Alejandro Machiaveli had always preformed well under pressure. His crew knew him as a man with great endurance. Alejandro spend most of his time on the Bridge, eating meals in the Ready Room, or even in the Captain's Chair sometimes. He was always prepared for a conflict. Since the war began, they could arise at any time, in any place. With the number of ambushes Alejandro had fought off giving commands from that chair, he was starting to feel as if his ship had the luck of the Enterprise. Yet, after all was said and done, Alejandro always returned to the big seat after each mission, when most Admirals of his senority would visit the Mess.
Sure, Alejandro brought up a hologame from time to time on the nearby console, but every five seconds, his head darts back to the main viewscreen, and to a private sensor readout on his chair. He was ready for anything to happen. Newer crewmembers always though he had some sort of paranoia problem. He'd been reported to the ship's counselor so many times, that now it was really just tea and a short talk about how the ship was holding up in the Ready Room.
True, when he though of it, Alejandro DID seem like a paranoid person to the average human. But then again, Alejandro - Starfleet Vice Admiral, and the descendant of a Boy Scouts Eagle Scout - was no ordinary human. He chuckles to himself as a Bird of Prey de-cloaks in front of the ship. Alejandro lines up the torpedo shot himsself , and replicates a cup of tea as the Klingon ship bursts into flames.
Now, that, my friend, was a story. Id have never guessed that a Romulan was even physiologically capable of such a thing. Nor that they had so strong a reaction to the music of Tom Jones.
I consider myself enlightened. And you can consider your glass full. Theres a particular whiskey Id like you to try, if youre feeling adventurous.
Now, my turn, is it? Well, let me see
Id just set foot on the first ship I was to command, the USS Ardent. No, I wont tell you how that came about. Its a story, to be sure, but I feel as if the moments passed to tell it. Perhaps itll come around again.
So there I was. Id just parted company with my new first officer, a lovely Andorian colleenor let's say an honorary colleennamed Vala. Ive never seen someone so enthusiastic about, well, everything, and have yet to detect any sense of that barely subdued menace that hangs about so many of her people.
Now, the Ardent was not just any ship. She was an old Constitution class. When the old manAdmiral Quinn, I mean to saytold me I was to captain her, I wondered aloud if he wouldnt rather put me into an even more venerable NX class. He didnt reply, but you can imagine the twinge of nervousness I felt when I saw one of the lattereven if it was only a replica, I was to discoverat the Utopia Planitia shipyards a few months later.
To be honest, the first time I saw the Ardent, I was thrilled that she was mine. Theres something I admire about those 23rd-century aesthetics that abandoned all hint of streamlining or style and yet captured some bit of elegance all the same.
Inside, shed been completely modernized through all manner of technological wizardry, though the basic architecture remained the same. In particular, while they were surrounded by up-to-date systems, the network of Jeffries tubes themselves was unchanged.
Now, I firmly believe that every true engineers heart flutters a little at the thought of crawling through those old-style Jeffries tubes. The ones on modern ships, well, theyre luxurious by comparison. You could serve a formal dinner in one. The classic tubes, not so. It was an accomplishment to even get through them, and you emerged with all the bruises and scrapes to convince even the most skeptical that youd just risked life and limb to save the ship, even if you were there to take a nap.
So this was my bright idea: Id make my way to the bridge via the tubes. I could only imagine the look on the bridge crews face when I emerged from the floor.
And this was what happened: I got myself totally, completely, and irreversibly lost.
Just at the point that I imagined a search party setting out to find meand felt that my transfer to an NX, possibly as the ships cook, was all but assuredI dropped down into a large room, about as far away from the bridge as I could get.
It was long, nearly cavernous, and filled with round metal tanks. I was later to learn, looking over the Ardents deck plans, that I had found my way to the deuterium storage area at the very bottom of the ship. There wasnt another soul to be seen and it was eerily quiet. You could barely hear the hum of the engines that was so apparent everywhere else.
While I was in command of the Ardent, I visited that room many times.
It was a kind of escape, I suppose. But why I should have been drawn to that particular spot, I dont completely know.
Maybe it was because I sometimes imagined that, over time, all the souls that were lost aboard the Ardentand maybe a piece of the soul of everyone that truly loved her and had to leave herdrifted down, like the leaves in fall, to that low place. And that, if I were there long enough, maybe they would have something to say to me.
Maybe it was because it reminded me of my childhood. My parents worked at the Guinness Institute for Advanced Study in Dublinyou might have heard of it, formed after World War III, which didnt touch Ireland so much as some other places. Though invited, I didnt feel quite at home in those hallowed halls. Instead, I spent my time at St. Jamess Gate across the street, and sitting among those huge tanks brought back some of those pleasant, long-lost days.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was because I found that obscure, out of the way spot the best place to set up my small, makeshift brewery. My heart belongs to stout, of course, but you havent fully lived until youve tried a hefeweizen made with quadrotriticale.
Which leads me to a suggestion for the next round...
With those words, Vice Admiral Wilem "Lone Star" Pulam'an strode off the bridge to the turbolift and headed out to unwind and gather his thoughts. While it was a tad unconventional leaving his 2nd-in-command in charge durning a hunt, especially one as high-risk as the Orions they were chasing, Wilem had no qualms or worries about it at all. "Crew deck," he spoke as the doors closed and he was whisked off. Selet was one of three people on his ship that had been with him since his first day in Starfleet; they all knew each other's rythyms, habits, and limitations. There would be no surprise the Vulcan couldn't handle. He'd hate losing her to her own command someday (one she'd earned many times over), but she's passed up multiple opportunities so far, claming she was making the "logical choice" by staying with him; who was he to argue?
His ship. Even now, as the car came to a stop and the doors opened, he smiled at the thought. While the Kennedy-C often suffered from the "Step-Child" syndrome to the Enterprise-E and other, more famous ships, it was his. He ran his fingers along the walls and thought at all the favors he'd had to cash in just to get the -B comissioned, Pa'lgat take them building a -C. Admiral Quinn must have thought him nuts to want to pass up more prestigious ships for the Kennedy, and the fourth at that. Or maybe that smile was from someone who knew what was in a name, and how much power they held.
As Wilem sat at his traditional table in the lounge, a cheap scorant felt in the corner, he thought about Clev's offer to teach him poker. The Bolian commented about how the scorant felt was close enough to a poker table to pull double duty. The rest of his thoughts, however, drifted to his home planet and exile for questioning the Matriarchal Council. He'd been on thin ice with his clan before the incident with Dath Hal'mat that led to his trial, but the speech he had made (broadcast to everyone in the ancestral lands, no less) was the final wound. Everyone thought an exile and severance (one of the most severe punishments handed down in recent memory) was getting off easy; Pulam'an was glad to be given the chance to make his name elsewhere. He'd discovered from the recently-exiled C'soyas clanner that most of his people still didn't have any use for Starfleet. Good. This is my clan now. Those fel'onts can trot off for all I care.
The impromptu white noise provided by his new clanners settled him into a half-meditative state as he shuffled through some of the famous and infamous images of Starfleet ships and captains on his personal holoprojector. Part of him noticed the lack of stars streaking by the windows, signaling the ship had fallen out of warp. The rest of his mind, however, was focused on what was in front of him. These were part of his new history now, even the notorious Captain Markham of the original Kennedy, as well as the legendary James T. Kirk and Jean-Luc Picard. This was where he finally fit into the yona game; striving to be the next lesson taught in Academy classrooms.
His thoughts were interrupted with a sharp chirp of is communicator. "Captain, we have the raider flight on long-range sensors," Selet said over the speaker. Lone Star was up and headed to the bridge before the commander had even started speaking. He was grinning a predatory grin this time as he confidently strode towards the bridge, letting his nictating membranes slide over his eyes.
I am an admiral of the fleet, an ambassador of the federation and captain of a Galaxy class starship. There are few on my ship who are not bound by my command, but on my ship there is a garden, a horticultural lab. That is where Singh lives, my pet monkey I saved from a zoo fire on Sol 3 in my second year at the academy. He is the only being, on my side, who still defies me at every turn.
There is something about the artificial sky with it's purple-blue glow and the solid white of the mock star providing the variable atmospheric needs of the plants that almost lets me forget that I am hundreds of light years from where I once called home without the luxury of real gravity or natural light or all the other benefits of living on a planet. When the horticultural lab. is in spring the Oq'ill fire angels are in full bloom, they are a flowering fruit from my home world and the smell takes my soul home far surer than any wormhole. I defy any captain to visit their horticultural lab. without taking time to smell the flowers, or nibble the harvest. Or as I often do start brewing some real wine.
For a time I went to the holodeck for my nature fix, but the fact that it always smell the same, always feel the same and look the same wore on me, and after a few visits I deleted the program and told my ships computer to transport me into space if I ever tried to remake it. No, the real thing, even grown in an artificial environment, is the only way to experience a true escape from the void.
The disappointment of a poor harvest is short lived when the plans for next 'season' take over, I remember a routine patrol in the Rolor nebula and while scanning some anomalous readings stood bolt upright and said Amino-nitrates and Xindi mist grubs! Not my favourite command decision but it did help me realise to be nothing but the captain on the bridge, and that giving extra shifts is a good way to keep my crew in check and the drills reduced the time between torpedo launches by 7.2%.
Yes, the the bad seasons just offer a new escape, it's the good seasons ruined by attacks or by Singh the capuchin devil, my people believe saving a life makes you responsible for it, if that is true the afterlife may not be a good one for me. Due to the low importance of the horticultural lab. it often has power taken from it's systems resulting in a disruption of the growth cycle and some... interesting flavours, shapes and colours. These bad crops are a nightmare for me but my chef loves them and some of her trial and error fruit salads are not bad at all.
But now I must leave the distraction of my organic fortress, I've been hailed by a Vulcan ambassador seeking passage to P'jem, should be a routine trip but I prefer to meet my guests.
----There were many areas of the U.S.S. Enigma that Captain Tenebrae enjoyed spending his time, but none more so than his Ready Room. All around him sat memories of missions past and friends long lost. After finishing reading his last Department Head report of the day he sank into his chair and glanced at those memories that surrounded him. One memento that sat on his desk caught his eye. It was a small metallic sphere. He picked it up turning it in his hands, smiling thoughtfully, he began reminiscing. His mind took him back to an afternoon in late 2398...
----First Officer of the Star Cruiser Class vessel the Enigma-F at that time, Tenebrae patiently stood in his Captain's Ready Room. Across the table from him, Captain Gabriel Devereaux sat in his chair deeply studying various reports on his PADD. Upon noticing the Commander now standing before him, the Captain smiled and motioned for Tenebrae to sit opposite him. ----"You wanted to see me Sir?" ----"Enough of this 'Sir' nonsense Tenebrae, I've told you before. Call me Gabe." ----"Okay," Tenebrae shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "you wanted to see me...Gabe?" ----"Yes. You have a lot of potential Tenebrae and I wanted you to be the first to know, I've recommended you for your first command. Your handling of the Franklin Research Station incident was impressive and Starfleet Command seems to agree with me. Once we return to Earth Spacedock next month you are to be promoted and reassigned to your own ship." ----Tenebrae, looking shocked, stared for a few seconds before continuing, "I don't know what to say Gabe. Thank you, but are you sure I'm ready for command?" ----"Tenebrae, to be honest I'd be more concerned if you weren't hesitant at the prospect of commanding your own ship, but no, I have no doubts that you are ready for the next step in your career." ----"Do you have any advice for me?" ----"I'm glad you asked." Gabe walked over to the replicator and ordered two Firenut Coffees. He returned to sit at the desk offering Tenebrae the other cup. "Careful now, it's Firenut. It has quite the kick to it. Now, where were we? Ahh yes, advice. I've noticed you tend to distance yourself from others on a personal level. You have to be comfortable around your crew so they feel comfortable around you." Gabe sipped his Coffee gingerly, motioning for Tenebrae to do the same. ----"I hadn't noticed, I suppose I could join in the Poker games I keep getting invited to and I was considering taking up Lieutenant Commander Kurga's request to teach me Mok'bara." ----"Excellent ideas. Also you may have noticed that I spend a lot of time in this room." Tenebrae nodded in agreement, his eyes watering from his first sip of Firenut Coffee. Gabe continued, trying not to laugh, "You must always remember Tenebrae that your ready room is your Sanctum, your place of solace. While you must always be ready to jump into battle at a moments notice, you must always take the time to remember the past and what brought you to this point. I, for one, keep mementos and trophies from my past to keep those memories fresh." Captain Deveraux walked over to a shelf and picked up a small metal sphere. "This, for instance, is a gift I received from a Wadi Ambassador during a diplomatic mission. It's called an Ocapi, he said it would bring me luck and long life and I have to say it's working so far." He walked further along the same wall, bypassing many other items and trinkets, most of which Tenebrae noted would make the Smithsonian proud to have. Gabe stopped underneath a painting of an Excelsior Class vessel and Tenebrae watched as his Captain reached up and slowly ran his fingers over the canvass. ----"I've noticed that painting before, which ship is she?" Tenebrae enquired. ----"That was the U.S.S. Vanguard. She was the first ship I was given command of. She was very old when I took command but she always looked after us. Unfortunately, we lost her during a battle with Jem'Hadar. We managed to take most of the enemy ships out but one managed to get through our defences. It crashed into us heavily damaging Engineering. It was too much for the Vanguard to take and her Warp Core began breaching so we abandoned ship and waited for rescue. Half of the escape pods were vaporised when the Core finally breached. Ever since then I've used the memory of those deaths to spur me on, to become a better Captain and also to become a better friend." ----"I never knew that." Tenebrae took a large drink of his Firenut Coffee, his eyes widening and watering even more than the first time. This time Gabe couldn't hold back and burst out laughing. ----"Thanks I needed that. Here, take this," Gabe threw the Ocapi to Tenebrae, "Consider this your first addition to your own ready room collection." ----"Gabe I can't take this," Tenebrae finished the last of his Firenut Coffee, shuddering at the sensation once more, "you're right this does have a kick, I could get used to it." ----"You will. I mean that about the Coffee and the gift. It's mine to give away and now it's yours." ----"Thank you Gabe, I'm honoured." ----There was a beep from the communication system followed by a soft female voice, "Captain Devereaux and Commander Tenebrae to the Bridge, we're receiving a distress call from the S.S. Fiji."
Gabe looked over to Tenebrae and grinned, "see what I meant by 'a moment's notice?" He turned his attention to the disembodied voice, "Helm set an intercept course." ----"Aye Captain," the voice replied.
----Tenebrae drifted back to reality. That day was the best and worst of his career so far. During that rescue mission, Captain Devereaux was killed and the Enigma-F was lost, valiantly attempting to save the passenger vessel, S.S. Fiji. However, acting Captain Tenebrae managed to save two-thirds of the crew. He transported them, along with himself and members of the Fiji's crew they had rescued, to a Class M moon, orbiting a nearby Gas Giant, before what was left of the disabled and heavily damaged ship fell into the atmosphere. They were rescued shortly afterwards by a Vulcan Science Vessel. He would never forget the advice of his friend Gabe, and kept the Ocapi on his desk as constant reminder. Gabe had been right, this place was a haven and every moment spent there was to be treasured. There was a beep from the communication system followed by First Officer Vol's voice, "Captain Tenebrae to the Bridge." ----"On my way Commander," he replied while standing up. Tenebrae finished his third Firenut Coffee of the day, straightened his jacket and placed the Ocapi back onto it's display stand. After a short thoughtful look around his Ready Room he strode confidently onto the bridge, "okay, what have you got for me today?"
(I managed to exceed the 11k character limit, so I broke it up into two posts.)
Janaran Falls
Starbase 10 Promenade
Dr. Jolie Bindo tapped her combadge as she turned to head back to the Infirmary. This is Dr. Bindo--I was paged?
Aye, Doctor, came the voice of SCPO Gage, one of the Infirmary medics. The USS Solferino is docking. Dr. Michaels said there's a patient coming in stasis, and he wants an allergist to see her stat.
On my way right now. It was not often that the Chief Medical Officer of Starbase 10 called for any of his staff on an emergency basis. Jolie strode briskly across the Promenade and caught a glimpse of the Solferino. The doctor put her hand to her mouth as her breath caught for a moment at the destruction. One nacelle was gone. The other two nacelles and part of the saucer had long, jagged chunks ripped out, leaving black gashes that strafed across the ship. She was the survivor of a fight with a Borg cubejust barely. Shuttles raced around it, extinguishing the last of the plasma fires that still burned. Jolie grabbed an elevator and rode up the 22 decks to the Infirmary section, entering the Emergency ward. It was filled with injured Solferino personnel and medical staff rushing around with instruments and supplies to treat them. Jolie could hear biobed alarms sounding all over the place, orders called out for medications and treatments, patients moaning. She had to concentrate on keeping her mental shields upthe Betazoid doctor could feel agonizing pain from so many of the survivors.
Dr. Michaels was in the eye of the hurricane of activity, looking at numerous monitors and triaging patients. He caught sight of the auburn-haired doctor. Dr. Bindogood. I've got an interesting case for you--a pregnant zhen in stasis suffering from anaphylaxis. A pipe burst near her on the Solferino, and she's apparently severely allergic to the chemical. I'm worried that's going to send her into pre-term laborif she survives. I need your allergy expertise on this one.
I'll get that allergic reaction knocked down fast. How far along is she?
Her mates say she's at 85 days of 108.
Jolie shook her head, frowning. Definitely too early. I'll need OB on this.
The dark-haired human nodded. Dr. Okanta's finishing up another delivery, and then she'll join you. I had the zhen moved up to OB in case you need to do an emergency delivery.
I'll try to keep that from happening, Jolie said.
I've got Neonatology on call if you need. I'll let you get to work. Dr. Michaels waved a dismissal, and she strode off to OB.
Ensign Relawwin handed Dr. Bindo a PADD the moment she stepped through the door to the Andorian's room. Here's Nala's medical file, Dr. Bindo. The stasis unit is already hooked up to the biobed.
Thanks, Relawwin, she said, eyes already on the data streaming on the screen. Jolie studied the medical records and scans of Nala while waiting for the Bolian chief of obstetrics, Dr. Okanta, to finish with the delivery. Prior to being put in stasis, Nala's heart rate had been extremely irregular from the anaphylaxis she suffered from chemical exposure. Jolie noticed her oxygen levels were well below normal, and the quadruplets were trying to separate from the pouch artery and vein they were attached to by their pouch-fangs.
Dr. Yarla Okanta walked into the room, smiling. It's a girl! Mama did well. The light blue Bolian looked at the biobed monitors and patted the stasis chamber. Now, Nala, let's see if we can keep you from becoming a mama too soon. She joined Jolie in looking over all the medical information.
Jolie frowned. She's not in labor, Yarla, but the babies were trying to separate from the pouch vessels. I should be able to stop the anaphylaxis, but she might code.
Yarla rubbed a hand down her chin in thought. Not good. They're too weak at this age to crawl out of the pouch on their own. She looked over at her OB nurse. Relawwian, get the surgery unit set up. If Nala codes or we can't keep the little ones attached, we're going to do an emergency section.
Aye, Doctor, he replied. He nodded to a couple techs who quickly set up the instrument unit. Her mates are in the waiting room, by the way.
As soon as I can get free, I'll go talk to them.
Jolie looked at the chart once more, triple-checking all the details. I'm going to give her 250 cc of metrazene to stabilize the arrhythmia, along with 50 cc of pulmozene. I'm going to knock the anaphylaxis down with 75 cc of diphenidryl and a bolus of 280 cc of cortisone.
Yarla nodded. The cortisone will help the babies' lungs develop in case they don't stay attached. Let's add 25cc of asinolyathinsince it calms muscle spasms, it'll keep her pouch from trying to contract. It's much easier to keep the labor from starting than stop it once it starts.
Relawwin had the hypos drawn up and prepared before Jolie even had to ask. Surgery unit is ready if you need it, Dr. Okanta. He turned the oxygen on the osmotic infuser up to 100%.
Jolie called out, Bringing Nala out of stasis: 3, 2, 1
On '1', the force field dropped. The Andorian spasmed, then opened her eyes as Jolie, Yarla, and Relawwin applied all the hyposprays in tandem. Her antennae hung over to the side in fatigue, but quivered as she regained her senses. The biobed alarms sounded at her irregular heart rate and low oxygen levels.
Jolie said, Nala, you're on Starbase 10. I'm Dr. Bindo, the allergist. Dr. Okanta is the chief of OB here. You're having a bad allergic reaction, we're getting that under control now so it doesn't harm the babies.
Nala gasped, her massive chest muscles fighting to take in as much air as she could. She shivered. Mates?
They're all OK. They're in the waiting room.
The Andorian nodded, and the rigid look on her pale face relaxed ever so slightly. And the babies?
Dr. Okanta looked at her medical tricorder and all the biobed readings. The babies are healthy, they're just trying to detach. We're working on stopping that.
Nala nodded. She breathed heavily still, but noticeably easier as the medications took full effect. Her heart rate became more regular. I'm starving.
Dr. Okanta asked, We'll get you something to eat as soon as it's safe. You're not feeling any pain or contractions, are you?
Nala nodded her head 'no' as she rubbed her gravid belly, then patted it gently.
Jolie watched the improving bioindicators on the screen above the bed. How's the breathing now, Nala?
Better...itching's starting to go away.
That's a very good sign. Jolie watched for several more minutes as Nala's breathing eased and the biobed indicators continued to climb. When she was satisfied that the immediate crisis was averted, she said to Relawwin. Give her 75 cc diphenadryl every 4 hours by hypo and infuse 50cc of cortisone over a half hour every 8 hours. If the dyspnea or itching come back, call me stat.
Aye, Doctor.
Dr. Okanta's lips were pressed in a thin line. The babies should be trying to re-attach, but they're not.
It doesn't look like they're still trying to detach, at least, Jolie said.
At least there's that. Now we play the waiting game. Relawwin, her mates can come to see her now.
Jolie put a hand on the Andorian's arm. I'll stop by in awhile and see how you're doing, Nala, but you should be past the worst of the anaphylaxis reaction. She looked back over to Dr. Okanta. My regular shift starts in a couple hours. I'll check in then.
Dr. Bindo left the Infirmary for her quarters. Thoughts about Nala swirled around, like the Sapphire-chinned hummerbirds that would hover but never alight on the tropical flowers surrounding her childhood home on Betazed. She stopped, turned, and instead made her way through the busy hallways to the holodeck level. One of the rooms was free. She stepped through and touched the wall panel. Computer: load program Bindo-Janaran Falls-3. The blank walls dissolved as her favorite program loaded. Mountains appeared in the distance. Flowers bloomed around her feet. A stream started to bubble next to her, meandering off from the massive, multilevel cascade that was the famous Betazoid Janaran Falls. Soft sun-rays lit pink clouds and refracted off the water in tiny jewel tones. Jolie sat down on the grass, breathing in the mountain air. She closed her eyes and listened to the birds flitting through the trees and the insects buzzing as they gathered nectar from the blossoms. She let the sounds and scents of her haven help clear her mind and let her meditate so that the hovering thoughts would finally land.
She had been sitting for some time when she heard the soft chime of the holodeck door. She sighed. The thoughts refused to settle. Come, she said.
A tall, dark blue Andorian walked in. I'm Kovandor th'Rhendilev, he said. He pointed at the ring on his left antenna. Nala's mate.
Jolie stood instantly, concern furrowing her brow. Is she OK?
She's improving rapidly. I came to thank you for saving her life. We thought she was lost to us. He stopped for a moment as his voice caught. The babies still aren't re-attaching and we might lose them, but I don't know what we would have done without Nala. It's been hard enough watching her work herself nearly to death the last few days to keep the ship from disintegrating around us. She hardly slept, hardly ate, and then the pipe burst....
The whirling hummerbird finally landed. By the Four Goddesses, that's it!
The Andorian tilted his antennas at Jolie in confusion.
Kovandor, when's the last time Nala ate a good meal?
Not for the last 3 days at least. I noticed she was becoming a bit gray the day the pipe broke. Why?
She told us she's starving. The babies must be hungry, too. That's why they're trying to detach. She tapped her combadge as she started to walk to the holodeck door. Dr. Bindo to pharmacy. Prepare an Andorian amino acid infusion with 15% dextramene for Nala and send it up to OB stat. Dr. Bindo to Dr. Okanta.
Okanta here, the chief of obstetrics replied.
Nala hasn't eaten well in at least 3 dayswe need to check her protein stores. I have pharmacy prepping an amino acid infusion for her. I think the babies are hungry. I'll be right there.
Jolie and Kovandor hurried back to Nala's bay. The pale blue zhen was lying on her side on the biobed, antennas twitching slightly with anxiety. Kovandor went to her side, taking one of her hands and smiling down at her. Jolie was pleased to notice her breathing was no longer labored, and the biobed indicators were approaching the normal range.
Dr. Okanta scanned Nala's belly with the medical tricorder and then said to Dr. Bindo, We've got the infuser at 100%. I think your theory about the babies' hunger causing detachment makes sense, Jolie. The Bolian looked at the scan results. It looks like the two babies that were trying to detach are re-attaching to the pouch vessels, and the two still attached are making deeper attachments now. Nala definitely needed the protein, too. The obstetrician smiled as she looked up at the Andorian quad. It looks like the babies are improving. I can't guarantee they won't try to detach again, but even a few more days in pouch will make all the difference.
Nala sighed in relief, and her antennas quit twitching. Kovandor grabbed the two doctors in a great bear hug, and brushed his antennas on top of their heads in an Andorian kiss.
Jolie grinned at his enthusiasm. Well, I have to go do rounds. I'll come back later.
Doctors, Nala said, voice quiet. I want you to come to their Birth ceremony.
Jolie and Yarla looked at each other in stunned silence at this great honor, then back at the quad. Four sets of antennas curved towards them in anticipation.
Of course, Dr. Bindo replied. The smile lit her face the rest of the day.
Ihnoc produces a smile that broadens only for a moment. He then leans forward, pouring a new glass of pear cider into his glass. Whether the alcohol is synthahol or not isn't immediately obvious; certainly his body language remains as stoic as it was. When done pouring, he leans back, takes a sip and then chuckles momentarily.
Somewhere I go to feel at home? A haven you say? That's a good one, Ihnoc starts, I'll have to think about that. Ihnoc looks into the glass for a moment, swills the contents then takes another sip. The observation lounge. That's where I'm in my element, aside from the bridge of course. So many times I've sat around that table with a people I've never met, trying to explain who we are and what we can achieve together.
It's not always like that. We planned several counter-attacks there too. The Borg, the Romulans, the Undine. They all met some sort of demise thanks to the cushy chairs in that room. It's got this irony about it; a strange duality of purpose that reflects the ship and where the Federation itself is now. One day, I'll be inviting the various species from System Alpha Sigma 12 for First Contact, the next sharing blood wine with a forward thinking Klingon General and rounding out the week with a bitter argument with our new Borg drone.
That room has tables and chairs, drinks and conversation but it isn't Ten Forward. It isn't a place I go to relax or to chat with my crew. The lounge is the place I go to get things done, be they meeting new people or planning defence against an old people. It's where things happen even if sometimes I'm the only person there.
It was a peaceful night. The Admiral had left a few hours earlier to relax and left his first officer in charge. Commander Oleina Junud was dutifully reviewing the logs. She reclined on the couch in the ready room, reading her PADD. As a Betazoid she was acutely aware of the many admiring looks from the male contingent of the crew and she preferred the comparative silence of the ready room to the crowded thoughts of the bridge. The door quietly chimed and she granted access to a nervous Andorian male ensign. Idly she wondered if Orion women had this much trouble with adoring males.
Maam. I am sorry to disturb you but I am receiving a priority one transmission for the Admiral.
The ensign shifts uncomfortably. Mentally, she sighs, there is something bothering him apart from the transmission. She smiles to put the young Andorian at ease. I will take it for him, Ensign. Please patch it through.
I am sorry, Commander Junud. It is marked for the Admirals eyes only. I am not authorised to patch it through to the First Officer or to any other member of the command staff. Again his weight shifts and his eyes avoid hers.
Well then, you best get the Admiral on the Comm.
Ahhh thats the problem Maam. He isnt answering his Comm. The computer says his comm-badge is in his quarters. I ran a biometric scan to locate him and
Here it comes, she thought.
And? She phrased it delicately, sweetly even. She knew where this was going even if the young man before her didnt.
And the computer says he is not on the ship. I... I . uhhh I cant locate the Admiral Maam.
There was fear in the young Ensigns eyes. He was afraid for the Admiral. He was afraid for her and he was afraid for himself over what he perceived to be his failure.
It will be alright, Ensign Kor. You have only just joined the crew and you are not familiar with Admiral Sheppards idiosyncrasies. He does this on a semi-regular basis. Dont fret. Its not a test. He just wants some quiet time now and then. Since it is a priority one transmission, I will go get him.
Maam, if I may ask, where is Admiral Sheppard? All shuttlecraft are accounted for. Even though we are stationary in deep space I checked and there has been no transporters on or off the Relentless.
If you wish, you may think of this part of tonights events as a test. The Admiral greatly enjoys his time alone. He gets so little of it. Come back and see me when you think you have worked out for yourself where the Admiral has gone. I will be back shortly. In the meantime, please awaken Commander Dyesane Gonulkla and advise her that she is in command.
Command Oleina Junud turned on heel and started to leave. Unexpectedly she paused, turned and handed the stunned ensign her comm-badge. Please keep this safe until I return. She was determined not to give the Ensign any short cuts by tracing her comm-badge.
Leaving the stunned ensign in her wake she left the bridge. As she swept through the corridors, the crew melted aside from her glowering visage. She long blonde hair flew wildly from her head as her long legs swiftly strode down the corridor. She reached out with her mind, This isnt funny, Markus. I was enjoying the quiet. Where are you? There was no reply. Wherever the crafty devil was, he was clearly shielding his thoughts. That being said, there were limits to where he could be and at times he was very predictable. She headed to the Fabrication Workshop.
Arriving in short order, Oleina approached Commander Owdg-or. The tall stick insect of an alien acknowledged her. Oleina had noted when she arrived that the Admirals micro-hopper was still on-board so that limited his possible movements. What did he take this time Owdg-or?
The alien regarded Oleina without emotion. What did who take?
Oleina composed herself. She brushed the errant hair from her face and adjusted her tunic noting with annoyance that once again it had become unfastened towards the neck. She was used to playing this game. It inevitably led to the same place: the Admiral was somewhere outside. And no matter how you approached it outside was a big place. She could save herself a lot of time if she had an idea of where to look. She tried a different tack.
Was it a quick trip?
Owdg-or looked her up and down. Oleina could almost hear the aliens mind scanning her form, running calculations, measuring her and mapping out fabrication opportunities.
No, Owdg-or said simply, He left several packages for you. You may change in there. With that Owdg-or gestured towards an impressively stacked array of boxes and crates. They were arranged quite deliberately. There were also clear hazard warnings and signage. These were apparently designed to discourage casual exploration. Within the arrangement there were alcoves and little nooks and crannies all hidden from prying eyes. Oleina had to admit that the Admiral was getting better and better are sneaking off.
Shortly after stepping into the labyrinth she found the packages. One usual package and one not. The smaller package was delicately wrapped. Curiously she opened it and her eyes widened. You have got to be kidding me. Now at least she understood Owdg-ors gaze. The alien had been checking measurements.
A few minutes later Oleina was finishing the seals with the usual item: a custom EVA suit. Owdg-or arrived to lead her through the maze to the very well hidden maintenance hatch. Oleina turned to Owdg-or as the door was closing, He went to a lot of effort this time, didnt he?
This was met with a nod and then Owdg-or gestured for Oleina to seal her helmet along with the hatch. The tall alien then turned her attentions to the various environmental controls. The air rapidly withdrew and the outer hatch slide aside to reveal the depth of space. Reaching out, Oleina carefully tethered herself to the outer hull. Around her the stars shone in a myriad of colours.
The hull of the Relentless provided her some gravity and gave a sense of down. She paused to compose her thoughts. Port or starboard? Fore or aft? After a few moments of thought Oleina narrowed it down. Where ever he was, the Admiral would have avoided being seen through the windows the last thing the crew want to see is their Captain and Admiral wandering past on the outside of the hull. That left two possible paths: one quite long and the other not far. The quick trip question earlier was code for did he travel light? and Owdg-or said that the Admiral did not travel light. With that in mind Oleina set course for the nearer of the two possible destinations.
As she crested the rise of the hull she saw it: a survival bubble carefully and solidly anchored to the hull with multiple tether points. She quickly moved over to its surface. As she approached, she noted that it was of a non-standard design. It had exceptionally large viewing ports and a small airlock. There was a figure inside.
With practised ease she entered the cramped airlock. As she removed the EVA suit she noted its twin carefully hung on her left. With a gentle hiss the inner door opened. Nervously smoothing her clothes, she self-consciously entered.
Well, hello there. I was wondering when you would arrive? That was her greeting, along with a laconic smile. Admiral Markus Sheppard was reclined in a casual suit upon a small rug. Next to him was a wicker basket, some glasses and containers of food.
Markus Her planned chastisement died in her throat. Are they Uttaberry crêpes?
Good nose you have there.. pretty too. That looks very nice on you by the way.
Looking down before she could stop herself, Oleina again admired the new dress that was left for her next to the EVA suit. She had to admit Owdg-or was one of the best artisans they had ever encountered and the dress Oleina now wore was of breathtaking beauty.
You know this cant go on forever Markus. It breaks too many regulations to list. When Starfleet finds out that we are together
Firstly, he gently cut across her protests, it is if they find out. Second, Starfleet have permitted couples to serve on vessels for over a century.
She felt she had to try again, But I do not recall any serving as Captain and First Officer.
Markus gently led her to sit on the rug. I went to a lot of effort to set this up and I will need to break it down again in a few hours before we warp out. Lets just enjoy this temporary little haven while it lasts.
Yes, about that. You have a priority one message waiting and I realise you went to a lot of trouble but it wont wait
He poured the wine, I know. I sent it. How else was I going to lure you out here?
Now he was just being clever. Oleina tried one last valiant effort. Dyesane and the others will suspect . Her protest drained away as it was met with a sly smile, unless they were in on it from the start Dammit, Markus! Fine. You win.
He reached out to her face. Dont be mad. These moments are few. Let me enjoy my two most favourite things in the universe: being with the stars and out of all of them being with the one star that shines brightest of all. He lifted her chin and eyes to the view port.
She took in the full majesty of the view. My god. The universe. It is full of stars.
Computer: Time?
It is now thirteen hundred hours and forty-three minutes standard time, the calm synthesized voice replied.
Captain tyr sighed, he and his crew had been working for days and although the majority of the crew was done running double (or triple) shifts by now he still had massive amounts of paperwork to fill out. Asking for the time every few minutes wont make it go any faster, he thought by himself as he looked over the umpteenth ship evaluation report. Four lifetimes and it seems every century I need to file out MORE paperwork!
Ugh, he let his head drop squarely on the stack of PADDs in front of him.
At this point he felt the familiar urge to hunt down and hurt whoever screwed up at either Starfleet Command or the Utopia Planetia shipyards. It was a mistake so stupid and so costly that he wondered how they could be made in this day and age. His ship, the USS Caroline, was a brand new Discovery class vessel. Normally these new designs are built with a lot of room for eventual expansion, but with the massive succes of the series Starfleet had decided to fill her up with the latest of additional technologies as recommended by other Discovery captains. To top it all she would be outfitted with two experimental engine designs allowing Caroline to cruise at a sustained speed of warp 9.5 and above for a long period of time with a maximum speed of warp 9.997. She would also be able to traverse spatial anomalies or nebulae at high impulse, something which usually overloads many an engine.
Unfortunately Utopia Planetia had been running their tests on a standard warp core implemented in these size vessels, while Starfleet had determined that all the extra technologies were too much of a power drain and had installed a larger than usual core. Of course they both neglected to tell the other and during their latest encounter with the Klingons the impulse manifolds nearly exploded. So they had to recalibrate, and in some areas redesign, the whole bloody engine.
As it was: Caroline, one of the fastest ships in the fleet, had been limping forward on warp 1 and impulse for weeks, while its crew was working overtime to get her moving again. They all needed a break and Tyr had sat down with commander Thryiss to make sure theyd get it.
Im so glad those duty roster modifications are over ... at least for the next two weeks.
He lifted his head from the pile of PADDS and looked up at the replicator across the room.
Computer: One ... oh just get me something to drink, preferably warm.
Without objection the computer beeped in acknowledgment and in a swirl of bright blue light a random hot beverage appeared. Captain Tyr walked over smirking, he had reprogrammed his replicator on his third day of command and nobody could understand how he stopped the computer from bombarding him with 500 questions about temperature, flavour, variety and the shape of the glass. Oh wonderful, Vulcan spice tea ... is there a more bland variety of tea in the galaxy? Perhaps I ought to program the replicator to measure my mood first
As he walked back towards his desk he asked once more: Computer: time?
It is now thirteen hundred hours and forty-eight minutes standard time
The captain sighed, Still one hour and twelve minutes to go.
Captain Jijan Tyr walked briskly across the hallways of his ship, nodding brightly to some of the crew he walked past in the corridors. He was wearing a costume for an old holodeck program he was itching to try out so he recieved mostly smirks and giggles in return, but he didnt care: Starfleet wasnt military and this was his night off.
Sherlock Holmes, right, a familiar voice called out to him.
He turned around to face the familiar sight of his science officer walking towards him clutching an armful of PADDs. Ezrea looked exceptionally tired and worn out, with her hair a tangled mess.
Thats right, I didnt know you were interested in Earth literature?
Although Sherlocks attire was easily recognizable for humans, both he and his science officer were Trill. He hadnt expected this.
Oh Im not, she said while trying to stop the electronic notebooks from falling out of her hands, But the first recorded sentient hologram was created on the Enterprise-D in the image of Professor Moriarty. Ive always been fascinated by that accident it is such a ...
At this point the stack of PADDs fell to the floor, Oh ...
Wait let me help, Jijan bent to pick up the fallen objects while Ezrea stood there a little dazed, rubbing her left eye.
Hey are you alright?
Oh wha? she answered as awakening from a daydream, Yeah sorry, I just need a break, I think ...
He knew what she was talking about. The ships engines and design created a very complex Warp field and with the entire overhaul going on it needed to be recalibrated to take the extra power input. As chief science officer it was her job to do it and although she wasn't a warp field theorist, she was the most brilliant mathematician he had seen in over two centuries. As it turned out Ezrea had been shouting at her console down in lab 4 for days on end, scaring her co-workers out of the room and in the end resigned to create a small army of holograms to help her out, but she managed an impossible feat in just under a week. Caroline was running at Warp 9.2 for forty-six hours now without a hitch.
Hey do you have a Watson yet, she asked when he handed her her stack back.
Jijan shook his head, I had intended to maybe let the computer simulate a Watson.
It was true he hadnt asked anyone. Although he didnt mind walking around in costume toward his favourite holodeck 2 he found it harmful to the chain of command to ask any of his fellow command officers to join him. He was the captain after all, he was supposed to act like an infallible example, failing to solve a simple 19th century earth mystery wouldnt do his reputation much good.
Nonsense! You cant play a program like that alone. Ill replicate some proper attire and see you in 15 minutes. With that she walked merrily back along the corridor.
He stood there watching the spot where his science officer stood just a few seconds ago and smirked. It was typically Ezrea to completely disregard any social protocol and regulation. Although brilliant in the field of science she wasnt able to seperate the image of her friend Jijan from that of her captain and so never adressed him as such. It's funny to see how she frustrates new bridge officers when she calls him by his first name instead of 'sir'. He turned on the spot and approached the door to holodeck 2.
His previous lives never much liked the holodeck. In Esjas time it was a brand new technology and she abhorred the life-sucking machines of soulless imagination. She was dramatic that way. Taren was too self-conscious to indulge himself and Tazi was always too busy, although she at least enjoyed a nice walk along the simulated beach from her hometown from time to time. Tazi got homesick a lot.
Personally he loved the holodecks and their infinite possibilities. They couldnt replace the thrill of real-life exploration of course, but they could provide a creative outlet into endless fantastical worlds. And he needed a break from reality every once in a while. He only wished Esja had looked upon it that way. Perhaps if she had lived today she would have seen it in a different light.
As he selected a case to solve he saw Ezrea in the distance wearing a plain period-accurate dress. She was beaming and looked much healthier than fifteen minutes ago. She had even done something to her hair, Jijan wondered how she had managed it in such a short time?
She was right though, the more he thought about it the more he agreed that this program shouldnt be played alone. Although with her analytical mind it might be best if she played Sherlock, he thought laughingly. Perhaps coming down from being the captain all the time wasnt so bad. If you at least have a person you can trust.
Ready for a walk down 19th century London, Watsonnette?
Undoubtetly Sherlock, she said enthousiastically.
Well then, he pulled a pipe from his waistcoat pocket as the doors of the holodeck opened with the familiar sound of pistons. Beyond them was a smoky, busy rendering of the old Earth city that their characters called home.
Captain Winfield Hancock Scott sat alone in his ready room, staring at the golden piece of fabric, the index finger of his right hand barely touching it, his mind thousands of light years, and half a decade away.
His head snapped up and he glanced at the readout on his desk, his eyes widening in surprise at the elapsed time since hed entered the room.
Almost an hour! Damnit!
Pushing his chair back, Scott rose and moved toward the door, stealing one last glance at the tiny piece of cloth on his desk. As the doors to his ready room parted Scott walked onto the bridge of the USS Watchtower, his eyes moving clockwise from station-to-station, taking in the scene and nodding as various members of the bridge crews eyes met his.
Standing between the helm and viewscreen, Commander Thryiss was bent over the console, checking readouts with the helm officer and comparing them to the PADD in her hand.
Yeah, shes right, she does have some spectacular legs, Scott thought as a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Looking up, the Andorian zhen noticed the commanding officer, and drew to her full, and to Scott, impressive 6 4 height. As she started to alert the bridge to the presence of the ships commanding officer, Scott shook his head in a no and walked toward her.
Scott closed next to his executive officer and spoke so only she could hear, with his back to the bridge as he faced the viewscreen. No need for that stuff. Protocol is important, but let them do their jobs.
Turning so she was also facing the viewscreen, Thryiss clasped her hands behind her back and spoke low. Good of you to join us. Sir. I know Chief was not thinking, even for him, so I have to ask are you alright Winfield?
Im good XO. But thank you for asking. I think Im going to take a walk and check the rest of the ship out, Scott said, turning his head slightly to the right so the two officers could have eye contact.
Excellent idea sir. I can join
Not necessary Thryiss. Im ok. Plus, if I have to look at your legs anymore today, I may violate a Starfleet regulation or two.
Her loud laugh filling the bridge made Scott smile, and he was grateful he was not separated from one of his best friends in Starfleet as his new command was preparing to leave Earth Spacedock.
I understand Sir. And if I may be so bold its good to see you be you, she said, her voice firm, but friendly.
Scott nodded, and turned toward the turbolift, The bridge is yours XO. As the doors parted he entered the lift, turned toward the bridge and gave Thryiss a slight nod, which she returned, giving him a quick wink, and he understood she knew he was fine.
Shuttle bay.
As the lift came to a halt Scott stepped out, and looked to see if the hallways were crowded, and let out a sigh of relief when he saw they were empty. Moving at a brisk pace he entered the hanger, turned to his left and walked to the Type-8 shuttle Ridgway. Reaching the ships hatch, he let the doors hiss open, entered the craft and closed the door.
Scott looked around the tiny ship and moved to the pilots seat, sat, leaned back and closed his eyes. Drawing deep breaths, he reached and tapped his combadge, his eyes still closed. Scott to Thryiss.
Thryiss here.
XO, Im currently inspecting Shangri-La you know where to find me if all hell breaks loose on ESD and we are needed to save the universe.
Understood sir. Ill handle the real work here, his friend replied, and he could hear her chuckling. Thryiss out.
Computer play Mendelssohns Violin Concerto in E minor, Op. 64 Andante.
As the music began flooding the shuttle, Scott relaxed, feeling the strain and fatigue of the last six months drain from his body, the notes bringing him peace, a tranquility he hadnt allowed himself to feel in years. Sitting in the shuttle, Scott thought back to his first assignment out of the Academy, piloting a Type-8 between Luna and Mars, sometimes with VIPs, often alone, listening to music and enjoying the solitude. From the time of the Battle of Vega he hadnt had much time to get in a shuttle, the one place he felt at peace, where he had a calmness he couldnt capture anywhere else.
I wont have a lot of time for this in about 35 hours, so Im going to enjoy this.
After you make Commander, you don't get any free time. There's always someone who you need to talk to, something to sign, somewhere to be. Promotion to Captain makes it worse, because even though you can delegate things to the XO, and the department heads, eventually they all want to tell you about it.
Nowhere is safe.
You can generally catch half an hour in your cabin before someone hasa crisis. You can sometimes scrap together fifteen minutes to stand in the shower before someone sounds a red alert. In an Escort class vessel, even in an Akira, you can't really get away from anyone.
Except for one place.
If you come up through Tactical, you find out all sorts of interesting things about starships that people don't imagine Tactical would need to know about. For example, the nacelle placement on the early Excalibur class was off, and would very occasionally lead to a partial field collapse. Which in turn would lead to a radical attitude change. Warp three, sideways. Heck of a sight.
One of the other things you learn is that there's a very small, but very important, sensor blindspot on the Defiant refit. It's the size of a seated human, and it came about because there's an EPS junction, a shield node and a really important piece of the astrogation system crammed into a space that's big enough for two of the three components. There are a few design compromises on a Defiant. This one makes a patch of hull really hard for the ship's sensors to read properly and, at the same time, very hard to see clearly. It's just behind the Bridge.
I know about it because we were told about it when the refit launched. The likelihood of anyone ever capturing a Defiant class is pretty slim, but on the off chance they do and someone needs to recapture it, you're told about all the potential entrypoints. Tactical training gets very thorough about that sort of thing.
During a quiet weekend at Utopia Planetia, when the Swiftsure was having the forward torpedo tubes replaced, I went looking for that deadspot. I found it, too, and made a very careful note of how long it takes to get there, and get back. The nearest airlock has an equipment locker devoted to my use and secured with a personal code which I'm very nearly certain my own Tactical Officer hasn't broken. I keep a deck chair in it.
When we're in friendly space, usually in orbit, I suit up, grab my deck chair and go sit out on the porch. Then I sit back and watch the world go by.
There are so many people on a Magellan that someone always needs you. There's no where to hide. Even if you ditch your combadge, those crafty scientists will track you down.
That's why there's only one way to really escape and get some solitude. That's why I keep my Delta fueled up and ready to go. My staff know not to bug me when I take her out for a spin, and the Yokohama never lets me down.
In no time at all, I can hit an uncharted system and spend a few hours getting back to my roots: biophysics. Forget warp theory and slipstream technology. The real breakthroughs are going to come from studying the infinite supply of extremophiles that have carved out niches in nearly every conceivable environment.
But as interesting as it is to collect and study organisms that range from single cells swimming in hydrochloric acid to hundred meter tall trees with lava for sap, the real joy comes from being the first to explore strange, new worlds.
And my Delta lets me escape the daily paperwork and remember why I joined Starfleet in the first place.
........The shuffling of crew is the klingon way. Ship captains come and go, live and die. Most garner enough respect from the crew to make it a long career. The few who don't find themselves falling under the judgment of a first officer's bat'leth. The crew of the raptor class I.K.S. Crimson Talon doubted they could respect a non-Klingon captain. But it's hard not to, when he's an eight-foot tall hirogen.
........Dunjir enters the mess hall. Subordinates scatter, allowing him a wide path. He picks up a mug from a table and walks over to the barrel of bloodwine sitting open. He lifts the ladle and fills the mug, ignoring the spillage on the side.
........Todok, the ship's engineer, has been on many ships and has seen many captains come and go. Being an old, scraggly klingon, battle has weathered his body and his soul, scars running from outside in. He sits at a table with four other officers.
........"Nice of you to join us in celebrating our victory," Todok says slurringly, his head swimming in bloodwine.
........Dunjir turns and steps from the barrel. He towers over the table, but stands quietly. The other bridge officers seated with Todok are the seven-foot gorn named Slavec, a smaller gorn named Saraash, a klingon woman named Unris, and an orion enforcer named Madekk. They look around at each other, but say nothing.
........"We wonder sometimes, 'tis all," Todok says, taking the last drink of his bloodwine. He turns up the cup, and then peers at the bottom with one eye clinched. "You took your trophy and disappeared into that...that space in cargo bay two you had me cordon off with targ nets. You were there a long time."
........"That is my trophy room," Dunjir says. "You all may go in and look but do not touch." The hirogen takes a sip of the wine, grimaces slightly, but takes another anyway. "If you disturb any of my trophies, I will replace the damaged item with your carcass." Dunjir turns and exits the mess hall.
........Todok gnaws at the targ's haunchbone. He drops it on his plate and pushes it away from him. He sits for a moment, picking meat from between his teeth. He grunts and then stands, and the other four jump to their feet as well. They hurriedly walk out of the mess hall and make their way to the cargo holds, followed by a mob of crewman. Todok reaches the door to cargo bay two. Before entering, he notices the crowd behind him.
........"Not everyone has to enter," Todok says to the crewman. "Get back to your posts. You can quell your curiosity later."
........A few grumble, but they turn and walk away. Only Todok and four other bridge officers remain. He taps the pad on the side, and the cargo bay's door swishes open. They navigate through the crates, until they approach the targ nets. Todok reaches up and takes hold, but hesitates. He turns to Unris. She growls slightly in displeasure and nods for him to proceed. Todok throws the net aside and they enter.
........They all gasp, even the gorn Slavec. Hanging from the nets and the wall are various skeletons and hides, mostly animals, but a few humanoids. In the center display is the most recent trophy, the tanned hide of an undine tacked to the wall as the main central piece. Todok walks up to it, studying it closely, part in awe, part in disgust.
........"It appears to be coated in something," Todok says. "A preservative perhaps."
........Saraash reaches around Todok to touch it.
........"Fool!" Todok snaps.
........The smaller gorn pulls away, but eyes Todok menacingly.
........"Where is the rest of it?" Unris asks. "The guts, the innards. Where?" She looks around on the floor. "There is a stain, but nothing else."
........"Are you an idiot?" Todok says. "You were in the mess hall. Did you see him leave with any food?"
........Unris drops her gaze, and then jerks her wide eyes back to Todok.
........"Well," Todok says. "If the Undine don't hate us, they will now." He pushes his way through the group and exits the cargo bay. He enters the bridge and eyes Dunjir at the engineer's console. Todok approaches.
........"Give me your report," Dunjir says, stepping back from the console.
........Todok steps up to it, punches some buttons and sighs. "Ship repairs are complete," he says. "We have full impulse and all weapons. Warp engines are back online."
........"Good," Dunjir says.
........"We're ready to leave the area," Todok says. "Per your command, of course."
........"Do it," Dunjir says. "Set a course for Qo'noS."
Lt. Gelon Treya circled slowly to the right. Admiral Jarek Amrstrong mirrored her actions keeping himself opposite her in the sparring circle.
Both were already slick with sweat, though the Admiral seemed the more winded noted Treya with some satisfaction. She winced as her smile made her cheek ache. It was swollen where the Admiral had landed a solid backhanded riposte to her wide swing.
Blood was trickling into his eyes from where she had split his right eyebrow. She had offered to stop the match then and there so the Admiral could seek treatment but he had just wiped the back of his right hand across the wound and licked the blood, nodding to her with respect before they continued.
He was at least twice her weight, dressed in black exercise pants and a matching short-sleeved shirt, and barefoot. She wore a tight red crop-top and knee-length shorts. Also barefoot, she shifted her weight to her uninjured ankle, the other already swelling and turning a sickly blue-black.
The Admiral seemed to be dropping his left arm, favoring the shoulder. She could not stop her eyes from narrowing at this. Her knife hand technique had been more effective than he had originally let on. He should be proud, after all he had taught her the maneuver after she had transferred onboard and taken her place as his Chief of Security.
She feinted towards the favored arm and he predictably drew back. She dropped low and swung her leg out to sweep his ankle while he was off-balance. The Admiral recovered more quickly than she had expected but rather than dodge her sweep, he set the leg in place as though it had grown roots. Her heel smacked into his shin and stopped. She gasped in pain as the shiver ran up her leg. He brought his other leg up to stomp downward at her but she dropped completely to the ground and rolled back out of the way.
He did not stop however. Advancing on her, the heel of his palm struck her in the center of the chest just as she came back to her feet. She stumbled back and he landed a fierce chop to the right side of her neck. Pulsing black dots swam in her vision and she regained her footing and struck a defiant pose.
Sweat dripped off her nose ridges and her tongue gently probed where she had bit the inside of her cheek. She spit blood from the side of her mouth, not looking away from him. Clever old tokka, she thought to herself. Not nearly so winded or hurt as she had thought. He had drawn her in and then pressed the advantage. She couldnt help but be a little impressed.
She took an unsteady step and realized that her balance was off, finally registering the ringing in her ears. Her lip twisted in a snarl and she willed her eyes to focus, but they would not. The entire room spun and the sparring mat rose up to meet her.
Lt. Gelon awoke to the familiar sounds and smells of Sick Bay. She turned her head, painfully, to one side and saw Dr. Bennet moving a hand scanner over her. Dr. Bennet had a disapproving look on her face. At times like this she reminded Treya of her own mother.
Treya tried to sit up but collapsed back with a groan. The room spun and she felt the cool metal of a hypospray pushed into the side of her neck and the hiss as it dispensed medication into her bloodstream. She immediately felt better and the room stopped spinning.
Better? asked Dr. Bennet. Treya nodded weakly. I should leave you a nice scar to remember this foolishness by, huffed Dr. Bennet. Ill add it to the set, mumbled Treya, drawing a finger pointedly down the deep scar that ran the length of the left side of her face. Gelon Treya was no stranger to pain, no Bajoran was.
Abashed, Dr. Bennet flushed slightly, pursed her lips and moved to her other patient.
Treya turned her head and saw Admiral Armstrong sitting on the edge of the next medical bay. He had removed his shirt and she saw the patchwork of old healed scars across his torso. Numerous fresh bruises stood out lividly against his pale skin. He had an osteogenic regenerator on his right side. The corner of her mouth quirked up at the memory of the flurry of jabs she had applied to exactly that spot early in their match.
Dr. Bennet was moving a bone regenerator over his left shoulder and part of his neck. Noticing her gaze, the Admirals eyes flicked to where the doctor was working, You fractured my collarbone with that knife hand. Her eyes narrowed in amusement. Im going to have to more careful what I teach you!
Dont you dare! You need me at my best out there in the field. I need every trick you can teach me! Treya teased, but her smile betrayed more affection than anger.
Dr. Bennet huffed, annoyance furrowing her brow. I thought we were done with this. I have enough real patients without you two breaking each other in half every week or two!
Feigning an innocent expression, the admiral raised himself up, But youre the one who keeps saying we dont spend enough time together anymore, Karisa! That got a small smile out of her as she continued to work the regenerator over his shoulder. "I meant in a non-professional capacity, Jarek," the doctor responded coyly, eliciting a slight blush from the admiral.
This over-armed broom closet has no recreational facilities, no holodeck, not even a real gymnasium! How else is an active person expected to work out his frustrations and get a little exercise? The admiral swept his free arm out to encompass the room, though he obviously meant the whole ship. It was true, tactical escorts had a premium of space, especially refits like the Adamant. The only thing they didnt lack for was firepower.
Dr. Bennet moved to stand between Treya and the admiral, This no holds barred sparring has got to stop. Im done patching you up. As Chief Medical Officer, thats an order!
Treyas eyes found the admirals. She knew he was thinking the same as her. As soon as she got out of her, shed replicate up some padded headgear, sparring gloves and tunics for the both of them. It wouldnt be as fun but there was no way they were giving up their weekly matches. It was the only respite they had from this damn war.
His life was a field of sunflowers turning toward a violet sunset. At least it was whenever it could be; infrequent was the downtime an alien part of Julian's psyche so desperately required. Maybe he wasn't ready for the joining that was essentially thrust upon him, because all too often there was no sunset.
The simulation before him continued to play out, a discourse on the state as conducted by Plato in his classically designed academy. Julian had looked around earlier, spotting Ptolemy, Machiavelli, Qin Shi Huang, and other great human philosophers and politicians. The program was downloaded from Earth Space Dock's educational library, though he suspected the academy was fashioned after the Parisian interpretation of Plato's desgin than Plato's own work.
"Computer, end program," Julian called into nothingness. He rubbed his head. The Julian-host was a scholar. He studied history and philosophy. The symbiote was not, carrying with it the memories of a tragically violent past. None of the others would have been interested in this garbage.
Except it's fascinating, Julian told himself. He wasn't sure anymore. He sat on the chair the station computer was kind enough to leave for him and let his mind remain empty.
"What is that ambient noise, computer?"
The soothing female voice common to all Starfleet vessels cut through the air. "The EPS conduits and warp core aboard this station emit a sound frequency audible to Trill between eighteen-point-two and eighteen-point-seven hertz."
"Can you drown it out, please?"
And it went silent. All that remained was the yellow grid pattern of the holodeck wall.
"Compter, remove all light, please."
And it went dark.
Julian took a deep breath and felt his heart take an extra beat. Shocked by the rush of oxygen, it began pumping faster, invigorating his system. Vast rivers of life coursed through him, devoid of cognition but fulfilling function. He took another, but his body had adapted and his heart rate slowed. He had an impulse to find a jumja stick, but it wasn't his.
Julain closed his eyes and tried to imagine happiness. He saw a Breen cruiser burning in space. Eyes open, deep breath, eyes closed. This time an Orion pirate ship. He was still a Lieutenant then, struggling to make his god-awful third-rate ship work for him. Work for the crew.
Eyes open, then closed. Then open. It was all the same.
He heard the door open behind him. It remained dark, the computer doing an excellent job with its programming.
"Captain?" The voice was familiar. He backtracked through memory to find it. His second officer.
"Computer, end program." The familiar holodeck pattern re-emerged. Julian stood, his chair disappearing, and turned to face the Lieutenant Commander. The blue skin shocked him after being so long in the dark.
"Not too many people use the privacy setting in the holodecks anymore, sir."
"That's right." Julian paused. "Well?"
She stood up straight and reported. "Commander Velaran has prepared his combat readiness report, sir. Also, our crew was reinforced, though we are still awaiting the arrival of our replacement medical officer and ammunition replenishment."
It must have been halfway through the report that Julian noticed his anxiety was diminished. His anxiety? No, not his. It was now obvious that this symbiote was too powerful for him. Or maybe the reason for this symbiote was too powerful? Before the end of the speech he decided to turn his life over to it. Perhaps it was already gone, that this last choice was some illusion concocted by the parasite in his gut to take control. It didn't matter. Ergo cogito sum, where thinking brings you nothing but pain. He killed himself before her next sentence.
"We expect to be fully ready for combat operations by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Commander. Return to your duties, I'll be on the bridge shortly."
The Bolian turned to leave, and Julian resolved to find a jumja stick.
........Everyone is afraid to say it now, it's like walking on photonic eggshells. Who are we to play gods? This is very understandable, & quite agreeable, however limiting & perturbing it may be.
........With the heated debate sparked by notable members of the federation who are now "acknowledged" as sentient life-forms such as Data, Dr. Van Gogh, & others, it has been decreed that all holodecks are not be used. Temporary protocol now mandates that ships holodecks should be placed in standby &/or diagnostic mode indefinitely; the latter is usually reserved for science vessels who intend to aid in the ongoing research project to see if these occurrences are more than just random anomalies.
........Under no circumstances are any holodecks, EMH or similar holo-programs to be used, & they are not to be activated until Starfleet can determine the cause of the unique awareness-giving nature of certain phrasing fed to the programming subroutines. Much investigation involving the moral implications surrounding this subject on the whole is also in dispute, concerning & involving both artificial & actual sentient races. Still, for some reason I swing by one of the ships holodecks from time to time. I find comfort in the quiet solitude I can find nowhere else, even in my quarters. It is the one place nobody else on the ship will go, where very few know where to look for me.
........3 of the 4 holodecks have been temporarily converted into alternative pastime areas such as study halls & entertainment hubs like gymnasiums, game rooms & one is now even an arboretum. It is efficient, & an attractive initiative to many who may tend to over-use the holodeck. It is becoming a bit of a setback, though; that much is collectively agreed upon. I ordered this particular holodeck, suite #4, to be left as-is for "emergency space" for cargo or... passengers or... whatever the hell I can think of. No, were not going to need it; thats exactly what the motivation for it is, & I would venture a guess that every single member of my senior staff has already figured that out.
........I found myself coming back to that holodeck often. Eventually, I even began to dare to bend the rules. There cant possibly be restrictions on a little scenery.
I started with a plain white room, like a blank page; no visible walls or corners. Somehow though, I could still sense the walls being little more than a stones throw away. A stone
I grew bolder still. Inanimate objects cannot possibly become sentient now can they?
........I dwelled for a brief moment on the exocomps, but quickly dismissed the thought surmising that a stone would need some sort of computer circuitry to become alive, & much more than that to become sentient. So I dared; I synthesized a holographic stone, & threw it at the wall. The shrill pulverizing noise from the impact made me cringe; the resulting shock wave sent a light tingle down my spine, as well as a photonic ripple across the grid, now visibly phasing in & out until the waves finally subsided.
........I then had the notion to do what few people think of as a necessary addition to holodecks: I set the illusion parameters to allow moving objects to render past the wall as if it werent there. The issue here being that a person could easily injure or at the very least humiliate themselves by sudden unintentional contact with the wall. To avoid this, I added a subtle alarm that would sound if organic matter were to come too close to the holodecks border.
........Throwing stones into a pale oblivion was still not my idea of relaxation. I further disobeyed the new protocols & conjured up a meager pond in which to skip what was now a substantial pile of stones that I had been summoning to my side. Time began to hurry past, & at last I was at ease with little more than the white noise of the warp core & impulse engines in the background. The pond grew to a lake, & the white room became a boundless Zen garden the likes of which the Jade Emperor would have given an entire lifetime of spoils just to lay eyes upon.
........Yes, this would certainly bring about some spiteful consequences & more than a few carefully prepared lectures, perhaps even a reprimand. But what are they going to do, revoke my commission? Starfleet NEEDS captains, & captains like all crew need a reprieve, albeit a little more often perhaps; though we'll never get as much shore leave as the crew, lucky scrubs as they are. The stress of the job can get under our skin easier than the average duty officer may realize, though many tend to shrug it off easily with distractions such as the holodeck, & conversations with their friends... long ago I was assimilated, & already I had felt alienated by my own people. Now, having crossed over to the proverbial other side, a pandemonium of thoughts; & been fortunate enough to return... I am just not yet ready to re-integrate myself with the social web, therefore I dont have either of those luxuries.
........They so covet the pole position, yet they dont realize that it is lonely at the top, & the breeze causes one to teeter atop a very frail pedestal. The fall can be devastating, but there are always helping hands to guide you weather you want them to or not, be they human or the simple advantage of having a soft landing spot somewhere below. Weather you hit it or not... well that is left for fate to decide. Oh yes, luck has more of a part to play in skill than many would care to admit. I just so happen to have the benefit of having seen more than one outcome of circumstances many would consider impossible to survive. My own experiences among them, I now believe that if providence indeed has a will of its own, it is on our side.
Today we start the slightly belated two-week run of the fourth Lit Challenge: Passing Grades
Remember that one test in exobiology you fretted over so bad you couldn't keep food down? The time your Drill Officer told you to kill that wild Targ with your bare hands if you were stupid enough to lose your weapon? Tell us about your captains hardest challange before they passed their academy years and were allowed to wear the uniform of the fleet!
This is the writer's thread.
The Discussion Thread can be found HERE.
We also have an index page of stories HERE.
The rules may change from one to the other, but I'd like to give a quick recap each time. These may grow as we move on, so feel free to also give feedback!
Each Challenge will run for two weeks. For 2 weeks we will sticky a subject and have at it.
There are no right or wrong entries. If you write 500 words of 3000: Write what inspired you and what your thoughts on the topic are - with one tiny mention:
Please heed the rest of the forums' rules when submitting your story!
Each poster can have one entry per character. Feel free to edit you post however to fix typos, add stuff or remove stuff as you see fit during the next two weeks.
After two weeks time, the thread will be locked and unstickied. If you wish to write on this topic after this time, there will be a place for this in the "Latecomer" thread.
We'll have two threads: One to post the stories, one to discuss the stories. *I will allow cross-linking between these two threads!!*
I will index your story by name and title (if you have one) for future reference.
It was almost embarrassing for him to see Armin Merrick typed into the header. The paper was probably his worst, containing factual errors, poor syntax and an argument so poorly constructed it is impossbile to conceive the writer's mental state.
And yet, a printed form of it sat framed on his personal desk in his ready room. The paper was a reminder, nay, a testament to his youthful arrogance. Armin was a young man at the academy, easily four years ahead of the average human. He thought he knew everything, coming from a colony world where he learned to maintain the large agricultural equipment. Starfleet was a passing whim back then.
But then something changed in him. He realized he would be stuck on that stupid colony forever if he didn't escape. He passed the entrance exams with flying colors, aced his first semester and became involved in a plethora of girls that ranged in color across the spectrum. Until the second semester when one of those girls convinced him to take LIT 3237D, Literature Across the Species. The tragic origins of this paper originated here, and its purpose was the comparison of the protagonists in Va Bolyn's Unto the Valeran Gap and Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. At least it was meant to be. Armin to this day couldn't finish reading it.
The class itself was a level of boredom Armin had never experienced before. He came from a colony coming just off the precipice of terraformation. There was always something to learn, or plant, or run away from while sneaking through the woods as a child. While that thing you were running away from was just a noise your older sister made, the sounds of his Bolian professor reading off the syllabus were equally as frightening and proved more deadly. Armin had even wondered if the mind-controlling aliens that infiltrated Starfleet Academy so many years ago - he had heard of this story through some of the groundskeepers - still maintatined a presence in Professor Dalen Broht.
Armin used the paper, replicated by Professor Broht only so he could scrawl a giant 'F' across every page in red ink, as a tool for humility. He knew he took his crew's expertise for granted. There were times he didn't care. Those were the times when he looked at the four red letters staring at him from his desk. He would listen to his officers and even reconsider his own tactical appraisals. It would remind him that he wasn't the best captain in the fleet like he wasn't the best student at the Academy.
But perhaps the best lover, as all those women may attest...
But, Father i dont want to be a starfleet officer to legitimize your packaging us off and leaving the Empire.
Get up get yourself dress and march your "**" off to the recruiter.. and give them this Letter of Recommendation..At Once!
Yes, father but who is this Drake. why should some snake known father and want to lend a hand.. I cant even Roll Kirk off my
new language tongue. and besides they all dress funny. Im not wearing some bland unflattering jumpsuit.. Not Me
Not The Daughter of the House Batavian. Foul evil Vulcan Logic..changing the power base.. destroying my destiny.
Yeah yeah Natelle that what my Last Classmate told me.. Before i turned her in for cheating.. So gonna "help me with our homework/" Or wink not? You just cant have any old Romulan being accepted as a cadet now can we..
Yeah know being an upper class man looks easy..So im specializing in cultural XenoBiology...You can be my First MAte and walk 3 step behind me.Nod yell at the crewand they will still love me.. See good Cop Bad cop is the oldest management tool we have.. To keep the brickenberrack in line. I'll pass you on Engineering Lab and that Jump suit you like..What ya.. say?
Knock knock
Yes Cadet?
Cadet Prentice wishes to Discuss the Assigne study Buddies
Cadet are you questioning the class process?
Yes TAC Finn I am.
Dismissed.
But
Get out.
? Well that's just dandy..
Dear Commandant SFA. SOL
CC: CSFO ESD 1
CCC: Ambassador Services Tellerita Consul General
CCCC: JL Prd Esquire,
Dear Sir I wish to be a wine maker please get me out of this blasted academy.
Dear Diary Day 3 of Heck Week.. How I so hate the Low e Grav Combat.. Im a Scientist not a Space Marine..
2 demerits for spontaneous muscle memory strikes in the lower regions of that spare partner..Men..wearign pointed grav boots that fit and look stylish..checks TAC Finn of holiday list.. Checks Chaplain's kit for crib sheets..nope.
Me Command of this Nova yeah that's me! How? I reprogram the Key and got a 2.0 enough to clear the compulsories off my syllabus.I actually got past TRill Life accepted transfer credits and that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
........There are jungle sounds, jungle smells, heat and humidity, all throughout the bio-dome. A wild animal screeches and runs through the brush unseen. Winged pteryxipods fly overhead, their scaly necks ending in teethy beaks and feathery heads.
........A frond to a large fern is gently pulled down, revealing the eyes of a jem'hadar. His skin is thick and rubbery and colored a muddy gray. Spiked bone portrudes around his crown and his chin. His eyes are sharp and his hearing acute. As he absorbs the stimuli of this environment, his movements are subtle and deliberate. He hears something ahead. He slowly lifts the frond back in place and then freezes.
........In the distance is an ever-so-slight brushing against the flora. To any ordinary humanoid, the sound would be drowned out by all other noise. But to the jem'hadar, it is a gong announcing the encroachment of an enemy. After a few minutes, the source of the sound emerges from the brush.
........A boy. A hirogen boy. The armor and helmet he wears is a dark blue-gray color. It would normally be easy to spot, but as the boy moves, the armor absorbs the light and reflects it in such a way as to blend the boy into the background.
........The boy is the same height as the jem'hadar, six feet, but more slim. The jem'hadar smirks. He keeps his eyes fixed on his prey and reaches down slowly and surely, pulling a knife from a sheath on his belt.
........A slight brushing sound off to the side catches his attention. His head jerks in the direction of the sound and then back to the spot where the hirogen boy stood. Nothing. The boy is gone.
........The jem'hadar strains his eyes, looking for the sliver of blue-gray. He looks in the light, in the shadows, under the greenery, low and high. Nothing.
........Panic sets in, compounded by the anxiety of withdrawal from the White serum. The jem'hadar fights to hold his breath and remain motionless. The sound of a brush against the frond in front of him raises his alarm. He screams and leaps forward.
........The hirogen drops and rolls, and the jem'hadar leaps over him. The jem'hadar lands and turns as the hirogen jumps to his feet. The hirogen raises the tetryon pulse rifle, and the jem'hadar stops, but holds the knife poised for striking.
........"Aim the rifle at his core, not his legs," a soft feminine voice sounds from the brush.
........The boy raises the aim of the rifle.
........A tall female hirogen, about seven feet, steps from the brush into the small opening. She has a flat, smooth chest with a muscular, bulky build, though more slender than her male counterpart. Her armor is thinner than the hunter's armor, and is copper red, signifying her status as both female and supervisor. Her helmet is the same as a hunter's, but is also copper red. Her skin is scaly and reddish orange. As she moves, the chameleon effect blends her into the background.
........"Don't hesitate," she says. "Your prey is armed and dangerous." She places a hand on the boy's shoulder, and then steps off to the side.
........The jem'hadar watches her closely, snarling to show the white of his teeth. The hirogen boy fumbles slightly with the rifle, keeping it aimed at the jem'hadar's chest. A withdrawal pain hits the neck of the jem'hadar, forcing him to wince and reach up to grasp the side.
........The trainee looks at the supervisor.
........"Eyes on the prey at all times," she says gently. "Don't give your prey any opportunity to escape or counterstrike."
........The boy returns his focus to the jem'hadar. The pain subsides, and the jem'hadar becomes agitated. He leaps towards the supervisor, swinging the knife downwards. She catches him, grabbing his knife hand with her hand, and then grasping his throat with her other hand. The jem'hadar flexes and pushes, forcing the supervisor's foot to dig into the earth. He manages to push her back several inches. Then she flexes and lifts him off the ground, tossing him on his back a couple of meters away. He groans in pain, but jumps to his feet. The jem'hadar then growls, turns to the boy and leaps. A tetryon blast slams the jem'hadar's chest. He falls face first to the earth.
........The supervisor walks over to the body. She lifts up his head and turns his face to her. She then raises his eyelids to look into his eyes. She lets go, and the jem'hadar's head plops back down.
........"Dead," she says. "One shot kill. That places you above your peers, Dunjir." The supervisor stands and smilingly motions for the boy to approach the jem'hadar's dead body. "You also waited to shoot him in the chest, face-to-face, instead of shooting him in the back. That earns you the alpha grade, to be just like your father, Sanjurid." She squats next to the body and motions him to do the same. He complies. "But you did learn one lesson, didn't you?"
........The hirogen boy looks at her with his brow scrunched.
........"You hesitated," she continues. "You showed him a moment of mercy. You gave him the opportunity to surrender. But he didn't, did he?"
........He shakes his head no.
........"Why do you think?" She asks.
........Dunjir shrugs.
........The supervisor sighs. She then looks the boy in his eyes sharply. He acknowledges the unspoken gesture of reproval with a nod.
........"He saw it as a weakness, a vulnerability worth exploiting," the supervisor continues. "He could have thrown his weapon down, knelt and surrendered. He didn't, though, did he? No. He asserted himself to dominate, because that is his nature. That is the nature of all prey worthy of the hunt." She pulls a knife from a sheath attached to her thigh. "We do not hunt prey that surrenders. There is no glory in that, no honor, no valor. We hunt for the kind of prey that would be the dominant species if we did not exist. We dominate, so that we're not prey." She hands Dunjir the knife. "Retrieve the skull. Your father will want to see proof of your success."
Thinking back to the Academy, I cant help remember how difficult it had been for me. I excelled in all my courses, and got along well with all of my instructors. The social aspects gave me the most difficulty. I was a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by dozen of species from a hundred different worlds. Vulcans and their logic; Tellarites and their antagonism; Rigelians and their Spirits; Bajorans and their religion; and the humans It was strange. It was wonderful. And there were no Borg.
On Tobarrus, we traded with a handful of neighbors. They supported our guerilla war against the Borg with food, fuel, and hiding places. In return, we provided protection and in a few rare instances, search and rescue operations when a member of the ruling clan was assimilated. Our actions dictated the fate of dozens of worlds with each and every encounter with the Borg. When a Tobarrii made a mistake, millions of people suffered for it. Yet, our neighbors continued to support our efforts, despite the fact that we even kept the location of the Tobarrii home world secret.
At the Academy, I felt like a curiosity; a spectacle for all to see. Who was this alien that day after day fought the Borg in a faraway quadrant of the galaxy? People would stare and point. If I had understood the Federation better, I would have leveraged my fame to my advantage. Instead, my classmates would approach me and ask a few harmless questions. However, Tobarrii do not share sensitive and private information with strangers. It isolated me even further.
I didnt make any friends until my final year at the Academy. By that time, I understood my classmates better. I had learned the proper etiquette for speaking with a Tellarite; that asking a Vulcan how theyre feeling will always end up in a lecture about something dull and boring; that you dont discuss religion or politics with humans; and so much more. My favorite courses at the Academy were Anthropology and sociology. Ive taken them up as a hobby, since then. In fact, I have made it a point to have one of the most diverse crews in Starfleet, just so I can learn more about their cultures and societies.
...This shouldnt be that tough, he thought to himself. If I can survive Starfleets advanced tactical training course then what is escape from an Undine facility compared to that?
...The words sounded hollow as they echoed round his weary mind. Tanar had already overcome the first hurdle at least. The over confident guard had given his chains far too much slack, and to Tanars surprise, the snapping of an Undines neck was not as difficult as he had imagined.
...As a Starfleet officer he abhorred the idea of taking anothers life. Starfleet has taught him to respect all life. As a Cardassian, his people had taught him that sometimes taking a life is the only way to preserve ones own.
...He blocked the twinge of guilt that rattled around the back of his mind, grabbing at his morality through the prison bars of his resolve; he had a job to do, and now was not the time for regrets. An Undine infiltrator was now in command of his ship, for god knows what purpose. He had to save them.
...Back aboard the Relentless, the creature that wore his face walked into the Admirals ready room. So far everything had gone exactly to plan but there was no room for complacency. The telepathic scan he had performed on the inferior life form had yielded much, coupled with the logs they had retrieved from Starfleets central database, but he must know and understand the one he now acts as.
...Computer, he said, his voice pattern perfect in every detail, show me all secure logs for Tanar, Elim, Vice Admiral. ...Please state security clearance. chirped the female voice. ...Tanar, Pi, alpha, one, one, three, alpha. he replied sharply. ...Security clearance verified; accessing records. The data began to scroll across the screen. Personal logs were never uploaded to the central database, and as yet they had little access to who he was. The smallest detail would be crucial to know if their mission was to succeed.
...A faint sense of danger crossed the creatures mind. The creature focused its thoughts but the sense was lost. It carried on looking through the records. For some reason one jumped out at it. Computer stop, play file index forty seven. ...The image of Tanar stared back at him, much younger than the face it bore.
...Todays been a tough day. Our instructor had us flown to Vulcan on a transport no larger than this room. We were packed in like Ferengi round a Dabo table, no food, no sleep. I quite enjoyed the heat although Mckenzie was nearly sick over Hoskins. One more hour and it would have been a mess. The young Cardassian chuckled to himself. The imposter watched his facial muscles intently.
...Once there they unloaded us, strapped fifty kilogram back packs on us and told us to march across some Vulcan Desert. I head one of the guys say it was called the Forge or something? I don't know. Three hours we marched, three hours, My legs were killing me. Our instructor was a Vulcan, Commander Suran. He kept a brisk pace the whole time. We must have lost a third of the squad after an hour. Mckenzie was hurt pretty bad in one of the electrical sandstorms, I hope he okay. Doc says he should be but it was pretty scary. Only three of us made it to the finish line, me, a Vulcan and a Hologram although he nearly lost his mobile emitter once or twice. I felt like I was about to die by the time I got to the end. Ive lost more weight that I knew I had, my feet look more like giant blisters, and my eyes are still stinging from the sandstorms. No wonder half the class washes out every year, but that wont be me. despite the pain, and the dehydration, I loved every minute of it. Heck Im not even an officer yet, most of the class are ten years older than me. I shouldnt even be here yet but I am, and I intend to make the most of it. Ill be the best ensign Starfleet has ever seen.
...The log came to an end. The image of a young, brash and confident young man lay frozen on the screen. The Undine chewed his genetically altered Cardassian lip. Another wave of danger crossed its mind, then a flash of determination. The residual telepathic link it has used to probe the Cardassians mind was still in place, even across realities. Tanar was a fighter, survivor and right now it knew he was no longer a prisoner.
...The Undine found itself displaying a curious side effect of being a bipedal creature as it began cursing in its stolen language.
"I'm telling you, he'll be here!" she whispered emphatically, as her pale, blue-skinned hand grasped his, squeezing reassuringly.
Smiling at her earnestness, he shook his head slightly and replied, "I know you're trying to help, Tala, but, really, I'm not worried about whether he shows up, I'm just trying to not pass out in front of all this brass!"
His mind, however, warred against the words, even as he spoke them, because it did matter to him. Today was the day... His final, major test, before graduation from Starfleet Academy, the delivery of his dissertation to qualify for completion of Command School. As if completion and submission of the lengthy dissertation were not enough, a portion of the grade hinged upon its delivery, in front of a veritable sea of command pips, medals, and campaign ribbons, seemingly pinned to every, otherwise-unadorned scrap of cloth that covered the assembled officers of the General Staff, in attendance from nearby Starfleet Command.
It was not the legion of Starfleet officers that fueled his angst, however, but the glaring absence of one, specific individual, that threw his soul into torment. He and his father had not spoken, in person, since the day that he left for the Academy; their only communications had been terse, merely informative notes, advising each other as to their health and welfare, always with a civil, though frosty, veneer.
His father... Eugene Marshall... Well-known Federation Councilmember and part of President Bako's inner circle... His father who had never approved of his decision to enter Starfleet, believing that it would be better if he followed the carefully-crafted path that had been arranged for him... Enrollment in the best prep schools, followed by admission to Harvard University... A cozy position as an aide to one of Earth's Representatives to the Federation's General Assembly... Ultimately, following in his father's footsteps as a Councilmember... Every detail was planned with meticulous deliberation... Except for one... He had little (if any) desire to follow in his father's footsteps, seeing the cutthroat nature of political machinations from the inside, he preferred a path that would, hopefully, serve a more noble purpose; hence, his enlistment in Starfleet, despite an angry protest by his father.
Since that day, despite impressive marks in every class, discipline, and study at the Academy, he had never received a word of commendation or approval from his father. Most days, it did not bother him, as he had made his choice and was going to abide by it, regardless of the consequences or opinions of those around him. Today, however, the weight of expectations was driving his mind to the edge of despair, as he realized how desperately he craved a healing of that rift between him and his father, and further began to realize how much it had motivated his efforts in the past four years.
As if sensing his thoughts, the young, Andorian woman brought her hand up to his face and traced several, slender fingers along the sharp contour of his jaw, "You're not listening to me, Ben, I'm telling you, he will be here!" As she saw him give her a wistful glance and a half-smile, she continued, "Your father is not going to miss the most important presentation that you'll ever make at the Academy! You are going to graduate first in your class and I'm telling you, he is going to be here for this." The fingers tracing his jawline gently pulled his face down to hers and she emphasized her final words with a tender kiss.
A genuine smile creased his face as he looked down at her, "Well, whether he's here or not, I'm definitely going to go make you proud, at the very least." Even as he finished speaking, however, the smile faded to the same, pensive look that his face sported earlier, belying the turmoil that had his insides in open rebellion.
"He'll be here," she whispered again, seeming to sense his inner conflict, "Now, go out there, and show them that your father isn't the only Marshall that will be a star."
Chuckling quietly, he embraced her briefly, then stepped away from her and toward the curtain at the back of the stage. Taking a deep breath and consciously trying to will his emotions into balance, he pushed through the curtain and stepped out onto the stage, as the Academy Commandant finished his introduction.
Striding to the podium with a confidence that he did not truly feel, he shook the Commandant's hand and thanked him for the introduction. A smile and quietly-whispered, "Good luck, Ben" did little to alleviate the nervousness that he felt.
Looking out at the assembled officers and public officials, time seemed to slow as he pondered the future. This dissertation was but a tiny ripple in the pond of his life, but it would touch the lives of all those gathered here, many of whom would be his superiors in Starfleet, after graduation; as such, it took on a certain gravity that both amplified his personal nervousness, yet also helped him to steel his motivation to give an exemplary presentation.
As his eyes wandered over the crowd, he tried to block out his recognition of specific, high-ranking attendees, though, naturally, it was difficult to ignore Admiral Quinn and his personal staff. When the Commander-in-Chief, Starfleet, attends a function, it is nearly impossible to ignore. Looking away from the Admiral, to avoid adding to his anxiety, his gaze swiftly passed over the remainder of the crowd when, suddenly, his eyes locked on a stocky, white-haired man standing near the back of the auditorium.
Flanked on one side by his omni-present aide, a Vulcan female, on the other by his Rigelian bodyguard; and dressed in an immaculately-tailored suit, stood his father. His pale, blue eyes met the stare of his father's stone-gray eyes, and time stopped.
A thousand conflicting emotions raced through his mind, ranging from terrible frustration to unbridled elation. His face, remarkably, remained composed, despite the internal rollercoaster ride that he was experiencing. For a moment, all that passed between he and his father was the impassive stare that they shared. With a brief, barely-perceptible nod of his father's head, however, his nervousness vanished, replaced with a firm determination to validate his choice, made four years previous.
At the thought of the smirk with which Tala would tell him, "I told you he'd be here," a wry smile set itself upon his face. Acknowledging his father's nod with a slight nod of his own, he took a deep breath and began his dissertation.
Sullenly, the Cadet entered the turbolift. Stares and occasional glares followed him. His proud brow ridges and dark complexion stood out even among the other species aboard the Relentless. When the mighty Klingon empire broke from the Federation, his House had opted to stay. What his House received was far from what it expected and much, much less than it deserved. Now, however, it was impossible to return to the Empire and so as a young warrior he had no choice but to enroll in Starfleet.
Captains Ready Room, he instructed the computer noting that two other occupants exited the turbolift when he entered.
Alone, he thought, Yes, I prefer to be alone. A warrior must rely upon no one but himself. I can withstand your civilized shunning. I am Klingon. His mantra was interrupted by the opening of the turbolift door. Facing him was a towering form, glaring at him with flaring nostrils. The form was almost a reflection of what he had once hoped to become. Drawing himself up to full height, he snapped off a salute and crisp, Commander Disok, Sir!
His fellow Klingon stared at him even harder, waves of contempt rippled off the Commander as a returned the salute and snarled, Cadet Guktak. The Admiral will see you now. I assure you he has been fully briefed on your performance. Dismissed.
With every fibre of his being, Guktak hated the Commander. To think, this.. this qoH was once one of my heroes. How harsh the reality.
Cadet Guktak approached the door to the Admirals Ready Room. No guards, he thought, on a Klingon ship there would be guards.
The door chimed and a firm voice rang out Enter.
Admiral Sheppards Ready Room was a Spartan affair. From what Cadet Guktak understood of the standard accommodation of Defiant Refits, the Admiral had made exactly 4 changes to the standard décor: 2 model starships and 2 piles of latinum that, based on their sheer size, were fakes. They couldnt be real, Guktak told himself, otherwise the Admiral would own several planets. Why would he be in Starfleet? His musings where interrupted by a delicate cough.
Cadet Guktak belatedly snapped to attention. Sir, Admiral Sheppard. Sir! This response was met with a decidedly uncomfortable noise from the Admiral. It sounded suspiciously like Hmmmmmm?
The Admiral acknowledged the Cadet and gestured to a chair opposite his desk. Be seated Cadet Guktak.
His refused of I would prefer to stand, Sir was rebuffed by a pointed gesture and a stern look that brooked no argument. It was clear. You. Chair. Now. Guktak obeyed.
Guktak seated himself as if he were asked to rest upon a bed of coals. As he did so the Admiral arose and began to stroll around the room, gently testing for dust and caressing objects at random.
Do you know why I volunteered the Relentless to accept Academy Cadets Mister Guktak?
No, Sir. That is your decision and right. Not mine.
True enough, the Admiral paused and faced Guktak, but a little questioning and curiosity can be instructive every now and then done appropriately, of course. I volunteered the Relentless to accept Academy Cadets, Mister Guktak, for two reasons. First, I received my first commission as battlefield promotion. Accordingly, I place great stock in real experience and real events. Secondly, I am always scouting for new talent for my rosters. However, I only accept on rotation Cadets that my officers have personally vouched for. Do you know who vouched for you?
No Sir. I assumed it was Commander Disok or Commander Vulkrath.
So you assume my Klingon officers recommended you to me. Well, you assumed wrong Cadet. Commanders Disok and Vulkrath had never heard of you before your rotation here. I think your assumption is a hint at something we will get to shortly.
Guktak was confused. This whole disciplinary hearing was not going at all as he expected. Sir?
Perhaps it is time for that questioning and curiosity I mentioned. You may speak freely. Admiral Sheppard took in the perplexed look of his charge, Go on, give it a try.
Sir, I was of the view that this was a disciplinary hearing. Is it?
The Admiral moved over to his desk and leaned against it. Yes, he replied very solemnly, but it is not going to be like you expected and it is going to be tough. How you handle it will determine whether or not I recommend you see out your rotation or send you back to the academy for further evaluation.
I see had barely escaped Guktaks lips before he was cut off by the Admiral.
No. No you dont and thats the heart of the problem, Cadet. Here is my challenge to you. You listen to me until I am done. I will ask you one question as I go. Then at the end you get one more question of me. After that you get 12 hours off duty and then you return here. When you come back, what you say will determine your future. This isnt a take it or leave it deal. You take it or you are on a shuttle to Earth in five minutes. Are you determined enough to take me up on this challenge?
Guktak bristled, a warrior never refuses a challenge. The Admirals smile revealed that Guktak had just been tricked, and rather simply too. Silently Guktak cursed himself.
Glad to see. Glad. The Admiral clapped Guktak on the shoulder in a way that he found highly irritating.
To get started, I have some light reading to help frame all this. I want you to examine this PADD. There are two files on it and you may take both with you when you leave to help you in the next 12 hours. One is redacted for the moment. Take a quick look and give me your first thoughts.
Guktak looked down at what he was sure would be Commander Disoks incident report. Instead Guktak was confronted with his own detailed Starfleet Academy record in all its checkered glory. He thumbed to the other record. Names and dates were redacted but it too was a detailed and highly colourful Starfleet Academy record. Guktak was unsure as to why he was given the two files. The Admiral looked on expectantly and clearly was looking forward to Guktaks response. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes before he could form some response.
Admiral, these records both appear to indicate that their owners have a very similar pattern. It was not what he should have said but similar pattern was all he could choke out. He ought to have said failed or struggled or perhaps even inconsistent performance. He ought to have said any of these but his Klingon pride would not let him.
The Admiral spoke again. That is most kind of you, Mr Guktak. Very diplomatic. It might surprise you to learn that the redacted record is my own from the exact point in my career that you are now at. Let me remove those data block for you And with that the Admiral casually reached into Guktaks personal space and tapped the PADD. Again Guktak flared with annoyance but it quickly melted as the PADD now indicated that the record was that of Admiral Markus Sheppard... then Cadet Sheppard.
Cadet, I believe that the similarities in our records have a similar cause. Now if I am right, you are at a fork in your life. I stand before as an example of where one path may lead. That door is not yet closed. You have 12 hours to decide if that is the path you want to aim for. To help you, I am going to tell you my story of this fork and how I faced it. Now it will be different for you but I want you to listen.
As a young man I grew up on the Moons of Titan. I was headstrong, self-assured, independent and convinced of my own eventual ascension to greatness. I was more or less a spacer who liked nothing more than hopping from moon to micro-moon and exploring. Now I thought Starfleet might let me explore more than little moons so I enlisted and came to Earth. Let me tell you, Earth was downright alien to me. For starters it had an atmosphere, there was wildlife, it had ever so tall buildings. Oh, and it had people. So many people. All of them were full of noise, noise, noise. Anyway, I was used to being self-reliant loner and I did not make friends easily. Pretty much the only folk that put up with me were a Vulcan named Selel and a Betazoid named Dyesane. Most humans and everyone else avoided the weird human spacer. And for my part, I annoyed the TRIBBLE out of people. I wasnt deliberately rude. It was just that I didnt really see a need for others and I was pretty good at most things right off the bat. You will let me know if I throw too many colloquial phrases in, wont you?
Guktak could only nod. He had no idea where this was going and it made less sense the longer it continued. The Admiral picked up the story as if Guktak was not even there.
Space flight: I knew it. Starship operations: done it. EVA: it was my hobby. Xenobiology, well, in fact any academic course: I aced them all because I spent a lot of time reading and teaching myself things back on the moons. However, there were some subjects where I completely bombed. For the life of me I could see no pattern. Diplomacy: fail. Tactical Deployment: Fail. Starship Command: conceded pass and let me tell you, the way I got that one NO ONE wants to ever see again. But I digress.
Selel and Dysane could see the problem because they were not me. They told me over and over again: Markus, you have learn to work with others. Selel kept telling me that it was logical. Dysane kept telling me all civilizations recognised the need to work together. I didnt believe either of them.
Shortly after the time reflected in that record you hold I went off and got hurt. Hurt bad. I am talking the sort of hurt that you dont normally come back from. Never mind how. Lets just say that a reckless young man who thinks he knows everything, who is frustrated and angry and has access to a micro-hopper is a dangerous combination. You might know a thing or two about that. Minus the micro-hopper of course.
Guktak bristled at the implied insult. The Admiral was clearly caught up in his story and continued.
You have heard of an EMH of course. Well, my body was so badly damaged that by the time I would be able to return to duty, the Academy year would have ended and I would have to repeat a whole year. Faced with that, I was ready to quit. But apparently one of the instructors had an idea and offered to arrange me a loaner body in the form of hologram. They would slave it to my mind via some technical link while my real body recovered. Selel and Dysane convinced me to try it out and truth be told I was looking forward to my temporary indestructible holographic body.
The reality was not what I expected at all. We all think of holograms as strong, resilient and being without mortal limits like being able to breathe. I got nothing like that. The link between my mind and the hologram was unreliable. The hologram was glitchy. Sometimes I was solid. At other times I was soft light. Usually I was somewhere in between and invariably I was slower and weaker than my real body. I never quite knew when I would lose solidity. It was frustrating. It was annoying and to top it all off I was an even bigger freak than before.
Selel and Dysane helped where they could but the turning point for me was a shy young Bolian man who was studying engineering and was named Ordtin. One day my hologram turned unexpectedly weak. They tell me it was solar interference to the link. It was all I could do to carry my PADD and instruments but I dropped them and couldnt pick them up. The hologram glitch left me there. Selel and Dysane were in other classes and here I was in a corridor unable to pick up all my equipment. Ordtin came over to me and he said Do you need help? I was stunned and he asked again, Are you alright? Do you need help? You just have to ask. It seems silly now, decades later but that last part struck me like a bolt of lightning: You just have to ask. A complete stranger was willing to help and if he did, it effectively made me stronger.
That was the start of a life changing friendship. It made me realise that Selel and Dysane were right. I didnt think I needed anyone and therefore I didnt treat them right. This was why I was shunned. I didnt care for people and I didnt see value in anyone but myself. In hindsight it makes sense that only a Vulcan and a Betazoid could tolerate that type of treatment for completely different reasons, of course. Anyway with that one revelation I started to rethink and redefine myself and my interactions with others. In the months I was using that hologram I turned my life around. There was even a party for me when I got my real body out of the hospital. People even turned up.
The Admiral leaned over again and keyed the PADD. Let me open the successive academic history for you. Guktak quickly digested it and noticed a marked improvement still a long way from an honour student but clearly someone passing on all fronts: perhaps excelling in a few.
So Cadet Guktak, that is what made me the person I am today. I learned to accept my limitations and accept that synergy exists. The whole exceeds the sum of the parts. Now lets consider you for a moment. It might surprise you that Commander Disok thinks very highly of your potential. He pushes you very hard because he wants to see that potential realised and not wasted. He also understands that the whole exceeds the sum of the parts. That is why he is not pressing charges for the swing you threw at him today. Pressing charges would squander your potential and Starfleet would lose what he considers to be a valuable opportunity. However, we are coming to a close. Commander Disok will not end your career. You will need to decide for yourself what defines you and whether you will embrace this career or reject it. Disok has considered this carefully against his honour and views. He is a Commander in Starfleet because he both takes and gives help and he considers how things contribute to become something greater than they can be than if they were alone.
You have one question and then you are dismissed for 12 hours Cadet. What is your question?
Guktaks mind was reeling. An idea was dawning in him that he did not yet understand or have words to express. He wanted time to think it through: to see where it might lead him; to see if it might come to define him. Because of this, he could not ask that question now. Instead he looked the Admiral in the eye and asked, Sir, if Commander Disok nor Commander Vulkrath recommended me for this rotation, may I ask who did?
A fair question. It was Chief Engineer Emetiz. I have no idea how you came to his attention but I do know he is in the lounge at the moment. Since he is a Betazoid, he is not only a good judge of character but he is also open to talk. Cadet, you are dismissed under your own reconnaissance. Think carefully. Use your time well. I expect you back here with your thoughts in twelve hours.
Guktak rose and saluted, Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.
As the young Klingon left, the Admiral already knew that he had just successfully planted seeds that what bloom into a fine Starfleet officer. All that remained now was time for the planted seeds to grow.
You have GOT to be joking, captain Tyr said to a startled crewman.
Erm ... No sir, I swear they were at least three metres in length.
The crewman, ensign Black, had a large gash on his left cheek that was still bleeding. His uniform was torn in two places and he was covered in mud, but his most prominent feature was the confused look on his face at his captains outburst. Mentally, captain Tyr cursed himself and quickly tried to regain his composure.
I believe you crewman, you say the ... creature ... was beamed into cargobay 2?
Yes sir, but doc has probably moved it to sickbay by now.
Thank you crewman you are dismissed, take a shower, have that wound taken care of and take the rest of the day off along with your team. You all did well today.
The human ensign nodded and walked out the door. All looks of confusion gone after recieving such a compliment. Once he was gone Jijan let himself fall back in his chair, Spiders, why did it have to be spiders ... and huge honking space ones no less, a familiar chill of fear ran along his spots.
He walked over to the replicator and ordered a cup of chamomile tea. As he picked it up he noticed his hands shaking.
Stop it, he thought.
Remarkably they did.
As he held his tea he couldnt help dreading the moment when his chief medical officer, doctor Syaxani Tgaza, would call him and ask for him to come down to sickbay. He had half a heart to ignore her and stick to reading status reports from the comfort of the farthest possible location AWAY from sickbay. An EPS juncture on Deck twelve I believe
But he was the captain, he couldnt do that. He had to face his arch-nemesis once more: spiders. There was that chill again.
The pathological fear of arachnids he felt wasnt even his, but belonged to his former host: Tazi Tyr. She had braved incredible danger to help out those in need in her short career. But when it came to arachnids she would run out of the room ... screaming ... right into the nearest broom closet. In fact, whenever she had to perform any kind of medical procedures on insectoid-like beings she would do it under the influence of a battery of tranquillizers. Yes, he thought, she was that good.
At that moment he heard the chime of the intercom followed by the voice of his medical officer, Tgaza to Tyr. Captain, could you meet me in sickbay? I have something you might want to see. Oh I seriously doubt that
He hesitated only for a second or two before he acknowledged.
Ill be there in a few moments.
As he left he absent mindedly put his cup of chamomile down on his desk.
Still steaming.
Undrunk.
As he walked along the corridors towards sickbay he couldnt help but think back to his days at Starfleet Academy. Some of his classmates had been somewhat bitter at his unfair advantage and yes, he couldnt deny that having the memories of three other people had helped him pass many a test during his training there. On top of that he excelled at tactical training and command all of his own, something that only fueled resentment in a few of his fellow cadets. No, his challenges werent cerebral or academic but of a personal nature. He had tried taking classes in exobiology in order to face his (or rather Tazis) fears and finally get rid of them. It had turned into a disaster.
During the final exams he had to perform a complex medical procedure in order to separate an insectoid that had clamped unto a half-klingon, half-human female. Without killing either of them. It had first been performed by The Doctor, the famous hologram from the starship Voyager. Until this day he still didnt know if it was purposly done by his instructors, if someone broke into his files and assigned him that particular test as some sort of prank or if it was sheer coincidence. But it nearly cost him his year. Where he had summoned the strength to keep going in that examination chamber he didnt know. And now he had to do it again.
He took a deep breath and walked through the automatically opening doors of sickbay. As he saw a giant tangle of legs and fur lying on one of the biobeds he tried to look neutral and with the practised look of a captain he walked over to where Syaxani and a male nurse were performing their autopsy. As the image of the giant spiderlike creature became clearer he heard Docter Tgaza gasp and a loud clank as she dropped her laserscalpel. She turned around and faced him, a look of understanding crossing the face of the elderly Betazoid. Of course she could telepathically feel what was going on. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again he knew her mental barriers were up. He adressed her with a practised voice, but she wasnt fooled.
Report!
As Doctor Tgaza was relaying her findings he found he couldnt help himself looking at the lump of flesh in front of him. It was huge, with no less than twelve legs and half as many eyes. It had a much longer body and he imagened it slithering towards his prey. Looking at the size of the mandibles the away team had been either lucky or extremely competent. And were those teeth?
Meanwhile the good doctor was still talking, he couldnt understand half of what she was saying as fear clenched his heart. Did that leg just twitch? Did he see that indeterminable organ that the nurse was prodding at with an instrument contract? He shook his head slightly and forced himself to listen to his medical officer.
The venom is of particular interest, it seems to have certain anti-viral properties. Im having a sample analysed right now.
Fascinating doctor, was that all?
Just one thing, sir.
What is it Sya?
He tried to smile but his cheeks seemed to be made of stone today.
You are a brave man, captain, she whispered so the nurse couldnt hear, few men would have come to see me in person under these circumstances.
Now he did manage a meek chuckle.
Courage isnt a manner of fearlessness, but of experiencing and facing said fear head on.
Tlen of Vulcan, right?
Yes, a very controversial statement coming from her, he said.
And with that he walked, as calmly as he could, out the door.
Krovennan eyed the rocky forest he stood in, Vilscar's landscape truly was beautiful, but it housed many hidden dangers, and now, to ascend to adulthood, Krovennan had to find one of these dangers and kill it.
This was the rite every Vilscaran had to go through, a few metres away, a hovering platform gently swayed as it circled Krovennan, standing on this platform, an elderly Vilscaran watched Krovennan from under the red hood of otherwise black robe, this was a Blood Prelate, the followers of Vex'Manna Mordeth, and also the one chosen to oversee Krovennan's actions during this test.
Next to the Blood Prelate hovered a small device, this was a holorecorder, projecting the live images to a stadium in Ossik'var, Vilscar's capital, this trend had risen about 200 years ago, the interest in what happens during this test gre exponentially during that time, and an unexploited market was quickly utilised, and live recordings of these events were now highly sought after.
Krovennan could have, if he wished, omitted from the recording, but he did not see it as a distraction, so he let it be, Krovennan was focsed on one thing, killing a Skildrassa, the rules were simple, Krovennan could kill the Skildrassa in anyway he wished as long as it did not utilise energy weapons, most creatures of Vilscar had energy resistant hides anyway, so they were ineffective gainst these creatures, he also had to doeverything himself, the Prelate could not help him other than to escape if something were to go wrong, and he could not enlist the help of any other Vilscaran or vehicle to aid him.
Krovennan knew these rules and adhered to them for the three days he had been left in the forest, he had brought enough gear to set up a reasonable camping site, some food, water, and his trump card, all of which had been approved by the Blood Prelate beforehand to ensure he was not breaking any of the rules.
Krovennan had been following a male Skildrassa since last night, and now the beast was just beyond the bushes, it had stopped to drink from a nearby lake, the creature was the size of an animal native to earth known as an "Elephant", but unlike the elephant, this was no lumbering herbivore, this creature was fast, strong, and like most wildlife on Vilscar, carnivorous, it also more resembled some kind of reptile rather than a mammal, the pale red scales of the beast glistened in the morning sun, the toothy snout of the beast half dipped in the water, and the long tail rested against the ground.
Krovennan waited silently in the bushes, the Blood Prelate watched intently from the canopy above, the Skildrassa, having had it's fill of water, begun to leave, Krovennan took his chance, Manna'gahr in hand, Krovennan charged the beast, the Skildrassa was initially taken off guard, and Krovennan ran right past the creature, scraping his weapon along the Skildrassa's flank, the creature howled in pain and stumbled as Krovennan stopped his charge after he had reached a safe distance to avoid being counter-attacked by the beast.
The Skildrassa regained it's composure and now glared at Krovennan, snarling and growling at him as Krovennan brought his Manna'gahr up until the front end was beside his head, turned sideways and aimed at the beast. The Skildrassa bellowed a deep roar before charging Krovennan, the beast's loping strides gave Krovennan little timeto bring his Manna'gahr up in defense, but Krovennan managed it, the beast's hardened snout impacted off the metal with a clash, the pair were locked in a struggle before the beast's superior strength allowed it to knock Krovennan back.
Krovennan was stumbled lon enough for the beast to charge into him, Krovennan was hit in the chest with the Skildrassa's forehead before the beast threw it's head back,sending Krovennan flying into the rock face behind him. The Skildrassa released a roar of triumph as Krovennan got up, he knew he did not stand a chance in a test of strength, he had to lure the beast to the trap he had set in order to defeat it, the beast charged again, Krovennan rolled to his right just before the beast struck the rock behind him, it was dazed momentarily but quickly regained it's composure, since Krovennan was closer this time, it did not charge and proceeded to swipe and bite at him with it's clawed front legs and crushing jaws.
Krovvennan took on a more defensive strategy, deflecting or parrying the Skildrassa's attacks while occasionally swiping at the beast to keep it aggravated, all the while Krovennan moved back slowly, the beast was in a rage and Krovennan's skill with the Manna'gahr was the only thing stopping it from overwhelming him, so it took no notice of this and continued to fight with Krovennan.
This duel continued with no sign of slowing down, Krovennan had succeeded in drawing the Skildrassa out of the forest along the cliff face, but he was beginning to tire, the Blood Prelate, who had been following from a safe distance this whole time, noticed this and readied the platforms tractor beam, in case Krovennan needed to be removed from the situation quickly.
After another half a minute of sparring between Vilscaran and beast, the pair were in the valley where Krovennan had set the trap, Krovennan took a wild swipe and cleaved the beast's left eye in half, the Skildrassa thrashed in pain, knocking Krovennan backwards, not waiting to let the Skildrassa recorvered, Krovennan parted the bushes he had left, a tunnel was carved into the rock face, Krovennan had carved this yesterday using the tools he brought with him, none of them were powerful enough to even tickle the beast, so they were allowed, krovennan clambered through the small tunnel, using the artificial handholds to pull himself through as the tunnel curved upwards until he pushed through the net he had placed over the exit to avoid something unwanted moving in, Krovennan clambered to the top of the cliff, the Skildrassa was still where he had been, the Skildrassa had followed Krovennan's scent to the tunnel and was now attacking the rock face in the hope it would lead to the beast's prey.
Krovennan lifted a rock from the ground and a device from his pocket, thankfully it was not damaged, Krovennan threw the rock at the unsuspecting beast merely six feet below him, the rock impacted on the creature's back and got it's attention, the beast lifted it's ruined face to rkovennan and roared in anger before trying to climb up the cliff face to no avail. Krovennan simply smirked and pushed the button on the device.
A series of explosions went off around the far end of the miniscule valley, and soon, that sound was replaced with the sound of a landslide, the Skildrassa noticed too late as the torrent of rock punded against it's body, one rock broke it's right foreleg, another shattered a rib on the other side, before a boulder larger than the beast itself tumbled down the hill and impacted the beast, just as Krovennan had planned.
With the beast both pinned and mortally wounded by the boulder, Krovennan leapt down from above and sent his Manna'gahr plunging into the Kildrassa's neck, biting deep against the tough hide and piercing the neck bone, the creature thrashed for a few moments before lying still, krovennan had slain his Skildrassa, it was now time for evaluation.
the Blood Prelate set the platform down on the ground just outside the clearing, the holo-recorder following him and surveying the dead beast, Krovennan dislodged his Manna'gahr from it's arm mount and stabbed the back point into the ground before him as a sign of victory.
"I have slain this beast in accordance to the rules of the test, will you validate this kill?"
Krovennan's words were known to every Vilscaran above the age of 5, every Vilscaran needed their kill approved by the Blood Prelate to count, if the Blood Prelate did not validate the kill, Krovennan would have to try again at a later date, and while there was no shame in doing so, it was still not ideal. The Blood Prelate remained silent for a minute as he shifted his gaze between Krovennan and the beast, to Krovennan it felt like hours, he just knew the stadium where this was being broadcast had fallen perfectly silent in anticipation of the result. The Blood Prelate turned to the holo-recorder as a sign that he was ready to give his decision.
"As Vilscarans, we strive for strength of body, and strength of mind. The use of explosives may be seen as cheating or finding a loophole, however, it is not listed as prohibited, and Krovennan has displayed the strength of his mind by exploiting this loophole, for in combat, nothing is prohibited to you or your opponent. I, Skorvin Drennas, Blood Prelate overseer of this test, therefore give my verdict."
Krovennan stayed motionless, resting his hands on the Manna'gahr jutting from the ground, but inwardly he was tense as could be.
"I declare Krovennan's kill of the Skildrassa...valid."
Krovennan relaxed his shoulders slightly, unbeknownst to him, the stadium in Ossik'Var was trembling with the cheers of the crowd, Krovennan removed his weapon from the ground and shook hands with the Blood Prelate before boarding the platform, as it sped for the city, a loud echoing howl reverberated through the air, lupine in nature, and enough to make any Vilscaran's skin crawl, the Blood Prelate turned to Krovennan.
"Looks like we left just in time Krovennan, I'd say it was only a few minutes away."
Krovennan nodded, that howl was etched into every Vilscaran's psyche as an omen of death, the creature it belonged to, an enormous monstrosity of the deep woods, devoured the population of an entire city to sustain it's immense body, and it had no problem with attacking a Vilscaran city, were it not for the forcefields, it and it's kin would have devoured the entire Vilscaran race, nowadays, the Vilscarix kept to the mountain woods, but every now and then, one would try it's luck, and the military of it's target city would fight hard to defend that city.
So far, there had been no failures, but the Vilscarix was a powerful and fearless predator, focusing almost solely on crushing the forcefields under it's immense jaws to reach the populace inside.
It was Arachnidus' final test of his Senior year at Starfleet Academy. He'd spent the past four years training to be an officer, and that day was rapidly approaching. All he had to was pass this final, infamous test. The Kobayashi Maru.
Every single wannabe-officer had to take this notorious test. Starfleet required it. Most people said that it couldn't be defeated, and that there were only three ways to handle the situation. The first and likely hardest one was you either managed to save the Kobayashi Maru, a simulated civilian cargo vessel, perhaps losing your ship and crew in the progress. The Admiralty Board's reasoning was likely that if you were capable of saving the ship, even against such tepid odds, then losing your crew was of no consequence; you had done the impossible, and every captain could face such a situation, where the 7,500 person crew of the Maru would outnumber even the largest of Starfleet craft. The needs of the many, as they say.
The second possibility was that you saved a portion of the crew of the Maru and your ship, and managed to escape the attackers. This one would seem to be the least challenging, however, the failure rate for those who attempted the maneuver was still hovering at around 40%.
The third and most intriguing possibility to Arachnidus was the one that would net any person who did it successfully the James T. Kirk Commendation for Ingenuity, or, as his best friend and notorious campus womanizer Mark Parker put it, "what you get for cheating". This option would involve reprogramming the holodeck simulation in the most ingenious way possible. You would have to retake the test, but there was a curve applied to your score. Or something like that, Arachnidus couldn't really see how someone would apply a curve to such a "test".
Wanting nothing short of a giant publicity stunt and a challenge, Arachnidus went with option 3. The reason it was so coveted was because it involved sneaking into the campus serverhouse, or finding a way past the Campus Security that guarded it, and reprogramming it directly. In fact, that was part of the test. I don't think anybody realizes just how funny it is that they condone this, Arachnidus thought, as he crept out of his dorm to find his best friend and compatriot in the test tomorrow.
Mark was going down the yellowshirt path, for security officer. The board now allowed students applying for command(which Arachnidus probably wouldn't be ready for any time soon, unless something horrible happened to the Captain on his posting, which is a horrible thing to think of) to choose their own crew, and, with Mark being his best friend and one of the highest scoring students on the Weapons Targeting and other ship related tests necessary for his posting, Arachnidus demanded that he'd be his Chief Security Officer and Conn Officer for the KM. But first, they needed to do some server tinkering.
The halls were dark, as it was 1:40AM PST. Arachnidus had just gotten back from visiting his mother in New York City during Finals Week, after finishing his tests, and wasn't acclimated to his now standard time zone. As such, he was perky and awake as if it were the brightest day of the year. He'd chosen the time because this is when most people would either be at end of year parties(he'd seen several of his classmates carting some definitely non-synthaholic beverages to some dorms) or asleep. What he didn't count on was his best friend and dorm mate's disturbing ability to get with women. So he had to do something he'd hoped he'd never have to do; sneak down a hallway of Starfleet Academy's McCoy Dorm, using a tricorder he normally used for his classes, to find the biosignature of his best friend and whoever he was currently intimate with.
After ten minutes of searching, he'd approached the room, which, to his surprise, read as three life signs, not two. Well then, this is probably going to scar me for life Arachnidus thought. He pressed the door ringer and awaited it's opening. Instead, he got a surprising response.
"Richard! Go away!"
His best friend loved to use Arachnidus' human translation for his name. And, in this instance, it was being used to shoo him away from passing the most important test of his career. Not entirely unsuspecting this possibility, Arachnidus pulled out an OSD he'd set up two days ago with a door cracking program and loaded it into the maintenance panel next to the dorm. With one command from his phone (the tricorder was issued by the academy, and did not have the ability to connect to Ad Hoc connections, only the campus Wi-Fi used for the labs), the door opened up and, to his surprise, he didn't see anybody. Just a bed.
A bed with the blankets horribly warped and the shapes of three people underneath. Mark's head quickly popped up from the middle and Arachnidus had to suppress the urge to collapse in laughter as he spoke.
"Hey, buddy!"
"Mark, come on, we've got that thing we were talking about. You can finish up here later."
"Gah, fine. Ladies, I'm so very sorry."
After he spoke, two human girls, both of whom he recognized as Sophomores, sat up in the bed. The one to the left noticed Arachnidus and smiled, then spoke.
"Hey, Richard. Good luck on the Maru tomorrow."
"Thanks, Michelle." Arachnidus wanted to spend as little time as possible here, especially considering they had a limited window of opportunity to do this.
It took ten minutes, but the pair of friends were out of the dorm and approaching the Montgomery Scott Engineering and Computer Center. The paths across the beautiful campus were lit with low power solar charged lights, giving the exciting situation a calming tone. In the distance, Arachnidus could see the most famous city on Earth as of the 22nd Century. San Francisco was alight, and though it wasn't nearly as much of a sight to behold as the stratospheric skyscrapers of New York City or the Space Elevator in Havana, seeing the Golden Gate Bridge beset by a backdrop of a glowing city, where skyscrapers rose into the heavens and shuttles whirred past, Arachnidus almost felt himself completely entranced. Luckily, he was too nervous to get distracted.
As they entered the building, which was oddly unguarded (likely as there were students still studying at this hour), they approached the server room, which was guarded.
Arachnidus and Mark pressed up against the walls on either side of a standard pneumatic door. Arachnidus hoped the lifesigns inhibitors he'd fabricated, with the help of one Cadet Sasha Lawson, a few days ago, had not failed them. He pulled out his tricorder and saw that there were only two lifesigns within 30 meters of the scanner's location; the two guards in the server hub. Now, the plan would come together, and it was time for Mark to fulfill the role Arachnidus had dragged him along for.
"Alright, man, it's time for you to act your best, drunken self you can" Arachnidus whispered to his friend.
"I gotchu, man. You are going to owe me so much for this."
"Yeah, whatever. Do your thing." Arachnidus ran into the shadows of the staircase about fifteen feet to the left of the door and awaited the culmination of his friend's experience. The doors slid open and Mark waltzed in.
"Hey there buddies, do you-" he stopped and punctuated with a burp, then continued. "Would either of you guys know where I could find my lobster? I love that guy. He's awesome."
The lifesigns detector showed the two security officers moving towards his friend.
"Sir, you need to leave this room."
"Aww, come on dude, I'm just having a time. Besides, I need to find that goddamn lobster. He owes me money."
Arachnidus could only imagine the looks on the guard's faces. It was 2:00AM now, it'd been about 20 minutes since the "operation" started. They were wasting too much time. He hoped Mark had an ace up his sleeve.
Unbeknownst to Arachnidus, he did.
"Woops, I think the lobster spiked my drinks. Goodnight, fellas" Mark said before faking collapsing.
Arachnidus paid close attention to what he could hear.
"He's still breathing. Hey, I think this kid's in my C-Band Physics class."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he hit on my girlfriend a few times. Let's dump him somewhere."
Two things came to Arachnidus' mind. First, how goddamn stupid are these people?. And, second, they must be using students to guard the servers for the test...then again, these aren't the real server houses, just the holodeck memory banks.
After a hilariously awkward moment of watching the two lumbering Seniors carrying out his best friend, who looked at him without them noticing, and gave Arachnidus a facial expression that could only mean "I'm going to murder you. In your sleep.", Arachnidus rushed stealthily into the server room.
From there on, he just uploaded his custom program and went back to his dorm to sleep, where he found his best friend in the bed opposite from him, a human phallus drawn on his forehead.
Earth Standard Date, June 12th, 2399; Holodeck 2-1, Jonathan Archer Officer Candidate School
It'd been twelve hour since Mark and Arachnidus' ridiculous attempt at rewiring the KM had paid off, and now he was halfway through the test. The current simulation harkened back to the 23rd century version of it, where the Kobayashi Maru was a civilian cargo ship with a crew of 5,000 hauling various supplies to colonies in the Klingon Neutral Zone. The ship Arachnidus was "in command" of for the duration of the test was a Constitution Refit that was introduced during the Dominion War to bolster the ranks of Starfleet, considering they were taking personnel losses in the hundreds of thousands and ship losses in the hundreds. Everything had gone swimmingly and now the Klingons were bearing down on his ship.
Three B'rel class Birds of Prey and one Negh'var class battleship were approaching the Constitution, which had, on Arachnidus order, stationed itself in between the KM and the approaching Klingons.
Lances of subatomic fire erupted from the Starfleet ship's hull as acting Lieutenant Parker fired phasers at the BoP's on Arachnidus' order and acting Ensign Lawson maneuvered the ship to face it's approaching doom. The Birds of Prey were no challenge, but even on a good day, when the test wasn't designed to murder the test takers' ship, that Negh'var would simply fire all it's forward weapon banks at the Constitution and be done with it.
Which is exactly why, any second now, Arachnidus' custom programmed third attack force was going to come in. He'd programmed something special. Instead of the usual fleet of reinforcements or scripting the Klingon ships to be recalled, he'd decided to mix things up a bit. Horribly surprised, his secondary Conn Officer for the duration of the test, acting Lieutenant Junior Grade Chellick, a Bolian, turned around and gave Arachnidus an incredulous look before speaking.
"Sir, we've got a new signature on Long Range Sensors. FTL LADAR shows the silhouette of...a Borg sphere, on intercept trajectory."
Oh yes, it's all going to plan.
On screen, the visage of a Klingon appeared and spoke a preprogrammed message, then blinked out of existence. The rough translation was "Dishonorable peta'Q'pu, we have chosen not to devour your entrails and TRIBBLE your corpses in a display of disturbingly erotic necrophilia, as our respective glories are now under duress from the impending threat of the Borg! We shall join you in fighting these cybernetic dogs."
The speech wasn't Arachnidus' best work, but he was proud of it nonetheless. The rest of the test went off without a hitch; afterall, a Borg sphere was an auxiliary vessel, and the first time it had been seen, during the Battle of Earth of 2373, it was vaporized by the Sovereign Class USS Enterprise, a ship which, to Arachnidus, had an uncanny ability to save the day. All of them, not just the most recent one.
Leaving the holodeck and approaching the review board, Arachnidus was confident he'd done fine.
If he hadn't, at least he'd had an interesting night of it all.
Off topic note; once again, as with Luna, I went over the character limit...sorry!
Comments
Sure, Alejandro brought up a hologame from time to time on the nearby console, but every five seconds, his head darts back to the main viewscreen, and to a private sensor readout on his chair. He was ready for anything to happen. Newer crewmembers always though he had some sort of paranoia problem. He'd been reported to the ship's counselor so many times, that now it was really just tea and a short talk about how the ship was holding up in the Ready Room.
True, when he though of it, Alejandro DID seem like a paranoid person to the average human. But then again, Alejandro - Starfleet Vice Admiral, and the descendant of a Boy Scouts Eagle Scout - was no ordinary human. He chuckles to himself as a Bird of Prey de-cloaks in front of the ship. Alejandro lines up the torpedo shot himsself , and replicates a cup of tea as the Klingon ship bursts into flames.
Now, that, my friend, was a story. Id have never guessed that a Romulan was even physiologically capable of such a thing. Nor that they had so strong a reaction to the music of Tom Jones.
I consider myself enlightened. And you can consider your glass full. Theres a particular whiskey Id like you to try, if youre feeling adventurous.
Now, my turn, is it? Well, let me see
Id just set foot on the first ship I was to command, the USS Ardent. No, I wont tell you how that came about. Its a story, to be sure, but I feel as if the moments passed to tell it. Perhaps itll come around again.
So there I was. Id just parted company with my new first officer, a lovely Andorian colleenor let's say an honorary colleennamed Vala. Ive never seen someone so enthusiastic about, well, everything, and have yet to detect any sense of that barely subdued menace that hangs about so many of her people.
Now, the Ardent was not just any ship. She was an old Constitution class. When the old manAdmiral Quinn, I mean to saytold me I was to captain her, I wondered aloud if he wouldnt rather put me into an even more venerable NX class. He didnt reply, but you can imagine the twinge of nervousness I felt when I saw one of the lattereven if it was only a replica, I was to discoverat the Utopia Planitia shipyards a few months later.
To be honest, the first time I saw the Ardent, I was thrilled that she was mine. Theres something I admire about those 23rd-century aesthetics that abandoned all hint of streamlining or style and yet captured some bit of elegance all the same.
Inside, shed been completely modernized through all manner of technological wizardry, though the basic architecture remained the same. In particular, while they were surrounded by up-to-date systems, the network of Jeffries tubes themselves was unchanged.
Now, I firmly believe that every true engineers heart flutters a little at the thought of crawling through those old-style Jeffries tubes. The ones on modern ships, well, theyre luxurious by comparison. You could serve a formal dinner in one. The classic tubes, not so. It was an accomplishment to even get through them, and you emerged with all the bruises and scrapes to convince even the most skeptical that youd just risked life and limb to save the ship, even if you were there to take a nap.
So this was my bright idea: Id make my way to the bridge via the tubes. I could only imagine the look on the bridge crews face when I emerged from the floor.
And this was what happened: I got myself totally, completely, and irreversibly lost.
Just at the point that I imagined a search party setting out to find meand felt that my transfer to an NX, possibly as the ships cook, was all but assuredI dropped down into a large room, about as far away from the bridge as I could get.
It was long, nearly cavernous, and filled with round metal tanks. I was later to learn, looking over the Ardents deck plans, that I had found my way to the deuterium storage area at the very bottom of the ship. There wasnt another soul to be seen and it was eerily quiet. You could barely hear the hum of the engines that was so apparent everywhere else.
While I was in command of the Ardent, I visited that room many times.
It was a kind of escape, I suppose. But why I should have been drawn to that particular spot, I dont completely know.
Maybe it was because I sometimes imagined that, over time, all the souls that were lost aboard the Ardentand maybe a piece of the soul of everyone that truly loved her and had to leave herdrifted down, like the leaves in fall, to that low place. And that, if I were there long enough, maybe they would have something to say to me.
Maybe it was because it reminded me of my childhood. My parents worked at the Guinness Institute for Advanced Study in Dublinyou might have heard of it, formed after World War III, which didnt touch Ireland so much as some other places. Though invited, I didnt feel quite at home in those hallowed halls. Instead, I spent my time at St. Jamess Gate across the street, and sitting among those huge tanks brought back some of those pleasant, long-lost days.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was because I found that obscure, out of the way spot the best place to set up my small, makeshift brewery. My heart belongs to stout, of course, but you havent fully lived until youve tried a hefeweizen made with quadrotriticale.
Which leads me to a suggestion for the next round...
"Commander Selet, you have the bridge."
With those words, Vice Admiral Wilem "Lone Star" Pulam'an strode off the bridge to the turbolift and headed out to unwind and gather his thoughts. While it was a tad unconventional leaving his 2nd-in-command in charge durning a hunt, especially one as high-risk as the Orions they were chasing, Wilem had no qualms or worries about it at all. "Crew deck," he spoke as the doors closed and he was whisked off. Selet was one of three people on his ship that had been with him since his first day in Starfleet; they all knew each other's rythyms, habits, and limitations. There would be no surprise the Vulcan couldn't handle. He'd hate losing her to her own command someday (one she'd earned many times over), but she's passed up multiple opportunities so far, claming she was making the "logical choice" by staying with him; who was he to argue?
His ship. Even now, as the car came to a stop and the doors opened, he smiled at the thought. While the Kennedy-C often suffered from the "Step-Child" syndrome to the Enterprise-E and other, more famous ships, it was his. He ran his fingers along the walls and thought at all the favors he'd had to cash in just to get the -B comissioned, Pa'lgat take them building a -C. Admiral Quinn must have thought him nuts to want to pass up more prestigious ships for the Kennedy, and the fourth at that. Or maybe that smile was from someone who knew what was in a name, and how much power they held.
As Wilem sat at his traditional table in the lounge, a cheap scorant felt in the corner, he thought about Clev's offer to teach him poker. The Bolian commented about how the scorant felt was close enough to a poker table to pull double duty. The rest of his thoughts, however, drifted to his home planet and exile for questioning the Matriarchal Council. He'd been on thin ice with his clan before the incident with Dath Hal'mat that led to his trial, but the speech he had made (broadcast to everyone in the ancestral lands, no less) was the final wound. Everyone thought an exile and severance (one of the most severe punishments handed down in recent memory) was getting off easy; Pulam'an was glad to be given the chance to make his name elsewhere. He'd discovered from the recently-exiled C'soyas clanner that most of his people still didn't have any use for Starfleet. Good. This is my clan now. Those fel'onts can trot off for all I care.
The impromptu white noise provided by his new clanners settled him into a half-meditative state as he shuffled through some of the famous and infamous images of Starfleet ships and captains on his personal holoprojector. Part of him noticed the lack of stars streaking by the windows, signaling the ship had fallen out of warp. The rest of his mind, however, was focused on what was in front of him. These were part of his new history now, even the notorious Captain Markham of the original Kennedy, as well as the legendary James T. Kirk and Jean-Luc Picard. This was where he finally fit into the yona game; striving to be the next lesson taught in Academy classrooms.
His thoughts were interrupted with a sharp chirp of is communicator. "Captain, we have the raider flight on long-range sensors," Selet said over the speaker. Lone Star was up and headed to the bridge before the commander had even started speaking. He was grinning a predatory grin this time as he confidently strode towards the bridge, letting his nictating membranes slide over his eyes.
"Acknowledged, Commander. On my way now."
There is something about the artificial sky with it's purple-blue glow and the solid white of the mock star providing the variable atmospheric needs of the plants that almost lets me forget that I am hundreds of light years from where I once called home without the luxury of real gravity or natural light or all the other benefits of living on a planet. When the horticultural lab. is in spring the Oq'ill fire angels are in full bloom, they are a flowering fruit from my home world and the smell takes my soul home far surer than any wormhole. I defy any captain to visit their horticultural lab. without taking time to smell the flowers, or nibble the harvest. Or as I often do start brewing some real wine.
For a time I went to the holodeck for my nature fix, but the fact that it always smell the same, always feel the same and look the same wore on me, and after a few visits I deleted the program and told my ships computer to transport me into space if I ever tried to remake it. No, the real thing, even grown in an artificial environment, is the only way to experience a true escape from the void.
The disappointment of a poor harvest is short lived when the plans for next 'season' take over, I remember a routine patrol in the Rolor nebula and while scanning some anomalous readings stood bolt upright and said Amino-nitrates and Xindi mist grubs! Not my favourite command decision but it did help me realise to be nothing but the captain on the bridge, and that giving extra shifts is a good way to keep my crew in check and the drills reduced the time between torpedo launches by 7.2%.
Yes, the the bad seasons just offer a new escape, it's the good seasons ruined by attacks or by Singh the capuchin devil, my people believe saving a life makes you responsible for it, if that is true the afterlife may not be a good one for me. Due to the low importance of the horticultural lab. it often has power taken from it's systems resulting in a disruption of the growth cycle and some... interesting flavours, shapes and colours. These bad crops are a nightmare for me but my chef loves them and some of her trial and error fruit salads are not bad at all.
But now I must leave the distraction of my organic fortress, I've been hailed by a Vulcan ambassador seeking passage to P'jem, should be a routine trip but I prefer to meet my guests.
----There were many areas of the U.S.S. Enigma that Captain Tenebrae enjoyed spending his time, but none more so than his Ready Room. All around him sat memories of missions past and friends long lost. After finishing reading his last Department Head report of the day he sank into his chair and glanced at those memories that surrounded him. One memento that sat on his desk caught his eye. It was a small metallic sphere. He picked it up turning it in his hands, smiling thoughtfully, he began reminiscing. His mind took him back to an afternoon in late 2398...
----First Officer of the Star Cruiser Class vessel the Enigma-F at that time, Tenebrae patiently stood in his Captain's Ready Room. Across the table from him, Captain Gabriel Devereaux sat in his chair deeply studying various reports on his PADD. Upon noticing the Commander now standing before him, the Captain smiled and motioned for Tenebrae to sit opposite him.
----"You wanted to see me Sir?"
----"Enough of this 'Sir' nonsense Tenebrae, I've told you before. Call me Gabe."
----"Okay," Tenebrae shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "you wanted to see me...Gabe?"
----"Yes. You have a lot of potential Tenebrae and I wanted you to be the first to know, I've recommended you for your first command. Your handling of the Franklin Research Station incident was impressive and Starfleet Command seems to agree with me. Once we return to Earth Spacedock next month you are to be promoted and reassigned to your own ship."
----Tenebrae, looking shocked, stared for a few seconds before continuing, "I don't know what to say Gabe. Thank you, but are you sure I'm ready for command?"
----"Tenebrae, to be honest I'd be more concerned if you weren't hesitant at the prospect of commanding your own ship, but no, I have no doubts that you are ready for the next step in your career."
----"Do you have any advice for me?"
----"I'm glad you asked." Gabe walked over to the replicator and ordered two Firenut Coffees. He returned to sit at the desk offering Tenebrae the other cup. "Careful now, it's Firenut. It has quite the kick to it. Now, where were we? Ahh yes, advice. I've noticed you tend to distance yourself from others on a personal level. You have to be comfortable around your crew so they feel comfortable around you." Gabe sipped his Coffee gingerly, motioning for Tenebrae to do the same.
----"I hadn't noticed, I suppose I could join in the Poker games I keep getting invited to and I was considering taking up Lieutenant Commander Kurga's request to teach me Mok'bara."
----"Excellent ideas. Also you may have noticed that I spend a lot of time in this room." Tenebrae nodded in agreement, his eyes watering from his first sip of Firenut Coffee. Gabe continued, trying not to laugh, "You must always remember Tenebrae that your ready room is your Sanctum, your place of solace. While you must always be ready to jump into battle at a moments notice, you must always take the time to remember the past and what brought you to this point. I, for one, keep mementos and trophies from my past to keep those memories fresh." Captain Deveraux walked over to a shelf and picked up a small metal sphere. "This, for instance, is a gift I received from a Wadi Ambassador during a diplomatic mission. It's called an Ocapi, he said it would bring me luck and long life and I have to say it's working so far." He walked further along the same wall, bypassing many other items and trinkets, most of which Tenebrae noted would make the Smithsonian proud to have. Gabe stopped underneath a painting of an Excelsior Class vessel and Tenebrae watched as his Captain reached up and slowly ran his fingers over the canvass.
----"I've noticed that painting before, which ship is she?" Tenebrae enquired.
----"That was the U.S.S. Vanguard. She was the first ship I was given command of. She was very old when I took command but she always looked after us. Unfortunately, we lost her during a battle with Jem'Hadar. We managed to take most of the enemy ships out but one managed to get through our defences. It crashed into us heavily damaging Engineering. It was too much for the Vanguard to take and her Warp Core began breaching so we abandoned ship and waited for rescue. Half of the escape pods were vaporised when the Core finally breached. Ever since then I've used the memory of those deaths to spur me on, to become a better Captain and also to become a better friend."
----"I never knew that." Tenebrae took a large drink of his Firenut Coffee, his eyes widening and watering even more than the first time. This time Gabe couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.
----"Thanks I needed that. Here, take this," Gabe threw the Ocapi to Tenebrae, "Consider this your first addition to your own ready room collection."
----"Gabe I can't take this," Tenebrae finished the last of his Firenut Coffee, shuddering at the sensation once more, "you're right this does have a kick, I could get used to it."
----"You will. I mean that about the Coffee and the gift. It's mine to give away and now it's yours."
----"Thank you Gabe, I'm honoured."
----There was a beep from the communication system followed by a soft female voice, "Captain Devereaux and Commander Tenebrae to the Bridge, we're receiving a distress call from the S.S. Fiji."
Gabe looked over to Tenebrae and grinned, "see what I meant by 'a moment's notice?" He turned his attention to the disembodied voice, "Helm set an intercept course."
----"Aye Captain," the voice replied.
----Tenebrae drifted back to reality. That day was the best and worst of his career so far. During that rescue mission, Captain Devereaux was killed and the Enigma-F was lost, valiantly attempting to save the passenger vessel, S.S. Fiji. However, acting Captain Tenebrae managed to save two-thirds of the crew. He transported them, along with himself and members of the Fiji's crew they had rescued, to a Class M moon, orbiting a nearby Gas Giant, before what was left of the disabled and heavily damaged ship fell into the atmosphere. They were rescued shortly afterwards by a Vulcan Science Vessel. He would never forget the advice of his friend Gabe, and kept the Ocapi on his desk as constant reminder. Gabe had been right, this place was a haven and every moment spent there was to be treasured. There was a beep from the communication system followed by First Officer Vol's voice, "Captain Tenebrae to the Bridge."
----"On my way Commander," he replied while standing up. Tenebrae finished his third Firenut Coffee of the day, straightened his jacket and placed the Ocapi back onto it's display stand. After a short thoughtful look around his Ready Room he strode confidently onto the bridge, "okay, what have you got for me today?"
Starbase 10 Promenade
Dr. Jolie Bindo tapped her combadge as she turned to head back to the Infirmary. This is Dr. Bindo--I was paged?
Aye, Doctor, came the voice of SCPO Gage, one of the Infirmary medics. The USS Solferino is docking. Dr. Michaels said there's a patient coming in stasis, and he wants an allergist to see her stat.
On my way right now. It was not often that the Chief Medical Officer of Starbase 10 called for any of his staff on an emergency basis. Jolie strode briskly across the Promenade and caught a glimpse of the Solferino. The doctor put her hand to her mouth as her breath caught for a moment at the destruction. One nacelle was gone. The other two nacelles and part of the saucer had long, jagged chunks ripped out, leaving black gashes that strafed across the ship. She was the survivor of a fight with a Borg cubejust barely. Shuttles raced around it, extinguishing the last of the plasma fires that still burned. Jolie grabbed an elevator and rode up the 22 decks to the Infirmary section, entering the Emergency ward. It was filled with injured Solferino personnel and medical staff rushing around with instruments and supplies to treat them. Jolie could hear biobed alarms sounding all over the place, orders called out for medications and treatments, patients moaning. She had to concentrate on keeping her mental shields upthe Betazoid doctor could feel agonizing pain from so many of the survivors.
Dr. Michaels was in the eye of the hurricane of activity, looking at numerous monitors and triaging patients. He caught sight of the auburn-haired doctor. Dr. Bindogood. I've got an interesting case for you--a pregnant zhen in stasis suffering from anaphylaxis. A pipe burst near her on the Solferino, and she's apparently severely allergic to the chemical. I'm worried that's going to send her into pre-term laborif she survives. I need your allergy expertise on this one.
I'll get that allergic reaction knocked down fast. How far along is she?
Her mates say she's at 85 days of 108.
Jolie shook her head, frowning. Definitely too early. I'll need OB on this.
The dark-haired human nodded. Dr. Okanta's finishing up another delivery, and then she'll join you. I had the zhen moved up to OB in case you need to do an emergency delivery.
I'll try to keep that from happening, Jolie said.
I've got Neonatology on call if you need. I'll let you get to work. Dr. Michaels waved a dismissal, and she strode off to OB.
Ensign Relawwin handed Dr. Bindo a PADD the moment she stepped through the door to the Andorian's room. Here's Nala's medical file, Dr. Bindo. The stasis unit is already hooked up to the biobed.
Thanks, Relawwin, she said, eyes already on the data streaming on the screen. Jolie studied the medical records and scans of Nala while waiting for the Bolian chief of obstetrics, Dr. Okanta, to finish with the delivery. Prior to being put in stasis, Nala's heart rate had been extremely irregular from the anaphylaxis she suffered from chemical exposure. Jolie noticed her oxygen levels were well below normal, and the quadruplets were trying to separate from the pouch artery and vein they were attached to by their pouch-fangs.
Dr. Yarla Okanta walked into the room, smiling. It's a girl! Mama did well. The light blue Bolian looked at the biobed monitors and patted the stasis chamber. Now, Nala, let's see if we can keep you from becoming a mama too soon. She joined Jolie in looking over all the medical information.
Jolie frowned. She's not in labor, Yarla, but the babies were trying to separate from the pouch vessels. I should be able to stop the anaphylaxis, but she might code.
Yarla rubbed a hand down her chin in thought. Not good. They're too weak at this age to crawl out of the pouch on their own. She looked over at her OB nurse. Relawwian, get the surgery unit set up. If Nala codes or we can't keep the little ones attached, we're going to do an emergency section.
Aye, Doctor, he replied. He nodded to a couple techs who quickly set up the instrument unit. Her mates are in the waiting room, by the way.
As soon as I can get free, I'll go talk to them.
Jolie looked at the chart once more, triple-checking all the details. I'm going to give her 250 cc of metrazene to stabilize the arrhythmia, along with 50 cc of pulmozene. I'm going to knock the anaphylaxis down with 75 cc of diphenidryl and a bolus of 280 cc of cortisone.
Yarla nodded. The cortisone will help the babies' lungs develop in case they don't stay attached. Let's add 25cc of asinolyathinsince it calms muscle spasms, it'll keep her pouch from trying to contract. It's much easier to keep the labor from starting than stop it once it starts.
Relawwin had the hypos drawn up and prepared before Jolie even had to ask. Surgery unit is ready if you need it, Dr. Okanta. He turned the oxygen on the osmotic infuser up to 100%.
Jolie called out, Bringing Nala out of stasis: 3, 2, 1
On '1', the force field dropped. The Andorian spasmed, then opened her eyes as Jolie, Yarla, and Relawwin applied all the hyposprays in tandem. Her antennae hung over to the side in fatigue, but quivered as she regained her senses. The biobed alarms sounded at her irregular heart rate and low oxygen levels.
Jolie said, Nala, you're on Starbase 10. I'm Dr. Bindo, the allergist. Dr. Okanta is the chief of OB here. You're having a bad allergic reaction, we're getting that under control now so it doesn't harm the babies.
Nala gasped, her massive chest muscles fighting to take in as much air as she could. She shivered. Mates?
They're all OK. They're in the waiting room.
The Andorian nodded, and the rigid look on her pale face relaxed ever so slightly. And the babies?
Dr. Okanta looked at her medical tricorder and all the biobed readings. The babies are healthy, they're just trying to detach. We're working on stopping that.
Nala nodded. She breathed heavily still, but noticeably easier as the medications took full effect. Her heart rate became more regular. I'm starving.
Dr. Okanta asked, We'll get you something to eat as soon as it's safe. You're not feeling any pain or contractions, are you?
Nala nodded her head 'no' as she rubbed her gravid belly, then patted it gently.
Jolie watched the improving bioindicators on the screen above the bed. How's the breathing now, Nala?
Better...itching's starting to go away.
That's a very good sign. Jolie watched for several more minutes as Nala's breathing eased and the biobed indicators continued to climb. When she was satisfied that the immediate crisis was averted, she said to Relawwin. Give her 75 cc diphenadryl every 4 hours by hypo and infuse 50cc of cortisone over a half hour every 8 hours. If the dyspnea or itching come back, call me stat.
Aye, Doctor.
Dr. Okanta's lips were pressed in a thin line. The babies should be trying to re-attach, but they're not.
It doesn't look like they're still trying to detach, at least, Jolie said.
At least there's that. Now we play the waiting game. Relawwin, her mates can come to see her now.
Jolie put a hand on the Andorian's arm. I'll stop by in awhile and see how you're doing, Nala, but you should be past the worst of the anaphylaxis reaction. She looked back over to Dr. Okanta. My regular shift starts in a couple hours. I'll check in then.
She had been sitting for some time when she heard the soft chime of the holodeck door. She sighed. The thoughts refused to settle. Come, she said.
A tall, dark blue Andorian walked in. I'm Kovandor th'Rhendilev, he said. He pointed at the ring on his left antenna. Nala's mate.
Jolie stood instantly, concern furrowing her brow. Is she OK?
She's improving rapidly. I came to thank you for saving her life. We thought she was lost to us. He stopped for a moment as his voice caught. The babies still aren't re-attaching and we might lose them, but I don't know what we would have done without Nala. It's been hard enough watching her work herself nearly to death the last few days to keep the ship from disintegrating around us. She hardly slept, hardly ate, and then the pipe burst....
The whirling hummerbird finally landed. By the Four Goddesses, that's it!
The Andorian tilted his antennas at Jolie in confusion.
Kovandor, when's the last time Nala ate a good meal?
Not for the last 3 days at least. I noticed she was becoming a bit gray the day the pipe broke. Why?
She told us she's starving. The babies must be hungry, too. That's why they're trying to detach. She tapped her combadge as she started to walk to the holodeck door. Dr. Bindo to pharmacy. Prepare an Andorian amino acid infusion with 15% dextramene for Nala and send it up to OB stat. Dr. Bindo to Dr. Okanta.
Okanta here, the chief of obstetrics replied.
Nala hasn't eaten well in at least 3 dayswe need to check her protein stores. I have pharmacy prepping an amino acid infusion for her. I think the babies are hungry. I'll be right there.
Jolie and Kovandor hurried back to Nala's bay. The pale blue zhen was lying on her side on the biobed, antennas twitching slightly with anxiety. Kovandor went to her side, taking one of her hands and smiling down at her. Jolie was pleased to notice her breathing was no longer labored, and the biobed indicators were approaching the normal range.
Dr. Okanta scanned Nala's belly with the medical tricorder and then said to Dr. Bindo, We've got the infuser at 100%. I think your theory about the babies' hunger causing detachment makes sense, Jolie. The Bolian looked at the scan results. It looks like the two babies that were trying to detach are re-attaching to the pouch vessels, and the two still attached are making deeper attachments now. Nala definitely needed the protein, too. The obstetrician smiled as she looked up at the Andorian quad. It looks like the babies are improving. I can't guarantee they won't try to detach again, but even a few more days in pouch will make all the difference.
Nala sighed in relief, and her antennas quit twitching. Kovandor grabbed the two doctors in a great bear hug, and brushed his antennas on top of their heads in an Andorian kiss.
Jolie grinned at his enthusiasm. Well, I have to go do rounds. I'll come back later.
Doctors, Nala said, voice quiet. I want you to come to their Birth ceremony.
Jolie and Yarla looked at each other in stunned silence at this great honor, then back at the quad. Four sets of antennas curved towards them in anticipation.
Of course, Dr. Bindo replied. The smile lit her face the rest of the day.
Somewhere I go to feel at home? A haven you say? That's a good one, Ihnoc starts, I'll have to think about that. Ihnoc looks into the glass for a moment, swills the contents then takes another sip. The observation lounge. That's where I'm in my element, aside from the bridge of course. So many times I've sat around that table with a people I've never met, trying to explain who we are and what we can achieve together.
It's not always like that. We planned several counter-attacks there too. The Borg, the Romulans, the Undine. They all met some sort of demise thanks to the cushy chairs in that room. It's got this irony about it; a strange duality of purpose that reflects the ship and where the Federation itself is now. One day, I'll be inviting the various species from System Alpha Sigma 12 for First Contact, the next sharing blood wine with a forward thinking Klingon General and rounding out the week with a bitter argument with our new Borg drone.
That room has tables and chairs, drinks and conversation but it isn't Ten Forward. It isn't a place I go to relax or to chat with my crew. The lounge is the place I go to get things done, be they meeting new people or planning defence against an old people. It's where things happen even if sometimes I'm the only person there.
It was a peaceful night. The Admiral had left a few hours earlier to relax and left his first officer in charge. Commander Oleina Junud was dutifully reviewing the logs. She reclined on the couch in the ready room, reading her PADD. As a Betazoid she was acutely aware of the many admiring looks from the male contingent of the crew and she preferred the comparative silence of the ready room to the crowded thoughts of the bridge. The door quietly chimed and she granted access to a nervous Andorian male ensign. Idly she wondered if Orion women had this much trouble with adoring males.
Maam. I am sorry to disturb you but I am receiving a priority one transmission for the Admiral.
The ensign shifts uncomfortably. Mentally, she sighs, there is something bothering him apart from the transmission. She smiles to put the young Andorian at ease. I will take it for him, Ensign. Please patch it through.
I am sorry, Commander Junud. It is marked for the Admirals eyes only. I am not authorised to patch it through to the First Officer or to any other member of the command staff. Again his weight shifts and his eyes avoid hers.
Well then, you best get the Admiral on the Comm.
Ahhh thats the problem Maam. He isnt answering his Comm. The computer says his comm-badge is in his quarters. I ran a biometric scan to locate him and
Here it comes, she thought.
And? She phrased it delicately, sweetly even. She knew where this was going even if the young man before her didnt.
And the computer says he is not on the ship. I... I . uhhh I cant locate the Admiral Maam.
There was fear in the young Ensigns eyes. He was afraid for the Admiral. He was afraid for her and he was afraid for himself over what he perceived to be his failure.
It will be alright, Ensign Kor. You have only just joined the crew and you are not familiar with Admiral Sheppards idiosyncrasies. He does this on a semi-regular basis. Dont fret. Its not a test. He just wants some quiet time now and then. Since it is a priority one transmission, I will go get him.
Maam, if I may ask, where is Admiral Sheppard? All shuttlecraft are accounted for. Even though we are stationary in deep space I checked and there has been no transporters on or off the Relentless.
If you wish, you may think of this part of tonights events as a test. The Admiral greatly enjoys his time alone. He gets so little of it. Come back and see me when you think you have worked out for yourself where the Admiral has gone. I will be back shortly. In the meantime, please awaken Commander Dyesane Gonulkla and advise her that she is in command.
Command Oleina Junud turned on heel and started to leave. Unexpectedly she paused, turned and handed the stunned ensign her comm-badge. Please keep this safe until I return. She was determined not to give the Ensign any short cuts by tracing her comm-badge.
Leaving the stunned ensign in her wake she left the bridge. As she swept through the corridors, the crew melted aside from her glowering visage. She long blonde hair flew wildly from her head as her long legs swiftly strode down the corridor. She reached out with her mind, This isnt funny, Markus. I was enjoying the quiet. Where are you? There was no reply. Wherever the crafty devil was, he was clearly shielding his thoughts. That being said, there were limits to where he could be and at times he was very predictable. She headed to the Fabrication Workshop.
Arriving in short order, Oleina approached Commander Owdg-or. The tall stick insect of an alien acknowledged her. Oleina had noted when she arrived that the Admirals micro-hopper was still on-board so that limited his possible movements. What did he take this time Owdg-or?
The alien regarded Oleina without emotion. What did who take?
Oleina composed herself. She brushed the errant hair from her face and adjusted her tunic noting with annoyance that once again it had become unfastened towards the neck. She was used to playing this game. It inevitably led to the same place: the Admiral was somewhere outside. And no matter how you approached it outside was a big place. She could save herself a lot of time if she had an idea of where to look. She tried a different tack.
Was it a quick trip?
Owdg-or looked her up and down. Oleina could almost hear the aliens mind scanning her form, running calculations, measuring her and mapping out fabrication opportunities.
No, Owdg-or said simply, He left several packages for you. You may change in there. With that Owdg-or gestured towards an impressively stacked array of boxes and crates. They were arranged quite deliberately. There were also clear hazard warnings and signage. These were apparently designed to discourage casual exploration. Within the arrangement there were alcoves and little nooks and crannies all hidden from prying eyes. Oleina had to admit that the Admiral was getting better and better are sneaking off.
Shortly after stepping into the labyrinth she found the packages. One usual package and one not. The smaller package was delicately wrapped. Curiously she opened it and her eyes widened. You have got to be kidding me. Now at least she understood Owdg-ors gaze. The alien had been checking measurements.
A few minutes later Oleina was finishing the seals with the usual item: a custom EVA suit. Owdg-or arrived to lead her through the maze to the very well hidden maintenance hatch. Oleina turned to Owdg-or as the door was closing, He went to a lot of effort this time, didnt he?
This was met with a nod and then Owdg-or gestured for Oleina to seal her helmet along with the hatch. The tall alien then turned her attentions to the various environmental controls. The air rapidly withdrew and the outer hatch slide aside to reveal the depth of space. Reaching out, Oleina carefully tethered herself to the outer hull. Around her the stars shone in a myriad of colours.
The hull of the Relentless provided her some gravity and gave a sense of down. She paused to compose her thoughts. Port or starboard? Fore or aft? After a few moments of thought Oleina narrowed it down. Where ever he was, the Admiral would have avoided being seen through the windows the last thing the crew want to see is their Captain and Admiral wandering past on the outside of the hull. That left two possible paths: one quite long and the other not far. The quick trip question earlier was code for did he travel light? and Owdg-or said that the Admiral did not travel light. With that in mind Oleina set course for the nearer of the two possible destinations.
As she crested the rise of the hull she saw it: a survival bubble carefully and solidly anchored to the hull with multiple tether points. She quickly moved over to its surface. As she approached, she noted that it was of a non-standard design. It had exceptionally large viewing ports and a small airlock. There was a figure inside.
With practised ease she entered the cramped airlock. As she removed the EVA suit she noted its twin carefully hung on her left. With a gentle hiss the inner door opened. Nervously smoothing her clothes, she self-consciously entered.
Well, hello there. I was wondering when you would arrive? That was her greeting, along with a laconic smile. Admiral Markus Sheppard was reclined in a casual suit upon a small rug. Next to him was a wicker basket, some glasses and containers of food.
Markus Her planned chastisement died in her throat. Are they Uttaberry crêpes?
Good nose you have there.. pretty too. That looks very nice on you by the way.
Looking down before she could stop herself, Oleina again admired the new dress that was left for her next to the EVA suit. She had to admit Owdg-or was one of the best artisans they had ever encountered and the dress Oleina now wore was of breathtaking beauty.
You know this cant go on forever Markus. It breaks too many regulations to list. When Starfleet finds out that we are together
Firstly, he gently cut across her protests, it is if they find out. Second, Starfleet have permitted couples to serve on vessels for over a century.
She felt she had to try again, But I do not recall any serving as Captain and First Officer.
Markus gently led her to sit on the rug. I went to a lot of effort to set this up and I will need to break it down again in a few hours before we warp out. Lets just enjoy this temporary little haven while it lasts.
Yes, about that. You have a priority one message waiting and I realise you went to a lot of trouble but it wont wait
He poured the wine, I know. I sent it. How else was I going to lure you out here?
Now he was just being clever. Oleina tried one last valiant effort. Dyesane and the others will suspect . Her protest drained away as it was met with a sly smile, unless they were in on it from the start Dammit, Markus! Fine. You win.
He reached out to her face. Dont be mad. These moments are few. Let me enjoy my two most favourite things in the universe: being with the stars and out of all of them being with the one star that shines brightest of all. He lifted her chin and eyes to the view port.
She took in the full majesty of the view. My god. The universe. It is full of stars.
And for a while it was peaceful.
It is now thirteen hundred hours and forty-three minutes standard time, the calm synthesized voice replied.
Captain tyr sighed, he and his crew had been working for days and although the majority of the crew was done running double (or triple) shifts by now he still had massive amounts of paperwork to fill out.
Asking for the time every few minutes wont make it go any faster, he thought by himself as he looked over the umpteenth ship evaluation report.
Four lifetimes and it seems every century I need to file out MORE paperwork!
Ugh, he let his head drop squarely on the stack of PADDs in front of him.
At this point he felt the familiar urge to hunt down and hurt whoever screwed up at either Starfleet Command or the Utopia Planetia shipyards. It was a mistake so stupid and so costly that he wondered how they could be made in this day and age. His ship, the USS Caroline, was a brand new Discovery class vessel. Normally these new designs are built with a lot of room for eventual expansion, but with the massive succes of the series Starfleet had decided to fill her up with the latest of additional technologies as recommended by other Discovery captains. To top it all she would be outfitted with two experimental engine designs allowing Caroline to cruise at a sustained speed of warp 9.5 and above for a long period of time with a maximum speed of warp 9.997. She would also be able to traverse spatial anomalies or nebulae at high impulse, something which usually overloads many an engine.
Unfortunately Utopia Planetia had been running their tests on a standard warp core implemented in these size vessels, while Starfleet had determined that all the extra technologies were too much of a power drain and had installed a larger than usual core. Of course they both neglected to tell the other and during their latest encounter with the Klingons the impulse manifolds nearly exploded. So they had to recalibrate, and in some areas redesign, the whole bloody engine.
As it was: Caroline, one of the fastest ships in the fleet, had been limping forward on warp 1 and impulse for weeks, while its crew was working overtime to get her moving again. They all needed a break and Tyr had sat down with commander Thryiss to make sure theyd get it.
Im so glad those duty roster modifications are over ... at least for the next two weeks.
He lifted his head from the pile of PADDS and looked up at the replicator across the room.
Computer: One ... oh just get me something to drink, preferably warm.
Without objection the computer beeped in acknowledgment and in a swirl of bright blue light a random hot beverage appeared. Captain Tyr walked over smirking, he had reprogrammed his replicator on his third day of command and nobody could understand how he stopped the computer from bombarding him with 500 questions about temperature, flavour, variety and the shape of the glass. Oh wonderful, Vulcan spice tea ... is there a more bland variety of tea in the galaxy? Perhaps I ought to program the replicator to measure my mood first
As he walked back towards his desk he asked once more: Computer: time?
It is now thirteen hundred hours and forty-eight minutes standard time
The captain sighed, Still one hour and twelve minutes to go.
Captain Jijan Tyr walked briskly across the hallways of his ship, nodding brightly to some of the crew he walked past in the corridors. He was wearing a costume for an old holodeck program he was itching to try out so he recieved mostly smirks and giggles in return, but he didnt care: Starfleet wasnt military and this was his night off.
Sherlock Holmes, right, a familiar voice called out to him.
He turned around to face the familiar sight of his science officer walking towards him clutching an armful of PADDs. Ezrea looked exceptionally tired and worn out, with her hair a tangled mess.
Thats right, I didnt know you were interested in Earth literature?
Although Sherlocks attire was easily recognizable for humans, both he and his science officer were Trill. He hadnt expected this.
Oh Im not, she said while trying to stop the electronic notebooks from falling out of her hands, But the first recorded sentient hologram was created on the Enterprise-D in the image of Professor Moriarty. Ive always been fascinated by that accident it is such a ...
At this point the stack of PADDs fell to the floor, Oh ...
Wait let me help, Jijan bent to pick up the fallen objects while Ezrea stood there a little dazed, rubbing her left eye.
Hey are you alright?
Oh wha? she answered as awakening from a daydream, Yeah sorry, I just need a break, I think ...
He knew what she was talking about. The ships engines and design created a very complex Warp field and with the entire overhaul going on it needed to be recalibrated to take the extra power input. As chief science officer it was her job to do it and although she wasn't a warp field theorist, she was the most brilliant mathematician he had seen in over two centuries. As it turned out Ezrea had been shouting at her console down in lab 4 for days on end, scaring her co-workers out of the room and in the end resigned to create a small army of holograms to help her out, but she managed an impossible feat in just under a week. Caroline was running at Warp 9.2 for forty-six hours now without a hitch.
Hey do you have a Watson yet, she asked when he handed her her stack back.
Jijan shook his head, I had intended to maybe let the computer simulate a Watson.
It was true he hadnt asked anyone. Although he didnt mind walking around in costume toward his favourite holodeck 2 he found it harmful to the chain of command to ask any of his fellow command officers to join him. He was the captain after all, he was supposed to act like an infallible example, failing to solve a simple 19th century earth mystery wouldnt do his reputation much good.
Nonsense! You cant play a program like that alone. Ill replicate some proper attire and see you in 15 minutes. With that she walked merrily back along the corridor.
He stood there watching the spot where his science officer stood just a few seconds ago and smirked. It was typically Ezrea to completely disregard any social protocol and regulation. Although brilliant in the field of science she wasnt able to seperate the image of her friend Jijan from that of her captain and so never adressed him as such. It's funny to see how she frustrates new bridge officers when she calls him by his first name instead of 'sir'. He turned on the spot and approached the door to holodeck 2.
His previous lives never much liked the holodeck. In Esjas time it was a brand new technology and she abhorred the life-sucking machines of soulless imagination. She was dramatic that way. Taren was too self-conscious to indulge himself and Tazi was always too busy, although she at least enjoyed a nice walk along the simulated beach from her hometown from time to time. Tazi got homesick a lot.
Personally he loved the holodecks and their infinite possibilities. They couldnt replace the thrill of real-life exploration of course, but they could provide a creative outlet into endless fantastical worlds. And he needed a break from reality every once in a while. He only wished Esja had looked upon it that way. Perhaps if she had lived today she would have seen it in a different light.
As he selected a case to solve he saw Ezrea in the distance wearing a plain period-accurate dress. She was beaming and looked much healthier than fifteen minutes ago. She had even done something to her hair, Jijan wondered how she had managed it in such a short time?
She was right though, the more he thought about it the more he agreed that this program shouldnt be played alone. Although with her analytical mind it might be best if she played Sherlock, he thought laughingly. Perhaps coming down from being the captain all the time wasnt so bad. If you at least have a person you can trust.
Ready for a walk down 19th century London, Watsonnette?
Undoubtetly Sherlock, she said enthousiastically.
Well then, he pulled a pipe from his waistcoat pocket as the doors of the holodeck opened with the familiar sound of pistons. Beyond them was a smoky, busy rendering of the old Earth city that their characters called home.
The game is afoot!
His head snapped up and he glanced at the readout on his desk, his eyes widening in surprise at the elapsed time since hed entered the room.
Almost an hour! Damnit!
Pushing his chair back, Scott rose and moved toward the door, stealing one last glance at the tiny piece of cloth on his desk. As the doors to his ready room parted Scott walked onto the bridge of the USS Watchtower, his eyes moving clockwise from station-to-station, taking in the scene and nodding as various members of the bridge crews eyes met his.
Standing between the helm and viewscreen, Commander Thryiss was bent over the console, checking readouts with the helm officer and comparing them to the PADD in her hand.
Yeah, shes right, she does have some spectacular legs, Scott thought as a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Looking up, the Andorian zhen noticed the commanding officer, and drew to her full, and to Scott, impressive 6 4 height. As she started to alert the bridge to the presence of the ships commanding officer, Scott shook his head in a no and walked toward her.
Scott closed next to his executive officer and spoke so only she could hear, with his back to the bridge as he faced the viewscreen. No need for that stuff. Protocol is important, but let them do their jobs.
Turning so she was also facing the viewscreen, Thryiss clasped her hands behind her back and spoke low. Good of you to join us. Sir. I know Chief was not thinking, even for him, so I have to ask are you alright Winfield?
Im good XO. But thank you for asking. I think Im going to take a walk and check the rest of the ship out, Scott said, turning his head slightly to the right so the two officers could have eye contact.
Excellent idea sir. I can join
Not necessary Thryiss. Im ok. Plus, if I have to look at your legs anymore today, I may violate a Starfleet regulation or two.
Her loud laugh filling the bridge made Scott smile, and he was grateful he was not separated from one of his best friends in Starfleet as his new command was preparing to leave Earth Spacedock.
I understand Sir. And if I may be so bold its good to see you be you, she said, her voice firm, but friendly.
Scott nodded, and turned toward the turbolift, The bridge is yours XO. As the doors parted he entered the lift, turned toward the bridge and gave Thryiss a slight nod, which she returned, giving him a quick wink, and he understood she knew he was fine.
Shuttle bay.
As the lift came to a halt Scott stepped out, and looked to see if the hallways were crowded, and let out a sigh of relief when he saw they were empty. Moving at a brisk pace he entered the hanger, turned to his left and walked to the Type-8 shuttle Ridgway. Reaching the ships hatch, he let the doors hiss open, entered the craft and closed the door.
Scott looked around the tiny ship and moved to the pilots seat, sat, leaned back and closed his eyes. Drawing deep breaths, he reached and tapped his combadge, his eyes still closed. Scott to Thryiss.
Thryiss here.
XO, Im currently inspecting Shangri-La you know where to find me if all hell breaks loose on ESD and we are needed to save the universe.
Understood sir. Ill handle the real work here, his friend replied, and he could hear her chuckling. Thryiss out.
Computer play Mendelssohns Violin Concerto in E minor, Op. 64 Andante.
As the music began flooding the shuttle, Scott relaxed, feeling the strain and fatigue of the last six months drain from his body, the notes bringing him peace, a tranquility he hadnt allowed himself to feel in years. Sitting in the shuttle, Scott thought back to his first assignment out of the Academy, piloting a Type-8 between Luna and Mars, sometimes with VIPs, often alone, listening to music and enjoying the solitude. From the time of the Battle of Vega he hadnt had much time to get in a shuttle, the one place he felt at peace, where he had a calmness he couldnt capture anywhere else.
I wont have a lot of time for this in about 35 hours, so Im going to enjoy this.
Nowhere is safe.
You can generally catch half an hour in your cabin before someone hasa crisis. You can sometimes scrap together fifteen minutes to stand in the shower before someone sounds a red alert. In an Escort class vessel, even in an Akira, you can't really get away from anyone.
Except for one place.
If you come up through Tactical, you find out all sorts of interesting things about starships that people don't imagine Tactical would need to know about. For example, the nacelle placement on the early Excalibur class was off, and would very occasionally lead to a partial field collapse. Which in turn would lead to a radical attitude change. Warp three, sideways. Heck of a sight.
One of the other things you learn is that there's a very small, but very important, sensor blindspot on the Defiant refit. It's the size of a seated human, and it came about because there's an EPS junction, a shield node and a really important piece of the astrogation system crammed into a space that's big enough for two of the three components. There are a few design compromises on a Defiant. This one makes a patch of hull really hard for the ship's sensors to read properly and, at the same time, very hard to see clearly. It's just behind the Bridge.
I know about it because we were told about it when the refit launched. The likelihood of anyone ever capturing a Defiant class is pretty slim, but on the off chance they do and someone needs to recapture it, you're told about all the potential entrypoints. Tactical training gets very thorough about that sort of thing.
During a quiet weekend at Utopia Planetia, when the Swiftsure was having the forward torpedo tubes replaced, I went looking for that deadspot. I found it, too, and made a very careful note of how long it takes to get there, and get back. The nearest airlock has an equipment locker devoted to my use and secured with a personal code which I'm very nearly certain my own Tactical Officer hasn't broken. I keep a deck chair in it.
When we're in friendly space, usually in orbit, I suit up, grab my deck chair and go sit out on the porch. Then I sit back and watch the world go by.
There are so many people on a Magellan that someone always needs you. There's no where to hide. Even if you ditch your combadge, those crafty scientists will track you down.
That's why there's only one way to really escape and get some solitude. That's why I keep my Delta fueled up and ready to go. My staff know not to bug me when I take her out for a spin, and the Yokohama never lets me down.
In no time at all, I can hit an uncharted system and spend a few hours getting back to my roots: biophysics. Forget warp theory and slipstream technology. The real breakthroughs are going to come from studying the infinite supply of extremophiles that have carved out niches in nearly every conceivable environment.
But as interesting as it is to collect and study organisms that range from single cells swimming in hydrochloric acid to hundred meter tall trees with lava for sap, the real joy comes from being the first to explore strange, new worlds.
And my Delta lets me escape the daily paperwork and remember why I joined Starfleet in the first place.
........The shuffling of crew is the klingon way. Ship captains come and go, live and die. Most garner enough respect from the crew to make it a long career. The few who don't find themselves falling under the judgment of a first officer's bat'leth. The crew of the raptor class I.K.S. Crimson Talon doubted they could respect a non-Klingon captain. But it's hard not to, when he's an eight-foot tall hirogen.
........Dunjir enters the mess hall. Subordinates scatter, allowing him a wide path. He picks up a mug from a table and walks over to the barrel of bloodwine sitting open. He lifts the ladle and fills the mug, ignoring the spillage on the side.
........Todok, the ship's engineer, has been on many ships and has seen many captains come and go. Being an old, scraggly klingon, battle has weathered his body and his soul, scars running from outside in. He sits at a table with four other officers.
........"Nice of you to join us in celebrating our victory," Todok says slurringly, his head swimming in bloodwine.
........Dunjir turns and steps from the barrel. He towers over the table, but stands quietly. The other bridge officers seated with Todok are the seven-foot gorn named Slavec, a smaller gorn named Saraash, a klingon woman named Unris, and an orion enforcer named Madekk. They look around at each other, but say nothing.
........"We wonder sometimes, 'tis all," Todok says, taking the last drink of his bloodwine. He turns up the cup, and then peers at the bottom with one eye clinched. "You took your trophy and disappeared into that...that space in cargo bay two you had me cordon off with targ nets. You were there a long time."
........"That is my trophy room," Dunjir says. "You all may go in and look but do not touch." The hirogen takes a sip of the wine, grimaces slightly, but takes another anyway. "If you disturb any of my trophies, I will replace the damaged item with your carcass." Dunjir turns and exits the mess hall.
........Todok gnaws at the targ's haunchbone. He drops it on his plate and pushes it away from him. He sits for a moment, picking meat from between his teeth. He grunts and then stands, and the other four jump to their feet as well. They hurriedly walk out of the mess hall and make their way to the cargo holds, followed by a mob of crewman. Todok reaches the door to cargo bay two. Before entering, he notices the crowd behind him.
........"Not everyone has to enter," Todok says to the crewman. "Get back to your posts. You can quell your curiosity later."
........A few grumble, but they turn and walk away. Only Todok and four other bridge officers remain. He taps the pad on the side, and the cargo bay's door swishes open. They navigate through the crates, until they approach the targ nets. Todok reaches up and takes hold, but hesitates. He turns to Unris. She growls slightly in displeasure and nods for him to proceed. Todok throws the net aside and they enter.
........They all gasp, even the gorn Slavec. Hanging from the nets and the wall are various skeletons and hides, mostly animals, but a few humanoids. In the center display is the most recent trophy, the tanned hide of an undine tacked to the wall as the main central piece. Todok walks up to it, studying it closely, part in awe, part in disgust.
........"It appears to be coated in something," Todok says. "A preservative perhaps."
........Saraash reaches around Todok to touch it.
........"Fool!" Todok snaps.
........The smaller gorn pulls away, but eyes Todok menacingly.
........"Where is the rest of it?" Unris asks. "The guts, the innards. Where?" She looks around on the floor. "There is a stain, but nothing else."
........"Are you an idiot?" Todok says. "You were in the mess hall. Did you see him leave with any food?"
........Unris drops her gaze, and then jerks her wide eyes back to Todok.
........"Well," Todok says. "If the Undine don't hate us, they will now." He pushes his way through the group and exits the cargo bay. He enters the bridge and eyes Dunjir at the engineer's console. Todok approaches.
........"Give me your report," Dunjir says, stepping back from the console.
........Todok steps up to it, punches some buttons and sighs. "Ship repairs are complete," he says. "We have full impulse and all weapons. Warp engines are back online."
........"Good," Dunjir says.
........"We're ready to leave the area," Todok says. "Per your command, of course."
........"Do it," Dunjir says. "Set a course for Qo'noS."
........"Acknowledged," Todok answers.
Lt. Gelon Treya circled slowly to the right. Admiral Jarek Amrstrong mirrored her actions keeping himself opposite her in the sparring circle.
Both were already slick with sweat, though the Admiral seemed the more winded noted Treya with some satisfaction. She winced as her smile made her cheek ache. It was swollen where the Admiral had landed a solid backhanded riposte to her wide swing.
Blood was trickling into his eyes from where she had split his right eyebrow. She had offered to stop the match then and there so the Admiral could seek treatment but he had just wiped the back of his right hand across the wound and licked the blood, nodding to her with respect before they continued.
He was at least twice her weight, dressed in black exercise pants and a matching short-sleeved shirt, and barefoot. She wore a tight red crop-top and knee-length shorts. Also barefoot, she shifted her weight to her uninjured ankle, the other already swelling and turning a sickly blue-black.
The Admiral seemed to be dropping his left arm, favoring the shoulder. She could not stop her eyes from narrowing at this. Her knife hand technique had been more effective than he had originally let on. He should be proud, after all he had taught her the maneuver after she had transferred onboard and taken her place as his Chief of Security.
She feinted towards the favored arm and he predictably drew back. She dropped low and swung her leg out to sweep his ankle while he was off-balance. The Admiral recovered more quickly than she had expected but rather than dodge her sweep, he set the leg in place as though it had grown roots. Her heel smacked into his shin and stopped. She gasped in pain as the shiver ran up her leg. He brought his other leg up to stomp downward at her but she dropped completely to the ground and rolled back out of the way.
He did not stop however. Advancing on her, the heel of his palm struck her in the center of the chest just as she came back to her feet. She stumbled back and he landed a fierce chop to the right side of her neck. Pulsing black dots swam in her vision and she regained her footing and struck a defiant pose.
Sweat dripped off her nose ridges and her tongue gently probed where she had bit the inside of her cheek. She spit blood from the side of her mouth, not looking away from him. Clever old tokka, she thought to herself. Not nearly so winded or hurt as she had thought. He had drawn her in and then pressed the advantage. She couldnt help but be a little impressed.
She took an unsteady step and realized that her balance was off, finally registering the ringing in her ears. Her lip twisted in a snarl and she willed her eyes to focus, but they would not. The entire room spun and the sparring mat rose up to meet her.
Lt. Gelon awoke to the familiar sounds and smells of Sick Bay. She turned her head, painfully, to one side and saw Dr. Bennet moving a hand scanner over her. Dr. Bennet had a disapproving look on her face. At times like this she reminded Treya of her own mother.
Treya tried to sit up but collapsed back with a groan. The room spun and she felt the cool metal of a hypospray pushed into the side of her neck and the hiss as it dispensed medication into her bloodstream. She immediately felt better and the room stopped spinning.
Better? asked Dr. Bennet. Treya nodded weakly. I should leave you a nice scar to remember this foolishness by, huffed Dr. Bennet. Ill add it to the set, mumbled Treya, drawing a finger pointedly down the deep scar that ran the length of the left side of her face. Gelon Treya was no stranger to pain, no Bajoran was.
Abashed, Dr. Bennet flushed slightly, pursed her lips and moved to her other patient.
Treya turned her head and saw Admiral Armstrong sitting on the edge of the next medical bay. He had removed his shirt and she saw the patchwork of old healed scars across his torso. Numerous fresh bruises stood out lividly against his pale skin. He had an osteogenic regenerator on his right side. The corner of her mouth quirked up at the memory of the flurry of jabs she had applied to exactly that spot early in their match.
Dr. Bennet was moving a bone regenerator over his left shoulder and part of his neck. Noticing her gaze, the Admirals eyes flicked to where the doctor was working, You fractured my collarbone with that knife hand. Her eyes narrowed in amusement. Im going to have to more careful what I teach you!
Dont you dare! You need me at my best out there in the field. I need every trick you can teach me! Treya teased, but her smile betrayed more affection than anger.
Dr. Bennet huffed, annoyance furrowing her brow. I thought we were done with this. I have enough real patients without you two breaking each other in half every week or two!
Feigning an innocent expression, the admiral raised himself up, But youre the one who keeps saying we dont spend enough time together anymore, Karisa! That got a small smile out of her as she continued to work the regenerator over his shoulder. "I meant in a non-professional capacity, Jarek," the doctor responded coyly, eliciting a slight blush from the admiral.
This over-armed broom closet has no recreational facilities, no holodeck, not even a real gymnasium! How else is an active person expected to work out his frustrations and get a little exercise? The admiral swept his free arm out to encompass the room, though he obviously meant the whole ship. It was true, tactical escorts had a premium of space, especially refits like the Adamant. The only thing they didnt lack for was firepower.
Dr. Bennet moved to stand between Treya and the admiral, This no holds barred sparring has got to stop. Im done patching you up. As Chief Medical Officer, thats an order!
Treyas eyes found the admirals. She knew he was thinking the same as her. As soon as she got out of her, shed replicate up some padded headgear, sparring gloves and tunics for the both of them. It wouldnt be as fun but there was no way they were giving up their weekly matches. It was the only respite they had from this damn war.
His life was a field of sunflowers turning toward a violet sunset. At least it was whenever it could be; infrequent was the downtime an alien part of Julian's psyche so desperately required. Maybe he wasn't ready for the joining that was essentially thrust upon him, because all too often there was no sunset.
The simulation before him continued to play out, a discourse on the state as conducted by Plato in his classically designed academy. Julian had looked around earlier, spotting Ptolemy, Machiavelli, Qin Shi Huang, and other great human philosophers and politicians. The program was downloaded from Earth Space Dock's educational library, though he suspected the academy was fashioned after the Parisian interpretation of Plato's desgin than Plato's own work.
"Computer, end program," Julian called into nothingness. He rubbed his head. The Julian-host was a scholar. He studied history and philosophy. The symbiote was not, carrying with it the memories of a tragically violent past. None of the others would have been interested in this garbage.
Except it's fascinating, Julian told himself. He wasn't sure anymore. He sat on the chair the station computer was kind enough to leave for him and let his mind remain empty.
"What is that ambient noise, computer?"
The soothing female voice common to all Starfleet vessels cut through the air. "The EPS conduits and warp core aboard this station emit a sound frequency audible to Trill between eighteen-point-two and eighteen-point-seven hertz."
"Can you drown it out, please?"
And it went silent. All that remained was the yellow grid pattern of the holodeck wall.
"Compter, remove all light, please."
And it went dark.
Julian took a deep breath and felt his heart take an extra beat. Shocked by the rush of oxygen, it began pumping faster, invigorating his system. Vast rivers of life coursed through him, devoid of cognition but fulfilling function. He took another, but his body had adapted and his heart rate slowed. He had an impulse to find a jumja stick, but it wasn't his.
Julain closed his eyes and tried to imagine happiness. He saw a Breen cruiser burning in space. Eyes open, deep breath, eyes closed. This time an Orion pirate ship. He was still a Lieutenant then, struggling to make his god-awful third-rate ship work for him. Work for the crew.
Eyes open, then closed. Then open. It was all the same.
He heard the door open behind him. It remained dark, the computer doing an excellent job with its programming.
"Captain?" The voice was familiar. He backtracked through memory to find it. His second officer.
"Computer, end program." The familiar holodeck pattern re-emerged. Julian stood, his chair disappearing, and turned to face the Lieutenant Commander. The blue skin shocked him after being so long in the dark.
"Not too many people use the privacy setting in the holodecks anymore, sir."
"That's right." Julian paused. "Well?"
She stood up straight and reported. "Commander Velaran has prepared his combat readiness report, sir. Also, our crew was reinforced, though we are still awaiting the arrival of our replacement medical officer and ammunition replenishment."
It must have been halfway through the report that Julian noticed his anxiety was diminished. His anxiety? No, not his. It was now obvious that this symbiote was too powerful for him. Or maybe the reason for this symbiote was too powerful? Before the end of the speech he decided to turn his life over to it. Perhaps it was already gone, that this last choice was some illusion concocted by the parasite in his gut to take control. It didn't matter. Ergo cogito sum, where thinking brings you nothing but pain. He killed himself before her next sentence.
"We expect to be fully ready for combat operations by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Commander. Return to your duties, I'll be on the bridge shortly."
The Bolian turned to leave, and Julian resolved to find a jumja stick.
........With the heated debate sparked by notable members of the federation who are now "acknowledged" as sentient life-forms such as Data, Dr. Van Gogh, & others, it has been decreed that all holodecks are not be used. Temporary protocol now mandates that ships holodecks should be placed in standby &/or diagnostic mode indefinitely; the latter is usually reserved for science vessels who intend to aid in the ongoing research project to see if these occurrences are more than just random anomalies.
........Under no circumstances are any holodecks, EMH or similar holo-programs to be used, & they are not to be activated until Starfleet can determine the cause of the unique awareness-giving nature of certain phrasing fed to the programming subroutines. Much investigation involving the moral implications surrounding this subject on the whole is also in dispute, concerning & involving both artificial & actual sentient races. Still, for some reason I swing by one of the ships holodecks from time to time. I find comfort in the quiet solitude I can find nowhere else, even in my quarters. It is the one place nobody else on the ship will go, where very few know where to look for me.
........3 of the 4 holodecks have been temporarily converted into alternative pastime areas such as study halls & entertainment hubs like gymnasiums, game rooms & one is now even an arboretum. It is efficient, & an attractive initiative to many who may tend to over-use the holodeck. It is becoming a bit of a setback, though; that much is collectively agreed upon. I ordered this particular holodeck, suite #4, to be left as-is for "emergency space" for cargo or... passengers or... whatever the hell I can think of. No, were not going to need it; thats exactly what the motivation for it is, & I would venture a guess that every single member of my senior staff has already figured that out.
........I found myself coming back to that holodeck often. Eventually, I even began to dare to bend the rules.
There cant possibly be restrictions on a little scenery.
I started with a plain white room, like a blank page; no visible walls or corners. Somehow though, I could still sense the walls being little more than a stones throw away.
A stone
I grew bolder still.
Inanimate objects cannot possibly become sentient now can they?
........I dwelled for a brief moment on the exocomps, but quickly dismissed the thought surmising that a stone would need some sort of computer circuitry to become alive, & much more than that to become sentient. So I dared; I synthesized a holographic stone, & threw it at the wall. The shrill pulverizing noise from the impact made me cringe; the resulting shock wave sent a light tingle down my spine, as well as a photonic ripple across the grid, now visibly phasing in & out until the waves finally subsided.
........I then had the notion to do what few people think of as a necessary addition to holodecks: I set the illusion parameters to allow moving objects to render past the wall as if it werent there. The issue here being that a person could easily injure or at the very least humiliate themselves by sudden unintentional contact with the wall. To avoid this, I added a subtle alarm that would sound if organic matter were to come too close to the holodecks border.
........Throwing stones into a pale oblivion was still not my idea of relaxation. I further disobeyed the new protocols & conjured up a meager pond in which to skip what was now a substantial pile of stones that I had been summoning to my side. Time began to hurry past, & at last I was at ease with little more than the white noise of the warp core & impulse engines in the background. The pond grew to a lake, & the white room became a boundless Zen garden the likes of which the Jade Emperor would have given an entire lifetime of spoils just to lay eyes upon.
........Yes, this would certainly bring about some spiteful consequences & more than a few carefully prepared lectures, perhaps even a reprimand. But what are they going to do, revoke my commission? Starfleet NEEDS captains, & captains like all crew need a reprieve, albeit a little more often perhaps; though we'll never get as much shore leave as the crew, lucky scrubs as they are. The stress of the job can get under our skin easier than the average duty officer may realize, though many tend to shrug it off easily with distractions such as the holodeck, & conversations with their friends... long ago I was assimilated, & already I had felt alienated by my own people. Now, having crossed over to the proverbial other side, a pandemonium of thoughts; & been fortunate enough to return... I am just not yet ready to re-integrate myself with the social web, therefore I dont have either of those luxuries.
........They so covet the pole position, yet they dont realize that it is lonely at the top, & the breeze causes one to teeter atop a very frail pedestal. The fall can be devastating, but there are always helping hands to guide you weather you want them to or not, be they human or the simple advantage of having a soft landing spot somewhere below. Weather you hit it or not... well that is left for fate to decide. Oh yes, luck has more of a part to play in skill than many would care to admit. I just so happen to have the benefit of having seen more than one outcome of circumstances many would consider impossible to survive. My own experiences among them, I now believe that if providence indeed has a will of its own, it is on our side.
Today we start the slightly belated two-week run of the fourth Lit Challenge: Passing Grades
Remember that one test in exobiology you fretted over so bad you couldn't keep food down? The time your Drill Officer told you to kill that wild Targ with your bare hands if you were stupid enough to lose your weapon? Tell us about your captains hardest challange before they passed their academy years and were allowed to wear the uniform of the fleet!
This is the writer's thread.
The Discussion Thread can be found HERE.
We also have an index page of stories HERE.
The rules may change from one to the other, but I'd like to give a quick recap each time. These may grow as we move on, so feel free to also give feedback!
And yet, a printed form of it sat framed on his personal desk in his ready room. The paper was a reminder, nay, a testament to his youthful arrogance. Armin was a young man at the academy, easily four years ahead of the average human. He thought he knew everything, coming from a colony world where he learned to maintain the large agricultural equipment. Starfleet was a passing whim back then.
But then something changed in him. He realized he would be stuck on that stupid colony forever if he didn't escape. He passed the entrance exams with flying colors, aced his first semester and became involved in a plethora of girls that ranged in color across the spectrum. Until the second semester when one of those girls convinced him to take LIT 3237D, Literature Across the Species. The tragic origins of this paper originated here, and its purpose was the comparison of the protagonists in Va Bolyn's Unto the Valeran Gap and Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. At least it was meant to be. Armin to this day couldn't finish reading it.
The class itself was a level of boredom Armin had never experienced before. He came from a colony coming just off the precipice of terraformation. There was always something to learn, or plant, or run away from while sneaking through the woods as a child. While that thing you were running away from was just a noise your older sister made, the sounds of his Bolian professor reading off the syllabus were equally as frightening and proved more deadly. Armin had even wondered if the mind-controlling aliens that infiltrated Starfleet Academy so many years ago - he had heard of this story through some of the groundskeepers - still maintatined a presence in Professor Dalen Broht.
Armin used the paper, replicated by Professor Broht only so he could scrawl a giant 'F' across every page in red ink, as a tool for humility. He knew he took his crew's expertise for granted. There were times he didn't care. Those were the times when he looked at the four red letters staring at him from his desk. He would listen to his officers and even reconsider his own tactical appraisals. It would remind him that he wasn't the best captain in the fleet like he wasn't the best student at the Academy.
But perhaps the best lover, as all those women may attest...
But, Father i dont want to be a starfleet officer to legitimize your packaging us off and leaving the Empire.
Get up get yourself dress and march your "**" off to the recruiter.. and give them this Letter of Recommendation..At Once!
Yes, father but who is this Drake. why should some snake known father and want to lend a hand.. I cant even Roll Kirk off my
new language tongue. and besides they all dress funny. Im not wearing some bland unflattering jumpsuit.. Not Me
Not The Daughter of the House Batavian. Foul evil Vulcan Logic..changing the power base.. destroying my destiny.
Yeah yeah Natelle that what my Last Classmate told me.. Before i turned her in for cheating.. So gonna "help me with our homework/" Or wink not? You just cant have any old Romulan being accepted as a cadet now can we..
Yeah know being an upper class man looks easy..So im specializing in cultural XenoBiology...You can be my First MAte and walk 3 step behind me.Nod yell at the crewand they will still love me.. See good Cop Bad cop is the oldest management tool we have.. To keep the brickenberrack in line. I'll pass you on Engineering Lab and that Jump suit you like..What ya.. say?
Knock knock
Yes Cadet?
Cadet Prentice wishes to Discuss the Assigne study Buddies
Cadet are you questioning the class process?
Yes TAC Finn I am.
Dismissed.
But
Get out.
? Well that's just dandy..
Dear Commandant SFA. SOL
CC: CSFO ESD 1
CCC: Ambassador Services Tellerita Consul General
CCCC: JL Prd Esquire,
Dear Sir I wish to be a wine maker please get me out of this blasted academy.
Dear Diary Day 3 of Heck Week.. How I so hate the Low e Grav Combat.. Im a Scientist not a Space Marine..
2 demerits for spontaneous muscle memory strikes in the lower regions of that spare partner..Men..wearign pointed grav boots that fit and look stylish..checks TAC Finn of holiday list.. Checks Chaplain's kit for crib sheets..nope.
Me Command of this Nova yeah that's me! How? I reprogram the Key and got a 2.0 enough to clear the compulsories off my syllabus.I actually got past TRill Life accepted transfer credits and that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
........There are jungle sounds, jungle smells, heat and humidity, all throughout the bio-dome. A wild animal screeches and runs through the brush unseen. Winged pteryxipods fly overhead, their scaly necks ending in teethy beaks and feathery heads.
........A frond to a large fern is gently pulled down, revealing the eyes of a jem'hadar. His skin is thick and rubbery and colored a muddy gray. Spiked bone portrudes around his crown and his chin. His eyes are sharp and his hearing acute. As he absorbs the stimuli of this environment, his movements are subtle and deliberate. He hears something ahead. He slowly lifts the frond back in place and then freezes.
........In the distance is an ever-so-slight brushing against the flora. To any ordinary humanoid, the sound would be drowned out by all other noise. But to the jem'hadar, it is a gong announcing the encroachment of an enemy. After a few minutes, the source of the sound emerges from the brush.
........A boy. A hirogen boy. The armor and helmet he wears is a dark blue-gray color. It would normally be easy to spot, but as the boy moves, the armor absorbs the light and reflects it in such a way as to blend the boy into the background.
........The boy is the same height as the jem'hadar, six feet, but more slim. The jem'hadar smirks. He keeps his eyes fixed on his prey and reaches down slowly and surely, pulling a knife from a sheath on his belt.
........A slight brushing sound off to the side catches his attention. His head jerks in the direction of the sound and then back to the spot where the hirogen boy stood. Nothing. The boy is gone.
........The jem'hadar strains his eyes, looking for the sliver of blue-gray. He looks in the light, in the shadows, under the greenery, low and high. Nothing.
........Panic sets in, compounded by the anxiety of withdrawal from the White serum. The jem'hadar fights to hold his breath and remain motionless. The sound of a brush against the frond in front of him raises his alarm. He screams and leaps forward.
........The hirogen drops and rolls, and the jem'hadar leaps over him. The jem'hadar lands and turns as the hirogen jumps to his feet. The hirogen raises the tetryon pulse rifle, and the jem'hadar stops, but holds the knife poised for striking.
........"Aim the rifle at his core, not his legs," a soft feminine voice sounds from the brush.
........The boy raises the aim of the rifle.
........A tall female hirogen, about seven feet, steps from the brush into the small opening. She has a flat, smooth chest with a muscular, bulky build, though more slender than her male counterpart. Her armor is thinner than the hunter's armor, and is copper red, signifying her status as both female and supervisor. Her helmet is the same as a hunter's, but is also copper red. Her skin is scaly and reddish orange. As she moves, the chameleon effect blends her into the background.
........"Don't hesitate," she says. "Your prey is armed and dangerous." She places a hand on the boy's shoulder, and then steps off to the side.
........The jem'hadar watches her closely, snarling to show the white of his teeth. The hirogen boy fumbles slightly with the rifle, keeping it aimed at the jem'hadar's chest. A withdrawal pain hits the neck of the jem'hadar, forcing him to wince and reach up to grasp the side.
........The trainee looks at the supervisor.
........"Eyes on the prey at all times," she says gently. "Don't give your prey any opportunity to escape or counterstrike."
........The boy returns his focus to the jem'hadar. The pain subsides, and the jem'hadar becomes agitated. He leaps towards the supervisor, swinging the knife downwards. She catches him, grabbing his knife hand with her hand, and then grasping his throat with her other hand. The jem'hadar flexes and pushes, forcing the supervisor's foot to dig into the earth. He manages to push her back several inches. Then she flexes and lifts him off the ground, tossing him on his back a couple of meters away. He groans in pain, but jumps to his feet. The jem'hadar then growls, turns to the boy and leaps. A tetryon blast slams the jem'hadar's chest. He falls face first to the earth.
........The supervisor walks over to the body. She lifts up his head and turns his face to her. She then raises his eyelids to look into his eyes. She lets go, and the jem'hadar's head plops back down.
........"Dead," she says. "One shot kill. That places you above your peers, Dunjir." The supervisor stands and smilingly motions for the boy to approach the jem'hadar's dead body. "You also waited to shoot him in the chest, face-to-face, instead of shooting him in the back. That earns you the alpha grade, to be just like your father, Sanjurid." She squats next to the body and motions him to do the same. He complies. "But you did learn one lesson, didn't you?"
........The hirogen boy looks at her with his brow scrunched.
........"You hesitated," she continues. "You showed him a moment of mercy. You gave him the opportunity to surrender. But he didn't, did he?"
........He shakes his head no.
........"Why do you think?" She asks.
........Dunjir shrugs.
........The supervisor sighs. She then looks the boy in his eyes sharply. He acknowledges the unspoken gesture of reproval with a nod.
........"He saw it as a weakness, a vulnerability worth exploiting," the supervisor continues. "He could have thrown his weapon down, knelt and surrendered. He didn't, though, did he? No. He asserted himself to dominate, because that is his nature. That is the nature of all prey worthy of the hunt." She pulls a knife from a sheath attached to her thigh. "We do not hunt prey that surrenders. There is no glory in that, no honor, no valor. We hunt for the kind of prey that would be the dominant species if we did not exist. We dominate, so that we're not prey." She hands Dunjir the knife. "Retrieve the skull. Your father will want to see proof of your success."
On Tobarrus, we traded with a handful of neighbors. They supported our guerilla war against the Borg with food, fuel, and hiding places. In return, we provided protection and in a few rare instances, search and rescue operations when a member of the ruling clan was assimilated. Our actions dictated the fate of dozens of worlds with each and every encounter with the Borg. When a Tobarrii made a mistake, millions of people suffered for it. Yet, our neighbors continued to support our efforts, despite the fact that we even kept the location of the Tobarrii home world secret.
At the Academy, I felt like a curiosity; a spectacle for all to see. Who was this alien that day after day fought the Borg in a faraway quadrant of the galaxy? People would stare and point. If I had understood the Federation better, I would have leveraged my fame to my advantage. Instead, my classmates would approach me and ask a few harmless questions. However, Tobarrii do not share sensitive and private information with strangers. It isolated me even further.
I didnt make any friends until my final year at the Academy. By that time, I understood my classmates better. I had learned the proper etiquette for speaking with a Tellarite; that asking a Vulcan how theyre feeling will always end up in a lecture about something dull and boring; that you dont discuss religion or politics with humans; and so much more. My favorite courses at the Academy were Anthropology and sociology. Ive taken them up as a hobby, since then. In fact, I have made it a point to have one of the most diverse crews in Starfleet, just so I can learn more about their cultures and societies.
...The words sounded hollow as they echoed round his weary mind. Tanar had already overcome the first hurdle at least. The over confident guard had given his chains far too much slack, and to Tanars surprise, the snapping of an Undines neck was not as difficult as he had imagined.
...As a Starfleet officer he abhorred the idea of taking anothers life. Starfleet has taught him to respect all life. As a Cardassian, his people had taught him that sometimes taking a life is the only way to preserve ones own.
...He blocked the twinge of guilt that rattled around the back of his mind, grabbing at his morality through the prison bars of his resolve; he had a job to do, and now was not the time for regrets. An Undine infiltrator was now in command of his ship, for god knows what purpose. He had to save them.
...Back aboard the Relentless, the creature that wore his face walked into the Admirals ready room. So far everything had gone exactly to plan but there was no room for complacency. The telepathic scan he had performed on the inferior life form had yielded much, coupled with the logs they had retrieved from Starfleets central database, but he must know and understand the one he now acts as.
...Computer, he said, his voice pattern perfect in every detail, show me all secure logs for Tanar, Elim, Vice Admiral.
...Please state security clearance. chirped the female voice.
...Tanar, Pi, alpha, one, one, three, alpha. he replied sharply.
...Security clearance verified; accessing records. The data began to scroll across the screen. Personal logs were never uploaded to the central database, and as yet they had little access to who he was. The smallest detail would be crucial to know if their mission was to succeed.
...A faint sense of danger crossed the creatures mind. The creature focused its thoughts but the sense was lost. It carried on looking through the records. For some reason one jumped out at it. Computer stop, play file index forty seven.
...The image of Tanar stared back at him, much younger than the face it bore.
...Todays been a tough day. Our instructor had us flown to Vulcan on a transport no larger than this room. We were packed in like Ferengi round a Dabo table, no food, no sleep. I quite enjoyed the heat although Mckenzie was nearly sick over Hoskins. One more hour and it would have been a mess. The young Cardassian chuckled to himself. The imposter watched his facial muscles intently.
...Once there they unloaded us, strapped fifty kilogram back packs on us and told us to march across some Vulcan Desert. I head one of the guys say it was called the Forge or something? I don't know. Three hours we marched, three hours, My legs were killing me. Our instructor was a Vulcan, Commander Suran. He kept a brisk pace the whole time. We must have lost a third of the squad after an hour. Mckenzie was hurt pretty bad in one of the electrical sandstorms, I hope he okay. Doc says he should be but it was pretty scary. Only three of us made it to the finish line, me, a Vulcan and a Hologram although he nearly lost his mobile emitter once or twice. I felt like I was about to die by the time I got to the end. Ive lost more weight that I knew I had, my feet look more like giant blisters, and my eyes are still stinging from the sandstorms. No wonder half the class washes out every year, but that wont be me. despite the pain, and the dehydration, I loved every minute of it. Heck Im not even an officer yet, most of the class are ten years older than me. I shouldnt even be here yet but I am, and I intend to make the most of it. Ill be the best ensign Starfleet has ever seen.
...The log came to an end. The image of a young, brash and confident young man lay frozen on the screen. The Undine chewed his genetically altered Cardassian lip. Another wave of danger crossed its mind, then a flash of determination. The residual telepathic link it has used to probe the Cardassians mind was still in place, even across realities. Tanar was a fighter, survivor and right now it knew he was no longer a prisoner.
...The Undine found itself displaying a curious side effect of being a bipedal creature as it began cursing in its stolen language.
Smiling at her earnestness, he shook his head slightly and replied, "I know you're trying to help, Tala, but, really, I'm not worried about whether he shows up, I'm just trying to not pass out in front of all this brass!"
His mind, however, warred against the words, even as he spoke them, because it did matter to him. Today was the day... His final, major test, before graduation from Starfleet Academy, the delivery of his dissertation to qualify for completion of Command School. As if completion and submission of the lengthy dissertation were not enough, a portion of the grade hinged upon its delivery, in front of a veritable sea of command pips, medals, and campaign ribbons, seemingly pinned to every, otherwise-unadorned scrap of cloth that covered the assembled officers of the General Staff, in attendance from nearby Starfleet Command.
It was not the legion of Starfleet officers that fueled his angst, however, but the glaring absence of one, specific individual, that threw his soul into torment. He and his father had not spoken, in person, since the day that he left for the Academy; their only communications had been terse, merely informative notes, advising each other as to their health and welfare, always with a civil, though frosty, veneer.
His father... Eugene Marshall... Well-known Federation Councilmember and part of President Bako's inner circle... His father who had never approved of his decision to enter Starfleet, believing that it would be better if he followed the carefully-crafted path that had been arranged for him... Enrollment in the best prep schools, followed by admission to Harvard University... A cozy position as an aide to one of Earth's Representatives to the Federation's General Assembly... Ultimately, following in his father's footsteps as a Councilmember... Every detail was planned with meticulous deliberation... Except for one... He had little (if any) desire to follow in his father's footsteps, seeing the cutthroat nature of political machinations from the inside, he preferred a path that would, hopefully, serve a more noble purpose; hence, his enlistment in Starfleet, despite an angry protest by his father.
Since that day, despite impressive marks in every class, discipline, and study at the Academy, he had never received a word of commendation or approval from his father. Most days, it did not bother him, as he had made his choice and was going to abide by it, regardless of the consequences or opinions of those around him. Today, however, the weight of expectations was driving his mind to the edge of despair, as he realized how desperately he craved a healing of that rift between him and his father, and further began to realize how much it had motivated his efforts in the past four years.
As if sensing his thoughts, the young, Andorian woman brought her hand up to his face and traced several, slender fingers along the sharp contour of his jaw, "You're not listening to me, Ben, I'm telling you, he will be here!" As she saw him give her a wistful glance and a half-smile, she continued, "Your father is not going to miss the most important presentation that you'll ever make at the Academy! You are going to graduate first in your class and I'm telling you, he is going to be here for this." The fingers tracing his jawline gently pulled his face down to hers and she emphasized her final words with a tender kiss.
A genuine smile creased his face as he looked down at her, "Well, whether he's here or not, I'm definitely going to go make you proud, at the very least." Even as he finished speaking, however, the smile faded to the same, pensive look that his face sported earlier, belying the turmoil that had his insides in open rebellion.
"He'll be here," she whispered again, seeming to sense his inner conflict, "Now, go out there, and show them that your father isn't the only Marshall that will be a star."
Chuckling quietly, he embraced her briefly, then stepped away from her and toward the curtain at the back of the stage. Taking a deep breath and consciously trying to will his emotions into balance, he pushed through the curtain and stepped out onto the stage, as the Academy Commandant finished his introduction.
Striding to the podium with a confidence that he did not truly feel, he shook the Commandant's hand and thanked him for the introduction. A smile and quietly-whispered, "Good luck, Ben" did little to alleviate the nervousness that he felt.
Looking out at the assembled officers and public officials, time seemed to slow as he pondered the future. This dissertation was but a tiny ripple in the pond of his life, but it would touch the lives of all those gathered here, many of whom would be his superiors in Starfleet, after graduation; as such, it took on a certain gravity that both amplified his personal nervousness, yet also helped him to steel his motivation to give an exemplary presentation.
As his eyes wandered over the crowd, he tried to block out his recognition of specific, high-ranking attendees, though, naturally, it was difficult to ignore Admiral Quinn and his personal staff. When the Commander-in-Chief, Starfleet, attends a function, it is nearly impossible to ignore. Looking away from the Admiral, to avoid adding to his anxiety, his gaze swiftly passed over the remainder of the crowd when, suddenly, his eyes locked on a stocky, white-haired man standing near the back of the auditorium.
Flanked on one side by his omni-present aide, a Vulcan female, on the other by his Rigelian bodyguard; and dressed in an immaculately-tailored suit, stood his father. His pale, blue eyes met the stare of his father's stone-gray eyes, and time stopped.
A thousand conflicting emotions raced through his mind, ranging from terrible frustration to unbridled elation. His face, remarkably, remained composed, despite the internal rollercoaster ride that he was experiencing. For a moment, all that passed between he and his father was the impassive stare that they shared. With a brief, barely-perceptible nod of his father's head, however, his nervousness vanished, replaced with a firm determination to validate his choice, made four years previous.
At the thought of the smirk with which Tala would tell him, "I told you he'd be here," a wry smile set itself upon his face. Acknowledging his father's nod with a slight nod of his own, he took a deep breath and began his dissertation.
"Space... The final frontier..."
Sullenly, the Cadet entered the turbolift. Stares and occasional glares followed him. His proud brow ridges and dark complexion stood out even among the other species aboard the Relentless. When the mighty Klingon empire broke from the Federation, his House had opted to stay. What his House received was far from what it expected and much, much less than it deserved. Now, however, it was impossible to return to the Empire and so as a young warrior he had no choice but to enroll in Starfleet.
Captains Ready Room, he instructed the computer noting that two other occupants exited the turbolift when he entered.
Alone, he thought, Yes, I prefer to be alone. A warrior must rely upon no one but himself. I can withstand your civilized shunning. I am Klingon. His mantra was interrupted by the opening of the turbolift door. Facing him was a towering form, glaring at him with flaring nostrils. The form was almost a reflection of what he had once hoped to become. Drawing himself up to full height, he snapped off a salute and crisp, Commander Disok, Sir!
His fellow Klingon stared at him even harder, waves of contempt rippled off the Commander as a returned the salute and snarled, Cadet Guktak. The Admiral will see you now. I assure you he has been fully briefed on your performance. Dismissed.
With every fibre of his being, Guktak hated the Commander. To think, this.. this qoH was once one of my heroes. How harsh the reality.
Cadet Guktak approached the door to the Admirals Ready Room. No guards, he thought, on a Klingon ship there would be guards.
The door chimed and a firm voice rang out Enter.
Admiral Sheppards Ready Room was a Spartan affair. From what Cadet Guktak understood of the standard accommodation of Defiant Refits, the Admiral had made exactly 4 changes to the standard décor: 2 model starships and 2 piles of latinum that, based on their sheer size, were fakes. They couldnt be real, Guktak told himself, otherwise the Admiral would own several planets. Why would he be in Starfleet? His musings where interrupted by a delicate cough.
Cadet Guktak belatedly snapped to attention. Sir, Admiral Sheppard. Sir! This response was met with a decidedly uncomfortable noise from the Admiral. It sounded suspiciously like Hmmmmmm?
The Admiral acknowledged the Cadet and gestured to a chair opposite his desk. Be seated Cadet Guktak.
His refused of I would prefer to stand, Sir was rebuffed by a pointed gesture and a stern look that brooked no argument. It was clear. You. Chair. Now. Guktak obeyed.
Guktak seated himself as if he were asked to rest upon a bed of coals. As he did so the Admiral arose and began to stroll around the room, gently testing for dust and caressing objects at random.
Do you know why I volunteered the Relentless to accept Academy Cadets Mister Guktak?
No, Sir. That is your decision and right. Not mine.
True enough, the Admiral paused and faced Guktak, but a little questioning and curiosity can be instructive every now and then done appropriately, of course. I volunteered the Relentless to accept Academy Cadets, Mister Guktak, for two reasons. First, I received my first commission as battlefield promotion. Accordingly, I place great stock in real experience and real events. Secondly, I am always scouting for new talent for my rosters. However, I only accept on rotation Cadets that my officers have personally vouched for. Do you know who vouched for you?
No Sir. I assumed it was Commander Disok or Commander Vulkrath.
So you assume my Klingon officers recommended you to me. Well, you assumed wrong Cadet. Commanders Disok and Vulkrath had never heard of you before your rotation here. I think your assumption is a hint at something we will get to shortly.
Guktak was confused. This whole disciplinary hearing was not going at all as he expected. Sir?
Perhaps it is time for that questioning and curiosity I mentioned. You may speak freely. Admiral Sheppard took in the perplexed look of his charge, Go on, give it a try.
Sir, I was of the view that this was a disciplinary hearing. Is it?
The Admiral moved over to his desk and leaned against it. Yes, he replied very solemnly, but it is not going to be like you expected and it is going to be tough. How you handle it will determine whether or not I recommend you see out your rotation or send you back to the academy for further evaluation.
I see had barely escaped Guktaks lips before he was cut off by the Admiral.
No. No you dont and thats the heart of the problem, Cadet. Here is my challenge to you. You listen to me until I am done. I will ask you one question as I go. Then at the end you get one more question of me. After that you get 12 hours off duty and then you return here. When you come back, what you say will determine your future. This isnt a take it or leave it deal. You take it or you are on a shuttle to Earth in five minutes. Are you determined enough to take me up on this challenge?
Guktak bristled, a warrior never refuses a challenge. The Admirals smile revealed that Guktak had just been tricked, and rather simply too. Silently Guktak cursed himself.
Glad to see. Glad. The Admiral clapped Guktak on the shoulder in a way that he found highly irritating.
To get started, I have some light reading to help frame all this. I want you to examine this PADD. There are two files on it and you may take both with you when you leave to help you in the next 12 hours. One is redacted for the moment. Take a quick look and give me your first thoughts.
Guktak looked down at what he was sure would be Commander Disoks incident report. Instead Guktak was confronted with his own detailed Starfleet Academy record in all its checkered glory. He thumbed to the other record. Names and dates were redacted but it too was a detailed and highly colourful Starfleet Academy record. Guktak was unsure as to why he was given the two files. The Admiral looked on expectantly and clearly was looking forward to Guktaks response. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes before he could form some response.
Admiral, these records both appear to indicate that their owners have a very similar pattern. It was not what he should have said but similar pattern was all he could choke out. He ought to have said failed or struggled or perhaps even inconsistent performance. He ought to have said any of these but his Klingon pride would not let him.
The Admiral spoke again. That is most kind of you, Mr Guktak. Very diplomatic. It might surprise you to learn that the redacted record is my own from the exact point in my career that you are now at. Let me remove those data block for you And with that the Admiral casually reached into Guktaks personal space and tapped the PADD. Again Guktak flared with annoyance but it quickly melted as the PADD now indicated that the record was that of Admiral Markus Sheppard... then Cadet Sheppard.
Cadet, I believe that the similarities in our records have a similar cause. Now if I am right, you are at a fork in your life. I stand before as an example of where one path may lead. That door is not yet closed. You have 12 hours to decide if that is the path you want to aim for. To help you, I am going to tell you my story of this fork and how I faced it. Now it will be different for you but I want you to listen.
As a young man I grew up on the Moons of Titan. I was headstrong, self-assured, independent and convinced of my own eventual ascension to greatness. I was more or less a spacer who liked nothing more than hopping from moon to micro-moon and exploring. Now I thought Starfleet might let me explore more than little moons so I enlisted and came to Earth. Let me tell you, Earth was downright alien to me. For starters it had an atmosphere, there was wildlife, it had ever so tall buildings. Oh, and it had people. So many people. All of them were full of noise, noise, noise. Anyway, I was used to being self-reliant loner and I did not make friends easily. Pretty much the only folk that put up with me were a Vulcan named Selel and a Betazoid named Dyesane. Most humans and everyone else avoided the weird human spacer. And for my part, I annoyed the TRIBBLE out of people. I wasnt deliberately rude. It was just that I didnt really see a need for others and I was pretty good at most things right off the bat. You will let me know if I throw too many colloquial phrases in, wont you?
Guktak could only nod. He had no idea where this was going and it made less sense the longer it continued. The Admiral picked up the story as if Guktak was not even there.
Space flight: I knew it. Starship operations: done it. EVA: it was my hobby. Xenobiology, well, in fact any academic course: I aced them all because I spent a lot of time reading and teaching myself things back on the moons. However, there were some subjects where I completely bombed. For the life of me I could see no pattern. Diplomacy: fail. Tactical Deployment: Fail. Starship Command: conceded pass and let me tell you, the way I got that one NO ONE wants to ever see again. But I digress.
Selel and Dysane could see the problem because they were not me. They told me over and over again: Markus, you have learn to work with others. Selel kept telling me that it was logical. Dysane kept telling me all civilizations recognised the need to work together. I didnt believe either of them.
<continued in part 2>
Shortly after the time reflected in that record you hold I went off and got hurt. Hurt bad. I am talking the sort of hurt that you dont normally come back from. Never mind how. Lets just say that a reckless young man who thinks he knows everything, who is frustrated and angry and has access to a micro-hopper is a dangerous combination. You might know a thing or two about that. Minus the micro-hopper of course.
Guktak bristled at the implied insult. The Admiral was clearly caught up in his story and continued.
You have heard of an EMH of course. Well, my body was so badly damaged that by the time I would be able to return to duty, the Academy year would have ended and I would have to repeat a whole year. Faced with that, I was ready to quit. But apparently one of the instructors had an idea and offered to arrange me a loaner body in the form of hologram. They would slave it to my mind via some technical link while my real body recovered. Selel and Dysane convinced me to try it out and truth be told I was looking forward to my temporary indestructible holographic body.
The reality was not what I expected at all. We all think of holograms as strong, resilient and being without mortal limits like being able to breathe. I got nothing like that. The link between my mind and the hologram was unreliable. The hologram was glitchy. Sometimes I was solid. At other times I was soft light. Usually I was somewhere in between and invariably I was slower and weaker than my real body. I never quite knew when I would lose solidity. It was frustrating. It was annoying and to top it all off I was an even bigger freak than before.
Selel and Dysane helped where they could but the turning point for me was a shy young Bolian man who was studying engineering and was named Ordtin. One day my hologram turned unexpectedly weak. They tell me it was solar interference to the link. It was all I could do to carry my PADD and instruments but I dropped them and couldnt pick them up. The hologram glitch left me there. Selel and Dysane were in other classes and here I was in a corridor unable to pick up all my equipment. Ordtin came over to me and he said Do you need help? I was stunned and he asked again, Are you alright? Do you need help? You just have to ask. It seems silly now, decades later but that last part struck me like a bolt of lightning: You just have to ask. A complete stranger was willing to help and if he did, it effectively made me stronger.
That was the start of a life changing friendship. It made me realise that Selel and Dysane were right. I didnt think I needed anyone and therefore I didnt treat them right. This was why I was shunned. I didnt care for people and I didnt see value in anyone but myself. In hindsight it makes sense that only a Vulcan and a Betazoid could tolerate that type of treatment for completely different reasons, of course. Anyway with that one revelation I started to rethink and redefine myself and my interactions with others. In the months I was using that hologram I turned my life around. There was even a party for me when I got my real body out of the hospital. People even turned up.
The Admiral leaned over again and keyed the PADD. Let me open the successive academic history for you. Guktak quickly digested it and noticed a marked improvement still a long way from an honour student but clearly someone passing on all fronts: perhaps excelling in a few.
So Cadet Guktak, that is what made me the person I am today. I learned to accept my limitations and accept that synergy exists. The whole exceeds the sum of the parts. Now lets consider you for a moment. It might surprise you that Commander Disok thinks very highly of your potential. He pushes you very hard because he wants to see that potential realised and not wasted. He also understands that the whole exceeds the sum of the parts. That is why he is not pressing charges for the swing you threw at him today. Pressing charges would squander your potential and Starfleet would lose what he considers to be a valuable opportunity. However, we are coming to a close. Commander Disok will not end your career. You will need to decide for yourself what defines you and whether you will embrace this career or reject it. Disok has considered this carefully against his honour and views. He is a Commander in Starfleet because he both takes and gives help and he considers how things contribute to become something greater than they can be than if they were alone.
You have one question and then you are dismissed for 12 hours Cadet. What is your question?
Guktaks mind was reeling. An idea was dawning in him that he did not yet understand or have words to express. He wanted time to think it through: to see where it might lead him; to see if it might come to define him. Because of this, he could not ask that question now. Instead he looked the Admiral in the eye and asked, Sir, if Commander Disok nor Commander Vulkrath recommended me for this rotation, may I ask who did?
A fair question. It was Chief Engineer Emetiz. I have no idea how you came to his attention but I do know he is in the lounge at the moment. Since he is a Betazoid, he is not only a good judge of character but he is also open to talk. Cadet, you are dismissed under your own reconnaissance. Think carefully. Use your time well. I expect you back here with your thoughts in twelve hours.
Guktak rose and saluted, Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.
As the young Klingon left, the Admiral already knew that he had just successfully planted seeds that what bloom into a fine Starfleet officer. All that remained now was time for the planted seeds to grow.
Erm ... No sir, I swear they were at least three metres in length.
The crewman, ensign Black, had a large gash on his left cheek that was still bleeding. His uniform was torn in two places and he was covered in mud, but his most prominent feature was the confused look on his face at his captains outburst. Mentally, captain Tyr cursed himself and quickly tried to regain his composure.
I believe you crewman, you say the ... creature ... was beamed into cargobay 2?
Yes sir, but doc has probably moved it to sickbay by now.
Thank you crewman you are dismissed, take a shower, have that wound taken care of and take the rest of the day off along with your team. You all did well today.
The human ensign nodded and walked out the door. All looks of confusion gone after recieving such a compliment. Once he was gone Jijan let himself fall back in his chair, Spiders, why did it have to be spiders ... and huge honking space ones no less, a familiar chill of fear ran along his spots.
He walked over to the replicator and ordered a cup of chamomile tea. As he picked it up he noticed his hands shaking.
Stop it, he thought.
Remarkably they did.
As he held his tea he couldnt help dreading the moment when his chief medical officer, doctor Syaxani Tgaza, would call him and ask for him to come down to sickbay. He had half a heart to ignore her and stick to reading status reports from the comfort of the farthest possible location AWAY from sickbay. An EPS juncture on Deck twelve I believe
But he was the captain, he couldnt do that. He had to face his arch-nemesis once more: spiders. There was that chill again.
The pathological fear of arachnids he felt wasnt even his, but belonged to his former host: Tazi Tyr. She had braved incredible danger to help out those in need in her short career. But when it came to arachnids she would run out of the room ... screaming ... right into the nearest broom closet. In fact, whenever she had to perform any kind of medical procedures on insectoid-like beings she would do it under the influence of a battery of tranquillizers. Yes, he thought, she was that good.
At that moment he heard the chime of the intercom followed by the voice of his medical officer, Tgaza to Tyr. Captain, could you meet me in sickbay? I have something you might want to see.
Oh I seriously doubt that
He hesitated only for a second or two before he acknowledged.
Ill be there in a few moments.
As he left he absent mindedly put his cup of chamomile down on his desk.
Still steaming.
Undrunk.
As he walked along the corridors towards sickbay he couldnt help but think back to his days at Starfleet Academy. Some of his classmates had been somewhat bitter at his unfair advantage and yes, he couldnt deny that having the memories of three other people had helped him pass many a test during his training there. On top of that he excelled at tactical training and command all of his own, something that only fueled resentment in a few of his fellow cadets. No, his challenges werent cerebral or academic but of a personal nature. He had tried taking classes in exobiology in order to face his (or rather Tazis) fears and finally get rid of them. It had turned into a disaster.
During the final exams he had to perform a complex medical procedure in order to separate an insectoid that had clamped unto a half-klingon, half-human female. Without killing either of them. It had first been performed by The Doctor, the famous hologram from the starship Voyager. Until this day he still didnt know if it was purposly done by his instructors, if someone broke into his files and assigned him that particular test as some sort of prank or if it was sheer coincidence. But it nearly cost him his year. Where he had summoned the strength to keep going in that examination chamber he didnt know. And now he had to do it again.
He took a deep breath and walked through the automatically opening doors of sickbay. As he saw a giant tangle of legs and fur lying on one of the biobeds he tried to look neutral and with the practised look of a captain he walked over to where Syaxani and a male nurse were performing their autopsy. As the image of the giant spiderlike creature became clearer he heard Docter Tgaza gasp and a loud clank as she dropped her laserscalpel. She turned around and faced him, a look of understanding crossing the face of the elderly Betazoid. Of course she could telepathically feel what was going on. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again he knew her mental barriers were up. He adressed her with a practised voice, but she wasnt fooled.
Report!
As Doctor Tgaza was relaying her findings he found he couldnt help himself looking at the lump of flesh in front of him. It was huge, with no less than twelve legs and half as many eyes. It had a much longer body and he imagened it slithering towards his prey. Looking at the size of the mandibles the away team had been either lucky or extremely competent. And were those teeth?
Meanwhile the good doctor was still talking, he couldnt understand half of what she was saying as fear clenched his heart. Did that leg just twitch? Did he see that indeterminable organ that the nurse was prodding at with an instrument contract? He shook his head slightly and forced himself to listen to his medical officer.
The venom is of particular interest, it seems to have certain anti-viral properties. Im having a sample analysed right now.
Fascinating doctor, was that all?
Just one thing, sir.
What is it Sya?
He tried to smile but his cheeks seemed to be made of stone today.
You are a brave man, captain, she whispered so the nurse couldnt hear, few men would have come to see me in person under these circumstances.
Now he did manage a meek chuckle.
Courage isnt a manner of fearlessness, but of experiencing and facing said fear head on.
Tlen of Vulcan, right?
Yes, a very controversial statement coming from her, he said.
And with that he walked, as calmly as he could, out the door.
Krovennan eyed the rocky forest he stood in, Vilscar's landscape truly was beautiful, but it housed many hidden dangers, and now, to ascend to adulthood, Krovennan had to find one of these dangers and kill it.
This was the rite every Vilscaran had to go through, a few metres away, a hovering platform gently swayed as it circled Krovennan, standing on this platform, an elderly Vilscaran watched Krovennan from under the red hood of otherwise black robe, this was a Blood Prelate, the followers of Vex'Manna Mordeth, and also the one chosen to oversee Krovennan's actions during this test.
Next to the Blood Prelate hovered a small device, this was a holorecorder, projecting the live images to a stadium in Ossik'var, Vilscar's capital, this trend had risen about 200 years ago, the interest in what happens during this test gre exponentially during that time, and an unexploited market was quickly utilised, and live recordings of these events were now highly sought after.
Krovennan could have, if he wished, omitted from the recording, but he did not see it as a distraction, so he let it be, Krovennan was focsed on one thing, killing a Skildrassa, the rules were simple, Krovennan could kill the Skildrassa in anyway he wished as long as it did not utilise energy weapons, most creatures of Vilscar had energy resistant hides anyway, so they were ineffective gainst these creatures, he also had to doeverything himself, the Prelate could not help him other than to escape if something were to go wrong, and he could not enlist the help of any other Vilscaran or vehicle to aid him.
Krovennan knew these rules and adhered to them for the three days he had been left in the forest, he had brought enough gear to set up a reasonable camping site, some food, water, and his trump card, all of which had been approved by the Blood Prelate beforehand to ensure he was not breaking any of the rules.
Krovennan had been following a male Skildrassa since last night, and now the beast was just beyond the bushes, it had stopped to drink from a nearby lake, the creature was the size of an animal native to earth known as an "Elephant", but unlike the elephant, this was no lumbering herbivore, this creature was fast, strong, and like most wildlife on Vilscar, carnivorous, it also more resembled some kind of reptile rather than a mammal, the pale red scales of the beast glistened in the morning sun, the toothy snout of the beast half dipped in the water, and the long tail rested against the ground.
Krovennan waited silently in the bushes, the Blood Prelate watched intently from the canopy above, the Skildrassa, having had it's fill of water, begun to leave, Krovennan took his chance, Manna'gahr in hand, Krovennan charged the beast, the Skildrassa was initially taken off guard, and Krovennan ran right past the creature, scraping his weapon along the Skildrassa's flank, the creature howled in pain and stumbled as Krovennan stopped his charge after he had reached a safe distance to avoid being counter-attacked by the beast.
The Skildrassa regained it's composure and now glared at Krovennan, snarling and growling at him as Krovennan brought his Manna'gahr up until the front end was beside his head, turned sideways and aimed at the beast. The Skildrassa bellowed a deep roar before charging Krovennan, the beast's loping strides gave Krovennan little timeto bring his Manna'gahr up in defense, but Krovennan managed it, the beast's hardened snout impacted off the metal with a clash, the pair were locked in a struggle before the beast's superior strength allowed it to knock Krovennan back.
Krovennan was stumbled lon enough for the beast to charge into him, Krovennan was hit in the chest with the Skildrassa's forehead before the beast threw it's head back,sending Krovennan flying into the rock face behind him. The Skildrassa released a roar of triumph as Krovennan got up, he knew he did not stand a chance in a test of strength, he had to lure the beast to the trap he had set in order to defeat it, the beast charged again, Krovennan rolled to his right just before the beast struck the rock behind him, it was dazed momentarily but quickly regained it's composure, since Krovennan was closer this time, it did not charge and proceeded to swipe and bite at him with it's clawed front legs and crushing jaws.
Krovvennan took on a more defensive strategy, deflecting or parrying the Skildrassa's attacks while occasionally swiping at the beast to keep it aggravated, all the while Krovennan moved back slowly, the beast was in a rage and Krovennan's skill with the Manna'gahr was the only thing stopping it from overwhelming him, so it took no notice of this and continued to fight with Krovennan.
This duel continued with no sign of slowing down, Krovennan had succeeded in drawing the Skildrassa out of the forest along the cliff face, but he was beginning to tire, the Blood Prelate, who had been following from a safe distance this whole time, noticed this and readied the platforms tractor beam, in case Krovennan needed to be removed from the situation quickly.
After another half a minute of sparring between Vilscaran and beast, the pair were in the valley where Krovennan had set the trap, Krovennan took a wild swipe and cleaved the beast's left eye in half, the Skildrassa thrashed in pain, knocking Krovennan backwards, not waiting to let the Skildrassa recorvered, Krovennan parted the bushes he had left, a tunnel was carved into the rock face, Krovennan had carved this yesterday using the tools he brought with him, none of them were powerful enough to even tickle the beast, so they were allowed, krovennan clambered through the small tunnel, using the artificial handholds to pull himself through as the tunnel curved upwards until he pushed through the net he had placed over the exit to avoid something unwanted moving in, Krovennan clambered to the top of the cliff, the Skildrassa was still where he had been, the Skildrassa had followed Krovennan's scent to the tunnel and was now attacking the rock face in the hope it would lead to the beast's prey.
Krovennan lifted a rock from the ground and a device from his pocket, thankfully it was not damaged, Krovennan threw the rock at the unsuspecting beast merely six feet below him, the rock impacted on the creature's back and got it's attention, the beast lifted it's ruined face to rkovennan and roared in anger before trying to climb up the cliff face to no avail. Krovennan simply smirked and pushed the button on the device.
A series of explosions went off around the far end of the miniscule valley, and soon, that sound was replaced with the sound of a landslide, the Skildrassa noticed too late as the torrent of rock punded against it's body, one rock broke it's right foreleg, another shattered a rib on the other side, before a boulder larger than the beast itself tumbled down the hill and impacted the beast, just as Krovennan had planned.
With the beast both pinned and mortally wounded by the boulder, Krovennan leapt down from above and sent his Manna'gahr plunging into the Kildrassa's neck, biting deep against the tough hide and piercing the neck bone, the creature thrashed for a few moments before lying still, krovennan had slain his Skildrassa, it was now time for evaluation.
the Blood Prelate set the platform down on the ground just outside the clearing, the holo-recorder following him and surveying the dead beast, Krovennan dislodged his Manna'gahr from it's arm mount and stabbed the back point into the ground before him as a sign of victory.
"I have slain this beast in accordance to the rules of the test, will you validate this kill?"
Krovennan's words were known to every Vilscaran above the age of 5, every Vilscaran needed their kill approved by the Blood Prelate to count, if the Blood Prelate did not validate the kill, Krovennan would have to try again at a later date, and while there was no shame in doing so, it was still not ideal. The Blood Prelate remained silent for a minute as he shifted his gaze between Krovennan and the beast, to Krovennan it felt like hours, he just knew the stadium where this was being broadcast had fallen perfectly silent in anticipation of the result. The Blood Prelate turned to the holo-recorder as a sign that he was ready to give his decision.
"As Vilscarans, we strive for strength of body, and strength of mind. The use of explosives may be seen as cheating or finding a loophole, however, it is not listed as prohibited, and Krovennan has displayed the strength of his mind by exploiting this loophole, for in combat, nothing is prohibited to you or your opponent. I, Skorvin Drennas, Blood Prelate overseer of this test, therefore give my verdict."
Krovennan stayed motionless, resting his hands on the Manna'gahr jutting from the ground, but inwardly he was tense as could be.
"I declare Krovennan's kill of the Skildrassa...valid."
Krovennan relaxed his shoulders slightly, unbeknownst to him, the stadium in Ossik'Var was trembling with the cheers of the crowd, Krovennan removed his weapon from the ground and shook hands with the Blood Prelate before boarding the platform, as it sped for the city, a loud echoing howl reverberated through the air, lupine in nature, and enough to make any Vilscaran's skin crawl, the Blood Prelate turned to Krovennan.
"Looks like we left just in time Krovennan, I'd say it was only a few minutes away."
Krovennan nodded, that howl was etched into every Vilscaran's psyche as an omen of death, the creature it belonged to, an enormous monstrosity of the deep woods, devoured the population of an entire city to sustain it's immense body, and it had no problem with attacking a Vilscaran city, were it not for the forcefields, it and it's kin would have devoured the entire Vilscaran race, nowadays, the Vilscarix kept to the mountain woods, but every now and then, one would try it's luck, and the military of it's target city would fight hard to defend that city.
So far, there had been no failures, but the Vilscarix was a powerful and fearless predator, focusing almost solely on crushing the forcefields under it's immense jaws to reach the populace inside.
It was only a matter of time...
It was Arachnidus' final test of his Senior year at Starfleet Academy. He'd spent the past four years training to be an officer, and that day was rapidly approaching. All he had to was pass this final, infamous test. The Kobayashi Maru.
Every single wannabe-officer had to take this notorious test. Starfleet required it. Most people said that it couldn't be defeated, and that there were only three ways to handle the situation. The first and likely hardest one was you either managed to save the Kobayashi Maru, a simulated civilian cargo vessel, perhaps losing your ship and crew in the progress. The Admiralty Board's reasoning was likely that if you were capable of saving the ship, even against such tepid odds, then losing your crew was of no consequence; you had done the impossible, and every captain could face such a situation, where the 7,500 person crew of the Maru would outnumber even the largest of Starfleet craft. The needs of the many, as they say.
The second possibility was that you saved a portion of the crew of the Maru and your ship, and managed to escape the attackers. This one would seem to be the least challenging, however, the failure rate for those who attempted the maneuver was still hovering at around 40%.
The third and most intriguing possibility to Arachnidus was the one that would net any person who did it successfully the James T. Kirk Commendation for Ingenuity, or, as his best friend and notorious campus womanizer Mark Parker put it, "what you get for cheating". This option would involve reprogramming the holodeck simulation in the most ingenious way possible. You would have to retake the test, but there was a curve applied to your score. Or something like that, Arachnidus couldn't really see how someone would apply a curve to such a "test".
Wanting nothing short of a giant publicity stunt and a challenge, Arachnidus went with option 3. The reason it was so coveted was because it involved sneaking into the campus serverhouse, or finding a way past the Campus Security that guarded it, and reprogramming it directly. In fact, that was part of the test. I don't think anybody realizes just how funny it is that they condone this, Arachnidus thought, as he crept out of his dorm to find his best friend and compatriot in the test tomorrow.
Mark was going down the yellowshirt path, for security officer. The board now allowed students applying for command(which Arachnidus probably wouldn't be ready for any time soon, unless something horrible happened to the Captain on his posting, which is a horrible thing to think of) to choose their own crew, and, with Mark being his best friend and one of the highest scoring students on the Weapons Targeting and other ship related tests necessary for his posting, Arachnidus demanded that he'd be his Chief Security Officer and Conn Officer for the KM. But first, they needed to do some server tinkering.
The halls were dark, as it was 1:40AM PST. Arachnidus had just gotten back from visiting his mother in New York City during Finals Week, after finishing his tests, and wasn't acclimated to his now standard time zone. As such, he was perky and awake as if it were the brightest day of the year. He'd chosen the time because this is when most people would either be at end of year parties(he'd seen several of his classmates carting some definitely non-synthaholic beverages to some dorms) or asleep. What he didn't count on was his best friend and dorm mate's disturbing ability to get with women. So he had to do something he'd hoped he'd never have to do; sneak down a hallway of Starfleet Academy's McCoy Dorm, using a tricorder he normally used for his classes, to find the biosignature of his best friend and whoever he was currently intimate with.
After ten minutes of searching, he'd approached the room, which, to his surprise, read as three life signs, not two. Well then, this is probably going to scar me for life Arachnidus thought. He pressed the door ringer and awaited it's opening. Instead, he got a surprising response.
"Richard! Go away!"
His best friend loved to use Arachnidus' human translation for his name. And, in this instance, it was being used to shoo him away from passing the most important test of his career. Not entirely unsuspecting this possibility, Arachnidus pulled out an OSD he'd set up two days ago with a door cracking program and loaded it into the maintenance panel next to the dorm. With one command from his phone (the tricorder was issued by the academy, and did not have the ability to connect to Ad Hoc connections, only the campus Wi-Fi used for the labs), the door opened up and, to his surprise, he didn't see anybody. Just a bed.
A bed with the blankets horribly warped and the shapes of three people underneath. Mark's head quickly popped up from the middle and Arachnidus had to suppress the urge to collapse in laughter as he spoke.
"Hey, buddy!"
"Mark, come on, we've got that thing we were talking about. You can finish up here later."
"Gah, fine. Ladies, I'm so very sorry."
After he spoke, two human girls, both of whom he recognized as Sophomores, sat up in the bed. The one to the left noticed Arachnidus and smiled, then spoke.
"Hey, Richard. Good luck on the Maru tomorrow."
"Thanks, Michelle." Arachnidus wanted to spend as little time as possible here, especially considering they had a limited window of opportunity to do this.
It took ten minutes, but the pair of friends were out of the dorm and approaching the Montgomery Scott Engineering and Computer Center. The paths across the beautiful campus were lit with low power solar charged lights, giving the exciting situation a calming tone. In the distance, Arachnidus could see the most famous city on Earth as of the 22nd Century. San Francisco was alight, and though it wasn't nearly as much of a sight to behold as the stratospheric skyscrapers of New York City or the Space Elevator in Havana, seeing the Golden Gate Bridge beset by a backdrop of a glowing city, where skyscrapers rose into the heavens and shuttles whirred past, Arachnidus almost felt himself completely entranced. Luckily, he was too nervous to get distracted.
As they entered the building, which was oddly unguarded (likely as there were students still studying at this hour), they approached the server room, which was guarded.
Arachnidus and Mark pressed up against the walls on either side of a standard pneumatic door. Arachnidus hoped the lifesigns inhibitors he'd fabricated, with the help of one Cadet Sasha Lawson, a few days ago, had not failed them. He pulled out his tricorder and saw that there were only two lifesigns within 30 meters of the scanner's location; the two guards in the server hub. Now, the plan would come together, and it was time for Mark to fulfill the role Arachnidus had dragged him along for.
"Alright, man, it's time for you to act your best, drunken self you can" Arachnidus whispered to his friend.
"I gotchu, man. You are going to owe me so much for this."
"Yeah, whatever. Do your thing." Arachnidus ran into the shadows of the staircase about fifteen feet to the left of the door and awaited the culmination of his friend's experience. The doors slid open and Mark waltzed in.
"Hey there buddies, do you-" he stopped and punctuated with a burp, then continued. "Would either of you guys know where I could find my lobster? I love that guy. He's awesome."
The lifesigns detector showed the two security officers moving towards his friend.
"Sir, you need to leave this room."
"Aww, come on dude, I'm just having a time. Besides, I need to find that goddamn lobster. He owes me money."
Arachnidus could only imagine the looks on the guard's faces. It was 2:00AM now, it'd been about 20 minutes since the "operation" started. They were wasting too much time. He hoped Mark had an ace up his sleeve.
Unbeknownst to Arachnidus, he did.
"Woops, I think the lobster spiked my drinks. Goodnight, fellas" Mark said before faking collapsing.
Arachnidus paid close attention to what he could hear.
"He's still breathing. Hey, I think this kid's in my C-Band Physics class."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he hit on my girlfriend a few times. Let's dump him somewhere."
Two things came to Arachnidus' mind. First, how goddamn stupid are these people?. And, second, they must be using students to guard the servers for the test...then again, these aren't the real server houses, just the holodeck memory banks.
After a hilariously awkward moment of watching the two lumbering Seniors carrying out his best friend, who looked at him without them noticing, and gave Arachnidus a facial expression that could only mean "I'm going to murder you. In your sleep.", Arachnidus rushed stealthily into the server room.
From there on, he just uploaded his custom program and went back to his dorm to sleep, where he found his best friend in the bed opposite from him, a human phallus drawn on his forehead.
It'd been twelve hour since Mark and Arachnidus' ridiculous attempt at rewiring the KM had paid off, and now he was halfway through the test. The current simulation harkened back to the 23rd century version of it, where the Kobayashi Maru was a civilian cargo ship with a crew of 5,000 hauling various supplies to colonies in the Klingon Neutral Zone. The ship Arachnidus was "in command" of for the duration of the test was a Constitution Refit that was introduced during the Dominion War to bolster the ranks of Starfleet, considering they were taking personnel losses in the hundreds of thousands and ship losses in the hundreds. Everything had gone swimmingly and now the Klingons were bearing down on his ship.
Three B'rel class Birds of Prey and one Negh'var class battleship were approaching the Constitution, which had, on Arachnidus order, stationed itself in between the KM and the approaching Klingons.
Lances of subatomic fire erupted from the Starfleet ship's hull as acting Lieutenant Parker fired phasers at the BoP's on Arachnidus' order and acting Ensign Lawson maneuvered the ship to face it's approaching doom. The Birds of Prey were no challenge, but even on a good day, when the test wasn't designed to murder the test takers' ship, that Negh'var would simply fire all it's forward weapon banks at the Constitution and be done with it.
Which is exactly why, any second now, Arachnidus' custom programmed third attack force was going to come in. He'd programmed something special. Instead of the usual fleet of reinforcements or scripting the Klingon ships to be recalled, he'd decided to mix things up a bit. Horribly surprised, his secondary Conn Officer for the duration of the test, acting Lieutenant Junior Grade Chellick, a Bolian, turned around and gave Arachnidus an incredulous look before speaking.
"Sir, we've got a new signature on Long Range Sensors. FTL LADAR shows the silhouette of...a Borg sphere, on intercept trajectory."
Oh yes, it's all going to plan.
On screen, the visage of a Klingon appeared and spoke a preprogrammed message, then blinked out of existence. The rough translation was "Dishonorable peta'Q'pu, we have chosen not to devour your entrails and TRIBBLE your corpses in a display of disturbingly erotic necrophilia, as our respective glories are now under duress from the impending threat of the Borg! We shall join you in fighting these cybernetic dogs."
The speech wasn't Arachnidus' best work, but he was proud of it nonetheless. The rest of the test went off without a hitch; afterall, a Borg sphere was an auxiliary vessel, and the first time it had been seen, during the Battle of Earth of 2373, it was vaporized by the Sovereign Class USS Enterprise, a ship which, to Arachnidus, had an uncanny ability to save the day. All of them, not just the most recent one.
Leaving the holodeck and approaching the review board, Arachnidus was confident he'd done fine.
If he hadn't, at least he'd had an interesting night of it all.
Off topic note; once again, as with Luna, I went over the character limit...sorry!