Chapter 13 – Combat
"How many units of the Scourge do you have remaining?"
Tom asked the question in his ready room. Apart from Talith, only his First Officer was present. Harry would need to factor the information into the calculations he was supervising with Voyager's science and ops teams. Still, even knowing that only Starfleet would have direct knowledge of the data, Talith's reflexive response was silence.
Wars were won – and lost – with information such as that she had been asked to provide.
"I have sworn to protect this information with my life. Talari soldiers have been taken captive by Denaros, subjected to torture and died, protecting it. And you expect me to … just give it to you?"
Tom shook his head, and decided to take another tack. He could tell that Talith wanted to speak, knew that she must - but there had been too many betrayals already and she would not readily add her own to the ones committed against her. She would need to be told that her oath no longer bound her, or else, be given a reason to break it.
"Talith – you know why we need this information. It is not for strategic purposes, and will not be transmitted to Denaros. We have calculated that we need at minimum …" he looked to Harry.
"One-hundred and forty-five."
"… one hundred and forty-five devices of the power of those that were dropped on Kyven, if we want to generate enough force to implode the Antarean anomaly. "
He took a breath, held it for a bit.
"So, fine. Don't tell me what you do have in your arsenal. Just tell me whether you have enough for that specific purpose, whether we should even bother to calculate how much benomite we need, and figure out an appropriate mode of transport."
Talith stared at him, unblinking. It was clear to Tom that he was asking her to do went against everything she was trained to do, against every principle she had instilled in her own people. More was needed.
And then he knew what she needed to hear.
"For Dary, and the children who live."
She swallowed, pale grey eyes boring into blue. A crack in the physical universe, forcing the crumbling of another. Finally, a nod.
"Yes. We have enough."
Harry punched his communicator, breathed into it with barely contained excitement. "That's a yes. Proceed."
But Tom wasn't done with her, not yet.
"How far away are they, at Warp Six?" He carefully avoided, for now, the question as to the precise where. That could wait.
Still, he met with more resistance, and a challenge. Talith's honour would not go quietly. He could only hope that his respect for her position was evident to her, as he held her pale eyes with his.
"At Warp Six? We have no ships that can go that fast. I thought you would know that, Captain."
"I do know you don't, Marshall. Starfleet does, though, and we can't afford snail pace. How far away from our present location at Warp Six?"
Silence, then, "Two days. Give or take."
Again, Tom and Harry looked at each other, nodding. It was unlikely that Voyager would be the ship to transport the weapons – not with its limited cargo capacity, and not with children aboard – but the information was required for Starfleet to calculate the number of vessels that would be needed to ferry them to the anomaly. The assumption was that they would have to make several runs; time was therefore a vital element.
Talith turned to Tom, clearly not happy. There would be no more information extracted from her today.
"Am I free to go?"
Where do you go, after breaking your oath?
"Yes, thank you, Marshall. Of course you are."
Talith started to head for the sliding door, her face a mask of stone. Tom followed her compact, erect form with his eyes.
"Would you like to participate in our planning? I doubt there's much peace negotiating happening in the immediate future. Not until we've got a viable plan laid out, anyway, and need everyone's agreement. We could use an experienced strategist."
Talith hesitated a little, but turned only halfway.
"Thank you, Captain. That is a most generous offer, and kindly meant. But your science is more advanced than ours, and I would just be in the way. Many things have happened in the last two days that bear reflection. I could use some … time alone."
The door hissed open and shut behind her as she left the ready room, to return to her quarters. Ignoring the security officers who immediately attached themselves to her, she paused briefly to watch Asil and Icheb enter the calculations that would spell out the future of her people.
…..
The next morning, those same calculations caused a pall over the briefing room.
"I am afraid it cannot be done, Captain, Admiral."
Rather than mask the import of Asil's words her flat voice seemed to stress it, nor could she conceal the fatigue of an all-out, overnight effort.
"There is no issue as to the availability of benomite. It is the single most prominent mineral on the planetoid the crew calls Midas; all our prior spectrological analyses confirm this. The issue is, however, one of volume and transport capabilities. The quantity of benomite required to repress the explosive effect of the Talari weapons sufficiently to create a singularity is beyond the size of any container in Starfleet's possession."
Even 70,000 light years from the Delta Quadrant, the words cannot be done retained their galvanizing effect on Kathryn Janeway. Her eyes flashed, and her mind started to race.
"Couldn't it be done one at a time? In one hundred and forty-five containers? Or containers holding, say, five weapons at a time?"
Harry shook his head. "The impact of the dispersal effect would be too great. Based on Icheb's projections, the weapons need to be set off and contained together in one single envelope in order to create a singularity of sufficient proportions to do what we need it to. Proximity of the weapons to each other is critical."
"What the Commander is saying," Asil reinforced the message, "is that we need one single containment field. A field the size of which is impossible to achieve, based on the equipment at the Federation's disposal."
Impossible. Another word not frequently heard in the vocabulary of Voyager's crew, however logical. Others around the table refused to accept defeat that easily.
"Do the Romulans have anything big enough? They tend to do things on a grand scale, and they owe the Federation for hiding that planet in the Neutral Zone." B'Elanna shot a quick look at her husband. Janeway shook her head.
"That matter is officially settled, B'Elanna. Besides, I'm not aware that they have any containers bigger than ours."
"Just how much benomite do we need? If we don't have big enough containers, couldn't we stuff the weapons into, like, an old unused starship?"
Pablo Baytart had never been part of senior officers' briefings in the Delta Quadrant, but dealt with their fallout often enough to know that no was not an acceptable answer. He had also learned that most things he had once considered impossible turned out to be … not.
"When we considered containers, Lieutenant Baytart, we included in that category any vessel of any sort that it might be possible for Starfleet to bring into this sector within the time required to save the first affected M-class planet. I am afraid the minimum requirement would be a contained environment of twice the size of Jupiter Station."
"Aww, crap."
Baytart's curse was heartfelt, and despite its mild inappropriateness in the briefing room all it earned was assenting nods, including from a still-distracted Janeway. Jupiter Station was the largest man-made construct in the Federation; its external hull alone had taken over two decades to build. But how long could it take to construct a basic container – round or square, no sophisticated instrumentation? She started playing with her PADD, entering figures.
Tom sighed. "Guess what we really need is something like that sinkhole of an asteroid I buried the Flyer in that time – remember? That thing came complete with its own benomite mantle, and caves."
His words had barely left his mouth when he stopped, closed it, then opened it again in mute continuation of his initially flippant observation. Kathryn and Harry both stared at him, then all three of them spoke at once.
Harry uttered the single word: "Midas!"
Kathryn focused immediately on the next important threshold issue. "Icheb, is the benomite layer on XT-3476 thick enough to contain an underground explosion?"
Tom, having already dismissed the what in his mind and moved on to the how, turned to Asil, Harry and B'Elanna.
"Question for you three geniuses. What does it take to knock a former rogue planetoid out if its orbit, to give a world-eating anomaly a serious case of heartburn?"
…..
As it turned out, even though they were quite capable of carrying out the necessary calculations and modeling potential outcomes, any expectation that Voyager's crew could actually implement the proposed solution by themselves was rather unrealistic. Even a team that was used to, as Tom put it, move Heaven and Earth to get their way, had to admit that whatever equipment was needed to dislodge a planetoid from its orbit would not be found on an Intrepid class star ship.
But with the disturbances from the anomaly at a greater distance, and a few additional adjustments to the deflectors, subspace communications had been re-established overnight. Initial contact with the Daystrom Institute had been promising, and a conference call set up shortly thereafter.
Tom had always harboured slight suspicions towards the Institute, which seemed to his mind to be full of people more concerned with theory than useful, practical things – he still hadn't forgiven them for the six-hour grilling he had been forced to undergo on his knowledge of the Q continuum. But maybe in this instance theory and practice could, for once, be merged?
He settled back in his chair, happy to allow Kathryn Janeway to take the lead in the discussion.
"Orbital adjustment or displacement is an uncommon but still standard procedure, first carried out in the twenty-second century, when an asteroid threatening to collide with Vulcan and was successfully diverted."
Levak, the Vulcan scientist who oversaw the terraforming faculty at the Institute, managed to imbue his clipped recital with an impressive blend of superciliousness and reassurance.
"It is usually performed to adjust a promising planetoid's orbit, or adjust the oscillation of its rotation axis to one that would provide a more hospitable or stable climate for colonization. Removing XT-3476 from the gravitational pull of the system altogether would require a similar approach, but should in fact be relatively easier given that it would not require the precision or effective relocation. Moreover, the planetoid was trapped only recently and has not yet achieved a fully stable orbit."
Kathryn had been listening intently, allowing her scientist background a rare blossoming.
"You say 'relatively easier,' Professor. What kind of timeframe are we looking at? I understand orbital adjustment for terraforming purposes can take a decade or more."
"We have taken the liberty to make the necessary calculations, Admiral, based on the rather … rudimentary ones provided by Captain Paris' crew."
Tom suppressed a snide remark. Academic superiority over practitioners' work was not something he had a great deal of time for at the best of times - but this wasn't the best of times and so he let it go with a Janewayesque glare that was lost on the Vulcan. Luckily, the latter redeemed himself almost immediately.
"Most of the necessary equipment is presently engaged in a project inside the Tarikoff belt, but their assignment there is almost concluded. We can have the equipment in place within a year, and operational shortly thereafter. I understand the part of your crew's calculations that concerned the path XT-3466 needed to take towards the anomaly upon dislocation, was adequate. And I am pleased to report that the first suitable orbital window occurs within approximately eighteen standard months. We will aim for this as our target date, given that the next one occurs twenty-eight point six years later. It should be feasible."
Tom whistled soundlessly. What Levak had not said explicitly was clear in the unforgiving numbers: They had one shot to save two civilizations. Should had to become must.
Levak gave them both a considered look through the comm link, and dropped the superciliousness.
"It may perhaps be inappropriate to state this, Admiral, but certain members of my staff … are in fact eagerly anticipating this opportunity, which they consider to be unique. You may be assured of the Institute's complete cooperation."
Kathryn smiled, a little grimly. "I know how you feel, Professor Levak. It isn't every day that we get to move pieces around on a chessboard of quite this scale. And," she added softly, "with so many lives at stake."
Tom only half-listened as Levak and Janeway continued an animated – almost, on the side of the Vulcan – exchange about the details of the future operation, and the science behind it. Except when it came to holo-programming and shuttle design Tom considered himself a 'big picture' guy, one who, once he'd thrown an interesting idea on the table, liked to step back and leave the details to others.
As pleased as he was seeing his crew's ideas put into action, though, Tom was also not exactly keen on spending the next year in the Antarean sector overseeing their implementation. If the good folks at Daystrom wanted to play, he'd be more than happy to let them have this particular sandbox all to themselves. But he also knew that a few issues remained to be resolved, and decided to move the discussion along.
"And the creation of the singularity? Have you given this any thought?"
He could barely conceal his relief when Levak nodded.
"Yes, indeed we have, Captain. The resulting observations will prove most enlightening for our astrophysics faculty, and they have already registered their interest in carrying out the necessary work in conjunction with the Vulcan Academy of Science, albeit under the Institute's leadership."
The briefest of glimmers appeared in Levak's eyes at that last statement, and the emphasis was not lost on the two Starfleet officers. A spot of ancient history and institutional rivalry, perhaps? Or maybe something more … personal? Kathryn suppressed a smile as the Vulcan continued.
"The Federation Council has tentatively approved the deployment of six Whorfin-class vessels that will be able to move the weapons into place and ensure they have the necessary benomite cover. We are optimistic that Starfleet can make these vessels available on short order."
You bet they will. The look Kathryn exchanged with Tom said it all. Nacheyev was next on their list of calls; with their combined forces of persuasion, resistance would be futile.
And speaking of resistance, Tom had very little when it came to making his next comment.
"Good to hear. And from what I understand, there's already been considerable mining activity on XT-3476 that should help you find an appropriate underground location to bury the stuff. They even have the right digging equipment in place, all ready to go."
Levak' eyebrows shot up.
"That is welcome news indeed, Captain, and should be of great assistance in meeting the necessary timelines."
Kathryn's lips twitched in amusement after they signed off.
"Have you mentioned to the Ferengi that you're offering their kit to Starfleet for its use, and so it can get exploded and sent into subspace with Midas? They may have a word to say about that."
Tom shrugged.
"Do we care? Or more precisely, do we need to care? That's your field, I guess."
She sighed. "Unfortunately, I think we do need to care, Tom. The Federation has been trying to come to some kind of grip with the Ferengi Alliance for almost two decades now. Their neutrality in the Dominion War was not unhelpful – it could have been worse, if they had allied with the Founders and the Cardassians – but it would have been more helpful if they had sided with the Federation."
"In other words, we still don't like them but we can't afford to piss them off, is that what you're saying?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Tom."
He pulled a face, but wasn't ready to give up quite that easily.
"But from what I understand, most of the Ferengi running scams outside their own territory are private … what's the word? Entrepreneurs. They have diddly-squat to do with the Alliance itself, if only to avoid paying taxes to the Grand Nagus. This guy, Daimon Kol, by all indications is working with the Orion Syndicate. Last time I looked, the Alliance wasn't. And I did look. When I did my homework reading in the Snowflakes, private enterprise is all I saw. Individual Ferengi traders, out to make a buck with the Orions, well outside the Alliance's sensor range. If Kol claims he's with the Ferengi Commerce Authority, he's lying right through his crooked teeth."
Kathryn considered him carefully. Tom's last assumption was checked easily enough; the Federation did invest considerable resources to keep track of appointed officials in all the worlds it had dealings with. She walked over to the terminal on his desk and entered a few fluid strokes, feeling a faint tingle at the familiarity of the console under her fingers. Tom watched her with some amusement but said nothing.
"Hmpf," she said, after a minute or so.
Tom briefly considered whether it would be appropriate to gloat – if only just a little - but her next words put a quick end to any such impulse.
"Well, Captain, since you appear to be correct and he is in fact not a representative of the Ferengi authorities, it would be entirely appropriate if you, rather than me, be the one to advise him of our plans. Plausible deniability, you understand."
She grinned, just a little maliciously, as she watched the dismay spread over her former helmsman's handsome features.
"Hmpf," he said.
…..
Daimon Kol, needless to say, was less than pleased to hear of Starfleet's plans for his operation and equipment. Tom made it equally clear that he didn't care.
"You see, Kol, the thing is," he said, "the people who told you that you could do what you did didn't actually have any right to tell you that. And now the people that do have that right, they're pretty pissed off with you and they want back what's rightfully theirs. Not only that, but they'll take it. Starting now."
Janeway cleared her throat just a little; the discussion with Karon and Naldar about seizing Ferengi assets and using them to turn Midas into a weapons cache first, and a singularity thereafter, had not yet actually taken place. She had no expectations that either delegation would refuse, but technically Tom was about three steps ahead of where she hoped to get to by the end of the day.
"Idle threats," Kol sputtered. "Unacceptable. We have made considerable investments that will …"
Unimpressed, Tom cut him off.
"Are you familiar with the concept of nationalization? Look it up, cause that's what's happening to you. But really, you don't need to bother because as I think you know, they have some pretty big guns to make their point with."
He dropped the disingenuous approach like a cloak.
"And they're willing to use those guns, if you don't clear out your people by the end of the next rotation. In fact, I have one of those things in my shuttle bay, and the person who best knows how to use them is in guest quarters on my ship. The Supreme Leader of Talar happens to be here too, ready to give her the order. Co-signed by the President of Denaros, in case you're thinking you can deploy your Orion friends to deepen the divisions between the Binary worlds some more. So I'd suggest that take your shuttles, load them up with all the dilithium you can carry, leave the diggers behind, and call it a win. Or a draw. I really don't care. Our …"
He looked for the right word for a moment, one that the Ferengi would understand. "Our Denarian andTalari clients will accept the diggers as payment for what you have already taken, and refrain from launching a complaint with the Grand Nagus. Who, I am certain, would be only too happy to hear of your activities, and demand his fair share of your past profits. I hear he is pretty generous to himself."
Tom gave the man a conspiratorial smile that belied his previous grim demeanour.
"But you see, if you leave quietly, we may just forget to comm Grand Nagus Rom. We're not unreasonable, you will agree."
It quickly became clear that the mention of the Grand Nagus, and the risk of losing his past profits, affected Kol rather more deeply than any threats to his personal safety implied – or express – Tom could have made. The situation would have been almost comical but for Tom's acute awareness of the havoc that the man's hunger for profit had wrought on innocent lives, including on the crew of the Gettysburg. He allowed his voice to turn cold again.
"One final comment, Kol. If you ever dare show your face in Federation space, be aware that I will personally hunt you down for your role, direct or indirect, in the deaths of three hundred and three Starfleet personnel on the USS Gettysburg and three on this ship. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that you will never set foot on Ferenginor again. Is that understood?"
The Ferengi glared at Tom through the vid link, gritted his teeth and reached for the disconnect, trying to preserve his dignity by snarling something that sounded like 'empty threats, hu-mon' as he did so.
Behind him in the shadows, a figure rose and moved out of the screen just as it turned black.
Tom turned to Janeway, who had been watching the exchange from a far corner of his ready room, a half-grin on his face.
"So, how'd I do? Do I have a future as a diplomat? I hope not."
She shook her head.
"You did fine, Tom, apart from that little spot of … improvisation about what Karon and Naldar haven't actually agreed to yet. I'm surprised with all your love of early Earth history, you're not familiar with where the cart goes, in relation to the horse."
She shrugged.
"But I suppose you're right; they don't really have a choice but to back you up if anyone asks. Just remember though, dealing with the Ferengi is like playing … what was it you called that carnival game you set up for Naomi Wildman when she was little? Whack-a-mole? You hit one on the head and send him back in his hole, and another one pops up somewhere else, doing similar things? It's like that. They never really go away."
Tom smiled briefly at her use of the image, but sobered as the small feeling of triumph he had indulged in for a moment begun to fade under the sheer weight of the reality that remained.
"You're right. In a society based on individuals making as much money as they can get away with, the whole idea of central control or oversight is a joke. Guess we should count ourselves lucky if we manage to whack this one down."
He shook his head. No one in the Ferengi Alliance would care one iota about pre-empting future endeavours, as long as there was a cut to be had and the body count did not include themselves.
"Well, at least we know he won't be asking the so-called Ferengi fleet for help, and if he does, there's probably no one home to answer the comm because they know they won't get paid."
His former Captain laid a hand on his arm, the pressure of her fingers forcing Tom to look her in the eye.
"You're right," Kathryn said, he voice low but urgent. "The Ferengi are likely not going to be a problem, and there's not going to be any official fall-out from the confiscation of Kol's equipment and machinery that you just announced. But what about the man who was with him?"
Tom looked at her, a frown creasing his face. "You mean the guy in the background? What about him?"
Kathryn's eyes narrowed. Being deliberately obtuse or disingenuous was a technique Tom Paris had successfully deployed in the past, but she wouldn't let him get away with it this time. She couldn't afford to, and neither could B'Elanna … or Miral.
"Computer, replay the last few seconds of the comm exchange with Daimon Kol."
The computer complied without comment, and Kol's bulbous head filled the frame. A figure was visible in the ill-lit background just over the Ferengi's left shoulder.
"Now focus on the background. Adjust contrast, increase background lighting by fifty percent, and freeze."
The enhanced image showed a Rigellian, a prominent scowl visible on his naturally hard and angular features as he glared with withering contempt at the back of Kol's head.
"I assume this is one of the Syndicate members," Janeway said softly, her eyes not fixed on the Rigellian but on Tom's face.
"Stands to reason," Tom replied, rather too carelessly for her liking. "It seems they have a rather solid Rigellian membership. And I bet if he didn't need Kol's ships to get him off this rock, Kol wouldn't last very long. The Orions…"
"… don't take kindly to failure, I know. You told Kol that the last time, Tom. What concerns me, though, is that they also don't take kindly to interference. And that's twice now you've played a major role in terminating one of their … ventures."
She grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to turn towards her. Finally, she was able to capture his eyes with hers, and when she spoke, it was softly. Very softly, in the way that she knew would cut him far deeper than any stern lecture.
"They will know you did this, Tom. That it was you who interfered in their operation."
Her hand stayed on his arm, her eyes completing the words: And I let you, because I couldn't endanger the negotiations by doing it myself.
He stared at her, defiantly.
"And what about you?"
She shook her head, her lips pursed.
"The Syndicate knows better than to go for the high-profile targets. People like me, they try and buy. Effective operators like you, they remove from the picture."
Tom sighed, surrendering.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. But if we're lucky, they'll be sufficiently pissed off to crawl out of the shadows so Starfleet can go after them once and for all."
She knew it was all the concession she would get from him for now, but felt she should add something nonetheless.
"I suppose until that happens, Starfleet will have to keep you in space for a while, to make sure you're safe."
Tom stared at her in disbelief. Boothby's rather similar and rather prophetic words from now long ago notwithstanding, all he heard – all he was able to hear right now – was two words: Space. Safe.
He repeated them out loud, for her benefit, his eyebrows raised in a question mark.
His laughter started as a sharp cackle, eventually turning into a guffaw. It did not take very long for Kathryn to join in, despite her far better judgment.
…..
How many rounds of negotiations had it been, up to this point? Kathryn had lost count, but she also knew that this would be the one that would matter. She waited for her features to settle into an approximation of what Admiral Janeway should be, took a deep breath, and entered the holodeck.
Naldar and Karon were present, accompanied by Talith and Karon's civilian assistant, as before. One day she would remember that man's name, she swore to herself. Judging by their facial expressions, little appeared to have changed since the last session – except, of course, everything.
Not a bad place to start.
"Gentlemen." She fixed the two leaders in turn with a grey-eyed stare.
"We have a solution. A solution that, if our calculations are correct, will force the anomaly back into subspace. It will also remove from the Antarean sector the one thing that ignited the conflict between Denaros and Talar."
The one thing you both want, more than anything.
She had their attention, and she knew better this time than to get into scientific details. They would not care.
"Let me explain …"
As expected, the majority of the discussions – which were needlessly heated, even in the absence of an audience that could have celebrated the respective protagonists' defence of their people's purported interest - centered around the possibility of exploiting some of its riches, while it was being prepared for orbital adjustment. And the matter of division of the ephemeral wealth. After over an hour of pointless wrangling, Kathryn snapped.
"Gentlemen, what you fail to understand is that what excavations will be carried out on Midas from now on will be limited to burying explosives, and moving benomite to covering them up. There will be no time for commercial activity."
The last thing Federation and Starfleet scientists and terraformers would need, Kathryn figured, were Denarians and Talari agents bickering over who saw which dilithium deposit first. She didn't even blanch at her own white lie – the logistical studies provided by Daystrom were still preliminary, and she really had no idea what equipment would be needed, and how long it would take to put the weapons in place. But Kathryn's experience since she had taken the admiral's bars had taught her that even the most factual report was open to negotiation when it came to the recommendations section; she grimly resolved on the spot that the assertion she had just made would be present and written in bold.
Faced with the inevitable, Naldar leaned back in his seat and stared at Karon, long and hard.
"Peace," he finally said.
"Peace," Karon replied.
Neither man made an effort to conceal his distaste as they touched their respective shoulders with their right hand, the traditional gesture of commitment and respect. Talith and her Denari civilian opposite number held themselves perfectly still, bearing witness.
Kathryn took a deep breath, considering what words might be appropriate to this occasion. Carefully, weighing each one, she spoke.
"This is a historic occasion. I congratulate you both for an agreement that will ensure the continued survival of both Denaros and Talar, and their colonies. On behalf of the Federation, I …"
Tom' frowned, and looked around the table. That was it? Surely not …
"But, Admiral. What about …"
Kathryn raised her hand at the interruption. She glared at him now, willing him to silence.
Not now, Tom.
Clenching his jaw, his eyes hard as he held hers, Tom inclined his head.
Your mission, Admiral.
He rose, turned on his heel and left the room, feeling Talith's eyes bore into his back as he went.
NOTE: "Combat" is the fencing equivalent to "Game, set and match" in tennis. It's what the judge announces when a bout is over, whether it is because the necessary number of hits has been scored or time has run out, just before he affects a bored expression and heads over to the scoring table to initial the results sheet and make it official.
This is the moment when, if the stakes were sufficiently high, the victorious fencer rips off his or her mask in triumph and lets out a blood-curdling scream. (Adrenaline is the world's best way to rid oneself of inhibitions in this regard.) The loser, on the other hand - depending on their degree of sportsmanship and self-control - may just stand there for a moment to digest the end of a dream, or else throw their mask on the floor and stomp off in disgust.
Not everything is settled with the end of a match, of course. At the very least, the winner retires to a quiet corner to prepare for the next round, which will inevitably be even tougher.
And since the Olympics are on now and all the fencing events are happening this week – on a very, very personal note, one that has absolutely nothing to do with anything herein: GOOD LUCK SHERRAINE – GO KICK SOME BUTT!