Unofficial Literary Challenge #5: "Back from the Dead?"

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• icerose20 Member Posts: 18,379 Arc User

  November 2014 edited November 2014

  Prompt 1: Lazerus
  
  Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetary
  Dallas, Texas, USA, Earth, UFP
  
  
  About 20 people, most in some form of dress military uniform stand against the warm July wind, watching as the ceremonial guard uses a gun salute too announce that a warrior, a son, a friend is now entering his final resting place. But there is no casket, just a small box with minute ashes and some cherished trickets of the person who gave his life to help those who need to be protected.
  
  Rose tired to be strong, to be the stoic warrior, the stoic captain, but still a stream of tears rolled down her face. Not only was Chief Warrant Officer, Second Class Jeffery McDaniels was someone who she have served with a long time, but that she also knew that this was a hoax.
  
  Later
  
  Rose was still at the site, as the cemetery workers put the finishing touches on the dirt that covered the remains of her friend. She heard the whirr of a wheelchair behind her.
  
  “Rose” as a hand touched her shoulder from behind. It was Jeffery's grandfather, Micheal. He was 150 years old, and despite 25th century medicine, the human body reaches it limits around that time. “Stop beating yourself up over this. He died what he wanted to do, protecting the Federation, protecting the weak, protecting his friends. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”
  
  Rose looked west across the heavily manicured area, seeing the thousands of headstones marking the over 400 year existence of this place.
  
  “He's not in there, sir. Not totally anyways”
  
  “Well, of course not. I am surprised that a couple of fingers were left. Disintegration happen a lot on the battlefield in my time, and now....”
  
  “No, sir. Its not like that" as Rose rubbed away some tears. “It's the Kobali, sir. They may seem very similar to us, except in one area. The procreate their species by reanimating the dead.”
  
  “WHAT?”
  
  Rose looked at the deathly horrified man. “It's not exactly how the process work. Along time ago, they got infected by a genetic disease that destroyed their ability to procreate like normal species, like humans, Klingons, and other carbon humnoid species. However, it allowed the to take any dead humanoid, and to transform that body to Kobali, giving that dead body, another chance at life, but as Kobali. They rarely retain memories of their prior life in the process, but it has happened. From there, the new Kobali is put into designated families, where they taught like our families the ways fo the Kobali, their culture and their religion.”
  
  “What possessed you to let them reanimate my grandson?” said the old man with vitrol in his words.
  
  “He is dead, sir. DEAD” as she shot up out of her seat. “We had his body for a week, he is dead.”
  
  The she sat down facing the grandfather. “Then I got a petition from the Kobali, asking for his body to be made into one of them. I sat on that request for 3 days wondering what to do.”
  
  “Then a memory from a time before came to me. It was your grandson, we ere on some remote planetoid, protecting some slightly useful post from the Jem'Hadar. We were tired, cold, hungry, except for him. He was as cheerful as ever. I asked him why he was cheerful, and he said, 'I am protecting those that can't protect themselves. This is why I am here.'”
  
  The grandfather looked old now, his rage tempered probably by a similar memory about his grandson.
  
  Rose continued. “So I allowed them to do the process, only after I took 2 fingers to put here.”
  
  “So he is there helping protect the Kobali?”
  
  “Yes, he has only the vaguest memory that he knows me, but no one else on my crew. That will pass.”
  
  “I don't know what I should feel right now.”
  
  Rose sat down next to the old man and gave him a hug “I wish I could tell you. When you met your grandson, you'll let me know to.” as the two of them sat their looking at the headstone, in that cemetery with all his compatriots, crying form the heartache of losing someone close to them.
  
  And still the hot south wind of Texas blew over the area, like it has for over 400 years, and still the headstones stand at attention, watching over the fallen, with the patience of Job.

  Ancient Griffon insult
  
  That one is so stupid, he lost a Rock/Paper/Scissors game to a Pony.

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• hawku001x Member Posts: 10,758 Arc User

  November 2014 edited November 2014

  Last time, on the Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial: The ship sat out in orbit of Kobali Prime. Captain Menrow entered the Bridge to find his crew hard at work.
  
  "Perfect. Everything is going as planned," he commented.
  
  Hatcha looked up from her operations panel, "Except that we're supposed to be on the surface, fighting the Vaadwaur half-invasion!"
  
  "Are you kidding me? We need all the breaks we can get! The Vaadwaur are insanely over-powered and there is only so much polaron beam-firing one can do before one sterilizes their ability to procreate," Menrow explained. "By the way, we're all sterilized."
  
  Barley slammed his fist into his console, "Dammit! You know as Captain, you're supposed to impregnate as many aliens as you can."
  
  "Another life, I suppose. Ever since we were brought back into our bodies by that Traveler, Wayfar, with our memories offset in time, it almost feels like lives come and go at ease."
  
  Grunley replied, "Sir, you can't be that naive?"
  
  "It's just a thought, Lieutenant Commander. Now, let's return to the surface and fight for skill points--- I mean, for the needs of others. I'll take Hatcha and Grunley."
  
  Barley out-stretched his arm. "Wait! Don't you want more people?"
  
  "For some weak old Delta Quadrant mission? Pfft. Two's more than enough. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
  
  ---
  
  Down on the surface, the team of three found themselves locked down behind a rock, under heavy fire from Vaadwaur soldiers; the rapid fire loud enough to force Hatcha to try to yell over it.
  
  "Well, are you happy, now, sir?" Hatcha asked, ducking flying rock debris.
  
  Menrow knocked an incoming rock aside. "I don't follow?"
  
  "You said-- 'what's the worst that could happen', and now that very thing --is happening!" She reached around and fired at the Vaadwaur group.
  
  Menrow followed suit and then addressed her, "Are you saying.... that you were deliberately silent this whole time, from the walk to the transporter room to the trek out to these God forsaken Level 53 Trenches, just so you could fluidly connect something I said on the Crucial to something that's happening on Kobali Prime??"
  
  "We need to have dialogue that flows," Hatcha argued. "It's just better for us, mentally."
  
  Meanwhile, Grunley, firing the Mirror Zefram Cochrane Shotgun like a mad man, trying to make each burst of shells count, was suddenly approached by a Vaadwaur and shot at at point-blank range. "Auugghh! This weapon is uselessssssss!"
  
  As he hit the ground, Menrow and Hatcha fired liberally into the Vaadwaur assailant, until he was knocked down as well.
  
  "What the hell??" Menrow cursed. "Who just runs up to their enemy while their enemy is firing at them?? And they do it so nonchalantly??"
  
  Hatcha agreed, "It's well-earned overconfidence, sir."
  
  ---
  
  And now, the conclusion: Later, aboard the Crucial, several of the senior staff and Grunley's father, Jarken, an Earth engineer, was in attendance of his wake. Grunley was lying, dead in an open torpedo casing.
  
  "In accordance with our laws, we are to fire this man into an enemy, or a planetary atmosphere. It's nice that the option is there," Menrow spoke at random.
  
  Jarken looked at his son. "He wasn't a particularly good engineer. In fact, he was incredibly horrible, from what I ever saw, and from your reports as well, Captain."
  
  "Don't you have anything good to say about him?" Menrow asked.
  
  Jarken glanced over. "That was the good thing."
  
  Suddenly, they were approached by a visiting Kobali elder: "Please excuse the interruption, but we would like to offer our services in reviving Grunley as one of our own-- the most sacred of our traditions, next to returning expired cheese back into Kobali pizza ingredients."
  
  Menrow pointed, "Sold!"
  
  "Wait. I'm the last of Grunley's family. Don't I get a say in things?" Jarken cut in as way of accusation.
  
  The Captain shook his head, "Uh, my ship, my rules. Besides, my entire senior staff has a record in returning back to life, and I'm not about to let Grunley break that. There's a Ferengi at Spacedock keeping track."
  
  "Captain, this is wrong," Hatcha interrupted. "Our return was wrought with horror. Our bodies returned years ago, but our minds didn't return until just recently-- over-writing the minds of those bodies, who just happen to also be us."
  
  Jarken jerked his head slightly. "Space magic?"
  
  "Traveler," Hatcha conceded.
  
  Jarken nodded, "Space magic."
  
  "Damn it, Hatcha, you're right-- I'm getting calls from a woman that claims I'm my own grandpa. What the hell can of worms is that to deal with on a Monday?? Though it is nice to know my previous consciousness was involved with time travel-- a staple in seven year missions." He then tapped his chin. "At least now I get to fire Grunley at the Vaadwaur, which, from a tactical point of view, is what we should have been doing all along."
  
  The father held up his palm. "No! It is you who are right, Captain. My son, though inept, was still good at heart. That good is also a representation of your crew, even after his life." Jarken then turned to the Kobali elder. "Please; it would be my family's honor to indulge in your society-- a sense of cross-civilizational transcendence that makes up for Grunley's obsession with snacks and sugar-infused pop drinks."
  
  "I'm having second thoughts about this," the Kobali elder paused.
  
  Jarken pointed, "Too late! He's yours now! Ha! Now, how do I get back to the Alpha Quadrant? Transwarp, right? Ah, yes, transwarp is the answer to everything."
  
  ---
  
  Down in one of the non-attacked cities of Kobali Prime, Grunley, now known as Klik'Yeunyi, worked tirelessly on fixing his new family's food preservation machine.
  
  "Just finished my work, mother," the new purple member of the group called out after his masterpiece.
  
  When she stepped out into the kitchen, she was horrified to find the machine suddenly spewing out chunks of expired cheese at everyone, "Aahh!! You are the worst son we've ever revived!"
  
  "What about Per'Opeana? He keeps trying to score with our sisters-- hot as they are," Klik'Yeunyi said-- but as he said that, his skin coloration began to fade, and his Kobali head-ridges began to recede. "Oh, no! I'm turning into a Caatati or something??"
  
  His mother then examined him, "Uh, no, you're reverting to your previous species. This works out great--- err, I mean, oh noooo, who will fix my head shiner now?"
  
  "I can do it, mother!" Per'Opeana entered, holding a split-beam laser tool.
  
  His mother then scowled, "You stay away from the female side of the house!"
  
  ---
  
  Later, Grunley was returned to the Crucial and joined the senior staff at dinner in the Messhall with their Traveler friend, Wayfar.
  
  "Wow. The interior of this ship was really well done-- except, why can't I get to the upper level of Engineering, and why would Borg alcoves be in the same Cargo Bay of every present-day Intrepid-class starship? Wouldn't that interfere with daily cargo activities?" Grunley asked, logically.
  
  Menrow raised a glass, "That's not for us to decide and never will be. Salut!"
  
  As everyone cheered and clinked glasses, Wayfar stopped before drinking his, "This is all my fault, Captain. The space-time modifications I made to each of your cells in bringing you forward and back in time prevented the Kobali genetic traits from maintaining themselves in your Chief Engineer."
  
  Menrow put his drink down, "Wait. When did you get here? This party was to celebrate Grunley's return? Something I maintain as a half-success, despite the Kobali fail-GIFs going around of his de-transformation."
  
  "Well, now you tell me. I've already preset my future travels to have me appear at all of your parties?? Damn it!"
  
  Hatcha turned, "Can't you just reverse those presets?"
  
  "You know very well I'm bad at my job. If I try anything, guaranteed I'll end up at one of past-Voyager's awkward, forced-gatherings. Well, in terms of job performance, Grunley knows what I mean," Wayfar said assuringly.
  
  Grunley paused, confused. "What?" And then: "Aaahhh, I get it. Haaaaa!"
  
  "Haaaaa!" Wayfar high-fived him. "You guys want to create warp bubbles around Galaxy-class Doctors some time?"
  
  Menrow shook his head, "That's not a thing we can approve of. But keep us up to date on your findings. As for me, well, Grunley, I'm sorry I tried to sell you off to the Vaadwaur in an attempt to repeat Wayfar's re-lifenings."
  
  "That's okay. An Orion tried something similar on me back in my Academy days. He said he was just going to lift me up. I should've asked why. I see that now."
  
  Wayfar then raised his glass. "To Orion slavery: the final frontier of illegal practices!"
  
  To that, everyone hesitantly and unassuredly tapped glasses with each other. Together: "Yaaayyyy.........?"

  

  USS Phoenix-X Literary Index | Comics | Most recent story: "The Opposite of That"

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• cmdrscarlet Member Posts: 5,137 Arc User

  November 2014 edited November 2014

  "Forgive me, Captain, allow me to say it another way: you shouldn't have done that." The image of Admiral Adam Steiner's affect on the table comp screen was stern. His close-cropped black hair immaculately conformed to regulations and his square jaw throbbed as he clenched his teeth. The conversation had gone well and cordial until Kathryn revealed her recent decision concerning Ensign Ilregan's remains with the Kobali.
  
  Kathryn bristled at the comment and restrained from showing it. "As I mentioned, I considered it an act of good will from the Federation." Besides, I was within the confines of the law."
  
  Steiner looked incredulous. "Please explain."
  
  Quickly looking out the window of her ready-room, the bright light of the Dyson star filled the office. "According to Ensign Ilregan's service contract, her end-of-life clause gives the commanding officer complete discretion to her remains. Assuming remains would be available."
  
  The Admiral from the JAG office still looked surprised. "Captain, that was a highly irregular means to satisfy the Ensign's wishes. Didn't you consider Ilregan's cultural concerns on the matter?"
  
  "Kathryn nodded. "Yes, sir. I did. As you are aware, the Bolian culture of death is similar to Vulcan norms. Yet, when in service to Starfleet, cultural differences, altough respected, are superseded by the needs, wishes, or demands of the individual. Ilregan left the final decision up to me."
  
  Steiner nodded a few times in thought. "Respectfully, the family disagrees."
  
  "Respectfully, too bad."
  
  "Captain, it sounds like you don't care about the outcome of this action."
  
  Kathryn shook her head. "To the contrary, I considered this for several days; a review of my logs will show that. After reviewing the R and R, I came to the conclusion that the Ensign's own words took precedence. Also, the Kobali are considered a part of the Alliance. In accordance with the treaty, I determined ther was amicable grounds to satisfy the needs of both Ensign Ilregan and the Kobali. Frankly, it was a logical decision to make"
  
  "That's an interesting argument and I knew you would say that." The Admiral shifted some PADDs on his desk. "The family is requesting an inquiry."
  
  Kathryn sat back in her chair. "Then I must comply."
  
  The man cocked his head slightly. "Pardon me, Captain but I expected more fight from you."
  
  With a shrug, Kathryn said, "I've made my case in my logs and to you. I am confident with my decision and wouldn't be in my position if my decisions were not trusted. Ilregan trusted me enough to handle her in life and in death. I have fulfilled my duty to her and to Starfleet."
  
  There was a long pause before the Admiral blinked.
  
  "Thank you Captain Beringer. To use an old saying, 'no news, is good news.'"

  Kathryn S. Beringer - Endless Excelsior - Veritatum Liquido Cernerne - a proud off-meta build
  
  

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• worffan101 Member Posts: 9,518 Arc User

  November 2014 edited November 2014

  Cast list:
  First Omek'ti'kallan: Chiwetel Ejiofor.
  Private Mher'eteya, Kobali soldier: Martin Freeman.
  Rahaen'Enriov D'trel ir'Aehallah tr'Rihannsu: Linda Hamilton (circa Terminator 2).
  Subcommander Rai i'Ra'tleihfi t'Liun: Gina Torres
  Arrain/Riov Maiel ir'Virinat tr'Rehu: Adam Baldwin.

  ---

  "First..." managed the injured Romulan, her torso a burned, mangled ruin. "You have to...have to help me..."
  
  "Remain calm, Second," said First Omek'ti'kallan, trying to hold the spasming woman still so he could stabilize her wounds.
  
  He'd been leading a scouting mission into Vaadwaur-held territory, near the edge of the "safe zone"--safe for the Vaadwaur, that is, since the Kobali government didn't allow orbital strikes there for some reason. They had been ambushed by Vaadwaur stormtroopers; they had won, but Subcommander t'Liun had been shot in the back and injured. Badly.
  
  "Fifth, help me hold her still. We must stabilize her injuries."
  
  "First...please...my children..."
  
  "I will save you, Second. For the Sixth Word of Odo'Ital sayeth, in part, "Every life is precious". Fifth, laser scalpel, now."
  
  The Jem'Hadar was fast and efficient with his limited medical training. Out here, on Vaadwaur turf, regular coms didn't work, and shipboard sensors couldn't keep a track on life signs due to Vaadawur interference technology. Normally, this was only an impediment to operations. Now, it was a deadly threat.
  
  The scout party had consisted of eleven; Omek, five Romulans, and five Kobali. Now they were seven; one of the Romulans, Uhlan tr'Hei, and three Kobali had died to Vaadwaur weapons fire. And t'Liun's outlook was not promising.
  
  "Autosutures, as many as are available," snapped Omek'ti'kallan quietly.
  
  "First...I have kids...a boy and two girls, on mol'Rihan. You'll...you'll tell them...a lie, yes? Tell them...I died for something?"
  
  "You will not die, Second. But even if you did, you would not have died for nothing. It would have been a good death, a death to stop those who are abominations before Odo'Ital. But God smiles upon you; I promise that you will not die today." He knew it was a lie. But she needed the lie, needed to hope that she could live, needed to believe that her death was FOR something.
  
  t'Liun laughed painfully, her own blood flecking her lips and cheeks. "Please...don't...lie to me...I know I'm...dying..."
  
  "Ferenginar," swore Omek. "I cannot stop the bleeding...Dermal regenerator, if I can use it in tandem with the autosuture..."
  
  T'Liun spasmed again, more violently this time, and was still.
  
  "Here, rekkhai, these should...oh, no."
  
  First Omek'ti'kallan held the broken, bloody corpse of the Romulan woman, and thought. T'Liun had been brave. She had fought like a Jem'Hadar, and had been victorious many times. To die like this, in a mere skirmish on a backwater planet...this death was unworthy of her. Glorious Odo'Ital gained no glory from this death.
  
  "May Odo'Ital watch over you," whispered the Jem'Hadar. "You were victorious in service of His Laws; for is not victory in Glorious Odo'Ital's service life, and doth not the Eighteenth Word of Odo'Ital state that "Don't be exclusionist. Anyone who fights for free will, peace, and justice fights for me."?"
  
  Distant Vaadwaur weapons fire sounded in the middle distance, matched by the stacatto reports of Federation-designed projectile rifles. Omek'ti'kallan stood, picking up t'Liun's broken body, and nodded to the man holding the now-unneeded medical supplies. "Centurion, you are now my Second. We shall return to the city and see to our wounded and dead."
  
  "Au'e, rekkhai. Uhlan, help me out here with tr'Hei. You two, help the Kobali with their people."
  
  "We'll take your dead," said one of the Kobali. "We will give them second lives..."
  
  He quailed at the force of Omek'ti'kallan's glare.
  
  "You will not," rumbled the Jem'Hadar, quietly but thick with menace. "To do so would be to violate the First Law of Odo'Ital, and I will not allow you to do so. We return to the city, and dispose of the bodies of our soldiers in their way. For doth not the Thirty-Third Word of Odo'Ital state that "Respect all beliefs that don't conflict with that one big rule about free wil. Most cultural traditions, funeral practices and many religious teachings fall into this category."?"
  
  "But that's barbaric!" cried the Kobali incautiously. "They deserve second lives, only the worst of all possible monsters do not!"
  
  "Silence!" hissed Omek'ti'kallan. "We are still in enemy territory, and I will not tolerate insubordination in this situation. Now, you may either be silent and assist with the transport of your casualties, or I will kill you where you stand for questioning my orders. What will it be?"
  
  The Kobali paled and somewhat meekly went over to help with his fallen comrades.
  
  "Thank you, rekkhai," whispered Second tr'Rehu. "Saved me the trouble of stunning him myself."
  
  "Yes," said First Omek'ti'kallan. "Stunning the fool with a Klingon-made sniper rifle, which has no stun setting. Very...efficient."
  
  "Yes," murmured tr'Rehu. "Extremely so. Elements, I can't stand these hypocritical TRIBBLE."
  
  "I am not fond of them either, but we have our orders. And our orders, distasteful as they may be, do not violate the Laws of Odo'Ital. Therefore, we will do our duty until such a time as our orders are no longer acceptable or the Alliance forces the Kobali to cease their hypocrisy. Come. We must leave this place."
  ***
  High Admiral D'trel ir'Aehallah whipped out her sword, grabbed the Kobali by the neck, slammed him into the nearest wall and stuck the point of her blade very carefully on his larynx. The Kobali gasped in shock and fear, causing the point to prick his skin.
  
  "I am sick and tired of you and your hlai dung, Q'Nel. Raenasa s'Kreh'dhhokh mol'Rihan explicitly told you to stop asking for Rihan bodies, you spineless, hypocritical oaf. Your people have no respect for the traditions and cultures of other peoples. Even the f*cking Vaadwaur leave our dead for us to deal with instead of doing their own rituals on them! On top of that, you lost all moral authority when you started sabotaging Vaadwaur stasis tubes to use their people as breeding stock. Now. You will immediately order all Kobali forces on this planet to stop trying to resurrect our dead as more Kobali, and you will enforce this order, or I swear on my honor I will kill you here and now and let Raenasa sort out the mess. Do I make myself clear?"
  
  The Kobali made a noise that might've been a protest, and the Rihanha's hand tightened.
  
  "I. Said. Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear?"
  
  "Yes!" wheezed the Kobali. "I will convey the order at once!"
  
  "Good. See that it is obeyed."
  
  The wiry woman stalked off towards the Alliance command center, where Starfleet personnel were assisting the remnants of the scouting party.
  
  "Riov Kim! Do you have anything for me?"
  
  "Yessir," said the Human, trotting up with a PADD. "We have an attack plan for the final push. Once we get the Vaadwaur off the planet, our teams are ready to send them their people. Q'Nel pitched a fit and my, ah, dear Benzite colleague tried to go over my head to Admiral Janeway to force me into going all-out for the Kobali, but Admiral Tuvok nixed that one by going to Cheliss and Xon, and Xon went to Quinn and Riker, and Riker laid down the law. He was p*ssed, too, from what I heard."
  
  "Good to hear. This is all your plan?"
  
  "Yessir."
  
  "Good. If you were a Riov under my direct command I'd promote you on the spot, this is exactly what I would have done."
  
  "Thank you, sir."
  
  "I don't give undeserved praise. First Omek'ti'kallan! Report!"
  
  "Sir!" barked the Jem'Hadar with a crisp salute. "We were ambushed by a Vaadwaur patrol, and were victorious; however, we lost tr'Hei, t'Liun, and three Kobali."
  
  "Those damn zombies were telling us there were no patrols in the area right up until we got jumped," snarled tr'Rehu from his position behind Omek'ti'kallan. "And now t'Liun's dead, and someone's going to have to tell her kids and husband. Stinking, useless ghouls..."
  
  "Language, Arrain. Actually, make that Riov; I need someone to command the rh'Rhiyrh Ael since the Air-cursed fool they had in the big seat got fried when a console exploded thanks to a Vaadwaur assault cruiser. But anyway, mind your tongue; the Kobali are hypocritical scum, but their actions are not motivated by active malice, but rather willful ignorance. And I don't tolerate slurs on my ships against anyone but the Tal'Shiar ataen, so keep a civil tongue in your mouth or I'll wash it out with engine lubricant."
  
  "Yes, Sir," muttered tr'Rehu, caught between elation and embarrassment.
  
  "Um...hello?" said a new voice. D'trel turned.
  
  "Can I help you?" she asked the mid-sized Kobali standing pensively behind her.
  
  "Actually...I've come to apologize. To First Omek'ti'kallan. I was rude and dangerously incautious out on the battlefield, and I have come to apologize, sir."
  
  "I remember you," rumbled the massive Jem'Hadar. "You attempted to shout at me in enemy territory."
  
  "Yes, sir," said the Kobali. "I also effectively demanded Subcommander t'Liun's body. I...have thought about my behavior and I...well, I was extremely rude and uncaring. I mean, my instinctive reaction was horror that someone would deny one of their own a second life, but...I thought back to the people who tried to kill me when R'heyt'a remembered his past life and I helped bring him home; they looked so sad, and called me "son" as they tried to kill me. One was even crying."
  
  Omek'ti'kallan rose and walked slowly towards the Kobali, an unreadable expression on his face as the smaller man continued.
  
  "And I was thinking, about your reaction and that fang-tail-thing's reaction to rebirth--I was there when it yelled at Hanchon Jetanian--and I realized, we are just as bad as the Vaadwaur. We're killing people and effectively r*ping them. And...it's evil. Forcing our beliefs on others like we do...is wrong. I mean, I still believe that a second life is a beautiful thing and that nobody should be denied the opportunity, but...I can understand why someone would be upset about their last wishes being defied, even though I cannot grasp why anyone would not want to be reborn. Sir."
  
  Omek'ti'kallan stood before the Kobali in silence for ten long seconds, then clasped him by the shoulders and bowed his head.
  
  "I accept your apology," he rumbled. "For you understand the First Law of Odo'Ital, and you recognize your own flaws. For that, I must apologize for misjudging you and your species. I thought that you were all selfish, uncaring fools who treat sentient rights as optional. I see now that you are a people like any other. Please accept my apologies."
  
  The Kobali smiled gratefully. "Apology accepted, Sir. Could you...perhaps explain your belief system to me? If we understood each other better, perhaps conflicts between the Kobali and the Alliance could be avoided."
  
  "A wise idea," said Omek'ti'kallan. "Come, we will talk over by the fountain. High Admiral D'trel is making plans for the final assault on the Vaadwaur base."
  
  And the two men walked off, side by side, the Jem'Hadar starting to explain the tenets of his faith as they walked.
  
  "...the Ariennye just happened?" asked tr'Rehu.
  
  "Something good," said D'trel. "Something that gives me hope." She allowed herself three seconds of silence and one tear before returning to business.
  
  "Right. So. Riov, the only potential sticking point here is if the Vaadwaur have one of those Overseers. I think that we should send a commando troop with TR-116 weapons as a possible counter..."

  ---

  AN: So yes, I CAN write uplifting stuff that isn't crackfic.
  
  I've been writing the Kobali as Space Israel and Q'Nel as Space Netanyahu, so it was only right to include a Space Anti-Netanyahu Israeli. Plus, I wanted to call everyone, especially Omek'ti'kallan, to task for their attitudes towards the Kobali. I'd have put Joh'Kghan in this as well, but I couldn't realistically justify putting her back on the planet after she made clear that the Kobali reproductive process is an insult to her entire belief system.
  
  I'd been planning to build t'Liun up as a minor character a bit more before killing her off, but sometimes the story just comes and hits you in the face.
  
  For the Kobali soldier (who I gave a name despite him being unnamed in the story), I imagined a guy who's been a peacenik most of his life and has had only sporadic encounters with violence and other cultures to counteract the Kobali government's BS. The Vaadwaur situation has forced him to reassess his worldview dramatically.
  
  I hope you guys enjoyed.

  0
• starswordc Member Posts: 10,963 Arc User

  November 2014 edited November 2014

  Last Rights

  We’ve walked together down this winding road,
  In search of something true. Together we grew.
  
  But now our journey has come to an end,
  And it’s on to something new. For me and you.
  
  So goodbye, my friend.
  Until we meet again,
  Some other day.
  I know so much will change.
  But looking back I can say,
  I wouldn’t change a day.
  I hope you can say, I hope you can say
  The same.
  
  So many memories, we got to make,
  The challenges we met, I’ll never forget.
  
  ‘cause those lessons made us who we are today,
  Now we’re taking the next step. Without a regret.
  No regret.
  — Hoobastank, “Say the Same”

  
  
  War. War never changes.
  
  Doesn’t matter if you’re a Dakhuri warlord trying to keep his territory from being overrun by Bajora, an American general battling the Russians in World War II, or a Starfleet officer trying to block the Klingons’ ethnic cleansing in the Hromi Cluster, there’s one single constant: If you want it back in anything resembling the state it started, you need boots on the ground. You can bomb it, you can strafe it, you can cover it with poison, you can turn it into glass, but you don’t own it unless your army’s on it and the other guy’s isn’t. They’ve been trying to obviate the need for ground forces for centuries, but they’ve never succeeded. Even in an era of starships that can glass entire planets, trench warfare is still trench warfare. It’s hard, dirty, noisy, and bloody.
  
  Very bloody. Especially when the guy next to you takes a fragment of a Vaadwaur shell square in the chest.
  
  Senior Chief Athezra flies backwards, screaming as something warm and wet spatters the side of my face. A particularly vile Kendran oath drops from my lips as I sight seven hundred thirty meters downrange on the Vaad field gun starting to roll back into its cover and squeeze, and a lance of searing light jumps the distance and the gunner’s head vanishes in a gout of gore. Another shot, this one to the ammo pack, and a fireball leaps skyward.
  
  I drop back into the trench and yell for a medic as I dash over to Athezra. I unbuckle his chestplate and—Oh, not good. I can see four ribs skewering out of his uniform and blood is bubbling out of his mouth and his chest. “Cap,” he wheezes. “How bad?”
  
  “Just a flesh wound! Where’s that damned medic!” I hammer my combadge. “Kanril to Bajor! I need an emergency beam-out!”
  
  “Captain, can’t!” Tess answers. “We’re taking heavy fire! Engaged with five Vaad frig—HA! TAKE THAT YOU TRIBBLE SON OF A—”
  
  I stop listening. As Tess whoops with joy Athezra gasps once and stills.
  
  “No! Dammit, no! Don’t you dare die on me!” I press my hand to the side of his neck. “Oh, you phekk’ta died on me.” I hit my combadge and scream, “Kanril to Lincoln, where the phekk is our air support?!”
  
  “Klingon fighters headed your way!” Captain Ldone’s voice answers. “Thirty seconds!”
  
  Now I faintly hear the rumble of thrusters in atmo behind us. What the phekk took them so long? Damn Klinks, they’re never on time. “All right,” I say to what’s left of my bodyguarding squad, “We gotta get rid of those minigun nests and the howitzers behind them or we’ll be shredded crossing. Cover me!” I fiddle with a few settings on my rifle and take aim at the pillbox at the peak of the earthworks. Too far for my battle rifle to do anything but I can still paint it. Three To’Duj-class fighters roar overhead and the leader looses a torpedo at near point-blank range, blowing a huge crater into the earthwork. Klinks can’t aim either, it seems, but it doesn’t matter this time: the ground caves in under the pillbox and it falls off the hillside, pancaking a field gun that had the misfortune to pop from cover at that moment.
  
  The medic finally arrives but I wave him off as he tries to check me. “Blood’s not mine. You’re too late.”
  
  The fighters come around for another pass and keep firing. Two missiles, probably shoulder-fired tubes, arc out of the trench and slam into the leader’s shields. A third punches through and the ship vanishes in a fireball and a thunderclap washes across us. No ejection.
  
  “Captain, Tess!” my combadge crackles. “We can drop shields for ten seconds!”
  
  “Don’t bother, Athezra’s dead.”
  
  “Then we’ll use the window to land the heavies! Beginning transport!”
  
  There’s an electrical whine behind me and ten T-204 Hayes main battle tanks materialize. It’s the first time I’ve seen them in action. Impressive machines, ten meters long, four meters wide, and weighing twenty-four metric tons, bigger, but lighter and more elegant than the Cardassian models used by the Bajoran Militia. Dual Type V phasers on the sponsons, a 120mm smoothbore coilgun and Type IV phaser assault minigun on the turret. It’s powered by a miniature fusion reactor like the Type-10 shuttle, more efficient and easier to maintain than a spider tank or a mech like the Vaads and Voth use, and it’ll put a bunker-buster through eight meters of ferrocrete.
  
  Exactly what we need.
  
  I hit my combadge again. “Kanril to all section leaders. Our armor’s on the ground. We’re going over the top. Artillery, cover fire in thirty seconds.”
  
  Starfleet, Klingons, and Kobali rush towards the enemy lines, the Klingons singing some off-key war hymn, the Feds yelling orders and encouragement, the Kobali moving in utter silence.
  

  * * *

  
  The thing I hate most about surface warfare? It’s the smell. I’ve showered twice and I still can’t get that awful stench of earth, smoke, fuel, blood, ozone, and sh*t out of my nostrils.
  
  The casualty lists aren’t helping. Fifteen dead and wounded from the Bajor, almost a quarter of our entire Security division. Over a hundred other casualties on my ship from the space fight. Two thousand Starfleet infantry killed. One tank disabled, another’s crew pulped by an AP shell through the cabin. The Shi’Kahr-class Johannesburg and Obsidian, the Tempest-class Enoch, the Vesta-class Palatine, the Stargazer-class Spock, all destroyed in the orbital battle. And that’s just Starfleet.
  
  But we won. The Vaads fought to the last man on the ground, Benthan reinforcements helped us drive off their ships in space.
  
  I hope to the Prophets this stupid rock was worth it.
  
  I look up from the patient I’m checking on to see Warragul standing across from me looking exhausted. The infirmary’s overflowing with casualties and it’s been all hands on deck, anyone on the crew with medical experience, even just basic field medicine like I learned in boot camp, for hours. I can’t do surgery but I can check and change IV fluids and bandages, run a dermal regenerator, and use a hypospray.
  
  I press a calming palm to the forehead of an injured Bajoran from Security, Petty Officer Chan Salris from Perikian Province. He’s got a sucking chest wound and he lost three fingers, but he’s stable and awake, if loopy from the cocktail of drugs in his system.
  
  “Sir! Admiral on deck!” somebody hollers. Along with anyone in the room who can still stand, I spin and snap to attention at the sight of a severe-looking chocolate-skinned Vulcan one-star with a buzz-cut.
  
  “As you were,” Rear Admiral Tuvok says without preamble. “My condolences on your losses, Captain.”
  
  “They knew what they were signing up for, sir,” I answer, more bitterly than I intended. “We won. Isn’t that the important thing?”
  
  Tuvok drops the subject. “When was the last time you ate?” I don’t answer. Hell, I don’t even remember. He steps over to the nearest replicator. “A tray of coffee and hasperat.”
  
  I smile gratefully as he holds the tray in my direction, grabbing a hasperat and a mug off it. I practically pour the entire mug straight into my mouth. “Um, Admiral. I never properly apologized for what I said to you back at the Jenolan conference.”
  
  “Allowing my emotional response to your statements to color my opinion of you as an officer would be illogical, Captain.”
  
  “Thanks. I think.”
  
  A bulky purple-skinned humanoid steps into sickbay. It’s that Kobali general Q’Nel. A Kobali casualty, used to be a Talaxian, sits up in his bed and salutes. Corpsman Watkins pushes him back against his pillow with her good arm; the other’s in a sling from where she took one in the shoulder pulling a gut-shot Klingon into a crater.
  
  I twitch involuntarily at the sight of him. There’s this air the zombies have about them that rubs me wrong. You can ignore it when you’re fighting but it’s always there. “Admiral, what’s he doing here?”
  
  “The Kobali have requested the rights to some of our dead.”
  
  “They—what?”
  
  “As you know, they can only grow their numbers by reanimating corpses, and the process does not work on those who are already Kobali.”
  
  “I have looked over your casualty lists, Captain,” the general adds. “These are the bodies we wish to—”
  
  “No,” Warragul interrupts.
  
  “What?”
  
  “No, you are not doing this. I will not disrespect the sacrifices our people made to save you from a war you started.”
  
  “Lieutenant?” I warn him.
  
  “Disrespect? I wish to honor their sacrifices.”
  
  “Sir, is there any particular time constraint to this?” I ask.
  
  “No. If the body has been properly preserved we may perform the rebirth at any time.”
  
  “Then if you’ll pardon my candor, give me your list and get the phekk off my ship.”
  
  He recoils at my reaction. “Mmm, perhaps I should come back another time.”
  
  “Per-maybe-haps, I’m thinking,” Warragul says, folding his arms and fixing him with a belligerent look.
  
  “You should control your underlings better, Admiral Tuvok. Captain,” he says by way of farewell and leaves.
  
  “I hope the lying ye’phekk maktal kosst amojan has a transporter accident on his way back,” Security Officer Chan mutters behind me. “Pardon my language, sir.”
  
  “Captain, I believe you have set a bad precedent,” Tuvok comments.
  
  “Admiral, may I speak frankly?”
  
  “I will probably regret granting you permission.”
  
  “Okay, let me put it this way. I have had four hours of sleep in the last two days. This is the first meal I’ve had in that time that didn’t come out of an MRE package. I spent those two days wallowing in filth while we were trapped down there trying to take out Vaad transporter scramblers with no air support, no armor, and nothing but M-104 mortars for artillery. My crew have had it roughly the same. And then we find out that the graverobbers provoked that fight when they started using living Vaad soldiers for reproductive stock. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling particularly charitable when that overweight armchair general wants to turn my crew into more like him. And that’s before we get to the religious insults!”
  
  Tuvok ponders for a long moment. “I do not disagree on any particular point, Captain,” he finally says. “But Kobali culture does consider it a great honor to be specifically selected rather than merely scavenged.”
  
  “Yes, and my species’ dominant culture considers it honorable to attack unarmed passenger liners from cloak,” Lieutenant K’lak retorts. The big, mustachioed Klingon sniper is unscathed but his spotter-slash-girlfriend Kate McMillan is still in surgery. Poor girl was already under the knife once for a prosthetic leg after the Utopia Planitia raid last year, now she’s getting a new liver and left arm.
  
  “Why do we even need the Kobali?” Warragul asks. “Especially since we can’t trust them to tell the whole story.”
  
  “It is not a question of need. The Kobali have agreed to be our allies against the Vaadwaur and will remain so until such time as the Delta Alliance Security Council votes to eject them.”
  
  “Admiral, at this point I’d take the Kazon over the Kobali. At least with the Kazon you know where you stand.”
  
  “Yeah, on top of their graves,” I hear Tess yell from across the room.
  
  I take a look at the PADD the general handed me, with the list of bodies they want to turn into Kobali. Right at the top, Senior Chief Security Officer Athezra Darrod.
  
  Naturally.
  

  * * *

  
  The other two names from my ship are easy ‘no’s. Petty Officer Simonds specified cremation in his will, and Lieutenant sh’Tavaharthral’s bondgroup wants her body sent back to Andoria. As luck would have it, the only name on the list I actually knew is the one the Kobali are getting. And Tuvok’s made it quite clear that whatever my personal feelings towards the Kobali, unless I can find some legal justification, they’re getting him.
  
  So I try to find some compelling reason to keep his body, besides my personal distaste for the zombies. I can’t. Athezra’s got no next-of-kin—only child, single, parents died ten years ago in a True Way bombing. I look at his file, hoping he left a will. No luck. I try his religion but he’s a secular Foundation Reformist.
  
  I relay this to my command crew at the meeting that evening. We’re in Ten Forward instead of the wardroom since it took a hull breach during the fight.
  
  Warragul’s still fuming. “My mother’s tribe, the Pintupi, used to abandon a place where somebody died. If I were running this operation we’d do exactly that. Vaads want Kobali Prime? They can have it.”
  
  “Not very Hippocratic of you, Doctor,” Biri comments.
  
  “Feh! Hang the bloody Hippocratic Oath—the Kobali have it coming after what they pulled.”
  
  “There is a legal reason we could use, Captain,” Tess adds. “Unlike their wars with everyone else, the Vaads have a legitimate grievance with the Kobali. That opens the door for us to invoke the Prime Directive.”
  
  I shake my head. “Brass’ll never go for it. Besides, you think fighting them is hard now, what happens when they reverse-engineer the Kobali resurrection process?”
  
  Tess sucks in a breath and winces. “Ouch, good point.”
  
  I look over at the hulking, horned shape of my security chief. “You haven’t weighed in yet, Dul’krah. He was your subordinate. What do you think?”
  
  He leans forward and rests his arms on the table for a long moment, fingers folded. Finally he says, “I have no objection to allowing the Kobali to have Darrod, Clan Athezra.”
  
  “Why not?” Gaarra asks.
  
  “He no longer has a use for his body.” He pauses. “The body is merely a shell. My people believe the spirit survives the body to rejoin with the universe. We process our dead into water and fertilizer.” My eyes widen at that and Biri’s mouth drops open. “Recall that we live aboard asteroid habitats, Captain. I view the Kobali reuse of the dead as little different. Better, perhaps, since our dead will bring joy to others rather than mere sustenance.”
  
  “‘One man’s trash’, sir?” Warragul quotes from somewhere in a sardonic tone.
  
  “A similar concept,” the Pe’khdar answers in a serious tone, “if I am recalling the correct idiom.”
  
  “So, you think we should do this?” Bynam asks him.
  
  “Yes. Provided,” he adds, holding up a finger, “that we ensure General Q’Nel comes nowhere near the person Senior Chief Athezra will become. He must be protected from that schro’jdrogkh’dokldirkh. That is a matter of Ship-Clan honor.”
  
  I flash on something mentioned in the briefing materials. “Come to think of it…” I tap a finger on my combadge. “Captain to Comms Officer.”
  
  “Ensign Esplin here.”
  
  “Ensign, get me Voyager, please. I need to speak to the admiral.”
  

  * * *

  
  I’m told Athezra didn’t remember much when he awoke. The Kobali doctor who did the procedure says it’s to be expected—the brain damage from oxygen deprivation can be corrected but he won’t get the memories back—and actually preferable: It’s easier to transition from one’s former life, the kyn’steya as the zombies call it, if you can’t remember it to begin with.
  
  Doesn’t make it any easier on me.
  
  The transporter pad hums and a slender Kobali female with enough crow’s feet to make her maybe late forties if she was still a pure human materializes on the pad. “Captain Kanril Eleya, I presume?”
  
  I nod. “Armaments Minister Jhet’leya. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
  
  She grimaces. “Captain, call me Lyndsay Ballard, please. I’ve missed it.”
  
  “All right, Ballard it is. Thank you for agreeing to take him.”
  
  She smiles. “He’ll be the third chala’shor my mate and I have adopted. And I’ll take any chance to TRIBBLE over that overranked bean-counter Q’Nel.”
  
  I snort. “You and me both, ma’am.”
  
  The door behind me slides open and… There’s really nothing you can compare it to. It is beyond creepy standing before a man who died in front of me less than forty-eight hours ago. But the sandy-haired senior chief, still recognizably Bajoran, is alive and breathing again. He looks me in the eye and I catch a flash of recognition in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Captain Kanril Eleya,” he says by way of greeting.
  
  I want to say his old name, but he’s gone. “Q’Taal.”
  
  Ballard crosses the gap and puts a hand on Athezra’s—Q’Taal’s shoulder, giving him a motherly smile. “I’m Jhet’leya. I’m your tira’seya.”
  
  “Ballard, can I speak to you privately for a moment?”
  
  “I thought you said your name was Jhet’leya,” Ath—Q’Taal says, confused.
  
  “Hold that thought. I’ll explain everything soon.” She comes over to me. “Yes?”
  
  I take her aside and tell her very quietly, “I want to make one thing absolutely clear. If he recovers his memories and decides to rejoin us, I won’t waste time trying to negotiate like Janeway did. I will personally blow any Kobali ship that pursues him clear back to the Celestial Temple if I have to; I don’t give a flying phekk what the treaty says. He stays here of his own accord or not at all.”
  
  “Captain—”
  
  “No, understand, after what your government pulled the word of a Kobali is worthless to me. I want your word as a sworn officer of the Federation Starfleet that you’ll respect his wishes.”
  
  She smiles. “Captain Kanril, if you’ve read my file, you know I was on the wrong side of that once. If he asks me about his kyn’steya, I’ll tell him, and I’ll let him make the choice.”
  
  “Good. Because otherwise the last thing you ever see will be a Galaxy-class starship.” I turn to the blond man in black clothing and reach out to shake hands. “It was good to meet you, Q’Taal. May the Prophets be with you both.”
  
  I can’t watch as she beams out, taking with her the last remnant of a man who saved my life twice. It’s worse than watching him die. Gaarra’s waiting for me outside and pulls me tight to his chest, and I find I can’t stop the tears.
  

  * * *

  
  Author’s Notes: Before anyone says anything, yes, of course I know the US didn’t fight the Russians in WWII. That’s Eleya’s mistake, not mine.
  
  I thought it was important for this that it wasn’t some random redshirt we never met before who bit the big one, but I also didn’t want to kill off a main character. So I used one of my recurring Mauve Shirts.
  
  As for the tanks? I know we never see Starfleet using anything but light infantry and a dune buggy in the canon, but that’s mostly a budget thing. Realistically no matter what technical advances you make in warfare, you’re going to need some form of heavy armor support to take on dug-in enemies with prepared defenses. As for why I picked tanks specifically, tracked tanks are far more practical than either a spider tank like the Vaads use, or two-legged mecha like the Voth “exosuits”. The legs alone would be ridiculously maintenance-intensive, and the mecha’s top-heavy and has a bigger cross-section (it’s easier to hit). So I came up with something that was sort of the TRIBBLE offspring of an M1 Abrams or T-90 and a Leman Russ from Warhammer 40,000, with appropriate modifications considering common Trek tech.

  "Great War! / And I cannot take more! / Great tour! / I keep on marching on / I play the great score / There will be no encore / Great War! / The War to End All Wars"
  — Sabaton, "Great War"
  

  

  
  Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/

  0
• starswordc Member Posts: 10,963 Arc User

  December 2014 edited December 2014

  Tinker, Golfer, Doctor, Trill

  
  Father. Musician. Sister. Pro golfer. Enlisted man. Wife. Scientist. Commissioned officer. Doctor. Riyannis had been many, many things in a lifetime spanning three centuries and five hosts.
  
  Birail Izer could remember many of them. Not all. Being a joined Trill meant you had the prior hosts’ memories in the same way a normal humanoid had their own. Sometimes it was clear as day, sometimes you couldn’t remember at all, sometimes it came back hazy.
  
  But Riyannis remembered everything. Riyannis always remembered everything.
  
  Of course, functionally there was no Riyannis or Birail Izer. They were one person, Birail Riyannis. But that didn’t stop the occasional weird situation where she felt déjà vu for things that had happened before her grandparents were born. Compared to working out those intricacies in your daily life, computing a Dho-Nha geometry curve in real time was comparatively straightforward. Figures didn’t have feelings attached to them, apart from the frustration with a particularly difficult n-dimensional mechanics variation Biri was working on when the USS Bajor pulled into Deep Space 9 for a week-long layover between patrols. It wasn’t for work, fortunately: she’d finished all the heavy stuff from the excavation on Orvis II earlier in the day, and the captain had handed the site off to a team from the Federation Science Council—and went on the extranet looking for a recent paper to peer-review to kill time until her shift was over.
  
  Sudden inspiration struck and she scribbled out an affine transformation onto her PADD, then noticed a mistake, swore, erased half a page of work, and redid the numbers. Got it that time. Ha ha, you idiots. Rule number one, always remember to double-check your unit conversions. Now, let’s see what we can do with this bastardization of the Ostrowski-Hadamard gap theorem…
  
  She nearly jumped out of her skin when the ship jolted and the captain’s voice came through the intercom speakers. Eleya’s rough contralto voice said, “Attention all hands. This is the captain speaking. We’ve just docked at Deep Space 9 and will be opening the airlock to allow shore leave debarkation in five minutes. Senior staff, please remain aboard for a briefing in ten minutes.”
  
  Biri shook off the jitters, guessing from the rough docking that someone other than Lieutenant Park was manning conn, and dropped the PADD on her desk.
  

  * * *

  
  “What’s up, El?” Biri asked as she sat down in the wardroom aft of the bridge.
  
  “We’re getting reassed. Again,” Eleya replied.
  
  “You mean they’re letting us out of exile?” Biri asked hopefully. Orvis II notwithstanding, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot left unexplored this far into civilized space.
  
  “Not really,” Tess answered, sitting across the table from the Trill. “Just changing it. Instead of being stuck at DS9 they’re sending us to the Delta Quadrant as part of a battle group to reinforce Vice Admiral Reynolds. They’re putting us with Tuvok and Voyager.”
  
  “Seems the Vaadwaur are proving tougher nuts to crack than Command expected,” Gaarra added from Eleya’s right. “Reynolds requested several heavy capitals and support units, at least six attack wings’ worth, and with the Terrans’ operation on this side out of commission there’s no pressing need for us in Beta Ursae any more.”
  
  “Who else is going?” Tess asked as Warragul started rapidly scribbling something on his PADD.
  
  Eleya tapped something on her desk console and the wall screen flicked to an order of battle. “Two other Galaxy-class starships, Diego O’Shannon’s Coridan and the Abe Lincoln under Vagret Ldone—”
  
  “They got it fixed?” Tess interrupted. “Thought that Lethean fellow Brokosh tore it a new one at Utopia Planitia.”
  
  “Wasn’t any serious structural damage, apparently; just the fighter bay needed redoing. There’s also one Odyssey-class and one Jupiter-class, the Picard and the San Jose, and about a hundred other ships for escort and discretionary. Uh, let’s see, what else?” she asked, peering at her screen. “We’ve got about nine days layover while DS9 refits our multipurpose decks into troop quarters and materiel storage, then we’re supposed to transwarp to Andoria to meet the rest of the fleet and pick up the 103rd Expeditionary Force.”
  
  Gaarra whistled. “Okay, gotta get Logistics and Food Service ready to handle ten thousand jarheads. Fun times,” he added sarcastically.
  
  “And tanks,” Biri added. “Don’t forget the tanks. Well, I guess that changes my schedule.”
  
  “How so?”
  
  “Well, I had my zhian’tara scheduled for the layover after this one but it doesn’t sound like we’ll be back in the Alpha Quadrant for a while.”
  
  “I’m sorry, your what?” Eleya asked.
  
  “It’s a rite joined Trills like me perform once a host. We cause the personalities of past hosts to manifest so we can talk to them.”
  
  “‘Manifest’ how?” Warragul queried, looking up from his PADD.
  
  “We get a Guardian—that’s an unjoined Trill telepath, cares for the symbiotes in their natural state—to transfer the residual personality left in the little guy”—she tapped the pouch under her breastbone—“to a temporary host. I had Joran Abrel scheduled to meet us in a month and a half, but that’s easily a two-week trip by commercial transport. El, I was talking,” she said as the Bajoran started furiously writing on her PADD.
  
  “Yeah, I was checking something. They opened the transwarp conduit at Trill to the general public last week.”
  
  “Oh.”
  

  * * *

  
  Joran Abrel was older than Biri had expected, easily a hundred years old if he was a day. Completely bald, wrinkles like nobody’s business, but the eyes. Those beady dark eyes pierced through her.
  
  “We will begin the Rite of Emergence shortly,” he said in a kindly tone. “Doctor Wirrpanda, you will be hosting Doctor Chiga Rakalyan, the first host of Riyannis.”
  
  “How many times have you done this?” the human asked warily. “And have you done it on non-Trill?”
  
  Abrel smiled. “I honestly stopped counting at least fifty years ago. But I conducted the zhian’tara for Jadzia Dax as well as her successor Ezri Dax. The only hiccup was when I put Curzon in Odo.”
  
  “Why? What happened?” Eleya asked.
  
  “Curzon’s … soul, for lack of a better term in Federation Standard, fused with Odo until he agreed to be removed.”
  
  “No chance of that happening here, right?” Warragul checked.
  
  “Not unless you’re really a changeling and haven’t told anyone,” Biri said, deadpan.
  
  “No! How’d you know?” The doctor grinned and the lovebirds cracked up, with Eleya leaning on the slightly taller Gaarra.
  
  “Anyway, they added a note to the manual not to use them in the zhian’tara after that.”
  
  “There’s a manual?” Tess commented.
  
  “I hate to interrupt,” Abrel murmured, “but could we—”
  
  “Sorry,” Biri apologized, then cleared her throat. “Yes, let’s go.” The other members of the group filed out of the room, leaving only human, joined Trill, and Guardian.
  
  The process took only a few seconds but Biri felt a sudden intangible absence. It wasn’t like not being able to remember, it was as if the memory had never been there in the first place. Biri remembered remembering but it was like looking at somebody else’s holoimage.
  
  “Whoa,” Warragul said, his South Australian accent suddenly vanishing. “This is so weird.”
  
  “What is?”
  
  “Being in a man’s body, Biri. Pirka, Borryn, and Devon all used women for me.” He grabbed his collar and looked down the shirt, then whistled. “Some muscles on this guy. Must work out. Hey,” s/he asked suddenly, “did they find a cure for Adaxas Syndrome yet?”
  
  “You know, I do kinda remember a short attention span,” Biri commented.
  
  “Do you also remember hyper-focusing when you’re working on a problem?”
  
  Biri paused. “Now that you mention it…”
  

  * * *

  
  “No, definitely need an eight-iron for that shot,” Gaarra told her as they played a round on Holodeck Two. The captain’s boyfriend was currently hosting Borryn Forek, host number two.
  
  “You’re the pro.” Biri shrugged and traded in the five-iron, stepped up to the ball, steadied herself, and swung, and with a metallic whop forty-two grams of (holographic) plastic rose into the sky.
  
  “Beautiful! Perfect!” Borryn congratulated her.
  
  “So how did you get into golf, anyway?”
  
  “Well, it wasn’t that long after first contact with the Federation, maybe twenty years. My parents were in the FST diplomatic delegation to Earth, and I got bored one day after school, started exploring Paris, and signed up for golf lessons pretty much for kicks. Not needing money with the humans has its advantages.”
  
  Biri remembered the rest as she picked up her bag. Borryn had quickly proven a natural, won his first British Open by the time he was 18, then pulled a grand slam, all four Earth majors, at the tender age of 23. “You were practically the whole reason golf became big on Trill, weren’t you?”
  
  “I don’t like to boast,” he demurred as they got into the cart and trundled downhill to the green. “But yeah, I had a hand in that.”
  
  “That’s an understatement—you used the winnings from that year as seed money for the Shera Meadows course in Leran Manev, for crying out loud. And you were the first winner of the Trill Open six years running.”
  
  “Honestly there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of competition at the time; the first Open was pretty much just me and that Vulcan, T’Sora. Hard one to beat—she could send a ball way further than I could.”
  
  “Heavyworlder,” Biri explained. “Vulcan’s got half-again the gravity. So how come Pirka and I play but Devon didn’t?”
  
  “Never thought about it. I suggested he try it when he did his zhian’tara, but I guess being career Starfleet kept him too busy.”
  
  “I manage it.”
  
  “They didn’t have holodecks then.”
  
  “Point.”
  

  * * *

  
  “By the forty hosts of Gaunt, what is with this uniform?” the fire-haired Bajoran complained. “And what the hell rate am I supposed to be?”
  
  “Uh, the body you’re in is an officer. My captain, actually.”
  
  “Great,” Devon Yarvo, a.k.a. Master Chief Transporter Officer Devon Riyannis, complained. “Figures you’d stick me in a zero.”
  
  “Hey, watch it. She’s not your average CO—she came up from the ranks.”
  
  Devon looked impressed. “Hey, Guardian, get me a mirror,” he ordered in a commanding tone. Abrel wordlessly passed him a hand mirror and he perused Eleya’s features critically. “Younger than I expected. Nasty scar. A mustang, you said?”
  
  “She was an NCO in the Bajoran Militia.”
  
  “Good girl. Always said you can’t command a man until you’ve walked a klick in his shoes. Fraggin’ high-and-mighty Academy meat, come out thinkin’ they know every damn thing.” He paused and glanced at Biri, who raised an eyebrow at him. “No offense.”
  
  “None taken. You’re half the reason I joined Starfleet anyway, despite Dad.” Jonek Izer’s first wife, Biri’s mother Pallas, had served, too, a gunner’s mate killed at Second Chin’toka aboard the USS Shanghai. Jonek never forgave the service for it.
  
  “What was the other half?”
  
  “My field docent was Rear Admiral Dax.”
  
  “Little Jadzia made admiral?” he asked hopefully.
  
  “No, Ezri Dax. Jadzia was KIA in ‘74.”
  
  He looked crestfallen. “Always the good ones who die young,” he grumbled. “Knew her when she was a shiny new ensign, right before I retired. Smart girl, paid attention when her noncoms told her something.” He gave Biri a look in the eye with a severe expression on his face. “Hope you do, sir.”
  
  “Absolutely, Master Chief.”
  
  “Good. Always gotta keep a finger on the pulse of the rank-and-file.” He stepped over to a wall screen and started tapping some commands. “Gaunt’s hosts,” he said in awe.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  “A Galaxy-class starship. I’ve never been aboard one before. Beautiful ship, beautiful. Your captain’s very proud of her.”
  
  “I know. I love this ship, too. Wanted to serve on one ever since I first looked at joining Starfleet.”
  
  “So did I, but they’d only just launched the first series when I hit mandatory retirement. And then I had that stroke two years later and that was the end of it.” He reached out and tapped Biri’s pouch. “Had a good run with the little guy but things happen.”
  
  “Your grandson’s heading into the Delta Quadrant with us,” Biri told him. “He was Class of ‘86, now first officer on the Wolf 359.”
  
  Devon smiled. “Couldn’t be prouder.”
  

  * * *

  
  Unlike the other three hosts, all of whom had died before Birail Izer was born, Biri had actually met Pirka Riyannis briefly over a decade ago, right before the transference, but hadn’t had a chance to talk with her on account of she was out cold at the time after being fatally injured in an aircar accident. Symbiosis Commission grads were put on a waiting list for the next symbiote and it had happened to be Riyannis.
  
  That had been hard, watching them remove the little guy from the pouch of the motionless, clinically dead Pirka. And then the shock, a wave of new memories unfolding in Biri’s mind like a blooming flower. The experience always changed the host: no matter how much the Symbiosis Commission prepared you to separate your own memories from the symbiote’s, you always became a little different. Biri had picked up golf and joined Starfleet, where she’d never considered either before.
  
  Pirka Saroyn sat in a chair in Tess’s body, improvising on a bass fife Biri had replicated for her. She’d been fairly well-known on the Trill planetary internet as a folk musician, though she was only ever a part-timer who did it for fun. Or at least she was trying to improvise and apparently failing. “I don’t get it. Doesn’t sound right no matter what I do.”
  
  “Well, you are in an Andorian.”
  
  Pirka frowned. “The antennae?”
  
  “Probably. They’ve got senses we Trill don’t—they can pick up EM fields and a much wider range of audio frequencies.”
  
  “Well, this isn’t working,” she grumbled, laying down the fife. “And this body doesn’t have the muscle memory anyway. But I hate the silence. Always felt it needed to be filled with something, why I started playing.”
  
  Biri’s face twisted. “Computer, play Lieutenant Korekh’s album for me.”
  
  The sounds of low-pitched strings started coming from the intercom speakers, a jaunty, upbeat tune that Pirka started tapping a foot to almost immediately, closing her eyes in pleasure as Tess’ antennae twitched. “Who is that and what is he playing? Doesn’t sound like a yishar or a cello.”
  
  “That’s our security chief, Dul’krah, Clan Korekh. He’s playing one of his species’ native stringed instruments.”
  
  “I like it. Wait, I know this one. It’s ‘Tirk’s Lover’ by Korin Sera. How’d he—”
  
  “It’s his hobby. He converts other species’ songs to play on his vodchakh.”
  
  Pirka’s eyes widened and she whistled, impressed. “You work with some interesting people, Biri.”
  
  They sat there listening for a while and the song ended and a new one began. This one Biri had heard the big Pe’khdar play in person, Tor Jolan’s Fourth, a classical Bajoran tune. Presently Biri asked if she regretted anything. “About what?” Pirka replied, standing and giving her fife a few experimental toots, then swearing. “Nope, still not working.”
  
  “About having to move on like that, no preparation, no nothing.”
  
  “Devon was in the same boat—you don’t see him complaining. Yeah, okay, I wish I’d been able to see my daughters graduate and so forth, but at least I got to actually be around when they were growing up, unlike the Chief. Thirty years in Starfleet and what’d he get for it? Nice retirement party and an empty house on account of two wives taking the kids.”
  
  Biri frowned. “Are you saying I should quit?”
  
  “No! Not if you enjoy what you’re doing, anyway,” the older woman amended. “I’m saying that you’ve chosen a lifestyle and you’ll have to make sacrifices, and and I don’t mean dying alone and forgotten on some rock nobody’s ever heard of. You meet somebody, you and they will have a choice to make. Long-distance relationships are hard. Trust me, I know.”
  
  “Anything else you think I should know?” Biri queried, a little defensively.
  
  “Yeah.” Pirka tossed her the fife and she caught it. “You make a G-sharp by pressing the third button down the tube.”
  

  * * *

  
  “DS9 Control,” Ensign Esplin said into her mic, “this is USS Bajor, requesting permission to launch.”
  
  “Confirmed, USS Bajor,” Jim Kurland’s voice answered, “you are cleared to launch. Good luck in the Delta Quadrant, and may the Prophets go with you.”
  
  “And with you,” Eleya returned. “Lieutenant Park, you may proceed.”
  
  “Conn, aye,” the human confirmed.
  
  As he proceeded with detaching the ship from DS9, Biri sat quietly in her seat reading over an archaeology paper. She felt someone put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey.”
  
  “Hey, El.”
  
  “You’re awful quiet today. Lot to think about?”
  
  “Mm-hm.”
  
  “But you’re okay?”
  
  Biri clicked a pair of icons and sent the paper to her quarters’ console. “Yeah. And hey, maybe we’ll get to do some actual science in the DQ in spite of ourselves.” Eleya shifted slightly. “No, it’s all right. I knew what I was signing up for.”
  
  “You know you can talk to me, right? Anytime, anywhere.”
  
  “I know. If you need me I’ll be in my quarters.”
  
  As the Bajor drove for the transwarp conduit Biri left the bridge and went down seven decks. “Computer, privacy mode.” She started to try and work on the paper, but couldn’t focus and stopped. She reached for a cabinet over the console, took Pirka’s fife, and put it to her lips.

  "Great War! / And I cannot take more! / Great tour! / I keep on marching on / I play the great score / There will be no encore / Great War! / The War to End All Wars"
  — Sabaton, "Great War"
  

  

  
  Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/

  0
• sander233 Member Posts: 3,992 Arc User

  January 2015 edited January 2015

  
  Life's the same
  I'm moving in stereo
  Life's the same
  Except for my shoes
  Life's the same
  You're shaking like tremolo
  Life's the same
  It's all inside you
  
  It's so easy
  To blow up your problems
  It's so easy
  To play up your breakdown
  It's so easy
  To fly through a window
  It's so easy
  To fool with the sound
  
  It's so tough
  To get up
  It's so tough
  It's so tough
  To live up
  It's so tough on you
  
  Life's the same
  They're moving in stereo
  Life's the same
  Except for my shoes
  Life's the same
  You're shaking like tremolo
  Life's the same
  It's all inside you
  
  
  Life's the same
  I'm moving in stereo
  Life's the same
  Except for my shoes
  Life's the same
  You're shaking like tremolo
  Life's the same
  It's all
  Inside
  You...
  
  Ric Ocasek and Greg Hawkes of The Cars - "Moving in Stereo"
  
  
  
  I T ' S . A L L . I N S I D E . Y O U . . .
  ( T h e . L i v e s . o f . D a i )

  
  
  
  USS Tiburon, Trill Orbit - Stardate 89319.23
  
  "Zhian'tara," Ennari Dai repeated. "It's a ritual in which a joined Trill meets past hosts."
  
  "I know what it is. I meant, 'why me?'" Rusty was surprised by Ennari's request, to say the least. He knew the Zhian'tara was supposed to be performed with a Trill's closest friends. He and Ennari got along well - she got along well with everyone - but he didn't think they were that close.
  
  "I am asking people who remind me of my earlier hosts," Dai explained. "Your brother will embody my first host, who was a daredevil pilot. I want you to be my second."
  
  "Who was he?"
  
  "He was a bounty hunter."
  
  Rusty stiffened at the word 'hunter.'
  
  Ennari noticed. "If you're uncomfortable with the idea, that's alright. I'll just have to find someone else. But I'd rather it be someone I know well and I can trust."
  
  Rusty mulled it over for a moment. "What was he like?"
  
  "I... well, I really don't know. I'm hoping you'll help me find out."
  
  "What actually happens to me when we go through this?" Rusty asked.
  
  "As I understand it, you'll be conscious and aware of what's going and what we're saying," Ennari told him. "But your personality will be suppressed. You, um, you won't be in control of your body. You'll be inviting Dekker - my second host - to occupy and take over your mind for a while."
  
  "So... no part of me will be present for this?"
  
  Ennari hesitated. "Sometimes... if you have a strong personality trait that is shared by my former self, that could get drawn out and manifest more strongly in his personality."
  
  Rusty shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Yeah... I don't think I want to risk... letting certain aspects of my personality express themselves, without my control."
  
  "You'll be able to break the link at any time, if you feel it's necessary," she told him. "The link can only persist so long as you are willing to allow a foreign consciousness in your mind. And I know you have strong telepathic resistance, both trained and natural."
  
  "Will you even be able to connect to me?"
  
  Ennari nodded. "Trill Guardians are highly adept. So long as you allow the link, they can connect us."
  
  Rusty was silent for a moment. "I dunno about this, Ennari. I mean, I wanna help you, but, well, I have some darker aspects of my personality that I'm afraid might... contaminate the process."
  
  "I understand," she told him. "But honestly, I don't know who else to ask. I'd ask Hank, but he's on an assignment. And there's really no one else on the ship or here on the Homeworld with your kind of life experience who'd be even remotely compatible. Certainly no one I know as well as I know you."
  
  Rusty racked his brain, searching for an alternative. "Krispen, on the Bonhomme Richard, would certainly be compatible... But they're three sectors away fighting the Tholians..." He couldn't think of anyone else. He sighed. "I'll think about it. When will you begin the ritual?"
  
  "The day after tomorrow. After the medical conference starts. We'll beam down to the Symbiont pools where I was raised." She indicated her abdomen. "The Guardian of that pool will conduct the ritual. But we'll move to a hotel nearby and do it there, not in the caves themselves. I've had enough time in caves for this lifetime."
  
  Rusty nodded sympathetically, recalling Moab. "How long does it take?"
  
  "That depends on my past hosts, and how long they want to stay 'out,'" Ennari answered. "It could be anywhere from a few hours to a few days, for each one. It also depends on the person they'll be inhabiting, and how long they are willing to give up their bodies."
  
  "Who will go first? Do they need to be done in a set order?" he wondered.
  
  "Not really. I'd prefer to do it in reverse order, from my fourth host back to my first. But I can save the second for last, if you need more time to decide."
  
  Rusty scratched his jaw. "I think I'll need it."
  
  
  
  Hotel Dara'air, Iklan, Trill - Two days later
  
  "Ah, yes, this is much better!" Ennari went straight out to the balcony of the penthouse suite, and took in the view. The legendary beaches of the Iklan peninsula were spread out below, and beyond lay the azure waters of the Dara'air Ocean stretching to horizon. "Beautiful!"
  
  "If you say so, ma'am," Alys said softly. The middle-aged Guardian was much more comfortable below ground, tending to her pools. The central sitting room had already been prepared for the ceremony, so after making some minor adjustments she sat and waited while the Joined One and her first Vessel got themselves settled. "Are you ready to begin?" she asked once Ennari emerged from her bedroom.
  
  "I suppose we may as well get to it. Kugid?"
  
  Kugid Denaia smiled and nodded. "It's what we're here for."
  
  Walles Treko, fourth host of the Dai Symbiont, had been a successful investment banker with a hedonistic streak. He had specialized in hostile takeovers and negotiating buyouts worth billions of bars of latinum. He had put away a sizeable fortune, which he wasted no time spending as soon as he was ready to retire. Ennari could think of no one better to serve as his proxy than her fellow diplomatic advisor and close friend, Kugid. For his part, the Orion had been curious and eager to experience a 'living memory.'
  
  "Very well, then." Alys led them to a... cauldron, for lack of a better word, filled with mud from the Symbiont pools, heated from below by a gas fire pit, and with an oil lamp floating in the middle of it. "Just try to relax, both of you," she encouraged them.
  
  She stood behind them, placing her left hand on Ennari's back over where the Symbiont connected to the spine, and her right hand pressed against the back of Kugid's large, bald head. "I'nora, ja'kala Dai. Ahian'shee Walles tanus rem. Gon'dar Ennari tor. Ennari, zhian'tara vok. Tu Dai, zhian'tani ress. Zhian'par, Kugid garu'koj."
  
  As she spoke the final sentences, a ghostly current of... something appeared in Ennari's upper abdomen, migrated along the Guardian's arms and across her body, before finally settling in Kugid's head and disappearing. Kugid slumped forward, as though he'd suddenly fallen asleep. And in a way he had. When he straightened and opened his eyes, he was no longer Kugid.
  
  "Are you Walles?" Ennari asked.
  
  Kugid's eyes looked around the room for a moment before settling on Ennari's face and smiling. "Yes, yes, I suppose I am."
  
  "I need to ask you a few questions to make sure the transference is complete," Alys told them, moving out from behind them. "Ennari, what was the name of the bank of that Walles worked for before he was joined?"
  
  "I-"
  
  "Allied Merchants Bank, the Leran Manev branch," Walles answered absently, with a smoother version of Kugid's voice. "I remember my first day like it was yesterday, even though it was over... Say, what year is it?"
  
  "That was supposed to test Ennari, to make sure your memories are no longer a part of her," Alys chided.
  
  "Oh, sorry."
  
  "Let's try that again. Who was your supervisor, at that bank?"
  
  Ennari tried to recall. Dai had just been thinking of him, while looking forward to spending time with Walles. "I don't remember," she finally said.
  
  "Quite alright-"
  
  "Cosi Gaslen," Walles answered. "A great Trill. He was the one who sponsored me to the joining commission. He taught me everything he knew..."
  
  "And as a formality, Walles, I must now ask you a question," Alys interrupted. "Something only you would know. What is the last thing you remember?"
  
  "Oh, my." Kugid's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Well, I was on Risa, naturally, handcuffed to this poor Klingon lad who must have just passed his Rite of Ascension - the poor kid was in way over his head, and obviously had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into. Anyway, besides the Risian mistress, there was a pair of Orion slave girls, and a Caitian in a leather gimp suit, and... I think it was an Earth mustelid called a 'ferret' - he had that on a leash. Anyway, we had just been oiled down for the-"
  
  "Thank you, Walles," Alys interrupted again. "I get the idea."
  
  Ennari looked impressed.
  
  Walles shrugged Kugid's shoulders. "Turns out jamaharon is one of the leading causes of death among Trills of a certain age."
  
  "I wouldn't know." Alys sighed. "The transference seems complete. I will retire to my room now. Please call for me whenever he is ready to return to you," she told Ennari.
  
  "Thank you, Guardian. Your room should be just across the hall."
  
  "Thank you for your hospitality." Alys bowed and departed.
  
  Walles looked around again. "So you paid for all of this?"
  
  "Didn't like the look of the cave," Ennari answered.
  
  "Oh, I couldn't agree more. Loathsome place. But They seem to like it," he remarked, eyeing Ennari's stomach. "Where are we?"
  
  "The Dara'air."
  
  "Not bad. Of course, I splurged on the Hyatt Regency... we should be able to see it from here..." he went out to the balcony. "Yep, there it is. Um. Why does it say 'Quark-Hyatt'?"
  
  "Because some Ferengi related to the Nagus has been going around buying every hotel and restaurant chain he can," Ennari told him.
  
  "Oh, hell, I remember that. He bought my favorite resort on Risa and ruined it. Just ruined it. I tried to buy it back but his asking price was more than twice what he paid... never negotiate with a Ferengi who's richer than you are. It's not in the Rules, but it damn well should be." He looked at Ennari. "Speaking of business, how have you been taking care of my money?"
  
  "You mean what you had left over?" Ennari came back.
  
  "I was careful to leave you a healthy nest egg. Tell me how it's grown!"
  
  "It's in a multi-market mutual fund, earning eighteen percent, with a nested six-percent annuity," Ennari told him.
  
  "That's it!? My dear girl-"
  
  "I don't have much interest in money. It's nice to have, because it lets me do things like this and I never have to worry about things like 'can I afford that dress?' But I have more important things to occupy my time and attention."
  
  "More important than... Dai, just what have you become?"
  
  "I am a Federation Ambassador-at-Large, Chief Mediator pro-tem for the Federation Diplomatic Corps, and Senior Diplomatic Advisor to the Starfleet Consular Operations Task Force."
  
  "Oh, Great Bird help me, you've become one of them," Walles moaned. "I should have spent it all. You Federation types, you're so about 'bettering yourselves' and everyone you meet, you never bother to really enjoy anything."
  
  "Actually, I basically do what you did, except I play with a lot more than just money. And I still know how to have a good time." She sat down with her PADD out. "Now, why don't you help me with my finances, and then you can tell me all about that last jamaharon session of yours."
  

  * * *

  
  "Wouldja quit pacing, bro? You're making me nervous."
  
  "Sorry," Rusty rasped. He went to the replicator and asked for a glass of cold water.
  
  The LaRocas were checked into the adjacent suite to Ennari's, since they weren't expecting their bodies would be needed until the next day.
  
  "C'mon, bro, talk to me."
  
  Rusty sat down on the couch and curled up next to his brother. "I'm still afraid that he could come out," the Deinon whispered.
  
  Jesu put his arm around Rusty's shoulders. "You'll be in control, Rust. Not him. You control the Hunter. You can control whatever part of him that Dekker draws out."
  
  "I dunno, Zoo. It's getting harder all the time, now. What if Dekker makes him stronger than me?"
  
  Jesu shifted to look into his brother's eyes and hold the back of his head. "Rusty. There is nothing, no one - out there or in here - who's stronger than you are. Believe that."
  

  * * *

  
  "Oh, I could have fun with this body," Alnel Dai declared, as he examined Marq Sander in a mirror. "I'd always wanted to be a butch type. Walles had me in some skinny old man. But this guy..." he grinned. "What do you say we go down to the nightclubs and-"
  
  "Um, he's married," Ennari told him, looking pointedly at Marq's wedding band. "And I don't think he'd appreciate you playing around with him."
  
  "No, I suppose not," Alnel sighed. "Well, I'm not here to indulge myself, anyway. Let's talk about you." He looked at Marq's combadge, and spotted hers, and smiled at her proudly. "It seems one of us finally made it into Starfleet!"
  
  "Well, not exactly. I'm an advisor-attach

  
  
  ...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
  - Anne Bredon

  0
• marcusdkane Member Posts: 7,439 Arc User

  December 2015

  Unofficial Literary Challenge # 5: Back From the Dead
  
  

  Back in black
  I hit the sack
  I been too long
  I'm glad to be back
  Yes I'm
  Let loose
  From the noose
  That's
  Kept me hanging about
  I keep lookin' at the sky
  'cause it's gettin' me high
  Forget the hearse, 'cause I'll never die
  I got
  Nine lives
  Cat's eyes
  I'm usin' every one of them and runnin' wild
  Cause I'm back
  Yes I'm back
  Well I'm back
  Yes I'm
  Back
  Well I'm
  B-ack
  B-ack
  Well I'm back in black
  Yes I'm back in black
  
  Ohh
  Back in the back of a
  Cadillac
  Number one with a bullet I'm a power-pack
  Yes I'm
  In a bang
  With the gang
  They gotta catch me if they want me to hang
  'cause I'm back on the track and I'm beatin' the flack
  Nobody's gonna get me on another rap
  So look at me now I'm just a makin' my play
  Don't try to push your luck, just get outta my way
  Cause I'm back
  Yes I'm back
  Well I'm back
  Yes I'm back
  Well I'm
  B-ack
  B-ack
  Well I'm back in black
  Yes I'm back in black
  Yo
  
  [Instrumental Bridge]
  
  Well I'm
  Back
  Yes I'm
  Back
  Well I'm
  Back
  Yes I'm
  Back
  Well I'm
  B-ack
  B-ack
  Well I'm back in black
  Yes I'm back in black
  Yo
  
  Ohh yeah
  Yeah yeah
  Oh yeah
  Oh yeah yeah yeah
  Oh yeah
  Oh yeah yeah
  Yo
  
  Well I'm
  B-ack
  (I'm back)
  B-ack
  (I'm back)
  B-ack
  (I'm back)
  B-ack
  (I'm back)
  B-ack
  (I'm back)
  B-ack
  Back in black
  Yes I'm back in black
  
  Outta sight
  
  
  Brian Johnson, Angus Young and Malcolm Young of AC/DC - "Back in Black

  
  

  P E R S I S T E N C E . O F . M E M O R Y

  
  
  Starfleet Command, Logistics Division, Briefing Room 7 [DateRedacted]...
  
  Captain Ael t'Kazanak and Lieutenant Commander Lucinda Van der Merwe walked into the conference room, and the Romulan nodded in greeting to Vice-Admiral Hugo Danner, who was stood close to the door, and talking animatedly with Captain Nog.
  
  Having seen the USS Chimera in spacedock, the presence of her Ferengi friend was of no surprise to Ael, and leaving him and Hugo to their conversation, she and Lucinda approached the refreshments which had been arranged with a generous buffet atop a clothed table.
  
  "What do you want, Lulu?" she asked, pouring herself a glass of iced-water.
  
  "Thet'll be fahn," Lucinda replied, holding out a glass, which Ael then filled from the carafe.
  
  "Captain, Commander, thank you for attending so promptly," Vice-Admiral Kathryn Janeway observed whimsically as she walked past, carrying a steaming cup of coffee.
  
  "Indeed, welcome," added Rear-Admiral Tuvok, before addressing the bustling room. "If I may have your attention, I shall begin the presentation of your assignments."
  
  As the assembled officers came to order and took seats, the Vulcan dimmed the lights and activated a holoprojector.
  
  "You have been called here today to undertake a mission of both great importance to the Federation Council, and personal significance to myself," Tuvok began. "Since the discovery of stable passage via the Dyson sphere network, Starfleet Command has requested that I undertake a mission to encourage diplomatic goodwill between the Federation and the Delta Quadrant, and it is for that purpose, that you have been selected."
  
  

  * * *

  
  At the conclusion of the briefing, the group broke up into scattered cliques. Some of those present, like Hugo, and Nog, Ael knew personally and had the privilege of considering friends. Others, like Tuvok and Captain Harry Kim, she knew only by reputation. Others, were strangers to her and mere faces in the crowd. Ael recalled W.B.Yeats' maxim: There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met. The Terrhasu sentiment did not align well with her Rihansu sensibilities, but it was one she had always strived to embrace, even when bitter experience had taught her that such amenability, would inevitably only be used against her. In the crowded room, Ael's sensitive ears suddenly picked up a familiar voice.
  
  "...and then he said, 'Don't ask me, I'm just a plumber!'"
  
  "My God, Manda!" Hugo exclaimed. "That is the most disgusting joke I've ever heard!"
  
  "Oh you've obviously never heard the one about the Trill and the carrot," his fellow Vice-Admiral observed wryly, an amused smirk on her face.
  
  Looking across the sea of people, Ael almost caught sight of the face, half-seen in profile, and she tilted her head to get a better angle to observe. The raven hair, the slate grey eyes, the cheekbones and slightly-too angular jaw... It was unmistakably, unquestionably, Amanda Palmer.
  
  But it can't be Manda... Ael thought... Amanda was dead: crushed to death saving Ael and S'rR's' lives when the cavern housing the Iconian gateway on Mol'Rihan had collapsed. Ael had inherited her responsibilities within Starfleet Tactical Operations, including her command of the Vanguard... Inherited the whale-bone brush she used every day to style her hair... That this could in any way be Amanda Palmer was an almost unquestionable impossibility. The notion of a hostile power creating a duplicate from her remains, then training it to be able to function convincingly within Starfleet's operational structure and with people who knew Amanda, in the time since her death, was frankly impossible. That this was a clone created by some hostile power before her death was the more plausible possibility. Ael had read Starfleet Intelligence's report on the Shinzon Coup -- somewhat different to the 'official version of events' her Imperial education had espoused -- so she knew that was possible. Unlikely, but possible.
  
  Then, Ael recalled a security briefing from Jesu LaRoca and his brother, and realization dawned on her as to what she saw. Undine!
  
  Ael watched the creature which wore her friend's skin casually reach out and brush her hand lightly against Hugo's elbow as she laughed at something he had said. Moving away from Lucinda, Ael began to draw closer. She knew that without a correctly-tuned phase-shifted personal shield to provide protection against the Undine's telekinetic attacks, she had to strike surgically, decisively, and with absolutely no preceding indications to telegraph a warning either physically, or mentally. She knew that she couldn't risk mentally focussing on what she had to do, or the telepathic infiltrator would pick up her thoughts. And then it would kill her. And everyone else in the conference room...
  
  Think of the ocean... she told herself. Think of rearranging isolinear chips to generate an inverse tachyon pulse from a navigational deflector... Think of camping in the Valley of Chula by the Tor'ren River with dinam-ri'ranai Salis... Think of MACO training on Hunter's Moon... Deliberately, Ael visualised random but detailed scenarios as she drew closer... At five meters away, a momentary channel appearing in the crowd, and she reached for the disruptor pistol holstered at the small of her back beneath her uniform jacket.
  
  Less than three meters.
  
  Ael raised her arm and squeezed the trigger...
  
  ...as another body slammed into her from behind, bringing her to the ground.
  
  The needle-thin green beam went wide, biting into the marble flooring, and there were gasps of shock and surprise from the assembled officers.
  
  "Captain! What the fokk're you playing et!" Lucinda demanded, as she tried wrestle the disruptor from Ael's grasp.
  
  "Get off me, Lulu! It's an infiltrator!" Ael gasped, partially winded, as the South African security specialist used her legs to pin her down, as they grappled for control the disruptor.
  
  At Ael's words, Lucinda immediately relented in her struggle against the Romulan's superior strength and frowned in confusion, her grip relaxing slightly. "What?!" she demanded. "Who?"
  
  "Her!" Ael snapped, pointing to Amanda with her free arm. "Get security to lock down the conference room!" Ael saw the expression of terrified confusion on Amanda's face, and as her adrenaline began to burn out, the tunnel-vision-like focus relaxed. The room, and the concerned faces gathering around her, began to fill the edges of her awareness. "She'll," the lack of urgency in the crowd began to feel foolish at her action. "...kill us all..."
  
  

  * * *

  
  "I d...don't understand," Amanda stammered, nervously biting her fingernails and trembling slightly, her shock causing a resurgence of the speech impediment she had learned to repress as a young woman. "Ael and I are f...friends... I... I saved her life on New Romulus! I s...suggested her as my replacement t...to command the Vanguard following my promotion... I don't understand w...why she would try to hurt me..."
  
  "I'm sure there must be a reason," Kathryn suggested encouragingly, resting her hand reassuringly on Amanda's shoulder. Amanda sighed wearily, and tried to take comfort in the older woman's words.
  
  Lieutenant Neven Dor looked regretfully sympathetic as he stood before the still-shaken officer.
  
  "She is convinced, Admiral, with absolute certainty, that you are an Undine infiltrator," the Betazoid investigator explained with a sigh. "She sincerely believes that you -- Amanda Palmer -- are dead, and thus you," he gestured to indicate her. "Must be an imposter."
  
  "Th...that's crazy," Amanda insisted, working to bring her nerves and stammer under control. "What would make her think that?"
  
  

  * * *

  
  Ael lay on the narrow bunk in the cell, her bare legs crossed at the ankles. Her arms rested limply at her sides, palms upwards on the firm mat, while she tried to bring her thoughts and emotions into check.
  
  After being brought to holding for assessment, due to the well-known Romulan propensity towards suicide in captivity, she had first been strip-searched, then scanned, for any hidden implements or pills she could use to self-terminate. The therapy she had received following her TRIBBLE by Cecil Bernardez had broken her of that cultural inclination -- not even the MACO Selection process had been able to play on it -- and her mnhei'sahe now demanded that she live to face her quarry again; to find out the truth behind the identity of the imposter who dared impersonate Amanda. But still, they had put her in the cell wearing only her singlet and briefs, lest she use the jacket or pants of her uniform to fashion a noose and hang herself. After the mess Ned Lennox had made of himself in holding, Ael understood the vigilance of the security officers, and certainly could not accuse the guards of failing in their duty of care toward her...
  
  Ael's jaw muscles clenched, and she ground her teeth in indignation at what had happened. Replaying the events in her mind's eye, she couldn't understand it. How everyone had rallied round Amanda rather than fearing the Undine infiltrator... She remembered that terrible moment on Mol'Rihan: The violent shove from behind which had driven her to the floor and rendered her unconscious. Coming too to find herself surrounded by an emergency forcefield with Siri beside her, the Pentaxian howling into her fists because Manda had been caught in the falling debris and crushed.
  
  That was no dream, it had happened. Ael told herself. So why was the imposter being afforded such support? Why was she being detained like an errant cadet caught performing a Code Red?
  
  "That's my fault," a female voice admitted as a brilliant flash of light flared in the cell.
  
  Reflexively scrambling back against the wall in surprize, Ael found herself facing what appeared to be a Human female. She was slender but buxom, with wavy auburn hair, and wearing an Odyssey-variant Starfleet uniform. She sat on the far edge of the bunk, one leg demurely crossed over the other at the knee, a look of contrition clear on her features.
  
  "Q..." Ael gasped.
  
  "The one and only," Q replied theatrically. She rolled her eyes, realising her gaffe. "Well... y'know..."
  
  Looking toward the outer section of the holding area, Ael saw Lieutenant Tracey Townley not only studiously reading a PADD, but a steaming cup of tea half-raised to her lips. The steam hung in the air as if solid, and Ael realized that time itself was being suspended. A trivial feat for a Q.
  
  "I thought you'd be happy to see your friend alive," Q said. "I hadn't expected you to react quite like this..."
  
  "I thought the Continuum knew and saw all," Ael observed dryly.
  
  Q shrugged and made a show of fastidiously examining her nails. "We see events and probabilities," she explained with more than a hint of confession. "We can't always tell which outcome will manifest, especially when dealing with the chaos of, well, lower-lifeforms... We can't always account for your random natures: We can be taken by surprise..."
  
  "So I surprised you," Ael asserted.
  
  Q nodded, " And your colleagues... But don't worry, you'll be completely exonerated by that lovely boy."
  
  "I don't understand," Ael insisted. "I know Manda is dead, I was there when it happened, if there's some Undine parading around in her skin-"
  
  Q silenced her by holding up her hand, "What you saw, are the effects of an event which hasn't yet occured -- and won't occur for some time, by your understanding of it -- but impacted events which have already occurred and are now proceeding accordingly from those points," she explained. "Some of those events you weren't there for, so I'll give you a recap..."
  
  Reaching forward, Q raised her hand, index finger extended, and brought the upraised finger towards Ael's face. The tip brushed against Ael's temple...
  
  

  * * * * *

  
  USS Valkyrie, 2409...
  
  "Captain! Quantum torpedoes are firing!" the deep, gravelly voice of Lieutenant Commander Bellic Chanos barked from Tactical II.
  
  On the forward viewscreen, Captain Amanda Palmer watched the blue-white glow of the torpedoes streaking from the Nova-Class science vessel towards the ravaged Borg probe, slamming into its only intact side, and triggering an explosion from deep within the bowels of the vessel, before leaping from her chair.
  
  "I did not order weapons fired!" she thundered. "There were survivors on that ship! Disconnected drones are supposed to be considered injured friendlies, not active targets!"
  
  "Nor did I fire them, Captain," Chanos replied at once. "I was reporting on the events, not on my actions."
  
  "Captain, I fired the torpedoes," reported Commander Rynar Lambert, standing back from Tactical I, his hands held behind his back. "It was... a kindness."
  
  Amanda's eyes widened and her jaw tightened as she fought to reign in her temper. The idea of an officer behaving without proper authorization was bad enough, but for it to be her first officer of over a decade: She had never felt such utter betrayal, and she glared at the quarter QuchHa Klingon officer while at her sides, her fingers clenched impotently into fists she could not throw. Eventually, she gathered her thoughts enough to bring her fury under control, and found enough of a voice to speak.
  
  "My apologies, Commander Chanos," she said tensely. "Relieve the first officer of his sidearm, and escort him to quarters."
  
  "Aye, Captain," Chanos replied, holding out a hand for Rynar's phaser. Without hesitation, Rynar relinquished the weapon, then silently strode across the bridge to the access door on the rear port-side, Chanos closely following him.
  
  As they rounded the corner of the corridor towards Rynar's quarters, his thoughts were tranquil. He was at peace with the decision he made and the action he had taken. He knew what honor now demanded of him. He knew what he had to do. If not to earn him a place in Sto'Vo'Kor, at least to keep his immortal soul on the Barge of the Dead, instead of inhabiting Gre'thor... The doors slid aside at their approach, and Chanos took up a guard position as Rynar stepped over the threshold.
  
  Alone in the spartan, red-hued murk of his dimly-lit quarters, he slipped the antique baldric of woven-gold reed-like fabric from his shoulders, before pulling off the red-on-black synthleather jacket. Letting it drop, he crossed to the desk and picked up a PADD. Opening a tab, he quickly typed:
  

  I was just a boy when the Borg destroyed our colony. The armada of cubes so vast, the sky turned as black as the beard of Kahless. On that day, with my parents and brothers slain, I swore vengeance, and for every one of those monsters I killed, I got a little piece of that life back. I have dishonored myself by disobeying my captain, and can no longer stand proudly as a warrior. Today was a good day to die.

  
  Laying the PADD on the deck, Rynar quickly stripped off his uniform's undershirt, boots and pants, beneath which, he wore the ivory fabric of the qIvSut: the warrior's loincloth.
  
  Moving to a small alter, he took a measured pinch of adanji incense from a wooden container, placed it on a stone slate and ignited it. Breathing in the sharp aroma, he took up a mevak dagger. The naHjej resin of the hilt was warm, almost sticky, beneath his grip. Of course, this was to counter the slickening effects of spilled blood, which may spoil a warrior's grasp.
  
  Gripping the hilt in both hands, Rynar held it at arms length, breathing deeply as he steeled himself, his eyes focussed on the twin tips of the bifurcated blade. He was preparing to plunge it into his abdomen, when the room was illuminated by a blinding white flash of light.
  
  Rynar looked up in astonishment to find himself facing a Human female. She was easily as tall as he, if not a few centimeters taller. Her wavy auburn hair tumbling freely onto the shoulders of what was clearly a Starfleet uniform, her lips twisted into an expression of bemused amusement.
  
  "You could have someone's eye out with that," Q observed, before incredulously inquiring, "What do you think you're playing at?"
  
  "You should know," he retorted as he relaxed his arms, dropping them to his sides. "I've shamed myself..."
  
  "Well spilling your guts on the deck won't help, will it..." Q noted drolly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you never have been the most rational when it comes to such matters... Always so headstrong, always so determined to prove your Klingon mettle... You do realise everyone laughs behind your back, don't you?" She enquired.
  
  Rynar's brow furrowed in confusion, and Q continued, "Your grandfather may have been a legendary warrior, but you're more Human than Klingon... When you try and flex your Klingon muscle, claiming Klingon Pride, everyone just thinks you're just a poser... A wannabe..." She frowned disapprovingly, "I'm of half a mind to make you fully Human just to teach you some humility..." She muttered, genuine consideration clear in her tone.
  
  "All the more reason for me to reclaim my honor like a warrior!" Rynar insisted, raising the dagger again.
  
  With a sigh, Q snapped her fingers, and the blade vanished.
  
  "I can't let you do that, Snowflake," she informed him wryly. "Your life apparently means too much to someone, for me to let you throw it away in a botched Hegh'bat ceremony..."
  
  Rynar frowned. "What? Who?"
  
  "Ach," Q replied dismissively with a flip of her hand. "I think I've stalled you long enough for..." She looked to the side and raised her eyebrows theatrically, as the door's chime sounded.
  
  "Palmer to Lambert. Commander, open the door," Amanda's voice demanded over the intercom.
  
  Q fixed Rynar with a stony gaze. "Time to stop hiding behind the sash, and start behaving like a Man," she told him. "For once in your life, have a little self-respect, rather than just demanding it from everyone around you..."
  
  Before Rynar could reply, Q snapped her fingers, vanishing as the doors slid open. Amanda began to stride in, but stopped short, astounded to see her first officer standing in his anachronistic underwear.
  
  "Ryan!" she exclaimed, an expression of confusion on her face. "What the hell're you doing?!"
  
  "Captain," he began. "I'm guilty of breaches of protocol, for which I have no excuse. I willingly consider myself under arrest and in your custody."
  
  Amanda shook her head, her brows drawn together, and lips twisted in disbelief, before she eventually spoke.
  
  "Come with me, Commander," she ordered. "We're discussing this in the brig -- And put your damn clothes on! No one wants to see ...that..."
  
  To Be Continued...
  

  0
• marcusdkane Member Posts: 7,439 Arc User

  December 2015 edited December 2015

  And now, the conclusion...
  
  New Romulus, [DateRedacted]...
  
  "Captains Shon and Koren have been consulting with Kererek's security forces," Ambassador Worf said. "I will ask Koren to deploy some of her finest warriors. I do not know Captain Shon, but he commands an Enterprise, he must be a formidable man. He also has less -- enthusiasm for activating the gateway than others here. I am certain he has considered all the options."
  
  "Shon and I know each other," Amanda assured the aged Klingon. "I'll speak with him and see what our options are."
  
  She walked over to where the slender Andorian stood, solemnly taking in the proceedings with a distinct air of disapproval.
  
  "Va'Kel, it's a pleasure to see you again," she said. "I wish it were under different circumstances."
  
  Shon dipped his head, and his antennae moved to point directly at the Human woman.
  
  "Absolutely, Amanda. May I help you?"
  
  "Ambassador Worf has some concerns about the gateway --" She began.
  
  "And because he can't come over and chat with a Starfleet officer without raising some eyebrows in his own delegation, he's sent you instead," Shon concluded. "Interesting... Tell him I share his concerns about this gateway. What does he think we should do?"
  
  "He wants an option to neutralize the gateway if we need to..."
  
  "I'll admit, I've been dubious of this project from the start. Some things are too powerful for anyone to have," Shon sighed heavily in admission. "Still, it's my job to do what Starfleet Command orders, so the Enterprise is here to represent the Federation. But it's also my job to protect my ship and the Federation, so I had my engineers work up some contingency plans. If Koren is bringing in extra ground troops to deal with any unwelcome visitors, that should help.
  
  "My chief engineer worked up a few spatial charges with enough power to take out the gateway. If we attach them to the base of the pylons, we'll be able to stop a disaster before it starts. I don't want to use them unless we have to -- we're here at the Romulan's invitation afterall. But it's always good to have a backup plan."
  
  Amanda nodded.
  
  "I'm MACO-rated, I'll take care of it," she said.
  
  "Allow me, Captain," Ael said as she joined them. "If we have to blow them, then at least they will have been planted by a Romulan."
  
  Shon dipped his head, and discretely passed two demolition charges to the Romulan officer, who turned and made her way sedately toward the two extended pylons.
  
  Glancing about discretely, Ael knelt, and while re-fastening her boot, discretely placed the first charge at the base of the claw-like pylon. Rising, she made her way to the second pylon, and knelt again.
  
  "What're you..." Maiek began, but seeing what Ael was doing, he smiled. "Ahh, good idea..."
  
  Worf and Amanda had moved back toward the entrance to the chamber, and as Ael approached to join them, she overheard the middle of the conversation between S'rR's and Koren.
  
  "-Koren, daughter of Grilka, captain of the mighty IKS Bortasqu' and survivor of a hundred battles. I demand to know by what right a Pentaxian wench wears the garb of a Klingon warrior!"
  
  "I am S'rR's, ward of the Empress of the Pentaxian Dynasty," S'rR's snapped back, her voice taking on a haughty tone Ael had never before heard her use. "This cloak was a gift from my mentor, Rynar Lambert, grandson of Kor, the Dahar Master. I wear it to honor his tutelage."
  
  Moving closer to her friend, Ael subtly prepared herself as Commander Lambert had taught her during her MACO training -- ready to act should the argument escalate, but instead, Koren sniffed and nodded grudgingly. The mere utterance of the name of the Dahar Master enough to settle any dispute.
  
  "I would much rather be on the front than here," the Klingon woman admitted. "But the Romulans are our allies now and they have asked for our assistance. The High Council has despatched the flagship of the fleet to show the strength of our friendship."
  
  Amanda appeared about to say something, but Kererek spoke, his powerful voice overriding all other conversation
  
  "If all the preparations are complete, I see no reason to delay. Prepare to activate the gateway!"
  
  "Initiating final power transfer..." Maiek said, entering the commands into his console.
  
  A'dranna kept a watchful eye on her own console, and the rising curve on the display.
  
  "Power output rising," she reported. "Levels are within expected parameters..."
  
  Maiek nodded, and his fingers skated across the console before him.
  
  "Activating gateway... We've got a spike! Attempting to compensate... No good,"
  
  "Abort! Abort the mission!" Kererek yelled.
  
  "Shut it down!" Worf thundered.
  
  "Detonating charges!" Captain Shon replied, unfolding his tricorder and keying in the activation sequence.
  
  At the base of the pylons, there was a powerful detonation, but the gate remained active.
  
  "No effect," Worf gasped.
  
  But there had been an effect.
  
  The subspace field of the gateway had reflected the shockwave from the charges back into the surrounding cavern, which was not equipped with the necessary shock dampeners to absorb it, and with an ominous rumbling, rubble began to drop from the ceiling.
  
  "Get everyone out of the chamber!" Worf shouted, so focussed on ensuring people's safety, that he failed to notice the flash of light which deposited an auburn haired woman in a Starfleet uniform, amidst the falling rock.
  
  Q watched the assorted officers and technicians began to flee into the tunnel, scrambling to get to the transporter platform, but she did not act immediately. She knew her timing had to be perfect. This close to a fixed point in time, even a Q had to be cautious...
  
  Looking about for her friends, Amanda saw a cascade of massive chunks of the cave roof dropping toward S'rR's and Ael, and without time to shout a warning, she dived forwards.
  
  As Amanda leapt through the air, pushing the two women clear of the falling debris, Q snapped her fingers.
  
  

  * * *

  
  "The gate has been activated," Claire said, looking across the bridge of the USS Vanguard. "But I've lost contact with my remote avatar. It shut down locally, but before it went off-line, I picked up considerable instability in the cavern which housed the gateway.
  
  "Sensors're unable to penetrate the subspace distortion, Commander," Cadet I'K'rR'h reported from the Ops console. "But I'm picking up massive seismic activity. Reading seven point five on the Richter scale, with the distortion directly at the epicentre."
  
  In the command chair, Commander Brandon Mayer slammed his fist into the arm rest.
  
  "Claire, contact D'Tan and request an update. Advise him we are immediately dispatching assistance. Copy to all Starfleet vessels in-system and advise they do likewise. Let's get our people out of there."
  
  "No response from D'Tan," Claire reported. "Local comm lines are jammed, but the Endeavour, Solaris and the Archimedes have signalled that they are readying relief efforts, with the Enterprise, Gladius, and Haukeli coordinating. Sensors are picking up incoming warp-signatures: The Corinthian, Everdeen, and Roanoke are entering the system now and signalling readiness to assist."
  
  

  * * *

  
  S'rR's opened her eyes, and saw Ael's face inches from her own, emerald blood seeping from a cut beneath her fringe.
  
  "Are you okay?" she whispered hoarsely, touching her friend's shoulder.
  
  "Mmmnn," Ael groaned, squeezing her eyes more tightly closed. "We're not dead, are we..."
  
  "No, we're..." S'rR's began before trailing off, realising that transparent aluminium was suspending them both above the lava flow. "I don't know what happened."
  
  "Emergency protocols in the mobile-emitter will have shut down Claire's avatar to project a forcefield around us," Amanda said from where she lay on the floor beside S'rR's."
  
  "But she's a hologram," S'rR's pointed out as she rolled onto her back and slowly sat up, warily eying the rocks suspended mere inches from her head. "A hologram is --"
  
  "A projection of photons and forcefields," Amanda pointed out, as glimmers of contact interference rippled through the otherwise-invisible field. "Given the tonnage surrounding us, I just hope they can get us out before the power-cell in the emitter depletes..."
  
  

  * * * * *

  
  B'tH'n Plains, Pentaxia, 21 July, 2412...
  
  The aging desert nomad heard a faraway roar and looked up. High above, V'sH'd saw a Federation starship racing through the sky toward the desert floor. He saw the forward arcs of it's open-plan primary hull, nacelle tips and leading edges of the nacelle pylons, all glowing white hot with the heat of re-entry. With an almost deafening roar, it passed high overhead, spewing a trail of glowing plasma in its wake, then swiftly passing from sight before pounding into the soft dust-like sand of the plains some distance away. He had lived in the desert for a quarter of a century, ever since his father had been executed on state broadcast for treason against the Heir-Empress Ch'K'rr. His shame to be related to such a man had been such, that he had chosen to exile himself to the desert, even though it meant abandoning his wives and young son. Had he more courage, he would have ended his life in the traditional manner -- not with frenzied abandon, but with ritual and calmness -- to prove his dedication to the People. But V'sH'd knew that he was a coward, so his dishonour continued. An event such as the crash, he knew would draw any d'v'ash't'ya in the area, and despite his covering of sh'rsi'te, it was not truly safe to remain, and hurriedly, he began to head towards the cover of the enclave.
  
  
  Sickbay:
  
  Lieutenant Jevic Akren found himself lying on the deck, awkwardly jammed against the support of the biobed adjacent to the one he had been laying in. The complex fracture in the tractor beam technician's right femur was a blaze of agony. Weakly flickering consoles and lighting panels prevented absolute darkness, but the Cardassian officer still felt the sting against his retinas, when a near-blinding flash of light erupted near the surgical bay .
  
  Q looked down on S'rR's' ravaged form. She lay, limbs strewn in undignified positions like a discarded doll. A puppet with her stings cut. The injuries she had sustained were significant and widespread, and the force of the crash-landing had only made them worse. Q knew there was no way to prevent the fight in which S'rR's had sustained the injuries: the outcome was too historically significant to the Pentaxian Dynasty and its relationship with the Federation to interfere with. That did not necessarily mean that the Pentaxian woman had to die. It simply meant that there was only one way to save her life.
  
  "Let's put you back the way you should be..." Q murmured, before snapping her fingers, causing another flash of light.
  
  Even although the laughable illumination in sickbay was grossly inadequate, even for a Cardassian's night vision, through the chufa, Jevic could feel the buzz of the bioelectrical maelstrom which flared within S'rR's. As he looked on, Jevic watched as the shattered bones of the ambassador's crushed cheek and eye-socket begin to move, expanding outward as if being pressed back into place from within, the rib-deep gouges in her back began to draw together and seal as the accelerated healing process of her near-immortal biology began to restore her.
  
  Still hampered by his shattered femur, levering himself up on his elbows, Jevic called out, "What have you done to the ambassador!"
  
  "Given her her life back," Q replied quietly, as if stating the obvious, watching as S'rR's body continued to heal itself. "Still not quite right..." she mused thoughtfully, before deciding. "You've suffered enough..."
  
  She snapped her fingers again, and when the flare of light settled, Jevic saw S'rR's' shaven scalp was suddenly covered by bolt straight ice-blonde hair, which fell in disarray across her face and onto the deck.
  
  "Much better," Q decided in satisfaction, before turning to the injured officer. "I'm charging you with protecting the ambassador until she wakes up. You'll find a phaser under that bed, and I strongly suggest arming yourself. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an elsewhere to be..."
  
  Before the shaken Cardassian could reply, Q snapped her fingers and vanished...
  
  
  Main Engineering:
  
  ...to reappear on a scene of utter chaos.
  
  The warp core was dark and lifeless, while fires flared from shattered consoles and overloaded EPS waveguides. Half a dozen crew members were suspended in mid-air, levitated by telekinesis to immobilize and incapacitate them while the murmurations of a Devidian swarm fed on them, ingesting their neural energy, while from behind free-standing consoles, Lieutenant Commander Heath Fletcher, and Lieutenants Todd Mitchell and Svetlana Petrova used their sidearms to try and fight off the hunting party.
  
  Q surveyed the scene about her and frowned sadly. "I know you were only joking when you created the platypus," she sighed. "But what were you thinking when you created them?"
  
  Before the darkened warp core, Lieutenant Commander Meliden Bowen hung limply several feet above the deck, while the three Devidians floating near her, had drained her almost to the point of death.
  
  "Not this time..." Q muttered, raising her hand. With a snap of her fingers, the aerial shoal of predators was vanquished back to their realm, and the levitated crew members collapsed to the deck.
  
  Kneeling before Meliden, Q snapped her fingers. A nebulous haze of shimmering, coruscating energy appeared around Meliden, before being absorbed into her.
  
  After a moment, the engineer's eyes fluttered open.
  
  "Beth sy'n digwydd?" she asked weakly. What's going on?
  
  "Lleyg yn dal," Q replied gently, before snapping her fingers once more, and vanishing in a blaze of light. Lay still.
  
  

  * * * * *

  
  "I don't understand," Ael admitted, as her awareness of the cell returned to her. "We were taught in temporal mechanics-"
  
  "-by people who's grasp of time is so rudimentary, it's like an infant just learning to walk, trying to give running lessons," Q interrupted.
  
  "Maybe," Ael conceded before demanding, "What did you do to Siri?"
  
  "I restored her to her true state," Q replied. "As well as, I guess you'd call it 'adjusting', some of her memories... She'll know who she is, what she is, and almost all of her life as you knew it. She'll know friends when she sees them, and understand the others who turned away from her, but without any compulsion to find out why. I haven't just given her her immortality, I've given her back her innocence..."
  
  Ael frowned in confusion.
  
  "But I was taught that changing past events has massive changes the further down the timeline one moves..."
  
  Q rolled her eyes. "Time for a field-trip..." she sighed, before snapping her fingers.
  
  Ael found herself outside in a dark, wooded area, with a deep indigo sky which was already nautical twilight. The topography was jarringly familiar, and she immediately recognised the Kae'raktar mountains to the west, and knew that this close to the equator, nightfall was mere moments away. Ael turned to the quixotic being open-mouthed.
  
  "We're in the Valley of Chula, on ch'Rihan!" she gasped. "The Tor'ren river is just through those trees!"
  
  "Education is always better assimilated in quiet, familiar surroundings," Q observed, leading the way briskly towards the fast-flowing, burbling river.
  
  As they hiked, Ael looked up to the night sky, and realized that the constellations were slightly different than those she was used to.
  
  "That's right, this is before the Vulcan time of the Awakening, long before your ancestors left Vulcan in the Sundering to arrive here," Q said. "I couldn't run the risk of you somehow trying to warn them of the destruction of this place, and I know that your mnhei'sahe would demand that you try." When Ael said nothing, Q inquired. "What do you know about time?"
  
  Suspecting a trick question, Ael pondered a moment, and cast a gaze over the river. Something seemed amiss, but in the swiftly darkening forest, she couldn't quite identify the discrepancy, and she gave up to simply appreciate the river shining in the silvery blue and green-hued light from ch'Rihan's moons, Pirek and Elvreng.
  
  "It's linear," she said eventually. "Actions lead to events," Q nodded, and Ael continued. "So changing an event, changes the direction following events take."
  
  "Not necessarily," Q confidently. "Pick up some stones."
  
  Ael hesitated, frowning slightly, and Q sighed.
  
  "It's an easy enough instruction: Pick up some stones."
  
  Stooping, Ael's fingers closed around a few pebbles, and feeling their grainy wetness in her grasp, she stood.
  
  Q looked moderately pleased. "Take a stone, and throw it in the river," she said.
  
  Certain that she was being taken for a fool, Ael selected a pebble, and tossed it into the river, where, with a slight plopp it disappeared without a trace. She looked to Q, a ridged-eyebrow raised. Satisfied? her body language demanded.
  
  "Has that changed the course of the river?" Q posed.
  
  "No, of course not," Ael replied automatically.
  
  "Why not?" Q demanded. When Ael paused again, she clarified. "What happened? Describe the dynamics involved..."
  
  "The force of my throw determined the stone's point of entry into the water," Ael began. "Gravity will have pulled the stone to a position on the riverbed. The water will be flowing over it and around it."
  
  "Precisely," Q acknowledged. "The water finds its own direction. Throw in another stone..."
  
  With less hesitation than before, Ael complied.
  
  "Has the course of the river changed now?" Q asked.
  
  Ael shook her head.
  
  "What would happen if you throw in a boulder?"
  
  "I can't do that," Ael pointed out, to which Q snapped her fingers.
  
  A massive piece of rock, easily three meters wide, and four meters across, flew toward the river and crashed into it. There was a massive plume of water, which doused both sides of the river bank, but when Ael wiped her hands over her face to clear her vision, she saw the river was not only still flowing as freely as before, but the thing she had thought was missing, was now restored to what her memory had retained.
  
  "Time -- for you -- is linear," Q agreed. "Cause and effect, effect and cause, fairly easy to keep track of, but haven't you also ever heard it described as being like a big ball of wibbley wobbly timey wimey stuff-"
  
  Ael raised a sardonic eyebrow.
  
  "'Timey wimey'?" She repeated scathingly.
  
  "That's right, you haven't met him, have you," Q recalled, without clarifying further about who she spoke. "Well, he also once said details're different, but the story's the same...
  
  "Time is a force. Like most forces, it can be harnessed. It can even be re-directed on occasion, but for the most part, it follows its path. It shifts, it accommodates, but always following the path of least resistance.
  
  "Like the river, the odd stone here and there won't change its overall course, you need a dam to do that, and that's beyond your capability, but not beyond mine. By saving the lives of your friends, all I've done, is moved a few stones around on the river bed, so to speak... Time will simply shift over them, and continue on its course."
  
  "But why?" Ael enquired.
  
  "To put it simply, because I owe you a favor, or rather, will come to owe you a favor, and granted what you most desire; namely, saving the lives of your friends..."
  
  "But why can I still remember Manda and Siri's deaths?" Ael insisted. "If you saved their lives, and events have occurred differently, why do I still remember them?"
  
  Q laughed.
  
  "I might owe you a favor, but that doesn't mean that there aren't still some terms and conditions attached," she replied with a flip of her wrist. "Back on Earth, they used to say 'free -- excluding shipping...' That's the price you pay for your friends lives; I can't just erase a quantum reality, it has to continue to exist, even if only as your memory..."
  
  "You've put a reality's worth of information in my head?"
  
  "Oh plenty of room between those pretty ears if you know how to utilize it properly," Q cooed affectionately.
  
  Understanding, Ael nodded, and once more, she cast her gaze up to the stars.
  
  
  

  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  (Laaaah)
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  Destiny turned her face
  Nightmares and violent shapes
  State of dream-ing
  Has left me numb
  
  Blue eyes and wanderin' lips
  True lies with fingertips
  Hidden tales of forbid-den
  Loh-ove
  
  You've left me miserable
  Miserable
  Miserable
  Mis-er-a-ble
  
  Loh-ove
  
  You've left me miserable
  Miserable
  Miserable
  Mis-er-a-ble
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  Visions of beh-tter times
  Kingdoms and lilac wine
  Why did God
  Fail to im-prove us
  
  Teardrops of acid rain
  Burning down through
  My veins
  Can't I just sleep for now
  
  Now
  Despite my fears
  I dance for you
  And did what others knew
  
  Why would care would wait
  And live again
  More desperate
  Desperate
  YEAH
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  Sleepwalking
  Sleepwalking
  Sleepwalking
  Sleepwalking
  
  (Aah-aah)
  
  YEAH
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh)
  (Hoo Hoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)
  
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  (Now despite my fears I dance for you)
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  (Why would care would wait and live again)
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  Maybe we're just sleep-walk-ih-ing
  
  - The Chain Gang of 1974 - "Sleepwalking"

  Post edited by marcusdkane on December 2015

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