Unofficial Literary Challenge 34: "Moreau"

moonshadowdark · April 2017

Hello, everyone, and welcome to the thirty-fourth edition of the Unofficial Literary Challenge: "Moreau". The theme this month is the being in the worst place at the worst time.

Prompt 1: "Cult"

"During one of your tours of the mysterious Delta Quadrant, you've come into contact with an almost space faring species. They are aware of the universe around them, but they lack the materials to construct vessels of their own. They are friendly, accommodating to your crew and their needs and very hospitable. When it is time for your crew and ship to go, the leaders of the people have asked you for a very strange favor. They wish for you to take a few of their people into Borg space. One of your officers tells you that the species seems to know of the Borg and, in an alarming discovery, actually worship the Collective. They deem the Cooperative as a "false path", so taking them to the Cooperative is out. They WANT to be assimilated by the Collective! You have a choice to make: Allow the species passage to Borg space and fulfill their grand desire or deny them and possibly burn one of the few friendly bridges your faction can make in the Delta Quadrant. What do you do?"

Prompt 2: "War 3"

"During a patrol of the Delta Quadrant, you come across a strange ship. The captain claims to belong to the "Great Krenim Empire" and has declared the Federation destroyed his timeline. He has warped to the Alpha Quadrant to wipe out Earth completely. You give chase and come out of warp in his path just as he fires upon it. A mishap with your deflector causes a power surge and disables both ships and sends them crashing to the ground.

As your crew counts casualties and damages, your intelligence officer notes that the ship's internal chronometer reads that you were pulled back in time to Earth...2045. The height of World War III. Humans are killing each other for sport, law and order mean nothing and the whole world wants nothing more than total annihilation of their enemies. And you're caught right in the middle of it. Between your ship and the Krenim's, the technology in them could plunge the human race into extinction, thus affecting the universe as a whole. You need to get your ship working, collect the Krenim vessel and it's temporal weapon and get off of the world before it's too late. But be warned: Humanity is at it's darkest hours right now. Not everyone is as friendly as you know humans to be in the 25th century. Keep your eyes up, your head down....and maybe get yourself a gun."

Prompt 3: "Moreau"

"A short visit to a small colony in your shuttlecraft has concluded in mystery. Your shuttlecraft missed it's rendezvous time and was found several light years away, adrift. Though you were found alive, your ship's doctor has informed you that you have been genetically spliced with another species. Luckily, this region of space holds a clue: a story about a starship called "Moreau" that may be the cause of your misfortune. Your crew is already hot on the trail. Will they find this ship of genetic abomination or will you be the first part Tribble captain in your faction?"

As usual, no NSFW content.

The discussion thread is here.

The LC Submission thread is here

Index of previous ULCs: [/color]

aten66 · April 2017

SCENE 1: A lovely view of a Victorian-era mansion is shown, before zooming in on a large window, reflecting firelight out into the cold, chilly darkness of the night. The warm and cozy fire is shown in the chimney, before panning out to show a large sitting chair, occupied by the Narrator of this story. He shifts his view and smiles, and puts down his bubble-pipe, so as to speak.

Greetings and bienvenue, lovers of the strange and bizarre. Tonight a new anthology featuring reflections, twisted glimpses of realities that almost were. I'm your host for the night and I have decided to somberly, drolly, and monotonously, drone on just long enough for your inner voice to adapt to this monologue. I must say it quite an honor to be chosen to parody the Master of Suspense, but I find it more likely that these tales will come off as a bit... strange, rather suspenseful. All I really need now is some white face paint, a top hat, and a rubber chicken, and the mood would be set properly.

A laugh track processes, as a rubber chicken limply sails through the air from stage right, landing with a squeak on our Narrator's lap.

Ah, there we go.

Now, back to the task at hand. Tonight, for your reading pleasure, from Q's Anthology of Possibilities:

All the Best Parts

The Delta Quadrant was something Berg would never really get accustomed too. Sure, it was the closest to being home he had been in three hundred years, but that didn't mean he wanted to stick around. Take for example the situation he now found himself in, ship hovering over some backwards world, after having to dispose of some Kazon raider's in the area. Luckily they ran like frightened Targ pups, but the I.K.S. Kor stayed behind to undo the mess the sect had made by invading the local populace.

Berg knew this wasn't the Federation, heck the Klingons had done their fair share of backdoor dealings in the past, converting new worlds to the Klingon ideology by elevating their technology; but when it came to the Kazon, the damage was unacceptable from a social viewpoint. He could not fix the damage that had been done, but he could try to remove the fear and mistrust of the universe by showing no one else was as bad as the Kazon. That was why Berg was now on the planet's rudimentary orbital station, breathing in stale air as he followed a meek looking humanoid into their cramped meeting room.

Inky black sclera and scaly, grey faces turn to Berg in wonderment, as they stare at their newcomer. Berg of course didn't like there attention, but chose to keep his face as neutral as possible, so as not to offend this unknown culture. "We thank you for saving us again, Berg Eria'nos, of the Klingon Defense Force," the main speaker, a male, states from his post at the head of the rooms table, "The Kazon-Nistrim have been harassing our people ever since they stumbled upon us and our world; their attempts at exploiting our world's resources, was beginning to dangerously affect our Great Work!"

Berg was curious, he had heard nothing of this so called 'Great Work' before meeting these people, but then again he had just been invited down to this station at the last minute after all. "I am pleased that the Kazon have not harmed your people too much, Speaker Harro," Berg states, "I believe with some coordination with my Science officer, we can help your people make preparations to reverse what damages we can, and open up dialog between our peoples to supply you with any technology you need to make sure the Kazon-Nistrim are the last to pirate your world; perhaps even convince you to join the KDF and it's Alliance partners here in the Delta Quadrant."

"Yes, friendly faces and ports are quite rare now a days, what with the talk about the Warship Voyager's return to these parts of space," Speaker Harro states, "To have heard that they were part of your government's representatives was outstanding; if you could get them under your thumb, no wonder the Kazon-Nistrim fear you so!" Berg chuckled a little at the misunderstanding, and sighed as he thought about how to explain that to Tuvok next time he saw him, if these people joined the Alliance. "We don't have much to add in terms of technology or ships, of course, but your people are welcome to visit," Harro says, "Any technology you can give us will help us, whether you can spare anything to help our failing crops, or even building materials to help establish a space port for your people..."

"What about helping with the great work?" A younger alien states out from the crowd, causing the room to burst into murmurs, "Prove their words with actions, help us complete our great work!" At that Speaker Harro had to calm down the dissenters and take back the focus of the room. "I, Legate Claudio, speak for the people down below, toiling for your 'Great Work' Speaker Harro," the voice continues, "If we open our doors to them, they must show us an act of kindness in return!"

"Quiet, quiet, all of you be quiet!" Speaker Harrowing states, "Claudio, the last thing we could ever request, would be too inconvenience our saviors by asking them to help us in our grand work!" At that the room quieted down, but murmurs still persisted.

"Wait, wait, before you go on thinking we cannot help you, what is this 'Great Work' your people keep speaking of?" Berg asks, "If it is within my power, I believe I could help you at least a little bit." At the Harro looked at Berg with an air of indecision, before turning to his people, and back to Berg. He takes a deep breath before speaking.

"Berg Eria'nos, the Great Work has been the focus of our people for the past century, ever since our colony lost communications with our people, due to a solar flare causing most of our technology to be lost to us and our people having to retreat underground until our biosphere restored itself," Harro states, "We have worked hard to return to our people, to let them know 'we're here', but for the last five decades, our words have gone unanswered; were you to help us return home, we could bring the last surviving piece of our heritage home, and find the answers we have sought for so long!" Berg nods, conflicted about what to do, before the voice of the dissenter speaks out, and all focus turns to it.

"I volunteer to bring the Ark home," Claudio states, "As chosen Legate, let me herald our people's return to the stars, let me, the last born ignorant of our home soil, travel with you Berg Eria'nos!" At that Berg smiles cockily, before shifting through the crowd and finding the body of the speaker.

Standing tall over the bald humanoid, Berg puts a hand to their shoulder and smiles. "Very well Legate, we depart in three hours," Bergs says, turning to Speaker Harro, "Have your men contact my First when you are done with your preparations, I can't wait to see what this 'Ark' of yours entails!" Harro nods dumbfounded, as Berg says his goodbyes and departs the room.

IKS Kor, Cargo Bay

"Sir, just to remind you, I refuse to let you take these drastic measures just to please a few worms," Una states, "You owe these people nothing, in fact they are honor bound to you by right, and yet you humor them by taking an artifact with religious connotations and a dissenting member of some backwater planet on a, pardon the use of a Federation idiom, 'wild goose chase'?" The green skinned Orion had been complaining for the last hour, as the ship made preparations to go underway. Berg merely smirked at his First Officer's complaints, and moved his hand onto her head, ruffling her red locks of hair.

"Did I ever tell you it is cute to see you so worked up over nothing?" He says to the consternation of his female officer, "I know what it's like to want to see where you come from, to be braved and just say 'to heck with it' and stand up to get what you want, and make your dream a reality." Berg stops as he watches the cargo transporters shimmer into effect, delivering an alien box of moderate size, onto the floor. "Whatever these people have of their culture was lost to a natural disaster, something they worked hard to revert, until the Kazon-Nistrim stumbled upon them and bullied them into service," Berg states, "Hey don't trust us, yet, Una, whose to say we can't act like gentlebeings and pull out all the stops to be diplomatic, for once in our lives?" Una huffs, before quieting down and ignoring her feelings, as the alien representative approaches the Captain.

"Welcome," Berg states, taking Claudio by the hand, "It is an honor to have you here, Claudio, this is my First officer, Una, she is going to show you to a room after we are done plotting the course for your planet; so, please follow us to the bridge." Claudio quickly follows Berg and Una, as they reach the turbo lift.

Upon reaching the bridge, the three step off and Claudio follows as Una shows the navigational array to their guest. After getting the coordinates laid in, the Nausicaan at the helm checks them over, before he takes in a breath. Turning around, the man looks to voice his concerns. "Captain, these coordinates must be wrong," he states, "This can't be the correct area of space, the course leads us directly into the remaining area of space in the Delta Quadrant, that the Borg still holds sway." Berg turns to Claudio sharply, his voice calm and even.

"Do you know why the coordinates you gave us lead into Borg space?" He asks, "Do you know who, what, they are?" Claudio pauses, their face betraying their emotions, as hesitation shows. Quickly and wordlessly, Claudio goes for the choker on their neck, unclasping the device and removing what appears to be a small box on the necklace. Suddenly with a shimmer of light, Claudio's body becomes slightly extended, and figure more defined. "I think it's time you should come clean to us..." Berg says as he eyed the Legate's new form, "It seems our Claudio was more of a Claudia."

"You are correct, Berg Eria'nos, there is much we have to discuss," the true, feminine voice of Claudia, now states, "About the Borg, and other things..." Berg quickly eyes her posture, as it shifted from one showing less confidence, and more control. "My name is Claudia, and I worked for six years to infiltrate the position of Legate, just so I could get to where I needed to be, when I was needed," she states pulling a weapon seemingly out of nowhere, "And you, Berg, will help me take my package and myself into Borg space, to undo a grievous error my people made over a century ago... resistance is futile."

Edge of Borg Space

"You know we can still turn back, choose a different route rather than this," Berg says, walking around the seat where Claudia sat on the bridge, "Have you ever heard of the Cooperative, I'm sure you could just as easily get your answer from them; heck, they'd probably appreciate us not turning you over to the Borg, especially since you seem to believe whatever you have in my cargo bay is something that can no doubt destroy them..."

"I don't plan on destroying them, Berg, I plan on joining them..." Claudia says, "They have something I want to use, and the only way to do that is to give them something in return." Claudia turns to Berg and looks at him seriously. "You got me far enough, where I need to go you need not worry about," she continues, "I will take the shuttle and my cargo and leave you be, and you can turn tail and run, or seek vengeance on my people, like all you bloodthirsty warrior cultures do..." Berg raises an eyebrow at this but gestures something to the rest of his crew. They all move their hands away from their sidearms, as Claudia holsters her own weapon.

"Normally I would sate my crewmen's need to redeem their honor, truly I would, but you seem to be desperate enough to think the Borg have whatever answer you need, but the question is why?" Berg says, "Why seek out the Borg at all, why this farce to make us come all the way out here; do your people even know you came out here to do this?" Claudia sighs as the turbolift descends to the shuttle bay.

"When my people lost contact with the home world, the solar flare that destroyed my ancestors livelihood was not caused by natural means," the woman states, "Over a century ago our people were visited by the Borg because of our impressive technology, once we realized what they were planning to do to us, my people detonated a weapon capable of destroying all technology in orbit of the invading Cube." Claudia exits as Berg continues to follow her to the shuttle bay where her mysterious package had been kept. "In their haste to save our culture, they doomed our people to a hundred years of ignorance... or at least they would have, it the Borg debris hadn't kept my people from reverting into a primitive lifestyle," she states, "We had lost our culture and our livelihoods, but we began to rebuild thanks to the Borg technology, discovery sciences we never had even heard of before, managing to access the Borg files on nanotechnology and even the assimilation process itself and the hosts mental state."

She stops as Berg follows her into the shuttle bay, as she opens the shuttle to load her cargo onto it. "That was about the time my people managed to break into the Borg's files about inter-temporal travel," she says, "The Borg had discovered the secrets of time travel, secrets my people had been close to cracking the day the Borg came knocking on our door... so that's why I'm planning on cheating the Borg out of that knowledge." Berg stops in his tracks and quickly puts his grip on the mysterious container.

"What is in here?" Berg asks, "What could possibly be of use to you in keeping time travel out of the reach of the Borg?" Claudia smiles, as she reaches down to the side of the box, where a technological lock is keeping the box sealed. She unlocks it and begins to open the lid, revealing the contents of the crate.

"This, Captain, is a temporal bomb stolen from the Great Krenim Empire, which I will use to set off a chain reaction in the Borg cube that visited my people's colony over a century ago," she states, "By erasing the Cube, my people's contact with the Borg is off put by a projected sixty years, and in that time we could develop a defense against them to ward them off." Berg admires the pointed looking device, but shakes his head clear of his admiration.

"How do you think you are going to get that aboard a ship from over a century ago, let alone into Borg space, and keep it after you are assimilated?" Berg asks, "You would have to have a miracle just to make that happen!" Claudia nods, and reaches into the open container, and pulls out a vial of nanites. "You managed to identify the markers that make up a Queen, haven't you?" Berg says, "You're not just assuring that you're getting assimilated, you are making sure you keep enough free will to erase that cube from existence."

"With access to the Borg Queen's temporal communications array in her command diamond, I will be able to send out an order through time and space, stating the cube has been compromised and must self-destruct," Claudia states, "By doing so, the Cube will never make it, the timeline is altered, and the Great Krenim Empire will have never taken over the majority of the Delta Quadrant after revealing their true intentions as manipulators; Qo'nos wouldn't have been glassed by the Undine super weapon, Earth would have survived the Iconians final assault, and Romulus would have been saved from the Borg." Claudia faces Berg as he exits the shutttle and stares up from the ramp. "Your people are barely holding the Alliance together, the Beta Quadrant has fallen, and the Alpha quadrant isn't far behind," she states, "Your people have fled to the Delta and Gamma quadrants just to become survivors and refugees, before long the Borg will rule here too... but my projections say we can save them all, save them from this fate!"

"I believe you," Berg states, as he reflects on his lost comrades, on his cousin Gregs, and his friends in the fledgling Romulan Republic, "If this works, if you manage to do the impossible and fix it all, how will we ever know?" Claudia smiles sadly as she closes the shuttle craft door.

"We won't," she states, "All we can do is hope..."

Kyana Station, 2410

Berg is wandering the alien halls, trying to follow the red lines to the conference rooms, or so his newly appointed First Officer had told him. Berg was frustrated after going down the wrong hallway, only to bump into a grey skinned humanoid while he was not watching where he was going. "Sorry, for a triangle, this station is pretty confusing," he states, offering a hand to the woman, who shakes it in return.

"No doubt, though this is very exciting," she states, her black, reflective eyes full of joy, "The amazing work my husband and I have had the opportunity to work on, it has been quite amazing..." She does what Berg can only possibly describe as analogous to a blush. "My name is Clauda," she says confidently, "It's a pleasure to be working with you...?"

"Berg, Berg Eria'nos, my cousin Gregs is actually the one going to be working with you on the operation," he states, "My ship is just ferrying supplies to help the construction of the vessel... amazing work by the way." Clauda nods, as both turn to the window, noting the work in progress skeleton of the massive behemoth of a ship.

Fin

Scene 2: Fade back into Narrator and comfy couch, as the back of an object is shown in his hands, facing away from the camera. He smiles a sad, melancholic expression of emotion, looking at the object as if lost in the grasp of a sweet memory. He holds it up to the light to reveal a humanoid looking skull, with a Borg implant above it's left eye socket.

A tragedy, to open up the way for a new tomorrow, only to be caught in the undertow and to be dragged back down again. Swimming at the edges of an ever-swirling whirlpool, how, truly, can the swimmer not tread water? Perhaps the fate of the Tuterian's is the fate of all, the inevitable Death. Then again, who says this ever really happened at all? Who says these are not the words of a madman, in the fleeting of a dream?

Ah, well time to stop breaking the fourth wall.

Now, this would normally be he time where I say Au Revoir, or some such cliché, but let's be honest here. You not once noticed that 'Clauda' was spelled 'Claudia' for the first half of this story, even though it was fairly obvious I was referencing Tuterian's. See there, now you've checked to see it is true?

Do you feel better about yourself?

Good, because as I stated, this is an anthology, so until next time, this is your Narrator, signing off!

Rubber chickens start raining down on the Narrator for Trolling

Good night everybody!

antonine3258 · June 2017

Unity of peace - part 2

*

The transmission point and designated landing field was a good -sized facility, much of it devoted to the massive radiators the Nrimov had to rely on. With the laser buried below-ground except for some lensing, it looked more like a chemical plant. Only a small road went to it, though, with some very large landing pads for local atmospheric craft.

The mind-tone Tiriana picked up as she and Joryl directed the shuttles; spiraling around the UV beam of the laser, was military and watchful, not bureaucratic. And the watchfulness had some real fear behind it, but not for the aliens; the pitch remained the same as the two Type-8s settled in for a landing at the main pad.

Looking out the windscreen as she went down the checklist, she could see Mela waving cheerily with some of her crew, as Brigadier Vernin and his staff emerged from a small lean-to, obscured by the dust.

“What were they waiting on?” the security team chief; a Lieutenant Kyle asked in surprise.

“Helicopters,” Tiriana answered, “I’ve got a, uh, eccentric, uncle who flies them – really tremendous dust and windblast. There’s no runway, so they’re using vertical.”

“If you say so, sir,” Kyle answered.

Tiriana smoothed her uniform and waited for the hatch to drop. Vernin raised his hand to his head in a fairly complicated salute; Tiriana replied with one that did Starfleet Academy justice, at least.

“Shall we, Admiral?” Vernin said smoothly, gesturing to the bunker. Tiriana nodded, in some surprise – for an apparent major leader, the staff was small; only three other individuals.

“Of course, there is a limit to what I can offer before a formal Ambassador, but I’m happy to answer your questions,” Tiriana said, for about the third time. “If I may; I have brought medical staff to check Captain Mela’s crew – her ship is nearly ready, I’m sure she’s ready to resume her route.”

“Of course,” the Brigadier said, “I’m continuously amazed how many of you will fit in those tiny craft, though,” he commented as a squad of six poured out of the hatch. Mela waved again cheerfully.

“Well, it’s not a long flight from orbit,” Tiriana said, “We’re not too worried on life support for such a short trip.”

The Brigadier nodded, doubt radiating.

*

The interior of the bunker was air conditioned and cool; with a large table but only a few chairs situated around it. Tiriana was politely directed to a seat; Mela at one side – and hid a quick smile. From the feelings she was picking from the locals, that was the ‘foot’ of the round table.

“Admiral,” the Brigadier started, “Mela has told me some about your Alliance and the Federation, and how you are a large distance away.”

“That’s true,” Tiriana said, “We are relying on an artifact from the Iconians to transit from our space quickly; we have a high-speed network of transwarp corridors in our space, but it will be some time before they can be extended this distance. A realspace path between this sector and our home stars has been surveyed, though.” Voyager was too complex to go into here, if she could help it.

“Yes, but your government is very far away, and most of your major members have had spaceflight for a short time,” the Brigadier said. “There have been species active in space, or reclaiming space, for millennia. Our planet faced great wars; and is barely stable – we are a touchy people, I suppose. Your government has just finished a war with the Vaadwuar and the masters. I see no reason not to extend ambassadors, but how much support can you give for our allegiance?”

“The Federation is primarily an alliance for mutual trade, defense, and knowledge sharing, not a feudal system,” Tiriana said, “But setting up trade and technical missions for humanitarian grounds is very common.” There was something there, she could feel it on the tip of her tongue. “But Brigadier, we are relatively young, but have encountered hundreds of species. Some of our most prominent worlds celebrate multiple cultures even under a single government.”

“Yours?”

“Well, no,” Tiriana said, “My species is telepathic, it tends to defeat the trend of civilization towards bureaucracy.”

Joryl offered, “My people previously relied on a caste-based social structure, but we’ve restabilized into a more merit-based system after um, contact, with a neighboring species.” The Dominon War echoed through Bajor, but was far enough ago no fire hit Joryl’s eyes.

“Ah, perhaps the Federation is simply fortunate in timing and neurochemistry, then,” the Brigadier said, “Let me be straight; Admiral – we know our world’s position is useful, and how many ‘empires’ have collapsed in these sectors. We wish one thing of you; your ships are much faster than the likes of Mela’s, and you can bring it.”

“Who?” Tiriana asked, “The Hirogen? They are long survivors, but I warn you, they aren’t the best treaty makers.”

“The Borg,” the Brigadier said simply. “The Vaadwaur, the Hirogen, they have outlasted them all, and remain united in their original purpose. Only they remain, and they will remain. We desire no conflict; I beg you, I you are protectors of peace, to bring my people to them.”

Tiriana stood, eyes blazing. “You can’t be serious! There is no unity there – it’s one voice, and it scre-“ her statement was cut off, dissolving into a sudden transporter beam.

*

“-am!” Tiriana finished, finding herself in Delphi’s transporter room two along with the security team and Joryl. Deni was standing behind the transporter console, manning himself.

“What in-“ Joryl began, but Deni silenced her with a look.

“Captain, sorry, saw you had company, but we just cracked the nav logs we pulled off the ship- you know how we were wondering how Mela missed that harmonic?” Deni said. Tiriana nodded briefly, worried. “Well it looks like she went looking for something in this area.”

“That’s ludicrous, she had no idea how dangerous it could get,” Tiriana said, “But that puts a few pieces into place.” She tapped her commbadge, “All hands – yellow alert, get me a laser link with the Brigadier.”

“Yeah, I’ll be willing to assume she wasn’t planning to nearly killer her crew with an overdose,” Deni said grudgingly, “But false pretenses on an undiscovered planet? Rather not have to strip the security rota to come rescue you.”

“Lucky we may have caught them by surprise,” Tiriana said. She glanced at an inactive, but reflective console as the ship’s lighting shifted to warning status, checking the transporter hadn’t ruffled her composure. “But I think they’re okay with us showcasing such a ferocious power.”

“Well, give me some spatial charges and a map of their infrastructure,” Joryl offered, “That ought to shake them. Wanting the Borg-”

“NO!” Tiriana said, “We’re not starting a war, or being party to starting one.”

Deni said, “They are literally no threat – the worse that happens is this is beyond the frontier and we go around it.” Deni paused in mid-rant. “Wait – did Joryl say Borg? I knew people at Vega, and they want to meet them?” Deni actually spat, hitting the deck. The normal transporter crewman winced.

“Clear the room,” Tiriana ordered, the rapidly flaring emotions around her, were pounding on her. “I need to center; a lot of energy swirling and no target for it.” They did so – one of the perks of being responsible was also getting to give commands.

The transporter room was actually not too bad to center in; the massed containment fields and capacitors gave an extra layer of background noise over the warp engines. Given a little distance, practice through the repeated exercises helped her find herself, instead of being carried away on other’s currents.

She strode out after only a few minutes; her time was not her own, and as long as she had a core it would have to do. The staff she’d ejected were waiting patiently in the hull.

“Never figured,” Deni said, “Why you took an intelligence ship when they offered it. This is a violent business a lot of the time.”

“It was on the Mutara too, can’t avoid it as part of the job,” Tiriana said, “And it’s not like Starfleet has a very deep personnel pool right now.” She stretched briefly. “Speaking of violence, what’s been the planet’s reaction? Have they contacted us?”

“Their C&C net isn’t very fast,” Joryl said, “Lot of confusion going around – there’s been two messages to start putting control centers on alert that got countermanded. We’ve not detected any batteries warming up, but sociology figured they’d be more missiles than directed energy weapons for ground batteries, and the Vaadwaur clearly taught them to keep those mobile, though we’re not picking up clusters of high-density radioactives, so they may have good shielding.”

“Or being using something better,” Deni argued, “The Talaxians may be in the radio business today, but they could have easily shipped a few photon batteries in, and they’re used to not having the high orbitals, the sequence of stand-downs could be a signal.”

“A couple modern torpedoes might snipe on a fully up-to-date planet,” Tiriana said breezily, “But they’re so flat in subspace, they fire up an impulse engine we’ll see it in plenty of time, and we’re already at standby.”

“Fine,” Deni said grudgingly.

“Since the military isn’t in immediate response, anything on the civilian bands?” Tiriana asked.

Joryl rolled her eyes, “Plenty, but sociology hasn’t seen anything spiking outside their data model yet to indicate alarm – plenty of martial valor stuff, and the need to be prepared and unity, but no general alerts or emergency signals, yet.”

“Then time to take some initiative,” Tiriana said, “Main conference room, senior officers, five minutes, see if we can get a laser link back up.”

*

The link was answered on the first time, surprisingly. The Brigadier’s countenance was downright stony, but Tiriana could match that. Mela was still in view, surprisingly.

“My apologies,” Tiriana said blithely, “But we had an emergency situation involving the Captain’s ship that required on-site decision making.” Mela swallowed, visibly.

“Have you reconsidered my request – we would have great gratitude to your work as an intermediary?” the Brigadier replied.

“Brigadier, we are allies with a splinter faction of Borg called the Cooperative, but I beg you, for the sake of your species and everything within light years, do not seek the Borg,” Tiriana said. “The hive mind is not a sharing of thoughts, but an obliteration, to an animal desire to seize and improve. We have pulled people out before, in fortunate situations and great risk. Even the best of us do not return undamaged. Your people really seek thi?”

“Our people are damaged,” the Brigadier said flatly. “If you seek to limit us in this way, I must, as head of Planetary Defense, consider you the next invader to our system in such a long line, and take appropriate matters.”

The connection cut out. Deni groaned; Tiriana could not afford theatrics.

“Red alert! Full shields!” she snapped. “Maximize close-in scans, and get us some maneuvering room; half impulse, maintain orbit.” The ship hummed, coming to life as it energized, the familiar shudder of the impulse engines pressing Tiraina briefly into her seat.

“Picking up activity in the gamma bands!” Joryl said, “Shielded launchers.”

“On screen, if you can,” Tiriana said.

“Just a wireframe,” Joryl apologized – it was some squat landcrawler, at least eight wheels, with what looked like a blockhouse on the back.

“At least two meters concrete,” Joryl said, “Thermal conductive storage loops too.”

“That would stop any Vaad wide-scan, and anything of ours on passive,” Tiriana agreed, “What is it carrying?”

“Heavy neutron scattering spatial charges on some. Most are still on fusion warheads. Acceleration looks like high-acceleration ion thrusters for propulsion,” Joryl said. Deni pffed.

“Don’t forget this setup would be going for the sucker punch,” Tiriana said, “They may have telegraphed, but a pirate raider coming in out of warp would not be in a pleasant space, and they’d never see it coming.”

“Sir, Ma’am?” Joryl said, “Can I suggest quantity has a quality? I’m reading four hundred individual launchers, and I’m not reading enough pings for it to be anything but a centralized salvo.”

“Yes, definitely let’s see the far side of the moon,” Tiriana suggested. The ship gave a faint hum as the thrusters kicked in, lifting their orbit.

“Then their best bet would be to invite us down again, not go to high alert,” Deni said, “We’ve almost got their communication network to where I could make it sit up and beg at this point, so they had to know we’d see this coming.”

“Your analysis of the drive?” Tiriana could tell a plasma drive, but the specifics were for specialists.

“Doubt it can compete with full impulse,” Deni said, paused, and added grudgingly “Though missiles don’t need to be built for endurance, so they might have some tricks. But unless that thing suddenly grows a navigation deflector local space is energetic enough its CPU will be a radiation-riddled wreck before it could catch us. The important thing is they’re getting ready to shoot us rather than they can.”

“You noticed that too?” Tiriana said absently.

“What?” Deni asked suspiciously, “The good Admiral may remember that we can’t hear her thought processes aloud.”

“And if you captained a crew of Horta, you could go naked to work and they wouldn’t notice,” Tiriana replied, on usual measure. Waving off her grumpy XO, she tapped a communicator on her chair’s arm. “Sociology department, you have any more on that precis? I could really use it for comparison.”

“Sorry, Admiral, we’re dealing with a group still under aspects of military law – the ‘expected’ morals and behavior of civilians we’re still trying to cross-reference,” reported the section chief, “There’s an unusual emphasis on obedience above the baseline for a near-spaceflight species undergoing technological growth, but we’re not sure if that’s normal or post-invasion yet.”

“Launch!” Joryl said, “Four hundred kilometers apart – two ion flares, lower atmosphere. Looks like chemical boosters detaching, but they’re accelerating at five-Gs now.”

Tiriana exchanged a look with her second.

“Yeah, you don’t have to be psychic – one could be a mistake or someone jumping the trigger. Two that far apart, without a planetary network, is deliberate,” Deni said, “Definite, pure provocation. Not graceful, but you have to admire the classics.”

“Confirm tracking and warheads, Joryl,” Tiriana said, “Get targeting locks.”

“Spatial-charge impaction devices with fissile material coatings. We’d see some radiation exposure from direct hits. They’re projected to impact in five minutes if we maintain this course and speed, catching us as we swing around,” the Bajoran said, “Point defense standing by. I’ve got some evasive courses ready.”

“My console,” Tiriana said, and briefly studied. “This is just an arrow pointed away from the planet,” she observed.

“That’s all we need,” Joryl said, “They could do real damage to a bombardment station in low orbit, but anything with an impulse coil, a collision avoidance routine, and a headstart wouldn’t have any real problem. We could suck their power cells dry from five light seconds, this is a pretty desperate mismatch. If they’d tried this against the Vaadwaur, well…” she trailed off. Inhabitable planets were a relative rarity; life was easy to extinguish with a starship, and the Supremacy’s backs had been against the wall at the end.

“Yes, the easiest thing would be to acknowledge the state of affairs, and leave,” Tiriana said, “Delta Command would prefer peace, but we’re not here to provoke violence.”

“Very true,” Deni said cautiously, “So what are you doing instead?”

“There’s an old saying about the easy way and the hard way – but here violence is the easy way,” Tiriana said, “Let’s remind the Quadrant the Federation is more than Starfleet.” She smiled briefly, “Comm, get a call into Delta Command we’ll need an embassy team,” she ordered, “Deni – you’ve been bad-mouthing their comms system, so let’s get to educating them on the danger of a single supplier.”

*

Victory Square had been the capital of the largest government of the Nrimovs; before the Vaadwaur had introduced themselves via demonstration polaron strikes, clearing a zone for a cargo shuttle landing pad. Under the emergency powers, it was in common hands for rebuilding, but even the will for symbolism was no match to the economic issues of digging through two meters of quick-set concrete.

They’d thrown some review stands and laid down some traffic lanes, at least. It was a popular path, even as new monuments were debated; there was little to run into, with plenty of distance possible.

The quiet commute of the evening was interrupted, as every traffic signal in Victory Square and every navigation device went to an emergency alert, plunging traffic to a halt. Fearing another attack, cars were abandoned by their passengers, frantically paging their various commlinks for information.

“Please stand by,” was the only response, “For planet-wide broadcast.” All other queries were ignored.

A rising wind started to stir the area, pushed down from above, and people looked up, and then frantically threw themselves to the ground, worried about more bombardment, for there was a new star in the sky.

The wind pressure increased, but fire and death failed to rain down, even as the star failed to resolve, at least at first. Finally, it grew close enough to show shape; a six-meter cylinder, which barely clanged as it set itself down neatly, rocket nozzle first, onto the pavement. The pressure ceased, but there was enough light left to see the clearly local markings on the bizarre delivery from above.

“Attention,” spoke every speaker, simultaneously, a chorus of a woman’s voice – one, later learned, heard around the planet.

“This is Admiral Vexa of the United Federation of Planets,” said the voice. “We were answering a distress signal in-system and were contacted by your civilization. Our intention is peace, and hope to establish full diplomatic relations. A tragic accident has been averted, and we are returning components of your defense systems as a symbol of our willingness to peace.”

“The universe is full of challenges; your race has fought more than most. I promise to work with your government to help find how we can help remove the scars of the Vaadwaur. It is not easy, it is complicated, but we are here to help.”

The communique stopped. Then the shouting started.

*

The shouting was even within the inner circles of the military government, for the most part. The exception, in Mela’s mind, was worse.

“You said they had left,” the Brigadier said quietly, “Gone from your sensors, as well as ours.”

“They were!” Mela insisted, “And Starfleet has most of their military forces recalled to their space, they couldn’t fight a war if they wanted one after you declared.”

“But you didn’t,” came a pleasantly modulated Betazed voice, one Mela was rapidly coming to hate. “No declaration was issued, and Starfleet is fairly insistent on freedom of space for navigation, as well – Brigadier, I know you feel we can’t understand – but it is our deep desire to learn.”

“What have you done?” the Brigadier said.

“We literally had the blueprints to your communication system, Brigadier,” Admiral Vexa replied, “And we wished to avoid a mistake.”

“Our people,” the Brigadier said, “We always fought, overcoming the other has been our great stronger. Only the Vaadwaur were enough to unite us – how can you understand, if you have mindsight?”

“Because within my parents’ lifetimes, my planet was conquered,” she replied, “It was a terrible time, with long scars if you know where to look. It is an easy mistake that those who seek peace do not understand war; many of the Federation Council have a long history of bloodshed.”

“What?” Mela said, “Not what Neelix said – you’re genial, you poke around, you insist, with endless rules. And you stay out of it – admirable, usually. You’re the perfect opponent for when you don’t want to fight a war.”

“The Federation prefers not to be in wars of any kind, we can offer a lot more than that,” Vexa said, “And you’re underestimating what we can do; the Delphi is one ship, but with the Federation library I could build you a new literary tradition, cite social construct precedents on a dozen worlds, give schematics for upgrading your tech base to replicators…”

That had Mela looking a bit sick, and the Brigader interested, leaning forward. She could feel the waves, confirming the body-language.

“Peace is always harder than war, Brigadier – you should consider the Federation’s power in that regard – we worked for it in the Alpha Quadrant, and can in the Delta. Where shall we begin?”

*

Author’s note: Vexa has shown up a few times; usually with other characters. She’s slightly more normal, but still Starfleet, so the bar is high as far as capabilities.

I imagine an intelligence species where proximity was somewhat uncomfortable would have interesting problems before the Vaadwaur showed up. I wish them well. Peace is a long process, but one Tiriana can turn over eventually; information is light-weight, they don’t need that big a team.

cmdrscarlet · January 2018

To Walk The Plank - prompt 1

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The Chancellor of Trell, Wushar, stood on the transporter pad with a bemused smirk having just asked a question to Captain Kathryn Beringer. Metallic trickets in muted colors clinked as arms disappeared into the folds of his deep black floor-length robe.

She could not control her surprise. “You can’t be serious, we are talking about the Borg!”

“I am very serious. Thanks to the Federation, several members of the Perfect want to make a religious pilgrimage.”

Kathryn looked away to consider the Chancellor’s request, yet could only think of obstacles. “Forgive me Chancellor, but -”

Wushar chuckled to interrupt. “I thought this might happen, so allow me to be blunt: fulfill this appeal and the Trellans will join the Federation without further demands or concessions.”

“This is a very grave demand, don’t you think?”

“Maybe from your point of view, Captain.”

“Definitely from my point of view.”

The Chancellor scoffed. “I hope you are not trying to impose Federation values upon us this late in the process? The Trellans certainly welcome the benefits of membership without … strain.” Believing he had the upper hand, he became smug. “Correct me if I’m wrong Captain, but aren’t our Dilithium mines why the Federation wants a foothold in this region of the Delta Quadrant?”

Kathryn politely smiled. “The Dilithium is an interesting fact of your beautiful world.”

“Excellent. Please take time to consider the request. I’m sure the pious people of Trell would appreciate the results.” Wushar looked to the wall behind Kathryn as a sign he was finished with the conversation. “Until we meet again, Captain.”

Turning to the transporter chief, Kathryn nodded. The Chancellor was bathed in blue light and disappeared.

+++

Kathryn exited the Holodeck panting and dried sweat from her face with a towel. She stopped in the hallway when she sensed another person standing nearby.

Christa Harrington stood almost eye level to Kathryn and wore a bright toothy smile. “Good morning, Cap!”

Returning the smile and wiping the towel across her arms, Kathryn nodded for them to walk down the hallway and took steps from the Holodeck. Christa caught up and matched Kathryn’s quicken pace. “Counselor, nice to see you are in good spirits.”

“Always, O Captain, my Captain.”

Draping the towel over the opposite shoulder to Christa, Kathryn replied, “indeed. To what do I owe the pleasure? We are not due for a chat until next week, if I recall correctly.”

Christa placed her hands behind her back as they walked. “True. I hope you will forgive me, Captain, but there is some scuttlebutt about the Trellans, so I thought to check in on you.”

Rolling her eyes, Kathryn offered, “Their ‘walk-away’ condition to joining the Federation is … obtuse.”

“Well said, sir.”

Kathryn stopped and looked at Christa, annoyed by the retort. Another crewmember dodged past the pair standing in the middle of the hallway. Christa still wore an infectious smile.

Christa shrugged, “it’s true!”

After a few seconds, Kathryn started smiling as well. Walking again at a more relaxed pace, annoyance returned to Kathryn’s demeanor as she recalled the Chancellor’s parting words. “Whoever thought delivering a group of religious pilgrims to Borg space could stall a negotiation.”

Christa nodded at the declaration. “What do you plan to do?”

Kathryn slowed her pace and placed her hands behind her back in contemplation. “The Trellans have built a spiritual following around the Borg and the Cooperative is not an option for them; something about a ‘false path’.”

“So, Is this an unreasonable request?”

Kathryn shook her head. “It’s all relative. From where I stand, the Borg continues to be the single greatest threat to the galaxy. Yet, I’ve been instructed that the Dilithium ore found on the planet this deep in the Delta Quadrant is a resource Starfleet does not want to lose.”

Christa nodded. “And the price bothers you?”

“You and I know what happens when someone becomes assimilated. It’s a cost some Trellans want to go through!”

The pair reached an intersection. Kathryn backed onto a wall and crossed her arms, looking down at the floor. She then extended both arms as if to start juggling ideas. “On the surface, the Federation’s goal is clear: continued expansion into the Delta Quadrant. The Trellans want to join the Federation. Their sovereignty as a member, especially as a prospective member, is paramount.” She reached for rank pips on a uniform she was not wearing.

The counselor knew that was a sign Kathryn was deep in though. Christa rocked on her heels for several seconds waiting to see if Kathryn added more. After a few more seconds, she stopped and suggested, “It seems to me you have made a decision.”

Kathryn sighed and pushed away from the wall, walking toward a turbolift. Christa followed. The Captain looked over her shoulder and declared, “I am being ordered to sacrifice some conviction and it does not feel good.”

Unofficial Literary Challenge 34: "Moreau"

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