Title: "The Attack" (Part 3 of 5)
Author: Lt. Commander K'Lara Lataro
Stardate: Unknown/2460614
Earthdate: Sometime in the Past/August 12, 1999
Location: Klingon Bird of Prey/USS Virgo

Q'Tar led his daughter to the shuttle bay. He was going to teach his daughter to fly a Klingon ship. He knew she had the potential to be a great fighter, but he wanted her to know that there were other things that a Klingon could do.

The doors opened and he led her to a small shuttle. Most Klingons on the ship considered it an escape pod, because it was too small to do any real fighting. Q'Tar figured it would be perfect for his daughter to learn to fly.

"This is the M'Gar," Q'Tar said as he pressed the keypad to open the door. "I will be teaching you to fly."

K'Lara was surprised and excited, "Really? You are?"

Her father nodded and the two stepped into the shuttle. He pointed out the pilot's position and showed her all the controls on the console. He could see that she was excited and knew that she would do well. He smiled as his daughter placed her small hands on the console. He could almost see her flying the ship into battle.

"You are going to be excellent, K'Lara," Q'Tar said, beaming with pride.

K'Lara smiled as well, glad that she could make her father proud.

After several weeks of training, K'Lara surprised the Klingon crew with her ability to fly. One day, Q'Tar convinced Klag to let her practice flying the ship. At only ten years old, K'Lara maneuvered the large ship like an experienced pilot. Klag was impressed.

"You have an excellent pilot here, Q'Tar," Klag said, smiling. "I'd be glad to have her on my crew when she becomes older."

Q'Tar couldn't keep the smile off his face as his commander told him those words.

The lessons increased as he pushed his daughter to be the best. She could out fly almost all the ship's pilots. There was one, though that out flew her every time; T'Kar. K'Lara hated losing to him. She believed that he was
the one person that stood in her way of piloting the ship she was born on. She tried not to let her frustration and anger show, but one day it became too much.

K'Lara confronted him after she had lost a little race to him.

"So, K'Lara, have you finally decided to give in and say that I'm a better pilot than you?" T'Kar said, smugly.

"No," K'Lara growled, her red eyes burning."I've come to teach you a lesson in humility. Something, I doubt you have since you are a spoiled targ."

T'Kar glared at her, "I may be spoiled, but I learned to fly on my own. I didn't have daddy there to teach me or his friends around to boost me up the ladder."

That did it. K'Lara snarled at made a move to punch him. Instead of hitting him, though, he flew back and slammed into the wall. She stared at T'Kar as he slid down to the floor. She continued to stare even as she called for help.

The incident with T'Kar did not go unnoticed. The Klingons began to avoid her if they could. If they couldn't, they would go out of their way not to anger her. Klingon tempers were well known, but K'Lara's some how surpassed
it. The crew began to believe that she had also inherited both her parents' tempers. This combination made her a force not to be crossed.

"It seems that she has also inherited her mother's powers," T'Larg, the ship's doctor informed Klag after he had examined T'Kar. "She had tossed him across the deck without even touching him. That's what she told me anyway."

Klag nodded thoughtfully. He then took a deep breath and spoke, "With a temper like hers, she's going to fly off the handle at any provocation. I can't have that on my ship."

T'Larg nodded, "You had better inform Q'Tar."

Klag nodded, knowing that this was going to be the hardest for him.

Even after a hard argument, Q'Tar couldn't persuade Klag to let K'Lara stay on board. He finally agreed to let her off on Earth so that she could finish her training as a pilot.

"Besides, maybe one day, she'll be back, "Q'Tar had promised his wife.
_______________________________

Lt. Commander K'Lara woke to the sterile environment of Sickbay. She looked around and suddenly wished she hadn't. A pounding began in her head; she shut her eyes tight against it and moaned.

"You're awake," a voice came to her ears. "We've been worried."

K'Lara opened her eyes to see Dana Maruu scanning her. "What happened? Worried? Who?"

"Me, your husband, the captain. Even your son. Jon says that he hasn't been sleeping too well since your accident."

"Accident?" K'Lara was becoming confused, and her head was aching more.

"You were attacked by a T'rais vessel. We were able to rescue you, but you were unconscious. You were in a coma for two days."

K'Lara tried to sit up, but the pain in her head was too much. She fell back into unconsciousness much to Dr. Maruu's dismay.
 

Title: "The Attack" (Part 4 of 5)
Author: Lt. Commander K'Lara Lataro
Stardate: Unknown
Earthdate: Sometime in the Past
Location: Earth

K'Lara stared at the large building before her. The sun shown brightly down upon it, and it reflected in her eyes. She held up her hand to protect her eyes as she searched for the person that was going to show her around.

"Hello, there," a voice from behind made her jump.

She spun around to see a tall man in a red and black Starfleet uniform. One look at it and she began to wonder why her father had chosen to drop her off at Starfleet. She only knew that they used to be the Klingon Empire's worse enemies. Now they were somehow allies.

"I am K'Lara, daughter of Q'Tar," she said proudly, her eyes sparkling with an inner fire.

The man smiled, not at all intimidated, "I am Admiral Williams and I have the pleasure of showing you around, my dear."

K'Lara blinked. An Admiral? She didn't think they did anything, except sit on their duffs and give others orders. She shook her head then nodded. "What's first on the tour?"

Williams smiled, "Why where you will be staying, of course."

The half-Klingon returned his smile and followed him to the women's dorms.

K'Lara, like the few Klingons before her to join Starfleet, had trouble fitting in, but she didn't care. She was there to learn to fly and whatever else that went with it. Those that decided to take their frustrations out on her soon learned of her extra abilities.
____________________________

"You! Klingon!"

K'Lara turned around and stared at an angry cadet running toward her. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

*Here we go again,* she thought with disdain. *Won't they ever learn?*

"You did better than me on that flight test," he growled. "No one does better than me. Nobody!"

"Well, say hello to nobody," K'Lara growled back. "And I'll continue to beat you, because you're too arrogant to see past showing off. That's why you didn't get a better score, fly boy."

"You can't talk to me like that!"

"I just did. Now go home before I really get angry."

She almost didn't see the fist flying toward her head. She caught it before it made contact. She glared at him, her eyes letting him know that he had made a terrible mistake. She twisted the hand around, making it hurt, but not break.

"Say you're sorry or I will break it off," K'Lara hissed.

"Sorry! I'm sorry," the cadet nearly screamed.

K'Lara let him go and watched as he ran quickly in the other direction. Any on-lookers took his advice and turned the other way. She only sighed and shook her head. After two years at being in the Academy, some people still thought that she was another savage Klingon.

Her third year proved to be tougher than her last. Her temper was starting to get out of control, and not because poor losers wanted to get even with her. She would have outbursts of anger whenever she messed up on her flight test. She nearly destroyed a holodeck when she failed a difficult maneuvering test. The instructor tried to tell her that no one could pass it on their first try, but she wasn't just anyone. She had out-scored most every pilot in the Academy. She wasn't about to let a silly holoprogram out-do her.

"I want to do it again!" K'Lara screamed.

"You will, K'Lara. After you re-do test number thirteen."

"I already did that test and passed. I don't want to do it again."

"You have to, K'Lara. For practice if nothing else."

That didn't sit well with her. She roared, and a small fireball shot out of her hand without her even trying. The instructor ducked in time, and the fire hit the back wall of the holodeck. K'Lara stared in shock. She hadn't meant to do that.

"K'Lara, I think it's time you seen a counselor about your temper," the instructor said before he called Security.
____________________________

K'Lara didn't like the idea of seeing a counselor. She liked it even less to know that he was Vulcan. She protested right up until she was pushed through his door. She stared at him, her eyes blazing red, but he looked at her as calm as a clear spring day. She hated that.

"K'Lara, I believe," the Vulcan said with centuries of practiced calm behind his voice. "I am Counselor Telek. I will be helping you with your temper."

"And how are you going to do that?" K'Lara snarled. "Meditation? Relaxation? What Vulcan technique are you going to use?"

Telek just looked at her. He knew that doing so would anger her more, but maybe she would realize that being calm in a situation was better than using one's temper."

"Sit down, K'Lara, and let's begin."

K'Lara sat down, not taking her eyes off the Vulcan.

"Now, K'Lara, we will begin with deep breathing exercises." Telek began to breathe in deep and exhale slowly. K'Lara just stared at him.

"K'Lara, breathe deep."

She growled low in her throat. The idea of taking lessons to calm her temper was ridiculous to her. It wasn't her fault that people made her angry.

Telek continued to breathe in deep as if K'Lara was not there at all. After awhile, K'Lara began to follow his lead and breathe in and slowly out. The Vulcan watched her and nodded his approval.

"Good, K'Lara. Feel the anger leave your body. Push it out with each exhalation."

K'Lara began to feel the anger subside as she continued the breathing. Soon, she was out of anger, and she opened her eyes.

"Excellent, K'Lara," Telek said unemotionally."To answer you're first question, you will be doing meditation and learning to relax like you just did with the breathing exercises. I will expect you here everyday at 1400 hours. You are dismissed until tomorrow."

K'Lara stared opened-mouthed at the Vulcan. That was it?! All she did was breathe and she got to go home?

"The lessons will get longer, K'Lara. You will be doing more than just breathing."

K'Lara blinked and shook her head. Now he was reading her mind. She turned away and left before he could read any more.

The lessons were long indeed. The following day, she meditated for an hour after which she was to do more deep breathing exercises. She was always sent home exhausted, but she felt better for it. The next day, she learned how to channel her anger into something more productive. She used this technique when she was flying. Anytime someone made her angry, she channeled it into flying. She had never flown so wonderfully in all her life. She was beginning to enjoy her lessons, for each day she learned to do something new with her temper.

K'Lara was beginning to control her temper after three weeks of training with Telek. She learned to take deep breaths when she was being threatened or provoked. She would take it out later on her flying. She could meditate if flying didn't help and if that didn't work there was deep breathing.

She learned though that not everything worked when it came to calming her temper. Such as when she thought her mate, Jon Lataro, had died.
 

Title: "The Attack" (Part 5 of 5)
Author: Lt. Commander K'Lara Lataro
Stardate: 2460616
Earthdate: August 13, 2383
Location: USS Virgo

Lt. Commander K'Lara slowly opened her eyes to a very bright light. She shut her eyes tight against the brightness and moaned softly. The moaning caused her more pain as her head began to throb. She tried to move her hand to her forehead, but a voice stopped her.

"You're awake," Dana Maruu stated with relief. "You can't believe how worried we've all been."

K'Lara moaned again then she felt the coldness of a hypospary against her neck. A hiss followed it and she felt the pain subside for the moment. She slowly blinked her eyes open and she looked around the room. Sickbay.

"It's good you have you back, Commander," Dr.Maruu said. "You woke up yesterday, but fell back into unconsciousness. You were in a coma for three days."

"Three days?" K'Lara croaked. Her mouth felt dry and her voice felt strange to her. "How?"

"You were attacked by a T'rais fighter. We were able to drive it away before it did any more damage to the shuttle."

"How is Jon?"

"He's worried sick about you. I had to send him away from here several times. He wanted to stay by your side the whole time, but Stephen wouldn't allow it. I doubt you would have either."

K'Lara shook her head. There was too much for him to do with him being second-in-command as well as a father. That thought brought another question to her eyes which Dana answered before it was even asked.

"T'Lan is doing fine. He was crying for his mommy for a couple days, but Jon told him you were away on a mission and would be back soon."

K'Lara nodded and sighed. She needed to get out of here and tend to her son. She knew Maruu wouldn't let her pilot again until she was fully healed. Her eyes burned at that, but she remained still. It wouldn't do any good to be angry. She sighed and closed her eyes.

She opened them again when she heard a tricorder humming. She saw that Dana was scanning her.

"Your internal injuries are healed. Your head injuries should be healed in another day or two. I believe you already know that you are going to be staying here for those days."

K'Lara nodded and closed her eyes again. It was going to be a long two days.
 

Title: "Work Continues"
Author: Lt. Commander Garek Loran
Stardate: 2460647
Earthdate: August 24, 2383
Location: USS Virgo

"Jacobsen, get over to the other side of the deflector dish." Lieutenant Commander Garek Loran sat in the *Lambda Flier*, watching over Delta team performing hull retrofitting. After the *Virgo's* escape from the hold of
the spacial "nets", and getting a fully functional transwarp drive functional onboard, Captain Maruu allowed him to begin retrofitting the ship with the tridanium ablative armor. This would allow the optimal transwarp drive to go at speeds of up to warp 30. Of course, power consumption would make those speeds only feasible in emergency situations since the ships would be voraciously consuming energy that could be used for other tasks. So far,the forward part of the saucer section was mostly complete. Garek estimated the *Virgo* would have to stay in orbit of the moon for another few weeks for him and his teams to complete his work.

[On my way, Chief.] Marcus Jacobsen, in a space suit, slowly made his way across the deflector dish of the *Virgo* with a retrofitted phaser rifle made for welding purposes.

"I'm sending out another batch of tridanium plates." Garek affixed his helmet onto his space suit, and  decompressed the *Lambda Flier*. He then activated his magnetic boots, and walked into the rear section of the
shuttle. From a panel in the rear of the vessel, he turned the *Lambda Flier* around 180 degrees, and activated the back hatch. The hatch flew open, and Garek effortlessly lifted a 25 square foot plate of tridanium.
Then, very carefully, he "tossed" it through the accessport and towards the waiting Marcus Jacobsen.

Jacobsen waited with open arms, and caught the huge piece of metal. Then, he laid it down on the hull, and began the welding process. The front of the saucer section was a dull, plain gray color, while the rest of the ship was standard Federation white. On the front of the saucer was a "spray painted" *USS Virgo*, and underneath that NCC-956321. Garek promised Captain Maruu that he would have that fixed up when the rest of the armor was applied to the *Virgo*.

[I could use a few more plates down here, Chief.] Jacobsen looked up from the deflector at Garek in the doorway of the *Lambda Flier*. Garek reached over, and pulled out another plate. They were cut to the maximum thickness in which they could equally cover the hull, which came out to fifteen inches. Garek tossed out another four panels of armor, with Eric, and a few other engineers catching them as they arrived.

"That's all I have, Ensign. I'm going in to get more." Garek hit a button that closed the rear hatch to the *Flier*. He then pressurized the shuttle and took off his helmet. Garek sat down at the controls of the shuttle/fighter, and flew back into Shuttle Bay Three. Shutting down the engine systems, but keeping the *Flier's* systems in standby mode, he exited the back hatch. As he exited, wearing the bulky, heavy spacesuit, he noticed that Ensign Brosgarth, a member of Delta Team, was controlling an anti-grav unit bringing more panels of tridanium over to the*Lambda Flier*.

"Hello, Jay," Garek said, walking over to the straining, over-worked anti-grav unit and Ensign Brosgarth.

"Evening, Commander," Jay replied. It was coming up on 2200 hours, and there wre only two hours left on Delta Team's workshift. Next up, Ensign Wiley's Gamma Team. The group of rambunctious and eager new engineers were ready to get a lot of work done in a very short amount of time to prove themselves to the more experienced engineers onboard the *Virgo*. This could be both a good and bad thing. Good, in the aspects that they wanted to do work and be noticed. Bad in the fact that in their ambition to make a name for themselves, they could do a sloppy job. The last thing they needed was for a big panel of armor plating to fly off before it was put to use. "Nice night out tonight, isn't it?" Jay smiled.

It was hard to delegate between night and day onboard the *Virgo*. Actually, it couldn't really be told apart at all. The ship's corridor lights were always on, and the perpetual darkness of space was always around them. The only way to tell what time it was, was to look at a panel on the wall displaying the time relative to Greenwich Mean Time back home on Earth. To make the crew feel more at ease, however, Captain Maruu had ordered the *Virgo* in a synchronous orbit around the moon in respect to the ship's chronometer, so when the time on the *Virgo's* clockreached just about 0545, the sun was about to rise over the moon's surface.

"That it is, Ensign." Garek smiled, and took over the controls for the anti-grav unit. The doors to the shuttle bay opened, and Major Johnny Chee entered.

"Commander, might I have a word with you?" He was wearing the standard Starfleet Marine duty uniform comprising of the standard issue Starfleet Uniform with the green undershirt. His gold leaf polished to perfection on his right collar.

"What's on your mind, Johnny?" Garek stopped pushing the anti-grav unit and powered it down so it wouldn't end up floating away.

"I'm surprised you didn't find out already, Garek." Chee was of course referring to Garek's empathic abilities.

"I make it a habit not to read other people's minds without permission. Unless of course, you want to forget the chit chat, and I'll just go into your mind and start reading what you want me to know."

Johnny smiled. "I prefer talking. I'm having a problem withone of my Marines. A Private Maxon. He's a full Betazoid, and he lacks some mental discipline when it comes to reading other people's thoughts, namely *mine*. I was wondering if you could teach him to focus his control on his powers, or possibly teach me how to establish a mental block so he couldn't read my mind."

Garek thought for a moment. "Well, I'm only partially Betazoid, so I couldn't really teach the this Maxon to focus his powers and such. His abilities are probably twice as powerful as mine. However, I could easily teach you to set up a mental block. Those are always fun to work with."

Johnny grinned. "Thanks, Garek. I've got to set up an appointment with you. I'm kind of taxed right now, just as much as you are, I assume. How about in two days, say around... 1400 hours?"

"Sure, sounds good. See you in the DEL."

Johnny nodded, and made his way out of the shuttle bay. *Well,another thing to work on. A good mental block for a Marine. This should prove interesting.* Garek then turned his attention back over to Ensign Brosgarth. "Be sure to get another batch of these panels out from Cargo Bay Two. I want to get the whole stardrive section covered within the next twelve days. After this batch, Ensign Wiley should be coming in. He'll be in charge while
I'm gone."

"I'll get right on it, Commander." Brosgarth disappeared out of the shuttle bay door. Garek then loaded up the anti-grav unit with it's heavy cargo into the *Lamda Flier*, out for another run.
 

Title: "Johnny After Dark"
Author: Major Johnny Chee
Stardate: 2460655-60658
Earthdate: August 27-28, 2383
Location: USS Virgo

Left to his own devices, Johnny probably would have left his quarters standard Starfleet issue. In fact, he probably would have preferred something somewhat more austere. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk and chair were
pretty much all anyone needed as far as Johnny was concerned. Until coming aboard the *Virgo* Johnny had mainly served in primitive planetside camps or on small, cramped attack ships and considered himself lucky to not have to share his bunk with two other men he didn't know on other shifts.

The Marine commander's quarters aboard the *Virgo*, like many of the other senior officers' quarters, would have been considered nothing less than extravagant by the standards of an earlier time. There was enough room to entertain several guests if he so desired. Many of the other officers routinely had gatherings for various events; a few months earlier Jenara had helped him improve the decor somewhat with some replicated reminders of home: a sand painting of the Holy Rainbow People perched above the sofa, with another rendering of the Sacred Plants on another bulkhead across the room. The sofa itself was covered with a replicated Navajo blanket in shades of black, red, blue, and white. Shelving held pottery of various designs
(most of which Johnny vaguely remembered seeing at the tourist shop at Oraibi Village), and a few photographs of family gleaned from his personnel file: his mother and father, his sister with her husband and child. On the
third bulkhead, just before the entrance to his bedroom, hung a replicated sketch of John Wayne (as Sgt. Stryker in "Sands of Iwo Jima") and a genuine parchment scroll of the Nine Sacred Glyphs, a parting gift from the High
Mage Glybothar upon leaving Xenon III. None of the decoration was extravagant, but it was somehow more cluttered than Johnny really liked.

He was contemplating either rearranging or removing some of it when the door chimed.

"Enter," he responded. The door slid open to reveal Kalmar, the mysterious Protector who had accompanied the *Virgo* since its intervention at Xenon III.

"Good evening, Johnny. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by. How have you been lately?" he asked.

"Oh, fine... never quite sure what to do with myself when I'm not working. Up until now, I've pretty much been on duty 24 hours a day. The concept of leisure time, outside of shore leave, is still new to me. I'd go to the Day's End Lounge, but the last thing I want to be is a barfly. And I'm practically in the holodeck every day for training simulations, so that really doesn't have any allure to me."

"Read anything interesting lately?" Kalmar asked, looking at an actual hard-copy book on Johnny's coffee table: *Ivanhoe* by Sir Walter Scott.

"Oh, that! One of my favorites. Usually I read them, then recycle them, but that's one I can never quite bring myself to recycle. Somehow I feel guilty with all this... *stuff* around me," Johnny responded.

"If you're worried about exhausting your replicator allowance, the quartermaster assures me that you've set a record aboard the ship for lowest personal replicator usage!" Kalmar laughed. "Don't feel guilty about having
a little color in your life, my friend. There was a time in Human history when work defined what a man was. Men and women would literally go insane at the prospect of losing a job! Yes, work is important, but it's not all you
are, anymore than the alternate personality you engaged in the holodeck a few weeks ago is."

"How... how did you know about that?" Johnny asked, astounded.

"It's my business to know, particularly about you. One of these days, soon, I'll elucidate that statement. But for now, learn to relax and cut loose a little! You do know that tomorrow is Jenara's birthday, don't you?"

"She never told me," Johnny replied. "I always expected her to let me know, but she never did..."

Kalmar sighed. "Definitely need to work on those communication skills. I've just the thing for it! Perhaps you could have a party for her. Invite a few people over... you've got nice quarters, why not show them off?"

"A party? Here?"

"Oh, don't worry; your credentials as an all around manly-man won't be hurt! Besides, she'll love it! I've already drawn up the guest list, and Dweezle's on standby for catering. All I need is for you to say yes," Kalmar chided.

Thinking for a moment, Johnny finally decided. "You're probably right. With the exception of that god awful shore leave I've not interacted socially with any of the crew save Jenara since coming on board. On a big ship like
the *Virgo* things like that count for a lot more than they do in the places I'm used to. Go ahead and send the invitations."

As Kalmar left, Johnny hoped he wouldn't regret this...

Outside his quarters, Kalmar gave a nod to Sergeant Barek, who had been discreetly waiting just down the corridor. Barek then went to his own quarters, a private room just off the quarterdeck, and began his research.
_______________________________

The party was at 1800 hours. It was 1630 and Dweezle had just called to announce he was on his way with the refreshments. By 1730 the guests would arrive: the Captain and his wife, Benton and Francesca, the Lataros, Kalmar, Barek, and a few others. At 1800 Johnny would summon Jenara to his quarters to discuss something. Then the surprise would be sprung!

The door chimed. "Enter," Johnny called, a little more agitated than usual.

Barek Nim entered, clutching a PADD in his hand. He was not in uniform but rather in traditional Bajoran costume: a multicolored tunic with dark leggings, the costume of the mountainous Dajur Province. So rarely had
Johnny seen his adjutant in civilian clothing that he almost didn't recognize him.

"Don't tell me you haven't even gotten ready for the party yet!" Barek scolded. The man, in addition to being a hardened veteran, was also old enough to be Johnny's father, and, quite possibly, the only other person
besides his father who could speak to him that way without benefit of superior rank.

"But I am ready!" Johnny protested. "Everything here is in order, the refreshments are on their way..."

"No, no, no! I mean the way you're dressed! This is a purely social occasion. It's after hours; there's no need for you to be in uniform!"

"But I really don't have anything else to change into right now!" Johnny replied. In fact, it was the truth: his entire wardrobe consisted of his dress uniform (very rarely worn), five changes of duty uniform, and four changes of camouflage utilities.

"That's where I thought I'd help out. Take it from me, I've been there: an officer has to know how to entertain on purely social occasions if he wishes to get anywhere in the ranks! It doesn't matter whether you're in Starfleet,
the Bajoran Defense Forces, or even..." Barek grimaced as he said it "...the Cardassian forces. Image counts! Now, I took a bit of time last night upon the advice of a friend and researched Human fashion. I've picked out a few things which would probably suit you well." Barek handed Johnny the PADD.

Johnny scanned the images. There was a rather outmoded form of dress called a tuxedo which Johnny vaguely remembered was more appropriate for extremely formal occasions: the civilian analogue of a dress uniform. Several business suits, most of which looked a little plain for a festive occasion. A suit with an antique cut and a hideous plaid pattern Johnny seemed to remember had been around in the  1970s was definitely out. Then, a picture of a Bajoran in a dress uniform: Barek, about fifteen years younger, wearing the insignia of a colonel in the Bajoran forces!

"Uhhh... have you been holding out on me, Sergeant? Or should I say Colonel?" Johnny replied, startled.

"Yes, that was me. Colonel Barek Nim, Fifteenth Planetary Defense Wing, Bajor Aerospace Defense Force. Now you know why I always insisted on flying the shuttle during combat insertions," he replied. "I had over four hundred successful missions against the Cardassians."

"Hell, what are you doing as a sergeant? And a grunt sergeant, at that? *You* should be running this platoon, not me!!!" Johnny exclaimed, flabbergasted.

"Why? You've been doing a good job so far. You and I are a lot alike: technically competent yet often completely oblivious to the bigger picture. As a pilot and a leader of men, I did well. But when it was time for me to move into the general staff, I failed. I didn't know how to make the right friends. Consequently, I made more than a few of the wrong enemies, including a Vedek or two. They trumped up charges against me and drummed me out of the forces. I know no other line of work besides fighting, and there was nothing left on Bajor for me, so I signed up for an enlisted grade with Starfleet. I've always liked it better in the field anyway..." Barek
replied. Something told Johnny that Barek wasn't entirely happy with the way things had turned out.

"I was never meant to be an officer, but you are! You just need a little more of the right polish to you. And you'll do a lot better if you learn to relax once in a while! Now, pick something out and get ready; the rest of the guests will be here soon!" Barek rushed Johnny back to his bedroom with all the poise of a barroom bouncer.

Moments later, Johnny emerged, a changed man. Black boots with a high Western heel, polished to a brilliant shine. Dark blue denim jeans with a replicated snake skin belt buckled by a silver and turquoise buckle. A white
dress shirt with a bolo tie fastened by a silver and turquoise slide.

"Definitely you," Barek nodded. "It had to be either that or the leisure suit!"

"At least I pick my anachronisms well! Those leisure suits were never popular even in their own time!" Johnny laughed. His costume was not really so anachronistic, however: many people back in the Homeland and on several colony worlds still dressed that way.

The door chimed again, to reveal Dweezle with the refreshments. "Okay, now, let's get on with the show!"