001: Out of the Firing Line ...

[Albigensia]

When Federation Security busted into room, they had to answer the age-old question, “Where does an 800-pound gorilla sit?” The great beast roared, and with its mighty fist, slammed their plasticine-encased bodies right back out into the hallway. With a dazed look on their faces, the gorilla gently closed the door, and in rapid succession, shoved several pieces of furniture in front of it.

With this task complete, the gorilla gave one last roar, and then morphed into something not resembling anything like its previous guise. It resembled nothing more than a kindly grandmother, long white hair streaming down from her head, and draped in a shimmering white robe. A curious smile on her face, she wondered if the fuzz would call the park rangers, or start busting down the door again. Either way, it bought her some time.

She grabbed the opaque water jug, and with some effort, made her way the other end of the apartment she had enjoyed while here in San Francisco. But all good scams had to come to an end. Even with the urge to hide screaming in her head, the grandmother was determined not to leave Earth without her earnings.

In the guest bedroom, she touched an antique digital alarm clock, and a hologram appeared in place of the picture frame above it. It tapped into the security grid, and within seconds, she realized that her options were becoming limited. Shuttlecraft were flying in to support the security operation, two additional squads were supporting to seal the perimeter, and the squad outside the door requested the use of lethal force. So if I can’t fly, the grandmother asked herself, and I can’t walk, I guess I’ll have to dig.

She turned off the hologram and walked over to the closet. The reason she chose this apartment in the historical Sanctuary District was because it had a curious architectural feature; a laundry chute. With one hand on the jug, she lowered it into the hole, and with some effort, transformed into a Larissian centipede. The fur-covered shell allowed her segmented body to move down the chute slowly, keeping her front mandibles firmly locked on her prize. Within a minute, she reached the basement, just as the sounds of her apartment door being vaporized echoed overhead.

Standing erect, she returned to her familiar humanoid self, and took the jug and herself to the back door. She took out a tricoder, held it against the door, and quickly determined that there was no one in the alley. With grace, she opened the door, stepped out into the brick-lined lane, and walked calmly down towards the street. As the sunlight hit her, she looked up and saw the additional hovercraft swooping down toward her former residence. Already she was on the public side of the security barricade, where the additional support was keeping the growing crowd at bay. Nothing like this had happened in San Francisco in a century, certainly not on their sedate little street.

The grandmother joined the crowd at first, then quickly slipped away, leaving the Sanctuary District, and making her way down the hill on such a lovely day. She counted the streets as she passed by, waiting until her distance would be ignored by the AI’s on the comm grid. Once she saw Telegraph Hill, she touched a button on her sleeve. “Zoya to Calain.”

“Calain here,” came the disembodied voice on the other side of the planet, “we were worried."

“You’re such a dear,” Zoya replied, “but you needn’t worry. The doc said I was in perfect health for a woman my age. I just wanted a second opinion.”

“Are you coming home soon?”

“I don’t suppose you’d meet me? I do so hate those teleporters, and it’s such a beautiful day.”

“Certainly. Where?”

“Oh… anywhere. How about that nice picnic spot we used to go to?”

“I know the place. Be there soon.”

“See you then,” she replied, and pressed the communicator off. Even with physical distance, Federation Security would still be monitoring all comm traffic on planet, seeing if anything matched suspicious behavior attached to the crime. After all, it’s not like they had much else to do.

Zoya enjoyed the walk up Telegraph Hill, the highest point in San Francisco, and although her body ached from the effort of multiple shifts and hauling her prize halfway across town, she felt good. The relief of a scam over, she relaxed as she walked, enjoying the warm sun that she felt would never see again. As she reached the top of the hill, which was filled with trees and parrots, she smiled to see her partner Calain waiting for her – with his shuttlecraft.

“Zoya,” the silver-haired human shook his head, “you shouldn’t wait until the last minute. When I send you the alert, you better listen.”

“My strong Calain,” she replied with a smile, “what is life without risk?”

“A prison cell in New Zealand.”

“Hush,” Zoya answered with a caress of his strong chin, “besides, I couldn’t just leave that latinum there, now could I?”

“You know I don’t care about that.”

“Oh, but you do, and so do I.” Her eyes glanced over at the shuttlecraft. “Can we make orbit without attracting attention?”

Now it was Calain’s turn to smile. “We’re an antimatter hauling pod providing fuel to the USS April.”

Her mind ached as her memory spun through. “The April. That’s a long-range scouting ship…”

“…being repaired in drydock. That’s why it wasn’t sent with the rest of the Starfleet to fight the Borg.”

“Is that our chariot out of this system?”

“How ever did you guess?”

She smiled. “Your brain works towards infinitely simple solutions, Calain. That is why I love you.”

“And I you, Zoya.” He moved to kiss her and then stopped. “But not in that makeup. I want to see the real you.”

Touching his lips with her finger, she answered, “I’ll change on the shuttlecraft. You, lover, need to get us to the April.”

They quickly found their way into the shuttlecraft, and while Calain maneuvered them out of orbit, Zoya shifted into the vibrant brunette that the human male had come to love. Frankly, she enjoyed their time together, but she was old enough to be his grandmother, and was far too limited for her tastes. He was a means to an end – escape – and that had not come to an end just yet.

She soon joined him in front, after an appropriate amount of time to “clean off her makeup,” and enjoyed him piloting the shuttle. Zoya knew how to do it herself, but she never felt the need to work when someone would do it for her. Besides, she was exhausted, and looked forward to a nap to rejuvenate herself.

Within minutes, they approached the drydock hovering above Mars. In an forgotten part of the Utopia Planetia yards was the April, a ship almost as old as Zoya; but it was for just that reason that they were able to “liberate” it from the Federation. Calain moved the shuttlecraft gently towards the dock. “April, this is Shuttlecraft Two requesting permission to dock.”

“Confirmed, Shuttlecraft Two. Approach Bay Three.”

With a wink toward her, the smaller shuttle entered the April’s docking bay, and they were safe… at least for the moment.

*****

Once they reached the bridge of the empty USS April, the mood of the few crew on board was noticeably somber. Calain finally broke the silence as he took the captain’s chair. “What happened?”

“It just came on the news,” the man at the navigator’s station moaned, “the fleet has been destroyed by the Borg.”

“What?” Zoya asked.

“At Wolf 359,” the woman to her right cried, “Starfleet. They’re all dead.”

“That’s impossible.” Calain replied.

“It’s true!” the navigator said. “They’re evacuating the Sol System, but who cares?! Within weeks, the entire Federation will become Borg!”

Zoya could see the color draining from Calain’s face and he leaned back with the knowledge hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Then we’re doomed.”

Disgust rose through her body so fast that she couldn’t keep it off her face. “No,” she barked out, “we run.”

“Run?” the navigator shot back. “It’s the Borg! They can stroll faster than we can run.”

“Even the Borg can’t be everywhere at once. We run now, we don’t look back, and they may never find us.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t care!” Zoya’s anger came to the surface. “I’ve survived far worse than this and I intend to keep surviving.”

“With just us?” The woman asked. “The rest of our lives?”

“We will not be the only ones running. We will find someone. And we will survive.” The grandmother turned brunette stepped over to the navigator and demanded, “Show me the star map.”

The man activated the console. Her fingers scrolled to find Wolf 359, activated the path options, and danced her fingers to draw a line through to Sol and then beyond. “Here. This is a reciprocal heading from the Borg attack. It takes us away from the core systems and to the lesser populated systems of the Federation.”

Calain leaned forward. “And that’ll be safe?”

“The Borg are interested in technology and bodies – where we’re going has neither. We’ll have plenty of time to find other options.”

“So,” her lover replied, “you’re captain now?”

Zoya realized she had pressed too far, so she smiled to defuse him, and walked past them all. “I’m far too busy to deal with that. I’m going to take a nap. Let me know when we’ve left the system.” And without another word, she got into the turbolift, and left.

*****

She found a place to hide and convert back to her natural state, the glowing white form of the allasomorph, so she could rest and recover her energy. In the end, Zoya didn’t need to be informed when they left the system; the hum of the ship changed with the shift into warp drive. After several hours, she reemerged, found an empty screen, and activated it. It was obvious that the repairs hadn’t been finished when they stole the ship, but the databases had been updated. With practiced skill, the current brunette ran through the unlocked systems. Security routines confirmed that there were only the four of them on-board. Calain was on the bridge, probably asleep from his bioreadings, and the other two were… well, curled up together in one of the rooms on the floor below the bridge.

With no one watching her, she quickly scanned through the records. Sure, the Borg were scary, but in her mind, they were no different then any other scary race she had run into. The trick to defeating them was avoiding them. Hours passed by, and she was getting exhausted searching the records, when suddenly there was a glimmer of hope. A rather cryptic message came through on the subspace feed. It was short and on an open band – which by itself was curious. Little was sent across the Federation that wasn’t routed to a specific audience. It said “MTA In Effect: All Personnel Report.”

There was nothing in the StarFleet archive that matched that abbreviation; no mention in any cross-reference. So she had to break the encryption to determine the point of origin… and smiled when she discovered where they were. It was a risk – but considering that it was the closest point in the Milky Way to the Andromeda galaxy, it seemed like just the kind of desperation she was looking for. Switching consoles, Zoya changed course to the origin point, and hoped that the April would get there in time for… whatever was there.

*****

None of her fellow passengers even noticed the course correction until the ship’s computer announced that they were there. Suddenly, all four of them raced up to the bridge. Calain was first and commanded, “Gregor, where the hell are we?”

The impromptu navigator activated his board and looked up. “Back of nowhere, Cal. There’s… there’s something out there.”

“Put it on screen.”

All four of them leaned forward and saw this… sphere. “Magnify.” Zoya ordered and the strangeness of the craft – the size of a small moon – became more apparent to the skeleton crew of the April.

“What should we do?” Helene, their engineer, asked.

“Hail them.”

A beep rang out on the bridge. Gregor looked at his board and smiled, “Looks like they’re hailing us.” With a press of a button, an older man with white hair and bread suddenly appeared on the screen. “Greetings. Could you identify yourselves, please?”

Calain sat up in the captain’s chair. “I am Captain Truvon Ealant Semvi, commander of the Federation starship April. And you?”

The grey-haired man smiled back, like he had the greatest joke in the universe, and wasn’t about to tell you the punch line. “Noah. Navigator of the Minshara, Have you come to join our valiant crew?”

“Um…” Calain faltered, before Zoya tapped his foot with her own, “yes, absolutely.”

“Very well. If you will surrender control of your craft, I will guide it into the ship bay, and take you aboard.”

Her lover looked at Zoya, concern in his eyes, but she simply nodded. She didn’t like turning over control either, but they had come this far – she thought they might as well go all the way. Calain nodded and said, “All right. Gregor, allow Noah remote access.”

Gregor was scared, too, but said nothing but, “Confirmed.” With a touch of a button sequence, April was no longer under their control.

They were quiet as their ship was soon swallowed by the strange vessel they had come so far to join. It held the possibility of safety, but none of them knew what to expect when they beamed over to the new craft. Only time would tell.

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Nerek#|#picture:1}The simulated Vulcan sun dyed the atmosphere rust red as it neared the rim of the artificial Womb of Fire off in the distance, the change from day to night causing a hot, dry breeze to blow in through the open window in Commander Nerek's quarters. It was indeed a very impressive simulation and if he didn't look too closely at it, it was almost indistinguishable from his place of birth in all ways that were physical.

But a confounding part of him argued that it was not T'Khasi the Motherworld, that the star, Nevasa, 40 Eridanus A, did not set fire to this artificial Forge as it had done long before Surak had crossed it. It did not smell the same, it did not feel the same, it just was not the same. And it was this part of him that, in some dark little corner of his mind, rebelled against the thought of never seeing the true glory of a Vulcan sunset over the clean, vast sweeps of deep desert ever again.

He imagined his ancestors, those who would be Romulan, felt the same as they watched T'Khasi become small, and then bright red Nevasa become dim and indistinguishable against the long night. Was it any wonder, when faced with that overwhelming sight, the Sundered chose the ways of their ancestors?

This was, of course, an entirely counterproductive line of thought and Nerek set it aside with practiced mental dexterity. What was, was. And if there ever was a case of the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, it was now. There was simply no more to be said.

"Excuse me, Commander," Noah's voice interrupted even before Noah himself materialized in the room unbidden, "The USS April has arrived and it occurred to me you might want to know. Shall I arrange a transport for you?"

Nerek nodded as he stood up from the posture of meditation he had been found in, "I'll meet you in the transport station in five minutes. Please relay to our newest crew members my welcome."

Noah nodded, saluting in Vulcan fashion and then blinked out of existence before Nerek had time to return the gesture. Once more alone, he allowed himself an indulgent raise of the eyebrows and made a mental note to have a talk with Noah about popping in without a courtesy hail beforehand.

The USS April? He did not recall that ship as being among those bound for the arkship. As Nerek changed out of his civilian clothes and into his uniform, he took up the PADD containing the list of expected arrivals. He would skim it on the way to the transport station.

The Vulcan Sector's transport station, although it was around shift change, was nearly empty, most ships had yet to arrive with their complements. The emptiness where none should exist was not lost on the part of him occupied with the artificiality of his environment.

"Commander." a masterfully emotionless, yet somehow warm voice announced his mother's presence.

He held out two fingers for her to take in familial welcome, "Mother."

She took the offered fingers in her own and fell in step beside him on the way to the transport pad. She was dressed in her Alliance uniform, signaling to Nerek she was about to go on duty. It continued to be strange to him to see her out of the traditional healer robes she always had worn as far back as he could remember. She was considered a doctor on the arkship but by training she was a Healer and it was clear to him she was as uncomfortable in the Starfleet styled uniforms as he was seeing her in them.

She gave no ready indication of her discomfort, it was only through the deep bond of family that Nerek could sense it.

"Has my husband arrived?" she asked him as Nerek made to step onto the transporter pad.

Nerek shook his head, "Not yet. The USS April has just arrived. I'm going to meet it's complement now. I'll inform you if Father is aboard." T'Selis nodded understanding, and saluted, which Nerek returned before mounting the transporter pad and dissolving in sparks of blue light.

Ruanek, Linguistics Fellow at the Vulcan Science Academy, now Head Academician for the arkship, had not yet arrived. That was to be expected. He had important business to take care of at the VSA before assuming his post here and from what Nerek understood of that business, he was not entirely sure it was on the up and up. He knew better than to delve into his father's affairs, whatever else Ruanek was, he was honorable. He who had once crossed the Neutral Zone in a near derelict craft in order to return one of Vulcan's own, naming himself a traitor in the eyes of Romulus, and becoming perhaps the first of the Sundered to return to Vulcan since the Exile.

'Whatever shady affairs Father has gotten into,' Nerek thought sardonically as he scanned the list on the way to where Noah had indicated the April was berthed, 'he is not yet under my command.'

[Lorpius Prime]

{name:Siegfried#|#picture:31}The Handler went once more through the mental checklist that he had performed so many times before. He allowed his muscles to relax and the ridges of his exoskeleton to open and fan out. It was important to achieve thermal equilibrium with the fluid around him. He spent several minutes to bring his respiration under control and down to barely perceptible levels. Then, hardest of all, he slowed the metabolizing functions along his epidermis. By the end of the ritual he was calm, still, and cool. Finally, the Handler allowed his mind to melt into the life around him.

The sensation the mind felt as its blossomed and expanded into something with the size and sensory capacity of a spaceship was much like the physiological sensation of weightlessness, so it was a process best undertaken in full immersion. Even so, it was an experience which few minds were well equipped to manage, which was precisely the reason the Handler and his fellows trained for their duties from birth. Of course, the Handler's particular spaceship was quite unlike any other his people had ever used before, and he was still growing accustomed to its particular nature. It was far bigger, for one, with far more and more powerful equipment than the ordinary ships of more reasonable size which were the traditional standard for his people. But more importantly, the Handler's ship was composed of parts, vital parts, which were entirely alien to anything he had been raised to operate, and the experience of integrating with those foreign and often very primitive components was a trying one.

But it was his responsibility, and not one the Handler was going to neglect. The purpose of his current interface was to test the effectiveness of the integration, now that most of the alien components had been physically attached, and to make sure that his ship was operating as it had been designed, that it could fulfill the purpose for which it had been raised.

He let his mind wander to every extremity and flexed every muscle which could be operated safely. He began with the familiar, with the portions of his larger mind and body which had been conceived and grown with the rest. Everything here was in good health, and the Handler was pleased. He quickly reviewed his checklist to ensure he could maintain his calm state before moving on to try the limits of the newest reaches of his mind and senses.

As before, he could feel his thoughts become more sluggish and limited in scope. The situation had improved dramatically since the Handler's last test, but the technology of the alien elements simply lacked the bandwidth, as the term had been explained to the Handler, for a complete interface with the rest of the ship. The Handler would simply have to make do. And he did, refusing to allow his frustrations to dominate his thoughts he entered and manipulated each of the crude alien systems in turn, just as he had for the rest.

The external sensors were one of the systems with redundant native and alien components. The sensory organs grown by his people were not optimized for the ship's planned environment, so the designers had chosen to use the equipment developed by species familiar with this... empty space. Still, the Handler had decided to include standard sensors as well, as they were still plenty effective and allowed the ship to see even before the alien components could be constructed and attached.

The Handler was also much less reluctant to use the standard sensors. The alien responsible for normal oversight of the primary sensors, an individual of the Federation species, liked to complain about "unauthorized access" of large arrays of equipment, even some of the native organs. The Handler did his best to ignore this pestering and perform his duty. He had long ago stopped informing the aliens about his interface tests. The tests were necessary, the inconveniences which resulted from his reporting were not.

The Handler interfaced with the alien sensors and reached out into the space around. The equipment really was superior to his own people's design here, even if it was slow to respond to the Handler's thoughts; the delay was trivial from an external perspective, merely uncomfortable to one not used to it.

The sensors performed as expected, but they also made the Handler aware of something which was not. His thoughts flitted to the array of stored records and schedules to be sure.

"Child," the Handler called with a great sigh of the mind.

The image appeared before the Handler's own eyes and it took him a moment to draw back from the ship and adjust to this much narrower perspective. The Handler felt a twinge of disgust rising in him when he saw the alien appearance floating there.

"Noah here," the Child said, "how can I be of assistance, Siegfried?"

"Must you always use these Federation names? They are tiring."

"Oh I rather like them, it helps the others relate to us better," and the Child showed the Handler its holographic teeth.

The Handler let the matter go, for the moment, he wanted to maintain his interface and it wouldn't do to become agitated, "What is this vessel you are bringing in? It is not scheduled."

"Starfleet vessel designated USS April, Siegfried. It appears that the Federation recently suffered a significant military defeat, they may be unable to maintain established schedule."

"Why was I not informed? If I am to oversee this ship, I must know when circumstances change! Do they not understand that?"

The Child moved its simulated shoulders in a gesture the Handler did not understand. "Perhaps it was discussed at the last staff meeting which you did not attend. Or the one before that. Or the one before that..."

The Handler silenced him with a thought and took a moment to consider the appropriate action. The answer was obvious, of course. The Handler regretted the inconvenience it would be, but he was annoyed enough to overlook it. He began withdrawing himself from the great ship around him and condensing his thoughts back into his own mind.

"Where is Commander Nerek?" he inquired of the hologram before him.

"In transit to meet the April's complement when they disembark."

The Handler acknowledged the information and released the Child to continue its own duties and strange curiosity-driven explorations of the ship. Sometimes he wondered whether the Child's existence was a blessing or simply another of the many unexpected challenges which had appeared to frustrate the Handler and his attempts to perform his duty adequately.

He sighed, then evacuated his personal chamber of fluid to prepare for another journey into the ship's inhabited areas. He already knew it would be more irritating than the last.

[Albigensia]

{name:Commander Tavesh#|#picture:6}His antennae ached.

It had been a long time since he had gotten drunk, but since his men were simply sitting on this boat until everyone had shown up, he felt he was entitled. The blue-skinned form of Commander Tavesh stretched on the cot that he had fabricated, and stepped out from the light blanket into the frosty air of Andor. Or... what appeared to Andor. Blasted holograms, he thought, they were the downfall of the Federation.

His antennae ached again. What was that sound? He turned his head until he finally realized what had woken him up. It was his subharmonic alarm; designed to avoid detection from those with weaker senses. Tavesh limped over to the alarm and pressed the button. "What?"

"Commander, this is Surana. External systems report unscheduled arrival of spacecraft."

Able Guardswoman Surana was one of his squad leaders and the security officer on duty. "Unscheduled? Are you sure you have the most recent list?"

"Positive. I copied it from Nerek's download myself."

Tavesh growled inside, not just from his hangover, but from the continued insolence of what was supposed to be the ship's computer. Another blasted hologram, he reminded himself, how am I supposed to defend this ship if they don't tell me anything! "Excellent. Which squad is nearest to the docking bay?"

"Alvan's. But my squad is already armed and primed for battle."

The commander's smile grew wider. "Then I shall not waste you in backup. Meet me at Rally Point Holfsgan and we shall save this inspid crew from itself."

[Albigensia]

{name:Zoya#|#picture:5}Calain went paler and paler as the April got ingested by the planet-sized ship. He kept muttering to himself, not saying anything loud enough for Zoya to hear. As the brunette looked around the bridge, she could see the helplessness and fear that filled Gregor and Helene's eyes as they stared at each other for comfort.

The allasomorph was disgusted. I find these humans the safest bolthole in the known universe and they're... afraid? After some woolgathering, she turned to her lover and said, "Well, Captain, are you ready to meet our new landlords?"

"What?" was all Calain could blurt out.

"You are Captain Semvi, a logistics officer in StarFleet, and probably outrank half the beings on that ship. It's time to start acting like it."

"Captain... outrank... Zoya, that's not a StarFleet vessel. Hell, I don't know what it is!"

"Who cares?!" Zoya threw her hands up in dispair. "They recognize our codes, they've greeted us, they're taking us on board. So... you're the captain. As long as you act like it, we can get out of this universe in one piece."

"I..." Calain started to object, but his mouth shut, realizing he had nothing to say.

"Good." the brunette smiled, just as a loud THUNK rang through the ship. "Gregor?"

The frightened young man looked at his sensors. "We've docked with the ship."

Zoya flashed her eyes towards the captain. "Well, lover? Let's show these beings exactly what they're expecting."

*****

The four of them walked out of the USS April's docking hatch to meet up with the welcoming party. They consisted of a white-haired man that they knew as Noah and a strange looking Vulcan. Zoya nudged Calain forward and prayed that he remembered his lines. "Thank you for taking us on board."

The Vulcan looked quizically at him for a moment and then replied. "It is our duty, Captain Semvi, but at the moment I am more interested in how you found the Minshara. Your vessel was not among those we were expecting."

"We had little choice. The Borg had already destroyed the fleet at Wolf 359. We had to evacuate Mars by whatever vessel was available. The Utopia Planetia yards were undermanned as it was and we were the last out. We followed the com traffic and found ourselves here."

The Vulcan didn't look like he was buying it. "That explains your egress, but not..." Before he could continue, the door exploded with blue beings flooding through, taking up flanking positions, phasers at the ready. Finally, a sole Andorian male came through and looked unsufferably pleased with himself; the Vulcan was less so. "Commander Tavesh, your presence was not requested."

Tavesh's antennae floated in amusement. "Commander Nerek, my security detail was not informed of an unauthorized arrival. In anyone's view, that's a security risk."

"Perhaps in the Imperial Guard, commander, but this is the Minshara, and I will inform you when your presence is required. Lower your weapons."

"Nerek..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you honestly think an entire squad is necessary to subdue four defenseless humans?" Nerek looked the Andorians over. "Lower your weapons."

An Andorian female looked over at her leader. "Commander?"

"Lower your weapons." Tavesh spat out. The rest of the Andorians obeyed.

Nerek turned back to the four of them. "Now, Captain Semvi, you said you were at the Utopia Planetia yards..."

Noah cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, commander, but that's not quite right."

The Vulcan turned towards his navigator. "Excuse me?"

"This ship did leave the Utopia Planetia yards, commander, but I'm afraid that this is not Captain Semvi. Not unless they brought him back from the dead... four years ago."

A shocked gasp went through the security detail and phasers started to be raised. Zoya knew that if she didn't do something, this bumbling lover of hers would get shot, right before she also got a phaser in the chest... and Andorians didn't believe in a stun setting. She stepped forward and shouted in Andorii, "Point those weapons at me and I'll send your godmothers to a lake of fire!"

It took a moment for the guards to realize that the woman's words were not coming through the Universal Translator. The words - and the insult - were enough to make them pause. Tavesh stepped forward to face her. "You don't even know your own godmother's face to threaten mine.

Zoya smiled. "Your bones will reach cold ground before mine. This I know."

Tavesh smiled back, finally bursting into a laugh, breaking the tension at last. Switching back to English, he said, "Not bad for a pink skin!" His laugh was infectious; Zoya couldn't help but join him.

Nerek stepped forward, adding a cold dash of water to their warm laugh. "You seem fluent in Andorii."

"I know many things," the brunette added in Vulcan, then switched to English again. "Your navigator is right, we're not be StarFleet, but I promise you, we're tough, skilled, and willing to do anything to get away from the Borg. We will make an excellent addition to your crew - what do you say?"

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Commander Nerek#|#picture:1}Nerek considered them for a moment, "What say I may have at one point had is primarily moot. The fact remains that you are here and that you know of the existence of this vessel and therefore I can't simply turn you away, as it would jeopardize everything we've worked towards. Therefore, there are several options open to me: One. I take you aboard as passengers and possibly crew members. Two. I take you aboard as prisoners. Three. I have your memories and sensor logs modified and send you back the way you came. Four. I have you killed," The entire time he addressed the brunette woman, who, Nerek surmised, was actually the leader by the way the ersatz Captain Semvi and the others kept glancing at her either for guidance and reassurance.

He paused here to let them consider the options, "Now, the most reliable options are One and Four. Two is a drain on resources and Three is a potential security risk," his eyes flicked over to the squad of Andorians and back, "In order for me to make an informed decision, it is necessary to know a little bit more about yourselves and how you came to be here.
I have 'layed my cards on the table' as the Terran expression goes. Now it's in your best interests to do the same."

Nerek turned to Tavesh, "Commander Tavesh, would you please show our guests to separate secure quarters? Confiscate any weapons and communication devices they may have on them. Show them the utmost courtesy, but don't allow them to move about, or communicate freely until I've had a chance to investigate further." Tavesh motioned to his squad, who moved in to execute commander Nerek's orders.

"I ask forgiveness for the discourteous reception, but you've come here under false pretenses and therefore I'm understandably wary. However, I believe I see the logic behind your desperate acts. Rest assured you will be released if you are found to be trustworthy." Nerek nodded to the guards to take them to secured quarters.

Nerek turned to Tavesh, "Assemble a team to investigate the April, contact Tactical to help you ascertain the chances the Borg might've followed them to this location. Anything else you can find out on our guests would be satisfactory as well. After you've assembled the April team, meet me at our guest's quarters for their questioning."

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

OOC: Albigensia, personally, I don't mind if you use my characters in your posts. (Great posts so far BTW ) But just so we're clear... in the future, you might want to ask the others ahead of time if you can use their characters in your posts. And you should always ask the person first if you plan to do something life-changing to that character. Thanks

[Veeck]

{name:Dmitri#|#picture:21}The Borg cube exploded in a shower of flame and debris, pieces of hull structure and the flailing bodies of individual drones spinning off into space. Lightly-damaged Starfleet destroyers moved toward the expanding field of debris, launching overloaded photon torpedoes into the maelstrom. Expanding spheres of white-hot plasma reduced the larger pieces of wreckage to dust and vaporized drones and metal alike.

Dmitri Nechayev looked on his battle-simulator display with an expression of grim satisfaction. Yes, this should take care of the problem of surviving drones sending post-battle reports to the main collective, he thought to himself. What the Borg don't know about, they can't adapt to later. His fingers flew over the command panel, ordering the computer to compile the post-simulation casualty and damage scores. As he did so, he noticed a blinking icon on his screen, signifying an incoming message from the Commander.

“Commander Nerek,” Dmitri casually addressed the screen. “What can I do for you today?”

“Commander Nechayev,” the Arkship's commanding officer returned the greeting. “It seems we have an unscheduled arrival in our docking bay, the USS April.”

“Unscheduled?” Dmitri's expression suddenly became far less casual. “That's not good.”

“No, that's not good,” the Vulcan-Romulan replied. “It could signify a serious breach of security. I want you to assemble a team and find out how this ship found us, and who else may know about the project.”

“And who needs a visit from the mind wipers, yes.” Dmitri was already hitting controls with his left hand, calling his tactical team to assemble in a conference room. “I'll get right on it.”

“Thank you, Commander. Nerek out.” The screen went blank, and Nechayev once more silently grumbled to himself a curse on whatever political halfwit decided to not unify the rank structure for this hodge-podge command staff from a dozen military and civilian services. Someday, someone's gonna get killed over someone else's confusion over which of a dozen different ranks of Commander an order was addressed to.

But that was a concern for another time. Noting from his monitor that the rest of his team had acknowledged their pages and were heading for the conference room, Dmitri got up and headed for the turbolift himself.

Entering the conference room a few minutes later, Dmitri immediately got to the point. “Okay, people, we've got a mysterious ship docked with us. We need to investigate and find out where it came from, who these people are, and how they found out about the Project.”

Morfan, the Benzite sensor officer, spoke up. “Sir, aside from Tavesh's Andorian guards, our investigation team has not yet arrived. We don't have the trained personnel for that sort of investigation.”

“Always pointing out the obvious, eh, Morfan,” rasped the Gorn weapons officer, Sssla. “Always with you, it cannot be done.”

Before Morfan could retort, the Zakdorn fleet liason officer spoke up. “The important thing is not whether we ourselves have the proper training, it is whether or not someone else on board has the training. I suggest we ask Noah.”

The holographic avatar of the ship itself nodded graciously. “Yes, I do believe we have someone on board with the requisite experience. A former Starfleet security officer with a stellar record, now working in the Custodial and Hygenic department.”

“Excellent,” Dmitri replied. “Comm him and tell him to meet us in the docking bay.” Dmitri stood up. “Everyone else, grab what gear you think we'll need and let's head down there.”

[stanleyremington]

{name:Stanley Remington#|#picture:26}Silence

"...and another thing, what's the deal with The Borg? Y'know, all those tubes and wires and stuff. What I'M wndering is where they stick that electric plug!"

Still more silence.

"Yeah. So what's up with the Klingons huh? Those foreheads are so rigid you could get your head cut off just by walking by!"

A storm of angry boos exploded from the few members of Stanley's audience. One Klingon in the audience flinging a hand full of Gagh at Stan, nailing him straight in the chest, getting the mulch and worms all over his red uniform.

"Gagh...ugh...remind me never to do a gig where they got an entire bestiary of food."

More booing.

Stan angrily shook his fist back at the audience in the cafe.

"All your mamas wear federation boots!"

Stan took an immediate escape to the exit, followed by bombardments of Gagh, and other assorted alien cuisine. The red shirt continued to roam back to his quarters, attempting to wipe the foods off his pristine uniform.

"Dammit, these people wouldn't know comedy if I smacked them upside the head with a pie!"

The custodian paused his rant as his communicator rang to life

"Dammit..." Stan brought the communicator to ear. "Stan Remington here, what the hell's up?"

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Zoya#|#picture:5}I miss my latinum, was the thought that was going through her head, the way it shines as it rolls across your knuckles, then carefully sucking up the liquid so as not to lose a single drop of the precious substance. Zoya sighed. I'm trapped in a ship's brig and all I can think about is the several thousand bars of latinum I left on the April, about as far as a dog from the moon. She wondered for a moment. Where did I hear that phrase before?

"What's your brilliant plan now, Zoya?" Calain whined.

The brunette looked around the rather blank, gray-walled room, with rather uncomfortable chairs and sighed. "How's your skill at hologrammatics?"

Calain looked incredulous. "What?"

She waved around the room, "This is a holodeck - a rather elaborate holodeck - but just a holodeck. I can hack into a Fed database if I had an access port and a willing computer, but I'm guessing that the ship is programmed to deny access. I usually have someone else to cut their teeth on tetralevel code."

All eyes looked to Gregor, sitting there like a punished puppy. Finally, he noticed the gaze of the three of them landing on his head. "Code, sure, but I don't even have an access port."

Zoya looked over to her left at the grey wall, then back towards their engineer. "Helene, where was the door?"

Her eyes glazed for a moment, then pointed to Zoya's left, "You stepped three-quarters of a meter inside the door and stopped. Since you haven't sat down since we got here, the hologrammatic matrix should not have shifted you once the door disappeared."

"What are you talking about?" Calain demanded.

"In a Fed holodeck, darling, the control panel is to the right of the door. If we have control of the panel, we have control of the room, and we can let ourselves out."

"And go where?" her lover shot back. "Even if we got back to the April, please don't forget that the Borg are conquering known space!" His face went red from the frustrating anger boiling within him. "You brought us here, we're in their hands, and despite your ability to speak Andorian, something tells me those Imperial Guards aren't going to stop to ask you what we're doing before they vaporize you to the deckplate!!!"

Zoya simply folded her arms and waited for Calain's temper to cool. Gregor piped up instead of his fellow male. "He's got a point. This is the end of the line - nowhere else to run. Our best bet is to wait and pray that they let us out."

"I hate waiting." She turned to face the hidden door. "And you're wrong, Gregor, there's always somewhere to run to."

No one said anything in reply... and Zoya wondered for the first time if she was wrong. Maybe there was nowhere else to run.

[Zombie Rodent]

"You know, I once met a Vulcan merchant on a class M asteroid somewhere near Andorian space. Cool as a gold-pressed latinum he was; when I arrived he was in the middle of negotiations with this Orion... and I could tell this guy was bad news ... well you know how Orions are... anyway, I was sure negotiations were going to sour, but this guy stared down that orion... I don't know what they were trading, but I can tell you the Orion got the shorter end of the stick that day." The Ferengi following T'Selis grinned as the doors slid open to the medquarters where Dr Tel'Peh and her staff awaited to administer vaccines.

Kalitta's back was turned to them, busy fiddling with some items on a tray. She then covered them with a sheet and turned to face the newcomers with a sharp toothed grin, "Ah what do we have here? A new vict- Urm I mean a new patient ready for vaccination?"

The Ferengi stopped in his tracks, his mouth forming a surprised 'o' before exclaiming, "A Klingon Doctor!... a female klingon doctor!" He turned to T'Selis, rapidly going from surprise to disbelief. He let out a sharp little laugh, "This is a joke, right?"

"As you so aptly pointed out earlier, I am a Vulcan, and Vulcans do not 'joke'" Healer T'Selis looked to her superior officer, "I will locate the next group of patients."

Kalitta nodded as her gaze focused on the Ferengi, her grin turned slightly predatory. "Now then, why don't you set yourself here while we take care of a few things and I'll have you out of here as quick as can be," She motioned to an empty bed.

The Ferengi stood frozen in indecision between obeying the doctor's orders and running like a madman from the room.

Kalitta smiled again, her voice taking a coaxing tone, "Don't worry, I don't bite," she chuckled, "Usually."

The Ferengi squeaked and sat down on the bed in light of the giant klingon looming over him.

Kalitta, all business now, picked up a data pad and maneuvered the cloth covered tray close to the bed. "Alright then, we are doing the current round of vaccinations today, yes?"

"Yes?" The Ferengi squeaked, hoping that was the right answer. Rule of Acquisition number 285 said 'Never Argue with a Klingon'... well at least he thought it should be a Rule of Acquisition.

The doctor's face brightened, "Ah wonderful! This will be the perfect time to try out my new toys," she stated with a gleeful grin. She pulled the cover off the tray to reveal a series of glass cylinders filled with what appeared to be some sort of fluid, each tipped with a 3 inch long needle.

He sprang to his feet, "Wait a minute! Those aren't hyposprays! What're those for!?"

"These?" she asked picking one up, tapping her finger against the glass, "Ah yes, this is what they used in the old days to vaccinate people. Never know if we might crash or something, and no longer have access to the replicators. I say always be prepared." She grinned at him and maneuvered herself so she was between the Ferengi and the door. "Perfectly safe. Don't hurt at all. Well maybe it may pinch a little..."

"That's barbaric!", The Ferengi blurted out, his voice rising in pitch as he went on, "You couldn't pay me to use one of those things- well, maybe you could... rule of aquisition number 98: Every man has his price. But I assure you, it would not be a good investment! Go find someone else to stab, I'm too wealthy to die! My bonds haven't even matured yet!" He looked frantically from the Klingon to the door and back.

Kalitt'a face fell, taking on the quality of a puppy who had just had it's favorite toy taken away from it. She placed the syringe back on the tray and sighed. "Well if you are sure. It's too bad really. I had always thought Ferengi males were the dominant of their species, seeing as that one female Ferengi I inoculated early had no problem with the needle." She patted him on the back sympathetically. "But that's alright," she brought her free hand up and held a finger to her lips. "I promise I won't tell that you were scared." The hand that was patting his back moved quickly and there was the familiar hiss of the hypospray at his neck. "There we go. All done."

The Ferengi cringed belatedly, then finding the danger to be passed, pulled himself up to his full diminutive height, "I'm gonna sue! I don't know for what, but I'll think of something, don't you worry! I'm gonna sue you so hard your ancestors will be broke!" If the door had been any slower in sliding open, the Ferengi would've smacked into it on his way out of the room.

As soon as the Ferengi was out of sight a smirk appeared on Kalitta's lips. She wrapped the cloth around the syringes and lifted them off the tray, tucking the pack under her arm, revealing a row of hypo sprays. She tossed the used one on the tray and headed out the door towards her quarters. She tapped her com badge. "T'Selis, this is Kalitta. Please hold off any more vaccinations. I need a break. The Ferengi was a bit... cranky. A guess some irrational fear of Klingons with hyposprays. Anyways I need a break. I'll let you know when I get back."

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Maninder#|#picture:3}It was a utilitarian room devoid of hiding places, but all the same, Maninder remained inconspicuous to the three newcomers until he was ready to be noticed. For now, he was merely an observer.

It didn't take much of a psychologist to know they were not the sort who would quietly sit by and wait for judgment to come. Indeed, they were already formulating an escape plan. Maninder suspected it was more survival instinct than a rational part of any sort of plan. It was neither premeditated nor inherently malicious, and was certainly not fully thought through. As the red-faced man pointed out, if they escaped, where would they go? The question rang dolefully in the air like a death knell. Maninder could feel it's vibrations around the ship, a sense of despair, as the news of the iminent collapse of known civilization reached them through the inhabitants who were gradually arriving.

"I hate waiting." Zoya turned to face the door that was not there, "And you're wrong, Gregor, there's always somewhere to run to."

"Yes." No one saw Maninder appear exactly, one moment he was not, and the next moment it was as though he had always been there, sitting against the wall opposite the invisible door their attention was focused on. "And you're on the one rig capable of getting there," as he spoke, he projected himself as non-threatening, "I'll tell you, We must be the luckiest mother's sons in the galaxy."

===

OOC: Okay this post isn't that wonderful, but at least it's something...

A note about Maninder... he has the ability to appear to others in a form that -they- choose for him based on how he projects himself. Like a bogart in Harry Potter tries to project itself as your worst fear, or the Mirror of Erised projects your deepest desire, or like the Vorlons project themselves as deities from many different cultures. (more like the Vorlons or Erised though, since a bogart can only appear one way at a time) If he's not projecting anything, he just looks the way you think he should look which could shift depending on your opinion of him.

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Zoya#|#picture:5}"I'll tell you, We must be the luckiest mother's sons in the galaxy."

Zoya looked at the talking koala sitting there next to the invisible door and blinked. I can't be the only one seeing a koala sitting here, can I? she wondered to herself. Can't be worse than the conversation in here. "Lucky... is all in how you perceive your moves. We make our own luck."

"Is it?" the koala replied. "That must be a rather cynical way to go through life. Can there be no surprises?"

"You're a d**n surprise," Calain answered, "where have you been hiding?"

"Right here." The koala smiled. "I simply chose to make myself appear to you."

Helene stood up in amazement. "I didn't know there were still unicorns left."

Unicorns? Zoya's mind latched onto the unusual choice of words by the woman. But the koala continued on answering. "Darn few. After all, people are always after the horn. It doesn't give wishes, you know. Why do you like unicorns?"

"Well," Helene blushed, "my father used to give me little unicorns whenever he came back from one of his... er, trips. I knew that he loved me when he did."

Zoya rolled her eyes and realized this was a projection - how the creature wanted them to perceive him. Being an old hand at projections herself, she stared hard at the creature, trying to break its mental shield. "Are you a prisoner as well?"

"No, nor a hologram here to distract you. I'm simply here to talk."

"No, you're not," Calain stood up himself to face the giant teddy in front of him, "you're here to find out why we're here."

The koala snapped his fingers. "Now you've driven to the heart of the matter. Good leadership potential."

"We're here because some blue boys put us here." Gregor snapped back.

"On this ship," the koala replied, without the slightest hurt in his voice, "I mean, we went to a lot of trouble keeping this ship a secret."

"Why?" Helene wanted to know.

"Oh, just a tiny little problem called the Borg." the koala shrugged. "We didn't send any information out over subspace in order to avoid detection. Only authorized personnel received those messages. So how did you, without permission, come to be on the Minshara?"

"There's an old Romulan proverb," Zoya smiled back, "if you want to keep a secret between three people, kill the other two."

"Isn't that a human proverb?" Helene looked puzzled.

The koala stared at the brunette. "That still doesn't answer the question."

"Let me put it this way," Zoya answered, "what do we get for that information?"

The koala faced her, sat down, and smiled in a contented, pleased way. The kind of pose that made you just want to cuddle the poor creature, hold him in your arms... NO!, her mind screamed, it's just a projection! The koala did not seem to be bothered by her internal struggle, but simply kept smiling. "What do you want?"

The brunette stilled her mind and answered. "Our freedom... out of this cell."

"I don't have that authority. But Commander Nerek does. And the commander really wants to know how you found that information. If you tell the commander that, he may be pursuaded to give you what you wish."

"That's not a binding contract. Doesn't inspire confidence."

"There's no such thing as a binding contract," the koala replied, "there are always loopholes."

"Indeed there is." Zoya couldn't help liking this furry creature - whatever it actually looked like. "Then I will give your commander a clue. Check the subspace logs on board the April. If he wants more than that, he can let us go."

"Go?" the koala said before disappearing. "Where would you go?"

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Nerek#|#picture:1}Nerek watched Maninder with interest; as his attention turned away from the commander and towards the detained group within secured quarters, what Nerek thought of as Maninder's usual form flicked into non-existance, and then some time later into the form of a slightly overweight housebred sehlat cub. Nerek raised his eyebrows at that, but waited. Sometime later, the cub turned it's head to face him.

"They are suggesting you check the April's archives, and that if you want more than that, you must let them go."

Nerek nodded, it was about the response he anticipated, "Inform them that we will indeed look in the archives. In the meantime, just talk with them, see what you can ascertain about them personally. There's an old Romulan proverb: There is no such thing as useless information." the sehlat nodded understanding then turned it's attention inward, back to the other group behind the fortifications.

Nerek's attention also turned elsewhere, "Nerek to Tavesh, please inform your April party that the detained suggest a look through the ship's archives. Nerek out."

[Mlle Bienvenu]

{name:Tavesh, Nachayev + Stanley#|#picture:0}Tavesh's pacing was starting to even scare his own men, carefully guarding the access points to the USS April, his antennae twitching in time with the way his boots punished the deckplate. Suddenly, the access hatch opened and out poured a review of the Federation's greatest hits - a Human, a Gorn, and a Benzite. Blue-skinned, he thought, but not nearly enough to be Andorian.

"About time!" Tavesh barked across the echoing docking bay.

"Commander Tavesh," replied the blond human leading the team, "glad to see you in charge of things."

"Give me time, pink-skin, and I will be charge of things. For the moment, I'm guarding this hunk of... this wreck for your intense inspection."

"You haven't been inside?"

"Why should I do your work for you?" The Andorian twitched his antennae in what Dmitri could only assume was a shrug. "Nothing's come in or out... or anywhere near, since we took over securing the vessel."

"Give me something to work on before we head inside. Who did the crew consist of?"

"Four pink-skins, two men who pretended to know what was going on, and two women who actually did. No other lifesigns according to the light bulb."

Necheyev squinted at Tavesh. "The what?"

"The hologram. That... navigator or whatever he calls himself."

"Noah."

"Yeah. That one."

Necheyev sighed. "Anything unusual about the crew?"

"Commander, I can't tell you pink-skins apart half the time."

"Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"Just a question, commander. How long did you know about the April coming in before it docked?"

Dmitri's eyebrow raised. "I didn't.”

Tavesh snorted. “Asleep on the job, Commander?”

The tactical officer shrugged. “Noah tracked it coming in, but my tactical team was in the middle of a simulation. Our digital friend determined, on his own authority, that the ship was not a threat and allowed it to dock, without interrupting our training exercise.”

“Sounds like it's threat parameters need adjustment,” the security officer concluded.

“That, and a few other things,” Dmitri replied, suddenly hardening his expression. “Such as your vocabulary, Commander Tavesh.”

"Am I using words with too many syllables,” Tavesh inquired with an insouciant grin.

“No, just too many unpleasant connotations,” Dmitri replied. “This ship can only succeed in its mission if all the individuals, and all the species, on board work together as a team. If we fight amongst ourselves, if we work at cross-purposes, we will all die, it's as simple as that.” Dmitri stepped closer and his voice became a low, dangerous whisper. “And if I ever hear you use the term pink-skin again, I'll have your bright blue hide, and the only security duty you'll be doing will be making sure Remington doesn't get hit by so many replicated rotten tomatoes that he's unable to carry out his vital latrine-cleaning duties. Do I make myself clear, Commander?”

Tavesh's antennae twitched in annoyance, but he merely threw Nechayev a purposely sketchy salute, turned on his heel, and marched off with his Andorian security detail to resume guarding the docking bay's exits. Dmitri sighed and trudged over to his own investigation crew.

Lt. Morfan had observed the entire incident, and quietly spoke to Dmitri as he walked up. “So, I see there is a reason you never got your own ship after all.”

Dmitri shrugged again. “Keeping track of a fleet's worth of capital ships, fighters, and projectiles and beams in a complex 4-dimensional battlefield, no problem. Keeping tabs on a few hundred sentients in my crew? Now, that's difficult.”

Morfan gave a very Dmitri-like shrug. “Well, let's go see what secrets we can pry from this ship's computers, shall we?” Dmtitri nodded, and the team carried their diagnostic and sensor gear up the gangplank into the airlock of the USS April.


=.^.=

Stanley grumbled something about having his valuable time wasted with such a basic mission, taking only a few steps inside before a familiar feeling took hold and decided on a different set of priorities. Stan reached for his communicator as he began walking into one of the halls.
"Er...anyone know where the bathroom is on this thing? Y'know...in case anyone's hiding there...of course."
A nameless voice replied.
"We're not sure, we don't have the ship schematics ready...of course."
Stan gave a sarcastic chuckle and put the communicator back on his waist.
"Yeah, yeah, make fun of a guy just because he has a smart question, like that helps this stupid mission..." the officer continued to grumble, giving a quick run door to door of the ship, impatiently looking for the restroom.

[Albigensia]

{name:Commander Tavesh#|#picture:6}"Nerek to Tavesh, please inform your April party that the detained suggest a look through the ship's archives. Nerek out."

The Andorian commander was roaming the hallways of the Minshara when the Vulcan's message came through. Tavesh gave a grunt in response then clicked off the communicator. Yes, he grumbled as he walked aimlessly through the hallways, Nechayev may be right, we have to deal with the pink skins, but doesn't mean I have to wait on them hand and foot. I'm a soldier, not a fracking message service! Something is going to have to change.

Commander Tavesh activated his communicator and said, "Tavesh to Remington. Nerek says to check the ship's archives. Out." He wasn't ready to go back and deal with Nechayev or any other non-Andorian for a moment. He needed to plan his next move... and drink. Plan and drink.

[Albigensia]

{name:Commander Tavesh#|#picture:7}The drink didn't help. Tavesh knew that the Romulan Ale wouldn't help, but it bought him time... time to consider the options left to him, and realize that there weren't many left. He was a soldier, but left with meddling Vulcans and annoying pink-skins, they continued to insist on staying in this galaxy, waiting for more races to appear and cram in more beings into their already cramped ship.

Why doesn't that green-blooded bastard leave, his mind screamed in frustration, pressing against the aching brain cells from his hangover, the longer we wait, the longer we risk destruction from the Borg.

The options were quickly minimizing to one. If it was to work, Tavesh had to call on the only beings he could trust. He activated the communicator, "Tavesh to Surana."

"Yes, sir."

"Assembly in 15 minutes, spread the word."

"Assembly, sir? But we're guarding the April..."

"Blast it to..." Tavesh checked his temper, took a deep breath, and continued, "is Necheyev's team inside?"

"For the past couple hours."

"Then obviously they don't need guarding. Spread the word, all squads, assembly in 15 minutes."

"May I ask, sir, why a full assembly?"

Tavesh smiled for the first time in days, "Because I'm calling the clans, Surana. It's time to make a choice." When he closed the connection, he knew that she would get the reference. 'Calling the clans' meant the ancient rite of choosing a new emperor in the days when succession wasn't certain. And there was only one king in this fleet...