"LUNAR:  Starship Andromeda"

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LUNAR:  Starship Andromeda

By Jeffery C. Branch and Daryll Pung

Episode Twelve:  Game Over, Man, Game Over!

Rated: R

Pollusian Military Headquarters, Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

            From their vantage point on the sixth floor of the building, Sailor Siryn and Counselor Ventura were stunned to see the tanks roaring up the street, amidst massive dust clouds, scattering startled civilians.

            As Sailor Siryn paused to count, she totaled the tanks at twenty.

            “Three guesses as to where they’re going,” said Ventura.  “And the first two don’t count.”

            The Senshi, her monstrous rage evaporated, activated her communicator.  “Siryn to Ryvvius!  Come in!  You’ve got trouble coming your way!  Trouble as in tanks!  Probably operated by DK spies!”

            “With all due respect, captain, but you’re late!  We already have trouble!” came back the voice of the Cygnian, anger thick in his tone.  “A huge mob of Anonists showed up and instigated a brawl with the soldiers defending the building!  And it’s being broadcast for all to see!  If you’re not too busy, ma’am, could you spare the time to grace us with your presence?  Right now would be good!”

            Sailor Siryn scowled.  Normally, she wouldn’t have tolerated that sort of verbal insubordination from any member of her crew, least of all one of her senior officers, but she understood Ryvvius’ anger since she abandoned her duties as emergency head of Pollus’ council to rescue Ventura.  In doing so, she not only jeopardized the mission, but the lives of her people and the remaining members of the planet’s council.  That weighed on her.

            “Do whatever you can to alleviate the situation!  I’m on my way!  Out!”  Sailor Siryn turned to Mularen, determined to get the code from him that would kill all the DK agents on the planet.  But she and Ventura saw the Pollusian traitor lying on the floor, eyes open but unstaring, the communicator in his hand.

            Ventura knelt beside Mularen and did a quick examination.  She then shook her head at the Senshi.  “He’s dead, captain.  Suicide.  Probably some sort of poison he had secreted on his person.”

            “Which means the code he had died with him.  Dammit!” a frustrated Sailor Siryn growled.

            “Code?  What code?”

            “Not now!  Grab his communicator!  We’re leaving!”

            The black woman removed the device from the dead Mularen and gave it to Sailor Siryn.  “You go, Fiona.  I’d only slow you down.  I’ll get back to the Hall on my own.”

            “NO!!” Sailor Siryn roared back.  Ventura shrank from the fiery intensity in the Senshi’s eyes.  “I won’t leave you behind, Gabrielle!  Not ever!  I risked the mission, and my career to come after you!  And I did that without a second’s hesitation!  Bottom line:  we return together, or not at all!  Understood?”

            Ventura smiled, feeling the warm glow that came from the selfless devotion Sailor Siryn showed her.  Again, that made the black woman feel special.  “Absolutely.  Then we’d better get going!”

            “I couldn’t agree more!”  The Senshi of Sound scooped Ventura into her arms and, with a mischievous smile added, “hang on tight!”

With a running start, the Senshi leaped out the window.

            The black woman closed her eyes and yelped from fright, expecting to fall to a quick and messy death to the street below, but that didn’t happened as the Senshi’s eerie wail filled her ears.  Slowly, Ventura opened her eyes and gasped- she was flying.  Ventura could see the whole city stretched out before her as Sailor Siryn bore the two of them aloft via her scream, the air rippling around them like an ocean’s waves.  The black woman’s dark eyes widened from innocent, childlike wonder as she soared like a bird.  It was the most incredible thing she had ever experienced in her life.  Ventura then looked at Sailor Siryn, whose shining eyes smiled back at her.

            So this is unpowered flight!  It’s like I’m an eagle with the world beneath my feet, thought Ventura, a blissful smile splitting her ebony face.  Sailor Siryn’s wail was like the sweetest song in creation to her, a song she cherished.  This is wonderful!  Fiona is wonderful!  The way she makes my heart pound!  Never have I felt such powerful emotions for another woman before!

            Sailor Siryn suddenly banked hard to the right and quickly descended to the street.  Ventura, reluctant to let go of the Senshi was shocked to see the tanks rumbling towards them.

            “Those tanks are closing fast.  What are we doing?” she asked.

            “On this communicator is a code that will kill all the DK spies.  Mularen knew it, but he’s dead,” said Sailor Siryn, pressing the communicator into Ventura’s hand, her eyes on the approaching tanks.  “We’ll need Lieutenant Miriele to crack the code.  I’ll stop those tanks to buy us time.”

            Ventura’s eyes widened as her heart was gripped by a sudden horror.  “Serenity’s crown!  Have you lost your mind?  You’ll be killed!”

            “I have to try!” the Irish Senshi.  “Get this to Ryvvius at the Hall!  Now!  That’s an order!”

            “Fuck that!  I’m staying!” Ventura cried.  She clasped Sailor Siryn’s hand tight and stared forcefully into the Senshi’s eyes.  “I will never leave your side, Fiona!  NEVER!  Like you said earlier, we return together, or not at all!”

Pollusian Planetary Defense Fleet Command Center

            “Begin playback,” growled the rather annoyed commander of Pollus’ fleet, Admiral Wrajera.  He frowned as he watched the events of the space battle with the SLS Andromeda unfold, displayed on multiple screens, occasionally slowing or replaying crucial moments.

            By the time he was finished, he was no longer frowning; a sense of shock and awe had stolen over him, as well as horror… awe at the capabilities the RSN battleship had demonstrated- and he, unlike some of his ilk, would not make the mistake of underestimating them; he knew full well that he hadn’t seen everything that starship could do.

            His horror was more directed to the thought of traitors in the midst; Kestrel had certainly been just that.

            He stopped, and blinked in puzzlement.  What’s this? he thought, highlighting a hidden file within the telemetry.

            It blazed to life, and his heart nearly stopped as Leftenant G’denel repeated his message; and then repeated it once more as Wrajera played it again.  His sense of horror had increased exponentially; especially as he examined the list of names G’denel and Leftenant V’lnova had compiled.

            His hands were shaking slightly as he called up current ship and shore command rosters.  As he compared them to the list of traitors and spies, his horror began to disappear, replaced by something else.

            Pure, unattenuated rage.

            My chief adjutant here at HQ?  Six of my captains in the group watching Andromeda- besides Kestrel?  Bastards! his thoughts roiled.

            He snarled, and reached into his desk, removing a plasma pulse pistol; he armed it, and with only the safety on, stashed it in his belt in the small of his back.

            He turned suddenly, saving and deactivating everything, pausing only long enough to encrypt it before he strode quickly out of the room.

            It was all he could do not to run back down the hall into the command center; he forced himself to maintain a businesslike, though rapid, pace, halting only long enough to summon additional troops to reinforce the guards.  As he entered, he noted that all eyes were on the various screens; he posted the troops along the wall, and proceeded to his desk and console. 

            “Attention!” he snarled.  “All ships are to stand down immediately; recall all ships to port.”

            There was a moment of shocked silence; finally, one of his senior officers spoke up.

            “Sir… why?  Why leave us defenseless against the RSN interloper?” he asked.

            “The situation has changed.  You have your orders,” snapped Wrajera.

            When no further explanation was forthcoming, officers turned to their tasks; the communications officers were rapidly responding, contacting each ship and relaying the orders.

            Wrajera’s scowl deepened, his anger rising by the second, his eyes locked on Commandant B’nalden, who was monitoring repair status on the damaged destroyers above.

            His trusted aide.  His friend.

            A bastard traitor, involved in subterfuge that could bring down everything the military fought to protect.

            He drew his pistol, and stalked up behind B’nalden; the adjutant turned upon hearing the footsteps of his commanding officer… and recoiled and gasped as his eyes widened, stunned, before they narrowed on the business end of the humming pistol in Wrajera’s grasp.  His gasp drew the gaze of virtually everyone in the room; and all activity ceased amidst the stunned astonishment, as all stared at the tableau in front of their eyes, wondering just what was going on.

            “What’s wrong, sir?” B’nalden asked, his voice wavering slightly.

            A sudden urge to pull the trigger and kill the traitor on the spot filled Wrajera; he resisted it- barely.  “You are relieved of duty, traitor!” he spat out.  “That’s what’s wrong!  Guards!  Escort this… filth… to the detention center; maximum security lockdown!”

            The extra troops he’d summoned moved from their positions, readying their weapons; and as the quartet neared, B’nalden growled low in his throat, his expression one of feral hunger.

            He abruptly swung his arm, and viciously backhanded Wrajera, sending him sprawling over the nearest console as if he were a ragdoll.

            His skin rippled, turning a dark gray; his eyes became completely white, and his clothes melted away, ultimately revealing a two-meter tall hulking brute with clawed hands and displaying dripping fangs.

            He was an Infiltrator.

            Even as the shocked troopers reacted in accordance with their training and opened fire, Wrajera raised himself to a kneeling position, ignoring the pain throbbing through him, his expression only marginally less bestial than the Infiltrator’s.  He rapidly added his own laser fire to the mix; and several of his officers joined in.

            The onslaught pounded the Infiltrator backwards, causing it to cry out in agony as the energy bursts scorched its hide; Wrajera grinned fiercely.

            “Continue firing!  Bring that creature down!” Wrajra ordered.

            At his order, the remainder of the officers in the command center drew their weapons; and the Infiltrator, seeing this, ducked low under the weaponsfire, rolling back to its feet.  As the combatants adjusted their fire, it let out a roar and charged, claws flailing.

            The first victim in its way towards the exit was one of the reinforcing troopers; his guts were ripped out in a spray of blood and gore.  The Infiltrator briefly used his body as a shield as he continued moving, finally throwing the now badly-shot up corpse at the remainder of the security troops; as they ducked, it attacked again, ripping another trooper’s head clean off, and splattering his blood all over his comrades.

            Seeing this, the entire chamber went nuts, doubling their efforts to bring the beast down; the room was alight with color from the energy bolts; the utter cacophony of noise from the onslaught and reek of blood and fried ozone filling the air.  Small explosions and shrapnel whistled about.

            Staggering under the barrage, the Infiltrator finally made it to the door, and limped out of the command center.

            A rather angry Wrajera stood.  “It will not escape.”  He turned to the gathered officers; a haze of smoke hung in the air.  Several workstations were pockmarked with smoking holes; a few terminals were completely destroyed.  “Security override- lock this place down!  Seal all exits!  Rest of you, follow me!”

            Even as the addressed personnel got to work, triggering commands that lowered protective, armored shutters over every now-locked window and door, the remainder followed Wrajera out of the chamber’s exit.

            It was fairly easy to pick up the creature’s trail; a splattered line of black ichor marked its path.  The soldiers eagerly followed it, into a conference room. 

            The lights were out.

            The room was silent.

            Wrajera paused to examine the room, and realized there could be only one place the beast was hiding, what with its size; and that place was under the conference table.

            He motioned to one of his troops, clenching his fist and pointing; the trooper got the message loud and clear, producing a stun grenade, and priming it; he rolled it under the table, where it promptly exploded in a flash of light and a loud bang; but they’d all been expecting it, and had turned away from the blast, covering the ear facing it.

            The table was suddenly upended, with a roar; and the beast leapt towards the nearest soldier, even as the guns opened up; it batted the soldier’s weapon aside, and tore out his throat.  As the soldier fell, gushing blood, the Infiltrator brandished the trooper’s weapon, and squeezed the trigger, firing wildly towards its assailants.

            The doorway cleared abruptly as the troops fell back, pulling Wrajera with them; and the beast charged out of the doorway, into the hall, firing constantly; smoke was beginning to come from the emitter element.

            It lasted long enough for it to reach the lifts; the creature threw it aside as it dived in through the open doors.

            As they closed, Wrajera raced to the lift; he examined the display.

            “It’s going down,” he growled.  “This is the express; the only stop besides here is the main floor.  Three groups; one in the next lift with me; and one to each stairwell.  It can’t leave; the building is now sealed.  Cut it off, pin it down… and by all that is holy, kill the damn thing.  Move!”  He punched the button to summon the other lift; moments later, it arrived with a chime, even as two other groups of soldiers departed the area with the heavy thud of booted feet.  Wrajera activated his communicator as he entered the lift, calling the guard station and security control center- both located in different areas of the ground floor- and summoning more help.

            Moments later, their lift chimed open on the main floor.  Wrajera allowed the soldiers and officers with him to proceed out, all in combat stances, pointing their weapons about.

            They heard a shout, at the same time as one of his officers came over the comm circuit to report the creature running towards the main entrance.

            As they set off running, dull booms echoed through the halls; followed rapidly by the whine of weaponsfire.  Soldiers and officers were converging from all over.

            They entered the main hall at a sprint, and drew up short, leveling weapons at the creature, now slumped at the armored main doors.  Glass shards lay all around; the metal covering remains of the doors was scratched and actually dented.  Two more troopers lay nearby, in the grotesque positions of violent death; their blood was pooling around them on the floor.

            And the creature itself, still snarling, was quite a mess, more black than gray now, with sections of its hide bubbled from all the burns it’d received.  Wrajera stepped forward, pistol raised, and stopped as the creature raised its head.

            “Fools!  Go ahead and kill me!  Your planet belongs to us!  Long live the Dark Kingdom!” it raged, summoning forth a brief stint of defiant strength.

            Wrajera snorted.  “Not if we can do anything about it,” he replied coldly.

            He pulled the trigger, and as his shots blasted into the thing, the gathered throng followed suit.

            The Infiltrator finally collapsed under the fusillade, chunks of its flesh blasted away, twitching, scorched, and smoking.  Seconds later, it stopped moving; and the weapons ceased firing.

            Wrajera motioned to a couple of his troops; they hurried forward, and as one covered the other, examined the beast.

            Finally, the crouched soldier looked up.  “It’s dead, sir.  What a stubbornly resilient creature, though.”

            There were several moments of uneasy silence; everyone present simply stared at the corpse of the beast.  A nasty smell was beginning to arise from it amongst the wisps of smoke.

            Finally, one of Wrajera’s communications officers spoke.

            “Sir… begging your pardon, sir… but what the hell is that thing?!?  What is going on?” he said nervously.

            Wrajera grimaced, and curtly replied.  “Our military- and the government itself- has been infiltrated by spies and monsters.”  He turned.  “Head back upstairs, and get a channel set up so that I can inform General Drocargh of the current situation.  Cancel security lockdown.”  He paused, and looked at the officer.  “Move!”

            “Yes, sir,” the officer replied, coming to attention and saluting in the Pollusian way before spinning about and sprinting off.

            Wrajera spared the smoking corpse a final glance and scowled.  “Clean this up!” he barked, before stalking away towards the lifts.

In standard orbit of Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

The SLS Andromeda

            “Ma’am!” called out Kwan excitedly from the comm console.  “I’ve been monitoring Pollusian communications like you asked, and Admiral Wrajera has just ordered a stand down and immediate recall of all Pollusian ships!”

            “It would appear, ma’am, that Admiral Wrajera discovered the enclosed telemetry records and received the message intended,” Setar commented matter-of-factly.

            Sailor Eldrea permitted herself a small sigh of relief, and a slight, lopsided grin.  “Well, hell, at least one thing went right today.  I can’t argue with that hypothesis, Mr. Setar; hallelujah.  Peace in our time.  I’ll be damned.  Mr. Khatari, status of that battle group?”

            Khatari, shaking his head with a smirk at Sailor Eldrea’s comment, eyed the latest reports on his panel.  “Well, captain, it looks like all ships are falling back… wait a moment.”  He pressed his panel, and scowled.  “Six destroyers, designated D-10, D-17, D-26, D-45, D-13, and D-52, are slowing; thrusters firing, and it looks like they’re changing course to intercept us!  I’m showing fighters launching from their bays, and all weapons systems are coming up to full power!”

            “Confirmed,” added Setar.  “Perhaps unsurprisingly, those captains are on Leftenant G’denel’s list, captain.”

            Sailor Eldrea gritted her teeth.  “There’s a fucking shock.  Will these bastards never learn?  Khatari, maximum jamming- including comms this time.  Use the shield freqs from earlier; I’d rather take a few laser bolts than all that plasma.  Mr. Rostov, feel free to maneuver as you will, but hold off on evasive action for the moment.  Mr. Kwan, contact Flight Control; have Swift inform Gambler that he is weapons free to engage any incoming.“

            A chorus of affirmatives answered her, and the Andromeda broke orbit, slewing about to bring the maximum amount of weaponry it could to bear.  The battleship shuddered suddenly, and on the main screen, laser beams could be seen streaking for them; followed by another shudder.

            “Ma’am!” Kwan called out.  “I have Admiral Wrajera hailing us!”

            “Screen five,” replied the Senshi of Alchemy curtly.

            “Sailor Eldrea,” said a scowling Wrajera; his face was smudged.  “Six of the captains in the battle group I sent are traitors!”

            “I know, Admiral; we read that data from Leftenant G’denel before we sent it to you… and those ships are attacking us as we speak,” Sailor Eldrea snapped.

            Wrajera’s expression betrayed his rage.  “Damn them.  Damn them all.  I will deal with those traitors, Sailor Eldrea.”  He paused.  “I do not, however, have any problems with your ship pitching in to help do so.  Those betrayers must be stopped by any means necessary; even if it requires the loss of life of those aboard those destroyers who may not be involved in the plot… not that I really believe that any are; this sedition runs far too deep.”

            “I rather agree, Admiral.  Let’s get this over with.  Andromeda, out.”

            As the screen reverted to a tactical view of the incoming, Sailor Eldrea’s expression became resolute.  “Mr. Kwan, get me Gambler.”

            “Aye, ma’am,” Kwan replied; a beep sounded.  “You’re on, ma’am.”

            “Gambler… eliminate them all.  I don’t want to see a single enemy fighter even get close to our defensive sphere.  And stop those damned destroyers!” Sailor Eldrea ordered brusquely.

            “Consider it done, Fullmetal,” Gambler replied.  “Engaging now.”

            Sailor Eldrea turned to Khatari.  “If any get through, you know what to do; don’t give them a chance to use that suicide strategy on us.”

            “Aye, captain,” replied the Isbanni with an eager growl.

            Sailor Eldrea turned back to the main screen in time to see the first bolts of blaster energy burst through space as the sleek, silvery Battlewings unleashed their initial salvo upon their attackers.

            “Blitz, keep back; fire in support if the destroyers get too close.  Raptor, Long John, take your wings and attack those ships; target shields, weaponry, and engines.  Falcon, your Nighthawks are with my Marauders.  We’ll separate into wing pairs and take the fighters down.  It’s time to teach these idiots not to mess with the Royal Star Navy… and especially, us!” Gambler said rapidly, eagerly.

            A chorus of affirmatives answered him; his display showed the Seraph Knights and Buccaneers breaking off and climbing above the melee, arcing over and splitting to flank the destroyers.

            And then he was in the thick of the furball, with energy bolts punching through the void much too fast for him to do anything but concentrate on the fight.

            Explosions lit the blackness of space all around them; fighter after fighter came into his wing’s sights and met with quick, vicious deaths.

            A bloodthirsty Falcon whooped over the channel as two of her victims collided and exploded.

            It’s too easy, Gambler thought, casually sweeping several short bursts through an enemy formation, and eyeing the four fireballs that erupted.  Like shooting fish in a barrel… or to use another old fighter pilot expression, killing baby seals.

            He paused, his features altered to a nasty smirk.  Not my problem.  They shouldn’t have started this in the first place.

            Another blast of plasma, short-lived flame, and debris erupted as still another burst ripped forth from his fighter into an attacker.

            Sailor Eldrea smiled slightly.  The views on screens three and four were fascinating; the flying, the fast-paced combat... she couldn’t entirely suppress a sigh. 

            Pride filled her; and a burning desire.  Watching this, she thought, it’s evident our pilots are simply lethal.  This is flying magic, plain and simple.  Every wingleader:  Gambler, Falcon, Long John- and damned if Raptor isn’t doing an excellent job; he’s certainly making me proud!- put the Grim Reaper to shame.  Oh, if only I were out there!  Sheer poetry!

            She sighed again, and then frowned as she noticed screens one and two.

            Two of the destroyers, D-26 and D-52, were closer than the other four; and getting too damned close; their engines were running flat out.  One more, protected by the other three, showed, via Andromeda’s sensors, that while it wasn’t running flat out, its engines were being overloaded.

            The two closest destroyers raced straight in, and plasma burst forth from them, followed by a full spread of laser fire.

            “Evasive action!” she snapped.  “Destroy those bastards!  One is prepping a suicide attack!”

            Even as the Andromeda began slewing about, her torpedo tubes spoke, unleashing a pair of Phoenix torpedoes.  The torpedoes quickly closed the gap to the destroyers.  The pair stopped firing, engaging their shields and diving under the weapons… just as they exploded in proximity bursts right above them.

            Sailor Eldrea blinked, and then smiled as she realized the two destroyers had reacted exactly as Khatari had intended… their dorsal surfaces suddenly presented full on.  A pair of Ghost torpedoes had already been launched, and as they struck home, dropping the destroyers’ dorsal shielding, Andromeda’s blaster arrays suddenly spat precisely targeted spurts of blazing white-yellow energy.

            Seconds later, both were completely disabled, all sources of energy fading to black as they drifted helplessly, plasma streaming from charred craters, just above the engine cores.

            “I don’t always need to blow everything to bits, skipper,” Khatari quipped with a grin and a wink.

            Sailor Eldrea grinned back.  “Well played, Khatari.  I’m greatly impressed with your restraint.  But there’s still a suicider out there.”  Despite his brashness- or is it because of it?- he is definitely starting to grow on me.

            “Not any more, skipper,” replied Khatari; she turned back to the screen to see an expanding fireball, and three destroyers spiraling out of control with scorched hulls.

            “Good work,” she said.

            “That was not me,” Khatari retorted.  “Credit for that goes to your Seraph Knights.”

            Sailor Eldrea saw them on screen one as Khatari zoomed in; they were not letting up, making sure that the remaining ships were indeed crippled; bursts of yellow, followed by small explosions, marked where the Seraph Knights, joined now by the Buccaneers on the two farthest destroyers, were still hard at work trashing the enemy ships.

            Laser fire was in the fray, now; the disabling effort became a joint exercise as the other Pollusian ships joined in.  No intact Pollusian fighters remained; the Marauders and Nighthawks were already orbiting Andromeda with the Panzers.  As the final weapons fell silent, the Buccaneers and Seraph Knights joined them, covering the ship in a protective umbrella.          

            All fell into an uneasy silence.

            Sailor Eldrea examined both the feed on screen one and the tactical plot now up on screen two.  Debris littered the battlefield amongst the stars, spinning idly in all directions; fires burned behind various forcefields on the disabled ships; and thin streams of plasma drifted idly about in several locations.

            “Report, Setar,” she finally said.

            “The rogue ships have been completely neutralized, captain,” the Vulcan replied.  “Their computer cores, including all command pathways and fail-safes for associated self-destruct systems, are entirely disabled.  All attacking fighters have been destroyed.  All of our fighters are intact.”

            Sailor Eldrea allowed herself to relax fractionally.

            “Ma’am!  Admiral Wrajera is hailing us,” spoke up Kwan.

            “Screen one,” the Senshi of Alchemy replied promptly.

            “Sailor Eldrea,” nodded Wrajera in greeting.  “Thank you for the assistance in stopping those traitors.  The loss of life was minimal; and certainly no blame should be attached to you for any of it.”  He paused; his expression hardened.  “I shall secure what remains of those ships and their crews… especially the traitors aboard.  However…”

            “Admiral?” Sailor Eldrea asked; the Pollusian’s expression became downright ominous.

            “I cannot contact the Royal Hall, or the council.  I have no way of warning anyone in the government or military higher than myself about this Dark Kingdom plot.  Furthermore, I have precisely zero knowledge on the current whereabouts of your people down here on the surface; and the situation is degenerating, rapidly,” he said grimly.

            Sailor Eldrea’s eyes narrowed.  “Wonderful.”

Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 March 2740

            Sailor Siryn, Ventura right behind her, stared hard at the score of tanks rumbling directly towards them, now just over a klick away.  Massive clouds of dust surged from under the armored behemoth’s hoverdrives; and as they closed, the weaponry they sported seemed to grow increasingly larger and more threatening.

            Sailor Siryn appeared utterly unconcerned. 

            It was all Ventura could do to stay on her feet, she was shaking so hard from fear.  However, no thought of leaving her position entered her mind.  Logically, I know that where there is a Senshi, I’m relatively safe.  Emotionally, I know there’s more to it than just that… but what?  Is it loyalty?  Some… love I am now discovering?  Or am I simply just too scared to move?

            “Uh… you do have a plan, right?” Ventura gathered her thoughts to say finally.

            The Sonic Senshi smiled.  “Of course I do, lass.  I wouldn’t be a Senshi if I didn’t.”

            The tanks were drawing to within a dangerously close range as Ventura spoke again.  “Well, now would be a good time to employ it.”  Suddenly, as impulse seized her and before her nerves deserted her completely, she leaned in close to Sailor Siryn, and briefly pressed her lips onto the Irish Senshi’s.  “For luck.”

            Sailor Siryn was surprised at first, but recovered quickly, fighting down the flush of pleasure from the kiss as she grinned.  Fortified, feeling as though anything was within her grasp, she turned.  Her face hardened; her expression became one of pure resolve.

            She took a deep breath as the glow once again burned at her throat.  Fire raged in her veins and through her bones; she could feel the heat of her power in every pore.

            Sill, she held back, charging herself to even higher, ever more dangerous levels.

            Pain began flowing through her, a fiery agony from every cell, now radiating with her power.

            Finally, her targets close at hand, main weaponry already depressing and preparing to fire, she opened her mouth.

            Ventura and everyone else around for a full half-kilometer couldn’t help but gasp in pain, clap their hands over their ears, and fall to the ground away from the source as the air liquefied and burned on the edges of the powerful sonic barrage Sailor Siryn unleashed.  A whip-crack shockwave burst forth; a white, donut-shaped cloud erupted vertically from around the Senshi.  The ground shuddered and cracked along the axis of the sonic blast, shredding the street, plant life, and shattering windows, cracking building facades, and bowling over or exploding various statues as the tremendously powerful scream tore through the air towards its target.

            Tiny streams of crimson blood trickled through Ventura’s fingers from her abused ears as she watched, astonished.

            The rippling blast of sound slammed into the lead hovertank with the force of a missile or torpedo; its front end crumpled, main cannons crunching suddenly upwards, as its momentum slowed, and abruptly stopped.  The whole tank was shuddering mightily, air and sound alike rippling over the entire surface of the war machine.

            In the name of Serenity… you… will… not… PASS! Siryn snarled in her mind, forcing herself to maintain the level of the sonic assault.

            Pieces of the outer walls of the buildings around were joining the glass shards in the remains of the street now, and the rent in the ground was widening; geysers of water shot up at angles where mains below were ruptured.

            Inside the tank was utter carnage; blood flowed copiously about as hemorrhage violently struck every single crewmember; and a second after the last died amidst a spray of crimson, sparks flew from electronic systems and explosions ricocheted about from detonating plasma shells.

            The tank abruptly sagged and crunched into the street as its hoverdrive died; smoke and fire poured from every gun slit and from the turret.  A second later, the tank exploded.  Debris flew everywhere, with whispers from the shrapnel, and shockwaves pounding into the already abused buildings.  This was followed quickly by another stupendous blast as a second tank inadvertently blundered directly into the path of the monstrous scream.

            Unable to stop in time, the trailing tank elements plowed into the explosive effects and debris of the first brethren, shredding drive elements and weaponry, ravaging crew, and crumpling the tanks in a rather devastating domino effect that finally led to a massively loud and grinding crash as the ruins of ten more tanks created what amounted to a virtual wall of wreckage, totally blocking the street.

            Not that anyone could hear it, deafened as they were from Sailor Siryn’s scream.

            Only thirty seconds had lapsed as Sailor Siryn closed her mouth and bent over almost double, breathing heavily.

            Shocked silence abounded; what pedestrians there were could only stare.  Ventura’s mouth was agape, as she removed her hands from her ears, ignoring the blood, staring around in amazement.  By the Crystal!  Fiona stopped tanks!  TANKS!  Is there anything this woman can’t do?  The power she wields, it makes her so fucking sexy to me!

            Ventura found her voice.  “You did it, Fiona!  You pulled off a miracle!”

            Sailor Siryn slowly straightened up.  “And almost burnt myself out in the process,” she said hoarsely and quietly, her throat raw.  “Miracle?  Not the case.  If the tanks weren’t shielded, stopping them would have been tougher.”

            “Burnt out?” Ventura asked slowly.

            “It’s something they warn every Senshi about at the College,” Sailor Siryn explained carefully.  “It is a risk common to all Senshi, regardless of the source of our power.  The power we all wield… can literally consume us if we’re not careful.  And even if we survived… we would wield that power no more.  There are precedents.”  She shook her head slowly.  “Enough of that, though.”  She took Ventura’s hands, smiling.  “Thank you, for your support.  It gave me the strength I needed.”

            Ventura sheepishly returned the smile.  In a rare moment of open modesty, she actually blushed slightly.  “I was only supporting my captain and my mission.”  She paused.  “We should really get back to the Royal Hall.”

            Sailor Siryn, once again all business, nodded.  “Agreed.”

            They quickly turned and moved off, leaving chaos and destruction behind them.

Royal Hall

             “No lethal force, Qtardihn!  I say again, no lethal force!” Drocargh shouted into an intercom.  “Stun setting only on all weapons!  That fiasco down there is being filmed!  If anyone dies, we’ll have a disaster on our hands!  Do you read me?”

            “Acknowledged, General!  No lethal force!” came back the voice of his subordinate.  “But the throng keeps coming!  We can’t stop them all, even with wide dispersion stun beams!”

            “General!  What about non-lethal, anti-personnel countermeasures?” Ryvvius demanded.  “Gas bombs!  Electrostatic stun devices!  Anything?”

            “Not nearly enough to control an unholy mob like that large!  We weren’t prepared for something like this!” Drocargh stared at the confrontation down on the street with overmatched defenders valiantly trying to keep the huge throng from completely storming the building and barely succeeding.  All the while, on the outskirts of the mob, nearly a dozen men calmly filmed the fracas.  “This is madness!  Utter madness!  Once they storm the Hall, there’s no telling what will happen!”

            “And the whole fucking world is watching it live!” McDowell growled from a corner of the room where he, Miriele, LeClerc and the rest of the Pollusian council were watching the very same events unfold on a video monitor.  “Madness doesn’t begin to describe what’s going on!”

            Ryvvius ground his teeth from intense frustration.  The mission, no, the entire planet was on the verge of falling apart, and there was nothing he, or anyone could do to prevent it.  At that moment, a rich, mellow, resonant sound, like that of a choir could be heard, a sound that suddenly caused both the huge mob, and the building’s harried defenders to stop short, stiffen up like boards and, their eyes glassed over, they dropped their weapons.  Everyone watching the scene from inside were stunned.

            “What in the world is that?” Miriele wondered.

            “A reprieve, Lieutenant,” said Ryvvius.  “Look.”

            As the group watched, the silent throng parted like the Red Sea, and through the wide chasm boldly walked Sailor Siryn, Ventura close on her heels, the former using a variation of her sonic scream to psionically control the motor functions of the mob.  An instant later, the entire crowd collapsed unconscious to the ground after the women entered the building.  The Pollusians were in wide eyed shock at what they had seen; even the Andromeda landing party were stunned, as they had never seen that aspect of the Senshi’s incredible powers.

            A scant few minutes later, Sailor Siryn and Ventura rushed into the room.  The Pollusians bowed deep in reverence to their temporary ruler while the Andromeda personnel came to attention.

            “As you were, people.  We don’t have time for protocol,” the Senshi rasped.  Her throat ached terribly and it hurt to talk after using her powers so extensively, but she would not show weakness in front of her crew.  She handed Miriele the DK communicator.  “Lieutenant, I need you to scan this device.  There’s a code in it that’ll cause all the DK agents here to drop dead.  Literally.  And I need it done right fucking now!  Get cracking!”

            “Yes, ma’am!” said Miriele, who wasted no time connecting her microcomp to the communicator and launching its code deciphering program.

            “Oh, hell!  We’ve got incoming!” cried McDowell, staring at the monitor screen as he saw eight of the tanks, looking like they had been through a battle, rumble up the street.

            The Senshi of Sound scowled.  “Shit!  Some of those tanks managed to get around the bottleneck I created.  Lieutenant, do you have the code yet?”

            “Working on it, ma’am!” said Miriele, her slim fingers flying over her keyboard.

            “Work faster, dammit!” Sailor Siryn barked.

            “Those tanks will be here any second!” said Ryvvius.  “All those people unconscious down there will be flattened!”

            “Not if I have anything to say about that!” said Sailor Siryn, headed for the open door.  Running on fumes, she wasn’t sure just how much energy she had left, but the Senshi was ready to bleed her power dry and burn herself out if necessary to stop the advancing threat.  “I’ll head them off!  No more innocents die on my watch!”

            “Wait!  Look at that!” cried Ventura, pointing at the screen.

            As the assemblage looked on, eight sleek and deadly Battlewings swooped in from above and, with the tanks just under a kilometer away from the Hall, the ships each fired a single torpedo at the machines, resulting in a tremendous series of explosions that rocked the entire street, including the Hall, as the ordinance unerringly hit their targets, transforming the tanks into eight burning hulks belching black smoke high into the sky.  Shockwaves ripped past, and as the reports echoed around, their work done, the Battlewings banked upwards and zoomed off.

            “The Panzers, I presume,” said a grinning Ryvvius.  “It would appear Andromeda’s still in one piece, captain.”

            Sailor Siryn shared her subordinate’s smile.  “Yeah.  Sure looks that way.”

            “Blitz to Sailor Siryn!  Blitz to Sailor Siryn!  Please respond!  What is your status?” came back the German-accented voice of the Panzers’ leader over her communicator.

            “Siryn here, Blitz.  We’re okay,” the Irish Senshi replied.  “Thanks for the assist, laddie.”

            “Thank Sailor Eldrea, ma’am.  She was worried after she couldn’t reach the Royal Hall and ordered us dirtside.  The admiral of the Pollusian Navy told us about the bad guys in the tanks we just trashed.  Besides, my boys and I hadn’t had much to do on this mission.”

            Sailor Siryn chuckled.  “Then give Number One my gratitude.”

            “Gladly, captain.  Blitz out.”

            “Got it!” Miriele suddenly yelled.  “I found the code!”

            The Irish Senshi all but ran over to where Miriele was and stared at two rows on the screen of her microcomp.  The top row was a line of symbols in the Dark Kingdom language while the bottom row was that same line in the Lunarian language.  The Vegan woman looked to her captain, a wolfish grin on her lips.  “Request permission to kill the bastards, ma’am.”

            Sailor Siryn grinned like a shark.  “Permission granted, Lieutenant!  Fire away!”

            “With pleasure!”  Miriele pressed a button on the microcomp that activated the code.

All over the planet, as well as in front of the Hall, and on the warships in orbit over Pollus, the hidden DK agents suddenly screamed from unimaginable pain as they clutched their heads, while dark, brackish fluid oozed from their ears as their brains were literally burned away from an organic acidic device implanted in their skulls, all while Pollusians stared at the dying spies in abject confusion before they began falling dead to the ground.  Puzzlement by the native population suddenly turned to shock and horror as the freshly dead enemy agents morphed into hideous, though completely lifeless, monsters.  Pollusian traitors, seeing their off-planet compatriots dying before their eyes, bolted from panic.  Knowing the DK plot had been uncovered, their goal was to hide, knowing that violent reprisals against them would soon follow.

With Sailor Siryn leading the way, she, the Andromeda landing party, and the remaining members of the council left the building and walked up to the throng of Pollusians as they came to after the Senshi’s attack, and were promptly shocked to see several dead Infiltrators on the ground.  All was deathly silent as nothing and nobody moved as the entire populace seemed afraid to say or do a thing.

“It would appear that the crisis is over, captain,” said Ventura as she walked up to Sailor Siryn.

The Irish Senshi, flush from success, nodded.  She then turned and smiled warmly at her crewmen, all of whom had endured tremendous danger since arriving on Pollus, and survived.  The pride she had for her people showed on her face and filled her heart.  “I agree, Counselor.  People, I do believe we have accomplished our mission.”

Royal Hall, Marquis City, Pollus 4, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 April 2740

            Captain’s Personal Log, Lunar Date 04-14-2740:  Little over a week after the end of hostilities on Pollus, the destroyer SLS John F. Kennedy arrived from Luna with a full diplomatic team, led by Lieutenant Ventura’s former mentor, Ambassador Soluch, who came out semi-retirement and volunteered for this assignment, plus a 300-person detachment of Sorcerers to help the Pollusians regain order, and find the Dark Kingdom sympathizers who went into hiding after the fighting ended.  With the assistance of Soluch, Lieutenant Ventura, and a surprisingly contrite and helpful Kodos, a temporary command structure was established, thus enabling me to return control of the planet to the Pollusians.  And I couldn’t be happier about that.  Soluch has already begun the process of elections for a new council, one that will be inclusive of both the military and the church, thus giving all three of the planet’s factions an equal say in how their planet is to be run.  On a personal note, Mr. Dyrstade, the Vegan scholar who first alerted us of the crisis on Pollus, finally returned home to his wife.  Hearing that left me elated.

            “Well, Fiona, from what I’ve read in your report, it looks like things are shaping up on Pollus,” said a smiling Sailor Neptune on a viewscreen to Sailor Siryn in the spacious office area of what used to be Praetor Kodos’ private suite in the Royal Hall.  “You’ve done a wonderful job, my dear.”

            Sailor Siryn nodded demurely.  “I was just doing my duty, ma’am.”

            “And you did so magnificently.  You saved an entire world from catastrophe, something not every Senshi gets the chance to do,” Sailor Neptune pointed out.  “Neo-Queen Serenity was briefed on the latest developments last night, and she’s positively elated with how you successfully completed the mission.  She told me to tell you that she owes you her deepest gratitude for saving Pollus 4, and that you’re a tremendous asset to the fleet.  Oh, and she personally nominated you for the Golden Crescent, and authorized me to make sure your crew are richly commended for their hard work.”

            Sailor Siryn blushed.  Receiving praise from the ruler of the Golden Millennium humbled her.  “Thank you, milady.  Please relay to the Queen that I greatly appreciate her kind words, and that I, and my crew will continue to do the very best we can in her service.”

            “I will.  When can you get underway to resume your patrol?”

            “About six hours from now, ma’am.  Full control of the planet has been officially turned over to Ambassador Soluch and the temporary council.  The Kennedy will remain on station until the battleship Valley Forge arrives and Sailor Altair can be fully apprised of the situation in the region.”

            The teal haired Planetary smirked.  “And I’m guessing you can’t wait to leave, eh?”

            Sailor Siryn chuckled.  “You have no idea!  Running a starship is child’s play compared to ruling an entire world!”

            Sailor Neptune laughed.  “I don’t doubt that!  Well, good luck, Fiona.  Stay safe.”

            “I will.  Peace to you, milady.”  And the screen went dark.  No sooner was the connection terminated when a knock came on the door.  Sailor Siryn stood and smoothed her skirt.  “Come.”

            The double doors opened and four people entered.  Ambassador Soluch, a thin, wizened Vulcan of a hundred and twenty five with gray hair and wearing the ceremonial robes of his people entered, along with Lieutenant Ventura and Sailor Shiva, commanding officer of the Kennedy, a slender, swarthy Hindu woman with thick, shoulder length black hair.  Lastly was General Drocargh, garbed in the white robes of leadership as he had been elevated to head of the temporary council.  The quartet walked up to the desk Sailor Siryn stood behind.

            “Good day to you, Sailor Siryn,” said Soluch with a short, respectful bow, his voice resonant and strong despite his advanced years.  “We have come to deliver our report.”

            “Excellent,” said the Irish Senshi.  She stole a brief glance at Ventura.  With the wound on her cheek expertly repaired by Doc Ellie, leaving behind not even a trace of a scar, the black woman was every bit as gorgeous as ever.  And while she couldn’t let it show on her face, the Senshi was extremely grateful for that.  “Let’s have it.”

            “The temporary council is already at work on the day to day operation of the planet until a permanent government can be established.  Elections for same will be held in thirty days,” Soluch replied.  “The diplomatic team and I will remain on Pollus for one full year and monitor the new council’s activities.  It should prove to be a most fascinating and educational endeavor.  Counselor Ventura was highly instrumental in helping me bring all the parties together and establish the new parameters for the council in which all the factions will enjoy an equal share of both power, and responsibility.”

            Ventura’s cheeks brightened from a blush.  “You’re too kind, sir.  If I was of any use to you, it was because of your teachings.”

            Drocargh nodded.  “Yes, Sailor Siryn, your countrymen were of immense help to us in putting our government back together after we foolishly smashed it to bits.  From this moment on, we intend to develop a lasting rapport with Neo-Queen Serenity and her government.”  He paused to finger the sleeve of his robe and grinned sheepishly.  “However, after having been a soldier all my adult life, being a politician will take some getting used to, I’m afraid.”

            “I’m sure you’ll adapt… Praetor Drocargh.”  Sailor Siryn turned to her fellow Senshi.  “Sailor Shiva, what’s happening with Operation Clean Sweep?”

            “Planetwide, order has been regained, thanks to the military task force.  Sorcerer Janai, in charge of the operation, reported to me that as of one hour ago, ninety-three percent of Dark Kingdom sympathizers who went to ground have been apprehended,” the Hindu woman replied in a soft but crisp British accent.  “Fortunately, none of the traitors were able to leave the planet, and, much to our surprise, the Pollusians were of tremendous help in exposing in the traitors.  Apparently, they take a seriously dim view on subversives.  All things considered, we have a firm control of things here.”

            Sailor Siryn nodded to her colleague.  “Thank you.  Well, I guess this is where I leave and let the Pollusians go back to running their world.  Are you ready, Praetor Drocargh?”

            Drocargh nodded.  “I am indeed.  Sailor Siryn, I can’t thank you enough for all the help you gave my people, and my world.  I shudder to imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t come to our aid.  Hopefully, this incident will go a long way towards eliminating the longstanding xenophobia we have about the people of the Golden Millennium, who are every bit as dedicated to peace as we are.”

            The temporary head of the council held out his hand to Sailor Siryn, who shook it.  “Glad to have been of assistance.  Peace to you, sir.  Counselor, let’s go.  Our ship is waiting for us.”

            “Yes, ma’am!” Ventura replied eagerly.  While it barely showed on her face, the black woman was already looking forward to new adventures onboard Andromeda- and seeing what direction her budding friendship with Sailor Siryn would take her.

In FTL transit, inside the Alpha Zone, 14 April 2740 

The SLS Andromeda

            “Well,” commented Sailor Siryn as she leaned back in her chair, eyeing the other two occupants of the captain’s ready room, seated across from her.  “I must say, Number One… you sure kept busy while we were dirtside.”

            Acknowledging Ryvvius’ nod of agreement, Sailor Eldrea waved her hands as she chuckled.  “Hell, it passed the time.  Besides, it sure put the crew through their paces.”  She paused.  “Yeah, ‘busy’ really doesn’t describe it.  ‘Madhouse’ works better, I think.  And despite the Pollusian casualties and not being out there flying, I did have the time of my life.  I have to add that the crew sure made up for that drill.  They did you proud, captain, and I mean proud.  Flying colors.  Couldn’t ask for more.”  She paused; her face twisted wryly.  “Just wish I would’ve been quicker on the uptake in the bay; G’denel might still be alive were that the case.”

            “Guilt?” Ryvvius asked quietly.

            Sailor Eldrea frowned.  “That and remorse.  Commander, we Senshi are still human, with human emotions.  I’ve been around a while, and I still can make mistakes.  Fine, I did spot the fact that the whole mess was DK, at the same time you were both confronting Infiltrators… just by the actions of the enemy.  And I still screwed the pooch.  I was just lucky I was able to cover that mistake and have Khatari as back-up as I did so.  Fact is far more died, bravely to be sure, than should have… including him.”

            Sailor Siryn nodded.  “You’re not the first Senshi to be tricked by the DK,” she began in a soft but firm voice, “and you won’t be the last.  I didn’t exactly see it coming either.  Best we can do is all learn from the experience and move on.  As far as G’denel, Praetor Drocargh has authorized a statue of him to be erected outside the Royal Hall, and a ceremony and service will be held planet wide for his brave sacrifice.”

            “Glad to hear it,” nodded Sailor Eldrea.  “Hell, makes me feel better just knowing that.  He deserved the honor, to be sure.”

            Sailor Siryn snorted.  “Besides, if anything, the space battles and hangar incident have not shaken my faith in you… it’s increased it.  You certainly proven to me that not only are you a kick-ass fighter pilot, but also an excellent Senshi… and as First Officer, you can definitely handle the job, and I’m damn glad you’re here.  Bottom line:  I wouldn’t have anyone else in the fleet at my side than you, Audra.  I mean that!”

            “Aw, shucks, Fiona, you’re making me blush,” quipped Sailor Eldrea as she brightened, grinning.  Though she wasn’t about to admit it, those words made her feel good; and only served to heighten the feeling that the two of them had truly become friends.  “Honestly, though… thank you, captain.  And so long as there’s life left in me, I will never let you down!  Count on that!”

            Sailor Siryn matched Sailor Eldrea’s smile.  “I will.  That will be all, Number One.”

            Sailor Eldrea stood, proudly and precisely saluted Sailor Siryn, and nodded.  “Guess I’ll be on the bridge then, captain.”  As she turned, she nodded to Ryvvius.  “Commander.”

            After the doors hissed shut behind her, Ryvvius shook his head.  “She’s quite a character.”

            “That she is,” Sailor Siryn said with relish. 

            Ryvvius’ expression turned dour.  “I have to apologize, captain,” he began.  “It was quite disrespectful, the way I spoke to you during the height of the crisis; especially in front of other troops.  You made the right call going to the Counselor’s rescue; if you would have followed protocol and sent the security team like I suggested, they may very well have been slaughtered by the Infiltrators, and the Counselor killed.  We also may never have acquired the code to eliminate the DK agents.  That’s why you’re the captain and I’m a lowly subordinate.”

            “Subordinate, my Irish ass!  Arthur, you’re one of the smartest, most resourceful men I’ve ever known!” Sailor Siryn countered.  “I don’t blame you for being pissed at me when it appeared I abandoned you, because, in essence, I had.  Also, doing my duty wasn’t the sole reason I chased after Ventura.”

            Ryvvius was silent for a moment, digesting that information.  Finally, he spoke, feeling a need to proceed carefully, but also knowing that the question he was a bout to pose had to be aired.  “Off the record, Fiona, you like the girl, don’t you?”

            Sailor Siryn’s expression slowly became a sheepish grin.  She nodded.  “Yes, I do.  Despite getting off on the wrong foot with Counselor Ventura, or maybe even because of it, I’ve definitely warmed up to her.  She’s a very strong woman with plenty of spunk, much like myself and Sailor Eldrea.  I think the two of us can definitely become good friends.”

            Ryvvius considered this, and Sailor Siryn shrugged.

            “Arthur, I made a few mistakes this mission myself.  Nobody’s perfect.  As I said to Audra, I’m going to say to you:  I have faith in you; and you are an excellent officer.  Second guess as you will; I don’t like yes-men.  Keep on keeping me on my toes.  But for now…” Sailor Siryn paused to fight off a yawn.  “Excuse me.  I have a dying need to reacquaint myself with my bed.  Captain’s  prerogative.  So, you’re dismissed, Commander.  Go keep Sailor Eldrea on her toes for the time being.”

            Ryvvius stood just fractionally faster than Sailor Siryn; as she stretched, he grinned.  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

            After getting off the turbolift, Sailor Siryn, rounding the corner, almost ran into Ventura.

            “Sorry, captain.  Didn’t expect to run into you,” the black woman said demurely.

            “No problem, Counselor.  Were you looking for me?” the Senshi asked.

            “Yes.  You wanted to read the bridge reports from the alternate Counselors.  Here they are,” said Ventura, holding an iso-chip in a perfectly manicured hand.  “I took the liberty of scanning said reports, and while they don’t come up to my impeccable standards of observation, I’m sure you’ll find them to be fairly useable.”

            The Irish Senshi smirked as she took the chip.  She liked Ventura’s unique brand of arrogance which she found refreshing.  “Thank you.  By the way, Lieutenant, I have a question that I’ve wanted to ask you, but I had been too busy playing dictator on Pollus to find the time.  Until now.”

            “And what might that be, ma’am?”

            “In Marquis City, before I engaged those tanks headed for the Royal Hall, you kissed me.  Why?”

            Ventura was silent for several moments.  For the last month, she idly wondered when Sailor Siryn would broach that topic, and how she would respond.  She then shrugged; her face impassive.  “Because, at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.  To explain further would be… difficult, as it was a spur of the moment decision.  Were my actions out of line, given the lives at stake and the fact that we were on a mission?  If so, I’m very sorry, and I’ll readily accept any punishment you see fit to administer.”

            “No, no, you don’t have to apologize.  And I’m not going to punish you.  The only ‘crime’ you committed was that you caught me totally off-guard,” Sailor Siryn replied.  She then paused, and grinned.  “If anything, I’d be lying if I said that moment wasn’t … pleasurable.  If you gather my meaning.”

            Ventura returned the smile, her heart beating a little faster.  She had come to enjoy being with Sailor Siryn, whom she once held in contempt.  Now she found the Senshi’s dynamic personality highly appealing.  “I do indeed.  Having never kissed another woman before, I must admit I also found it unexpectedly… enjoyable.”

            “Heh.  Why am I not surprised?  Oh, before I forget, I have to tell you that you’re out of uniform.”

            Ventura’s eyes widened from surprise.  “Out of uniform?  What do you mean by that?”

            Sailor Siryn’s face hardened from a menacing scowl.  “What I mean, is that command crew personnel wear white on the insert of their tunics, not medical blue.  I expect you to correct that oversight before your first regular watch on the bridge tomorrow morning.  Is that understood, Lieutenant?”

            “C- command… command crew?” a shocked Ventura stammered.

            “Gotcha!  I’ve been dying to see the haughty Counselor Ventura flustered like the rest of us mere mortals!” Sailor Siryn said with a hearty laugh.  Her expression then turned serious.  “Yes, I want you as part of Andromeda’s command team.  You’re sharp, dynamic, and, frankly speaking, you know your shit.  Qualities like yours I appreciate, as I insist on only the very best personnel on my bridge.  Interested?”

            Ventura beamed from elation, then nodded.  “Absolutely!  Thank you, captain!  I promise that I won’t disappoint you!”

            “I’m sure you won’t, lass.  I have faith in you.”  The Irish Senshi then clasped Ventura’s shoulders, leaned close and kissed her.  Surprised at first, the black woman’s shock was quickly replaced by… delight.  Delight that flooded every cell of her body with a pleasant, blissful warmth as her lips tenderly meshed with the Senshi’s.  Ventura closed her eyes and savored the moment.

After Sailor Siryn broke the kiss, she smiled playfully at Ventura, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.  “That was fun.  You see, I like spur of the moment stuff, too.  Good night, Gabrielle.”

            “Uh, good night, Fiona.  Sleep well.”

            As the Senshi strolled off to her quarters, Ventura was left in wide-eyed amazement as she found the moment of sudden intimacy she shared with Sailor Siryn to have been nothing short of wondrous.  Ventura shook her head and chuckled.

AND THE VOYAGE OF STARSHIP ANDROMEDA CONTINUES….

 

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