"Hi Mum, it was great to hear from you a few days ago, just what I needed to cheer me up. Sorry for not getting back to you sooner, I know you were concerned to hear how I'm getting on. But you know, busy, busy and all that." She inclines her head, "You really don't have to go on at me so much you know, I promised I would stay in touch more this time, and I will." She sighs but the smile remains on her face, as she inclines her head forward, some strands of hair falling over her face, "I am a grown woman remember? And I know 'mothers never stop being mothers' and really I am touched by your concern. But it really is needless."

She pauses, "And you don't always have to ask about.you know.I'm dealing with it, honestly I am." She sighs and the smile leaves her face, she blinks a few times, "I miss you guys," but she goes on quickly, "but I don't want you to worry." She smiles again, "Work is.well work. Not overly stimulating but the job needs done. My colleagues seem to be affable. My CMO is friendly, I don't feel we've really connected yet, but give it time. Loni, Dr. Haven, seems to be a bit of a live-wire bright spark and she makes me laugh." She makes her expression seem serious, "Gorgha, the Klingon medical liason, tries to appear grumpy and aloof, but I think he secretly enjoys the attention and teasing we give him from time to time."

"And of course I'm making friends, well sort of." She wrinkles her brow, "It has been sort of busy, but I'm meeting new people. I'm sure I'll get to know some of them better." She changes course, "Say hi to Dad for me, I know he's watching this too." She waves to the screen, "Hi Dad! Thanks for the words of inspiration - ever encouraging as ever," she gives a cheeky wink. "And do you not seriously think it's time for a man of your age to be thinking about retiring?" she says in a mock-serious tone.

"Thanks for all the news about home, do keep sending it. Any word from David? Any idea which part of the world, galaxy or cosmos he is in at present? If you do hear from him, tell him to write me!" She pauses, smiles warmly, blinks a few times and in a soft voice says, "Love you all." She reaches forward and ends the recording.

"I don't believe it, but I have passed the test given to me by Lt. Poole. I'm still stunned. I knew for sure that I had failed it, because I was acting purely on instinct and not as a Starfleet officer. Correction: I did not act, I reacted. But Gwen told me that sometimes, that's all that you can hope to do. She was proud of the fact that I finished it, succeeded it, without ever firing a single shot from a weapon. If the sim wouldn't have stopped, though, I'm not sure she'd still be saying that, because I /was/ going for the weapon..

"I'm still a little shook up by it all.. But you know something? I'm a good officer. I can hold my own. And I certainly am deserving of this uniform.

Personal Log, Stardate 52575.5

Callie paces, glaring angrily at nothing. She holds something in one fist, her whitened knuckles suggesting how much force she uses to hold the 'prize'. "Starfleet! I wonder sometime why I bother at all! If I had remained on Betazed, the Occupation may have killed me, but in medicine there, at least I might have stood a /chance/ at being permitted to /do my bloody job/!" She turns abruptly and pulls something from her fisted hand, winging it at the recorder. When it lands on her desk, it can be recognized as one of her pips. "Here in Starfleet, though? No such luck. Here, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. Another reprimand because I acted in the best interests of the station. Fates forbid!"

Callie laughs harshly, resuming her pacing. "My service record likely looks like one of the black-hearted bureaucrats of Starfleet Command bled on it himself." Shaking her head, she continues. "We had done an excellent job of keeping the toxin under quarantine behind the containment field as long as that Rynkan survivor was stable, but when he began to code, what was I supposed to do? Watch him die to keep the containment field in place? I dropped the field to treat my /patient/. It was chancy, I know. We didn't get a second field up around the infirmary as fast as we should have. The dropping and raising of the fields was out of order, and that /was/ our fault. But, my priority was saving the blasted Rynkan's life. So, there was the possibility that some of the infected air spread into the station proper."

Glaring, she turns and stalks back toward the recorder. "So I put the station under quarantine, for UNDER FORTY-EIGHT HOURS! There could have been a leak. Yes, the biofilters had been enhanced thanks to the ever-pleasant /Lieutenant Ghorev/. That doesn't mean there /couldn't/ have been a failure. That doesn't mean /no one/ was at risk! And if a single, Fates-damned person had died because of that toxin and the station /hadn't/ been under quarantine? Then I would've stood charges for negligent homicide. I should've been ahead of the game, and doing nothing /would/ have cost me my career. That would have been a malpractice suit of which all other suits are mere shadows. So a quarantined the station, and made damned sure that quarantine didn't last long. Cover your ass. It's the motto of SFMA. It's what you're taught Day 1, and what they reinforce all the way through graduation. Do what you have to do so that no charges can stick against you. /That's/ what I did."

In a fit, she flings her other pip at the recorder, then turns her back on it and paces back across the room. "And then I turn around and get charges thrown at me for misuse of medical authority! 'But,' people will say, 'it could be worse. It's just a reprimand. You just have to review a medical ethics course.' Review a medical ethics course! What are they going to teach me? 'Next time, let the station die. It wouldn't be /your/ fault. Of course, you'll be dead, too, but that's okay.' Frankly, /bullshit/. I know those courses. I've been through them before. Hell, I've prepared /lectures/ for them before as part of classwork!"

Finally, her compin comes flying across the room to join her two pips, clattering onto the desk and skittering off it with the force of the throw. "/I/ need to review a medical ethics course? Maybe Sector Command should review the same course! Maybe Commander Balin should!" She stops and turns, smiling grimly at the recorder. "But, of course, I'll 'suck it up and deal,' as my classmates would say. I won't argue the point. /That/ would fairly well guarantee a court martial. I'll be properly apologetic and go on about my business. What else am I supposed to do?" Her tight smile turns to a smirk. "And I'll make damned sure that I'm not on duty the next time a critical, infectious, patient is brought in to the infirmary. I'd hate to misuse my authority again." She stalks toward the recorder and desk, gathering up her pips and pin, maybe for another throwing match. "End log. I don't want to watch this again. Delete the damned thing."

"Personal log...stardate..." Dana lifts her head to peer at the time and date of the computer. "...52562.7." Her eyes are bloodshot, her expression and the pallor of her skin indicative of one suffering from a hangover. A bad one. "Dear god, what possessed me to try and kill off a bottle of Tequilla in an hour?" she groans. An arm is propped on the desktop, and her chin drops into her palm. "Well..I had help. If Dylan isn't suffering from a hangover, I swear I'm going to beat him with a stick."

She lets out a long breathy sigh and lifts her free hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. "I went over to try and cheer him up some. Poor guy's been suspended forever it seems like, and still no word. I'd be raising seven kinds of hell by now if it was me. And he just..sits there. Screw being unprofessional. The shaft is the shaft, ya know? And he's definately gotten the shaft."

A yawn breaks the woman's rant breifly."So anyway..I went to cheer him up. Figured belting down a few shots of Tequilla might get his mind off of what ails him. And ended up griping over my own sorry circumstances. What a friend, eh?" She snorts softly in a derisive laugh. "My career is as stalled as the investigations on my desk.My love life is..non-existant. Not that I care, really." Her voice takes on a defensive tone. "I wanted it that way, right? Just keep pushing 'em all away until they stop trying, thats how I've always done it. Bah."

Her eyes drift toward the replicator. "Coffee. I need coffee, and a visit to the infirmary for this damn headache." Pushing up finally from the desk, Dana lets out a moan, and sits back down a good deal quicker than she stood. "Later. End log."

Slowly the albino turns, his cream coloured robe billowing around him. "Computer, Personal Log. New Entry." The terminal on his coffeetable bleeps an afirmative, the Federation symbol winking out and the words 'Recording...' scrolling across the screen.

"Well.. It's happened. Another damned reprimand. My third on in almost as many years." Nevaren shakes his head, a humourless smile cross his lips. "Damned if you do.. Damned if you don't. I'm not sure who to be more angry with. Command, for ignoring all my suggestions to resolve that last conflict without bloodshed... The Rynkans and Teirnans for starting the whole damn thing in the first place.. Or myself, for using my iniative to try and render those two ships immobile."

The halfbreed sighs and shakes his head. "Does it really matter? Do I even care anymore? I did what I had to. Pah. Ethics in Technology. What a farce. My methods never differed from a dozen similar incidents. The Borg invasion of Earth after Wolf 359.. They used their computer against them. Command never stopped *me* from accessing, however limited my intrusion, the computers on the 'Other' Aegis when we were trying to rescue Tyler over a year and a half ago, or from accessing the logs of that frieghter where we met that Gorn... There are other incidents.. I don't need to look at them all to see that even though a precedent has been set, it doesn't seem to apply here for whatever reason."

Nevaren eyes a bottle lying beside the terminal. One he had left the night before, unopened. Unconciously he reaches for it.. Then stops himself. Biting his lower lip, he pulls back his hand then shakes his head. "I'll take their damn lessons. I'll take their damn reprimands and probations. I'll take the Idrani's sneers of arrogant 'moral superiority', the attitude of racial superiority shown both by Sulkat and Ambassador K'net-mauri's wife... I'll take Tarine's leaving me. I'll take it all, damnit. I'll take it and I'll show them... all of them. That I don't need *them*..."

With a growl the half-romulan leans over and picks up the bottle of Khanar, rolling it in his hand.. "And that I don't need this.. Not to keep going." he whispers and, in a blur of motion, sends it hurling at the outer wall. The bottle explodes in a shower of glass and oily black cardassian liquer.

And Nevaren justs stands in the center of his room, watching rivulets of Khanar drip down the bulkhead to the floor. "I don't need anyone but myself. Computer... End log and delete it."

"It is supposed to be a truism, a simple truth: A man stands up. We *all* stand up. And yet some of us, it seems, do not."

"'We must disagree', she says, as if it's that simple, and then she makes it clear with every word just *how* she disagrees, and that everyone else but him is to blame. As if I *champion* the other two, and single out him for punishment. Have I misplaced my trust in her depth and maturity? I'd like to think not."

"And yet I have been accused of bias. Ensign Jackson said much the same. And how was it that Lieutenant Taylor put it when I was a boy? That poem stays with me still, the one he used to teach me Federation Standard, and teach himself Graalen:

'Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade

How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood...

Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash...

And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.'

<A drawn out, trilling sigh> Puns aside, Professor Taylor was right -- it speaks of both of our people, of the warriors we breed, how once they have their first taste, it is never enough."

"And yet, *I* am the one considered blue with malice, here. No matter that Mister Golden has seen fit to interfere unbidden in my love-life, second guess my every order, and insist on constant readiness drills regarding every possible contingency for a war sectors from us only to overlook the existing tactical data on an ongoing conflict in our own vicinity. *I* am considered the one with the grudge, because I insist that he -- *like* Nevaren and Doctor Clough -- be considered acountable for his own actions."

"But, no, *I* am the one blue with malice, because he should be innocent, because he is such a fine, romantic, noble figure, he could not *possibly* be at fault here. And I am, now that I wear the Second Officer's mantle like holy robes, a representative of the same Command that, Light Years from here, deceives and misleads us all. It is Nevaren's fault for taking improper initative. It is Clough's fault for exacerbating the situation. It is *Command's* fault for not generating a standing order not to fire on Rynkan and Teirian ships despite the reams of existing tactical data which make it clear to any line officer with half a brain as to what the results will be. It is *everyone's* fault but Golden's. Because somehow, he has convinced half the officers on this station that he is a pawn and a scapegoat."

"No. To the frozen, watery, purple dark Hell with that. Enough is damned enough. If Jaylas Idrani wants to mend things, she knows where to find me. I am *not* going to tolerate this any longer. We *all* have to stand up sometime, especialy we who have hungered for blood. We are *all* blue with malice, and we will *all* stand or fall."

Eliara heaves a sigh, which suddenly turns into a choked sob as tears begin rolling down her face once more. "It was /so/ horrific..." she cries, shaking her head and wrapping her arms about herself. "I thought I had seen pain and suffering when I was on DS9... but I have /never/ seen carnage on this scale... and I pray to the Four Deities that I never see it's like again. Everywhere you turned, someone was suffering or dying. There were over /five hundred/ patients... and only seven of us."

The distraught young Betazoid shudders, forcing herself to continue. "The Romulans claimed to have already triaged the wounded, and had them sorted into different makeshift wards, in order of importance. Then, only then, did the sheer magnitude of the situation strike me, when the Romulan head doctor assigned each of us to /our own ward/. No, we weren't there to assist the more skilled Romulan doctors... They already had their hands more than full. So we were each assigned the responsibility of seeing to the lives of the patients assigned to our ward. We had to step over and around wounded, bloody patients, forcing ourselves not to stop, feeling their pain and hearing their anguish and ignoring it because we'd been told that the patients in the wards we'd been assigned to were more critical than those out in the corridor."

Eliara laughs humorlessly. "In my case, I thought they wanted me to leave those in the corridor alone because my skills were not up to the task. I thought they were assigning me to a ward where the injuries were somewhat more minor, where I might actually stand a chance of doing some good with my meager medical skills. Oh, how wrong I was... When I got to 'my' ward, number 11, I found that I was completely unequal to the task I had been assigned. Sure, I had studied what I could of Romulan physiology on the way to the rendesvous point... but an hour of study cannot make a trainee combat medic into a skilled surgeon. It just doesn't work that way."

Her face crumples as emotion overcomes her and she raises her hands, burying her face in them, her voice muffled. "I /tried/ to make it work... I worked harder than I ever have in my life, trying to save my patients. But nothing I did worked. My efforts didn't matter. My patients, /EVERY DAMN ONE OF THEM/, were doomed to die because of their medic's incompetence. I never should have gone. I should have stayed on the station, in the science lab, where I belong. Where I can't hurt anybody. Where I can't /kill/ anybody. But I didn't... and so, I became the Murderess of Ward Eleven. Every Romulan I touched died by my hand, because I hadn't the skill to save them."

"Personal log, Stardate 52593.7," Callie begins quietly as usual. She wears little expression, but her voice and demeanor are calm. "What a strange day. Personally, I hope to never have another like it." She frowns slightly, pausing. "Perhaps I should go back a day, though. Bren has departed. For good. I will not go into details why. I'm not certain I /know/ them. He is gone. He won't be back. I leave it at that." Her jaw clenches for a moment, and Callie struggles to maintain her calm. In the end, she succeeds.

She continues in the same soft, calm manner she assumed at the beginning. "Now to today... A call was received from two damaged Romulan vessels requesting medical aid for more than five hundred wounded. As many medically trained personnel that could be gathered were immediately dispatched to assist. We did what we could, but even so, a third of those we treated still perished. In my case, I was lucky. Those I treated were the most critical of all, but for the first time in many months, my luck was with me. None died. Others did not fare so well. Eliara, perhaps the worst of all. She blames herself for the losses, even though she has no cause to. She did her best. We /do/ lose patients. It doesn't make it any easier to lose new ones, but we /do/ lose them. But... this was, I believe, her first real experience with such trauma. I have requested that all counseling staff be on alert, and assist any who were on that mission who seem withdrawn or anxious or otherwise... not themselves. I hope I am not required to make a specific recommendation for Eliara to receive counseling, but they are undoubtedly better equipped to help her than I am." She sighs and shakes her head.

"In the end," Callie continues, "we saved all that we could, helped those we could not to a peaceful end, and were rewarded with fruit and illegal ale. Ale that tastes absolutely /HORRIBLE/, I might note. But... they tried to thank us as best they could. I simply wish more could have been done for /them/." She pauses and leans her head back against her couch, closing her eyes. "I have been so angry," she says quietly - almost too quietly for the recorder to catch. "I have been so hurt. Half a year ago, I struck Havaris Kusto and was reprimanded, and then left by him in spite of the love I professed. Somehow, I recovered - or I began to. Bren helped with that. Now, I receive a second reprimand and am AGAIN left by the man I love. I could see myself falling apart again, and I simply didn't care. I let the Commander know my displeasure, and was subsequently ordered on shore leave for six days beginning Saturday, and ordered off duty if I /attempted/ to return early. But... he was kind, too. Again. He has promised to discuss things with me when I return. I... do not understand him at all, and that unnerves me. But in this case, it did not temper my anger. The five hundred Romulan casualties tempered my anger /and/ my hurt in one fell swoop. I was reminded why I entered medicine. I was reminded why I love my job even on bad days. I was reminded why I love my friends and family even when they hurt me. I was... I was reminded why I love life. I still hope to speak with the Commander following my shore leave, but overall, it all seems far less important now. I still /have/ my career, even if the reprimands fairly well assure that it will go no further. I can still do the job I love. Why should I fight?"

A long pause follows, suggesting she may have fallen asleep. However, she speaks up again after a time. "I wonder if the men on this station are alone in their uncanny ability to startle me at any given moment, or if it is a trait of all men in general. Kusto, after six months of silence, shared a drink with me tonight - first in the Neutral Zone and then in his quarters." She shakes her head. "I did not ask about Doctor Umanah, or much about him in depth. If he wishes to share with me, he will. But... we seemed on almost friendly terms. It was almost as though the friendship I /believed/ we had underlying our relationship had never faded. I... am confused, but I will not refuse a friendship if that is what this will become. I still have... too few friends here. True friends." She smiles faintly, "But then, I would say that if everyone on the station was a close friend except one person. I would still desire a friendship with that one. Call me greedy."

Callie shrugs and stands. "So we have Commander Balin, who I understand not at all, and likely never will. We have Lieutenant Havaris who I will perhaps be given the opportunity to understand again, in time. We have Bren... I will... dissect my feelings for him, and my loss of him over time - perhaps while on my shore leave. But, in the meantime, I will not stop living because I have lost another love. I won't travel that path again. I do not believe I would survive it a second time."

Ironically, she laughs quietly. "We also have Captain Jub and a new arrival in the civilian quarters in the form of one Wade Garrett, who apparently is familiar with the Captain from their past days together. I thought they would start a fight in the Neutral Zone, but they were teasing one another. Both are pleasant enough, though Wade Garrett appears more polished in his charm. Jub is, simply, Jub. It is, perhaps, why I like him. I did enjoy the drink I shared with Wade, though. Charm has its place." Callie sighs, her smile fading back to her neutral calm. "And so I am left, finally, with Eliara. I do not know what to do for her. She is blocking herself off even from herself - or trying to. I cannot rush her through this. She has to learn that Death, too, is a healer. I can't teach that. I hope she can learn it as I did. I hope she will seek the counselors if she cannot. I hope... I hope she will not give up her cross-training because of today. She /did/ her best. She acted as well or /better/ than any other officer present, myself included. But... she is not ready to see that. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after. Perhaps next week. I can't rush that, even if I would like to."

"Personal log, Stardate 52599.1," she begins with a quiet smile. "Another day, another log. Probably, though, this will be the last for at least a week. I begin my mandatory shore leave and time officially off duty this morning. It's actually the first vacation I've had since arriving on the station. I am both pleased to be leaving, and sad to go. And, of course, I am somewhat frustrated that I have been /ordered/ to go. But be that as it may, I am going."

She sighs quietly and leans her head back against her couch. "It has been such a strange week. Kusto's friendliness, Bren's... departure, the Romulan mission. Time away, I suspect, is exactly what I need right now - time to be elsewhere, to get my thoughts in order, to decipher /what/ all of this strangeness means. I plan to enjoy it, and to stop dwelling in darkness. I am so very tired of missing the light."

She smiles, genuinely, as her eyes settle on the recorder. "But, I must say how pleased I am to not have been ordered off duty /before/ now. I would have missed the brightest event of the week. DTI Agent Rebecca Bailey gave birth last night to her half-Bajoran, half-human daughter, Nelle. I was never particularly interested in obstetrics, but witnessing a live birth - /assisting/ in one - is an experience that /always/ brightens a day. The baby was six pounds and five ounces, and is as healthy as any child I have ever seen delivered. There was a minor complication as the babe began in a transverse lie. I suspect she simply did not fully turn in the last month as she should have, but it was rectified easily enough - if painfully for Rebecca. There have, as yet, been no lingering complications or difficulties since the babe's presentation was corrected and Nelle, as Rebecca has named her, was delivered. They are both in Haven's care now. Who better to deal with a half-Bajoran, half-human newborn than a half-Bajoran, half-human doctor? She see that mother and baby are assessed this morning, and they may be released to their quarters if they are well. I suspect they will be. Rebecca has reserves of strength I rarely see in humans. She impressed me tremendously."

Callie chuckles and pushes herself to her feet. "I have done well this week. I have been a good doctor. For the first time in a long while, I am proud of myself. Now, I have a transport to catch. I will deal with the few lingering dark patches on the horizon when I return. Commander Balin will speak with me, and I will place the mementos of Bren into storage. And then I will live my life again. The way I always planned to, not the way I have for half a year."

All the standard personal log razamataz occurs. Derezzing Alliance symbol, rattling off of the stardate..the whole bit.

We look in on the good ambassador laying on his couch wearing an expensive looking pair of purple, Bolian silk pajamas and a red, crushed velvet robe. A purple flush can be seen under his eyes and his eyes have that dullish look of one who has been drinking. A bottle of Terran gin can be seen sitting on the floor in easy reach as well as a tall glass of delicious, slimey green Slyrmm cola. Every so often the scrawny Ferengi with the Naussicaan-sized liver takes a much to large to every be healthy swig from the bottle and occasionally remembers to chase it with Slyrmm. "If I didn't know myself well enough to know that vacations just piss me off and I always end up getting lobes-to-the-wall drunk on the first night then working for the rest of the vacation anyway, I'd say I really needed a vacation." he sips his gin. Afterwards his lip curls into a sneer which more than likely has little to do with the booze. "This infernal station is driving me mad. I'm sick of the Klingons, and the bleeding heart socialist sensibilities. Hell's poorhouse, I can't take this anymore. I'm slowly coming to the realization that the Nagus is never going to go for bringing the Alliance into the war. So I can look forward to either becoming a complete parriah back home, or paupered for treason if I'm found out. OR, my other juicy option is living and working in the Federation for the rest of my days. There's always Dominion rule if I'm right and the Nagus and the Allied forces are both wrong." another long draw from his bottle. "So I guess I have that going for me."

"So I'm sure you'll forgive me Callie, if I really don't give a damn about my heart condition tonight." Lux falls silent for a moment before resuming his entry. "This is the mood that my Uncle Zintz used to get into. The one my father always called 'blacklobe'. You know, I never thought I'd ever envy my brother. I mean, big, petty and stupid is no way to go through life. Tonight however....tonight I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He inherited our father's import/export company and that's all he has to do. Sure he'll never be rich, rich but once he's home from the office he's done. He does alright for himself, I mean he'll always be middle class but...come to think of it I don't really envy Gimble." More gin and a swig of Slyrmm, "I can't even really put my finger on what it is that's getting to me about being here. Wait...that's not entirely true. I'm stagnating. Sure all my business ventures are going alright. Well in fact. I have friends...even a steady female for almost six months now. Don't get me started on the whole Havaris Jiasha debacle. I had a dream the other night that we found her daughter and moved off to some moon somewhere. After a year I looked in the mirror and saw Gimble's face staring back at me. I woke up in a cold sweat. What the hell am I thinking with this? Liquidators don't make good husbands or fathers. We just don't...and Uncle Zintz was right. There are Liquidators who do it for the money and prestige and there are liquidators who do it for the money and because it's in their blood. I'm one of the latter.

Personal Log: Stardate 52606.6. Ensign Jaylas Idrani, Diplomatic Attache Officer.

"Well, for better or worse, it is over." Jaylas Idrani sits at a desk in the Command branch office, in uniform. "Or perhaps, it is a reprieve. I am not completely happy how things turned out, but I will accept it. For the good of Starfleet, as it were. I still have deep concerns, however, about what has happened here and what I am afraid might happen. In the interests of keeping a record, in case... something happens to me, I am documenting my concerns now.

"The death of Dr. Lhoral is not being investigated with the intensity it deserves. The timing of the medical quarantine to keep her here was, of course, extremely conveinent as Dr. Clough had been informed moments before that we had no legal reason to hold Dr. Lhoral. This was confirmed to me by Lt. Dakin. And now, Dr. Lhoral is dead with the cause of death listed as an allergic reaction due to a drug administered by Dr. Clough. And the body mysteriously decomposed, making an autopsy by another Starfleet medical officer impossible. I will not go as far as to suggest that Dr. Clough murdered Dr. Lhoral, but the fact remains that Dr Lhoral was illegally detained here and now she is dead, due to the actions of Dr. Clough. But, currently, Security has so many crimes to investigate that this incident will surely be buried. And I do not know what I can do about that.

"It has been a week now. No hint of an apology coming and I begin to think I was foolish for anticipating one. I had noticed before how defensive he can get, when anything he does or says is brought into question. I guess that if I want a relationship with him, I had better be able to accept that disagreeing with him is not allowed. And that is not something I can tolerate. I expect a lover to respect my ideas, thoughts and opinions, even if he does not share them. Last week, I learned that this is not the case. I am sad, certainly, but it is better to find these things out now than years down the road, when there is a quad and children in the equation.

"The completely ironic thing about this is that I am /right/. Lieutenant junior grade Dylan Golden accepted the reprimand, rather than opt for a court marital. He was personally asked to do this favor, for the good of Starfleet and to satisfy the angry Teirian and Rynkan citizens. And, let's be honest, to protect Lieutenants Clough and Nevaren from further prosecution. Starfleet officers are not easy to replace, this day and age. Sector JAG did not want to court martial Lt. Golden because, frankly, they could not win. I gathered, from my talk with Akeen Ghorev last week, that he is not aware of this and I did not tell him for two reasons. First, it would not have been my place. If Commander Balin wanted him to know, he would have been told. I am reasonably sure that Commander Balin would not be happy if he knew that /I/ know. And second, I think it would have pushed him over the edge. So, I held my tongue. But I document this now, in a personal log, to ensure that Sector Command fullfills their part of the bargain and remove the reprimmand discreetly, after the dust has settled.

"And in the meantime, well, life goes on. I have my job and my lodge. I have a duty to uphold. And so, I can be professional to Akeen Ghorev and hope that he can reciprocate. No more romances for me, I think, for quite some time. I am still too young and my career needs to take priority.

The UFP screen blinks out and is replaced by a view of a tired, but exceedingly happy looking blonde woman. In her arms, clearly seen, is a baby, a newborn.

"It's been fully a week since Nelle's arrival, and I've not made /any/ logs. Better late than never, I suppose... And I've been dutifully taking holophotos to add to this, as a record for myself and for her, if no one else."

"I lucked out, apparently, as the birth went exceedingly quickly... It seems I surprised the doctor, though not myself. Refused their drugs too, and it seemed to be the right choice, kept me a bit more cognizant than I would have been otherwise. Doctor Clough and Ensign Zian made sure of a safe delivery, and Niel was there too, for most of it."

Bailey pauses a moment here, looking perhaps a little miffed. Then the baby makes a gurgling noise and she smiles, looking down at the little girl.

"It must have been something important, right Nelle... Anyways, things went well, and Nelle had visitors the next day. Lieutenant Nevaren came by and brought this for her..."

She picks up something from a nearby table and moves it into camera view. The object is a clear orb, inside of which is a blue-white flower that seems to glow and swirl, imbedded in the crystalline matrices. It looks remarkably like the Bajoran Wormhole.

"It's a beautiful gift for Nelle. And a reminder of just who she is, and who her father is. And it's a reminder to me that there are people out there who care deeply about children, like Nevaren. He's more human than he likes to admit, I think."

Rebecca stands and starts to walk slowly around, rocking Nelle in her arms.

"Everyone she has in this galaxy is on this station. And everyone that I have is on this station. So, it looks like we're in the right place at the right..." An amused chuckle. "Time...." A pause.

The log begins with Varanya at her station in Engineering, the solid, steady thrum of the station's core in the background.

"This is what I've heard humans call, 'the morning after,' but I'm not entirely sure why. Nothing has changed. My emotional attachment to Prythra P'Trell has only strengthened now that we've shared eachother's warmth at night, and that is how new lodgemates should be."

There's a pause, and a peculiar smile creeps across her features.

"I don't think he's as oblivious as he claims to be. There's a great deal of passion that P'Trell keeps locked away, likely normally focused towards quantum string fragments and subspace harmonic fluctuations. Don't get me wrong; it is what it was, and it changes nothing. But if it continues?"

"Computer, begin personal log." She settles into the comfortable chair positioned in front of the desk and just stares into the viewer for a long moment. Finally a trace of a smile appears. "In the shadow of all that is ugly and grey, there is hope. Like the breath of spring, grass struggling through a mat of snow..no matter how bad it gets, there is always a spark there, somewhere. And so it is here. The last day has been..interesting, to say the least. But it ended on a happy note. It might not have been earth-shattering, but it was /happy/, and I will grab onto that with both hands and breathe life into it." Her smile grows, and her eyes lift above the desk to fasten on something displayed there.

"Morgan is pregnant. They're both happy about it, far as I can tell, and they should be. I find it one of those sparks of life amid the grey cloud that hangs over this station, and I dare anyone to stand between them and attempt to destroy that." Here she frowns, brows drawing together in a reappearance of the anger she felt earlier. "Dosa would try. Blast that woman. And what the devil was /up/ with Doctor Clough? Being inebriated is no excuse. You don't go blabbing private matters about your patients to anyone, not even as a drunken 'explanation'." Sharra sighs and shakes her head. "So much for confidentiality. But..the fight was avoided, and that's the important thing. I don't know what started it, and I don't really care. It should never have been allowed to reach that point. But..well, I'm going to follow my own advice and try to convince Morgan and Rann of the same. Just stay out of the Neutral Zone. Its..not what it used to be anyway. At least not for me."

A bit of a smile returns for a moment. "Morgan asked me to be her maid of honor at her wedding. I'm thrilled. Honored. A great many things I can't put into words I suppose. It's just been such an eventfull evening..day, really. Not so much time to think and brood. And thats always a good thing."

Sharra reaches forward and lifts something from the desk. As she pulls her hand back into view, a vial appears. She opens it and pours a single black pill into the palm of her hand. "My thanks to the good Doctor Gorgha..I'm looking forward to a full night's sleep for a change." She sighs softly. "This insomnia has to stop, or I'm going to lose my mind." The vial is capped and put back on the desk, and she closes her hand over the sleeping pill and stands from the chair. "Time for bed. Computer, end log."

The UFP Logo fades, revealing Kusto behind his desk in his oddly decorated quarters.

"I've been avoiding this since I got back," he begins pensively, "avoiding having to admit to myself all that's gone on. The facts are the facts, however. Umanah Malon has transferred. Gone for good, I imagine. For the best, I guess, and nothing to dwell over, I suppose. We were good while we lasted, I guess she had a change of heart, and that was that. To her credit, she did help me turn around after Betazed. I owe her a lot."

He settles back into his seat, arms folding across his stomach thoughtfully. "Maybe she saw too much of her brother in me. Maybe she realized that you can't really change a man, you can only change how he thinks. Maybe she's just one of those women that drifts from pity case to pity case, patches them up, and sends them on about their business. I'm honestly not sure." He offers a shrug and a grin towards the screen. "I'm trying to look on the bright side. She snored."

"Moving on. My return from Bajor was a little more eventful than I'd expected. Poor Sharra. She's likely one of the most underrated officers aboard this Station. Selfless, courageous, collected, compassionate, dutiful, obedient, humble... I could go on. She deserves a promotion, in my mind. All of this... the murders, the cases, they've got us backed up in Security. I've barely had the time to relax since returning to duty."

"And it gets better. Lieutenant Poole is putting me through Line Officer Evaluations. Normally, this wouldn't be such an issue, but I'm having to take time out of my day to run these simulations. I don't -have- time in my day. And to make matters worse, whoever designed this simulation designed it for me. Had to. A Bajoran ship knocks a Cardassian Vessel out of the sky, a vessel full of defectors? Lands on a class K planet, many injured? Can't beam them out, too much distortion, can't get a good communications relay from the Aegis, have to relay via shuttle. Form an away team, Lieutenant. Go down and do your job."

"Fine. It's just a simulation, I tell myself. They're not real. Then I start thinking 'Well what if they were, Kusto?'. You have to know if you could do this job. So I put it out of mind that it's a simulation, focus on the work. And I get -hailed-. Freeze program. Have to report to the Neutral Zone due to a bar fight. Only there -is- no bar fight, just a drunken CMO, a few uppity Junior Officers, and little else. Save for Wade Garrett trying to reintroduce Ensign Jackson to the finer points of a fist up his ass."

"Can't blame Wade, really. He's a good man, underneath the swarthy slimey low-warp trader exterior. Jackson, on the other hand... That kid's got delusions of grandeur. No respect for authority, no appreciation for the chain of command, no faith in those above him whatsoever. He thinks it's his job to question his superiors, that suboordinate rank somehow allows him the luxury of doubt where his orders are concerned. I'd like to take that mewling little runt out onto some Jemmie rock and put him through the paces. Make a soldier out of him. The only thing worse than a Green Ensign with next to no combat experience is a Green Ensign that doesn't act like it. Respect where due, kid."

"Anyhow. I've got Line Officer Evals to finish today, reports to file, Traders to let out of the Brig, murders to solve, a Hora to feed. Assistant Chief of Security, Lieutenant Junior Grade Havaris Kusto, Station Four-One-Nine, Dulcais. End log."

The log begins with Dosa, dressed in her usual subdued elegance, in the back room of the Neutral Zone. She has several PADDs in front of her, some of Federation make, some of various other technologies.

"Beginning today, Starfleet officers may not partake in alcoholic beverages. Balin plans on compensating me for lost profits, and I have an analysis drafted up, but that's not the point. The point is, I believe he secretly wishes me off of this station. And I do not blame him. I'm certain he and most of the others think I'm gathering intelligence for the Obsidian Order." She laughs bitterly, a short sound. "Only if they knew the truth, the fools. I'd sooner show up to work in a Starfleet uniform rather than report to the Order, or the Detapa Council, or the damned Dominion."

She picks up one of the PADDs, glancing over it briefly. "Morgan Leah is pregnant with Rann's child. I must say, it hit me hard, but it really did not sink in until last night. I truly am happy for them, in my own twisted fashion, as it's only befitting for races of lesser genetic strengths to come together and breed themselves out of the galactic community. I suppose I'll have to work different angles in order to continue my attempt at making their lives miserable. If Dakin had only admitted his true feelings, that one night, in my quarters..."

She sighs, shoulders slumping somewhat. "Rann, my love... why do you choose her over me? Why?"

Lux slumps in his chair, a glass of Saurian Brandy in his hand. "Computer," he says. "Lock door, reset the volume of the chime to something less than thunderous and and deny any calls to my comm from people not offering inordinately huge bribes. I am officially declaring my home a No Commies Zone until I say otherwise." he sighs, sips his brandy and utters the old Ferengi proverb, "My home is /my/ home as are all it's contents."

After a few minutes Lux orders the computer to begin recording a log. "Blessed Exchequer what a night. I found out quite a few things, namely that Dakin and Leah are going to have a baby, Dosa is an idiot and Clough is both insane and a bad, bad drunk. Dosa is apparently still all mooney eyed for Dakin, and once you get a few drinks in her all of her more charming Cardassian personality traits come out. Leah, well I reckon any woman who loves a Bajoran doesn't take kindly to any discussion of Cardassian eugenics and they almost came to blows. Then there's the good Doc Cloughiday. She rolls into this whole affair three sheets to the wind in an attempt to break up the fight...sort of. Then she has the good sense to call none other than her old flame and punching bag Lt. Havaris down to bust up a fight that never ended up happening. As I escorted the sloppy surgeon out of the Neutral Zone we nearly bump literally into Commander Balin." he sips his drink. "Exchequer I'm happy that those black eyed pink skins can't read my mind. Callie then proceeds to fall apart on my sofa, she's convinced she's losing her job and then she told me some rather disturbing news about her sister. However, all of this could have been avoided if Clough knew when to say when, Dosa knew when to keep her big mouth shut and Leah could just realize when she's being baited by a mean drunk Cardassian." he sips his drink and looks to a small purple vase on a shelf on the far wall and says. "You know pop, maybe you're right and there is something to be said for keeping them naked and poor."

The UFP logo fades, revealing Kusto once more in his chair before the draping fabric interior of his quarters. He's partially in uniform, partially out. Insofar as stirrup pants are a uniform. A towel rests about his neck, he'd just hopped out of the shower it looks like. The asanine number of scars on his upper body tell a lot of stories. But not this one.

"So. Line officer Evals." Kusto begins with a scrubbing at an ear with his towel and the requisite rabbit-like expression such actions entail. "Poole ran me through the races. Turns out the sim had four Maquis raiding vessels attacking these Cardassians. I had to go down and rescue Cardassians while the Aegis blew Bajorans out of the atmosphere. But I'm not bitter. No." He gives a smirk that betrays that sentiment, head shaking slightly.

"I passed. I did my job. Gwen's going to reccomend me for a return to full duties. Hot duties again. Combat duties." He examines his towel, flicks his eyebrows, and tosses it onto the desk. "In other news, Lieutenant Havaris rates Expert at Marksmanship. All five basic, three intermediary, and one of two advanced targets. Nine for ten. What amused me was the surprise evident in the other trainees. And my own notion that I should practice more." A wry grin is given at that.

"I'm stamped and certified, my credentials are all prepared. I'm polished, rested, ready to roll. Locked and loaded. Five-by-five. A dozen other cliche military euphamisms for able to serve. The only question remaining is: Am I -really- ready? What happens when I hit the rock again? Enemy fire hissing overhead. Screaming wounded. Exploding artillery. Orbital bombardments. Jem'Hadar appearing out of nowhere. What happens then? Do I cut it? Do I make it through with my Starfleet ethics in tact? And if I do, do I make it out alive? I don't know. It's like being green all over again. Like my next battle is my first, simply because I can't fight it like I've fought all the others."

He shrugs, and it's a lame gesture. "Then there's Callie. With whom I've been getting along by some miracle. We've been talking things over, saying the things we need to say to forgive and move on, I suppose." Another shake of the head leads him down another track.

"Nevaren. We've been getting along, too. The man that wanted to kill me? We have a lot in common. More than we both hated me at one time. No. Really. We're getting along. And unless I'm mistaken, he and Gwen Poole are more than a little familiar. He's a lucky fellow in that regard. I like her. She's a good woman. Her heart's in the right place. Cute, too. Confusing, in a lot of ways. Very confusing. But. Yeah. Go him." Kusto makes a fist and wags it half-heartedly in the air. Sighing, he scrubs at his hair with a towel.

"Women, I think, are the enemy. I need to find a nice man. The only problem being, I'm not a homosexual. At this point, though, I'd be willing to pretend. Or learn. Or something. I'm just not cut out for this romance stuff, though. For the best, I assume. Especially when you're worrying about shipping out for combat in the next month or so. Bigger things in life."

"Whatever the case, I am Assistant Chief of Security, Lieutenant Junior Grade Havaris Kusto, Station Four-One-Nine Upsilon, Dulcais Sector. End log and save."

The familiar Starfleet Emblem blinks out and is replaced by a view of Morgan, looking thoroughly worn out, but wearing a big grin on her face. The lights are dimmed somewhat and the ambient blue-white light of the anomaly shimmers on her skin.

"It has been /quite/ a week... I got shot trying to prevent an abduction. /That/ hurt. Disruptor blast to the shoulder. Mental note, never go on vacation without Rann and without my own personal energy shield."

Lying back on her couch, she continues, "Anyways, I /also/ found out that I'm nearly eight weeks pregnant. Quite a surprise, for me.. and for Rann." A pause, then a smile, "A welcome one, though... Really... though with all the wedding plans. Jeese, I hope I still fit into my wedding dress three weeks from now." Sighing, she adds, "Less than a month away from having a whole family of my own.... /Wow/."

The Federation symbol fades out and is replaced with a view of Rebecca, rocking Nelle gently in her arms. She speaks softly, but the recorder bumps up the volume so she's easily understood. "Being a mother is a lot harder than I ever could have thought... My duty in DTI, safeguarding the timeline... all of that, is /nothing/ in comparison. There are so many things to worry about."

"How to feed her, how to clean her... God, how to get her to sleep.... where should she sleep, what kind of diapers should I use... Should her blanket be cotton or synthetic?" Rebecca's voice wavers with the emotion, though her expression doesn't change from the neutral one she's wearing. "I think, tomorrow, I'm going out... /with/ Nelle, of course. I need to be around other people, as much as I became a recluse before, I cannot afford to now. I'll visit Niel and Nevaren, and maybe Callie, and Eliara too. Yes... I'll do that."

There is a long pause and the recorder cuts out, picking up again when Poole speaks, "Personal Log, supplemental.... I helped with the phaser qualification trials today. And scored pretty highly myself... I always was good with a phaser, though not as good as I am with my good old mark one fist."

"Let's see, Lt. Havaris was also a high scorer, actually he did overall, better than I did.... He's, a very complicated man. I discovered this during his line officer evaluation... but I uncovered another layer last night. What he really needs is someone to care about him. Maybe even more than that... He /has/ friends, but he needs a woman."

"I'm back in my quarters after my 24 hour stint at the infirmary. Under guard no less. I love Michael and Loni to death but both of them are so overprotective of me.

"I thought they were going to start fighting over my biobed the other night. They need to find a way to be nice to each other. I don't care if they like each other or not but Michael is my husband and Loni is my best friend. I'm not going to choose one so they just need to get over it, shut up, and smile at each other if they can't at least be nice to each other. Their little battles are so frustrating... And most of them are over me. Haven will make a suggestion on how to protect me, Michael will read into her comment that he doesn't care for me enough, and the bickering starts there. What neither of them understand is that they both have my interests at heart - and if they'd shut up long enough to realize they both have the same goal, then they'd be able to reach that goal easier - together. I've tried very hard to reconcile between them. I get kidnapped, rescued, and as soon as I'm awake the bickering starts anew. It's wearisome.

"Michael and Lt. Ghorev are my heroes. They risked a lot to come and save me from Minos. That they were able to rescue Michael's mother blows my mind. His mother! She came by to visit me while Michael was going through debriefing, and she's very nice. She knows a lot about Orion women, too. She was extremely surprised that I was in Starfleet. I guess there aren't many opportunities for green Orion women beyond cosmic whore where she comes from. She seemed pleased I'd done well, and she was positively radiant that she was going to be a grandmother.

No hoity toity UFP logo here. The ensignia for the Centauri Consortium of Non-Aligned Traders is displayed instead. Why? Because this log is kept on personal equipment. Old equipment, but personal equipment.

The image is a touch grainy and a touch jerky, but the audio is perfectly crisp. Isole is in her quarters, surrounded on all sides by machines and equipment, most of it junk, much of it salvaged from lord knows where. She's wearing a pair of goggles around her neck and a set of welding gloves on her hands. Judging from the sweat on her face, she's been using both.

"Personal log. Sometime, someplace. I'm here on Station near Dulcais Prime. Finally got off of that rock. Put that behind me, I think. Sent word to mom, though I have no idea where she's at. No idea when she'll be back by the homeworld -- no idea if the Consortium can get word to her or not. It's been too long since I've heard from her." Isole rubs her eyes, blinks them clear of sweat, and tugs off her welding gloves.

"Met some nice people. Met some complete assholes, too. Morgan Leah's just a peach. She's one of those girls with a low self-image that gets embarassed when you use the word 'dick' in a sentence, but she's fun in other ways. Sasve. She's my new holoprogramme. Lets me hit her in the face, so she's not all bad. Vor'mak. He's this Klingon. But you can't really call -him- an asshole, cos he's a Klingon, and that's just how they are. I'm doing a job for him, so maybe... who knows. Respect or something."

"Now. Jordan. Jordan I could probably sit here and talk about for, like, twenty minutes before I got bored with it. Maybe it's the tech-head in me, but any guy that whirrs is okay by me. Momma used to say that she never met a man she didn't want to upgrade. And I can! He's got more duranium in him than your average shuttle hull! Just sort of snap off an arm and re-attach a stronger, better arm! Now that's progress. Plus? He's ex-fleet. And his ship is even better than -he- is. It's got the brain of a prototype runabout, and can hit warp 8./4/! It can trail a ship twice its size and /still/ hit warp 6."

Chuckling, she tosses her gloves down on the floor to join the rest of the clutter. "Yeah. Well. I guess I like it here. And maybe I'll ask Jordan out for drinks. Or better yet? Up for drinks. I have to get the specs for his ship's computer anyhow, right? Oh! I almost forgot! Frank is teaching me Systems Engineering for my holodeck. Frank prefers to be called Nevaren. But I like Frank much more. He's a good guy. Knows his stuff, he does. Really competent. He was powerless before my ... charms. Which is to say, he's teaching me stuff for nothing. Gotta love that. Computer... er. Right." She looks vaguely embarassed, reaches out a hand, and presses a pair of buttons which shortly end the recording.

"Computer, begin personal log. Stardate 52631.4."

<Michael Edwards drops into a chair in front of the recorder, taking up his trademark slouch. He looks tired.>

"Been an exciting week. The wife was kidnapped and I was informed that the erstwhile Ensign Zeel, whose relationship with me could be characterized as bitter hatred, is my daughter from the future and a spy for the enemy. That was fun to learn. Then, during our rescue attempt, Ake and I were captured and discovered that my mother works for another enemy. But that one turned out well, at least. Monkeywrenched Minos' organization and saved the girls."

<Thinking of that makes him smile a little.>

"But... it's still a lot to adjust to, in a week. I haven't seen my mother in twenty years, and suddenly, there she is."

<His smile gradually fades as he speaks.>

"It's not easy. I don't remember a lot of what happened, and as time's gone on, I've begun to forget about what life was like with my parents. I've begun to forget them. And you shouldn't ever forget your parents, should you?"

<Michael pauses, a slight frown settling on his lips for just a moment, before he stops dwelling on that particular thought.>

"But she's here, now. Maybe that'll jog some memories. Maybe I can get reacquainted with her. I guess we'll see, eh?"

<A pause.>

"Although I can't believe she worked for him, of all people. Why would she do that? If she had her freedom, she could leave. But she chose to serve that Orion pimp and help him keep sentient beings as slaves. I don't know if I'll ever be able to reconcile that with the woman who created me."

<Shaking his head, Michael decides to move on.>

"As for this Zeel business... maybe I shouldn't believe notorious scum like Minos Evanginor. But it just seems all too plausible. Blood tests and bioscans don't seem to matter where Sinclaire and her people are concerned. I guess I could be paranoid... Still, if I see Hendricks again, I swear I'm going to slug him. I should've seen in that smug son of a bitch's face when I asked him about her."

<Michael looks past the recorder a moment, then looks back.>

"I think I hear Bela coming. I better go. She probably wants to make fun of my cleaning habits again. Sheesh. You take four days off from housekeeping because your wife has been kidnapped..."

"Computer, end log."

The UFP logo derezzes and you are left with a shot of Prythra sitting in the chair (for a change) behind the desk in his office. The lights are off completely and the only ambient light in the room comes from two candles resting in ornate, slender candlesticks of obviously Vulcan manufacture on either end of his desk. Low orchestral music can be heard on the room's audio system but it is at a volume that a man with antennae in the room with it can hear but not an outside observer. The thin Andorian man reclines in his chair, his hands massaging his temples. Finally he speaks,

"Lt. Prythra P'Trell, personal log. You know, it's times like that that I really envy Vulcans. That's probably part of the reason that I've dug out this old present from Lt. T'sok. I think her hope was that it would get me to start meditating which according to the Vulcans is good for whatever ails you. It never worked for me. I never had the heart to tell T'sok that the first time I tried meditating with these things I threw them across the room and fumed about my quarters for about an hour. Though I've never asked specifically, I'm pretty sure that sort of thing is frowned upon...oh..my bad, I'm sure that sort of thing has a patronizing yet impassive eyebrow raised at it in Vulcan society." he sighs and runs a hand through his unruly white hair.

"Despite the fact that I'm no damned good at meditation, there are times, much like this one in fact, where I really wish I could shut down my emotions. I mean completely Vulcan deadpan. I can't however so I guess it's lucky for me that these candles are good for brooding as well. Brooding's something we Andorians are great at.

Let's review the past few weeks. Starting even before I was sent on a mandatory shore leave with most of the command crew, I've been itching for a fight. Jaylas Idrani says it's normal and I guess she's right. Still, I've wanted to rip someone's head off and I haven't been really particular as to who. I assure you the fact that the seeming new trend in transfers to the station is creepy little swats who kiss ass like second nature and would seem to know the rulebooks backwards and forwards and can't wait to tell you what your doing wrong regardless of whether you outrank the little shit or not. Or the simply follow any female officer in a position of authority over them around like a lovesick lake monkey. Though to be fair that would seem to only be Adams' trick.

"Throwing still more feul onto Prythra's personal little fire of homicidality, are the lovely Lt. Zian and the lovely Varanya Ashilav. I'm about a blade's width away from falling in love with Zian. This will not do for many reasons. Then Varanya Ashilav declares that she's been harboring f