ULC #14: The Sound of Q-sic

moonshadowdark

Welcome to the fourteenth iteration of the Unofficial Literary Challenge: The Sound of Q-Sic!

Prompt #1: "The Sound of Q-sic" By moonshadowdark and attributed to be this month's ULC by rosetyler51

"Q is at it again. After an argument with the powerful entity concerning how Q culture does not have the creative flair as other species, Q points out that the Continuum could run creative circles around you. Q announces their intent to write a musical. Unimpressed and skeptical, your captain tells Q they'll love to see it. Q, in their usual impish tone, assures the captain that they will.

The next day, the captain awakes to the computer serenading them their morning duties. A little while later, an Ensign is leading a chorus line through the mess hall over his favorite replicator supplement. It appears Q has debuted their musical...and YOU are the ensemble! Write (or sing!) a log about this experience and how you managed to make Q face the music for this."

Special Addendum: This challenge does not require you to make up original songs. You have a choice of either making up your own songs or simply re-purposing popular or preferred music to fit the situation.


Prompt #2: "Poker Night" by aten66

"It's poker night for your Senior Officers, and they have decided to ask you, their Captain, to join their game for the night. Did you play the game, or were you the dealer? Did you win or lose? What kind of rumors did you hear or dispel? Did you enjoy the game or go to get to know your crew better?

Prompt #3: "Club 47 Grand Reopening" by moonshadowdark

"Your captain has been invited to the inaugural reopening of Club 47, a highly popular dance club on Earth Space Dock. Dignitaries, Starfleet brass, celebrities and socialites from ever corner of the universe have all come down to be a part of this. How does your captain spend the evening? Schmooze with Admirals to gain new commands? Stalk celebrities they've seen on the Holo vids? Cut a rug on the dance floor? Write a log about the night's events. And remember: Don't drink the brain worm!"

Usual cardinal rule applies: Don't post anything NSFW. However, after discussion during the redux ULC, I've decided to drop the rule on entries per author. Have fun!

The discussion thread is here.

Index of previous ULCs:

1. The Kobayashi Maru
2. Time After Time
3. The Next Generation of Tribbles with Darkest Moments
4. The Return of the Revenge of the Unofficial LC of DOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!
5. Back from the Dead?
6. Gods of Lower Decks in Wintry Timelines
7. Skippy's List: Starfleet Edition
8. Revisit to a Weird Game, One of One
9. In Memory of Spock.
10. Redux 1
11. Delta Recruit
12. Someone to Remember Them By
13. In A.D. 2410, War Was Beginning

marcusdkane

Prompt #3:

T H E . L A S T . N I G H T . O N . E A R T H

Earth Spacedock, October 6, 2412...

Materialising on the transporter platform, Captain Ael t'Kazanak gave a wry smile as she saw the Andorian Master Chief Petty Officer Mu'awiyah th'Shaan behind the console. Ael realised that shouldn't have surprised her, after all, she had authorised the temporary transfer of her crew while the Vanguard was rebuilt by STS at Thunderhead Station, but still, the coincidence amused her. Of all the transporter chiefs in all of Starfleet, I have to run into mine...

Beside her, Channery was dressed in the same Cardassian-tailored ash-grey suit he had worn on their first date, paired with a deep maroon shirt, which was partially visible at the collar vents. Ael wore an open-fronted knee-length dress with voluminous sleeves, which matched the color of her eyes, and knee-high black boots of targ suede. Turning, they stepped off the transporter platform and headed through an archway into a vast atrium, which was dominated by an illuminated two story conical waterfall. Each knew what the occasion represented, but neither was willing to break the mood by discussing it, and after taking a moment to observe the coruscating shifts of color within the waterfall, they followed the ramped mezzanine around and down to the reception area.

The Bolian maitre'd made no acknowledgement as they approached her, merely stood with her arms folded, studiously ignoring everyone who deigned to trespass on her domain. With a snort, Ael shook her head and passed through the lozenge-shaped wood and glass doors, through which, revolving holographics reading 'Club 47: Astrolounge and Synthbar' could be clearly seen. To their right, was a multi-tiered lounge area with a canopied area, with booths for private conversations along each side.

"What can I get you?" Channery asked as they approached the bar.

"Altair water," Ael replied, glancing about. She hadn't been in Club 47 since before its re-opening, and she rather liked the changes in layout and decor.

"Good evening, Captain," a clear voice spoke from behind Ael.

Turning, Ael found herself facing T'Reya, who was also dressed in civilian clothing: a long sleeveless cassock-like dress of a rough-spun cotton-like fabric, and a sleeveless overcoat of the same material, which covered her body from neck to floor.

"Counsellor," Ael replied in acknowledgement, taking the glass which Channery handed to her.

"Counsellor," Channery began. "I'd just like to apologise again for what happened with Sirok..."

"Apology is unnecessary, Captain," T'Reya replied. "The matter is past, and logic dictates that I consider it a learning experience. I understand that Sirok has been transported to Vulcan, to take up residence at the Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital in K'Lan-ne, where specialists will make every effort to bring him out of his torpor." ...Which will not succeed... she added silently. "If you will excuse me, Captains, I have a prior commitment to which I must attend. Enjoy your evening."

Ael watched as T'Reya entered the lounge area, where she was greeted by a middle-aged Andorian, who Ael guessed to be a chan. As he and T'Reya sat, he took took a number of PADDs from his satchel, which they immediately began discussing. Their body language was formal, and Ael realised that they were clearly discussing a case, rather than a social meeting, before returning her attention to her more immediate surroundings.

Across the double-sided trapezoidal bar, a violet flash caught Ael's attention. In the low light, it was hard to differentiate between painted claws, or sharp-filed fingernails, against the glass of vibrant green liquid, but the characteristic eyeshine and ice-blonde hair of a Pentaxian was unmistakable.

So you're Commander H'mL'n... Ael mused, as Channery turned back toward her.

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise," a warm voice said, and Ael smiled broadly to see Ashiyana approaching from the door, her flowing white gown billowing around her as she moved.

"What're you doing here?" Ael almost demanded in surprise. The statuesque Deltan smiled serenely.

"I heard that renovations had been made, and I wouldn't be much of a hostess if I didn't keep my finger on the pulse of the latest trends, would I?"

"I... hope you have a nice time," Channery said somewhat inanely.

"Thankyou, angel, I'm sure I will," Ashiyana replied, before moving away to do a circuit of the room, and Channery brought his eyes back to Ael.

"Do you want to dance?" the Human JAG asked.

Ael shook her head as she sipped her drink.

"Not just yet," she replied, as they headed toward the side seating on way down to the dancefloor. "I want to get a feel for the place first."

Channery nodded silently and sat beside the Romulan on one of the backless chairs, before gazing out onto the bustling circular dancefloor in an attempt of studied nonchalance.

They had been sitting in awkward silence, sipping their drinks, for nearly ten minutes, when a slender Human woman approached wearing a gold-on-cream tunic skirt.

Ael looked up and smiled. "Good evening, Lieutenant," she said genially.

Lieutenant Jemma Donovan smiled. She was pretty, with large, expressive eyes, and a look of naïve innocence, which often gave her the appearance of a fresh cadet, not a commissioned officer with nearly a decade's service under her belt.

"What do you think, Captain?" She asked eagerly.

Ael nodded approvingly.

"You've done a good job, Lieutenant," she said approvingly. "I can see why Captain Sulu asked for your input on the refurbishment. I don't suppose you know where he is?"

"I last saw him with Captain Atreides," Jemma offered. "But that was a while ago... Say, I'm really looking forward to seeing what they've done with the Vanguard tomorrow, how about you, Captain?"

"Every bit as curious as yourself, Lieutenant," Ael replied. "I'll see you at the docking bay."

"Yes, ma'am," Jemma agreed. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Captain -- Captain..."

"She's keen," Channery noted as Jemma made her way onto the dancefloor, and proceeded to start doing the Shuffle.

"One of my bridge relief officers," Ael replied. "More accurately rostered as the ship's morale officer. Negativity is simply not a concept she is familiar with." Looking down, she saw she had drained her glass, and gestured with it. "Time for a refill -- the same again?"

"Please," Channery replied, handing over his own empty glass.

* * *

When she returned from the bar, Ael was less than amused to see Commander Catherine Woolf occupying her chair, engaged in animated conversation with Channery. The bottom of her outfit -- voluminous black pants -- was conservative enough, but the top, was what could best be described as a singlet with a deep 'v' from the neck to the navel, which did nothing to conceal, but only enhanced, her cleavage, in an elegant, yet still overtly sexual way.

"I would have got you a drink, Commander, had I known you were joining us," Ael said sharply, handing Channery his drink. "To what do we owe this visit?"

Catherine looked up, "Well the computer said this is where you both were," she began.

"And you just felt the need to join us," Ael snapped. "I know you want to try and get your claws into Channery again, but couldn't you even wait until I was out of the system first?"

Even under the dim mood lighting, it was possible to see Channery's face flush with embarrassment, and Catherine's eyes and mouth opened like saucers.

"I can most certainly assure you, that's not the case at all, Captain!" she retorted primly. "I just received news, which I thought you should both be made aware of, and felt best to deliver it in person!"

"You came from the JAG office dressed like that?" Ael scoffed. "Credit me with some intelligence!"

"I saw you were both in a club and didn't want to look out of place in uniform," Catherine insisted. She began to continue, when another voice interjected.

"Excuse me, Captains, Commander, but your voices are carrying," T'Reya observed. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I came back from the bar, to find my date being appropriated by another woman!" Ael snapped, her voice tight, but now significantly lower in volume.

"That's just not the case," Catherine insisted, shaking her head, still not rising from what had been Ael's chair. She began to speak again, but T'Reya politely held up a hand to pause her, before looking to Ael. "Perhaps you should take a moment in the plaza, Captain," she suggested. "I shall join you momentarily."

"But she..." Ael began.

"I shall join you momentarily," T'Reya repeated firmly.

* * *

Stepping into the cool of the plaza, T'Reya quickly located Ael. The Romulan was sitting on a bench next to some trees, overlooking the ships in dock. Although she was clearly still upset, her previous anger had cooled.

"I could have handled that better," she admitted, seeing T'Reya's approach.

"Indeed," the counsellor noted, before joining the captain on the bench. To point out that Ael's suspicions were not without merit would be counter-productive and illogical, so she restrained herself to discussing the facts. "Word has been received that the Wentworth came under fire and suffered catastrophic damage."

Ael tilted her head quizzically while she mentally reviewed the active ships roster for the name, but was unable to recall it. "I don't know it," she admitted.

"The transport which was conveying former-commander Chanos and Blue Squad to the Bolian system," T'Reya clarified. "According to preliminary investigation, it would appear that it came under fire from an Orion slave-barge, and the hull of the Wentworth was found dead in space."

"Escape pods?" Ael enquired quietly, but the Vulcan shook her head.

"As mentioned, the information Commander Woolf had received was preliminary, and less than thorough," T'Reya clarified. "Although some were launched, none have as yet been recovered. There is a significant chance that Chanos is either dead, or in the custody of the Orions."

Ael swore under her breath in Rihan. Chanos was responsible for the deaths of thirty eight crew members and the maiming which had forced the Vanguard to spend months in drydock. He had been court-martialled and sentenced. A harsh sentence, but a fair one under the circumstances. But even at her most uncharitable, Ael would not have wished to see her former executive officer dead or laboring under Orion bondage, and she made silent prayer to the Elements for his good fortune.

"I should go back and apologise to the Commander," she mused.

"I do not believe that would be advisable at this juncture," T'Reya pointed out, before rising to her feet. Again thinking that it would be counter-productive for Ael to return and see Channery and Woolf enjoying each other's company. "We have more pressing matters -- travel preparations to attend to. Come."

With a sigh, Ael stood, and following T'Reya as she walked toward the transporter platform, cast a quick glance back to the club, and everything she was leaving behind.

Who's gonna tell you when
It's too late?
Who's gonna tell you things
Aren't so great?
You can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
But bye
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?

Who's gonna pick you up
When you fall?
Who's gonna hang it up
When you call?
Who's gonna pay attention
To your dreams?
Yeah, who's gonna plug their ears
When you scream?

You can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
But bye
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?

Who's gonna hold you down
When you shake?
Who's gonna come around
When you break?

You can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
But bye
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?
Ohh
You know you can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?



Ric Ocasek of The Cars - "Drive"

aten66

A/N: Part 1/2, Due to Character Length.

Recommended Listening:

Adapted from Andrew Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera, 2004:

"Think of Me"
"The Music of the Night"
"Masquerade"
"All I ask of You"
"Down Once More/Track Down This Monster"

Tim McGraw, Southern Voice, 2009:

"Still"
"If I Died Today"

Anastasia, Various Artists, 1997:

"Once Upon a December" by Liz Callaway

"Highwayman" As sung by the Highwaymen


*Sigh*

How do I begin...

Let's see...

It all started with a Curtain being raised.

No, no that's not metaphorical for a curtain raiser, or what ever other metaphor you can think up to do with curtains. I mean a literal curtain rose.

This is my personal log to... collect my thoughts as I prepare to send an official report to Starfleet.

Sometimes you just have to hate making these things. The official ones, not this, I... think... I need this one.

Anyone will understand why I need to collect my thoughts after my tale is done.

*****

"I liked your other ship better," a voice says from behind Gregs' chair on the bridge, "You know, the Oregon, it was classy Starfleet, blue and true, could have flipped a coin on your bed and all that." Gregs sighs, know who had decided to pop up back into his life.

"One day, I will find a way to block you from beaming in here-" He pauses, realizing he doesn't recognize the being in front of him, "Who are you, if I may be so brash?"

"Ah, I see Mon Commandant, you are surprised by My appearance?" Q says, a little insulted nonetheless, though he knows his son was well known in this era, "I know it's been a few decades, but I am the one, the only.... Q!" Fireworks go off as smoke fills the air, blocking the view of everyone on the bridge. Once the smoke dissipates, it reveals a curtain surrounding where Gregs and Q once stood.

*******

"Couldn't you go back to the Continuum, or bother Picard, or Sisko; oh wait Sisko would just punch you in the face," Gregs says recognizing which Q this was, "Though, it probably wouldn't be the same since he's with the Prophets in the Wormhole; probably pack a bigger punch though." Gregs is really annoyed now, and all he knows is that he's surrounded by a red velvet curtain and sitting in what he deems to be a French Theater style seat covered in red cloth and plated in uncomfortable ivory carvings.

Standing up, he decides to sit down again quickly, as he realizes that there is nothing but space below him and what he assumes is his ship, which he was on not seconds ago. "As I see I have your full attention now, Monsieur, I would like you to direct your eyes straight ahead," Q's voice booms from everywhere. The curtain begins to rise, showing Q in a tuxedo, in his right hand was an open book, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, in his left an ivory mask that would cover a whole face. "Oh, oh dear, you seem to have caught me unaware," Q says, putting the mask to his face, "Me without my makeup on, for shame, if I am to play my part." A bone saw appears out of nowhere, and he takes the mask and saws it in half. "I do love this book you know, but Andrew's musical interpretation seems to do it more justice," An eyebrow raised by Gregs causes Q to sputter, "What, you don't know one of the greatest inventions of humankind: The musical!" At this he closes the book and opens it to reveal cardboard cutouts of the Phantom and Christine, each on one side of a mirror, as the book turns into a popup book.

"I'm sorry, but what the heck does this have to do with your 'visit'," Gregs asks, "And should I recognize these people? I'm familiar with the book, but I never knew of a movie adaptation that's in our records." Frowning under the mask, Q then merely smiles wickedly.

"Well, let's get to the meat of the issue then," Q replies, "I've heard the whisper's and the rumors flying across all of Starfleet, everyone is tired of the war with the Iconian's." He creates a glass of wine, which he then sips on. "Well, I can't stop the war or reverse its consequence's outright," he goes on, "I do believe you deserve a little Rest and Relaxation, so I'm going to give you some." He snaps and marionettes of various Senior Officers and one of himself. "I planned on putting on a play for you," Q says, "But since you've shown your true colors, and that snide remark about The Sisko, I've decideded to throw in a little 'surprise'." Chuckling he snaps again, disappearing along with everything else, leaving Gregs only surrounded by the curtain. "Let me begin, dear sir, by singing you a song," the ethereal voice of Q fades in an echo. Organ music strikes up, along with two lit lights.

Q Begins:

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.
Silently the senses
abandon their defenses...

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour.
Grasp it, sense it tremulous and tender.
Turn your face away from the garish light of day,
Turn your face away from cold, unfeeling light -
and listen to the music of the night...

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before!
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!
And you'll live as you've never lived before.

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.
Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you.
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind,
in this darkness which you know you cannot fight
the darkness of the music of the night.

Let your mind start a journey through a strange, new world!
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before!
Let your soul take you where you long to be!
Only then can you belong to me.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in,
To the harmony which dreams alone can write,
The power of the music of the night!

You all can make my song take flight,
Help me make the music of the night.


The candlelight flickers out, and Gregs is left in darkness.
The Curtain falls to reveal the bridge as it was, though a few shocked faces remained.

****

Deciding to go retire for the night, early, he turned it over to the night shift, and gave shift lead to Sharvan.

As they lingered, waiting for everyone to switch over, Lexis began to talk to Lieutenant Sarah, whose station she was replacing. She began to banter with her friend, saying how she never really got to talk like they had first; after her first month back onboard Sarah switched to night shift.

[Lexis (To Lt. Sarah):]
Think of me
think of me fondly,
when we've said
goodbye.
Remember me
once in a while
please promise me
you'll try.

When you find
that, once
again, you long
to take your heart back to Steve
and be free
if you
ever find
a moment,
spare a thought
for me ...

We never said
our friendship
was evergreen,
or as unchanging
as the sea
but if
you can still
remember,
stop and think
of me ...

Think of all the things
we've shared and seen -
don't think about the things
which might have been (with him)...

Think of someone new,
think of someone waking,
silent and
resigned.
Because of you.

Imagine me,
trying too hard
to put your plight
from my mind.

Recall those days,
look back
on all those times,
think of the things
you'll never do
there will
never be
a day, when
He won't think
of you ...

[Sharvan (To Ensign Steve):]
Can it be?
Can it be Lexi?

What a change!
You're really
not a bit
the gawkish girl
that once you were ...

She may
not remember
me, but
I remember
her ...

[Lexis (To Lt. Sarah):]
We never said
our friendship
was evergreen,
or as unchanging
as the sea
but please
promise me
that sometimes
you will think
ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah-of me!

Blinking, Sharvan and Lexis look to each other, realizing they had just sung their words. "Weird" they both chorused as they met each other in the center of the bridge, before they split off, resigning it to a random event.

******

Eating breakfast in the Mess Hall Gregs, Zinuzee, Z'yrich, M'aei, and Soria are all waiting for the next batch of blueberry pancakes and coffee to be delivered by Alib, their impromptu cook for the morning. All of a sudden he comes whizzing by, a stack of pancakes lands on everyone's plates and their cups are full. Sweating, Alib merely sits against the bar end of the mess hall, picking at his own food.

Alib then begins to sing spontaneously:

"If I died today,
Who'd turn off my coffee pot?
Would there be a street parade?
Would I just be an after-thought?

If I died today,
Would I still be a waiter?
Could I fly around like Captain Proton?
Who would make Sunday Dinner?

[Chorus: Sung by Everyone at their Table, including Alib]
I wonder who I'd see,
Cryin' standin' over me.
Who would just send their regards?
Would anybody say that "at least he's in a better place?"
And who would get this old sitar?

If I died today,
Would my mama keep on living?
Would my buddies go out drinkin?
Would my alarm clock keep on blinkin'?

If I died today,
Would I need to be ashamed?
Would I be easy to forget?
Could I live with my regrets?

[Chorus:]
I wonder who I'd see,
Cryin' standin' over me.
Who would just send their regards?
Would anybody say that "the world will never be the same?"
And who would get this old sitar?

If I died today,
Would I see my Family from the Guiding Tree?
Would my friends talk about me,
At Prixin and Thanksgivin'?

[Chorus:]
I wonder who I'd see,
Cryin' standin' over me.
Who would just send their regards?
Would anybody say "what a good guy, what a shame?"
And who would get this old sitar?

If I died today,
Who'd turn off my coffee pot?"


Suddenly less sad and more surprised, the Talaxian looks to everyone at the table. "Ummm" he says, "I really didn't know I had such a great singing voice...ha." Merely face palming at this, everyone but Gregs groans.

"Okay, did no one at all just realize we sang chorus on an unrehearsed song?" Gregs says to everyone else, "Seriously, what the heck just happened?" Nodding, everyone merely considers it a strange coincidence, and immediately move on to eat and drink their cooling foodstuffs. Gregs is merely perturbed.

******

24 Hours Later...

Gregs' eye is twitching from annoyance. His appearance is disheveled, his clothes are full of wrinkles, his shirt stained from many things; all forms of food. His pants are torn on the right side, and his left sock is missing; though his shoe is still on his foot. There are dark circles under his eyelids from the apparent lack of sleep. Of course, having trying to sleep through thirty-nine separate incidents of songs, besides the ones he had personally been privy to or had been told about, would induce insomnia in anyone. Trying to drink a cup of tea to calm his nerves, he began to panic when he swore the Bartender was about to break out into song.

Quickly leaving, after spilling hot tea on his pants of course, he made his way to the turbolift and ordered it to deck thirteen, which held his personal quarters and led to the onboard hydroponics bay and botanist's greenhouse, as well as a very special door. Opening said door, he quickly retreated to the pocket dimension holding the last pieces of his home, his tree and personal garden. Sitting beneath the tree, he begins to calm down, before feeling something pull at his heart and exit through his mouth in an unnatural, almost forced, humming.

*
GREGS: "Still"

There's a place I like to go
Where I can hear the grass grow
When that thunder bell-lows
A dozen miles down the road
All I really have to do-oh-oh is just be still

There's the place I love to be
Momma, daddy, my sister & me
First time I ever saw the beach back in 2203
All I real-ly have to do, is just be still

When this world gets crazy
And tries to break me
And I had all I can stand
I can close my eyes no matter where I am
And just be still

There's a place that I can see
Where my family's next to me
Close enough to feel the heat
Grass All wound up beneath our feet
All I have to do is just be
still...

When this world gets crazy
And tries to break me
And I had all I can stand
I can close my eyes
No matter where I am
And just be still

There's a place I need to go
Where a part of my history grows
Every part of me is known
Thank the Traveler I can go there
Thank the Traveler I can go there still
Thank the Traveler I can go there still

*

Breaking down, just a little bit, he hysterically laughs, as he realizes in his insomnia induced bout of craziness, that there is no escaping whatever plague Q put upon his crew.

*
GREGS: "Once I Did Remember"

Dancing figures, painted rings
Things I almost remember
And a song someone sings,
Once I Did Remember...

Someone holds me safe and warm
Ships sail through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory

Someone holds me safe and warm
Ships sail through a silver storm
Figures dancing gracefully
Across my memory

Far away, long ago
Glowing dim as an ember
Things my heart used to know
Things it yearns to remember

And a song someone sings
Once I Did Remember....

*

'Once I treasured sound, and now... heh, now I jut can't get away from it,' Gregs muses to himself, "I hate Q's games, but perhaps the only way to win, is to play along..." Before he even knows it though, his tired brain begins to shut down, and falls asleep peacefully. He's found ten minutes later by his senior security officer and tactical officer, dead asleep, after missing out on lunch plans with a few other officers. Gar'Atadar quickly takes him to sickbay, before informing Zinuzee of the strange occurance.

*****

"No!" Gregs shouts in anger, "I could stand Q Junior, I could stand Lady Q, I could stand the second Lady Q, I've can even tolerate that one Q that looks like a chimera; but Q's father, this is the first time I've met him, and I can tell why Sisko punched him!" Angrily pacing, after waking up only slightly refreshed, Gregs can't help but rant to his First Officer and friend, Zinuzee.
"Gregs, I know he's a pain, but there's no proof that what you are saying is happening," Zinuzee retorts, "I remember eating in the mess hall today, and Alib didn't break out into song about his coffee pot, or a Sitar for that matter, though he does say he did happened to replicate one a few days ago."

Merely rubbing his forehead in frustration, Gregs can't help but think Q wanted him to look crazy to everyone. Zinuzee all of a sudden puts her hand on his shoulder,

*
Zinuzee

No more talk of darkness,
forget these wide-eyed fears;
I'm here, nothing can harm you,
my words will warm and calm you.
Let me be your freedom,
let daylight dry your tears;
I'm here, with you, beside you,
to guard you and to guide you.

*

Gregs can't help but be pulled into the song, though he is truly tired of the game Q is playing with him, he can't help but join in song.

*

Gregs

Say you'll watch me every waking moment;
turn my head with talk of summertime.
Say you need me with you now and always;
promise me that all you say is true,
that's all I ask of you.

Zinuzee

Let me be your shelter,
let me be your light;
you're safe, no one will find you,
your fears are far behind you.

Gregs

All I want is freedom,
a world with no more night;
and you, always beside me,
to hold me and to hide me.

Zinuzee

Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime;
let me lead you from you solitude.
Say you need me with you, here beside you,
anywhere you go, let me go too,
that's all I ask of you.
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime.
Say the word and I will follow you.

Together
Share each day with me, each night, each morning.

Zinuzee

Say you trust me...

Gregs

You know I do.

Together

Trust me,
that's all I ask of you.
Anywhere you go,
let me go too
Love me...
that's all I ask of you


(.....)

Q...I Think I really Hate You....

*

"That's it," he says, snapping his fingers together, "I can't believe I didn't see it before... Q you sly fox...." Running out the door, leaving a confused Zinuzee behind, Gregs is not seen that night by anyone.

*****

aten66

Part 2/2, Due to Character Length

The Next Day

Waking up to a beep that signified a new message, Zinuzee wondered what it was. Taking her personal P.A.D.D. out from it's drawer, she connects it to the ship, and retrieves the message. She was interested as it appeared to be an electronic letter.

To ALL Crewman: The Opening of the Holodeck, recently completed, will be commemorated by a ball. All available staff are encouraged to attend at their leisure, and will begin at 8 P.M and last until 8A.M., so all may attend. I will attend for most of the event, and would love to see you there.

Signed,
Gregs Sharvan Son'aire, Captain.

Interested by the event in question, she decided to clear her schedule for the evening, instead joining the ball for a few hours.

*****

That Night...

The holodeck was spacious, as the lesser need for crew on the ship, allowed for larger holodecks that could accompany many guests, up to eighty at a time if ever needed. Tonight most of the off-duty crew had come in and out, the holodeck program either drawing them in, and other plans drawing them out. The program of the night was of an elegant French theater, holocharacters themed to fit into a fancy ballroom, who both brought replicated hors d'oeuvres, and provided entertainment, either through clowns, songs and dance, or other ways. Most crewman stuck to the theme of the holodeck, wearing appropriate dress and tuxedoes, while some were dressed for later occasions they had planned.


At the tapping off glass, all fell silent and turned to the elegant stairs that led to the middle of the dance floor. At the top Gregs, dressed in a white suit, wearing a yellow paisley tie against a grey paisley vest, stood there with a champagne glass in his hand. "Good evening, and thank you all for joining me tonight, the party is planned to automatically end at eight tomorrow morning, and protocol's were put in place to ensure everyone leaves in a timely manner," he continues, "For now though, let us enjoy the party, and to begin, let us start with our first choreographed song and dance of the night; please vacate the dance floor at your earliest convenience, so as not to disturb the dance troupe as they begin their routine." Silence falls as people leave the floor and others holocharacters take their place. "My friends and comrades, may I delight your senses with a song taken from an adaptation of Le Fantôme de l'Opéra," Gregs announces, "May I present a song taken from Earth's movie archives from The Phantom of the Opera: Masquerade!"

The fluttering of fans is heard, as the holocharacters take their bows.

CHORUS

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!
Flash of mauve . . .
Splash of puce . . .
Fool and king . . .
Ghoul and goose . . .
Green and black . . .
Queen and priest . . .
Trace of rouge . . .
Face of beast . . .
Faces . . .

Take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round . . .
in an inhuman race . . .

Eye of gold . . .
Thigh of blue . . .
True is false . . .
Who is who . . .?
Curl of lip . . .
Swirl of gown . . .
Ace of hearts . . .
Face of clown . . .
Faces . . .

Drink it in, drink it up,
till you've drowned
in the light . . .
in the sound . . .

GREGS/ZINUZEE
But who can name the face . . .?

ALL
Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
spinning reds . . .
Masquerade!
Take your fill -
let the spectacle
astound you!

Masquerade!
Burning glances,
turning heads . . .
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!
Masquerade!
Seething shadows
breathing lies . . .
Masquerade!
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you!
Masquerade!
Leering satyrs,
peering eyes . . .
Masquerade!
Run and hide -
but a face will
still pursue you!

(The ENSEMBLE activity becomes background, as
ANAR, NELEN, CHASSIDY, BU'OI, SORIA, KHOR and ZAR
come to the fore, glasses in hand, sitting at, or leaning against, the holographic bar.)

DENSIRIH
What a night

SORIA
What a crowd!

NELEN
Makes you glad!

KHOR
Makes you proud!
All the creme
de la creme!

DENSIRIH
Watching us watching them!

SORIA/CHASSIDY
And all our fears
are in the past!

KHOR
Six months...
(*cough* More like six days... *cough*)

ZAR
Of relief!

BU'OI
Of delight!

KHOR/ANAR
Of Elysian peace!

CHASSIDY/SORIA
And we can breathe at last!

BU'OI
No more notes!

ZAR
No more Q!

SORIA
Here's to health!

KHOR
Here's a toast:
to a prosperous year!

NELEN
To the new Holodeck!

ANAR/BU'OI
And may its
splendour never fade!

NELEN
Six months!
(*cough*More like six days...*cough*)

SORIA
What a joy!

CHASSIDY
What a change!

NELEN/ANAR
What a blessed release!

ANAR
And what a masquerade!

ALL
Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world
will never find you!
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade
Masquerade!
Look around,
there's another mask
behind you!
Masquerade!

Burning glances, turning heads
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!
Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
Spinning reds
Masquerade!
Take your fill,
let the spectacle
astound you!

(Voices fade and turn to gasps as the lights dim and Q appears at the top of the stairways)
Q:
Why so silent, good Messieurs?
Did you think that I had left you for good?
Have you missed me, good Messieurs?
I have written you an opera.
Here, I bring the finished score.
Don Quinn Triumphant!

Fondest greetings to you all
A few instructions just before rehearsal starts
Chassidy must be taught to act
Not her normal trick of strutting round the stage
Our Don Quinn must lose some weight
It's not healthy in a man of Anar's age
And my managers must learn that their place is in an office
Not the arts

As for our star, Miss Zinuzee Lexis...
No doubt she'll do her best
It's true, her voice is good
She knows, though
Should she wish to excel
She has much still to learn
If pride will let her return to me, her teacher
Her teacher...

Q
Your chains are still mine,
(spoken)
You Voices belong to me!

(Q runs to the middle of the stairway and disappears into the floor hidden by fire. Gregs jumps into the hole in the floor with sword in hand and the floor closes again)
*****

Suddenly finding himself of Deck Thirteen, in his personal study, gregs is momentarily confused, until he sees Q sitting in his chair, reading a book.

Gregs
Have you gorged yourself at last
In your pursuit of Laughs?
Am I now to be prey
to your joke on us?
Q merely closes his book, looking smug, and returns it to a hole in the library collection.

Q
This is indeed
An unparalleled delight
I had rather hoped
That you would come.
And now, my wish comes true.
You have truly made my night!

Gregs
Free us!
Do what you like, only free them from this plight!
Have you no pity?

Q
Be my guest, sir...
Monsieur, I bid you welcome.
Did you think that I would harm you?
Why would I make them pay
For the sins which are yours?

Gregs
What Sins?
You've merely played us!
Are we merely puppets in your games?
Free us!
Have you no Compassion?

Q
You've shown no compassion to me!

Gregs
Are we still...
Quoting the movie?
Q...
Read My Lips
I...
Hate...
You...

Q
Ouch!
Picard at Least was nice about it...
And Sisko merely made a fit...
But you, sir, have really laid a hit!

*

Laughing, Q stops singing. "Brilliant work, Mr. Son'aire, I never expected you to figure out my ploy," he says, "Tell me, when did you figure out I was basing your experience around a book?"

"Honestly, I didn't have a clue, but then I looked up information about the book you held, and found records of a movie adaptation," he replies, "I played it, and then realized while most songs were random, there was an undercurrent surrounding all the songs in the form of Phantom of the Opera, I just choose to speed into the ending by skipping to the Ball." Q then gets tossed a book from Gregs hands. "Now Q, please, can you just end this?" he asks nicely.

"Ha ha, and miss the finale my friend?" Q smirks wickedly for a moment, before being harshly glowered at, and falters, "W-well, I m-mean, of course Mon Commandant!" Snapping his fingers, Q smiles. "Of course, I'll let your crew retain the memories of their songs now," he says, "They more than likely won't consider you crazy now." He bows at Gregs, only slightly of course, and smiles again. "Goodbye now, I've learned from Jean-Luc not to overstay my welcome," he says, "I bid you and your kind crew, Adieu." Snapping his fingers, Q disappears in a flash of light.

Gregs merely smiles and collapses into his chair with Q's disappearance. Going to grab a book he left on an adjacent table, without looking, he feels something cool and hard. Looking over to the table, he finds a porcelain casting in the form of a mask that could cover the eyes and nose, alongside a note. Deciding to read the note aloud, he looks at the mask at the same time.

Gregs:
Thank You, Good Monsieur, for humoring me.
It's been a blast, not things are past.
I left this gift for you.
Now though, I have one last word for you.

*Imagine the sound of a Harmonica*

It's over now, the music of the niggghhht!

Signed,
Q


Smiling, Gregs merely shakes his head at classic Q humor. Deciding to get up and rejoin his crew on the holodeck, Gregs exits stage left.


Epilogue

Sometime Later...

Strumming his six-string guitar, picked up from Earth as it was handmade and not replicated. Strumming it, Gregs is humming to the sheet music in front of him. He decided to pick up singing as a past time, since Q's visit all that time ago, and decided on an instrument he would want to play. He had only practiced one song so far, but he loved the message behind the country tune.

Gregs:

I fly a starship across the Universe divide

And when I reach the other side

I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can

Perhaps I may become a highwayman again

Or I may simply be a single drop of rain

But I will remain

And I'll be back again, and again and again and again and again..

marcusdkane

Prompt #2:

B E F O R E . T H E . M A S T

USS Endeavour, 2387...

"I'll see your fifty, and raise you a hundred," Acting Ensign Amanda Palmer said, tossing a stack of chips onto the pile in the center of the hexagonal table. Unlike her pale slate grey and charcoal uniform, every other ensign at the table wore the black uniform of a commissioned officer.

Beside her, Romax'tansky ch'Ehra attempted to keep a neutral expression, but the way his antenna tilted forward showed his intrigue.

"Here's your hundred, and another hundred," the young Andorian murmured, flicking more chips into the pile.

"I'm out..." Kab announced, tossing his cards down and leaning back to take a long draft of his synthale.

"Are you kidding?" Lucy Bellingham exclaimed. Reaching over, she snatched up the Bolian's cards, looked at them wide-eyed, then slapped them back face-down. "What's the matter with you? You would probably have won the round!"

Kab sighed and ran a hand back over his bald head, a gesture he had picked up from his Human friends.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess my mind's not on the game. I've got a 'meeting of concern' with Commander Tobin in the morning over that incident in engineering..." He took another swallow of his drink. "I'm probably going to get court-martialled..."

"Quit worrying, you'll be fine," Lucy insisted. "What do you think they're gonna do? Tie you to the warp core and flog you? Toss you out the airlock? You made a mistake. It happens."

"Not on a starship," Kab insisted. "I should've been more careful. I can be such a frederriq at times..."

"Commander Tobin's not as scary as she seems," Romax'tansky insisted. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"That's easy for you to say, Max, you come from a line of Starfleet officers," Kab pointed out. "I'm the first of my family to even be accepted to the academy."

"Court-martials don't mean sh*t," Scott Fairfax said, throwing a handful of chips into the pile. They weren't enough to cover the raises, and Ned Lennox tapped the table disapprovingly with his fingers.

"And the rest..." he insisted.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Scott murmured, adding the required chips, before looking back to Kab. "But seriously, court-martials don't mean sh*t. I'm telling you. I was doing some maintenance on the secondary computer core the other day, and a load of files unlocked, including the captain's, and he's been court-martialled twice, and he's still commanding a starship."

Amanda frowned. "I thought he was court-martialled once, and it was only a ruse so he could go undercover for Starfleet Intelligence on Bajor during the occupation..."

"How do you know that?" Ned asked.

Amanda shrugged and brushed her short-bobbed hair behind her ear. "Well, you actually have to look into the records of the Bajoran Militia -- which I was doing in research of the occupation -- and you find a communique from their then-commandant to Starfleet Command, recommending a Lieutenant Kane for promotion in the field. The court-martial was just a smoke-screen."

Scott shook his head. "No, it was legitimate, for breach of the Treaty of Algeron after the Pegasus Incident," he clarified. "That was in twenty three fifty seven, but he was court-martialled twice. Then, and later in twenty three sixty three, the second time was for conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer..."

"I think, perhaps we shouldn't be having this conversation," Amanda said uneasily.

"We shouldn't know the conduct record of the man who commands us?" Scott challenged. "A man who -- according to the unlocked file -- was arrested following the alleged 'suicide'-" he made air-quotes with his fingers. "-of his twin sister? According to the reports, she was found in a state of undress in the captain's domicile, with him the only other person present, after they'd been seen leaving the Pyramid Club... They'd obviously been doing it!" There was a series of disgusted exclamations from the group, but Scott nodded insistently. "I'm telling you, it was all there in the SCIS report -- the investigating officer reckoned he either r*ped her, or, just killed her out of shame over what they'd done, and tried to claim it was a suicide to cover it up..."

"I'm not listening to any more of this," Amanda declared, rising from the table. Ned nodded.

"I know you're trying to make Kab feel better, but you've gone too far this time, Scotty," he said. "Those records were sealed for a reason, you had no business reading them. The captain helps officers who need it, like Manda, or myself with my target proficiency -- he's a good man..."

* * *

Halfway through Alpha shift in phaser control, Scott was in the process of replacing the processors of the targeting system, when the chief of security, Lieutenant Commander Roger Hunt approached him.

"I'll take over here, Ensign," he said genially. "The captain would like to see you in his readyroom."

"Aye, Sir," Scott replied crisply, but unable to control the tremor in his fingers as he returned his tools to their case.

* * *

Scott had never been in the captain's readyroom before, and hadn't known quite what to expect. He had met him only once before briefly during an initial inspection, and he sat now behind his desk, making notations on a PADD. The light of the room was different to ship-norm, slightly amber-hued, as if under the Vulcan sky. On the wall behind the captain's desk, was an image of Vulcan taken from a low southern polar orbit. Beside it to the right, the unmistakeable majesty of Mount Seleya captured from the canyon below, and to the left, the image of a storm-swept churning ocean, which was most certainly not Vulcan.

Caladan... Scott remembered, from the captain's biographical information. He was born on Caladan but raised on Vulcan...

"Ensign Scott Fairfax, reporting as ordered, Sir," he announced, still standing to attention.

The captain didn't look up from his PADD, but merely spoke quietly, "I'll be with you momentarily, Ensign," he said, clearly giving the majority of his attention to whatever it was he was writing.

No offer to stand at ease... Scott thought, glancing across to an image which appeared on the captain's desk monitor. Also clearly taken on Vulcan, it showed the captain as a younger man, his third-class cadet uniform placing the year in the early 2350's. To his left, was a Vulcan male of similar age, his features typically stoic, but his arm was wrapped around the Human's shoulders in a comradely fashion. To Marcus' right, a Human female with dark wavy hair and intense slate grey eyes, reached across and up with her left hand, using her thumb and forefinger to push Marcus' lips up into an exaggerated artificial grin, her right hand extending forward toward whatever device she had used to take the image. She bore an unmistakable resemblance to Marcus, and Scott realized who she must have been. A moment later, the image shifted to one of an older man and woman, in a forest under the turquoise sky of a planet which Scott couldn't identify, the latter wearing the maroon uniform jacket of another era.

Eventually, the captain stopped tapping at his PADD and placed it on the desk. He sat back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arm-rests, his finger tips resting together as he looked up to face Scott for the first time. One of Scott's classmates had also studied on Vulcan for several years before attending the academy, and she had had the same emotionally restrained demeanour. That in itself didn't bother Scott so much as the striking incongruity between the conspicuous youth of his features, and the unmistakable commanding presence of his eyes, and it sent a chill down Scott's spine to recall what the captain really was. He doesn't look any older than Charlie... he thought, recalling the brother who was his senior by four years. How can a freak like that be blessed with immortality, when the rest of us have to age and die...?

"A starship is a small community, and word travels fast," Marcus began. "I have been told that there have been some -- conversations -- taking place which undermine my ability to effectively command this crew."

"It was Lennox, wasn't it!" Scott blurted, unable to hold his tongue, before hastily adding. "Sir."

Marcus cocked his head slightly. "Intriguing that you should accuse Ensign Lennox," he noted. "Your assumption is incorrect, although needless to say, your informant shall remain nameless. As I was noting, your -- conversations -- potentially interfere with my ability to command this crew by damaging my reputation and undermining my standing."

"Sir. But it's tr--"

"In the civilian world, you had absolute freedom of speech and expression," Marcus stated, overriding Scott's protest. "However, this is not a civilian environment, and that freedom of speech is tempered by certain rules and regulations. You are aware of the Starfleet code of military justice, are you not, Ensign?"

Scott nodded.

"Yes, Sir," he admitted.

Marcus continued to sit with his fingers steepled as if somehow channelling some arcane power. For a moment, Scott was half-expecting to see lightning arc between his palms, but instead, he merely said, "Please remind me of Article eighty nine."

"Aye, Sir," Scott acknowledged, and made what he hoped was an imperceptible swallow. "Any person subject to this code who behaves with disrespect toward his superior commissioned officer shall be punished as a court-martial may direct."

"Go on," Marcus prompted.

"Uh, element one: That the accused did or omitted certain acts or used certain language to or concerning a certain commissioned officer. Element two: That such behavior or language was directed toward that officer. Element three: That the officer toward whom the acts, omissions, or words were directed was the superior commissioned officer of the accused. Element four: That the accused then knew that the commissioned officer toward whom the acts, omissions, or words were directed was the accused’s superior commissioned officer, and Element five: That, under the circumstances, the behavior or language was disrespectful to that commissioned officer."

Marcus cocked an eyebrow like a Vulcan. "Remind me of the article's definition of disrespect, Ensign..." he pressed.

Scott swallowed again. This time audibly.

"Aye, Sir," he croaked, before clearing his throat. "Explanation part three defines disrespectful behavior as that which detracts from the respect due the authority and person of a superior commissioned officer," he forced out. "It may consist of acts or language, however expressed, and it is immaterial whether they refer to the superior as an officer or as a private individual.

"Disrespect by words may be conveyed by abusive epithets or other contemptuous or denunciatory language. The truth of said remarks is no defence. Disrespect by acts includes neglecting the customary salute, or showing a marked disdain, indifference, insolence, impertinence, undue familiarity, or other rudeness in the presence of the superior officer. There is no distinction between if the disrespectful behaviour be in the presence of the superior, or what was said or done in a private conversation."

"Thank you," Marcus said. "I presume you are also aware of the maximum punishment?"

"Yes, Sir," Scott admitted. "A bad-conduct discharge, forfeiture of all rights and privileges, and confinement for one year."

He could hear his pulse throbbing in his ears as the captain nodded.

"I appreciate that rumor and scuttlebutt is an inevitability of life aboard a starship," Marcus acknowledged, leaning forward for the first time, and somehow being able to convey the appearance of looming, despite still being seated. "But I will not tolerate the propagation of rumors which have the potential to undermine my ability to effectively command this crew, and their level of respect toward me as their commanding officer." Scott stiffened, holding himself even more rigidly to attention while the captain continued. "I do not insist that anyone like me on a personal level, only that they carry out their duties as ordered to the best of their abilities.

"But when it is brought to my attention that rumors are circulated which potentially compromise that chain of command, then it is my place as captain to address those perpetuating them. I do not have to define the nature of my relationship to my sister to you, or anyone else, Ensign, as it is a private matter with no impact upon the functioning of this ship and its crew... She was my sister, and that is all you need to know... Dismissed..."

"Aye, Sir," Scott acknowledged, turning and retreating from the readyroom before Marcus could change his mind.

Glancing toward his desk monitor, Marcus saw a holocap appear which Alix had sent during one of their frequent late-night chats some years after she had taken over as Chief Executive Officer of Kane Industries. She wore an apron-fronted top of Tholian silk, which both concealed and highlighted the form of her bosom, and gazed out of the screen with a rare contented smile, rather than her usual air of mild confusion and frustration with the 'verse around her. Reaching out, Marcus pressed his fingertips to the image of her face, and even after twenty four years, he could remember her words as if they were yesterday. Let's just go out to dinner, and then just nail each other... It hadn't been the first time she'd said that, nor the last.

"I miss you, Ali," he sighed.

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so very special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I wanna have control
I wanna perfect body
I wanna perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I'm not around
You're so very special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

(Oh, ohh)

She's
Running out
The door
She's running out
She run run run run...
Run...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so very special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't belong here


Radiohead - "Creep"

[Deleted User]

ULC 14.2: "Poker Night"

All In: A Bait and Switch Vignette

“Raise,” I tell Tess, putting twenty credits’ worth of chips in the pot.

“Call,” the Andorian returns, matching my bet.

The door slides open and Gaarra walks in with several junior officers in tow. One of them, a petite human with short-cropped dark blonde hair and narrow, wide-set brown eyes, catches my eye and I quickly size her up. Her service blacks bear only two silver pips, but she has the easy, confident bearing of an experienced special warfare officer and the MACO shoulder patch to match.

Gaarra comes up to me and gives me a quick kiss, our lips barely touching. “Deal me in?”

I pull two cards off the deck and pass them to him as he sits next to me. “That her?” I ask him, nodding at the woman behind him.

“Lieutenant Alicia Gantumur, sir,” she says before he can respond, clasping her hands behind her back.

I smile at her out of the corner of my mouth. “No ‘sirs’ in this room, Lieutenant, and never with me.” I gesture at the chair between Tess and Warragul. She takes the chair and I pass cards to her, a Bajoran blueshirt and redshirt, and a Coridanite goldshirt. “Dul’krah not coming?”

“Had to go break up a fight in Ten Forward,” Gaarra answers. I grimace and add a mental note to knock a few heads later. Got more than enough enemies on the other side, don’t need to add more on our own.

“All right, who are you two?” I ask the other newcomers.

“Ensign Welsha Kalilii, damage control assistant,” the Coridanite answers.

From the blueshirt, “Lieutenant Jay-Gee Ataru Shan, nurse.”

The redshirt answers, “Ensign Wos Talara, torpedoes, ma’am.”

I nod without comment. New meat for the grinder. “Welcome aboard.”

“How long until we hit the Calbriden system?” Biri asks, anteing up. I eye her face, trying to catch the twitch under the spots near her eye that’ll tell me she’s bluffing.

“Thirty-five hours,” Gaarra answers, matching her ante.

“So, you’re our new assault team head?” Warragul asks Lieutenant Gantumur. She grunts affirmatively. “Guess it won't be too long before you’re on my table, then.” Off her look, he gestures at me. “I’m just saying, Leftenant, Cap’n’s already on her third Purple Heart, two of those since I came aboard.”

“Hazard of the occupation,” I remark, glancing at my cards. Jack of hearts, three of spades. Flop is two threes and the ace of clubs.

“Not really,” Biri disagrees. “Face it, El, you lead from the front a lot more than other COs.” I draw the turn. Jack of spades; my hand just went way up in value. “Ah, hell, I fold.”

“Hey, I’ve got the MACO patch, same as the lieutenant,” I point out, smothering a smirk. I thought she was bluffing.

“I rest my case.”

The PADD sitting by Tess’ right hand chirps. She takes a look, then throws her hand across the table. “Phelha’s blood.”

“What? What is it?”

“Latest casualty reports. Third Fleet went off the grid five hours ago en route to their objective. Enterprise just got there—no survivors.”

“Lord have mercy,” Warragul murmurs. “The entire fleet?”

She angrily snatches the bottle of Talisker off the sidebar and refills her glass. “My Academy roommate, Jennifer van der Putte, she was chief engineer on the Lumbee.”

“Prophets, Tess, I’m sorry.”

“I was the maid of honor at her wedding, Captain! They didn’t even get off a distress signal!” She furiously knocks back two fingers of amber liquor and presses the glass to her face. “It’s this war, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I don’t reply, and Biri quietly puts her arm around my XO. I’ve rarely seen Tess lose her cool, but I know how she’s feeling. Least when we fought the Klingons we could win a decisive victory, but ever since Starbase 234 we’ve barely been holding them—the Heralds just keep hitting us over and over, and even though we kill ten of their ships for every one we lose, it's as if they don’t even notice their losses. And colonies all over the Beta Quadrant have started disappearing again, like before we routed the Elachi at First Dewa.

We need a big win, for the sake of morale if nothing else.

I draw the river. Six of hearts. Warragul and the newcomers fold, leaving me, Gaarra, and Bynam. I watch them carefully for a moment, then say, “All in,” and shove three weeks’ pay into the center of the table.

“Yeah, I’m not that crazy,” Bynam remarks, folding. Gaarra follows him a moment later.

I shrug. “Have it your way. Threes full of jacks.”

Bynam jerks in his chair and his antennae go into an agitated spasm. “Damn you!” he exclaims without venom, and turns over his former hand. He had the last two jacks.

I’ve always been good at winning.

jonnaroslyn

ULC 14.3 Grand Reopening of Club 47

“I mean.. that's what holograms are for, no?”

“Well I know this one guy, yeah, he swears he can always tell a hologram from the real thing.”

“I don't buy it. Have you been to the new holodecks on ESD? Because that's better than the real thing, and you don't even know it.”

“I remember having this conversation,” Corspa said, laughing into her hand. Joanne grinned and sat up straighter to look over the back of the lounge at the two humans, one of whom was now trying to get his point across by gesturing wildly. They were the only other customers in the tailor's waiting room, and must have been waiting longer than Joanne and Corspa, judging by their drinks and raised voices.

“Yeah, two weeks before graduation, on that party on... was it a space cruise liner?” Joanne said, jerking her head away from the humans to avoid seeing more descriptive gestures. “I taught you that trick, how to spot if you're on a holodeck.”

“Yes, the trick that only works on fifty year old holodecks,” Corspa said dryly, not looking up from the tailor's portfolio.

Joanne rolled her eyes “It worked perfectly fine on Galaxy holodecks, is it my fault we never got any upgrades?”

Corspa opened her mouth to deliver some probably rather sarcastic comment, but was cut off when one of the seamstresses, a young trill woman, walked in. “Admiral Roslyn? Commander Eide? This way please.”

They followed her into one of the changing rooms, five of its eight walls all mirrors and lights, with a little podium in the centre. Corspa sat down in one of the plush chairs at the opposite wall, while Joanne stepped straight up onto the podium, too excited to sit still. The seamstress, after introducing herself as Izra and running the whole “best tailoring service in the quadrant” spiel by them again, excused herself to get the dress.

When she returned, Joanne couldn't suppress a delighted gasp. She beamed at Corspa, who just laughed. "Try it on!"

Joanne did. It was floor length, the fabric a deep, shimmering midnight blue with just a breath of burgundy when the light hit at the right angle. The neckline came from high on her shoulders to just below her collarbones and was dotted with clusters of small dark stones. Joanne twirled in front of the mirror a few times, before putting her hands on her hips and turning towards Corspa. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Corspa said slowly, fingers steepled under her chin, “half of your dress is missing.” She nodded to Joanne's sides, where long gaps in the fabric exposed her Trill spots, all the way from under her arms to the top of her thighs.

The seamstress huffed. “This is triaxian silk, Commander, a specialty of Trill fashion for centuries. Let me show you.” She dimmed the lights, until they were surrounded by the intimate half-darkness that usually permeated clubs and bars all over the quadrant. The invisible fabric holding together the front and back of Joanne's dress was now aglow with countless tiny glitter particles, lending her a warm, golden shine that played off the colours of the dress, with her spots like swirling shadows underneath. Joanne raised an eyebrow at her first officer.

“Alright, alright, I'm impressed,” Corspa laughed, holding her hands up. “It looks great.” Then, as Izra brought the lights back up, she added, “Especially with the standard issue underwear and socks.”

Joanne chose to ignore that comment and let herself be maneuvered in front of the mirror, so that the seamstress could work on the hem. “This is not an outfit to be worn with socks,” she said sternly around the needles held between her teeth. “And as for underwear...” She waved the hand with the pin cushion around disinterestedly.

Corspa tried to convey "you're not wearing underwear to the grand reopening of club 47???” with facial expressions alone, but Joanne was too busy looking through a selection of shoes on a PADD to catch her eyes in the mirror.

“I take it your parents aren't coming, then,” Corspa said after all the pinning on the dress had been done and Joanne was back in her uniform, sitting comfortably next to her first officer.

Joanne shook her head. “No, they're both still in the Delta Quadrant, and so is my uncle. But,” and she brightened considerably, “my grandfather isn't coming either. Anything that's not the annual Diplomatic Corps ball is beneath him, or something.”

“So you're going to thoroughly embarrass yourself,” Corspa said with a grin.

“Hardly,” Joanne said, sinking deeper into her chair. They should get one of these on the bridge. “I doubt it's appropriate for an admiral to party like a cadet, don't you think, Commander?”

“Thanks for making me feel old, ma'am,” Corspa said. She looked up when Izra walked back in to announce that the finished dress would be delivered tomorrow night, in time for the party. Then she turned towards Corspa.

“And what can we do for you, Commander?”

Corspa shrugged. “Nothing, thank you. I was just going to replicate something.”

Both Trill women gave a scandalized gasp, although Joanne's was probably done just for show.

“That won't do at all!” the seamstress said. “I have the perfect fabric for you, a wonderful colour,” she coaxed Corspa out of the chair and in front of the mirror, “that will go great with your skintone,” she started taking measurements, fussing about in a way that made Corspa slightly nervous. “I'm thinking a sleeveless suit, to accentuate your,” and she touched Corspa's biceps with just her fingertips, blushing faintly, “physique.”

Joanne had to take a deep breath or two because she'd been biting her tongue to keep from laughing before she said, “You should get the suit. I can make that an order.”

x

Corspa got the suit. It looked great, the bright orange a brilliant contrast to her blue skin.

“Most fashionable Andorian by far,” Joanne said into her drink after Captain Shon had finally stopped talking about his counselor's new approach to therapeutic interior design and taken himself and his terrible artichoke-green one-piece to the dancefloor.

The new club was packed. There were people dancing, people at the bar, at the buffet, in front of the ceiling-high windows, people posing for holopics, people trying to avoid Captain Sulu throwing them out for talking about the war.

And of course, people trying to schmooze with the admirals. Joanne was definitely still not used to people trying to suck up to her. The worst part, however, was that apparently her rank kept people from asking her to dance. So far, she had only managed to dance with Donna Richter, her assistant chief engineer's twin sister and rising star of Daystrom Institute. The news reporters had been delighted by that, while the rest of the party guests rather disappointed, once they had found out that Joanne had not asked her about her work, and instead just exchanged gossip about her brother. That had been it for dancing so far (Corspa didn't really count), and now Joanne was back to smalltalk and admiring the club's redesign.

“How someone so dull got to command the flagship of the fleet is beyond me,” she continued, only to realize that Corspa wasn't listening. “What are you looki- oh my word is that Commander Burgess?!”

“Impressive, isn't it,” Corspa laughed. Joanne could only nod as she followed Corspa's line of sight to the dancefloor, where commander Ethan Burgess was enthusiastically spinning around who Joanne assumed was his date for the night.

“I didn't know he could dance like that!” Joanne said, feeling a bit breathless. “And in those heels!”

Corspa wriggled her antennae at Joanne. “Why do I get the feeling we'll be spending a lot more time at Delta Quadrant Command from now on?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Joanne placed her empty glass on a passing holo waiter's tray and deliberately turned towards the bar. “Maybe because someone needs to tell him to spend less time on dance practice and more on strengthening the Federation's presence in the Delta Quadrant?”

Corspa snorted, and then coughed and made a pained face as she spotted someone approaching behind Joanne.

“Admiral Roslyn! Good to see you!”

Joanne plastered on a smile and turned around to face captain Kareem Verneuil, who, unfortunately, looked absolutely striking in a powder blue suit and matching red jewelry.

“And Commander Eide. Reassuring to see that you are still the Admiral's plus one for these events,” he said, ignoring how Corspa was baring her teeth at him in an attempt not to let the smile fall off her face.

“Captain Verneuil. You didn't ask, you don't get to complain,” Joanne said. “Who did you bring, then?”

“Oh, my date is over there.” He nodded towards the bar, where Palis Delon was talking to a few reporters.

Corspa actually gasped. “I had no idea she was here! Excuse me, sorry, I have to talk to her.” She wandered off, looking starstruck and leaving Joanne and Verneuil to stare after her.

“I... didn't know the Commander was into ballet?” Verneuil said, sounding skeptical. “Speaking of,” he held out his hand to Joanne, “may I?”

He had vastly improved in the fifteen years since she'd last danced with him, Joanne was pleased to discover. He knew where to keep his hands now! It was still a bit awkward.

“This is just like the cadet summer ball of '95, don't you think, Admiral? Ethan is dancing enough for three, Admiral Quinn is handing out drinks to the lower ranks and you look stunning,” he said, making Joanne roll her eyes. Not this again.

She was tempted to step on his toes, just a bit. “I fell into San Francisco bay that night, if you remember.”

Verneuil shrugged and danced a bit closer. “Well, yes. It was still a lovely evening and I -”

Joanne sighed. “Captain Verneuil. There's no need to be this – charming. I'm not interested in getting you demoted, or anything like that. We're even.”

“Oh.” Verneuil immediately let go of her hands, trying not to look too guilty. “Well. Uhm. Oh, look! It's – someone I need to speak to!” He scrambled off. “Enjoy your evening, ma'am!”

Joanne made her way over to join Corspa at the bar, shaking her head to herself.

“That was quick. Did you tell him you wished he followed orders as well as he danced?” Corspa promptly asked, tipping her drink to where Verneuil had disappeared in the crowd.

“Should have.” Joanne eyed the thin trails of smoke coming up from Corspa's glass suspiciously. “What are you drinking?”

Corspa broke out into a wide grin and turned towards the bar. “Bartender, one more Breen Burn for the Admiral here!”

end

hawku001x

The Defiant-class U.S.S. Dropzone sped around in near-orbit of Quadra Sigma III, shooting phaser cannons until it exploded one remaining Herald Baltim Raider.

On the planet, inside a mining facility, Captain Samya was surprised by a Herald Thrall, who teleported itself right behind her. Expecting this, the Human quickly grabbed the creature's arm, twist-dislocated it out of its socket and stole the Thrall's staff. She thrust the sharp end into its head, and the Thrall and the staff disintegrated in a release of energy.

"Nice work, ma'am," Mika said, approaching from finishing a battle of her own. "You sure know your killing abilities."

Samya turned to her Science officer, catching her breath. "A necessary evil that's engrained into my very soul. Oh, sorry about throwing that flux coupler at you the other day."

"My fault for turning that corner," Mika surrendered. "Speaking of mistakes, every time this facility gets recolonized, something bad happens here. Last year, the Klingons released a herd of targs on this place."

The Captain nodded. "Klingons have the weakest tactics. Take Kagran for example--"

"Bad-mouthing your allies so quickly, ma Capitaine?" a sinister omnipotent voice said from behind them.

Dropping her jaw in shock-realization, Samya turned and exclaimed: "Q!?"

"Uh, it's Qu," the unrecognizable, younger-looking man said. "It sounds the same, but it's spelled differently."

The dark haired Captain dropped her guard, in confusion. "Wait. What? A rip-off Q?"

"Exactly! I'm a different Q, who's trying to reach that other Q's level of mischief, from his classic days with Picard-- but not the Janeway ones. I noticed he was turning crews into musicals this month, so I wanted to do my own thing that would appeal to you. I present to you, a hostage situation, aboard your ship, whereas you may kill and murder to your heart's content!"

Samya pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose. "No, we're not taking lives because we like it. There are no special 'rewards' or 'marks' for destroying starships and bad guys---"

"Uhh," Mika interrupted, explaining the obvious.

Samya shook her head out of it. "Huh? Oh, what I mean is, we're supposed to be peace bringers."

"But you guys have this whole war-pyramid scheme thing?" Qu responded, confused. "I was going to align your happiness with your ways of death?" Then, second-guessing himself, "I'd better go check on my body-switch with Captain Menrow's and those nanites."

---

As soon as he flashed off into oblivion, the rest of the Away team walked over. They all beamed back to the Dropzone's Transporter room 2, which was being held-up by two strange-looking aliens in 18th century French army uniforms.

"They look like vicious animal things?" Mika observed.

As the aliens began filling their muskets with phaser powder, in response to the Away Team's sudden presence, Samya quickly approached one and stabbed it with its own weapon. She then grabbed the other by its throat and interrogated him. "What species are you??"

"Gggrrrggghh," it growled in agonizing existence, unable to speak.

Doctor Tifa approached to examine. "It's clear now that Qu's power was so off-kilter, he could only repurpose the other Q's original army from their time with the crew of the Enterprise-D."

"Ggggrrggghh," the animal thing growled, this time in an agreeable tone.

Mika sighed in discontent. "Aw, poor creatures," and then sang, "Here's to trouble-free tomorrows, may your sorrows all be small. Here's to the losers, bless them all."

"Don't feel sorry for the animal things!" Samya cut in. "And why are you singing, not to mention blessing??"

The science officer shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I'm a little jealous of those other ships that got turned into musicals."

"Captain! The vicious animal creature was smiling in awkward-reverie just now," Chief engineer Ryuk observed, quickly. "I think Mika's larking put it into a sort of mental-Nexus!"

Samya looked to the 18th century French uniformed animal soldier and partially snapped its neck. "No! These vicious animalia are evidence of a Q-hax job gone horribly Borged. Don't even give Qu the satisfaction of achieving anything remotely close to those musical successes this month."

"GGhhgg," the fallen, fading-conscious animal thing croaked in whisper, "Where the bee sucks, there suck I."

Captain Samya glanced at the body. "I don't care if they can talk-sing. We are to take out the rest of them by any means necessary. It shouldn't take long; our ship is only four, possibly five, decks high."

---

Splitting up into two groups, Samya, Tifa and Counselor Toji approached the messhall, with caution, to find five French uniformed animal things holding several crew hostage.

"GGgghhrgh," a sixth animal thing surprise-aimed a phaser musket from right behind them.

The three stood up, slowly, raising arms in surrender.

"Ma'am, I have an idea," Toji began just before breaking out into song. "Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques."

Suddenly, all the animal things in the messhall began losing focus in the melody.

"Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?" Toji and several of the other Starfleet hostages continued, almost involuntarily.

Samya gritted her teeth. "No. Stop this at once!"

"But it's working, Captain," the counselor offered; and then Tifa joined him, "Sonnez les matines, Sonnez les matines."

Captain Samya finished off the animal thing, nearest to them, and she began slowly backing out of the messhall, awkwardly.

"Ding, Ding, Dong! Ding, Ding, Dong!"

As the others went into chorus-repetition, to maintain control of their captors, Samya could hear the last whispered groans of the creature she just took out, "A cup of wine that's brisk and fine. And drink unto the leman mine; and a merry heart lives long-a."

Then, a whisp of energy, she hadn't noticed last time, flew out of him and away. "Ew? And also, I am not a merry woman."

---

Mika, Ryuk and Chief of Operations Envy snuck into Engineering and attacked several French uniformed animal things.

Fighting back, one of the creatures stabbed their pointy musket end into Ryuk's shoulder. "Augh!" he screamed.

"A British tar is a soaring soul," Envy sang. "As free as a mountain bird."

Mika snapped her head in Envy's direction. "Wait. We have direct orders!?"

"His energetic fist should be ready to resist--" Envy continued.

Ryuk finished, causing the attacking animal thing to stop in pre-stab: "--A dictatorial word."

"Look, I wanted this more than any of you, but we have to focus on our murderings if we are to defeat this enemy," Mika explained before taking out a phaser and firing it into the animal thing.

It fell to the ground and, seconds before perishing, sang, "Thou canst not hit it, hit it; Thou canst not hit it, my good man."

"What am I doing? Qu wanted us to murder because he thinks it's our pastime??" she realized. "Return to your melodic entrapments, much like those space-hippies from original-Kirk's Enterprise!"

Ryuk nodded, forgetting his impaling. "His nose should pant, and his lip should curl."

"His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl," Envy sang.

The engineer continued. "His bosom should heave, and his heart should glow."

"And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow!" The two finished.

---

Soon after, Mika caught up to Captain Samya in the corridor on Deck 1, approaching the Bridge. Samya's hands were drenched in blood.

"Yeah, one of the animal things could not take an impaling with less humor," she explained.

Mika looked back up to her. "Ma'am, those animal Frenchies keep singing Shakespeare for some reason? Also, I don't agree with our plan. I mean, British Tar is one catchy tune, am I right?"

"And then what? Descend into The Doctor-levels of musical anarchy? Killing them has given us a perspective on their external-dependent biological structure: All their life energies fly up to the Bridge, so something here is powering them while Qu is gone."

"Ah, Captain," came Commander Jarell's greeting as the Bridge doors swooshed open. "You'll be happy to know we have the situation under control."

They entered the Bridge, hesitantly, to find Starfleet and animal things standing together in peace.

"I'm sure it's been a long road, getting from there to here," Jarell surprised, in song. "It's been a long time, but our time is finally near."

Samya turned to him. "Commander, no! That song was banned in 2161 for bringing about nothing but pain and suffering!"

"Sure, it's a theological song for a science-based setting, but it's the only way, ma'am," argued Jarell. "And I will see my dream come alive at last. I will touch the sky."

One of the animal things approached Samya to lovingly embrace her in awkward reverie, but Samya just pulled it to the floor and punched in a concussion. "Newts and blind worms, do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen." And then his life energy flew into her Ready Room.

"Wait a minute? Shakespeare songs? I have a copy of The Globe Illustrated Shakespeare: The Complete Works." The Captain recalled a report on Q flipping through one of Picard's books. "Is that what's giving them life??"

"Even if it is, it's not gonna hold me down no more," Faye, the helmsmen joined in, singing, "No they're not gonna change my mind."

---

Samya ran in to her Ready Room and grabbed the giant book off her desk. There, looking up, she found Qu spinning around to her, in her chair.

"Yes, that's right. I adapted the collective, creative, musical power of Shakespeare to run those creatures," Qu admitted. "And perhaps they influenced existing tendencies in your crew. You see, I'm not like other Q's. I have to try hard to achieve what takes them a flick of their double-fingers."

The Starfleet officer addressed him. "Your imitation of Q-Junior's Winter Wonderland."

"That was a complete failure, despite your Captain Seifer being a good sport. But it cemented my place at the bottom rung in the Continuum."

She shook her head, understanding now. Just as her lack of life-sparing isolated her from her singing-crew, his lack of Q-ness was driving him to dysfunction, so, instead, she took a breath: "Maybe it's because you never saw the sun," and then, to elaborate, "Never saw the sun, shining so bright; Never saw things, going so right."

"An awkward, forced-wedding, not-asked-for, elderly-Android theme, mon amour?"

She nodded as she continued, "Noticing the days, hurrying by; When you're in love, my how they fly."

"Wait. Samya, what have you done??" Qu stood up in shock. "We reached Q musical status with actual music and not the murdering I thought was an equivalent to that? You're no Qomar Opera, but, I must say, ma beau Capitaine, you have a lovely voice."

Samya stopped. "I guess it's true that we know what we are, but know not what we may be." She then took the unnecessarily heavy book and decompiled it in the replicator.

All the dead animal things aboard the Dropzone were suddenly reverted to their factory-setting-living-states and then Q-flashed-away.

"And if music be the food of love, play on, ma chérie." He then bowed and finished her song before flashing away, himself. "Blue skies smiling at me; Nothing but blue skies do I see..."

---

The Captain then entered the Bridge to finally deal with the crew who almost followed through with her orders of murdering. "You're all relieved!"

antonine3258

"Poker Night at Quark's"

antonine3258 -

Set after the 4400 FE and, from Antonine's point of view, also "The Other Side". Kurland has a busy operations zone.

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

“Eight of us in a holosuite built for two – people are going to talk,” Dunwen commented. The Trill looked around, just in case. Quark’s was a bit of a
shambles, still cleaning up from the latest round of victory celebrations. They were all in civilian clothing in the mishmash of styles of officers on
shore leave, and so no one was paying any attention beyond what Quark’s breakage policy required.


The Columbia had been on a strike mission to slow down recent Mirror Universe incursions during the recent Dominion occupation, and while the Galaxy-class had missed most of the drama, Starfleet Command’s generosity in promotions and commendations had fallen upon them as well.


Which was why Starfleet’s newest flag officer was fiddling with a control panel, biting her lip in concentration, with three other engineers hovering.
“Don’t worry Dunwen– if I can get it to accept this algorithm, the holosuite will refract the air so it won’t look like we’re almost in each other’s lap.”
Antonine Revka was wearing the general heavy-robes she wore off-duty. Life in Starfleet meant life at winter temperatures in the temperate band of her
homeworld.


She continued tapping for a moment, irritated. “Ferengi penny-pincher, we promised a four drink minimum and Hadron’s still got the power so low we can
barely coax a force field.”


Galitan, her green body looking ill-fitting in one of the rainbow-dyed tunics currently in style, said in a low voice, “Say the word Admiral, I’ll go get
my transporter buffer and we sneak a generator in.” N’Karon, whose idea of casual clothing was Klingon chic, apparently, cracked her knuckles and turned
towards the exit, before Takerra could grab the Klingon.


Takerra, living up to the stereotypes and wearing what looked like stripped down Andorian fencing gear against the heat, objected, “Oh no, we let the
engineers start bringing in generators and they’ll start swapping the card faces around.” She felt a bit pinched, really. “And you know they didn’t skimp
on the monitors for these. Hadron’s suspicious.”


“Well,” Antonine said, “It’s not his bar, he’s under contract. It makes good, honorable Ferengi nervous when they’ve got obligations to meet, given the
penalty clauses they put in.” She stabbed the panel defiantly again, and it briefly chimed before blatting again in error. “Though maybe we can hook him to
a treadmill,” she said, more darkly, before looking around.


“Okay, thank you all for indulging me – I really do want to get one more poker game in, but I don’t think we’re going to get the riverboat to work.
Apparently whatever duotronic artifact of a computer this thing is attached to is having trouble now with the relative motion,” Antonine said. She
straightened, and clearly contemplated kicking the door briefly.


Takerra frowned, and Dunwen offered, “Okay – well, there’s always that little bar on Old Mason back when I was there – that’s always seemed a pretty
stereotypical Human dive, and I know they were running a table in the back.”


“The police didn’t, and about the subspace transmitter either,” N’Karon muttered, perhaps more loudly than she intended.


“Oh,” Dunwen said, “I was wondering why it had burned down. Still, lots of grads who were on Earth through here, it’s got to be in the system.”


Antonine dutifully scrolled the list, “Less bars than you’d think. I don’t think Hadron wants to invite comparisons.” She looked around, amused, “Okay, I
know half of us are 2409, but someone has to have come across where else humans like to play poker without us having to go look it up.” Hundreds
of species met thousands of games, but poker’s flexibility and originating in the heart of the Federation made it one of Starfleet’s games of choice.


But Antonine’s command crew was noticeably lacking in the Federation’s signature species, and so the statement was met by some awkward shuffling.
“Palaces?” Takerra offered, “Didn’t they get a food name or something off some player? Sorry, my history elective was the Four Years War.” A brief
discussion had them agreeing some sort of food item, possibly a cake, was named after some ancient aristocrat.


“All right – wow, there are a lot of bedrooms in here,” Antonine commented as she checked the list, “Oh, here we go – First World War, palace at Verdun,
officers staff room, we’ll just tweak the table to velvet and add some extra chairs.” She turned and smiled brightly at the silence, if with a tinge of
worry. “What?”


A brief quorum shoved the local biologist forward. “Admiral – I know your species isn’t oviparous,” Dunwen said cautiously, “But you do know what most
people do in the smaller holosuites, right? You did get the cross-species briefing?”


“What?” the admiral said, “Oh. Oh. Yes, sorry – doesn’t cross my mind.” She smiled tightly, “Pheromone thing, it turned out, not much that I
apparently can find attractive in that way in about thirty light years.”


“Oh,” Dunwen said, awkwardly. Antonine, with Galitan’s help, turned to finish programming the holosuite to cram everyone in.


“No papers trying to tie that to speed to flag rank, please,” Takerra hissed at Dunwen. “We’re trying to get her to relax.”


“Stuff it up an antenna,” Dunwen advised back, equally quietly.


“Will you two go get Hadron to get some drinks?” N’Karon hissed at them – with an unfair advantage, Klingons had the subsonics to threaten properly at this
volume. “Lieutenant Isay will need at least an hour to get the personnel reports doctored without ages, and we can’t risk her calling this off. I don’t
want the last thing we all do before breaking up making her think she’s not right for the Admiralty.” The two nodded soberly at that, and went to get the
drinks.



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


Ten minutes later, and two rounds, the game was underway. A fire crackled merrily in a centuries-old fireplace, and somewhere a violin was playing. The
simulation had originally been part of some piloting game, apparently, and they’d shoveled bombing maps and weather charts out of the way to clear the
table.


The only thing breaking the illusion was the veritable rainbow of skin colors around the table, and the dabo girl dashing in and out with drink orders,
wearing far less clothing than the startled typing pool. Now people were glaring good-naturedly at each other over cards, five-card draw, a pot of
multi-colored glass representing duty officer report writing, extra shifts, and a couple crystals from Lobi as the high value tokens.


Well, mainly good-naturedly. Dunwen had the deal, and was making a show of shuffling, flipping the cards faster than most eyes could follow, cards flipping
around until Antonine started tapping the table in annoyance. She then quickly dealt the cards, not even picking them up yet as the round of betting again.


Takerra’s antenna twitched. Dunwen’s body language wasn’t as overly-casual as she was trying to make it. The Andorian looked at her cards suspiciously, but
did have a pair of eights. What game was the Trill trying now, exactly?


The betting started small, rounding around the table until nearly reaching Dunwen, with five N’Karon had thrown in as an opening bid, as she had every
opening round so far.


Hobson from engineering broke it open, sitting on Dunwen’s left. “Fifty!” he said, throwing in a bunch of chips.


“I know you’ve played this before - what’s all that?” Antonine asked, “Even a starship doesn’t make that much paperwork.”


“Crystallization of the dilithium matrix – pretty easy, takes forever.” Admiral Revka, brave and stalwart, threw her cards down in a fold, three others
following her lead.


“Is that fair?” Dunwen asked, “You’re leaving for the Bellerophon for a post in two days aren’t you? I think it’s asking a lot to have us cross
the transwarp network for chores.”


“Chief of engineering,” the Bajoran corrected gleefully, “I’ll also accept trade in a few gallons of that pudding you made for the last officer’s
potluck, Duwnen, if you’re still in.”


The Trill picked up some chips, considering. Takerra watched with a glance that could only be considered cool. “Fine, there’s some new ideas in deflector
harmonics, but,” she gave a glance at her technically-current XO, “There never seems to be enough crew or time to implement them.” The science specialist
let the chips fall one at a time in the pool, calling and raising twenty.


N’Karon checked her cards again, made a dismissive noise, and called, raising five again. Galitan, sitting next, counted on her fingers, and folded,
bringing it to Takerra. Seven Starfleet officers stared as one at her.


One spoke, “Well? Too rich? There’s a lot of odds in play,” Dunwen said. She held her cards lazily, but her fingers were tight around them, and she
gestured with her other hand.


Antonine rolled her eyes and stood up, “Anyone need anything?” she asked politely. No one replied, caught in the tension, and the Admiral left the table
briefly.


Takerra glanced at her cards again, and then matched Dunwen’s eyes again, “Call, raise fifteen,” she stated, “It’s going to take more Ferengi bug juice
than a round or two to catch me this easily.”


Dunwen shrugged artlessly. “Everyone?”


“Three,” Takerra said. She didn’t have anything to fill.


“One,” N’Karon said calmly.


“Two,” Hobson said. He still looked gleeful.


“Dealer takes two,” Dunwen said after a long moment.


Takerra looked at her hand – her previous pair of fives had been joined by junk, basically – high card jack. She could feel her antennae writhe, but that
was more or less uncontrollable. No one gave any real sign, though those out of this round looked noticeably more relaxed.


“Check,” Takerra said, watching Hobson carefully. The Bajoran grinned and leaned backward.


“Raise Five,” N’Karon said doggedly.


“There are other denominations,” Dunwen said. “Hobson? You ready to do something more interesting?”


“Fifteen,” he said, pushing more discs forward.



“Hmm,” Dunwen said. “A happy Bajoran, a Klingon wearing a rut into the table, and an Andorian tip-toeing around. Let it not be said Starfleet doesn’t
attract the unusual. Dealer calls and raises ten.”


“Tip-toeing, really?” Takerra said, “You leap off the handle like that, you don’t make commander, you make dead.” She called, then, after a beat,
raised five, then raised more. Antonine came in, walking to the clicks, and very carefully kept her eyes on the ceiling as she circled the table, holding
something steaming.


“Raise fi-“ N’Karon paused, “fteen,” she finished with a grin. Dunwen debated throwing something fried and small at her.


Hobson grimaced, and N’Karon merely folded her arms, broken by the mild sounds of the other officers arranging their chips. Sweat broke on his brow,
“Call.”


Dunwen raised her eyes, “All right – call. And you, a chief,” she said. “All right, let’s see them.”


Takerra broke into a whistle at the round of the table. Four pairs… all around the table. She had eights, Hobson sevens, N’Karon fives (Takerra made a
brief note of this), and Dunwen the other pair of eights. And for high card, each one of them had one of the jacks.


Takerra blinked. Actually, each of them had the same jack.


Seven pairs of eyes turned to their petit CO as she coughed discretely. “A mild lesson I keep in mind from one of our old missions… the house always tries
to cheat,” Antonine said without shame.


She stretched briefly, rubbing the arm she’d been typing rapidly when setting up the holosuite, “After all… it’s not how wise you are, and not how old you are,” she said with a brief glare, “But it’s what you’re looking to win. Dunwen, I hope you’re still willing to be my chief science
officer… because you need to decide if you’re just hungry to equal the exec,” she said with a brief nod to her blue friend, whose antenna twitched as she
was dividing up the pot, “Or are really looking beyond that to captain? It’s the game, not just the round,” she said, looking at her ex-engineer.


Antoine grabbed the cards form Dunwen’s unresisting hand, and began shuffling then clumsily. “That said, I won’t know until tomorrow, so can we please just
put that on the other side of the door and play some cards?”

grylak

Prompt 2:

The doors opened and K'hotiim strode through, followed by a Targ pup. The officers mess was dimly lit, like all Klingon vessels, but there was enough light for his reptillian eyes to see who was there. Pretty much everyone he expected. S'ag and Srin from the Assault squad, Thraak rounding out the Gorn group. Kazengo with her pink hair tied up in a ponytail and in full uniform sat beside Toshme, a recent addition with the new ship. Her blue hair was in a similar style to Kazengo, but although she wore uniform trousers and boots, she liked the more traditional Orion attire for her upper body. K'hotiim had initially wanted her to wear a proper uniform, but she stated it made her too hot and it was too bulky to work on the engines with those shoulder pads, so he relented. K'hotiim strode up to the table and spun a chair around, sitting on it backwards and seperating the two Orion women. "I was hoping for more of a turn out. But I expected only you five would turn up."

S'ag looked across the table at his Captain and leaned forward. "You must admit, forcing all of the Klingons on board to wear full battle helmets and armour didn't exactly endear you to them."
"I'm simply looking out for them. They don't have the resiliant skin we Gorn do, or the enhanced healing factor of the Orions."
Kazengo chuckled. "You do know that's a myth?"
"Yes. But don't tell any Klingons that. It's a good way not to have to stare at their prune shaped heads all day."

Everyone at the table started chuckling. K'hotiim tapped some commands into the table panel and the doors sealed shut. "We may now speak freely."

He looked at everyone in the eye before continuing. "Most of you served with me on the last command. Now we have been granted this Vor'cha cruiser, the Toraga, and a larger crew compliment. Firstly, we welcome Toshme to the senior officers. I'm sure you will perform your duties as well as you did for your previous Captain."

"I'm sure I will."

"Secondly, as you are aware, I picked each and every one of you for this command based not only on your performance, but also your beliefs. You all believe the Klingons as a species are too arrogant, and need to be taken down. Initially, I intended to have a crew of pure Gorn, as the only ones that can be trusted with such a delicate matter, but after knowing Kazengo for so long, I've become convinced Orions, at least the females, share our beliefs and can be trusted. But let me remind you, anyone tries to cross me, or endanger our mission, I will rip your heart out with my teeth and feast on you as you bleed out."


There was a moment of silence as they took in what was said. K'hotiim continued. "Now, I believe we were here to play a card game?"

S'ag picked up the deck of cards and started shuffling. "Thraak found this Terran game. Called Poke-Her."

Srin looked up confused. The shortest of the Gorn, he was still an impressive six foot, if lacking in brawn. Which made him twitchy. "Poke-Her? Sounds.... interesting?"

S'ag just laughed as he dealt. "I'm just glad we have some women here. Otherwise it would get very awkward, very quickly." Toshme looked at her cards and frowned. "So.... when do I get poked?"

Everyone just stopped and slowly looked at her. Thraak scratched the end of his nose. "I don't think there's any actual poking involved."
"How dissapointing." K'hotiim winked at Toshme before looking at his cards. "So if I read those rules you sent out earlier right, Srin goes first."
"Oh. Ok. Errr.... I will bet forty."
Kazengo made a note on a PADD, then bet fifty. K'hotiim also bet fifty. After everyone else bet fifty, they looked around at each other. "Now what?"

S'ag looked about. "One moment." He checked his own PADD. "Now we deal more cards and bet more."
Kazengo shook her head. "Really? That's the entire game?"
"For the first seven rounds."

The Orion threw her cards on the table in disgust. "I've just got off a twelve hour shift. I'm not sitting around doing this. Captain, I understand this was meant to be a bonding excersice, but I'd rather go bond with some sleep."

K'hotiim waved a claw. "Go. This isn't a formal thing." As Kazengo excused herself, Srin also stood up. "I think I'll go as well Sir. This game does not seem very entertaining."


And just like that, there were three left. S'ag laid out another six cards in the centre of the table. Everyone bet fifty and this continued for another four hands. While S'ag was dealing, and making a considerable pile of upward facing cards in the centre of the table, Toshme leaned back in her chair. "I've been meaning to ask you something S'ag. It's a bit personal so you don't have to answer."

The Gorn simply paused mid deal and looked at her with his one eye. She took that as permission to ask. "The eye patch. The implants, the robotic tinge to your voice, the clearly cybernetic legs. What happened to you?"

"An accident."
Toshme waited for more but it didn't seem to come. "And?"
"And it virtually destroyed the entire left side of my body. That's all I'm saying on it."
Toshme let out a dissapointed huff as she picked up the new set of cards. "Do you know what happened Captain?"
"Yes. I was there. But it's not my place to say."

Toshme looked slyly at K'hotiim with narrowed eyes, sizing him up. "You two have been friends for many years. I can tell."
"Bravo." S'ag sarcastically replied. "That's not a difficult thing to work out."
"Ok, allright. Just trying to figure out who you are. I'll stop asking." She looked at her cards and suddenly leapt out of her seat, a massive grin on her face.

"FULL HOUSE! I GOT A FULL HOUSE!!"

She slapped her cards down on the table. She had every card from the Eight of hearts up to the King of hearts. And the Ace of hearts was showing on the pile in the centre. K'hotiim looked at it, then at his cards. "I've only got three pairs of numbers, two of those... stupid shape ones and a Jack of three curved things. That's nothing." He threw his cards on the table in disgust. S'ag calmly placed his cards down.

"A six, two nines, six random cards and two Jokers. I think the Joker pair means I win."
"What? That's not fair! I've got many more cards."
"Yeah, but it's about the combination, not the number."

Toshme sat back down in a huff. "This game's stupid."
K'hotiim picked the targ up and put him on the table, letting him lick his finger. "Yes. Yes it is. I thought maybe we could learn about humans by playing what they consider sport. But this game makes no sense, improves no skill and is just sitting around. It's pathetic."

"Just like humans."
"Heh. Good one S'ag."

K'hotiim slammed his elbows on the table and held his claws out. "How about a real game. An old fashioned test of strength."

S'ag grinned and copied K'hotiim's pose, gripping the other Gorn's claws. As they started pushing to knock the other down, Toshme crouched on her seat, bobbing in excitement.

"I've got the winner!"

cmdrscarlet

Flint and Steel - Prompt 3

Club 47 in Earth Space Dock had reopened from extensive renovations and Kathryn was invited to its first day reveal. She was not too sociable on her ship and she felt that appropriate. Although she had friends on Solaris, and had good rapport with the crew, it was also a place of duty. Yet, for this occasion, Kathryn decided to let her hair down, literally.

Her hair flowed from a short part along the right side of her head, with a slight wave, over her left shoulder revealing a long segmented ear ring to the right. Staying on the conservative side due to the other attendees being either diplomats or higher-ranking members of Starfleet and the Federation, her azure dress extended to the floor and covered her arms. Not being overly modest herself, she allowed her back to be exposed with the dress hanging from her neck and waist. From her hips, the dress exhibited her bare legs behind a wrapped curtain of lightweight sheer material which shimmered in the light. At just under six feet tall bare-footed, her dark burgundy high heeled shoes made Kathryn feel like an Amazon relative to other guests, even if it was only three more inches.

Multi-colored beams of light streaked from a rotating ball that floated around the cavernous room. It orbited a larger device blaring loud music, mostly from human origin. The room itself was plainly ornamented to allow for strobe lights to serve as constantly moving decoration. From that effect, shadows were stark and changed constantly. Although every corner of the dance room was visible, it was intermittent. The point was that privacy was not possible.

But that is what Kathryn wanted. After dancing with changing partners for a few exciting songs, she decided that was enough. Carefully dodging past other dancers, she reached the edge of the brightly lit dance floor and lifted her dress to allow for safe climbing up the stairs to the bar-room. Passing a force field between the rooms, the music instantly muffled to a dull warble or rhythmic thump. Kathryn pulled at her hair to keep it on her left side as she strolled to the bar and ordered a drink. Seconds later, a teal-colored drink appeared in a short clear glass with ice cubes floating within. She took a sip and looked toward the lounge area of Club 47. Knowing that area was the antithesis of the dance floor (while sharing a beautiful view of the Earth), she smiled slightly and walked toward peace and quiet.

Throughout the evening, Kathryn had been involved in various conversations. All of them generic small talk; the kind you would expect to have with unfamiliar people or higher-ranking officers. A polite, and sometimes professional, distance was maintained in the dialog. She didn’t expect salacious propositions as if she were at Drozana Station or even Risa, even if Club 47 was a bar, lounge, and dance floor inside Earth Space Dock. Although an “official” event, it was comforting not to have to talk “business”. On board a starship, most conversations tend to be toward its proper maintenance, or the specification to handle this-or-that duty.

Passing another force field, the already muted music from the bar area was almost eliminated completely. The serenity of the lounge, coupled with an expansive view of nearby space dominated by the Earth to the side was breathtaking. The lounge had plenty of available seating, especially for an event like this. Kathryn mentally shrugged off the curious fact and sat at an empty table closest to the main window. On board her ship, she enjoyed sitting at window seats to enjoy a drink. Her reverie swam through histories, reminders and nonsensical thoughts until a starship floated into view. The graceful, and intimidating, form of an Odyssey-class ship captured her attention until it disappeared.

“The USS Orion.”

Kathryn was startled as the speaker was standing near her table. Looking, the human male was clearly Asian and aged well. Dark grey hair worn long and to the shoulders, the Fu Manchu was also dark grey and made his distinguished presence intimidating. He wore the Command colors on his Admiral’s tunic. Kathryn noted she did not see anyone else in Club 47 wearing a uniform, other than the woman standing to his side and a step behind.

Her dark hair fell straight to the middle of her torso. Cheeks seemed to flow straight to the jaw accentuated by thick lips, even wearing a neutral expression she exuded a sexy friendliness. The standard-issue uniform’s white shoulders revealed her as a starship captain. Looking at the woman, Kathryn could not help but smile, partly out of relief for a friendly face between the two visitors.

Clearing her throat, Kathryn stood and saluted. Efficiently, the Admiral waved to brush aside protocol, have Kathryn sit back down and invite his female partner to sit down at the table. Kathryn was compelled to sit in her chair and wait for the next move.

The Admiral spoke first, “Captain Kathryn Selena Beringer, please meet Captain Tracy Maxwell Kent”.

Tracy nodded and smiled as she sat into a nearby chair, crossing her legs. Kathryn felt more relaxed and lifted her glass. She then watched the Admiral sit into another seat.

As he sat, the Admiral became more congenial, “my apologies to interrupt your festivities, I hope you are enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, indeed, Admiral Marik.”

The man smiled stroking his moustache. “Let me be brief: what is your opinion on orbital bombardment?”

Kathryn could not hide her surprise at the query. “Excuse me, sir?”

“I know this may not seem the place or time to discuss official business, but it is necessary.”

He did not ask the question again, nor did the Admiral explain it. Kathryn arranged her thoughts and took a sip to help buy time to craft an effectual answer.

“It’s not Starfleet’s best tool in the box to solve problems.”

Tracy and Marik exchanged glances and Kathryn felt as if she had just answered a word-problem with a number.

Captain Kent leaned forward enough for her hair to fall past her shoulders. “Of course. Let me be blunt,
the Corps of Engineers have been working on projects focused on kinetic weapons, of all types. Torpedo technology has improved greatly since the days of Kirk. Yet, with everything happening in the galaxy, our negotiators need more force available to them, so to speak.” Her silky voice matched her beauty, yet Kathryn heard an edge in her words.

Kathryn’s raised an eyebrow. “Negotiators shouldn’t need firepower.”

Smirking, Kent replied, “normally we’d agree with that statement. The Iconians proved time and again Starfleet was not prepared …,” her countenance changed as her lips trembled for a moment second before she found her place again. “Well, let’s say it’s better to have a box with tools you may not need. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”

“I suppose.” Kathryn glanced at her drink before taking a sip to respect whatever loss Tracy remembered.

Admiral Marik spoke next. “Have you seen the new Jupiter-class yet, Captain?”

The change in topic was abrupt. Maybe the Admiral was pushing aside ‘work’ for a moment to help Tracy? “Yes. Very impressive. She will be the pride of the fleet, I’m sure.”

“Captain Kent is slotted to receive a ship from the first wave. The redesign is a perfect platform to test new weapons.” The Admiral stroked his beard again. “It’s going to replace the Galaxy-class in that regard.”

Marik’s dovetailing the topics made Kathryn feel uneasy. Sitting a little straighter in the chair she cocked her head to the side and looked to both officers. “Forgive me Admiral, but what’s going on here?”

Tracy sat back into her chair and looked to Marik as if to receive permission. He didn’t look away from Kathryn. She glanced over her shoulders before explaining. “One of the new Jupiter-class vessels will be the platform to test a new catastrophic weapon. The Javelin Lance uses kinetic technology at its simplest form. Essentially, a large Decatritanium ‘spike’ will be launched from orbit via electromagnetic rail at a ground target. The planet’s gravity takes over, pulling the ship-long missile to target.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened as she imagined the weapon and it’s causing fantastic destruction. In her mind’s eye, a large nail dived into the heart of an average-sized city and everything melted from amazing heat and explosion from impact. Cognizance whirled as she griped with the weapon’s feasibility and disagreed with the concept.

“Energy-based attacks are more accurate … a hell of a lot more accurate. The Javelin is simply indiscriminate.”

The warmth of Tracy’s smile was cooled by the mischievous look in her eyes. Admiral Marik cleared his throat. “Regardless of the details, the purpose of our meeting is to recruit your ship to assist with finding suitable testing grounds. Simulations prove the weapon is viable, but there’s nothing like the real thing. Captain Kent will be commanding the vessel. Myself or Admiral Takashi Kurita will be your contacts.”

“I …,” Kathryn paused. Being a starship Captain, she had a lot of leeway with decisions. Sometimes though, orders were orders and Kathryn had yet to be faced with a situation that pushed against her own moral judgment so much as to jeopardize her career. Admiral Marik was not overtly giving an order, yet it was undeniable that he was doing so.

Ships have increased in their lethality, and every cruiser on the line had orbital strike capabilities. Solaris was no different; the fact she has yet to use it may be either luck or fortune. But the power to obliterate a city was always at her command. From another point of view, by joining Starfleet, she accepted the possibility to do something against the fringes of her own professional morality.

Did this weapon, and this discussion, breach some personal code? The Federation was at full war with the Iconians. Before that, the Vaadwaur, Undine, Voth and Klingons. Starfleet was a military, after all, and weapon development was sure to take many turns. So, was the Admiral really asking for more than what was expected from a Starfleet Captain?

Kathryn decided he wasn’t. Before Kathryn could finish responding, Admiral Marik raised a hand to interrupt. He smiled as spoke.

“Don’t get me wrong, Captain Beringer. Your ship will not have this mission alone. Although the project is still in development, the prototype is ready. Coupled with the current state of affairs, targets are to be discovered rather than sought after; targets of opportunity, so to speak. We want to test on remote, desolate worlds with no chance against any form of life. COE plans this project will not be fully operational for several months, due to the Jupiter’s rollout, maybe more years before we see production onto capital ships. Yet, there is some secrecy involved, and that’s why we are discussing this with you personally, in a setting that would not be expected by prying eyes and ears.”

And that cleared the way for Kathryn.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Solaris is ready for this task.