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Hannibal Parker

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    The Epic Moments of Star Trek: TNG (10/13)

    in Poll of the Month

    Posted

    Darmok is perhaps the best metaphoric episode of TNG. Two sides working desperately hard to understand each other to deal with a common foe rings so true even today. Johanna hit it perfectly on the head when she stated how important family was to the fabric of a being, whether it was Jean Luc and his brother, Worf and his family, or even Geordi hoping beyond hope his mother was still alive. Family is the tie that binds.

    Dressed To Kill...Part Two

    in 2014

    Posted · Edited by Hannibal Parker

    (( Club Emporium, Capital City, Orion))

    It was a short walk from the hotel to the establishment known as the "Emporium", a combination night club and pleasure palace known in unofficial circles as "The Tenderloin." It was known as the place in the nearly spotless part of town where the locals didn't go...it was a place for outworlders, mostly those who traded in illicit goods and information. The alcohol was real, the women beautiful, and the clientele deadly. It was this environment Kamela Allison was walking into with the express purpose of killing one particular man, Phineas Tredeau, a particularly dangerous weapons dealer.

    Her choice of outfits was designed to attract his attention, and as she walked along the street towards the club, she noted it had the desired effect on several non- Orion males who saw her walking by...one nearly slammed into a light pole trying to look at her instead of where he was going. It satisfied her that her look was catching...it helped to slow her thumping heart as she approached the front doors of the establishment, marked with two massive wooden doors, muted thumping base pounding through them. The building itself was fairly large in scope, taking up an entire block and reminding her of the warehouses along the old wharves in her native San Francisco. The bottom story was the actual club, which was divided into two halves. One half was devoted to actual dancing and set up like a normal club reminiscent of Risa. The other half was where naked and semi-naked women danced for cash, or walked among the patrons soliciting for more intimate favors which were consummated. This is where her quarry would be.

    Kamela calmed her breathing as she walked up to the two large two wooden doors. Two massive Orions stood sentry outside, both of them armed with purloined Starfleet hand phasers. Stepping up to them, one of them moved, effectively forming a flesh and blood roadblock. Smiling as sweetly as she could, she looked up at the towering green menace as he spoke to her...

    " Your purse. I must search it."

    " Go ahead. Nothing there that would interest you."

    Kamela gave him her purse, while the other one moved in a little too close for comfort...

    "Now, I must search you."

    As degrading and repulsive as it was, she had no choice. Taking out the two of them would be a tidy handful, and it would get her no closer to her mission...in fact, it would end right then and there. As one pawed over her body, the other one ran a scanner over her. She knew better than to be armed. Places like this tended to be heavy on security to keep the real outlaws reasonably secure. From her briefing, she knew Tredeaus' guards were armed, and went through no such scrutiny. She also knew "outlaw" working girls could ply their trade here, and could only be invited to the upper floors after paying a fee, which was sometimes greater than the amount for services...unless it was at the behest of a treasured client, such as Treudeau. Satisfied the only thing Kamela was armed with was a beautiful body, the two guards moved aside, the one who had personally searched her speaking again...

    "Enjoy yourself."

    "Thank you, gentlemen. I will."

    The Orion to her left opened the door, which opened outward towards the street, the music now pounding into her as she walked into the dimly lit club. Strobe lights distorted her vision as she pushed her way through the crowd and headed to the bar. She knew from her briefings that the doors to the other part of the bar were off to one side, at the wall which split the two bars. Eyeballing the crowd, she wanted to see if anyone was paying inordinate attention to her..undercover work was risky enough but she knew it paid to be paranoid. She was alone, with no backup, no weapons, no way to call for help. Her only solace was her pickup to take her back to the Federation Embassy would be outside, a local Orion who had been a good source of information over the years.

    Kamela, still playing the part of an "outlaw" working girl, walked towards the doors which led to the less savory part of the bar. She knew once she crossed that threshold,there would be no going back, no chance to abort the mission. She was committed, and that sobering thought pounded into her chest like the booming music. Taking a deep breath, she entered the world of the [...]ed...

    Phineas Treudeau was not a handsome man, with a large Roman nose, bulbous eyes and thinning hair. His clothing was tailor made and he was adorned in only the finest fabrics money could buy. He wore dark green pants with matching shirt, and his feet were adorned with a pair of ornate boots, rumored to be made from the skin of a Gorn who had tried to back out of a deal. He had made a fortune by selling weapons to those who could not easily buy them...pirates, smugglers, the Orion Syndicate. He enjoyed the fact that he could buy anything he wanted, or kill anyone he wanted, or have them killed. Here, on Orion, he could recline in relative safety, away from the Federation and their pesky Starfleet. Sitting on a couch flanked by bodyguards, he sat before a table with enough food fit for a king. Several people were also at the table with him, celebrating another successful deal of selling procured Starfleet photon torpedoes. He didn't care who bought them, as long as they paid his price.

    Treudeau had only one weakness...beautiful women. By virtue of his money and notoriety, he could have any woman he wanted, and this place allowed him to indulge himself with women from a dozen worlds...but his eyes were drawn to the tall blonde who had just entered.. Dressed in Aqua blue, with a pleasing body and exceptionally long legs, the woman was one whom he had not seen before, and therefore, one he must have. He watched her at the bar, her moves as graceful as a gazelle. Now this...this was a woman! He looked at the women he currently had around him, all bought and paid for. Beautiful they were, but the curly headed blonde was on a completely different level. He watched her have a drink at the bar, demurely sipping it if she had been there a thousand times before, but he knew she had not been...he would have noticed HER. Discreetly, he whispered to one of his guards to bring her over. This woman, he had to have...

    Kamela stood at the bar, drinking her Centauri Sunrise and trying hard to be not initially noticed. Thanks to the alcohol inhibiter she had taken, she could pretty much drink as much as she wanted without getting intoxicated...she needed a level head to do what she needed to do. The Ferengi bartender was doing his best to make conversation, but his words were meaningless to her. She was sure if she rubbed his ears a bit he would be in heaven.

    From her vantage point, she could easily see her quarry, sitting behind a table flanked by several women and two very serious looking guards. Kamela noted they were both armed, and when he leaned down and her target whispered in his ear, she discreetly paid attention as the guard moved from where he stood over to where she was standing...the mark had taken the bait...

    The guard moved quickly, but easily, his huge size making it seem like he floated instead of walked. As he approached, Kamela focused on breathing, calming herself before the next part of the operation began. Over the cascading boom of music, the guard was standing next to her, but it was she who said the first words...

    "Hello sailor. What can I do for you?"

    The guard hesitated for a second, perhaps unfamiliar with one of the galaxies' oldest pickup lines. The Orion was huge, approaching seven feet tall, but he quickly shook it off. His voice gruff, he spoke...

    "My boss wishes for you to join him."

    " Really?", she replied coyly." And just who would this boss be?"

    " That gentleman over there. He insists."

    Kamela knew she could not say yes instantly. She had to maintain the illusion of distance, of not wanting to go over until she was ready. Her resistance would make him want her more, and allow the arrogant pe'taq to begin to drop his guard. Looking up at the guard, she shook her head...

    "What if I do not wish to join him?"

    Clearly, this was something the guard had not anticipated, but as the guard looked over at him, she could see him beckoning towards them with a large, inviting hand, his pig face smiling while doing so. Kamela smiled back, but not in the manner of a working girl gaining an expensive client, but as a predator summoned by prey. Her heart thumped in her chest, duty overtaking her fear as she held out her arm and the guard gently took it...

    "Well, it seems like your boss does not wish to take no for an answer, so, my big friend, let's go."

    Treudeau watched the dialogue taking place between the stunning blonde and his trusted bodyguard. He was the gentler of the two when it concerned women, and he wanted to make sure she didn't spook...which meant that sometime during the night if she refused him, his other guard would make sure she and whoever she was with would be dead before sunup. No one refused his offers of companionship, especially an off worlder outlaw whore. As the two approached arm in arm, the weapons dealer stood up and embraced his would be assassin, his hands traveling down to her rear end, offering a slight squeeze as he did so.

    Kamela almost retched as he hugged, his breath smelling of garlic and othe sharp spices, his uninvited hand on her rear. She deftly removed it and broke the unwanted embrace, disarming him with a smile...

    "Slow down, cowboy. I don't even know your name."

    " I am Phineas Treudeau. And you are?"

    " I am (remembering her cover name) Tara Matthews. Pleased to meet you."

    " Sit Miss Matthews, and let us eat, drink, and talk."

    Making space on the couch next to him, Kamela sat down. Making small talk for the next hour, Treudeaus' eyes roamed all over Kamela, clearly only interested in bedding her. He was free with his money, and had pressed several strips of latinum in her hands...clearly a signal to go upstairs. From her files, she knew that once he made his choice, he would take her upstairs, dismiss his guards and would spend the night in one of the opulent suites upstairs. Ruthless as Treudeau was, his guards would have the pick of the girls he didn't want, all bought and paid for. The feared weapons dealer would be alone, drunk, and ripe for his own demise...

    Making their way upstairs, Kamela played along, laughing at his jokes, allowing his hands more freedom on her body. Kamelas' fear had been turned to focus, remembering every detail of the room in which she now stood. A balcony ran around the back of the suite, with a door opening onto it. It was a short drop to the fire escape, then down to a side street. Waiting on that side street was her getaway driver, an Orion in the employ of Starfleet Intelligence. His vehicle on the street would not be suspicious...he was a day driver for the hotel and it was not uncommon for him to be parked there. Kamela casually looked out the window, and indeed, the vehicle was there in its usual spot.

    Treudeau watched as Tara took in the suite. It was opulent, with deep carpeting and ornate furnishings, just the way he wanted it. He truly wanted this woman, an he was glad that she decided to join him. A woman as beautiful as this should not have to end up dead, and he would have regretted killing her...at least until the next one came along. Sitting on the bed, he watched as the woman in aqua blue seductively came over to him, her navel ring just about eye height, her perfume intoxicating in its closeness...it only made him want her more, and his thoughts were of bedding her. His initial caution gone, now replaced by lust, he moved in to kiss her exposed stomach...

    Sensing her opportunity, Kamela ran her hands seductively over his head, then quickly moved her hands...her right hand on the left side of his head, her left hand moving down to deftly grab his jaw and she twisted upward, hearing the snap of bone. The feared weapons dealer slumped forward, then Kamela pushed him back on the bed, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.

    Making sure he was indeed very dead, Kamela left him where he lay on the bed and looked around the suite, looking for any files, data rods, or computer interfaces which might have been there. Finding none during her quick search, she was on her way to the balcony and escape when a thunderous knock at the door almost made her jump out of her shoes. She knew from its insistence that somehow, her mission was now on borrowed time, and she needed to get out of there now...

    Kamela knew it would not be long before whomever was knocking would either have a key or knock the door off its hinges, and as the shouting and banging increased, Kamela was out onto the balcony, just as the two Orion guards burst in...

    Out of time, Kamela did her best to measure her leap to the fire escape, and she hit it with a solid thump...she knew from the sound she would not be able to wear an outfit like this for awhile....too much bruising on her ribs. Fueled by fear, adrenaline, and the sound of crashing wood, she made her way down to the fire escape and to her getaway car.

    Opening the passenger door, Kamela spoke...

    "Gatta, we need to go, NOW!"

    The Orion didn't move. Gatta was not known as a sleeper, so Kamela shook him. The Orion slumped backwards, his throat cut from ear to ear. Fear almost turned to panic as the whine of disruptors and their impact on the street around the vehicle filled he ears. Reaching over the dead man, Kamela popped the door open and shoved the dead man out onto the street, the guards now seeing the door open, peppering the dead man with disruptor blasts and concentrating their fire on the groundcar. One shot shattered the side window, another, the windshield. Another shot came perilously close to her head, spending itself against the door frame.

    Kamela was now in the drivers' seat, and she fired up the groundcar. Driving it out into the crowded street, Kamela went the wrong way in traffic and quickly darted down a side street. She made sure her headlights were off as she traced a roundabout path back towards the Federation Embassy. She knew she could not take the groundcar there...doing so would point right at the Federation and Starfleet. She had no way to call for extraction, and really no way to be extracted...her navel ring doubled as a transporter/video scrambler so she could not clearly be seen on the many security cameras dotting the streets, or transported against her will.

    Knowing there was a lake near the Embassy, Kamela headed for it, determined to ditch the car in the water and destroy it. Hopefully, they would think she panicked and drowned...at least long enough for her to get off Orion. It would be a half kilometer swim in the dark before emerging two blocks from the Embassy. She told herself it was going to work...hell, it had to work. Aiming the vehicle at the water, Kamela set the controls and opened the door as the car sped into the water, with Kamela bailing out as the machine hit the lake. Kicking away from it furiously, the car sank, its power cell detonating itself one hundred yards behind and one hundred feet below her, the concussion nauseating her. She swam hard, her fear of capture powering her strokes towards relative safety.

    Half a click and twenty minutes later, Kamela emerged from the water, barefoot, bedraggled and exhausted. Looking along the shore, she could clearly see the lights of the Embassy two blocks away...and its back door which would give her sanctuary. Guarded by two Marine sentries, they had been told to expect a "delivery" and given the requisite passwords. Picking her way carefully, concealing herself as much as possible, Kamela arrived at the back door of the Embassy. Modesty was not a concern for her at the moment, and it took a moment for the guards to stop staring at her now see through outfit and ask for the password. Once Kamela replied, the two guards quickly let her in, and she slipped down the back stairs to her quarters. Locking her door, placing her phaser on the table next to her bed and contacting her handler. Only then could she stop shaking.

    Lieutenant Kamela Allison

    Operative

    Starfleet Intelligence

    Dressed to Kill......

    in 2014

    Posted

    (( Luxury Quarters, Stargazer Hotel, Orion ))


    Her feet were exquisitely pedicured in the French style, her long, muscular body tanned honey brown, her curly blonde hair streaming down her naked back to just below her shoulders. A jeweled belly button ring hung from her pierced navel, and aqua blue eye shadow, matching her dress, was meticulously applied. Her long, tanned legs were freshly shaved, and she looked down at the four inch stiletto aqua blue sandals lying at the foot of the bed, giving the six foot woman an even more towering presence…:::


    She scented her body with a combination of fragrances...one from Risa, one from Earth (Paris, more specifically), combining with a special oil from Orion itself. The fragrance was designed to be intoxicatingly powerful to the right male who took in the subtle fragrance...to others, she would just smell good. Designed to not lose its allure for several hours, the woman was sure sometime that evening, she would ensnare her prey…:::


    Her aqua blue mini dress lay on the bed. The halter top dress was tantalizingly short, with a deep, plunging neckline which ran down to just below her navel. Her only lament was that she had not been blessed with the most impressive bustline, but the realization that a bigger bust would tend to get in the way of her other activities, it was a trade off she could live with. They were not huge, but constant training ensured that they were perky, divided, and noticeable. Two-sided tape had proved its worth over the centuries, and as she slipped the wisp of a dress over her head, she applied it to the areas needed to keep her breasts obvious, and in place.


    Her fingernails were also aqua blue, just slightly longer over her fingertips...no false nails here..her hands allowed her to do the occasionally delicate work she did, so long false nails were a burden which was unneeded.


    A perfect, understated dash of aqua blue eye shadow adorned her eyelids. Standing in her bare feet, she looked in the mirror. Another regret crossed her mind. Here she was, checking in under an assumed name, in a dress she would never wear again, to charm a man she had grown to hate. Months of careful surveillance involving several operatives were going to culminate tonight in her administering the most harshest of penalties to a man who was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Federation citizens and Starfleet personnel. That was not her regret...her regret was that she would have loved to have worn it for the massive, brash, but gentlemanly Special Forces Marine Hannibal Parker. A month ago, they met in a bar, took out four Nausicans, then spent a fantastic three days together. Kamela had never believed in love at first sight, but she knew that weekend was special. While they made no special plans, she knew they would find each other again.


    Putting on her high heel sandals, Starfleet Intelligence operative Kamela Allison was now ready to take on her assignment...a very nasty-tempered human from Alpha Centauri by the name of Phineas Tredeau...but it wasn’t his temper which interested SFI….it was his appetite for his willingness and ability to sell prohibited weapons to those not friendly to the Federation which had to be terminated with extreme prejudice...Tredeau had few weaknesses, but one was his Achilles’ heel...his desire of beautiful, tall, blond women. On a planet of beautiful women, where sex was as easy as saying hello, Kamela was the perfect bait. She knew where he was going to be...cultivated intelligence had made sure he would be in the club across the street soon. He was known to be punctual, but she had planned to make her entrance after he had eaten and was enjoying the scenery of semi-naked women and the opportunity to make a deal...an activity she would circumvent permanently.


    Grabbing her aqua blue clutch purse, Kamela headed out into the night...she would not return here when the deed was done. No matter how careful she was, she could leave no traces of her presence and would make her escape to the Federation embassy, then off the outlaw planet. There would be no DNA, no fingerprints...only the lingering odor of her fragrance would be the only acknowledgement that she had ever been there. Cutting off the lights, Kamela headed out the door, her heels clicking on the marble floor……..



    Lieutenant Kamela Allison


    Operative

    Starfleet Intelligence

    JP-PNPC Major Heath West & Fleet Captain Toni Turner - Nice and Sl

    in 2014

    Posted

    (( Outside Mishai Resort Restaurant, Til'ahn ))

    :: The evening sun was pressing into the horizon as Heath stood outside the entrance to the resort, nervously waiting for Toni. He leaned against a low stone wall, slipping his hands into his pockets, his hand reaching up to the back of his neck to hold it. It was the most formal he had dressed in a long time. Being on the fringes of space, at the beck and call of Starfleet didn’t leave much time for society dinners and dress uniform celebrations. His white shirt was bought from the city earlier, his slate grey suit matching the flecks of grey that had started to speckle the short hair above his ears.::

    :: His stomach tied itself in knots. He hadn’t worn a tie for fear of choking himself to death. He told himself he was fine, that it had been far too long for Toni to feel anything for him, and if she didn’t come then… Well, he hadn’t thought of that yet. Every ounce of him hoped she did. Even if it was just to jump him with an armed guard.::

    :: With the typical flourish of the transporter, Toni’s form shimmered into being.::

    Turner: ::materializing a few feet away from him:: oO Good, he showed up.Oo ::quietly:: Hi.

    :: He stood up. His defence was paper thin. She looked perfect. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Then, he simply smiled.::

    West: Hi.

    Turner: You look. . . oO Should I tell him he looks distinguished and handsome? Oo ...nice. Very nice as a matter of fact. Since when did you give up cargo pants?

    :: The grin hadn’t dropped from his features yet.:: West: Oh, somewhere around the last moon of Jupiter. They were cramping my style.

    :: He took her in. Black dress, showing her legs off beautifully, her hair up, looking as professional and formal as possible. Memories of her getting up, getting dressed, tugging on her uniform danced across his mind and he tucked them away.::

    West: You look incredible.

    Turner: Oh, it's nothing special. I just didn't have much time to look for something else. ::pulling at her earring nervously:: I.. I guess we should go in, or do you have a later reservation?

    :: Ever the modest Human. He nodded and opened his hand out to the large glass double doors, and they walked together. Out of habit, even after however many years it had been, he pressed his hand into the small of her back as they stood.::

    ::Feeling the warmth of his hand on her back as he escorted her inside, sent a chill all over her body. It was like the first time he touched her. Somehow time had preserved all those little feelings he brought out in her. She smiled, hating to see the waiter coming to seat them.::

    West: Anywhere you’d like to sit? I think they have balcony seating.

    Turner: See if he has a table out on the veranda. The view of the beach is beautiful this time of night, and it's peaceful out there.

    West: Beautiful we have already; peaceful I can appreciate.

    :: Having a quick word with the waiter, he showed them to a two seated table on the veranda of the restaurant. Toni was right, it was beautiful. The sun was kissing the horizon line and the sea lapped at the beach as the tide came in. They weren’t alone out there, but they were separated enough to talk without being heard.::

    :: Heath pulled out her chair, a gentlemanly glint in his eye.::

    :: She felt him push the chair gently to the back of her knees, seating her comfortably near the table.::

    Turner: ::smiling:: Thank you.

    :: He sat down in his own, the waiter bringing them wine and the menus for the different kinds of food they served, catering to a variety of races at any given time. Heath knew what he wanted, without looking, and set it down on the table, looking over the flickering candle under the glass dome in the centre.::

    West: You seem really settled here.

    ::She really hadn't thought about it, but he was right.::

    Turner: Yes, I suppose I am after nearly four years on the planet.

    West: It’s a lovely place. I can’t see why anyone would want to leave. ::his hint of a smile returned:: How do the children like it?

    Turner: Well really, this is the only home that Garth has known. As you know, he was born shortly before I was sent here. And Vee had only known life on the Challenger, so being grounded on Til'ahn was an easy adjustment for them as their first honest to goodness home.

    :: His fingers found the base of the wine glass, lifting it in his hand and taking some down. It was good. He debated whether it was Bajoran, made from the fruit of their flowering summer trees. Bajoran. The word stuck in his mind.::

    West: How are you?

    Turner: I like being assigned to the Embassy. It's a great place to work, and .... ::He cut her off mid-sentence.::

    West: Not the Embassy, Toni. ::his head tilted slightly:: Are you alright?

    ::After a small quiet gasp of frustration, she saw his point, but was it his way of trying to sound like he was really interested, or just making conversation?.::

    Turner: I...I'm fine. Reasonably happy,...well, not as happy .. ::looking away from him her voice dropped to a whisper:: as I could be if we could get together. ::Feeling she had said too much, she added as she faced him again:: on what to tell the children about you being back without hurting them.

    :: That he did know. They were far too used to him not being around, to knowing he was gone, not that he knew what Toni had told them. He imagined it was what SFI had told her. He was dead, most of the time.::

    Waiter: And have you decided what you would like to eat?

    :: Heath took a meaningful look at Toni, his former wife, and searched his memory for what she enjoyed. ::

    West: It's a nice night for white wine. ::he smiled, at Toni, then looked up to the waiter:: Chicken, cooked well infused with jumba sauce. Light on the spice. Please.

    ::Toni was fine with him ordering for her. He had always known what she wanted better than she did.:: oO Too bad that only applied to food. Oo

    Turner: Sounds good...So do you still cook?

    West: It's been a long time since I have. I could probably still find my way around a pan. I can't believe you remember it.

    Turner: ::smiles:: Vee often asks me to make "Booberry Pancakes" but you know what a bad cook I am. Maybe one morning soon you and she can make some. She would love that, and I'm sure Garth would too.

    West: I'd love to.

    :: He leant forward slightly, covering her hand with his on the table. The movement was a familiar one, and Heath thought on the fact that she was the only woman he'd touched in that way for years. She was the last he would.::

    West: I have this memory I've hung onto. One morning, years ago, when you got out of bed and I watched you. I remember thinking you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever set eyes on. :: he smiled, quite sadly:: I still think about it every time I wake up.

    ::She had a sudden compulsion to ask what she really wanted to know... Did he think they had a chance of getting back together? But at the last moment she got cold feet.::

    Turner: We were happy back then. What happened to us?

    :: He sat back in his chair and took hold of the wine glass again, taking a long drink then placed it back down on the wooden table. ::

    West: I joined the Marines again. I thought I could handle it but the truth ia I can't. ::he looked up to her eyes and smiled:: I can't, Toni. It's all about to change.

    Turner: What kind of change?

    West: Starfleet. I don't want it anymore.

    Turner: But why?

    West: Because all I've ever wanted us you. ::he looked up at her:: You, me and the kids. Away from all of this. And I can't have that being dragged from each end of the quadrant.

    ::This was what she wanted to hear from him, but her head was telling her he was toying with her emotions again, and her heart was telling her he was telling the truth. This time she decided to take a chance with her heart.::

    Turner: ::contentment showing on her face:: Oh, Heath, that's what I've always wanted too. You, me, and the children.

    ::She wanted to ask if he thought they had a chance to actually having what they wanted, but the waiter came with their food, and the moment was broken.::

    ::Their food, in scorching plates, arrived steaming and was set down in front of them. The waiter refilled their glasses from the bottle, emptied it and took it away with him, returning seconds later with a fresh one.::

    Turner: ::smiling:: After we eat, we should go to the Parker's for the celebration. We could walk along the beach to get there if you want to.

    ::A new arrival on the base, blessed to Hannibal and his wife. Now that would be a child Heath wanted to see. He thought of a present to get the expectant parents and decided it would be better to send it afterward. He smiled up at Toni.::

    West: We’ve picked a nice night for it.

    (( Beach, Mishai Resort ))

    :: Dinner had been sweet, with conversation turning to work and the kids, back to the working of the Embassy and jumped from topic to topic that they had both missed conversing about until they were back in the open air and away from the restaurant. Now, the sun had dipped below the horizon and night had settled in, highlighting the sky with glittering stars of distant worlds. Hearing the sea lap lazily at the beach was comforting and almost poetic.::

    West: So, Tallis… I really am sorry about what happened. If there was anyone I could have trusted to look after our kids in my place it was him.

    Turner: Yes, I'm sorry too. He was a good man, and tried his best to do right by them, but when all was said and done, he could have never replaced you.

    ::Lifting her foot, she reached down taking off first one shoe, then the other, preferring to walk barefooted in the sand.::

    Turner: ::holding her shoes in one hand, she leaned her head on his shoulder.:: Did I tell you that we will be moving into our new house in a couple of days? Would you like to help us get moved in? We've been staying with T'Lea and Della since they came to the Embassy, and although I enjoy their company, I just think they need the privacy of their own house.

    ::He interlaced her fingers with his and smiled gently. He remembered T’Lea and Della. Dade had made him promise he would keep an eye on them, from his lofty tower on the Starbase.::

    West: They need their own space… and so do we.

    Turner: Yes, we do. It will be like beginning over again for our family.

    :: He hoped so. He’d spent too long without them. The mornings Vee had woken him up, the evenings watching Toni watching him, a gentle rhythm that would be hard to slide back into.::

    West: Nice and slow.

    ::Reaching the back of the Embassy grounds, they took a short cut through the garden. Toni remembered how they use to steal kisses among the trees, and wondered if he remembered as well.::

    ::The garden had grown exponentially in the time he’d been away. It was cultivated, nurtured, not the sprawling mess it had been when they’d first arrived all those years ago. He remembered the little things, the times spent walking through it together. Although, he didn’t recall the painted rocks…::

    West: Where’s Parker living now?

    Turner: It's right up ahead, in Marine Barracks, but I suppose he will be moving to the First Officer's house soon with a baby coming.

    :: He breathed out a laugh. Babies were everywhere.::

    :: From outside the barracks they could hear the voices of the large group that had gathered.::

    Turner: This must be the place. ::laughs::

    ::It didn't take long for them to reach the door, pulling the lever to announce their arrival.::

    TBC

    JP by...

    PNPC Major Heath West

    Marine Officer, Honour Guard

    USS Nautilus, Temporary

    and

    Fleet Captain Toni Turner

    Commanding Officer

    Embassy Duronis II

    USS Thunder NCC - 70605-A

               

    JP: Captain Toni Turner & PNPC Major Heath West - "What We Sta

    in 2014

    Posted

    (( Captain’s Office, Starfleet Embassy ))

    :: Dressed in the green uniform of the Marines, Heath surveyed the Captain’s Office, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. It had been a long time since he had been in there, or been granted access. Unlike Toni, she had used a code familiar to both of them and getting entry had been simple. He looked around the room for anything that might indicate a personal touch, but the Captain had been keeping it rather sparse. Pictures of their children were notably missing.::

    :: Fresh flowers, from the gardens of the Embassy, were flowing from a vase on her desk. They filled the room with a delightful smell that invaded the senses. Yet, behind that, the room carried her scent, her smile - everything that a young Kerelian bartender had come to admire, love and cherish.::

    :: However, the Embassy was a mausoleum to him. He would tear it down brick by brick if he could.::

    ::Before going home to the children, Toni decided to stop by her office to pick up her messages. As she approached the door, she had a strange feeling that she was not alone, but looking around the outer office, she dismissed it, and opened the door.::

    :: His ear twitched, listening for the sliding of the door and turned his head toward it. His hand slipped into his pocket as the door opened, revealing the Fleet Captain in the red collared uniform on the other side of it. His heart skipped a beat. A reminder of the love that permeated his every fibre for this woman..::

    West: Captain.

    ::At first glance, the memories of their last mission played tricks on her. Surely she had died, and he had come to escort her to the other side. Tears threatened, thinking of the children and having to leave them, but when she rubbed her eyes to keep them from falling to her cheek, she realized it was only a romantic notion that someone she loved would come for her. It was him, the man she had never stopped loving, and he was alive, looking as fit and handsome as she remembered.::

    Turner: Major, I... I thought you were dead. Why didn't you let me know?

    :: The corner of his lips curved into a gentle smile.::

    West: I thought this might be… ::he toyed for the word:: ...easier.

    ::Tossing her padd on the desk, it was all she could do to keep from running to him, hugging him, kissing him, and never letting him go.::

    Turner: Easier? Easier for who?

    West: Easier for Vee. For Garth.

    ::Steadying her urges, she leaned back against her desk and braced her hands on each side of her.::

    Turner: I suppose you're right, it would have been a shock to them. You should see them, Vee has become quite the little lady, and Garth... well, he's just like you.

    :: He looked back to the vase of flowers, the difference of colour in the room predominantly the colours of Starfleet. He remembered finding her asleep on the Resolution. His beautiful, passionate and ferocious in the right doses partner. Memories filtered through. Dancing in their Quarters, falling asleep wrapped up in her. Those had been special days. Before the onslaught of everything else had taken over.::

    West: I’ve seen them. You can see a lot when someone isn’t looking for you in a sea of faces.

    Turner: ::dropping her head as she nodded:: Yes, that's true, but I'm not so sure Vee doesn't still look for you. Like her mother, she tends to believe in the impossible... ::raising her eyes to his:: that love overcomes everything.

    :: They shared a look for a brief moment, then Heath dropped his gaze back to the desk. Love tried. Sometimes it didn’t win. Sometimes it did. Often it had to patch up wounds that were greater than chasms.::

    :: Visions of him in the kitchen teaching Vee how to cook her favourite "Booberry Pancakes," entered her mind, along with making up stories to put her to sleep... and she had been privileged of witnessing the perfect father for the child they had adopted as their own.::

    Turner: ::smiling:: You were a wonderful father to her.

    :: He hadn’t been. He’d been a ghost, or a shadow.::

    West: You’re a better one.

    Turner: Garth needs a father. I can't teach him all he needs to know. He is eager to please and misses a man he can look up to in his life.

    :: He looked at Toni, a slight frown of disbelief creasing his Kerelian forehead. Garth didn’t need a father like him. He needed a strong, stable man that wouldn’t be bowing to the needs of a Starfleet he didn’t trust.::

    :: Then, there was something else. A shadow of a love, of an emotion, floating in the background behind her eyes. She looked at him as though she could see right through him; past the façade of a Starfleet puppet and into his soul, much deeper than anyone had ever uncovered.::

    ::She wanted to tell him she still loved him, needed him, worshipped the ground he walked on, but she wasn't sure that is what he wanted to hear.::

    Turner: I wouldn't be adverse to you being a part of their life. ::moving closer:: But I'll tell you right now, if you die on them again, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself.

    :: He laughed. She’d defused the moment. The blonde man picked up his PADD from balancing on the edge of her desk and handed it to her. However, he didn’t doubt her threat. She probably would, disembowel him from aft to stern. He caught her blue eyes with his, then smiled, a boyish grin, completely thrown by her and awkward, in a strange way.::

    West: I’d like that.

    Turner: ::ignoring his jest:: So how long will you be here at the Embassy?

    West: Temporarily. I don’t want to cause you any disruptions.

    ::She returned to her perch on the desk certain that he had no love for her, and had only come to warn her that he would be around for awhile. There was no use to get her hopes up so she changed the subject.::

    Turner: Have you seen Dade? He thinks you are dead too.

    :: He hadn’t let Dade know. Their last meeting had been less than friendly.::

    West: Only you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to murder me first.

    Turner: Why would I? The only reason I would is if you hurt my children, and I don't think you would knowingly do that... not Vee, nor Garth, or... ::she caught herself as she didn't know if he knew about the baby.::

    :: His eyes shot up to hers.::

    West: Or…?

    Turner: Yes, another child... Breeana, and fathered by Tallis Rhul and born after he died.

    :: He’d heard. It had taken all he had not to come rushing back to the Embassy and pick up the pieces, but how could he do so when Rhul had picked them up after him. He searched her face, finding the hurt had sank deeply.::

    West: I’m sorry. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve that.

    Turner: That's okay, the marriage was ill fated from the beginning, just like us. He knew my heart lay elsewhere, but he was a willing father to Vee and Garth.

    :: For a moment, he dropped his gaze from hers and ran his hand through his darkening hair. His heart was still with hers, wherever she had put it, or locked it away somewhere.::

    Turner: I can only hope to find someone who will love all three, doing for his as he was willing to do for yours.

    ::She was hitting below the belt and she knew it, but something within her wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. Truth be told, she wanted to rip his heart out, like he had done to hers... But as hard as that was to bear, knowing now how much he hated her, she still loved him.::

    ::Now she was boxing with bricks instead of gloves. He felt that swing hit, and it would bruise, but it wasn’t uncalled for. They had swung between lovers and fighters for so long; it was hard to tell what the other was thinking any more. The Kerelian returned his brown-eyed gaze to hers and a thought struck him that hadn’t in years.::

    West: I forgot how blue your eyes are.

    Turner: oO What was that? He's toying with me.Oo ::glancing straight at him:: I'm surprised you remember anything about me.

    :: Time suspended for a second or two, a moment caught between worlds that had been on the brink of passing one another in the night.::

    West: Meet me for dinner later.

    Turner: ::curtly:: No!

    West: Come on, there’s got to be something you used to like about me still here. ::he smiled:: Just you and me. I can remind you of why you don’t miss me.

    ::She gazed at him for a long moment, taking in that boyish grin that taunted her, the flicker in his eyes that teased her, and that baritone voice that lulled her into submission. The moment was no different. She gave into him::

    Turner: ::swallowing hard as if expecting him to spurn her again:: Alright, where and what time?

    :: His last visit to the Embassy had been under different circumstances and he hadn't had chance to discover the place properly, but he had heard mention of a resort on the coast from his sources. He fought to suppress the smile, fighting a losing battle.::

    West: This evening, that resort on the beach... Mishai, is it? ::he exhaled a laugh gently:: I could always cook you something if you promise to wear that dress again.

    ::Remembering their first date, the yellow eyelet dress he had liked so much, and the first time he had cooked Lamb for her, but that meant being alone in his quarters with him, and she didn't think she could take the pain of rejection under those circumstances.::

    Turner: Mishai will do fine. Say around 1800 hours? The children will be asleep by then. Speaking of them, I have to go to spend some time with them. I've been away on a Mission and I've missed them.

    West: I'm looking forward to it.

    :: He smiled, leaving his PADD on her desk, amidst the rest of them mounting up. The night would progress from there, but fearing she was planning his poisoning, he went back to professional mode.::

    West: My temporary arrangements from Starfleet. I hope I won't get in the way too much.

    Turner: You won't.

    TBC

    Fleet Captain Toni Turner

    Commanding Officer

    Embassy Duronis II - USS Thunder NCC - 70605-A

    Deputy Commandant UFOP SB118 Academy - Executive Council Member

    &

    PNPC T'Ana- Teaching Moments (NT)

    in 2014

    Posted · Edited by Hannibal Parker

    (( Marine Holodeck - USS Thunder-A )) :: T'Ana sat on the floor cross legged watching the ship's company of marines practice their combat skills in the holodeck training program, sweat dripping off her face and her careful posed expression of neutral disinterest visible to her six guards. They stood in the corners and center of a rectangular part of the holodeck cordoning her off from the rest of the crew here. :: :: Being a prisoner as long as she had been, certain things had to be taken care of. They were not allowed to keep her in solitary confinement forever and so she was given one hour every two days to exercise on the holodeck. It was always with a the main component of marines so there was no chance of an escape. T'Ana would never attempt such a brash act, but already had figured her best options, if she so chose, was transport between her cell and the holodeck. Whoever was planning her security arrangement had experience dealing with high profile people. The person, whoever it was, made sure she was always escorted with six at a distance, no transporter was ever used in case of an interception, and her ability to move undetected was impossible thanks to so many eyes. :: T'Ana: oO I do love a puzzle, nameless. Oo :: Focusing ahead, she saw a young marine in hand to hand combat with another, more seasoned. It was the knife fight drill and the poor kid kept getting put down each time. :: T'Ana: :: muttering :: You're extending your arm to far. :: Her voice must have been louder than she planned or his hearing was much better than she anticipated. :: Conner: ::anry:: What was that? :: The marines in the general area stopped what they were doing, but T'Ana did not rise to the bait. She remained seated. :: T'Ana: You're over extending your attacks. You've been dueling him for over fifteen minutes now and haven't found his weakness. Adams: Weakness? What weakness? :: The seasoned veteran did not like being used as an example. Angry and proud. Just the way she liked them. A small crossed her face. :: T'Ana: You favor your left leg to move out of range of a thrust so you can come underneath your opponent in a throw. :: Adams scoffed, but his eyes told her that he knew what she was capable. The message she sent with the naked marines a few months ago still rang in their minds. Standing slowly so her guards did not get jumpy, she turned to them. :: T'Ana: May I? Johns: What? T'Ana: :: sarcastic:: I'm in a holodeck with imaginary weapons and safeties on. I doubt I can get away. :: They were a little unsure, but Adams stepped up and tossed her one of the rubber knives. She flipped it so the blade lay against her forearm and not pointed out. :: T'Ana: In a knife fight, Private Conner, your advantage is the usage of your blade. You want to keep a low profile to your enemy and get in close. You need to watch their body language to know how they are going to strike. :: Adams stepped up and T'Ana remained motionless. Adams was smart, he did not move against her so she began to circle with the blade still laying against her arm. With a quick movement, the Romulan assassin stepped in to range and Adams lashed out with the blade, she bent her torso backwards to avoid the blade and then before he could step back from her thrust, she placed the top of her foot against the back of the knee enough to make him stumble. The movement was subtle and relied on his momentum and as he began to fell, her fake blade cracked him across the throat gently. :: T'Ana: You're dead. :: The marines had begun to gather as she returned to her defenseless posture. She looked at them. :: T'Ana: I am guessing from your training that you all are improving your hand to hand combat skills for security details. Your commander believes more assassins are coming and so wants you to be prepared. Your folly is that you are thinking like marines, not like an assassin. Conner: What do you mean? :: Connor was the curious one. That was good. His youth did not taint his opinion of her yet. He saw a learning opportunity, but remained guarded of her. :: T'Ana: Marines are honorable. Marines fight for their loved ones, they fight for their pack, they fight for their people. :: There was a murmur of agreement. They were very pack minded and she knew that Major Parker's morale building had not gone to waste. :: Adams: And how is that not good? T'Ana: Because...assassins think of one thing. Complete the assignment. There is no honor. There is only the target. You think assassins will come at you from the front or the back. We will come sideways. Poison, long range sniper shots, close quarters combat from where you least expect it. When you patrol with your VIP, do you even bother to wonder if the security has been infiltrated? What about that diminutive maid who has been working at the residence for three years? Assassins will do what they have to to kill their target. They know weakness and they *will* exploit it. :: There were growls and her words were unsettling. That was what she wanted. Hannibal was a very good soldier and his black op files were filled with perfect missions, but each were run by a team and they completed as a team. Assassins were alone and that's how they thought. T'Ana: You all have weaknesses. Know them and the enemy will have a harder time exploiting them. Adams: What weaknesses? Your little trick was good, but that's in fighting. :: It was a challenge and she needed to prove her words more than anything. :: T'Ana: You're weakness is women. I've seen how you stare at me and the rest of your female comrades. An assassin will see that and use it to their advantage. Connor, you're trusting and will believe any sob story handed to you, Morgan, you're anger blinds you to the obvious, Gregson, your loyalty to the Federation keeps you from seeing any enemy wearing your uniform. If you are to fight an assassin DO NOT trust anything or anyone until your target is safe or the attacker is dead. :: With that, she turned and headed for the door with her guards behind her. They needed to be ready. There would be another and she had to make sure that no one was killed. If she couldn't complete the mission, no one was going to be allowed. :: ~tbc~ PNPC T'Ana Romulan Assassin As Simmed By... Lt Cmdr Nugra First Officer USS Thunder-A Embassy, Duronis II

    Operation Remember

    in 2013

    Posted · Edited by Hannibal Parker

    ((Space Station Deep Space Nine, at the close of the Dominion War))

    Hannibal Parker was tired. Two years of almost constant war with the Jem’ Haddar and their Breen allies had wreaked havoc on the quadrant. Billions were dead, planets wrecked, and hundreds of ships lost. Earth had been attacked by the Breen, shattering the idyllic myth of Earth. They too had been singed by the flames of war. The fighting on the surface of Cardassia before the surrender had been brutal, hampered by the fact that fifty percent of their troop transports had been shot down…but still, his unit fought on, buoyed by the Klingon detachment his unit had been fighting with almost since the war began.
    With peace now won, and several barrels of blood wine consumed by his unit and the victorious Klingons (despite “suggestions” from Starfleet brass that they should not be participating in such ceremonious drunkenness and revelry), Hannibal, now in command of his own platoon, ignored it. His battle- hardened Marines, having fought alongside the Klingons, were deemed more than worthy to share in their celebration, and there was no way he was going to stand in their way. So…while Admirals, Captains, and Heads Of State were somberly signing surrender orders and giving interviews to the Federation News Service, his troops were drinking, singing, and seeking companionship, whether it be Klingon, Human, Bajoran, or any of a number of races sexually compatible with humans, and Hannibal was no exception. With three weeks’ leave coming to his platoon and currently berthed in the Habitat Ring, he was perfectly happy to let the ringing hangover he was currently suffering from subside long enough to further enjoy the Orion woman currently sharing his bed. Feeling her stir next to him, he did what a good soldier does….his duty….

    One week into his leave, Hannibal discovered peace was not all it was cracked up to be. He found it strange to sleep through the night, and it was perfectly normal for him to sleep with either his Bowie knife or phaser within reach. Starfleet had Counselors available, but they were backed up on appointments from seeing Starfleet personnel...most of whom had seen no ground fighting. Starship duty had its horrors, but none compared to staring a drug-crazed Jem’ Haddar in the face and blowing it off, or sliding your blade through his body. He determined he would have nothing to do with the “couch mice” who were currently infesting the station, and Starbase 375, places where beings went off to war, and some never came back, and others who should not have.

    There was also a repeated undercurrent…one which was playing out through the Marines and Starfleet personnel…a current of unfinished business. There were those who were ecstatic that Cardassia was little more than smoking ash, and more than a little animosity directed towards the Breen…who had managed to escape their murderous alliance with the Dominion with it seemed little more than a finger- wagging, in the face of the fact that the Breen had attacked Earth, namely Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. Thousands were killed, Starfleet was crippled, and there seemed to no desire for the Federation, or Starfleet, to demand the proper penance for the Breen to pay. Nursing a whiskey in Quarks’ bar, Hannibal was alone, contemplating his plans for the evening. He had begun working out again, and his body welcomed the slight soreness he was feeling. Dressed in civilian clothing, black cargo pants with matching black tee shirt, his considerable muscle bulging from rolled up sleeves, his freshly shaved head and shined, laced up black boots clearly identified him as a soldier, even when not in uniform. Hannibal barely looked up as another gentleman walked in. Hannibal immediately recognized him as a soldier, although he was smaller, than but almost as tall as the six foot four Hannibal. He was older, with greying hair at his temples, and steel gray eyes. Hannibal knew exactly who he was, and he thought it strange that a man of his stature would enter the likes of an establishment like Quarks’. Generals in the Starfleet Marines just did not do such things…unless they had a reason…and as he closed on Hannibal’s’ table, he had to wonder what his reasoning would be to come to see him, here, on leave…As the human approached, he began to smile, but his eyes held firm, locked on his. “Hannibal Parker I presume?”

    Hannibal took another swig of his whiskey, hearing the ice tinkle in the glass. He had paid good money for the whiskey, and gave and upward glace at the man who stood before him…

    “Depends on who is asking. And you are?”

    “May I sit down? I would like to keep our conversation away from prying ears as much as possible.”

    Quarks’ was known as the place where everything was up for grabs, and for sale…that included information, and as Hannibal looked around the room, the lack of obvious Starfleet personnel and the abundance of disreputable aliens and humanoids made his choice easy, to limit suspicion. Nodding to the empty chair across from him, he beckoned the General to have a seat…

    “I know who you are, General Murphy. You led the assault to take back Betazed, secure AR-558…and took down a Breen warship which had attacked Earth. Your reputation precedes you.”

    The General sat down. And smiled. He was pleased Hannibal knew who he was, but now it was his turn to express to Hannibal that he knew him as well…

    “Captain Hannibal Tiberious Parker. Member of the 27th Marine Expeditionary Unit, combined with the 282nd Unit of the Klingon Defense Forces. Took down two planets during the First Battle Of Chin’toka, captured a weapons platform, first on the ground on Cardassia, plus early on your combined unit was winning engagement after engagement with the Jem’ Haddar and the Cardassians while everyone else was getting the snot beat out of them. You guys were making us proud, Captain….and I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I am sure they died with honor…”

    Hannibal had been around long enough to tell the difference between genuine concern and garbage when he heard it, and out of respect, he nodded as the General had paid his respects. Looking back towards him, he took another swig of his drink, pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket, and lit it with his fathers’ ancient Zippo lighter…

    “General…I appreciate your condolences, but I know that is not why you came here to speak to me. What is it you really want?”

    The General sat back in his chair and regarded the massive, young Marine. He had seen more combat in two years than the General had seen in twenty, and the younger Marines’ rather flippant attitude was something he had been warned about, but Hannibal had earned a reputation for being ruthless in battle, so much so that even the Klingons respected and honored him. It was that kind of grit and toughness the general needed for what he had in mind. Leaning over to make sure only Hannibal could hear him in the crowded bar, Murphy began...” The war may be over, but things are far from settled. Some races did not truly pay for their transgressions against Federation citizens. Against Earth. Against San Francisco.”

    Before Hannibal could speak, the Generals’ wording was clear…he was talking about attacking the Breen. Spoken resentment was now breeding actions, and the General was recruiting others who had voiced the same opinion. Hannibal maintained his poker face, belying none of his true feelings as the general continued to speak…

    “There is a meeting tonight. Docking Port Three, upper pylon. Tell the sentry I sent you, that is if you want to make a difference instead of getting drunk, kicking [...] or chasing whores…Consider my offer, Mister Parker. We begin at 1800.” Leaning in closer to Hannibal, the General added one last thing, perhaps the most important thing he could say… “This conversation never happened.”

    With mutual discrete nods exchanged, the General stood up, and Hannibal watched the officer leave. Pulling a drag off his cigar, and motioning the dabo girl who had been serving him to bring him another drink. He had about three hours to consider the Generals’ offer, one he would give considerable thought to. There was no doubt in his mind what he had in mind, but in Hannibal’s’ mind, it would be worse than treason. As much as he would love to leave the Breen homeworld a smoking cinder in space, the war was over. Although it was costly in men and treasure, victory was theirs. During the war, he would have happily scorched every Breen ship or planet in his sights, but that time was past. The words of his now-dead father rang in his ears…” There is no honor in battle once the enemy has surrendered.” To Hannibal, to even say the word “Breen” left a bad taste in his mouth…

    Two hours later, particularly well lubricated by copious amounts of real bloodwine and whiskey, Hannibal had to make a decision…well actually, two. The first was whether to tell anyone of the generals’ plans, and the second…who to tell? What if he said nothing and the general did carry out his attack on the Breen? They would be at war again, this time the Federation, and Starfleet, would be the aggressors…and he would once again be the tip of the spear. He figured that the general would count on the “code of silence” which would keep his plans secret, even though he decided not to participate. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He had a sister on Earth who was now his only living relative, and what if his actions indirectly caused her death? Hannibal didn’t want that…this war had deprived them of their parents in a just cause, but this…revenge on a planetary scale?

    Hannibal then thought about the general, how clean he was. He may have commanded Marines, but he did not have the mark of a man who had seen combat, but saw no difficulty in ordering others to die to further the mission. There were few brass who had ever fought such a grueling campaign they had just finished, and men like that were reluctant to throw men into the fray while they stood back and orchestrated the outcome. Hannibal had been a pawn long enough to men like that. First was Chancellor Gowron, who threw Klingon warriors into the teeth of the Jem’Haddar to further his political aims. More than once it was only timing and dumb luck which had saved their combined unit from disaster from those orders, and Hannibal was not going to do that again, to follow the orders of a madman to further his ego.

    The first decision…not to go along with the general, was relatively easy. The second question was more daunting. Hannibal knew that he had to tell someone what was being planned, but there were few he could trust with the explosive claims...and that was all they were…with nothing to support it. He had no evidence, no documentation, nothing. He was a grunt going against a Starfleet general, accusing him of treason. He also had no idea how high up the food chain it went, possibly clear up to Admiral Ross.

    He now had forty-five minutes left to figure out what to do. He looked around the crowded bar, and looked for faces that had been there as long as he had. He was looking for Starfleet personnel who had been there as long as he had. It was relatively early, as the ships currently docked would have most of their crews on liberty, but most did not visit Quark’s until later in the evening…also, if there were those who favored the generals’ views, they would be watching him, checking his next move. He knew who to look for, and in fact, the place had turned over its crowd to such an extent that determining if he was being watched was difficult. At 1745, it was time to make a move. Closing out his tab, Hannibal left Quark’s, and headed out onto the Promenade. Being familiar the layout of Deep Space Nine, instead of making his way to the lift which would take him to the location of the meeting, he headed for the nearest empty corridor and made his way into the access trunks which ran the height and breadth of the massive station. If he was being followed, they would have to come this way, and he waited a perilously long three minutes before he started his climb up the trunk to just outside Ops. It was only two decks, but he knew where he needed to be and come out unseen. His destination: The office of Archer Greene, Starfleet Intelligence.
    Hannibal popped out of the access trunk, a bit dirty and a little dizzy… the liquor was catching up to him, but after making sure he would not be observed, he popped the hatch on the access trunk, replaced it, and made his way to Greene’s office.

    Hannibal didn’t like the man much, but he had been invaluable on board the Charleston to his unit when they deployed. He was a snug little snit, but he knew his job and could extrapolate with the best of them. Making sure he was not observed, Hannibal went down the hallway where the mans’ office was now located, in a space not much bigger than a broom closet…in fact, it was a broom closet, with not even a sign on the door denoting its use, the only thing giving it away was the security lock on the door. Feverishly trying the lock, Hannibal worked every conceivable combination he could think of, when the door opened…

    Greene was sitting at his desk, decorated solely by a computer terminal and a stack of PADDS. He was a shorter man, about five foot eight, mid- thirties, with a shock of gray mixed in with brown hair. He was thin, and his skin was pale from being too long on board a space station or a starship, his clear blue eyes taking in the mountain of young Marine with a slight [...] of his head. He wasn’t quite sure why the Marine didn’t just knock, and he was in no position to fight him. Greene had seen his handiwork in person, and he knew he was no match for him. His best bet was to do what he was good at…extrapolating information from what he saw and heard, and he surmised the Marine has something very important he needed to tell him. In a calm voice, he called out to the man who was now less than ten feet away from him and staring him down the way a predator would eye his next meal…

    “Mister Parker...you could have knocked”, he said. “What seems to be the trouble?”

    Hannibal was now standing before the intelligence officer…it was now five minutes before the meeting was to begin. Standing before Greene’s’ desk, Hannibal knew it was now or never. He told him of meeting the general, what he had planned, where the meeting was to take place, and that he had been invited to attend. The intelligence officer listened intently, then leaned back in his office chair...which was scant inches from the bulkhead behind him, and Hannibal wondered if he had made a mistake, and Greene was part of the plot. His mind raced in the silence which had permeated the room since Hannibal had finished his explanation, and Hannibal had begun to think of scenarios on how to escape Deep Space Nine before he himself was caught. If he was wrong in his assessment, his sister would still lose him…not to war, but to becoming a fugitive. Finally, with the meeting time approaching, the intelligence officer spoke…

    “That’s quite a story, Mister Parker”, he said. “You are aware that those are serious charges you are levelling against a decorated Starfleet officer, a man many would consider a hero?”

    “It may be one hell of a story, but it’s the truth”, Hannibal said. “Why the frak would I have been trying to pick the lock on your office door to lie to you? I have no evidence other than a conversation I had three hours ago. Either you believe me or you don’t. General Murphy wants to start a war, so what the hell are you going to do?”

    Greene looked at Hannibal, a man whom he would now test the trust between them. Working with Hannibal on board the Charleston, Greene knew he was a man of honor, and the PADD which held details of the meeting Hannibal had just confirmed lay concealed on his desk under his hands. That PADD held names, dates, places…even the targets in Breen space. Hannibal had only scratched the surface on how big the plot really was, but sharing that information was something he could not do with him. Looking up at the Marine, who now seemed to be taking up the entire office, he made a note on a PADD, then he looked up at the brooding killing machine which was Hannibal Parker…

    “Hannibal,” he said, choosing his words carefully,” There is a transport leaving for Risa in fifteen minutes. Be on it. Speak to no one. Burn the rest of your leave time there. Leave the way you came. Report back to your unit on time. Is that clear?”

    Hannibal looked deeply in his eyes. There was no deception there, and the unspoken message was clear…Nodding his head in understanding, Hannibal spoke:

    “Risa is nice this time of year. Thank you…and good luck.”

    Leaving Greene’s’ office, Hannibal did as he was instructed and went to Risa. Returning from leave, news broke about a Dominion War hero being arrested. The hero…General Simon Murphy.

    Major Hannibal Tiberious Parker
    Marine Commander
    USS Thunder-A/Duronis II Embassy

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