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Hello everyone and welcome to our writers challenges!
From here on forward we are going to close each thread after two weeks and insert it into this one for safekkeeping.
Thanks so much for everyone who is participating! Please see the index thread for a "jump-to" option.
-WishStone and all our writing Fans
From here on forward we are going to close each thread after two weeks and insert it into this one for safekkeeping.
Thanks so much for everyone who is participating! Please see the index thread for a "jump-to" option.
-WishStone and all our writing Fans
Literary Challenge #1 : Prized Possessions
For our first challenge I have selected something easy: Prized Possessions.
Write about something that is close to the heart of your captain. Maybe it was an item you were given by a member of your House when you got your first command. Maybe it was a trinket you found in the ruins of a raided town. Maybe it is a framed document from your medical studies. Or that one weapon you took off a defeated enemy?
Please do not go for any pets in this lit! It has to be about an object.
This is the writer's thread.
The Discussion Thread can be found HERE.
We also have an index page of stories HERE.
The rules may change from one to the other, but I'd like to give a quick recap each time. These may grow as we move on, so feel free to also give feedback!
- Each poster can have one entry. Feel free to edit you post however to fix typos, add stuff or remove stuff as you see fit!
- Each Challenge will run for two weeks. For 2 weeks we will sticky a subject and have at it.
- We'll have two threads: One to post the stories, one to discuss the stories. *I will allow cross-linking between these two threads!!*
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Of course, I've never played it since I got it. I never had the lung capacity for brass instruments, and I'll always remember him playing it like it was yesterday, belting out "You bring a new kind of love to me" to every young female ensign willing enough to spend some time paying him attention.
And, of course, I'll never forget him standing up on the leaving celebrations just after the admiral had finished talking, picking up his trombone, and signalling the 'last post of ye ensign', to the tears of tutor and student alike."
I wasn't always a Fleet Admiral that looks like I have a targ taped to my belly.
When I was young I stepped up to earn General Wolfe's House Honour and myself Glory
My Prize possession Adorns the Mess Hall Trophy Case .
On Board The IKS Gu
It begins when I was at Starfleet Academy. I was on the academy football team. We were getting ready to play the Vulcan Science Academy when I was approached by the Romulan Ambassador to Earth. He had grown an interest in the sport and wanted to talk to me about it. I was the team captain, you see, and so the ambassador thought Id be the best one to answer his questions.
I was happy to help out. We had lunch together a couple times while I explained to him the intricacies of the game. He said he would be traveling to Vulcan in order to catch our next match. And he wished me luck.
We arrived at Vulcan as a major underdog. Vulcans are naturally stronger than humans and logic is a pretty good predictor of sports plays. The first half went as well as could be expected. The Vulcans ran up a 28-point lead and we were just hammered. The coach tried to motivate us, but it just wasnt working. Then, as we were walking back to the field, the Romulan ambassador approached me and said, The Vulcans' strength could be your biggest advantage. I didnt have a clue what he meant.
As we got ready for our first play after the kickoff, something occurred to me. We were lining up in the expected formation and were about to do a play you would expect from a team in that situation. The Vulcans knew that because it was the logical thing to do. I told the quarterback to call a timeout. He looked at me strange but did what I asked.
As the crowd was looking on in confusion as to why we would bother to call a timeout before the first snap of the half, I ran over to the coach with the quarterback and I told them, Throw away the playbook. The Vulcans know what we are going to do because it is what is expected in this circumstance. We need to do the exact opposite. If it is an obvious run play, we need to throw. If it is an obvious throwing play, we need to run. The Vulcans are going to do what is logical, so we need to be as illogical as possible.
The coach agreed and he flipped the playbook onto the grass. From that point on, we would do the opposite of what you would think we needed to do. As a result, we took that game into overtime and we finally broke a 36-year losing streak to the Vulcans. The coach presented me the game ball because it was my suggestion that lead to our victory. I then gave it to the Romulan ambassador and told him I owed him a debt of gratitude.
The Romulan ambassador came to every game while I was in the academy and we would get together twice a week to talk football. He personally pinned my first pip on and said, If every Starfleet officer was like you, the Federations future would be secure. I thanked him and we kept in touch over the years.
Six months ago, I found out that the Romulan ambassadors shuttle had crashed while landing near his office in San Francisco. I was on ESD for a conference at the time and so I beamed down to the medical center he was taken to. I arrived three minutes after he died. His aide recognized me and let me see him. Seeing him there in that hospital bed hurt. There was an honorable man... brought down by a bad engine diode.
At his funeral, I took off one of my pips and pinned it on his uniform. I said, If every Romulan was like you, then the Empires future would be secure. Thank you for being such a great friend. As I started to walk out I was approached by one of his aides carrying a box. He said, The Ambassador instructed that this be given to you upon his death. I thanked him but didnt open the box as I returned to the USS Huntsville.
As we got underway for a routine survey in the BTran Nebula, I went to my quarters to read up on some situation reports when I noticed the box. I walked over to it and inside was that football. It had my signature and the date of that victory over the Vulcans. With it was a note that read, Given to me by the captain of the Starfleet Academy team. He is the most honorable man I have ever known.
I was moved to tears. I immediately took the football and that note to my ready room and put it on display. That ball means more to me than any award I have ever gotten from Starfleet. That ball was given to me by a friend and mentor; a man I will never forget as long as I live.
...The hot sun blazed over the skyline of twisted metal, intimidating archways and decadent spires. The oval view screens, showed some namelss Guls face, talking about honour and duty to the state. It seems nothing much has changed since its near destruction at the hands of the Dominion.
...Tanar had so hoped that Cardassians would move forward and join in an era of peace, perhaps join with his new family in the Federation, but too long has the heavy boots of war been placed upon its citizens feet. The devastation passed, the cities rebuilt and the voice of the True Way grew ever stronger in the ears of young Cardassians, eager to test themselves against the galaxy.
...Tanar walked quickly through the streets of New Lakarian City. He had lived here as a child with his mother, in its former incarnation before the war, and had been old enough to remember how it looked. Either through fading memory or meticulous architecture, the buildings and streets looked the same as before. The streets a little cleaner, perhaps, but the skyline looked eerily similar, like nothing had touched them in a thousand years. Cardassians do look for continuity in their artistic work, and clearly the architect felt that what was good enough before the war, was good enough after. Tanar sighed, somehow he felt his people had not learned their lesson.
...He continued down the street until he came to an old shop, one that sold jewellery and fine ornaments. He remembered playing here as a child, before the JemHadar stalked the streets, when no one dared to venture out. This shop had been a run down old house, broken beyond repair and Elim had spent many a day playing with his friends, hiding within the nooks and crevices of the old tattered building.
...Once he had found a Cardassian disrupter on the floor under a table. He had not noticed it before, and not fully understanding the risk, and had decided that it would make a fine addition to his collection of toys. His friends would be so jealous of him he thought. Only the great men and women of the military carried these kinds of weapons. Someday perhaps even he would serve Cardassia proudly by destroying its enemies. He remembered moving towards the disrupter only to see a hand reaching out from under a fallen roofing beam. He had jumped back in shock at the sight of the arm, emerging from the dark.
...Dont be freighted young one, Came the voice. I wont harm you. he said, wearily.
...Tanar, smirking at how foolish he had been, clearly remembered that, instead of running like any sane person, he moved in closer until he could see the face of an old Cardassian man. His hair grey, and his scales dark black. His eyes kind, but tired.
...My name is Rusek. Who are you? he said softly.
...Elim had told the old man his name.
...Elim? I knew a man called Elim once. He was a right he paused, remembering he was in the company of a child tricky one. he finished. He remembered seeing a hint of betrayal flash across the old man's face.
...He had asked the man if he was alright, and the man just sighed and nodded. For no apparent reason that he could remember, the man thrust the disrupter in his direction and beckoned him to take it. He had been startled at the action, but the chance to hold a real Cardasian disrupter was too great. He gingerly took the weapon and held it up to the light. The warm sunlight sparkled off the cool metallic finish.
...Then as suddenly as a blink of an eye, the man demanded that he leave.
...Go child, its not safe here. Go now. he screamed, more in guilt than anything. Elim remembered he wanted to stay, talk to the old man, learn why he had been in this old decrepit building, when the sound of footfalls drew louder. Shouts rang in his ears as two huge men had drawn up to his position. They would be on him in moments.
...The man had looked at Elim, terror in his eyes, before bolting away from the building. The two men, who Elim could now see were dressed in obsidian black clothes. They gave chase at the sight of the old man, until one screeched to a halt. Elim had peered out through a crack in the wall and looked at the man as he raised another disrupter, similar to the one Elim now held in his hand. The yellow blast of light erupted from his tip and flashed across the street, until its end point; the back of the old man. He slumped to the ground in a cry of both pain and relief.
...The two men walked slowly up towards the still body, and began to drag him away. The faint sound of the two men could still be heard as they echoed through the quiet street. Tain will be pleased, this ones eluded him for years. said the one who had fired the deadly weapon.
...Elim had not fully understood at the time what had happened, or why no one had come to check on what had happened; a murder in the middle of the day should have at least caused someone to open a window? How little he understood the power of fear in the old days. All he had was the disrupter as he sat in the darkness as the sun slunk behind a cloud. He looked upon it, and it no longer shone as it did. He wanted to throw it away, and run back to his house, but he just sat there for hours, staring at the weapon. It seems, he did not truly know who Cardassias enemies were.
...Admiral Tanar, now one of the youngest Admirals in the fleet, and one of only a handful of Cardassians now serving in the Federation, drew the old battered disrupter out of his belt holster and looked at it once again. What once he briefly had seen as a shinning example of Cardassias strength was now just an echo of its dark past. He had kept it to remind himself of the path he had almost gone down. Perhaps if he had run when the man said instead of hesitating, he would not have seen a defenceless man shot down in the streets of his home. Perhaps he would now be the one tracking an enemy of the state though the lonely streets. He gazed around the streets and sighed. I will not rest until I have helped create a new Cardassia, he thought to himself and exercised the ghosts of the past. We will break this never-ending cycle of violence and my people will be free to make their own paths.
...The moment was broken by a hail from his ship.
...This is Tanar, go ahead.
...Sir, youre needed back on the bridge.
...He holstered the weapon and sighed again. Understood. One to beam up.
The sweat pours off of me, my hearts pouding, I'm shaking all over, and the constant screaming is unbearable. It's hot and humid in this ship. They are every where. I know what they are but I can't bring myself to say the name. They captured my parents freighter. We all knew what was coming but were helpless to stop it. I am only 17 years old. Then one of them comes closer and straps intwine my arms and immobilize my head. Off to the side I can hear the whine of a drill begin. My heart feels like it will jump right out of my chest. Suddenly I can feel the acrid burn of urine dribbling down my leg. In this momement of terror I actually chuckle thinking it's true that you can pee yourself from fear. Then the whine of the drill becomes suddenly louder and then I start to scream the pain is agonizing. I suddenly snap open my eyes. I am back in my ready room.
I have relived that moment over and over again since I have been liberated. It was the last human thought I would have for 8 years. I look again at the display case. The implant was removed from my right temple. That was where the first drill touched my skin. When I was deemed fit enough to leave the hospital after having the borg devices removed I asked if they still had any of them. They did. I asked for the one in my right temple. The first one. It was an odd request but they gave it to me. Why did I want it? At the time I didn't know. For years, it lay at the bottom of one drawer or another. I couldn't bear to look at it but I couldn't bear getting rid of it either.
It was only after becoming Captain of the Stellar Dawn that I realized why I kept it. Why I needed it. That thing was the first act that robbed me of my youth, my freedom, and my parents. I needed it as a reminder of who I am. Where I came from. It connects me in some weird way to my lost parents. I look at it and I loathe it. I look at it and I love it. That single piece of equipment changed my life forever. In the end it reminds of what I stand for and what I fight for. I look at it and say never again. Never again will some young child be robbed of their future. Not if I can help it. I take one last look at the display case and walk out of the room. It's another day in Starfleet and it's time to get to work.
Vice Admiral Jonathon Stipe commanding USS Stellar Dawn
........So she took the picture of me kneeling and hugging our two kids. There's Sealbh, a rambunctious boy, eleven at the time, who thinks he can can conquer the Milky Way with nothing more than a toy model of the U.S.S. Superior. And there's Iongnadh, whose aspirations seem too high for her six-year-old heart. She wants to save the galaxy instead of conquering it. I felt inclined to hug them tightly when the photo was snapped.
........Sarah Anne took almost a hundred photos over the course of that day. After she had processed them, she picked the ten best for her assignment. As I looked them over, my eyes became fixed on the grainy black-and-white photo of me kneeling with the two kids.
........"I want this one," I said to her, lifting it up from the table. I showed her.
........Her look of confusion was replaced by a smile. She let me have it, and replaced it with another from her stack. I decided then and there I would carry this photo on all of my missions. So I have an elastic band at the top of my calf, just below the knee, hidden inside the pant's leg. There, I keep the photo.
........That was two years ago. And here I am, sitting on a metal bench in a Klingon cell, stripped of my armor and shielding, waiting for them to interrogate me and then probably execute me. The Granalda Excursion to extract Federation scientists almost met with failure, but a well-thought out plan saved us. The four scientists were rescued as I gave myself to capture. That part was easy. That's how we planned it from the beginning. The hard part is approaching, my rescue by my first officer. Thanks to an insider, we have some frequencies to the compound's shields, and a small window of opportunity.
........I stand and approach the cell-door holding the photo. I chuckle slightly at the fact that it got past the Klingons' scans. They were looking for electronic components, metal objects, and such. This must have seemed to them a mere article of clothing, a bandage even. A holoprint would have been confiscated. Knowing the Klingon's distaste for such sentimentality, they would have destroyed it.
........I raise the photo to the cell-door's slot of a window, holding it at an angle to let the light from the hall cast upon it. Sealbh has his mom's looks and my spirit. Iongnadh has my looks, and her mom's spirit. They have the best of us, and this photo, this simple, black-and-white, grainy photo somehow captured it.
........"Don't worry, Captain," a scruffy voice sounds from the other side. "We are making further arrangements for you."
........I peer through the slot and see my interrogator, Cha'ton Kretok peering back at me, a well-known scoundrel of a Lethean agent of the KDF, well-known, that is, amongst starfleet officers ordered to kill him on sight. I wonder if I can reach through the slot and grab him fast enough. I sigh in disappointment as I know it to be futile.
........"Right now, you're thinking of how to resist our interrogation," Cha'ton says. "I already know how to make you talk." He laughs.
........I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I know he speaks the truth. It will be unpleasant to say the least. Quite unpleasant. I look at the photo again. It's my only comfort at the moment. But then I feel the tingly sensation, like a warm breeze flowing over my skin. I look up at Cha'ton. I see his puzzlement. I smile.
........"We'll need to reschedule our appointment," I manage to say before the wash of blue light fills my sight. In a flash, the blue fades to reveal the teleportation room of the U.S.S. Superior. My first officer, Commander Lasha K'phav is there. Her light blue Andorian skin shimmers in the room's various lights.
........"Captain," she says.
........"Commander," I respond. "Job well done."
........"All in a day's work, Sir," she says with a smile. "We are set to leave this place. Waiting for your order."
........"Make it so, Number One," I say.
........"Helm, take us home." Lasha says, tapping her badge. The com signal's beeps are followed with an "Aye, ma'am," a man's voice.
........We start to exit the room, but I stop us momentarily. I reach down to lift up my left pant's leg, tuck the black-and-white photo underneath the elastic band, and lower the pant's leg back into place. Lasha looks amused, but says nothing. I nod to the door and we continue on.
Reader's Note:
Sealbh is Gaelic for prosperity and luck, and is pronounced as "shallav." Iongnadh is Gaelic for wonder and suprise, and is pronounced as "eeyanuh", similar to, but off slightly to Anna.
Even so, the one possession he prized most wasn't a medal, or a gift from a grateful people. It was a simple white sash. Yes, it was a very nice looking piece of clothing, with it's gold tassels and snow white fabric, but that wasn't why he treasured it.
Above all, it was the symbolism of it.
Aevn had once been scion of a powerful house within the Anorellian Union. In the old days, many Emperors had come from the house of Noram, and it was believed that the ancient king who had carved out the old Anorellian Empire had been a Noram, at least among members of that house.
It was also tradition that Norams would join the Anorellian Defense Force when they came of age, and fight the Anorellian's perpetual enemy, the Morortellians.
Aevn had, of course, continued this tradition, and completed training at the Anorellian Military College to become an officer, receiving his Officer's Sash. However, shortly before receiving his first posting, the Federation made first contact with the Union.
Aevn, like many other young Anorellians at the time, was fascinated by stories of stars far from the confines of the Union, and terrified by whispers of enemies more powerful than he had ever imagined, lurking in the darkness of space. So, in search of a life beyond the stars he knew, Aevn resigned his commission in the Defense Force, and left the Anorellian Union. Months later, Aevn had begun attending Starfleet Academy, and then, years after that, received his first command following the Battle of Vega.
He treasures the sash even now, not as a symbol of all he had given up back home, but of his choice to leave behind the pointless xenophobia and border wars of his people and serve the greater good of the galaxy.
The Tobarri people fought a guerrilla-style war against the Borg for decades with their secret weapon, a neurolytic compound that disrupted communications between cybernetic components and the host. That is until the Borg managed to find the location of Tobarrus. The Tobarri were able to liberate drones with every assault, but the Hive sent in overwhelming numbers. Millions of drones; hundreds of cubes; a single, terrifying goal: the total destruction of the Tobarri homeworld, the Tobarri people, and their technology.
That was a long time ago in a far flung corner of the galaxy ... Since then; I have been to hundreds of worlds. I have seen countless wonders that no Tobarri could have ever imagined. Yet, there is something mystical about these small grains of sand that dwarves everything I have ever seen. They take me back to time with my friends and family, before the service and the Borg and their relentless pursuit to destroy everything that was dear to me.
This little vial of sand continues to fuel my passion to protect and serve my new home within the Federation against the mindless automatons of the Borg. It reminds me of everything I have lost; everything I have gained; and why I must continue to fight to make sure that it never happens again.
Although the fact that the majority of my former posessions were sacrificed in order to secure my safe passage away from the wrath of several fellow classmates who demanded I reveal to them the exact events that occured during my Kobayashi Maru test. They didn't think that somebody such as I could possibly managed to do what Kirk had managed to do during his Kobayashi Maru. Granted, Kirk cheated to win his test.
That aside, if I honestly had to pick one thing that I could say I treasured, I'd have to say my pen. Sure, there's not much use for it and not a lot of people still use pen and paper, but there's nothing quite as satisfying as writing or drawing something on a piece of paper and holding the finished product in your own hands. My only complaint is its capacity for ink. I tend to write a lot, so I have to replace the ink cartridge often. And ink smudging might be a minor nuisance, but it just doesn't have the same feel as using a PADD to do the same job.
My instructors really don't care what I use as long as I can hand it in digitally.
Plus, it helps when people think you're writing a paper when you're actually planning another prank - just got to remember not to leave the plans intact for somebody else to find and read. It wouldn't be very good for my health, and I'm fairly certain I'd have more than half of my fellow classmates angry at me. One in particular comes to mind...
P.S.: Got into a nasty fight with somebody in the same year as I am. I forgot to mention - when people are surrounded by energy weapons and replicators and computers, nobody expects to be stabbed by a pen. Guess that ridiculously old adage about the pen being mightier than the sword is true.
The crew of the USS Adriatic, following an anomalous energy reading during a survey near the Romulan Neutral Zone, had found him in a stasis chamber on a planetoid. The crude facility there had successfully preserved him through nearly 400 years. For what purpose no one knows, as most of the other equipment could not claim the same success rate. The computers banks were completely corrupted, a shame since Kieth had no memory of how he had ended up in stasis much less light years from his home. More usefully, there was a container that apparently held the possessions Kieth had at the time of his incarceration. While the locker was well sealed, 400 years still took its toll on the items therein. The only item left intact was the folded up metal knife he now held with dear regard.
Initially it had not been that important to him. The knife had served merely as convenient tool for miscellaneous tasks. Now it remained as the last physical memory of his old life, a tangible reminder. As the years went on, it became easy to forget that he once lived in another era, so different as they are. It was hard at times to believe that such a future sprang from the past he had known. Although everything could be traced back easily through history, one point stemming from the previous one. But in such a ponderous meander that one could scarcely predict what might come next. He never could have known that commanding a starship centuries after his birth would be what his future held. He wondered what else the future held for him that he still could not perceive. The possibilities both exciting and terrifying.
Kieth held the knife out at arms length, catching a glint of light and highlighting the pits and defects on the surface. The familiar tactile sense of the inanimate object brought many fond recollections. He was glad to have something to anchor him to that past, as it is the past that helps guide you through the future and keep things in perspective.
Kieth was reminded of a story, a fiction about a character in a very similar situation. Awakening many years in the future to discover the world had changed so much, with only a single personal item to prove that past really happened. The character pursued that past at the expense of the present, the object being a constant reminder of that past. Eventually the character learned let go of the past and accept the present and future, and disposed of the object. While Kieth mostly agreed with the sentiment of the story's moral, he felt that completely abandoning the past was also folly. The past is there for a reason and needs to be remembered. If items like a pocket knife can help facilitate that, it too should be accepted. He smirks briefly realizing there is probably no longer any trace of that particular story to be found anymore.
Sadly, the standard uniforms design prevented him from carrying it with him. Just as well, he'd probably have lost it by now on some away mission. So with a slight sigh Kieth sets the pocket knife back onto the desk and returns to the report on his display.
PUBLIC KEY: File / Colonial
RECORDED BY: Codename Kestrel
SUBJECT: Reflection, Taking Inventory.
CLASSIFICATION: Eyes Only, Federation Intelligence: Section 1, Directive XXD-X3
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/Start File/ Decryption Protocol
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>>>>>> Start Playback, Text Only. Warning: Dissemination of any information contained within may be grounds for a General Court Martial, imprisonment, and Dishonorable Discharge from Starfleet.
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>>>>>> This assignment has been harder than I had ever imagined it would be and this is the first down time I've had in three days, hopefully tonight I'll be getting the first rest in just as long. Without any doubt, the Klingons will soon own this world and all of its resources. They've obviously made this decision a long time ago and no amount of our fleet, nor soldiers for that matter, are going to contradict them on this point. The Fleet Flyboys have been doing their best to get any and all civilians off-world before the inevitable happens, I myself have had several opportunities to escape but my mission remains too important to walk away from.
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>>>>>> My fate now seems all but determinate and as I come to grasp with being marooned here before the impending change of management I have precious time to take inventory on what I have left. Any good operator or soldier will tell you their weapon is their best friend, this is true of my TR-116, though I am finding that my true love has been a knife given to me by my instructors before I graduated the Intelligence Operative Training courses. It's a type of knife commonly called a "Balisong" or "Butterfly Knife" that originated in the Philippines back on Earth, honestly when I first got my hands on it I believed it to be nothing but a trick weapon, useless on the actual battlefield.
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>>>>> In the time since then I have had ample time to practice with this weapon, get good at throwing it, using its compact design to hit and fade in crowds and since arriving on this colony have even stood toe-to-toe with a few Klingons with smaller knives when they got in too close for either my phaser or rifle to be effective. It's longer than most knives of its kind, the blade being eight inches of polished steel. The two handles are an opalescent white, matching my cloak armor. More and more I find myself relying on it and more and more I realize just how important it was to bring with me. I'm going to make it a point to find my trainer and buy him a drink if I somehow survive this. I owe him more than I could ever hope to express and I just hope that what I am doing ends up making some difference.
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>>>>> Going to have to end here, I need rest and I have a feeling tomorrow will end up being an interesting day to say the least. For the record, and in case I don't make it out of here it should be noted that the primary objective has been completed, I have destroyed the database at the S-31 complex located in grid reference G-6 and am now onto a target of opportunity, an Undine infiltrator that may be trying to get off-world posing as a prominent member of this colony's government. Per the directive recently passed, I will neutralize this threat at all means necessary.
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>>>>> Recording Ends. Reason: Terminated by User
........Akatsuki no Ken has been in the Yamato Family for generations, with some family tales of the sword going back to the 16th century, back when the first Yamato took up the path of the Samurai, a path that all Yamato men follow even today. The sword is considered a family heirloom, and its a family tradition for the eldest son to receive the blade from his father upon entry into military service.
........Also, ever since I was little, Ive known that I was adopted. My parents never hid that fact from me, even as they raised me with love and kindness. And although I enjoyed growing up in the Yamato household, and learning the skills, traditions, and moral code of the Samurai from my adoptive father Tetsuya, a part of me always felt like I was just a guest, and not an actual part of the family.
........So, you probably cant imagine how moved I was when Tetsuya gave me Akatsuki no Ken before I left home to attend Starfleet Academy. He basically told me through that act that even though I was adopted, he truly considered me his son. Its a wonder that I didnt start bawling like a baby on the spot, though tears of joy were flowing freely down my cheeks.
........Akatsuki no Ken has been with me ever since. It currently rests in its sheath on a display in my Ready Room, waiting for the day that I can unleash it in battle. And when I have a son of my own, I look forward to when he enters Starfleet Academy, so I can carry on the family tradition and pass Akatsuki no Ken down to him.
My recent promotion to Commodore, and transfer of many personal possessions from the Avenger to my new command, Crimson Station, has given me time to reflect quite a bit.
As I removed the display case that has adorned my ready room walls for the past several years, a flood of memories I see most every day hit me stronger than usual.I've been asked about the contents before, several Borg components, and two holo-images.
The story is the most important of my life and it started 7 years ago.
I was a freshly graduated Academy Graduate, green as heck, and ready for my first assignment. I wasn't top of my class, but I was good enough to be offered a position aboard the Nikola Tesla, captained by the legendary Nivar Ise. I had heard many stories from his son, Roden, a fellow classmate. I was given the rank of Ensign and a post in Security and Tactical. Several months passed by with pretty normal starship operations. Then one day, my life changed.
We picked up an emergency distress call from a colony world on the Klingon border, it was under attack by a Borg ship. We were not the only ships to respond, so did a Klingon Bird of Prey , the IKS Conqueror.When we arrived it had only begun to engage the Sphere. We began firing weapons, but even our combined attack did little damage. The Klingon ship took a direct hit to the Bridge, killing its command crew instantly. But a lone Bekk in their Auxiliary control center took command, and kept firing.
The Chief Tactical Officer was incapacitated by a console explosion, and I had to take over. I fired our weapons as best I could, but I couldn't do a thing. Then, three Borg beamed aboard the Bridge when our shields got knocked out. The first went down with a phaser shot, the others adapted. Without a second thought, I jumped in the way of the other two trying to assimilate the Captain, managing to kill the second just as I felt the cold metal of the last ones injection tubules enter my neck.
The whole world change, voices started to grow, I had to resist! With all my strength, I ripped the wires from the back of the drones head, and killed it. The Captain yelled for tow officers to take me to sickbay, then I heard a voice inside me, "Primary Shield Matrix Fracturing at Subjunction 12." I knew what I had to do, I pushed away the crewman, staggered to the Tactical Console, the voices screaming in my ears and initiated a Tetryon pulse and a quantum torpedo spread. My final sight before the voices consumed me was the sight of the Sphere's shields dropping as the torpedoes hit their mark!
I woke up several days later, my brash action meant I would have Borg parts in my body for as long as I lived. Several other patients were there, several humans I had never seen before and several Klingons. The Captain told me that they had recovered several Borg from the sphere and liberated them. Even more important was that the young Bekk had been partially assimilated as well.
For my actions that day I was appointed Chief Tactical Officer in place of Lieutenant Vincent who had died from injuries. I gained my Lieutenant rank but more importantly, I was given the job to help the injured Borg regain their individuality.
The Bekk was named Kane and took care of the liberated Klingons. We both spent months helping them (and ourselves) adjust back to normal lives, with help from Capatin Ise. We had Borg parts remaining and so did they, it made us their teachers and their family. But we worked hard to help them and us recover from the experience. Soon the family broke up, Kane and the Klingons returning to the Empire, and several of my new family moving to different postings. Some even gained their own commands, while the last of the Borg became an officer in every ship I ever served.
Kane and myself maintained a close friendship over the years, even when the War started. We talked often and both attended the funeral of Capatin Ise, who died during a pitched battle with a Klingon ship. We vowed to do everything in our power fight for peace. It is that friendship that started the first joint Starfleet-Klingon operation of the century, the Crimson Task Force.
So I kept a Borg piece from each and everyone of my special family. Eye pieces, cranial implants, each had a story and a person they reminded me of. And a holo image of all of us together. Another of the Captain who had so changed me and help me become the officer I am today.
........As the bookmark of a classic page turner, or the knot affirmatively tugged around his finger; a single thread is kept in memoriam to the life he left behind. The terror was inexplicable, as the needles pierced his flesh; the invasion of machine commenced on the human front lines, within his very bloodstream.
........Having just earned the captains seat, Aindreas received a new parcel which he immediately dawned as part of his uniform: a Starfleet issued captains vest. But it was far from standard, it was a nano-fiber enhanced shield, the first of its kind; a testament to his new "cozy" position, as the eggheads would tease him. He had earned this casually trimmed uniform, having often served as a guinea pig for Daystroms field testing extravaganzas.
........Of course this was slightly prior to the easing of the uniform policies. A proper test pending, the jacket would surely become standard issue. Unfortunately, it never made it back for confirmation.
........So, Starfleet wants their apparel to be as diverse as their communities. Well, looks like this little addition wont be a unique benefit for much longer; Ill wear it with pride until I wear it out.
........Indeed he did, it accompanied him on 46 missions, but it had yet to meet any conflict. He was just about to head another away team before he went missing in action, & was eventually presumed killed in the line of duty.
........As part of a squadron of 5 starships that branched from the reserve station now orbiting Delta Vega, they soon came to realize that an unexpected enemy had their flank. Klingon ships, presumably approved for a diplomatic voyage through federation territory, descended upon them without warning. As the fighting broke out, a boarding party tried to overtake the bridge of the U.S.S. Copperwire, Aindreas charge of the time. The nano-fiber mesh successfully dispersed several disruptor blasts & deflected many a batleth strike.
........Aindreas acted swiftly & somewhat recklessly, using every advantage at his disposal. He rushed into each confrontation as though he were invincible, not taking into account the fact that his shipmates did not have such beneficial technology. Eventually, he lie soaked in the blood of his aggressors & comrades alike. All were too engaged defending themselves & the ship to help each other. Acts the survivors would writhe in guilt over, though it would be short-lived.
........Word had been spreading that splinter factions of klingons were acting without the consent of the council. But it was becoming alarmingly clear that their support was growing within the empire & a declaration of war would soon be inevitable. A standoff crept in like a rolling fog; Starfleet personnel had clear homefield advantage but their spirits were beginning to dwindle. Sensing this, the klingons prepared to attempt withdrawal once the fight seemed meaningless.
........When it looked as if the situation couldnt get any worse, the rain turned to hail; borg sphere sized hail. The borg, thought defeated & crippled beyond recovery, dropped out of transwarp & assaulted both sets of vessels indiscriminately. They were not known to host such violent salvos on ships of such meager technological value. But as was later affirmed by Starfleet intel, these rogue drones were acting without the direction of a queen & simply, instinctively began lashing out en masse to replenish their numbers.
........UFP & KDF were suddenly fighting side by side against their common enemy, but the effort was given too little too late. The spheres outnumbered them 2 to 1 & they were ruthless, factually brutal in the execution of their objective. Most of the klingons met their end head-on in the devastating encounter. Several Starfleet personnel saw little hope & set the auto-destruct aboard their ships, & resigned to their fate. Quite as anticipated, the borg had succeeded over their quarry nevertheless, sustaining minimal casualties. All whom were not killed were captured & arbitrarily assimilated.
........Aindreas met his captor face to face, it seemed to toy with him. He couldnt deny that he was frightened, & why hide it from beings with not a single shred of empathy. He cried out for his peers, comrades, even his enemies to be avenged; as if the wavelength of his pain could be transmitted loud enough to carry on subspace. Alas, the tubules unalterably pierced his collar, in the vein of ancient myths now made reality, such as the vampire sinking its teeth into its latest victim. A blood soaked fiber of the vest became lodged between the newly growing implants & his skin; & there it remained until his body was salvaged 25 years later.
........It was spotted during his implant-removal by an artificial being. The E.M.H. caught it mid-air as it drifted gently to the floor. Of all the stabbing sentiment & personal questions asked in their attempts to bring him around, his humanity refused to surface; until he saw the string, shimmering like a gilded piece of shrapnel.
........This sent a spark throughout his neurons, an humane wedge now held open the lids pulled over his minds eye. After the procedure he finally lifted his head, blinking rapidly. The first thing that came into focus was the ships plaque which read: U.S.S. Pasteur & the quote "I swear by Apollo, the healer, by Aesculapius, by Health and all the powers of healing..." Salvaging the mind would be another task altogether for his memory, up until the moments before the battle with the klingons, was all but lost or hopelessly suppressed.
........However, the sensation in the air, & the comfort the plaque & the people gave him, he knew his calling was to save lives; & thus a new human life was born. He had forsaken the name of the man he was, systematically deeming himself a failure with no regard nor interest in his actual history. All he remembered was what she called him... Droidrewid. Almost all at once, a new order was in place, when her mind became the new driving force. She was the borg. He ultimately chose the new name of Droid, since that is what many began calling him upon reading his report after his liberation from the collective.
........Not being complete enough to be of any use to the Daystrom institute, their hands now full supplying the war-effort, he keeps the frayed nano-fiber to remember his friends. He composed an ode to honor those victims of circumstance who were not recovered from the day the borg eclipsed their lives, & extinguished their individuality. He had the dirge etched onto the string with a micro-scribe, to further discourage his wish to throw it away & forget its role in all that had transpired.
Upon a first glance one might simply brush it away,
But from hence on to forth, there it doth stay,
Never again shall it lead the team astray,
As when the shadows fell on that fateful day,
Though be it ever so soft,
On & off it floats aloft,
Splitting hairs all too oft,
Still it rests anon forgot,
On & on as no other knows,
Where & how the story goes,
Betwixt its fibers frozen pose,
Final taken thoughts of thy foes,
The first to fall the last to flee,
From the onslaught of thine enemy,
A devastating blow began the siege,
Behind the lines no eyes could see,
A key component to your downfall,
A suffering mortal cry is outlawed,
Drag them through your trough of flaws,
Shed the fear that nearly draws,
In excess excrement of seething evil eyes,
In unvoiced atonement for detrimental lies,
In abhorrent insurrection from decadent ties,
In abysmal proliferation of reeling cries,
O be there no formal address,
For the dues of the confessed,
Are not the survivors truly blessed,
To the wall their backs firmly pressed,
Channeling churning shapes of shame,
Images fall upon the deaf or lame,
Their nature is not ours to tame,
They knew not a single name,
Still they would dare to delve,
Into realms deep as a darkened well,
Resistance is futile; no thoughts withheld,
We know no heaven without hell,
So upon a fatal thread may rest,
The final fiber of a long lost vest,
Take the time now to invest,
Surely the inferno will arrest,
Nightmares come no more no less,
To this day I cannot win nor best,
The enemy within, but I digress,
Life is not a dream; I do not jest.
They began with a ritual washing of her head, intended not only to sterilize the skin and prepare it for the taking of ink, but also remind her of the necessity of a clean soul, a clean katra. She felt each of the three hundred sixty prescribed strokes of the smooth grey pumice stone as it circled her shaven skull, and the gentle rhythmic brushing helped her attain the proper state of meditation. Though one small part of Sarais elaborate and sophisticated Vulcan mind counted each of those gestures one by one, she nevertheless felt herself slipping back into reverie, and she thought to herself, How did I come to this place? This moment?
She had been a difficult daughter, rebelling against traditional parents. They had raised her properly, sparing no pain or harsh truth, but instead of the stoic demeanor that was the hallmark of all mature Vulcans, Sarai had retreated into lonely physical pursuits. Instead of mastering logic, she spent her days scampering up the intimidating cliffs near her home. Like an insect she found tiny cracks for her fingers and toes, and when she returned after three days, bruised and hungry but triumphant, her smile beaming from her dusty face, her parents knew that she had left the path of wisdom.
When the Vulcan Science Academy refused to assist the Romulans, contributing to the Hobus disaster, Sarai had been seven years old. She had joined the protests of men and women much older and more articulate than she, voices who suggested that the Vulcan people had lost their way. None denied the role of logic in the governance of wild emotion, but if the decision to refuse aid was a logical one, then logic had caused the death of billions of lives. And if the decision was not logical, then the authority of the Science Academy was in doubt. When they saw their daughter chanting slogans in sympathy for the Romulan people, Sarais parents knew they had failed. She was sent to the SuLan Monastery, where it was thought she would at least find peace and, if she was lucky, eventually contribute to society.
And so she had, for the wrinkled masters of SuLan had long held dear principles to which Sarais rebellious heart cleaved. Here she came to understand logic had its perils, no less dangerous than those of emotion, and these two poles stood to the right and the left of each Vulcan pilgrim on the long and difficult journey through life. To navigate between those two dangers was to walk the narrow and perilous Path of the Razor, and this was the philosophy which would guide Sarai for the rest of her waking life, till her katra shed the gross impurities of flesh and was housed forever in the stone caskets of her forebears.
For fourteen years now she had walked the Path of the Razor, learning to balance logic and emotion. Along the way she had strayed many times and even fallen, but always her sisters and the ancient masters had been there to help her, until in time she came to be the one who gave help and succor to others. No longer was she the wanderer; now she was a mentor, and in the eyes of the masters a new light of recognition and pride could be seen. She was ready. It was time for her to go.
All of that had led her to this moment, and to the careful inscription of her bindi, her soul-mark, on the sacred qui'lari, the neural pathway which lay between her eyes. Carefully she knit the physiology of her mind to her will, increasing her heart rate to keep her body cool and numbing the pain receptors in her forehead where the long needles, pregnant with ink, pierced her skin. The ritual mark, emerald green in the firelight and elegant in its complexity, marked her as a pilgrim on the Path of the Razor, a Vulcan woman who balanced logic and emotion in a careful dance. The idea made her smile. She had always loved to dance.
by TL Shull
U.S.S. Coronado
Personal Quarters: Riker, E. L. - Captain
It was just an innocuous little piece of metal.
She drew her fingers over the fragment with care. It was small, gnarled and heavy; smooth and refined on some of its curves buff and muted on others; intermingled with tiny, rough points and counterbalanced with razor-sharp lines. Yet it sparkled its pits of polished surface reflected the lights with such ferocity it seemed more a jewel than wreckage.
She thought it was rather amazing that an end to one's existence would result in remnants of such disturbing beauty.
But still, it was just a hunk of twisted metal.
Keep saying that to yourself Beth. Its just a hunk of metal. You know damn well it means more than that. Worse, youre becoming quite the collector of hunks of metal and thats whats got you so angry now. How many do you have? Ten? Twelve? Fifteen? Pretty morbid paperweights dont you think?
Beth swallowed back her pain and opened the small drawer in the bureau in her quarters, letting her eyes rest upon a line of small, metal blobs.
Anyone who would see them would think of them as a strange collection of clutter silvery metal shards of junk but she could tell every single one of them apart. To her, each one was spectacularly different from another.
The one with the jagged little hook that was Futs-Lung. The one with the sweeping, curving blade was Chaniel. The one with the spikes that ran down the length of its pressed-globular form was Norel the one that somehow her mind always saw as being in the shape of a Celtic harp? That was Brian. And the one in her hand? The one that sparkled with pits and dents of brushed tritanium? That was Carrie.
Every single little lump of fuselage in that drawer meant something. While they may have seemed innocuous to some, that drawer was her personal mausoleum the only tangible evidence that her friends had ever taken up space in this universe her reminders that she was still here and still had a job to do; just like everyone else who was still here.
She set the sparkling trinket back into the drawer but she did not shut it. She stood there and let herself remember each person and their crews. She promised them all she would never forget
Captain, long range sensors have picked up an Orion squadron on an intercept course, the voice of her Executive Officer broke the silence in her quarters.
She closed her eyes in resignation, closed the drawer to her bureau and turned away phantoms of the small metal shards still burned into her retinas.
Once again it was her job to try to keep herself and her crew from turning into a small metal blob in the drawer of a friends bureau.
On my way.
"I asked this question to my officers a while back while the Satsuma was in refit. Mei said a parent's uniform. Leila picked a tiara she pulled off an Orion princess she served. That gave me a chuckle. Then it came down to us; my cousin, my sister, my adopted brother and me. Family had been important to us during the Orion raids as children. So for that reason, we wanted to say our kin, but that wouldn't cut it with the others. We agreed that however much Omberi was proud of her M.D., this possession had to have something in common to all of us."
"Thinking back now, I can't believe it didn't come to mind sooner. You see the Bazma system is right in Orion space and the colonists didn't have much in the way of defending themselves. Well when my parents arrived they thought that would change. They only brought themselves a shuttle, not a match for a raid. When I was 15, the Orions came around for another bash. Our parents went out to lend technical expertise but we all knew that wouldn't do any good. Well Omberi, that's my sister by the way, had been working on their lockout code for months on that little shuttle we had and that night she'd cracked it. Being young and stupid, we fired it up and went into orbit."
"Well the Orions were apparently just as stupid. Their flotilla had left, keeping a single corvette in charge of some bombardment and transport. Sianna, my cousin, blocked their sensors with an energy spike she thought up and we blew the shuttle bay open. We landed, got to the bridge and stumbled across a deal going down between Akabei, who'd become my adopted brother, and the captain. He'd stolen a chest belonging to his father who himself had stolen it from an important Ambassador from Earth. Of course, being Ferengi, he knew the value of sense over money. We cleared the room and set a self destruct on the corvette. We took Akabei and his box with us and watched as we lit up the night sky. When we got back, let's just say our parents all agreed it was a foolish thing to do. Being of age, they shipped Omberi off to the Academy the next week and me, Sianna and Akabei three years later."
"Well inside that chest were lot's of photographs, logs and manifests from a group of ships the Japanese navy built before World War II. They'd be reincarnated over the years but Starfleet had never built one under a name in these logs. So, after about 5 years out of the academy, they gave me a commission for a refit ship, a Miranda class, and asked me for a name. Considering my cousin, sister and brother would all be bridge crew with me, we put a photograph from the chest behind the corner of the bridge plaque. The Satsuma was born. It's on its fourth incarnation now, but somehow, that photograph still sits behind the plaque. That photograph is what brought us together. Hopefully, it'll keep us that way."
Krovennan reveals the item in question, at first it looks like an oval has been cut two-thirds of the way down to create the gleaming metallic object, then Krovennan reveals more, and the details are revealed, about 15 cm from one of the ends, a handle juts from the flat surface, next to it, about two finger widths apart, the metal continues until it is level with the handle's top, creating both a fistguard and a stabbing edge, it is then you notice a groove in the edge on he other side of the handle, it continues along the flat surface until just before the middle, you notice there is a similar groove on the right forearm's underside of Krovennan's gear, this is obviously an arm mounted weapon.
"This is a Manna'Gahr, its a weapon forged on my homeworld of Vilscar, theres not much I can say without giving you more information on its background, so allow me to explain.
Vilscarans, such as myself, have somewhat of an affinity for melee combat, its become a part of our culture, but let me get one thing straight. Violence, death, such things are a part of us, as it is with all living creatures in one form or another, but do not confuse us with races like the Klingons, we embrace it, the Klingons worship it, they are slaves to their own culture, I've read their history, read the files on their dealings with Federation members, so many issues could have so easily been remedied without so much as broken skin, but their worship of violence blinded them, and it has cost many lives.
Before this war is over, it will cost many more.
Now, back on topic, the Vilscaran homeworld is home to many dangerous predators of all shapes and sizes. Grahlvahnas, Skildrassas, Skannabrals and even the mighty Vilscarix roam the forests, jungles and hills just outside our cities, and many have hides resistant to energy, so firearms are ineffective, we prefer a more direct approach..."
Krovennan attaches the weapon to his arm, the handle fits his hand perfectly as he grips it, when he relaxes his arm, the back tip raises behind his arm, it is revelaed to reach the same height as his head, and considering he is at least 7' tall, that is saying something.
"We needed a weapon that was fast, that could deliver crippling blows and would be simple enough to wield and carry that it could be taught quickly, but we also needed defense from the weapons the creatures had, and so 60,000 years ago , we created both a sword, and a shield, in the Manna'gahr.
It is said that the Manna'gahr was created when a soldier had a dream, he dreamt of my race's diety, Manna'Mordeth or "Harpy Mother" fighting a pack of Skannabrals, she had lost her right wing, and it had landed on the ground in front of him, except it was jutting out of the ground, hard as steel. So he took this as a sign, and designed the weapon you see before me.
Needless to say, it was a success, and now, after about 30 generations, though the materials have changed, the design simply hasn't.
All Vilscarans who do any kind of military work or work that may bring them into contact with the predators of our world are trained in the Manna'gahr, there families are as well, this one is my own, and it has saved my life on numerous occasions, our speed is quick enough that we can strike with enough force to decapitate an enemy if we can reach their neck.
But I am starting to ramble, suffice to say, there is no item more precious to me than my Manna'gahr, it is the sole piece of my homeworld I took with me, and so it is my sole connection to it. It has saved my life and the lives of others many times over the years."
Krovennan recites a command into the computer, the holo-emitters in the room glow for a brief second, before a holographic item appears, a simple wooden pillar, roughly Krovennan's height, Krovennan stands in what must be the proper stance, before dashing towards the pillar, the first attack is sudden, a long swipe across the length of the blade, cleaving halfway through the wood.
As Krovennan stops with his back to the pillar, he brings his arm forward and up, before slamming it backwards, the rear tip of the weapon slamming into the wood, at first it looks like the weapon penetrated through and was stopped, but a single crack later, and the pillar splits cleanly in two, both pieces falling to the floor before disppearing, reminding all present it was simply a hologram.
((long, little ranty I know, but I find myself incapable of doing anything else *shrug*.))
Knowing that didn't ever steal away the pain, though. Some of the planets were just isolated colonies, cut off over the past few decades from the rest of the galaxy. They lived fairly comfortable lives. But others...
Others were little more than refugee camps. The starved, dirty faces of men, women, young and elderly all alike in their loss of hope and will to live. It reminded her too much of those early years, just after the incident.
She looked out from the window. The vast nebula that had been the Hobus star filling the view screen. She frowned, turning away from it.
Instead, her eyes came to settle on a familiar shape, wide at the base, then slowly narrowing until it came to a sudden curved neck. A bottle of Kheh ale... now empty. It sat next to a holo-image of a family. A tall, rugged but strong and smiling man, an outdoorsman or farmer. A woman with short hair, and wearing a Centurion's uniform, a young Jaeih. And a girl, no older than 10, perhaps, standing in front of them, holding a stuffed shelat doll.
Jaeih reached for the bottle, her eyes more focused on that than the picture, and she sighed. I remember this one, Oren. She smiles a bit wistfully, with a hint of old pain to her eyes and in the corners of her mouth. Our first bottle together... you'd made it yourself. It was horrible. She chuckles lightly, turning it over to read the label again.
I still think you were mad, keeping it all these years. It was just a pick- She chokes on the word, then sets the bottle down, trying to compose herself. After a few minutes, she wipes the wetness from her eyes and takes a deep breath.
Her commbadge chirps, and she sighs something halfway between both resentment and relief. S'tarleya here, what is it?
Admiral Nyvra, ma'am.
Her expression brightens some. Put her through to my desk, I'll be with her in just a moment.
I do have one item. Its a Denebian rabbits foot. Id show it to you, except for the vendetta that Starfleet tailors seem to have against pockets. But its just as well.
Ive never seen a Denebian rabbit. But, based on one fraction of a limb, I dont want to, outside of a nightmare.
My own grisly piece of the creature was given to me by a classmate at the Academy named Grace Aubertin. I should mention that I came to the Academy with a bit more life behind me than many other cadets, and Grace was the same. We hit it off immediately. We also shared a love of mischief, though you wouldnt know it by looking at her.
Ill say here that a number of the pranks I was known for during those years were not my own, but Graces. Though even if Id been in the mood to admit that then, no one would have believed that Grace was anything other than innocent.
She gave me the gruesome claw just before our cadet cruise on an old Constellation class ship called the Khun Bulom. For good luck, she said.
Three weeks into the cruise, the Bulom dropped out of warp so that the kids at the helm could practice their impulse maneuvers in interstellar space.
Grace had asked me to cover her shift in engineering because shed had something to do. So that you understand, the last time she told me shed had something to do, it was reprogramming the cargo transporter so that, when I stepped into the sonic shower, it transported the entire contents of the compost bin in the arboretum into the stall with me. So I hesitated before I answered.
But in the end I said yes, because I could never say anything but yes to Grace. And, in a way, that was a good thing.
The chance of a ship colliding with a microsingularity, especially in interstellar space, is ridiculously small. Its nearly impossible. But on that day it happened to the Bulom. A singularity ripped through engineering, wrecking the matter-antimatter flow control and locking out the emergency warp core ejection system. We lost control of the reaction. The ship would have exploded in minutes. Not enough time to even get to an escape pod.
And then I remembered a trick Id learned on an old freighter named the SS Deathstar, though we more affectionately referred to her as the Deathtrap. The old hands on board called this trick flash freezing. And heres what you did: you changed the matter-antimatter ratio to 2:1. In short order, that built up a residue of matter in the intermix chamber, clogging up the injectorseventually destroying them, but shutting down the reaction just the same.
And thats just the way it worked on the Bulom. I even earned myself a commendation for saving the ships crew.
Well, all of the ships crew but one.
On its way to engineering, the singularity passed through a seldom-used corridor. As it happened, Grace was walking through just at that moment. I dont know why she was there, and I never will. All I do know is that she was killed instantly.
My first thought was to jettison that horrible appendage out the nearest airlock. But I kept it. Why?
It wasnt because it reminded me of Grace. I didnt need it for that. And it wasnt because I thought it was lucky. I dont.
It was because it reminded me and continues to remind me of the nature of luck. The awful arbitrariness of it. And sometimes the ugliness of it.
Theres an old bit of verse I once read that goes something like this:
Fatemonstrous
and empty,
your whirling wheel,
stand malevolent,
well-being is vain
and always fades to nothing
shadowed
and veiled
you plague me too;
now through trickery,
I bring my bare back
to you villainy.
You know, Ive only told this story to one other person. Her name was Mercedes McMary and she was an officer on the first ship I served on out of the Academy.
She called that shriveled paw my morbid fascination. Shed always been lucky, she said, and the only charm I needed was her. I was inclined to agree.
She took it and I let her. And I nearly forgot about it. I didnt see it again until I found it in her quarters after Vega.
But thats another story.
Let me finish things this way: A toast, to Grace and to Mercy.
Now, I believe the next round is on you.
The captain raised his blond brows questioningly at her when she realized he was watching her. Her cheeks tinged a darker blue followed by the trademark Bolian smile, wide and infectious but in this case more from embarrassment at being caught staring than her species' well-known good humor. You have a question, Ensign Met?
Orodgwi Met looked down as she set her PADD in her lap and composed herself, running a hand back over her right ear, a nervous gesture of her youth that had thus far clung to her in adulthood, before she remembered that she no longer had hair to tuck back. She looked back up into her captains patient face, Ah, no, Captain Armstrong, sir, well, you see She smiled broadly again but immediately shut it down, embarrassed to be falling back into old anxious habits.
Are you curious about this? asked the captain, gesturing off-handedly at the pistol.
She met his eyes again and the words tumbled almost unbidden from her mouth, Yes, sir. Its a plasma pistol isnt it? I dont recognize the style or maker but it seems very old. Its yield and range must be rather low as I dont see any supplementary power cell adapters or an extended focusing emitter, though these scorch marks near the power cell housing make me think it has been modified somehow.
The captains smile showed pleasant surprise, You know your weapons. Creases formed at the corners of his eyes as they adopted a teasing look, Are you sure you shouldnt be wearing tactical red instead of science blue?
She blushed again at the compliment, No sir, its just that unusual weapons are a bit of a hobby of mine. Well, my father, really. He was a Federation archivist at Memory Alpha for most of his career. Weapons and energy emissions technology in general were his forte and I guess it rubbed off on me.
Captain Armstrong gently lifted the plasma pistol from its stand and handed it to Ensign Met. She gingerly accepted it and held it with both hands. It was surprisingly light for its size but there seemed to be a weight of history bound up in it. He nodded indulgently as her fingers ran over the lines of the weapon but the look in his eyes became distant as if he was recalling an old memory.
Youve of course been informed of the Hirogen alliance with elements of the former Romulan Star Empire? Ensign Met nodded and the captain continued, Well, back when Hirogen were just holonovel boogie men in stories of Voyagers travels in the Delta Quadrant, my ship was assigned a mission to locate a missing team of archaeologists in a system bordering the traditional boundaries of the Romulan Star Empire.
The trail led to an M-Class planet with the ruins of a pre-Warp civilization that had disappeared seemingly without a trace leaving behind only their cities now overgrown with dense vegetation. When we tried to beam down, our transporter beam was diverted to an unknown but shielded location and my team was captured by a three-man Hirogen hunting party. The Hirogen had set the area up as their own little game preserve and we were the game. Their leader identified himself Alpha Renjak. Since escape seemed unlikely, I confronted him and demanded that as highest ranking member of my team, they hunt me and only me. Seemingly amused at my bravado, Alpha Renjak agreed but stipulated that if I proved to be unworthy prey, my team would be executed outright as my failure would prove them also unworthy of the hunt.
I was set loose in the surrounding forest and given a short head start. I led them on a merry chase for the better part of two days ultimately turning the tables on two of his party through a mix of luck and skill aided in no small part by their own overconfidence. Their equipment was gene-coded so only they could use it but one of them, Renjaks Beta if I interpreted his armors markings correctly, carried several of his trophies on his person including the pistol you now hold. I dont know where he obtained it or what being he killed to get it but it represented a slight evening of the odds in my favor. The Beta may not even have considered the pistol a proper weapon for it was not gene-coded and even had a power cell in it. I found through brief experimentation that the pistol lacked the power to breach Hirogen armor, so I retreated to a little bolt hole I had found in the nearby ruins and set to modifying it as best I could.
Once I had done what I could, I crept out and made my way back to the clearing where the rest of my team was being held in an energy enclosure. To my surprise, Renjak was there waiting. He explained that he had nothing to prove, so he had allowed his Beta and Gamma to chase me knowing that if I evaded them or prevailed, I would come back for the rest of my team. He congratulated me as worthy prey, but said that he could not allow any of us to leave and reveal the location of their hunting ground. He turned to retrieve his rifle muttering something about the obligation of the good hunter to not prolong the suffering of prey.
Thats when I pulled out the plasma pistol and told him in no uncertain terms that I would be leaving and taking my team with me so he had better drop his weapon and release them. He laughed loudly, telling me that if that was the only weapon I had, I wasnt going anywhere as his Beta had used that pistol to char meat to his liking before ingestion. Even on its highest setting, he informed me, it would not breach Hirogen armor and snapped down the visor on his helmet as he moved to heft his rifle into firing position.
I thumbed the power stud and I found out if my tinkerings had been for naught as the entire power cell emptied in one long blinding spray of blue plasma. The power cell couplings flared, burning my hands and I dropped the pistol. Renjek was transformed into a living torch, dropping his rifle and roaring as he charged at where I had been. I rolled to one side and he collapsed to the ground, feebly attempting to bat the flames out with his gauntleted hands. I freed my team and we disabled the dampening field that had been preventing communication with the ship. This pistol is a reminder to never underestimate an opponent.
Ensign Met looked from him to the plasma pistol and back. The captain held out his hand and she noted the shiny scar tissue on his palm. Orodgwi handed the pistol back to him and he replaced it carefully in its stand.
Welcome aboard the USS Watchtower Captain Scott, a stunning Andorian zhen said as she strode across the bridge, emphasizing the rank as she extended her hand.
Thank you Commander Thryiss, Scott said, emphasizing her rank as well, taking her hand in his and placing his right hand on her left shoulder. The two smiled at one another, a smile of two friends who have shared the highest moments of life and its greatest depths.
You earned those three pips Thryiss, and I fought to keep you not only on my crew, but as my XO. I cannot imagine cruising through the stars without you at my side. Even if you can be a little too blunt with your opinions, the captain said, the humor of the last comment evident in his voice.
Oh, I know I earned them, as you earned your captaincy Sir. And I think you would jettison me out the first airlock you could find if I wasnt so open with my opinions, Thryiss replied. Leaning in, she put her mouth next to his left ear, whispering, Plus Winfield, you will never have a first officer whose legs you like to look at quite as much.
Before Scott could say a word she released his hand and turned back to the center of the bridge, walking toward the helm. Mr. Lochar, do we have the latest update from Earth Space Dock on what time our new crewmembers will arrive? she asked the Vulcan engineer, turning back to Scott and flashing a quick wink.
Not able to help himself, Scott laughed out loud, not just at his XOs comment, but also at the looks of bewilderment on his bridge crew.
Im going to check out my ready room, and catch up on some paperwork, he announced to no one in particular.
And youd rather be out fighting Borg than doing that, Commander Kaafsit, the Watchtowers Chief Medical Officer grunted. Looking at Scott, the Tellarite immediately hung his hung his head, shaking it.
Sir, I .
Its ok Chief, Scott said, using the nickname he had given the surly physician when they were young ensigns. I know what you meant.
Scott turned to his right and headed to his ready room, pausing when the doors closed behind him, and taking a deep breath. Kaafsit hadnt meant any harm, but his comment struck deep to Scotts soul. He walked to his desk, looking down and running his hand across a swatch of gold fabric. His fingers gently caressed the cloth, barely touching it, but the feel of it causing goose bumps to appear on his arms.
Moving behind his desk Scott fell more than sat into the chair, his eyes never leaving the piece of cloth. A single tear formed in the corner of his left eye, tracking slowly down his scarred cheek, falling onto the desk.
Scott hung his head, angry at himself for the display of emotion, even though no one was in the room with him. Minutes passed as he gently stroked the piece of cloth, looking at it. It was so long ago, they were young ensigns. The pain was still as deep.
Smoke, so thick.
Coughing.
The heat is beating me back people are screaming everywhere. Kristiana, where are you?
There! NO!!!
Oh my Gods, shes crushed under that beam!!! Im here my love!
*Gasp*
Im sorry, I have to tear your uniform, I need to get a bandage on that wound.
Shes dead weight, I have to get her out of here. Hold on darling Ill get you to safety. There, theres an escape pod. Im sorry that if that hurt, Im hitting the jettison now.
Dear Gods, look at the Gavin, its about to explode.
Were safe, love, well get you to a medical ship and we can get married like we planned. The Borg cant stop our team no! NO!!!! NOOOOO!!!!!!! Baby, I love you Im so sorry so sorry
Finally he spoke, his voice barely a whisper, but startling him nonetheless.
I did it love. I made captain. I know you were there when T pinned it on me, and I know youve been with me the whole time. And youll be with me as we head to Gamma Orionis. I got our orders. Were headed to face the Borg. The Borg.
The lieutenant didn't interrupt. He looked over the officer's mess. Empty glasses stacked near the bar, waiting for reclamation. The ship's Mess NCO stepped out of the way as a pot of boiled dumplings in bloodwine reduction rushed by. The junior crewmen looked at the dumplings like hens watching eggs hatch.
"That one's moving!" the lieutenant said.
Jack took a dumpling in her hand and turned it over like a playing card. Bits of fatty juices ran down her thumb. The dumpling writhed. It tossed like a targ with its leg in a trap.
Jack took her hegh'bat out, the blade ringing a bit, despite the rusted hilt. "Kilroth sings those songs well." A pause. "Sang." Jack sliced the dumpling in four portions, the yellow blood oozing out into the broth. The blade's edge nicked her finger and she licked it. Bitter.
The lieutenant's pallor deepened. He looked down at his datapad, closing his eyes like a child hearing a siren. His companion, a Denobulan from the ship's armory, leaned over, whispering in his ear. The lieutenant's eyes opened. Each stared like rough stones on a beach. "What was it like, ma'am? Do you remember being assimilated?"
The blade froze on Jack's lips as a cut of the dumpling touched her lips. She looked at the lieutenant, young with a fresh junior grade pip on his collar - a transfer from Earth Spacedock. the Denobulan next to him still had the backings on his rank. Jack went back to eating.
"I wonder if it'd be like it back on Denobula: groups of people sharing thoughts? I'm not used to privacy either," he said. His crests furrowed along his temples.
Jack's stomach quavered a bit - each dumpling's contents still in their last throes. The lieutenant grimaced.
"Tell me - how did you come by such a dagger? It's Klingon, yes?" The Denobulan smiled, cheek bones retracting backward. His face looked like a Picasso painting, smile asymmetrically wide, even for his species.
Again, Jack stopped. She looked over the last dumpling and set it down. "You saw earlier?"
"You mean the Klingon we picked up on Andoria?"
"Yes. Kilroth."
The Denobulan broke his smile. "But... wasn't he infected? Why would a borg give you his dagger?"
"Kilroth, Ensign. Robots don't take away his ridges overnight."
The Lieutenant looked over, almost through his brow at the Ensign. He set the datapad down next to the Denobulan, who continued despite it all: "Yes, yes. I suppose you're right. I mean, I can only imagine what it's like... losing your will to a hive like that."
Jack stopped eating altogether now. She stood up by the forward window, overlooking the exterior of deck ten. Stars ran past the view like strung twine. She took the dagger and wiped the blade on the scabbard's flap. Flipping it over in her palm, she turned to the Denobulan. "Can this ever be good as new, Ensign?"
He stood up and took the dagger over in his hands, turning it on its side, examining the edges. "It'll take some work, Captain."
Karadok Lykos of the 12th fleet was an interesting looking person to say the least. His full beard and long hair pulled into a ponytail most certainly made him look more like a Rock Star than a Doctor. He was muscular and not particularly tall at 6ft. yet he had a commanding presence and at the same time a kind gentle personality that made you instantly like him. Indeed within minutes of meeting him you may well find yourself talking to him like a long lost friend or someone you have known all your life.
I am honored but I really think there are many commanders in the 12th that would make a better subject after all Im just a Captain in a hospital ship.
He was also humble and a very hospitable I believe he asked at least a dozen times during the interview if I needed anything. He sat down in a chair next to a bookcase full of books not PADDs just books. I had heard that about him that he preferred books to PADDs. As I sat my recording device down I looked around at his quarters to say they were Spartan would be an understatement. Aside from the books there were a few pictures on his desk and a 21st Century Stethoscope. This caught my eye so I had to ask about it of course. Here is his story in his own words.
Oh yes that is my most prized possession. You see it belonged to my great, great, great, great well a lot of greats back there grandmother. Her name was Kyra Magdalen Lykos . In the 21st Century she was a great research scientist doctor. She is the one who discovered the genome sequencing that lead to the cures for aids and some minor cancers.
Now I was not going to originally study medicine at the academy but I showed some skill in our basic medicine classes and my instructor one Commander Engressing kept trying to change my mind. He finally asked me to read a book about Leonard Bones McCoy you know that man was a genius. Well I was convinced McCoy became my hero and I decided to become a doctor. There was more to it than that though. In the book I saw the name Kyra Magdalen Lykos. I recalled my father having something in a display case that had belonged to her. The next time I talked to my dad I asked about it. He said he wasnt sure where it was anymore.
You can imagine how disappointed I was about that. So anyways I graduated Star Fleet Academy and went on to Star Fleet Medical. The day of my graduation from Star Fleet medical my parents handed me cigar boxed sized present. I knew that didnt have a lot of money so I started to protest but they told me to wait until I had opened it to say anything. So I did and in that box was this stethoscope which had belonged to Kyra Lykos.
At this Karadok lets out a hearty laugh. There is a twinkle in his eyes. No wonder people were drawn to him no wonder his crew would do anything for their Captain.
You see my Dad had known where it was all along. When he heard I would study medicine he took it out and had it engraved. To our dearest son may the spirit and intelligence of Kyra guide you as the newest doctor in the Lykos line. Well the plaque it is mounted on says that anyways of course that would never have fight on the Stethoscope itself. At that time it became my most prized possession especially after I lost both of my parents. There is a sudden sadness in those eyes that just pierces you to the soul. It only lingers a moment and then vanishes. You know this ship is named after her the U.S.S. Kyra Magdalen. We conclude the interview and I thank Captain Lykos. I could tell you more but this is the piece that sticks out the most in my mind and so dear reader there you have the story of Captain Lykos most prized possession.
Martha Saren FNN.
Oh that's an interesting relic. During an extended investigation into some quite odd disturbances that turned out to be a near full scale invasion of our space time by a predatory species I manages to make away with it. Little did I realize the dormant power it held, many later battles were tipped in my crews favor by simply raising it on high. Those Devidian's and their thirst for sentient life force, such a tool should have never existed, but to tell you the truth, its too darn useful to discard or risk allowing to fall into enemy hands. So it stays right there, in its secure case in my ready room, waiting to feed, it only will do so under my command and only in the most desperate of situations.
Sir this just came in by shuttle. Its from Captain Odenkirk of the U.S.S. Poor Richard. She proffered the legal sized manila envelope with her ice blue hand. The side closest to her hand had an odd, small bulge. That Odenkirk sent it in a manila envelope she could not help but think was a quaint gesture. It had to be a joke from the now Captain of Irions second command. Made sense given their current post on the U.S.S. Llamrei a twice retrofitted Excelsior class heavy cruiser. They had put to at Earth Space Dock for intensive maintenance, now the bridge was a buzz of activity as officers prepared to hand the ship over to the Corps of Engineers for the remainder the maintenance cycle. Already scores of old CMU "Work Bees" and newer Sphinx Workpods detached from the Maintenance bay to begin external repairs.
Captain Irion's nose was buried in his PADD as he went over the maintenance cycles to assure that their stay ad ESD was as short as possible. They had a patrol in the Gamma Orionis sector after this and the Llamrei had to be in peak condition for it. She noticed, as his right hand rose for the message, that he held his pinky crossed over his ring finger almost as if to look for or protect something that was supposed to ride there. A mannerism of his that suggested he was deep in thought. He never looked up from his PADD as he took the missive from her hand, nodded his head and mumbled his thanks.
Till the weighted end of the package thumped against the cuff of his duty jacket. Curiosity wrinkled the spots that framed sides of his Trill eyes as he tucked the PADD under an arm so he could tear the edge off the envelope furthest from the small bulge. He pulled out, unfolded, and read a document that had been within then handed the letter over to her, There is nothing too private there. An implication that it was fine for her to read tri-folded letter. It simply read
As she read she saw in her peripheral vision the Captain squeeze the sides of the envelope as he turned it on end against his cupped right palm so the torn edges touched his hand to keep object within so it would not tumble out and onto the deck. Her eyes hovered over the Captains name on the sheet of paper. She thought it was odd that a joined Trills symbiont would adopt the surname of their current host.
The envelope still obscured the object it held from their view yet his eyes took a far away cast and seemed to mist while the corners of his mouth twisted up in a kind of wane smile
To Irion the words on the letter were simple and to the point. They yielded no clue as to what else was hid within the envelope. The mystery object was cold and heavy for its size. The way it thumped against the bridge of his palm caused Bova, his host to stir to the point that Dal was forced to the very edge of consciousness. The grim determination of his host is what drew Dal to Bova. The occasions that Bova forced himself into he and Dals shared consciousness made Dal remember when they first met. Dal was still joined to Kenter at the time
This was not the kind of place Kenter Dal was used to. The air was humid with the sweat of dancers, stale spirits and the stench of smoke. Dim light and the constant shuffle of patrons hid illicit transactions of all sorts. Even the barter of Trill cultural heritage could be found in this bar. That was what the man Kenter came to arrest traded, stolen Trill art with blood on it.
The music from the band played a raucous tune oblivious to the violence that unfolded by the game tables. Kenter I know youre with Starfleet. The man he had come to arrest chortled through clenched teeth, That is why I will gut you like the fat pig you are. Dal could feel the tip of something sharp pressed to Kenter, his hosts, abdomen. Dal had the man almost doubled over backwards against the snooker table his right forearm barred against the criminals windpipe, his left hand thrust against the inside criminals elbow. In a proverbial sense he had the wolf by the scruff of the neck. Let go and you get bit, tire and you get mauled. There was neither leverage nor room to maneuver away from the knife with the criminals goon pressed to his back. A blow delivered by that goon to Kenters kidney drove the knife home. Off to Dals left a crony held a cue over head in a double handed grip as he looked for an opportunity to beat Dal off his boss. His knees drew weak, time had run out.
The cue stick disappeared from the cronys hands. It was too dark in the bar to see who had snatched the improvised weapon away. That silhouette darted behind the goon and in an instant the goon was gone. The crony threw a hurried right the figure side stepped only snatch the cronys wrist and elbow followed by a twist that flung the corny into the goon who had nearly recovered his feet. They went down in a mass of arms and legs.
Now free of goon Dal slid his hand down the forearm that held the knife to get control of the wrist that held it, and head butted the criminal in the bridge of the nose till he went slack. Hands clenched over the gash in the side of his stomach and weakened by loss of blood, Dal fell more than sat down. Hands wrapped around his chest from behind and he noticed he was being towed toward the door. Kenter Dals feet and buttocks left a left a bloody smear on the floor. Hes bleeding. Get an ambulance on the way. Can you stand? Was it the silhouette that asked that of him? Then the sound of broken glass and something splashed onto Dals left shoulder. Whoever had dragged him rolled over to Dals right. The young Trill bouncer that had checked Id at the front door lay near him on the floor, a nasty gash marred his forehead, the wound gaped open so that a bone of the skull beneath could be seen. The bouncers right hand rested on his chest. On his ring finger a simple sliver band with a large rectangular green stone inset in it. Even the gem was simple. That was Bova Irion. He came to several times, tried to help Kenter's away team, only to pass out again from a concussion but the important thing to Dal was Bova kept trying
Bovas parents were Trill, but his mother had dated outside or the race before she met Bovas father. Dal found this out when, as a Field Docent for the Symbiosis Commission, he vetted Bova to be his next host. Bovas adoptive father had dated his mother. He was from Upstate New York which explained the Maine jade that was inset in Bovas ring...
The first few months were rough without a universal translator to lean on, and there are still a few senior officers in the Cardassian military that distrust Starfleet. Gul Makat was one of them. But after a while, I began to make my way into the inner circle of the shift I worked with. I developed a taste for kanar and many of the other Cardassian crew members shared a relatively common background with me, their families serving in the Cardassian military for generations.
One month before it was time for me to get dropped off at DS9 and transfer back into regular Starfleet duty, my belt buckle brushed against a bulkhead for probably the millionth time and finally gave way. The Starfleet chevron broke off and fell to the deck, leaving me with a functioning but hideous clasp. Of course, normally, it would be a simple matter of replicating a new one. Unfortunately, the Cardassian replicators didn't have the specs for the item and I simply assumed I would carry on through my last month with an unsat uniform. The remainder of the day, I walked around the ship taking sarcastic comments from the militaristic Cardassians that Starfleet uniforms were obviously inferior. I just accepted it and moved on.
The next day, while analyzing some star surveys, one of my good griends, Glin Tuvat, slammed down a replacement on top of the console I was working at. I was instantly pleased with the item. It was crudely shaped, made of dark Cardassian steel, oversized, and honestly didn't secure my belt all that well, but it was in the shape of a Starfleet chevron, and carved into the back was a common Cardassian saying;
"Let the unit that shares a drink together band together."
He explained that some of the engineers had enjoyed spending several hours drawing on their basic metalworking skills that they hadn't used since training. I immediately stood and replaced my damaged buckle with the gift and I've kept it with me ever since.
These days, I'm the Captain, and I make a point to keep my uniform as pristine as possible with a regulation Starfleet buckle, but my backup is always on standby on my office shelf. I sometimes use it to prod my engineering department when they give me the excuse that the specs for a part aren't in the replicator database.
.....She yawned and shifted in her office chair, staring at her monitor. Waiting on communiqués was possibly one of the lesser-enjoyed facts of being a Starfleet officer on any ship. She picked up the hand-forged nail from her desk and spun it absent-mindedly over and over between her fingers while looking around her quarters. 'Scratch that,' she thought, 'getting woken up in the middle of our ship's night for an urgent message and then waiting for the ship to filter through the layers of encryption is possibly worse.'
.....She turned back to look at her screen. 'Decoding. Stand by. Bah. It really could hurry up a little. What would a small scout ship like ours need to know anyhow that would be encrypted so well?' She sighed and closed her eyes a while. Three in the morning was a time to let the mind drift. She looked up and glanced at the nail in her hand, smiling ruefully. This nail carried a bit of history and a bit of home.
"Oh, look," she squealed. "This animal! It looks like a fego!"
"That's a sheep."
"Ssssh-aep! Oh, they look adorable! Do they give milk, too?"
"Well, uhm... I don't think... "
A guide saved her some embarrassment that day. "Yes, they do! We make a cheese with it, too. Would you like to come see how the cheese was made 700 years ago?"
.....And so she was dragged along yet again. Agriculture. Farming.
.....Yes, there are those who still swear that this type of food is better for us, better than what replicators make. But the cleaning and the killing and everything else involved just did not appeal to her. In fact, nothing here really had. The houses, fire hazards all of them and no structure enhancements that could protect against unforeseen severe weather; the clothing and the way they showed us they 'washed' them... even the sun bothered her here. Overall, she was annoyed and just wanted to get back to San Fran.
.....Until she heard a rhythmic clanging just off to the side. She left Moruk oh-ing and ah-ing over how milk goes sour, taking holopictures of sheep.
.....In a low hut just around the corner was a man, working with sweat beading on his brow. He seemed to be slowly nearing retirement -possibly in his early 80s- wearing leather pants and a long-sleeved shirt made out of that coarse wool cloth everyone here wore. A long, thick leather apron covered him from the neck down to his knees and he stood with lightly bend back and knees as he hammered away at something small. "Come on in," he shouted over his work, "you can actually help me by moving that bucket there a little closer."
.....She ducked into the hut as he stopped hammering and gave her a winning smile. He pointed with his hammer once more at the water filled bucket alongside the wall and she lifted it and placed it right next to his anvil. Only now did she see the dully glowing piece if iron in the man's tongs. "Thank you, my dear," he said and flicked it into the bucket. Steam rose from its resting place and the iron let out a long sigh of relief, content in its new form.
.....As the man straightened up his smile grew even broader. "Ah, Starfleet. Cadet Third Class, I see. My son is on a cruiser in some forsaken part of the Federation these days. I don't see him often. You're sure you want to leave Earth this badly, my girl?" He poked around inside the bucket a while and picked the newly made nail out. He dropped it into a small try where it clanged happily against the others already resting.
.....She frowned at his remark. "That's not what Starfleet is about... It's about exploration and defending the Federation. Even this little speck of Earth right here!"
....."Is that so?" He had turned his back on her and rummaged in a pit of hot glowing coal. From it he pulled a bright red glowing sliver of metal which he daftly placed on the anvil. She jumped back as he resumed hammering away.
.....She felt she should say something. She felt angry. Angry at his small, smug smile. How dare he judge her? Or his son for that matter? Besides, Earth has nothing new to offer. Sure, it has plenty of old to offer. This place, for starters. But if one wanted to learn new things, it would not happen here on Earth. It would be out there. Around the colonies. Around uncharted star systems. In nebulas. In gas giants. And suns. ...and the longer she watched his hammer fall and rise; the longer she watched him form the lump of bright metal, the more she felt her indignation and outrage melt away. There was something very soothing about seeing this very plain work happen right before her.
.....She blinked as he pushed his tongs into the bucket and made another puff of vapor rise; the water bubbling briefly around the hot metal. How long has she been standing here, just letting her mind wander?
....."Here, my girl," he said and smiled at her. "Have this nail. Take it with you as a tiny piece of Earth and carry it with you. And when you had enough of being out there, use it to hold a picture of your family up when you settle down in a nice home."
She held open her hand and felt the nail drop into her palm. It was warm and she felt as if its warmth tried to leave an impression with her that afternoon.
.....She had yet to settle down. She had yet indeed to even consider a family. But she did know that here in her hand, far away from Earth, she held a tiny morsel of her home planet. And a promise that one day she would use it to hang up a picture with it.
... Just not quite yet.
It was not long after they joined that Bova shared a memory of a time from his adolescence while he worked out in a park at night. Two thugs accosted him and held a knife to his throat. They wanted anything of value he carried. All he had on him was the ring. Bova was calm when he told them that it was the only thing he had from the loss of his mother and they could take it from his lifeless finger
Even to the day they had lost the ring it was Bovas most prized possession
The view screen was down, all he gathered from the transmission was the sardonic voice of the female Klingon captain. "Captain your shields are down, and you vent more than air into the vacuum about us. Your ship may have claimed one the Birds of Prey under my command yet I have another aside from my ship cloaked off your port nacelle."
She continued her diatribe. "On ancient Earth was it not once said that a general is skilful in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend; and they are skilful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack? So similar to a Klingon proverb is it not?"
Does her lecture ever end? This had to be karmic retribution for all the unruly patrons Bova lectured as he towed them out of bars. Some twisted Karma had to be the reason behind all this salt the Klingon captain now ground into his wounded pride. "Oh poor, poor, U.S.S. Poor Richard. This should be the part where you employ diplomacy, right? Diplomacy does not grant me glory the way cutting a hash mark into the forward torpedo launcher of my ship would. This is what Starfleet's vaunted missions of exploration get's you. I am not interested in the capture Starfleet engineering nor is your surrender enough to placate my urge for conquest. I just wanted you to have the honor of knowing your better before I blow your entrails from here to the halls of Gre'thor. Captain Yisie of the I.K.S. veS puq out!"
Deck two has reported damage to the hull and warp core. Sir we have lost seven engineering personnel to explosive decompression before emergency shielding stopped the breech. Chief Montania was among them. Warning claxons screamed for attention from all sides as pops and sparks from short circuits chased officers from their consoles. The ship was dead in the ether.
Even if it was nothing more than the denial of a notch in that Klingons gun belt, survival was everything. Tell engineering Im on my way. Tiessa, get an engineering team up here and supervise them while they fix what they can. You have the con. With command transferred to his first officer Irion bolted for the turbo lift. On a ship with a crew of forty, the loss of seven was a terrible blow to the capability of damage control.
"Sir, diagnostics indicated that damage was not to the core itself but to the power couplings." The science officer yelled at his back.
Irion was an engineer before he made captain. It behooved him to try to lend a hand to get power restored to his stricken ship. After all dead in space was not dead in the eyes Klingons. They would keep punishment up till the ship exploded. Deck plates heaved under his feet as he struggled toward Main Engineering.
There Lieutenant Wallace gave Irion the run down, Ensign Humphries has spliced a new conduit into the primary EPS junction, but the other end had not been connected to the warp core on the second level catwalk, Sir. Im busy here with fire suppression in Jeffries tubes six and two, so Humphries can finish the connections at two other subsystem junctions.
Stay on it Wallace. Ill see what I can do to make the reconnection at the main. Irion could not believe how clear the air was in here. Only a faint trace of scent from the blown out components remained. The brief exposure to the void of space must have sucked out the fire. The air in main engineering was clear enough to see through the hole punched through several bulkheads to the naked space outside where the freeze dried remains of one of his engineers tumbled in the darkness lit only by the light of a nearby star. Light that was an hour old by the time it reached this far out in space.
He would have to write a letter of condolence to that engineer's family, the role of a Starfleet officer he hated the most. A shimmer in the void behind the engineer drove him back into the urgency of the moment. Brace for impact! Before he could make it to the ladder the ship shuddered under the onslaught of disruptor cannons. The breech shielding held, a miracle under the trickle of power that back up provided. He careened into a support which smashed his shoulder. Irions vision swam with pain as he hoped it was only a dislocation. No time for worry for his flesh. Now there was only time to worry for survival. He mounted the ladder to the second level catwalk, an arduous task with only his right hand to haul himself up each rung.
The conduit was heavy and he needed both hands which made him use his injured left arm to haul the new conduit the last few meters to the coupling port on the warp core only to find that his ring was in the way of turning the collar lock. His injured shoulder protested with each hammer fall of the Klingon weapons as he struggled to lock the conduit into place. There was no way to help it the ring held him back and in it's own way threatened the remaining lives of his crew. He paused to take off the ring and stuff it in his uniforms beast pocket. Just as the couplings collar indexed into place another larger hit rocked the ship and knocked him to the deck. The pain in his shoulder made him writhe on the catwalk grate as his First Officers voice came over the com, Captain we just took a torpedo hit, Deck 8 behind Navigation Control. Good news Sir! Ensign Gupta reports that main power has started to distribute into the ships subsystems.
Good. Get auxiliary power to the engines and use evasive maneuvers to get us out of here. Im on the way back to the bridge. Irion growled. He could have sworn that he heard a metallic noise just after that last impact but in the stress of the moment with his senses clouded by pain Irion could not remember where he heard it let alone what it was that could have made that sound. He focused on his breath to get beyond the pain as he pinned his elbow to his side and shuffled back to the bridge
Captain..? Captain are you all right? His first officers concern carried in the tone of her voice which snapped him back into the present.
Yes I am thank you Tiessa. I think I know what this is. Irion pulled the envelope away to expose a simple silver band that gripped a smooth piece of dark jade cut into the shape of a rectangle. The Captains fingers wrapped about the ring as his smile beamed his satisfaction. There is a bottle of aged Khukri dark rum in a kirpan shaped glass flask in my private store. Have an ensign pick it up and shuttle it over to the Poor Richard. Tell the ensign to give it to Captain Ogdenkirk with my greatest appreciation. The gift of nigh near two hundred year old rum should start to show the depth of his gratitude.
"An interesting question." He replies simply. Reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a gold pocket watch. To a trained eye, one could identify the style as being from the 2100's era of Earth. While pocket watches were long since out of vogue in the time period inwhich this timepiece was made, there were still companies who produced them... usually as retirement gifts, or as luxury items. The hunter-case watch was fairly simplistic in aesthetics, but using military time. As the vulcan holds the watch in his hand, he opens the lid, showing laser-engraved words in the vulcan language.
"When I received this gift from my wife on my birthday, I was curious as to the meaning of such a gift." He points a finger to the engraving.
"To my Husband, Time is the most precious resource any of us have." He reads aloud.
He closes the lid and holds the watch by its golden chain, inspecting the bauble. Clearly, he is thinking deeply.
"Many humans consider the phrase to be enigmatic, when they ask for the translation. A few even believed the phrase to be cold and impersonal." He raises an eyebrow, apparently showing only the slightest hints of irritation at the human responses.
"I have carried this watch with me for a long time. It was made by a Swiss watchmaker on Earth. T'Pel had apparently found it for sale in a Ferengi antique store near Alpha Centauri some time before my birthday, and had it engraved shortly thereafter."
He inspects the watch carefully before continuing, placing it back in his pocket.
"The deeper meaning is very simple, however... poetic. We all have a finite timespan in which to exist. And though she and I are married... nothing is more important than the time we have together. It is the quintessential thread to our existance as sentient beings. It is a symbolic gift... that whenever I observe the time... I also must observe the time I have with... or as most often is the case... without her."
He seems fairly non-emotional regarding the last statement.
"She has her own ship to command and duties to perform. As do I. And for the both of us, serving in Starfleet... we both know that time is -- indeed... the most precious resource we have."