" I don't know what's worse. Realizing that you're hopelessly in love with someone who deserves something better, or having to tell her that." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "It was too wonderful. It dazzled me, wrapped me in her warmth and presence, until I could hardly think anymore. Love at first sight happens in books, happens to heroes.. And for a while I forgot that it doesn't happen to Tyrmond Tibbs.

" It aches so badly. Goddamn it, I love her so much that it hurts. Why am I such a bloody coward? Emily left me twenty-one years ago, for heaven's sake. That should've been more than enough time for me to get over my own stupid self and at least /try/. But when I didn't expect it anymore, it reached out and grabbed me by the throat. It was like waking up from a long dream and then realizing that nothing's the way it should be. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.

" So I drove her off. I asked her to go." He laughs, with bitter pain. "I'm such a godawful, stupid man. I wanted to ask her to stay and not go. But it's all wrong. I'm doing it all wrong. I can't do this. People like Tyrmond Tibbs do not experience things like this. We're the little guys, the ones in the background, the cogs in the machine. Paper pushers, beancounters, sycophants, living in a safe, simple, routine world. That's the kind of person I am. That's the kind of person I've become."

Despair gives his features an ashen pallor as he forces himself to continue. "I'm recording this to stop myself from calling her back. Begging her to come back. More than anything I want her back here. But it was too much, too soon. What kind of idiot scares themselves off? I'm such a bloody moron.

" I can't do that. She deserves the moon, and I'm a chunk of space debris. It just.. I can't.. I'm not.. Ah, sonofabitch. I'm out of my league. Outclassed, outmatched, outdated. How could I expect her to feel the same? I don't know how I thought I could make this work. I'm so dammned stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

After displaying this for a few seconds, the text and emblem fade back out, the darkness of the screen lightens slightly, showing the dim interior of Malagance's quarters, Malagance's upper half is in view, apparently sitting at a desk of some sort. He is clad in a snug, obsidian black jumpsuit, it would seem. He has his eyes shut and is leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled in front of him.On the desk is a slender, sharp, narrow Romulan PADD.

"If there is a limit to power, I have not yet reached it." He says in a cool, collected, and confident tone, his eyes still shut, giving his narrow, ravenlike face a decidedly contemplative appearance."I have arrived at station four-one-nine as commanded, under the guise of the Adjutant to the Ambassador." At this point he opens his ice-cold eyes, their intense gaze staring right at the viewer. "I have already commenced operations to spread my influence amongst the fence-sitters and the untrusting Starfleet crew."

His lips curl back as he smiles wickedly, his eyes gleeful, "There is much plotting to be done. Already I am securing the loyalty of a spy, in return for a few services." He chuckles darkly, "Sufficeth to say that I will be using the weakling, Lt. Tibbs, as he is deathly afraid, and rightly so, of me." He leans his chair back, still chuckling in a deep, malicious way.

"I will play them for fools. Already I have plans to set up the Cardassian Dosa as a traitor and a spy, for which she will likely be executed. I've never met her, but it's one of the terms for enlisting my personal informant." He looks away, grinning, "Tragic, really, that I have to ruin a woman who has probably had a rough life." He says in a voice dripping with sarcasm as he laces his fingers together.

"I have yet to make contact with the Ambassador. I trust I will do so sometime soon. His loyalties must be inspected." After this he takes the PADD from the desk in front of him, glancing at its contents."I have taken notes on any that I have met so far, as requested... Ah yes... here we are." He hits the page-shift button, scrolling through the contents as he speaks in a cold, precise tone.

"Lt. Tibbs. Male, Human. He is weak. Has a problem with s-st-studdering." He smirks at his own representation of the speech impediment before continuing, "Obviously is attracted to the one known as Doctor Haven, if his actions around her mean anything. Either that or he is a lecherous old man. I intend to use his fear of romulans to my advantage in my plans to fabricate a new will for the Neutral Zone. He is old, as well, the oldest of any crewmember I've seen on the station."

"Lieutenant Dakin, One to watch for, though he showed behavior not unlike pity to Lieutenant Tibbs. I suspect this sentimentality is one of this Bajoran's many weaknesses. Chief of security, meaning that I will be circumventing his methods with frequency in the future. Inconclusive at this point."

"Acting Assistant Chief Medical Officer Haven, what a mouthful." He sneers, "A racist fool. Typical Starfleet officer with a holier-than-thou attitude, acting as if she has some sort of morale high ground while she nutures an inner angst and rage. Bah. Reminds me of an insecure adolescent. Incapable of posing a threat to my plans as she is too blinded by her emotions to be able to see the full picture."

He thumbs down through the entries in the PADD as he continues in an arrogant tone, "Ensign Leah. She is pregnant with twins. How touching." He taps downward on his PADD. "Those are all the Starfleet officers I've been able to draw conclusions on yet." He places the PADD on the desk oncemore.

"Success is near - I can taste it! I have finalized the details of the Nausicaan mercenaries with their ambassador, Zuh'raah'do." He snorts. "Twenty six bricks of latinumm, and fourteen bricks worth of replicators and power plants. The Nausicaans are not cheap but this will give the Klingon Empire what rightfully belongs to us. Bak'TUR!" His fist pounds the table. "Bak'TUR will be liberated from the Siinogan infestation, and with no help from the Federation or Romulans."

He glowers. "It is our world. The Siinogans will be crushed, and I will be there. I will be there, and I will hopefully die in battle."

There's a long pause, and VuQ's energy slowly leaves him. Finally, he says, "Maybe, I can die. I can die, and go to Sto'vo'kor. I already feel Fehklar tearing at my heart and my soul... my own personal devil. And his name is Moh'beQ."

The UFP Ensignia fades to reveal Kusto, in uniform, seated in the chair before his desk, nestled comfortably in his equally comfortable quarters. He's leaning forward, hands folded together, elbows on his knees, expression rather pensive. Unlike most of his logs, this one begins with a good stretch of silence.

"Hi, Alethea."

More silence.

"By the time you receive this message, I'll have reported to the Fleet. I'll be in orbit around Dulcais awaiting the go ahead to begin my phase of the invasion. I'm not certain what ship I'll be on, or what phase of the attack I'll be leading. I can't tell you the ship to look for in the after action reports, or what batallion to ask after for news. It's all classified, even from me. I wish I could give you more to go on."

More silence.

"I know you're going to be worrying about me, Alethea. And I wish I could tell you not to, but I know better. I wish I could tell you that I'm going to make it out of there on my feet. But I can't. All I can tell you is that this is what I do. This is what I'm good at. I've been leading soldiers into battle since I was a kid, and I'm still here, still doing it. I've got a lot of fight in me, Alethea, and I'm bringing it all to Occa. Whatever happens, know I did my best, okay? Whatever happens, know we went down fighting."

Yet more silence.

"There are a lot of things we never discussed, because we agreed not to. A lot of things we didn't allow ourselves to consider, because we both knew that this was coming. And we both knew that there was a good chance one of us -- or both of us -- wouldn't make it out alive. I admire that, Alethea. I understand it, too. And I want you to know that I've been happy all of this time. You've made me really... happy. We've made the most of this, we really have. And so, again, whatever happens, don't regret this. Please."

Even more silence.

"And don't lose your faith. You're just discovering it. That, more than anything, I could never forgive myself for. The Prophets have a hand in your life, Alethea, as sure as they do in mine. I've seen it. Don't lose hope. Whatever you do, don't lose hope. In the war, in the Universe, in yourself. You've got to keep believing. If not for you, then for me."

Havaris glances down at his hands for a moment before looking back up at the screen.

"I love you. I'll see you when I get back." He kisses two fingers and presses them into the screen.

"Prophets guide you. Computer, send a copy of this log to Ensign Medes. Sixteen hour time delay. End log, save and send."

The screen fades back to the fittingly silent and simple emblem of the UFP.

The usual UFP symbol winks out to show Ashilav, in uniform, sitting in the Andorian lodge. She holds the recording device in her hands - likely a PADD. The din of the room is quiet, apparenly recorded during a low activity hour.

"I've just received news of a change in the engineering roster. It seems that the core systems slot has been filled by a new transfer," Varanya says, thin white brows knitting in a small frown. "I cannot lie and say this does not disappoint me. It does. I've spent several double shifts, and spent many hours studying for the position. It was during a tough time, when I was trying to stay away from... from Jaylas. It was early in her relationship with Akeen Ghorev. And I couldn't be there to get my emotions in the way, so I buried myself in my studies."

Taking a steadying breath, she continues.

"I've made peace with Jaylas - our ongoing feud has been settled without /ushaan/, although it was about to end that way. Prythra P'Trell did what his keth does, and prevented lodgemates from hurting. My infatuation for Jaylas ended some time ago, but it still hurts to know that her relationship with Akeen Ghorev ended in how I predicted it would - pain."

"Relationships. I've begun to see Lieutenant Tahlandi Karanya. She is... fantastic. She seems to bear an Andorian's soul, which, of course, would offend her Bajoran Prophets sensibilities, but strangely does not. The fact that her given name is so similar to mine, combined with her sparkling blue eyes - blue like the seas on Andor, intoxicatingly beautiful and deadly at the same time - she might as well /be/ Andorian. As much as I am growing attached to her, I cannot let myself. Not until this war is done."

"And then that leaves, as always, Akeen Ghorev. I cannot shake my unwavering desire to console the man, despite him wanting to remain alone. I look up to him highly, and I truly believe he helped me raise my appearance in the eyes of command. He gave me ideas that have helped... stay my hand, and not be so quick to challenge."

A singular tear begins rolling down her cheek.

"And for what? To be glossed over for promotion, that I deserve. Here I am, crying over spilled broth, recording my last log before we all go off to die at Occa, like a little girl. Has /anything/ I've done in the past months even /mattered/ to /anyone/?"

She fights back her boiling-over emotion, and reaches up to wipe her cheek with her sleeve. "I will continue to do my duty, but let the Six Hundred Gods smite me down if I'll do /anything/ but be true to myself. To the watery hells with Balin, and Edwards, and Ghorev and all the others."

The UFP symbol fades to reveal Prythra lying on a pile of furs in the lodge. His presentation is flat.

"Prythra P'Trell personal log." he sighs. "Well, tomorrow we ship out for Occa. This is wierd, I don't fell...well anything. There's so much going on in my life...no scratch that, there really isn't. It's just the same stuff..over..and over...and over. I'm growing weary of it. Jaylas and Varanya aren't at each other's throats anymore. I'm giving it a week. Akeen Ghorev might skin his knee in the battle and it will doubtless be the other one's fault. I've been consoling Eli about Callie's courtmarshal all week while simultaneously trying to pretend that I'm not getting friendly with hologram girl."

The UFP symbol fades to show Malloy pacing up and down in his personal quarters, something that looks like a half finished bottle of whisky on the table behind him, a glass next to it.

"Personal log of Craig Malloy, Stardate 52704.8." He frowns slightly, then shakes his head. "So, I arrived here, and already started pissing people off. Good going, Ensign. The personnel here on the station is definitely different from the Rutledge. I've never been frowned at for reporting formally and giving people the respect their rank befits. But, well, that's starbases to you, I guess having that many civilians around you the whole time instead of being aboart a ship of the line does that to you." Exhaling softly, he turns around, heading towards the table to fill the glass with about three fingerwidths worth of the amber liquid. Turning around again, he silently toasts the camera, then puts the glass back down after a slight nip. "So, I survived that one as well. Yay to me I guess. It's been odd to be without my old team. I miss Menedez. I miss DiSantiago and even Harris. I wouldn't have thought it could be that bad. I was always waiting for either one of them to jog into my view, taking cover next to me, or having to watch their backs in turn. It's just...different. I am not as I used to be, I started thinking. I started contemplating instead of just acting. On the other hand, I just arrived on the station three days ago and already got to see my first action with people I didn't even know. How the hell was I supposed to blindly trust them this way. No wonder I was having things running through my mind. What if I had caught the blast instead of DiSantiago? What if the explosion would have ripped me away instead of Harris? Would either of them have screwed up as much as I did considering the circumstances?" Emptying his glass, he throws it against the wall, shattering it nicely from the sound of it.

"I really got my foot down my throat even, rather nicely. I pissed off Havaris' girl, that would be Lieutenant Junior Grade Havaris, rather skillfully, infront of him. Why? Because I think I still was so damn high on Adrenaline you'd have to take a rope to keep me from flying away. Damn! I was trying to be nice, ok? It's an Infirmary. As if one of the nurses would get any lewd thoughts when helping her, a patient, out of her uniform. A patient in sickbay. That's what their jobs are, that's what my job is. I don't tell her which wrench to take when she fixes something, either, dammit. But, hey, why the hell should I make friends here? Bad idea anyway to become friendly with the girl of the El-Tee, let's see if he gives me any hard times for that, but I doubt it, he doesn't seem the kind." He starts pacing again, hands linked behind his back. "I don't get this place. It's....it's odd. It's stationary for one thing. I feel confined in here, although there's more room than on the Rutledge. I miss the Rutledge. A lot. ****, I feel like crying, but I am too old for that. I still can't believe that more than half of the people on board are dead. Get that? Dead, not coming back, there wasn't left enough from many of them to give them a proper burial, either. Maybe I should seek out a Counselor again in this matter, I thought I'd be over it, but I nearly froze planetside when we were under fire. Froze, dammit. I. I never did this before, but I got my act together, at least I hope so. I need to get a grip on myself, I need to be in complete control once more. Control, dammit, I need it..."

Suddenly, his commbadge chirps and a voice says, "Lieutenant JG Havaris to Ensign Malloy." With a sigh, Malloy turns off the personal log before answering and the screen goes blank.

Hiroshi sits down at the desk, leaning forward. "I've already gotten to meet two of the members of my team. Lt. Golden is the team leader. He seems like a pretty good guy and has some field experience. He really does his homework. By the time I met him, he had already gone over my service record. The L.T. expressed his pleasure with my enlisted experience. I also got to meet Ensign Turtledove. She's berthed next door to me. We had a couple of classes together at the Academy. I was happy to see that she recognized me. As a team, we discussed which specialties each of us would fill. Lt. Golden asked me to be the Heavy Weapons specialist. Go fig.

"Later on that night, I met Lt. Havaris, the Bajoran Assistant Chief of Security and Ensign Medes, a vehicle maintenance engineer. Ens. Medes asked me about my last posting, so I told her about AR-558. Hearing this, Lt. Havaris started eyeing me. He was surprised that a new ensign had already seen combat. I explained to him about being a petty officer and he seemed duly impressed. He also enjoyed the fact that I had fought Cardassians before. I have a feeling that we might get along."

Hiroshi begins to squirm in his seat, losing his grin. "Of course, I also had to endure another physical. You know how hospitals and me get along. I blame Kishi for that. If she didn't use me as a patient every time she learned something new, I might actually be able to tolerate them. At least Dr. Haven was nice. She tried her best to make me feel comfortable. I even passed."

Looking more cheerful now, Hiroshi continues. "We also had phaser quals. Lt. Golden assigned me to be the security rep for the trials, assisting Training Officer Lt. Poole. Boy, she is a beautiful woman." He rolls his eyes upward and sighs. Shaking his head, he clears his daydream. "But anyway, back to the quals. I was first up and scored near perfect. Then an Andorian named Claness. Then some engineers. They really need to practice some more. One of missed so badly that she hit Lt. Poole. Luckily, it was set on light stun. But Ens. Medes was really distraught. She was taken away to fill out an accident report. Lt. Poole woke up after a few minutes, was cleared for duty by the doctor and finished the training cycle. After all the shooting was over, I ended up qualifying as an expert marksman on both the Phaser II and the Phaser III Rifle. The best shooter there." Straightening up in his chair, Hiroshi blows on his fingernails and shines them on his tunic.

"Well, I need to be going now. I still have to unpack and do some homework about this place. I'll talk to you soon. I love you both dearly. Goodbye."

"I just survived my first duty as Tactical Officer aboard the U.S.S. Thomas Paine." He pauses. "It was probably my worst day yet as an officer. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I was ordered to the T.P. instead of taking part in the Occan ground offensive. "It was probably my worst day yet as an officer. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I was ordered to the T.P. instead of taking part in the Occan ground offensive. I would have much preferred to be vaping milkbloods and spoonheads with my rifle, than operating a computer console." He shrugs his shoulders and lets out a sigh. "But, we all must follow orders.

"Anyway, we were ordered to clear the space above Occa in preparation for the ground invasion. The Paine with her sister ships engaged and destroyed a Dominion Battleship, but not without losses. I had difficulty using the targeting systems. It's so much easier to point and pull trigger.

"Next the Paine and Inverness intercepted some Siinogian and Jem'Hadar fighters going after the gro-po transports. I managed to bag a couple of them, but not before the Inverness and some transports went down. We also took heavy damage ourselves. The Little Big Horn, wounded from the previous encounter, really saved our bacon." Hiroshi hangs his head again, then softly continues. "However, they had a core breach in progress. I tried everything I could remember from transporter training to bring them aboard. But it was no use. The Lil' Big Horn exploded taking two transports with her. I could have saved them. But I just wasn't ready for that situation. I just wanted to hide away somewhere. I still had a job to do though. Some of their crew managed to make it to the escape pods. And by some miracle, thank the Lord, I was able to transport them to safety."

Hiroshi glances up. "At least Commander Edwards and Ensign Bela were supportive. I wouldn't have been able to carry on without their encouragement."

Making himself more comfortable, he lays back on the couch closing his eyes. "I guess if I'm going to be useful around here I better start learning more about ship systems."

"End log."

Soon, Foster plops down on a plain white sofa, with gigantic cushions and feather pillows, a thermose of something in his hand as he eyes the camera for a moment before he speaks, and cracks a smile. "Computer, begin personal log, Foster, Johnathon Maxwell. Stardate 52705.1." Foster uncaps the thermose, and sets the cap down, pouring something brown and steaming into the cap that doubles as a cup. Picking it up, he takes a sip.

"Coffee. Such a marvelous thing. I always avoided it before I got here on Four-One-Nine, thought it might ruin my nerves, put me endlessly on some edge, delirious with paranoia. Such has not been the case, and thanks to Lieutenant Havaris, as well as the openening of the new Coffee House on the recently finished Deck 19, I'm well on my way to being addicted to caffeine."

Foster allows himself a soft grin before he sighs, and looks down. "But I didn't begin this log to talk about coffee. Yesterday, we took back Occa Prime - no, scratch that. I'm not going to say we took it back, because it isn't rightfully ours, it's Occa's. But we removed the unwanted Dominion influence, and that's damned good enough for me. I was on a ground team sent to the Energy Park to disengage the planetary shield grid along with Lieutenant's Ghorev, Poole, and Laco, and Ensigns Vota and Medes. Ghorev and Poole led the affair."

There is a long silence that is only perpetrated by the occasional sip from the capcup of coffee. Finally, he resumes speaking.

"I got shot. Right in the chest," he moves his hand over his chest to show just where, "And I'll be damned if it didn't hurt like hell. You know those Cardassian weapons. Two settings. Maim, and kill. Somehow I didn't get turned into dust. Lt. Poole and the two Ensigns were also injured. Everyone gave a valiant effort to gain control of the Park, especially Lt. Laco, who held off the Dominion's reinforcements so that the others could eliminate any presence inside. Another of note would be Ensign Vota and Ensign Medes. Both were nervous before the engagement, but held their own quite well, and honestly, probably better than myself."

"Along with Ensign Vota, I had to muck about in cramped sewage for about twelve minutes to disable a motion detector with simultaneous phaser blasts so that the group could continue. Needless to say, we came out rather smelly - but sometimes that's a risk you just have to take." He smiles again as he takes another drought.

"I saved Lt. Poole's life. I didn't really realize it until later, but I did - after herself and Mr. Ghorev dispatched a Jem'Hadar with a 'hit him high, hit him low' technique, another was just about to snap her neck - but I shot it. And killed it. I had never killed anything before, but goddamn if it didn't feel good. Ending that goddamn Jem'Hadar bastards life - I mean, saving Lt. Poole's life. I wouldn't want to have to be the one to break the news to Aaron if she had died, considering I could have saved her if she hadn't made it out."

"And unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, as Lt. Ghorev was able to bypass the security of the controls and I was able to bring down their planetary shields and the Thomas Paine, our angel from above, transported everyone but myself and Ensign Vota, who got stuck with guard duty, further inside to complete the mission."

The Stations's Main Engineering section has probably never been as alive as it is now. Every single available hand with even a minimum of technical training has been called in to suppliment The Engineers forces. Blue and Red turtlenecks are interspersed in teh thromhgs of the usual gold. Crates of parts are materializing all around, and quickly being opend and prepped. Toolkits are handed out and Teams are being formed.

Nevaren stands at the head of his Cental Control Station 'round table', his most trusted and valued junior engieers bordering the table on each side. His team leaders, his knights, each with padds in hand are furiously communicating with their groups, prepping for the long days ahead.

Nev straightens, brushing a lock of hair from his pale eyes. He looks tired but at the same time invigorated. The noise of the multitudes of officers in the room threaten to drown out whatever he has to say, but he persists. "ATTENTION, ALL HANDS!" he calls out, projecting his voice.

The voulme of the crowd subsides to a minimum, all eyes on the albino.

Nevaren clears his throat. "You know why you are all here." he says, looking around at all his people. "We have a half dozen ships on their way, behind the Thomas Paine and The Aegis. The ones that were too damaged to make it all the way to Ducais Prime." He holds up his padd and reads out the names. "The USS Sorrento and the USS Glasnost, Springfield Class. The USS Starionto and the USS Ganning, Steamrunner Class. And The USS Freyr, Defiant Class." He then sets down the padd again and leabs foreward.

"You all know where you are going when they get hear. Each team has been assigned a ship to work under their engineering group. I know you will all do us proud... You always do. But I felt this has to be said. Those people and those ships did something yesterday. They fought not just for Starfleet.. Not Just for the Federation.. But For Everyone this side of the Wormhole. We lost many good men and women. Security, Command, Medical, Sciences.. and yes.. Engineers."

Nevaren Steps back from the console, pulling himself even straighter. "I wish I had been there, as many of you do, but we had our duties assignments here. And now we have a very important role to play. We aren't the doctor's and nurses, who will be working more then they ever have rebuilding officers bodies and lives. But we *are* engineers, and we are going to be repairing and saving the ships which so many of the fighters, on both the ground and in space, put so much faith into."

The Albino's gaze sweeps across the room. "I want each and every one of you to to give One Hundred and Twenty Percent. We are going to treat each of those ships, and their crews, as if they were our very own family who work and live alongside us on this station. We are going to give everything we have to show them not just how thankfil we are for what they did, but how proud and honoured we are to be their friends and fellow officers. Does everyone understand?"

The log begins with a very weary Thaal'vor sitting in a nearly vacant lodge. "Well, everyone is up at the party and I'm too drugged to function. Of all the ways to get injured losing my balance and slamming into the inside of a security wagon. <sigh> And now I'm on light duty in the middle of the busiest work schedule I've had since I came on this station. On a plus side, I managed to rig that cloning facility up nicely and once again saved our bacon and the mission. I wonder if any of this gets recognized in the end. Ahh well. I'm just the engineer after all. Dakin is likely to get the credit for running the show. Not that I'm bitter.. Its just that the whole point of me joining Starfleet was to garner a reputation that my family could do business with and thus far I've been a glorified maintenance goon. <another sigh> And now I've got a bum shoulder and a cracked back. Silly doctor told me to do 'light' work. So I go back down to the Paine and go back to what I was doing. Little did I know that her version of light work was PADD pushing and 'supervising'. So now I've gone and strained it and the Doc will probably complain when I go see her tomorrow. My best hope is to relax the rest of the night and let things heal.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he looks back up at the recorder. "On a plus note, it seems that Idrani and Ashilav have buried the hatchet..and not in each other. Claness seems to be taking a liking to Idrani or I'm blind..and the team is starting to fill out. I figure by the time I'm back to full capacity we'll be ready for practices. I've got the molds for the hilts ready and as soon as Golden gets me a basic design for the knifes the rapid response team will have its momentos.. That's assuming that the forty odd ships I'll be working on in the next week all get patched up in prompt order."

"You know, it's sad. Every day I'm on this station, every day this war drags on, every day that another hundred thousand Starfleet officers lose their lives I seem to say goodbye to the Federation a little more." He pauses for a moment to take a sip of his drink, "Oh, I know the Federation is going to win this war, I have no doubt about that at all. I just am beginning to think that the Federation itself will be dead by the time this war is over, even when they win."

Another sigh, and another sip of the drink. "Take for instance this station here. First they institute a ban on serving alcohol to all Starfleet Officers, and ask the local merchant community to be nice and cooperate. Then, they send an officer in to buy alcohol just so they can shut down the Neutral Zone and deprive everybody of alcohol, which is exactly what they promised they wouldn't do. Sure, I know those types of stings were popular in the 21st century on Earth, but I somehow thought the Federation was below such pettiness." He sighs again, "Oh, and now apparently some Starfleet admiral is doesn't care what happens to anybody now, they're talking about enlisting all the civilian personel whether they want to or not." He smiles as he says, "I can't wait to see what the Ferengi say when their ambassadors die carrying a Federation Phaser rifle on some planet while some Federation enforcer is holding one to their backs making sure that the Ferengi will actually do what he's been ordered. And I thought the Orion Syndicate was bad... Maybe I should take up my friend on the offer to help them... They've done more for me than I could imagine."

"Audio only. Ensign Alethea Ruuuuuth Medes, Stardate... Uhm. 5... 2706.3. I think."

A sniffle and a shuffling of feet follows. "Hey, Dad. I'm back. Also, I'm extremememly drunk. I got even more stout, but Kusto took it away! Well, okay, so he was clever to keep me away form it, in a way. And anyway he's the one who told Garrett to bring it to me, because he was all with the interrupting of We're Not Dead Snuggle Time in the orchard. Pseudo-orchard. /That/ is important, but! First thing I learned. Expect combadge chirpity when it is /least/ convenient. Like right after you say the words 'wedding rings.'" A mumbling mutter and a little pffft sound append themselves to this statement.

"HATE. Hate. Hate. Understand. But Hate. So much hate. Anyway. So. Other than me being drunk? I'm also hurt! I got shot. I'm a mechanic, right? So what am I doing getting shot at? I don't know! But it worked, and we got the shields down and it was /just/ like my line officer evals, that mong Poole, if I didn't like her so much, I'd... I'd look really sternly in her direction because she would SO KICK MY ASS." BELCH. "Uh. Anyway. Do you have any idea, Dad, how hard it is to /not/ stare at a guy who has a big frag... frag... fragment! of crystal in his head? It was like this complete test of my knowing how much I hate people to look at me funny 'cause of my ears. But he completely saved our asses. Uh. Anyway. I totally dig on Foster, because he didn't do more than look at me funny when I said I could drink him under the table. And I could! I could! It's just these painkillers for my shoulder, they really kill my tolerance."

"Man. I have /whiskey/ and /stout/ now. I am like unto a GOD. But I'm not a drunk! It's just that I missed the drinking. It's probably good, though, because I passed my line officer evals and I would have gone to drink after that. Wait. That would have kept me from shooting Poole." Pause. "I am /so/ never living that down. I could shoot, like, four MILLION Jem'Hadar blindfolded and standing on my head... from across a crowded soccer field... without hitting all the other people on the soccer field... while they were playing a big game of soccer, and I'd still get ribbing about it. Which, really, is fine. My day will come. My revenge is slow... and, uh. Subtle. Yeah."

"Oh, yeah, and Malloy is a rusty, oil-leaking, diesel-powered sausage-stuffer. I can undress myself if I need a shower, /thanks./ Pervert."

"I think I'm gonna puke. Love you, Dad. Computer, end log and save."

"'scuse me," Dosa mumbles, laughing. "The night that Balin lifts the alcohol ordinance, and I'm here, sick in my quarters with a Nausicaan flu. It's poetic, to be sure. I..." Another sneeze, and the miserable young woman reaches for a tissue off screen.

She begins again upon composing herself. "Legate Damar made a tremendous announcement. He's asking all Cardassian citizens to resist the Dominion. /Resist!/ Over two years later, here I am, considering going back to Cardassia, to help fight. I wouldn't last, though. And the moment that Dominion loyalists get a hold of me..."

She sniffles, but not because of sadness. Her sullen, ridge-rimmed eyes look off camera as she speaks. "Lux. That horrible little Ferengi. I almost told him everything, two nights ago, when Damar made his galaxy-shaking announcement. I told him about my background. About what I did for the Order. Well, not /what/ I did, except that I'm a geneticist and an exobiologist. I... I was tempted to tell him everything. But I knew, if I did, he'd sell me out. No amount of latinum I had would keep him secret. Who would pay him the most for the near-complete understanding of the Jem'hadar genetic structure? Or, even better, the secrets behind genetic resequencing..."

The UFP symbol winks out to show Ashilav in some quiet part of the USS Thomas Paine's engineering section. From the ring of platform surrounding the warp core, it looks like she's on the upper level of engineering, somewhere. The quiet thrum of the dilithium power plant punctuates her log.

"I threw myself very hard into the first day of work on the Thomas Paine," she begins. "I began at 0600, ended at 1700. Trundled into the lodge, drank two glasses of Prythra's ale, and promptly passed out. And I didn't wake up until duty shift the next day." She smiles, lopsided. "I missed the celebration. But that's okay. I'm no hero, and the real glory goes to those who fought on the front lines. I'm just an engineer. I keep things pieced together with insulatory tape."

"Ensign Loerd. I'm not quite sure what to make of her. She's pretty, and a Trill, and seems to want to become my friend very badly. I assume that's because someone, likely Akeen, has informed her that she's taken the spot I was jockeying for. I'm not going to call her to the linens or anything, but she's getting under my skin. There's nothing worse than hearing that your new direct supervisor admits that I can do my job better than her." A small trilling sigh. "Time for more reprimands on my record, I suppose."

"I've not seen Kara in a few days now, not since before the battle at Occa. I trust she's in as much work as we are down in Engineering. I'll try to make time and see her today, if I can."

She looks off screen, and then her thin white eyebrows knit in a small frown. "During the Occa battle, Ensign Bela dumped raw plasma from an EPS feed into the shield grid in order to keep the shield matrix energized. And while it was successful, and we only sustained one major hull breach on deck two, she's given us tremendous work to do. Refitting the entire shield grid and all interconnecting systems... what was she thinking?" A pause. "Commander Edwards should know better than to put his duty before family. There's no reason why a woman in her stage of pregnancy should be serving on a combat vessel. No reason whatsoever."

"Well, I'm doing better than last night. Not quite as frustrated as I was before." He does his characteristical sigh, "It's funny, there's a lot of people I haven't seen for a long time. Doctor Clough, who I was an absolute jerk to the last time I did see her... but of course I was frustrated cause she wouldn't listen to me about Loni, but ironically enough, I was partially right. Although the doctor did save LonLon's life in the end."

"And what ever happened to Kara? I know she was going home, and looking forward to that trip, but she never came back. I really do wonder if something could have happened to her on the way there, or the way back."

His face turns to a frown, "And Rebecca. I haven't even seen her since that one time after the baby was born. Well, there was that one time I was hoping to have dinner with her in the bigger group, but she went to sit at a table that there was no more seats at. I tried to stay, but I dunno, I just couldn't. I hope she's okay too."

"They never taught us this in the academy. Starfleet Honor. Starfleet Glory. Never Starfleet Death. And here I joined for research: To make a difference in the name of Astrophysics! It's amazing how far we've come . . ."

* The Trill man sits up and gazes into the screen. *

"Deep Space 4 is a remote station, rather out of the way. While we knew about the war, and things did get a bit more complicated- . . . I've never been in an area such as this. A war zone . . . It's just unthinkable. The destruction, the . . . I suppose I'm just not used to it. Anyway, our mission was a success, as far as the Thomas Paine goes. We survived."

* He then flops back down on the bed. *

"My Department seems interesting to work in, and I keep bumping into Lieutenant Tibbs. I've got to make a note of stopping in and saying hello to him. I seem to see him rather often in passing, and I need to start making some friends. Although sometimes, I wonder if it's the war that's making him stutter. I guess it's none of my business."

* Rolling to the side, Ghent flops out of the bed and moves towards the opposite end, out of camera. *

"I suppose it's time to get back out there. It's rather annoying, being as happy as I am outwardly and as scared as I am inside. Thus is the life of the optimist, though. And I suppose it could be worse. Computer, end log and file in my personal folder."

The UFP Ensignia fades, revealing Kusto on his couch, wearing a set of medical scrubs and a weary expression. Not so much weary, even, as just plain old physically exhausted. From the look of him, he's not gotten much sleep in the past seventy-two hours. But judging from the stardate, it's fairly obvious why.

"I am proud to announce my first successful command action while stationed at s419. My record is 2 for 2, if you really want to count my Skippering the USS Nautilus down on Fimdari. Gwen really finished that one out, though. I'm willing to give her that one, so long as it's not held against me that I had to. Not my fault the suit malfunctioned. Anyhow."

He spends a moment rubbing at his eyes, clearing the fog away. "My team did well enough. The closing moments got a few of them wounded, but nobody was killed. Everyone was evacuated. Everyone made it. I'm told we're the lucky ones. Which, considering how close we came to being overrun by Siinogans and Jem'Hadar? Is really something spectacular. We were a minute, maybe two minutes away from total collapse. Zian got hit, Turtledove and Malloy had to fall back dragging her along. There were just so -many- of them. I killed... three? Four? Before I started lobbing the grenades? I don't really remember."

"But the one thing I -didn't- do down there was lose control. I was a jerk, I barked orders, I wasn't the nicest or most encouraging person to be around, but I never lost control. Of myself or the situation at hand. I didn't fly off the handle. I didn't regress into some past combat mentality. I didn't freak out. This medication is really working. For a while I was skeptical. But it's really working."

"Medes got hit. Right shoulder. We're alive, though. The both of us. I think that... given that fact, she'll take the pain over the alternative. I know I would."

He rubs his face briskly, gives a yawn, and notes softly, "I'm alive. And I'm tired. And I'm going to sleep. Blah blah Havaris Kusto, blah blah Upsilon blah. End log."

McNeill is pacing around her quarters. She continues to pace for a few moments as if unaware of the recording before speaking, but not directly into the recorder, "Well. I've been busy in the infirmary recently but . . .," she wrinkles her brow, "but I don't really know if much has really happened."

She shrugs, "A lot of people got beat up in the recent mission, some major injuries, a lot of minor ones. I wasn't involved in much of the major stuff, my shift was the next day - picking up the pieces." She grimaces and shakes her head slowly, "I mean, it's fine. I like helping people. And people do seem grateful," she rolls her eyes, "Well sort of, most of the time." She stops pacing and runs a hand through her hair whilst looking pensive, "But it's different. I don't know, maybe this is just regular Starfleet, but it seems like I'm here just to scan, treat and get them back on the road. It's just like an assembly line of providing a service."

She nods to herself, "Yes, that's it. It's not the same. It's business-like, efficient, to the point. . . it's Starfleet I guess." Another slight shake of the head, "There doesn't seem to be the same feeling of," she wrinkles her brow as if searching for a word, then she nods again, "Community." She nods more definitely, "Yes that's it. Not like on Hakton. . ." The word stops her. Her expression darkens.

She starts pacing around and around again, "It's work and that's it. I'll do it well, to the best of my ability, but here, it's just work. Maybe it's the war and all," she shrugs, "but maybe again it's just the way it is." Thinking out loud, "So if work is work, what is left other than that?" A wry grin and the pacing stops again, "Damn all - but too much time to look at the 4 grey walls and the pathetic innards of your own mind."

"Computer, end recording."

<<--The UFP logo returns.-->>

" Well, I suppose the best place to start is with large events. I went on the Thomas Paine and helped out, albeit almost uselessly, with the liberation of Occa. Other than that, there's not much more I can say. Thousands of fleet officers died to save a world that pretty much wants us to piss off. Talk about a load of blasted ingrates. Next time I think the fleet should let their nappy-ass planet stay good and occupied. The problem with serving a military devoted to the greater good is that people take you for granted. They think Starfleet /owes/ it to them somehow. To top it off, the spoonheads are suddenly holier than thou, the wounded party, the last front of defense against the dominion at home. Hello? You stupid people let them IN? Yeah, not so pretty now that you all aren't having a pretty pillaging and looting party now, is it? Of course the rest of the goddamn galaxy thinks yer a bunch of sellout idiots. But I've got to hand it to them. They pulled it off in a delicious piece of PR, saving face as much as possible. I imagine I would've done the same. But now they're the wounded party. They, who provided and assisted with the slaughter of /my/ people.. Well, they can bloody well go to hell. Not that I count for much, but I'm damn well not fooled."

He leans back in his chair, kicking his legs over the side, and getting beer-and-icecream in his moustache as he eats. "I did okay on the mission. The first mission to Fimdari was the worst because I didn't think I had it in me anymore, after the incident on Hasbin. But what's scary is I was wrong. I do have it in me still, but it's all just numb inside, kindof dead. I'm a self-avowed pacifist and devoted to exploration, and to me, war is a painful necessity. But I think I've seen too many fights even though I've always tried not to. I watched those ships go up on the sensors and all I could think was, 'Lucky bastards, at least you weren't assimilated or taken prisoner to spoonhead torture devices. Death was kind'. Isn't that bloody sick? I tried to get upset over it, but I just can't anymore. It just feels.. Like they have no names and faces unless I know them anymore. There's such a thing as seeing too much. Ironically, it'll make me better at my job, the more numb I become. But it feels like I'm losing myself when it happens. I get detached even thinking about it.

" I even tried to coax Loni away from sickbay.. With amputees and all there. Mind you, I think she'd been in there constantly, and I don't think it was good for her. I was worried. I tried waiting outside, and I've probably pestered the medical staff to death going in there all the time trying to find her, but I really got pushy trying to get her out of there. Isn't that selfish? I feel selfish about her. I want to keep her away from the things that made me the way I am, so that maybe she won't end up midlife looking back and wondering where the hell her sensibility went. She told me, you know, that it happens to her sometimes too. I think that's one of the moments I really knew that I'd found someone who could understand.

He pours in another bottle of beer, stirring up the slop. "Doesn't that sound funny? 'Well, enough about people dying, now to talk about the problems in my lovelife, here's the really important stuff!' Yes, well, I don't care. Let it sound funny. I'm at a complete loss. Everything I say seems to hurt her or drive her away. I back off to give her space, she gets hurt. I get pushy trying to give her attention, she gets upset and tells me to take a number, direct quote." He grimaces. "The problem when two people who have no self esteem try to make something work. It's porcupine syndrome. The closer you get, the more you needle and quill one another."

" Jackson's gone. I tried to talk the kid out of it, with Lux pulling the other way. But how could I rightfully ask him not to care? Sure, he jumped the gun and went and did something stupid, but I probably should have reported that I knew he was going to do something when he told me. I didn't have the heart to. The 'celebrations', although only the kindest could call them that, are more morose than pre-battle preparation. People like one another here, and they're closely knit, but morale is at the bottom of the barrel. It's hard not to be a gloomy gus, but at the same time, I really want to strive to do all the things I was always too scared to do before. It's like waking up after years of sleep.. And finding that you're snowed in. I don't know. Without Loni, I just don't feel comfortable talking to anyone. Maybe I couldn't even tell all of this to her, I don't know.

" I like Klingons even less now. Gorgha's named me Loni's pet tribble. Maybe he's trying to push me into showing some spine and biting back, but I can't do it. So I stuff it down, and just boil to myself and eat comfort food. Which is ridiculous, because I've got a job I like, a post I like, and people like Vota who're practically family. If I had any more melodrama you could tape me and put me on reruns.

" Malegeance is creepy. I overheard that they're tapping his stuff, which is comforting. I don't much like the way he looks at me. Hm, what else. Oh, I met a woman with green hair, I've been named as 'Jumpier than Tyler on a Hotplate', whomever that is, and told I needed to get laid. As if I didn't bloody well know that.

" Oh, and Kusto Havaris is a confusing weirdo. Now back to my love life. What do I do? I can't chase, I can't run, and sitting here is doing me nothing. I don't get it. The only advice I've gotten is 'flowers, and don't kill her on the first date'. The latter part of which was from the creepy romulan ambassadorial aide."

He shifts around so that he can take up a glass of what appears to be wine and takes a slow sip. "I also had a Mister Nevaren come in and purchase those Bajoran Candlesticks and Brandy that I stumbled on a couple months ago. Interesting fellow. He wants me to keep an eye out for Bajoran and Romulan antiques, too. Looks like I've got my first regular customer.", he says with a smile.

" Good news is I got Loni's attention in a way she couldn't duck out of.

" Bad news is I had to stand on top of the bar singing bad lovesongs at the 'Zone to do it.

" Good news is it's the most social thing I've ever done in public.

" Bad news is I can't sing very well and was three sheets to the wind at the time.

" Good news is Loni and I are going to have a nice long talk.

" Bad news is I don't think it'll be a pretty one. I've probably ticked her off good.

" Good news is Gorgha can't call me a freakin' tribble again, since I've shown some spine.

" Bad news is he'll find some other way to piss me the hell off.

" Good news is I didn't get arrested.

" Bad news is I told that new kid in security he had girly hair. Which is true. But perhaps not tactful. The only traditional buns that matter are toasted ones with cream cheese.

" Good news is he didn't kill me.

" Bad news is I think I remember that he sure looked like he wanted to. Oohboy.

The UFP symbol does it's thing and politely de-rezzes to reveal Prythra sitting in his office, sans Vulcan candlesticks. He strokes his pointed chin with spidery fingers and speaks. "Chief Science Officer's personal log. Stardate 52713.3. Well, Occa is liberated. Woo hoo!!!! Now they can get back to their rustic and charming lives of bigotry and xenophobia and the best part is..." his voice changes to a sarcastic stage whisper. "Most of the casualties were aliens so they don't really count." his voice resumes its normal tone. "And to think that a good man like Ensign Rancion lost his leg for those pricks. The only way I salve my conscience for saving them is by telling myself that we upsetted a huge chunk of Dominion affairs in our sector. If I don't think about saving Occans I can get to sleep at night." he runs a hand down his face. "I think that I've put my finger on what's been keeping me from reveling in my own personal victories on Occa. I never used science for any of them. I acted as a warrior exclusively down there. Not that I mind. It's just that that's not what I joined Starfleet for. Almost all of my combat skills were honed on the Prescott where they were the only Andorian things that I could engage in so that I didn't go mad among the Vulcans."

He sighs, "I'm a scientest damnit, and how did I end up aideing Starfleet in the Occan liberation. Let's see, I damn near beheaded a Cardassian, used my antennae to listen well and killed three Jem'hadar. No real science there."

He runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "and the thing that I refuse to let myself think about is the fact that all I really thought about on Occa was getting back so that I could see Eliara thrice-damned Zian one more time...but that's done. One kiss from Varanya Ashilav...no..the kiss was just the catalyst. The last time we spoke El..Zian pretty much admitted that she didn't get our culture as well as she thought she did. No..Pyrma's right, I need to start taking responsibility for what's mine and the largest glacier between Zian and myself is my own stupid pride."

Personal Log. Stardate 52714.3.

"The battle for Occa is over and life is slowly returning to normal on the station. For me, life continues in its orchistrated chaos. So be it.

"I watched someone die yesterday. It happened very fast. One minute, I was walking down the corridor and the next minute I helped a young Vulcan into the infirmary and he was dead. A reaction to an innoculation, I heard. I didn't even know him. I am having a little trouble trying to figure out how to sort this in my head. It was not the first time I have seen someone die, of course. But it was the first time I saw someone die like that. He was looking at me when I spoke his last words.

"Otherwise, I am largely absorbed in the diplomatic games on the station. I am investigating the Orion female quite thoroughly. The whole situation simply sounds too neat, too pat, to be for real. My gentle inquries among some of the senior staff lead me to believe that they have swallowed this... hook, line and sinker." She quirks a smile at the fishing reference. "However, I am beginning to consider another possibility, one that will even be less well received than if I start openly digging for information around Casya. She may be the /decoy/ and the actual /plant/ is someone else." She shakes her head. "I have no real evidence to go off of, just a suspicion and a general feeling that this whole scenerio of the slave revolt and rescue seems too choreographed to be believed. I cannot move until I have real evidence. And I think I will need some help.

"On the diplomatic front, I have been playing cat and mouse with the Romulan Ambassador. I /like/ K'net-mauri, but I always keep in mind that we both have our jobs to do. He is going to do what it is in his nature to do, as will I. As will the Ferengi, the Klingons and the Nausicaans. And the latter three are up to something, I am certain. There is something about these games that appeal to me. Maybe it is that I get a thrill from matching my wits with them. But it isn't the Romulan that concerns me.

"I got extremely drunk at the post-Occa celebration. Mainly an attempt to silence some of the demons on my shoulder lately. In retrospect, I think I had a /very/ good time and I am not sure how to deal with it in the aftermath. I can't worry about it; I have too many other things to worry about. But I will deal with it as it happens.

"A bit of good news is that the finger pointing and the whispering surrounding Akeen Ghorev and I have stopped, finally. Part of it had to do with my spelling out of the situation to Ashilav, which brought a peace to the lodge that may or may not last. And outside the lodge, I think my challenge then withdraw of an ushaan invitation to Lt. Tahlandi seemed to have silenced the whisperers there. It was a calculated move, on my part, albeit a bold one. Andorians certainly have that option available to them when honor is called into question. A good thing for the non-Andorian gossipers to bear in mind.

Personal Log. Stardate 52714.5

"Well, so that's it, then ... it really *was* just a case of Princess And The Frog. In the end, I don't wear the uniform, and I'm just not good enough to share her life." A long sigh. "I suppose it's the height of hubris to think I could have -- in the end, I'm nothing more than a fat little horse trader too soft-hearted to be a good scoundrel and too crooked to be anything else, and she's a " -- his voice booms with clearly tipsy exaggeration -- "STARFLEET OFFICER!"

"Bah. Double bah. She was a scared little girl, and I proved to her she could be more, that she was worth more than a hypospray in the arm and an occasional flash of curvy backside. Her self-esteem? That was me. Her confidence? I'll take credit for that one, too."

"But at the end of the night, when bartender says 'Last Call, Gentlemen, please', she's able to seep the synthehol from her system and realize that she mistook a frog for Prince Charming. More power to her. It was foolish to think I could be anything more..."

"Another drink, I think. Yeah. That's what I need....Computer, double-bourbon, neat...."

"Hello Vala. It has been a long time. Maybe too long." His eyes are intense and bright, with an agressive fire burning away the calmness that is usually found there. He runs a hand over his head, slicking back his damp hair and stopping more sweat from running into his eyes. An ironic smirk curls the edges of his mouth. "You never seem to have the time to write. Not that I blame you." His expression is anything but forgiving, in spite his words. "I am thinking of joining Starfleet. Imagine me following in /your/ footsteps to be one of the best that the Federation has to offer." At that a rumbling chuckle comes from deep within his chest. He leaps to his feet and begins to pace the length of the holodeck, the recording device keeping him in view at all times. "Children. Most of the officers on this station are children. I am one of the oldest officers on the station, Vala, and I'm not yet thirty." He continues his pacing, turning his head to glower at the recording device. "No wonder the Hornet was lost, if Starfleet is replenishing their ranks with officers who remember their academy days like they were yesterday, because they /were/ yesterday!" He growls this last sentence through clenched teeth. "The ADF has officers to spare, and Starfleet needs experienced officers. By the Gods, this is not how I envisioned my life being like when I was young and naive."

"Personal log, stardate 52715.7. Ensign Tera Turtledove."

"I'm not cleared for duty by Medical yet. That will come. Paperwork, you know." She clears her throat, smiling softly, awkwardly. "In the meantime, I've been getting to know my RRT mate, Mr. Takamura. He's a caring sort, open and friendly. A capable man, too. But. Quick to action, I suspect. Although, that's not always a bad thing." Her mouth quirks up into a half-smile, then quickly bends back down, forming a sickly neutral line.

There is an awkward silence as she looks away from the recorder, closes her eyes briefly, then reopens them, and looks back at the recorder.

"Ambassador Zuh'raah'do." She pauses to smooth back her hair. A distinctly nervous gesture. "Offered to discuss my problem." Her lip trembles gently as a quiet sigh escapes her mouth. She closes her eyes again. Speaking in a ragged whisper, she