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Unofficial Literary Challenge #26: Love and Loss
aten66
Member Posts: 654 Arc User
Welcome to the twenty-sixth edition of the Unofficial Literary Challenge: "Love and Loss"! It's my first time as your host, so please enjoy the prompts I've picked for you. I know they inspire me, and I hope they inspire you!
As some of these are older submissions, please feel free to update to more current in-game lore as you see fit.
"Apparitions", by ambassadormolari
Your captain, or one of your officers, is starting to see things. What it is that they see could vary-- it could be a long-dead crewmate, walking around and talking ais though still alive. It could be strange, alien figures crossing the halls. It could be ghastly apparitions, crawling between doorways. As much as your captain insists at the existence of these apparitions, no one else can see them. Already, many of your captain's officers are starting to whisper to one another that their commander may be mentally ill. Write about what happens to your captain-- is his/her mind actually playing tricks on them, or are the apparitions real?
"The Anniversary", by moonshadowdark
"Four years ago, you stepped foot aboard your vessel as it's Captain. You've battled the Borg, Dominion, Undine, Voth, Romulans and the KDF/Federation. You've traveled through time, met your Terran counterpart, explored the Delta Quadrant and met many new friends and enemies. Write a log entry about how you and your crew celebrate this day."
"Dinner with the In-Laws", by Starswordc
One thing that's true of most relationships, your love interest usually has relatives. It's trouble enough for humans to meet the in-laws, but what do you do when your Betazoid girlfriend's mom starts reading your mind looking for an excuse to break you up? Does your Klingon brother-in-law demand you undertake various hilariously painful warrior rites? How about a reactionary Bajoran grandfather who doesn't want his grandson marrying outside faith and caste?
Or maybe they just have an annoying younger cousin whom both of you would rather avoid. You decide!
As usual, no NSFW content.
The discussion thread is here.
The LC Submission thread is here
Index of previous ULCs:
As some of these are older submissions, please feel free to update to more current in-game lore as you see fit.
"Apparitions", by ambassadormolari
Your captain, or one of your officers, is starting to see things. What it is that they see could vary-- it could be a long-dead crewmate, walking around and talking ais though still alive. It could be strange, alien figures crossing the halls. It could be ghastly apparitions, crawling between doorways. As much as your captain insists at the existence of these apparitions, no one else can see them. Already, many of your captain's officers are starting to whisper to one another that their commander may be mentally ill. Write about what happens to your captain-- is his/her mind actually playing tricks on them, or are the apparitions real?
"The Anniversary", by moonshadowdark
"Four years ago, you stepped foot aboard your vessel as it's Captain. You've battled the Borg, Dominion, Undine, Voth, Romulans and the KDF/Federation. You've traveled through time, met your Terran counterpart, explored the Delta Quadrant and met many new friends and enemies. Write a log entry about how you and your crew celebrate this day."
"Dinner with the In-Laws", by Starswordc
One thing that's true of most relationships, your love interest usually has relatives. It's trouble enough for humans to meet the in-laws, but what do you do when your Betazoid girlfriend's mom starts reading your mind looking for an excuse to break you up? Does your Klingon brother-in-law demand you undertake various hilariously painful warrior rites? How about a reactionary Bajoran grandfather who doesn't want his grandson marrying outside faith and caste?
Or maybe they just have an annoying younger cousin whom both of you would rather avoid. You decide!
As usual, no NSFW content.
The discussion thread is here.
The LC Submission thread is here
Index of previous ULCs:
- The Kobayashi Maru
- Time After Time
- The Next Generation of Tribbles with Darkest Moments
- The Return of the Revenge of the Unofficial LC of DOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!
- Back from the Dead?
- Gods of Lower Decks in Wintry Timelines
- Skippy's List: Starfleet Edition
- Revisit to a Weird Game, One of One
- In Memory of Spock
- Redux 1
- Delta Recruit
- Someone to Remember Them By
- In A.D. 2410, War Was Beginning
- The Sound of Q-sic
- Stand for the Crew
- A Future That Many Will Never See
- STO Thanksgiving
- Winter Wonderland Celebrations II
- Once In A Lifetime
- Coming Around Again
- In the Darkness
- The Company You Keep
- Battle Scars
- Mirror Wars
- Agents of Yesterday
0
Comments
I’ve seen the rest of you
But I know there’s something more in your room
I’m right outside your door
Show me things you've never shown before
A few pictures from your past
And those walls you painted black
And the secrets that you keep under your bed
All you have to do is let me in your room
You can be yourself
You don’t have to hide from me, I won’t tell
I know everyone you’ve ever trusted let you down
And you don’t wanna come out
And show me, show me
A few pictures from your past
And those walls you painted black
And the secrets that you keep under your bed
All you have to do is let me in your room
You know every part of me
I let you in, I let you see
All the dark and every color of my room
Let me do that for you
And tell me all about your past
Why you painted those walls black
Baby it’s all right, you’re safe in here with me
Open up so I can see
A few pictures from your past
And those walls you painted black
And the secrets that you keep under your bed
An unopened letter from your dad
A poster of your favorite band
It don’t matter I’ll take every part of you
All you have to do is let me in your room
Let me in your room
— “In Your Room” by Halestorm
I hate my dress uniform.
Yeah, it’s a cliche, but it’s true. Even though this conference just calls for service dress whites without all the braid and medals, just enough ribbons to shame a fleet admiral, it’s a pain in the backside: they cut them for looks, not for comfort. And I’ve always felt like an outsider at these kinds of to-dos anyway. One good thing about being enlisted back in the day, I got to let the officers handle the formalities while us in the liberty party went out to raise hell.
Still, I suppose the Odyssey style is better than what they had when I started: no necktie, for one thing. And at least it’s replicated so the stupid thing is the right size across the chest, not like my old Militia dress blues that never fit.
“Our session is in fifteen minutes, Captain,” Tess warns me as we make our way through crowds of white, blue, and black.
“Yeah, but I missed lunch.” I press my hand to my chest and bow my head as we pass a skull-capped Militia chaplain, but I’m not sure he noticed given he’s having what sounds like a merry theological argument with some Cardassian lady in gilt-hemmed robes. I guess it makes sense the Oralians would send at least one rep to a terrorism conference, but I don’t have the foggiest what they’re talking about.
Oh, thank the Prophets, the buffet even has a bar next to it. “What’ll you have, Captain?”
“Careful, El,” Tess comments as I grab some hors d’oeuvres I can’t identify off a platter. “Remember, you’re on in—”
“I know. Just a synthale, thanks.”
“Make that two,” Tess adds. The bright red spine-covered Bajoranoid behind the bar, I don’t recognize the species, pours two glasses of amber beer and strikes off the heads with the back of a knife, before passing them to us. Tess sips it experimentally and her antennae do a happy-dance. “You know, ma’am, they say never trust ale from a god-fearing people, but damn.”
I snort and take a swallow. “Whoever said that never met a Kendavi monk. Trappist, neither: next time we’re near Sol I want to try this place in Vleteren, Belgium I’ve heard Peeters in Security talking about.”
We just stand there for a little while people-watching, but then I spy two men coming through the crowd, talking animatedly. Gaarra’s got his arm around a graying-brown-haired Militia full-orb in dress blues, skinnier and older than him. He spots us and I wave him over. “Who’s your friend, Gaarra?”
“Captain Kanril, allow me to introduce Colonel Reshek Tano, Fifth Colonial Rangers.”
I shake his hand. Wow, strong grip, just like… “Reshek?” I glance at Gaarra. “As in…”
He nods, smiling. “As in my father, yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll wait for you in the meeting room,” Tess murmurs before disappearing into the crowd.
“‘Ma’am’?” the colonel repeats, giving Gaarra a look. “Thought you Fleeties said ‘sir’.”
I give him a cockeyed grin. “But Militiamen use ‘ma’am’.”
“Sen za ka?” He looks impressed. “Gropo or blackie?”
“Blacksider, NCO on RBS Kira Nerys before they shut the fleet down. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. Commander Reshek has told me a lot about you.”
Colonel Reshek raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “You can drop the act, Captain, I know you two are married.” Off my look, “If nothing else, my eyes aren’t knotholes; I noticed the brass link in his earring. I just want to know”—he gives his son a look—“why wasn’t I invited?”
“Yeah, sorry, Father, it, uh, was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Gaarra explains sheepishly.
“Right before Iconia,” I add.
“Ah. But you are planning to have a proper ceremony at some point, right?”
My combadge goes off before I can figure out how to answer that. Saved by the badge, heh. “Kanril.”
“Captain, conference room, now,” Tess demands in a singsong tone.
“I’ll be there in a minute, dammit! Sorry, Colonel, that’s my XO. I’m supposed to be presenting at the panel on IEDs.”
“All right, you’re off the hook for now, but I want to have dinner with my new daughter-in-law later. Maybe at this ‘Quark’s’ place I keep hearing about.”
Now I’m the surprised one. “You’ve never been to Quark’s?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been in the Gamma Quadrant my whole career. Never touched the deck when we went through the Celestial Temple.”
“It’s a date then.”
The IED panel was… interesting to say the least. Fair to say I was the only one there who’s had field experience on both ends of the bloody things.
“You looked like you were having a rough time up there, El,” Gaarra remarks as we make our way down the Promenade’s second floor.
“Excuse me,” I tell a pair of Klingons standing by Quark’s arguing about something.
“Federation taHqeq,” one of them mutters.
“Easy, El,” Gaarra whispers.
“Relax,” I whisper back and draw myself up to my full height, fixing the braver one with my best NCO glare. “You two boys want to meet in the ring later, I could use the workout,” I snarl at them in tlhIngan Hol. “Right now, I’ve got a dinner date, so why don’t you just take two steps to the left and we can all go about our evenings.”
“Gurek,” the smaller one suddenly says, “that’s Kanril Eleya.”
“You? You’re HromIy veqlargh?” Now his bravado is starting to falter.
I raise an eyebrow at Gurek. The Devil of Hromi? That’s… almost flattering. “Apparently so.”
Then he surprises me by laughing and offering his arm for me to clasp. “Tell the verengan your first round is on Gurek, son of Kriton. You saved my life at Lae’nas III when you destroyed that Iconian cruiser.”
“Uh, thanks.” Truth be told I have no idea which cruiser he’s talking about, but I won’t say no to a free drink. We head inside, and somebody yells “Dabo!” from the corner as I look around for Gaarra’s father.
“There he is,” Gaarra says, pointing to a table in the corner where, sure enough, a man in blue is waving to us. We head over and he gives his father a one-armed hug before taking a the middle chair; the colonel sits across from me.
A pretty blonde with an Ashallan accent and too little clothing comes over to us. “Hi, my name’s Veena and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?”
“Romulan ale. For three?” Gaarra and the Colonel both nod. “And apparently Gurek, son of Kriton is buying,” I add.
“How kind of him,” Colonel Reshek remarks as Veena moves off. “So I caught a bit of your panel while I was between meetings—”
“Yeah, I think I saw you poke your head in.”
“You really implemented Contingency Six on Gamma Hromi IV?”
I take in a hissing breath and tighten my lips, pressing my palms to my eyes. “Due respect, sir. Gamma Hromi is not something I ever wanted to have to relive.”
“Sorry.”
“You ever serve in combat?”
“Combat, sure: New Bajor’s had several run-ins with rogue Jems, not to mention a few with aliens you’ve probably never even heard of.”
“And the True Way,” Gaarra adds.
“That’s right, you told me when we first met your cousin was killed—”
“—when they blew up the Di Nakora Shrine, yes,” the colonel finishes, bitterly. “Nothing like the wars back here in the Alpha Quadrant the past decade, but Ilasa didn’t deserve that.”
I don’t answer. The True Way hate us even more than they hate the Federation or the Oralian Way: they blame us for breaking the State they worship. I guess they consider it poetic or something to use our own tactics against us. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I finally mutter.
“Neither do I.”
“Makes three of us,” Gaarra chimes in.
Fortunately our drinks arrive then, and Hadron finally gets off his butt and puts the World Series game on the big screen. “Kendra’tel ahara!” I cheer as Vesin Kilros sends the first pitch of the game sailing clear past the right fielder’s mitt.
“Hey!” the colonel says.
“What?”
“Thought this was the Hara Cats cheering section!”
I look at Gaarra. “You didn’t tell him I was Kendran?” He shakes his head, grinning evilly. “Colonel, I went to phekk’ta temple school with Vesin Kilros!”
“Damn, now I recognize your accent, Captain. You two are getting an annulment: I will not have my grandchildren rooting for the Warriors!”
Gaarra laughs as I spray a mouthful of ale across the table. “Yeah right, like I’d let her teach them bad habits like that.”
I’m too busy coughing up a lung to respond.
Grandchildren?
Oh, hell.
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
\\\
Risa System, December 14th 2410, Federation Standard Calendar
Outside a Risan Hotel, whose Dining Room has been Privately Rented Out for the Evening
Transporting down to the beach, Gregs and Zinuzee, wearing a mix of formal wear and beach clothing, take a view of the establishment that has been rented out. Rubbing the maroon, non-replicated paper invitation in his hand, Gregs checks the name of the hotel against the instructions again. "A mystery dinner party held by unknown senders, held on a privately rented out beach resort, quite.." Gregs trails off searching for the word.
"Cliché, dear, if not almost suspicious, had we not already vetted the venue," she replies, "Now come on, we're nearly late to the main event." Practically dragging her husband through the sand bank they had transported to, Zinuzee quickly hops up to the wooden boardwalk leading directly off the beach and into the lobby of the resort. A Risan man greets them at the door, takes a look at their invitation, and directs them where to go to reach the dining hall. While the dining room had been rented out for the night, it had appeared that the building itself was still occupied by various species, Romulan's, Orion, Human, Denobulan, even Bajoran and various others; ever a testament to the melting pot of a vacation spot this planet represented. "Tell me again why you wanted to follow a strangers invitation to dinner?" She asks, "I mean, not many people are aware you're back, let alone a Captain again; perfect reason to think it's some kind of ruse."
"What happened to the 'we're late to the party' attitude from just a few moments ago?" He responds, "The more people here, means we have more phasers on standby to help us out, since I'm sure we weren't the only ones invited here." Gregs points to a Gorn with a KDF patch on his arm, and a Reman with a pistol holstered and strapped. "Besides, we're not helpless by any means, you know that," Gregs says, "I have a feeling this could be a night of surprises." Chuckling, Zinuzee merely leans against him as they walk toward a pair of double doors.
\\\
The Bar
"And I said 'That's what you think petaQ', I'm not the one with a bucket on his head!', and he charged me!" a male voice says, followed by the booming laughs of a couple of Klingon warriors, "I took out my Bat'leth, cut his hand with its tip, he dropped his D'k tahg, I took the opportunity to give an uppercut to his jaw, off pops his helmet, and it turns out he is a she!" With a roar of an applause, the Klingons slap the alien hybrid on the back, but he calms them down to finish his story. "Now, I consider myself single, but I don't even think she would have taken me, with how determined she was to kill me," the warrior says, "Of course, it didn't help that she was trying to slip some kind of brain-worm into me, and thankfully, like some green-skinned Goddess, comes my First, bloodied by the warriors she had fought tooth and nail to reach me, and she grabs her form behind and declares- wait for it- that she wasn't going to lose to some-" The last few words were lost as the door to the bar slammed open.
Sashaying into the smoky, red atmosphere, the green skinned Orion woman with fiery hair walks towards the assembled group of KDF Officers, and finds her target. Wrapping her arms around his neckline, the woman purrs into his ears. "You're going to be late, and I don't want to miss this," she says, "Leave these drunkards to their Bloodwine and tales of glory, we have matters elsewhere." Nodding, the man sets down his prune juice mug, and nods to his fellow warriors.
"Brothers, save a round for me tonight, and keep your inner fires warm!" the man says, getting up from his seat, "Keep your blades thirsty, and your weapons hot, we may just see some blood spilled on these peaceful sands tonight!" With a roar from the bar crowd, the Orion woman merely blows a stray piece of hair out of her face, and taps her foot. Following the woman out, Berg merely chuckles as he follows his newly chosen First out of the bar. "I must keep their spirits up, First Una, you know they'd rather get into bar fights than spend the night just telling stories," he says, "And who knows, my promise may not be empty this night, because whoever invited us here didn't have our best intentions, they didn't even bother to sign their note." Pulling a folded, mustard colored, slip of paper out of a hidden pocket on his jacket, Berg looks at the invitation and checks the room number, 247.
\\\
Outside Room 247
Checking her sea-green invitation, Hazel holds it against Ace's, who she had stumbled into down one of the hallways. "Well, this doesn't seem coincidental, now does it?" she says to her hybrid-Romulan friend, "I mean, you and me, both invited to a mystery dinner theater, what's next, themed costumes?" The white-haired Terran hands the invitation back to the Romulan, then pulls open one of the double doors, and walks inside, followed by the hybrid.
Whistling, Ace can't help but be impressed by the amount of people already in the dining hall, various Captains and Admirals from the three main powers, besides himself and Hazel Singh. He recognized quite a few: Sarus Theirull, Zdar, Karras, Ohir, Drake Stormbaucher, and Panl.
Hazel sits at the elongated table across from the blonde, and looks irked when everyone begins staring at her in her Terran version of the Odyssey uniform. "What?" she asks, "Do I have a Bluegill on my neck?" With a cough from Drake, everyone goes back to what they were all doing, which mainly was wondering why there was silverware and plates, but no food.
"Sorry we're late everyone," Zinuzee announces as four more bodies walk into take their seats, "We ran into Berg and his 'first girlfriend', on our way in." Snickering could be heard from the table.
"By first, Trill, I meant my First Officer, Terran floozy," he rebuts as he sits down by Karras, then noticing her smirk, "What?"
"Oh please, 'floozy', what, is it the 20th century again?" Zinuzee retorts, "At least in the Empire, I wasn't the one who slept in a empty Targ's pen on his first night on Qo'noS." He busts out sputtering, trying to silence her in vain, as Una blushes and Karras bursts out laughing next to Berg, slapping the alien captain on the back with one of his scaly, clawed hands.
"Ok, ok, you win, you win, no more joking, I get it!" he laughs it off, "Point to sister-in-law: Berg two, Zinuzee five." Chuckling, the humor lightens the mood. "So- I'll go ahead and ask it, since we're all wondering," Berg nods to the others, then to the end of the table, "Whose seats are those?" Suddenly a light crash is heard form the double doors on the other side of the dining hall, opposite the pair everyone had entered from. With a crash and a bang, they open to reveal smoke pouring into the room, followed by two coughing figures.
"I told you that was too much ale in the flambé, you nearly burned us all up, or worse, set off all the hotels fire suppressors on this level!" a woman's voice says, "Sorry folks, looks like we'll have to call in room service to the hotel, as our little cooking experiment caused our food to get filled with various inedible chemicals when we put the fire out." Coughing a little, and clearing the smoke some more, Nali and Tekhav walk into view, with the latter shutting the double doors.
"It was only logical to add more ale, you normally wouldn't use it in that dish, and not adjusting the amount for the dish would be illogical," Tekhav replies, "Since everyone won't be returning until tomorrow, I felt it was logical to loosen up everyone by adding more liquor." A course of 'ayes' from Drake, Hazel, Karras and Berg, lit the room, and sent everyone into a happy mood. Pulling out a pair of bottles from behind his back, a fine vintage of Château Picard and half used bottle of Romulan Ale, Tekhav sets them down on the table. "Might as well let everyone enjoy some refreshments, until our food arrives," he says, while Nali busies herself contacting the Hotel's Kitchen and explaining the situation, "Meanwhile, I thank you all for arriving at our bequest; it took a while to find you all and painstakingly finding ways to contact you anonymously." Nali walks around to stand by Tekhav, at the two empty seats at the table.
"We thought we would put this all together, a 'thank you', as it were, for everything each and every one of you has done at one such or another time," Nali states to the room, "It's been almost two years, come the end of this month and give or take the time travel involved, since we've all come together: the Borg invasion, the Fek'lhr, B'Vat's machinations, that wretched hive of scum and villainy that is Nimbus, the discovery of Mol'Rihan, the birth of the fledgling Romulan Republic, the Drozana Event, the start of our war against the Terrans and then the return of the Dominion fleet..."
"Not to mention finding out the Undine had been manipulated, that the Iconians had been watching us, that there was not one, but two more Dyson Spheres, the Voth, the Vaadwaur and the Delta Quadrant Alliance," Tekhav continues, "Finding the Krenim in the midst of the Iconian War, finding out we had been the ones to begin the war in the past, the birth of a new age of time travel, and the repercussions we've felt and will yet feel, as we are in the midst, yet know the end, of the Temporal Cold War, we again had a hand in starting, in one way or another." Now the hall was silent, as everyone watches in awe at the two at the head of the table. Suddenly a knock interrupts the moment.
The food had arrived, and a platter of food was set before each of the fourteen attendees. Bowing, the waiter quickly pushed the cart out of the room, leaving them in silence.
"We've invited you all here to enjoy each other's company, to fulfill a promise I made a year ago to an old flame, to sit down once the war was over and to get to know my family," Tekhav says, "It was logical to invite you all, as you all have influenced my life in one way or another, we've become a family without blood bonding us, a one of trust no one can break." Tekhav takes a serious look at those seated around the room, then he looks to the last chair, left empty. Taking the moment of silence, Drake sees Tekhav falter at the empty chair, and stands with his own drink.
"I say we have a drink for friends, some lost to battles, to accidents, to temporal shenanigans," Drake says, "To those not here, and those here now, let us not forget your sacrifices!" Suddenly another knock at the door is followed by the doors opening, and the rush of steps in high heels. Face planting to the ground, all the party attendants see is a mop of blonde hair spread messily across the floor and obscuring the intruders features.
Getting up to her knees, and checking to make sure her nose wasn't broken, the woman brushes away one of the men's attempts at helping her up. "I'm sorry I'm late, I got the invitation a bit late, someone told me it got 'lost in the mail', and he wanted to make sure I got here..." the woman merely sits on her knees as she fixes her hair, "Then I got stuck in orbit because of traffic control, took a wrong turn and ended up in the Hotel's bar, and broke my first heel, and just successfully broke the second one." Slipping off her broken shoes, and brushing her hair back, the young blonde smiles at the assembled guests, and pouts at their confused looks. "My name is Hazel Mir Kaur- I'm sorry, I thought this was open invitation, but it appears like you weren't expecting me here, with your meals half finished," her eyes mist a bit, "I-I'm sorry I-I seem to have been invited by mistake..."
A glass crashes to the floor, as Hazel stands and walks over toward the cowed woman, who froze at the shattering glassware. Hazel fixes the woman's hair with a brush that had appeared from an unseen purse, and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, Hazel sadly tracing the familiar scar under her left eye. Hesitatingly, she puts her hand to the woman's face and feels to make sure, to know she was real, and standing there, and wipes away a tear. Crying now, hot tears streaming down her own face, Hazel steps away and runs out of the room. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" the woman asks, "I-I don't understand did I do something wrong?" She notices Tekhav and Panl, and seems to smile at recognizable faces. "Panl, Tekhav, you're here too?" she asks, "Can you tell me what's going on?"
"I-I'll go after Haz-Hazari, you guys, just give her some time," Ace says, going after the white haired woman.
"Can anyone tell me what's going on?" Hazel asks, "What did I do, why do you all look like you've seen a ghost?" The blonde looks to anyone in the room, until Gregs speaks up.
"Because, Miss Kaur, I'm afraid it's quite impossible for you to be here," he says, "Your ship was lost to an incident in Tholian space, and you were listed as the only causality in getting your people home." He stands and offers the shaking blonde a seat. "I should know most of all Hazel, my name is Gregs Sharvan Son'aire, and I've met you before," Gregs says, "And I'm sorry Hazel, but I saw you die before my very eyes."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Here we come
Well I remember when I was just children
A time when people used to treat the neighbor like a fellow man
And all their singin' and their big prayer meetin's
When a man was proud to walk up and shake his neighbor's hand
Oh, You talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Oh, if you ever needed help, a friend was there
Some good neighbor, helped lift your burdens
Oh and the simple joys of life your friends would share
But the times are harder and the people are changin'
Today most folks couldn't tell you, who their next door neighbors are
All the guns are loaded, the front doors are bolted
Ain't this ol' world takin' hate and fear just a little too far
Let's talk about the good times, let's talk about the good times
I wish, I could just go back to the days I'm speakin' of
When a friend would meet you and a smile would greet you
What this ol' world needs now is old fashioned love
Play the guitar
Well alright
Well, my old granddaddy, God rest his soul now
Well we had a big long talk together the day he died
He said, "Son this world is so full of hate and venom
An' I can't wait to leave this ol' place and rest on the other side"
"Oh, you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
When I'm gonna see all the friends I knew in the good ol' days
We'll have a big hand shakin', sit and talk together
Sit down by the river Jordan and sing our blues away"
Hey, you talk about the good times, talk about the good times
Talk about the good times, yeah
R’riorr Estate, western highlands, Ferasa, one month after the Denali crisis
No Toto, definitely not in Kansas anymore… She regretted nothing-she needed to be here, and the circumstances of her coming just made it all the much better. Almost as if the universe was trying to make up for some of the stuff she’d gone through before.
And whats the human expression? ‘If you believe that, i’ve got a bridge to sell you?’ M’chelle Schrodinger-no. She’d passed that name and identity onto her Terran universe counterpart. She had new names, names she had earned in battle, and science. Lady Ni'wa'mma Hake'Wo R’riorr, or being that most non-felinoids couldn’t pronounce that, she used a shorter latin translation of what she was called in Klingon. puQmo' DaHoHta', Destroyer of Stars. Nova.
There were some who objected to her being chosen as mate to who she was-while he had come from a humble background, being granted not just a name, but that name by no less than the Emperor himself,...there were many clans who resented her presence, no her very existence. The rift between the Caitian and Ferasan peoples was one that was not going to heal anytime soon. He knew how stupid it was...how that it could lead them on the same destructive path humans had trodden so many times before and almost did again-but rome wasn’t built in a day-or by one person.
She knew they were pushing things-but he was adamant on that. He had accepted being a godparent for Rhonda Evan’s infant son, and by the gods he was going to follow through with his commitments. Which was one of the things she loved about him. It wasn’t about doing what was politically expedient-it was about doing what was right.
Hence this visit. True, there had been low level visits by Caitians before-mainly medical personnel, after an outbreak of the wasting fever. More from a desire not to see it spread than anything else, but it was a start. As was this. It was rare for Starfleet ships to be allowed even close to the homeworld-only HE had the pull to make it happen. Even if it was only a runabout.
USS Kaskaskia
“Now there’s something I never expected to see in my lifetime.” M’karet said with a bit of an ironic grin, as he brought the runabout down to an expertly soft landing.
“Your cousin in a Klingon uniform?” Rhonda Evans replied, seeing Schrodi waiting for them outside the landing zone.
“Not just that’ seeing Ferasa at all.” he replied, going through the shutdown sequence. He got up stiffly, he was still on medical leave, recovering from his injuries when he took the USS Reuben James to warp through the atmosphere of Denali-ionizing it enough for the masquerading Terran Empire forces to be unable to beam down to the planet. Of course it had also nearly killed him. His wife wasn’t in that much better shape-though her problems weren't from a s dire a circumstance. It had only been a month since she’d given birth to their son-another thing that many never expected would happen. Felinoids, unlike many species in the galaxy, didn’t interbreed with humans as well. Of course, technically Rhonda hadn’t been ‘human’ since she was thirteen. She glanced behind her-he was still sleeping peacefully, a small black and white bundle of fluff.
“Nervous?” Rhonda asked her husband.
“I won’t lie, but yes. My cousin’s already had a few threats against her-our coming here could make life difficult for her and K’Tirr.”
“He is the one who invited us-plus I think he’s more than capable of handling any grumbling in his house or his neighbors.”
“I know” He replied, debating leaving the cane then catching his wife’s glance, he sighed and grabbed it. Sometimes it is a pain in the tail having a mate who was a physician.
The “House” perched on the reverse-slope of the valley wall, a contrast to the norms not only of the Empire, but of Ferasa as well, it bore more resemblance to the designs of mid-20th Century architect Frank Lloyd Wright, than to the cultural sensibilities of ‘traditional’ Ferasa or even Cait. large airy rooms and broad windows faced sunward, the walls angled as if from a future that had never been. On a subtle level, it was a statement of Power-the home of one who does not fear censure and could care less what the traditionalists had to say, even in matters of taste.
On a more subtle level, the place was imminently defensible in spite of looking like a patchwork of panels and beams wrapped in transparent aluminum. The path from the landing was graveled, not paved, the brush cut cunningly to make anyone approaching easily visible, and illuminators were placed along the walk-both to make it easy, and to reveal anyone who might have thought they could approach unnoticed.
And K’Tirr had guards here. Rhonda was surprised to note a few humans, Klingons, Letheans and gorn in liveried uniforms, along with the more expected Ferasan youths, extended relatives, and clansmen.
As they reached the off-puttingly traditional ‘gate’, the shape of a Radio Telescope array and the tumorous lump of an Optical observatory lurked into view a bit higher up the ridge, cunningly concealed from the initial approach path.
at the gate…
“...delay, I demand-” an angry Fem in Lowlander fashions was arguing with the gate-guard, a Klingon.
“YOU demand nothing, when you have submitted to screening, you may enter the property-or you may leave.” the Bekk frowned right back. The Guard-Sargeant’s assistant was human, and Rhonda had a shock of recognition.
“Do You Know who I AM??” the Fem Ferasan practically hissed, her short, blue fur rising at her neck.
The assistant’s right fist blurred, and the rest of the Noble’s party froze in their tracks as the assistant shoved a blued-steel object into the Fem’s neck-not through it, just up against it. “The Sergeant told you already, ma’am.” where do I know that face from? “Submit to screening, or go away.”
“Of course.” the Fem’s body showed alarm-tail fluffed, pupils dilated.
“Lance Corporal! Put the gun away.” the Klingon ordered.
“AYe sir.” The human girl’s physical ‘readiness’ tension didn’t flag as she drew the handgun back from the Ferasan Noble.
“Reader!” a Lethean came out of the guard shack, mumbling something and then, “Clean.” she said, revealing that the beaked alien was female. “All of them-clean. No infils.”
“Proof it.” the girl insisted.
The Lethean laid a hand on the human’s head, and her posture shuddered, “See? All clean, no infiltrators.”
“HOstile intent.” the girl stated.
“Acceptable.” the Lethean told her, and the Klingon passed the group through, making it Rhonda’s turn.
‘Identicard.” the Sergeant asked, “And you will have to submit to telepathic screening before you may enter the compound.”
“They’re pre-cleared!” a voice shouted, and Rhonda looked up, Nova was leaning on a railing. “And Quentin, what did I tell you about drawing down on the guests?”
“MA’AM! She refused to submit to screening and wouldn’t go away, Ma’am!” the girl barked back.
“I distinctly told you not to bring it!” Nova continued, hopping down to ground level with an easy leap, “Where’s the phaser you’re supposed to be carrying? I’ve half a mind to give this to HIM to deal with…”
Nova strode up, and extended a hand, “Pistol.” she said.
The girl handed it over without argument. “You get this back when the guests are gone...K’sag, I expect you to keep them in line with my instructions.”
“I...it will not happen again, Milady.” the Klingon said meekly.
“See that it doesn’t….gawd Rhonda, you look great!” Nova greeted her, then to the female whose weapon she just confiscated, “Get their bags, Quentin.”
“Aye ma’am.”
“And you look Frazzled” Rhonda replied with a grin, one which the ‘ferasan’ returned.
“I thought i was busy all the time doing grad school and the academy together” she replied. “Getting his household running, dealing with local political bs, that sorta thing. Though where’s the one I really wanted to see?” she grinned teasingly.
Her cousin just grinned and handed over the baby carrier he was carrying. Nova peered at the sleeping ball of fluff “aww, he’s got his momma’s coloring” she said looking at the black and white puffball.
“And his daddy’s eyes, when they’re open. He tends to sleep a lot right now.”
“Well babies do that. Eat, sleep, TRIBBLE, repeat.” M’karet grinned, looking around as Nova led them into the complex. “Not what I expected, definitely not traditional architecture.”
“Well he’s definitely not a traditional noble. They like to live in feudal castles behind stone walls in case one of their rival clans attack.”
“Unfortunately he’s got traditional headaches, or he’d be here. There are some clans who were...well you remember Captain Taylor-Smythe? The year he was stuck at the Academy teaching, and how when anything at all went wrong he’d turn amusing shades of purple?”
“How can i forget him?”
“Well trust me, dealing with the clan heads is worse.”
Clan Chambers…
“...bringing offworlder servants, and now you invite-” G’rrachhht one-ear was offended, spitting it all across the chamber.
“Nobles have employed alien servants before.” R’gamo of the Fens remarked, “I seem to recall your household has quite a few orions.”
“This is different-HUMANS!” the one-ear snarled back, “The very core of the federation.”
“Moabites...are yet still a Protectorate of the Empire, and an ally.” K’Tirr observed quietly, “THESE are also known to me to be obedient, efficient, and intelligent. What is the real problem, One-ear?”
“One of your moabite pets bared fangs and claws to a Lady of my Clan, K’Tirr, and threatened violence.”
“Mel, or Fem?” K’Tirr asked casually.
“Fem.”
“Then it’s a woman’s problem.” he said, “Unless you wish to raise issue over the gender of the offender? I assume you bring this to me because your Fem did not challenge my guard?”
This brought flicks of amusement among the Sept, and One Ear’s neck ruffs extended in agitation. “She did not.”
“Was guestrite violated then?” K’Tirr asked, “Was your Fem attacked without cause?” K’Tirr pressed.
“She was subjected to-”
“The same security protocols I put the Klingon Governor through last week?” K’Tirr asked.
The older Ferasan noble calmed, “Yes...I suppose it was-a Lethean Reader’s scan.”
“You understand that it is standard security protocol for a Flag rank officer, yes?”
“Why an alien to scan though, why not one of our own!?” the older Ferasan finally spat out, “One that knows??”
“Because the Ferasan reader assigned to my unit had more critical places to be, than watching the door to my house.” K’Tirr told him, “Lieutenant Ramahoz is a skilled Reader, and in line to lead a Hunt Team as soon as her bodyguards are properly conditioned and trained.”
“My daughter did not mention the Lethean was a Fem...” One Ear’s posture relaxed, “It is, indeed, a Woman’s issue then.”
“I mislike this alien guard though-humans are notoriously fragile...” R’Gamo noted, “It could be seen as a slur on a noble line to be forced to step back to such…”
“I am sure that the corporal would be pleased to demonstrate how poor an estimate that is.” K’Tirr noted, “they are veteran, trained, and have fought the Qa meh Quv directly, but if you want to test my servants…”.
R’riorr Estate.
“So what exactly is this ritual thing that he’s supposed to go through?” Rhonda asked, as Nova held her giggly squirmy son on her lap.
“Nothing harmful-don’t worry. They are only on average a few weeks to as much as a couple months old when they do it. Basically one of the Lorecallers puts on an old mask, and tries to scare them. If they roar back, they’re destined to be warriors. If they cry, like most babies would-then they are destined for the service classes.”
“Which is in no way a bad thing” The General said as he arrived, looking tired. “Healers and scientists are considered ‘service’, yet look at what the two of you have accomplished.”
Rhonda's husband frowned a bit “that seems kind of like the cullings from the dark times.”
“Unfortunately true” K’Tirr said “but that was a lowlander perversion of the ritual. The Lorecallers themselves were nearly exterminated during the dark times.”
Rhonda’s husband flicked an ear, “and the lurker?” he asked, gesturing at Lance Corporal Quentin, “is she following us for traditional reasons, or does she have to for real?”
“A bit of both-due to both my station, and my enemies. If she is a problem we can find you a replacement, but the Lance Corporal is one of my best for this duty.”
M’karret nodded “It is not a problem. I did not understand that your position was threatened. If we have brought any problems to your home I apologize.”
“Ha! No, the problems were there before I sent the invitation. There are those who resent me-what i’ve achieved, that I’m a nobody who is now somebody. The hidebound dull wits would not notice a new idea if it bit them in the tail.” He smiled “now where is the youngster that’s the reason for this trip?”
Clan Rr’itt Keep, Ierow’r’ch Lowlands
The nerve of that mountain lout! The human guards he actually did not have a problem with-G’rrachhht, like many of his ilk, employed alien mercenaries. Usually off world, but he had a few trusted ones close. Still, this was an opportunity to eliminate whatever support the upstart held-if she could keep from failing him.
She didn’t have a name-probably wouldn’t. The runt, his youngest. Still, it ground against him. The Mountain Lout didn’t even have a bloodline, but he had the favour of the Emperor! He stalked to the battlement of the Den-house, and looked out across the valley, to the hills…
And saw the architectural atrocity that loomed at the top of the ridge, the raw statement of dominance in it, spoiling the lines…
Even the lack of a simple curtain-wall was a declared challenge to the natural order. It spoke as loudly to his senses as an actual word or scent-trace, daring any bold enough to attack.
“Impudent.” he muttered. there must be a way to rub that impudence in his nose, to show him for the flawed, unworthy Lout he really is…
Memory among the people accepted the dual-named mountain barbarian’s mate-choice as natural-the Mountain peoples were mercenaries and barbarians, despoilers of females and pillagers of farmland, hired thugs without discretion or taste...they’d served both sides in the Uplift Wars based solely on payment, then resisted the Culling, the Eugenic Regulation with the weapons their former employers had foolishly left them.
Worse, the Klingons welcomed the loutish mountain thugs as brothers-in-arms, while eyeing the civilized peoples of Ferasa with suspicion and a certain contempt.
The worst of those thugs, was up there, with his half-caste TRIBBLE and alien beasts. Well. he might not have standing to challenge the half caste, plus there was the fact that the few who had...it did not end well. For a mere scientist she was almost frighteningly adept at combat-though for some reason when fighting her voice changed, and she spoke some barbaric terran language, ‘russian’ one of his aides had said.
Still, this way would be even more humiliating for the lout. He entered the chamber where the his youngest waited, her head bowed in submission. Good.
“I have a task for you. Listen closely…”
end part 1
"he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."
The Rocks, Ferasan Highlands
The acoustics here were incredible. In fact in modern times, it was sometimes used for concerts. IT had a much older use though, from before the kin wars almost a thousand years ago.
The elite lowlanders didn’t like it-but the mountain clans had brought back over the last hundred years or so the old ceremonies. What had been perverted into a culling of the ‘genetic weaklings’ was once again a celebration of new life. Non people were generally not welcomed, other than in certain cases. Like K’Tirr’s guards-which in this case was just two Letheans, one of them his physician and the other one of Lady Nova’s readers.
They were not the only ones who were there for this tonight, there were lowborn, highborn, mountain and even a few lowlanders present-most of them dressed in their finery, or if military, dress uniforms-though few could compete with the sheer number of awards the General bore.
M’Karret and Rhonda had both brought civilian attire-but the General insisted on their dress uniforms, complete with awards. “We are at peace now, allies again, and if the idiots in the Federation and High Council can keep from stepping on their own tails again, we might have a chance to go after the true enemies.”
“Makes sense I suppose” Rhonda replied at the time, her medical blue uniform not having as many decorations as her husband's red-but then her’s were mostly for not having to fight. Still she got more than a few curious looks as she went with the other mothers to meet the Lorecaller and were briefed on what was to come. Unexpectedly, they had provided her a translator, being at times the universal translator didn’t convey things like body language.
Not that she needed it for a few of the females. Ears back, claws peeking from the sheaths…”Why is the food that talks here”..one muttered-only to hiss at a stinging rebuke from one of the elder Lorecallers.
“She is here-because she is of the blood. You know we cannot interbreed, like humans do with everything in the galaxy it seems. Yet here she holds a babe, brought about with no science, no genetic surgery, no extreme medical measures.”
“Well, not unless you count anti nausea meds for morning sickness, or when he was kickin my bladder..” Rhonda replied. There was a moment as the translator relayed that and the room, with the exception of the angry lowlander, erupted in feline laughter.
“If that was an issue, none of us would be here” one mother, holding twins replied in not too badly accented english.
“Indeed” the old lorecaller said, his tail swishing in amusement. As the sun began to dip below the ridge of the hills he raised his hands. “It is time to begin…”
Despite their rank, K’Tirr and his lady sat on the stone benches as did the rest of the sponsors. This after all was a night for the children-though even still, rank did have it’s place. Rhonda would be bringing her son up last, being K’Tirr was the highest ranking clan head with a new cub this evening. He could almost feel the heat coming from G’rrachhht, the old noble sitting across the ampitheater from him, eyes glaring with anger. what are you up to you mangy one? he thought...while G’rrachhht did have a minor relation this evening...it was unlike him to show up at something like this, even when his own children were presented. Something about it though..no. he wasn’t staring at him. G’rrachht was staring at his kinsman. M’Karret in his Starfleet uniform looked both out of place..and not. Of course the awards he was given by the Denali republic were a bit on the showy side-almost rivaling the KDF.. he turned his attention back to the lorecallers, lit by flickering torches. It was going smoothly, some of the kits crying, others roaring back-though most of the families didn't seem to care if the kits did cry. Afterall scientists and engineers made money-warriors usually did not.
She was the last one, climbing the stairs, her son looking around at the flickering lights from the torches. Seeing the raised platform Rhonda suppressed an urge to giggle, trying hard not to hum an old song from her childhood.
Like the others before her she handed her son over to the Lorecaller. The old feline looked him over, then grimaced, his painted face on his mask looking frightening even to her as he let out a huge roar. The baby blinked, his eyes ,wide, then giggled, reaching his hands out, grasping the old felines whiskers.
“W..what does that mean?” Rhonda asked nervously, the roar almost startling her even though she knew it was coming.
The old one threw back his head and laughed “It means that he is destined for Greatness! Even now, he laughs at danger!”
It may have been an ancient ceremony-but it had the modern touches. Including full audio/video. The crowd which had been getting in a better and better mood as the night went on, possibly helped by the consumption of spiced alcohols, erupted in shouts and cheers at the elders announcement.
“What happens now?” M’karret asked, as hundreds of the smaller clans cheered both the father of the cub,
“Now? Now we feas and drink!” K’Tirr replied, the general almost beaming. This was truly going to be a good night.
There was drink and feasting-contrary to popular belief, the Ferasans did eat fruits and vegtables-as side dishes for the piles of meat. Fortunately unlike many in Starfleet, Rhonda had no issues with eating real meat, having grown up on it. being one of the mothers at the ceremony she was expected to bring something, while it wasn’t quite pork, her pulled ‘Targ’’ barbque seemed to be a hit-though the hush puppies were something that caused a bit of confusion at first.
Which is why the attack caught her by surprise. She had been chatting with a mother of triplets who was also a surgeon-never failed, no matter where you go in the universe, get more than one medic in the same location and they ended up talking shop. It was an openfaced slap on the back of her head, the physican she was talking to bared her ears back and hissed openly. Rhonda turned, it was a Ferasan female only a bit taller than she was, naked (not that that was a reall issue-when one is covered in fur, clothes aren’t always necessary.)
The fem growled at her and shoved a scroll into her hands, then stalked off back into the crowd. Rhonda looked at it as K’Tirr and M’karret pushed through the crowd, followed by Nova carrying the baby.
“What tha hell was that all about?” Rhonda said, rubbing the back of her head.
“TRIBBLE, not another one” Nova muttered “you’d think after the last few they’d have learned-oh frack, this is-”
“For Rhonda.” K’Tirr’s ears were back, the General was angry. “I should have seen this coming.”
“Seen what?” Rhonda couldn’t read the text, her husband on the other hand could, M’Karret’s own ears going back as he read. “This is a formal challenge.” the Caitain growled, his claws putting holes in the parchment.
Rhonda was confused “Challenge? For what?”
“For your husband.” The General was beyond furious, looking over at G’rrachhht, who was standing ten meters away with the young fem, a smirk on one ear’s mangy face. “I should have forseen this-”he began to apologize.
“It is not your fault,” M’Karret countered. “You can not be held to blame for the actions of others. What will happen when Rhonda refuses this?”
“It will be a major blow to my standing-still a necessary one. I can withstand it, and at least i know know that one ear is now officially an enemy…”
A few meters away another, quieter conversation was taking place.
”what happens if ah say no? Rhonda asked Nova in a hushed whisper.
”it’s bad, politically. But we can withstand it, not the worst thing they’ve tried to do to us, just the most blatant. You should turn it down.”
Rhonda looked at her ‘challenger’ ”her dad’s a traditionalist, they don’t let girls have military training do they? And they think i’m human.”
”No they don’t..and untrained Ferasans tend to fight like Crimson Cat, at least before Panda and Violet Raccoon beat that idea out of his head. are you pondering what i’m pondering?”
Captain Evans just grinned “”I think so Brain, but where are we going to find a chimpanzee and Lederhosen at this hour?”
Both women laughed, and while the men discussed it, Rhonda walked over to the fem that hit her. “you think you can steal MY husband? I don’t think so” she said, returning the slap, stunning both K’Tirr, M’karret AND G’rrachhht.
One ear blinked in surprise..this wasn’t supposed to happen. The food that talks should be cowering in terror refusing. Damnit, it would not be as damaging for the mountain lout if his vassal died in battle...but “So be it.” he growled in Klingon. “One hour, ring of trials.” Turning his back he grabbed his daughter and stalked off.
“What the HELL did you do?” came almost in unison, though M’Karret didn’t look as upset as K’Tirr did. “This is a duel to the victor accepting submission or death!”
“Ah know that. But I wasn’t about to let you take the hit for this-”
“You doing this could get you Killed! I can live with the political fallout, I do not want to live with your death on my conscience.”
“It’s ok, I’ve got an Angle.” Rhonda said cryptically. Nova had other things on her mind though” I’ll be right back,” she said, disappearing into the uncomfortable crowd. What G’rrachhht had done, while legal, was in extremely poor taste. Mothers of babes in arms...weren't supposed to be challenged. And in truth..it had gone out of fashion almost a century ago.
The General sighed, running his paw over his face. “I really hope you know what you’re doing.”
“As do I.” her husband echoed, as they followed one ear towards the ring, the crowd semi reluctantly following along.
"he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."
Ring of Trials
It was another natural amphitheater, though this one wasn’t used as much for happy things, or concerts. The stone walls were pockmarked with what probably were bullet holes, or cuts from missed swings with blades in duels centuries past. G’rrachhht still didn’t look happy, his plans had been derailed but he was still having his daughter go through with the challenge it seemed. The General looked even less happy as Rhonda, in the arena below, striped out of her uniform down to her bare skin-or fur in her case. It was traditional, and fortunately one advantage of fur is you didn’t often have the nudity taboos that could make one falter in such cases.
“You can still back out you know” her husband said, holding onto their son tightly.
“I know-but you also know that ah can’t.” she smiled reassuringly and kissed him. “Also remember our first sparring?”
“That’s the only reason i’m not panicking right now.”
In the stands the general looked calmer than he was. His wife had gone along with this...therefore there was something he did not know about. Still he had called his chief medical officer Zimehoz down from the IKS Herdthinner standing by. Hopefully if things went badly the young fem wouldn’t claim her opponent’s life...and to be honest, he was willing to lose much more to ask for that from one ear should it become necessary. One does not let family die, and he had claimed them as such.
His wife returned from wherever she had disappeared to. “What happened, where did you go?”
Nova kept her face neutral, but her tail tip was twitching in mischief “I’ve made a few, well, lather large wagers.”
It was getting harder to keep his composure. “I...see...G’rrachhht’s lackey R’narf I assume, who bets on anything.?”
“He might not be betting on much in the future..oh looks like we’re starting.”
The lorecaller stepped out into the middle of the ring. She was furious, not at the two combatants, but at the one eared one who had put his youngest up to this. Stepping over across the hot sands to the challenger, she leaned in, whispering. ”you can still back down young one and withdraw.”
The young nameless fem blinked at that, then looked over her shoulder at her sire. Seeing the glare on his face..and the Orion matron who was his guest, she shook her head. “I...cannot.”
you go too far one of these days… the lorecaller sighed, then walking to the side of the arena, turned over a large sand glass. “Prepare yourselves” she said “when the sand is gone your quarrel will commence.”
Rhonda nodded, and sat down on the sand, figuring she had three, four minutes. In the stands R’narfs people were going around, taking bets as she sat lotus style on the warm ground, remembering the last time she tried this…
Teen Defenders of Paragon training room, Paragon City Rhode Island. June 4, 2006
“What the heck do i need to know how to do this for? I can just light them on fire if someone is attacking me!”
Rhonda Polekitty Evans just sighed. Jason was shooting off his mouth again, especially to someone who had no powers-yet could still kick his TRIBBLE six ways to sunday.
Their instructor, in her late twenties just grinned “and what happens if one of the Malta Sappers hits you, and your powers are shut off? What do you use then, harsh language?”
The Feline-American (the terms ‘catgirl’ and ‘catboy’ weren’t pc in 2006 new england, even though Paragon City seemed at times to be overrun with them) just laughed, unsheathing his claws “I just rip em to shreds!”
The heroine known as Violet Raccoon just sighed. “You disturb our meditation as a pebble disturbs a pond.”
“Well I don’t need to know this stuff! I’ve got natural ability as well as powers!”
“Which can be neutralized. Thus why the Defenders are having me train you. You must learn patience.”
”it’s a multi syllable word, Jason won’t have much luck I’m afraid. Rhonda said in a whisper to the green skinned girl next to her, the two giggling quietly.
“Miss Evans!”
Oh crud “yes ma’am?”
The violet haired woman pointed to the mat “you have been here several months longer, why don’t you show Jason why this is important.”
“Hai Sensei” Rhonda said as she got to her feet. Jason smirked, at sixteen two years older and a foot and a half taller than she was. Rhonda just bowed, and took a ready stance…
Ring of Trials
The youngest had worked herself up into a frenzy. This wasn’t fair..she was just supposed to challenge the human, who’d run away! That’s what her sire told her, and now here she was in the ring! She didn’t want any of this...and now she either killed that stupid human, or she was leaving home with her sires’ business partner. She looked across the ring, her opponent was getting to her feet as the sand in the glass neared the end. She didn’t even look afraid...she was just food that talks. Curiously the fur covered human bowed to her, then took a stance.
In the stands K’Tirr’s eyebrows went up as things suddenly clicked. “Your wife..she’s not exactly ‘human’ is she?”
M’karret just nodded “not since she was about twelve or so, he said, eyes intent as the bell sounded. The young one leaped, snarling, claws and fangs out as she sailed across the ring-fast, deadly, and untrained. The young one was fast-rhonda, while not as fast as a ferasan, was far faster than a normal human. She stepped back and shot her foot forward, catching the leaping Ferasan just under the chin.
“Boot to the head.” Rhonda said, just like she’d been taught..and kept in practice, especially these last few weeks to get the baby weight back down. There was a gasp in the crowd and an audible CRACK, two of them in fact, one from the kick, and one, a much more sickening sound as the young one landed badly, her head and neck hitting the ground , body impacting the sand like child's dropped doll.
“Aw TRIBBLE, nononono!” Rhonda ran over, kneeling by the limp Ferasan. She didn’t need a medical tricorder to tell what the problem was-not with the neck at that angle. She turned and yelled up into the stands where her ‘family’ was sitting “Ah need a medkit!”
Zimehoz was already over the wall, the Lethan had beamed down prepared. “Not much time” he said as he evaluated her, pulling out a hypospray of neuronax and injecting the ferasan.
“Do you have synaptizine?” Rhonda asked, as she grabbed one of the immobilizer kits from the lethans med bag, using the hardening foam to keep the injured neck and head from being moved, hopefully to prevent more damage.
“Neronnax, they don’t sell synaptizine on this side of the border due to the war.” he said.
“F that..I’ve got a trauma kit in the runabout” she said. One of the General's guards who had jumped down with Zimehoz nodded and spoke into his communicator. She kept work on immobilizing the patient, by the time she was finished there was the red glow of a transporter and a Klingon Bekk ran up carrying her trauma kit.
“Thanks” she said, pulling out a hypo and injecting that as well. “Remind me later, the fracking war is over, i’ll send a note to Admiral Crusher. She may be retired, but if she can’t end that export ban, talk to my brother. He can probably find some on the civil market.”
The lethean just nodded, monitoring the tricorder. “She’s stable, if we get her on a neural stimulator once she’s able to be moved, she might have a chance.
Rhonda tested the foams hardness. “Should be good now, you taking her to the Herdthinner?”
“Yes, it’s more secure, and from the way that one ear is glaring, that’s probably a good thing.”
She stood up, as Zimehoz and the Bekk beamed out with the fem, leaving her alone in the ring with the Lorecaller. The Lorecaller’s fur was still a bit puffed out, but she composed herself. “Traditionally in events such as these, the victor gets to decide if the one who submitted lives or not..with your actions I don’t think that’s in question.”
Rhonda just shook her head “No. No one dies on my watch if Ah can help it.”
Giving a glare to G’rrachhht for causing all of this, on today of all days, the Lorecaller simply nodded. “Then I declare you victor by submission.” as the crowd erupted.
Two days later, awaiting departure clearance
It had been touch and go. Once she had been able to get clear and get dressed, Rhonda had beamed up to the Herdthinner. It was a tricky operation, one Zimehoz was aptly able to do-but one that having a second set of skilled hands made much more likely for a successful outcome. The young ferasan fem had been disowned by her sire for failure, which meant-
“What do you mean she’s mine?”
K’Tirr simply grinned “you spared her life and saved her. She is not of age, she is a fem-I know, that should not be a factor, but remember who we are dealing with here, and frankly, I do not think she would want to go back to her Sire if she had the choice.”
“It’s not she’s yours in the Orion sense” Nova added, bouncing Rhonda’s son on her lap, the kit giggling. “It’s more since you spared her she’s now your responsibility since G’rrachhht disowned her.”
“Well technically mine-but one of her nature,” the general said “I think she might prosper more outside of Ferasa, as much as it pains me to admit. Not to mention for her safety as well. G’rrachhht would make a rug out of her hide should he get the chance for the humiliation he has suffered.”
“Him or R’narf” M’karret added with a grin. “Just how much latinum did you win off him when you bet on Rhonda cousin?” he asked Nova.
“Enough that he’s having to sell his estate to pay all the bets, not just mine.”
“Which happen to border ours, and I snapped up. More land means more defenses-though I will have to raze that ugly old den he calls a fortress.” The General grinned at the thought of the howls R’narf would make.
“Well.. she’s how old?” Rhonda asked.
“Fourteen.”
She chewed her lip “And she was..nevermind. Her father made her do it. I think that maybe sending her to stay with my parents if they’ll be ok with that might be the best solution-then let her decide where to go when she’s older.”
“That would probably be best.” Nova agreed. “As soon as Zimehoz clears her for travel I’ll take her there myself, I need to run some errands near Risa anyway.”
The Leathan nodded “it will be a few weeks, I want to be sure she’s fully healed. Spinal injuries can be tricky.
”
Rhonda sighed “Still, i’m sorry for causing you so much trouble.”
“Trouble?” K’Tirr threw back his head and laughed “My hidden enemies are out in the open, my open enemies are humiliated or bankrupt, those who supported me in silent now stand openly with me, and I am richer than a Ferengi miser. If this is how you cause me trouble, please continue!”
Captain Evans just shook her head and chuckled. “Just remember that when I get called back out this way, sooner or later. Hopefully sooner” she said, giving Nova a wink.
“Oh?”
Zimehoz laughed. “I may be capable of putting your ragged hide back together sir-but there’s no way i’m trained or ready to handle viviparous mammal birthing. Captain Evans on the other hand is trained in such. You are nobility now, and as such an heir or three would be a good thing.”
The general nearly poofed out in surprise. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Not yet” Nova replied. “Too soon to tell, but you never know..”
At that moment M’Karret’s combadge chirped. “Your departure clearance is authorized, you may depart at will.”
“Politics” The Ferasan General snorted “they wanted to make sure you weren’t smuggling anything out of here.”
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, nor are bridges” the Caitian Captain replied. “I doubt I’d have the pull to get you off Cait without security poking their noses in your gear locker either.”
“True. oh, there is one thing.” Rhonda and M’karret paused as they were getting their bags back from the security Bekk, “his name. I do need to list him in the clan records.”
“...Ferasan’s don’t give their kits names until they earn them,” Rhonda answered “and we knew of that tradition..”
“He is also a Federation citizen, and I am familiar with their bureaucracy-they can’t do anything without labeling it.” K’Tirr replied with a grin.“Besides, is it not a Caitian tradition, to give their child a name of someone to look up to?”
“Also, I know your mom Rhonda hun” Nova said as she handed the sleeping baby back over. “I know there is no way she didn’t have several dozen baby names picked out months before for her first grandchild.”
She blushed, a bit hard to see but for those that knew. “Yeah guilty on both charges.” she held him up, the kit mewing softly in his sleep. “We named him Michael Q Evans.”
“What’s the Q for?”
“Just Q.”
It took Nova a second. “Oh Gods..he’s going to be insufferable when he finds out.”
Fin
"he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."
Somewhere in the Beta Quadrant Transwarp network, destination Alpha Centauri.
Stardate 93515.08: July 7th, 2416
Captains Stephen and Ross McCode sat at the pilot and co-pilot seats of the Yellowstone-class Runabout, their faces expressionless and staring stonily out of the front window. To this point, neither of the cousins had been in much of a mood to discuss the awkwardness of the current situation. The third member of their party, LTCDR Georgine Boughmer, was currently in one of the rear compartments.
Task Force 7 had recently returned from deep in the Delta Quadrant, where it was helping the Delta Alliance establish a trade and military hub in the no man’s land between Borg and Voth space, as well as bolster the allied defensive capability in the area and investigate a sudden resurgence in the strength of the Borg Collective. The Seventh was currently at the Regulus shipyards for maintenance, repair and shore leave.
Some time during the Iconian War, Ross McCode and Georgine Boughmer had become a couple. The two had been serving in the same squadron at the time; the same squadron, as it happened, that Stephen McCode was the commanding officer of. Further complicating matters was the fact that Boughmer was the Chief Science Officer aboard Stephen’s ship.
It had only been when Ross had been reassigned to 742 when the war-depleted squadron had reformed under the command of Emeria Neves, Stephen’s previous 2IC, that either one had confessed to him what had been going on. It wasn’t that he was jealous - he genuinely liked Georgine. The intelligent, attractive officer was exceedingly good at what she did, but Stephen had only ever seen her as a subordinate - albeit a very good one. When the time came, her promotion to full commander would be a mere formality. What annoyed was that they felt they could not approach him. They had said it was the ongoing war and not wanting to distract anybody, but the old doubts nagged at him: was he still that aloof and unapproachable?
Ross had always been something of a ladies man and his attention had been what was required to bring the career-focussed Georgine out of her shell a bit. Stephen had noted the extra confidence with which she now ran her science department, while Emeria had mentioned that some of the… ‘carefree enthusiasm’ had gone out of Ross’s captaincy. She had shot him a brief glare when Stephen had offhandedly suggested that ‘carefree enthusiasm’ was a euphemism for ‘recklessness’.
But to say Ross wasn’t happy at what had transpired in the last couple of days would be an understatement. Georgine had arranged to return to her home system in order to introduce her new beau to the folks. However at some point, she had mentioned that her commanding officer was a childless divorcee whose parents had both died years ago. The Boughmers had obviously taken pity at this and immediately invited Stephen along as well.
What she had neglected to mention was that her new boyfriend and her commanding officer were related, and that their relationship had been through its fractious moments…
It was Ross who eventually broke the silence.
“You’re still going elsewhere first and turning up for dinner later on, right?”
Stephen sighed. “Yes, you’ll have the future in-laws to yourself for a few hours while I visit some wineries or breweries or something. I hear Alpha Centaurans have wonderful hospitality.” He made a gesture of drinking from a bottle, grinning as he did so.
“Don’t you dare turn up drunk.” Rosscoe sniped.
“Oh please. If that’s the main concern it isn’t me they need to worry about. You’ve always been better at embarrassing yourself than I have.” Stephen shot back.
“On second thought, go ahead and write yourself off. Maybe then you’ll forget to come. Actually, why did you decide to come anyway? I’d made the mistake of starting to think that you’d stopped doing things like this just to spite me.”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because the galaxy revolves around you. Did it ever occur to you that the Boughmers are just nice people who want to do nice things for other people? Of course not, because you often forget to be a nice person.”
“Ha. That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Whatever.” Stephen said. “My point is that I’m not coming along as a chaperone for either of you. To be honest, I can’t think of anything worse. I’ll stick with having to be the one to have to tell uncle Eddie when you go and get yourself killed one day. As for today, I’ll come, introduce myself, eat, then make my excuses and leave. Like I said, Alpha Centauri has a lot to offer for visitors who don’t go for places like Risa.”
Up ahead, an aperture opened in the flowing silvery fabric of the transwarp tunnel they were in. The stars on black background of normal space were visible beyond. At that moment, Georgine emerged from the rear of the runabout. If she had heard the conversation that had just taken place, she gave no indication.
“I hope you boys have been behaving.” she said. “I bet you’ve had a lot to catch up on now that you’re not in the same squadron any more.”
The cousins exchanged a glance, before smiling back at her innocently.
“Actually, Stephen was just telling me that A.C. isn’t the sort of place you want to bring your boyfriend to.” Ross replied.
She grinned. “I’m sure he’ll have a great time, but we’ll be enjoying some of the more sedate activities with my parents. That’s what I was doing back there; the itinerary. I’ve just sent it to your PADD.” With that, she bounced back to the aft compartment.
Stephen watched as Ross grabbed his PADD and started reading from it. The colour drained from Ross’s face, at which Stephen turned back to the front window with a not-very-well contained snort of laughter.
“Pay attention loverboy.” Stephen said, indicating the planet ahead of them. “Starbase 8 will be hailing soon and I think I’ll let you take us in.”
“Because I’m a better pilot than you?” Ross jibed.
“Well, yes. But it might also be the most interesting thing you get to do for the next few days.”
"I still cannot sit properly with the awkward angle of this chair, not to mention the lack of cup holder. And why is it so drafty in here?" Sigon asked, suddenly paranoid.
Poroka, the Chief Engineer spoke up. "Sir, the targ cages are currently being aired out."
"Well, no wonder! At least the scent is good," Sigon realized. "Ah, do I love the smell of targ in the morning. Anyway, our first mission aboard our new vessel is to acclimatize to it, and I can think of no better way to do that than to celebrate with profuse drinking!"
The view screen displayed Captain McCary on the Bridge of his own ship, the U.S.S. Tsunami, several light-years away. "Are you going to acknowledge me on your main viewer or what? My crew is starting to question my ability to express authority."
"Captain! So, to conclude the conversation before I drifted off there, we shall see you aboard the Baetal to celebrate our new vessel!"
McCary rolled his eyes. "Dammit, Sigon. You are constantly partying! Don't you have enemies you're supposed to kill or something?"
"Perhaps. But, according to Klingon Rule of Drinksquisition 34: Never dishonor a barrel of bloodwine, especially if it's been sitting in your cargo hold for more than a week."
The Starfleet Captain snapped at him. "That's not a thing you guys do! Anyway, see you in a few hours. Tsunami out."
"What was that?" The sound of the viewer going off acquiesced with the movement of something small on the Bridge. Sigon turned, having sworn he saw something fly passed him.
Lieutenant Tenogh, the Operations officer, looked up from his console. "Sir? Perhaps your mighty Klingon eyes are seeing things. The Doctor said the effects of our last mission, that of which was the infestation of our previous vessel, by talking-and-humanoid-infecting-Tribble, would remain within us for quite sometime."
"I'm telling you I saw something more than your claimed 'things' and 'remainings'," Sigon said, taking out his tricorder and scanning. "Adding to that, I refuse to lose another ship to those horrible fur-spreading creatures!"
Bekk Tars swallowed, unnerved, recalling their last encounter. "That festering breed of Tribble infused us with their venom, turning us into them. We thought we had reversed it and the damage to our ship, but we were deadly wrong on both accounts. If McCary hadn't found the solution to the genetic invasion, we would all still be giant fur-monsters right now."
"His solution was to go through with our resulting pregnancies! And, as we agreed, we were never to speak of that part of it again!" reminded Sigon.
Bekk Tars nodded. "Yes, Captain. I will give myself 30 lashes, as per Empire protocol."
"It is tough, but it is the law. Anyway, I detect nothing here. Perhaps that little fluff-ball has evacuated to the corridors. You have the Bridge."
---
Entering into the corridors of the Baetal, Sigon started to feel even more paranoid than before. He passed a crossing corridor and, his vision beheld the motion of something flying by.
"Die, tribble scum!!" Sigon took out his disruptor, turned the corner and fired.
But at the turn, instead of a tribble, was Lieutenant Commander Gozer, a Gorn and the Baetal's tactical officer. Gozer swiftly dodged the disruptor pulse. "SSss'Targ hunting again, Captain?"
"Huh!? Oh, my apologies, Gozer," Sigon said as he realized what he had done. “You were almost Gorn with the Wind.” Putting his disruptor away, Sigon added, "By the way, did you see a Tribble come in this direction? It was what I was attempting to yell and fire at, simultaneously."
Gozer shook his reptilian head. "Sssssssn'No. In fact, it is my asssssertion that there are no tribble onboard the Baetal at all anymore. We did, in fact, jettissson our tribble ssssspawns out into ssssspace, once we returned to normal."
"But what if one or more came back? We know that specific breed was spaceborne, and could navigate the stars freely," Sigon countered. "You will assist me in The Great Tribble Hunt!"
The Gorn crossed his arms. "I can not further your delussssionsss, Captain. Besssidesss, that title wassss already taken by your people centuriessss ago."
"Do not correct me in my time of distress! You swore a supplementary oath to that," Sigon demanded. Then, "The Search for Tribble? The Wrath of Purr? Any of those doing it for you?"
Gozer rolled his eyes and took out his own disruptor. "That issss ssssufficient."
As they turned another corner, Sigon beheld the most horrible sight to be seen. The end of the corridor was filled with visions of tribble, crawling and vibrating all over each other!
"AUUGGGH! Their delightful rehash is so horrifyingly disgusting!?!?" Sigon took out his mek'leth and began hacking at all the creatures, incessantly. "Why would anyone partake in more adventures with you annoyances???"
Gozer attempted to hold the delirious Klingon back, but was incoherently pushed aside to facilitate the murderous rampage. "Captain Sssssssigon, no! Thossssse are our targ ssssupply!"
---
Entering the Bridge, Gozer helped a blood-covered Sigon to his seat.
"Well," Sigon muttered. "It appears I have unintentionally depleted our entire targ count. On the bright side, we will have triple the celebratory feast for the next few days! Qapla'!"
Bekk Tars approached him. "Sir, your behavior has been unacceptable as of late, and I am here to challenge you for command."
"Not now, Bekk Tars," Sigon got up, annoyed, and pushed the other Klingon to the floor. "The truth of the matter is, my Tribble pregnancy had a miscarriage. It is possible the incompletion resulted in a deficient rescinding of their venom within me, causing me residual hallucinations."
Gozer spoke up. "It isss more honorable to admit the truth of the losss of one'sss sspawn. Pre-birth contentionsss effects one in every four Klingonsss, and we should all have courage enough to ssstart a dialogue. Captian Sssssigon, would you like to see my ssscanss, confirming there are no Tribble anywhere on the ssship nor in the syssstem?"
"Yes, Gozer, that would be a great help," Sigon admitted, walking over to the tactical station. "And thank you for those inspirational words."
Suddenly, a nearing object on sensors caught Sigon's attention and sent him into panic mode.
"It's the Mother Tribble!?!? Kill her! Kill her with fire!!!"
Blasting disruptor and torpedoes out into space, the Baetal unloaded nearly its own weight in firepower onto the unsuspecting U.S.S. Tsunami. In no time flat, escape pods began ejecting out into space, leaving the Steamrunner-class Federation starship in near-complete ruin.
"What the hell, man!?!?" came the hail from Captain McCary from his escape pod. "All my stuff was in there??"
As soon as Sigon realized what he had done, it was too late. "Ohhhhh, warrior. By the rock opera voice of Kahless, I thought you were the Mother Tribble??"
"Clearly, I am not!"
Sigon moved around to approach the view screen. "By the Children of Grethor, I do apologize for my actions. They were not of conscious mind. You know the weird stuff that goes on in space. This time it was I, a male Klingon, who was reacting to my own miscarriage."
"Ugggh! And I got that ship in a starter pack from a third party dealer."
The Klingon Captain made a mental note not to shoot at Federation vessels anymore. It also appeared that everyone on the Bridge, including McCary, were now perceived by him as giant Tribbles.
"Well, anyway, who's up for that celebration? Blood wine for everyone!"
And hold me
Warm
Against your heart
I feel your words
The tender trembling moments start
We're in a world
Our very own
Sharing a love
That only few
Have ever known
Wine-colored days
Warmed by the sun
Deep velvet nights
When we are
One
Speak softly, Love
So no one hears us
But the sky
The vows of love
We make will live
Until we die
My life is yours
And all because
You came into my world with love
So softly, Love
[Instrumental Interlude]
Wine-colored days
Warmed by the sun
Deep velvet nights
When we are
One
Speak softly, Love
So no one hears us
But the sky
The vows of love we make
Will live until we die
My life is yours
And all because
You came into my world with love
So softly, Love
Andy Williams - "Speak Softly, Love"
F A M I L Y . M A T T E R S
USS Endeavour, 4 July, 2375...
"Are you looking forward to sitting in the big chair?" Cameron Kane asked, as across the table, Commander Jedda Tobin sipped her vodka spritzer.
Tucking her short-bobbed raven hair behind her ear, Jedda chuckled softly at her friend's question, and put her glass down on the tabletop, "I have been left in command of the ship before," she pointed out. "More than once, in fact."
"I know, I'm just making conversation," Cameron replied with a smile. "I'm excited to be seeing Marcus' family again."
"Family's very important to your people, isn't it," Jedda remarked, to which Cameron nodded.
"Massively so. To be an outsider, to want to be apart from others, well, the need to belong, to be a part of..." she paused, trying to think of an equivalent to the Pentaxian thought. "...part of a pack... It's fundamental to our psychology. Even the f'yD'Kn -- the nomads who live in the deep desert -- maintain a tribal structure. I do have a sister -- well, R'yad was created from the same genetic batch as me, and we were trained together -- but I doubt we'll ever see each other again, if I was ever set foot on Pentaxia, the empress will have me shot on sight..."
"So to be separated from your people," Jedda didn't want to embarrass Cameron by mentioning her defection, but that was the reality of the situation which had brought her to Federation space. "That must be difficult..."
Although her shimmering purple eyes never lowered from Jedda's gaze, Cameron couldn't bring herself to reply, and she simply nodded.
Realizing she had pushed too far, Jedda reached out, and covering Cameron's hand with her own, squeezed it briefly.
Cameron turned her wrist, closing her fingers round Jedda's hand in appreciation of the gesture, and smiled faintly. "What about you? Don't you ever think about family?"
"Not really," Jedda admitted. "My brother and his wife are expecting their first child soon."
"Doesn't that make you want one of your own?" Cameron asked. "I know that I can't, but I'd imagine that for any other woman...?"
Jedda chuckled ruefully, "With my preference? That's rather unlikely," she replied with a sly grin.
"You could always adopt?" Cameron persisted.
Jedda shook her head decisively, "Not all the time I have a career," she replied. "Adopting as a single parent can be tricky enough, but after the outcry following the civilian losses over the last two years because of the war, regulations were changed which massively restrict the presence of family members aboard a starship. The only reason you're allowed to be here with the Captain -" Jedda stopped herself, realizing what she was saying.
"Is because I'm a defector under ongoing protective custody, and something called General Order thirty four facilitates that arrangement," Cameron finished. "It's okay, Jedda, I know the situation. This is the life I chose. When I saved Marcus' life, I knew what leaving the Dynasty meant."
Jedda nodded, grateful for her friend's understanding, and continued, "With adoption out of the question, I think it's a safe bet that I'm most likely going to end up as some lonely hag of a spinster with cats for company."
"Aren't you allergic?" Cameron pondered, as she became aware of female footsteps behind her.
"Excuse me, Commander," Yeoman Hendricks said. "The torpedo inventory you requested."
"Thank you, Sadie," Jedda replied, taking the proffered PADD from the young officer, who then turned to walk across the crew lounge. The side door opened, admitting Fleet Captain Marcus Kane, and Sadie deferentially stepped to the side to allow him to pass, before heading through the still-open doors. Downing the remains of her drink, Jedda noted, "Looks like date night's over..."
Turning, Cameron saw Marcus approaching, and smiled broadly.
"We've reached the departure point?" she asked.
Marcus nodded, "The shuttle's prepped, and ready to leave whenever you are," he replied.
Lantic City, Caladan, 5 July, 2375...
The imposing grey form of the church of Saint Peter stood halfway down Sills Avenue.
Simon Kane's chiselled features split into a massive grin as he saw Cameron and Marcus coming along the sidewalk. Cameron wore a floor-length gown-like dress of cobalt-hued Tholian silk. In deference to the perpetual rain, her hair was completely wrapped in a headscarf. Marcus wore his white-jacketed dress uniform.
"So good to see you both again," he exclaimed. Moving down the stairs, he and Marcus clasped their hands together, pulled together, and slapped each other's back, before separating. "You're looking good, Cuz, but that beard's really got to go,"
"I rather like it," Cameron retorted lightly as the two men stood together. As close as brothers, the family resemblance between the cousins was striking: Both tall and muscular, with pale eyes, chiselled features and dark hair which Cameron still found a fascinating oddity. "Hello, Simon."
"Thank you for coming," Simon said, reaching across and kissing Cameron's cheek. "Estelle's inside with Mum, I know they're both looking forward to seeing you."
"Marcus? Is that really you?" exclaimed a tall, elegantly dressed auburn-haired woman who Cameron guessed to be in her sixties. She strode toward them, and reaching out, took hold of Marcus by the shoulders, holding him at arm's length, before leaning in to kiss his cheeks. "How are you?"
"I'm very well, Miss Carlin, thank you for asking," Marcus replied, automatically taking hold of the older woman's hands as she stepped back, and looking across to Cameron. "Miss Carlin taught Simon and I as children, before Dad moved us to Vulcan," he explained. "Miss Carlin, this is my wife, K'm'rn."
"Oh Marcus, you know full well that my name's Kimberly, and I think you're quite old enough now to use it," the elegant woman insisted, before turning to Cameron. "He was such an inquisitive, precocious child when I taught him, and such a sweet smile. Just look how handsome he and Simon have grown up to be. You'd think they were twins to look at them. Now, I don't think I quite caught how to pronounce your name," she paused to enunciate. "Kahh Mair Rahnnn?"
"Kuh Ahh Mair Rahnnn," she corrected patiently. "But 'Cameron' really is much easier for everyone."
"This must all be somewhat strange to you," Kimberly noted, looking about at the air and ground traffic, driving through the streaming rain.
"We have similar traditions in the Dynasty," Cameron replied. "A parent from outside of the parental unit, is known as Rh'wh'w."
Kimberly leaned closer conspiratorially, her eyes sparkling with humor.
"I meant the rain," she clarified, to which Cameron laughed.
"Oh, absolutely, no, it definitely doesn't rain like this on Pentaxia," she agreed.
"Now. I know just what these Starfleet-types are like," Kimberly said, slipping an arm through Cameron's and beginning to lead her away from Marcus. "How long are you on planet for?"
"I..." Cameron paused, and looked back to Marcus. "We're here three more days, aren't we?"
He nodded.
"Then tomorrow, we're going shopping," Kimberly stated firmly. "The fashion houses have just released their autumn lines, and you would look stunning in a Briony May dress."
"Okay," Cameron replied with a smile. "I think I'd like that."
The ceremony had been a surreal and somewhat isolating experience for Cameron. For much of it, she had found herself seated in the front row between Marcus, and Karen Lester, Simon's mother. While she had been given a pamphlet of bound parchment with lyrics, without knowing the songs, Cameron had simply stood silently, listening while the congregation sang. It was all very strange.
After a time, Father Dominic stood in front of an ornate concrete sink, the child in the crook of his arm, Simon and Estelle standing on either side. "Do we have a godfather?"
Simon and Estelle, positively beamed with pride, and exchanging a glance, they nodded silently.
Rising to his feet, Marcus stepped forward, "In the sight of these witnesses, I present myself, Marcus Darien Kane, as godfather to this baby," he declared. "I renounce evil, and all else which may stand in the path of righteousness. As charged, I name this child Lucas Leon Kane."
Sojef Peninsula, Ba'ku, 15 April, 2413...
"Lucas? Lucas! Say something!"
Opening his eyes, Lucas looked up at a cloudless sky, and a concerned female face, bald, and utterly beautiful in its flawless symmetry. As full consciousness returned, he realized he was in a forest, laying on uncomfortable rocks. "Kaathi," he gasped. "What happened?"
"You know who I am? You know where we are?"
"Of course I do," Lucas retorted. He began to sit, and Kaathi helped him into a seated position. "We're on Ba'ku, we've been camping. What happened?"
"You fell while you were climbing," Kaathi explained as she removed the synaptic stimulator from Lucas' forehead. "You broke, well, pretty much everything -- It was all I could do just to keep your neural pathways active while the metaphasic radiation repaired the damage. How do you feel?"
"I..." Lucas paused while he patted himself down and considered. "I feel fine..."
"Family, family is many things to many people..." Tekhav pauses, staring out at the assembled guests, noting the absence of Gregs and Berg, as well as Drake who had been called away, "Brothers, Sisters, through blood, or by bond, family, to me, extends to all of you assembled here, and that is why we have decided, you all need to know the -urggch!"
48 Hours Earlier
Aboard the U.S.S. Tempest
"Hazari, I need you to come out and join us!" Drake says, knocking on the door to he room, "You think you're the only one surprised by her reappearance, well whoop de do, it was probably Q..." Suddenly slamming was heard against the door, along with shattering glass or ceramic; Drake only hopes it was something replicated and not irreplaceable. Suddenly Drake feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Charley at his side.
"She needs time, Nathaniel, she wasn't ready," he says, "I don't think anyone was aware she was even here..." At that the other man chuckles.
"Except you," Drake replies, "And don't give me any nonsense about separate operations, you must have known she was coming back..." Charley merely puts his hand to the bridge of his nose, and rubs it.
"Of course I knew," he says seething, Drake taken aback by his change from his calm demeanor, "Two years from now, I stumble across her on an Aegis mission, where I see a look in her eye." The man looks up with dark eyes, and a grim expression. "You know how they say in time travel, you always meet people in the wrong order..." the man punches the wall next to the door, leaving a soft imprint into the metal, "Well damn her eyes, I could see the sorrow they had in them, the years of pain brought back when she looked at me, it meant one of two things..." Drake comes to a realization.
"It meant she lost you, either in a mission, or that you had to move on," Drake says, "And I'm guessing the pain in her eyes meant the former, rather than the latter..." Charley nods, and sits against the wall, sinking to the floor.
"Hazel, I let her know this was a possibility, with her being essentially just her 'mirror', there was a chance the same event could still happen, and I could still die," he says, "And then two years form now, she would replace Hazari, and be the woman whose pain would still be mirrored in those beautiful eyes..." Drake kneels next to him, and pats his shoulder, Charley gratefully smiling to the small, comforting gesture. "I'll try and get her down there to spend the rest of her time with family," Charley now says, "We both know how few a chances we have to spend with family, how precious moments of peace like this is..."
When Drake arrives at the transporter pad, his head and heart is a billion miles, and a few centuries, away.
\\\\\\\\\
Earth, 2011,
A Club
The blonde haired, green eyed man, sips the drink in his hand, as he watches the buzz of the crowd below. Catgirls, Carnies, Longbow, Angels, Hellions, aliens, mercenaries, past, present, future, a mix of good and bad and the in-between, even a seagull that could talk; everyone was enjoying the dancing and the beats form the lone DJ at the heart of this 'unique' club.
"Nathaniel," a sunglasses wearing, brunette haired man of equal height says, walking into view from a shadowy corner, holding a lime ricky, with a red umbrella and a colorful straw. Nodding, the blonde haired man sits at the usual booth, while the other man, smiling, sits opposite of him, and scoots in. "Been a while big brother," the other man says, "Getting tired of being one of the 'golden boys' of the city?" The blonde chuckles, and goes to say something, until their sandy-grey haired companion arrives, finally completing their trio.
"Drake, Nathaniel, nice to see you not fighting over which girl to flirt at next, or hitting on the Witch over on the hero side..." Sitting next to the brunette, Drake, the younger man leans over him in a hug, ignoring the rolling eyes and annoyed look coming from the recipient, "Nice to see you all survived your encounter with the latest attack from the 'other side'." Pushing him away, Drake brushes his shoulder off, and takes a sip of his drink.
"Well, you lived over there, don't pretend you weren't as surprised by the giant robots and swarms of rabid soldiers," Drake says, "War machines, or no, we almost lost a lot of good people, I'll be happy once we finally finish that tyrant off for good... we just need more power." Rolling his own eyes, Nathaniel swirls his earl grey, finally cool enough to not burn his tongue, and sips before replying.
"I'm interested in getting to know your opinion on how we fared too, Grey," Nathaniel says, "Your own history in that world would help us immensely, as Drake says, we need to be prepared with every advantage we could have, and knowledge is power." Gregory merely chuckles, before standing up and dragging both his brothers to their feet, and encircling them in a big hug.
"You guys, always so worried about what tomorrow will bring, why not spend that time here today, with family, in a peaceful place," dragging them on the dance floor, leaving their drinks behind, Grey takes one last look at them, "Let's have some fun!"
\\\\\
Risa, 36 Hours Ago
Sipping his cherry-lime ricky, ignoring his earlier tea, which had grown to cold to be edible, Drake looks at the last heirloom he had on him, the fading picture he had kept since it was taken years earlier, weathered by time and various alien worlds, but still colorful as the day it was taken. Drake stared at himself, his younger namesake, and his youngest brother, imagining what adventures they were having back in their own universe, in their own time. Shaking away the clouding doubts, Drake moves on.
\\\ Elsewhere
Sitting at the pool, sunning herself with proper sunscreen applied, Hazel tries to ignore everything around her, confused and frustrated. The liberated Borg woman, Romulan from the looks, though her long, white locks hide her ears at fist, looks at her from behind her own sunglasses. Finally done with pretending, Hazel is about to say something, when the Borg woman speaks first. "I'm sorry, I forgot I was staring, you just look like someone my Captain knows," the woman apologizes, green tinting her cheeks, "I-I thought you were her at first, but you seem to be a little to fair haired to be her; she has white hair like mine." Her anger fizzles, but her anxiety bubbles up, awkwardness seeming to grow between the two.
"I-I know, I've been confused for her about six different times, the past two hours alone," Hazel says, before she sits up and faces her neighbor, "My name is Hazel Mir Kaur, what's yours?" She offers her hand, and the slim woman returns the gesture with a smile.
"Jolan tru, I am Nilona, I serve aboard the Praetorian, under Captain Stormbaucher," she replies, "It's funny, you might as well be sisters, you're just as nice, if not more social, than her after all..." Suddenly she blushes, as Hazel awkwardly coughs away the moment.
"Yes, well, I'm sure once people get used to me, I don't think I'll be confused for this- Hazari person, after all," she says, "Captain of the Medina, on shore leave after I was sent an invite to a dinner party..." At that the Romulan woman brightens up.
"Oh, he was too!" Nilona says, "It turned out not that bad, though, because everyone seemed surprised you showed up, but everyone also seemed to think you were our..." Trailing off, she seems to go into a trance. Hazel waves her hand in her face, and is weirded out when the woman mechanically gets up and leaves her behind, as puzzled as ever.
\\\K.D.F. Alexander, in Orbit, Six Hours Ago
"Sir, we're detecting some strange signals on the planet, concurrent with chroniton and tachyon streams; it was only for a moment, but it was enough to pop on our enhanced sensors," a Bekk at the science console tells his commanding officer, the Gorn currently sipping an ill-defined drink, "Should we alert the Captain?" The Gorn closes it's eyes and ponders, before opening them again.
"Yesss, inform Berg that ssomething has caught our attention," the Gorn science officer says, "We will monitor the ssspectrum, in case this isn't an isssolated inssident, and make ssure whether ssomeone down there iss getting orders, or if it wasss a random occurenssse." Nodding, the Bekk gets to work contacting the vacationing Captain.
\\\Risa, Near Qwen's 'Establishment'
"Alright, keep searching,. it doesn't sound like a random occurrence," Berg says, "We hear talk of 'temporal artifacts' being scavenged by a trader around here, I was just about to check it out with Gregs, make sure everything was legit; Berg out." Closing the channel, Berg looks to Gregs, who nods and they approach the structure. A Ferengi was hunched over a table, holding some piece of machinery, when Berg and Gregs manage to walk up behind him.
"Arrgghh!" The Ferengi says, as he notices the shadows being cast over him, the setting sun lengthening them greatly, before he calms down at the sight of the two Captain's, "Oh, just another pair of ru- I mean, generous wealth seekers; come to help me find the profit I hear in the wind?" The Ferengi is nervous when they don't move to answer him, and he notices Gregs holding a tricorder in his hand, before he goes back to his table. "Well, let me just put this away..." Qwen says, before a gloved hand stops the Ferengi from reaching the device.
"May I?" Berg says grabbing the machine from the table, wires hanging from the pieced device, before handing it to Gregs, "It can't be a coincidence we find him messing with this before we got the transmission." Berg clicks his tongue, before turning to Qwen. "So... Qwen, can I ask you how long you've been tinkering with that device?" Berg asks the nervous Ferengi, "I mean, it seems like you've had enough time piecing it together; it's still incomplete, it can't send out messages obviously, but I mean you had to know you got it working again." He moves off, while Gregs sets the device on the table, taking Qwen's tools and going at the device, soldering circuits together.
"A Borg temporal node, or at least its temporal transponder," Gregs says, "A Borg temporal node, or at least what's left of its temporal transponder," Gregs says, "It's not what we're looking for, though; pity."
"You had coordinates set, you were probably hoping it would be real time communication you could use without alerting any legal authorities," Berg says, handing off his prize to Gregs, "Probably trying to open a new entrepreneur adventure in the Delta Quadrant without having to face the Benthan's again?"
"You're quite lucky you didn't mess with this anymore, otherwise you could have brought some very nasty people here, from the past, present, even the future," Gregs says, "It's a good thing we were here to stop that, Qwen." Bringing down the good sized rock onto the device, shattering the exposed isolinear circuits and other delicate instruments, Gregs looks satisfied with his work, dropping the stone onto the beach, landing on Qwen's foot. "Seems some of those 'temporal artifacts' you were hunting had various pieces of rare time travel technology, Borg, Vorgon, various things disfigured into seemingly piles of junk," Gregs continues, "But bring enough of those pieces together, and it's amazing what can be rebuilt; like a device used by the Borg to communicate across quadrants of space, even time, or battleship plans you could sell to the highest bidder and easily replicated with scavenged technology you could reverse engineer."
"It's quite a pity you never checked those plans, Qwen," Berg says, "You might have not noticed the mistake you made, but we just saved you from some very angry customers." Taking an isolinear chip from the table, slipping a replacement onto the table, while simultaneously patting the Ferengi on the back, Berg flashes a brilliant smile. "Well, it's time Gregs and I rejoin the others for dinner, we had just enough time to check and see if you were our anomaly," Berg says, "Too bad, at least we've only missed out on the salads, so... goodbye Qwen, have fun!"
The ferengi looks startled, before turning to his prize, madly scrambling for the isolinear chip he was minutes away from plugging into the Borg node he had rebuilt. If anything, this confrontation only proved he was on the right track, this time he had to play it smart. Pocketing the chip, and planning which planet to buy after he sold its secrets, Qwen merrily goes his way.
\\\Outside the Dining Hall
"So, why did we go after Qwen?" Gregs asks, "I mean, we knew he didn't have a working receiver..." Berg smirks, pulling out a chip from his sleeve.
"My crew informed me we were asked us to pick this up while we were searching for the signal," Berg says, "Temporal Defense let us know there was a slight chance that the wrong people could get a hold of Vorgon tech. there's a chance it was possibly planted information; a way for the Vorgons to get more ships by letting other people do the work."
"Like a bird leaving their own eggs in other birds nests," Gregs says, "Smart, but not worth missing a chance to spend dinner on a rare day like this." Nodding, Berg opens the door, letting his brother walk through first. When they look upon the scene before them, it's a symphony of chaos.
Scorch marks line the walls, blaster fire from phasers and disrupters, the table overturned on its side, as the knocked out forms of some members of Risian Security and their compatriots, litter the floor. Instantly on alert, they both pull weapons and duck behind the nearest vantage point, trying to ascertain who crashed their dinner party. Walking into the fray with weapons drawn, they find Tekhav being held by his throat at the hands of a human male in a blue tailcoat, with Sarus limply reaching out his own hand in a feeble attempt to use the weapon in it to hit the intruder. Firing off the weapon, it bounces off and shoots between Gregs and Berg, narrowly missing both men, and skirting Gregs' side.
"Now, now, my friend, it's not nice to interrupt," the man says, bringing his heel down onto Sarus' hand, and kicking the weapon away, "You've all taken up enough of my time, now answer me, where is the incarnate wielding Q's power?" With a strangled gasp from Tekhav, the mysterious intruder lets him go, and dramatically sighs. "Pity you are of no help either, but you two...I don't know one of you," He says, turning to Gregs, "But you Gregs, my, my, it's been awhile, but I'm surprised you haven't been killed by one of my agents yet." The alien Captain pockets his weapon, before slipping his hand into something stored at his back.
"I knew there was a chance I would run into you again Trelane, and it's a good thing I came prepared," he says pulling out an elegant cane, "I know your weakness, you know mine; let's part ways, since I know you're too weak right now to do any harm beyond physical, so leave!" Grimacing, Trelane harrumphs, before snapping his fingers and disappearing. Sighing, Gregs leans on his cane, before sliding to the floor and ending on his knees. "I'm sorry everyone, it seems Trelane's ruined dinner with the in-laws," Gregs says, smiling weakly, "Maybe we should have stayed for that salad, could have prevented... this..." Collapsing to the floor, Gregs begins to bleed out onto the floor, knife sticking out from his side. Insane cackling fills the room, echoing through the dining halls.
Dark Liaisons
By antonine3258
part 1
For the ‘Dinner with the in-laws’ prompt, ULC 26
Set sometime ‘before’ Temporal Reckoning but after Temporal Defense kicked into gear.
*
Admiral An’riel seh’Virinat had, out of loyalty to the Republic, served two master for years –being ‘seconded’ into Starfleet when the Republic logistic structure consisted of a few aging replenishment freighters. It had primarily been an information-sharing exchange; Starfleet finding it useful to have a warbird on certain, somewhat deniable missions. An’riel valued the training and expansion of ideas from a foreign culture – learning how to be a captain from a service with a long tradition had saved her and her crew’s – her family – life many times.
Most of the Republic’s rising stars had done time with either of the great powers before the Rihannsu had ascended again to glory. It’d been interesting, and other Federation-aligned captains had agreed, that the Federation had a weird, ironical trait – reducing entire species down to a trait. Vulcans were stiff, Tellarites argumentative, Klingons berserkers, Rihannsu tricky, and Reman as angry and resentful.
Most of them had some element of truth. The general agreement when Republic captains got together that it was some sort of social engineering, encouraging species to reduce differences in the Federation’s vast, improbable collective. The downsides had been obvious during the Delta Expedition – quick assumptions from Admiral Janeway’s fly-by had shaped initial diplomacy far too much.
But An’riel had never understood why the Remans had been described as a species with ‘a chip on their shoulder’. After the inevitable consult with the Universal Translator’s dictionaries, it still hadn’t made sense. What her people had done to their neighbors was inexcusable, a debt the Republic would take centuries, given their mutual lifespans, to repay in social engineering. The Federation had encountered shock troops and resistance movements and characterized them as ‘angry’.
An’riel personally and privately went with ‘creepy’ but in less emotional moments she would go with determined. Any species that could, in large number, bide their time and successfully find freedom after thousands of years of brutal oppression could do anything. It was her favorite stereotype: Federation stereotyping, and one she was determined the Republic not take up.
An’riel shook herself to the current task as she checked her dress uniform over for any imperfections. Remembering the infinite combination of viewpoints, and how to manipulate them – was the key to diplomacy, and she liked to go through her litany on the basics to keep it in mind before important endeavors. And Duty; to friendship and family, demanded she give her very best, but the work of ship had her behind.
Sure enough, her door chimed. “Come in – computer, drop lights to eight percent,” she ordered. Sparrowhawk complied, plunging the quarters into near darkness and leaving it lit only by the nearby glory of Mol’Rihan, New Romulus, interspersed by the shadows of the surrounding dock’s skeletal supports. The door opened, showing Veril, her chief engineer and friend’s gargoyle Reman features. Like An’riel, she was also in the ostentatious full-dress uniform, and with all her medals on, and more beside. She was also carrying a set of light-enhancement goggles, suitable for the occasion, enameled and gilded.
“Oh, good, you’re ready, I wasn’t sure the dockyard supervisor would let you go,” Veril said, looking around the room. “I barely managed to get away in time from the surveyor to get these ready,” she continued, holding up the googles. An’riel took them gladly.
“Do not forget, the last time we were here, we signed off on a nearly impossible repair job and then skipped the system,” An’riel said, as she fussed with the straps. Normally she wore her hair up, and the sizing on the goggles wasn’t working with a more formal style. Their last ship, the temporarily commanded Paradox-class Lexington, had its warp coils blown out in a desperate running chase through the corridors of time. It’d been worth it, since they were still here, but the dockyard disagreed, given the massive difficulty of replacing the ship’s coils with current technology.
“But Sparrowhawk only has a few scratches. The Na’kuhl may have tried but we patched her up right. She’s chirping along just fine,” Veril said, patting a bulkhead briefly, then her eyes widening as she caught herself in a reflective surface. “I don’t think this is going to work – am I wearing enough?”
Veril gave an experimental twirl as An’riel finally got the goggles on and powered up. She looked like a constellation through the goggle’s hardware, and An’riel nodded. She was wearing a tremendous set of jewelry, hand-crafted – standing for wealth, of a proper young lady going courting, along with a chest full of blood-earned glory. In terms of basic fitness for an engagement she was certainly ready.
“I think the Lethean one is upside down,” An’riel said. “No – second row, when we rescued the Fury-born, not the Q’onos campaign ribbon.”
“I can’t even pronounce half of those,” Veril commented, fussing with it.
“A third of the name is telepathic and needs their brain structure to make sense,” An’riel said, reaching over to help. Veril stood with eyes rolled patiently as An’riel fiddled. More quietly, she added, “I am sorry your father is not here, but Zden would be immensely proud of what you have become in the last few years.”
“I still miss him,” Veril acknowledged. “But from a mining brat on Crateris all the way to a fleet flagship. I’m not complaining.” Veril showed a truly frightening amount of teeth briefly. “And we definitely built a nice pyre for him, in the end. He never could have imagined the Republic. I’m proud to stand with you.”
“And we got Crateris back,” An’riel said.
“And the Republic got it back,” Veril echoed. “Me, related to a Senator? Dad would have a heart attack before we could explain what that meant.”
“I can talk pretty fast,” An’riel said playfully, and finished adjusting – there were a few other planetary and foreign awards mispresented she had discretely handled, but no need to hurt Veril’s confidence. An Admiral had staff to foist work off to spend time studying dress primers. A chief engineer had no refuge when setting up a statement of condition.
Veril looked her up and down as she stood up. “Yeah, you’re going to have to explain how that works some time. Okay, the goggles working?” she asked. An’riel nodded. Veril then double-took. “Oh, I forgot to say – Jieth sent an update in his last message, you’re expected to go armed in the lower levels now.”
An’riel slipped a holdout disruptor out of her side packet and set it down on her desk, and replaced it with a belt holster containing her well-worn plasma pistol. “I feel uncomfortable asking this, but –“
Veril assured her, “No, they’re not expecting you to accidentally uncover a Tholian assault squadron in the salad. After the Iconian attacks, they’ve decided to keep it a thing, in the lower city and the hinterlands. We have a home now. We’re going to keep it.”
“As long as As long as we can fight the Elements for a chance, yes,” An’riel said with conviction. “I am sorry, I would not think I had missed people going armed as a statement, but I only had an hour groundside.”
“Jieth said the foreign and military quarters are less overt. D’Tan asked since he was worried visitors would think the Republic was going for another War of Unification while the Federation was weak,” Veril said, rolling her eyes.
“That rumor again?” An’riel said in distaste. “Well, we are wasting time – there is only one person you have to prove yourself to this evening.”
“Well, Jieth too – we’ve not met yet, not really” Veril said with worry as they headed to the nearest transporter room.
An’riel scoffed, “Four months of messages, linked by friends of both your families. If there are issues, it is not a bad first impression.” She patted Veril’s shoulder – carefully, to not dislodge anything. “I am very happy for you,” she assured her engineer.
Veril nodded carefully as they walked into the transporter room, and she froze in mid-nod to the transporter rating. The whole bridge crew and a half-dozen of the older petty officers were there, grinning broadly, carrying additional small pieces of elaborate filigree and jewels. An’riel said nothing but beamed herself as she went to each, clasping their hands in one of the newly recovered Reman traditional send-offs.
Finally, they stepped to the pad, being saluted in the usual Republic style for an officer beaming ashore. As the beam-out started, An’riel did have to ask. “Tholian attack squad? Really? That is the pool?” They vanished from the room, leaving only the echoes of Veril’s laughter.
*
The New Romulus Reman district was built in the shadows of the city’s great waterfall. Even in midafternoon it was swaddled in shadow. Its color scheme had always struck An’riel as muted if highly varied with elements taken from a dozen Reman worlds. But under the goggles, the sculptures and reliefs sprang to brilliant life. She found herself nodding in appreciation as the transporter beam released her. She always admired a good composition.
Veril paid it no mind, as these were merely the usual mosaics. “The directions said Rhil’s is this way,” she said, pointing. The two set off through the dark streets.
“So, Veril, have you ever had ‘homeworld’ Acamarian?” An’riel asked to make conversation. Rhil’s had been an early immigrant to Mol’Rihan, and was apparently highly rated.
“We had some of their ship-clans trade the replicator rations back home,” Veril said, “So I assume…. Fresher? Maybe? It’s exotic, non-Vulcan, and you don’t need iron in your blood to eat it, that was what I asked when Jeith asked where to set it up.” An’riel nodded at that.
Jieth’s main job, after all was his uncle’s economic advisor as part of the Crateris delegation. Veril had known him back on Crateris, albeit somewhat distantly given the state of technology through the corpse of the Empire. An’riel had made the initial contacts and then left them to work it out. So far, so good, but one of her policies was not to micromanage quality.
They soon reached the restaurant – not done in the usual reliefs, the Acamarian style went towards bold clan totems. Tribalism hadn’t ever quite gone out of style in the Vulcanoid species, but the Acamarians literally carried it to an art form.
Veril, in spite of her protests, started to speed up as they got closer to the restaurant. She opened the doors, and An’riel followed, at the maximum speed gravitas allowed. She paused briefly in the entrance. The relatively well-lit exterior took a moment for even the goggles to adjust, showing the expected fanged horrors. An’riel swallowed as gently as she could, and went to find her monster mash.
*
‘Homeworld’ cuisine, from what An’riel could tell, mainly seemed to be spiced grilled meat. The smell of it wafted through the restaurant, with waiters bringing skewers table to table, and some sort of central salad bar. They were led to a back room, set off with screens.
An’riel had a brief moment to pat Veril’s shoulder before they were visible from within. Five Remans, three male, and two female were waiting within, most of them older, but the youngest done up to match Veril. At Veril’s gasp of astonishment, An’riel stepped forward to not lose momentum.
“I am Fleet Admiral seh’Virinat, introducing Veril of Crateris,” An’riel said, with a flourish of the dress uniform’s cape. She studied the faces. Jieth was the one with jaw dropped open – his grandmother Aiel and his uncle Tishkent, the Senator, along with his wife Mirta. The fifth was unexpected – more Veril’s contemporary in age, male. No one she recognized, though there seemed a brief flash on his face.
“Senator Tishkent, also of Crateris – introducing Jieth of the Republic,” the Senator said in deep tones. Apparently also a man with a sense for ceremony. “And, for myself,” he finished with a smile. “It is good to see you in person, Veril.”
Jieth stepped forward eagerly. Veril, smiling, stepped forward.
“Wait!’ said the man, An’riel couldn’t identify. “All the effort, and she chooses this Rihannsu? Who consigned so many of our kin to slavery of mind and body? You know, don’t you? I can taste your fear.”
“Mida!” Jieth barked, standing up. Veril grabbed An’riel’s arm, which was already at her holster. She flushed, the old worry of someone anticipating her still, even someone as close as Veril. But the thought of someone in her mind.
“I had the right to come see,” Mida said stiffly. Veril turned to look at An’riel, and a bit of borrowed Starfleet MACO hand-code, concealed by the Reman’s torso – indicated she should advance.
“And introducing?” Veril said, overly sweetly.
“Mida – a long-time friend,” Jieth said, looking weary. “He saved my life twice in the years before Taris’s reforms. And three more times after that. I could not forbear him coming to such a happy time.”
Time had been bought for the pounding in her ears to diminish and An’riel’s brain to kick in. Firstly, telekinesis didn’t run in this Reman family, An’riel decided. That look would have been deadly. There was something off here still. “But surely, those same bonds tie you to Veril, then, Mida. She joined my crew at Crateris – we fought the Tal Shiar, and the Elachi.”
“Yes, even Rihannsu mount rear weaponry,” Mida said, agreeably. “What few had access to a shuttle, while the rest cowered in caves, from drones and hunter squads. The silent killers, and their laughing masters in the Tal Shiar. Oh, sure, pat yourself on the back while most of the Reman were in their place, underground, in the dark. But when D’tan’s home was threatened, there you were.”
Veril signaled briefly. She saw the trap as well, but An’riel doubted she could see why either. “The Republic is not the Empire, the Navy is beholden to the Senate and the people,” An’riel said equitably. “We were a scrabbling few at Crateris – even bringing back knowledge that people were being abducted was a victory against the Elachi.”
“I was there as we brought more ships on-line and started to be able to build ships to defend all our people,” Veril said. “All those efforts everyone made to keep improving in the dark times, the subspace connections even as everything fell apart. We’re so much better than we would be as a client state. And we’re not clients to anyone including each other.” Jieth nodded approvingly, to Veril’s faint blush.
“Well said, daughter-in-law,” Tishkent said.
“You can’t!” Mida said.
“Mida!” Jieth said, “You’ve been holding this meeting up for months. This is the reason you want my son not to end with someone who’s fought with Obisek and both ends of the galaxy?”
“When it crushed our families down to this, yes! Mirta, you must agree! I saw the drones – where was the Republic’s bold Fleet Admiral there, hero of the Iconian War, in these years of strife? And she missed the grand defensive actions then – her history is based on picking and choosing. You must see it! Please, Jieth!” Mida said. “This is no leader anyone for you should pick.”
Senator Tashkent stepped back slightly, and then Mirta spoke, clearly startling Mida. “Veril, Admiral – please come with me to the refresher. There clearly are items to settle, husband.” Tashkent nodded briefly, and Mirta held up a finger, stifling another protest from Mida before gathering An’riel and Veril.
*
The three ducked into a very tastefully appointed refresher station. Mitra, face like granite, turned and bowed. “First, I need to apologize. You look absolutely lovely, Veril. I didn’t get the chance to say it. And we’re proud you have some powerful and capable allies.” An’riel matched Mirta’s bow.
The Reman stared, and An’riel could feel it briefly in her head. “My, so many masks,” she commented. “You are welcome to them - how can I judge, when Mida held such a passion inside for so long? But then, he does have some talent, more than most - though not enough for full control.” She sniffed. “He’d have made one of those ‘glorious’ commandoes in the bad old days, I’m sure, dead as part of the ‘debt’ our race owed yours.”
Veril and An’riel glanced at each other uneasily, but Mirta laughed. “Ah, I’m sorry. Probing for weakness is a bad old habit from the mines. You are young, Admiral. Though everyone is compared to me these days. The Empire’s crimes are not yours, personally, and the Senator, and I, and most of Crateris feel we owe you and your crew, and the Republic, thanks for your efforts against the Elachi. Though less of Crateris than I thought.”
“This never came up before?” An’riel asked. Mirta nodded. “Such fierceness for an old pain.”
“I would not have expected it, and would have set up for him to be unavailable if I did now,” Mirta said. “My husband is a fine orator, so perhaps some convincing can be done.”
“In five minutes?” Veril said doubtfully.
“I’m sorry. This is beside the point. Veril is interested in Jieth, and needs to actually meet,” An’riel said. “Mida’s issues are an issue, but.” She patted Veril on the shoulder, though carefully, not to dislodge anything.
“You are correct, the children need to see if there is happiness,” Mirta said. “But you have your obligations to the Navy. We cannot wait – Jieth in good conscience can’t send his best friend away; and if he feels he must challenge your credentials that is within the bounds of friendship. Though far outside good taste. I’m not sure how we could find how to solve this, and distract him to see if you are compatible with my son, Veril.”
That made An’riel smile. “A showy distraction to gather intelligence? Watch and see us work, Lady Mirta,” she said. Veril frowned, and An’riel said. “It was a challenge to our fitness, no? And he is not perfectly trained.”
“I should probably protest, but that’s Tovan’s job,” Veril said. “I’ll just save time and get some doctors on stand-by.”
“He is my son’s friend,” Mirta said, “If you two are planning to ‘disappear’ him, perhaps I should leave.”
“Oh,” An’riel said, “Nothing so permanent, but I will need your help.” An’riel quickly explained, pulling out a tricorder to cover some of the citations, leading to a dark grin spreading on Mirta’s face.
“You know this carries a strong element of danger, with his emotions,” Mirta warned at the end. “You’ll do this for the child? The Republic has few successful admirals who are also living ones.”
“Yes,” An’riel said, and stopped surprised. Rarely did her life feel that honest.
“So many masks,” Mirta repeated, “But only an absolute fool doubts how mnhei’sahe cuts through them. We will try your plan.”
*
End Part 1
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
By antonine3258
part 2
*
Several minutes later, they returned, An’riel leading before Mirta and Veril. It didn’t look like any crockery had been broken, apparently by dint of some effort. Tashkent was firmly seated between Mida and Jieth, and from the way the two were poised, it was only his will that kept them there. Some warmth spread through An’riel’s heart at seeing the look of hideous delight on Jieth’s face when he saw Veril, though it was countered by Mida’s positively toxic expression.
“Mida of Crateris – I challenge your assumption,” An’riel said. Mida blinked. “I challenge you here to the Fires of Will, that forges so none of the People can break. I will show my ability to introduce Veril.”
“What, you’ve mindspeak too?” Mida said. “Are you an evil Vulcan?”
“Haven’t heard that one in a bit,” Veril mused. An’riel signaled for silence, stepping to prevent Mida from making eye contact with her engineer. Attention needed to be focused on her.
“There are those in the Federation who paint that broad a brush,” An’riel said, “But no. I was not fortunate enough to I am not fortunate enough to be gifted with extrasensory perception. But may in the Forge did not, either. And they emerged purified.”
Tashkent nodded. “Ah, yes – that is one of our old customs, from the deep darkness. You really believe in this girl,” he rumbled.
“What?” Mida asked.
“You’re getting your shot, lad,” Tashkent said wearily, and finally stood, patting Jieth on the shoulder. “Best enjoy it.” Wordlessly, An’riel held her holster over to Mirta.
“I have no time to wait, if I am to return to the Navy,” An’riel reminded the both of them. “Come with me outside, and see my mettle.” She stood by the door with a sweep of the cape, opening up the room. Tashkent nodded, eyes like live wires, and Mida stood, slightly bewildered. Mitra went to stand by him, giving an abridged explanation, and leading him by the arm. After a moment, he also handed over his weapon.
An’riel held the door open, until the two left, following. Veril mouthed a quick thanks as she, her hopeful father-in-law, and prospective intended were left alone. That would be worth a lot. Mirta had apparently hit the dueling rules. The look Mida gave her she’d last seen on a hungry guard targ over the Klingon border.
*
A small park, studded with columns emitting a soft blue light, was nearby enough Mida deemed it acceptable. Mirta sat them both down at a table. “This is an old method,” she said. “You will continue until both of you cannot continue, or choose to stop. Only the mind, and the will is allowed.”
An’riel calmly folded her hands in her laps and stared into Mida’s eyes, smirking slightly. “Has it started yet? I thought I felt something, perhaps,” she asked.
Mida roared.
“I’d say so,” Mirta said dryly, and outside sound was lost to the pounding in her ears.
*
She felt a lashing at her mind, images, soaked in pain, was how she described it later. The first, the classic Eagle of the Star Empire, worlds in its talons, but the whole thing burning in thalaron radiation, a jade bird of death. There was a common nightmare. She laughed, and felt the Phoenix of the Republic burst through, lit by the Azure Nebula to a much more serene color.
“That’s a dead fear,” she heard herself saying, from a long way away. “I murdered it. Obisek and D’Tan murdered it. Everyone murdered it.”
The Eagle twisted, Borg circuitry spreading across it, with what sounded like Sela’s laughter in the background, struggling to press against her, into her mind. She could feel the heartbeat in her ears. That was an old fear, but some knowledge of the Tal Shiar’s methodology had been allowed to leak, to ensure no one sought to recreate them during the Iconian War.
Someone read my service record, she though as hard as she could, and she felt the cold, alien lines, imaged on top of a Warbird, as Simurgh appeared, shooting cannons at the Borg image, the Dyson Warbird her reflexive thought still of a reliable weapon, tearing at the ghostly death-bird.
“More personal,” she heard an old woman whisper in her mind. That called other allies to mind, especially Veril, as she normally was, drab work uniform, usually singed from some conduit pushed beyond its normal load by exotic technology. Tovan, of course, eternally reliable. Satra, often opinionated privately, and Jalel, the alien from the Federation, with all its possibilities and dangers.
Normally, her bridge officers, her family, carried around enough firepower to vaporize a small mountain, as they were sensible people. Rarely did it explode – and what contact she had with the outside world exploded into fire – surrounding her, a sheer rage that manifested as heat. Endless, without words, and little symbology her brain could assign.
Such passion could not sustain, but there was a deep well behind it, and she was not breathing –could not breath between waves. There was no such thing as breath. She remained though – pain was another old enemy. She had withstood it – must withstood it, again and again.
She was not sure how much time had passed, before ice cut across it, Mirta’s voice. “That is it? Oh – so simple. Medicine could solve heirs if that was it. I’m so sorry. That was never in his consideration.”
The pain slowed down, An’riel hoped it was fluttering – whatever emotions were on the other side, only what was sent was coming through. She worked to seize the opportunity – instead of simply thinking resist – she thought of Veril as she just saw her, glowing in the darkness.
The flames started to take form again, the hawk – and she shifted the image to Jieth as she just saw him, concentrating as hard as she could. The flames suddenly broke around her, and suddenly her body reported in again. Mainly, that she really needed to blink, her palms burned, and she had a tremendous headache.
She cleared the gum from her eyes, and saw Mida across the table, mouth working silently. Cautiously, An’riel looked down, finding the table splashed with viridian, vivid even in the soft light – she’d left furrows in the wood on the table, nails splintered. That wasn’t going to be fun to fix – stimulating hair or nail beds to keep an untouched image always left her mouth feeling like she’d been chewing salt.
“You really had the arrogance to think your pain was unique?” Mirta asked of Mida, sounding very, very old. Briefly, something flickered in An’riel’s vision, a world, instantly recognizable, now ash, a people’s home. Mida, said nothing exhausted.
“Is he all right?” An’riel croaked. Mida’s eyes flickered briefly, close to surprise. She kept her palms on the table herself, not risking standing.
“In the long run, yes,” Mitra said, dispassionately. “Getting this off his chest will probably help, and we can construct some plausible lie for my son.” She patted Mida’s shoulder. “He did, after all, save his life several times. And his skill is worth developing. Being able to sustain a mind-link digging that deeply for over forty-five minutes shows some real potential.” She stopped patting the young man’s shoulder – and he slid over, exhausted.
The two women stared. “Ah,” Mitra said, “Still impressive. I would judge this the victory for you then, Admiral. And well-earned. I look forward our families joined through your daughter and my grandson. She is a very fine young woman.”
“She was before I knew her,” An’riel insisted, and then coughed. From how her throat had been feeling, there’d probably been screaming. “She would have been fine as a freighter engineer, instead of me dragging her across all the quadrant’s insanity.”
“Yes, engineer skills are easy to display without adversity,” Mitra conceded, “But we do not choose who the Forge chooses for fuel, Admiral. Now, come, Mida, we will make something of you that stands without Jieth” she said, voice snapping. Mida shot upright – An’riel doubted his nervous system was quite under his control at the moment. “I will tell your daughter of your location. I would recommend some bedrest, however – and as Mida shows, you can stand, but would choose not to.”
In a whirl, the two headed into the shadows, leaving An’riel with her headache in the dim light. She looked around, considering. Perhaps I should have tried harder for the Tholian strike team, she reflected.
*
A few days later, An’riel was still in sickbay on Sparrowhawk as her neurotransmitter levels were monitored. Sure enough, the regenerators had left her mouth tasting of iron. Satra was finally letting her deal with the various dispatches and meetings proximity to New Romulus Command inevitably entailed, though it seemed a Reman Senator had helped keep the flow to a manageable level while she’d been stuck to light work. In retaliation, she’d taken Satra’s office as her temporary workstation, which usually kept her convalescence times to a minimum.
A viewscreen gave the view outside – the big command warbird was getting ready to leave the gantry for her finishing touches. Soon enough, they’d be out back in the Beyond, the brave talons of the Phoenix, against the inevitable dark.
The door on the office chimed, before opening – she’d not left it locked. Veril and Tovan came in, briefly saluting, meaning this was business.
“No issues with the resupply, Admiral,” Tovan said. “And those shuttle specialists have settled into the rotation nicely.”
“I do remember how well they handled those shuttles back at Crateris,” An’riel said., grinning briefly at “I am glad to get experience personnel – Being able to let Centurion T’lim take that position on the Cutlass open with a clear conscience was a gift from the Elements, especially since she deserved the chance to pick her section leaders.”
“Tishkent,” Tovan corrected, holding up a hand. “How many fingers?”
“Three – and very funny,” An’riel said drily. “Any engineering issues with the resupply?”
“No, we didn’t need that much,” Veril said, “We restocked our parts – added a few more graviton emitters to the loadout the way we have been going through them.”
“Any geoscientists joining?” Tovan teased. Veril blushed ruddily.
“We just got our engineer back,” An’riel said, “Subcommander, please do not break her.” She had in fact noticed from the transporter logs how narrowly Veril was returning before being overdue this leave cycle….
Tovan held his hands up, conceding. “Understood, Admiral.” He still grinned.
Tovan this pleased with himself usually meant… “Oh, you took the long shot in the pool?” An’riel asked. Veril groaned, and collapsed into a chair.
“Oh yes,” Tovan said, “Everyone laughed when I picked Reman psychic attack. ‘Tovan, that’s way too obvious!’ they all said. She’d see it coming!”
“Well, I did not, quite,” An’riel said, letting herself wince, briefly. Veril groaned again. “Oh, take heart – Veril. There is always the wedding – what possible bigger gem can be presented to a betrothed than a Tholian?”
*
Author’s note:
That’s it for this one – the challenge prompt as in-law was a little interesting. Not too much romance on the captains, but An’riel’s been managing Veril’s social calendar for a while. J
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
The hum of the ship’s life support system was barely audible, as the main engines were shut down. The room’s only light source was the bright service lamps encircling the ship as it floated within the docking cradle. Stark shadows cloaked many features of the room, yet the sole occupant was bathed in bright light as she sat near the window. Looking at the red surface of Mars, the Captain of the ship was silent, occasionally and absentmindedly tapping the PADD held in one hand. The other hand rubbed rank pips on her collar. Kathryn Beringer held a smirk on her lips as she recalled the meeting she left over an hour ago.
Without notice, another female voice asked, “That was an adventure of words, I must say.”
Kathryn was expecting the visitor and was not surprised her reverie was broken so suddenly. “You had something to do with it, didn’t you, Q?” She swiveled her chair to face the interior of her office.
Wearing a Fleet Admiral uniform, Q stood with her weight on one leg as she faked inspecting her fingernail. Her affect was playful and she curtsied. “Maaaybe? You should be thanking me for helping you keep this bucket of bolts.” She spread her arms wide as she opened a toothy smile.
“Yes. I suppose so.”
Q walked to a chair in front of Kathryn’s desk and sat down. “I’ll take that for a ‘thank you’. And you’re welcome.”
“Actually I really am grateful for your intervention.”
Leaning forward, Q’s mirth exchanged for seriousness. “I know how much you love this ship, I had to save it. Why would you let them do that to you?”
Kathryn shrugged. “Duty.”
Q scoffed. “Let’s be honest with each other. Omnipotence deserves that much, don’t you think?”
With a sigh, Kathryn resigned herself to the conversation. “You heard the Admirals, although Solaris has modern technology, he just looks … old. Moving to the new Resolute-class is what Captains like me are being asked to do.”
“’Asked is the new word for ‘ordered’, is it?”
“I think you have proved there are exceptions.”
Q’s smile returned. “Is there another barrier to the truth or shall we continue talking around it? This isn’t about duty, orders or,” she looked around the room, “aesthetics.”
Kathryn gently tossed the PADD onto her desk and then turned her chair to face a dark wall, one side of her face lit by the bright light outside, the other side obscured by shadow, trying to hide her emotions from Q. “Like you said, I love this ship. This ship.”
Standing, Q then stepped around the desk to be behind Kathryn, looking out another window. Her hands clasped behind her back as she waited for Kathryn to continue.
“Four years ago, I was ordered to abandon my first command, the Galatea. I flew that ship for a year before she was crippled in a fire-fight against the Klingons. Instead of repair, Starfleet decommissioned the ship and I was given command of Solaris. I have really grown into my rank since then. Borg, Vaudwaar, Iconians –“. Kathryn paused to look at the PADD. “I have lost a lot of good crew along the way, some of them because of my decisions.” She looked back toward the window. “I have learned a lot about what being a leader means; the guidance, the judgments, forgiveness and diplomacy. I found ways to make peace with myself while settling my own vendettas. All of that in this ship.”
Stifling a yawn, Q stretched her arms up and wide even though she didn’t need the relief.
Kathryn snorted. “Four years ago today I took command of Solaris, and today you saved him from the scrapyard.” She swiveled her chair to face Q. “Thank you.”