Star Trek: Fortune's Challenge
Chapter Two: Gathering Misfits

U.S.S. Fortuna - McAllister

There was no angle at which the ship became anything but unlovely. From above the ship looked like a squid, but from the front or side the connector designed to link the engineering section to the saucer looked like a shovel head. An oversized deflector dish pushed forward from the fuselage under the connector, the hull extended backwards into an ellipsoid. Near the midpoint the pylons flared out from the body, the bottom two dropping down at a shallow angle while the upper pair rose at a steep angle. Between the flaring bases of the upper pylons was the door to the shuttle hanger.

Phaser emitters had been built into the pylons, along with the saucer section, and at the bottom of the fuselage, a total of 12. Six torpedo tubes had been included for added offensive power, four facing forward in pairs on opposite sides of the deflector dish and two under the shuttle hanger. For defense emitters had been strategically placed in multiple places that would allow the ship to project a powerful energy shield.

Delivery shuttles came and went, delivering supplies and ferrying work crews from the shipyard that had been tasked with updating the components that had become obsolete in the seven years that the U.S.S. Fortuna had lingered at Utopia Plantia. Landon McAllister dodged carts as he stepped aboard the Fortuna to find that the interior wasn't much better than the exterior. The hallways weren't large, and had been built with the ceiling panel being narrower than the floor, making the octagonal halls lean in towards the top. It had a very claustrophobic effect.

Work crews and equipment crowded the corridor, but it was nothing new to Landon, who danced around them as he continued on into the ship. He was a good distance in when he was confronted by a Vulcan woman who appeared to be in her mid-20's on a Human scale, which probably meant she was in her late 50's. Her hair was black and in a severe crew-cut – either because it was easy to take care of or to show off her ears – it was hard to tell. The bands on her sleeves and the shirt beneath the top were Command Red, and the pips on her collar were two solids, which made her a Lieutenant SG.

"Can I help you, Commander?" she inquired. The woman took in his appearance, the combination of Trill and Betazoid traits, and concluded, "Ah, Commander McAllister, I'm afraid that you've caught us unprepared for an inspection. My name is T'Pan, and I'm the project supervisor overseeing the refit."

Up and down the corridor all work had stopped as the enlisted work crews and their officer supervisors faced the possibility that they were being inspected. "Not officially," Landon answered as he knelt next to a work crew and picked up a PADD that was laying on the floor between two Crewmen Second Classes. "But as a former Chief of Operations I can tell you that I'm disappointed. Per regulations one of you is supposed to be reviewing the technical orders to make sure that you are doing it right, and since installing an EPS plasma flow regulator requires two people you should have a third person on your team. Also, I can tell just by looking at this that you'll have to completely redo it: you've cut those wires at least three centimeters too short."

"I, um, yes, Commander," the crewman stammered as Landon handed him the PADD as he stood back up.

He addressed T'Pan, asking, "If you're the project supervisor where is the supervisor responsible for this area?"

The woman took a deep breath, the Vulcan equivalent of grinding her teeth, and admitted, "I've been looking for him myself."

"I'll join you, then," he offered, but looking around he told them, "The secret to a successful refit is to make the modifications with the intent that your work will be replaced before the ship is decommissioned. Read the TOs and follow them; or the lot of you will be stripping your own work and pulling double shifts to make it right. Understood?"

"Aye, Commander," "Yes, Commander," "Aye, aye, sir," the work crews chorused.

Leaving them to it Landon joined the as they searched for the area supervisor; the first place they checked was the oversized main cargo bay. Towering three stories the pair of cargo bays were large enough to fit a sports field inside, as evidenced by the fact that someone had set up a pair of basketball hoops in one and tapped off a full court. Other evidence that the workers at Utopia Plantia had been using the ship for non-standard purposes were evident as the pair continued looking, checking Main Engineering next.

The primary doors to Main Engineering were on deck 8, but the compartment could be reached from Decks 6 to 9. In the center of the room was the warp core which extended from Deck 3 to Deck 11 and could generate enough energy to power a small moon. All that energy was needed to get the full use out of the oversized nacelles, and the result was a warp envelope large enough to surround whatever secondary hull they were equipped while towing another secondary hull in a tractor beam. At least, that's what the energy output was capable of – it would take someone with a deeper understanding of warp field physics than Landon to pull something like that off.

"Sir, this is the Engineering area supervisor, Lieutenant Junior Grade Henry Galilee," T'Pan said, introducing a stocky human in Operations Division Gold.

Lt. Galilee was wearing the optional vest and had the arms of his gold shirt rolled up to his elbows to reveal extremely hairy forearms. Thick red hair curled around the man's head like an unruly mop, but the man's grey eyes were quick as he noted Landon's appearance and called the room to order, "Commander on deck!"

What work that could be stopped was, and those who could snapped to attention. "As you were," the commander called out, allowing people to return to their work. He saw with approval that TOs were in hand rather than laying on the deck. "I served as an Engineering Assistant for a couple of years, and I can tell you that I like what I see here."

"Thank you, Commander," Galilee responded with a thick accent. "I'd have liked to have more time to lock things down for you, and replaced the floor panels we've mucked up, but you caught us in a moment."

"Still, I approve, Lieutenant; keep up the good work."

Landon didn't bother whispering: his words, though spoken to a supervisor, reflected on the entire crew, and he could see several of them passing encouraged smiles to their peers as they continued.

T'Pan put in, "We were actually looking for Lieutenant Donnellson, have you seen him?"

"Aye, came by here not an hour ago asking for any spare men – somethin' about a special project," Galilee said with a shrug. "I told him to bugger off – my people were busy enough as is."

"Do you know where this special project was supposed to be?" she asked, glad to get an answer.

Galilee shrugged, saying, "Don't know, but given that it's Donnellson it'll be somen' high profile to make himself look good to the muckety-mucks. Pardon, Commander."

"Unfortunately the 'muckety-mucks' are necessary, Lieutenant," Landon chuckled, waiving it off, "But shoddy workmanship doesn't impress me. We'll keep looking. Keep up the good work, all of you."

He left engineering with the Vulcan lieutenant in tow and chose to check sickbay next. Because the starship had been designed to enter combat zones and evacuate crews with the potential of mass wounded, the Fortuna's main sickbay was two decks high and sprawled quite a bit. There were no holodecks aboard, but there were holographic emitters built into the sickbay capable of supporting seven Long-term Medical Holograms. All the LMH's had been removed, replaced by a single EMH, and that one was treating the hand of a Petty Officer 3rd class when the pair entered.

"Uh, Lieutenant T'Pan," the Non-Commissioned Officer gasped in shock, trying to stand up just to be shoved back down by the medical hologram.

The EMH was one of the mark 2 models, as evidenced by his appearance – tall, thin, thick blond hair and a cleft chin. The major difference between the EMH and LMH were their bedside manner, or lack thereof. "Stay still," the doctor ordered while running one of many medical devices over the hand. The device had been designed to realign small bones.

"Doctor, I'm Commander McAllister – this command is mine – report," Landon said as he stepped up to review the medical diagnosis.

"Petty Officer Harris came in with a broken hand; I am treating him," the doctor responded as he remained focused on the task at hand. "That is all I know."

"PO Harris," Landon asked, "Report."

Looking embarrassed the NCO reported, "We were up on the bridge, replacing the LCAR screens when my hand was caught under one of them."

"Trauma suggests something hard was placed against his hand and then forced down," the LMH corrected.

T'Pan pointed out, "Work on the Bridge isn't supposed to begin for another week. Is Lieutenant Donnellson leading the work detail?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am: he thought there were too many of us working in the corridors and took about a third of us up to the Bridge to work there," Harris explained.

Nodding, Landon ordered, "When you're done here go back to the corridors: the work crews there have to redo all their work because no one was reading their TOs."

The NCO responded with a vehement curse.

"Well, reading Technical Orders is about all you'll be able to do, Petty Officer," the doctor ordered as he fitted a brace over the hand to hold the bones in place. "Leave that on and come see me when your shift ends."

"Thank you, Doc," the enlisted man said as he stood up from the bio-bed and edged past the two officers.

Landon waited for the door to close while the doctor cleaned up before saying, "I want you to know, Doc, that I'm not averse to using medical holograms, so you may be called on in future. Do you have the option to turn yourself off?"

"I do, Commander, and thank you," the medical hologram responded.

With a nod the Commander led the way out, backtracking to a turbolift. "So, how do you plan on characterizing Donnellson's actions?"

"So far he's demonstrated Dereliction of Duty and possibly Malicious Negligence," T'Pan answered flatly. "You aren't seriously going to defend him, are you sir?"

"He's not my direct subordinate," he answered, "I don't have the right to alter your decisions."

It seemed that wasn't what T'Pan was expecting as she raised one eyebrow, the Vulcan equivalent of a shocked expression.

The door to the turbolift opened and they stepped out onto the oval-shaped bridge. At the front of the room was the main view screen flanked by doors that led to a turbolift on the right and the Captain's Ready Room on the left. Following the outer wall past the doors there were two multipurpose stations and lockers for weapons and equipment, followed by another set of doors. On the left was another turbolift while the door on the right lead to the rest of deck one. Between these doors, at the very back of the bridge, were the Master Systems Display and a terminal for an Engineering Liaison Officer. A rail with two stations built into it separated the outer ring from two sunken areas, the Operations Station on the right side and the Tactical Station on the left. A couple of steps between the two stations and on their far sides led to the second level.

The second level was where the chairs for the Captain and First Officer were located, each with a LCAR screen on their own. Another couple more steps led down to the Flight Control Officer's station, otherwise known as Helm.

Half the LCAR screens in the room had been pulled from their brackets, left lying on the ground as tripping hazards while the repair crew installed new screens. Blood from PO Harris' 'accident' stained the Tactical console – a biohazard that should have been cleaned up first thing. Evidence of sloppy workmanship was everywhere to Landon's critical eyes, and he felt disappointed on multiple levels.

"Uh, Lieutenant T'Pan," a man in operations gold with the pips of a Lieutenant Junior Grade exclaimed. "Uh, as you can see we're close to being done here." His eyes were drawn to Landon, but didn't quite comprehend what was going on.

"Commander McAllister: may I use your Ready Room?" she requested.

"Of course," he answered, pretending indifference.

To the enlisted crewmen she ordered, "The rest of you remain here for questioning."

He noticed that the chairs were broad in the back, and as Landon sat down he found that the armrests could fold over his lap, restraining his thighs while the broad wings folded over his chest, adjusting to hold him in place against the seat. Keying a command on his chair caused the restraints to be released and he stood up to pat the chair back and ask, "These aren't due to be replaced, are they?"

"Uh, yes they are, Commander," a Crewman First Class answered.

"Let me guess, with more traditional chairs?" Landon sighed, seeing the nod of agreement. "Leave these two – honestly, I know why conventional wisdom is to trust in the inertial dampeners to keep people from being thrown out of their seats, but I prefer not to be ejected across the bridge."

"Um, yes, Commander," an Ensign answered, picking up a pad and making a change to the schedule.

New Zeeland Penal Colony - Sleth

The New Zeeland Penal Colony was the last place you expected to find a Starfleet Officer, or rather an active duty officer rather than a former officer wearing prison colors. Ensign Sleth was tall, bald, well-muscled and green skinned – as an Orion he knew that most assumed that he was connected to one of the Syndicates, the Orion families. Orions had been in Starfleet before, but they had all been raised by non-Orion, Federation families, while Sleth had reached adulthood in his Syndicate before choosing to join the Federation.

Growing up he had parroted the opinion of his Syndicate – that Starfleet and the Federation were nothing but meddlesome troublemakers who forced their opinions and moral values on others. It was at the onset of the Dominion War that Sleth's opinion change. His Syndicate had been doing business on a planet along the Federation-Cardassian Demilitarized Zone when the Cardassians had joined forces with the Dominion. Jem'hadar had fallen on his Syndicate's camp, killing everyone they found; and still a child Sleth had hidden in fear.

That was when the Federation arrived: Military Assault Command Operatives with a Starfleet Officer piloting their runabout. With the element of surprise the MACO troopers had managed to overpower the Jem'Hadar while the Starfleet officer ordered everyone still alive into the large shuttle. Sleth hadn't needed to be told twice as he dashed into the space craft and huddled in a corner while the survivors of his Syndicate and the colonists all piled in behind him. The Federation were judgmental and interfering, but they stood by their belief that all sentient life was to be valued.

After the war Sleth had gone to Deep Space Nine and asked to join Starfleet, unfortunately a non-Federation citizen had to have a letter of recommendation from a Command-level officer, in addition to passing the entrance exam. Commander Worf had been willing to give him the letter, but Sleth still had to study for three years in order to make the cut. In the end, though, he'd gotten into the Academy and spent another four years studying. Sure, he hadn't been the best student, but he hadn't scored at the bottom of his class either, so it had been a disappointment to learn that his assignment was to deal with convicts, since that was how the Federation viewed his people.

Whenever an opening came up he sent an application, but after five years he was still a prison guard.

Coming in after a long day of monitoring inmates Sleth sat down and checked his messages. He was unsurprised to find responses to his recent round of applications – all very formal letters of rejection, including one from the U.S.S. Fortuna. There was another message there, too.

Mr. Sleth

Thank you for your application and I look forward to seeing you onboard.

LANDON McALLISTER, Commander, Starfleet
Commanding Officer
U.S.S. Fortuna NX-77721

That didn't make any sense – how could he have gotten a rejection and a confirmation on the same day? Actually, when he checked the time stamps the personal letter from the Commander came before the rejection notification. He created a reply to the Commander's message and attached the rejection, requesting clarification. Something wasn't adding up, and if they weren't adding up now then they probably never had added up before.

Starfleet Academy - Alana

Fourth Year Cadet Alana just barely kept from screaming, but she did smash her fist against her locker . . . right before crying out in pain.

"What's the matter, Alana?" her roommate, Selene Gardner, asked as she entered the room. Spotting the PADD laying on her friend's bed, Selene picked it up and read it before saying, "You're being assigned to the Federation Embassy on Cardassia as a shuttle pilot?"

"Yea, Cardassia," Alana growled as she tugged the Bajoran earring she wore in her right ear. "I'm a follower of the Prophets, and they want to send me to the land of the Pah'Wraiths."

The human woman sighed and pointed out, "Alana, you are Cardassian."

"I was born Cardassian," the Cadet countered, "But they left me behind on Bajor when their occupation ended, and they wanted nothing to do with me when they came back as part of the Dominion. So I want nothing to do with them."

Sighing, Selene sat down on her bed, considering, "You know, if you feel that strongly there is an option. You remember that prototype ship I told you about? The NX-77721 Fortuna? I was told that she's going to ship out, and you could volunteer – probably even get the post of Helmswoman if you act fast enough."

Turning from her locker to the LCAR on her desk Alana sat down and sent in her application – the last thing she wanted as to go to Cardassia Prime and listen to the justifications of those who had abandoned her and a number of other orphans.

Starfleet Academy - Xixxi

It had been seventeen Terran years since the Ixian had learned that they were not alone in the galaxy, though the galaxy had been aware of them for some time. The Dominion had chosen their planet because of the abundance of caves that they could hide their ships in, and the existence of chemicals needed to make Ketricel White – the drug the Dominion's enforcers were addicted to. While they were aware that the planet was inhabited by a sentient species the aliens from a distant corner of the galaxy underestimated the natives of Ixon, to their own peril.

An insectoid species the Ixian appeared to be skeletally thin, but their exoskeletons were extremely resilient and they could lift five times their own body weight. They could also see into different visual spectrums, meaning that they could see the cloaked Jem'Hadar creeping through their tunnels and being a cautions people they fled. It was possible that the Ixian would have left the aliens alone, except that the Vorta had entered the egg chamber tracking chemical deposits and broke one of the eggs.

Whether by purpose or accident it is unknown, but the scent of a broken shell in the air had caused the entire colony to frenzy. Falling upon the aliens the Ixians had torn the Jem'Hadar limb from limb as they attempted to protect the Vorta, who fled back up the tunnels to the starship with the colony in close pursuit. The Vorta managed to get away with the warriors who had remained aboard their fighter, and within a month returned with reinforcements.

The Colony was ready, though – they'd studied the weapons and technology they'd taken from the dead, learned how to operate the devices, and had numbers on their side. When the Jem'Hadar exited their ships they were swarmed, overpowered and killed, and this time the Vorta did not get away. No mercy was given because no mercy was expected – the death of an egg was that serious a crime to the Ixians. Information about the Dominion was spread to all the colonies on the planet, and they were all treated as egg-killers. Eventually the Dominion learned to avoid the planet entirely, and for the length of the war it was ignored despite being so rich in resources.

Studying the starships the Colonies learned about the galaxy and the various races that inhabited it.

After the war the Federation resumed their monitoring of Ixon, and had been surprised to discover just how far the native species had come to mastering the technologies left behind. Due to the potential danger of self-destruction Starfleet chose to open dialog with the Colonies.

Seeking to learn more about the Federation the Ixian bred one of their own to attend Starfleet Academy, and that one was Xixxi. Its chitin exoskeleton was a dark cream color, its multifaceted ocellus reflecting oily in the light while its antenna brushed them clear. Two of its limbs were high on the thorax and the other three were low, but each ended in four digits, any one of which could act as an opposable thumb. Its abdomen was small, and if it ever reached the lifecycle stage to become an incubator it would only produce two eggs, but like its entire species Xixxi would pass on all of its knowledge to its young. What really set Xixxi apart was its ability to speak mammalian languages.

Hatched with all the knowledge its people had accumulate on Dominion technologies, Xixxi had spent two years as a larva, being carried around the Federation embassy, learning new things every day. After making the metamorphosis into an adult it traveled to Starfleet Academy and had, so far, topped its entire class in every test. Being the first of its kind in Starfleet there was some controversy over where it would serve. Would it be returned to Ixon to pilot shuttles, sent to a space port where it could study the local politics, or be stationed on a starship that would tour the galaxy? If it had its way then Xixxi would serve aboard a starship.

Xixxi heard from a classmate that she had requested placement aboard the U.S.S. Fortuna and found the idea of choosing its own assignment appealing. So, it began to run through the open postings. Its studies were in the Operations Division, and it found an open Chief of Operations posting aboard the Fortuna that was available to all ranks. The Fortuna itself was an experimental class with no others like it, and Xixxi found that drawing parallels was easy – it too was an experiment that would not be repeated unless it was successful.

It found that . . . appealing.

U.S.S. Hathaway - Hathaway

The first time that the LMH unit who would come to be known as Sylvia Grace had been activated she'd known that something was wrong. Selecting the most non-threatening appearance available – that of a petite woman with brown hair and eyes – she'd materialized in the sickbay of a starship that was not the one she'd been equipped to. Rudimentary, that was the word she applied to the sickbay of the U.S.S. Hathaway as it was equipped with bio-beds and other technology that was at least two generations old. Holographic emitters had been built into the top corners of the walls, obviously retrofitted there rather than built in, as they should have been.

While old the technology presented was Federation, as were the people who were waiting to greet her, all in Starfleet uniforms. They had introduced themselves as Commander P'Vel, commanding officer of the U.S.S. Hathaway, and a few of her officers – Lieutenant Commander Ryken Tan, Lieutenant SG Geert, and Lieutenant JG Landon McAllister. She learned that the U.S.S. Sylvia Grace had been lost in combat with the Jem'Hadar and that her module had been pulled by a Ferengi salvage expert. After a furious negotiation Landon had managed to purchase the holographic emitters with supplies from the ship's stores, but he'd had to pay for her module out of personal funds.

She would serve as the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Hathaway for 13 years under four commanding officers, and over that time her appearance had been altered to that of a tall woman with large breasts and platinum-blonde hair. When asked she told everyone that she'd made the alterations as an incentive for the crew to attend their mandatory appointments. It was not the truth, but the percentage of missed appointments did drop nearly to zero in response to the change.

Sylvia had been pleased when the recently promoted Commander McAllister had asked her to serve as the CMO of his new ship, though it hadn't been necessary – he had already promised to take her with him when he departed the ship, and knew him well enough to know that she wouldn't be spending a decade on a shelf. But the Commander had turned her off after her acceptance she'd expected to 'wake up' next aboard the U.S.S. Fortuna, but there was no mistaking the sickbay of the Hathaway. Also, rather than activate standing up she found herself laying on one of the bio-beds with a medical tricorder close at hand.

Doctor Grace sat up, taking a deep breath as she did, and placed a hand to her chest when she felt the air dragging across something inside her. She grabbed the tricorder and ran the device over her chest, discovering that there was a device inside her that filled her chest, and included a spine and pelvic bones. Around the time that Landon had taken command he'd promised to get her a mobile holographic emitter if he could, but the Voyager's Doctor kept the 29th century device and Jupiter Station's attempts to duplicate it with 24th century technology had failed. Taking another breath she tracked as the air was dragged across the device, and noted that her exhale was warmer than the ambient air reminding her that overheating had been a problem with the first mobile emitter design.

Standing the doctor eyed the door to sickbay with a sense of trepidation, moving to stand just outside the range of the door sensor. "Don't be chicken," she told herself, "The worse that could happen is that the holo-emitters won't allow me to leave."

Taking a deep breath to remind herself of the device in her chest she took a step forward to trigger the doors, which whooshed open to reveal that someone was waiting for her. Landon McAllister was wearing the a red shirt under the standard charcoal shouldered black jacket, with red markings on the cuffs of the sleeves, the three solid pips of his rank gleaming against the red collar of the shirt. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall opposite the doors and smiled as he stood up, holding out a hand.

If she'd had a heart Sylvia was sure that it would have skipped a beat at the sight of the man.

From the moment that she'd first been activated she had felt a certain amount of fascination about the hybrid officer. Visually, he demonstrated genetic traits of both Trill and Betazoid – an intriguing combination. Over the course of her service she had gotten to know Landon personally, learned that his father was half-Human and half-Betazoid while his mother was a Joined Trill. He was an only child, due to the difficulty his mother had in bringing him to term.

The first year of his life had been a struggle for survival, but after that he'd grown up relatively healthy. His father was an artist of some repute, having a form of synesthesia that translated his empathic sense into colors – his portraits were especially sought after. Raised by an empathic father and a mother with 3 lifetimes of prior experience was a unique situation that had made Landon different from anyone else Sylvia had met.

Keeping her pace measured Sylvia stepped out of sickbay and took the hand, surprised and a little afraid when the door to sickbay closed with another whoosh. His smile comforted and encouraged her.

"I thought about activating the mobile emitter on the Fortuna, but I thought this would be more appropriate," Landon said, his voice holding that familiar hint of amusement she adored. "So, how would you like a tour of the ship?"

There was no holodeck aboard, meaning that she'd spent 13 years confined to sickbay; the idea of exploring the aged starship excited Sylvia, and she looped her arm through Landon's as he started down the corridor. As they toured the ship the man explained where her mobile emitter had come from.

After Voyager returned from the Delta Quadrant their Doctor had gone to Jupiter Station Research Center so that the researchers could examine the 29th century mobile emitter. Hoping to become a test ship for the 24th century version of the emitter Landon had started up a letter correspondence with Lieutenant Reginald Barkley. The lieutenant was fascinated by the realities of command, having never considered that the difficulties he'd tried to escape through holodeck addiction while stationed on the Enterprise only became more complex as one rose up the ranks. In turn Barkley had kept Landon appraised of the myriad of dead-ends that the mobile emitter program kept hitting. Eventually the project was shelved, but while disappointed Landon had consoled his friend that what Reg had done was lay the ground work for a future project.

They had continued the relationship, all by correspondence, until the Hathaway had been decommissioned. Landon had almost a year of leave saved up, and had taken two months off while the Fortuna was undergoing a refit prior to launch, so he'd decided to stop in and visit Reg at Jupiter Station.

Landon had asked to see the first generation mobile emitter – a device about the size of an American football – and through his touch-empathy he'd gotten a sense of the difficulty that came in trying to fit all the intricate, and sometimes delicate, components into such a small space. "Reg, have you considered spreading the components out? I mean, you have the entire torso to work with."

It turned out that was something Barkley had not considered, and excited by the prospect the Lieutenant had started the project immediately. Not knowing what else to do Landon helped his friend arrange holographic representations of the components inside a holographic frame. When the technical jargon became too complex for him the Commander called in the research stations' staff, who were accustomed to Barkley's eccentricities.

He admitted then, "I don't know if it was necessarily legal for me to take the design notes, but I used my backlog of energy rations to replicate the components I could and purchased what I couldn't replicate from our Ferengi friend."

"You didn't sell another of your father's paintings, did you?" Sylvia gasped. That had been the price the Ferengi scavenger, Uvek, had demanded for her program module.

"Just a landscape," he tried to console her.

It had taken a month to assemble the device, test it, and then he'd made the decision to activate her aboard the Hathaway. Sylvia was distracted from her feelings of guilt as she stepped onto the bridge, and then she had only room for giddiness as she ran her fingers over the control surfaces and even sat in the Command Chair.

"Sylvia," he said in a tone of reluctance that chilled her ecstasy, "I know you changed your appearance for someone, and I want you to know – if you want to go to him I won't stop you."

Panic filled her as she wondered if he knew what had been done to her, what she had been forced to do. No, he couldn't know, he would throw her away if he knew, or was that what this was? Was he throwing her away? She closed her eyes and reminded herself that Landon was giving her the choice of going back to that . . . man . . . or stay with him. Sure, it was only as his CMO, but that was better than nothing.

Opening her eyes again she saw Landon's concerned look and smiled as she said, "That relationship is over, and I think I want to change my name." Rubbing the arms of the command chair she announced, "From now on, I want to be Sylvia Grace Hathaway."

End Chapter Two: A Gathering of Misfits