Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Mon, 26 Jan 2004 21:22:21 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net Title: Faith: Hope Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 5/18 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Bashir was pacing his cell like a caged tiger when La Forge entered the room. "Hi, Doc!" he said, smiling. He was carrying a tool kit and he motioned that the guard could leave the room. "Hello," Bashir returned, stopping to face the engineer. "May I ask what you're doing?" he was curious but he had to turn away again. His head was throbbing. He rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand. "I'm going to fix your lights," La Forge replied amiably. "Are you alright?" Bashir turned around and dumped himself onto one of the benches. "Headache," he mumbled, throwing one arm over his eyes to block the light that was pounding on his eyes. "*That* I understand." Bashir heard him pad away. He lifted his arm and then his head, but he only saw the lonely toolbox before he had to close his eyes again. La Forge was already coming back though, and the light beyond his eyelids went off with a slight chirp. "Something for your headache," La Forge explained. Bashir sat up and peered through the now dark and open door. A dark figure was there holding something out to him. He went to the edge of the door and took what was offered. A glass of water and two small pills. "Thank you," he said, recognizing the drug to be a low-level pain reliever. "My VISOR used to give me the worst headaches," La Forge explained. "Seeing more than your eyes can take in comfortably, I suppose." He hadn't replaced the forcefield yet "If you need something stronger, we'll have to get Doctor Crusher down here." Bashir swallowed the pills and took another drink of the water, finishing off the glass. "I don't suppose I'm allowed to prescribe anything myself." La Forge smiled sympathetically, his features becoming more clear now as Bashir's eyes adjusted to the more comfortable light levels. "You're not wearing the VISOR anymore," Bashir noticed. La Forge's smile widened. "Implants," he explained. "They work about the same way, but they're much more comfortable." "I'm glad for you," Bashir told him, feeling it, too. Technology could be beneficial. Even forcefields. He was still standing in the empty doorway near where La Forge was already working to remove the panel so he could get to its circuitry. Bashir edged one toe forward across the line that marked the door of the cell until it hung just over the edge. He wasn't sure why he did it. He wasn't going to try and make a break for it. That would only cause himself more pain and make him look guilty. No use in that. But one inch across the line was no different than behind it. Still, it had the allure of freedom, and he just felt he had to touch that. La Forge was kind and kept up a conversation as he worked. It wasn't an important conversation or even a very stimulating one. But it was something to do. It wasn't alone. It wasn't imprisonment. You were still a person if someone across the line was willing to engage you in small talk. And Geordie didn't seem to mind that while he sat, Bashir's hands and feet were in reach of the line and even dangling into the freedom beyond. To Bashir, it was almost as if he were having a pleasant chat with a friendly acquaintance. Almost. The fact that there was a line at all reminded him of the reality. "That should do it," the engineer said, shutting the panel. Bashir pulled his hands and feet back quickly, back into captivity. "I'm sorry about this," Geordie offered. He stood for a few seconds before he touched the controls. Bashir handed him back the empty glass. "It's alright," he lied. "Do your job." There was a brief snap of light and then the dimness with which he was comfortable. The forcefield was back, but at least the light wasn't. "Good luck," Geordie offered, and Bashir felt it was sincere. Then he was gone and Bashir expected to be alone until Data returned, except, of course for the guard who moved back inside the room when Geordie went out. However, within minutes of Geordie's departure, the door opened again, blasting a momentary brightness into the doorway. Bashir was unable to look to see who had entered. But he could hear the voices. They were low and quiet, but he could still hear them, even if he couldn't make out all the words. "--talk here," one voice said. Unfamiliar. Maybe the guard. "--asleep." "Not here," the second voice. Two words was all Bashir needed. That voice, the only one to keep him company in all his months in the cave. Sloan's voice. "Anyone--walk by the corridor," the guard argued, and Bashir wanted to side with him. If they stayed in the brig, he could hear them, maybe learn their plan. "Not here," Sloan whispered harshly. There was no mistake. The guard must have taken the hint because the door closed, and with the light gone, Bashir could see that he was alone. It all made sense now. Well, at least part of it. It made sense if Section 31 was the only answer Bashir needed. They were here. They'd framed him. They were up to something. And now he'd have to find something to be up to as well. He laid still, waiting, thinking, counting the seconds and minutes until the guard's return. The door opened again and Bashir saw only one silhouette against the light. The guard was returning. Then he heard another voice and saw another silhouette. "Why are you not at your post, Mr. Dolson?" Data asked. The guard, Dolson, answered, "Commander La Forge was just in here to take the lights off the forcefield. I was just returning." "Mr. LaForge finished twelve point four eight minutes ago. Take your post, Ensign," Data ordered. The door closed and Bashir breathed a sigh of relief to see that Data had come in with the guard. Though the light was low, it had been steadily rising and now was only as dark as perhaps a normal night in a room with only a few windows and a few stars to light them. One's eyes could adjust to such levels. And Bashir's eyes were better than most. He watched carefully to see where Dolson went and what he did. His hands were on his console, but they seemed to remain steady. Still, Bashir wasn't comforted. Dolson would be watching, if that was really his name. Data approached the cell, his expression giving nothing away. "I was unable to find any record of the order or your protest," he said. Bashir worried about speaking openly. Dolson would certainly be listening in, reporting to Sloan. Even in the cell, he was vulnerable. And he knew that Data was vulnerable, too. Then he had an idea. "They were probably deleted," he said. While he spoke he moved his hands. His right arm brought his fingers to the side of his forehead and then pointed at Data. Then he brought his two hands together, index fingers raised and circled them toward himself and around each other, palms facing out. *Do you know sign?* he was asking. Data's head cocked to one side in his only show of surprise. He lifted his right fist and nodded it forward while he said, "I looked for signs of tampering but could find none." "I'm not surprised," Bashir replied. *Who was that man?* his hands asked. "I could only perform a level one diagnostic, however," the android went on. *Lieutenant Commander Martin,* his fingers replied, spelling the name, *Internal Affairs.* "A more detailed scan from Deep Space Nine might be more revealing. Bashir's head nodded, but his fingers argued. *No,* they said, *that was Sloan, Section 31.* "There would have to be residual data fragments somewhere. What about my logs?" "There was no mention in the medical logs beyond your notation of the release of the gel," Data said. *How can you be certain?* "Perhaps you can call Miles and see if he could have a look." *I have proof! There was PADD in the cave with me. Did I have it when you found me?* The signed words took longer than the spoken sentence so he threw in some small talk. "Did you find my shoes?" "Yes, though your previous uniform was destroyed." *We found no PADD.* "But not the shoes?" *It was there. His voice is on the PADD.* "I have had them sent to your quarters," Data replied. *I will find it.* "May I ask why you are so concerned over those shoes?" "They fit really well," Bashir smiled, satisfied with the outcome of both conversations. Data turned to leave, but Bashir stopped him. "Data," he called, waiting for the android to turn again. "Thank you for believing me. At the moment, you're the only one I can trust." His hands had something else to say, something he suspected. They knew Data was his advocate. Data was vulnerable. *They're here and you're in danger. Don't sleep.* Data left the holding area and went back out into the light. Dolson nodded to him as he left the brig, and Data noted that the guards eyebrows were pulled down in undeniable confusion. He had still been uncertain as to whether he believed Bashir, though he was willing to act as if he did in order to offer the most effective defense for him. But Dolson's knitted brows lent the man some credibility. It was possible that the guard had been watching the unusual exchange. Sign language, given the technological and medical advances of the last few centuries, was an archaic form of communication. There were few truly deaf people anymore, and thus little use for it. Data had learned it years ago in order to act as the voice for a visiting ambassador. But he was surprised that Bashir had learned it. Whatever had been his reasoning for doing so, it had apparently been to his advantage. Dolson would most likely be unable to interpret the secondary conversation between the accused and his advocate. "Bridge," he ordered the turbolift, deciding to go straight to the captain with his suspicions. The turbolift sped upward until the doors opened revealing the Bridge. The young ensign in the Ops position began to rise from her seat, but Data motioned for her to stay. It did not escape his notice that Martin, or perhaps Sloan, was also on the Bridge. "Captain," Data said, facing Picard, "if I could please speak with you in your Ready Room." "What about?" Martin asked. "That is not your concern," Data replied flatly. "If it was, I would be certain to include you in the discussion." Martin smirked but didn't protest. The captain had simply watched the exchange with curiosity. "Of course, Mr. Data. I'll be right there." Data entered the room, hearing the captain give parting orders to the Bridge crew. When he entered the room, Data waited for him to settle into his chair and for the door to close fully before he spoke. "Has Commander Martin been in here?" "Not since he first came on board," Picard replied, leaning back. "I thought you said this didn't concern him." "It may not," Data admitted. "Bashir believes that it does. I need to request the use of a long range shuttle." "For what purpose?" Picard asked. He leaned forward again, concerned. "You don't trust Martin." "If Bashir is correct, sir," Data warned, trying not to say too much, "it would not be wise to speak openly. I believe I can find evidence that will corroborate Doctor Bashir's statements. It would be too much of an unnecessary risk to take the *Enterprise* back across enemy lines, but I believe a single shuttle could slip in undetected." Picard blew out a breath, and Data hoped that he was guessing what Data was not saying. He would need to take the shuttle back to the cave. But if Sloan knew that he was doing so, he might be intercepted. Finally, the captain nodded. "Radio silence, Data," he ordered. "But hurry back." "Of course." There was one other thing before he left. "Someone will have to act as Advocate in my place. Bashir's rights must still be respected." "I'll do it," Picard agreed. "This hasn't smelled right from the beginning. Find what you need to find, Data." Captain Sisko steepled his fingers while his elbows rested on the arms of the command chair in the center of the Defiant's Bridge. "Anything?" "We're being jammed," O'Brien reported, biting back a curse. "Source?" "I can't tell," O'Brien replied. "It appears to be coming from every bloody direction. We can't get a signal in or out." Sisko didn't take his eyes off the forward viewscreen, but he directed his next words to the Tactical Station. "Keep your eyes open, Mr. Worf. They're out there." Data was gone, but Picard stayed in his Ready Room. He'd already noted that Martin had left the Bridge, but still he felt more comfortable making the call in some semblance of privacy. He called Commander Riker in, since he would need a witness to anything that was said. Once Riker was seated, he placed the call. He was not surprised to see the Bajoran female on the viewscreen. She was the station's First Officer. Her eyes lit up when she saw who was calling. Picard noted her rank insignia. "Good to see you again, Colonel," he offered in greeting. "Congratulations on your promotion." "Captain Picard," she said, "of the *Enterprise*? Thank you. It's good to see you as well. I believe you found our doctor." Straight to the point. He admired that about the Bajorans. It was also nice to see the loyalty built up amongst the mixed Federation/Bajoran crew of that station. Picard nodded, but decided he must still be guarded in what information he gave. "That we did. He's doing well and looking forward to returning home." Kira smiled. "I hope that will be soon." "As do I," Picard conceded. "But that may take some time. He's been through a traumatic experience." Her bright smile faded quickly into concern. "Could you tell him that he's missed?" "I will certainly pass that message along," Picard agreed. But there was still business to be attended to. "May I please speak with Captain Sisko?" Kira regained her composure and stood straight, looking very much like the commander of the station that had stared down a Romulan fleet and came out on top. "The captain is away from the station," she said. "In fact, he's on his way to meet you. He hasn't called?" Riker met Picard's glance before they both turned back to the colonel. "We haven't had any word from him," Riker informed her. "Neither have we," she admitted, "not since fourteen minutes ago. We got an urgent communique from Starfleet Command. They were unable to contact the Defiant. We haven't had any better luck." It wasn't hard for Picard to pick up on her concern. The enemy was still out in force. "We'll keep our eyes out for him. Thank you for your time, Colonel." She nodded once, frowning, and then cut off the transmission. "Alert Tactical, Commander," Picard ordered. "I want this ship on Yellow Alert until further notice. Try and hail the Defiant." He couldn't help but think it would be too convenient if something should happen to Sisko. Since there was no documented evidence to corroborate Bashir's story, Sisko was his only potential alibi at this point. Riker stood. "Yes, sir." Alone again--except, of course, for the guard--in the gradually brightening dimness, Julian Bashir found he couldn't sleep. He felt the nearness of the forcefield even though he was several meters from it. Even more, he felt the presence of eyes watching him. Dolson was watching, quite literally, for Sloan and Section 31. The captain and Riker were watching, if not so literally, to see if he were innocent or to see that he was guilty. And Troi, she didn't have to see him; she could feel him. She forced him into a cell far more confining than the brig with its forcefield. For the moment, then, he doubted what he had done. The cave was wet and cold and uncomfortable. It was lonely, but in that it was also peaceful. Though trapped inside it, he had freedom there. No one was watching or listening. No one who mattered had even known he was there. Considered dead or out of the way, no one had tried to kidnap or kill him in all those months. Now, freed from the cave, he was more trapped, captured again by the tidal waves of history. Alive again in the greatest war of the galaxy, knowing too much about both sides, one bad, the other not good. Sloan should have killed him. He knew too much about Section 31 and the dark side of the Federation. He was a liability to too many people. The Dominion, too, was still out there and would probably be only too happy to find him in their grasp again. If they should capture him again, he had no doubts that he would find being marooned in an underground cavern more tolerable. No, things would not be easy out here. He was better off dead. Maybe everyone else would be better off, too. No one to tell their secrets; no one to stand in their way. And yet, he had dreamed of release from the cave and now freedom from the cell and a return to Deep Space Nine. Deeper and deeper into the fire. It didn't make sense. The whole situation sat ill in Captain Picard's stomach. More and more it began to look as if Bashir were telling the truth. And that sat even more ill in his stomach. The existence of a group like Section 31 within the Federation was disturbing at best, frightening at worst. Thoughts of the Gestapo or the East German Stasi of Earth history came to mind. But even that didn't explain the gel and the destruction of Deyon III. Bashir's record argued strongly against his being involved with that kind of destruction. But then so did Sisko's, except perhaps for the incident with Eddington and the Maquis. But even as questionable as that was, there had been a reason. The people of Deyon III were no threat to the Federation or any of its allies. In fact, until the recent change in battle lines which pulled the Deyon system into Dominion control, Deyon III had been an important source of deuterium. That taken into account, it seemed more likely that the Dominion poisoned the planet, a point which Picard planned to bring up if Bashir's case wasn't dropped. A full analysis of the decay should provide a timeline and also the amount of gel needed to produce the destructive agent. That alone could clear Bashir of any involvement in genocide. And Sisko, should he arrive, could clear him of illegal release of the gel. If all that panned out in Bashir's favor, then it would only seem more ridiculous to charge him, let alone convict him in absentia. Which would only fortify his own charge that he was framed, and not even framed well. And that opened up further questions of who would frame him and why. It was possible that there were those in Starfleet who were unhappy that he'd been allowed to keep his commission and license after the revelation of his genetic status. But there were channels. One could file a protest, request a hearing, transfer him to an undesirable post, or follow any number of other official methods to make life more difficult for the man. One need not invent charges, delete records, and put together a show trial. Such acts could only damage the careers of the accusers if the accused were exonerated. That really then only left Section 31, which brought Picard right to where he'd started. Bashir was telling the truth, and the Federation was telling lies. No, that just didn't sit well at all. Doctor Crusher and the science team were working on the analysis. Sisko was on his way. There was really nothing to do but wait. There was a foreign light in the cave. It sparkled and shimmered and would have frightened the little fish in the stream if they'd had eyes that could see it. But it was short-lived, replaced by the now fully assembled atoms and molecules that made up a man dressed almost as darkly as the cave. He carried his own light and flicked it on, shining the palm beacon on the muddy floor of the cavern. He could see the left-over foot and hand prints detailing Bashir's subterranean existence. But he saw no PADD. He removed his tricorder and set it to scan for synthetic materials and alloys. The only such deposits were in the west, away from the stream, and in the vicinity of the refuse Commander Data had found during the rescue mission, just to the north. He checked there anyway, and only found the same ration wrappers that the commander had found. The man returned to the first room, the one where the replicator was found. But it was not there. He knew that it wouldn't be. The *Enterprise*'s records clearly showed that it had been taken aboard. He turned west and followed the same corridors the others had followed when they'd discovered Bashir. The tricorder showed a small deposit of synthetic alloys not four meters from Bashir's position at that time. Kneeling down, the man reached into the mud at his feet. He shined the beacon on his muddy hand and the objects it now held. Circuits. Chips and circuits. Not for the first time, the man thought that his superior had taken things too personally. Distance was a prerequisite in their duty, the man had found. Taking things in made you vulnerable to errors. Errors jeopardized everything. Bashir knew it was night on the ship when the light stopped rising in the brig. It had grown steadily brighter to a point where he could just begin to discern colors of objects. While still a dark room to others, the brig was now the closest thing to daylight he'd seen in months. The door had opened once since Data left, to allow the security guard to change shifts. Dolson was off, but was the woman who took his place someone to be trusted? It occurred to him that all this might once again be a holoprogram, courtesy of Sloan, but it lacked certain similarities with his previous experience. The down time for one. Sloan had given him no opportunity for sleep. He'd only had any number of opportunities this time, though he'd been unable to sleep for more than a few hours since leaving the cave. Likewise, he'd been denied food before, except in the one circumstance where he wouldn't accept it. This time, he'd had a working replicator in his quarters. He'd been offered food in the brig as well, though he hadn't found himself hungry since entering the cell. It was possible, if this was a hologram, that Geordie wasn't Geordie and the pills had done more than relieve his headache. But it didn't follow that he shouldn't be hungry or sleepy. That was what one desired when tormenting a prisoner. You would want the prisoner to feel uncomfortable, and despite the lack of freedom and the tickle in the air produced by the forcefield, Bashir didn't feel overly uncomfortable. There were other things that didn't add up. Data was one. He'd understood the sign language and even responded in kind. And the sloppiness. When he'd first run into Section 31, Sloan had thought of everything, covered every escape, hid every clue--except for Chief O'Brien's shoulder injury the night before. This time there were too many holes he could fall through. There was no easy, clean way to get Bashir off the ship and Sloan had to know that. And since he hadn't slept, Bashir doubted he could have been transported without his knowledge. He decided against the holoprogram, though he didn't rule it out completely. The door opened and Bashir sat up, ready to face whoever entered, solid or not. It was Picard. Thankfully, he'd returned without Riker. "I thought you should know," Picard said, stopping in front of the cell, "I'll be acting as your advocate until Commander Data returns." Bashir met his eyes, trying to see if there was any deception there. He saw only a neutral expression, and perhaps weariness. He thought it best to remain neutral as well. "Thank you." It was good news after all, if one accepted that this wasn't a holoprogram. Data had left the ship to find the PADD. Perhaps Sloan would have a turn in the cell. He'd probably be set free soon after, but it would be a small victory. And small victories were really all he bothered to hope for anymore. "You still haven't eaten," Picard observed. "Is twelve hours going hungry?" "If one were hungry, perhaps," Bashir agreed. "But I'm not hungry." Picard didn't argue or push. He just nodded. "Well, I should hope this will all be cleared up before you do become hungry. Captain Sisko is on his way here." Bashir stood before he realized he was doing it. He walked to the edge of the forcefield. The air there crackled and pricked the hairs at the back of his neck. "He's coming here?" "You seem surprised," Picard said, furrowing his brow. "If he gave the order, he could clear you." Bashir turned away, feeling a weight drop into his stomach. "If he'll admit to it," he said quietly. Picard had heard though. "Why wouldn't he?" "Because he was very secretive about the whole thing," Bashir told him. There was no reason not to be truthful. If this were a simulation, Section 31 already knew the truth. If not, Picard would need to know it as his advocate. "He was very cold when he gave the order. He refused to give me a reason. He knew I'd ask for the order in writing, and he knew I'd protest. He never told me, or anyone else that I'm aware of, what the gel was for. I don't think he'll tell you either." "Not even to defend you?" Picard asked. Bashir faced him again, lowering his voice so that maybe the woman in the back wouldn't hear. "He ordered it. He ordered me to infiltrate Section 31. I don't think he was too concerned with my opinion or my welfare. I don't see why he would be now." Picard stepped closer and softened his own voice. "We didn't ask him to come," he said. "We didn't have a chance. We can't get through to him; he'd already left the station when we called. He's coming simply because he knows you're alive." That couldn't be it. Maybe O'Brien asked him to come. Maybe it was Dax. It wouldn't be Sisko, unless perhaps he felt guilty, though that was unlikely given the lack of concern for Bashir or the gel at the time of either of the orders. Picard didn't wait for a response. "Colonel Kira asked me to tell you that you were missed." Kira. Bashir turned away again, closing his eyes and fighting his emotions. He'd managed to keep everything on an even keel so far, not so much to fool himself as to fool Troi. If one expected too much positive, one would only be disappointed in the end, and disappointment was painful. He'd learned that lesson. Picard sensed Bashir's distress. He seemed torn. "You miss her, too," he guessed. "Are you good friends?" Or was it closer than that? "She saved my life," Bashir replied quietly, sitting down again. "Or at least she tried. I suppose it took a lot of people in the end." "In the end of what?" Picard hoped to keep him talking. He knew from personal experience how hard it was to do that but also how much it helped when he did. "Auschwitz," Bashir said, surprising Picard with his candor. He hadn't expected Bashir to be quite so open about it. Picard turned and motioned Lieutenant Veleo out to the corridor. "Doctor Crusher mentioned seeing a number on your arm," Picard admitted, keeping his voice low as well. "And some of the things you mentioned earlier. I suspected. '42 perhaps." "'43," Bashir corrected him, still staring at the wall, "February." He sounded almost hollow, the way Picard sometimes felt about what the Borg had done to him. "And March." Two months. "May I ask how?" He was worried that perhaps he was asking too much, but he couldn't help the curiosity. One didn't meet a survivor of the Holocaust often in this day and age. "The same way you saved the *Phoenix,*" Bashir replied. "Protecting the timeline from the enemy." "The Dominion," Picard realized. Not the Borg. So the Dominion had tried to change history, too. "Don't worry," Bashir said, not sounding particularly assuring, "we stopped them." "But why Auschwitz?" Auschwitz wasn't the place to change the timeline. Berlin, perhaps, but not a death camp. "Revenge," Bashir clarified. "We stopped the Founders' ship, but we missed the one changeling on our own. She was upset." He had a flair for understatement. Picard recalled Crusher's report of how she found him in the cave, mistaking her for someone else, several someone else's, all the same person. The changeling. "She was in the camp with you." Bashir sounded tired when he replied. "Not with. Against. She killed thirteen of us. I was the only one she sent to the camp. The others mostly died right away. She kept me alive until the others found me. Seven and a half weeks. Only one of my friends survived. Only one." Picard regretted the need for the cell again. "It must make it harder for you, being in there." Bashir tipped the corners of his lips up. "This?" he asked, turning his head toward Picard. "This can't even compare." The hint of smile disappeared. "Fortunately, I've found very little that can." Picard chose to turn to the lighter side of the issue. "How did Kira save you?" "She came after me," Bashir explained, "the last night, when Heiler was taking me to the gas. She almost made it in time. She killed the changeling anyway." *Almost made it*, Picard thought. "How did you survive?" "Transporter," he replied, "and then several days in the Intensive Care ward at Starfleet Medical." "And Sisko?" Picard asked, trying to break through that wall. "What did he do?" "He was different then." Bashir turned his head, looking away. Sisko was definitely a sticking point with him. "He stayed," Bashir continued, "for seven and a half weeks, looking for me and the others. He and the crew pulled sixteen hour shifts repairing the ship. And once they located me, he beamed down personally to transport me back to the Defiant. He was there in the hospital when I woke up. He'd been there the whole time, I think, nearly a day." "Sounds like a good captain," Picard commented. It sounded like himself--on his better days. Sisko would have moved heaven and earth to find his people, and once he did he stood by them. Picard was surprised when Bashir agreed. "He cared about his crew. All of us." "And now?" Picard wanted to get at the difference. "He cares about the war." "Captain," Worf's deep bass broke the silence on the bridge. "Long-range sensors have detected a ship." "What kind of ship?" Sisko asked. It was the first ship they'd come across since leaving the station nearly twelve hours earlier. "Federation," Worf replied, checking his instruments as the Defiant closed the distance. "Starfleet. Captain," his voice increased in intensity, "it is the *Enterprise*." "Hail them," Sisko ordered, hoping that this time they'd get an answer or even an outgoing signal. "We're still being jammed," O'Brien reported from Operations, "and you'll never guess the source." Sisko perked up and leaned forward toward the engineer. "Not the *Enterprise*." O'Brien just raised an eyebrow. Why would Picard be jamming the *Defiant*'s signal? "Are there any other ships out there?" he asked Worf. "Enemy ships?" "No, sir," Worf returned. "There is a Starfleet shuttle, however, fifteen hundred kilometers out." -- --Gabrielle I'd much rather be writing! http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/trek/ The Edge of the Frontier http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/doyle/ This Side of the Nether Blog: http://www.gabriellewrites.blogspot.com -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service. From ???@??? Thu Jan 29 00:51:10 2004 Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n35.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.103]) by robin (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1aM5534XD3NZFjX0 for ; Wed, 28 Jan 2004 21:51:09 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13018-1075355402-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.