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Future Past - Part 6 "Small Talk"

Posted on Sun Feb 18th, 2018 @ 4:33am by Captain Oliver Lee PhD & Lieutenant Terri Lee & Lieutenant Commander Johannes Adlerstein

Mission: Episode 4 - Truth, Justice, and the Federation Way
Location: Earth
Timeline: 2319, In A Future That Was

OOC Note: So here's that post I mentioned earlier. It delves a bit more into Hans' relationship with both Terri and Oliver. It also adds a few more details to the cause of the 2nd Dominion War in the alternate future. These are adapted from Episode 3's JP Small Talks Parts 1-3. Sorry it's a bit long. - Roger

::Adlersteins Residence, Earth::

"Could you pass me the rollmops?" Asked a full-cheeked Terri. She was still working on the delicious sauerbraten, but the pickled herring fillets looked too good to be left on their own. They were practically begging to be consumed. Besides, it's not like everyone else wanted them anyway.

T'Pen handed the girl the plate of fish she had requested and watched as the short-haired blonde stuffed one roll into her already half-stuffed mouth. After all those years, she was still amused at the way Terri consumed her food, not that you could tell from her stoic expression. Turning to the man at the head of the table, she asked, "Is the Hasperat soufflé satisfactory?"

Johannes Adlerstein poked at his food with his fork. His mind was elsewhere at the moment. He had once been a Marine, and had seen things few had seen and done things few would do. But right now that experience was a curse; it allowed his mind to race on about the current political situation. The voice of his wife broke him out of his thoughts as he gazed up into her eyes. Hans had always thought that her eyes had far more life and mischief in them then was typical for a Vulcan.

"It's very good liebchen, thank you." (-NOTE 1-)

T'Pen nodded. For a few moments she tasted her own Erwtensoep, and then she looked up at her husband again. "How was your day?" She asked. Humans liked small talks over their meal, she had learned over the years. Besides she could tell that something was on his mind.

Adlerstein looked up from his meal once again. His name translated from German meant "Eagle's Rock", but Hans did not feel much like a rock. Vulcans, Hans had found, may not show much emotion, but they were adept at detecting it in others. Maybe it was because they hid theirs so well. The point was, the german found little use in trying to disguise his feelings from his wife.

"I've had better; you remember my friend John from the office, the one who works in accounting?"

Hans had sought a job in a contracting company constructing biodomes on new worlds; he worked in the security office as a site coordinator, basically ensuring that every site's security officers were on top of things. The whole thing was run by the New Berlin Cargo Company (Neue Berlin

When his wife nodded, Hans continued.

"He and I got into a argument today; he said that he supports the coup. I told him that I had no opinion, and he accused me of being a separatist."

Hans put his fork down on his plate a little harder than was necessary to show his disgust.

"Screw him!" Barked Terri as she picked up a piece of rollmop and stuffed it in her mouth. "Screw him and screw Bolanus! Dad is gonna come in with the 7th and wipe their collective @@s. He will shoo thoom whoos the traator and then am gonna . . . . . ." Her words became barely intelligible as she crammed more rollmops into her mouth.

"Watch you language at the table young pup." Hans said, covering his mouth with a napkin to hide his laughter.

"I'm not sure it is that simple Terri..." the German said once his giggles were under control. " a Marine, I had to be adept at some of the milder forms of military law, and in theory, the General..."

Hans almost never used Bolanus' name; it just made the whole crazy process seem to real.

"...Has a legal point to assume the Presidency, and certainly not without precedent, even within the Federation. It all depends on one's point of view. I've heard the General's newscast as to why he conducted the coup; if he is telling the truth, then he was well within the rights of military law; his oath after all is to the Federation Constitution, not the President."

"But Bolanus . . . he was . . . I mean . . ." Terri was at a loss for words. Being a scientist and a fighter, she solved all her problems with either science or her fists - mostly her fists - but constitutional law was more of her father's jam and was as far away from her interest and expertise as it got. She did try constitution studies at the Academy once, hoping it would finally give her something to talk about with her dad on the rare occasions that he talked to her over subspace, but it was so boring and mind-boggling at the same time that she ended up dropping the class after two weeks.

As Terri was struggling for words, T'Pen interceded. "I believe what Terri is trying to say is that Admiral Lee appears to interpret the situation differently. Judging from what we know, your old captain seems determined to oppose the new government."

"Yeah, and they called dad a traitor!" Barked Terri with indignation. "No one calls dad a traitor and gets away with it!"

"Careful what you say jung maedchen (-NOTE 2-)..." Hans cautioned "In times like this, people become scared, for themselves, their families, their futures, their power. If they feel you, or even your words, threaten that, they'll turn you over to the Federation Police."

Hans could see the fire building in the young lieutenant's eyes, and held up his hand to stop her.

"Don't get me wrong leftenant, I greatly respect your father. I served with him for many years. But I cannot support him in this endeavor. I will not campaign against him, but neither will I help him do what can be construed as overthrow the possible legal authority of the Federation. If your father had some proof of the unconstituionality of the General's position, I would of course do all in my power to help restore the rule of law, but until then..."

Adlerstein held out his hands in a helpless gesture. It made him feel uncomfortable to stay out of the issue one way or the other, but he had no idea which side was in the right, as both had potential legality on their side.

Hans could see that his words did little to ease the mind of Terri.

"Besides, you are a grown woman and an officer in Starfleet. You can take a few insults about your family. I assume your father is trying to do what he feels is right. Even if he fails today, tomorrow may yet vindicate him. Remember that to the British, George Washington was a traitor."

Terri had no idea who George Washington was or why the British considered him a traitor. In any case, she had more important things to worry about, things like vindicating her dad. "Yeah, but if . . . " The words were barely out of her mouth when the door bell rang impatiently.

T'Pen quietly stood up and answered the door. Seconds later she returned with a barely noticeable frown on her brows, followed by a pair of officers in security gold. In an even but perfunctory voice, the Betazoid Lieutenant Junior Grade said, "Mr. Adlerstein, I am Lieuntenant Caster, Starfleet Security. We have several questions for you. Please come with us."

"Colonel Adlerstein if you would." the German former marine had been proud to have served, and would not have those years of service disregarded by some yellow-back who might've been born by the time Hans had commissioned. Hans chuckled to himself as he unconciously used the slang for security and engineering personnel; some habit just dont leave you.

"You sons of . . ." Terri sprang up from her seat and was about to give the two man a piece of her mind when T'Pen quietly but firmly held her down. Like Terri, the Vulcan was dismayed, but unlike Terri, she had the discipline to restrain herself.

"May I ask where we are going or the nature of these questions?" Hans could tell from the dark eyes the Betazoid nature of the junior lieutenant, and did his best to hide his emotions as best he could; he was sure that he wasn't doing a good job, as flashes of anxiety and worry about his family crept into his mind.

Caster could sense the unease inside the former marine, and his voice turned a littler colder. "Sir, this is not a request. We come here only as a courtesy for your years of service to the Federation. You can either come with us quietly, or we can resort to Section 2 of the Sedition Act adopted by the Provisional Governing Council last week. But I'm sure you would not want to see your family get . . . involved. It would be very unfortunate."

"Look junior..." Hans used the mildly pejorative term for J.G. Lieutenants. Hans saw the flash of anger build in the Betazoid's eyes, and the fight went out of the old German Marine.

"Fine. I'll go quietly. Please inform your handlers that I did nothing to impede your duties here." Hans wanted to ensure that regardless of what happened to him, he wanted his family to remain unharassed.

The three men entered a transit shuttle with blacked out windows and no registry markings. The golden throated security personnel did not put Hans in cuffs, to which Adlerstein was grateful; he'd at least have his diginity while he entered the Briar Patch.

::Later, Starfleet Security HQ, Oakland, Earth::

Alcorn flipped through his PADD as he waited for his next . . . "interviewee." He preferred it to "suspect." After all, there was no conclusive evidence, in fact, there was little evidence, that any of Lee's friends and associates had had any contact with the renegade admiral since N'Verix made her treasonable announcement. But his superiors were right. This was a perilous time for the Federation. Already locked in an existential struggle against the Dominions and threatened by the restless Klingons, the Federation could ill afford diverting its dwindling resources to contend with a self-declared "president" and a self-righteous admiral, who would rather see the Federation lie in ashes than bending the already dead letters of the law.

=/\=Adlersteine is here, sir.=/\= His assistant's voice came through his comm badge. Several moments later, a Germanic-looking man with mildly pale skin was brought inside the interrogation . . . interview room. The former marine was calm, his gait dignified.

Alcorn waited a brief moment as the marine stood by the doors. Then he respectfully addressed the man by his rank before retirement. "Colonel, I'm Lieutenant Commander Ryan Alcorn. Please take a seat. My apology for interrupting your meal, but when the safety of the Federation is at the stake, time is of the essence. I'm sure you understand."

Colonel Adlerstein said nothing to the lieutenant commander. He was mostly glad to be away from that damned Betazoid and his damned mind probes. Hans never believed that to be brave one had to have no fear of death; on the contrary, some of the bravest men he had ever served with had admitted to being scared out of their minds every time they saw combat. Truth was, Hans was scared out of his mind; being a student of history, Adlerstein knew what happened to the common folk when a regime though its power threatened. The old Marine was frightened not just for himself, but for his family and his friends.

After a bought of silence, Hans strode to the offered chair. Along the way, Adlerstein decided to be a little defiant, and perhaps even petty, by ensuring his heels made louder clicks on the metal floor than was absolutely necessary. He sat in the chair upon arrival, and noticed that it was cold, and hard, and very uncomfortable.

Typical interrogation Steerscheisse*. Adlerstein said to himself.

"Now Colonel," Said Alcorn. "I'll cut to the chase. When was the last time you talked to Admiral Oliver A. Lee?"

"I'm tracking that you are not allowed under the Federation Constitution to ask me these questions unless I have a lawyer present; as a Federation citizen and an honorably discharged officer in the service of Starfleet, I think I have a right to know exactly what, if anything, I've been accused of and what this is about. Now, shall you tell me Commander, or shall I give you my name, rank and serial number until you decide to pull out my fingernails and so forth?"

Leaning forward, Alcorn rested his arms on the desk and folded his hands. "You must not have been reading the news, Colonel. Amendment XII of 2411 provides for suspension of Articles III, IV, V, IX, and Amendments I, II, and V under extraordinary circumstances by a simple majority vote of the Federation Council. The Council voted for suspension in 2415 after the Nicean riot and renewed it two months ago. The Council might have been suspended itself, but its prior decisions remain standing until they are superseded. As such, the right to counsel is automatically waived in cases concerning Federation security."

"And as you must be aware, Colonel, the Federation has never been in greater peril than it is now. We are fighting against the Dominions for the Federation's very existence while your old captain pops up a discredited political order and openly defies General Bolanus, his lawful commander-in-chief. We cannot allow his shenanigans to distract us from defending the Federation and its citizens from the Dominion menace. His little rebellion and his so-called 'president' will be brought to an end by any means necessary."

Alcorn paused to sip from his glass of water before continuing. "You are a decorated veteran, Colonel Adlerstein. The Federation thanks you for your decades of service, and it asks you to do it one more time. Cooperate with us, Colonel, and help us save the Federation from enemies both within and without."

"So let me ask you again, Colonel, when was the last time you talked to Admiral Lee?"

Hans simply folded his arms defiantly and glared back at the interrogator. "Repeat your officer's oath Commander." the German demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"Fine, I'll help you: 'I, state your name, do solemly swear..." the German's voice raised in pitch, trying to hammer the words home to his interrogator.

"'...that I will support and defend...'" he put heavy emphasis on the 'support and defend' portion.

"'...the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets...'" he thundered his voice so that the words 'Constitution' rang out louder than the rest.

"'...against all enemies, foreign and domestic.'" that one Adlerstein did not like to repeat here; the man before him probably thought he was doing just that, protecting the Federation from internal threats.

"'That I will bear true faith, and allegiance to the same.'" this was the Marine's main point, and he all but shouted the words at the Commander to bring attention to that fact. There was more to the oath, but Adlerstein felt his point was made.

The earnestness in the former marine's voice was conspicuous, and Alcorn respected him and his integrity, but the safety of the Federation was on the line, and he would not allow anything - certainly not sentimentality - to distract him from his job. He would squeeze out every last thread of information from Adlerstein and by any means necessary. After all, he had taken the same oath to protect the Federation from all threat, both foreign and domestic.

As Hans finished reciting the first half of the oath, Alcorn leaned back into his chair. Almost casually he said, "Only if your professed dedication to the Federation was more than just mere words, Colonel, then perhaps those 47 men and women of Starfleet, your own comrades in arms and fellow citizens of the Federation, would not have died a needless death on Carus II."

Adlerstein thought the Commander was a smooth talker up until he mentioned that last point. Carus II was a victory for the Starfleet Marine Corps, considered their own Iwo Jima. Colonel Adlerstein was in command of the 22nd Regiment at the time, and his Marines had recently cleared a bunker complex of the enemy. However, the front at the time had destabilized, and Hans' regiment was operating slightly ahead of the main force. Once they had cleared the bunker, they had captured some 200 prisoners. Not having the resources to properly care for them, and certain that the main unit was only a few minutes behind them, Adlerstein ordered the prisoners to be sent back to the rear lines of their own accord. The prisoners were blindfolded, stripped of useful equipment, and told to walk west until they heard Federation forces identify themselves.

That never happened; according to later reports, that ragtag group of prisoners later attacked a supply convoy. All 200 of the prisoners were killed, but they killed or wounded 47 Starfleet personnel, including General Bolanus' niece, who was a marine herself on escort duty at the time.

Hans looked defeated as the wind went out of his proverbial sails. The incident of Carus II haunted him the remainder of his days in the SFMC. Many of his friends thought that that incident alone prevented him from receiving a star. Its mention brought back emotions he would rather have left buried in the past.

"Four years ago..." the German said softly, his usual authoritative voice now hollow with regret " was during a reunion of those who served aboard the Bunker Hill and the Themyscira under Admiral Lee . . . . . ."

::Four Years Ago, Hotel Astor, New York, Earth::

"To be honest, I'm more of a Tankesh person." Said Oliver as he took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Her works have this unsettling and yet uplifting sense of wonder and innocence."

Amira smiled politely. "Innocence and wonderment are in short supply these days, sir. If we are looking for the most representative writer of our times, perhaps Tankesh is not the most eligible candidate."

Oliver drank from his glass, nodding pensively. "One can dream, Professor. One can dream." That was when he noticed a mildly pale skinned man with piercing blue eyes walking inside the reception room, every step exuding the same confidence and poise with which he had once walked the hallways of the Themyscira as well as those of the Bunker Hill.

"Excuse me, Professor, I'm afraid I have another guest to welcome. Shall we continue our conversation later?"

"Of course."

Oliver returned the smile before turning to greet his former marine CO.

Colonel Adlerstein made eye contact with his former skipper and made his way through the crowd to greet him.

"Mr. Adlerstein, I'm glad you can make it." Said Oliver as he extended his arm for a firm handshake.

"Of course Skipper, good to see you." the German Marine said as he took the offered hand in his right and placed his left hand on Lee's right elbow to make the handshake a little less formal and more friendly. It was not quite up to par with a "bro hug" but it was a simple show of the respect and esteem Adlerstein had for his former skipper from two vessels now. He also had several Captains since then, but only Lee did he still call Skipper, despite the enclosed admiral's pips he now wore.

"I'm sorry my wife couldn't make it." the German apologized.

"No apology necessary." Said Oliver with a smile. "I was the one who rescheduled the reunion after all." Another sip of his champagne, he continued, "How's the leave so far? I hope you are having some well deserved family time."

Hans looked down into his drink for a second, as if expecting life's answers to be found there.

"All I seem to have time for nowadays sir." the german Marine said sadly.

"Why the sad face?" Asked the gray haired admiral. "You deserve a break, Hans. Besides we could all use a little reminder once in a while that there's more to life than this war."

"True sir; but the circumstances of my leave are less than desirable, as I'm sure you've heard."

Oliver drank from his glass and considered his words. "Carus II was a battlefield, and like any battlefield, it was chaotic. The front lines kept shifting for months, and the Dominions' jamming devices didn't help with clear communication, either. I read the report by the review board as well as all the witness testimonies, yours included. It was a terrible thing what happened to the convoy, but you made a reasonable call based on known circumstances and available intel. It would not be easy to make a case against you. Besides, given the war situation, Command is not at all eager to deprive Starfleet of experienced veterans such as yourself, certainly not one who hasn't done anything wrong."

"Tell that to Lieutenant General Bolanus sir; from what I hear, he has been lashing out in grief since the loss of his niece. He's one of our best field commanders and one of the few living recipients of three Distinguished Star Crosses. His voice carries weight among the Corps, and latest scuttlebutt* says that he's being pegged for another star, maybe even Field Marshall if this war goes on long enough."

Even through his bitter voice, the name of Bolanus was said with great reverence and respect. All bets placed Bolanus as eventually succeeding Field Marshall Peter Zhukov as Commandant of the Starfleet Marine Corps if he kept at his current pace. Even if he didn't, he would almost certainly receive a bust in the Hall of Heroes outside SFMC HQ in San Fransisco. The Starfleet Marine's most sacred place, it contained memorabilia from several key battles reflecting the glory and history of the Corps, among them busts of some of their most revered and decorated Soldiers, NCOs, and officers.

Oliver ran his hand through his graying hair and said, "General Bolanus is not just a war hero, Hans. He is a good man, an honest man." A pause. "But I suppose even good and honest men are not immune to grief and . . . . . ." His voice trailed off as he looked away for a brief moment. "I'd offer to talk to the General, but we have some very . . . different views on many things. Besides it's a time of grieving for him, he might . . . I don't want to make things worse for you."

"Thanks anyway for the offer Skipper. Hopefully we can just come through this thing with my honor and career intact, what else am I gonna do, work for the NBMF?" Adlerstein said half-jokingly.

The NBMF was the New Berlin Merchant Fleet, or in German, Neue Berlin Handel Flotte** or, as a word, NeBerHanFlo (Neighbor-Han-Flow). Every New Berlin citizen that entered Starfleet was given the equivalent rank in the all-German fleet as a courtesy. After retirement from Starfleet, they were offered a job at the equivalent rank and experience either in security, if a Marine, or in the fleet, if a naval officer. But their rank system was often the butt of jokes for their grandiousness. For example, it was joked that every naval officer in the NBMF was a captain of some kind; a Lieutenant Commander was a Korvetten Kapitaen***, or, literally, Corvette Captain for example. The ranks were holdovers from the days of sailing vessels from the Old German navy.

Oliver shook his head with a chuckle. "I'm sure it won't come to that, Hans. But in the unlikely event it did, I heard the NBMF offers very generous benefit packages, and their annual galas are one of the few places you can still find the most authentic Rinderroulade among other delicacies. Better than Fleet rations, that's for sure."

Hans snorted contemptously. "What they call German food would make my mother keel over and die from embarassment Skipper. All the same, I'd rather stay a Marine."

The aging German took a sip of his drink.

"What about you Admiral? I hear rumor you might see yet another pip on that enclosed collar." Adlerstein joked good-naturedly.

Sometimes Hans regretted that their ranks were never the same; they might have been very good friends otherwise. Not to say they didn't like each other; Lee would never have asked for Hans to serve with him aboard his next command if that were the case, nor would he have pinned first Major and then Lieutenant Colonel rank on him while they served together. They trusted each other, looked out for one another, in fact, each had saved the other's life at least twice. Hans looked up to Lee, considered him a mentor, and Adlerstein was even sponsoring his daughter's admission packet to the Academy. Still, those first few years of harsh discipline and adherence to protocol that he got in the Reserve Marine Corps were still with him, and old habits died hard; the old German would have never even thought to call the Flag Officer 'Oliver', or, God help him, 'Ollie'.

When he was younger, there were few things Oliver wanted more than rising through to the apex of the admiralty. To some degree he still wanted that, but his pride and vanity - traits that once helped spur him onto ever greater heights - had been humbled and bruised ever since the demise of Brigadier Zika and her task force at Merida IV eight years ago. That was when he realized that his own hubris had cost so many their lives and brought upon the Federation a protracted and terrible war that would cost hundreds of thousands more.

Of course, he was not personally responsible for the Meridan disaster, but he was the one who had convinced Command and the Federation Council of the necessity of preemptive strikes against Dominion weapons facilities on Merida IV and elsewhere deep inside Dominion territory in order to prevent the Founders from acquiring a new type of weapon of planetary destruction. It turned out his intel was gravely flawed, and the preemptive strikes commenced the very war that they had meant to prevent, a cruel irony that had weighed heavily on his conscience ever since.

As such, one more pip on "that enclosed collar" did not bring him the same excitement or the same sense of fulfillment as it would have before. A small part of him even regretted ever accepting that promotion to the admiralty. He missed being a captain of his own ship with nothing to worry but his own crew and his own mission. Now, the Bunker Hill was someone else' command; even the Themyscira was technically someone else'. What did he still have? A guilty conscience and a burning need to repent.

Handing his empty glass to a passing waiter, he took another for himself. Having missed the humor in the marine's question, he said, somewhat sarcastically, "Well, the President doesn't trust sector commands to anyone without four stars on their flags. Apparently the safety of the Federation all depends on that magical number."

That was when he realized that the news of his promotion had not in fact been made public. "Wait, how did you . . ." Then he saw the silliness of his own question and shook his head with a small chuckle. "Well, good to know you can still count on the scuttlebutt for reliable intel."

"Sir, I'm a pariah, not a gossip hound; let's just say I still have a few friends among the SPOs." Adlerstein stated with a laugh. The SPO, or officially, the Starfleet Personnel Office, was the governing body responsible for ensuring that soldiers got leave time accrued, that paperwork went were it was supposed to go, and that the correct officers and enlisted men received promotions and assignments; 'SPOs' was a mildly affeectionate term for those who worked in the office as well.

Hans took a swig of his own drink; he didn't know what it was, but it was colorful and tasted vaguely fruity, so the old German didn't complain.

"You remember Sergeant Samantha Rochambeau, our MPC aboard the Bunker Hill?" Adlerstein asked the older Admiral, referring to the Marine Personnel Clerk, or, commonly said as a word, 'Em-Pick'.

The name sounded familiar to Oliver, but for the moment he couldn't quite match a face to it. Most of the faces that rushed through his mind were those from the seemingly endless casualty reports that passed through his desk every day.

Getting a nod of recognition at the name, however vague, Adlerstein continued.

"She's now Sergeant Major Rochambeau, Chief NCO of the MAB." seeing the Admiral's eyebrow raise slightly, Hans added "Yeah, she's got some clout now let me tell you. She heard of your promotion and must have let it 'slip' to me...oops, remind me to reprimand her for such careless decorum." the old German said with mock severity.

The MAB was the Marine Administrative Board, the part of the SPO that directly handled the Starfleet Marine Corps primary administrative needs. They controlled things such as what marines were assigned where, for how long, and they were the gatekeepers to all Marine promotions up to and including full colonel. About the only thing they did not control was major commands at regiment or higher levels and flag officer promotions, which was handled by a separate administration.

With a smirk Oliver sipped from his glass. "Well, I'm sure Captain L'Vor is already on it." He said, referring to his second executive officer on the Bunker Hill. "She's always been the disciplinarian. Remember that time she reprimanded the chef because the utensils in the kitchen were not arranged strictly according to regulation and for the next two weeks whatever she ordered from the replicator, there were always a handful of fresh gagh in it? The first time it happened, oh my, the look on her face was precious."

Breaking into laughter - something he rarely did these days - the old man continued, "That was when I learned you should never tell anyone what food you despise the most. It would always come back to bite you, and in L'Vor's case, quite literally."

Hans laughed along with his former captain as he too remembered the incident in question. Afterwards, the marine's eyes took a far off look.

"I miss her sir...the Bunker Hill. Those were simple times; us against the hostile universe? All I had to worry about was making sure you didn't get yourself killed on one your damned fool moral crusades. Remember when the XO all but tackled you to get you from going on that dangerous mission to Belor IV? I didn't know whether to protect you from the XO, or the other way round..." Adlerstein smirked as he remembered fonder times.

Oliver returned the smirk. "Well, I did start going to the gym after Ensign Travers trashed me in the . . . . . ."

Cutting him off in mid sentence, his new chief of staff approached them from behind.

"Sorry for the interruption, gentlemen." said Captain Nami Ishikawa, "Sir, Councilor Renn has just arrived. He would like to speak with you in private outside."

Oliver frowned slightly and then nodded. "Thank you, Nami." Turning back to the Marine, he said with a wry smile, "Try as you may, Hans, you can't protect me from the politicians or the politics. If you would excuse me"

"Of course, sir." the Marine stated with a nod of his head.

Nami waited for Oliver to disappear behind the reception room doors before turning her gaze back to the marine. "So Hans," She said with a polite smile, "it has been a while."

"Yes it has. How are you, Nami?" the German replied to the captain, wondering what could be troubling his former skipper.

[To be continued in Part 7 . . .]

NOTE 1: Liebchen: Leeb-shin - Beloved
NOTE 2: Jung Maedchen: Yunng Maid-shin - young lady

Vice Admiral Oliver A. Lee
Commander, Seventh Fleet
Colonel Johannes Adlerstein
SFMC, Retired
Lieutenant JG Terri C. Lee
Researcher, Starfleet R&D
(NPC - Oliver)
Lieutenant Commander Ryan Alcorn
Starfleet Security
(NPC - Oliver)


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