs and leans forward in his chair, "It's never easy to
tell anyone this...we have located you wife..."
David hopes for all he's worth that he's not going to say what he
thinks the admiral is going to say.
"Your wife, Makta, is...dead. I am sorry, Lieutenant."
Swallows hard and though he knew what the admiral was going to say,
knowing doesn't compare to hearing. He falls onto the couch.
"Lieutenant, I know this may not be a good time, but we found her on a
planet called Yelnot 4. Do you have any idea why she would be there?" The
admiral asks.
David shakes his head, "No. She requested a leave. I don't know why she
would be there. How...how did she die, Sir?"
"We have not been able to determine the cause of death. We have done an
autopsy and we still can not figure out why she died. She seems perfectly
healthy."
David nods, "Thank you, Sir. Thank you for telling me."
"Lieutenant, I know what it's like to lose someone you love. If you
need anything just let me know. Just ask for Admiral Jim Lex. They'll direct
you to me."
David nods, "Thank you, Sir."
"Goodnight, Lieutenant."
"Goodnight, Admiral."
As the viewscreen turns off, David sits in the dark room. He leans
forward, rests his face in his hands, and cries openly for his wife.

END LOG

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<X> Personal Log <X>
Lieutenant Commander David Cobachk
Chief Tactical Officer
ISS Reciprocity

"Computer, Begin log," David told the computer.
"Log open. Begin recording," Replied the computer.
David sighs softly, "I still can not believe what I did today. To take the
phasers and fire a big channel onto a planet can be dangerous. If my
calculations had been off even a little bit, I would have hit the village.
I'm glad that I was right because a mistake would have been disasterous. Alex
and Gabby are coming to visit from their Grandmother's house since we are in
between missions. Oh how I wish Makta was still alive so we could keep the
children here. I'ts just too hard for a single parent to take care of kids on
a ship. I got a letter from my brother Dom today. He says hello and congrats
on my transfer. I always told him about how I wanted a TAC position. I don't
know where this came from, but he's getting engaged. I'm happy for him, but
also, it makes me lonely for Makta. He also got promoted to Lieutenant. I am
so proud of him. I mean, after joining Starfleet and going through
the Academy six years ago, he's already a Lieutnent. I have to say that's
much better than what I did. At this rate he'll be Lieutenant Commander
before I get an XO position! It'll be the fourth year anniversary of my
mother's death next week. I'll have to request leave so I can visit her on
Rigel 12. Dom will probably be there and I will probably get to meet his
fiance.
Computer, end log."

"Log closed," replied the computer.

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Personal Log
Stardate 60101.22

At precisely 0500 hours everyday, Hawke would arrive at the gym for a
morning workout before his duty shift. Needless to say, there was rarely a
soul present at such a time, and Cannon relished the privacy.
The recent fight with the Tarquebarians had left certain parts of the
Reciprocity without power, and the gym being considered an unimporant area,
power was diverted there to another ship function. As a result, the pool was
literally freezing, at an artic 10 degrees Celsius. Hawke, however, stubborn
as he is, paid no attention to the warning on the door, which read in large,
red words, "Warning: No power. Closed until further notice." Cannon had
already slightly caught a bug was was going around the ship, the Klingon
cold, and thus suffered mildly with the sneezes. But nothing of the such
would deter the ever stubborn Hawke, who swam for two hours in the freezing
Reci pool anyhow.
Cannon emerged to his office on the Intel deck with a runny nose, coughing,
sneezing, and a throbbing headache. He tried his best to maintain his
dignity, but the officers on duty could not help but notice their sickly
department head. Unfamiliar with Hawke's overblow pride, a young officer
said as he delivered his report, "Uh, sir... I caught that Klingon cold
that's coming around just a week ago. That Doc Voya Hooley gave me some
stuff, and I'm
all better now. You sound even worst than I was, you should see her!"
Cannon grunted, "Excuse me?! I am not sick, ensign, *cough**cough* and I
do not GET sick! *cough*" His rambling was interrupted by an "ah-choo!" The
ensign quickly left, weary not to attempt to give Cannon advice again.
-----------
Hawke arrived at sickbay, annoyed that he must waste his time getting
medicine of all things. Strolling in, however, he found that Voya was not
present, and nor was anyone else on the medical staff. ~Bad enough to be
here... but what if someone saw me here?~ Cannon decided he could not risk
coming back, and set about searching and administering the medicine himself.
Soon enough, he found a vile of was appeared to be cold medicine, took a
teaspoon, and forced it down. Little did he know, the vile was not cold
medicine, but rather Rolly's hair gel. With that, Cannon returned to work,
hacking and sneezing the entire way back.
------------
Cannon awoke the next day entirely miserable. His headache had gotten
worst, and he could barely stop coughing. Stumbling about, he dragged
himself to the gym, where the pool was still closed. There, he set about
another day's workout.

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Second Officer, Chief Intelligence Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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Personal Log
Stardate 60101.23

Cannon Hawke was now feeling substantially better from the Klingon cold, but
his bitter feelings towards sickbay did not go away as quickly. ~It's all
Voya's fault... she gave me faulty medicine...~ Hawke had not been sick for
several decades, and to ruin his streak on the Reci was complete
embarrassment.
He stomped onto the bridge, where it was his shift was watch over Reci. The
bridge crew by now had accommodated Hawke's stiff moods, but past few days
had been tough. No amount of urging could get their stubborn 2O to take the
night off, and the once grand XO chair was soon covered in used tissue paper.
But now, Hawke felt better, and his shifty mood returned to his usual cold
demeanor. The gamma-shift bridge crew, however, caught Cannon's Klingon cold
and was dropping like flies. First, the operations ensign; then, the
navigations officer. Within days, the bridge was nearly empty, inhabited
only by Hawke and a hefty Klingon who also refused to take duty off because
of illness.
The notorious Klingon cold had taken spread, and was now running rampant.
But that was the last thing on Cannon's mind, for some mischief had started a
Reciprocitian Playgirl, with the CEO Connack Fionn as the first "Playmate of
the month." Looking at the first "issue," Hawke promptly decided he would
tolerate nothing of the such on the Reci, despite Fionn's admirable buttocks.
The security cam pictures were stolen on Hawke's watch, and it
would be most disgraceful if the captain or commander stumbled upon the
pictures.
Imagine if, Captain Android asked Hawke to explain the lax in security, what
would Cannon say? That he was sick? No, nothing of the sort could occur,
for it was a matter of personal pride. The Playgirl mustn't spread, and
Hawke was determined to stop it personally.

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Second Officer, Chief Intelligence Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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Main Bridge Ruckus
Joint Log: Captain Adam Android, Lt. Cmdr. Cannon Hawke, & Lt. Ian Hooley

    Lt. Cmdr. Cannon Hawke, a man of punctuality, arrived on the bridge
exactly five minutes before his duty started.  As second officer, he had the
gamma shift, or graveyard shift as some called it, and suceeded Cmdr. Rolly
in his beta shift.  Apparently, Rolly had left early, and Lt. Hooley had
taken over for the time between shifts.  Hawke spoke nothing, and gave just a
simple nod as he came on.
    Lt. Hooley stood out of the command chair and spoke to the Fathom
Intelligence Officer, "All Departments are at standby and at 100% efficiency.
No accidents, no injuries. Five crew members however report hearing strange
sounds coming from Captain Android's ready room, sir."
    Cannon took no interest, "None of my business, Lieutenant,give them their
privacy."  He resumed his pose on the command chair.
    The Android Captain entered the Bridge and glanced around ... "Oh, hello
there ... didn't think I'd see you guys here at this time."
    Cannon perked up, not expecting to see the Captain from through that
door.  He looked at the android, then back at the ready room where he had
heard the sounds, "Uh... Captain on the bridge!" and made a hasty salute. 
Ian also crisply saluted and sucked in his gut.
    "As you were ..." Adam responded.  He took a breath and then flinched at
some odd noises coming from his Ready Room. "What was that?"
    "Eh?  Well, sir.. I thought.. nevermind, sir.  I don't know, sir,"  Hawke
quickly recovered and regained his pose.
    "Was that scratching?  Who's in there?" Adam eyed Cannon and Ian
strongly. Hawke, in turn, eyed Hooley.  Hooley in turn, eyed Adam and Cannon,
and said, "I don't know sir."
    Adam cleared his throat and turned towards the Ready Room.  The doors
slid open automatically and several large shapes dart for the shadows.  Ian
followed the captain, his phaser drawn.
    "What the ...!" Adam proclaimed.
    Ian whips out his tricorder and start scanning, "Captain, its the
Rhattas...!"
    "In my Ready Room?!?"
    "They are all over the ship...."
    "That's only a few meters from the Bridge!" a hint of concern echoed in
Adam's voice.
    "Bandits been working all day and night to get rid of them," Ian said
clearly while disarming his phaser.  Cannon, however, frightful of the
disgusting vermin, retreated to the back of the bridge, as far away from the
ready room as he could get.
    Adam boldly went where no man dared to go and strode into the Ready
Room.  Ian followed Adam with his phaser redrawn and ready to shoot. 
Scuttling and scratching sounds could be heard within the walls
as the rhattas hurried into their hiding places.
    Hooley offered, "Captain, may I advise yellow alert and general
lockdown."
    Cannon, on the other hand, offered a more drastic approach, "Gas the
entire deck!"
    Ian looked at Cannon, "Commander, the Rhattas have been on this deck. We
have to check all systems for damages. I suggest Yellow ALert and General
Lockdown."
    Adam stepped around his desk and gazed forlornly at his chair.  The
upholstery was shredded.
    Hawke, still, would not listen to reason, "Nerve gas!  VX gas!  Kill
them!"
    "Commander, please control yourself!"  Ian said with a stern face.
    The android turned to his Director of Operations and murmured,  "Yellow
Alert for rats?"  And then turned to his Intel Officer, "Nerve gas?"
    "Captain, if they have been on this bridge, they may have played with
numerous systems"
    "Point made, Mr. Hooley, and with the Tarquebar situation, I can't afford
to have any system unreliable.  Take us to Yellow Alert ..." He continued,
"And post armed Security Officers everywhere!  And Hooley ... give Bandit a
raise, maybe it'll get him moving a bit faster."
    Ian tapped his commbadge "All hands this is Director of Operations Ian
Raoul Hooley, I am now issuing Yellow Alert.  All Hands Yellow Alert!"  With
the souned of the alarm, every crewmember of the Reci was awakened.
    Ian went on, "Security, I want guards posted on every deck, every
section, NOW!"
    "Oh, and Mr. Hooley ... we need to get all the rhattas out of the system,
yesterday, understood?" Adam made clear.
    "Understood, Captain," Hooley said, "Captain, may I suggest a Senior
Staff meeting"
    Adam still stood staring forlornly at his chair and mumbled, "Of course,
Lieutenant ..."
    "About Rhattas?  Captain, may I be excused to a 'safe' part of the
ship?"  Hawke asked with a concerned tone.
    "Commander, is there any safe area left?" Adam asked.
    "There better be!  In the pool perhaps.. its too cold there for them.." 
Hawke had a desperate look in his eyes, and hurried out of the bridge.  Adam
turned from his shredded chair and his eyes landed on the corner of his desk
... A large chunk of the corner had been gnawed off.
    Ian continued, despite the ruckus with Hawke.  He tapped his combadge
again "Senior Staff, Report to the Operations Conference Room..."
    "Mr. Hooley, I'll need new office furniture ... Immediately." Adam said,
with a saddened look.  He may have fought off the Tarquebar and recovered the
Vordock, but with Rhattas... they had dealt a crushing blow once again.

End?

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Personal Log
Stardate 60102.03

A grim fate awaited David Cobachk, Hawke sensed, the odds were stacked high
against him and Petral. Normally, it would be Cannon who would take on such
a mission. Intel was closely associated with covert ops, and Hawke had
extensive expertise in the field. Moreover, despite David's extensive
experience in the field, Cannon had worked in secretive world of covert ops
from before Cobachk's grandparents were born.
Still, Adam's logic overruled. Incoming data could be best interrupted by
Hawke. Hostile ship movements would have to be predicted, sensor buoys would
have to be maneuvered past. Indeed, Hawke would have to keep close
communication with Reikson in order to maneuver through the Tarquebar trap
undetected. Nevertheless, the burning thought that Cobachk held that vital
final piece of the ploy tortured Hawke. During his endless preparation for
the
operation, Cannon had even calculated the likeliness of his friend returning
by 0130 hours: a mere couple hundred to one. But Cannon maintained his
composure, he refused to base his decisions on computer projections, or would
he allow emotion to cloud his judgment. Still, unlike a Vulcan, he was not
devoid of them, Hawke simply repressed them.
Hawke turned his attention back to the "escape" preparations. He had
plotted a rough course that theoretically take the Reci out of Tarquebar
space, assuming David could divert the only destroyer in the way. There
would be slight course adjustments, of course. Hidden sensor buoys could
only be detected through careful short-range scans, and unexpected ship
movements could interfere with the course. Indeed, the unexpected ship
movements could
prove to be greatest challenge. Any course change could lead to detection,
so every slightest movement would have to be directed by Hawke. No sweat,
Cannon concluded, we have until 0100 hours until we're completely surrounded
and any chance of escape be blotched. Plenty of time.

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Second Officer, Chief Intelligence Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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Hatham

Hatham Aehkhifv DhiemmTr'Mandukar sat in his office savoring a fifty year
old bottle of fine ale distilled by one of the premier brewing houses of
ch'Rihan, Romulus. It was a great day. Today he was a riov, a full colonel in
the Tal Shiar. Only a month ago, he had successfully planted falsified
documents in the home of one Lhaerrh Tr'Khoal, a publisher of liberal
anti-isolationist political tracts. The
unfortunate printer was duly hauled up before a tribunal on trumped up
charges and convicted of high treason against the Empire. Yesterday, he was
executed, a week after his wife of 23 years had exercised her right to commit
ritual suicide instead of speaking slander against her spouse in exchange for
immunity. The Tal Shiar did not let such an act of soulless perfidy by one of
their most depraved majors go unrewarded, and so Hatham promptly received
his colonel's sword and his own bureau office in an elaborate secret ceremony
held in a subterranean fortress deep beneath the labyrinthine streets of the
Rihannsu capital, Ra'tleihfi.
The taste of the ale was sweet, yet not nearly as dear to riov Hatham as his
plans for the future. As a colonel, he would now have no want of subordinate
agents to send off into the far reaches of the Empire and beyond on his
personal missions of espionage, deception and murder. And there would be no
shortage of targets for those emissaries of suffering and death. Hatham's
soul was a seemingly bottomless reservoir of hate, and over the long
years of clawing his way to the position he now enjoyed, he had marked many
for future slaughter. Yet there was one he despised with incomparable
ferocity: that ch'Havran dog who chose to pursue a career in medicine those
long decades ago at the Imperial War Academy, Fveirrolh Cha'Riuuren.
Hatham clenched his teeth as he thought back to those miserable empty years
before he tasted the power he lived for. At first he had hated cadet
Fveirrolh for his quaint ch'Havran accent and the antiquated "ch'" before his
house name instead of the modern "tr'". The provincial cur's clothes even
seemed to reek of the ch'Havran desert whose backward inhabitants undoubtedly
lived in the arid wastes like packs of r'hattanha. Hatham smiled. He had been
born in the great capital of the Empire, though in one of its most desperate
slums, on ch'Rihan, Romulus. But soon, he had an even better reason: Rhian.
At the Academy lowly Fvierrolh had found favor in the deep violet eyes of the
young Imperial senator's daughter. Despite all his blustering, despite all
his backbiting, despite all his attempts to discredit the Havransu quack, the
sole object of Hatham's affections became the provincial cur's consort
within a year. Years later, Hatham had taken some solace when the couple's
only child died. Rhian had blamed the worthless physician for the little
mongrel's death and turned her back on him forever in disgust. Yet even this
was cold comfort: in the end; Rhian had spurned Hatham's advances even to
this day, and she still wore a token of mourning on her ambassador's tunic.
Since that day, Hatham had suffered the further indignity of seing the
object of his contempt posted to a medical position on Reciprocity, the
symbol of Rihannsu cooperation with the mongrel outworlders, a symbol beloved
of traitors and cowards within the empire, hated by true patriots of Hatham's
caliber. Now, Hatham relished his opportunity to finally make those vermin
pay and set the Empire back on its natural course and manifest destiny
of galactic domination. Soon, Fvierrolh, soon....the wheels are set in
motion....

Note: Some of these events were described in more detail in the log series
"The Hardest Choice", posted to the Reciprocity Lounge message board about a
year ago
-Rolly

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Stardate 60102.03

Rolly sat at his special table in the back room of Big Louis' Cajun Bar &
Grill in the food court of the Plaza Royale at 0:500 hours. The hungry
Romulan smacked his lips at the extra tasty malodorous morsels that sat on
his plate. Rolly knew this day could be the last for the valiant crew of
Reciprocity, and grim though the situation was, he decided that his potential
last meal would be his best, so he had ordered a huge serving of Reci
snacks, two whole bags worth of them. "Big Louis, you've outdone yourself,
these are the finest Reci snacks I've ever tasted!" Big Louis smiled broadly
despite the possibility of impending doom. "You are a brave man, Rolly, I am
proud of you for finally admitting to all de world that you eat de Reci
snacks, it
will be great for business, no? Perhaps you can advertise to de whole crew,
n'est-ce pas?" "Uh....er...." In his concern for the ship in this hour of
crisis, and at the smell of the Reci snacks hot out of the oven, Rolly had
forgotten to wait until he left the restaurant to eat them. At least he was
in the back
room, hidden from the other customers....or at least so he hoped.
"Er...uh....by the way, Louis....what's in those things, they're the best
ever?" Big Louis laughed so hard Rolly wondered that he didn't rupture his
diaphragm. He nervously reached for his medkit, just in case. "Commandare,
your secret is safe
with me, bien sur. But de secret new ingredient? Let's just say...I had an
unexpected windfall..." Rolly grinned. "Thanks, Big Louis.....make up a
special batch, just for Bandit, and see that he gets it before.....just see
that he gets it soon, straight out of the oven. If it wasn't for Bandit I
never
would have discovered Reci snacks....in a way, I owe Bandit for the Reci
snacks..." Big Louis laughed even harder, and grabbed the table to keep from
falling over. He grinned evilly. "More than you know, Rolly, more than you
know...."

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<X> Personal Log <X>
Lieutenant Commander David Cobachk
Chief Tacurity Officer
ISS Reciprocity

David sits in a corner of the Tarquebar cell, thinking.
He thinks, "Well, what a commander I turned out to be. My first big
important mission and I get us captured. I hope we bought the Reci enough
time to escape. I would hate to think that we did all that for nothing.
I'm not worried about myself as much as Petral and Bandit. I've been in
Starfleet a long time and have accomplished a lot. But, Petral is an ensign
and so is Bandit (I know he was promoted). They haven't been around that
long. They hasn't yet had the joy of being promoted or command an Away Team.
There's no way I'm going to let those damn Tarqs take that away from them! I
am going to get us out of here, even if it kills me!"
David looks over to Petral and Bandit who are sleeping on a bunk and
whispers to them quietly, "Don't worry guys. I won't rest until you're free."
David closes his eyes and quietly tries to brood a plan of escape.

END LOG

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this log takes a few liberties with adam's character, based on what his final
remarks were during the last moments of the sim. if i
misinterperated...sorry!

What a Difference a Tarquebar Ship Makes...or Two...or Three...or..
FsLt. Shane Reikson
Chief of Flight Operations
ISS Reciprocity
SD 60102.04

It's difficult to think about one's fellow crewmembers when you're on
the Reci and not feel a twinge of...something. Be it camaraderie,
good-natured humor, or even raw irritation. The Reci is the Alpha-Beta
Quadrant's first joint cooperative excercise...ever, and one cannot help but
feel pride in being able to take part in this Grand Experiment.
Therefore it is a blow when part of what makes up the ISS Reciprocity
is lost.
As the ship was still running under Condition Black, many unnecessary
or not-quite-so-necessary systems were offline. The fighter launch bay was
not excused from the shipwide blackout, the bay doors closed to conserve the
power eaten up by the atmospheric containment field and the overhead lights
powered down to a glow just bright enough to distinguish the outline of the
various craft assembled within. To one side of the room there was an
anomaly to the state of being of the hanger, the bright glow of a padd.
Shane didn't particularly mind routine, it tended to ease the passage
of time, and a break in routine usually meant something bad was happening.
Recent events could certainly be described as "bad", but Shane was unwilling
to break his habits. That said, the night found the young lieutenant sitting
at his usual perch, except the environment was nearly pitch-black and
extremly cold due to the fact that environmental controls were offline in the
entire section. A new addition to his activity was the padd he was using to
draft a rescue plan.
To make a long recap short, the bad situation here was the capture of
Lieutenant Commander Cobachk, Lieutenant-Wardog Bandit, and Ensign Petral by
the Tarquebar Republic. Cobachk and Petral had been assigned as a
diversionary team which would have allowed the Reci to escape the forming
interdiction net the Tarqs were weaving. They succeeded, but at the probable
cost of their lives. Bandit had not been heard from for some time and it was
generally acknowledged that the wardog had stowed-away on the team's Sun
Tzu-class runabout and had been captured along with the team. Meanwhile, the
Reci skimmed the border, looking for their chance to retrieve their lost
crewmembers.
Shane stopped making notations and skimmed over his proposal. ". .
.While it is likely that extensive trial procedures and sentencing protocols
will delay any actions of the Tarquebar Republic towards our crew, we should
make all haste in attempting a rescue operation." There was a plan for a
quick offensive into the heart of the Republic's territory, with a squadron
of Blackwidows escorting a half-squad of bombers and...
No, it wouldn't work. Shane deleted the pages of text he'd spent the
last few hours constructing and shut the padd off.
The Reci's forces had floundered against a trio of Tarquebar cruisers
who hadn't even deployed their full capacity. Even with the repairs the crew
had thrown together and the rebuilding of the squadrons using spare parts,
there was no possible way for the Reci to take on an entire system's defenses
and escape alive in a full-fledged engagement. Sticking around in one place
for the Reci to insert a commando team, allow them time to recover the
crew, and return was adding numerous layers of difficulty to the situation.
Another misdirection might have to be used, which the Tarqs would have
certainly accounted for, risking another batch of crewmen in the rescue
attempt.
Diplomacy would have to be their only course of action. Unfortunately,
so far Captain Android had shown no inclination towards a rescue attempt,
believing that the away team had known the risks involved (which was true)
and the mission had suffered acceptable losses for its results.
Shane let out a soft, irritated sigh. Acceptable parameters for a
worst-case scenario had always been what he had usually dismissed as
something not to be really taken seriously. Even with the pilots under his
command, many of whom had died in the recent engagements, he had assumed that
a worst-case scenario was not something the Reci had faced at the time. He
hadn't really gotten to know them. He knew their names, of course, but there
was no
real connection to them. In this case, the situation that had been deemed
"worst-case" had not even been close to being achieved. Both crews had
completed their primary objectives with minimal losses, yet Shane
was...upset.
These were people he was familiar with. People he had worked with.
People that. . . he _knew_. For the first time in a long while Shane could
remember, he was _pissed_. And he would be damned if he let his friends go
down without letting them know their friends would be looking after them.

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Personal Log
Stardate 60102.16

Hawke had just recieved note of the birth of Voya and Hooley's twins, much
to the joy of the crew and parents. A girl and a boy, apparently, and Cannon
assumed Voya would bring the two onto the Reci. He thought about it, and
decided it would be quite nice to have some more children on board. There
were David's kids, it seemed a whole new generation of Reciprotians were
entering the world. However, Cannon's pleasant thoughts about babies was
soon
interrupted by a message from Lt. Voya herself.
It was a request to babysit.
Babysit?! Cannon scoffed at the idea. He despised children, infants in
particular. Smelly, whiny, and messy, to Hawke they represented the foremost
in senslessness, lacking any control (valve or otherwise) or judgement. If
he was to babysit regularly, Hawke thought impulsively, they might as well
send the twins to military school.
And Hawke didn't even know how to change diapers or wipe drool. Cannon
processed no maternal instict whatsoever. His inter- and intra-personal
relationships were bad enough, but to deal with infants who depended on him?
Incomprehensible.
Babysitting...

To be continued if Voya still wants Hawke to babysit

Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke
Second Officer, Chief Intelligence Officer
ISS Reciprocity, NX-25677

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Hatham, Part Three

"My....father? But....I'm...Vulcan!...Right?", the shocked and confused
Sorvak asked Ambassador Spock. "There is someone I think you should meet",
Spock replied. Just then, a beautiful Romulan woman with long black
hair stepped out of the shadows and approached Sorvak. She appeared to be
just under thirty years old by Terran standards, so Sorvak realised she must
be somewhere between forty or fifty years old, since Romulans live far longer
and age more slowly than humans in their adult years. There was a look of
dignified sadness in her violet eyes. "Who....who...are you?", Sorvak asked
the stranger. She smiled, though the look of sadness remained.
"My name is Rhian tr'Llaitrha...you are Deletham Fveirrolh Argelian
tr'Llaitrha.... my son". "M..my...mother? But...I'm an orphan...I..." Rhian
continued: "You were born at Latasalaem, ch'Havran, twenty years ago. When
you
were almost five, your father, who was....is....a doctor, realized that you
would be too physically weak to pass the D'Sora test, which ancient tradition
demanded you take on your
fifth birthday...and so you would have been executed." "Y...yes...I was
weak...as a child..but I was given hormone therapy on Vulcan..."
Rhian continued: "The old ways are strict...it didn't matter that modern
medical technology easily available in the Federation could have made you
grow stronger...the old ways do not accept change...that is why I joined the
Resistance....two years before I met your father."
"The Resistance?"
"Yes", Spock interrupted. "Your mother is
the daughter of a senator, and she was an assistant to the Rihannsu
Ambassador to the Orions at the time...now she is Ambassador to the
Cardassian Union. To this day, the Tal Shiar has not discovered her secret,
and she has helped thousands of Rihannsu find asylum in the Federation. Not
even her own family..or your father...knew she worked in the Resistance."
Rhian continued: "Deletham....Sorvak....your father knew that your uncle
Argelian had contacts in the Resistance. He took you away on a trip to the
caves of ch'Havran on holiday...he pretended you were killed in a fall...and
he sent you away with Argelian's
friends , who had you raised on Vulcan with a new identity. He never told
me...he feared if I knew and his "treason" were discovered I would be
implicated and executed. But, through my contacts in the Resistance, I
already knew. But you see...I could not let him know....I pretended to blame
him....I pretended...to hate him..." Tears rolled down her face as she lost
her voice for a moment. "I had to..you see, if I did not appear to be
properly grieving and vengeful...the Tal Shiar may have suspected the
truth...and if I were taken alive and interrogated through torture..Fvierrolh
would have been implicated...and
hundreds of Resistance members might have been found out. So I never told
him, and for all of these years...he has thought I hated him. Now, you must
go to the Reciprocity...you must protect your father from Hatham...for
whatever else he has the Tal Shiar agents do on Reciprocity, he will surely
have your father disgraced, tortured...and killed.
"Riov Hatham...my new commanding officer in the Tal Shiar...",
"Indeed", interjected Spock. "He and your father were rivals at the Romulan
Academy. He has now come into prominence in the Tal Shiar, and it is probable
to an approximate certainty of 99.832743% that he intends harm to your father
now that he has the power of the Tal Shiar to aid him in his personal
vendettas."
The Spy's mind was reeling from the shock of this incredible news. "But...I
was almost five when all this happened...why don't I remember?"
As usual, Spock had the answer:"A powerful Vulcan monk joined with you in a
mind meld and suppressed all memories of those years. It was necessary for
your well-being that you not
remember."
"Ambassador Spock...my father...can he ever know?"
"Not at this time, relations with the Rihannsu being what they are...but
there are infinite possibilities in the universe".
Sorvak thought he could almost see the faintest trace of a smile on the old
Vulcan's perennial poker face. Almost. After a pause that seemed like an
eternity, Rhian spoke again:"Deletham...Promise me..promise me you won't let
them kill your father..."
Struggling to hold back the tears as the ancient tradition of his adopted
homeland demanded, the Spy looked his mother in the eyes:"I
promise....mother."
That had been two weeks ago. As expected, Riov Hatham of the Tal Shiar had
requested that the Spy participate in his pet mission to sabotage ISS
Reciprocity's mission of exploration and galactic peace. Now the Spy stood on
the spartan recreation deck of the transport Aidoaan, bound for rendezvous
with
ISS Reciprocity in approximately two weeks, reflectively looking through a
viewport at the vastness of the galaxy.
~What is my father like? Who am I? Sorvak...or Deletham?~

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Hatham, Part Two: The Spy

As the Spy boarded the Rihannsu Galae personnel transport Aidoaan, his mind
looked back over the ironic course of events that had led to this strange
mission. It seemed that his entire life had prepared him for this day, as
though it were Destiny. The Spy's childhood had not been a happy one. Raised
in an orphanage in the Vulcan spaceport of Vulcana Regar, the peculiar
child's strength was below that of the average Vulcan, but happily this
had been remedied through an extensive course of hormone therapy by the time
the boy was nine. Yet the lad had evinced more serious deviations from the
Vulcan norm. From the beginning, he had been a very emotional child. It had
been obvious to all that he would probably never achieve Kolinahr, the Vulcan
way of logic. This character flaw would have doomed the young Vulcan to a
friendless, obscure life had he not been brought to the attention
of an officer of the V'shar, the Vulcan intelligence agency by a concerned
teacher at the orphanage.
The boy was immediately recruited into the V'shar and extensively trained in
Romulan culture. The lad had progressed quickly; he found it easy to imitate
Romulan impatience, sarcasm, and arrogance; these came almost naturally to
him. Finally, at the age of fourteen, the young man was sent to ch'Rihan, the
Romulan homeworld, to begin his career of espionage in earnest. The young Spy
assumed the identity of a street punk roaming the narrow backstreets
of the seedy underground of ch'Rihan's capital, Ra'tleihfi. He had found it
surprisingly easy to mingle with the Romulan criminal low-life and soon
became the leader of a street gang. At the age of fifteen, he was
"discovered" and recruited into the Tal Shiar, the infamous Rihannsu
intelligence agency.
The Tal Shiar's training regimen was difficult and brutal, but the young
impostor passed every test. His first missions had been routine acts of
domestic surveillance, such as getting the dirt on petty bureaucrats so they
could be blackmailed later by the Agency. Soon the young Spy was entrusted
with more substantial duties, such as snooping into the private lives of
senators suspected of pro-Reunification sentiments, though he was always
careful
not to reveal actual "traitors". All the while he was funneling information
on the workings and agenda of the Tal Shiar to the secret headquarters of
Ambassador Spock.
Shortly after his twentieth birthday, the Spy was on a two day vacation
leave when he received an urgent summons to Spock's headquarters. The Spy was
surprised to meet Ambassador Spock in person. "Greetings, young Sorvak", the
venerable Vulcan Ambassador had begun. "Your record of service to the V'Shar
has been impressive thus far. Most commendable. You will soon embark on a
mission of greater importance. As you are probably aware, a Rihannsu warbird,
Reciprocity, has been launched
under Federation protocols with a mixed crew as a symbol of the precarious
Rihannsu alliance with the Federation and the Klingon Empire." Sorvak, the
Spy, nodded. Spock continued. "It has been brought to our attention by
another informant in the Tal Shiar that the Rihannsu intelligence agency
plans to infiltrate Reciprocity and provoke an incident of some kind to
weaken the Alliance. As you know, many higher ups in the agency and in the
Rihannsu government fear 'cultural contamination' as a result of the Alliance
and fervently wish its dissolution." "Our other informant, who shall remain
nameless, has brought your record in the Tal Shiar to the attention of one
riov Hatham, the Tal Shiar administrator responsible for this mission. It is
expected that Colonel Hatham will select you as a member for this assignment.
You will be sent to Reciprocity with other Tal Shiar operatives and a
contingent of genuine Rihannsu Galae personnel as
reinforcements to the warbird's crew. While working for the Tal Shiar, you
will generally comply with their orders, unless they include acts of
assassination or direct sabotage of the vessel's critical systems, unless you
receive contrary instructions from us. You will only reveal the true nature
of your mission to Captain Adam Android, Lieutenant Commander Cannon Hawke,
Reciprocity's Chief of Intelligence, and Lieutenant Sprint Pasek, Chief
of Security. Under no circumstances will you discuss the mission with
Commander Fveirrolh cha'Riuurren, Reciprocity's First Officer or any other
personnel." The Spy frowned. "Why not the First Officer? Is he a Tal Shiar
operative?" "No", Spock replied. "There would be a certain conflict of
interest that could compromise your mission". "Why?", the curious Spy asked
again. Spock looked at the Spy gravely.
"He is your father."

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Know Thy Self: Part I

      The Crankshaft, one of the Reci's establishments, was somewhat of a
popular place among the officers that staffed the nearby sections. Despite
the crowds, however, the place was regularly staffed by a single bartender
and...maybe one or two waiters. It was a fact that Sam, the bartender, did
not appreciate too much, even if the place brought in revenue. He'd just
handed out some ensign's order for the strongest syntheholic beverage he
carried
when the doors to the 'Shaft hissed open and a somewhat-lanky figure walked
through.
      Sam beamed. "Lieutenant! I haven't seen you much around here since you
swtiched departments!"
      Shane dropped his padd on the bar counter and slid onto a stool in one
fluid motion. He nodded gratefully as he picked up the mug of tea Sam placed
in front of him. "ah, i've been a little busy lately...recent events and
all."
      Sam leaned onto the corner of the counter, "Yeah, all that Red Alert
stuff. It really bugs me when I have to cower in my quarters for...whatever
to stop shooting us." He glanced over at Shane, only to find him staring
blankely at the wall in front of him, his mug's steaming unnoticed into the
air. "Uh, if ya don't mind my asking...what's up?"
      Shane made no reply, still staring off into space.
      "Erm..." Sam waved a hand in front of Shane's face. "Hey..."
      No response.
      Sam sighed and reached across the counter. He plucked Shane's
ever-present staff from his belt, hit the switch to expand it, and thwapped
the officer upside the head with it.
      No response.
      Sam hit the switch on the staff again, compressing it into a 14-cm long
cylinder and set it back on the counter. He leaned forward and stared Shane
straight in the face. "Hello?"
      "family."
      It was said so softly it was hard to hear. Sam lifted an eyebrow as he
regarded him. "Pardon?"
      Shane's eyes finally focused and stared straight back at Sam. "family,"
he repeated. "i have none."