"Lieutenant, thank you for coming. You're recovering well?"

Trathal nodded. "Yes Sir, Doctor Tsosie expects to sign me off as fit for all duties in a day or two."

"Excellent." Carew beamed at her, before turning back to the others as they came into the meeting room and sat round the table. Trathal was alarmed to see that Xah seemed to have been in a series of fights, with new bruises overlaying old ones, and what looked like a half-healed bite mark on one cheek; a bite that would have been made with needle-like teeth.

That looks like... has she been fighting Shosak!? I saw him in the canteen this morning, he wouldn't have been there if he'd been fighting the crew! However, Carew didn't even give her injuries a second glance.

As he caught up with his officers, Trathal studied him. He spoke to his officers very differently to Captain Forest. Forest was very proper. He was respectful, but not equal. He handled them, and himself, as an Andorian officer would. It was comforting. Carew, on the other hand, smiled a lot. He joked, slyly, at his own expense as often as at theirs. When he spoke to the engineer, Johansson, he was reassuring, whereas with Xah he was robust and combative. And, she realised, with her he exaggerated his expressions slightly, to compensate for his lack of antennae.

In short, he worked at keeping his officers happy with him, and his officers seemed to respond. The atmosphere in the meeting was a lot more relaxed than it would have been on the Ptolemy, and she didn't like it. A commanding officer shouldn't be... chummy with their crew!

She was anxious to get back to work on the Recidivist, even if working in some of its cramped and awkward spaces would be torment until her multitudinous bruises and strains finished healing. At least Commander Shepard knew how an officer should conduct herself.

The door slid open and Doctor Tsosie hurried in. "My apologies, Captain, a procedure on one of the Higgs' survivors developed complications."

Carew nodded soberly. "Will the patient be alright?"

"It's too early to say if recovery will be complete, I'm afraid."

"Well I know you and your team are doing everything you can in difficult circumstances. I've asked for a medical ship to be routed here, but no word yet." Carew glanced round. "Now we're all here, Starfleet Command are studying Captain Forest's and my reports, but they're keen to get your impressions of the performance of the ARS Recidivist."

Xah looked at him sceptically. "Why? Are they hoping to recruit them into Starfleet?"

"Hah! That would be interesting! But, no. Commander Shepard's shared a lot of information about their technology, and Command need to know where to focus research efforts. They want to get your views on the off-chance the specialist researchers overlook something."

Trathal cleared her throat awkwardly. "Um. Captain, with respect, is there any point?" She flinched inside as all eyes turned on her, then rallied. "From what I've seen while helping with their repairs, practically every major system on that ship relies on this 'element zero'. Their drive cores are formed of tonnes of it. I can't believe that we've just... overlooked this substance, so if it really doesn't exist in our universe..." She ran down.

Carew glanced over at Johansson, who looked awkward. Trathal had been told that he was a civilian who'd volunteered to serve for the duration of the war. It spoke volumes for Starfleet's desperation that they'd taken on someone with no experience of service; and someone so eccentric. He must have had some sort of medical phobia, because he actually wore corrective lenses over his eyes.

"Um. Well. It may be possible to emulate some of element zero's effects using subspace and graviton fields. For example, their singularity power sources; we know the Romulans have cracked the production and containment of those."

Carew nodded firmly. "I understand that's what Command is thinking. For example, could we reproduce their manoeuvrability at warp speeds..."

"Pointless." Xah leant forwards. "We should concentrate on their weapons systems."

Carew glanced at her sharply. "Their manoeuvrability was clearly superior to any Federation OR Klingon vessel I've ever heard of." he snapped.

Xah shook her head impatiently. "That worked once, against an enemy that wasn't expecting it. I considered how we would cope should the Asari turn hostile."

"And?"

"It took me ten minutes to reconfigure our targeting systems to accurately target a ship manoeuvring in that way at warp speeds." Xah sat back and folded her arms. "If the Dominion had survived a few minutes longer, the Recidivist would have been destroyed. The Dominion won't be caught out again."

Carew gazed at her levelly for a moment, then nodded sharply. "Very well. Weapons systems."

"And medi-gel."

Carew looked at Doctor Tsosie, seeming genuinely surprised. "Really?"

Tsosie looked faintly embarrassed. "Yes. It's not that the nanites in it can do anything that a properly equipped and manned medical centre can't do as well... usually better... but you can't take a full medical centre into combat. And a medical bay like ours, even like those on Galaxy class ships, is capacity limited. Any ship that suffers casualties in combat would find a reserve of medi-gel invaluable."

Carew hesitated, then shook his head slightly. He was suddenly looking very tense. "I don't know. Have you read Shepard's account of what the Reapers did with similar nano-tech? Producing... warped, shock-troop horrors out of their victims? Worse than the Borg." He was looking pale, now, and Trathal thought his hands were trembling slightly. But his voice was calm and steady.

Tsosie just shrugged. "As far as I can tell their nanites aren't all that different to the nanites we use in cellular surgery. Just much more flexible. If we had the designs and programming protocols for them, we could probably program them on the fly for any procedure on any Federation race without having to manufacture specific nanites." He looked thoughtful. "Maybe even program them to counteract Borg nanites."

Carew clasped his hands firmly. "I'll pass your observations along to Starfleet Command." He cleared his throat. "So. Weapons systems, and... wormhole drive? Mr Johansson?"

"Oh. Yes... Hm." Johansson pushed his ridiculous eyeglasses up his nose, and steepled his fingers. "While their wormhole drive potentially offers a significant advance on warp drive, I don't think we should think of touching it during the current emergency. Even they don't understand how it could throw them into another universe! Maybe a long-term research project.

"And I think we can skip over their particle weapons..." Xah snorted derisively, but didn't interrupt. "... which, while they make fascinating use of element zero to boost their energy levels are still, um... woefully underpowered.

"Their torpedoes and that singularity cannon are another matter." He smiled weakly. "I've been studying our sensor readings, and those from the Ptolemy and Zhang Qian. I wouldn't like to have to work out a defence against those, and I doubt the Dominion would do so quickly."

Carew glanced at Xah. "Couldn't they just shoot the torpedoes? With targetting adjustments like the ones Lieutenant Xah worked out, it wouldn't be too hard."

"Oh, we'd have to modify standard torpedoes. Less manoeuvrable, but the shields would more than compensate for that! They'd be very, very hard to defend against. Um... if we could work out how to duplicate the effect. It wouldn't be easy."

Johansson fell silent, lost in thought. After a few seconds Carew sighed, and tapped on the table to get his attention. "Why's that?"

"Oh! Sorry. Well, it's not just the high intensity of the gravitational fluctuations they produce, it's the broad spread of frequencies, right down to the centimetre wavelength. Subspace fields can produce the intensity, but only at very low frequencies. When we push the frequency up, for communication, we have to drop the intensity." He laughed, a bit nervously. "Can't blow ships up with a communicator array!"

Carew sighed. "Mr Johansson, while your peers might understand what's obvious to you, I don't. Why is the frequency so important?"

Johansson looked puzzled. "Because of the Structural Integrity Field! Low frequency gravitational distortions just affect the gross superstructure of a ship. The SIF protects against anything like that! Well, short of hitting a cosmic string. But those Asari torpedoes affect everything!" Johansson started waving his hands excitedly. "Crushing components, twisting them, stretching... That's why the ships hit by them were destroyed so extravagantly! The dilithium crystals in the warp core would have been cracked, the antimatter injectors jammed, processor matrices shattered, the warp coils misaligned... Just about every major function would have been damaged simultaneously!" He paused, looking eagerly around at the others. "The yield of the warhead is actually much lower than a photon torpedo. Those Dominion ships mostly destroyed themselves."

There was a long pause while the implications sank in.

Trathal lifted one finger. "And the crew?"

"Oh, most of them would have been incapacitated. Brain haemorrhages, ruptured organs, fractured bones..." Johansson hesitated, and at least had the decency to look a little abashed. "But at least it would have been quick."

"A pity."

Trathal glanced at Xah, who was looking grim. "The Dominion deserve to suffer."

Tsosie opened his mouth to respond, looking angry, but Carew smoothly spoke over him. "Well, no one ever said that war didn't cause appalling suffering. But possibly these weapons will help us shorten the war and avoid suffering on all sides. In the long term." Tsosie closed his mouth, looking at Xah balefully.

Johansson shifted uneasily. "Ahem. Well. As I was saying, I don't think we can do anything with subspace fields. Maybe with graviton fields... Hm. As for the singularity weapon..."

"They call it a Blackstar Cannon." Trathal wasn't sure why she'd interrupted. Perhaps because the other officers still seemed to regard the Asari as being lucky primitives. But she'd worked on their tech, and while a lot of it lacked the raw power of the Federation technology, there was an elegance to it which was not primitive. In fact, if the Federation didn't have the good fortune to have dilithium to regulate their antimatter-based power generation, she wondered if their technology would ever have advanced beyond fusion-powered impulse drive, and simple fusion torpedoes.

At least Johansson didn't seem annoyed by the interruption. "Oh! What an appropriate name!" He smiled as if he'd thought of it himself. "Anyway, as for the Blackstar Cannon, it has its advantages and disadvantages."

"Dis-advantages?" Carew looked at him quizzically. "The way it went straight through their shields looked like all advantage to me!"

"Hem, yes, well, as a close quarters weapon, I'd say you were right." Johansson was getting back into enthusiastic lecturing mode. "But it's fundamentally a simple line of sight projectile weapon. No guidance at all. At any significant range, there's no way it would hit anything! And a ship at warp would just shunt it aside. It's strictly a knife-fight range weapon, less flexibility than... well, than almost any of our weapons systems. But devastating at very close range, definitely."

"Until the Dominion work out how to shield against it" Xah muttered.

"I... I don't think they can."

"Pfh. The Federation was able to counter polaron beam weapons." She was looking openly scornful now.

"Well, all we needed was one captured Dominion vessel. Once we realised that polaron particles spontaneously shift frequency in a high graviton field, we just had to introduce harmonic frequencies into our shields. But the singularity fired by the Blackstar... it's gravitational slope means it just bends the graviton flux around it. It's fundamental physics. None of the deflector shields used by the Dominion, or any of the civilisations we know of, could block it."

That doesn't seem right. "Our shields can protect ships against the gravitational effects of much larger singularities..."

Johansson looked over at Trathal's interruption, and smiled brightly. I should have kept quiet; he really likes correcting people.

"Yes! Precisely! Larger singularities; with correspondingly shallower gravitational slopes. The Blackstar singularities are tiny, a matter of kilogrammes; their Schwarzchild radius is a thousandth of a femtometer! Which means that at the Schwarzschild radius the gravitational slope is as near vertical as makes no difference! They won't just pass straight through shields, but straight through a hull into the heart of a ship.

Again, their yield is very, very low; only... ummm... about eighty magatons. But as that's being released inside the shields... indeed, in the middle of the target..." He shrugged. "They could probably destroy a Borg cube with a few well placed shots. If they could get close enough!"

He hesitated, frowned pensively. "Although... I'm dashed if I can figure out how they stabilise the singularity. It should evaporate through Hawking radiation, with the release of all that energy, within a few femtoseconds." He sighed irritably. "Even at near light-speed, with relativistic effects, it shouldn't clear the cannon, let alone last until it reaches the target." He fell silent, staring into space, his lips moving silently.

"Alright!" Carew sat up straighter. "I'll pass on your observations and recommendations. Anything else?"

Trathal thought for a moment as Carew looked from one to the other of his officers. "It's probably not the right time, but I think we should at least look into how Asari Republic ships are designed."

Xah looked disgruntled. "Do you think they can build ships better than the Federation? Or the Klingon Empire?"

"Not... better, exactly. But more suited to combat with ships of similar power and technology." She looked at Carew as she carried on. He's the one I need to convince, not her. "The Recidivist is built with massive redundancy in his systems..."

"His?"

"Oh. Yes. The Asari seem to refer to their ships, or at least, the Recidivist, as male rather than female... which is odd, because there are no Asari males." She shrugged. "It may be a problem with the universal translators misidentifying Asari concepts as being gendered; like the way they refer to parents as mother and father, even when they're both female."

She shook her head, irritated at herself. "But that's not the point. They build their ships on the assumption they'll take damage in battle, and will have to keep fighting regardless. So where our ships have a single warp core, and if we have to eject it they're effectively dead in space, the Asari have multiple singularity cells, and can keep fighting on just one. Where we might have a single plasma conduit taking power to a shield quadrant, they have multiple superconducting cables, and each of those can keep working, at least partly, even half severed. And all their weapons are designed to have some level of functionality even at reduced power."

She paused, starting to feel embarrassed at the steady stares of the more senior officers. "After trying to keep the Ptolemy, and my last assignment, working in combat, and having seen what happened on the Higgs... perhaps we should adopt some of the same design philosophies."

A high-pitched, nasal snort came from Johansson. "Well said Ms... err.."

"Trathal" murmured Carew.

"Trathal! Yes. I've been saying the same for decades!" He scowled unhappily. "No-one ever listens, of course. Too happy to stick to what they already know."

Carew didn't say anything for a few moments, just watched Johansson, then turned to Trathal and nodded. "I take your point Lieutenant, and to an extent I agree. But I think that this current conflict will be resolved long before any new ship designs could go into production." He sighed slightly, and looked steadily around at each person in turn. "Resolved one way or the other.

"So." He rested his hands flat on the table. "Thank you all for your observations, I'll pass them on to Starfleet Command along with my own recommendations. Lieutenant Trathal, might you wait behind for a few moments? The rest of you are dismissed."

As the others started to file out, Trathal wondered what he wanted with her. As much as she wanted to carry on learning about the Recidivist's technology (and working with Orilai), she was starting to regret agreeing to stay on DS6 when the Ptolemy went back on patrol. Something about Carew's manner troubled her; he was even harder to read than most humans, and she couldn't shake the feeling that there were unseen depths below his usually affable presentation. With Captain Forest she had always felt that what you saw was what you got. But behind his open countenance Carew could be thinking anything.

Just as Xah was about to leave the room, he suddenly spoke up. "Oh, by the way Xah, are your... sparring sessions with Security Chief Shosak all you'd hoped?" His words seemed innocuous enough, but there was something odd in his tone that had Trathal glancing instinctively toward his non-existent antennae.

Obviously Xah heard it too, because as she half-turned in the doorway, she suddenly seemed off-balance; even flustered. "Oh! Uh, yes Captain. Shosak is a most satisfying... opponent. To spar with."

Is... is she blushing?

"I'm glad to hear it. But do take care; I can't afford for you to get too enthusiastic and render yourself... ah, unfit to discharge your duties."

"I assure you, Captain, there is no chance of that." Xah had drawn herself up in haughty outrage, but Trathal thought there was a sudden hint of alarm on her face.

"Excellent. Carry on." Carew's bland smile was as impenetrable as ever, as Xah darted out of the room. Then he put his fingers to his temples and rubbed them, muttering "I knew it."

For a while he said nothing more until Trathal cleared her throat. "Ahem. You knew what... Sir?"

He glanced sidelong at her, and his almost permanent faint smile was now sardonic. "That our resident sadomasochistic pervert has found a like-minded playmate." He looked back at the door through which Xah had left. "Normally I wouldn't interfere, but I really don't think the universe is ready for a Klingon Vorcha hybrid. I hope she's gone to see Doctor Tsosie; just to be on the safe side."

Trathal stared at him aghast; both at the thought of the possibility, and at his crude and insulting language. She'd heard worse – far worse – from her drill Sergeant on Andoria, but Carew was a Starfleet Officer!

"You look shocked."

Trathal stared at him, her outrage at war with her respect for authority. Respect be damned, he doesn't deserve it! "Sir, I think your attitude toward a fellow officer is inexcusable."

To her surprise, rather than looking angry, or even abashed, his smile just broadened. "I'm glad to see you're prepared to speak your mind." He tapped his comm. "Computer, Captain Carew and Lieutenant Trathal are not to be disturbed until further notice."

"Confirmed."

Suddenly there was no expression at all on his face. Trathal had to suppress an involuntary shudder; with no antennae to betray his mood, it was like looking at a corpse.

"Lieutenant, I'm going to ask you to do something which you might also think is inexcusable. Let me know if that's so."

She felt a strong urge to retreat from the room. He isn't going to proposition me, is he?!

"I'm sure you know that we're in a desperate situation. The fact is, we may be weeks from losing the war with the Dominion; months at best." He grimaced faintly. "Not the sort of thing Andorians usually like to hear, I know." He leant back slightly in his seat, studying her. "Starfleet Command are, frankly, grasping at any straw that offers itself. And the weaponry on the Recidivist is one of those straws."

Trathal glared at him, her antennae flat in mingled fear and aggression. "What, exactly, are you saying? ...Sir."

Carew kept studying her as he spoke, his careful, emotionless inspection making her feel like an insect impaled on the point of a pin.

"The information that Commander Shepard shared on Asari technology is incomplete. Schematics without context, and even those lack critical details. Starfleet Command can't do anything with that, not in the time we have. We got more useful information from our own sensor readings, and those only tell us what the technology does, not how.

"If we can't get more detailed information from Shepard voluntarily, then Command will probably order me to obtain the information however I can."

Trathal stood, her fists clenched. "They are our allies!"

Carew gave a small, indifferent shrug. "Nevertheless."

"I suppose you want me to spy on them? Steal data?!"

"I want you to report in as much detail as you can on everything they allow you see. And to do what you can to persuade Shepard to provide us with the information we need. Shepard, or any member of her crew." Carew came to his feet, looking her in the eye. "So that we can avoid any regrettable actions."

Trathal drew herself to parade-ground attention. He knows about Orilai. Of course he does. This is a neutral zone monitoring station, they probably spy on everybody all the time for fear of Romulan agents. He wants me to get her to go behind Shepard's back!

He asked me to. He didn't actually order me to. He hasn't explicitly ordered me to do anything. But I should. I'm a Starfleet officer. To do anything less than my utmost would be a betrayal of my oaths.

She took a deep breath. "Aye aye, Captain."

Carew nodded once. "Thank you Lieutenant. Dismissed."

As she turned to leave, he continued "By the way Lieutenant, I am ordering you to say nothing of this conversation to anybody. Is that clear?"

"... As crystal. Sir."

"DS6 to ARS Recidivist, next section coming your way."

"Thanks. And... got it."

The tractor beam moving the ring segment out of the DS6 assembly bay shut off, and Shepard breathed a sigh of relief as Recidivist took it with his own ME fields – ostensibly operated by one of the crew. Shepard had come to hate the Federation's tractor beams, they made her biotics crawl.

Still, she didn't want Reci trying to pull heavy material out from the assembly bay; she was afraid the force field over the bay would collapse and the DS6 crew inside would be flushed into space. Why the fuck don't they even use pressure suits in an open bay?! A bunch of tech-happy idiots, the lot of them!

Shepard looked around as Reci manoeuvred the four ton section close to it's final position in the front wormhole ring. She had never actually worked in a shipyard; even when Reci's old frame had needed overhauls and repairs, that had been done by specialist shipbuilders. But she'd visited him during his 'hospital stays' often enough for the current view to be both familiar and strangely odd.

The crew in their hardsuits, anchored to Reci's hull, the floating pieces of hardware waiting to be grabbed and secured into place, all this was familiar to the point of tedium.

But there should have been the harsh light of a local sun casting its all or nothing shadows in hard vacuum, and the intimidating vastness of the planet around which the shipyard orbited But here, in deep space on the edge of the neutral zone, there was only utter blackness and the actinic points of the station's floodlights, their intersecting beams casting a crazy patchwork of light and dark.

Even the stars were invisible, drowned out by the artificial glare.

- Recidivist → All – Close as I can get it without squishing you like the tiny little bugs you are. Have fun with it!

Shepard shook herself out of her reverie. Damn, I can't zone out like that!

+ Shepard → All + Okay everyone, on my mark, and lets take it gently, no need to hurry.

Shepard and a dozen of the strongest marines and technicians started carefully jockeying the piece into position. She and the marines weren't used to this sort of work; they were trained for brief bursts of full exertion, so there was an anxious few minutes of carefully synchronised biotic pulls and pushes before the heavy segment gently settled in place, and the remaining techs started scurrying over and through it, locking it down and starting the hundreds of precise connections to the rest of the ring.

She saw a handful of Federation pressure suits moving around among the Recidivist tech crew.

+ Shepard → S'Koil + How are the Federation techs shaping up? Are they any use?

* S'Koil * Surprisingly, yes. Not having biotics hampers them, but they're quick learners, and they work fast... oh Goddess, she's just too adorable!

+ Shepard + I assume you're losing your head over Lieutenant Trathal.

* S'Koil * Sorry Commander. It's just, listening to her going full 'career military' on the other Federation techs, with just her legs and bum sticking sticking out of a hole...

+ Shepard + Pull yourself together, you're acting like an infatuated forty year old!

* S'Koil * Ahem. Yes, sorry Commander.

+ Shepard + On the subject of the Lieutenant, I assume she's been trying to wrangle more info on our weapons tech out of you as well?

* S'Koil * Rather transparently, yes. I'm just waiting to see if she tries seducing it out of me!

+ Shepard + This isn't funny, S'Koil! What did you tell her?

* S'Koil * The truth; that we're a front-line ship that carries schematics to assist us with field repairs, redacted in case they fall into enemy hands. And we don't have a library with papers on the theory underpinning our tech. Obviously I didn't mention that Reci knows himself inside out, and has probably memorised every weapon and ship design paper ever published.

+ Shepard + Really?

* S'Koil * Mm-hm. It's a point of pride with him, that he knows more about his workings than I do. But that's true of every AIDAN I've ever worked on.

+ Shepard + Huh. Oh well. How did she take it?

* S'Koil * Threw herself into helping us with as many repairs as possible, on as many different systems as possible,

+ Shepard + Hm. I'd be happier if we didn't need the Federation techs, but if they're doing good work...

* S'Koil * They are. And it helps with my techs' morale as well.

+ Shepard + Very well. Looks like DS6 has finished another section. The speed they can produce stuff is insane! See if you can get some information on their replicators out of Trathal, will you?

* S'Koil * You want me to seduce it out of her?

+ Shepard + Fuck no! Reci's as much snotty brat as I can deal with, I don't want you pushing out another one! It's not all that important, just see if you can wheedle it out of her somehow.

* S'Koil * Spoilsport. I'll see what I can do. She was asking about medi-gel too, can we give them a few packs of that to study? It might swing things our way on the replicator tech.

+ Shepard + Hm. Yes, fine, it wouldn't make them all that much more dangerous than they already are. Are your lot all ready for the next section?

* S'Koil * Another ten minutes. Scratch that, fifteen.

Shepard stretched and tried to relax. No sense getting tense, it'll only throw off my focus.

- Recidivist → Shepard – Commander, there's a ship coming in. Looks in a bad way.

+ Shepard + Fuck, another one?!

- Recidivist – Yep, one of those wheezing old Miranda rust buckets.

+ Shepard + That's the third in as many days. Damn, they're really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

+ Shepard → All + Okay everyone, there's another Federation ship coming in. They'll be cutting us off from their industrial replicators and recalling their techs any moment now, so lets get as much done as we can before that happens. Come on, pick up the pace!

"Shepard to DS6, ready for the next section in five minutes."

"Tra, is this too much makeup?"

Trathal lifted her head wearily, and looked at her room-mate, Ensign Rel. "Pela, how would I know? Andorians don't wear makeup."

"Kovat does."

Trathal snorted irritably. "Kovat's a disgrace."

Rel raised her eyebrows. "Tra, I know Andorian culture is... conservative, but you're a Starfleet officer! You should be tolerant of people's differences..."

"I'd be more tolerant of Kovat if he had any taste at all. I mean, green eyeshadow and pink blusher? On an Andorian? He looks like a colour-blind clown."

Rel couldn't entirely suppress a faint giggle. "He does, doesn't he? Even so..."

Trathal dropped her head back onto the arm of the couch she was laying on, and closed her eyes. "And he only does it because he thinks it'll shock people, and he's pathetically desperate for any sort of attention."

Trathal listened to Rel moving quietly about the room.

"You're wrong about him, Tra. He doesn't care what people think about him. He just wants to see his face when he looks in a mirror, instead of a 'proper' looks-like-everyone-else Andorian."

"What's wrong with..."

"And even if you were right, which you're not, that's still no reason to be bitchy about him."

Trathal groaned and sat up. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just..."

"Yes, yes, I know. You're worried about the war, you think you should be doing more. You and everybody else, but the rest of us aren't being spiteful."

Trathal stared gloomily at the floor. "You're right. It's not just that, but... you're right."

"Hmm."

Trathal looked up at the young Betazoid as she fussed over her face. "Pela, has Captain Carew ever asked you to do something that you thought was wrong?"

Rel glanced round as if startled, then hurriedly turned back to the mirror. "N..no. Our course not!"

Trathal stared at the young telepath. "... are all Betazoids as bad at lying as you?"

Rel went very still, then sighed. "Yes, mostly." She turned, and watched Trathal carefully. "Why do you want to know? What did he ask you to do?"

I wonder if she's reading me? Probably. "I can't really say." She scowled unhappily. "It doesn't matter, I couldn't do it."

"Ah."

She didn't ask if I couldn't, or wouldn't. She's reading me alright. "And you?"

Rel pulled a face. "He wanted me to deep read the Recidivist crew." She turned back to the mirror. "I mean, I didn't think it was wrong exactly, keeping a watch for Romulan agents is part of my job here. But this was after they fought the Dominion with us; Romulan agents wouldn't do that, not while the Star Empire's staying neutral. Reading them was just... a bit shabby, you know?"

"Did you learn anything?"

"Yes. I learned that the Turians focus entirely on what they're doing right now and nothing else, even at a party, that the Krogans' memories give me the screaming horrors, that Shosak's basically thinking about how to kill everybody all the time, and that trying to read Asari gives me a splitting headache and an uncontrollable craving for pickles! So I told the Captain I couldn't read them."

"What about the humans?"

Rel sniggered. "Oh, their minds were just a mushy mess, like all humans. Like trying to read a bowl of eels in custard." She glanced back at Trathal with a grin. "Mostly they were thinking about how to get off with someone; I wasn't going to poke around in that!"

Trathal reluctantly smiled back at her. "Who's being nasty now?"

"I'm not being nasty, just honest! That's what humans are like!" Rel took a final glance at herself in the mirror, smiled in satisfaction, and began picking through her collection of jewellery. "You'd better hurry up if you're coming to the party, Tra."

Gloom descended over Trathal again. "I don't really feel like it."

"Oh, come on. If their wormhole drive test run tomorrow works, they'll be off. This might be your last chance with that giantess you lust after."

"Pela!" Trathal picked up a cushion and threw it at Rel, who dodged it without even looking round. "Anyway, that's not going to happen. I don't want to leave her pregnant."

"Yes you do."

Trathal started looking round for something heavier to throw. Rel squeaked, grabbed a handful of jewellery and fled the room laughing.

Trathal stood up and started pacing round the room, fists clenched. I miss the Guard barracks. I never thought I would, but I really do! At least there I could let off steam; punch someone in the face without everyone getting all sniffy and uptight about it!

She remembered Admiral Satol's speech to the new intake the year she joined.

"Remember this. You are now soldiers! Soldiers don't charge into battle screaming. Soldiers don't start fights over slights. Soldiers control. Soldiers control the situation; the battlefield. And soldiers control themselves! Soldiers assess, plan, and then act.

"I don't tell you to suppress your feelings. That's what Vulcans do, because they cannot control themselves, and that makes them less than they ever were. A soldier who doesn't love their family, care for those they are sworn to protect, or hate those who would destroy Andoria is no soldier at all.

"But I do tell you that if you learn one thing only in your time here, let it be this."

He drew his ushaan-tor from his belt, held it at arm's length... and dropped it. As an involuntary gasp went through the ranked cadets, he looked across them with fierce eyes.

"If you can't put aside your anger and your pride when necessary, then you have no place here."

Trathal stopped pacing, drew herself to attention, and tried to relax.

But I can't stay in control all the time!

The door chirruped.

She swore quietly. Curse that Betazoid!

She looked around, picked up one of Rel's oh so precious sculptures (a heavy, abstract thing with lots of sharp points) and marched over to the door, lifting it like a threat. It was an empty threat; Rel knew Trathal wouldn't hurt her. But she needed to make the gesture.

The door slid open, and Orilai took a quick step back, eyebrows raised. "Was it something I said?"

"Ori!" Trathal hurriedly tossed the sculpture onto the couch. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else!"

Orilai looked as if she was desperately trying not to burst out laughing. "Well I'm glad it's not my face you're planning to tear up with that instrument of torture!"

"I'm glad you find me so funny." Trathal hissed the words, tempted to retrieve the sculpture and put it to use.

Orilai shook her head, smiling more easily. "I don't find you funny. I've just never seen you angry before. It's... incongruous. It makes you look so young! Can I come in?"

Trathal glared at her, then shrugged and turned away, heading back to the couch.

As she sat down she heard Orilai say "I'll come to the party with the Lieutenant soon", and turned to see who the Asari was talking to. One of Lieutenant Xah's security team looked past Orilai, caught her eye and said "Lieutenant, please make sure of that. Xah will have my head if the Recidivist crew start wandering around unaccompanied."

Trathal nodded wearily. "Understood."

Orilai came over and sat beside her. If Trathal hadn't been so wound up, she'd have found Orilai was also looking incongruous. Instead of her usual technician's fatigues, or hardsuit, she was wearing what looked like a ballgown; silvery, figure hugging, and rather more revealing than Trathal felt comfortable with. She was also carrying a heavy flight case, which she put down by the couch. "Tra, what's wrong? I'm sorry I laughed at you, I really didn't mean it."

"It's not that." She looked up at Orilai, and summoned up a weak smile. "I'm going to miss you."

"Hah! You can't fool me, you're just going to miss my awesome technology!" Orilai grinned at her, but there was something brittle and unhappy about it that even Trathal could spot. "Oh, and speaking of which..." She reached down, flipped the flight case on its side, and opened the lid. "I brought this for you." She pushed the open case toward Trathal. "Something to remember me by."

"A goodbye present?"

"Maybe not goodbye, but 'until we meet again'? We may be back some day."

Trathal pulled a face. "Mm. When I'm a wrinkled old grandmother, maybe." She leant over the case and lifted off the top layer of foam. "Perhaps I can introduce you to one of my grand... children... Oh, blood and ice!"

She lifted up the hardsuit helmet. It had two prominent ridges running back along the top of the helmet, designed to accommodate folded back antennae. Underneath the helmet and the other armour pieces she could see the black gleam of the under-suit.

"Ori, is this... I mean, is it complete? Functioning?!"

Orilai was beaming at her reaction. "Yes, fully functioning. Mass effect shielding, VI controlled artificial gravity, MEP scanners, the lot. I even included regenerative armour plating." Her smile faded a little. "Ah, maybe don't spread that around? It uses nanites, and I get the impression some of your people are a bit..."

"No, no, you're right. Orilai, this is... It's too much."

"Nonsense." Orilai was grinning again. "If you're going to keep working on Federation deathtraps, I'd like to think you had some protection. You can add your uniform colours to the plating if you want."

Trathal, as giddy as a child receiving her first ever feast gift, kept unpacking the armour pieces until they were strewn around her feet, with the dense, slippery under-suit draped over her knees. The last thing she took out of the case was a heavy, bulbous object with strange, jointed protrusions. It looked like a weapon, but it had a disturbingly insectile appearance.

"Ori, what is this?"

"That, Tra, is a trophy of the Reaper war; it's a Reaper Blackstar."

Trathal froze, and then very carefully put it on the low table in front of the couch, as far away from her as she could. "A Reaper Blackstar?!"

"Yes, one of the battlefield weapons. Heh, we still haven't worked out how to reproduce those." She looked at Trathal's aghast expression, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, relax. It can't indoctrinate you, the neural entanglement nodes have been burnt out."

"What if I'd set it off!"

"Well, if you'd managed to rip the safety lock off the trigger (oh, here's the key), then you'd probably have killed a few dozen people in the adjoining cabins. Unless your force fields contained the blast? It's not that powerful a weapon."

Trathal hesitated, then gingerly picked the bulky hand cannon up again, and hefted it. "Does it have... oh, right, holographic sights." She started examining it minutely, trying to work out which parts did what.

Orilai chuckled. "You really are a born technician aren't you?"

"Mm." After a few minutes, Trathal set it down reluctantly. "Orilai, you shouldn't. You really shouldn't."

"Heh, no, I really shouldn't." Orilai looked a bit uneasy. "Er, look, Tra, you won't say anything about this until we've left, will you? The Commander was sulky enough about the hardsuit. If she knew I'd given you a Blackstar she'd probably space me."

"What, really?"

Orilai gave what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile; it did little to reassure Trathal. "Well, no, probably not. But she'd certainly be yelling obscenities for a while, and I expect she'd put me on a punishment detail." She gestured at the scattered armour, and much more cheerfully asked "Well? Aren't you going to try it on for size?"

Without thinking, Trathal reached for the collar of her uniform; then fixed Orilai with a reproving stare. "Is this just a trick to get me out of my clothes?"

Orilai leant close to her, and in a ridiculously breathy, seductive voice murmured, "Would that be a problem?"

Trathal knew she was just being teased. But looking at Orilai's laughing eyes and smiling lips, couldn't help impulsively catching the big woman by the back of her head, and kissing her on the lips. After several seconds she broke the kiss. Orilai's expression was gratifyingly stunned, and it was Trathal's turn to mockingly murmur, "You don't need to use tricks to get mphff!"

Soft, strong lips pressed against hers, and powerful arms folded round her and pulled her very close.

I shouldn't take advantage of her. I... I really... shouldn't...

"I'm surprised you relaxed your security like this."

"Well, I understand you plan to be gone tomorrow, all being well. I did want to show my... our appreciation for your help against the Dominion." Carew smiled brightly and proffered Shepard a glass of something clear and yellow.

She stared at it suspiciously. "What is that?"

"Only reconstituted fruit juice from your own stores." Carew gave a small, apologetic shrug. "Your medic said that your liver took a battering when Forest accidentally poisoned you, and recommended you only eat and drink confirmed Asari safe food."

Shepard shot a glance at Teiada, who nodded. She sighed, took the glass and pulled a face. "Thanks."

"It's that bad?"

"Worse. Won't you get in trouble for this?"

Carew waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, I may get a notional reprimand. But, honestly? By the time Command hears about it you'll have returned to your own universe, and Command have much more pressing worries right now."

He gave a sidelong glance to where Dorot was standing, seemingly engaged in a glowering match with Xah. "Unless Mr Granar decides to make another forthright expression of annoyance?" He winked.

Shepard gave him a cold stare. "There will be no repeat of that; not without cause."

"Well we'll certainly try not to give cause then!" Carew beamed at her, then looked around at the Recidivist and Federation crews, who were mingling happily, if a little awkwardly. "I don't see your chief engineer, is she busy with your ship?"

"She'll be along a bit later, there's something she wants to do first."

"Excellent! It's not a proper farewell party if the people you're throwing the party for are off working. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and remind Xah that this is a party, and not a glaring contest!" He bustled off cheerfully.

+ Shepard → Dorot & Shosak + I've got a bad feeling about this. Something seems off, but I can't put my finger on it. Have either of you picked up on anything?

~ Shosak ~ Some of the Federation Security team seem anxious. I am watching them, and there is a pattern; they are principally observing Mr Granar, Marine Gucks and myself.

+ Shepard + They might just feel intimidated.

~ Shosak ~ I should certainly hope so!

# Dorot # Xah and two others moved away from me when Carew spoke to them. They're trying to pretend they're not watching me.

+ Shepard + I'm probably just imagining things. A party would be a dumb time to try anything, they won't risk their own. But thoughts on how to deal if things do go tits up?

~ Shosak ~ I tend to favour a straightforward solution to all situations; the simpler the plan, the less can go wrong.

+ Shepard + If your plan is 'kill everyone or die trying' then you can forget it.

~ Shosak ~ A shame, it does have a certain... elegant simplicity to it, don't you think?

Across the room Shepard heard Shosak give a snarling growl and, looking over at him, saw his tongue slide out and slither over his teeth. The Federation crewman who'd been chatting to him took a hurried step back. "You don't have to get upset, they're only shrimp! Oh... unless... did I just say something culturally insensitive?"

Shosak fixed the man with one mad, red eye and hissed "Like sshrimp!" Then grabbed a large handful off the plate the crewman was holding and crammed them into his maw. The flustered crewman retreated in a hurry.

# Dorot # Without weapons and armour, if they attack all we could do is take a few of them with us.

+ Shepard + Hmm. Not a bad idea.

~ Shosak ~ Exactly! Victory or death!

+ Shepard + No. We invite some of them back to the Recidivist. Carew and Xah might be smart, but if the rest are as clueless as I think, they'll happily make themselves hostages without realising it.

# Dorot # And take them on to Recidivist? Not a good idea.

+ Shepard + No, leave them at the lock and scarper.

+ Shepard → Recidivist & S'Koil + Reci, Orilai, if we have to run without warning, can we risk the wormhole drive without proper testing and calibration?

- Recidivist – It feels great! Better than ever! Yeah, I could do with a sprint.

+ Shepard + Orilai?

+ Shepard + Orilai, respond!

* S'Koil * Sorry. Distracted. What?

+ Shepard + If we have to run without warning, can we risk the wormhole drive?

* S'Koil * Oh. This is a bad idea. Really bad.

+ Shepard + Why?

* S'Koil * No, don't stop!

+ Shepard + ...What?!

* S'Koil * Yes. Oh Tevura. Yes!

+ Recidivist + Ha! I think the chief's "saying goodbye" to her Andorian bit of fluff. Hey, chief, spill the dirt when you're done. I want details!

+ Shepard + … If we end up with a baby on board I'm asking for asylum in the Federation.

Trathal felt deeply conflicted. She very much wanted to run through the corridors of DS6 whooping gleefully. She was also desperate to hold Orilai's hand and never let go.

But the first would make her look insane, at least to the non-Andorian crew, and the second would make her look like a child being taken for a walk by her mother. So she settled for strutting beside Orilai grinning like an idiot. Even then, some of the on-shift crew they passed gave her suspicious or speculative looks.

She looked up at Orilai, feeling a tinge of worry worm its way into her happiness. "Ori, are you sure you're alright?"

Orilai looked down at her and smiled reassuringly. "Tra, relax. I've had a lot rougher. I was very serious with a Krogan boy a couple of hundred years ago and, as gentle as he tried to be, I got my fair share of bruises." An arch, teasing edge entered her voice. "Though the biting was a surprise."

Trathal tried to look ashamed. From the way Orilai burst out laughing, she didn't think she was very convincing. She cast about for a way to change the subject. "So what happened between you and that Krogan? They live a long time, don't they? Are you still in touch?"

Orilai's pace faltered momentarily, then she shook her head.

"Oh. Was it a bad break up?"

"It was the Reapers." Orilai's voice was calm, and very quiet, and although she kept walking slowly, she seemed not to be looking at the way ahead, but at something long ago.

"I... I'm sorry."

For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Gathering up her courage, Trathal asked "Do you want to talk about it?"

Orilai stopped dead. Her expression wasn't angry, but distant, and sad. "Trathal, you should know that people who survived the war generally don't talk about those they lost." She started walking again.

Trathal hesitated, then hurriedly caught up with Orilai. She knew that she should drop the subject, but she couldn't. How can they do that? Just... forget their dead? Are they ashamed of them? In a small voice she asked "Why not?"

Orilai sighed. "Because there aren't enough tears in all of creation for that grief."

Trathal said nothing. But, after a moment, she put her pride aside and, moving close to Orilai, took hold of her hand and squeezed it. Orilai looked down at her, and smiled at her fondly.

As they came to the mess hall, Trathal was tempted to let go of Orilai's hand, but she pushed that thought aside. I won't pretend any more. If Captain Carew doesn't like it... Ugh. He'd probably just smile in that quiet way of his and lean on me to get more tech information out of Ori. So they walked into the party hand in hand.

She was a bit disappointed to see that this wasn't like the exuberant, feverish celebration of their victory over the Dominion that Rel had described to her, but a much more sober gathering. Much more appropriate to Starfleet, and rather dull, with people crowded round the tables or standing in small clusters, awkwardly holding drinks and plates of food, and chattering politely. Still, everyone looked cheerful enough. Everyone except Commander Shepard, who as they walked in gave Orilai a distinctly cold and hostile glare.

Trathal bristled with indignation and, letting go or Orilai's hand, stepped toward Shepard, her hands instinctively forming fists. Shepard's eyebrows went up in surprise, and Orilai's hand came down firmly on Trathal's shoulder. "Tra, let it be."

Trathal glowered at Shepard, then let herself be steered toward one of the mess replicators. "What's her problem, anyway? If you've got a rule against fraternising then I know the other Asari on your crew have been ignoring it!"

"Oh, she's just worried she might get stuck with diaper duty. Shows what she knows." Orilai grinned. "Half of the huntresses are at an age she'd have to fight them for a chance of time with a baby!"

Trathal tried to look her in the eye, and found she couldn't. "Ori, I..."

"Didn't make me do anything I didn't want to." Orilai, put a finger under Trathal's chin, gently lifted her face, and bent down to give her a quick kiss. "Now cheer up, this is a party!"

They sidled past a small group of Asari sharing war stories with a couple of the older security crew, and sat at one of the mess tables. Across the room Trathal caught a glimpse of Rel, who twisted round and gave her a huge grin and a thumbs-up gesture. Trathal relaxed a little and returned her smile.

One of the technicians at their table lifted a glass to Orilai. "Here's to a successful test run tomorrow, and a safe return home!" His expression fell a bit, and in a quieter voice he said, "A safe return home for all of us."

Trathal lifted her glass with the others. "A safe..."

Her glass hit the table with a 'crack', bounced and toppled. She stared in shock at it, and felt a wave of dizziness pass over her. She tried to reach for Orilai, and realised that Orilai had already caught her hand in her own. She couldn't feel it at all. The technician who'd proposed the toast made a small, shocked sound, stood, staggered, and fell heavily.

A neural suppression field. But turned up too high. Much too high.

She realised she was tipping over sideways, tried to grab the table to steady herself, but her flailing hand just banged against the edge of it. She didn't feel that either. As she toppled she heard other people falling, crying out. Two roars of rage.

And shrill hissing, warbling squeals.

Cadet, identify!

Phaser fire, Sir!

Wrong! Try again!

Err... m-multiple overlapping phaser discharges, Federation type 1.

Set to?

Set to... er... to stun! Sir!

Too slow. Drop and give me 50.

She could hear an angry voice, cursing in Klingon. And Carew's voice, calm but startlingly loud. "Lieutenant Xah, that is enough. You are confined to quarters. Mattis, see to it. Mackay, secure the ARS Recidivist crew, check all prisoners and personnel for injuries, and transfer prisoners to holding cells. And ensure there's signal blocking in place; we don't want them communicating covertly."

She couldn't speak. Couldn't even turn her head. All she could do was stare at where Orilai had slid half under the table, her dress rucked up about her hips, her expression shocked and scared.

And then she heard, very quietly, Rel's voice. "I'm sorry Tra, I really am. But I was under orders not to say anything." She might have been paralysed and sliding down into nightmare, but she knew Rel didn't need to hear her words or look into her accusing eyes.

Curse you Pela, you sly, deceiving karskat shax! Curse. You.