The recreation area on Deck Ten, Forward, was a regular retreat for Lieutenant Gre'Shaa Nogami, a place to escape from whatever had managed to annoy her that day. More often than not, the source of that annoyance was Commander Paxton, half-Klingon like herself, whose persistent attempts to get her interested in him frequently drove her to drink. The insipid excuse for bloodwine - replicated, rather than the real thing - only ever partly calmed her spirits, however, and sooner or later, the Commander's spectre would descend on her again...

Gre'Shaa knew her brief respite was ended as a large shadow fell over her. Paxton was on the bridge, as far as she was aware, so the shadow's owner had to be the second most despised person on the ship, as far as the Lieutenant was concerned.

Spitting her last, now rather sour-tasting mouthful of wine back into the goblet, Nogami looked up. Just as she had expected, the intruder was Lieutenant Regan Hawkins, the shaven-headed brown-skinned Terran who was officially the Commander's personal guard, even though the huge half-Klingon had no problems handling his own defence. Hawkins, a wrestling champion at the Imperial Academy, handled whatever business the Ghidorah's second-in-command couldn't be bothered to sully his hands with.

"The Commander wants to speak with you", Hawkins told her. The only likable thing about the man, in Gre'Shaa's opinion, was his voice - those low, gravelly tones almost sounded Klingon.

"Surprise, surprise...", growled Nogami, giving no indication of getting out of her seat at the bar. On the other side of the counter, the troll bartender backed away, knowing full well how volatile half-Klingons could be.

"Holo-Deck One, at the end of the present shift", Hawkins continued. "Be there. It's an order."

"I'm expected down in the aft torpedo bays then", spat Nogami. "Ask Chief Weapons Technician Coleman if you don't believe me."

"Orders are orders, Gre'Shaa", emphasised the Lieutenant. "The Commander will make sure that Coleman understands."

Gre'Shaa kept her disappointment to herself. She knew all too well that Coleman was in Paxton's debt - although she had no idea exactly why - and that she had no choice but to obey. It had happened before, and would surely happen again.

It's almost enough to make one wish they hadn't been born part Klingon, she thought. Not that I ever had any choice in the matter...

"I'll be there", Gre'Shaa growled, and the mountainous shadow of Lieutenant Hawkins slid away, like a great storm-cloud passing overhead on the wind.

"But not before I stop off in my quarters for my bat'leth", she muttered once Paxton's guard was gone. "The high-and-mighty Commander is going to have to fight to gain my full attention."

The half-Klingon drained the goblet. The bloodwine tasted just a bit more like the real thing as it went down.

Commander Ra'Kul Paxton was being his usual charming self when Gre'Shaa arrived at Holo-Deck One, turfing out two of the wolf-elves and their canine mounts, who had been in the midst of a simulated hunt. Elves and wolves growled as the Commander shooed them away, only to earn themselves a snarl and a growl to best their own.

"You won't need that", said Paxton, glancing down at the bat'leth Nogami carried openly. "I think you'll want to hear what I have to say."

"You're dying of some incurable and incredibly painful disease?", queried the Lieutenant, her tongue dripping with acid. "You only have weeks to live?"

Nogami was the only person on the ship who could be so flippant towards the Commander, and in full view of other crew-members, and her defiance made Paxton smile a very Klingon-like toothy smile. "You should be so lucky", he snorted, on the verge of laughter. "No - come in, and listen..."

Paxton had not cancelled the holo-deck program the elves had been running, so Gre'Shaa stepped from the ship's corridor into a leafy glade, dappled sunlight speckling the forest floor with shades of gold. A short distance away, a stag was frozen in the midst of fleeing pursuit, leaping over a fallen bough with an arrow buried in one of its hindquarters. The arrow fell to the ground moments later as Paxton paused at the arch, and deleted the holo-deck character.

Distant bird-song and a cool breeze, bringing the scent of damp undergrowth, sprang up around the two half-Klingons as the holo-deck portal closed, and the arch vanished. "The Captain has chosen our Chief of Security", Paxton began at once. "One of her own kind."

"What business should that be of mine?", growled Gre'Shaa. "You have more of a say in that than I do - Commander."

"True, but Blackfire has the final say", Paxton replied. "It is my opinion that the one chosen for the job is unsuitable, and will not last..."

"...if you have anything to do with it", interrupted Nogami.

Paxton shrugged. The gesture was so plainly false. "Perhaps."

"I'm not interested in the post", the Lieutenant stated firmly, already seeing where the conversation was leading. "Weapons Control, certainly, maybe even Tactical..."

"You may not like me, girl", snarled the Commander, "but I'm sure you'll like it even less if all the senior positions on this ship are filled by these 'elves'. Already, there is one installed as Chief Medical Officer, and the ship attracts more and more transfer requests from Blackfire's kind every day."

Gre'Shaa fought to restrain a fit of laughter. "You're afraid of them?", she spluttered.

"I am concerned for the loyalty of this ship to the Empire, should its crew compliment become...unbalanced", Paxton replied, fighting his own inner struggle to keep his temper in check. "The elves have a fascination for the stars - a fascination that may blind them to duty..."

"They came from the stars in the first place", volunteered Nogami. "Abode was never their home-world. It was just the place they found themselves trapped."

Paxton subconsciously raised a thick, bushy eyebrow. "You know a lot about them, then", he said thoughtfully. "They have your sympathy, perhaps - even your support...?"

Paranoia- the officer's curse, thought the Lieutenant. "I only seek to remain informed about those around me", she answered. "Know your enemies, or know the points of their blades in your gut."

"Wisdom no Klingon should ever discount", observed Paxton. "Add a bit of ambition to that, and you'll go far. Just think over my offer, Gre'Shaa - I'm rarely this generous. This could be the only chance you get - think with your Klingon half for once, and grab it...!"

The Lieutenant could not shake those words out of her head as she left the holo-deck, and headed for her current duty-station, at the far end of the main hull of the star-drive section. It was just about the furthest she could get from Paxton without leaving the ship, but that was of little comfort to her. Yes, she wanted a position on the bridge, and Paxton's offer was tempting, but if she was ever going to advance on the Ghidorah, she would have preferred to do it by herself. Playing a part in the Commander's plan would surely leave her indebted to him, and that was not a safe situation to be in...

Gre'Shaa stopped off at her quarters to drop off her bat'leth, then hurried on to her work-place, only to find her path to the turbo-lift partly blocked by three humans, gathered around something or someone they had up against the wall. As the half-Klingon watched, she saw the two of the men - a couple of Ensigns - leap back in horror, revealing a dark-skinned, black-haired elf. The third man, a Lieutenant from Engineering, then dropped to his knees, clutching at his right arm...the skin of which seemed to be melting...

The elf shook liquefied flesh from his hand, and brushed more from the front of his tunic. "Small does not mean weak", he snarled. "Try this again, and I'll turn you all inside out..."

He then pushed past his victim, leaving the man lying there, mouth wide open in speechless agony, but Gre'Shaa's eyes were on the elf all the time. An Ensign, from the Science department, and a newcomer, as far as she was aware. Now there is someone I should get to know, she thought, remembering those many times full-blooded humans had taunted her about her lineage. In him, there is a power that could benefit us both.

On a ship built to carry over a thousand people, it was no surprise that Gre'Shaa failed to come across the mysterious dark elf again that day. She could have asked the computer for more information, but she was always wary of using the ship's systems for personal business. Paxton could be spying on her, trying to catch her out, and snare her in a trap of her own making... There were other ways - less efficient, certainly, and the results were perhaps prone to contamination by conjecture and outright lies, but they still worked, having survived the march of science, just like the standard-issue dagger - and Gre'Shaa knew just where such methods worked their best.

Ten Forward was particularly busy, as those who were just coming off their shifts met up with those already making the most of their free time. The bar was the centre of attention, with two of Gritspittle's dancing girls hard at work entertaining the weary masses, gyrating on the polished granite bar-top in little more than strategically-placed strings of sequins, and so the half-Klingon could move around amongst the other, seated patrons with little difficulty. Getting a drink - a real drink from a bottle rather than an illusion of a real drink from a replicator - would be a whole different matter...

Making do with a glass of replicated Saurian brandy, Gre'Shaa installed herself in her favourite corner, the briefest flash of pointed Klingon teeth enough to send a trio of Ensigns from Quantum Physics running. It was a good spot for a combat point of view, giving her the best view of the largest part of the recreation lounge, whilst allowing her to either quickly assume control over a sizable area of open fighting space, should a brawl develop, or take advantage of her proximity to the exit. The latter was hardly the honourable course of action, but on the whole Imperial crewmen neither understood nor recognised the concept.

Scanning the occupied seats, Gre'Shaa took note of a number of individuals, placing them on her mental map as though she was setting out chess pieces. Most outstanding of all had to be Lieutenant Nicholas Quintin Shatter Of Many Claws, the towering wolf-man (or should that be man-wolf?, wondered the half-Klingon) who lurked in a shadowy booth, feral eyes glinting ominously in the half-light. If anyone on the ship could possibly take down Paxton, hand-to-hand, the Lupinarian was the one - if he could get past Regan Hawkins, that was, and rumour had it that Hawkins wrestled and beat a captive Gorn at the Academy. Rumour is so often truth around here, Gre'Shaa reminded herself. You get to thinking that people let the gossip get started, purely to put others off-guard. Discount a rumour, and the subject of the rumour tends to prove the story right when your back's turned.

Others Gre'Shaa noted cautiously included Lt. Masterson from Engineering - a man with a bloody past, and plenty of friends - Lt. Aeshel, the Elaasian with her ever-present body-guard, the seven-foot Cerik, a known assassin with a number of paid promotion-kills to his name, and that new Vulcan, arrived just the other day from the Repulse, He's too small and skinny for my liking, Gre'Shaa thought. He looks so out of place in here, even though he's trying hard not to show it...

Filing her obseravtions away as a mystery to be investigated another day, unless the Vulcan made himself more of a priority, the half-Klingon turned her attentions towards the elves currently in Ten Forward. There were a few, and none of any rank greater than her own, but the one Gre'Shaa focussed on was of interest not because of who or what he was, but rather on account of who knew him.

Lieutenant Reelan was a strange one. A quiet little character, belonging to none of the tribes respresented in any numbers on the ship, and therefore lacking a fearsome animal companion, the junior science officer had fallen in with most unusual company. That company was Jikra Hiscan, a weapons maintenance operative like Gre'Shaa, and one of the few Andorians on the ship.

The Andorian Lieutenant was just where Gre'Shaa expected to find her. Almost on cue, the blue-skinned female slid out from the audience at the bar, two glasses on the tray she carried rock-steady in one hand, the other ready to bat away any unwanted attention. One crewman's hand ventured too close to Jikra's behind, and the crewman barely got his hand back intact, the Andorian almost snapping his middle finger.

Gre'Shaa raised her glass, and saluted her work colleague when Lt. Hiscan was looking her way, and Jikra smiled slyly - Andorians never seemed to smile any other way. In one movement, the Andorian deposited the tray on the table in front of her elven companion, whilst taking up her own drink, then strolled over to the half-Klingon's vantage point.

"Humans never learn when to leave things that don't belong to them alone", sighed the Andorian, glancing over at the overambitious Ensign, who cradled his wounded hand as he slipped out of Ten Forward and scurried away to Sick-Bay.

"I don't get much of that", Gre'Shaa replied. "I guess humans are more wary when a woman has ridges on her forehead than they would be when their quarry has antennae."

"I love proving that assumption wrong", sneered the Andorian. "So, what's new? Paxton still tripping over his tongue when you're around?"

"Not for much longer, if I get my way", said the half-Klingon coldly.

"This isn't the best place for talk as ambitious as that", responded Jikra in hushed tones, changing from confident to cautious between heart-beats.

"That's not what I had in mind - yet." The "yet" was somewhat half-hearted, more an afterthought than anything else. "For what I do have in mind, I'll need a little help..."

The Andorian's already slanted eyes became even more narrowed. "If it's Hawkins you're thinking about..."

Gre'Shaa suppressed the urge to shake her head. "No, I'm not needing you to...make arrangements for anyone", she said. "I want to get in contact with someone. He may be new on the ship - and your little friend might know how to get in contact with him."

"Reelan? He's pretty new around here himself", the Andorian said with a hint of a shrug. "I gather this is an elf you're interested in?"

"An elf, same department", answered Gre'Shaa. "They may even work together."

"There's a lot of elves in Science -Windweaver, that one Nightsea, the girl who hangs around in the arboretum most of the time..."

"An Ensign", hissed the half-Klingon, eager not to have even the slightest fragment of her scheme overheard. "Male. Dark skin, black hair, taller than Brightsting, but not as tall as the Captain. He made a man's skin liquefy - I almost expected the flesh to flow right off his bones."

"Flesh-Shaping", said Jikra nodding knowledgeably. "Healers tend to be able to do it. Reelan's told me a bit about elven 'magic', and I had some first hand experience when I nearly broke an antenna during that tussle with that Romulan raider last week. Windweaver just touched it, and it just knitted back together. That kind of injury usually takes weeks, even months to heal!"

"Do you think Reelan will pass on a message?", queried Gre'Shaa, wanting to get back to business even though she found the talk of elven powers intriguing. "Have you got your claws in deep enough...?"

"Reelan is a friend, not a victim", assured the Andorian, "nor is he that kind of friend, before you ask. I'm sure I can work out something that he'll agree to."

Gre'Shaa had no doubts on that score. Jikra had a way of getting people to see things her way, and willingly do what she wanted. There was a hidden store of nigh-on untraceable Andorian poisons waiting for anyone who refused, yet the half-Klingon could sense that none of those bottles had a certain elf's name on them. Exactly why that was, Gre'Shaa chose to leave as a mystery to be solved at a later date, and allowed Lt. Hiscan to return to her unusual companion without further delay.

The matter was out of Gre'Shaa's hands now. It was up to the strange dark elf to make the next move.

There was no hint of contact the following day, or the next, and the waiting just made things worse. Gre'Shaa tried hard to learn more about the pointed-eared Abodeans, questioning anyone who might have knowledge, especially those who worked closely with the elves, but for every scrap of fact she uncovered, there were two, maybe even three fragments of speculation or outright myth. From what Gree'Shaa heard, the elves were immortal, strongly telepathic, could move from place to place by stepping into shadow at one location and emerging from darkness elsewhere, and had a taste for human souls, which they sucked out of their victims through their eyes...

Jikra had nothing new to offer when the two women met again, this time at work, when servicing the sequential field induction coils of the aft photon torpedo launchers. The Andorian said that, after her chat with Gre'Shaa, she had spoken to Reelan about the mystery elf, and he had replied that he had seen such an elf in one of the science labs that very day, and previously, but had not approached him on those occasions. Reelan was accustomed to dealing with dangerous animals at close quarters, Jikra revealed, and she had coerced her elfin friend into approaching the stranger by getting Reelan to think of the encounter as another challenging stalk.

In between shifts, Gre'Shaa carried on with her life as normal - although she did develop a tendancy to keep an eye on any shadows large enough to conceal a slender elven form. She ate, she slept, she avoided Paxton, she trained with her bat'leth on the Holodeck...

It was three days after that fateful exchange of glances in the corridor that something happened on the Holodeck. Gre'Shaa had just gutted another holographic Cardassian, the last of three that had come at her at once, and was reining in her blood-lust when Klingon fighting instinct, impaired by her human blood but still quite keen, alerted her to the presence of something more than a trick of focussed light and force-fields. She tried to make it appear that she had sensed nothing, wiping away the sweat her forehead ridges channeled down the sides of her nose and taking a drink from the flask she had brought along, but all the time she was secretly watching and listening for signs of her intruder.

She could always end the Holodeck program, immediately revealing the interloper as the scenery - the battle-scarred ruins of an ancient Klingon temple - dissolved into thin air, but it was better to take the opportunity to exercise her fighting skills. She had no idea when she might be called upon to put her training to practical, and most likely deadly use.

"Computer - override present program and load program Shadowsharp 1."

The words came from just a bat'leth's length away, but by the time Gre'Shaa has whirled round, her weapon describing a broad glittering arc through the air at waist-level, the illusionary world around her had changed completely. The wickedly hooked Klingon battle-sword ended its sweep abruptly, striking the trunk of a tree, one of countless trees stretching out inall directions, that had not been there when the manoeuvre began. The leather-bound grips jammed hard into Gre'Shaa's palms, bruising her hands, but she kept her hold on the weapon, bringing it back closer to her body.

"A fearsome weapon", remarked the voice, coming from high up amongst the tree's abundant foliage, "but hardly suited to my domain."

"A Klingon warrior can make any terrain, any environment his domain", Gre'Shaa snorted back. This has to be him, thought the half-Klingon. I have to make him see that he can't intimidate me...

"But you're not exactly a Klingon, are you?", sneered the unseen intruder. "Does that make a difference?"

"Not as far as you're concerned", Gre'Shaa growled. "Care to find out for yourself?"

Something fell about Gre'Shaa's neck. Instinctively, she tried to shake it off, but what proved to be a loop of some kind of silken cord instead tightened. The bat'leth came up again, flashing over the half-Klingon's head in a frantic attempt to sever the cord, but honed steel merely glanced off, its edge unable to bite into the plaited fibres.

"Now comes the good part", snarled the hidden combatant. "Pull the victim up into the branches and let them hang - if they're light enough - or swing down and make use of what's on the other end of my web-rope. And in case you didn't know, that happens to be a spear with a very sharp point..."

Paxton, or a full-blooded Klingon, would have been roaring at their assailant by now, cursing them, daring them to show themselves and make an honourable fight of it, but Gre'Shaa forced herself to turn away from such a course of action. The half-Klingon had hated her human mother for being so weak that she let herself be taken and used by a Klingon warrior, but the Lieutenant was for once glad there was human blood blended, albeit crudely, with the warrior's blood that coursed through her. Even though it was quite alien to her, she needed to practice restraint.

"An excellent weapon, indeed, for one whose domain is the trees", Gre'Shaa replied, lowering her own weapon. "Your people must be skilled hunters."

"We are", responded the voice from the trees. "Few things that live in the forest can match us."

"But what if there are no trees...?"

"We have...other skills. Other abilities no otjhers possess..."

The noose biting into Gre'Shaa's neck went loose. She thought for a split-second about grabbing the rope and pulling, her strength and weight surely greater than the hidden elf's and certain to unseat him from his arboreal perch, but the jungle hunter came down of his own accord. Silently, slowly - more slowly than if he was falling - the elf descended, floating down from on high as effortlessly as a butterfly or a leaf in autumn, and landing amongst the jungle undergrowth without a sound.

"I could have killed you, and perhaps earned myself a promotion, yet you did not resist", said the elf, too small and willowy to appear to be much of a threat without the cover of the forest. "Some would say that was a sign of weakness."

"I could kill you now, but here you stand, with your head still attached", retorted Gre'Shaa. "Some could equally say that your actions are a sign of foolishness, or fatal over-confidence."

"We are not here to fight, however", the elf replied. "To test each other, maybe - but not to spill each other's blood. Not when there is blood more worth spilling elsewhere..."

Gre'Shaa nodded slowly. "That there is", she said, a smile creeping onto her lips. "Not today, but maybe soon. First, though, is the matter of names. You must know mine, having traced me here. That leaves me at a disadvantage."

The elf brought a short spear, tipped with a bony barb, out from behind his back, but Gre'Shaa did not even flinch, letting him raise the weapon and use its point to flick the silken noose off over her head. "Shadowsharp is what I am known as by my tribe. My people are the Gliders of the Deep Forest. Here, my rank is Ensign, but everywhere, I am hunter. No other title matters."

"And has your prey ever included humans?"

Shadowsharp examined the tip of his spear, and wiped it with his uniform's sash as though the weapon was stained with blood. "Yes", he answered after a moment's ominous silence. "My people tolerate no intruders on our lands, especially stupid humans who are deaf to the Forest's song - and her cries of pain as humans carve her heart out."

"I would have to admit to being deaf as well", the half-Klingon admitted. "The world of my father's people is a place without such abundance of life and leaf as that which you prize. I suspect it has always been that way."

"Your loss", snorted the elf. "Now that we've exchanged philosophies, perhaps we could cut to the chase...?"

He tolerates my presence, but that's all, thought Gre'Shaa, noting the tension in Shadowsharp's voice. My head's not still fully out of the noose...

"We chase most deadly prey", she said softly. "Prey we track with great care, least it should turn and we find ourselves cornered..."

Commander Ra'Kul Paxton frequently had dreams of the Klingon homeworld, dreams of being the full-blooded warrior fate had decreed he would never be. He took the great tests of courage and honour, he sang the great songs of Klingon legend with his brothers, and he felt complete...

Ra'Kul, Klingon warrior, stood in the Great Hall, flanked by statues of champions and heroes long dead, Kahless waiting for him on the Throne of The Klingon Empire. Ra'Kul strode forward with one purpose in mind - to claim the birthright he knew to be his - but as his metal-clad feet made harsh, echoing footfalls that rang out like a weaponsmith's hammer on the anvil, he started to feel that something was wrong. His warrior-brothers, watching from the balconies above, glared down upon him with simmering disgust and anger, rather than pride...

"Who dares allow a weakling human into the presence of all-mighty Kahless?!", roared the Klingon deity, suddenly growing to gigantic proportions. "None but Klingons may set foot in this place!"

The god's voice was deafening, and Ra'Kul called upon his deepest reserves of courage, knowing this to be some kind of test, a final challenge. That place within him was empty, he found - a yawning chasm, a lightless void where but one word of Kahless's exclamation reverberated endlessly. "...human...human...human..."

Paxton awoke, suddenly, drenched in sweat - a common occurrence, given the often strenuous nature of his dreams. He brought a hand up to his forehead, to wipe away the sweat that ran into his eyes, stinging them - and in an instant he realised that something was wrong in the waking world as well as the realm of dreams...

The anguished roar would have been a frightful sound, coming from a Klingon, or even one with a mixture of Klingon and human blood in them, but a voice that was only human could not do the bestial exclamation justice.

In the corridor, Gre'Shaa smiled to herself, then shared the smile with her new elfin ally. She had seen Shadowsharp at work, his hands smoothing away the ridges on Paxton's forehead, and inwardly she had admitted that it had scared her. "I could cleanse his body of the Klingon blood entirely, if you wish", the elf had told her. "Such a thing has been done before amongst my kind."

"No - just change the surface signs so that you can restore him...in time", Gre'Shaa had replied. "I need him to know the price he may have to pay if he bothers me again, or expects that I'll just blindly follow him, help him ascend to the heights of glory..."

"That'll teach you to give me the pass-code to your room, Commander", she muttered to herself. "I'll wager you never expected a visit from me would have such...unusual side-effects."

"Do I undo my work now?", asked Shadowsharp. "It sounds as though you've made your point."

Lieutenant Nogami shook her head. "No", she announced resolutely. "He has to come to me. I've left him enough clues, genuine as well as false. If he knew the exact nature of the forces at my command, he wouldn't hesitate to come after us and kill us both, but I've sowed enough seeds of doubt to make him think twice. Let him think the ship's entire elven contingent is on my side, if that's how he reads the evidence. There's more to this game than just swords and bloodshed."

"You think like one of my tribe", said Shadowsharp. "You see advantages when they arise, and make use of them to best a far larger opponent. For the first time, I find I have respect for someone who is not an elf."

"Respect I value greatly", purred Gre'Shaa, beckoning to the elf to follow as she crept away from the door to Paxton's quarters. "Respect I'll be sure to reward."