I really do not understand the Bastard's tendency to try to get into private conversations with me. He does it all the jay' time. It's enough to drive a sane woman mad. That said, I have to at least make a pretense of trying to pretend to be civil, as regardless of what I think of him, he still outranks me, and it creates awkward questions when one disposes of or abuses superior officers too much.

I had assumed he was going to harass me about his contingency plans, in case we got stuck here for any length of time, or if he died. He'd already been hinting about such concerns already. If he knew me better, he'd know that he doesn't have to actually talk to me about such things, I will just take care of them. Problems with authority or not, I did get the same education in Starfleet Academy he did, and despite whatever assumptions he made about my skills, I did get pretty good marks in my courses. Thankfully, that didn't turn into a discussion we had to have right now, as he was trying to get the gossip about Noelle instead.

It's painfully obvious to anyone with a lick of sense watching those two that they want each other. They keep making excuses around it, claiming they just want to be friends, that there's this family/social reason, or that work reason, why they can't be together. I have to give the bastard points, when I did call him on the dancing around his desire for her and how it was plain as day to everyone, he admitted he's never been any good at hiding things.

The meat of the matter that he wanted to harass me about is what happened to Noelle in the mirror universe. He didn't mentioned the mirror universe, I'm not even sure if he knows the mirror universe is involved, but I don't care what he does and doesn't know. He clearly didn't get any of the juicy tidbits, and he seemed perplexed as to how I could understand the sort of loss I told him is justification for never holding back and never wasting time. When he admitted he didn't have access to the report, I told him that I couldn't tell him, he'd have to talk to her. He hadn't even been sure that anything had happened to Noelle, he really is clueless about people, as watching Noelle makes it clear something happened.

He did claim that he's suffered a great loss, implied it was something on par with what I went through losing Travis, without actually knowing the details of my loss. I can't say what he went through, but it probably isn't his broken marriage with Thil and the two who were absent when we were at his family's keep on the Andor mission. It wasn't a discussion I wanted to get into with him. He doesn't need to know about my past, I don't need to know about his. He just needs to understand that if he has interest in my friend, he needs to handle it correctly, or it's just going to stack on top of the other things he's done to piss me off.

I curled up in the hay loft to steal a little sleep after that. The Brian kid has a pretty nice, given the time period, amateur rocket lab set up in the hay loft. Where normally such a loft would be filled with loose hay, there are only a couple of bails along the edge to serve as a reminder that there's an edge there and keep one from falling off from absentmindedness. He has a couple of solid work tables that look to have seen their fair share of spills, and are cluttered with a whole collection of bottles, beakers and the occasional mason jar, all carefully labeled in a block print that speaks of someone who realizes that messy and hard to read handwriting can literally blow up in his face. If it came down to a need for it, it wouldn't be hard to get creative with what he has here, but I'd rather not take supplies when there are so many ways to earn them in this time period.

Someone who had access to my full record, not that unclassified list of reprimands and ships I've served on mess, but the real deal that pretty much no one outside of Temporal Investigations or Section 31 can read the whole of, and there's probably bits that either group can read that the other can't... well, anyone reading the full record would know this isn't the first time I've traveled through time, not even the first time I've ended up in the 20th century and on Earth. The last time really doesn't count in the grander scheme of things, we just mucked around on a Nazi airbase, killing a bunch of Nazis as we went, and came home after only a couple hours there.

Already, I get the feeling that this trip is going to be much different from that one. I wasn't there for more than a minute before there was a gun leveled at me, half my crew mates on that away mission just started running around and killing anything with a swastika armband. Temporal Investigations really didn't like us when we came back. The good news is that base didn't seem to be very important, and as far as any of the team could tell, we didn't change anything noticeable by killing those Nazis. The declassified Nazi reports about it were an interesting read when I took the time to dig them up one evening a few months afterwards. Zane seemed to have gotten the focus of the reports of the pilots who lived to tell the tale of their encounter with me and the Fuzzball.

Here, the first person we met was a teenage kid. It feels like so long ago that I was that young. It's such a stark contrast that here the first action from a local was to hand back something our group had dropped. When I claimed we were seeking somewhere to stay the night, in hopes of getting an answer and satisfying his curiosity enough that he'd go on his way... he instead offers his parents barn to us to sleep in for the night.

From the way that the rest of the team didn't seem to be reacting at all, I got the impression that I was the only one who'd done the time travel thing before. Regardless of if I was more or less experienced on the topic than my fellow officers, all of which outrank me, I was the one who started reacting to what was going on the quickest. As the lowest ranking officer in the bunch, it feels odd that I am pretty much leading the team. It's a good thing that between survival instincts beaten into me at a young age, where survival depends upon quick reaction not waiting for the authority figures to step in and control the situation, and my minor in 20th century earth history, I've been able to keep this situation under control.

I can already tell that the rest of the team is afraid of letting this Brian kid hang around, but between what I experienced on the Nazi base and what I've read in other reports I've been able to get my hands on, once a person native to the local time line notices you and starts interacting with you, it's usually better to keep them involved and under your influence. They're going to stick around, like it or not, so you might as well have a hand in shaping their impressions of you, guiding their reactions, and hopefully keeping damage to a minimum. V seems to have adjusted the best of the three, and she may yet prove to be a good partner in crime when we start going out to gather supplies in order to survive while stuck here. I get the impression that there's more to this woman than is visible on the surface. She's already shown a knack for changing her accent and helping weave up cover stories that I haven't seen so much outside of SI or theater geeks. She doesn't grate on my nerves like most SI folk, but she doesn't hit me as a theater geek either. I'll just have to keep an eye on her.

In worse news, the Blue Bastard's at it again. He and the Romulan Bitch, a title she just earned, almost got into a fight. In front of Brian just as he bumbled into our conversation and started putting pieces together quicker than I could work to throw doubt onto. My money is on the Romulan bitch, if the fighting turns into anything other than talk and posturing, but the evil part of me thinks I should let the two be paired off on information gathering and wait to see if one kills the other off. Might solve the bastard infestation on the Shingen without my having to get my hands dirty. She's bound to have diplomatic immunity or some shit, as an exchange officer, so it would work out for her. Also, cultural differences, she could cry! It has possibility.

Right now, Bastard's on watch, and I ferreted up a scrap of paper to jot this onto until we get back home and I can put it into my journal proper... or I end up getting a journal here if we get stuck for any length of time. If we get stuck for any length of time, I will have to see what I can do about getting a job doing something flying. I don't think I could handle being land locked for too long.

V's talked about being able to make us fake ID papers, and the team has all adopted human sounding names.. at least first names. V will probably either assign full names to each of us, or she'll ask us if we have anything in mind. I think I'll use Travis' family name if she gives me a choice. Desiree Foster doesn't sound half bad.

When out shopping for supplies in the morning, I should also keep an eye out for any goodies that could safely come home with me. Like records in mint condition of bands that we only have copies of digital recordings made from analog medium as the media was starting to die of old age. I'd only be inclined to ferret away booze, if I could find a way to let it pass through time and find its way to me some time after we get back. Probably not likely on that one... but there are bound to be other goodies that would be worth bringing home.

V and I found a couple of small bars on the station. We planted a few bottom feeding locals on their ass, got bought more than our fair share of drinks by admirers who didn't cut it, and shared stories of better bar crawls. She was highly amused by some of the tales I had of my times bar crawling with Blue, especially the time with the drunken Klingon who wanted to force me to be his bride.

When I asked why she wasn't working with all the other Engineers who were working on the upgrades and repairs we'd put into station for, she gave me a vague story about how Henriksen still wasn't sure what to do with her. The orders got all scrambled about, there was mention of maybe putting her into Ops, maybe not. At any rate, V technically wasn't expected for a little while yet, so they didn't seem in a rush to make her work. At least, that's what she implied, but I didn't completely buy it. Doesn't really matter anyways, It was nice to have someone who actually enjoyed the bar hopping with me, and didn't need to be watched and protected.

Around the time that the computer had told me that Imaru was done with her shift, I gave her a call, and she agreed to join us. She didn't seem as inclined towards the trouble as V and I, so the three of us ended up wandering the station, window shopping, and just talking about random things. The two of them wandered off into engineering related things a few times, leaving me completely lost in the conversation unless they wandered into stuff involving my helm systems.

Imaru has morning shifts all three days we're docked, but we've all agreed to also meet up after her shifts the next two days of leave. V and I also have plans to seek proper trouble either before or after Imaru's available for the evening part of the day.

After my unplanned research project of last night, I was woken up entirely too early for my tastes. Probably only four hours into my sleep, I am being awoken from a peaceful slumber to be surprised by a person in my quarters. I only saw a slight movement as my eyes started to crack, then I rolled across the bed, grabbed my d'k tahg and readied it against my unexpected guest before I could even identify her.

"I hate to say it but your promotion party bored me nearly to death, what's there to do around here?" she said to me, not even so much as pretending the d'k tahg was in the room, let alone pointed at her in a threatening manner. Between the painfully soviet accent, and finally getting a good look at her, I recognized her as the new face at the party last night. Svetlana. I put the blade away and shook my head.

"I hope that you at least had the courtesy to make sure my cat didn't get out when you gave yourself access to my quarters," was my answer.

Svetlana glanced around, "Cat is there." she pointed, "You are maybe wanting coffee? Bagel? Pants?"

"Pants are overrated," I answered with a smirk, and spared a glance towards where Svetlana indicated Delilah was. "I would accuse you of having an overgrown cat toy, but I know I saw that thing following you last night at the party..." The little bot had produced something fuzzy looking that it was taunting Delilah with. Sounded like there was a bell in it, and amazingly enough, Delilah was responding to the toy, probably because of the novel thing that was holding it, as any humanoid trying the same trick usually was ignored. "Okay, V, what flavor of trouble did you have in mind?"

"We could be starting with breakfast, perhaps with some beer? Nice breakfast beer is sounding good," Svetlana answered. At this, I shook my head and stood up.

"If you're looking to get a light buzz going this early in the morning, I have better stuff than beer," I explained as I snagged a couple random pieces of clothing from my closet to get dressed. I ended up with leather pants, a comfortably loose sweater and big stompy boots. "How about breakfast blood wine? That's alliterative..." Svetlana seemed to ponder this, and an idea came to me. "At the party, you were claiming you could peg the age on various alcoholic tasties... we could start with this..." As I spoke, I made for the little cabinet that I kept my small collection. I pulled out my 2309.

She almost sounded like she wasn't going to get the year, but after a little pondering, and some muttering in what sounded vaguely Russian, but made the universal translator spit out white noise, she got it. So I pulled out the Romulan Ale I had. Not as good as what Spiegel had, but this was what I had left of the 2341. She couldn't quite pin it, she got it within a decade. After a little more sampling of my fine collection, she mentioned we'd already docked at the station for the repairs and leave, so I suggested we find adventure on the station. When she spit more of the Russian sounding stuff that borked the universal translators, this time at her bot to convince it to leave Delilah alone, I asked her what language it was. New Siberian was her answer. Interesting,

At any rate, I aim to follow up with Imaru at some point. When I inquired of her to the computer, it was indicated she was already roped into an engineering shift so soon after joining the crew here. Svetlana agreed we could check in with her after her shift, so the two of us are headed to the station to investigate the bars.

While digging through my belongings after returning from the party, I found the silliest damn toy I have ever owned. I came across it when doing a research project on toys during my second semester of 20th century studies in the Academy. It's called an Astrojax, and it is the love child of juggling and yo-yos. While both concepts had been around for a long long time before the invention of this toy, no one had thought to try to combine the two together.

When I was telling Corey about the odd thing a physicist had invented, he insisted we had to replicate one. It took a bit of fussing to get a pattern for the replicator, and ultimately we had to reinvent the thing based upon what I'd been able to find out about it while writing my paper, but I think we were ultimately successful. Corey bored of it quickly, so it was a good thing we only actually bothered to replicate one, but I still find myself picking it up to play with years later. It also helps that Delilah is absolutely fascinated with the things, and will happily sit and watch me play with them for hours. Certainly comes in handy when I need to distract her from something else.

I was very underwhelmed by how the party went, but we seem to have picked up a couple more crew members at random and they made it to the party for me to meet them. One's human, seems like she'll be fun to get into trouble with. I didn't catch her last name, certainly sounded Russian, but her first name is Svetlana. A touch of a mouthful, I'll have to figure out something shorter to call her. The other's an Andorian, named Imaru, but she's weird for an Andorian. Not like standard I'm in Starfleet Andorian weird, but something else. She bristles at the presence of other Andorians, and some of her remarks implied that she considered herself different from the others. It doesn't seem like it'll be anything to bother me, and it will be nice to have someone else to share the feeling of personal vendetta against the Blue Bastard with.

One other thing about her that's worth noting... She had been serving aboard the Terra Nova the same time as I was, but I somehow hadn't encountered her. I guess she usually keeps to herself down in Engineering or something like that. At any rate, that part is less weird that it should probably seem. The weird thing is, I had somehow not heard of what had happened to the Terra Nova not long after I'd be transferred to that shit hole, Milliways. Apparently there was some big to-do, whole ship got fucked up, official report claimed subspace anomaly destroyed her, and we lost a lot of good people. I looked up the official reports I had security clearance for, thankfully no one had bothered to take away my clearance levels left from Delta Force, as there was a little more information in the reports one level up. Not enough to actually explain what happened, but just enough to support the cryptic remarks Imaru made when she was bringing me up to date at the party.

The worst part about it was I knew a good chunk of the crew lost, partied hardy with more than a few, and they'd been dead and gone for over a year before I even heard about it. I knew Milliways was basically a black hole in the fleet, but I thought Mouse had kept me up to date on most of the big events that happened in the fleet during my sentence there.

I think the full impact of what I had missed hearing about, the lack of a chance to timely mourn the loss of so many good people, was what left me melancholy enough to dig out that silly Astrojax toy. It's a good way to distract oneself enough to left stuff sort itself out in the back of one's head without having to consciously think about it.

Leaving the mess, I kept hearing my name float up in the conversation. I made a point to ignore it. Reaching the corridor, I let out a sigh of relief as I was now out of ear shot of the damned gossip brigade. The Shingen easily had the most active and rabid gossip network I'd ever encountered on a fleet ship, which is saying a lot given the level of crap I'd heard about on Milliways sometimes.

I swung past my quarters, and checked my messages. There was something from Mouse with a note about how I should have put in a change of address with the post office, and he doesn't appreciate having to forward my mail for me. Also, when would I have some leave to come back and visit. I tossed back a quick reply that I had no intention of stepping foot on Milliways again if I could avoid it, but if he wanted to coordinate leave somewhere like six months down the road, I'd be happy to meet him somewhere. Also, I asked if he was reading my mail before forwarding it, and if so, was this anything interesting?

As tempted as I was to open the message Mouse had forwarded to me, I knew that I couldn't waste too much time before showing up down at the flight deck. Johnson hadn't had much left on his plate when I made my hasty retreat, and Cryn had stopped eating after I'd poked fun as his replicated gagh. He did claim to appreciate the real thing, so I wonder if he'd even been to Valanna's in San Fran. So I reluctantly made my way down to the flight deck.

"During her debriefing, she mentioned a program Spiegel put together for her to monitor comm channels. I'd like to get a look at it," Cryn said to Johnson. I entered the flight deck just as he was saying this, his back to me, and frowned slightly. Johnson was first to acknowledge my presence with a nod in my direction. I did the same so as to not break into their conversation, but apparently they were going to draw me into it anyways.

"Voralis was just telling me about a comm program that Lucas made for you," Johnson directed at me. I'd gotten so used to hearing everyone just call the dork Spiegel that it still throws me off to hear anyone use his given name. My face must have reflected this as the look that Johnson directed my way expressed confusion.

"He prefers to be addressed as Spiegel," I corrected, making an effort to be polite about it. This only seemed to confuse the Admiral more, as his mouth twisted into a slight frown.

"Mr. Spiegel didn't seem like the formal sort," he commented back at me, and I shook my head slightly.

"Just call him Spiegel, no mister attached." I explained, following Johnson and Cryn as they headed towards the Obama. As we reached it, Johnson stepped aside with a gesture to indicate he wanted me to go first. I awkwardly smiled as I moved past him, and darted inside without waiting for the door to finish opening. Demonstrating more patience than I was typically capable of, both men waited for the door to open all the way before they followed me in, giving me a chance to start settling in before they were there to watch and evaluate. I sat at the right front console, and pulled up the configuration I'd saved during the last trip in the Obama.

"How does the customization interface work?" Johnson asked as he settled into the chair to my left. I'd just started the preflight check, so I only spared a moment to reach over and trigger the customization mode on his console. Cryn was standing just behind me and to my left, so that he could easily look over both mine and the Admiral's shoulder, and without looking back, I could tell he was doing just that.

"For someone who complains about fleet consoles and training being so human specific, your console isn't that far off from fleet standards," Cryn observed after a couple moments observation, to which I shrugged.

"First ten years of my life were on Luna, I can't help it if I picked up some human habits," I dismissed. While I was saying this, Cryn placed a hand on the back of my chair and leaned forward to take a closer look at my console. Glancing back at him, I saw his eyes were directed to the lower left corner where I had a couple of programs displaying readings for me.

"Is that Spiegel's program?" he asked pointing it out among the group he'd been looking at, and Johnson finally turned his attention away from trying out the console customization. As I nodded, I elected to send the program to the main display to avoid having the two men move too far into my personal space. "You mentioned it would crash if someone it didn't recognize were too close, but it's running fine with us here." Cryn observed, and I glanced over my shoulder to find his eyebrow raised.

"When I opened it, it identified both of you from internal sensors, and asked if you were authorized. It gave me your name, rank and serial number," I explained, and indicated I was talking about Johnson, then turned my gaze to Cryn. "But it couldn't give me anything more than your picture and security clearances. It did list off some interesting security groups I haven't seen since my time with Delta Force and Terra Nova." Cryn coughed, then frowned, but Johnson had an amused look across his face. "I knew you were a spook," I couldn't resist ribbing him, and he retreated to the chair on the other side of Johnson.

"What would it take for me to get a copy of the program?" Cryn finally asked. I let a sly smile play across my lips and let him sit in silence a moment before answering.

"Spiegel really should give me a commission, I've spread more of his creations than he has," I quipped, not actually answering the question posed to me.

"Except for his book," Cryn corrected, and his tone of voice told me he was trying to regain an advantage in the conversation.

"I heard they're giving copies of the book to undercover agents for Starfleet Intelligence," Johnson commented.

"That'll really stroke the dork's ego." I initiated the takeoff sequence as I said this. "It tickled him pink enough when the Bastard started carrying around a copy of it with him."

"Bastard?" Johnson asked with a furrowed brow. Cryn chuckled a little.

"That's what she calls Shan," Cryn explained, and Johnson frowned.

"Therav's a good officer," he objected.

"He shot me in the back in a bar on Milliway's, sir." My statement was brisk and not without a tinge of anger.

"I'm sure he had a good reason."

"Apparently he was trying to keep me from getting into more trouble than I'd already found myself in," I all but growled. The Obama cleared the docking bay doors as I said this, and I pulled her sharply up, keeping the roof of the craft about a meter away from the outer hull of the Shingen. Johnson held onto the edge of his console, and Cryn steadied himself by holding the arm of his chair. "I don't care what his reason, there is never a justifiable excuse to shoot someone in the back. Ever."

"You turned the inertial dampeners down, didn't you?" Johnson asked as I banked the craft right and headed out to the open space just past the ship.

"Airsick bag's available from the replicator, pattern Diziara Greenhorn Four," I explained as I laid in a course. Cryn chuckled as Johnson looked back at the replicator a moment, but eventually elected to stay seated. I hardly paid him any mind, as I was laying in a course so I could focus on the holographic extension to the console.

"So, is it the fourth version of an airsick bag you've created?" Johnson asked, commenting on the pattern number. My laugh surprised him, and I took a moment before I responded, so I could display the stock holographic interface options on the main screen as I scrolled through the list.

"Do you know how to count on your hand in binary, sir?" I finally asked him as I paused on one that was labeled Stearman PT-17. Cryn smiled slyly as Johnson went through the motions to count out to four, ending up with only his middle finger extended.

"How subtle," was all Johnson had to say on that. I locked in the Stearman configuration, grinning widely as the console in front of me morphed into one that resembled the instrument panel in a PT-17 Stearman biplane. Analog gauges, switches and the control stick all laid out like I remembered it, and my hands wandered a moment without actually activating anything.

"Corey actually sent me the pattern when I'd complained about the greenhorns making messes in the shuttles I'd fly for away missions," I explained as I started actively adjusting the panel. Reassigning this gauge, adding that display, relocating the odd switch, there were so many things wrong about the preconfigured layout. Whoever had designed the adaption of the antique craft's panel to Starfleet technological needs clearly hadn't flown the biplane in question.

"Corey Waterhouse?"

"Yes sir."

"Will you stop calling me sir?"

"Yes, Sir." I felt like the Cheshire cat as my grin managed to double in size as I ribbed Johnson. Cryn chuckled softly, and Johnson looked from me to Cryn and back again a couple times.

"Waterhouse should have been an Engineer," he finally said, probably realizing that I was just needling him at this point. I couldn't help snorting in amusement.

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious to the most casual observer. It's Jack's fault he's a pilot instead."

"Figgins? How do you figure?"

"Went through the Academy with the pair of 'em." Finally satisfied with the configuration I'd settled on, I saved it and took the Obama out of auto pilot. "Corey freely admitted that he went through flight training to keep an eye on Jack and help him out, and he didn't have the time to spare to double major. I know he could have done it, if he wanted, but Jack and I would have seen almost nothing of him outside of class. It would have made my downtime horribly boring."

"Wasn't Jack in Red Squad? Why would he need looking after?"

"Corey and I shoe horned every last bit of education into him that he needed to maintain the grades for Red Squad," I explained, and tested the Obama's response to the stick by throwing her into a barrel roll. Johnson opened his mouth to object to this statement, so I continued talking. "Corey didn't care for the elitist attitude of the group, and I was too much of a trouble maker for them to let me in. Jack about had 'em sold to accept me, but then Admiral Paris went and spoiled it by making me punch him."

"Interesting take on that event, Owen tells it differently," Cryn commented with a chuckle. Before I could retort, Johnson took control of the conversation again.

"Jack's been a department head on the Monitor for a while now, he's shown no indication of needing as much help as you're implying. And Corey only recently transferred in, so he wouldn't have been able to prop Jack up into the position."

"Once you get the information into him, Jack holds onto it especially well. He had to eventually figure out what it was that Corey and I did to get him to retain information, and figure out how to do it himself. He's certainly not stupid," I explained, and started running through some of my favorite maneuvers. I tried to bite back my smile as I noticed Johnson glancing back towards the replicator.

"So, if you're not saying he's stupid, what are you saying is wrong with Jack?" Johnson finally asked. I pulled the Obama up short, and turned her back towards the Shingen.

"Nothing is wrong with him. He's just got a learning disability, and doesn't respond to the medications most people take to handle it," I explained with an annoyed sigh. Conversation came to a dead halt with this statement, and I fussed with the holographic controls a little more. "There's a little bit of a lag, but it probably wouldn't take much effort to iron it out," I finally declared. "So, are we going to get to keep the Obama for a little bit, or are we going to have to send her on to someone else soon?"

"I had to pull quiet a few strings to get you the first crack at her, but I'll do what I can to keep her here for a while. They're working to build a second one, so depending on how quickly that goes, it might take some of the pressure off to hand this one over," Johnson told me.

"They're going to upgrade the phase inducers on the second one, to the specs that Spiegel and Noelle recommended in their reports, right?" I asked, a slight frown on my face.

"As far as I know," Johnson answered. "Though knowing engineers, it's entirely possible they'll insist on not doing it and just posting a warning against playing near tachyon eddies."

"I don't know an engineer worth the air they breath that would dare do such a thing," I shot, possibly a little defensively. This brought the conversation to a halt, and I sat back in my chair, letting the Obama pilot herself from the course I'd laid in.

Eventually Cryn and Johnson started interrogating me on the ship's customizable consoles as if I was the one who wrote up the specs or built the damn thing. Even though I managed to satisfy their questions, I was wishing I'd insisted on bringing Spiegel along to field these questions. I saw some of the notations he'd made on the copy of the specs he'd been reading over in the mess earlier. At least my experience with holoprogramming helped me on fielding the questions about the holographic interface.

When they finally decided they'd had enough, and I was clearly growing weary from having been cooped up in the ship with them for so long without even my normal music to help balance things out, I laid in a course back to the Shingen. That's when they really blind sided me.

"How long has it been since you last got promoted?" Cryn asked me. His tone was innocent, but a quick glance in his direction made it clear he was up to something. Johnson's attention snapped up from his console as Cryn said this.

"You tell me. You're the one who went over my extended dossier with a fine tooth comb," I shot back.

"Nearly seven years," Johnson helpfully answered for me. Wondering what they were getting at, I turned to look at them both. Johnson had produced from somewhere a little box and had popped it open. A little gold pip, to replace my black one, was sitting in the box. "You're more than overdue."

"I think she was convinced she was going to die a Lieutenant junior grade," Cryn commented with a chuckle, and Johnson grinned at me. I was sitting in my chair slack jawed, and Johnson handed the box over to Cryn. I could tell there was more said in this gesture than I could decypher, but at the time I was still blind sided so it didn't even occur to me to even attempt to parse it out. Cryn changed out my pips for me, and Johnson told me that he had some good spirits tucked away if I wanted to celebrate later. I made a polite reply that neither accepted or declined the invitation, and the rest of the way back to the Shingen I was quiet.

Though, once I'd parted company with the Admiral and Cryn, I did hold my chin especially high to show off my new rank.

The arrival back to the Shingen wasn't too bad, given that we'd been to the mirror universe and back, and of course they had to take precautions that we really were ourselves and not our doubles. Noelle took it quietly and patiently, but it was clear she was relieved when they finally decided they could leave her alone, let her get on with recovering from the abuse Maddie put her through. Spiegel bitched and moaned through the whole process. It wasn't exactly a cake walk for any of us, but the True New Yorker came out in the dork during the ordeal. It wasn't good enough to suffer quietly through the indignities and insults of the welcome we were receiving, but he had to make it clear that he was receiving the worst of it. I know for a fact that he got the lightest and kindest touch, I think Marla likes him for some reason and doesn't realize he has a very strict no crew mates policy.

We'd written our reports on the Obama on the way back to the ship. There was a good amount of downtime with the distance we had to travel back to the ship, and without the stops at the various bars we had on the first half of the trip, it felt like it stretched out quite a while, so those are likely the best reports Spiegel and I have ever filed. It was probably pretty safe to assume that copies of the reports were distributed to everyone who had reason and authorization to read them, well before we actually made it back to the Shingen. That would explain why within 24 hours of our making it back on the ship, Admiral Johnson and his entourage arrived and noises were made about a proper debriefing.

Spiegel volunteered to go first, probably to get it over and done with, to better enable him to get back to his routine in Engineering. Since we brought him back from Andor, and his multiple year undercover assignment, Sharad had found himself tucked into Johnson's entourage. He got the task of debriefing Spiegel, which went fairly casually based upon Spiegel's mood and what he was babbling about when he got out. We didn't actually talk about the debriefing, but Spiegel had new topics for his book, and was talking about his cascade virus again, which lead me to guess that Sharad had approached these two topics during the debriefing. I had assumed that Johnson was just going to have Sharad conduct all the debriefings, so I was a little surprised when I entered the room to find a man I didn't know waiting for me. The debriefing itself was odd enough that I feel compelled to lay it out as accurately as possible so I can better analyze it later.

( Briefing Transcript )

It felt like I was being haunted from the moment I met him. He was Travis, but he wasn't my Travis, is the best I can explain it. I think the most unsettling thing about it was that unlike my Travis, he was combat adept. It caught me off balance that he'd never met my double in his universe, but could find each and every one of my buttons to push, but given that my Travis was doing the same before he even considered me worth talking to, I can't say that it surprised me.

I didn't want to admit that he thrilled me. I'm afraid to admit that had we had more time together, had there not been this whole issue of almost everyone trying to kill us, steal our shit, or all together treating us like these undeserving brats who'd been given wealth we didn't deserve, I probably would have fallen for him. I'm not sure how that would have worked out though, Toby would likely kill me if I up and ditched him to stay in another universe, and I really don't think it would have worked to bring him back to ours, even if I had been inclined to ignore starfleet regs.

Part of me is afraid to talk about any of this with anyone else. It was pretty clear that he was simply taking advantage of a weakness in my armor. However, towards the end, part of me wanted to believe there was chemistry, that there was passion and desire there, that I could have recaptured what I'd lost. The rational part of me, no matter how quiet her voice and how often she fails to weigh in on my actions, kept telling me I was deluding myself, that I was reaching for a shadow and a reflection.

I think knowing that, it was part of the reason when Spiegel called me back early, stopping me from settling things with Maddie, I didn't insist on going and finishing. Travis offering to help me settle that, it would have given him more time to worm his way in, to convince me to do something that would have only shattered me later when it blew up. I think I can at least take some small measure of comfort to know that some version of him is out there, still alive and thriving, though in a way that's nothing like what my own Travis would have done.

I need to talk to either Blue or Toby now. Either one of them would be able to help me sort myself out over this. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll have time before debriefings, and those are only going to make it harder. Trying to stay detached, clinical and professional in my reports, when half my attention while I was there was being inflamed by this doppelganger.

“There's no one following you,” I heard, causing me to come to a quick stop, pivoting to see who said it. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face. “So, where's the fire?” Between the body language and the use of metaphor, I could have mistaken him for my Travis if I hadn't known better.

“Leaning against the wall, at the moment,” I retorted as I bit back a growl. This provoked a laugh that tugged at my memories and only served to irritate me that much more.

“I figured you were going to relieve me of that problem named Maddie.”

“That's next on the itinerary once I settle the small matter of my d'k tahg,” I explained much cooler than I expected myself able to. He shrugged.

“Then don't let me stand in the way,” he responded and produced the blade from a random pocket. He then offered it up by holding the handle towards me. I stared at him and it was a moment before I all but snatched it out of his hand. As I carefully inspected it for damage or abuse, he watched me. Finally satisfied he'd not defiled it, I slowly slid it back into its sheath. “I take it you expected a fight?”

“You had proved difficult so far,” I muttered. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at me and chewed his lip a bit.

“He wasn't, was he?”

“He was, but not in the same ways.”

“I must feel like a bad carbon copy.” His statement amused himself enough that he snorted over it.

“So many things are the same. The choice of metaphors, body language, nervous ticks...” I started, then forced myself to take a step back. “But then you do or say something to remind me you're not him. Hold my blade correctly, effectively respond to my defensive moves, fail to respond the right way to my ticks...”

“So you want me to be combat inept, and throw you against the wall for a quick fuck?”

“You're not him,” I said, easily as much to remind myself as to push him away.

“No, I'm not. I'm probably better suited to you than he was-” he started, and I cut him off by violently pinning him to the wall with a snarl. He chuckled and jutted his hips out to meet mine, while putting up no fight to escape my grasp. “Careful, Darlin', or I will take this as an invitation.” I had one hand on his throat, the other holding both wrists against the wall above his head.

He slid one wrist free of my grasp and brought that hand to the back of my neck. He drew me close and caught my lower lip between his teeth, drawing from me a soft growl. My grip on his neck slackened, and I involuntarily arched my body towards him. His other wrist came free of my grip, and found its way to the small of my back.

As suddenly as he'd caught me, I realized what was going on and pulled away. “I don't have time for this,” I insisted. He tried to close the space between us and I slammed him back into the wall again, keeping an arm's length between us.

“I can make it quick, if you'd like,” he offered with a grin. He was clearly finding amusement in this struggle I was going through. I made the mistake of blinking, and found myself pinned to the opposite wall, his leg between mine, my hands held against the wall about shoulder height, and his body was right against mine. "I wouldn't want to come between a predator and her prey, but I think the hunting might go better if we cleared your head a bit first," he suggested, his lips within an inch of mine. I could feel my heart pounding, and I wasn't sure if it was the anger, the frustration, or the thrill of it. Quite probably all of them. It took me a moment this time, but I managed to focus enough that I could shove him away. He stood back and looked at me when I pulled my d'k tahg to keep him at bay.

"Nice scar on your hip. He did it, didn't he?" he smirked as he asked this, and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Thought so. That's one of the places I would have likely focused upon given the chance."

"If you want to keep this up, I'll put you onto my to kill list right before Maddie-" I started to threaten. He laughed at me.

"I don't think you could do it."

"I've killed warriors twice your size." I rushed him with my d'k tahg raised.

"It's not your skill I doubt," he spit out when his knife met mine to block my attack. Our eyes locked for a moment, then he pushed me away. "I'd expect nothing less than kill or be killed, if it really were as simple as that." When I didn't charge again, he put his knife away, and stood looking at me. I spit a string of profanities at him in a mix of English, Klingon and the occasional sample of Andorian, causing him to laugh and I quickly turned to stalk away.

"Don't think of this as victory, I will return to settle this with you," I directed over my shoulder. I heard him chuckle at me, and growled.

"I expect nothing less. Meanwhile, I think I'll try to track down your counterpart, she should prove fun if you're any indicator." I elected not to say anything in reply to that, and turned my focus towards finding my way back to the engineering section.

After inviting Spiegel and Noelle on the mission to go collect the Obama-class prototype, we had a good conversation in the mess, and I think I've unintentionally started a new nick name for the trio of women that serve as the next level of authority under th'Shan in tactical/security. They seem to be known as the Valkyries now, and what's worse is that despite his lack of appreciation of opera, Spiegel has managed to retain one bit that has been twisted for this particular application. He started humming Ride of the Valkyries when I first called them such, and next thing you know, half the peons in the mess are humming it along with him each time they came up in conversation. I wonder if they'll take it as a compliment or insult, only time will tell.

On my way out of the mess, I noticed Grace sitting with her friend, and I stopped by her table a moment to ask her to find me in my quarters after my duty shift today. She hasn't shown up yet, but I believe her duty shift today was the same as mine, even though she was down on the flight deck and I was elsewhere. The look on her face when I asked her to come talk to me told me she had an idea of what I wanted to talk about, but she assured me she'd be here, so I should be seeing her soon.

I just got a message back from Admiral Johnson about that report I filed about the state of current fleet craft. Where most admirals would likely wonder where a lowly lieutenant junior grade who's been puttering around in the fleet for over a decade with little upward motion to show for it comes off ripping apart Starfleet's best so completely, Johnson actually said it took balls. Yeah, he used that outdated sexist term that Spiegel wouldn't even include in his book. Johnson's a piece of work, but then any human who'd embrace my insanity and violence, and so generously overlook my obvious lack of respect for brass, could be nothing else.

The man really does want to win me over. Not only did he attach a complete official copy of the tech specs for the latest craft they're currently testing out to replace the aging fleet of Danube-class runabouts, but he's also said that if I'll send him a list of who I want on the team, he'll let me go pick the prototype up from the shipyards they recently opened in the Bajor sector for in the field testing out of the Shingen. They're calling it an Obama-class, seems a strong enough name for the craft. I haven't taken the time to skim the specs yet, so we'll see if the craft holds up to the name they've selected for it. I do hope they're including some of the trick shit they've backwards engineered out of the various Dominion tech that was acquired during the war, and I'm sure they'll include some of the better borg tech now that they've had lots of time to interrogate collaborate with that former drone that Voyager brought home with them.

Of course, I'm going to suggest Spiegel to come along. He wouldn't forgive me if I got to go and pick up a new toy and he didn't get to come along. I'll likely see if Noelle's interested in coming too. The Admiral suggested that I bring a security officer along, but I don't know and trust anyone in security on the Shingen yet, and I'm paranoid given that the bastard was in charge of security until recently and likely had influence on most of the officers here. Noelle can hold her own with and without a weapon, and so can I, so I'll explain to Johnson that she and I should be able to handle any security needed for the trip. Now I just need to decide if I'm going to ask Noelle if she's interested in coming, or if I should just assume she is and surprise her when the Admiral's orders come through.

He made it sound like it'd probably be a week or so after I get back to him before he'll be able to iron out all the bits in order to give the orders. That just gives me time to get my fun brewing in the holodeck and drop the specs he so kindly provided into the program. I wonder how long it'd take someone to find the Obama-class specs if I didn't say anything about making them available in the program.