Unofficial Literary Challenge #18: Winter Wonderland Celebrations II

starswordc · December 2015

Welcome to the eighteenth edition of the Unofficial Literary Challenge: "Winter Wonderland Celebrations II"! End of the year, major holidays for many religions and/or areligious people, so we're reusing the prompt from the final Official Literary Challenge for our first prompt. My choice for prompt #2 was inspired by a recent discussion of the Prime Directive.

Prompt #1: "Winter Wonderland Celebrations" by @pwecaptainsmirk

The ancient tradition of Terran Winter Celebrations is such a festive and playful time in STO! Q is back and he brings us more Winter fun this year, with new snowmen, new weapons, new ships and more. This month's challenge is to write your own crews story centered around the event and festivities of the Terran winter season. But don't stop at Earth! You can tell us stories about any cultural celebrations from across the Star Trek universe. Perhaps the Andorians have tales of mysterious Vulcans who sneak into their homes at night and replace their toys with logic puzzles. Perhaps the Bajorans have a winter tradition that they hold dear involving incense and an Orb of Jolly. Maybe the Borg Queen is all alone on New Years and just longs for the day some dashing Android will meet her under the mistletoe and help her kill all humans. Or maybe your crew discovers a planet of elves who are ruled by a fanatical toy maker with a thirst for egg nog. Let your imaginations fly this month, and add your own twists of Trek Holiday Lore to the universe!

* * *

Prompt #2: "The Captain Who Would Be King" by @moonshadowdark

During a routine expedition through the Gamma Quadrant, you discover a planet rich with natural resources. As you beam down to take sample readings, you are spotted by the pre-warp inhabitants, who view you as a god and demand you remain on their planet to serve as their king. How will you get out of this? Write a log detailing your escape or how your reign went.

* * *

Prompt #3: "Where Are You?" by @jonsills

The away team beams back from a mission. But the captain isn't on the transporter pad! What does the crew do now? How do they find you? Do they find you? Do they try?

As usual, no NSFW content.

The discussion thread is here.

Index of previous ULCs:

aten66 · December 2015

The Q-Files :
Interviews with Various Visitors to Q's Winter Wonderland

Interviewee: Agent 'Prixin'

Status: Associate of the DTI

//////
Reporting in from Q's Winter Wonderland
//////

Day One:

So far, DTI intelligence has paid off, upon hearing that Q was starting up his Winter Wonderland again. I've successfully managed to infiltrate their ranks, posing as the Breen who gave out a quest to eat pies last year. I've merely knocked out the original until I manage to scout out what is happening this year, then stealthily build up a new cover identity to go by.
///////

Day Two:

It appears a new Gingerbread Village graces Q's Winter Wonderland, and whispers of change seem to be approaching as time goes on. Neelix just appeared out of nowhere earlier today, setting up within the Gingerbread walls, perhaps he's heard the rumors too.

///////

Day Three:

It's another year gone by, or at least that's what I can glean from these tight lipped fools. If I come across another of these sycophantic drones of Q's [Expletive Removed] Wonderland, I might just go insane as them. I think everyone but Neelix, who somehow seems to be the only sane person here, thinks Q is the hand chiseled idol of a Grecian god, dipped in gold and drizzled with chocolate, and is the essential cornerstone of their life. If I hear another 'Do you want an Epohh Friend?' from that ditzy Romulan Researcher, I might just go nuts and join those assimilated snowmen, or 'Snorg' as everyone else seems to call them.

///////

Day Four:

I... don't feel so well today, perhaps it's just the headache I've been getting that caused my outburst yesterday. I'll keep an eye out on the Gingerbread people, but so far nothing has happened... Yet.
//////

Day Five:

It appears the 'Snorg' are back to their old tricks, and have made new plans and stratagem to try and take down the Gingerbread village. Just what is it that goes on in their icy heads, that causes their coal hearts to burn in anger against the confectionery citizens made of Gingerberead, who have done no wrong to them. Uggh, I think I must be getting to deep into my cover story to get feelings for faux sentient life.

Anyways, the first wave of Snorg were held back by the few Captain's that seemed to appear on the horizon, toting new guns spewing caramel as well as the classic snow blowers and other ridiculous devices to battle their icy 'foes'. They pushed them back, but their was a good amount of damage to the Gingerbread town, so much so that they currently have as many people as they can rebuilding the town. So far the Gingerbread men have hope, but they may have to pull a miracle out of their hats to survive the next assault.

//////

Day Six:

I get a feeling in the air though, that Q just might be doing something to the timeline again, since I feel like this is the fifth time I've been assigned to this 'Wonderland' of Q's, even though I know it's only the second since, especially I know the date is [Time and Date Redacted until risk of Paradox passes], but then again, I'm not so sure. I somehow remember all these different ships being offered, but so far I only recall the Breen Rezreth being offered by Q for the 'Captains' who complete his 'Games'. I hope it's not one of those 'Captain's Table' loops in the time continuum, because all sorts of paradoxes occur from those.

The memories get stronger as time goes by, and the headaches I've been getting, are little more than my head trying to wrap around the conflicting sets of memories going on in my little third dimensional brain. Perhaps next I should try picking the brains of the other 'Captains' that seem to be able to come and go at will.

//////

Day Seven:

My god, it's worse than I thought. One Word: Snowconians

That's right Snow Cone based lifeforms, based off of Iconians.

And one captain swears his 'pet' Snowconian is named M'Toffee.

I thought it was just me going cuckoo at first, but everyone else seems to have an identical experience to mine, that they remember five years going by, four separate times the Winter Wonderland has existed prior to this fifth one currently going on. Though I believe not everyone is as stable as they seem.

Here are some examples:

Interviewee: Drake 'Drastorm' Stormbauch

Interviewee manages to chokehold a snowman, pulls off a Lollipop from a nearby villagers house, and manages to knock said snowman away, before ramming the snowman with the impromptu weapon. That very same weapon then proceeded to help him deck all snowmen in his path.

//////
Interviewee: 'Ace' Sal'vin Chernok

Sal'vin managed to show me his newest acquisition in cryo-based weaponry, a modified and adapted Breen Cryogenic mine. He then showed me the Shaved Ice Gateway he had managed to buy as well. He then promptly handed me a paper cone. He had modified the Gateway to spit out the recipients favorite flavor. Sour Cherry Lemonade was quite good, though it still boggles my mind how he managed to improve Q's items.

/////
Interviewee: Hazari 'Hazel' Tis Singh

Subject managed to 'blow me away' quite literally while attacking assimilated snowmen, seeming to enjoy it. I dare not interrupt her.

/////
Interviewee: Gregs Sharvan Son'aire

To tell you about my experience with Gregs, I must do an indirect quote of what he said.

"ALL HAIL M'TOFFEE, NEW SNOWCONIAN OVERLORD OF THE GINGERBREAD CITIZEN'S...THE SNORG WILL SUFFER SWEET DESTRUCTION AT THE HANDS OF OUR SNOWCONIAN OVERLORDS, PRAISE BE TO M'TOFFEE, WHO IS GENEROUS TO HER NEW GINGERBREAD HERALDS!'

While I had to cut into quite a bit of his rant out, he seemed quite crazed in his ideals. He was even dressed in the traditional garb of the Iconian's, as detailed by the research team who returned and reported they had managed to retrieve the World Heart and end the Iconian War, months ago.

He then quietly took me aside an explained to me, without shouting graciously, that he was merely playing his part this year in Q's Winter Wonderland, and was really just having 'fun'. I'm still quite certain that he is insane, as all previous mentioning of Gregs meeting a being of the Q Continuum has showed and emphasized his disdain for their interrupting his routine.

(Note: Have Elba II Asylum Security Protocal Updated, as an Inmate shouldn't have been able to escape.)

/////

With such information provided to me, I have ascertained that it is in the DTI's best interest to merely 'sweep this under the rug' and just ignore any further events correlated to Q's Winter Wonderland. I also request to be extracted by the nearest Wells-Class vessel of the 29th Century; as they will no doubt be able to wipe my memory of the past week, and returning me to my proper time and place with no remembrance of this horrid experience.

Agent 'Prixin'

End Report

hawku001x · December 2015

The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami bobbed and weaved its way through a smorgasbord of festive-colored ships parked near Earth Spacedock. McCary beamed onto the transporter pad aboard Deck 47.

"Joy of the season, Captain!" an Adult Jackal Mastiff approached him and said. "Oh, I'm Captain Terry of the U.S.S. Kitana. You see, I challenged Q-Junior's claim on his power-- a claim that's obviously disputable considering he was once trapped on the U.S.S. Voyager-- and then he transformed me into this beautifully grotesque thing. Isn't it wonderful??"

McCary squinted, unconvinced. "What? Aren't you on duty?"

"Hehehe!" Terry ran off, excitedly.

The main concourse was full of creatures, strange and mystical. Stepping passed two Large Talarian Hook Spiders, a War Targ and an Enslaved Hordling, McCary was stopped before a green Gingerbread Andorian eating into a struggling Gingerbread Klingon's side.

"Ugh! Andorians aren't cannibals??" McCark recoiled.

When the misty-eyed Gingerbread Andorian took notice of McCary's witness, he ran off in an animalistic gruff. The Gingerbread Klingon huffed and heaved for a few seconds before passing out all together.

"He must've been a left-over Winter Wonderland pet from when that bunch of Klingons were able to beam onto Spacedock," Captain Samya observed, approaching from the left.

McCary took notice of her. "Oh; Captain Samya? I didn't think you'd still have your Starfleet commission after that space-transport incident."

"Those children deserved to burn to death in plasma!" And then, realizing, "Did I mention they were Undine? Perhaps I should mention that more often."

McCary took out his tricoder. "I was okay with the first part. Anyway, why would an Andorian-version cookie, normally peaceful, turn on its own baked-kind?"

"If my Science officer, Mika, were here, she'd say they were delicious and unavoidable by every holiday measure. Thankfully, Bridge officers aren't allowed on Spacedock."

The quarter-Klingon Captain read off his device. "I'm still reading the Gingerbread Andorian; he's emitting some kind of energy wave distortion."

"Can you be more specific?"

McCary showed her the tricorder. "No, it actually says 'some kind of' on this thing."

"WRAGH!" In the next second, in the distance, Captain Terry, now morphed into a maddening and drooling Warrigul, pounced and hungrily decimated the off-base walking cookie before realizing what he did. "Oh no! I can't be full for my Fastest Game on Ice grind??"

Samya turned to McCary as the Starfleet Warrigul ran off in fear. "Those pets originate from that incessant Wonderland. Perhaps we'll find more information there?"

"Very well." McCary nodded while pulling out his phaser. "If you see any epohh 'friends', shoot them on site. Don't even hesitate."

---

Flashing into the joyous Q's Winter Wonderland, onto the blue, semi-transparent gazebo, McCary and Samya were suddenly hit with the pungent aroma of candy canes and lollipops.

"Ugh! This place is utterly repulsive," McCary partially blocked his eyes as they adjusted to the light.

Samya nodded, in-process assimilating herself. "I wish I was dead."

"You've been here five seconds and you're already bringing down the place," came Captain Terry's comment of disapproval as he approached in Devidian Visitor form.

McCary jumped back in mild shock. "Whoa! Maybe warn us before you do that?"

"I'm embracing the season, which would do you two obvious-trauma-hordes good if you even tried," he replied, floating passed them toward the Breen Race Coordinator.

Samya turned to McCary. "Should we?"

"Hell no," he replied, studying his tricorder. "Hold on. I'm getting some kind of echo-based residual wave reading."

She crossed her arms, annoyed. "Would you please stop with the 'some kind ofs'? I once executed my Operations officer for that." And then, "Oh, he turned out to be a Changeling."

---

Making their way into a forgotten forested area, next to a stone mountain, McCary was suddenly attacked by two wild-eyed generic Gingerbread men.

"YYaarrggh!" Like rabid animals, they leapt onto his shoulder and arm and attempted biting into him, hungrily.

McCary threw one off him and Samya crushed the head off the other. "Sickening," McCary commented as the cookie head debris of the remaining breadman crumbled off his arm. "What happened to their holiday cheer?"

"Spent on that." Samya pointed to a field of half-eaten, partially aware, moaning Gingerbread men and women.

They were all groggily reaching out for each other in cannibalistic hunger. "Candddyyyy brainnnsss..."

"Chocolate innardddds..." another moaned, hungrily.

Captain McCary put his tricorder away. "By the ripped-out shirts of high-strung-Kirk! It's like they tore through their nasally-pitched, annoying ice-coated necks out of pure greed?"

"You could say it was bound to happen, considering the commercially avaricious nature of the holiday season; proliferating indulgent tendencies, funded by the Ferengi Commerce Authority."

McCary shook his head. "No one will ever admit to that. It must be something else." He pointed at a glowing point-of-light-portal, perched at the end of the partially alive cookie massacred field.

"I'm reading another pocket universe," Samya reported as she scanned it with her tricoder while the two of them carefully stepped around each halved, grasping Gingerbread man. "It's similar to this one."

McCary kicked a reaching Gingerbread man to pieces as both he and Samya approached a small, hovering, blue spark. "There was a report from the U.S.S. Phoenix-X about an imitation Winter Wonderland from a similar Q-like being. There were Borg-puns, Neelix-jabs and everything."

"Yes, that one was made by Qu. He spells his name differently, but it sounds the same. I met him when he turned my crew into singing references. I ended it with Blue Skies," Samya added. "There weren't that many other songs to choose from."

Captain McCary furrowed his brow. "We should put an end to this manufactured fakery right away; the some-kind-of energy wave distorted, echo-residual base readings are more condensed here."

"Alright, you're on a time-out for explaining things."

After McCary reprogrammed his tricorder into sending a feedback pulse at the point of light, the portal opened up and engulfed the two Starfleet officers.

---

Appearing on the other side, McCary and Samya found themselves surrounded by jungle vines, in a hot and muggy palm tree-filled environment: Qu's Winter Wonderland.

In a dark recess of foliage, before them, was a vine-bound figure, draped in shadow, on his knees, decaying nearly beyond recognition. His uniform was torn.

"Starfleet??" McCary began scanning, in shock. "A Trill?"

Samya pushed a giant, nearby leaf aside, lessening the shadow over the man's face. "Captain Seifer??"

"Uuhh," the decrepit supposedly-young officer groaned in pain. "The light hurts my eyes."

McCary kneeled to his level. "But it's dark? And where have you been this whole time? A bunch of us Captains have been picking up your slack."

"Sorry, I'm having Slamek flashbacks," Seifer admitted. "Indeed," he continued, struggling to speak, "It would seem the Calibus VII virus that got my crew, previously, has been reactivated. I've been living off Gingerbread men for weeks."

Samya checked his flakey forehead temperature. "It's not as bad as you described in past reports?"

"Someone, I don't know who, must've partially reactivated the virus in us, so it's not as effective. My crew and I are in perfect health some days, where we can complete missions, but back to decaying on others." He tried to get up, unsuccessfully. "I booked passage here through a Traveler named Wayfar because I meant to ask Qu for help-- Instead, I get maddening games and living jungles."

McCary tilted his head. "Living?" And then, suddenly the foliage all around them began moving, growing and tightening around Captain Seifer.

"Forget about me! I can get out of this. But any help you can provide on who's working that virus would be great---"

The two of them stepped away as the jungle engulfed him and a thick, curling vine accidentally knocked McCary and Samya back toward a point of light.

---

Both Captain's then found themselves back in the normal Q's Winter Wonderland. The portal that was there previously was now gone.

"Looks like I pushed the energy distortions on this end to the other end," McCary reported from his tricorder. "So, it's a one-way wormhole now."

Samya picked herself up. "You see what uncontrolled effects we get when we work off generalizations? Also, it seems the problem is worse than expected."

"GGrrgghh," came the drooling sounds of infected Gingerbread men, stumbling out of Qu's pocket dimension. More and more Gingerbread zombies began flooding out of thin air, piling on top of each other in partial crumble from jungle moisture.

McCary and Samya ran to a safe distance. "We should probably change Wonderland instances," McCary said. "This one's experiencing some kind of a cohesion loss."

"Well," Samya shrugged. "At least the air isn't full of cotton candy anymore. Missions aside, perhaps we can appreciate this waste of a universe after all, considering what we just experienced."

McCary put his phaser away. "Fast and the Flurrious then? With the prize tags, we may be able to gain access to the epohhs."

"Agreed." Samya nodded as they both left the piling Gingerbread mess. "Perhaps we may pay a visit to that overbearing Talaxian as well. I must learn more about his weaponized leola root stuffing."

starswordc · January 2016

Mistletoe on Mirhassa

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath’ring winter fuel

“Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know’st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
“Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes’ fountain.”

“Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear him thither.”
Page and monarch forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind’s wild lament
And the bitter weather

“Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer.”
“Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter’s rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly.”

In his master’s steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing
— “Good King Wenceslas” (trad. Finnish tune, lyrics by John Mason Neale)

Four standard months after the end of the Iconian War, and the galaxy still bleeds. Twenty-eight planets, mostly alien worlds conquered long ago, have seceded from the Klingon Empire because the KDF can’t hold them, and the Gorn Separatists we—I—armed during the last war defend a third of the Hegemony against King Slathis and his Klingon backers. Eight billion people are still living in refugee camps despite the Federation and the Republic throwing everything they can spare at the problem, even what few of the ancient Constitution-, Constellation-, and Miranda-class ships were spared from the breaker yards. The True Way are still killing fellow Cardassians every day. And the Tzenkethi, who stayed out of the war, invaded the Ferengi last week and captured three rimward planets before the Commerce Authority could mount a response.

The Galactic Alliance we forged to beat the Iconians is falling apart.

We save who we can. Even with half of Starfleet destroyed, there’s still things we can do. BuPers hasn’t slowed or stopped our recruitment drives, only changed the message from war to compassion; we’ve got more recruits coming out of enlisted training and the SROTC colleges than we know what to do with. Bajor is double-staffed and packed so full of medical supplies and industrial replicators you can’t hardly squeeze through half the decks; Gaarra’s been working overtime. Doesn’t do much for our maneuverability, but then a four-and-a-half megaton starship can hardly turn on a coin anyway.

No, I wasn’t exaggerating about how overloaded we are; a Jelna E-2 from Maintenance is forced to stand stiffly against the wall as Warragul, Lieutenant Park and I push past him in a corridor filled halfway to the ceiling with pallets of MREs. “Refresh my memory, Lieutenant. How many more planets before we RTB?”

“Seven, ma’am,” Park promptly supplies. “Three Federation, two Rom Imp, one Republic, and one indie.”

“And Mirhassa’s our next stop?” He nods and I refresh my memory. Imperial borderworld across the Neutral Zone from Calder. Close on two centuries ago the Senate exiled part of Ship-Clan Kaveth there. They made the best of it, turned themselves into a smuggling powerhouse: sent textiles of all things back to the homeworlds, and before the supernova half the Romulan ale that made it across the RNZ came from Mirhassa. They used the money to continue being a thorn in the police state’s side, up to and including backing the Free Rihannsu uprising in 2276.

More to the point, the Kavethssu had the only remaining shipyard in the Star Empire that could build and service their biggest warbirds, which is probably why the Iconians hit them so hard. A week into the invasion, the Heralds and Elachi gated in and blew away the orbital forts before they could get their shields up, then glassed twenty major cities and started carrying off survivors. I just thank the Prophets General Ja’rod’s fleet was in the area.

Thank the Prophets for Warragul, too. “I’ll be ready to—mmf, sorry,” he stifles a yawn. “I’ll have my team ready when we get there.”

I shake my head. “You’ve done way more than your share already, Doc.”

“Too much to do, Cap’n.”

I stop suddenly and turn on him. “Listen to yourself. You’re no good to me like this.”

“You didn’t even notice we’ve been leading you to your quarters,” Park adds, flipping a thumb at a door with his name above the controls.

“My—” He sees the door and swears. “Cap’n, I had a Romulan physio seminar to host for the aid workers.”

“You’re delegating it to Dr. Maela. That’s an order, Lieutenant. We’re ten hours out, and if I see you outside this door for the next nine of them, you’re going to need a doctor.”

“But—”

“Good night, Doctor,” I tell him with finality, grabbing him by the sleeve and shoving him into his quarters.

More problems continue to crop up the closer we get to our des, up to and including a fight in Ten Forward. I find out later it started with new meat in Logistics versus an off-duty Andorian E-4 from Security, but I don’t much care who started it, just that they won’t answer my orders, as Lieutenant Gantumur, Dul’krah and I wade in. Nobody trashes my bar.

Except maybe me, given I just threw some Bajoran I don’t recognize right into the food replicator. The display shatters and goes dark as I turn to some human coming at me with a bottle. He seems to recognize my rank and the white shoulders of my service blacks and tries to backpedal in the split second before my boot catches him in the family jewels. Yank him by the ponytail into my knee and he goes down the rest of the way, howling.

I rotate and catch a Bolian Gantumur’s fighting in a choke-hold. Don’t break the skin, you’ll get acid burns. “Gantumur! Get one of your clowns up here with a phaser!”

“Waiting for permission, sir!” She spins and flips her arm and a Type-1 holdout gun appears in her hand. “Korekh! Lang!” she bellows over the din as she flicks it over to wide-beam. The big Pe’khdar throws a human into the bar head-first and dives out the door just before Gantumur fires.

In the sudden silence Nalak Lang pokes his head back out from behind the bar. “Took you long enough, Captain.”

And naturally that’s when the rest of the security team finally manages to show up. “What the phekk kept you, Chief?!”

“Lift got blocked by a pile of barrels that fell across the corridor, ma’am! Had to take the Jefferies tube!”

I open my mouth, then close it and take a deep breath. “Lang, fix me a drink, don’t care what, just make it sixty proof or better.”

“After that fracas I think I’ll join you,” the old Cardassian answers.

* * *

On reflection, I think the only thing I hate more than writing condolence letters is disciplinary actions, but Starfleet can’t have that kind of behavior; I don’t give a flying phekk what it was about. By the time we pull into orbit over Mirhassa, three of my crew are in the brig awaiting transfer to JAG Corps for court-martial and probable BCD, and I hit eleven more with a captain’s mast. And now I’m wishing I’d followed my own orders to Warragul, because I’m yawning when Commander Revarek tr’Kaveth, the clan chief and planetary governor, appears on the screen. Not bad-looking if you’re into older men: silver hair, big brown eyes, but knowing Vulcanoids he probably predates the Occupation by half a century. “Aefvadh, Captain Kanril. We were somewhat confused when you appeared on our long-range scanners.”

“Huh? Oh, the transponder.” He nods. “Well, all these reports of pirates hitting aid shipments. Can’t have that.”

He catches on and laughs. “So you pretended to be a Yridian freighter. Two hlai-vnau, one arrow.”

I grin at him. “Well, there’s no way they’d attack a Galaxy-class starship on purpose.”

“I approve, Captain; most Rihan of you.”

I accept the compliment without comment; I’ve already filed a commendation for the petty officer in Engineering who came up with it, and for COB Kinlo for handling the ECM aspects. Really old trick, of course: we used it in the Militia all the time and Starfleet’s done it, too; I just never heard of anybody managing it with a ship this big before. “Gaarra, you ready to start offloading?”

He nods. “Got more than a few requests to go dirtside on liberty, El,” he adds as he sends the orders along.

“I might join them,” I answer. “You don’t mind, do you, Commander tr’Kaveth?”

“We will consider your crew our honored guests.” I nod appreciatively. The Kavethssu are old-school, true believers in their mnhei’sahe codes. Proper courtesy and hospitality is a must.

I finally manage to take advantage (after grabbing a few hours of sleep) when tr’Kaveth invites Gaarra and I to breakfast the next morning. His manor house is on an estate in the country and on first look it seems to have escaped damage in the attacks. From the air, though, you can see the burned-out forest nearby, craters in the lawn, disruptor burns on the paintwork, even the wreck of a crashed Elachi frigate a large crew of workers is cutting apart for scrap. “The thrice-damned Heralds hit us as hard here as anywhere. Destroyed our air defenses so that the Elachi…” He swallows and his eyes take on a pained look as he pours a mug of tea. “I lost fifteen of my staff, and my eldest, my heir.”

“I’m sorry,” Gaarra says to my left. I can’t open my mouth to say anything. Number of friends and even family the Iconian War cost me…

Tr’Kaveth’s mouth tightens into a grim, humorless smile. “I got him, though, did you see? I killed the ship that killed my daughter. Packed our flitter with mining explosives and ran it into the motherless—” He stops and coughs. “Ah, fvadt.”

“Elachi spores?” I ask.

“They are a plague, like those orks in an Earth legend I read once. Pass my thanks to your Enriov Quinn for the shipment of medicines.”

I smile and take a sip of tea, then wince at the bitter taste and grab for the sugar. Before I can finish my mug, though, my combadge chimes. I apologize and stand. “Never fails, Commander.”

“Duty calls, I understand.”

“Thank you for breakfast.” I step off the porch and duck behind a corner of the house. “Kanril, go.”

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Korekh. I am attempting to confiscate a rather large piece of contraband.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “You know Imperial ale is legal now, right?”

“Not ale. I suggest you beam directly to the unloading area.”

I rematerialize a few moments later with an electric tingle in the midst of forklifts and gravtrucks parceling out a big pile of our precious cargo. I hear yelling and turn to see Dul’krah and Lieutenant Kate McMillan arguing over… “A tree? That’s the contraband you called me away from bacon and biscuits for?”

The big alien starts, “Starfleet regulations clearly state—”

“—that exceptions can be made for, and I quote, ‘objects of religious or cultural importance’! Sir!” McMillan adds after a moment.

“Lieutenant,” I growl warningly and the redhead subsides. I’m starting to wonder if I’m being a bad influence on my crew if they’re mouthing off to their direct superiors, my command staff.

I eye the tree for a moment. Two meters tall, conifer of some kind, though with flatter needles I’m used to, and it’s been freshly cut. Something’s niggling at me but I—

Oh, the date. December 22, Earth Standard Calendar. “This is supposed to be a Christmas tree, McMillan?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m, uh, surprised you—”

“Yes, of course I know about Christmas, Lieutenant: I dated a Lutheran at the Academy for over a year.” Well, technically Dalton hadn’t actually practiced since he was about ten, but it’s hard to avoid the biggest holiday of the year in that part of Earth anyway.

“Well, I don’t actually believe in God, ma’am. Dad’s Reform Baptist, but Mom was raised Neo-Norse and doesn’t believe in much of anything these days. Anyway, they split up when I was six; Christmas for me was pretty much an excuse to get them both in the same building as me for two hours.”

“How’d you even find the tree?” Gaarra asks, coming up beside me.

“Found a forester with good reviews on the local ‘net and made sure he’d take Fedcreds, sir. Even paid to replant.”

Well, there’s that at least. “You know, we don’t have any big winter holidays back home,” I remark. “Nothing religious anyway—we mostly hunker down and wait for the Day of Remembrance and the Gratitude Festival in the spring.”

“Closest thing we had in New Rakantha was the Landing Day parade to the memorial of the first colony,” Gaarra adds. “First time I ever saw anything like Christmas was a campus Yule celebration when I was at U of Alpha Centauri.”

“So—”

I smile. “Right, sorry, McMillan. Uh, was the plan to put it in your quarters? Because it seems a little big even for mine.”

“Actually I had Ten Forward in mind, if that’s all right, ma’am.”

* * *

I admit, I had my doubts. Getting it up to the ship wasn’t a problem: we just beamed the tree directly to the lounge. But we had to replicate a tree stand, ornaments, lights, the works. McMillan took charge of things and organized, got most of the officers and CPOs on the ship to replicate an ornament. I made a note of it in her file: always good to foster that.

The tree is… well, what you’d expect. Looks a bit cluttered, tell the truth: the tree’s not quite big enough for 150-plus ornaments. But we put a big Federation insignia at the top and wrapped it up in lights, and I hung an ornament of the stars-and-spokes of Kendra Province to a lower branch. Even Commander tr’Kaveth came up for a peek before we left orbit, and we traded presents: a couple bottles of springwine and Kentucky rye from Lang’s stash for him, a case of ale for us.

I pour my command crew drinks from the case as a couple of junior enlisted from Maintenance tidy up for the next chow call and get the food replicator working again. “To spouses and sweethearts,” Birail announces. I raise my glass and give Gaarra a significant glance.

“Spouses and sweethearts,” they agree, and Gaarra wraps his arm around me. The ale burns going down. Good stuff.

“May they never meet,” Warragul adds, grinning, and a mouthful of ale tries to go up my nose. I cough for a minute as Tess and Biri bust out laughing.

“To absent friends,” I finally choke out. “The ones who aren’t here to see this.”

Gaarra adds a toast of his own. “To peace. We’re alive, and we’re free.”

“To the Clan of Clans, the Federation,” Dul’krah finishes, raising his glass aloft.

“Ha! I’ll drink to that!” Tess chimes in. We all clash glasses in the air and drink.

“All right!” Nalak Lang calls from the bar. “Who’s hungry? I have hlai-hwy cutlets and vegetable soup.”

The others head for the bar, but Gaarra and I stay by the viewport, looking at the reflection of the tree amid the stars as Mirhassa swivels out of view and Bajor goes to warp. “Duty calls, eh?”

“It’s what we signed up for, El.”

“I know.” I smile up at him and he puts his arms around my waist. I lay my glass down on the window sill and turn to face him. “But I wonder about our future sometimes.”

“We need to talk about that at some point, sooner than later,” he agrees.

“But not right now.” I lean into his shoulder.

“You know, love,” he says after a moment, “there is one Christmas tradition I’m very fond of.” He nods at the ceiling above the viewport.

I crane my neck. There’s a little cluster of green tacked to the ceiling with duct tape. “Mistletoe?”

“Close enough.”

Our lips meet in the light of the stars streaming past as our home travels quietly onward into the unknown.

wombat140 · January 2016

This is only the first part, to encourage myself to finish it, the rest will follow. Didn't manage to get this done before Christmas, but it's still Twelve Days, so it still counts

. Here's a Christmas in space.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to Scott Kelly, Mikhail Korniyenko, Sergey Volkov, Yuri Malenchenko, Timothy Kopra and especially Timothy Peake. Hope you had/are having a good one up there.

Author's Note: This takes place some time before the other story I've posted, "Faulty Wiring", and during the Klingon War era.

Keeping the Feasts - Part 1
"In orbit, my standard emotion is joy." - Steven Smith, ISS astronaut.

It was four days since Ellen Hare had taken command of USS Magpie, and she was feeling rather lost.
Magpie was an Aurora-class spacecraft, the smaller and, to Ellen's fearlessly biased opinion, better-looking sisters of the Nova class, built for scientific expeditions, and the exact kind of ship Ellen would have chosen out of every ship in Starfleet. Notwithstanding all that, this particular afternoon she was wishing she wasn't here. She sat bolt upright in a plastic chair in the corner of the mess hall, and tried unsuccessfully to read a genetics article. Magpie had been Done Up before they set out, and she seemed to Ellen at this moment like a a desert of plastic and force-fields.

Just then, however, she saw two familiar silvery heads across the room, and moved to join them.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Of course not, Captain." Mirra Ylzanov was still gleefully taking every possible opportunity to call her "Captain". She and her unpronounceable boyfriend Jhril Phihl were among the few people Ellen knew from USS Nestor, and none of them could quite believe Ellen had been made a captain. "This is Ensign McMillan, I don't know if you've met yet," she added.

"I know this one." Ellen smiled winningly. Don't just know what you're doing, you have to LOOK as though you know what you're doing: that lesson had been drummed into her aboard SS Trudy, as cabin girl and later analyst, fall-back medical person, computer whisperer, and the Man above knew what else, before she ever joined Starfleet. She ran rapidly over the crew lists she'd been studying. "Chief of Security, right?"

"That's right." McMillan smiled back. She was a big woman with hair even redder than Ellen's. "Call me Kath, everyone does."

"Jhril fancies her," Mirra stage-whispered to Ellen.

"I am not." Jhril's feelers wiggled in protest.

"Are you missing the Nestor too, Captain?"

Everyone was being so nice. Ellen was still in her twenties and knew she looked about fifteen - she thought whoever had promoted her must either have not met her, or been an alien who didn't know how to judge humans' ages. It had its advantages. She abandoned the attempt to be captainly for the moment.

"I am a bit," she admitted. "But mainly, I'm just fed up because it'll be Christmas in two days, and I don't know anybody and I'm up here in this tin box."

"What is Chrismus?" asked Jhril.

Ellen swallowed.

"Don't be silly, Jhril," Mirra admonished him. "The big party at the Academy. You remember? They strung tiny lights in all the trees?"

"Oh, yes. That party. And all the instructors used to be so drunk, and Professor Meyer wore that funny red furry hat? I still am not know what it was all about."

"I'm feeling a bit the same," Kath said. "Never seems quite the same in space. There won't be any carol singers here."

Ellen had an inspiration. "Why not? Let's do that."

wombat140 · January 2016

The next day, after a bit of practice, the four of them set off - Mirra and Jhril included, not to be outdone - carrying PADDs full of downloaded words. Kathy had made a plan of which quarters belonged to human beings, and their plan was to finish up in the common room. At the first couple of places it went down well. There were a good few laughs. The four were all pretty pleased with themselves by the time they got to the cabin marked on the plan as "Mitch Yashinski".

"Let's give Mitch a surprise," whispered Kathy.

"One, two, three - "

"Hark the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King;
Peace on Earth -"

The door slid open and there was Isry Sain, Magpie's First Officer, immaculate in blue, looking every inch the Starfleet officer.

"McMillan, is there some purpose to this? I am trying to work."

Ellen stepped forward. "I'm terribly sorry Lieutenant. We thought this was Ensign Yashinski's room."

Lt Sain frowned. "The lights have broken in my quarters, we had to shift around."

"Oh, yes. Repairs always break everything. Where is Mr. Yashinski, please?"

Sain told them, and the carol singers retreated in not-very-good order.

But despite, or maybe because of that, by the end Ellen had got over it. It was Christmas, and she had a spaceship!

* * *

On Christmas morning there was a video message waiting for Ellen. Mariposa City, Ellen's home, was too far away for a live subspace call; Ellen had recorded a video message for her family the day before, in a ritual that had become familiar over the last few Christmases and birthdays, and here was theirs. This year's file was labelled simply "Merry Christmas CAPTAIN HARE!!!" There was also a clump of replicator pattern files. Dimensions too large for the little machine in her quarters, which wasn't built for anything larger than a bowl of soup. Ellen picked up her PADD and walked down to the larger replicator in Recreation, where she found Kathy and another crew member - Daryl Cory Schreckhise, she recalled - also carrying PADDs.
"After you, Captain," said Kathy. Ellen went to the replicator and, with a few deft touches of her PADD, located the pattern files and ran them.
A stack of wrapped presents materialised. Ellen fished them out and made way for the other two.

* * *

For Christmas dinner, they were having what Ellen identified simply as a "pie monster"; a vegetable protein normally used for sausages, wrapped in pastry to make a thing like a gigantic sausage roll as thick as a man's arm - a traditional Christmas dish in Ellen's home town of Mariposa since the days, 200 years ago, when they'd been a newly-formed colony sustaining itself on "astronaut food". Several Vulcan crew members were joining them out of curiosity, and they were vegetarian, as was Ellen herself and a few of the others, and Ellen was determined that everyone should be able to share the same food if they wanted to. "Besides," she added, "it wouldn't seem like Christmas without a monster."

* * *

Then it was back on duty. Time dragged by very slowly on the bridge. Ellen had several times considered suggesting they open their presents, but she felt she'd done enough ridiculous things this week.

"Captain, I'm picking up transmissions on an open channel," Lt Sain reported. "They're beyond sensor range, but their transponders identify them as USS Nestor and IKS Y'Pang."
"Klingons?!"
"They're broadcasting the transponder code for a diplomatic mission."
"Oh, I see. Fancy us meeting Nestor here."
Sain tilted her head to listen to something on her earphones, and her eyebrows rose. "It does not appear to be going well."
"Put it on screen."

The faces of a Vulcan captain and a Klingon captain appeared on the screen. "...without formal authorisation. Surely that must be apparent to you," the Vulcan was saying.
"We HAVE authorisation," the Klingon replied in slow and level tones. "How many more times must I repeat myself? I told what passes for your leadership, 10 of your hours ago, that IKS Y'Pang would be attending these negotiations. 40 minutes of that time, so far, has been spent waiting for you to get out of our way."
"The message was not received, as you have been informed already. We have notified the Embassy of the situation, and we cannot act further until formal authorisation has been sent. I expect a decision to arrive within the next two hours. Please be patient."
"Oh 'eck. Teck is one of the best," Ellen said as if daring anyone to contradict her, "but of all the people you wouldn't want talking to a Klingon..."
"Sh."
"Listen, robot," said the Klingon captain, a shrill note creeping into her voice. "I have flown 35 light years to attend these negotiations. I have passed, on the way, four Federation vessels that Y'Pang could have taken easily, but I refused permission to fire. I could reduce you to plasma right now. And you tell me to 'be patient'... Very well. We will wait - for 20 more minutes." The comms fell silent, and Magpie's bridge crew imagined the two ships glaring at each other.

"Merry Christmas," remarked Ellen.
"They don't know that we're here," Lt Sain said reluctantly.
"No, but the Nestor's an Intrepid class. If this Pang's really capable of tackling her, I don't think an ig-beetle like the Magpie's going to make much difference," replied Mirra grimly.
Ellen made a suggestion.
"Don't be silly," said Mirra. "Oh - sorry, I mean - don't be silly, Captain."
"Actually," Sain said, "that's not such a bad idea. I think any type of friendly gesture is called for at this moment. We could always say we were just talking to USS Nestor, it could be a space tradition for all they know."
"With respect, Captain," Mirra said desperately, "you're both scientists. What do you know about diplomacy?"
"With respect, Mirra," Ellen said, "you're a pilot. Why do you know any more about it than we do? Just because you're Army - "
"With respect, both of you," Isry said, "I grew up on Deep Space Nine. It's difficult to insult a Klingon more than Mr Teck already is doing."

* * *

The two ships hung motionless; if ships could glare, they would be glaring at each other.

"Another hail, all ships," reported USS Nestor's communications officer suddenly. Aboard IKS Y'Pang the Klingon communications officer was doing the same.

"On screen."

A female human waved at them.
"We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas - "

Both captains stared. Ellen's voice wobbled, but Mirra was carrying on regardless, and the others followed suit;

" - And a happy new year.
Glad tidings we bring
To you and your kin" - there was the usual scuffle between the ones who were singing kin and the ones who were singing king -
"We wish you a merry Christmas
"And a happy new year!"

Captain Teck was wearing what Ellen and Mirra recognised as his "does not compute..." expression.

The Klingon captain narrowed her eyes.
"Is this supposed to be the bit where my heart is melted by our shared humanity," she said acidly.
"Yes," Ellen admitted.
The Klingon blinked, and then unexpectedly burst into laughter. "I like your cheek, little alien. Now, can you get these rock-heads to do their paperwork and let us through before we all die of old age?"
"Do my best," Ellen said, light-headed with relief. "Would you like some of our monster?"

Real Life Note. The crew of the Magpie are inclined to refer to her affectionately as a gnat, a peanut, an igbeetle, et cetera, which by Starfleet standards, she is. In point of fact, though, she is still almost a hundred metres longer than the International Space Station.

cmdrscarlet · March 2016

Fast Rescue
---

The Vaadwaur’s lifeless body collapsed, smoke rising from the multiple phaser blasts to his cloak.

Still crouching, Anthi looked around the room still pointing her rifle at the large male, the room started to smell of cooked flesh. A meter away to Anthi’s right, Staza Murai glanced around the transporter console, and then looked to Anthi as she slung her rifle over a shoulder.

“That was unexpected.”

Ignoring the casual comment considering the blast marks from the shootout decorating the transporter room, the Andorian looked toward her left and saw Omazei grimace from a burn wound to her shoulder and waved off Anthi’s look of concern. The Trill’s face transformed to shock and she quickly moved to another officer across the room.

“Brin!”

The Talaxian was crumpled against a bulkhead, blood oozing from an open laceration at his stomach. Anthi stood and could tell Brin was dead. Nonetheless, Omazei tapped her combadge and ordered an emergency transport to the Infirmary and both were washed in a blue translucent shower before disappearing.

Finally, the transporter officer stood. Anthi recognized the human female. “Ensign, what the hell happened? Where’s the Captain?”

Cira Beitz wiped sweat from her brow while also moving a strand of loose brown hair from her eyes. The rest of her jaw-length hair was disheveled. Attacking the console, she quickly responded, “The record shows her pattern was intercepted and redirected.” She nodded to the Vaadwaur. “His pattern infiltrated the beam at the same time.”

Staza stepped forward. “Can you locate Kathryn?”

The question raised Anthi’s eyebrows and her antennae turned toward the Orion. The First Officer was surprised at Staza’s congenial use of the Captain’s first name. Although Anthi did the same regularly, she didn’t think the Empire’s liaison was on friendly enough terms with Kathryn.

The Ensign’s fingers fluttered across the console again. “Yes. She’s still on the surface near the transport site.”

Anthi and Staza looked to each other with equal horror. “Get her out of there”, order the Andorian.

After a few moments, Cira shook her head. “I’m unable to secure a lock for more than a second. She’s been moved to one of the hab-domes.” After another second, “she is in a room with three others.”

The First Officer stepped up and verified Cira’s results. She whispered a curse. “Keep trying.” Looking to the Orion, Anthi invited, “ready to rescue the Captain?”

Staza pulled her sleek plasma rifle off her shoulder and checked the charge. Satisfied, she winked and stalked to the transporter pad.

Anthi followed. She tapped her combadge. “Bridge, the Captain is still on the surface. Staza and I are going to get her back.” She checked her own power supply, then pulled a stun grenade from her belt pack and armed it.

Turning to the transporter officer, she asked, “can you drop us in that room?”

Cira shook her head again. “Too much interference in the building. But outside –“

Anthi interrupted, “do it.” She pointed to the Vaadwaur corpse. “And get that filth off this ship.”

+++

Crossing his arms, the Commando sneered, “by now your team is dead.” The guards to either side of Kathryn’s chair huffed, thinking their leader’s comment was comical.

Kathryn looked up. One eye was swollen shut from a purple contusion. She smirked from bloodied lips. “One man against hundreds, he will not get far.”

“It will not matter, because we have you. The Federation will –“

The door behind the Commando burst open and Staza rolled to the side. As she stopped in a crouch, a teal-colored beam lanced through the room to a guard on Kathryn’s left. He yelped as the plasma beam seared through his chest and caused his jacket to burn.

Lying on the ground outside the doorway, Anthi fired from her rifle into the room. The orange phaser beam found the other guard’s face, charring skin.

The officer pulled a pistol from a holster and returned fire toward the door while moving behind Kathryn’s chair. Staza and Anthi fired again but missed their mark.

Pointing the gun to Kathryn’s head, the officer shouted, “another shot and your Captain dies.”

After a few seconds of tense silence, Anthi lowered the rifle and slowly stood with hands raised. Staza continued to crouch but lowered her rifle to the floor.

Grinning, the Commando was smug. “Good, good. Three top officers from Solaris.”

Anthi ignored him. “Captain, you look down and out.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened and she looked to Anthi’s right hand. The Andorian’s palm was facing outward and a thin black ring encircled the middle finger. “This is going to hurt.”

“Eh?” The Vaadwaur looked down to Kathryn and that was Anthi’s chance.

The Tactical officer quickly flung her arms forward. The grenade hidden from the Vaudwaar’s view soared toward him, the locking pin still on Anthi’s finger. As the small cylinder flew, Kathryn ducked at the waist and fell to the floor. The Commando’s surprise was obvious as he just stared at the projectile. At impact on the Vaadwaur’ chest, the stun grenade exploded, engulfing him in a vapor of smoke while the shock wave from the blast pierced his ears. Kathryn screamed from the grenade’s effect.

Anthi dropped to the ground and lifted her rifle as Staza did the same. They fired into the Commando’s chest and he crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Rushing to Kathryn as she writhed in pain, Anthi tapped her badge. “Cira as soon as we leave the building, beam us out, emergency protocols.” The Andorian and Orion lifted Kathryn to their shoulders and exited the building, then disappeared before Vaadwaur reinforcements arrived.

Unofficial Literary Challenge #18: Winter Wonderland Celebrations II

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