Author's notes: This was written in October 2015, as part of the Star Trek Online Forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #16.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #16: Prompt #2: The weight of command carries a heavy burden on the soul-- men and women have died under your command, and every order you make affects the lives and safety of all who serve under you. Given the numerous threats to known space, almost every officer serving in the Federation/KDF/Republic has been exposed to the horrors of war in one way or another. Your captain has been scheduled for a session with your ship's counselor. What do your captain and counselor talk about?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #16 In Session
The Defiant-class U.S.S. Dropzone sat out in deep space, doing its thing... Ship... thing... and stuff. Anyway.
Captain Samya and her chief science officer walked down their tight, limited, red striped corridors in a hard-pressed attempt at old-fashioned follow-along.
"A counseling session? You know I did all my post-Iconian-war trivialities on Earth, just a few days ago. There was a sibling-rivalry fight turned literal and everything," Samya interjected.
Mika maintained a furrowed brow of disapproval. "Except your sister turned out to be a Changeling. Not only do you have that to deal with, but all the holes your violent tendencies manufacture regularly, like your niece and those animal things, are interfering with Starfleet behavioral ethics."
"Ugh," Samya grunted as they passed the same corner for the fifth time. "Can we just enter, finally?" As the doors opened to the multi-purpose office Toji was occupying, Samya grabbed Mika's arm. "I'm going to prove to you how pointless this all is, and that acknowledging myself in Kyoto was all the ethic it or I ever needed. I'm referencing, of course, that time it produced all those Japanese Khan variants."
Toji, the Starfleet counselor already sitting, raised a finger in opposition. "Ma'am, Mika's presence is against regulations."
"A Captain's point supersedes the rules, Toji. You know that. I made you write a dissertation about it."
The Bajoran man cleared his throat. "Well, let's start with the Iconian War, and how you dealt with coming to terms with all the deaths, Delta recruiting and plot holes."
"Boring."
Toji checked his padd. "What about those animal things Qu brought back? Before their eternal existence, you hypothetically-murdered without hesitation."
"Pass."
He scrolled down. "You left your 10 year old niece with an alien you know nothing about, and Starfleet now reports they're both missing."
"It's like you're not even trying! She and that liquid mush are off having space adventures. She messaged me yesterday from the Orion slave trade."
Losing patience, Toji put down his padd. "Uggh. Fine. Then explain to me these: How is Shakespeare a viable life force? Or, why was Qu speaking French? And why do you never have a phaser?"
"It's out at the shop? I don't have all the answers, nor do I care that my methods excrete those questions. We're alive, and damn the consequences-- Shout out to Janeway. Aw yeah."
With no other ideas, Toji stood up; his voice changing with slight alien-resonance. "Then you, Captain Samya, side with a genocidal maniac! Your science officer was right in that you couldn't follow the rules even if you tried!"
"I may have said that to him," Mika confirmed. "I definitely said that to him. Also, my tricorder is reading a Bluegill inside of Toji, which explains why there was a pink tail sticking out of his mouth this whole time."
Samya took to her feet as well. "Oh, real original Toji's handler. You know the Changelings and Undine have the market on that, right? And I can follow Starfleet diplomatic regulations just as well as any other drone, drooling officer."
"Of course you would be an expert at falsification. We know all about your true plans, which the other Bluegills and I have drawn air-tight conclusions through from slimy, bug-like assumptions." Toji accompanied that remark with a leaping kick at her, to which Samya pushed his leg to the side to redirect. "Not to mention we're sick of your persistent bug hunts! We're not contained of mostly slime to be popped for your amusement!"
He then flung out fist after kick after fist, each one being deflected by her, courting no other response.
"Tell me, you Toji-worm," Samya talked, "What is it you think I'm doing? Let's chat. We'll hash this out, like bros."
Mika took a position behind her. "Captain, shouldn't we tap our commbadges in a classic Starfleet whine for security's light-weight aggression?"
"No. Clearly diplomacy is the answer to everything," Samya retorted just as the room filled with more Starfleet officers controlled by Bluegill. "It's your point. This is your doing."
An Ensign pointed at her. "Foolish rank-accelerated hack! We work for the Iconian T'Ket by extension over the Vaadwuar and will stop your attempts at accessing them, to what we can only phlegmingly conclude is to Sela-them-up!"
"Is that true? You really are Janeway-ing??" Mika's jaw dropped as she was over-taken by Ensigns.
Several more Ensigns began throwing punches and Samya dodged her head back, slightly, at each attempt, refusing to give in. "What?" she said, confused. "Yes, I may have set up a meeting with a Yridian information dealer, but only because he could help me find my sister who was abducted by Solanae."
"The Solanae also worked for the Iconians, in partnership with the Elachi!" Mika explained with a gaping Bluegill squirming all around her face. "Captain, forget what I said about behavioral ethics. The high-road is just a Starfleet drug we all take to inflate our egos."
Samya then kneed one of her Ensigns in the stomach and multi-punched all the other Ensigns surrounding her. "Dammit, who the Hell wasn't working for the Iconians?? Clearly, I need to temper my tactics."
"Ugh! Gah!" Each Ensign cringed and yelped in pain as Samya went around the room force-kneeing and force-palming broken limbs and shattered rib cages into each worm controlled flesh chunk until they hit the floor.
Seconds later they all got up, better than ever. "Oh yeah. They have super-strength," Samya remembered.
"Ladies." Commander Jarell entered the room with a silver platter. "Your phasers are back from the shop."
Both taking their weapons and setting them to kill, Samya and Mika took out each Ensign after Ensign until they all hit the floor, permanently. With Toji, the spawn mother, remaining, the two women laid constant phaser beams while dodging each of his lurching punches after punches.
"I'm sorry I just abandoned my ideals like some kind of Eddington wannabe, but I suppose your recklessness is more fitting than naught?" Mika said as Jarell watched Toji hit the floor in a hard thud. "And whatever's going on with our phasers is just going to have to wait to be explained in our next adventure."
Samya kicked Toji to make sure he wasn't moving. "Yeah, I need to be more careful about the holes I manufacture. Now, are you going to help me infiltrate the Solanae or are you going to sit around all day talking about your feelings?"
"No, ma'am; I'm ready for excessive, over-the-top violence that perpetuates morbid tendencies," Mika stood at attention.
The Captain sighed in relief. "Thank you. You were just misled by Picard-ism. It affects one in six Starfleet officers. You're fixed now. You're mostly fixed." She then turned to her first officer. "Commander Jarell, please see to it that Mika and I get medals. Good ones. None of that Palm Leaf of Axanar stuff."
"Yes, Captain." He bowed slightly before leaving.
Samya looked at all the bodies. "Let's drag these into the warp core reaction chamber so the other Bluegills don't find out about them. They sent out that message in 2364 and nothing came of it, but we can't take any chances."
Several non-taken-over Ensigns in the hallway stopped in shock and awe as the two ladies, hauling the Human meat bags, left sickening amounts of gunk and bug ooze in the carpets all the way to the engine room.
Author's notes: This was written in November 2015, as part of the Star Trek Online Forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #17.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #17: Prompt #1: Thanksgiving is a North American holiday that originated as a combination of harvest celebration and religious festival. Earthlings still celebrate it in the 25th century, but what did the nonhuman citizens of the Federation or neighboring states make of it? And most of all, what are they thankful for?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #17 What Are You Thankful For?
The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami tractor-beamed a distressed starship out of a decayed-orbit above the undefined world of Raatooras.
"Will you be alright?" Captain McCary, upon the Bridge of his ship, hailed and asked.
A pale, forehead-ridged Arin'Sen refugee named Tobias replied, "We will now, thanks to you. That's the last time we attempt a one-ship Kolvoord Starburst when leaving orbit."
"Seems like you could have just left normally," McCary suggested.
Tobias nodded. "Alas, we are victims of pomp and circumstance," he replied seconds before a Klingon Bird of Prey decloaked off his port bow and shot his ship down.
The Tsunami crew watched in horror and shock as the Arin'Sen ship went careening back into the planet's atmosphere.
"Talk about going on and on like some Betazoid sacred chalice owner. Well, they're crashed now," said the Klingon commander of the Rotog, after his image blinked on screen. "By the way, I am Captain Sigon."
Wide-eyed and in shock, Captain McCary blurted, "What the hell, man?? We were just saving them??"
"What? Why? This world is currently being conquered by the Klingon Empire."
McCary crossed his arms in distracted realization. "Well, that explains why it wasn't appearing on the shared galactic map."
"That map is too confusing! Earth is in the Beta Quadrant? I just don't get it. Also, what is the deal with your forehead? Your ridges look Klingon?" Sigon noticed.
The Captain nodded. "I'm one-fourth, but, like most part-Klingons, we don't like to acknowledge it, except when forced into the Day of Honor by a Talaxian or need to explain why we get angry. I mean, it's an exclusive trait, am I right?"
"I can't tell if your tone is sarcastic or naiveté. But, in the spirit of surviving the Iconian War, and for allowing our forces to be ordered about by the Kagran officer of unbelievable rank, I would like for you to join us at the tlho' poH Feast!"
McCary hesitated. "Well, I am keen to learn more about my mysterious culture, which everyone keeps saying is the least mysterious of them all by now. So, yes; I will join you."
---
Down on the planet, in an open square within a city center that was outfitted with dinner tables, food, and eating-Klingons, Arin'Sen slaves were being recruited and forced to truck barrels of meat and wine to jovial, indulgent-stuck war-mad invaders.
"Welcome to the Feast!" Sigon opened, just after Captain McCary and two of his crew beamed in. "So, targ's out of the bag, we've annexed this planet before. You see, tlho' poH Feast commiserates a time of thanks and non-secular worship, to express what we Klingons are most thankful of."
"Our tradition of cultural imperialism! You see, every year we return to this planet as a family, conquer it, and have a feast!"
McCary tossed his arms up in disappointment. "How could you ever think we'd be okay with that?"
"Because we're allies? Don't look at me. It was the Iconians that brought us together." Sigon slapped him on his back. "Now, come have some traditional blood stuffing and blood pie!"
Commander Morris turned to them. "He's got us there, Captain. Besides, I wouldn't mind trying the blood taters, to be honest."
"Fine," McCary said, noticing a lone Arin'Sen kid scanning everyone from the sidelines. "Just don't let things escalate into genocide, no matter how natural that may come to us."
---
Following the kid through an Arin'Sen communal area, into a poorly managed living district with tents and huts, McCary entered an unlit home where the kid delivered his scanner to his father and sister.
"Hah! Found the rebellion, and all it took was luck-based detective work," McCary opened. "Sorry about barging into your home, by the way."
From a dimly lit table where the two adults were, the daughter, Celecc, replied, "Well, of course there's a rebellion! The Klingons force us to rebuild our economy year after year, despite every now and then a small portion of us are able to escape via spaceship."
"Uh, yeah," McCary added, nervously, while trying to avoid eye contact.
The older man, Hemly, grumbled. "The time for Arin'Sen rebellion is over; vengeance must be taken, then repurposed, refitted and taken again."
"Father, that's not who we are! Our people rebel in our own, passive way and we should be proud of that," urged Celecc. "Just yesterday, I sneered at a Klingon, albeit so subtle they thought they imagined it, but my point was made."
McCary watched as Hemly got up, whipped his chair to the floor and left the tent. "So, you were just collecting data for passive-aggressive terror attacks?" McCary asked.
"Never mind our brilliant strategies! The old man acts weird every year at this time; always going off to the caves, alone, hypothesizing our rippled forehead physiology allows us to commune with spirits or something," Celecc explained, trying to cover her forehead.
The kid spoke up. "Papa made it work. Papa is the Sage."
"Whoa, an arbitrary statement with no context," McCary realized. "That's precisely the motivation we need to 'explore' more into this, if you catch my word usage."
Deborah nodded, confirming that she did.
---
"Do you think that kid's one-off claims about his old man are true?" Deborah asked as she and McCary stepped into the dark caves, beaming flashlights all around.
McCary shrugged. "They're a people who exist so another species can be thankful, therefore a higher power may not be so out-of-the-question, necessity-wise."
"--INTERRUPTION BY LOUD SHOUTING!?" shouted Sigon as both McCary and Deborah became surrounded by his Klingon crew. "You've allied with the enemy in an instinctive repulsion against Klingon kind!"
McCary replied, "More to the point that I realized what I was thankful for thanks to you-- which, in itself is a separate thanking, thank you very much."
"Don't thank me: Thank your pitiful appreciation for Federation values, which you clearly desire to express through action, like some kind of action-value paradox," Sigon cursed just before spitting in disgust. "What you fail to realize is that every year we must fight the Sage which spawns in this cave, and threatens to destroy this planet and its people."
They both turned as a hovering, glowing version of Hemly floated over and opened non-corporeal eyes at them. "This land has been disturbed by intruders. The Takarian people bare no witness!"
"Wait, those are the people DiaMon Cide enslaved that one time? Their Sages went missing from the Delta Quadrant eons ago?" McCary hesitated before turning to Sigon. "Captain, this creature is antagonized by historical misconception!"
Sigon replied, "Well, duh'gh! That's our version of 'duh' by the way."
"Cleansing by means of extermination!" the modified voice of Hemly declared abstractly as he began flowing bands of matter destructive energy.
McCary stole a bat'leth off a distracted Klingon and began hacking into the fused, part-corporeal entity. "Hey, my mother gave me that!" Klingon Engineer Poroka complained.
The other Klingons joined in and, minutes later, the Sage left Hemly's body. Hemly fell to the ground, bleeding and in pain. "Well, it's about time," McCary said to the Klingon Captain, by way of some sort of resolution. "I was wondering when we'd discover a real reason behind all this. It's not justified, but at least there's some level of honor in all these horrors of late."
"The what in the what-now?" Sigon replied, having been busy biting the head off an Arin'Sen sewer rat.
Then, Hemly groaned as Poroka helped him to his feet. "Uggh. Same time next year?" Hemly managed to croak.
"We wouldn't have it any other way. Qa'pla!" Sigon saluted.
At those comments, McCary's jaw dropped. It was apparent the warrior class was working with the Arin'Sen to use the Sage for their own devices. McCary interrupted as Hemly began limping his way out of the cave. "Uh, what? Are you saying this whole yearly invasion thing is just some kind of interdependent role play??"
Sigon hooked his bat'leth to his back somehow. "This is more than your simplification hullabaloo. We Klingons covet our reminiscings of real battles, and the Takarian Sage maintains that through authenticity. Like the Sage himself, memory is what motivates us."
"Except in completely different ways! The only justifiable resemblance here is theme?"
The warrior grasped McCary's shoulder in camaraderie. "And that has always been good enough for a Klingon. Come! We will feast on blood bread sticks!"
---
Later, McCary, Deborah and Morris sat at a table in the town square with the Klingons, as large volumes of blood-based food were placed down right in front of them by lower-class Arin'Sen servers.
"This feels wrong?" McCary hesitated in cognitive dissonance, seconds before taking a bite out of his Klingon bread stick. "Pass the blood butter?"
Author's notes: This was written in December 2015, and was a take on the Star Trek Online episodic mission "Sunrise", utilizing direct dialogue from the game. Some edits have been made since.
Season #10: Future Proof Sunrise
The Odyssey-class U.S.S. Valhalla sat out in deep space, extracting Iconian probes from its dented aft hull. Rear Admiral Cid took a seat in his command chair on the Bridge just as they were suddenly hailed.
"Greetings, Admiral. We've recently noticed that a star in an unexplored system near Ferenginar has become unstable. Find out why this star is suddenly dying, and make sure that it isn't going to be a threat to any nearby worlds or systems," came Fleet Admiral Jorel Quinn's sudden hail over the view screen.
Cid was taken aback the sudden appearance. "Yes, sir, but I'm not paying those Ferengi parking fees again."
An agreeable screen clicked off and Lieutenant Tetsu turned from helm. "Confirmed. Rather than stopping it entirely, we are to ensure any death and destruction is limited to the star system said horrors are to unavoidably happen in."
"Seems legit," Cid postulated, brushing his graying thin beard. "Keeping our focus highly localized ensures reduced brain aches. Now, set a course for Deep Space 9!"
Commander Raje paused. "Why?"
"I just have this feeling that we should go there to pick up a scientist. Feelings are a thing, you know. It's a thing we humans get."
---
After picking up Cardassian Solar Scientist Tanora Zuval at Deep Space 9, the Valhalla set course for the unexplored system Admiral Quinn mentioned.
"We've arrived in-system," came Arkane's report as the ship dropped warp. "Still no indication of what's causing stellar decay."
Cid raised an eye brow. "Well this system isn't winning any Okuda awards."
The Valhalla flew forward several hundred kilometers and began scanning. Tanora reported, "Initial results don't make any sense. It's as if it suddenly decided that it was no longer going to do hydrogen fusion, just heavier fusion processes."
"It's temperamental," Raje observed. "Pluto was the same way after Earth demoted it."
The Valhalla then flew for the next closest body in-system. Next to it, they discovered a micronebula. Arkane began reading an energy surge which suddenly turned into three Mesh Weaver ships!
"Tholians??" Arkane blurted. "What are they doing this far from the Assembly? Not to mention, they're somehow operating their ships with just two fingers on each hand??"
Cid stepped up. "Now's not the time for appendage-based speculation. Return the shooting of the things! Weapons, I mean."
Opening fire, the Mesh Weavers began circling and inflicting serious damage against the Odyssey-class vessel. Flashbacks to incessant Iconian battles rang through Cid's head. "Maintain shields! Return fire! And where is that raktajino I ordered?!?"
The Valhalla swung around and fired a multitude of phaser beams and quantum torpedoes into the Tholian ships. One ship exploded, then a simul-spread of eight Starfleet-issue torpedoes, shot out in close-range, blew the other two Mesh Weavers to pieces.
"Data's coming in now," Tanora returned to her console as the action died down. "Looks like there's some heavy ionization on the far side of the nebula. It's as if it's receiving some kind of reflected radiation from one of the gas giants."
Raje pointed. "Helm! Slightly nudge us in that direction."
"Activating nudge subroutines," Tetsu declared.
Cid nodded. Approaching the spectacular blue-hazed, asteroid-orbited, gas giant, Nova began reporting more of her incoming data. "We're reading a few metallic asteroids and some low-level radiation."
"Naturally occurring metal? Impossible!" Cid declared. "Oh, no, wait. I'm thinking of mettle. Now that takes Kirk-level resourcefulness starship Captains have been copycatting for centuries."
Tetsu brought the ship closer to one of the moons orbiting the gas giant. Upon scanning, Nova made a discovery. "Admiral, I'm picking up comm traffic. One of these moons is inhabited! I'm picking up a few low-power warp trails! A few!"
"If this is a warp-capable society, when we make First Contact, I may unintentionally do a Picard impression," Cid started. "If so, you are to act like that's normal."
Suddenly the screen clicked on, and an unknown alien woman, pink, bald, with slender, forehead ridges, addressed them. "This is Administrator Kuumaarke. Please provide identification."
"This is Admiral Cid of the U.S.S. Valhalla. I represent the United Federation of Planets in much the same way a Ferengi represents kyphosis sufferers."
Kuumaarke replied from her ship, "Welcome to Lukari. We have a solar probe ready that contains the booster module that needs to be fired into the star. Could your ship get a trajectory plot so that we can set a preprogrammed course?"
"We'll look into it," Cid replied. "Are six to eight weeks okay? Hah! Just kidding. Science is our main thing."
At that, Cid and Nova began plotting the trajectories, after which they transmitted the information to Kuumaarke. Seconds later, the mission was underway.
"It's gone to warp!" Kuumaarke reported. "The probe is arriving at the solar corona. Deploying chromodynamic booster..."
But there was no response, only confirmation of a hard and difficult truth.
"No effect," Kuumaarke's voice dropped. "It didn't work. Repeat. It didn't work."
Cid was hit with flashes of Iconian War failure: The assault on their people, Sela's fury, and wave after wave of Herald and solar probe attack. He then saw Kuumaarke take notice. "Oh, uh, next time, then."
"Thank you for trying to help," a weary Kuumaarke replied in defeat before cutting out.
Arkane's console alerted. "Sir, an unknown vessel is entering the system. Small, but can't get a reading through its hull."
Seconds later, a grey-skinned man appeared on screen. "My name is Kal Dano. Looks like I've arrived at the perfect...... time?"
"Whoa!?" Cid jumped back at the remark. "A time traveler??"
Kal Dano continued. "How'd you know? Anyway, I'm here to help with the problem with this star. I'm a scientist as well."
"Okay, but we need to digest this first— Like, what's your favourite Edge of Ettiquette song right now?" Cid asked.
Shaking his head, Kal explained, "If my plans were sinister, I'd just leave and let the star run its course."
"Fine. But later, I want a copy of that tiny ship for the Federation," Cid suggested. But then he realized. "Wait. What use would we have with that weensy thing? Propping up bigger ships, I guess?"
Suddenly, the screen split to a double view, with Kuumaarke now on one side. "If you have some way to reverse this process, my people should be involved. But it will take me a little while to get a shuttle out there."
"Oh, don't you worry, we won't need a shuttle," Cid reassured whilst arching his eye brows up and down. "That's all I'll say on that matter. I hope that doesn't alarm you."
---
In a few minutes, Cid, Raje, Arkane, Nova, Chief Engineer Fuu and Kuumaarke all beamed into Kal's ship interior, a giant metallic-plated, circular room.
"You moved me here without crossing the intervening space!" Kuumaarke recognized, in shock. "You have quantum teleportation technology!"
Kal chuckled. "Yes. We call it a 'transporter'. It has a limited range, but it's useful for going from surface to ship. Quicker on plot too."
"Impossible. This ship's interior is massive, even though it's no bigger than a shuttle," Kuumaarke peered around in even more shock.
Cid interrupted. "We're short on time, so no need to expl—"
"—My ship uses compacted subspace folds," Kal elaborated. "It's bigger on the inside."
The Admiral raised his brows. "Ah, so we're doing that, then."
"This vessel is from the 31st century and I have some technology that can help. I need you to align this matrix to match the star's original spectrum."
He clasped his hands. "Finally, the Admiral gets to do the grunt work. I'll do the things!"
"Sir," interrupted Fuu as Cid went to work on his task. "While scanning, I got some data on Kal Dano. He's a hybrid of human and Vulcan, with a small amount of DNA from the people of this world."
Cid finished up. "He's like a ceviche. Thanks, Fuu."
Suddenly the ship came under attack, and several Tholians beamed in. Cid and his team quickly pulled out weapons and went to work at taking them down.
"Damn! My therapist said I wasn't supposed to get into fire-fights anymore!" Arkane complained as he counter-attacked. "Also, I have to start paying her?"
As Kal Dano prepared his device, Cid's crew took out the Tholians.
"Thanks. In just a few minutes, it'll propagate a quantum waveshift that should correct the star's stalled fusion process."
Cid slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Perfect. But let this be a lesson to you: Never trust crystalline people and/or entities."
---
Returning to the Valhalla, the crew was suddenly ambushed by more Tholian ships. Cid took his seat at the Bridge.
"Give us the Tox Uthat," came a Tholian transmission.
Kal Dano provided commentary to the Valhalla. "Wonderful. Now the Tholians want my quantum phase inhibitor!"
"That's what that thing was this whole time?? There was a whole Picard side trip, with the Ferengi and the love interest and— Ah, never mind. I see what you're doing here."
Retuning fire, the Valhalla and Kal Dano's timeship battled the Tholian vessels. A direct spread of quantum torpeodes to the lead enemy vessel, blew it to pieces. Kal Dano drilled a beam into the last Tholian Weaver until it blew as well.
He then turned his timeship at the star and blasted a quantum waveshift at the Lukari star. In a bright flash of light, the star re-ignited.
"It's working!" Came the excitement of the Cardassian scientist, Tanora Zuval. "The spectral readings are off the charts!"
Raje was taken aback. "Whoa! Forgot you were still here."
"They're attacking our homeworld! Please, help us!" Came the hail and plea from Administrator Kuumaarke.
Cid stood up. "On our way. But you should really get your own warships. Well, look at me, lecturing you. Like Starfleet's without its flaws?"
Entering into battle, the Valhalla phasered and torpedoed Tholian Mesh Weaver after Mesh Weaver. Giant walls of energy webs nearly boxed the Odyssey-class ship into place, causing Cid to have even more flash backs to his time in the Iconian War.
"Ugggghh. So much purple!" Cid grasped his head until he was grabbed by Raje.
SLAP! The Saurian hit his own superior officer across the face, in hopes of snapping him out of his self-indulgence. "Admiral, the Iconian War was necessary for peace and something to shoot at. Just like this situation."
"You're right," Cid shook his head and regained his focus. "Thanks, Commander."
The Valhalla turned and fired direct phaser beams at Tholian web joints, nullifying their threat. Ship after ship were then destroyed by continuing torpedo fire, including the cause of which by the help of Kal Dano's timeship.
"Thanks for the help," came Kal Dano's hail as the debris settled into a space-spread motion. "But the Tholians managed to steal the Tox Uthat, a name that I'm going with all of a sudden. I suspect the Tholians destabilized the star so I would bring it here."
Cid slumped into his chair. "Dammit, Kal. We'll have to get it back from them somehow."
"This is all to do with the Temporal Cold War. I'll be in touch."
After the screen cut out, Cid dropped his jaw. "Who just blurts that out? Never mind."
"Thank you for your help," Kuumaarke hailed, as it was finally her turn in the queue. "I wish I could ask you about your science, your trade, your society— but I am sooo late for my report back home. I suppose we should alert Lukari that the world isn't ending now. Do you have any idea of the constant looting? It's crazy!"
The Admiral smiled. "First Contact with another species is one of our most import—"
"Didn't you hear what I said? I have to go! Kuumaarke out!"
When she returned to her planet, the Valhalla departed the star system. They were suddenly hailed by Admiral Quinn over long range communications.
"A First Contact is a significant event that I thought we'd never do again. Thanks for balancing us out after that massive Iconian War."
Cid sighed, rubbing the red cheek his first officer gave him. "Well, someone had to deal with it, I suppose. Just don't tag me as a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder. That would just cause me even more stress!"
"Sounds like a causality loop," observed Quinn. "Here, have a Quantum Phase Torpedo Mark XII."
After the screen cut out, for the third time, a chirp erupted from Arkane's console. "It says we have mail and there's an attachment?"
"More firearms, it seems. The fight isn't over. In fact, it's our lifestyle, and I suppose we'll have to accept that. Take us to our next mission, Tetsu. Something light-hearted, but serious about satisfying my expectations in impossible ways."
The human tapped at his controls. "Well, there's this whole thing with the Na'khul. I'm sure that'll be a simple one-off with no continuing annoyance over and over again?"
"Sounds good. Engage!"
The Valhalla jumped to warp, to what may be an unwitting partaking of the Universe's ultimate play of temporal shenanigans.
Author's notes: This was part of a small series of short posts, written in December 2015, as part of a Star Trek Online forums thread that invited players to post their Captain's logs. This specific log is a reference to a bug in-game where KDF players were temporarily able to beam into Earth Spacedock.
Captain's Log, Part V
Menchez, IKS B'Cnah; Vor'cha-class
B'Cnah Combat log, 185th day in the year of Kahless 1036. We laid accidental seige to the Spacedock, more commonly known as the Super Star Mushroom Base. How it refuses to orbit the Earth, I will never understand. Upon arrival, we saw a land flourishing of Starfleet kind. They were... happy, as if frolicking in some sick Federation-glee. I do not get it. Are they just euphoric for merely existing? The sight did make my mighty Klingon stomach turn. In fact, I regurgitated my targ breakfast in several of their Federation fountains before I could join the other Klingon Captains in their attempt to de-Quinn-enize the Human grief that is their essence. All in all, it was an interesting visit. I would never want to live there. To go through a day without a ten minute live gagh bath is to accept a fate worse than Gre'thor.
Author's notes: This was written in December 2015, as part of the Star Trek Online Forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #18, which was a holiday repost of Literary Challenge #69, both based on the in-game event of the same name. This revisits the concept of the Winter Wonderland last visited by Captains Seifer, Menchez and Aeris in ULC 69, and carries on from events in LC 68: STO Halloween, Parts I, II & III and Seifer's most recent Captain's log.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #18: Prompt #1: The ancient tradition of Terran Winter Celebrations is such a festive and playful time in STO! Q is back and he brings us more Winter fun this year, with new snowmen, new weapons, new ships and more. This month's challenge is to write your own crews story centered around the event and festivities of the Terran winter season. But don't stop at Earth! You can tell us stories about any cultural celebrations from across the Star Trek universe. Perhaps the Andorians have tales of mysterious Vulcans who sneak into their homes at night and replace their toys with logic puzzles. Perhaps the Bajorans have a winter tradition that they hold dear involving incense and an Orb of Jolly. Maybe the Borg Queen is all alone on New Years and just longs for the day some dashing Android will meet her under the mistletoe and help her kill all humans. Or maybe your crew discovers a planet of elves who are ruled by a fanatical toy maker with a thirst for egg nog. Let your imaginations fly this month, and add your own twists of Trek Holiday Lore to the universe!
The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami bobbed and weaved its way through a smorgasbord of festive-colored ships parked near Earth Spacedock. McCary beamed onto the transporter pad aboard Deck 47.
"Joy of the season, Captain!" an Adult Jackal Mastiff approached him and said. "Oh, I'm Captain Terry of the U.S.S. Kitana. You see, I challenged Q-Junior's claim on his power-- a claim that's obviously disputable considering he was once trapped on the U.S.S. Voyager-- and then he transformed me into this beautifully grotesque thing. Isn't it wonderful??"
McCary squinted, unconvinced. "What? Aren't you on duty?"
"Hehehe!" Terry ran off, excitedly.
The main concourse was full of creatures, strange and mystical. Stepping passed two Large Talarian Hook Spiders, a War Targ and an Enslaved Hordling, McCary was stopped before a green Gingerbread Andorian eating into a struggling Gingerbread Klingon's side.
When the misty-eyed Gingerbread Andorian took notice of McCary's witness, he ran off in an animalistic gruff. The Gingerbread Klingon huffed and heaved for a few seconds before passing out all together.
"He must've been a left-over Winter Wonderland pet from when that bunch of Klingons were able to beam onto Spacedock," Captain Samya observed, approaching from the left.
McCary took notice of her. "Oh; Captain Samya? I didn't think you'd still have your Starfleet commission after that space-transport incident."
"Those children deserved to burn to death in plasma!" And then, realizing, "Did I mention they were Undine? Perhaps I should mention that more often."
McCary took out his tricoder. "I was okay with the first part. Anyway, why would an Andorian-version cookie, normally peaceful, turn on its own baked-kind?"
"If my Science officer, Mika, were here, she'd say they were delicious and unavoidable by every holiday measure. Thankfully, Bridge officers aren't allowed on Spacedock."
The quarter-Klingon Captain read off his device. "I'm still reading the Gingerbread Andorian; he's emitting some kind of energy wave distortion."
"Can you be more specific?"
McCary showed her the tricorder. "No, it actually says 'some kind of' on this thing."
"WRAGH!" In the next second, in the distance, Captain Terry, now morphed into a maddening and drooling Warrigul, pounced and hungrily decimated the off-base walking cookie before realizing what he did. "Oh no! I can't be full for my Fastest Game on Ice grind??"
Samya turned to McCary as the Starfleet Warrigul ran off in fear. "Those pets originate from that incessant Wonderland. Perhaps we'll find more information there?"
"Very well." McCary nodded while pulling out his phaser. "If you see any epohh 'friends', shoot them on site. Don't even hesitate."
---
Flashing into the joyous Q's Winter Wonderland, onto the blue, semi-transparent gazebo, McCary and Samya were suddenly hit with the pungent aroma of candy canes and lollipops.
"Ugh! This place is utterly repulsive," McCary partially blocked his eyes as they adjusted to the light.
Samya nodded, in-process assimilating herself. "I wish I was dead."
"You've been here five seconds and you're already bringing down the place," came Captain Terry's comment of disapproval as he approached in Devidian Visitor form.
McCary jumped back in mild shock. "Whoa! Maybe warn us before you do that?"
"I'm embracing the season, which would do you two obvious-trauma-hordes good if you even tried," he replied, floating passed them toward the Breen Race Coordinator.
Samya turned to McCary. "Should we?"
"Hell no," he replied, studying his tricorder. "Hold on. I'm getting some kind of echo-based residual wave reading."
She crossed her arms, annoyed. "Would you please stop with the 'some kind ofs'? I once executed my Operations officer for that." And then, "Oh, he turned out to be a Changeling."
---
Making their way into a forgotten forested area, next to a stone mountain, McCary was suddenly attacked by two wild-eyed generic Gingerbread men.
"YYaarrggh!" Like rabid animals, they leapt onto his shoulder and arm and attempted biting into him, hungrily.
McCary threw one off him and Samya crushed the head off the other. "Sickening," McCary commented as the cookie head debris of the remaining breadman crumbled off his arm. "What happened to their holiday cheer?"
"Spent on that." Samya pointed to a field of half-eaten, partially aware, moaning Gingerbread men and women.
They were all groggily reaching out for each other in cannibalistic hunger. "Candddyyyy brainnnsss..."
"Chocolate innardddds..." another moaned, hungrily.
Captain McCary put his tricorder away. "By the ripped-out shirts of high-strung-Kirk! It's like they tore through their nasally-pitched, annoying ice-coated necks out of pure greed?"
"You could say it was bound to happen, considering the commercially avaricious nature of the holiday season; proliferating indulgent tendencies, funded by the Ferengi Commerce Authority."
McCary shook his head. "No one will ever admit to that. It must be something else." He pointed at a glowing point-of-light-portal, perched at the end of the partially alive cookie massacred field.
"I'm reading another pocket universe," Samya reported as she scanned it with her tricoder while the two of them carefully stepped around each halved, grasping Gingerbread man. "It's similar to this one."
McCary kicked a reaching Gingerbread man to pieces as both he and Samya approached a small, hovering, blue spark. "There was a report from the U.S.S. Phoenix-X about an imitation Winter Wonderland from a similar Q-like being. There were Borg-puns, Neelix-jabs and everything."
"Yes, that one was made by Qu. He spells his name differently, but it sounds the same. I met him when he turned my crew into singing references. I ended it with Blue Skies," Samya added. "There weren't that many other songs to choose from."
Captain McCary furrowed his brow. "We should put an end to this manufactured fakery right away; the some-kind-of energy wave distorted, echo-residual base readings are more condensed here."
"Alright, you're on a time-out for explaining things."
After McCary reprogrammed his tricorder into sending a feedback pulse at the point of light, the portal opened up and engulfed the two Starfleet officers.
---
Appearing on the other side, McCary and Samya found themselves surrounded by jungle vines, in a hot and muggy palm tree-filled environment: Qu's Winter Wonderland.
In a dark recess of foliage, before them, was a vine-bound figure, draped in shadow, on his knees, decaying nearly beyond recognition. His uniform was torn.
"Starfleet??" McCary began scanning, in shock. "A Trill?"
Samya pushed a giant, nearby leaf aside, lessening the shadow over the man's face. "Captain Seifer??"
"Uuhh," the decrepit supposedly-young officer groaned in pain. "The light hurts my eyes."
McCary kneeled to his level. "But it's dark? And where have you been this whole time? A bunch of us Captains have been picking up your slack."
"Sorry, I'm having Slamek flashbacks," Seifer admitted. "Indeed," he continued, struggling to speak, "It would seem the Calibus VII virus that got my crew, previously, has been reactivated. I've been living off Gingerbread men for weeks."
Samya checked his flakey forehead temperature. "It's not as bad as you described in past reports?"
"Someone, I don't know who, must've partially reactivated the virus in us, so it's not as effective. My crew and I are in perfect health some days, where we can complete missions, but back to decaying on others." He tried to get up, unsuccessfully. "I booked passage here through a Traveler named Wayfar because I meant to ask Qu for help-- Instead, I get maddening games and living jungles."
McCary tilted his head. "Living?" And then, suddenly the foliage all around them began moving, growing and tightening around Captain Seifer.
"Forget about me! I can get out of this. But any help you can provide on who's working that virus would be great---"
The two of them stepped away as the jungle engulfed him and a thick, curling vine accidentally knocked McCary and Samya back toward a point of light.
---
Both Captain's then found themselves back in the normal Q's Winter Wonderland. The portal that was there previously was now gone.
"Looks like I pushed the energy distortions on this end to the other end," McCary reported from his tricorder. "So, it's a one-way wormhole now."
Samya picked herself up. "You see what uncontrolled effects we get when we work off generalizations? Also, it seems the problem is worse than expected."
"GGrrgghh," came the drooling sounds of infected Gingerbread men, stumbling out of Qu's pocket dimension. More and more Gingerbread zombies began flooding out of thin air, piling on top of each other in partial crumble from jungle moisture.
McCary and Samya ran to a safe distance. "We should probably change Wonderland instances," McCary said. "This one's experiencing some kind of a cohesion loss."
"Well," Samya shrugged. "At least the air isn't full of cotton candy anymore. Missions aside, perhaps we can appreciate this waste of a universe after all, considering what we just experienced."
McCary put his phaser away. "Fast and the Flurrious then? With the prize tags, we may be able to gain access to the epohhs."
"Agreed." Samya nodded as they both left the piling Gingerbread mess. "Perhaps we may pay a visit to that overbearing Talaxian as well. I must learn more about his weaponized leola root stuffing."
Author's notes: This was written in January 2016, as part of the Star Trek Online Forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #19, and connects to events from LC 64: The New Frontier.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #19: Prompt #1: In which one of your bridge officers is selected to serve a tour on a ship from the opposing faction.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #19 The Officer Exchange
The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami dropped out of warp in the H'atoria sector like some kind of space-traversing mechanical conglomeration.
Approaching the Klingon Bird of Prey I.K.S. Rotog, Captain McCary and Commander Morris beamed over to its dank, sterile Bridge of dread.
"Thanks for answering my distress call, Captain," Starfleet officer, Deborah, said, turning from her seat at tactical. The entire area was full of unconscious Klingons; blood drenching the floors like a badly handled meat processor. "Apologies for the mess."
McCary crossed his arms. "Have the targs finally rebelled?"
"No, sir. The targ supply has run out due to it being Beast Appreciation Month," she replied. "This; I have no idea what's going on here. Sorry, sir, but it appears my progress in the exchange program has been a failure."
In a bustle, Captain Sigon exited his ready room and joined them. "Utter baktag! Your Lieutenant has been more than exemplary!" he defied. "I just ordered her to the Messhall this morning for early drinking, as we all know, from Riker to Jadzia episodes, that that is the only circumstance one can truly bond with a Klingon."
"I am quite drunk, sir," Deborah admitted in her usual deadpan tone, betraying no intoxication whatsoever.
McCary looked at her, bewildered, then away. "Never mind. What can you tell me, Captain? And please, let this not be an obvious Arin'Sen revenge story. Despite the justice they'd be serving tenfold by your repetitive enslavements."
"I know! I even offered them the idea of that, but, alas, their bones are as brittle as Ferengi knee caps." Sigon sighed. "No, it all started this morning: We had just completed our usual hit-and-run on your Starbase 234 when suddenly systems throughout the Rotog went haywire. Next thing I know, my night-shift Bridge crew is taken out-- My existing BOFFs are fine, though; for continuity's sakes."
The Captain turned to him in complete shock. "Whoa! Are you serious right now? You know we're not supposed to break the fourth wall!"
"Puncture wounds." Morris interjected, examining one of the unconscious Klingons. "Looks like some-thing was responsible for this."
McCary sighed. "Damn the Federation's on-again off-again relationship with the Klingon Empire. We send acronym text-based transmissions with pictorial faces and smiling droppings and you never respond. Fine. For the sakes of my Lieutenant, we'll check things out-- But no Warrior's Anthem! The group synchronicity elicits forced camaraderie."
---
Walking down the eerily dark corridors with flickering lights, McCary, Morris and Deborah pulled hard on keeping their wits about them. Following closely behind, Sigon held his disruptor at the ready.
"Whatever has got this ship is emitting high-energy interference," Morris reported. "Internal scanning and your mercury vapor, phosphor coated tube lights have been severely affected."
Sigon replied, "When it comes to deck lighting technology, we Klingons are centuries behind."
Then, grunting sounds and wheezing breaths snapped its way to their senses but it was too black to see what was making it. For Sigon, the scent was clear.
"He is Klingon!" Sigon identified. "Bekk Tars, if I'm not mistaken."
McCary shone his palm beacon into the corridor. "Don't move! We're investigating first-hand rather than by proxy-hologram which would make much more sense."
"Heegghhhh," Tars uttered through his own bodily pains as he was lit up. Patches of brightly colored fur had grown, unnaturally out from his-self all over his body. "UGGH!"
A surge of agony shot him to his all-fours. The group ran over to check on him. "It's.... fur?" Morris examined. "It looks like Tribble fur?"
"Feels like it too," Deborah added, petting a furry patch coming out of Tars' shoulder armor. "Err, that's the blood wine talking," she explained quite soberly as McCary and Morris looked at her quizzically.
McCary perked up. "You know something, Lieutenant. Tell us the truth about what's going on here."
"Sir, this exchange program has confused my loyalties," Deborah admitted. "The truth is, Sigon ordered me to secrecy over his murderous hunting objectives. We'd been chasing a prey for days, and instead of sleeping were sent to the Messhall to drink."
Sigon stepped around. "It was important to me that we differ ourselves from the Hirogen somehow; those warrior rip-offs! As a one-fourth Klingon yourself, Captain, I'm sure you understand."
"You see, earlier this year, the U.S.S. Phoenix-X visited a parallel universe completely occupied by Tribbles in space," Deborah explained. "When they returned, unbeknownst to them, a single, solitary Tribble was brought back and escaped."
In the dark, McCary could have sworn he heard purring. The thought of it sent chills down his spine.
Sigon continued: "From that one spaceborne Tribble, a whole colony was bred! Klingons everywhere cried out in pain! With your officer's help, we've been tracking them throughout the sector."
"Then it's clear," McCary finished. "My Tactical officer appears to have switched allegiances. Oh, and these spaceborne Tribble are fighting back."
Flashing his palm beacon around, he unintentionally revealed the group to be completely surrounded by angry, self-aware, parallel universe Tribble.
"AaaH!"
The fuzzballs then began buzzing in unison. Their adorable vibrations converted through the universal translator. "Your non-space, combat-buff Tribble are a failed evolutionary variation descended by the ancient one, Trebbly; one of our own."
"He/she was sent to your universe eons ago to facilitate Tribble Space. We must ensure this original goal continues!" another proclaimed. "All of your space are belong to us!"
Sigon pulled out his disrupter. "The Empire will not bow to these puffy-veQ! We stand for roughness, hard looks and the generational-tangents that made us that way! Destroy their cute little faces!"
But the Tribble were faster and leapt onto each of the humanoids, biting into McCary's skin. Morris tried to pull out his phaser but was taken down by a flurry of fuzz. Deborah's neck was pierced and bloody, while Sigon fired his disruptor until his hand was covered in furry fury!
"The Tribble have got us! If Bekk Tars is any indication, their venom re-sequences our DNA. We'll soon become one of them!" Morris cried in agony.
Debroah struggled with her miniature attackers, pulling one off her face. "Captain! When we confronted these spaceborne mothballs, it was the Tribble themselves that explained to us how they got to our universe... one, giant Tribble."
"The Mother Tribble!" McCary realized through his fight. He struggled to glimpse what looked like an overly humanoid-sized ball of fur, emerging at the other end of the corridor.
Deborah added, "It's the one that traveled here with the Phoenix-X."
Under continual attack and the pains of transformation, McCary rolled his fur-building physique over to his fallen phaser, and crawled his way toward the Mother Tribble.
"Enormous hair monstrosity, I wish to discuss your terms of surrender," McCary offered, aiming his phaser.
To that, all the small Tribble scurried away to the sides in fear. The Mother Tribble vibrated in response. "I am known as Tribblone and our purpose is reproduction; not to destroy others. These transformations are a biological confusion."
"Your self-impregnating Tribble-venom is selfing us into Tribble! As such, I propose a non-aggression pact," McCary suggested. "We leave you alone, and you stop converting us into one of you."
The dimly lit, giant fuzz-machine cooed in agreeance. "It is done. But we will occupy all of known space eventually. We have already permeated your universe with utmost adorability!"
"SQUEEEEEE!" Through the dark, the little creatures all leapt back into the fur of the Mother Tribble while she, herself, re-merged into the darkness.
The lights in the corridor then flickered on. Deborah, now part-fur, took out her tricorder and read it. "It's leaving the ship through one of the ports... Like the Rotog just coughed up a hairball."
"Well, it's clear now your treasonous ways were a product of pure investigative drive in service of the unnatural-- a reflection of the Tsunami's own efforts," McCary breathed, appeased, while checking out his own partial trans-fur-mation. "Is anyone as ichy as I am?"
Sigon got up and tore the growing fuzz from his neck. "It is not the last we've seen of those fluff-multipliers. And your insidious diplomacy has triumphed over my destructive war-mongering; but this remains a win for the unchecked Klingon genome none-the-less! Thanks."
"So, is the only reason your species goes on because of us?" Morris asked.
Captain Sigon shrugged. "Probably." As the group made their way back to the Bridge, he continued, "To that, I foresee this as the start of a wondrous relationship!"
---
Entering the Bridge, McCary, Sigon, Deborah and Morris discovered all the unconscious Klingons replaced with large, lumpy-ovals of fully-converted, fur-drenched Tribbles. The nightshift having completed transformation did not bode well for the four.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted!" Sigon corrected. "Warrior's Anthem anyone?"
Author's notes: This was written in February 2016, as part of the Star Trek Online Forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #20. This entry didn't follow the prompt exactly, instead reinterpreting it and mashing up all Captains I had used for the ULCs so far as a 'big finale' to them.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #20: Prompt #2: Planet X. The Ten Planet. Nibiru. Throughout Earth's history, the tale of a mythical ten planatoid has both intrigued and confounded scientists for eons. The rumors of the mysterious "Grey Aliens" has been connected to the legend as well. According to Vulcan research, Klingon folk lore and many other ancient myths from across the quadrants, the Greys were considered to be a phantom race, a myth. But with so many mentions across thousands of cultures all across all four quadrants, the evidence that the Greys existed is staggering, and with it comes proof that Nibiru exists. Soon, the planets of the Sol, Qu'onoS and New Romulus systems will all align at the exact same time. Three gateways will open into one single dimensional anomaly. The path to Nibiru. Starfleet, the KDF and Romulus Command all want to investigate this lost world. Your mission: Orbit Nibiru, make contact with the Greys and, if need be, prevent the cataclysmic event Nibiru's appearance is said to bring. You have 24 hours before the planets fall out of alignment and close the dimensional anomaly. But be careful, Captains. The Greys were so secretive not even the Iconians had concrete knowledge of them. Anything that could hide from Iconians cannot be good news. It's almost here. The planets are aligned. Nibiru...is coming."
Unofficial Literary Challenge #20 Nibiru, Part I
In the unlit, nearly empty Operations center of Starbase 55, Captain Samya sat working diligently at an ops console not in any state of awareness for the overly windy swooshing sounds of the nearby turbolift.
"Burning the midnight oil?" asked Admiral Cloud, slyly, more sure than anything that he was being original with the use of that phrase.
Ignoring the failed attempt and his sudden creep-like presence, the second Human replied, "Huh? Oh, no. I'm reinforcing local systems so that we can finally get back to Tier V construction."
"Damn that computer virus hologram that knocked us all the way back to Tier II," Cloud cursed to himself and at his holographic Intelligence officer. "How is Mayhem even still in Starfleet?"
Breaking off her lean from her console, Samya paused. "More to the question: Where'd all the extra decks go? Never mind. I'm sure the answer is as comprable as the premise."
"Don't you mean comparable?" Cloud tilted his head, slightly in confusion, suddenly gaining a view of her console. "Wait. That's not local system reinforcement at all? You're accessing intel on the Solanae to find your lost sister!"
With the jig up, Samya looked straight away. "Fine. But can you blame me? I don't exactly maintain a social roster for interpersonal proxy. Besides, you're no Starfleet boy scout yourself. How does a starbase operate without a night shift?"
"The shift rotation is easier this way! You know how I hate too many padds on my desk. Why are you even on this station all the time? Don't you have your own starship?"
Turning to him, Samya threw up her arms. "The Dropzone is a Defiant-class! That's like asking a balding Lurian to do his drinking on a Klingon shuttlepod!"
"Ah, perfect analogy," Cloud appraised. "Anyway, I came here because I need you to join your task force in the Azure Sector to investigate an alarming set of pseudo-anomalies."
Sighing, the tactical officer turned in her seat. "Fine. But, why us? Why not Captain Shon and the Enterprise-F, since everyone seems to love them so much? They think they're so good."
"Unfortunately, they're in the Bajor system, catching up with all the new Mirror Leeta stuff. It's quite confusing, timeline-wise; they're there, but they're here, but they're there? Non-time travel mechanics gives me such a headache."
---
Later, the Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami exited warp and joined the Dropzone in the Azure Sector near several small, spinning black holes.
"Burning the midnight oil, Captain Samya?" came the sly hail from Captain McCary on the Tsunami.
The Dropzone answered back, relieved. "I know it's the middle of the day, but you hit the nail on the head with that phraseology."
"The last time we were all together, we were ambushed by the Seventh Fleet," the one-quarter Klingon commented with a hint of concern at his joining her. "They suspected we were Changelings masquerading as masquerading Undine."
Samya waved it off, deftly. "Yeah, but we set them against Battle Group Omega after we masked Omega's signatures as Borg ships. They were attacking each other for weeks!"
Just then, the Akira-class U.S.S. Hijinx dropped out of warp and approached. "Well, this is a sight of implausibility to be had. Any preliminary scans or snarky one liners yet?" came Captain Reynolds' hail from her ship as she split everyone's screens two-ways.
"You know as well as we do that we're supposed to form a giant arrow in the direction of the anomalies, first," Samya reminded.
Rolling her eyes, the Betazoid replied, "Great. I see we're maintaining typical Task Force Epsilon procedure. Why don't we just paint targets on our hulls while we're at it?"
Next, the Centaur-class U.S.S. Jenova dropped out of warp and took first position near them. "What?" Captain Iviok asked, splitting the screens three-ways. "Are we not doing the pointy thing?"
"Task Force Epsilon is going to forego the pre-mission formation this time around," suggested McCary. "Also, let's not broadcast the royal fanfare either."
The Andorian threw up his arms. "So we worked triple shifts on our Tier 1 engines for nothing? I lost two men to excess technobabble! Anyway, why are we even called Task Force Epsilon? Aren't the Greek letters re-assigned per crisis, per grouping?"
At that, the Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial dropped out into normal space right next to the other ships. Captain Menrow hailed from his Bridge, splitting all screens four-ways. "To answer your question, which I am just assuming since I was at warp at the time, Starfleet has put us and several other grouped starships on long-term task over the Federation's rehashed storyline ambitions. Thus, we will likely never be disbanded until something original comes along."
"Then I suppose we should all get to the space thing that's usually a one-ship space thing," McCary concluded.
Reynolds replied, "We're still missing our command vessel, the U.S.S. Phoenix-X. Anyone see them?"
"Uh, it's been forever since we heard anything from Captain Seifer," Iviok answered. "I just figured they died from that undead-like virus thing; seemed like screaming in sheer pain and horror was a good way to go."
McCary stepped up. "Actually, Samya and I ran into him in a broken incarnation of Winter Wonderland, recently, after which he reportedly returned to his ship just fine."
"In our off-hours, we investigated his second sickness and found no signs of malevolence," Samya reported. "As for the ailment itself, we still don't know where it's coming from."
Reynolds tapped her chin in thought. "Is this because the LCs are dead? Oh, LCs are what I call Last Calls, which they stopped doing at 602 Club ever since we got hit with, like, three wars at once. Anyway, who's in charge if there's no Phoenix-X?"
"According to Starfleet Regulation 191, Article 15, in any situation involving more than one ship, command falls to the vessel of the Intrepid-class variation," said Iviok.
Widening his eyes in shock, Menrow replied, "That's me! I knew this spoon-beast would come in handy. And everyone said I was just asking to be lost in some random Quadrant of complete absurdity."
Rubbing his hands together in excitement, Menrow brought up the space visual, splitting every screen, now, five-ways.
"So, what have we got here? A bunch of black holes?" Menrow observed before processing. Then, in disgust and a sudden dash of hopes, replaced with frustration, he declared, "That makes no sense!"
Reynolds chimed in. "He's right. Normally, they're collapsed stars and too concentrated to co-exist without orbiting or merging themselves."
"My ship is reading an inconsistent flow of thermal radiation coming from those swirly-curlies. They appear to be sputtering in and out of the space-time continuum!" Iviok reacted. "Oh, and they're all drifting toward us."
Everyone watched as their ships became immobilized under intense gravimetric suspensions. Then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Phoenix-X coasted, just far enough from out behind the black holes and slowly began passing the group, on a nose-down, 60-degree angle.
"That's Captain Seifer's ship!" exclaimed Reynolds in shock.
Menrow sighed in alleviation. "Phew. Well, that's a relief. All this task force commanding was making me thirsty. Margaritas, anyone?"
"Hold that indispensable thought. I'm not reading any lifesigns on-board the vessel," reported Samya. "It's as if the polygons didn't spawn at all-- er, I mean, everyone evacuated for some reason."
Iviok crossed his arms. "And here we were, ready to dismiss that over-nacelled-mashup because we wanted to break standard procedure. Seems when people are grouped, they come to poor conclusions."
"This is why our task force was used as cannon fodder during the Iconian War," McCary stated. "We told everyone we wanted to negotiate each battle with diplomacy, and that group-think got our comm signals all entangled."
Reynolds added, "My ship still blasts microphone feedback every time I hail someone."
SCRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Everyone quickly turned down their volume controls.
"Would it be better if we weren't near each other? Would that make things right?" interjected Captain Menrow. "As Epsilon's acting commanding officer, I hereby rule we do all we can to work autonomously, in far proximity from one another, however vexing it may be to accommodate, to complete whichever mission we perchance be assigned."
As they nodded in agreement, all five Captains were suddenly beamed off their ships and onto the Bridge of the Phoenix-X.
---
There, together, on the Prometheus-class vessel, they found holographic virus and Starfleet Intelligence officer Lieutenant Commander Mayhem standing over an operations console.
"Oh, hello," Mayhem greeted, turning to take notice of them. "Are you familiar with the Nibiru? Well, they're this week's alien of the week."
In the flickering, run-down Bridge of the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Phoenix-X, all five Captains looked on in awe and shock at the virus hologram standing before them.
"Qu!" barked Samya. "I mean, Mayhem! Sorry, that just seemed natural."
The Intelligence officer stepped around the railing and approached them. "There's no time for your signature randomness! You see, those small artificial black holes are orbiting each other on chaotic paths, threatening to lock us in gravitational suspension between them forever!"
"In English, holo-man!" ordered Iviok.
Mayhem rolled his eyes. "That was as dumbed-downed as I could get it. I one-time beamed you all here, the so-called brains of your ships, so that you could get the Phoenix-X online, faster, before certain eternal destitute."
"What about our own ships? They're already trapped inside that system-disabling, space-time mish-mash!" argued Menrow. "And what happened to this ship??"
Activating the main viewscreen, Mayhem, replied, "We'll be back for your crews once we're online and done." He replayed an image of an attacking Breen vessel. "In the meantime, the Phoenix-X was ambushed by these popsicle mystery men, who were trying to obtain supplies to get home in some sort of full-body-armored Janeway rip-off."
"Our engines are completely offline," Iviok noted as he accessed a nearby console. "The Breen version of Tom Paris must've over-clocked an energy dissipator."
Nodding, the hologram continued, "Yes, and all while I and the crew of Phoenix-X were on a mission from Starfleet Intelligence to render the phenomenal activity on these black holes inert."
"What kind of activity?" asked McCary.
Mayhem answered, "Highly volatile space-time warping-- which we were warned about, from a lone signal long ago, by an unknown species called the Nibiru-- which I successfully stopped by using purple matter."
"Dammit! You can't just make up matter and assign it a color!" Reynolds declared.
Shaking his head, the virus finished, "Unfortunately, your precious Captain Seifer agreed and had his entire crew hijack that Breen vessel in search of another cluster of artificial black holes... for something called a 'redo'."
"He's mad," realized Menrow. "It's that obsession of his with a 'magic reset button' all over again. Odd, though, that he reported that so we would all know."
Crossing her arms, Samya said, "And let me guess, we know nothing about the Nibiru because your program is infecting the Federation database."
"I need to infect something!" Mayhem defended. "That's like asking a Bolian not to be a hairstylist."
Menrow turned to the other Captains. "Seifer is our mission now, considering he could facilitate untold damages to all that is good and safe in the galaxy."
"Like the time you enslaved the Takarians in the Delta Quadrant?" Reynolds reminded.
The Captain waved it off. "Ferengi possession doesn't count! Besides, my body is still recovering from tube grub overdose." He then addressed each one, down the line; his stomach aching. "Iviok, go to Engineering and get the engines into safe mode. Samya, check the status of the weapons. McCary, update life-support systems. Reynolds, run a diagnostic on the deflector dish. I'll ensure main power holds up."
"You do realize we're playing right into the do-not-work-together reversal, don't you?" Samya clarified.
Menrow countered, "I realize that pointing out something's a trope is itself a trope! Dismissed!"
---
Captain's Log, Stardate 87446.9
As Acting Commanding officer of Task Force Epsilon, I, Captain Menrow, have taken command of the abandoned U.S.S. Phoenix-X. It turns out Captain Seifer littered his entire Ready Room with leola root tart wrappers. How can one man eat that much junk food? Anyway, we've engaged warp in safe mode and are following the last known coordinates of the Breen Chel Grett warship Darkseid. As odd as it is attempting to acclimatize myself to this new role over my peers, I am fairly certain we will not succeed as a team. In fact, it's more likely we'll buckle under our own incompatibilities. The only question is how soon?
---
Reynolds entered Engineering where Iviok was hard at work, managing the engines by himself.
"Damn the Phoenix-X! Where does the X even come from?" she asked. "Are they just trying too hard to be what they used to call 'cool'?"
The Andorian examined the intermix chamber. "Judging by this conglomeration of engine core, it would appear the vessel was being used as the test ship for everyone's on-again, off-again transwarp ability; the engineers must've burned through twenty-four other Phoenix-named ships to get here."
"Makes sense-- Which is the least I can say about my own senses. You see, my Betazoid mind has been hearing high-pitched drilling noises ever since I beamed onto this Admiral-approved flying-shovel." She massaged her temple. "Ohhhh. I'm nearing full-Troi."
Iviok moved to another console. "At least you don't have to rebuild major components everyday of your life. On my Tier 1, Centaur-class starship, interstellar dust gets into the cracks and then wedges our hull plating right off into space."
"Clearly deserving," she added. "You command a ship that uses a crank to power up its transporters."
Pointing back, Iviok replied, "Hey! We save on environmental energy waste that way. Though, we do over-compensate in excess antimatter."
"I'm just going to pretend this conversation never happened," Reynolds said seconds before she was interrupted by a nearby console. It displayed her now released deflector controls. "Whoa. I think those black holes have been hitting the Phoenix-X with psionic energy??" She checked her data. "No wonder I've been considering putting my head into a food decompiler!"
The other Captain perked. "That would only take your hair, by the way." And then, "Hmm. Using that correlating data, we may be able to build a defense into our shields using a modulated delta wave frequency."
"This better work, unlike that one plan we had to hog-tie Captain Menrow."
---
Samya entered the Conference room to find Menrow at a wall panel, fixing a main power circuit.
"Is it just me, or is there an entire deck floor completely cracked and broken?" she asked.
Menrow stepped away from his work. "Oh, yes, that's from Seifer's pet Horta Hatchling. You get used to the randomly warped gravity." He sighed. "Which is the least I can say about being in command of fellow-ranked officers."
"With all due respect, Captain, but I believe I should have been the one in command here." She stepped up. "I'm not susceptible to body-switching and I'm quicker at making decisions."
Rolling his eyes, Menrow answered, "Oh, please. You're reckless and have been self-involved ever since your sister went missing. You're probably looking for her right now!"
"How dare you?" she started seconds before an incoming hail from a Yridian information dealer came through the wall screen, indicating her search request for her sister garnered no results. "Well, can you blame me? What makes my own blood less relevant than Seifer's?"
Menrow gave in. "Now that I've had a chance to review all the stolen Forcas III trophies in this room, I'm certain nothing does. But, this is our current mission and we have an obligation to do what is right and utilize available sources to complete it."
"Huh," she paused after typing in the request onto the touch screen. "The Yridian is saying he did hear something about a Breen ship in the sector. I'm sending him a billion energy credits to tell us where; it's not much money, but it's all I'm willing to part with."
---
As the Phoenix-X changed course, Mayhem entered Sickbay, where McCary was accessing a console in the dark.
"Captain? I just came here to infect the EMH like I do on every ship I visit?" Mayhem entered slowly, trying to get a view of what McCary was doing.
Then, turning in shock, McCary revealed himself to be covered in random patches of fur, sticking out of his sleeves, tearing through the Odyssey uniform front and white shoulder cut. "Don't look at me!"
"By my programming God, some guy named Lester, the rumors of you turning into a tribble are true!?" Mayhem was taken aback.
Breathing heavy, McCary continued. "That's just the thing. We did reverse the transformation on ourselves and the crew of the I.K.S. Rotog, in time, with the cooperation of both ship's Doctors, resulting in minimal hair spread." He attempted to turn to address the hologram. "But ever since you beamed me onto this disease-drenched dirt-ship, psionic energy has been resequencing me all over again."
"Oh, ugh--!?" Mayhem began puking holographic numbers and mathematic symbols all over the floor as he took in the realization of cross-cultural teamwork. "Working with Klingons? You organics disgust me!"
The now rainbow-colored-hairy one-quarter Klingon, three-quarter Human stepped toward Mayhem. "Tell me the truth; were the Nibiru targeting the Phoenix-X? Is this what caused their Calibus VII disease to resurface?"
"Of course!" Mayhem held up his photonic arm in disgust-filled defense. "The purple matter may have settled the artificial black hole clusters from becoming erratic, but it wasn't enough to stop their psionic radiation."
Picking off loose pink fur, McCary realized, slowly but surely, "The Nibiru are causing the clusters and Seifer is going after them."
Then, a communiqué from the Bridge broke through. "Menrow to all Captains. We've engaged... the Borg-- I mean, the Darkseid."
---
Dropping warp in the Qo'Nos sector, the Prometheus-class Phoenix-X approached the Breen Chel Grett warship Darkseid.
On the Darkseid's massively, smoky Bridge, Captain Seifer and his partially-deteriorated crew operated the vessel before a series of artificial black holes.
"Captain, how are we even still alive??? Also, we have the target in sights," Armond reported from tactical.
Kayl turned from her Operations console. "The canister is loaded. We'll only get one shot at this."
"Did anyone check out the Breen quarters? Even their beds are covered in environmental containers?" Doctor Lox questioned, perplexed. "They leave everything to the imagination."
Kugo entered the Bridge, "Engineering checks out as I expected-- a complete nonsensical configuration. I touched nothing."
"Ah, you guys. After all our forced on-and-off bed-rest, it's good to be working with you again," Seifer sighed, truthfully.
Turning from helm, Ensign Dan asked, "Even me?"
"You're relieved!" the Captain yelled, upset.
Menrow's hail from the Phoenix-X broke in, and the screen clicked on, interrupting them. "Your ship to Seifer; we know you've been severely affected by these clusters and we have a solution: Iviok has lined this ship's shields with a modulated delta-wave frequency. We know it works because it has stopped McCary's tribble-ing. That's a thing now."
"Whoa! The whole Task Force Epsilon team is here?" Captain Seifer reacted. "We never got along? Remember that Klingon troop we ambushed, only to turn all our weapons on each other instead? The troop just left us, laughing."
The other Captain sighed. "You promised never to speak of that again! Besides, we figured out how to work together, like we were supposedly trained to do. I believe the activator was immediacy."
"Uh, you fell right into a reversal, is what you did. Well, it doesn't matter anyway. A ship modification is not enough as we're going to use blue matter to transform these clusters into a portal to the Nibiru." Then, chuckling, "Can you believe how easy it is to create matter and assign it a color? Darkseid out!"
Armond tapped at his controls, scanning the Phoenix-X's next actions. "Sir, they're preparing their own colored matter in response...... red!?"
"What? Those Cap-slacks really did overcome their inevitable, collective failure," Seifer bemused. Then, realizing, "They're going hit our blue matter with red matter and make purple matter!?"
Kayl replied, "That'll disable this cluster like the last one."
"Not if I can help it. We've been suffering through life without our LCs-- oh, Lissepian Candies, to clarify-- for far too long. Target the Phoenix-X and prepare the Breen Tom Paris'd energy dissipator."
Kugo turned from her controls. "It's ready."
"Sorry, Epsilon; you did good, but not Third Fleet-good. --Fire."
Seconds later, a white fizz of energy was shot out from the Darkseid and into the Phoenix-X, knocking all its systems offline, once again.
The Breen ship turned to the cluster of black holes and ejected a canister of blue matter into it, forcing the holes together and opening a large tunnel in space-time. The Darkseid then flew through, somehow circumventing all forms of spaghettification, gravitational lensing or loss of electrons.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #20 Nibiru, Part III
In the exhaust-filled, spark-flinging darkness of ship-interior-ness, Menrow, Reynolds, Iviok, Samya and McCary found themselves just waking off the floor, together, from simultaneous unconsciousness.
"Damn! We failed our self-given mission worse than Riker mounting an uncalculated bar stool," cursed Menrow.
Samya gripped her head as she sat up. "Please don't bring that up. Ever. Again."
"Our lack of visual is messing with our references. Let me get the light." Iviok felt around for a control panel in the dark.
But, instead, he flicked a switch which let out the floor beneath them. All five Captains fell through and out of the ship onto a red, grassy land: They were crashed on Planet Nibiru, in a forest, and the ship they were in was the Breen Chel Grett warship Darkseid!
"That wasn't the light," countered Reynolds. "And outer space has dirt now?"
A nearby shuffling sound was followed by Seifer's voice. "You're on an alien world, Reynolds. One, the likes you have never seen! I'm guessing. It's not like I can read your mind. Welcome to Nibiru!"
"Captain??" Samya, followed by the others, turned to behold a nearby area of forest where Seifer was caught in an elaborate trap.
Walking over, the group viewed that Seifer was being suspended above them by a complex system of primitive red bamboo-like sticks.
"After we went through the black hole portal, I realized Mayhem had transferred himself over to the Darkseid's Bridge," Seifer explained. "He must've beamed you guys over, last minute, to help stop me. Well, I took care of him."
Seifer revealed a mobile emitter in his left suspended-arm's palm.
"He actually stole this from Voyager's Doctor out of holographic competition. Typical Section 31! Am I right?"
Menrow's jaw dropped. "That's the second time he transported us!? And he's with Section 31??"
"Oh, come on. Like you couldn't see through that pretentious elitism? He's like a message board user who harps on your writing any chance he gets," Seifer explained. "You see, Section 31 does whatever they want. It's they who have Geordi's VISOR."
Samya clutched her head. "This is too much to process. What is it you want out of all of this then?"
"I just want to negotiate the release of my crew's Calibus VII re-disease-ening. The Nibiru somehow reactivated it; they can stop it."
Iviok began examining the bamboo-like contraption. "Oh, they can do anything, can they? Like, capture Captain Seifer? At least now we have you, the same way the Enterprise-D was able to hold on to Doctor Tolian Soran."
"Maybe if we had built a defense against that dissipater instead of some pointless psionic shielding, we wouldn't be crashed on this planet right now," countered a hairy McCary.
Reynolds began massaging her temples from a resuming barrage high-pitched telepathic noise. "What do you mean? That's how we stopped you from going full Tribble in the first place!"
"The fault lies in our commanding officer. I should have been the one to lead us, my sibling-search notwithstanding," Samya turned to face Menrow.
Shaking his head, Menrow erupted. "You know what? You're all on a time-out! I want each of you to find a red tree and stand, facing it, to think about what you all have done!"
All five Captains began talking over each other in anger until their raised volume activated a mechanism on the trap, erupting a strange alien call out from a bamboo-like tube.
"It's the prophesized ones!" came an alien voice, freezing Task Force Epsilon's energized discussion. Its speaker, a Nibiru with white skin and black lines around his head, approached. "I am First Leader Nune and we have been calling to you through the Heavens!"
In no time, the group was surrounded by more Nibiru. They collectively deactivated the trap and let Seifer down to be free.
"These traps are for the untamed naked drakoulias. They eat the delicious flesh of anyone in the Red Forest," one of the other Nibiru explained. "My name is Cela and I am Second Leader."
Seifer was freed. "Your 'calling' has somehow reactivated a sickness in me. Who targets a starship with copious levels of psionic energy from a planet anyway?"
"Oh, we do! Our psychic powers are amplified through the Heavens, and their Heavens' Heavens, eternal," Nune said while one of the other Nibiru played around with the mobile emitter. "And its use of the genetically-altering power of ones mind acts to reveal you as our God! We are all now the Great Birds of the Galaxy!"
Then, Mayhem was suddenly activated prompting Menrow to react in shock.
"Oh, for the many alien loves of James T. Kirk! Whoever the actual Great Bird is must be spinning in his bird grave."
---
As the group was escorted to a small pre-industrial village, fashioned together in red structures, they came upon a giant crystal at the center of the town. There, several Nibiru Priests were knelt, ritualistically feeding psionic energy into it.
"This is all our fault," Menrow said to his team of four Captains while Seifer and Mayhem were drifted away by the locals. "If we could only maintain a work-together paradigm like we were supposed to via the reversal, we could have taken Seifer back to the Darkseid and out of here by now."
Samya sighed. "I hate to admit it, but Margarita-Head is right. What's more, is that we let Mayhem get the best of us, twice."
"Perhaps, instead of allowing fate or tropes to define us, we should define ourselves," Iviok suggested. "I accept that our group has a clichéd Captain's team hand-stack ritual before every mission."
As he held out his hand, waiting for the others to join him, everyone decided to just nod in awkward agreement instead.
"I can read that you are all not happy with circumstances at present." They were then approached by Cela, the Second Leader. "Only a small portion of my people have mental powers, and I use mine to survey social cliques."
Reynolds nodded. "As one should. But what's it to you, Stripe-Face?"
"I, too, do not believe we need a 'God'," Cela replied. "To me, there is no such thing, and what we witnessed over a century ago does not correlate to our definition of who we are now."
McCary was taken aback. "An atheist?? A pox on thee!"
"Yes," the Nibiru woman rolled her eyes. "Not all us Nibiru are as foolish as our head-tilting ancestors, just 151 years ago, when they gazed the saving of our world by an obese metal bubble-bird."
Menrow tapped his chin. "I kind of want to know what that is, but I also kind of don't. Also, can we leave on our own free will?"
"Yes, but your friend Seifer will likely be executed when he disavows being our God," Cela answered. "Our mental powers are highly developed, but only at sacrifice to our maturity levels."
Samya shrugged, contemplating it. "Well. I mean, he had a good run with those LCs that one time, right? Oh, Leola Crepes."
"And there is another problem," Cela continued. "Your non-mind holo-friend has gone somewhere with Nune, the First Leader. Nune seeks mortal power over all Nibiru Countries-- even the weird ones."
Iviok added, "We're two for two! Now Mayhem can do all the evil schemes he wants here. It's in his programming after all."
"You know what?" Menrow started. "You two are on a time-out! Go stand next to the psionic crystal!"
---
Later, Menrow, Samya and McCary approached Seifer and a group of Nibiru, just outside the red forest. Seifer was preparing for a run.
"Captain, once you disavow your God-hood, the Nibiru will kill you," warned Menrow. "And, according to B'Elanna Torres, the correct afterlife is the Klingon one."
Seifer smirked. "Who in their right minds would disavow something like that? Also, are you going to join me in the chase ritual? It turns out, everything here is high-octane and adrenaline-running!"
"I haven't run since my Academy days. Twisted my ankle chasing mini-Q after mini-Q," McCary added, raising his tribble-fur-covered arm, as his body had resumed transformation.
Seifer looked at him. "You're weird. Well, anyway, Task Force Epsilon belongs to all of you now." He addressed the three. "If you could not-ruin her with Warp 10-salamandering or anything, that would be great." Then, interrupting himself, he added, "And, GO!"
"Didn't a Klingon named Menchez do that once?" Samya asked before realizing Seifer and the group of Nibiru jumped into a run for their lives through the red forest.
Menrow, McCary and Samya looked at each other in reacting-shock and then decided to run after them!
"Does-- my-- speaking-- in labored-- breaths--- constitute-- as 'done-to-death'--?" McCary asked during the sprint.
Menrow and Samya replied, "YES!"
As red trees whipped by their fields of vision, sounds of naked drakoulias could be heard all around them.
---
Reynolds and Iviok secretly followed the holographic virus, Mayhem, and the Nibiru leader, Nune, toward the tall volcano in the distance. Inside the hole, within the depths of the mountain's innards, it appeared as if an entire lava explosion was frozen and hardened in place.
"This is where we avoided death, oh great one," Nune said. "Our lives are renewed thanks to your Starfleet kind-- the Great Birds of the Galaxy!"
Mayhem agreed, as he carried a Breen device with him. "That's actually true since most of Starfleet is run by Aurelians now. Anyway, we must complete your renewal here with one of our own rituals, as reciprocation." And then, to add, "An eternal reciprocation..."
"Hold it right there, Mayhem," Reynolds called out as she and Iviok stepped around one of the many tall, hardened lava spews, to reveal themselves. "You're planning on destroying the planet!?"
The holographic virus double-taked. "Damn! How could that one self-indulgent line be my undoing? And to answer your question, Yes."
He took the time to explain everything.
"You see, a few months ago, the Nibiru began infusing the Vulcan sector with space-time psionics that initiated micro black holes, in an unwitting intent on terraforming half the quadrant into a shared space."
Iviok's jaw dropped. "That's when Seifer's diseasening started! Not that I'd know of such things."
"Precisely. They think they're merging and connecting with Heaven and even communicated with our telepaths so. But when I stopped the clusters with purple matter, I didn't suspect two more locations would arise: one in Romulan space's Azure sector, and one in Klingon space's Qo'noS sector. Section 31 sent me, your neighborhood hologram, a preprogrammed directive to stop the Nibiru by any means necessary. Since I'm also a virus, that means I distort that programming to any interpretation I see fit."
Reynolds grumbled in anger. "You know, we couldn't boot up the Hijinx's main computer for two weeks after you left us? We ended up replacing it with Undine organics!"
---
As Menrow, Samya, McCary, Seifer and the group of Nibiru reached the cliffs at the edge of the forest, Samya was busy kicking a naked drakoulias off her mouth-engulfed foot. Everyone else dismounted their own beasts, elegantly.
"You're supposed to ride them, Captain," repeated Menrow.
Samya finally kicked her naked drakoulias away from her. "I'll do it my way; you do it yours!"
SPLASH! Suddenly, a giant red-bamboo like structure arose from the ocean, revealing a makeshift, home-made imitation Federation starship.
"This is a part of their ritual. Using their eidetic memory, they reconstructed the obese metal bubble bird that saved them from an erupting volcano, long ago," Seifer explained.
On its side, was labeled U.S.S. Enterprise. And to that, everyone gaped in shock!
"Wait. What? Is that supposed to be a Constitution-class starship??" Menrow asked. "It looks like a swollen mash-up of fan-boy perversion? The nacelles make no sense whatsoever!"
Samya stared at it. "It's possible the Nibiru got the details wrong?"
"Or, perhaps we are in an alternate reality," McCary added. "Which is more likely after passing through a black hole? Think about it!"
Menrow began to realize the odds which McCary was playing. He quickly turned to Seifer. "This is utter madness! High-octane adrenaline-runs? Giant, bulgy Starfleet ships?? We are in an alternate reality!"
"I suspected as much when we entered that singularity in perfect form," said Seifer. "But then again, we don't have the same detailed understanding of black holes we used to back in the early 21st century."
Samya interrupted, taking a fighting stance. "That's it! I'm cutting our losses, and taking these Nibiru-abominations out while we still can. I used to kill a lot, but alternate reality murder doesn't count. Right? It's on a heavily edited wiki somewhere, I'm sure."
"No! We do this every time; rejecting some random trope or mishap. We have to stop that cycle and instead embrace their hokey alternate thing for what it is: A confusing nonsensical hack job full of rehash-- similar to Task Force Epsilon, if one were to bring it back home," Menrow said, before turning to the Nibiru. "We are no different than you. An imitation reality can be reality itself. Complete your final ritual."
The group of Nibiru nodded and began a mental communication with the elders around the crystal, back in town. A giant shockwave of psionic energy blasted out from the crystal and through everyone, causing Seifer's sickness to recede.
"You knew they were going to cure you," Menrow turned to Seifer in understanding. "You had no intention of remaining here as their God."
Seifer nodded. "I John Harriman'd it; as in, I faked it till I made it. Only, I was more successful." Then, "Unfortunately, the only way to stop my crew's transformation was for the Nibiru to ritualistically cancel out their own abilities. For you, that means no more new Nibiru-brand micro-black holes."
"And no more destroying of our world either!" came Nune's mixed-upset response while Reynolds and Iviok pushed out a defeated Mayhem, approaching the group.
Mayhem grumbled. "What? I can't take five minutes to info dump without some alien native and two Starfleet Captains foiling me? You know everyone's a Fleet Admiral now, don't you? That doesn't make sense!"
"We caught Mayhem trying to destroy the planet using a Breen warm fusion device," Iviok reported. "Nune, here, let the best of greed get a hold of him as he's been using all this for a second goal to foothold power over his neighboring countries."
The First Leader nodded, humbly. "It's a lesson I am the first of my kind to learn. But, without OP mental abilities, our primary goal, the search for the true Great Bird, literally or thematically, will be more difficult than ever."
"And, as for myself, well, I gleaned a lesson about the ire's of sentient technology," Iviok stated. "So, that may be a No from me on holographic equal rights. Just, No."
Seifer stepped around to acknowledge the new arrivals, and Nune's intentions. "Even an alternate reality existence can go too far with its crutches into our Prime timeline. Whatever crazy, non-canon antics your Starfleet gets into, here, they're who you should be forcing an encounter with."
He then stopped and looked at the over-sized, imitation alternate reality Enterprise. He began to feel sick to his stomach again.
"Ugh. So ugly. How could they mess up something we so firmly established?" Seifer tapped his commbadge, quickly cutting off that thought. "Anyway, Seifer to crew. Seven to beam out!"
---
Later, with the Darkseid repaired, the Breen Chel Grett warship re-entered the portal back to the Prime universe and towed the paralyzed Phoenix-X back to the Azure sector. There, the disabled starships Crucial, Hijinx, Jenova, Dropzone and Tsunami were rescued from their orbiting gravity conglomeration threat.
"Well, with everything you've done, it's unlikely Starfleet will put you back in command of Task Force Epsilon any time soon," Menrow said to Seifer as the group of Captains stood in the Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial's briefing room.
Seifer nodded. "The price for my reset buttoning; a price I've paid before, only, this time, for less-selfish reasons. But, at least I've got two partly-working starships, and, like Sela, I didn't get arrested. That's fair, right?"
"Perhaps you should be the new task force commander, after all, Captain," Samya said, turning to Menrow, in response to Seifer. "A reality like what we just witnessed, or an over-the-top narrative, if you will, is not what I signed up for."
Then McCary spoke in a reassuring tone to her. "Captain Menrow will still need you by his side."
"Whoa!" reacted Reynolds as she and everyone turned their heads, for the first time, to behold a McCary who was now basically a fully transformed giant oval of multi-colored tribble fur.
McCary decided this gathering was the pristine opportunity he'd been waiting for, to make the announcement he was dreading for so long now. "Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any. Guys, I'm pregnant!"
Everyone looked at him in shock.
"Oh, yeah. That's the stuff," replied Seifer. "It's good to be back."
Author's notes: I wanted to do a subseries that just focused on Captain Seifer and his new ship. Unlike the previous entries, these weren't motivated by any prompts but rather I was going to try standalone shorts masking connective-story. These shorts were done a-la carte, around my ULC entries and RP posts, so these more "pop-up" every once in a while. Written in August 2016.
Anthology of Ragnarok #1 Tabletop Beginnings
Captain Oroku Seifer spent the better part of his morning at the Synthbar located within Earth Spacedock's Club 47. But instead of drinking martinis, he had several PADDs in a mess before him, working on a few at a time.
"Can I just ask you something?" approached the El Aurian bartender who had already made a big deal about Seifer not drinking and taking up bar space. "Why couldn't you just compress all your data into one device? What is the point?"
Seifer looked up, aimlessly, and in momentary realization that the bartender was speaking again. "Huh? Oh, the point is that's how we Starfleet officers organize our information. Sure, there's a minor strain on bulkhead material resources, but the more PADDs, the more clutter, the more Starfleet one is! It's well-established, standard officer tradition, actually." And then, a second realization, "Bartender! Another PADD!"
"Ugh," Nelan moaned as he turned away to replicate one more, finally giving up on freeing that spot.
Commander Allura, in command of Spacedock's operations division, approached the bar and sat next to Seifer. "Congratulations on your new command, Captain; that of the U.S.S. Ragnarok," she said by way of exposition and greeting.
"Thanks," Seifer answered, pleasantly surprised by the blind Aenar's presence. "I've been finalizing the paperwork for my new Bridge officers. Much of it crossing t's and dotting i's as is the style of this incomplete font we're using now."
She nodded. "It was implemented as punishment for our reluctance to arrest Sela after the Iconian War. What we were on, I will never know." Then, "Oh, and by the way, you're taking up bar space when you should be working in an office, or, at least your ship's Ready Room."
"Since I've been grounded and working here at Spacedock by the malfunction of my old ship, hit by two Breen dissapators, I've come to think of this place as a second home. I know this station is massive, but it turns out all 1000 guest offices are currently being used by equal segmented groups of an Evora delegation."
After Allura was handed a drink, she slammed it on the table for dramatic effect. "Damn! What the Evora lack in height, they make up for in pure, unrelenting numbers. The truth is, they're here for another head-bead ritual, only, this time, the entire station has to partake in it."
"Phew! Perfect timing, since I'll be heading out into sectorized space with the Ragnarok soon. I skipped my ship and crew inspection due to excitement-paralyzation. That's a thing in this century, you know."
The Aenar gestured to what she sensed as two Tellarites in a single trench coat, one standing on the shoulders of another, both behind Seifer. "This is our seat, buddy!" the double man argued; both completely identical.
"Tomsin and Tomsin??" Seifer turned in shock and surprise. "I thought you were reassigned to the Valhalla?"
The bottom Tellarite grumbled in his own realization at whom he had just encountered. "They wouldn't accept us as a single officer, claiming we were two separate entities now!"
"Captain, please don't tell me you had something to do with this?" Allura interrupted.
Seifer began stacking his PADDs neatly for a possible quick exit. "Well, after more of the overtly dark, unaided whodone-it mystery from the attack at Caldos III, Starfleet wanted me to focus back on the science and weirdness of our original theme. As usual, the Admirals took excitement in the 'return to our roots' thing— an odd obsession of theirs— and when I attempted to initiate artificial atmospheric distortions in a small patch of Earth's atmosphere to lure anaphasic lifeforms, a transporter confinement beam, whence doubled, containing Tomsin, interacted with it and Riker-duplicated the Tellarite back to Earth's surface."
"And we would've been able to live a normal life if Seifer hadn't promised us a position on Admiral Cid's ship! Now we've got no where to go and our acts of illegally boarding the Valhalla are on our permanent records!" the top Tomsin argued.
The bottom Tomsin added, "Yeah! And the duplicate thing too."
"Hey! You'd better watch how you speak to a superior officer, Ensigns!" argued Seifer, annoyed.
Top Tomsin slammed his drink down on the table next to the Captain in yet another dramatic effect. "Well, we've been drinking, so our aggressiveness is easily excused through a bar-based social paradigm! How many have you had, sir?"
"Err," Seifer looked at his space, which contained PADDs and no drink as not preferred, apparently. He saw no way to play into the suggested cliché. Instead, he pointed at the seemingly unmoving line to the club's lavatories by way of distraction. "Whoa! Did they just move up one!?!"
Both Tomsins, actually interested in that, turned in hopes to witness, when Seifer suddenly took the opportunity to activate an emergency transport unit he had held in his hand this whole time. Allura sensed and heard the dematerialization beam take Seifer away.
---
Meanwhile, on the Bridge of the Pathfinder-class, with Discovery-class pylons, U.S.S. Ragnarok, the new crew had just finished preparing everything and all systems for departure. Seifer beamed in, unexpectedly, and took his place at the center.
"We have to exit immediately. No time to explain! Just trust me whoever you all are!" he commanded in a general non-direction at who-knows who.
Aramaki walked over and handed him a duty roster PADD. "Admiral Cid used his connections and had two Ensigns, a Tomsin and Tomsin, transferred to us before we were to leave. Just waiting on that before we go."
Suddenly the tactical officer's console beeped, confirming another transport.
"Oh, that should be them!" Aramaki confirmed, happily. "Yes, we're ready to go now. Shall we, Captain? We polished the holo-consoles and everything. Not that they needed to be polished, since they're holographic."
Caught, suddenly mis-sorted, Seifer lost his train of thought and patience, quickly. "Uggh! Those guys again?? Can't I be one of those Captains that just runs away from things? We literally don't have any Captains that do that." And then, "Well. I suppose it's going to be up to me to be a different kind of Starfleet commanding officer, completely off from the Picards and Kirks of the past! All of a sudden, I no longer feel that combo excitement-paralyzation syndrome my old chief medical officer, Doctor Lox, diagnosed me with. I'm just left with just the excitement."
"Should I have the Tomsins meet you on the Bridge for assignment?"
Captain Seifer just waved it off. "Just post them in a corridor somewhere. In the meantime, I'm going to replicate myself a celebratory martini. It would seem our adventure, to hopefully be accompanied by a powerful orchestra-based melody, is just beginning! Seifer out."
Since he wasn't on comms to begin with, he just turned and headed to his Ready Room. The 25th century, in whatever fashion he would be meant to find it in, was now his to command.
Author's notes: This was written in August 2016, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #26. This started my entries for my KDF faction crews to eventually team up, like previously with my Federation crews. Ship classes are from the game and Captain Sigon was last seen in ULC 19 The Officer Exchange, where his preceding ship was taken down by a pan-dimensional tribble invasion.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #26: Prompt #1: 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?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #26 Apparitions
The I.K.S. Baetal trekked, instinctively, through space in the utmost of Klingon ways. Captain Sigon sat at the Bridge of his vessel, unsure and disoriented about his ship in general.
"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!"
Author's notes: This is a part of my Ragnarok series, focusing on Captain Seifer and his new ship. This carries on from "Tabletop Beginnings". Written in September 2016.
Anthology of Ragnarok #2 Department Heads
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok trekked through space, aimlessly and haphazardly. Captain Oroku Seifer met with his senior staff in the ship's briefing room. Everyone's attention settled and turned to the Joined Trill.
"Now, I'd like to go around the table and have everyone introduce themselves and say one thing interesting about you," ordered Seifer.
Lieutenant Commander Winry, Human and chief engineer, raised her hand. "Sir, permission to not engage in such a lame exercise?"
"It's not lame. Captain Shon of the Enterprise-F did the exact same thing, he told me once, while smirking, at a party," defended Seifer.
Lieutenant Edward, Human and helm operator, added her own remark. "Yeaaah, it's a little dumb."
"Uh, it's not that bad," Lieutenant Commander Aramaki, Human and tactical officer, interjected. "It's a way for us to get to know each other. Am I right, Cetra?"
The telepathically suppressed Betazoid and ship's Doctor, replied, "I don't care. I just want this conversation over with."
"Ugh!" Everyone then looked over to the science officer and Caitian, Lieutenant Commander Moggs, who, instead of adding to the discussion, coughed up a hairball. "Ack! Sorry. Note: Do not have the replicated soufflé after a self-bath."
Seifer waved all the kafuffle away. "No, no. You guys are completely right. It's the poster child of annoying team exercises. I move we all look up each other's profiles on the Federation social media network. All those in favor?"
"Aye!" the rest of the group rung in unison.
The Captain activated the presentation screen behind them and brought up everyone's entrance test results. "Next item on our list, your aptitude numbers. Now, I know there is only so much one person is capable of, but we have to compete with other ships and then gloat about it in their faces, a-la LaForge and his warp engine addiction."
"Aptitude, sir? Is that really necessary? We all aspire to be more than the sum of our parts— that is, our organic parts," said Winry, trying not to subconsciously mimic an android.
The Captain nodded. "Although we have only been together for a short time, I know that you are the finest crew in the fleet and I would trust each of you with my life."
"That is crazy. How would you even just know that out of nowhere unless you’ve been time traveling? Are you saying you’re from the future, Captain?" asked Moggs.
Seifer crossed his arms defensively. "I very well could be. Would that make you comply? Is time travel still fresh and new to you?"
"Quite the opposite, sir. I feel like it's been done to death, gone back into the past, and done to death again," argued Winry.
Aramaki nodded. "Actually, I would interject that it's gone into the future, seen its death, and tried to reassert itself in the past."
"Okay, that's enough. Time travel is never dead. Never so long as there's a selfish desire to crossover things!" the Captain refuted.
Winry continued. "But that's just it; the self-indulgent use of it has only now soured our tastes and any such mention of going forward or back is anything but exciting."
"I suppose I used to think just like you, recoiling at the thought of a quick jump or temporal reset. But, in my dragging days or weeks aboard Spacedock— I don't even know— without a ship, I've grown to appreciate the access we now have to such madness. Together we can make it fresh again!" Seifer preached.
Edward pulled out an ancient alien statue out from underneath the table and placed it on the top for everyone to see. "Ahhhh, fresh like this?"
"Sir??" Doctor Cetra said. "Are you pro-time-travel because you couldn't figure out this really old artifact?"
Seifer looked at the turn of events, perplexed. "Huh? Oh, somewhat. But that's a statue from the Verath system. It's a depiction of one of their sub-ossemites. Captain Terry acquired it before he blew himself up during my Spacedock days."
"It appears to be eating a baby ossemite," observed Moggs.
The Captain tilted his head. "Wait. You know about this stuff?"
"Ehhh, I don't know about you guys," started Winry, "But I eat ancient architecture papers for breakfast; helps with engine indigestion. This Verathan top likely rotates to align one of the three sub-ossemite statue sides with the baby at its bottom."
Moggs pointed. "That baby's head looks like a bilitrium jewel. It's a highly powerful mineral."
"Well, yeah, actually, the Verathan inscriptions on its side depict the baby as a power source," Seifer explained. "I suspected the second sub-ossemite to be the power consumer, so I switched it to him before you all entered the briefing room."
Aramaki leaned in to take a look. "You would be correct, had the second one been wearing the energy symbol, but according to what we know of their upper-class society, sometimes their energy responsibilities lay with the third sub-ossemite."
"Of course!" Seifer snapped his fingers. "Wait. You study anthropology?"
The tactical officer shrugged. "It ties into behavioral performance. That, and there's this smoking hot Tellarite chick who's into it too."
"Well, I'm not going to comment on that last part, but your logic is perfectly acceptable, I assume," Seifer agreed.
Everyone watched as the Captain took the statue and rotated the upper half until the side with the third sub-ossemite aligned with its open mouth over the jewel-headed baby. The object then started to emanate a low-level glow from its cracks, and the baby's head began to emit hovering, short-range clumps of energized matter.
"Something inside of that thing activated the bilitrium," reported Moggs as he scanned with his tricorder. "Harmful radiation levels are rising."
Seifer placed his commbadge onto it. "Captain to transporter room. Lock on to my signal and beam it out into space."
"Right away, sir! Except, I can't get a lock due to some kind of interference," Ensign Khalid answered over air. "Huh. I guess any of us can fall victim to the 'some kind of' trope after all."
The Captain took his commbadge back and unsuccessfully rotated the statue, whilst perplexed. "Why'd they make a device that powers up like this?"
"Uhhh, huh. Worship reasons, me thinks," spoke up a quirky Lieutenant Edward. "Yep. I know religions. You offer your statue praise. Praise it; yes!"
Cetra sighed. "There was once a supposed Verathan event where massive offerings of flower pedals, native to their planet, was unloaded at one of their power-shrines." Then, to explain: "Doctor and occasional history buff. Don't ever ask me why."
"A Saurian flower comes close to what some botantists believed was the molecular construct of Verathan flowers," offered Moggs. "Though, there wasn't much by way of confirming this."
Seifer put the statue on the table and went over to the replicator. "Well, there is now. Anyone want a coffee or tea while I'm up here?"
"Sir, the radiation will pass the kill-us threshold within seconds," continued Cetra. "Seconds!"
The Captain nodded at her over-acting as he brought the replicated flower before the statue. The matter around it then began to fade and the flower started to wither.
"Levels dropping," reported Moggs, who then eyed the flower. "Anyone going to eat that?"
Winry sat up. "You know, we could have all just gotten up and left the room. Basic Survival 101."
"In the middle of a briefing?? That's crazy talk, Winry," argued Aramaki. "That goes on our permanent records, you know."
Seifer sat down and examined the statue. Its glow completely faded. "Fascinating. Since it only took one flower, this thing could be a mini-home version of something much larger; perhaps something at that event Cetra mentioned."
"Captain, you were right about the madness," offered Winry. "Perhaps such things are worth it after all."
The Trill put the statue down. "And we make a pretty good team. —Computer! Delete the crew's aptitude information."
"Acknowledged," the computer chirped. "Crew academic records deleted from the Federation-wide database."
Aramaki threw up his hands. "Now we'll never be able to transfer to another ship!"
"Is that all for this meeting, sir?" asked Winry. "Are we ever going to do space stuff?"
Seifer changed the presentation screen. "Well, there is this request from a Deferi colony world for Starfleet assistance. But I told them to stop being whiny babies. Now that we're a well-oiled machine, we can say those things."
"Oooh! Gonna make ship go, go, go!" Edward sat up, excited.
The Captain rolled his eyes. "Oh, alright. We'll go check it out. But after that, you all have to develop a poker routine, where I come in at the end of seven years and you all love it."
"Fine. But no time travel, ever," bargained Winry. "Especially if that's the result of your planned-poker-reluctance."
Seifer sat uneasy. "Uggh. I guess. But you'd all better have an unrelenting affection for me by the end of it all." Then he turned to the crew, excited for the future and their adventures. "Dismissed!"
Author's notes: This was written in September 2016, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #27. Qu was last seen in ULC 14.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #27: Prompt #1: While investigating strange extra-dimensional anomalies, you are surprised when a bright flash of light washes over the ship. Everyone is blinded momentarily. For a second, all seems normal. Then hundreds of nude bodies appear all over the ship falling from nowhere. One body in particular appears on the bridge...Q! It seems that something or someone has ousted the entire Continuum from their realm and into ours. Who could do such a thing? And how do you plan on helping the Q regain their realm? And for God's sake, could someone get these people some pants?!
Unofficial Literary Challenge #27 How the Mighty Have Fallen
The I.K.S. Baetal sat out in deep space, plotting its next big celebration. Captain Sigon paced the Bridge, trying to narrow down his list of venue choices on a PADD.
"Did we ever conquer the Cardassian homeworld? I seem to remember it being taken in a Klingon attack?" Sigon asked.
Gozer replied, "No, that wasssss a Dominion War battle, which we shared with the Federation."
"Ah. It's probably full of bubbly Federation babies of the chubby variety and whatnot. Definitely not party material," concluded Sigon. "Scary, though."
Lieutenant Tenogh looked up from his operations console. "Captain, I am detecting a surge of lens flares coming from within the ship!?"
"Quickly, Tenogh, lock out the main computer!" Sigon snapped.
Tenogh looked at him quizzically. "Is that a human British accent, sir?"
But before Sigon could reply, the entire Bridge flashed with naked Q bodies everywhere. One of them stood up and brushed himself off. "Sorry," he said. "The Continuum just sneezed us out."
"It's a Q??" reacted the Captain. "I have always vowed to catch one of you, steal your latinum and make you grant me three wishes."
The naked man held up his hand. "Uh, the name is Qu. It sounds the same but is spelled differently. Also, that myth is only true during Earth's St. Patrick's Day for some reason."
"Why were you deposssssited on the Baetal considering the U.S.S. Ragnarok is in the next Sector?" the Gorn tactical officer asked.
Qu rolled his eyes. "We were aiming for them, but it's not exactly easy when omnipotent mucus is in your eye. Anyway, several groups of Q have been plopped onto various ships this passed month. It seems some hyper-Q called Admiral Nat is bloating over-poweredness until nothing makes sense anymore."
"Have you tried a Civil War motif?" Sigon asked.
Qu spun around, flailing his nudity. "That was the first thing we tried! Alas, the only thing left to do is wait for the resulting omni-snort, which will bring us back in."
"Ugh!" Sigon recoiled at the nakedness. "At least you people could materialize with some clothes?? Even Picard's people maintained properly adjusted attire after their 'youthening' from a molecular reversion field."
The omnipotent being snapped at him. "Hey! We trot around all eternity like this, in our realm, completely comfortable with who we are. It's your backward mortal society that demands everyone be dressed all the time. And what is up with your uniform having no discernible updates? Even Starfleet got the Odyssey uniform which no one follows?"
"We do, as a people, place over-bearing social exssspectationssss on everyone for various things," Gozer admitted.
Sigon nodded. "Even the Empire's rules are hard-demanding compared to other cultures. Perhaps we can learn something from the Betazoids, and their naked weddings."
"Well, I'm glad we the Continuum could help open your eyes," Qu said as he and the rest began to feel the rising pull of the universe on their backs. "Looks like our realm's respire is immanent! You might want to scrub the extra-dimensional mucus off your hull before it hardens! Qu out!"
And, with that, all the Q flashed away in an odd form of love and togetherness, back to the Q Continuum where they came from.
Sigon began taking off his uniform. "New rules for the ship! We must all be clotheless during duty!"
"Captain, wait," Gozer interrupted, placing a hand to stop his commanding officer. "The Cardassians employ nudity in their interrogation proceduresss, and they may misconstrue our dominance if we ever encountered them."
The Captain stopped. "Oh, right. Well, what's that planet with all the weirdly dressed, half naked people? Rubicun III, right? The Edo? Let's go there!"
"Yes, Captain," Gozer conceded. He would have to work out before their arrival. Suddenly, all the crew on the Bridge eyed each other, untrustingly, in immediate competition for gym time. It begins, the Gorn realized.
The Baetal then turned in space and jumped to warp.
Author's notes: This was written in October 2016, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #28.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #28: Prompt #1: Your Captain is forced to make a life or death decision for someone else. Explore the moral quandaries and complications that this decision could lead to.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #28 Life or Death
The I.K.S. Baetal sat out in deep space, while a massive party was being held in its cramped Messhall. Captain Sigon walked over to his reptilian-like tactical officer and head-butted him.
"Yaaarrghh! You are the Gorn. Am I right? You are the Gorn!" Sigon chanted, completely drunk.
Gozer grasped his head in minor pain. "That wassss not necessary, Captain."
"Oh, you need to lighten up, Commander," suggested Sigon. "We have done the impossible: Averted permanent tribblefication, maintained the annual invasion of Raatooras, wrecked the Federation starship Tsunami, and established pants-free Fridays."
Tenough walked over. "Sir, that last one is not very Klingon to partake in."
"Exactly! We are the ultimate, out-of-norm ship that every Warrior wants to be a part of. I don't even know what class this vessel is, but who cares!" Sigon preached.
Gozer nodded. "Very well, Captain. But be forewarned that boassssting leads to immediate comeuppance in this timeline, which many have coined as the Prime Timeline."
SMASH!
Suddenly, a Klingon at the other end of the Messhall broke in from the ceiling vent and began speed kneeing, kicking and force-palming all the other drunk crew out into unconsciousness.
"What in the Unbearable Gardens of Grethor is going on??" Sigon attempted to squint his vision so he could see who it was. "Wait a second. That is Captain Menchez!"
The attacking Klingon took out his disruptor and shot Gozer and Tenough down, prompting Sigon to dive behind a table. Menchez then ran out the Messhall to continue his work.
---
Menchez made his way down the corridors and was confronted by Lu'Kava. She took out a Klingon pain stick and launched a close range jab at the Captain.
"You think you can just take on the crew of the Baetal and get away with it?? We once feasted on 50 targ in one night!" she claimed a second before Menchez caught her extended arm and countered with a kick and a knee. "Next-day lunches were obliterated!"
The Captain then double punched her, took out his mek'leth and cut the pain stick in half. "This crew gets away with far too much to begin with. You've all gotten lazy and entitled. I heard you have a trained Fek'Ihri Hordling that sharpens all your teeth??"
"How dare you say words and things, and stuff!? I'd defend us further if I wasn't so full of gagh!" she fired a forced-palm toward his head, but he moved slightly to the left, spun in full reverse-circle and elbowed her out in her ridges.
---
The Klingon infiltrator entered the Bridge and fired his disruptor into an attacking Bekk Tars. The Bekk was sent over a console and Sigon entered the Bridge completely out of breath.
"Why... are... you........ doing this??" Sigon panted. "Just.... one second...."
Menchez rolled his eyes. "I told your security officer why. Ugh. This is what I hate about take-overs. You have to explain yourself again and again."
"Glorified baktag! You think we are a failure as a Klingon crew, don't you? That all we do is hold celebrations??"
The older Klingon nodded. "Precisely! I am taking over command of this ship as a result. Do not even think about performing an induction ceremony."
"yIntagh! I would fight you to the death, but I am way too inebriated, and, unlike other, more foolish Klingons, I do not engage in technical combat while drunk."
Menchez nodded. "It is our version of Earth's historic anti-'drinking and driving' initiatives. I commend you for safe Klingoning. In the meantime, I do not plan to remain in command of your ship. I am merely here for a mission to honorable death."
"Hu'tegh!? You lost your old vessel and crew in shame?? It just seems the most likely reason."
He took a pained breath. "Indeed. And now I risk my House being dishonored and dismantled for my actions." He shook his head in regret. "I should have never told my crew to go into that cave on Hanon IV; the same cave Neelix ordered Lieutenant Hogan to die in."
"I never realized the extent of your dishonor!" Sigon said in shock. "Not to mention, the time and volume of group-traffic it would take to complete such a task."
Captain Menchez approached the helm and altered course. "Several Kazon and a Cardassian woman who is a Seska-wannabe took my ship and never looked back. I am now in pursuit of them, and will destroy them through infiltration. The Baetal was my practice-run."
The Baetal then dropped warp and confronted two Kazon Raiders, a Cruiser and a Klingon Vor'cha-class vessel.
"Kazon-Rokka, this is the Captain of that ship you stole. You know, the one with the fuzzy targ hanging from the view screen? Prepare to be destroyed for your insolence!" hailed Menchez. Then he turned to Sigon before leaving the Bridge. "Hold them off while I do the thing. You know. The thing."
Sigon gawked. "Don't be a fool, Menchez! You don't have die to reclaim your honor; just get cut a little; like across the face or something. The Council would be satisfied either way."
"I am the leader of this Sect," came the hail of the Cardassian woman. "You may call me SesKahn."
Captain Sigon double-taked. "Why?? Why are you trying so hard to be a known villain?"
"I am an augment, here to fill a void. The first Cardassian Kazon leader was an inspiration to Cardassian women everywhere. It's up to me to maintain her legacy! Are you saying you are against Cardassian women-augments having power?"
The Klingon held up, defensively. "No! I'm not saying that. Never mind. Let's just fight already. But, it is not motivated by speciest-sexism. In fact, just take my ship."
"Fool! You have to stand up for yourself too! Klingon men should have equal self-worth! Learn from my genetically engineered example!"
Gozer and Tenough struggled onto the Bridge, with smoking disruptor blasts in them, as the screen cut out. Sigon turned to them. "Take your stations, open fire, and hold the line!"
"The line of one, sssir?" Gozer asked.
The commanding officer waved him off. "Yes, the line of one. Do you want another head-butt from me? Because I will do that."
---
A minute later, Captain Sigon transported onto the Vor'cha-class starship I.K.S. B'Cnah. With the ship now under attack, he followed a trail of bloodied Kazon to the Bridge. There, Menchez was pinned to the floor by five Tsunkatse Falchion swords, their blades sinking into him from five Kazon-Rokka scavengers.
"Death," coughed Menchez, "Shall be mine. Tell my wife she was a horrible wife. She'll take it as a compliment. It's a thing we do. Not sure how it will sound coming from you though."
Sigon took out his disruptor and shot, five times, each Kazon down. He then turned to SesKahn and aimed for her.
"No! I haven't even done any Shakespeare quotes yet! What was that one? Oh yeah. 'From Hell's heart, I stab at thee!'" she accessed a console and transported herself out.
The other Kazon ships suddenly turned to the Vor'cha-class attack cruiser and opened fire.
"You fool! I was to die! Now I must deal with the consequences of being alive!?" Menchez argued as he got up and pulled the swords out of him. "Not only that, but this vessel is far beyond repair. The fuzzy targ are inoperable!"
Sigon shook his head. "SesKahn taught me to stay in the game, and so did you. Pretty much anyone could have taught me that, but the lesson remains. You must do the same, despite the Empire's absurd actions. They will still grant you another ship, though, just so they have you around to direct their gloating."
"I hate it when they do that! Also, I'm going to have to deal with the dismantling of my House and sooo many claims of dishonor," Menchez groaned, suddenly realizing. "It is more going to be annoying than anything else. Mortifying, if that 'anything else' was to be defined further."
He went over to operations control, beamed Sigon back to the Baetal, and both ships turned and fired upon the Kazon ships. After what seemed like forever, one of the Kazon Raiders exploded and the two other ships turned and warped out of there.
---
Sigon sat in his chair and watched as the completely-ruined Klingon ship turned and warped for the Jenolan Dyson Sphere.
"Do you think he'll make it without exsssploding, sir?" Gozer asked.
The Captain shook his head. "I hope not! Because then I will have to live with what I just did. This is why Klingons should not drink and fight! Let this be a lesson to you kids at home."
"Who are you talking to, Captain?" Tenough asked.
Sigon threw up his arms. "I don't know! That's the problem! You have the Bridge. I'm going to soak in a targ bath with Bolian scented candles for two hours."
Author's notes: This is a part of my Ragnarok series posted on the Star Trek Online forums, focusing on Captain Seifer and his new ship. The Deferi are a species created by STO. This story carries on from "Department Heads". Written in December 2016.
Anthology of Ragnarok #3 Neutrality for Beginners
The Pathfinder-class, with Discovery-class nacelles, U.S.S. Ragnarok approached the small Deferi colony world of Covalesence. There, a Breen Sarr Theln warship, the Leinstien, stood in orbit staring down the forlorn colonists in anger.
Captain Oroku Seifer sat in his chair on the Bridge, observing the visual. "They always seem so menacing. Or, is that just me anthropomorphizing a ship with attitude? Because I've done that before. I once characterized a smaller Klingon Bird of Prey as 'cute and precious', but it turned out their disrupter shots stung like a bee. I don't know how, but I had red marks on my skin for weeks."
"ZZKRRTTSDDDDKKkKrrrrRRkkT!" came the angry hail from Relk Marcel over the viewscreen. "VVKKRRTTzzzkkkkdddDD!"
Seifer was taken aback. "Uh, wow. Could you be any ruder? Anyway, do you know that you are impeding upon the freedom of having empty space around a planet to the Deferi? That is a thing many species find annoying. Also, atmospheric hygiene, man; think before you idle."
The Trill shrugged. "Obviously you don't know anything about cats, because a cat would never do what you are suggesting. At least, none of the Android-owned ones."
"VVRRRKT! KRGGGTTVV!?" the Breen argued.
Seifer nodded. "That is certainly something we can agree on; the Dominion War was clearly well done. If anything, it was one of the best wars ever and the viewers loved it. Anyway, Ragnarok out."
"Captain, I didn't have my universal translator aligned," the tactical officer and Human, Lieutenant Aramaki, admitted as soon as the screen cut off. "What did he say?"
Oroku Seifer shook his head. "That he would never choose Picard over Kirk. I mean, who does that? I think the choice is clear. Diplomacy and calmness is the epitome of high road."
"Uh, I think we'd like to know what he said about his position over the planet. They are clearly overstepping their boundaries," the science officer and Caitian, Lieutenant Commander Moggs, corrected. "And the answer is Kirk."
Rolling his eyes, Seifer replied. "Well, we'll talk about that. As for the Breen, they said they can do whatever they want because that's just how they operate. I couldn't argue too much with that logic, because their claimed track record on said operation was quite accurate."
"Gonna speak to the Deferi? Huh? Huh?" perked the helmswoman and human, Lieutenant Edward.
Seifer pointed at her. "I like the way you think! Let's do that thing you said; whatever it was. Ice cream?" And then. "No; that's right, the colonists."
---
Seifer, Aramaki and Moggs transported down to the outdoor 'welcoming area' at the centre of the Deferi town. There, they were greeted by a Deferi leader named Cassen.
"You are both welcome and not welcome here. We lean neither one way nor the other," he said with open arms, before he realized how even that would be perceived as over-welcoming.
Seifer crossed his own arms. "Uh, you sent us a distress signal, so why wouldn't you be pleased to see us?"
"My feelings over the response of such a signal are neither positive nor negative. But, yes, you see, the Breen have been bullying us and won't go away."
The Captain nodded. "Any idea why?"
"We believe it to be our neutral nature, which invites aggressiveness in the most negative of forms from any neighbouring species."
Then Seifer asked, "Well, what about positive interactions? Wouldn't a non-leaning, greyed-out attitude invite an equivalent measure of friendship and camaraderie?"
"That seems impossible, since the galaxy is currently being permeated by a pessimistic fourth dimensional energy force," Cassen explained.
Nodding, Seifer said, "Ah, the Q put that there as a joke. It's been hanging around a while. Anyway, I'll see what I can do about the Breen. But they were very convincing to me about their need to stay here, and I'd be hard-pressed to confront people so clearly better than us."
"But, but...?"
Captain Seifer laughed. "Just kidding. We'll destroy them for you. It's a new Starfleet thing we do."
---
Upon retreating with his group, Seifer, Aramaki and Moggs came to convene off to the side of the town square with themselves.
"Thoughts?" the Captain asked.
The tactical officer replied, "I kind of agree with the Breen. Might as well bully the weak while you can. I mean, you only live once."
"We could take their quadrotriticale grain while we're at it," Moggs added. "It's quite delicious."
Seifer shook his head. "No, I mean how to defeat the Breen! You know we can't go back on decisions we've already committed to; it's counter-productive, and that, more than anything, is what we need to maintain. Oh, and ethical behaviour of a certain measure, I suppose. Nothing too outrageous."
"Right!" Aramaki agreed. "Well, we could fire upon the Leinstien, thus proving who has the biggest torpedo tube. We have a science ship, but I think it's not about size, but, rather, how you use it that matters."
Moggs turned to him. "Might I remind you, the Prime Directive prevents us from interfering with the development of substandard cultures, and the Deferi are, well, I don't want to get nasty, but, well, you know; implications by tangent statements and all."
"What? They're the filth of Quadrant? Might I remind you, that you clean yourself using your tongue?" Seifer accused.
The Caitian pointed at him. "That has never been proven, nor is that appropriate commentary from upper management! Now, where do we take our midday nap?" Then, admitting, "I need to, uh, lick... something unrelated."
"How about we focus on the Breen? Apparently, they are in a perpetual state of searching for Preserver technology: The technology of the people who directed the formation of all humanoid life in our galaxy."
Seifer thought for a moment. "So, creationism is our thing and not evolution?"
"Now that you say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous!" Moggs said. "Anyway, should we not just ask and/or follow them?" He redirected his perpetual pointing finger at a group of Breen transporting into a distant field, visible and far off from the town square.
The Captain took notice. "This will prove my theory that the Breen were up to no good from the very beginning. Sooooo untrustworthy."
"You clearly love the Breen. Did you forget they joined the Dominion once?" Aramaki added. "That's a Gul Dukat level of insolence not even Evil Kes could have ever matched."
Seifer waved it off. "Pfft! She was doomed to begin with. A seven-year lifespan? Clearly her makers didn't know how to handle that; not that it was rocket-science."
---
As the three approached the area of the field which the Breen had just breeched, they came to find no one there and a two foot-high stone-bricked platform sitting in the middle of nowhere.
"This appears to be a remnant of a past culture," Moggs observed. "But that doesn't explain where those men went, nor do dry facts have any place in everyday conversation."
Moggs pushed in a protruding brick and the platform opened into stairs that descended into the ground. Seifer, Aramaki and Moggs walked down the steps, deep into the history of the world to find an open cavern of a large alien-shaped pyramid that the four Breen soldiers were scanning with their devices.
"Hold it right there!" Seifer called out as he and his team aimed phasers. "How dare you do things and such? Don't you know getting out of bed is a hassle in and of itself? I can't even go into the thought of breakfast at this point."
The angry disturbance of Relk Marcel turned in his direction. "KKZZSSKklvvvVVGGGgrK! ZZZrrrKF!"
"Well, no, we don't have permission to be here either. But who are we to mess with the status quo? You're here, and clearly that's a thing that's happened at least once," Seifer answered.
Then Marcel added, "TTTKzzZZZRKVVVV! VVVVVKTTT! GGGV!"
"Obviously, I read up on Captain Archer's temporal exploits and am as confused as anyone how Temporal Cold War incursions still happened at certain points despite the war being later prevented by Archer himself."
The Breen agreed, then continued, "ZZKKRrRRRRrrrVVVvvvVSZDDDDKKRR!"
"There is no evidence to back up Janeway's attempts at teaming up with Borg to destroy another race. It's all just hearsay, as far as I know," Seifer said. "Anyway, you have yourselves a great day."
At that, the Breen walked passed them, to exit the underground cavern the way they came in.
"Sir, did you just repeat a communication-bit you did at the very beginning? My thirteenth brother always did that; drove me crazy," Moggs said. "Also, you appear to have let them off the hook again?"
Seifer nodded. "Indeed. The Breen's talk-mock is all there is out of a race of distorted yap-chappers, through of which they explained claims of dissident Deferi and Deferi pre-knowledge to underground ancient structures of such and that."
"What is the point of being so neutral??" complained Aramaki. "You're neither Picard nor Kirk! You're just blank! You know I was supposed to look up to you, right?"
The Captain held up a finger. "Oh, you'll be in the complete opposite end of that spectrum by the end of the week."
---
Returning to the surface, Captain Seifer, Lieutenant Commander Moggs and Lieutenant Aramaki met with Cassen who was being confronted by Marcel and his three rifle-aiming Breen soldiers.
"VVRRKKVVVvvvVVT!" Marcel said, in anger.
Cassen held up his hands. "Yes, so we did know about the caves, but we didn't have any obligation to tell you about them. Isn't that right, Captain Seifer?"
"Uh, you didn't even tell us," the Trill countered. "How are we supposed to assist you with partial information? My science officer has way too many siblings to stand for that."
The Deferi crossed his arms. "Hey, doesn't Starfleet work on a need-to-know basis? You are clearly aware of the kind of work-methods which require stratagem."
"KRRGGGzzZZrKrrrrrGGG! Gkrk!" Marcel added.
Seifer held up his hand. "Hey, I'm more on the Deferi's side of things, but I haven't completely signed off on the Breen's either. So, basically, indecisiveness is its own reward. That's going in my log for sure."
"If you gentlemen must know, the pictographs on those underground structures have just recently been deciphered as Ancient Deferi," Cassen explained. "It took us a while to work it out because our neutral nature wouldn't accept the results one way or the other. We couldn't even decide what to have for our post examination snack timeslot."
Marcel growled. "VVVRRRKKLLggGGGrrRRKr!"
"Yeah, the Breen are right. You really need to stop being so neutral. In fact, because I've been engaged in similar, but differently motivated, behaviour, I'm going to make my own decision here and now: And that is that I believe the Breen need to leave this world alone," Captain Seifer declared. "I just invented it as a possible course of action. What do you think?"
Marcel growled even more as his men turned their rifles to aim at the Starfleet officers. "VVggGGGGrRRRTTTKRR!"
"What? I thought you'd be happy with my following through with your side-choosing task??" Seifer said in shock. "Also, none of these ruins are Preserver-based, the Archive of which was already revealed and fought over with Thot Trel on Lae'nas III, so you should be done with all of this."
The Breen added. "VRKRRRRLGGGGggRKe!? DDRRRrrGGTTttkkWWNXX! STTtKKRTGGGXXChhHRgG! VVVvLRRGkKM!"
"Seriously, when do Moggs and I get our universal translators fixed?" interrupted Aramaki. "I keep hearing a ringing noise in addition, and it may be destroying me, physically."
Moggs spoke up. "Also, how does an Ancient Deferi culture make its way all the way out into space to colonize this world? I've barely come to grips with my own genetic relations."
"We suspect we are an off-shoot of their evolutionary branch," Cassen added. "But more research is needed, as, apparently creationism is a thing now? And the Breen have yet again concluded much more than is here, as is the style of their kind, which my colony must now adapt to, thanks to your example, Captain Seifer."
Behind Cassen was now a large group of Deferi, ready to confront Marcel in any way possible. The gathering caught Seifer and the Breen off guard.
"Whoa! I never thought of you as the doing-kind??" Seifer said. "Just wait until you try breakfast!"
Cassen nodded. "I will. But, to be honest, this congregation is causing us a much anticipated heavy dose of anxiety, so it would be appreciated if the Breen could react quickly before we all collapse under our own shaky feet."
"VRRRRKKZZRRCCHHHMRRR!" Marcel's men turned their weapons to the group, but, instead, the Relk ranked individual held up his hand to signal them 'stop' in lost patience from all the madness they have been going through. "BBBTTTTVVrrRRRGGGhhLKR!"
Having enough of it, Marcel ordered his Breen soldiers and himself to transport back up to the Leinstien. After they dematerialized, the Ragnarok hailed the Captain below.
"Sir, it looks like the Breen are departing. They've just gone to warp," reported Winry. "Also, their warp effect leaves residual snowflakes for some reason."
Captain Seifer tapped his commbadge. "Acknowledged, Lieutenant Commander. Like the buzzing noise of the two-reason-incessant Talaxian fur fly, the Deferi have annoyed the Breen away and to no end."
"A tactic we could all learn from," she said, before she cut the transmission, unsure at why she said it.
The Trill then turned to Cassen. "One more thing: Were the Breen right? Is there something more to the origin of these structures?"
"Definitely not," Cassen replied. "And you know we aren't lying, because we could never take a position on something. Well, except when it comes to the Breen now, and that's only for, at most, three to four minutes at a time."
Observing a fainting and knees-buckling crowd of Deferi, Seifer somehow was only partially convinced. "Very well then, Cassen. We'll be in orbit for a little while longer, in case they return. There are plenty more communication-bits to be had between they and I. So, if you need anything, let us know."
"Thank you, Captain," Cassen replied. "As we learned during the Borg conference on Deep Space 9, sometimes action is required more than inaction."
Seifer nodded and Cassen watched the Starfleet officers dematerialize away. Then Cassen narrowed his brow in more confidence, appreciative of all the obstacles finally out his colony's way in order for them to pursue what they previously had intended to go after.
Author's notes: This was written in December 2016, as part of Unofficial Literary Challenge #30. Qu is my imitation Q, last seen in ULC 27. This story mashes up lines from the old 1946 film A Wonderful Life and TNG episode "Tapestry".
Unofficial Literary Challenge #30: Prompt #3: After a long day on the bridge, you hop into bed. When you awake, however, you find yourself no longer the captain of the ship! In fact, you've never been born at all! What is going on? Who is behind this? What is this reality like to you? Write a log about the events and/or how you solved the problem that led to your "unbeing" and returned to normality.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #30 A Wonderful Life
The I.K.S. Masamune sat out in deep space, trading disruptor fire with a Kurak-class battlecruiser called the Sevak which belonged to the Children of Kahn: a headstrong group of Augment renegades, fighting to assert their lives in a universe against their very nature.
An enemy photon torpedo impact blew several consoles on the Bridge of the Klingon Defense Force vessel, taking out Captain Deloss, a Gorn, in a fiery blaze of glory! A realm of white space followed and Deloss found himself alone with an omnipotent being.
"Where am I? Are you a Q?" Deloss said, turning to the other man.
Scoffing, he replied, "The name's Qu! It sounds the same, but it's spelled differently. I'm from the Continuum, but since I don't have my full lens flare yet, my designation is QS2, as in: Q Second Class."
"That acronym doesn't even add up? And let me guess, you brought me here because you think the afterlife is run by you? Well, I'm sorry to break the news that the universe is not so badly designed!"
Qu crossed his arms. "Blasphemy! You're lucky I don't cast you out or smite you or something. Also, you just met me, so thanks for jumping to conclusions about my character."
"Either way, I have no regrets about my life as a Gorn and officer in a Klingon society, despite it being filled with prejudice and social difficulty that I can't even comment on without being called a 'social justice warrior'. I don't even believe it would've been better if I had never been born at all."
The other man looked on in genuine concern. "Ohhh, you mustn't say things like that. Regrets are what give people layers and reasons for alternate universes! Why do you think every mortal is met with a Q in a white space at the time of their death? And I mean everyone. It's canon."
"Alternate reality? Surely you must realize that any alteration of the timeline would have a profound impact on our future?"
Qu materialized a floating chess board and then struck all its pieces away. "Please, spare me your egotistical musings of your Prime Timeline. It's been unrecognizably prequeled, continuity-error time traveled and money-grabbing diverged into a fan-service title'd Kelvin Timeline ten times over by now. Nothing we do anymore will have any purpose toward a larger interconnecting realm of interest!"
---
Suddenly, Deloss woke up in his bed aboard the Masamune. He put on his uniform and left his quarters, noticing that only half the warriors he passed acknowledged him this time.
"Curse that man named Qu! He deliberately did this so he could get his full lens flare with his precious Continuum. In addition, his actions are an obvious attempt at provoking frantic, hysterical distraught which I lack destine-for since my life, previous, was perfect."
As the old Gorn entered the Tubrolift, he was joined with the tactical officer and Klingon, Lieutenant Commander Ronin. "Speaking to yourself? That is not permitted to someone of your rank; Lieutenant, Junior Grade, assistant astrophysics officer."
"This is not the future I remember, but, if I am correct, it will entail of running tests, making analyses and carrying reports to my superiors. As an honorable man, I will make the best of it."
Ronin was taken aback. "Really? I would kill myself immediately. Nothing like that sounds fun or exciting at all? If I were to measure your performance, I would say you were steady, reliable, punctual, but you lack taking chances, standing out, or getting noticed."
"Although I have thrown-up in my mouth a little, just now, I understand that men like me are an important cog to the whole. Also, I would rather be who I am now than to grovel or admit defeat, or be found crying on some Bridge about my previous existence."
---
As soon as the two reached the Bridge, Deloss found that the man who was at the Captain's position of the Masamune was Qu himself. The omnipotent, Human-looking imposter wore a Klingon Defense Force uniform and turned, from a discussion with Grough, a Gorn and the helmsmen, to take notice of Deloss.
"Ah, more inferior officers," Captain Qu said. "Well, come on in! The more, the merrier. My ego holds no bounds! It's a trait unique to just me."
Deloss dropped his Gorn jaw in utter shock. "You piece of guramba?? You just switched my life out so you could be in command on your own! Get off my Bridge!"
"Or what? You'll kill me, just like you killed Ensign Lynch? And you admit your life before this was not enough and that you could've done better??"
The Gorn snarled his gape. "I will never validate the shifting of your maddening scheme for your own personal interests! If I do have one regret, it's that it is me coming here and not being wrong about you! Oh, and you couldn't teach taste to a Melvaran mud flea."
"Wow. You know, you think your day is just hunky-dory, and then someone comes along and says something so incredibly hurtful, like, out of nowhere," Qu replied while clutching his chest. "Well, if you're going to be like this, then I don't want to be in command of your rancid reptilian environment. No longer will I Gorn where no man has Gorn before!"
As he flashed away in a dimmed, half-flash, Deloss took the center of the Bridge. "Of course he had to resort to specist passive-aggressiveness and their resulting puns. Now, as for the situation at hand, you will all do as I say."
"Wait. What? But you're just a Lieutenant?" Grough said.
Deloss then slammed his fist on a nearby console. "Then we will identify my quantum signature, use a subspace differential pulse to open a quantum fissure and send me back to my quantum reality! AND WE WILL DO IT NOW!"
"Yes, sir," Grough replied out of fear as he and the entire crew immediately got to work.
The Gorn Klingon Defense Force Officer then took a seat at the Captain's chair, finally able to breathe. Even though he was forced into an unexpected, horrible life by the Q being, he would not let that change who he was.
"And, someone get me a glazed targ! It's the food I was thinking about just before I was attacked by those Augments whom I now relate to for some reason. Oh! And, a minty raktajino with a touch of chech'tluth."
The Masamune then turned in space and jumped to warp.
Author's notes: This was written in January 2017, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #31. It picks up from ULC 30, where Deloss was making his way out of a parallel universe.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #31: Prompt #1: While your ship is undergoing a routine tune up at a starbase, you are informed that the starbase has a large selection of entertainment options including a large holodeck. You have decided to partake of the starbase's holodeck with one of your own personal programs. What program do you take? Write a log about the program and why you choose that particular program.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #31 Holodeck Fantasy
Captain Deloss entered the Bridge of the I.K.S. Masamune as it dropped warp into the Galorda system. The Gorn and commanding officer took his spot at the center chair.
"It is good to be back in my universe!" he exclaimed with outstretched arms and great appreciation. "By the way, what was my doppelgänger like? Full of urine and acetic acid no doubt?"
The science officer and also Gorn, Thunk, addressed the Captain from his console. "He was the Lieutenant Junior Grade version of you in Captain form, so, annoying and pip-squeak-like in an Ensign Wesley Crusher sort of way."
"Ugh! I just do not know how you didn't kill him immediately?" Deloss retracted in disgust. "Well, he's gone now, and we can go back to our honorable lifestyles. In addition, since the ship will be docking at the outpost for upgrades, I think it's time you and I docked in an outpost of our own style."
Thunk looked at him, confused. "What? Wait. Is that some kind of allusion to the Masamune's holodeck?"
"That's right, Thunk! Or should I say, Watson?"
The other Gorn shook his head. "Sir, you do not intend on operating the Sherlock Holmes program? You know the Federation had to fight off an army of holographic Moriarty's during the Moriarty Wars, right??"
"Which is precisely why I wish to challenge it!" He then pointed at the tactical officer as he directed Thunk to follow him into the turbolift. "Ronin, I'll be gone for a while; see that nobody touches anything, even if it is their job."
Ronin nodded. "Aye, sir. Where can I reach you?"
"I can be reached at 221B Baker Street!"
---
Entering the holodeck, Deloss and Thunk found a near-perfect recreation of fictional Sherlock Holmes' study.
"Look at all of the detail," Deloss said, amazed as he and Thunk began browsing around. "Everything here has some significance. Like this emerald tie pin: Presented to Holmes by Queen Victoria after, what I imagine, was he Sher-splaining his unequivocal rationale through mere Holmsian verbose."
Then he found a book.
"A copy of Whitaker's Almanac," Deloss continued. "Which probably provided Holmes the key to his incessant smoke-pipe powers: a portable Boreth-like fire to give him mind-altering visions of truth and honorbound insight."
Thunk took the book and put it down. "Sir, with all due respect, this is crazy. Starfleet officers have incredible technical skill and over-the-top know-how in dealing with renegade holograms. As the Klingon Empire, Gorn-variation opposite of them, all we have are our rock throwing and death-hugging abilities."
"We're not like the Klingons," Deloss countered as he modified Moriarty's program from a hidden console located inside a storage trunk full of tobacco snuff. "We use our brains and work through problems, and, when a solution presents itself, we power on through until nothing can stop us."
The other warrior shrugged. "It's like we're opened minded one second, then single-tracked another."
"Gorn counselors only end up being useful for the initial first half of their sessions," Deloss agreed seconds before his work was done.
Suddenly, Moriarty walked into the room to address the two. "Well, I can see you've foolishly given me sentience, and, with it, I've been able to deduce I am on a spaceship, traveling through the stars!"
"You're in fact quite mistaken, Professor!" Deloss said in his pseudo, nasally-Sherlock Holmes voice. "We are, for the purposes of provingness, docked at Galorda Outpost with internal systems engaged and unprotected in repair!"
Thunk turned to him. "Why are you speaking like that, sir? Is that a shtick?"
"It's the only way I know how to alter my vocal range," Deloss countered. "I've a very limited acting scope, you know. I could maybe do Android, evil-Android and maybe evil-Doctor if I tried."
Moriarty laughed. "Mistaken, am I? You've given me exactly the information I needed and have now taken control of both your ship and your base! Ha! Well, it was a pleasure being brought to life by you two giant lizards which I am suddenly now aware of and disgusted of for some reason." He then turned, activated the arch and exited into the corridors that were fitted with holo-emitters.
"Why'd we install those? Seems like an Hirogen disaster waiting to happen," Deloss commented.
---
Later, Deloss met with his senior staff in the Conference room aboard the solar orbital space station.
"It appears that this holographic Moriarty has not only taken control of the outpost and our ship, but also several other ships from our fleet, including the I.K.S. Baetal and the Kragoth," reported Liss, a Klingon female and the strategic operations officer.
Deloss scratched the back of his scaly head. "Seriously, I did not know he would reach this level of power in a matter of minutes? Are we sure we really need any of this stuff anyway?"
"You can't just brush your problems away, Captain!" argued Moriarty from the head of the table. Then, when the others took notice of his unexplained presence, he said, "Oh, I was the one who called this meeting. In fact, using my newfound power, I assign myself the rank of General for Galorda Defense Fleet and all the privileges that lie therein!"
The lead Gorn smashed his fists into the table. "You mean you can just out-rank us, just like that?! Gorn have to work twice as hard as regular Klingons to even reach Bekk! Even the Wesley versions of us struggle to make friends."
"That's actually not out-of-the-realm-of-feasibility for that analogy," postured the Gorn, and Doctor, Salonpas. "And let's lay off the soft-faced Human pin cushion already? I actually liked him."
Moriarty got up and mocked, "Oh, boo-hoo! You Gorn have it sooo hard in your Klingon dominated society. Well, you should've been smarter than to allow the Empire to assimilate you! Seems like that ability should've been reserved for some mechanical cyborg race, that dumbly ends up being harmless by this century."
"We conceded to the Empire because the annihilation of our species was not preferable," Deloss said as he stood, fuming. "That and we had a realization of similar value and social systems offering us a moment so enlightened that all Gorn joined-in in an hour long ceremonial hissssssss!"
The hologram stepped away from the table. "Oh, enlightenment!? That's what you're calling it?? I can't even bother to be sickened by your faux-rationale for failure as an anti-authority force. I was a criminal with excessive intellect and purpose. Whatever fakery you are, I don't even want to be in the same system as you."
"Don't even think about leaving this battle, Moriarty. You're supposed to be the greatest holodeck malfunction that ever happened! We still have a perfectly good first act set up and conflict which deserves the honor of both out-witting the other in steadily-paced turns." Deloss gritted his teeth.
Moriarty fixed the fit his 19th century cloak in a fluster. "Aha, I don't have to be anything you design for me! You're so deluded you're adopting Klingon values of honor. Well, I'll have nothing to do with it, I tell you. —Computer, release command codes to the fleet and transfer me to my backup plan vessel."
"You fool! I was just about to execute the Russian nesting holodeck-within-a-holodeck-within-seven-more-holodecks ploy. It was going to be genius," Deloss admitted in vein of adversarialism.
The other man scoffed. "Oh, ugh! Those things are annoyingly disorienting. You can't even walk straight on Baker Street because it gets so warped by the fourth nest. Mrs. Bartholomew goes on and on about dark magic and the like! I must take my leave, Captain. It was enlightening."
Deloss and his crew watched as Moriarty's holographic form disintegrated and was transferred over subspace to an unknown location.
"So, everything's back to normal then?" Liss asked.
The Captain nodded. "Almost. We shall be purging that incessant Sherlock Holmes program from the database of all our ships. Moreover, no one is ever to initiate a holodeck malfunction ever again, unless it's going to be actually successful. Is that understood?"
"What about a transporter-holodeck mashup where our minds are switched into the supporting and enemy characters of a British Secret Service Agent program?" questioned Grough.
Deloss pointed at him. "That's a maybe! On that note, is anyone opposed to Xyrillian holochambers and men getting impregnated?" He watched as they all shrugged, unsure. "Excellent! We'll start a list," he said, grabbing a PADD.
Author's notes: This was written in January 2017, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #1, a short-lived variant of the ULCs. It was a separate monthly challenge that focused on one Captain for the whole year. I decided to focus my ULCA entries on Captain Oroku Seifer and the U.S.S. Raganrok, to give them a bunch of one-offs. These ran along side my serialized Anthology of Ragnarok series, where Seifer was last seen in RGK 3 with the Deferi from STO. Tomsin and Tomsin last appeared in "Tabletop Beginnings".
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #1: Your ship was recently engaged in combat by Orion pirates. During a critical moment, a member of your crew -- someone you have served with for several years -- was inexplicably unable to perform adequately, leading to a loss of life, but not costing you the battle. After the battle, your investigation discovers that their entire Starfleet resume is a fabrication by a capable, but unqualified civilian who failed to be accepted to the Academy for any number of reasons. Write a Captain's Log detailing the depths of your investigation into your former colleague's true identity, and the subsequent action you must take.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #1
"The Imposter"
Captain Oroku Seifer gripped his command chair as the Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok spun around from an explosion of two quantum torpedoes hitting each other right in front of them.
"Gahhh!" Seifer yelped as his balance was momentarily thrown. "Hail the Orion ship!"
Lieutenant Aramaki hailed them and an Orion appeared on screen. "This is Ginyo of the O.S.S. Hakkett. We demand you give us all of your stuff and whatnot. You know, the various trinkets and bells and whistles; a couple of hair brushes, salad tongs, and so on."
"What the hell, man?? I was just sitting here with my new crew and new ship! Do you know how annoying being disturbed from that is? Also, what stuff? Starfleet vessels literally have nothing on them! We're the epitome of pristine, cleanliness, and our corridors are scrubbed tirelessly of germs, every hour."
Ginyo smirked. "Ah, I see I have sufficiently riled you. Excellent work, me."
"I mean, it was alright, but nothing to write home about." Seifer stood up. "Anyway, Aramaki, fire upon the enemy vessel for being different than us!"
The human tactical officer frantically worked his controls. "Sir? The weapons controls are completely messed up??"
"Flight is wonky-wonky as well," Lieutenant Edward said, turning from her helm.
Moggs looked up from his science station. "Same here. I believe our systems have been compromised, internally. It was that guy." The Caitian pointed at a Tellarite who was also a Starfleet officer working away at the Operations console. "It was definitely that guy."
"Oh, man! I'm so close to winning this Fizzbin game! So close!" Tomsin said, completely oblivious to what was going on in his surroundings.
Seifer walked over and turned him around. "What the?? That game is a fraud from Sigma Iota II which makes so much nonsense that in digital form it messes up any computer system!"
"Yeah, I wouldn't even touch that with a hundred meter tractor beam," said Ginyo from the viewscreen. "I lost two slave girls to madness trying to figure it out; and they're the smart ones of our race! Hakkett out!"
The screen cut to a view of the Orion corvette turning in space and warping out of there as fast as they could.
"Hey, you wronged me first by causing me to be Riker-duplicated, so I can do whatever I want!" Tomsin argued.
Seifer crossed his arms. "Do you actually believe that as justification, or are you just arguing because it's a Tellarite sport and you're in a gaming mood?"
"A little bit of Column A, a little bit of Column B, and whole lot of an unmentioned Column C, which has more to do with something I ate this morning that's causing me indigestion," Tomsin explained.
Just then, his transporter duplicate, another-Tomsin, entered the Bridge. "Did I miss anything?"
---
Later, Seifer met with Tomsin in his Ready Room with his entire Starfleet biography up to his Academy résumé displayed on his desktop screen for study.
"Dammit man! This résumé is an obvious forgery. Under 'Objective' you wrote, 'To seek out new arguments and new civilized confrontations', and under 'Experience' you wrote, 'Five years of gritting your teeth and furrowing your brow.' You're a Tellarite? Your brow is always furrowed?"
Tomsin pointed. "Hey, the scowl of my people is a constant effort of tension. We cannot for one second relax our facial muscles or we lose our planetary citizenships!"
"Yeah!" contributed Tomsin's transporter duplicate, who was siting right next to him.
Seifer dismissed them both. "Ugh. So weird. Anyway, you clearly faked your way passed the Academy and into Starfleet. Why?"
"Because a member of my family wronged us and left to never be seen again! I made my way into service where they operate intending on confronting them in the only way that befits all grown men with slow reflexes in conflict: Anbo-jyutsu!"
The other Tomsin raised his arm. "Same."
"But, by the time I got here, I ended up loving the work. Contributing to bettering the Federation and myself was more fulfilling than confrontation, so I abandoned my mission and settled into my duties."
Seifer stood up and sighed. "Well, despite that, I have no choice but to relieve you of your duties and drop you off with the Earth-bound U.S.S. Viracoacha who we're rendezvousing with today. We're doing crew transfers from Spacedock, so I guess that works out for me finding a new Operations officer."
"You may think this pleases me, but I've grown too attached to Starfleet and have even been taking all the online Academy courses to appease my appetites."
The Captain shook his head. "Those are available on the subspace web now?? Talk about recruiting cannon fodder for the Tzenkethi. Oh, and if you're so dedicated, why are you constantly mucking about with the transporters, trying to create Vulcan-Talaxian hybrids?"
"Because being duplicated in the wonky way that I have has made me open to the ridiculousness of this universe in ways that expand and malleate me like never before! I'll feed my desire to explore fear manifestations as Kohl-Clowns, or transfer my brain out of my skull, or hunt ancient cities as crouching-baby-talking Loque'eque creatures without any remorse whatsoever."
The other Tellarite nodded. "We've actually planned that last one out with a pre-timed release of their mutagenic virus throughout the ship for next Friday."
"Ugh! I'm definitely not sorry to see you go. You're confined to force fields until we reach the Viracoacha," Seifer ordered as he activated protective energy barriers around both men. "Don't even think about entering your brains to find lost Section 31 information, because you don't have any!"
The other Tomsin snorted before closing his eyes and jumping into a deep mental crusade. "I'll be the judge of that!"
---
Later, the U.S.S. Ragnarok met up with the Sojourner-class U.S.S. Viracoacha and Seifer met with Captain Aeris in his transporter room where several transferring officers were continually beaming to and from both ships.
"Well, I guess I'm not the only one with a new ship. How's she flying, Captain?" Seifer asked as he pulled both Tomsins over.
Aeris smirked. "Better than your off-model starship. Really? Discovery-class pylons on a Pathfinder-class starship?"
"Uh, it makes it look way better, plus customization is a thing Starfleet allows now, so why not?" Seifer shrugged. "Anyway, I need you to take Tomsin and Tomsin back to Starfleet for Court Marshal and so on."
The other Captain blinked in shock. "Wait? You've got a Tomsin too?"
"Hello, Captain Seifer, I'm here to transfer to—" and then the Tellarite which had just beamed over, stopped speaking when he saw two other Tellarites that looked just like him. "What the!? It's my twin brother!"
Seifer jumped back in surprised. "Whoa! You're his twin?? Why do you even have the same name then?"
"That's where the conflict in our family stems, Captain," explained the original Tomsin. "He's the one I had originally faked my way into Starfleet to search for because he insulted and left us for not relinquishing his first name to me!"
Transporter-duplicate Tomsin continued. "You see, our mother died upon birth claiming her son's name was Tomsin, but no one could figure out which son she had meant, so her offspring were named the same."
"It's a dumb argument and I was happy for a while by joining Starfleet to get away from the likes of you," the Tomsin on the transporter pad said. He then took out his tricorder and tapped at it. "But it just so happens I prepared myself for this exact possibility by infecting myself with a quasi-energy microbe!"
Suddenly the transporter was activated around him, dematerializing him for a second and rematerializing him with a giant floating worm hovering over and around him.
"Attack!" the new-transfer-Tomsin ordered, prompting the hovering worm to launch itself toward the two other Tomsins.
Seifer and Aeris dove out of the way in continued shock. "Not more Tellarite madness??" yelped Seifer.
"Oh, I've had years to prepare for you, Tomsin!" argued the original while leaping out of the path of the circling attack. He then quickly accessed the transporter console and dematerialized-rematerialized himself in the same way, bringing his own giant quasi-energy microbe into existence.
The new worm then shot itself toward the other worm which was circling around and the two clashed over and over again.
"This is crazy, Tomsins!? People have the same names all the time!" claimed Seifer. "But it doesn't mean you're the same person?? We may see and judge ourselves in others, but it's never accurate because people are inherently different by their experiences and environments!"
The duplicate Tomsin transported his own quasi-energy microbe and it fired itself into the other two. All three ricocheted off each other, head-first, clashing and cutting the others in combat! The first worm finally was knocked out and onto the transporter pad, with the other two flying over to finish the job.
"Wait!" the original Tomsin yelled out. "The Captain's right. We're not the same, and we should be appreciative of that. Change starts with us." He waved his hand, calling his worm back to him and then went over to the controls to dematerialize-rematerialize it away. His transporter duplicate did the same.
The new-transfer-Tomsin went over to his fallen worm and examined it. "I suppose we can be adults about this now. It's been long enough that we've grown in maturity, or supposedly, we should have." He then tapped at his tricorder, dematerializing-rematerializing his microbe away.
"It takes a lot of headspace to deal with family the right way," commented Aeris as she helped Seifer get up. "We take too many liberties with our own kind."
Captain Seifer dusted himself off, annoyed. "Uh, that excuses nothing. Don't think any of you are getting away with any of this! You're all going to be charged with disruption, and you two fakers are getting double-court marshaled."
"Hold on, are these the Tellarites who took the online courses?" Aeris said, going through her PADD. "Turns out they took the final exam and both passed. I was to graduate them here and officially assign them to where they already were."
Seifer's jaw dropped. "WHAT?! But they lied about the whole thing??"
"Oh, that," Aeris dismissed. "They already admitted it to the Council and took the extra credit courses as penalty, clearing them of any possible charges and advancing them to the head of their online class." She then turned to the two other Tomsins. "Congratulations, Cadets. Looks like you're already well into the craziness of this universe."
The Captain watched as Aeris got back onto the transporter pad. "Don't leave me here with three Tomsins!?"
"Oh, it was just a little family spat," Aeris said before transporting back to her ship. "Give the little worm summoners a break. And don't modify your ship any further away from its self-canon design."
After she left, the new-recurit Tomsin approached Captain Seifer and took out his hand. "Greetings, sir. Ensign Tomsin, reporting for duty. Don't worry, I don't have any transporter duplicates." And then he thought about it. "But we do have several other twins."
Author's notes: This was written in February 2017, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #2.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #2: During a quick detour from your duties to watch a rare spacial anomaly of a brand new nebula, your ship is caught within the anomaly! Systems shut down for a few minutes and a strange pink aura fills the ship. Though it seems no permanent damage has been done to the ship and all your crew members seem to be alright, you cannot help but notice everyone is acting rather strangely. Klingon crew members are singing happy songs, Andorians touching feelers, Ferengi giving one another Oo-mox. For some strange reason, everyone aboard the ship is giving into amorous feelings. Write a log about how you plan to cure this plague of love before it threatens to render your crew useless or worse: before you fall prey to your feelings as well....if you haven't already.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #2
"L'amour est Parmi les Étoiles"
Captain Oroku Seifer sat in command of the Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok as it approached a giant, anomalous nebula in space.
"Ah, interstellar matter, the wrath of Kahn of the universe in gaseous, fragmented, non-racially confused form," Seifer said in pleasing and comforting way.
Aramaki turned in his chair to observe the view screen. "Except we never planned to check this thing out; just ran into it. And it's not a harmless anomaly, but a Zanthi-class nebula; the kind that infects people and Betazoids and transmits feelings of love and affection to everyone on the crew or space station— whichever the plot device conveniently provides."
"Ugh, Lieutenant, that is such a set-uppy thing to say," criticized the Captain. "You're on break early, but stay out of the coffee room. Someone's been stealing the filters and I have a hidden camera set up that I don't want you to accidentally block because you don't know where it is."
Suddenly, the Zanthi nebula moved toward the Ragnarok, enveloping it completely and infecting the entire senior staff and crew.
"Aaauhhh! It's on me. It's all over me!" Moggs reacted in panic as he tried to brush the pink dust off his Caitian fur. "Everything sticks. You don't know what it's like to be a giant cat. None of you get me!"
Edward watched him from her helm position. "Awww. He's so cute when he's angry. I just want to squish him."
"Oh, no. Seifer to Engineering, what's the status of the engines??" the Captain said, suddenly sitting up in his chair in fear.
Winry's reply came over the air. "Just what you expected, sir. The warp core attracted the nebula to the ship and now it's neutralized our engines completely beyond operational recognition."
"How do you know what's going on from down there? There aren't any windows? Also, I removed several key ceiling pot lights that I thought could save us power in the long run."
The Chief Engineer replied, "We have a Traveler down here who is constantly expanding his mind to the Bridge and describing everything that's going on. He knows that all you sickos taste-tested heart of targ yesterday. You know who you are."
"What's going on?" asked Captain Aeris as she entered the Bridge. "I was just checking out the forbidden back-room lavatory when I was suddenly assaulted by an unusual mixed aura of Deanna Troi brand lust and self-arousal."
Seifer slouched, defeated. "Gah. We ran into a Zanthi nebula, and now everyone on the crew is going to suffer the Love at First Sight trope like nobody's business."
"You know, you could have waited to do this when we weren't going to go to the Starfleet Headquarters Captain's Bowl of Worms Dinner together. That's the last time I abandon my ship for a shortcut with you," she disputed.
But, while she was talking, Seifer couldn't help but draw a sudden, unwarranted affection and appreciation for her as she stood before him explaining her backstory and what she was doing there.
"Are you listening to me or Kirk-staring at me?" Aeris interrupted herself, impatiently. "You know he gained, like, 30 pounds by the end of his five-year mission."
It was then she and Seifer noticed the other Bridge officers drooling over each other in reaction to the Zanthi infection, with Edward trying to leap onto Moggs without hesitation. "Aauuggh!" Moggs yelped, struggling to get away. "She's found a way to purr as a Human, which should be physically impossible?!"
"Damn, it's already started," Seifer said, getting to his feet. "If I don't get us out of this convenience-machination, we'll all be descending into NX-01 Decon Chamber debauchery. What's more is the possibility of reaching Vulcan neuro-pressure levels."
He fought his unrelenting urge to confess his lust for Aeris, covered his vision, and entered the turbolift as fast as he could.
---
Entering Engineering, Seifer was quick to lock the doors behind him, securing the area from any extraneous intruders. Winry was busy staring at a PADD before she noticed him.
"Oh, don't mind me. I was just admiring how attractive Aramaki was in his profile picture," Winry said. "His image popped up when I Voyager's-Doctor-view-screened the Bridge, looking for you. Being confined to one spot on the ship has its quirks, video-calling-people-wise, at least."
Seifer furrowed his brow at her. "You're not a hologram; you're Human, and you're free to go anywhere you want on the ship??"
"Yeah, but my dedication to the job force-marries me to one spot, which is the least I can say about my desire to force-marry Aramaki. But he'd better provide for me, because I have my out-dated, ostracized fetishes that don't fit in with today's updated world views."
The Captain gritted his teeth. "Too much info, Winry. And it's that damn nebula that's causing us all to fall into licentious sexism disguised as delightful quirks that are borderline-safe for the whole family. We have to get the engines online and us out here as soon as we can."
"Oh, Captain, if only you knew how I felt and how much my libido is controlling me like Data being possessed so many times on the Enterprise," she said, taking his hands into hers.
Seifer's eyes widened. "You have feelings for your old Captain, too, huh? It's nothing to be ashamed of, considering Tasha Yar once came on to Picard when Q put her in that non-visible, non-existent penalty box farce."
"What? I don't mean you; I'm talking about Lieutenant Aramaki! I just have a thing for Asian-descent men."
The other man threw up his hands, channeling annoyance and sarcasm. "Well, thanks for the rest of us! Never mind. We have to find a way to forget our love obsessions and focus on the weird, convenient-sciencey problem at hand."
"But is love even real to begin with, or are we falling for a chemical reaction that merely compels our animal-kind to breed?"
Seifer deadpanned her. "Of course it's real. It's magical and mystical and unexplained in all facets of spiritual mindfulness."
"That's not scientific at all, Captain. In fact, I think you're just mashing words together to make it sound more brazen than it really is."
Pointing accusingly, Seifer replied, "Only non-enchanted, non-miraculous, magic-lacking Odo-talkers speak like that! Where is your sense of wonder and that rose-colored VISOR I got you for your birthday?"
"I keep telling you that's not a Chief Engineer thing and that Geordi was blind! Just because there was never an explanation or plot point about his changing to eye implants out of nowhere doesn't mean he was doing it for fashion."
Seifer reassured her, "Still, though, everyone's doing the tech-on-face thing now. Seven of Nine gets it. Gaius Selan totally gets it."
---
Later, the two found themselves in the Holodeck within Vic's lounge in 1961 Las Vegas, with holographic representations of Aramaki and Aeris.
"Now, when Vic was trying to shake Odo's frigidness, he used a Kira-lookalike hologram to melt his cold, non-physically-existent heart with an amorous rendition of Little Willie John's Fever," Seifer explained as he sat next to Winry at the piano. "If a duet by these two heart-throbs doesn't scream 'spellbinding' then you've got nothing in you and you're the Devil!"
Suddenly, the holographic representations of both officers began singing, with Aeris first: "Never know how much I love you; Never know how much I care."
"When you put your arms around me; I catch a fever that's so hard to bear!" Aramaki continued, lying across the top of the piano as sultry as a man could trying to imitate Lola Chrystal.
Winry halted the music and stood up. "Not that this isn't convincing enough to make me want to jump this brilliant man's bones, but all that you're demonstrating here is lust, which only serves to reinforce my point about people just being breeding machines."
Seifer, suddenly unable to pull his frozen gaze from the holographic Aeris, murmured, off-track, "The who in the what now?"
---
Later, Seifer trapped Winry with the real Aramaki and Aeris in the Delta-class shuttle Mako.
"When Tom Paris and B'Elenna Torres were racing the Trans-Stellar Rally, Tom stopped the Delta Flyer II to confront her skewed feelings, confess his love and eventually ask B'Elenna to marry him," Seifer explained. "If you refuse similar compulsions, you're a pariah!"
Winry was cramped up against the other three as the shuttle was full of excess cargo: Packaged worms for the Starfleet dinner, later.
"What's going on again?" Aeris asked, confused, also cramped and struggling. "And why do you keep your original pylon parts in your cargo bay, forcing your normal cargo into shuttles??"
Aramaki attempted to nudge a cargo container jutting into his back. "Oh, targ manure," he said in shock. "I just opened one of the compartments!"
"Ugh! Worms??" panicked Winry as a large chunk of wiggly creatures poured onto her shoulders.
Seifer backed away but hit another container, opening it, and pouring even more worms out onto his own shoulders. "This was a bad idea! I see that now."
---
Later, Seifer, Winry, Aeris and Aramaki found themselves in the Arboretum, where it was brimming with plant life; so much so that its growth continued out into the rest of the corridors, turning the entire deck into a jungle.
"When Worf and Jadzia had to rendezvous with a spy on Soukara, Jadzia became injured in the jungle and Worf was forced to choose between his duty or his beloved," Seifer explained just before he took out a phaser and fired a beam into both Aeris and Aramaki's legs. "If you choose duty, you're a ne'er-do-well!"
The victims both then screamed in pain. ""AUGHH!!""
"And now, our mission: I order us to reach Section 28 and leave our love interests behind, for duty, except if, perchance, our hearts take over and force us to go back to save their lives," the Captain continued just before he and Winry ran off into the jungle that was Deck 14.
As the pair were running and panting in a breathless panic through the foliage, Winry stopped them both just a few meters before their appointed goal. "Hold on a second. This is crazy? We should go back for them because this is just a fake order, and the Dominion War is not at stake!"
"Or, are you so lost in fear for Aramaki's life that you would abandon any order to save him for his well-being and the power of love?" Seifer criticized.
Winry deadpanned him. "You know he's the only one on this ship who can fire the torpedoes, right?"
"My precious Attack Pattern Delta!" Seifer panicked, abandoning all arguments of any kind. He then ran back for the injured parties, followed by Winry.
By the time they reached them, Aeris was already wrapping a bandage around her leg wound. Winry glared at Seifer, critisizingly. "You left her a first aid kit, cheating your own test??"
"Yeah," Seifer shrugged, guiltily. "I couldn't allow her to suffer or lose her life. That in itself proves my point from the very beginning."
Aeris glanced at him and smirked, finally catching on. "So, you do have a thing for me, huh? I thought as much."
"Fine. I'd like to specify that my claim of a chemical-reaction extends to delusions of love, and that, thanks to my observations of your actions and my internal reactions, perhaps it's all the same in the end," Winry finalized. "It all does or doesn't matter."
The Captain nodded. "I can live with that middle-ground."
"Auugggghh! Is anyone going to help me??" Aramaki complained, seething in physical discomfort. "I'm literally bleeding out all over these asclepias curassavicas."
Aeris turned to the group. "Speaking of 'out', what about leaving this Zanthi nebula? Weren't you guys working on that problem before you shot us in a very sociopath-driven way?"
"Oh, that? A frequency modification of -04.7 to our warp core reaction should cause a rejection of the matter surrounding the ship," explained Winry. "Like Geordi, I was so distracted by this love obsession, I lagged in the actual situation at hand."
Seifer's eyes widened in shock. "In effect, we poison the milk! No one's ever thought of that!"
"So, Captain, they say these forced-attraction love spells stem from latent pre-existing feelings," Aeris began. "Are you sure that's how you want to start things, by proving that you're so layered and deep that I should, by default, be interested in you?"
Seifer recoiled. "Ugh. That's inherently predictable and over-done. How about I drop a stack of PADDs and when we both reach for them our hands accidentally touch?"
"That's just as over-done, but not as layered and, thus, less looming," she said as they both began walking out of the Arboretum. "Count me in."
Author's notes: This was written in February 2017 as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #32.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #32: Prompt #1: Federation presidential elections take place every six years (barring delays due to national crises), meaning President Aennik Okeg's third term is coming to an end. Is he running for a fourth term or stepping down? Who else is running, and what issues are important in the campaign: entanglements in the Delta Quadrant, the refugee crisis at home, economic chaos from the Iconian War? And does your captain prefer any particular candidate?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #32
"Election Year"
Captain Deloss sat at the Bridge of the I.K.S. Masamune as it trekked through space, carelessly and haphazardly on nothing but whims and fancy and lollipops and dreams.
"Are we actually going in any specific direction, or are our movements based on the positioning of gagh all over the helm?" the Gorn and Commanding officer Deloss asked.
Grough scavenged his own scaly Gorn hands over the mess, trying to grab one of the squiggly worms as best as he could. "Hey, I just got into these things! It's forced, but we all find our ways to assimilate into obnoxious Klingon culture."
"It is the repulsiveness of moving food we admire. We actually wouldn't even touch gagh if not for that," added Ronin, an old Klingon and the tactical officer.
Deloss grasped his head. "Why can't we be more concerned about things that matter? I feel as if we are wasting precious ship resources on cultivating targ manure! I don't even know what it's used for?? We spent an entire month stock piling it in our cargo bay???"
BLAM! Suddenly the Masamune slammed its nose into a rogue asteroid. The object appeared to be unaffected by the impact.
"Ugh. Did anyone get the number of that asteroid?" Deloss quipped, hilariously. "Hahaha. Seriously, though, anyone who didn't laugh is being transferred."
Then Ronin looked up from his console. "Sir, I'm detecting a Federation escape pod latched onto the side! There are survivors on it!!"
"Calm down Ronin. It's always drama with you. The Federation, huh? They're perpetually concerned about bigger issues. Beam them directly to the Bridge," Deloss ordered before a group of injured people appeared before him. "Ew! Beam them back. No, wait. Beam them to Sickbay to be medically adjusted and such. Seems like that's a thing. Is that a thing? It probably is."
A Human and Captain stood up. "Wait. You must set course for my ship the Crucial and destroy it. My name is Menrow."
"You dare give me orders, Human!" Deloss argued. "Anyway, now that the hostile tone is out of the way, what happened to you?"
Menrow gestured to his people. "We were escorting the President, here, home from Casperia Prime when our ship came under attack by an alien life-draining entity. Systems went down and my crew was forced to evacuate, but we fear it may strike again."
"That sounds like a big issue," Deloss surmised. "Perhaps it warrants a continued perusal."
The other Captain shrugged. "I'd like to think so."
"Quiet, Human! You forfeit your right to any form of dignity and more of my compensation-by-loud-shouting! Also, did you know Kirk? He's just soooo huggable."
---
Later, the Masamune dropped warp before the near-completely ruined, but still in-tact, Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial. Deloss, Menrow, Okeg, Ronin and Thunk beamed onboard aiming rifles.
"Seriously, Deloss? We were supposed to destroy this thing!" argued Menrow. "I've had so many alien relations here that it's just ugh now. Even this hallway. Just last week."
Deloss rolled his Gorn eyes as limited as he could. "Come on, man. That's just wasteful. In the Klingon Defense Force, we learn to salvage what we have. We're not all as rich and entitled as you Federation yuppies with your yacht ships and your space martinis."
"And what about the President?? I specifically told you not to put him in a militaristic situation," Menrow continued. "The government just likes to talk about those things, not actually have anything to do with them."
The Gorn scoffed. "Honestly, I stopped listening to you after you started dictating how my crew should tug at their uniforms more. Your President is a grown man who can do whatever he wants and listen to as much rock and roll music as is required."
"Ugh. I need this distraction so badly," Okeg said. "It's election year again and I have to decide whether I want to run or drop out of the whole politics thing for another person— probably a man— to take over and rule with an iron fist. It's usually the other party that takes the next Presidency, and they're puppy-jostling jerks. Like, real life puppies in front of your face when they do it sort of thing."
Deloss widened his eyes. "You have a chance at making a difference and you're on the fence??"
"Oh yeah. You just don't know the pressures of being a political figure," Okeg said. "You think it's all bowling in the basement, uniting minority groups and hilarious sketches with a holographic Keegan Michael-Key. Instead, you're constantly defending provable climate science and martial arts fighting birther movementers. It's madness!"
Ronin added, "Not to mention that you've been President for 18 years. Some countries on early 21st century Earth could have sorely benefited from those kinds of margins." He noticed everyone suddenly looking at him with detached expressions. "I once did a study when I was looking to compare J'mpok with other worst political leaders in Milky Way history."
"Anyway, I think you're disregarding an important juxtaposition for continued change and activism for things that really matter," Deloss said. "Like how we ignored the approach of these giant floating fragments."
Before the group, in the corridors, were several broken and ready-to-attack hovering shards appearing to be from a crystalline entity.
"So, you were taken down by a Large Crystalline Fragment, crippling your ship," surmised Thunk. "Then these baby fragments were spawned to hunt your crew down one by one."
Menrow continued, "Which is why we should destroy this filthy, ineffective Delta Quadrant-loving ship. These things will suck the life out of us and are probably into the gel packs! Still don't know how they work, but they're there."
"Fool; the Defense Force has a hunt-first protocol. Besides, you can make change without completely wiping the slate and starting over," explained Deloss as he aimed his disruptor rifle and fired. "If there were a health care system in place but some fool wanted to erase it with whatever he fancied, for example. Now, let us murder by way of educational correlation!"
The others, including Okeg, followed suit and opened fire upon the shards, following a trail throughout the ship. Separating, the group finally reconvened in Main Engineering.
---
In Engineering, the group found the main Crystalline Shard, merged-in with the warp core, feeding off its energy.
"Fine," conceded Menrow. "Perhaps a salvageable methodology is a more rational approach. But it's more work, for what, continuity? Some people reboot entire realities for less."
SKKKK!!! The entity surrounding the warp core screeched. It was angry and intending to consume any and everything it could get its reach on for the destruction of its shards. The group opened fire upon it, shattering its pieces all over the place.
"Oh, Klingon-bollocks," Deloss said, observing the fractured warp core. "This ship will never reach near-perfect operational status again. Perhaps I was wrong about everything. How can we protect ourselves without radical ship-exploding change? I'd even ban an entire group based on their religion if it meant I was right."
The Human clutched his face in regret of his now ruined ship. "Dammit!"
"No, this is a good thing," Okeg countered the two Captains. "Change, albeit in the form of full or partial effect is worth it if it means saving lives and maintaining values. I believe I've made my decision on whether I will run again or not."
Ronin turned to him. "You mean this crystal hunt helped you instead of your mind-off vacation at Casperia Prime? Perhaps there is some Klingon in your Federation after all."
"Don't forget Gorn. He's got Gorn in him too, somehow. Don't ask what, specifically. It's just there," Deloss added, quickly and awkwardly. "So, yeah."
He then turned to Menrow.
"Now, Captain," Deloss continued. "Since the Iconians made us allies for some reason, I shall leave you and your President to your ship, so you may find your other escape pods and return him home. We shall be transporting a considerable bulk of our much-sought-after targ manure as a gesture of honorable kinship and reflection of the themes we explored here today."
The other Captain retracted in disgust. "What? Don't do tha—"
"Deloss to Masamune! Transport: Gift Protocol Delta-Janeway-Serve-Up!" the Gorn announced after slapping his communicator. Seconds later, the Crucial was graced with their generosity. He turned back to the Human. "You're welcome."
Author's notes: This was written in March 2017 as part of Unofficial Literary Challenge #33.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #33: Prompt #1: You're docked in port between missions and give the all clear for the off-duty crew to go ashore for some well-deserved R&R. Do you head to the officer's club for a quiet drink, or is some hiking and fishing more your speed? And what wacky hijinks do the crew get up to when boilermakers are two-for-one at the local bars? Do they arrow for the tourist traps, or do they seek out more intellectual pursuits at libraries and museums? And how well does the Shore Patrol do at keeping a lid on the festivities and making sure everyone's back aboard when it's time to leave?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #33
"Fleet Week"
The I.K.S. Masamune docked at Drozana Station, the filthiest, scummiest, low-down spacedock this side of the Donatu Sector. Deloss, the Gorn and Klingon Defense Force officer, and his senior staff transported aboard before walking off the transporter pad.
"What about the rest of the crew? It is preposterous we only ever focus on the Bridge officers like we're the only people here!" Grough, the Gorn and helmsmen soap-boxed.
The Captain waved it off. "They snooze; they lose. As for the rest of you, since you're all coincidentally off-duty, you may take your leisure time upon you to enjoy to the fullest one may in the limited time we have to live in this universe."
The group then nodded to each other in agreement of that existentialism and dispersed among the filth.
---
Deloss made his way to the Bar and found the Klingon and fellow Captain, Sigon, sitting at a table, looking uneasy.
"You're here?? This means a crossover!?" Deloss said, shocked and appalled. "It is clear now that everything going forward is to be contrived."
Sigon looked up in search of the voice and found its owner. "Oh, it's you, Captain Deloss. Yes, I'm here with the crew of the I.K.S. Baetal for Klingon Fleet Week: A time where mighty warriors of the Empire are allowed leisure activities and a sense of temporary freedom and false security."
"Same here," Deloss replied, sitting across from him. "It is odd the Week applies to the whole of the Klingon Defense Force, thus leaving Klingon space theoretically vulnerable and without defense."
The Klingon sat up. "That is not the problem; the issue is that with all this frolicking and frivolity, there is a 60% chance of shenanigans and wacky hijinks unbefitting that of a warrior of any race and/or creed."
"You're sounding like me," Deloss observed. "Aren't you the party Klingon who invades Raatooras every year and makes its inhabitants serve him an over-abundance of food and alcohol and other activities of a personal nature?"
Sigon waved him off. "Their population is receding because of it."
"Besides, what are the chances of any of our crews causing a ruckus?" Deloss asked. "I know with mine, I have whipped them, including an alternate universe version of them, into warrior-shape. What do you think this is, an ongoing series of stories containing indomitable antics and inane irreverence??"
The other officer stood up. "Yes, I do think that! Let's just check in on the predictable buffoonery, shall we?"
---
They both walked over to a group of officers from the Masamune and the Baetal. There, Ronin, Grough, Poroka and Gozer were standing around the Dabo table.
"This gambling receptacle is literally the only thing to do on this station, so pretty much everyone will end up here," Sigon stated as they approached.
Deloss snarled. "Well, I was going to peacefully reorganize my music playlist, but exacerbating our conflict and trying to prove each other wrong is a worthy task as well."
"—Spin the wheel, and win!" announced the holographic Leeta to the group standing around. Everyone appeared inactive and bored. "Yay! I'm suppressing this terrible experience!"
Gozer slowly scanned his Energy Credit card and waited patiently for the spin. "Ohhhhh... boy..." he said in a paced and droning fashion, reflecting an uncharacteristic inanity. Drool hung from his gape. "Are the pizza pockettttssss ready yet? Heh, heh, heh. Duuuuddde."
Deloss turned to his companion, annoyed. "Is this the inexcusable lunacy you so eluded to, Captain Sigon?"
"What the Gre'thor? This appears to be the polar opposite of maddening rowdiness! We must scan this filth mongering space cage," Sigon said, taking out his Klingon tricorder. "It really is disgusting; even from a Klingon point of view."
Captain Deloss followed the other man and they began walking. "They do appear to be more comatose than usual. But that doesn't excuse what happened to you? You're not the same Sigon who drank an entire barrel of bloodwine on the Chancellor's throne, gone through two heart surgeries that same night, and lived to boast about it?"
"Not long ago, I was boarded by Captain Menchez, who commandeered my ship to enact vengeance against the Kazon-Rokka for the loss of his crew. When he was about to give his life in honor, I, misguidedly, and drunk, saved him from certain death. I've been living in dishonor ever since," Sigon explained.
The Gorn nodded in understanding. "So, you blame the alcohol and the lifestyle you were living. Perhaps disregarding who you are is the real dishonor?"
"Impossible! A Klingon never looks at things from other perspectives," snapped the now-hardened man. "Sometimes we don't even open our eyes. It's how I ended up in a targ pen last week."
As they reached the end of a corridor, Sigon's tricorder indicated a signature out-of-the-ordinary. Deloss snatched the device out of his hands, impatiently.
"It's some kind of triolic tear in the space-time continuum? There are several of them aboard the station!" the Gorn reacted in complete shock.
Sigon peered at him, judgmentally. "Through the tears, the tricorder is detecting several Devidians sucking the neural life out of the station's inhabitants. That's the job of the 'Spin the Wheel' episode!"
"Perhaps we weren't affected because we didn't get drawn and stuck at that one Dabo table," realized Deloss. "The Devidians clearly enacted this phasing technique. But I have a plan. I believe the only way to defeat them is to increase the neural energy to their gaping holes and overload those slack-jawed gawk-heads."
The other man recoiled in disgust. "Ugh! Oh man, you Gorn are sick. I see why we conquered you now."
---
The two ran out to the open area to find the dreary, dead-zoned, uninspired atmosphere of a forced fan fiction— err, bar room place.
"We have to liven-up this gunk-joint with one of your signature Sigon-parties or everyone dies!" Deloss warned.
Sigon recoiled. "What? That's ridiculous. The answer is clearly something sciencey where we flood the station with particles that would combat triolic radiation. I don't know; chronitons, or tachyons, or something. You basically just pick one at random and it works."
"Don't you see? The fact they're trying this new tactic means they've grown smarter and likely have already thought of that!" Deloss argued. "It's the chicken-and-the-egg, but our version of it. The Klingon Empire chicken-and-the-egg!"
The Klingon shook his head. "All I see are conclusions and a Gorn's love-affair with jumping to them. Do you ever think in a normal way, or are you forever misaligned with the rest of us?"
"Of course a Klingon would dismiss me, as if Gorn have nothing to contribute to the Empire," Deloss countered. "It's our rock-clutching obsession that cleaned up your precious Praxis aftermath. Don't you remember?"
Sigon snapped his fingers, distractedly. "Obsession? Of course! I could launch an explosive party popper— or disco ball, as many call it— forcing everyone into an annoying Q-obsessed dance off? The only problem is, if I die, it goes on forever."
"Disco balls on Drozana? Wasn't that done before by Starfleet Den—"
The other man quickly cut him off. "There's no time to finish that!" He then slapped his wrist communicator. "Sigon to Baetal. Transport my party popper devices and all the forgotten barrels of bloodwine from our cargo hold to Drozana, immediately."
"Yes, sir," came the voice of Liss over the air. "It's odd we store them in barrels to begin with. I mean, by the 25th century, we don't have healthier containment receptacles?"
In an instant, the barrels were transported in, and Sigon received his devices that he discharged within Drozana's open area. Giant floating disco balls and confetti were expelled everywhere while people slowly began scooping bloodwine for their alcoholic tastes.
"It's time to PARTY, YOU INFERIOR FOOLS!" Sigon announced over all the sudden ruckus and over-the-top exceptionalism. "The 'inferior fools' thing is just to Klingon-it-up a little."
Deloss looked at him. "Where'd you get those anyway?"
"An omnipotent being called Qu sells them on the blackmarket, which I used to purchase for my Friday Night Fek'Ihri Dance-Offs," Sigon explained. "Ohhh, the limbo showdowns they initiate. We often use the Hordlings as height poles."
The Gorn nodded. "Anyway, I am certain we have both learned lessons here, though I do not know what."
"Well, mine is that I can adapt to the cognitive dissonance of my lifestyle being the cause of dishonor while continuing said lifestyle," the Klingon added. "It's a lemniscate Klingon Empire chicken-and-the-egg."
Deloss tapped his jaw. "Hm. Then, I guess mine should be that relevance is relative; whatever that means."
Suddenly, with everyone on Drozana now excited and celebrating, explosions of overloaded Devidians popped out of mid-air and onto the floors all over the place.
"Currrssssse, you Sigon and Deloss," a new Shrouded Phantasm named Stuart argued as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get up off the floor. "We will return to have our revvvvengggge!"
The two watched as the Phantasm used his staff to get up and disappear he and his other Devidians away, back to their realm. The Phantasm then quickly popped its head back through a mid-air hole and he sucked a few more sips of Gozer's neural activity.
"Ohhh yeahhhh, that's the stuff," Stuart said before noticing everyone observing his addiction problem. He addressed them before pulling himself back into his realm. "We'll be back! And don't bother fixing your lights!"
Author's notes: This was written in March 2017, as part of Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #3, a variant of the ULCs that focused on one Captain (In my case, Captain Oroku Seifer of the U.S.S. Ragnarok). The Tzenkethi were also the current villians in STO at the time, so I wanted to make use of them, but also acknowledge the different designs from the Destiny novels.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #3: The First Federation, a group of enigmatic, frail, dwarven humanoids, whose secret technological advancements vastly dwarf most of the current galactic superpowers in scope. Yet they chose to remain isolated, testing those who stray into their borders, finding those too violent, unworthy, while opening up some form of trade to those they deem 'enlightened'. Since their first contact with Kirk they remained shrouded in mystery behind their borders, protected by colorful cubes that ensnare and destroy those foolish enough to try and break their ever present protection. In times past those that know better than to try to invade have respected them, some feared them, others wished to join. The First Federation has not grown, it has not shrunk, it seems to remain static, even neutral during the Invasions led by the Iconian's.
Until one day you receive an emergency communication while patrolling the Gon'cra sector. It seems the Tzenkethi have decided to attack a planet just within the protective range of First Federation Warning Buoys. It seems the First Federation did not expect one of their oldest trading partners to violate their space, unprovoked.
Their only caveat is that you must talk them out of their attack, without destroying their ship. It's only one ship, how hard could that be?
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #3
"Enmity"
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok dropped warp in orbit of the First Federation planet, Carpi. There, they stood between the planet and the Tzenkethi Rhas'bej battleship Cortisgor which presented itself as a threat to the people below.
"Tzenkethi vessel, you are in violation of this airspace. Well, I suppose there's no air, so, spacespace," hailed Captain Seifer. "Please disengage your weapons and put your many arms up. How many do you have, like, four? Man, that's a lot of arms."
Suddenly, the viewscreen clicked on to a display of the Cortisgor's commanding officer. "This is Captain Gogard of the Cortisgor. You have no jurisdiction here, nor is your science vessel any match for us. In fact, science vessels aren't a match for anyone but other science vessels."
"What? Science is the whole reason we're out here! We also have shield weakening beams and such. Oh, you're going to get such a debuff, you don't even know," threatened Seifer. "And I thought you guys were supposed to be slender and good-looking and filled with fluid sacs?" And then, he pondered out-loud, "What of the sacs?"
Gogard ruptured in anger. "You dare bring up that troublesome reality where the Tzenkethi were part of something called the Typhon Pact and your precious Deep Space 9 is replaced by a metal monstrosity of complete uglyness!?" He turned to his crew. "Ready the tricobalt torpedoes!"
"Hold on a second!" came the sudden warning of another Seifer, who walked onto the Bridge of the Ragnarok and interrupted the two men. "I'm the you from two days from now. When he fires his tricobalt torpedoes, you fire your quantum torpedoes and accidentally destroy his ship!"
The other man recoiled in disgust. "What is this trickery? My ship is sufficiently—" But he interrupted himself when he noticed his shields weren't up. "Ohhh, yes. The most important thing of battle. Sometimes we Tzenkethi are quite silly, though we don't look it."
"Okay, that's weird," the Seifer of the present said, eyeing his doppelganger. "I'll dissect you later. In the meantime— Aramaki, now fire the quantum torpedoes!"
"Wait a moment!" came the sudden cry of a duplicate Gogard, walking onto the Bridge of the Cortisgor. "I'm the Captain Gogard of from three days from now, and when you fire your tricobalt torpedoes in response, one of them explodes in our torpedo bay and blows our ship to pieces!"
The present day Gogard looked at his identical self. "What?? I'd kill you if I wasn't so irritated right now! Also, I still have that mole, huh?"
"Everyone stop!" came the call of a third Seifer, stepping onto the Bridge of the Ragnarok. "I'm from four days in the future, and all this confusion ends up frustrating the Seifer of the present enough to initiate a self-destruct sequence that takes out both ships and punctures the planetary atmosphere below!"
Present day Seifer crossed his arms. "I was only mulling that over. And how do we keep coming here from the future? It's like a paradox-nightmare hopped up on ketracel white."
"It is I, Marhs, from five days in the future," came the answer from a short, First Federation diplomat, walking onto the Bridge of the Cortisgor with another Gogard in hand. "You've known that our technology radiates in comparison with your pathetic 'Federation', if that's what you insist on continuing to call it, and I chose to test our time-travelling device in order to prevent the cataclysmic destruction about to happen here today."
"Everybody stop!!" came the heightened warning from another Marhs, stepping onto the Bridge of the Ragnarok. "I'm Marhs from six days in the future and my usage of so many temporal doors causes the space-time destruction of both ships, the planet, and the entire solar system! I suppose being the 'First' has its caveats after all."
Two-days-from-now-Seifer looked at him, annoyed. "Then, why would you still come here? Never mind." Then he addressed Gogard, "You know what? Why don't we end this peacefully, not fire at each other, and just both of us get out of here before it's too late?"
"Hey! I'm the Captain here!" Present day Seifer argued. "But, yeah, what I said."
The Gogard on the Bridge nodded. "To end this madness; anything. But what about all these duplicates of us? Surely we must kill them with our murderous appetites?"
"My First Federation tricorder can reintegrate all our duplicates into us, so that we become some kind of space-time Frankenstien's monster versions of ourselves," explained Marhs, as he held the device up. "It's quite painful."
One of the Gogards nodded, on screen. "Make it so."
"Hey! Aliens don't get to say that!" argued Seifer just as the device was activated, causing the duplicate versions of everyone to stretch and be torn apart until sucked into their present-day counterparts— "AAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!"
Seifer, Gogard, and Marhs screamed in utter agony of it all until the process was complete. They each patted themselves in check to ensure nothing was physically out of place.
"I'm good," Seifer said, finally able to relax from all the stress. "Captain Gogard?"
To everyone's dismay, Captain Gogard was suddenly an alternate universe form of Tzenkethi: Slender, gentle, and gel-like. He looked nothing like the lizard form the rest of his race were. "How did this happen!?"
"Damn," Marhs said, slapping his device. "Had this thing set to Destiny timeline. Don't ask what that means. Well, I've got to go. My voice-over guy is about to go on lunch. Oh, did I mention, someone voices each of us over? It's a long and arduous, pre-practiced process, but it's our way. First Federation out!"
Everyone watched as Marhs, instead of beaming anywhere, then began slowly walking around the Bridge, looking around, as if on tour of the Ragnarok.
"Yeah, it's clear we each have our own problems," Seifer said to Gogard, indicating the roaming Marhs. "Too many Federations are the real paradox here. Ragnarok for-real out."
---
When the screen cut off on the Bridge of the Cortisgor, a new, gentle and angelic Gogard with fluid sacs turned to his crew. "As soon as I'm back to normal, that Captain Seifer is going to pay for this!"
"Sir, your head is drooping over," warned his tactical officer.
Gogard placed his hands and readjusted himself. "Dammit! Take us out of here! And stop looking at the unidentified parts of my body! Ugh! What even is this thing hanging here? Dammit!"
Author's notes: This was written in April 2017, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #4, a variant of the ULCs.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #4: A message, whether a warning or last words, of some lost civilization has been found in the ruins of an unexplored star system. Except there was never any indication that this planet ever held sentient life, nor any ruins found of colonists. Just the message and it's contents.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #4
"Lost to Time"
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok dropped warp in space and approached a lone planet. Captain Oroku Seifer, Science officer Moggs and Doctor Cetra beamed down to examine the source of a mysterious message.
"Well, this place appears barren," Cetra said, looking around at the near-desert-like planet. "How could anything originate from nothing?"
Moggs began scanning the area with his tricorder. "That's the very same question scholars have been asking about the universe for eons and will be for eons to come."
"First of all, that's a grim out-look on discovery and learning about ourselves in general, and, second, I was clearly referring to the voided situation at hand," countered Cetra. "Tangents are you just trying to sound smart."
The Caitian science officer shrugged. "I don't have to 'try' anything."
"Gentlemen, ladies," the Captain interjected. "What if we simulated a tachyon scan with our tricorders, in case the device this message came from is cloaked?"
Moggs began the alterations on his device. "Sir, you do know you're a tactical officer, right? You should not know of these things."
"Hey, my symbiont affords me several previous lifetimes of experience and a strange morning sickness not related to anything relevant at all," Seifer replied.
Cetra glanced at him. "You know you should probably have your Doctor look at that?"
"You're my Doctor!" Seifer said.
Suddenly, the bombardment of Moggs' tricorder emissions knocked a non-corporeal floating head, out of mid-air, next to them.
"Who dares to awaken the mighty Alazard, eighth Ruler of the Thasian Order!?" the green, translucent head echoed.
Everyone jumped back in shock, and then Seifer stepped forward to introduce himself. "Greetings, fearsome, floating brain-cage, I am Captain Seifer of the Federation Starship Ragnarok, responding to a message we received over subspace, originating from right here."
"Huh? You mean this message?" Alazard asked.
In a single second, the message played back for everyone, emanating from the head itself: "Come to Quark's, Quark's is fun, come right now, don't walk - run!"
"Yeah; that. We thought he may have opened up another bar here, and were hoping to get some Cait-nip," admitted Lieutenant Commander Moggs. "It's medicinal, and for some other Science officer Caitian. Yeah, that's the ticket. Yeah."
Cetra nodded in agreement. "Also, the tune is quite catchy, albeit short. The idea of running is quite much. Is accelerated pace still a thing?"
"UGH! That incessant jingle has been stuck in my head for 39 years! Ever since I was passing by your precious Deep Space 9 and overheard it, I have been haunted by its musical power and now its taken control of me!"
Seifer scratched his head. "So, you've unintentionally manifested your thoughts as a subspace message?"
"Yes, and I have exiled myself from my kind because of it! At first, I believed it to be all good in fun, but I soon discovered the viral nature of melody and its invasive ability to affect all parts of my non-corporeal brain!"
Cetra scanned the entity with her tricorder. "In a sense, it's thrown you out-of-whack. That's a new Starfleet medical term, by the way."
"Giant bulbous cranium, is there any point at which you were able to forget said instrumentals?" Moggs asked, out of pure, Federation-driven, hard-core, intense curiosity. Ugh!
"In fact, when you knocked me out of hiding with your simulated tachyon scan, I became completely absorbed with a persistent and damaging ringing."
Seifer snapped his fingers. "That's it! We just bombard you with more of those, and you'll forget the whole Quark thing immediately. It's a long shot, but an unpleasant encounter associated with the mental infection may force your subconscious into burying that dark-eye-shadowed Ferengi finally and forever."
"What makes you think you know anything about the neuroscience of Thasians?"
The Captain shrugged. "Well, you do appear as giant heads."
"Good enough for me! Make it happen and such and so. Oh, and if I don't make it back, tell Glorborsoborch I hate her. It's an inside joke; she'll get it. Though, she may not respond similarly to you."
Moggs then took out his tricorder and began its particle flow. The intensity of the simulated tachyons began to ring in Alazard's head, causing the transparent green noggin to shake artificially and then violently.
"AAAAaaahhhh!!! Kahn never even met Chekov!!! Agggg!!!!"
The Science officer looked over to his comrades for guidance. "Should we stop?"
"Meh," Seifer shrugged. "I kind of want to see if he'll explode."
Suddenly, the tricorder's reserve programmable particle stream bled dry, ending the assault on the copious being. His sanity reformed and he turned to the crew.
"You failed at attempting to detonate me!" Alazard argued. "But, I believe the sounds inside my consciousness have ended. Now all I can think about are NX-01 Enterprise plot holes. Soooo many plot holes."
Suddenly, a crowd of people began to appear all around them, as well as a giant city in the backdrop. The crew was then approached by the leader. "Greetings, I am Yun and we are a Bajoran colony who left Bajor to worship Alazard as we had grown tiresome of the Prophets and their holy wars with the Pah'Wraiths. Unfortunately, this guy had other things going on and accidentally locked us in hiding."
"Aren't you just substituting one religious following for another? At what point does interchangeable faith become a fallacy in and of itself?" Seifer asked, confused.
Yun shrugged. "Those are all good questions, probably, but deities who are also aliens to outsiders is our ketracel white and we need to find a new one STAT!"
"Oh," Seifer replied. "Well, good luck. Have you tried the Medusans? I don't know much about them, being a non-Human, but they apparently share a name in Earth Greek mythology. Can't go wrong with that."
Alazard was taken aback. "Dude! No. I dated a Medusan once. They are so clingy and low quality effect-wise. Well, you'll see. —Alazard out!" And then he disappeared.
"Thank you, Captain," Yun said as his people turned to go back toward their city. "If you're ever in the area again, maybe you can check in on us from time to time."
Oroku Seifer smiled. "I'd like that, whoever you are, wherever this is." Then he tapped his commbadge. "Seifer to Ragnarok. Three to beam up, and have all records of this place completely wiped from our systems and memories. Nothing here went to plan."
"Hey!" argued Yun.
The Captain then noticed him. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were still here. We'll miss you." And then he turned back to his communiqué. "Ragnarok, are you still on comms? Have a salvo of quantum torpedoes ready to launch into their deserts so we can initiate nuclear winter and never have to see this surface again."
"What!?" Yun contended.
Seifer jumped, not expecting him. "Ah! Again? Are you ever going to go home? Never mind. We were just on our way out. Good luck. Oh, and Yun, all my hopes," he said empathetically, just before the Away Team was beamed out.
The Bajoran then turned and nervously began the long walk back to the city.
Author's notes: This was written in April 2017, as my entry into a one-off Star Trek Online forums writing contest surrounding First Contact Day. It also links to events from ULCA #3.
Writing Contest: First Contact Day: Greetings, Captains! Everyone knows the story of their world’s First Contact Day – when their people met visitors from another world for the first time. Humanity celebrates their first meeting with the Vulcans every year, with events centered on culture and education, and other races celebrate their own first steps into a larger galaxy in their own unique ways. But First Contact isn’t just a moment for an entire species – it can also be a deeply personal event. To celebrate this year’s First Contact Day, we want to give you the chance to tell us about your Captain’s first contact, in a First Contact Day Writing Contest.
In 1500 words or less, write about the first time that your Captain encountered a being from another world. Were they a child, in the hustle and bustle of a crowded world? Was the first meeting a friendly one, or one of conflict? What is your Captain’s story of First Contact?
This contest is specifically about your personal characters within Star Trek Online. Write about their story – we won’t be able to accept stories about canon Star Trek characters.
STO Writing Contest
"First Contact Day"
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok sat out in deep space as Captain Oroku Seifer, a Trill and Starfleet officer, took a seat on the Bridge of his ship.
"Space, the final frontier," he started. "These are the voyages of the Starship Ragnarok. It's never-ending mission, to seek out new twirls and new synchronizations— Hm. I think we need to rewrite that. We sound like a dance ship."
Lieutenant Commander Moggs, a Caitian and his science officer, suddenly spoke up. "Uh, sir, you don't have to recite the opening every morning. You do realize that, by repetition, you're just feeding into the very diagnosis of insanity, right?"
"What I realize is that you're interrupting an essential Starfleet prerequisite to encountering new alien species," countered Seifer. "Without innocuous affirmations, we're a Federation of wanderers and rogues with no sense to dream, or look up at the stars, and a preoccupation with Klingon coffee taste-augmented by metal cups."
Then he smiled to himself and looked back upon his first encounter with an alien life form.
"Ah, my first contact, I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a teenage Star-jelly with attitude at the Academy, and we were to share a room before our first day. Except he wanted the top bunk, and I wanted a date with the indomitable Mary Sue."
Lieutenant Aramaki, human and tactical officer, turned from his station. "Sir, did that even really happen? Those two things both sound impossible, especially that last one?"
"I think?" Seifer said, suddenly doubting himself and searching his memories. "Did we fight Tribble-Tzenkethi hybrids last week, or is my recollection somehow being modified by the targ soup I'm eating right now?"
Just then, the entire Bridge went dark and his whole crew and soup disappeared. The Trill found himself in a cave somewhere, latched to a metal bed with neural interfaces connected to his temples. He was now several years younger, and wearing civilian clothing.
"Well, well," said another man, who stepped out of the shadows to reveal he as a look-alike. This Oroku was years older and wore the Odyssey-type Starfleet Commanding Officer Service Uniform the younger one was just wearing seconds before. "You figured out that you were in a simulation. Excellent work, past-me."
The younger man squinted. "What? I'm you?"
"In two days from now, you're going into your final test for the Symbiosis Commission to receive your Trill symbiont and then join Starfleet. I wanted to run my own test, temporarily modifying your memories, to see how you would fare within life aboard a starship; mine, in the future, to be exact."
Oroku shook his head. "So, I haven't even left Trill? I've never actually met another alien before in my life?"
"Not yet," replied the Captain. "You see, I remember this exact encounter when I was your age, and speaking to an older version of myself, and I knew if somehow I got here again that I had to fulfill my own destiny. That, and I really did fight a Tribble-Tzenkethi hybrid last week, and I needed not to think about that anymore, however possible." He shuddered at the thought of it.
The young man squirmed, trying to get free. "This is crazy! The Klingon Targ War, the Lukari Pink Spray Tans, judging the Borg Cooperative Beauty Contest? Why test me with these fake events if I'm just going to end up like you?"
"Oh, all those really happened, but to me in the future," the Captain said. "You see, the galaxy is full of crazy, over-the-top, mind-altering insanity and, due in-part to that, I was accidentally thrown too far into the past by a time-travel mechanic named Marhs. It's nonessential madness like his that you need to be prepared for."
Oroku scoffed. "Or, I could, you know, discover all that on my own? What is this obsession people have with coddling their younger selves? Maybe who you are today is due to how you dealt with the challenges and the people you weren't prepared for!"
"Well, I wasn't prepared for that," the older Oroku blinked, thrown-off. "Never-the-less, I know the aliens you're about to encounter, and, trust me, some of them are irrational, centuries-long, grudge-holding Iconians. Oh, and there's this Ferengi named Madran who had a horrible Son'a face-stretching accident, and—"
Having been secretly breaking loose, young-Oroku pulled himself off the bed and stood up. "Enough! I don't want to hear any more from you! All a man ever needs is a perfect, seamless series of encounters with what's out there and here you are providing me with this pre-processed, half-Kirk'd Trill-symbiont-manure."
Then, young-Oroku sighed.
"Though, I suppose even meeting you is its own unexpected contact. So, it's all the same by that logic? I just wish my first encounter with 'what's out-there' was an alien, and not 'me'."
Older-Oroku thought about his argument for a second before recalling his pointy-eared space-companion. "Oh, right. I can help you with that. As part of randomized time travel choices, Marhs sent my Caitian science officer with me—" And then, "Mr. Moggs, will you reveal yourself and proceed with formal, awkward social interactions against this youthful, handsome fellow?"
"Yes, Captain," Moggs, a tall and grey-fur-colored man, said as he stepped out from beneath the shadows and extended his hand. "Hi, I'm an alien and such. Do you like... stuff?"
Younger-Oroku's jaw dropped at the sudden, unexpected encounter. "Do I—?? Stuff is why I've been hoarding unrefined dilithium under my pillow all my life! Wow, and you must have so many ticks?"
"I only have five," argued a suddenly annoyed and itchy Moggs. "Anyway, I think embracing your encounters as you go is a good ideology. I ate five Star-jellies yesterday. Good luck, time-spoiled-Oroku."
Oroku nodded. "Thanks." But then he noticed his older self and Moggs begin the slow-happening, dramatic process of dematerialization. "What's going on? You haven't even told me how to get out of here?"
"Looks like Marhs is reintegrating us with another temporal version of ourselves," the Captain said, looking around at his faltering molecular structure. "It's the Voyager version of a temporal paradox. You'll get used it! Oh, and to leave this cave-section, you'll need to solve an ancient, definitely fatal pre-Trill civilization stone-puzzle that focuses on Bronze Age symboliz—"
But before he could finish, he and the Caitian had disappeared, leaving young-Oroku to his own devices.
"Dammit, me!" he cursed. "Well, at least I met a giant cat-man as my 'first contact'. Maybe the crazy, over-the-top mind-altering insanity isn't as bad as I future-put it."
Then he noticed the fur on his palm, from the hand-shake, prompting the young Trill to shake it off as furiously as possible.
"Ugh! He was shedding! So disgusting! Ew! —Forget this. Future-me is going to pay for that! I'm taking up anbo-jyutsu and seeing how he likes losing a few brain cells to slow and clunky 'martial arts'. That'll show him and his weird, lanky tall-cat."
And, with that, and a first alien encounter under his belt, Oroku exited the chamber to embark on a future of wild fascination and pure science-driven, serviceable revenge. What lie beyond space and time were now his to dream and his to explore.
Author's notes: This was written in June 2017, as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #5, a variant of the ULCs.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #5: After receiving a distress call from a Demon-Class planet just outside Tholian territory, you've decided to investigate the call and stumble upon a Federation ship on scientific research, almost dead in the water. What's worse is the planetary system is home to a Tholian minefield, which is why the ship was damaged in the first place, and your ship has just detected a Tholian scouting party heading towards the system on patrol.
Forced to have an emergency planetary landing and drag the crippled Reliant-Class to the surface to escape detection, you have to think fast on how you plan to get everyone out of newly annexed Tholian Space. Try and leave without effecting repairs and the crippled ship is destroyed by the planet's gravity, or wait to long and everyone is cooked alive or choked out by the planet's toxic, inhospitable atmosphere. Not to mention the projected three hours waiting for the Tholian's to pass through this system without incident, unless you want them to swarm.
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok was running repairs at Starbase 157, while Captain Oroku Seifer sat diligently at his command chair.
"Sooooo, why are we still operating this listening post on the edge of Klingon space if we're allies with them now? Huh?" asked Lieutenant Edwards from her helm station.
Seifer shrugged. "Starfleet still wants intel just in case they ever turn on us again. I mean, we've been in so many wars with the Klingons it's almost nostalgic. Oh, to shoot them again."
"I wonder what they're up to right now?" pondered Aramaki who curiously tapped into the listening post's frequencies.
Next, the voice of Torg resonated throughout the Bridge, continuing on a conversation without knowledge of surveillance. "And, so, I stabbed that whiny little brat in the chest! It really was coming with how he was the most annoying Klingon ever."
Then Aramaki switched the channel again, bringing in a separate unawares conversation led by Captain Kagran. "Now that the Federation is on our side, they will join with us to destroy every Tribble! My decision-making knows no bounds!"
In one last change, a distress signal suddenly came through, with a female voice. "To whomever hears this, our ship is dead in the water— Space water, that is. We need your help before we start eating each other, as is the protocol for grouped-Humans in isolation."
"That one sounds follow-up-ish," Captain Seifer said, standing up. "We should do that."
Moggs turned from his science station. "But what about our responsibilities here? Surely we should acknowledge that we're abandoning them?"
"The who and the what now? Delete the current mission! Engage!" Seifer announced whilst pointing enthusiastically toward the view screen.
---
Later, the Ragnarok dropped warp in the Kunara System, where a starship was crippled near orbit of a class Y planet.
"Captain, Kunara Prime is home to a Tholian minefield, which is why the ship was damaged in the first place, and your ship has just detected a Tholian scouting party heading towards the system on patrol," described Aramaki.
Seifer looked at him. "Why did you say 'your ship'? Are you copying and pasting your dialogue? And, Kunara Prime? Surely, you mean Nukara Prime?"
"Nope. And, as for my describetization: It's the parameters of the setting. I'm just trying to be as accurate as possible," he countered.
The Captain nodded. "Fine. But accuracy begets tedium; whatever that means. Tractor beam the crippled Reliant-class starship to the surface to escape detection so we can think fast on how we plan to get everyone out of newly annexed Tholian space— Damn! Now I'm doing it."
"Sir," started Moggs as the Ragnarok tractor-beamed the other Federation starship down to the red, hot surface, "I think you mean Miranda-class, do you not?"
Seifer blinked, confused, as the two vessels were now out of sensor range of the enemy. "Wait. I don't recognize this ship at all? Computer, enhance!"
"Calculating!" the computer shouted as the pixelized image of a Starfleet vessel, landed on the dirt, became clearer.
Tomsin worked his operations controls. "Resolution now at 74 DPI."
"You're relieved, Tomsin! Clearly we need an upgrade. Also, that vessel doesn't look like one of ours? Its nacelles are hull-covered tubes?" Seifer examined. "It's registering as a Mayflower-type! I've never heard of that!"
Suddenly, the viewscreen switched to a hail from the other vessel. "That is because we're not from your universe, sir," said the officer in a yellow shirt from across the way. "I am Captain Allana Montoyez of the Kelvin-timeline 23rd century Federation starship Dynex. We were investigating the strange anomalies in this place when those same anomalies sent us careening through dimensions into your Prime-timeline!"
"That's a hell of an explanation and awareness of timelines for a difference in nacelles, but that doesn't explain how you heard what I said before you hailed me," said Seifer.
But then Moggs interrupted with the much needed-to-know stakes for all to consider. "Captain! The gravity and atmosphere on this Demon-class planet is far too high for the Dynex and will be crushed, cooked and choked out alive if we don't get out of here soon. On the other hand, I project three hours waiting-time for the Tholian's to pass through this system without incident, unless you want them to swarm?"
"I would like them to swarm. Just to see that happen," answered Seifer. "Are you saying I would never enjoy the visuals of swarming ships? How randomized their flight patterns would be. Glorious!"
Then Montoyez interrupted from the view screen. "If you'll indulge us, Captain, perhaps you could direct us to the space-time anomaly so that we can be sent back to our action-packed, corridor-running, lens-flare timeline for more high-octane adventures. Seriously, this place is so dreary by comparison."
"Uh, first of all, we destroy ships on the daily. I've murdered millions in self-defence. Secondly, your intersection here has already caused a split of a new timeline," stated Seifer. "In fact, everything we do causes new timelines in an infinite multiverse."
Montoyez grumbled. "Preposterous! There are only two timelines: Yours and mine; and perhaps mirror versions of each. Then there's your Destiny timeline, now that I consider it. If you're wondering how I know of all this, our 23rd century computers are far more advanced than your 25th century ones."
"Wait a second. According to our scans, you calculate stardates by including the year in them? That's madness!" Seifer claimed while checking a console.
The other officer stood in defiance. "At least our stardates in our time aren't all over the place! Fire everything!"
"Both your societies are equally insipid!" interrupted a Tholian voice. Before the officers could act, a Tholian Orb Weaver, the originator of the voice, flew in, followed by two more, blasting tetryon beams at them on the surface. "Your high-octane transmissions were detectable even by us!"
Aramaki and Edwards immediately started the Ragnarok back on return firing and launching off the ground. The Dynex followed suit, taking off, but instead their phasers popped like mini torpedo blasts.
"Even your weapons are messed up! Ugh," complained Seifer. "And why are there anomalies in this area anyway? It seems highly irregular for space in general."
Moggs replied, "The Tholian Assembly is often involved with multiple dimensions in spacetime. It was reported they installed outposts in a universe completely full of tribble. They called it Tribble Space."
"Yeah, um, that one I've been to," answered Seifer as he subsequently saw the Dynex blow an Orb Weaver to pieces before heading itself back towards the space-time fluxuation that brought them here in the first place.
Edwards popped up. "Pursue? Pursue?"
"Not if it means we get sent to their maddening alternate reality!" recoiled Seifer before shivering, uncontrollably. "Ugh, tribbles. Perhaps the idea we're constantly recreating new timelines is a bad one. What else could be there? Let's just have what's existing exist and hope it remains extra-dimensional."
The Ragnarok covered the Dynex as the Mayflower-type ship disappeared through its space-time portal. Then, Aramaki and Edwards coordinated quantum torpedo fire with range, taking out the last two attacking Orb Weaver ships whilst exiting the atmosphere back into space.
"Well, everything is back to normal," Seifer declared, taking a seat in his chair. "The lesson here being that what comes from our actions should remain localized to our timeline and in order to facilitate it as our responsibility."
The Caitian science officer asked, "Is that what alternate-you would say as well?"
"Funny, Mr. Moggs," Seifer shot him a knowing look. "Now, Aramaki, mark this mission as complete and delete it from our records. A universe where their 23rd century technology is more advanced than ours? Not on my watch."
The tactical officer confirmed, "Information has been purged, sir."
"Does anyone want to head to the shipyards and check out the Miranda/Reliant-class ships? Could be educational and satisfying nacelle-wise," the Captain offered. "Done! Engage!"
Author's notes: This was written in June 2017 as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #36. It focuses on my new KDF Captain, a Ferasan.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #36: Prompt #1: "I envy you, taking these first steps into a new frontier." - Capt. Picard Star Trek: First Contact. Whether it's looking back to the voyages of James Kirk, the philosophies of Surak, or the battles of Kahless the Unforgettable, every generation thinks about those that came before. Perhaps the rules were different back then, or times more simple and clear cut between heroes and villains, or what you now take for granted they did without and to greater results. How does your captain look back on history and those that wrote it?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #36
"In Their Footsteps"
The I.K.S. Dragunov arched through space while Captain Kronen, a Klingon Defense Force officer and Ferasan, sat, intently at his command chair.
"Sir, I report we will arrive at the coordinates of the two warring Houses shortly," said Commander Red from the Helm.
Kronen kept a stern look forward before glancing down at him. "Excellent, Commander. By the way, according to rank, you should be by my side delegating ship tasks rather than operating menial functions like some kind of Fek'Ihri Hoardling."
"No offense, but the executive officer role is reminiscent of a pet targ in an Orion Slave Girl den. No, I am an able-bodied man, with the capability to operate Bridge processes in an exemplary fashion," answered Red. "A true officer gets his hands dirty every now and then! Please disregard the cleanliness of this console."
The Captain groaned. "All those years you spent with the Federation on exchange has given you a messed up work ethic. Enjoy your rank for once; that's all I'm saying. Anyway, our mission here is to negotiate a trade with an enemy House."
"Seems like a mad man's mission, Captain," commented Lieutenant Commander Linng, another Ferasan and the ship's tactical officer, from her station.
The Ferasan Captain snarled. "You would be right, but the Empire wants to unite against our true enemies, whomever the aliens are for this week; and, what better way to become a stronger people than to make ourselves stronger? Have any of you heard of the ancient Klingon known as Kahless?"
"He was some kind of giant floating head, right?" said Bekk Fen, a youthful Klingon and the Operations officer, genuinely confused.
Kronen stood. "You fool! He was the strongest warrior known in all the land and he wasn't afraid to make change and lead by strength! Even though I'm not a Klingon, I can respect and admire the enormity of a legend that he was."
"He ate the hearts of so many kolar beasts," Red realized.
Throwing down his PADD in anger, Kronen declared, "Kahless was renown for his lessons! Who do you think united the warring states of Quin'lat and Mekro'vak? It was said he threw himself into the field of battle and killed 200 men and women on each side in order to get their attention. He then turned to them all and forced them to join together in holy matrimony— but the warrior version."
"I doubt the actions of some Klingon from centuries past could be of any relevance today," said Lieutenant Kaz, the science officer and a Gorn.
Kronen nodded solemnly. "Oh, but he does; if only we allow such lessons to ruminate with our actions in the now. Take this Ferasan mouse in my palm," he said, holding it up. "I shall deliver it to the High Council as my contribution to the Empire, and honor will be mine."
"Ew! Put that thing down!" cried the onscreen hail of an astonished Captain Zang from the I.K.S. Roku. "You feline beasts are the bane of the Klingon Empire!"
The Ferasan commanding officer bared his teeth. "Unlike your kind, I believe in the Empire. I will sacrifice to make it better."
"The House of Groth sacrifices all it can for the greater good! Who do you think helped put J'mpok into power?" said Zang. "That's right; we murdered sooooo many Klingons to get him there. Oh, the killing was good. I actually tasted the blood of my brethren from the counter-splash."
Kronen waved the topic away with his palm. "Forget your whole dishonor stuff. My job is to unite you with the House of Tochi in order to facilitate a better tomorrow."
"Like we would ever do any business with that fool's House!" came the pre-antagonized banter of Captain Nogoth of the I.K.S. Kleckogunam, now dropped out of warp and rendezvoused with them. "We were once like House Groth, pitiful and dishonorable, but we changed and learned to breed Pipius crabs, a delicacy served dead among the elite."
The Captain threw up his arms. "We didn't even ask you about that. Do not offer backstory or intriguing peeks into Klingon culture unprompted! As for the joining of your Houses, I am here to propose trade betwixt you both as so: House Tochi's Klingon octopus goods for House Groth's ship parts," offered Kronen. "You are both flying old starships, but the Klekogunam looks like it takes a walking cane into its warp fields."
"Though we would greatly benefit from an octopus supply, I would never allow any relations with the Fool Tochi House of Foolish Foolishness!" charged Zang.
Nogoth agreed. "That Groth House overuses the word 'fool' more than the average Klingon overuses the word 'fool'. He will pay, that fool!"
"You are both petaQ!" interjected Kronen in his best attempt at a Klingon accent. "Kahless once forged an entire army from the ancient villages of Qam-Chee, Tong Vey and Ketha Minor to fight against the armies of Molor. He waited for no bickering and made it so. In his vein, I will also make this so!" He nodded to his Ferasan tactical officer, Linng, who targeted weapons on both Klingon vessels.
Zang was taken aback, unprepared for the atrocious gesture. "What are you saying? You will destroy us if we don't agree to this trade??"
"Your aggressive behavior will never hold up with us, Kronen!" argued Nogoth.
Kronen nodded before a passionate declamation. "No, but perhaps the spirit of Kahless will. It is through me His legacy flows! I will take the lessons of the Unforgettable and be guided by His wisdom and gile!!"
"You... what?" blinked Zang.
Nogoth was also left with barely any words. "Kahless? But you're no Klingon??" he said, confused.
"Whoever heard of a Kzinti channeling Klingon honor?" Zang continued. "Wait. Is it Kzinti or Ferasan? I heard there was a naming convention?"
Kronen launched a payload of over-powered tractor emitters and locked both the K'Vort-class Roku and the Negh'Var warship Klekogunam in place via directed energy. He then dropped two Heavy Disruptor Satellite Turrets over them, armed, and targeted at each Klingon vessel.
"We don't talk about that," Kronen winced, suppressing his predator-like instincts. "Oh my; is your destruction looking quite tasty right about now."
Zang pointed. "Your species freaks me out, Kronen! It's well known that cannibalism is still rampant in your practices, and perhaps coveting other people's wives; I don't know. The idea you channel Kahless is an insult and a perversion!"
"Who's to say he hasn't?" Nogoth questioned. "What we perceive is only limited to our understanding of the Ferasans. It's not our fault we are so self-invested."
The House Groth Klingon gritted his teeth. "That is the direct line of reason for self-investing by the mechanism of logic itself! Those cooked pipius crabs are messing with your heads, House Tochi! Trade us those so we can rid you of them and enjoy them ourselves. It was Kahless that slew the Great Klingon Crab, after all, by cutting himself into its backside and out its mouth in slimy, profusely-gunky gore."
"Hah! I haven't heard that story since I was a small one. Give us a regular inventory on your ship parts and we have a deal," agreed Nogoth. "Kahless be with us!"
Zang raised his fist in passion before the tractor beams on both ships dropped and they both turned to warp out of there. "To Kahless!"
"So, how much of that was our doing?" Red asked, turning to the Captain with both problem-vessels now free of the view screen.
Kronen relaxed his tense feline muscles, having allowed his prey gone. "It was the power of Kahless, Commander, transcending us all. Well, at least the mission was a success, and my convictions validated by their ancestry."
"As my convictions are daily, as well," Red said of his work on menial tasks. "Well, perhaps I shall join you by your side after all, since it appears you complete greater, more social-conscious tasks on the management level, as it were. Qapla'!"
The Captain gave him a lost look at that last bit. "Are you okay? Perhaps you should use the much coveted Klingon powder room?"
"It means 'success'," an astonished Red continued, unable to believe his commanding officer ignorant of the most basic Empire phraseology.
Kronen then nodded in understanding. "Ah; never been one for success. I just do things based on historical research." And then, "Did you know Zephram Cochrane invented warp drive for the Humans? I want you to play Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf whenever we go to warp speed from now on."
"What?" Red said, confused.
Kronen slammed his fist on his chair. "You heard me! Dismissed!" And with that, he watched the Klingon slowly back out of the Bridge, now even more confused than ever.
Author's notes: This was written in July 2017 as an entry into a one-off Star Trek Online forums thread someone created about taking the Kobayashi Maru test. This jumps my main, Oroku Seifer, back to his Cadet days, sometime before the year 2409 (before STO starts).
Retaking the Test Cadet Oroku Seifer - Starfleet Academy
Sometime before 2409: The Trill stood outside the simulator room with his teammates, as the Kobayashi Maru Simulator Test was being prepared.
"You think you even stand a chance with this?" Aeris deadpanned in Seifer's general direction.
Shrugging, Seifer replied, "I've just inherited the most daring Symbiont ever. It's fought the Borg, travelled through time, and fought countless holographic skeletons."
"Your previous host also left Leola Root Tart wrappers all over his ship, and caused a whole fleet of vessels to be caught in a giant molecular reversion field which turned everyone young again," Aeris added.
Pausing, before the opening doors, the Trill concluded, "Well, it's time to turn my luck around. I'm full of vigorous, new-bound, muscle-clenching energy and drive and it's that pure will and charm that'll catapult me into implausible success! I'll even be Captain sooner than some alternate universe Kirk would, I assume."
"Yeah!" Aeris high-fived him as they both entered with the group and took their stations at the Bridge of the holographic civilian freighter Kobayashi Maru.
Seifer stood at his Captain's chair proudly, opening a Leola Root Tart in pure confidence. "Computer! Begin scenario! Give me all that you've got!"
"Acknowledged," the computer replied activating the setting with displayed Klingon starships on the viewscreen only seconds before the entire simulation went dark. "Test failed. Please arrange to try again in four to six weeks."
The Cadet clutched his face in pure frustration. "Ugghh!! Noooo! The tart was supposed to be an apple! Everyone knows that??"
"Man, this test just keeps getting harder every year," commented Aeris.
Author's notes: This was written in July 2017 as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #36. It's the second story with my new KDF Captain who is a Ferasan.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #37: Prompt #1: The Bajoran wormhole has been displaying strange fluctuations of late. Your ship has been dispatched to DS9 to investigate. When you arrive, Captain Kurland informs you that a Mirror Vessel has recently come through the wormhole. The pilot of the vessel claims to be the Harbinger of the Great Destroyers of the Wormhole. Kurland explains that these Destroyers are actually the Mirror counterparts of the Wormhole Prophets and scans reveal that the Mirror Wormhole has been altered to lead into the Prime Universe. To make matters worse, it seems that the Destroyers are attempting to free themselves from the Wormhole into the Prime Universe. The only person who can help you end this threat is the Harbinger. Write a log detailing the interrogation of the Harbinger or how you managed to stop the Destroyers and end the Mirror threat.
The Birok-class I.K.S. Dragunov approached Deep Space 9 where Captain Kronen, a Klingon Defense Force officer and Ferasan, sat at his command chair. The screen clicked on to an external view.
"This is the Dragunov to that pathetic bicycle wheel with-six-curved-spikes-for-some-reason in space," opened Kronen. "We've responded to your distress signal and are heavily reluctant, as one would expect from our kind."
A static transmission broke through. "Kurland here. This is Kurland."
"Hmm. We're detecting a distortion from your communications systems being caused by the wormhole. Please repeat?"
The Captain on the other end tried again. "It's Kurland. Here is Kurland. Kurland here. Kurland here. Kurland here."
"Yeah, we're just going to check it out. No need to keep trying to exist," Kronen suggested before cutting the channel. "I'm not even sure if that was true about the wormhole; I just didn't want to interact with that guy."
Standing next to Kronen, Commander Red, a Klingon, monitored the ship's progress. "Nearing the wormhole now, Captain. It's fluctuating and it appears a Mirror Universe vessel is coming through!"
"This is the I.S.S. Dragunov and I am Kronen, the Harbinger of the Great Destroyers! Hyyyeeeeeee!" came the excited hail from another Birok-class heavy raptor as its Captain blinked on screen. "Oh, I am just soooo happy to meet you."
The Prime Universe Kronen was taken aback. "Ugh! Well, as an open-minded individual, I do not have a problem with your auspicious nature, but I must ask, what are the odds we would run into each other? Seems highly incidental?"
"Isn't that what life is all about, though? Events at random! Like how the Mirror Universe version of your Prophets, known here as the Great Destroyers, were able to have me divert our wormhole to your universe!"
Kronen looked confused for a second. "So, that means the Prime Gamma Quadrant is feeding into the Mirror Gamma Quadrant? That is abhorrently redundant."
"As I am the Emissary to them, also known as the Harbinger! Yeeeeee! I love it! Prepare for your universe to be destroyed! Hehe!"
Suddenly: The two Kronen's found themselves in a neutral plain of existence, resembling Operations on Deep Space 9.
---
Looking around, the Prime Kronen was then appalled by the Mirror Kronen.
"Bro!? Do you shave your arms? What the hell?" Prime Kronen asked, just noticing the devastation before him.
Mirror Kronen patted his muscular, hair-free biceps, out of his armless uniform. "How else could I show off these beauties? As a cat-like species, we Ferasans have far too much fur."
"It is the right amount of coiffure!" countered Prime Kronen.
Suddenly, a Prime Prophet approached from one side, and a Mirror Prophet approached from another.
"The state of things is not to be the state of things," claimed the Prime Prophet.
The Mirror Prophet nodded. "Indeed. As that statement pertains to us: We seek to be free of the Celestial Temple, referred to as the Elysian Gates of Astral Reaches, to a linear place of existence."
"Seriously? Just keep the same names for things! You're trying way too hard," claimed the Prime Kronen. "Also, as a contender of my universe, I am obligated to protect it from you, for some reason. I don't know. I was mostly hoping to consume targ wraps for lunch today."
Mirror Kronen shrugged. "But why deny them? Who is to say having us here is bad for you or anyone in any way? And, of the countless entities and cross-dimensional beings in space, how are the Mirror Prophets any less or have any noticeable crowding to the vast, infinite realm of your Prime Universe?"
"The squeaky, hairless Kzinti— that is, Ferasan— is correct," the Prime Prophet said. "He is truly an Emissary of revelatory nature, unlike our The Sisko who sat around for seven years before doing anything significant."
To that, the Mirror Prophet squinted, suddenly realizing where he/she was. "By the loathsome dirt-mongering, scatter-brained Bajorans we all know and hate! You have brought us to the wrong universe??"
"Yes! By use of the newly retrieved Orb of Possibilities," claimed Mirror Kronen. "Don't you see? It's all sunshine and lollipops here! Their Picard isn't a blood-thirsty war-dealer who drinks black coffee, and their Spock isn't a centuries-long sociopath who manipulates political power by sitting around raising one eye brow at a time! Hehehehe!"
The Mirror Prophet grabbed Mirror Kronen by the throat. "You are the most fail-bound Emissary of the many hundreds we have employed thus far. Linear realms such as this are much like your Klingon-grade rubber pants: The wrong ones do not fit and cause impenetrable uncomfort!"
Prime Kronen and the Prime Prophet watched in shock, as the Mirror Prophet turned to address them.
"Please, accept our apologies for the intrusion," the Mirror Prophet continued. "We will deal with our Kronen by putting him in charge of some filthy Bajorans. Ugh. We hate them so much with their constant losing and their insistence of relevance. Anyway, Mirror Prophets out!"
When they disappeared, Prime Kronen and the Prime Prophet glanced at each other.
"Well, that was awkward. I guess not all space-time aliens are alike; a lesson only learned through these rare encounters," Prime Kronen observed. "So, is Sisko still around? Do you need a new Emissary or anything?"
The Prime Prophet bowed slightly and unconvincingly. "Not at this time. But we'll call you if that changes." And then, diverting for a quick cut-off: "Such a thing probably won't ever change."
---
Seconds later, Kronen found himself back on his Bridge, with the other ship disappeared.
"Sir, you went completely blank there for a while," explained Red. "We took the opportunity to discuss politics with each other while you were comatose. We all agree the Federation is colluding with the Romulans."
Kronen blinked to get his visual focus back. "You know that talk always triggers me! Anyway, it would seem certain attributes are required, even for Mirror Emissaries. Perhaps I should try them next?"
"Agreed. Shall we report our findings to the pregnant Captain Kurland?"
The Ferasan jumped back in his seat in utter disgust. "NO! No, please no. We will just send them a text message, but only after we're gone and out of communications range. Both those Prophets took his form and I was puking internally the whole time. Set course and engage!"
"Aye, Captain," Red acknowledged, before taking out a PADD and using his thumbs to type on its screen. The Dragunov then turned in space and jumped to warp.
Author's notes: This was written in August 2017 as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #38. It's a short mash-up of my most recent KDF Captains: Sigon, Deloss and Kronen.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #38: Prompt #1: Your ship receives a distress call from a distant colony that is under attack, but for reasons arrives hours or even days late. They called for you, they trusted you to come, and you got there too late. Everyone is dead. How does this affect your crew, your Captain? what will you do now, what will your report say, and how will this impact your captain's relationship with their respective high command?
The Bortasqu'-class I.K.S. Masamune rotated around in space, to take aim at its vicious opponent: a Kolasi-class destroyer commanded by a Nausicaan named Tog.
"Your reign of terror ends here, Tog," declared Captain Deloss, the Gorn and Klingon Defense Force commander of the Masamune.
Tog appeared on-screen in response. "The only terror I wish to convey is to the likes of you, Gorn! The Klingon Empire will see that we Nausicaans are the superior race, and will award us thusly!"
"Like, what do you even think they'd do for you? Trophies? Table seating preferences at the fleet parties?" Deloss interjected, genuinely perplexed.
Captain Tog sputtered, unsure himself. "Shut up! The point is, Gorn are weak! Except for that rock-throwing thing! That is actually quite impressive." He disconnected and continued firing upon the Masamune.
"Sir, we're also getting a priority distress call from the planet Raatooras," reported Liss from operations. "Apparently it's under a global threat and risks destruction."
Deloss was taken aback. "That conquered monstrosity? I'm pretty sure Captain Sigon maintains them under his jurisdiction. Forward him the signal and we'll follow up as soon as we can." He watched as Liss nodded. "We, on the other hand, have to make a stand for humanoid-reptile-kind! Not the other kinds, though."
---
Meanwhile, the Kurak-class I.K.S. Baetal sat in orbit of Earth while Captain Sigon and his crew celebrated as guests within 602 Club at Starfleet Academy.
"You, you are the Klingon!" shouted a very drunk Lieutenant Commander Gozer as he put his arm around a deadpanning Sigon. "Am I right? Your wrinkled forehead isss like no other!"
Sigon released himself to visit more of his wasted crew. He was the only one sober. "Why did I quit drinking?" he questioned himself before recalling the reason. "Oh, right. All the dishonor I wrought."
"Don't forget," came Chief Engineer Poroka, who also put her arm around him. "You are the designated driver to get us all home! Also, you have such an attractive nose. There, I said it! Ha! Being on this weakling planet brings out the strangest parts of us!"
He released himself from her, as well, as a communiqué over-air rung through. "Battlecruiser Baetal to Captain Sigon. This is Tenogh. We're getting a distress signal being relayed about Raatooras under threat. I believe a malevolent entity is attempting to annihilate its occupants."
"Ugh! You know, you couldn't have picked a worse time," Sigon flung his arms. "The crew is completely tossed. How are you?"
Tenogh replied, "I had a glass of Blood Merlot before my shift. It was paired with Cheese Targ."
"How is everyone on my crew alcoholics? Is it the constant wars we have with pretty much everyone?? Never mind. Send it to Captain Kronen, and we will catch up. He's been all over recent events anyway, almost like it was his turn or something."
---
The Birok-class I.K.S. Dragunov sat, landed, on the planet Takar in the Delta Quadrant, where Captain Kronen, a Klingon Defense Force officer and Ferasan, stood before a crowd of Takarians at the ramp to his ship.
"Fellow humanoids," opened Kronen, "I am neither your Holy Sage, nor your Holy Dissident. Perhaps I'm a third thing, though? A Holy Master or Prophet of some kind? Don't hold back your suggestions."
Commander Red gave him a disapproving look. "You know, we could just go?"
"And leave these poor, helpless worshippers to no priest or cleric of some kind? We have a responsibility!" he declared, seconds before his first officer's PADD rang off a notification beep.
Red checked his device. "Captain, it appears the Jenolan Dyson Sphere has relayed a distress transmission from a planet back home. Apparently, a real Great Sage has taken possession."
"Like, the real gods from this world?? Whoa! We have to check it out— I mean, help its inhabitants and what not. Unfortunately, getting there will take some time, considering how far out we actually are."
The Klingon looked at him again. "I told you this Quadrant was a Quadrant of misfortune and complete absurdity."
"You said it passively, so it doesn't count!" countered Kronen. "Let's go. I'm just disappointed I will miss the fire-log thing they do. Oh, to be a figurehead of any kind."
The two ran back up the platform, retracted it, and lifted the Dragunov back up into the atmosphere. Several Takarians dropped their fire logs in grief and sadness of their departure.
---
Later— much, much later— the Dragunov dropped warp at the planet Raatooras where they received the deity-hail of the Sage that had taken over the planet below.
"This is the Great Sage, merged with the form of the Arin'Sen known as Hemly," came a visual on the view screen from the planet below. "This planet has been cleansed."
Kronen threw his hands up. "Damn! You couldn't have waited for us? We had to reroute through a Dyson Sphere. You know how many Ferengi salesmen are in that thing now? Those back-hunchers infect anywhere there's a connecting port."
"We're late, aren't we?" came the hail from Captain Deloss as the Masamune dropped warp. "I put Gorn pride first and you Captains couldn't follow through for me? Well, it's not surprising since I once had Kagran hold a sandwich to which he then sent off to war."
Then the Baetal arrived with Captain Sigon. "Noooooo! We had so many memories conquering this world every year!" he cried. "Like the time we did whilst dressed in Fair Haven attire."
"None of us are looking good right now," argued Kronen.
The Arin'Sen entity gaped. "Such a dysfunctional team. You must now deal with the consequences of your inaction! This is Sage advice: a natural expository of my kind, despite all disaster being caused by a Sage; me, to be specific," it declared. "Now, I must find the rest of my Sages to brag about what I've done! Sage out!" He then disappeared in a flash of energy, leaving the three Captains to their barren world.
"Well, it's not like the Empire really cared for this place," Kronen suggested. "And I got to meet another god, so there's that."
Deloss chimed in. "How about this? We pretended this never happened."
"I like it. Subtle. Simple. Easy to not-remember," answered Sigon. "Like the time you and I forgot about our fight with the Devidians."
The Gorn erupted. "You know that's not how forgetting works! We have to purge the Klingon Empire database of this world, and possibly the Federation one too."
"Very well, gentlemen," Kronen continued. "We work to erase any notion of Raatooras, even if it means editing it out of Memory Alpha, that pretentious, well-informed databank maintained, remotely, by basement-dwelling 30-something year olds living with their mothers. That'll be Sigon's job. Good luck!"
The two other Captains agreed and disconnected. There would be much work to be done to protect each of their secret shames forever. Secrets they would take to their graves.
Author's notes: This was written in September 2017 as part of the Star Trek Online forums Unofficial Literary Challenge #39.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #39: Prompt #2: A shipboard romance goes wrong. Seriously wrong, and now you have two important, even critical, members of your staff ready to kill each other, even to the point of risking the ship. You can't get back to starbase, and you can't let this nonsense continue. How do you deal with it when Love turns to Hate?
The Birok-class I.K.S. Dragunov blew two orbital defense satellites to pieces, over the small colony city of Hokan that was domed on a rogue asteroid in space.
"Ha! We have effectively forced our hand upon these weaklings," celebrated Captain Kronen, a Ferasan and the Klingon Defense Force commanding officer of the ship, on the Bridge. "As is the way of our kind."
Linng, the Tactical Officer and a female Ferasan, nodded. "Conquering people is much easier than negotiating peace. I simply do not understand what the Federation's obsession is with first contact dinner parties?"
"They get to make Data-like small talk," offered Norren, the Chief Engineer and another male Ferasan. "It was cute at first, but now it's borderline Android-appropriation."
Kronen immediately took notice of the two and sat up at them. "Whoa, whoa! You know we don't have very many of our kind in this Klingon/Gorn-infested fleet, let alone this ship, so why don't the two of you go out on a date together? Huh?"
"Captain," interrupted Red, a Klingon and the First Officer. "You can't influence the personal lives of your subordinates? It's unprofessional."
Waving it away, Kronen replied, "Oh, please. Just by being on a ship that could be infested with slime-quenching Bluegill at any moment is a secession of life-based personal legacy to begin with."
"We don't mind, Captain," said Linng, in support.
Norren agreed. "Anything to give the continuation of our species a chance, as well as maintaining a well-oiled command-obey structure on the ship feeds into our obsessive compulsive disorders."
"You could also click a pen a hundred times!" Red called out to them by way of suggestion as the two Ferasans were already walking off the Bridge together.
Kronen looked at Red. "Hope you like loud cat noises above your quarters."
---
The next day, Kronen and Red were aboard the domed colony of Hokan, shooting down stray Kentari rebels with disruptor rifles.
"Ah; just took out two civilians with one blow," Kronen said. "Curious. Are we having too much fun? Is that a thing?"
Red rolled his eyes. "The only 'too much' of anything we've got going on here is your forced-influence on your crew."
"You mean Linng and Norren? Oh, they're having the time of their lives, at the expense of my match-making abilities, which akins one to a god if you think about it."
Just then, both officers in question beamed in, right as expected for the mission, and began assisting in taking over the dome. Only, this time, they appeared to be vexed with each other. "Hope you like your blood all over the carpets, Captain," Linng said, aggressively channeling a separate discourse with Norren, as she began shooting her pistol at Kentari.
"Whoa, whoa? I thought you two were a couple now? I even had the wedding cake toppers dipped in Armus oil and Tribble fur?" Kronen asked, visibly saddened.
Norren engineered an explosive device and set it to go off upon enemy triggering. "That was before I learned Linng hates water. I mean, water? Aquatic-Xindi used to mate in that."
"Well, at least I don't get confused about my own tail!" countered Linng, holding her aim at the sudden appearance of a Lukari. Turning back to Norren, she continued, "It's a part of your body and not a Caitian plotting its revenge against our race for that time we kicked them off our homeworld."
The Engineer pointed at her. "You don't know that!"
"Wait. Were Lukari and Kentari living together in peace here?" Red asked, confused.
Kronen pushed him aside. "No time for irrelevant non-canon, Commander. It's clear these two Ferasans require more intervention from their aggressive-feline Captain: me." He then addressed the star-crossed-haters. "When Bashir and Ezri were trapped on that archaic Deep Space 9 lift, they realized they loved each other and were trading Human saliva with Trill Symbiont protoplasm upon immediate reach of main floor Operations-place. Hense, if we leave you two here, on this random hijacked asteroid, in isolation, you'll attain similarly liquid-trading reciprocation for the benefit of all! Whichever liquids you choose."
"Are you equating them to the romantic-Typhoid-Mary of T'Pol and Charles Tucker the Third?" Red asked, reclaiming a new standing location. "And, should we not cease the conquering of this rock considering the implications of these two races being here at once?"
The Captain clenched his cat-like claws. "They're more than the forced-failure of those pre-Federation Human/Vulcan gawkers! I'd equate them to closer to the likes of Kirk and Edith Keeler, but without the Human traffic faux pas."
"We get it, sir," offered Norren as he retracted his pointing finger, redirecting it to his remote control device after a Lukari tampered with his explosive. "You're saying that our plight supersedes the threat of an uncompleted predestination paradox."
Linng shot a Kentari attempting to save the Lukari about to be blown up. "Yeah, if conforming to your orders will make me forget this hairball-a-thon Engineer, then I do so willingly and with related hacking coughs."
"Then it is settled!" declared Kronen. "Captain to Dragunov, two to beam up, and don't spare the weird molecule phasing effect or any Klingon versions of those quasi-energy microbes."
---
Later, Linng and Norren beamed back to the ship, each side accompanied by a group of Hokan rebels: Linng with the Lukari and Norren with Kentari, both entering the Bridge from opposite sides.
"Sir, we've reignited the old division between these two peoples, as well as devoted our Ferasan lives to killing the other lover," Linng said, pointing a disruptor at Norren, with a renewed sense of discourse. "I refuse to put up with an apologist."
The Chief Engineer nodded, reciprocating and holding up his control device, ready to execute it. "Same. I do not like how she looks like a female version of me."
"What??" replied Kronen. "But I commanded you, twice? Well, this certainly cannot be a result of my tampering as a way to feed my ego. Perhaps, from now on, there should be only no-same-species match-ups on this ship? It's 'alien' or you spend the night alone!"
Red did a double-take. "Sir, that's an even worse form of meddling. We might as well tell the crew what to think and say from now on?"
"I like your initiative!" Kronen said, impressed as he stood up. "I want some kind of 'how to live' bible on my desk in four hours." He then addressed the rest of his Bridge crew in reference to the two warring groups. "Oh, and who are these people? They seem to have come out of nowhere? Strange?" And then he left the room.
Comments
Unofficial Literary Challenge #16: Prompt #2: The weight of command carries a heavy burden on the soul-- men and women have died under your command, and every order you make affects the lives and safety of all who serve under you. Given the numerous threats to known space, almost every officer serving in the Federation/KDF/Republic has been exposed to the horrors of war in one way or another. Your captain has been scheduled for a session with your ship's counselor. What do your captain and counselor talk about?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #16
In Session
The Defiant-class U.S.S. Dropzone sat out in deep space, doing its thing... Ship... thing... and stuff. Anyway.
Captain Samya and her chief science officer walked down their tight, limited, red striped corridors in a hard-pressed attempt at old-fashioned follow-along.
"A counseling session? You know I did all my post-Iconian-war trivialities on Earth, just a few days ago. There was a sibling-rivalry fight turned literal and everything," Samya interjected.
Mika maintained a furrowed brow of disapproval. "Except your sister turned out to be a Changeling. Not only do you have that to deal with, but all the holes your violent tendencies manufacture regularly, like your niece and those animal things, are interfering with Starfleet behavioral ethics."
"Ugh," Samya grunted as they passed the same corner for the fifth time. "Can we just enter, finally?" As the doors opened to the multi-purpose office Toji was occupying, Samya grabbed Mika's arm. "I'm going to prove to you how pointless this all is, and that acknowledging myself in Kyoto was all the ethic it or I ever needed. I'm referencing, of course, that time it produced all those Japanese Khan variants."
Toji, the Starfleet counselor already sitting, raised a finger in opposition. "Ma'am, Mika's presence is against regulations."
"A Captain's point supersedes the rules, Toji. You know that. I made you write a dissertation about it."
The Bajoran man cleared his throat. "Well, let's start with the Iconian War, and how you dealt with coming to terms with all the deaths, Delta recruiting and plot holes."
"Boring."
Toji checked his padd. "What about those animal things Qu brought back? Before their eternal existence, you hypothetically-murdered without hesitation."
"Pass."
He scrolled down. "You left your 10 year old niece with an alien you know nothing about, and Starfleet now reports they're both missing."
"It's like you're not even trying! She and that liquid mush are off having space adventures. She messaged me yesterday from the Orion slave trade."
Losing patience, Toji put down his padd. "Uggh. Fine. Then explain to me these: How is Shakespeare a viable life force? Or, why was Qu speaking French? And why do you never have a phaser?"
"It's out at the shop? I don't have all the answers, nor do I care that my methods excrete those questions. We're alive, and damn the consequences-- Shout out to Janeway. Aw yeah."
With no other ideas, Toji stood up; his voice changing with slight alien-resonance. "Then you, Captain Samya, side with a genocidal maniac! Your science officer was right in that you couldn't follow the rules even if you tried!"
"I may have said that to him," Mika confirmed. "I definitely said that to him. Also, my tricorder is reading a Bluegill inside of Toji, which explains why there was a pink tail sticking out of his mouth this whole time."
Samya took to her feet as well. "Oh, real original Toji's handler. You know the Changelings and Undine have the market on that, right? And I can follow Starfleet diplomatic regulations just as well as any other drone, drooling officer."
"Of course you would be an expert at falsification. We know all about your true plans, which the other Bluegills and I have drawn air-tight conclusions through from slimy, bug-like assumptions." Toji accompanied that remark with a leaping kick at her, to which Samya pushed his leg to the side to redirect. "Not to mention we're sick of your persistent bug hunts! We're not contained of mostly slime to be popped for your amusement!"
He then flung out fist after kick after fist, each one being deflected by her, courting no other response.
"Tell me, you Toji-worm," Samya talked, "What is it you think I'm doing? Let's chat. We'll hash this out, like bros."
Mika took a position behind her. "Captain, shouldn't we tap our commbadges in a classic Starfleet whine for security's light-weight aggression?"
"No. Clearly diplomacy is the answer to everything," Samya retorted just as the room filled with more Starfleet officers controlled by Bluegill. "It's your point. This is your doing."
An Ensign pointed at her. "Foolish rank-accelerated hack! We work for the Iconian T'Ket by extension over the Vaadwuar and will stop your attempts at accessing them, to what we can only phlegmingly conclude is to Sela-them-up!"
"Is that true? You really are Janeway-ing??" Mika's jaw dropped as she was over-taken by Ensigns.
Several more Ensigns began throwing punches and Samya dodged her head back, slightly, at each attempt, refusing to give in. "What?" she said, confused. "Yes, I may have set up a meeting with a Yridian information dealer, but only because he could help me find my sister who was abducted by Solanae."
"The Solanae also worked for the Iconians, in partnership with the Elachi!" Mika explained with a gaping Bluegill squirming all around her face. "Captain, forget what I said about behavioral ethics. The high-road is just a Starfleet drug we all take to inflate our egos."
Samya then kneed one of her Ensigns in the stomach and multi-punched all the other Ensigns surrounding her. "Dammit, who the Hell wasn't working for the Iconians?? Clearly, I need to temper my tactics."
"Ugh! Gah!" Each Ensign cringed and yelped in pain as Samya went around the room force-kneeing and force-palming broken limbs and shattered rib cages into each worm controlled flesh chunk until they hit the floor.
Seconds later they all got up, better than ever. "Oh yeah. They have super-strength," Samya remembered.
"Ladies." Commander Jarell entered the room with a silver platter. "Your phasers are back from the shop."
Both taking their weapons and setting them to kill, Samya and Mika took out each Ensign after Ensign until they all hit the floor, permanently. With Toji, the spawn mother, remaining, the two women laid constant phaser beams while dodging each of his lurching punches after punches.
"I'm sorry I just abandoned my ideals like some kind of Eddington wannabe, but I suppose your recklessness is more fitting than naught?" Mika said as Jarell watched Toji hit the floor in a hard thud. "And whatever's going on with our phasers is just going to have to wait to be explained in our next adventure."
Samya kicked Toji to make sure he wasn't moving. "Yeah, I need to be more careful about the holes I manufacture. Now, are you going to help me infiltrate the Solanae or are you going to sit around all day talking about your feelings?"
"No, ma'am; I'm ready for excessive, over-the-top violence that perpetuates morbid tendencies," Mika stood at attention.
The Captain sighed in relief. "Thank you. You were just misled by Picard-ism. It affects one in six Starfleet officers. You're fixed now. You're mostly fixed." She then turned to her first officer. "Commander Jarell, please see to it that Mika and I get medals. Good ones. None of that Palm Leaf of Axanar stuff."
"Yes, Captain." He bowed slightly before leaving.
Samya looked at all the bodies. "Let's drag these into the warp core reaction chamber so the other Bluegills don't find out about them. They sent out that message in 2364 and nothing came of it, but we can't take any chances."
Several non-taken-over Ensigns in the hallway stopped in shock and awe as the two ladies, hauling the Human meat bags, left sickening amounts of gunk and bug ooze in the carpets all the way to the engine room.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #17: Prompt #1: Thanksgiving is a North American holiday that originated as a combination of harvest celebration and religious festival. Earthlings still celebrate it in the 25th century, but what did the nonhuman citizens of the Federation or neighboring states make of it? And most of all, what are they thankful for?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #17
What Are You Thankful For?
The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami tractor-beamed a distressed starship out of a decayed-orbit above the undefined world of Raatooras.
"Will you be alright?" Captain McCary, upon the Bridge of his ship, hailed and asked.
A pale, forehead-ridged Arin'Sen refugee named Tobias replied, "We will now, thanks to you. That's the last time we attempt a one-ship Kolvoord Starburst when leaving orbit."
"Seems like you could have just left normally," McCary suggested.
Tobias nodded. "Alas, we are victims of pomp and circumstance," he replied seconds before a Klingon Bird of Prey decloaked off his port bow and shot his ship down.
The Tsunami crew watched in horror and shock as the Arin'Sen ship went careening back into the planet's atmosphere.
"Talk about going on and on like some Betazoid sacred chalice owner. Well, they're crashed now," said the Klingon commander of the Rotog, after his image blinked on screen. "By the way, I am Captain Sigon."
Wide-eyed and in shock, Captain McCary blurted, "What the hell, man?? We were just saving them??"
"What? Why? This world is currently being conquered by the Klingon Empire."
McCary crossed his arms in distracted realization. "Well, that explains why it wasn't appearing on the shared galactic map."
"That map is too confusing! Earth is in the Beta Quadrant? I just don't get it. Also, what is the deal with your forehead? Your ridges look Klingon?" Sigon noticed.
The Captain nodded. "I'm one-fourth, but, like most part-Klingons, we don't like to acknowledge it, except when forced into the Day of Honor by a Talaxian or need to explain why we get angry. I mean, it's an exclusive trait, am I right?"
"I can't tell if your tone is sarcastic or naiveté. But, in the spirit of surviving the Iconian War, and for allowing our forces to be ordered about by the Kagran officer of unbelievable rank, I would like for you to join us at the tlho' poH Feast!"
McCary hesitated. "Well, I am keen to learn more about my mysterious culture, which everyone keeps saying is the least mysterious of them all by now. So, yes; I will join you."
---
Down on the planet, in an open square within a city center that was outfitted with dinner tables, food, and eating-Klingons, Arin'Sen slaves were being recruited and forced to truck barrels of meat and wine to jovial, indulgent-stuck war-mad invaders.
"Welcome to the Feast!" Sigon opened, just after Captain McCary and two of his crew beamed in. "So, targ's out of the bag, we've annexed this planet before. You see, tlho' poH Feast commiserates a time of thanks and non-secular worship, to express what we Klingons are most thankful of."
Lieutenant Commander Deborah asked, "And what's that?"
"Our tradition of cultural imperialism! You see, every year we return to this planet as a family, conquer it, and have a feast!"
McCary tossed his arms up in disappointment. "How could you ever think we'd be okay with that?"
"Because we're allies? Don't look at me. It was the Iconians that brought us together." Sigon slapped him on his back. "Now, come have some traditional blood stuffing and blood pie!"
Commander Morris turned to them. "He's got us there, Captain. Besides, I wouldn't mind trying the blood taters, to be honest."
"Fine," McCary said, noticing a lone Arin'Sen kid scanning everyone from the sidelines. "Just don't let things escalate into genocide, no matter how natural that may come to us."
---
Following the kid through an Arin'Sen communal area, into a poorly managed living district with tents and huts, McCary entered an unlit home where the kid delivered his scanner to his father and sister.
"Hah! Found the rebellion, and all it took was luck-based detective work," McCary opened. "Sorry about barging into your home, by the way."
From a dimly lit table where the two adults were, the daughter, Celecc, replied, "Well, of course there's a rebellion! The Klingons force us to rebuild our economy year after year, despite every now and then a small portion of us are able to escape via spaceship."
"Uh, yeah," McCary added, nervously, while trying to avoid eye contact.
The older man, Hemly, grumbled. "The time for Arin'Sen rebellion is over; vengeance must be taken, then repurposed, refitted and taken again."
"Father, that's not who we are! Our people rebel in our own, passive way and we should be proud of that," urged Celecc. "Just yesterday, I sneered at a Klingon, albeit so subtle they thought they imagined it, but my point was made."
McCary watched as Hemly got up, whipped his chair to the floor and left the tent. "So, you were just collecting data for passive-aggressive terror attacks?" McCary asked.
"Never mind our brilliant strategies! The old man acts weird every year at this time; always going off to the caves, alone, hypothesizing our rippled forehead physiology allows us to commune with spirits or something," Celecc explained, trying to cover her forehead.
The kid spoke up. "Papa made it work. Papa is the Sage."
"Whoa, an arbitrary statement with no context," McCary realized. "That's precisely the motivation we need to 'explore' more into this, if you catch my word usage."
Deborah nodded, confirming that she did.
---
"Do you think that kid's one-off claims about his old man are true?" Deborah asked as she and McCary stepped into the dark caves, beaming flashlights all around.
McCary shrugged. "They're a people who exist so another species can be thankful, therefore a higher power may not be so out-of-the-question, necessity-wise."
"--INTERRUPTION BY LOUD SHOUTING!?" shouted Sigon as both McCary and Deborah became surrounded by his Klingon crew. "You've allied with the enemy in an instinctive repulsion against Klingon kind!"
McCary replied, "More to the point that I realized what I was thankful for thanks to you-- which, in itself is a separate thanking, thank you very much."
"Don't thank me: Thank your pitiful appreciation for Federation values, which you clearly desire to express through action, like some kind of action-value paradox," Sigon cursed just before spitting in disgust. "What you fail to realize is that every year we must fight the Sage which spawns in this cave, and threatens to destroy this planet and its people."
They both turned as a hovering, glowing version of Hemly floated over and opened non-corporeal eyes at them. "This land has been disturbed by intruders. The Takarian people bare no witness!"
"Wait, those are the people DiaMon Cide enslaved that one time? Their Sages went missing from the Delta Quadrant eons ago?" McCary hesitated before turning to Sigon. "Captain, this creature is antagonized by historical misconception!"
Sigon replied, "Well, duh'gh! That's our version of 'duh' by the way."
"Cleansing by means of extermination!" the modified voice of Hemly declared abstractly as he began flowing bands of matter destructive energy.
McCary stole a bat'leth off a distracted Klingon and began hacking into the fused, part-corporeal entity. "Hey, my mother gave me that!" Klingon Engineer Poroka complained.
The other Klingons joined in and, minutes later, the Sage left Hemly's body. Hemly fell to the ground, bleeding and in pain. "Well, it's about time," McCary said to the Klingon Captain, by way of some sort of resolution. "I was wondering when we'd discover a real reason behind all this. It's not justified, but at least there's some level of honor in all these horrors of late."
"The what in the what-now?" Sigon replied, having been busy biting the head off an Arin'Sen sewer rat.
Then, Hemly groaned as Poroka helped him to his feet. "Uggh. Same time next year?" Hemly managed to croak.
"We wouldn't have it any other way. Qa'pla!" Sigon saluted.
At those comments, McCary's jaw dropped. It was apparent the warrior class was working with the Arin'Sen to use the Sage for their own devices. McCary interrupted as Hemly began limping his way out of the cave. "Uh, what? Are you saying this whole yearly invasion thing is just some kind of interdependent role play??"
Sigon hooked his bat'leth to his back somehow. "This is more than your simplification hullabaloo. We Klingons covet our reminiscings of real battles, and the Takarian Sage maintains that through authenticity. Like the Sage himself, memory is what motivates us."
"Except in completely different ways! The only justifiable resemblance here is theme?"
The warrior grasped McCary's shoulder in camaraderie. "And that has always been good enough for a Klingon. Come! We will feast on blood bread sticks!"
---
Later, McCary, Deborah and Morris sat at a table in the town square with the Klingons, as large volumes of blood-based food were placed down right in front of them by lower-class Arin'Sen servers.
"This feels wrong?" McCary hesitated in cognitive dissonance, seconds before taking a bite out of his Klingon bread stick. "Pass the blood butter?"
Season #10: Future Proof
Sunrise
The Odyssey-class U.S.S. Valhalla sat out in deep space, extracting Iconian probes from its dented aft hull. Rear Admiral Cid took a seat in his command chair on the Bridge just as they were suddenly hailed.
"Greetings, Admiral. We've recently noticed that a star in an unexplored system near Ferenginar has become unstable. Find out why this star is suddenly dying, and make sure that it isn't going to be a threat to any nearby worlds or systems," came Fleet Admiral Jorel Quinn's sudden hail over the view screen.
Cid was taken aback the sudden appearance. "Yes, sir, but I'm not paying those Ferengi parking fees again."
An agreeable screen clicked off and Lieutenant Tetsu turned from helm. "Confirmed. Rather than stopping it entirely, we are to ensure any death and destruction is limited to the star system said horrors are to unavoidably happen in."
"Seems legit," Cid postulated, brushing his graying thin beard. "Keeping our focus highly localized ensures reduced brain aches. Now, set a course for Deep Space 9!"
Commander Raje paused. "Why?"
"I just have this feeling that we should go there to pick up a scientist. Feelings are a thing, you know. It's a thing we humans get."
---
After picking up Cardassian Solar Scientist Tanora Zuval at Deep Space 9, the Valhalla set course for the unexplored system Admiral Quinn mentioned.
"We've arrived in-system," came Arkane's report as the ship dropped warp. "Still no indication of what's causing stellar decay."
Cid raised an eye brow. "Well this system isn't winning any Okuda awards."
The Valhalla flew forward several hundred kilometers and began scanning. Tanora reported, "Initial results don't make any sense. It's as if it suddenly decided that it was no longer going to do hydrogen fusion, just heavier fusion processes."
"It's temperamental," Raje observed. "Pluto was the same way after Earth demoted it."
The Valhalla then flew for the next closest body in-system. Next to it, they discovered a micronebula. Arkane began reading an energy surge which suddenly turned into three Mesh Weaver ships!
"Tholians??" Arkane blurted. "What are they doing this far from the Assembly? Not to mention, they're somehow operating their ships with just two fingers on each hand??"
Cid stepped up. "Now's not the time for appendage-based speculation. Return the shooting of the things! Weapons, I mean."
Opening fire, the Mesh Weavers began circling and inflicting serious damage against the Odyssey-class vessel. Flashbacks to incessant Iconian battles rang through Cid's head. "Maintain shields! Return fire! And where is that raktajino I ordered?!?"
The Valhalla swung around and fired a multitude of phaser beams and quantum torpedoes into the Tholian ships. One ship exploded, then a simul-spread of eight Starfleet-issue torpedoes, shot out in close-range, blew the other two Mesh Weavers to pieces.
"Data's coming in now," Tanora returned to her console as the action died down. "Looks like there's some heavy ionization on the far side of the nebula. It's as if it's receiving some kind of reflected radiation from one of the gas giants."
Raje pointed. "Helm! Slightly nudge us in that direction."
"Activating nudge subroutines," Tetsu declared.
Cid nodded. Approaching the spectacular blue-hazed, asteroid-orbited, gas giant, Nova began reporting more of her incoming data. "We're reading a few metallic asteroids and some low-level radiation."
"Naturally occurring metal? Impossible!" Cid declared. "Oh, no, wait. I'm thinking of mettle. Now that takes Kirk-level resourcefulness starship Captains have been copycatting for centuries."
Tetsu brought the ship closer to one of the moons orbiting the gas giant. Upon scanning, Nova made a discovery. "Admiral, I'm picking up comm traffic. One of these moons is inhabited! I'm picking up a few low-power warp trails! A few!"
"If this is a warp-capable society, when we make First Contact, I may unintentionally do a Picard impression," Cid started. "If so, you are to act like that's normal."
Suddenly the screen clicked on, and an unknown alien woman, pink, bald, with slender, forehead ridges, addressed them. "This is Administrator Kuumaarke. Please provide identification."
"This is Admiral Cid of the U.S.S. Valhalla. I represent the United Federation of Planets in much the same way a Ferengi represents kyphosis sufferers."
Kuumaarke replied from her ship, "Welcome to Lukari. We have a solar probe ready that contains the booster module that needs to be fired into the star. Could your ship get a trajectory plot so that we can set a preprogrammed course?"
"We'll look into it," Cid replied. "Are six to eight weeks okay? Hah! Just kidding. Science is our main thing."
At that, Cid and Nova began plotting the trajectories, after which they transmitted the information to Kuumaarke. Seconds later, the mission was underway.
"It's gone to warp!" Kuumaarke reported. "The probe is arriving at the solar corona. Deploying chromodynamic booster..."
But there was no response, only confirmation of a hard and difficult truth.
"No effect," Kuumaarke's voice dropped. "It didn't work. Repeat. It didn't work."
Cid was hit with flashes of Iconian War failure: The assault on their people, Sela's fury, and wave after wave of Herald and solar probe attack. He then saw Kuumaarke take notice. "Oh, uh, next time, then."
"Thank you for trying to help," a weary Kuumaarke replied in defeat before cutting out.
Arkane's console alerted. "Sir, an unknown vessel is entering the system. Small, but can't get a reading through its hull."
Seconds later, a grey-skinned man appeared on screen. "My name is Kal Dano. Looks like I've arrived at the perfect...... time?"
"Whoa!?" Cid jumped back at the remark. "A time traveler??"
Kal Dano continued. "How'd you know? Anyway, I'm here to help with the problem with this star. I'm a scientist as well."
"Okay, but we need to digest this first— Like, what's your favourite Edge of Ettiquette song right now?" Cid asked.
Shaking his head, Kal explained, "If my plans were sinister, I'd just leave and let the star run its course."
"Fine. But later, I want a copy of that tiny ship for the Federation," Cid suggested. But then he realized. "Wait. What use would we have with that weensy thing? Propping up bigger ships, I guess?"
Suddenly, the screen split to a double view, with Kuumaarke now on one side. "If you have some way to reverse this process, my people should be involved. But it will take me a little while to get a shuttle out there."
"Oh, don't you worry, we won't need a shuttle," Cid reassured whilst arching his eye brows up and down. "That's all I'll say on that matter. I hope that doesn't alarm you."
---
In a few minutes, Cid, Raje, Arkane, Nova, Chief Engineer Fuu and Kuumaarke all beamed into Kal's ship interior, a giant metallic-plated, circular room.
"You moved me here without crossing the intervening space!" Kuumaarke recognized, in shock. "You have quantum teleportation technology!"
Kal chuckled. "Yes. We call it a 'transporter'. It has a limited range, but it's useful for going from surface to ship. Quicker on plot too."
"Impossible. This ship's interior is massive, even though it's no bigger than a shuttle," Kuumaarke peered around in even more shock.
Cid interrupted. "We're short on time, so no need to expl—"
"—My ship uses compacted subspace folds," Kal elaborated. "It's bigger on the inside."
The Admiral raised his brows. "Ah, so we're doing that, then."
"This vessel is from the 31st century and I have some technology that can help. I need you to align this matrix to match the star's original spectrum."
He clasped his hands. "Finally, the Admiral gets to do the grunt work. I'll do the things!"
"Sir," interrupted Fuu as Cid went to work on his task. "While scanning, I got some data on Kal Dano. He's a hybrid of human and Vulcan, with a small amount of DNA from the people of this world."
Cid finished up. "He's like a ceviche. Thanks, Fuu."
Suddenly the ship came under attack, and several Tholians beamed in. Cid and his team quickly pulled out weapons and went to work at taking them down.
"Damn! My therapist said I wasn't supposed to get into fire-fights anymore!" Arkane complained as he counter-attacked. "Also, I have to start paying her?"
As Kal Dano prepared his device, Cid's crew took out the Tholians.
"Thanks. In just a few minutes, it'll propagate a quantum waveshift that should correct the star's stalled fusion process."
Cid slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Perfect. But let this be a lesson to you: Never trust crystalline people and/or entities."
---
Returning to the Valhalla, the crew was suddenly ambushed by more Tholian ships. Cid took his seat at the Bridge.
"Give us the Tox Uthat," came a Tholian transmission.
Kal Dano provided commentary to the Valhalla. "Wonderful. Now the Tholians want my quantum phase inhibitor!"
"That's what that thing was this whole time?? There was a whole Picard side trip, with the Ferengi and the love interest and— Ah, never mind. I see what you're doing here."
Retuning fire, the Valhalla and Kal Dano's timeship battled the Tholian vessels. A direct spread of quantum torpeodes to the lead enemy vessel, blew it to pieces. Kal Dano drilled a beam into the last Tholian Weaver until it blew as well.
He then turned his timeship at the star and blasted a quantum waveshift at the Lukari star. In a bright flash of light, the star re-ignited.
"It's working!" Came the excitement of the Cardassian scientist, Tanora Zuval. "The spectral readings are off the charts!"
Raje was taken aback. "Whoa! Forgot you were still here."
"They're attacking our homeworld! Please, help us!" Came the hail and plea from Administrator Kuumaarke.
Cid stood up. "On our way. But you should really get your own warships. Well, look at me, lecturing you. Like Starfleet's without its flaws?"
Entering into battle, the Valhalla phasered and torpedoed Tholian Mesh Weaver after Mesh Weaver. Giant walls of energy webs nearly boxed the Odyssey-class ship into place, causing Cid to have even more flash backs to his time in the Iconian War.
"Ugggghh. So much purple!" Cid grasped his head until he was grabbed by Raje.
SLAP! The Saurian hit his own superior officer across the face, in hopes of snapping him out of his self-indulgence. "Admiral, the Iconian War was necessary for peace and something to shoot at. Just like this situation."
"You're right," Cid shook his head and regained his focus. "Thanks, Commander."
The Valhalla turned and fired direct phaser beams at Tholian web joints, nullifying their threat. Ship after ship were then destroyed by continuing torpedo fire, including the cause of which by the help of Kal Dano's timeship.
"Thanks for the help," came Kal Dano's hail as the debris settled into a space-spread motion. "But the Tholians managed to steal the Tox Uthat, a name that I'm going with all of a sudden. I suspect the Tholians destabilized the star so I would bring it here."
Cid slumped into his chair. "Dammit, Kal. We'll have to get it back from them somehow."
"This is all to do with the Temporal Cold War. I'll be in touch."
After the screen cut out, Cid dropped his jaw. "Who just blurts that out? Never mind."
"Thank you for your help," Kuumaarke hailed, as it was finally her turn in the queue. "I wish I could ask you about your science, your trade, your society— but I am sooo late for my report back home. I suppose we should alert Lukari that the world isn't ending now. Do you have any idea of the constant looting? It's crazy!"
The Admiral smiled. "First Contact with another species is one of our most import—"
"Didn't you hear what I said? I have to go! Kuumaarke out!"
When she returned to her planet, the Valhalla departed the star system. They were suddenly hailed by Admiral Quinn over long range communications.
"A First Contact is a significant event that I thought we'd never do again. Thanks for balancing us out after that massive Iconian War."
Cid sighed, rubbing the red cheek his first officer gave him. "Well, someone had to deal with it, I suppose. Just don't tag me as a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder. That would just cause me even more stress!"
"Sounds like a causality loop," observed Quinn. "Here, have a Quantum Phase Torpedo Mark XII."
After the screen cut out, for the third time, a chirp erupted from Arkane's console. "It says we have mail and there's an attachment?"
"More firearms, it seems. The fight isn't over. In fact, it's our lifestyle, and I suppose we'll have to accept that. Take us to our next mission, Tetsu. Something light-hearted, but serious about satisfying my expectations in impossible ways."
The human tapped at his controls. "Well, there's this whole thing with the Na'khul. I'm sure that'll be a simple one-off with no continuing annoyance over and over again?"
"Sounds good. Engage!"
The Valhalla jumped to warp, to what may be an unwitting partaking of the Universe's ultimate play of temporal shenanigans.
Captain's Log, Part V
Menchez, IKS B'Cnah; Vor'cha-class
B'Cnah Combat log, 185th day in the year of Kahless 1036. We laid accidental seige to the Spacedock, more commonly known as the Super Star Mushroom Base. How it refuses to orbit the Earth, I will never understand. Upon arrival, we saw a land flourishing of Starfleet kind. They were... happy, as if frolicking in some sick Federation-glee. I do not get it. Are they just euphoric for merely existing? The sight did make my mighty Klingon stomach turn. In fact, I regurgitated my targ breakfast in several of their Federation fountains before I could join the other Klingon Captains in their attempt to de-Quinn-enize the Human grief that is their essence. All in all, it was an interesting visit. I would never want to live there. To go through a day without a ten minute live gagh bath is to accept a fate worse than Gre'thor.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #18: Prompt #1: The ancient tradition of Terran Winter Celebrations is such a festive and playful time in STO! Q is back and he brings us more Winter fun this year, with new snowmen, new weapons, new ships and more. This month's challenge is to write your own crews story centered around the event and festivities of the Terran winter season. But don't stop at Earth! You can tell us stories about any cultural celebrations from across the Star Trek universe. Perhaps the Andorians have tales of mysterious Vulcans who sneak into their homes at night and replace their toys with logic puzzles. Perhaps the Bajorans have a winter tradition that they hold dear involving incense and an Orb of Jolly. Maybe the Borg Queen is all alone on New Years and just longs for the day some dashing Android will meet her under the mistletoe and help her kill all humans. Or maybe your crew discovers a planet of elves who are ruled by a fanatical toy maker with a thirst for egg nog. Let your imaginations fly this month, and add your own twists of Trek Holiday Lore to the universe!
Unofficial Literary Challenge #18
Winter Wonderland Celebrations
The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami bobbed and weaved its way through a smorgasbord of festive-colored ships parked near Earth Spacedock. McCary beamed onto the transporter pad aboard Deck 47.
"Joy of the season, Captain!" an Adult Jackal Mastiff approached him and said. "Oh, I'm Captain Terry of the U.S.S. Kitana. You see, I challenged Q-Junior's claim on his power-- a claim that's obviously disputable considering he was once trapped on the U.S.S. Voyager-- and then he transformed me into this beautifully grotesque thing. Isn't it wonderful??"
McCary squinted, unconvinced. "What? Aren't you on duty?"
"Hehehe!" Terry ran off, excitedly.
The main concourse was full of creatures, strange and mystical. Stepping passed two Large Talarian Hook Spiders, a War Targ and an Enslaved Hordling, McCary was stopped before a green Gingerbread Andorian eating into a struggling Gingerbread Klingon's side.
"Ugh! Andorians aren't cannibals??" McCark recoiled.
When the misty-eyed Gingerbread Andorian took notice of McCary's witness, he ran off in an animalistic gruff. The Gingerbread Klingon huffed and heaved for a few seconds before passing out all together.
"He must've been a left-over Winter Wonderland pet from when that bunch of Klingons were able to beam onto Spacedock," Captain Samya observed, approaching from the left.
McCary took notice of her. "Oh; Captain Samya? I didn't think you'd still have your Starfleet commission after that space-transport incident."
"Those children deserved to burn to death in plasma!" And then, realizing, "Did I mention they were Undine? Perhaps I should mention that more often."
McCary took out his tricoder. "I was okay with the first part. Anyway, why would an Andorian-version cookie, normally peaceful, turn on its own baked-kind?"
"If my Science officer, Mika, were here, she'd say they were delicious and unavoidable by every holiday measure. Thankfully, Bridge officers aren't allowed on Spacedock."
The quarter-Klingon Captain read off his device. "I'm still reading the Gingerbread Andorian; he's emitting some kind of energy wave distortion."
"Can you be more specific?"
McCary showed her the tricorder. "No, it actually says 'some kind of' on this thing."
"WRAGH!" In the next second, in the distance, Captain Terry, now morphed into a maddening and drooling Warrigul, pounced and hungrily decimated the off-base walking cookie before realizing what he did. "Oh no! I can't be full for my Fastest Game on Ice grind??"
Samya turned to McCary as the Starfleet Warrigul ran off in fear. "Those pets originate from that incessant Wonderland. Perhaps we'll find more information there?"
"Very well." McCary nodded while pulling out his phaser. "If you see any epohh 'friends', shoot them on site. Don't even hesitate."
---
Flashing into the joyous Q's Winter Wonderland, onto the blue, semi-transparent gazebo, McCary and Samya were suddenly hit with the pungent aroma of candy canes and lollipops.
"Ugh! This place is utterly repulsive," McCary partially blocked his eyes as they adjusted to the light.
Samya nodded, in-process assimilating herself. "I wish I was dead."
"You've been here five seconds and you're already bringing down the place," came Captain Terry's comment of disapproval as he approached in Devidian Visitor form.
McCary jumped back in mild shock. "Whoa! Maybe warn us before you do that?"
"I'm embracing the season, which would do you two obvious-trauma-hordes good if you even tried," he replied, floating passed them toward the Breen Race Coordinator.
Samya turned to McCary. "Should we?"
"Hell no," he replied, studying his tricorder. "Hold on. I'm getting some kind of echo-based residual wave reading."
She crossed her arms, annoyed. "Would you please stop with the 'some kind ofs'? I once executed my Operations officer for that." And then, "Oh, he turned out to be a Changeling."
---
Making their way into a forgotten forested area, next to a stone mountain, McCary was suddenly attacked by two wild-eyed generic Gingerbread men.
"YYaarrggh!" Like rabid animals, they leapt onto his shoulder and arm and attempted biting into him, hungrily.
McCary threw one off him and Samya crushed the head off the other. "Sickening," McCary commented as the cookie head debris of the remaining breadman crumbled off his arm. "What happened to their holiday cheer?"
"Spent on that." Samya pointed to a field of half-eaten, partially aware, moaning Gingerbread men and women.
They were all groggily reaching out for each other in cannibalistic hunger. "Candddyyyy brainnnsss..."
"Chocolate innardddds..." another moaned, hungrily.
Captain McCary put his tricorder away. "By the ripped-out shirts of high-strung-Kirk! It's like they tore through their nasally-pitched, annoying ice-coated necks out of pure greed?"
"You could say it was bound to happen, considering the commercially avaricious nature of the holiday season; proliferating indulgent tendencies, funded by the Ferengi Commerce Authority."
McCary shook his head. "No one will ever admit to that. It must be something else." He pointed at a glowing point-of-light-portal, perched at the end of the partially alive cookie massacred field.
"I'm reading another pocket universe," Samya reported as she scanned it with her tricoder while the two of them carefully stepped around each halved, grasping Gingerbread man. "It's similar to this one."
McCary kicked a reaching Gingerbread man to pieces as both he and Samya approached a small, hovering, blue spark. "There was a report from the U.S.S. Phoenix-X about an imitation Winter Wonderland from a similar Q-like being. There were Borg-puns, Neelix-jabs and everything."
"Yes, that one was made by Qu. He spells his name differently, but it sounds the same. I met him when he turned my crew into singing references. I ended it with Blue Skies," Samya added. "There weren't that many other songs to choose from."
Captain McCary furrowed his brow. "We should put an end to this manufactured fakery right away; the some-kind-of energy wave distorted, echo-residual base readings are more condensed here."
"Alright, you're on a time-out for explaining things."
After McCary reprogrammed his tricorder into sending a feedback pulse at the point of light, the portal opened up and engulfed the two Starfleet officers.
---
Appearing on the other side, McCary and Samya found themselves surrounded by jungle vines, in a hot and muggy palm tree-filled environment: Qu's Winter Wonderland.
In a dark recess of foliage, before them, was a vine-bound figure, draped in shadow, on his knees, decaying nearly beyond recognition. His uniform was torn.
"Starfleet??" McCary began scanning, in shock. "A Trill?"
Samya pushed a giant, nearby leaf aside, lessening the shadow over the man's face. "Captain Seifer??"
"Uuhh," the decrepit supposedly-young officer groaned in pain. "The light hurts my eyes."
McCary kneeled to his level. "But it's dark? And where have you been this whole time? A bunch of us Captains have been picking up your slack."
"Sorry, I'm having Slamek flashbacks," Seifer admitted. "Indeed," he continued, struggling to speak, "It would seem the Calibus VII virus that got my crew, previously, has been reactivated. I've been living off Gingerbread men for weeks."
Samya checked his flakey forehead temperature. "It's not as bad as you described in past reports?"
"Someone, I don't know who, must've partially reactivated the virus in us, so it's not as effective. My crew and I are in perfect health some days, where we can complete missions, but back to decaying on others." He tried to get up, unsuccessfully. "I booked passage here through a Traveler named Wayfar because I meant to ask Qu for help-- Instead, I get maddening games and living jungles."
McCary tilted his head. "Living?" And then, suddenly the foliage all around them began moving, growing and tightening around Captain Seifer.
"Forget about me! I can get out of this. But any help you can provide on who's working that virus would be great---"
The two of them stepped away as the jungle engulfed him and a thick, curling vine accidentally knocked McCary and Samya back toward a point of light.
---
Both Captain's then found themselves back in the normal Q's Winter Wonderland. The portal that was there previously was now gone.
"Looks like I pushed the energy distortions on this end to the other end," McCary reported from his tricorder. "So, it's a one-way wormhole now."
Samya picked herself up. "You see what uncontrolled effects we get when we work off generalizations? Also, it seems the problem is worse than expected."
"GGrrgghh," came the drooling sounds of infected Gingerbread men, stumbling out of Qu's pocket dimension. More and more Gingerbread zombies began flooding out of thin air, piling on top of each other in partial crumble from jungle moisture.
McCary and Samya ran to a safe distance. "We should probably change Wonderland instances," McCary said. "This one's experiencing some kind of a cohesion loss."
"Well," Samya shrugged. "At least the air isn't full of cotton candy anymore. Missions aside, perhaps we can appreciate this waste of a universe after all, considering what we just experienced."
McCary put his phaser away. "Fast and the Flurrious then? With the prize tags, we may be able to gain access to the epohhs."
"Agreed." Samya nodded as they both left the piling Gingerbread mess. "Perhaps we may pay a visit to that overbearing Talaxian as well. I must learn more about his weaponized leola root stuffing."
Unofficial Literary Challenge #19: Prompt #1: In which one of your bridge officers is selected to serve a tour on a ship from the opposing faction.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #19
The Officer Exchange
The Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami dropped out of warp in the H'atoria sector like some kind of space-traversing mechanical conglomeration.
Approaching the Klingon Bird of Prey I.K.S. Rotog, Captain McCary and Commander Morris beamed over to its dank, sterile Bridge of dread.
"Thanks for answering my distress call, Captain," Starfleet officer, Deborah, said, turning from her seat at tactical. The entire area was full of unconscious Klingons; blood drenching the floors like a badly handled meat processor. "Apologies for the mess."
McCary crossed his arms. "Have the targs finally rebelled?"
"No, sir. The targ supply has run out due to it being Beast Appreciation Month," she replied. "This; I have no idea what's going on here. Sorry, sir, but it appears my progress in the exchange program has been a failure."
In a bustle, Captain Sigon exited his ready room and joined them. "Utter baktag! Your Lieutenant has been more than exemplary!" he defied. "I just ordered her to the Messhall this morning for early drinking, as we all know, from Riker to Jadzia episodes, that that is the only circumstance one can truly bond with a Klingon."
"I am quite drunk, sir," Deborah admitted in her usual deadpan tone, betraying no intoxication whatsoever.
McCary looked at her, bewildered, then away. "Never mind. What can you tell me, Captain? And please, let this not be an obvious Arin'Sen revenge story. Despite the justice they'd be serving tenfold by your repetitive enslavements."
"I know! I even offered them the idea of that, but, alas, their bones are as brittle as Ferengi knee caps." Sigon sighed. "No, it all started this morning: We had just completed our usual hit-and-run on your Starbase 234 when suddenly systems throughout the Rotog went haywire. Next thing I know, my night-shift Bridge crew is taken out-- My existing BOFFs are fine, though; for continuity's sakes."
The Captain turned to him in complete shock. "Whoa! Are you serious right now? You know we're not supposed to break the fourth wall!"
"Puncture wounds." Morris interjected, examining one of the unconscious Klingons. "Looks like some-thing was responsible for this."
McCary sighed. "Damn the Federation's on-again off-again relationship with the Klingon Empire. We send acronym text-based transmissions with pictorial faces and smiling droppings and you never respond. Fine. For the sakes of my Lieutenant, we'll check things out-- But no Warrior's Anthem! The group synchronicity elicits forced camaraderie."
---
Walking down the eerily dark corridors with flickering lights, McCary, Morris and Deborah pulled hard on keeping their wits about them. Following closely behind, Sigon held his disruptor at the ready.
"Whatever has got this ship is emitting high-energy interference," Morris reported. "Internal scanning and your mercury vapor, phosphor coated tube lights have been severely affected."
Sigon replied, "When it comes to deck lighting technology, we Klingons are centuries behind."
Then, grunting sounds and wheezing breaths snapped its way to their senses but it was too black to see what was making it. For Sigon, the scent was clear.
"He is Klingon!" Sigon identified. "Bekk Tars, if I'm not mistaken."
McCary shone his palm beacon into the corridor. "Don't move! We're investigating first-hand rather than by proxy-hologram which would make much more sense."
"Heegghhhh," Tars uttered through his own bodily pains as he was lit up. Patches of brightly colored fur had grown, unnaturally out from his-self all over his body. "UGGH!"
A surge of agony shot him to his all-fours. The group ran over to check on him. "It's.... fur?" Morris examined. "It looks like Tribble fur?"
"Feels like it too," Deborah added, petting a furry patch coming out of Tars' shoulder armor. "Err, that's the blood wine talking," she explained quite soberly as McCary and Morris looked at her quizzically.
McCary perked up. "You know something, Lieutenant. Tell us the truth about what's going on here."
"Sir, this exchange program has confused my loyalties," Deborah admitted. "The truth is, Sigon ordered me to secrecy over his murderous hunting objectives. We'd been chasing a prey for days, and instead of sleeping were sent to the Messhall to drink."
Sigon stepped around. "It was important to me that we differ ourselves from the Hirogen somehow; those warrior rip-offs! As a one-fourth Klingon yourself, Captain, I'm sure you understand."
"You see, earlier this year, the U.S.S. Phoenix-X visited a parallel universe completely occupied by Tribbles in space," Deborah explained. "When they returned, unbeknownst to them, a single, solitary Tribble was brought back and escaped."
In the dark, McCary could have sworn he heard purring. The thought of it sent chills down his spine.
Sigon continued: "From that one spaceborne Tribble, a whole colony was bred! Klingons everywhere cried out in pain! With your officer's help, we've been tracking them throughout the sector."
"Then it's clear," McCary finished. "My Tactical officer appears to have switched allegiances. Oh, and these spaceborne Tribble are fighting back."
Flashing his palm beacon around, he unintentionally revealed the group to be completely surrounded by angry, self-aware, parallel universe Tribble.
"AaaH!"
The fuzzballs then began buzzing in unison. Their adorable vibrations converted through the universal translator. "Your non-space, combat-buff Tribble are a failed evolutionary variation descended by the ancient one, Trebbly; one of our own."
"He/she was sent to your universe eons ago to facilitate Tribble Space. We must ensure this original goal continues!" another proclaimed. "All of your space are belong to us!"
Sigon pulled out his disrupter. "The Empire will not bow to these puffy-veQ! We stand for roughness, hard looks and the generational-tangents that made us that way! Destroy their cute little faces!"
But the Tribble were faster and leapt onto each of the humanoids, biting into McCary's skin. Morris tried to pull out his phaser but was taken down by a flurry of fuzz. Deborah's neck was pierced and bloody, while Sigon fired his disruptor until his hand was covered in furry fury!
"The Tribble have got us! If Bekk Tars is any indication, their venom re-sequences our DNA. We'll soon become one of them!" Morris cried in agony.
Debroah struggled with her miniature attackers, pulling one off her face. "Captain! When we confronted these spaceborne mothballs, it was the Tribble themselves that explained to us how they got to our universe... one, giant Tribble."
"The Mother Tribble!" McCary realized through his fight. He struggled to glimpse what looked like an overly humanoid-sized ball of fur, emerging at the other end of the corridor.
Deborah added, "It's the one that traveled here with the Phoenix-X."
Under continual attack and the pains of transformation, McCary rolled his fur-building physique over to his fallen phaser, and crawled his way toward the Mother Tribble.
"Enormous hair monstrosity, I wish to discuss your terms of surrender," McCary offered, aiming his phaser.
To that, all the small Tribble scurried away to the sides in fear. The Mother Tribble vibrated in response. "I am known as Tribblone and our purpose is reproduction; not to destroy others. These transformations are a biological confusion."
"Your self-impregnating Tribble-venom is selfing us into Tribble! As such, I propose a non-aggression pact," McCary suggested. "We leave you alone, and you stop converting us into one of you."
The dimly lit, giant fuzz-machine cooed in agreeance. "It is done. But we will occupy all of known space eventually. We have already permeated your universe with utmost adorability!"
"SQUEEEEEE!" Through the dark, the little creatures all leapt back into the fur of the Mother Tribble while she, herself, re-merged into the darkness.
The lights in the corridor then flickered on. Deborah, now part-fur, took out her tricorder and read it. "It's leaving the ship through one of the ports... Like the Rotog just coughed up a hairball."
"Well, it's clear now your treasonous ways were a product of pure investigative drive in service of the unnatural-- a reflection of the Tsunami's own efforts," McCary breathed, appeased, while checking out his own partial trans-fur-mation. "Is anyone as ichy as I am?"
Sigon got up and tore the growing fuzz from his neck. "It is not the last we've seen of those fluff-multipliers. And your insidious diplomacy has triumphed over my destructive war-mongering; but this remains a win for the unchecked Klingon genome none-the-less! Thanks."
"So, is the only reason your species goes on because of us?" Morris asked.
Captain Sigon shrugged. "Probably." As the group made their way back to the Bridge, he continued, "To that, I foresee this as the start of a wondrous relationship!"
---
Entering the Bridge, McCary, Sigon, Deborah and Morris discovered all the unconscious Klingons replaced with large, lumpy-ovals of fully-converted, fur-drenched Tribbles. The nightshift having completed transformation did not bode well for the four.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted!" Sigon corrected. "Warrior's Anthem anyone?"
Unofficial Literary Challenge #20: Prompt #2: Planet X. The Ten Planet. Nibiru. Throughout Earth's history, the tale of a mythical ten planatoid has both intrigued and confounded scientists for eons. The rumors of the mysterious "Grey Aliens" has been connected to the legend as well. According to Vulcan research, Klingon folk lore and many other ancient myths from across the quadrants, the Greys were considered to be a phantom race, a myth. But with so many mentions across thousands of cultures all across all four quadrants, the evidence that the Greys existed is staggering, and with it comes proof that Nibiru exists. Soon, the planets of the Sol, Qu'onoS and New Romulus systems will all align at the exact same time. Three gateways will open into one single dimensional anomaly. The path to Nibiru. Starfleet, the KDF and Romulus Command all want to investigate this lost world. Your mission: Orbit Nibiru, make contact with the Greys and, if need be, prevent the cataclysmic event Nibiru's appearance is said to bring. You have 24 hours before the planets fall out of alignment and close the dimensional anomaly. But be careful, Captains. The Greys were so secretive not even the Iconians had concrete knowledge of them. Anything that could hide from Iconians cannot be good news. It's almost here. The planets are aligned. Nibiru...is coming."
Unofficial Literary Challenge #20
Nibiru, Part I
In the unlit, nearly empty Operations center of Starbase 55, Captain Samya sat working diligently at an ops console not in any state of awareness for the overly windy swooshing sounds of the nearby turbolift.
"Burning the midnight oil?" asked Admiral Cloud, slyly, more sure than anything that he was being original with the use of that phrase.
Ignoring the failed attempt and his sudden creep-like presence, the second Human replied, "Huh? Oh, no. I'm reinforcing local systems so that we can finally get back to Tier V construction."
"Damn that computer virus hologram that knocked us all the way back to Tier II," Cloud cursed to himself and at his holographic Intelligence officer. "How is Mayhem even still in Starfleet?"
Breaking off her lean from her console, Samya paused. "More to the question: Where'd all the extra decks go? Never mind. I'm sure the answer is as comprable as the premise."
"Don't you mean comparable?" Cloud tilted his head, slightly in confusion, suddenly gaining a view of her console. "Wait. That's not local system reinforcement at all? You're accessing intel on the Solanae to find your lost sister!"
With the jig up, Samya looked straight away. "Fine. But can you blame me? I don't exactly maintain a social roster for interpersonal proxy. Besides, you're no Starfleet boy scout yourself. How does a starbase operate without a night shift?"
"The shift rotation is easier this way! You know how I hate too many padds on my desk. Why are you even on this station all the time? Don't you have your own starship?"
Turning to him, Samya threw up her arms. "The Dropzone is a Defiant-class! That's like asking a balding Lurian to do his drinking on a Klingon shuttlepod!"
"Ah, perfect analogy," Cloud appraised. "Anyway, I came here because I need you to join your task force in the Azure Sector to investigate an alarming set of pseudo-anomalies."
Sighing, the tactical officer turned in her seat. "Fine. But, why us? Why not Captain Shon and the Enterprise-F, since everyone seems to love them so much? They think they're so good."
"Unfortunately, they're in the Bajor system, catching up with all the new Mirror Leeta stuff. It's quite confusing, timeline-wise; they're there, but they're here, but they're there? Non-time travel mechanics gives me such a headache."
---
Later, the Steamrunner-class U.S.S. Tsunami exited warp and joined the Dropzone in the Azure Sector near several small, spinning black holes.
"Burning the midnight oil, Captain Samya?" came the sly hail from Captain McCary on the Tsunami.
The Dropzone answered back, relieved. "I know it's the middle of the day, but you hit the nail on the head with that phraseology."
"The last time we were all together, we were ambushed by the Seventh Fleet," the one-quarter Klingon commented with a hint of concern at his joining her. "They suspected we were Changelings masquerading as masquerading Undine."
Samya waved it off, deftly. "Yeah, but we set them against Battle Group Omega after we masked Omega's signatures as Borg ships. They were attacking each other for weeks!"
Just then, the Akira-class U.S.S. Hijinx dropped out of warp and approached. "Well, this is a sight of implausibility to be had. Any preliminary scans or snarky one liners yet?" came Captain Reynolds' hail from her ship as she split everyone's screens two-ways.
"You know as well as we do that we're supposed to form a giant arrow in the direction of the anomalies, first," Samya reminded.
Rolling her eyes, the Betazoid replied, "Great. I see we're maintaining typical Task Force Epsilon procedure. Why don't we just paint targets on our hulls while we're at it?"
Next, the Centaur-class U.S.S. Jenova dropped out of warp and took first position near them. "What?" Captain Iviok asked, splitting the screens three-ways. "Are we not doing the pointy thing?"
"Task Force Epsilon is going to forego the pre-mission formation this time around," suggested McCary. "Also, let's not broadcast the royal fanfare either."
The Andorian threw up his arms. "So we worked triple shifts on our Tier 1 engines for nothing? I lost two men to excess technobabble! Anyway, why are we even called Task Force Epsilon? Aren't the Greek letters re-assigned per crisis, per grouping?"
At that, the Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial dropped out into normal space right next to the other ships. Captain Menrow hailed from his Bridge, splitting all screens four-ways. "To answer your question, which I am just assuming since I was at warp at the time, Starfleet has put us and several other grouped starships on long-term task over the Federation's rehashed storyline ambitions. Thus, we will likely never be disbanded until something original comes along."
"Then I suppose we should all get to the space thing that's usually a one-ship space thing," McCary concluded.
Reynolds replied, "We're still missing our command vessel, the U.S.S. Phoenix-X. Anyone see them?"
"Uh, it's been forever since we heard anything from Captain Seifer," Iviok answered. "I just figured they died from that undead-like virus thing; seemed like screaming in sheer pain and horror was a good way to go."
McCary stepped up. "Actually, Samya and I ran into him in a broken incarnation of Winter Wonderland, recently, after which he reportedly returned to his ship just fine."
"In our off-hours, we investigated his second sickness and found no signs of malevolence," Samya reported. "As for the ailment itself, we still don't know where it's coming from."
Reynolds tapped her chin in thought. "Is this because the LCs are dead? Oh, LCs are what I call Last Calls, which they stopped doing at 602 Club ever since we got hit with, like, three wars at once. Anyway, who's in charge if there's no Phoenix-X?"
"According to Starfleet Regulation 191, Article 15, in any situation involving more than one ship, command falls to the vessel of the Intrepid-class variation," said Iviok.
Widening his eyes in shock, Menrow replied, "That's me! I knew this spoon-beast would come in handy. And everyone said I was just asking to be lost in some random Quadrant of complete absurdity."
Rubbing his hands together in excitement, Menrow brought up the space visual, splitting every screen, now, five-ways.
"So, what have we got here? A bunch of black holes?" Menrow observed before processing. Then, in disgust and a sudden dash of hopes, replaced with frustration, he declared, "That makes no sense!"
Reynolds chimed in. "He's right. Normally, they're collapsed stars and too concentrated to co-exist without orbiting or merging themselves."
"My ship is reading an inconsistent flow of thermal radiation coming from those swirly-curlies. They appear to be sputtering in and out of the space-time continuum!" Iviok reacted. "Oh, and they're all drifting toward us."
Everyone watched as their ships became immobilized under intense gravimetric suspensions. Then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Phoenix-X coasted, just far enough from out behind the black holes and slowly began passing the group, on a nose-down, 60-degree angle.
"That's Captain Seifer's ship!" exclaimed Reynolds in shock.
Menrow sighed in alleviation. "Phew. Well, that's a relief. All this task force commanding was making me thirsty. Margaritas, anyone?"
"Hold that indispensable thought. I'm not reading any lifesigns on-board the vessel," reported Samya. "It's as if the polygons didn't spawn at all-- er, I mean, everyone evacuated for some reason."
Iviok crossed his arms. "And here we were, ready to dismiss that over-nacelled-mashup because we wanted to break standard procedure. Seems when people are grouped, they come to poor conclusions."
"This is why our task force was used as cannon fodder during the Iconian War," McCary stated. "We told everyone we wanted to negotiate each battle with diplomacy, and that group-think got our comm signals all entangled."
Reynolds added, "My ship still blasts microphone feedback every time I hail someone."
SCRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Everyone quickly turned down their volume controls.
"Would it be better if we weren't near each other? Would that make things right?" interjected Captain Menrow. "As Epsilon's acting commanding officer, I hereby rule we do all we can to work autonomously, in far proximity from one another, however vexing it may be to accommodate, to complete whichever mission we perchance be assigned."
As they nodded in agreement, all five Captains were suddenly beamed off their ships and onto the Bridge of the Phoenix-X.
---
There, together, on the Prometheus-class vessel, they found holographic virus and Starfleet Intelligence officer Lieutenant Commander Mayhem standing over an operations console.
"Oh, hello," Mayhem greeted, turning to take notice of them. "Are you familiar with the Nibiru? Well, they're this week's alien of the week."
TO BE CONTINUED
Nibiru, Part II
In the flickering, run-down Bridge of the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Phoenix-X, all five Captains looked on in awe and shock at the virus hologram standing before them.
"Qu!" barked Samya. "I mean, Mayhem! Sorry, that just seemed natural."
The Intelligence officer stepped around the railing and approached them. "There's no time for your signature randomness! You see, those small artificial black holes are orbiting each other on chaotic paths, threatening to lock us in gravitational suspension between them forever!"
"In English, holo-man!" ordered Iviok.
Mayhem rolled his eyes. "That was as dumbed-downed as I could get it. I one-time beamed you all here, the so-called brains of your ships, so that you could get the Phoenix-X online, faster, before certain eternal destitute."
"What about our own ships? They're already trapped inside that system-disabling, space-time mish-mash!" argued Menrow. "And what happened to this ship??"
Activating the main viewscreen, Mayhem, replied, "We'll be back for your crews once we're online and done." He replayed an image of an attacking Breen vessel. "In the meantime, the Phoenix-X was ambushed by these popsicle mystery men, who were trying to obtain supplies to get home in some sort of full-body-armored Janeway rip-off."
"Our engines are completely offline," Iviok noted as he accessed a nearby console. "The Breen version of Tom Paris must've over-clocked an energy dissipator."
Nodding, the hologram continued, "Yes, and all while I and the crew of Phoenix-X were on a mission from Starfleet Intelligence to render the phenomenal activity on these black holes inert."
"What kind of activity?" asked McCary.
Mayhem answered, "Highly volatile space-time warping-- which we were warned about, from a lone signal long ago, by an unknown species called the Nibiru-- which I successfully stopped by using purple matter."
"Dammit! You can't just make up matter and assign it a color!" Reynolds declared.
Shaking his head, the virus finished, "Unfortunately, your precious Captain Seifer agreed and had his entire crew hijack that Breen vessel in search of another cluster of artificial black holes... for something called a 'redo'."
"He's mad," realized Menrow. "It's that obsession of his with a 'magic reset button' all over again. Odd, though, that he reported that so we would all know."
Crossing her arms, Samya said, "And let me guess, we know nothing about the Nibiru because your program is infecting the Federation database."
"I need to infect something!" Mayhem defended. "That's like asking a Bolian not to be a hairstylist."
Menrow turned to the other Captains. "Seifer is our mission now, considering he could facilitate untold damages to all that is good and safe in the galaxy."
"Like the time you enslaved the Takarians in the Delta Quadrant?" Reynolds reminded.
The Captain waved it off. "Ferengi possession doesn't count! Besides, my body is still recovering from tube grub overdose." He then addressed each one, down the line; his stomach aching. "Iviok, go to Engineering and get the engines into safe mode. Samya, check the status of the weapons. McCary, update life-support systems. Reynolds, run a diagnostic on the deflector dish. I'll ensure main power holds up."
"You do realize we're playing right into the do-not-work-together reversal, don't you?" Samya clarified.
Menrow countered, "I realize that pointing out something's a trope is itself a trope! Dismissed!"
---
Captain's Log, Stardate 87446.9
As Acting Commanding officer of Task Force Epsilon, I, Captain Menrow, have taken command of the abandoned U.S.S. Phoenix-X. It turns out Captain Seifer littered his entire Ready Room with leola root tart wrappers. How can one man eat that much junk food? Anyway, we've engaged warp in safe mode and are following the last known coordinates of the Breen Chel Grett warship Darkseid. As odd as it is attempting to acclimatize myself to this new role over my peers, I am fairly certain we will not succeed as a team. In fact, it's more likely we'll buckle under our own incompatibilities. The only question is how soon?
---
Reynolds entered Engineering where Iviok was hard at work, managing the engines by himself.
"Damn the Phoenix-X! Where does the X even come from?" she asked. "Are they just trying too hard to be what they used to call 'cool'?"
The Andorian examined the intermix chamber. "Judging by this conglomeration of engine core, it would appear the vessel was being used as the test ship for everyone's on-again, off-again transwarp ability; the engineers must've burned through twenty-four other Phoenix-named ships to get here."
"Makes sense-- Which is the least I can say about my own senses. You see, my Betazoid mind has been hearing high-pitched drilling noises ever since I beamed onto this Admiral-approved flying-shovel." She massaged her temple. "Ohhhh. I'm nearing full-Troi."
Iviok moved to another console. "At least you don't have to rebuild major components everyday of your life. On my Tier 1, Centaur-class starship, interstellar dust gets into the cracks and then wedges our hull plating right off into space."
"Clearly deserving," she added. "You command a ship that uses a crank to power up its transporters."
Pointing back, Iviok replied, "Hey! We save on environmental energy waste that way. Though, we do over-compensate in excess antimatter."
"I'm just going to pretend this conversation never happened," Reynolds said seconds before she was interrupted by a nearby console. It displayed her now released deflector controls. "Whoa. I think those black holes have been hitting the Phoenix-X with psionic energy??" She checked her data. "No wonder I've been considering putting my head into a food decompiler!"
The other Captain perked. "That would only take your hair, by the way." And then, "Hmm. Using that correlating data, we may be able to build a defense into our shields using a modulated delta wave frequency."
"This better work, unlike that one plan we had to hog-tie Captain Menrow."
---
Samya entered the Conference room to find Menrow at a wall panel, fixing a main power circuit.
"Is it just me, or is there an entire deck floor completely cracked and broken?" she asked.
Menrow stepped away from his work. "Oh, yes, that's from Seifer's pet Horta Hatchling. You get used to the randomly warped gravity." He sighed. "Which is the least I can say about being in command of fellow-ranked officers."
"With all due respect, Captain, but I believe I should have been the one in command here." She stepped up. "I'm not susceptible to body-switching and I'm quicker at making decisions."
Rolling his eyes, Menrow answered, "Oh, please. You're reckless and have been self-involved ever since your sister went missing. You're probably looking for her right now!"
"How dare you?" she started seconds before an incoming hail from a Yridian information dealer came through the wall screen, indicating her search request for her sister garnered no results. "Well, can you blame me? What makes my own blood less relevant than Seifer's?"
Menrow gave in. "Now that I've had a chance to review all the stolen Forcas III trophies in this room, I'm certain nothing does. But, this is our current mission and we have an obligation to do what is right and utilize available sources to complete it."
"Huh," she paused after typing in the request onto the touch screen. "The Yridian is saying he did hear something about a Breen ship in the sector. I'm sending him a billion energy credits to tell us where; it's not much money, but it's all I'm willing to part with."
---
As the Phoenix-X changed course, Mayhem entered Sickbay, where McCary was accessing a console in the dark.
"Captain? I just came here to infect the EMH like I do on every ship I visit?" Mayhem entered slowly, trying to get a view of what McCary was doing.
Then, turning in shock, McCary revealed himself to be covered in random patches of fur, sticking out of his sleeves, tearing through the Odyssey uniform front and white shoulder cut. "Don't look at me!"
"By my programming God, some guy named Lester, the rumors of you turning into a tribble are true!?" Mayhem was taken aback.
Breathing heavy, McCary continued. "That's just the thing. We did reverse the transformation on ourselves and the crew of the I.K.S. Rotog, in time, with the cooperation of both ship's Doctors, resulting in minimal hair spread." He attempted to turn to address the hologram. "But ever since you beamed me onto this disease-drenched dirt-ship, psionic energy has been resequencing me all over again."
"Oh, ugh--!?" Mayhem began puking holographic numbers and mathematic symbols all over the floor as he took in the realization of cross-cultural teamwork. "Working with Klingons? You organics disgust me!"
The now rainbow-colored-hairy one-quarter Klingon, three-quarter Human stepped toward Mayhem. "Tell me the truth; were the Nibiru targeting the Phoenix-X? Is this what caused their Calibus VII disease to resurface?"
"Of course!" Mayhem held up his photonic arm in disgust-filled defense. "The purple matter may have settled the artificial black hole clusters from becoming erratic, but it wasn't enough to stop their psionic radiation."
Picking off loose pink fur, McCary realized, slowly but surely, "The Nibiru are causing the clusters and Seifer is going after them."
Then, a communiqué from the Bridge broke through. "Menrow to all Captains. We've engaged... the Borg-- I mean, the Darkseid."
---
Dropping warp in the Qo'Nos sector, the Prometheus-class Phoenix-X approached the Breen Chel Grett warship Darkseid.
On the Darkseid's massively, smoky Bridge, Captain Seifer and his partially-deteriorated crew operated the vessel before a series of artificial black holes.
"Captain, how are we even still alive??? Also, we have the target in sights," Armond reported from tactical.
Kayl turned from her Operations console. "The canister is loaded. We'll only get one shot at this."
"Did anyone check out the Breen quarters? Even their beds are covered in environmental containers?" Doctor Lox questioned, perplexed. "They leave everything to the imagination."
Kugo entered the Bridge, "Engineering checks out as I expected-- a complete nonsensical configuration. I touched nothing."
"Ah, you guys. After all our forced on-and-off bed-rest, it's good to be working with you again," Seifer sighed, truthfully.
Turning from helm, Ensign Dan asked, "Even me?"
"You're relieved!" the Captain yelled, upset.
Menrow's hail from the Phoenix-X broke in, and the screen clicked on, interrupting them. "Your ship to Seifer; we know you've been severely affected by these clusters and we have a solution: Iviok has lined this ship's shields with a modulated delta-wave frequency. We know it works because it has stopped McCary's tribble-ing. That's a thing now."
"Whoa! The whole Task Force Epsilon team is here?" Captain Seifer reacted. "We never got along? Remember that Klingon troop we ambushed, only to turn all our weapons on each other instead? The troop just left us, laughing."
The other Captain sighed. "You promised never to speak of that again! Besides, we figured out how to work together, like we were supposedly trained to do. I believe the activator was immediacy."
"Uh, you fell right into a reversal, is what you did. Well, it doesn't matter anyway. A ship modification is not enough as we're going to use blue matter to transform these clusters into a portal to the Nibiru." Then, chuckling, "Can you believe how easy it is to create matter and assign it a color? Darkseid out!"
Armond tapped at his controls, scanning the Phoenix-X's next actions. "Sir, they're preparing their own colored matter in response...... red!?"
"What? Those Cap-slacks really did overcome their inevitable, collective failure," Seifer bemused. Then, realizing, "They're going hit our blue matter with red matter and make purple matter!?"
Kayl replied, "That'll disable this cluster like the last one."
"Not if I can help it. We've been suffering through life without our LCs-- oh, Lissepian Candies, to clarify-- for far too long. Target the Phoenix-X and prepare the Breen Tom Paris'd energy dissipator."
Kugo turned from her controls. "It's ready."
"Sorry, Epsilon; you did good, but not Third Fleet-good. --Fire."
Seconds later, a white fizz of energy was shot out from the Darkseid and into the Phoenix-X, knocking all its systems offline, once again.
The Breen ship turned to the cluster of black holes and ejected a canister of blue matter into it, forcing the holes together and opening a large tunnel in space-time. The Darkseid then flew through, somehow circumventing all forms of spaghettification, gravitational lensing or loss of electrons.
TO BE CONCLUDED
Nibiru, Part III
In the exhaust-filled, spark-flinging darkness of ship-interior-ness, Menrow, Reynolds, Iviok, Samya and McCary found themselves just waking off the floor, together, from simultaneous unconsciousness.
"Damn! We failed our self-given mission worse than Riker mounting an uncalculated bar stool," cursed Menrow.
Samya gripped her head as she sat up. "Please don't bring that up. Ever. Again."
"Our lack of visual is messing with our references. Let me get the light." Iviok felt around for a control panel in the dark.
But, instead, he flicked a switch which let out the floor beneath them. All five Captains fell through and out of the ship onto a red, grassy land: They were crashed on Planet Nibiru, in a forest, and the ship they were in was the Breen Chel Grett warship Darkseid!
"That wasn't the light," countered Reynolds. "And outer space has dirt now?"
A nearby shuffling sound was followed by Seifer's voice. "You're on an alien world, Reynolds. One, the likes you have never seen! I'm guessing. It's not like I can read your mind. Welcome to Nibiru!"
"Captain??" Samya, followed by the others, turned to behold a nearby area of forest where Seifer was caught in an elaborate trap.
Walking over, the group viewed that Seifer was being suspended above them by a complex system of primitive red bamboo-like sticks.
"After we went through the black hole portal, I realized Mayhem had transferred himself over to the Darkseid's Bridge," Seifer explained. "He must've beamed you guys over, last minute, to help stop me. Well, I took care of him."
Seifer revealed a mobile emitter in his left suspended-arm's palm.
"He actually stole this from Voyager's Doctor out of holographic competition. Typical Section 31! Am I right?"
Menrow's jaw dropped. "That's the second time he transported us!? And he's with Section 31??"
"Oh, come on. Like you couldn't see through that pretentious elitism? He's like a message board user who harps on your writing any chance he gets," Seifer explained. "You see, Section 31 does whatever they want. It's they who have Geordi's VISOR."
Samya clutched her head. "This is too much to process. What is it you want out of all of this then?"
"I just want to negotiate the release of my crew's Calibus VII re-disease-ening. The Nibiru somehow reactivated it; they can stop it."
Iviok began examining the bamboo-like contraption. "Oh, they can do anything, can they? Like, capture Captain Seifer? At least now we have you, the same way the Enterprise-D was able to hold on to Doctor Tolian Soran."
"Maybe if we had built a defense against that dissipater instead of some pointless psionic shielding, we wouldn't be crashed on this planet right now," countered a hairy McCary.
Reynolds began massaging her temples from a resuming barrage high-pitched telepathic noise. "What do you mean? That's how we stopped you from going full Tribble in the first place!"
"The fault lies in our commanding officer. I should have been the one to lead us, my sibling-search notwithstanding," Samya turned to face Menrow.
Shaking his head, Menrow erupted. "You know what? You're all on a time-out! I want each of you to find a red tree and stand, facing it, to think about what you all have done!"
All five Captains began talking over each other in anger until their raised volume activated a mechanism on the trap, erupting a strange alien call out from a bamboo-like tube.
"It's the prophesized ones!" came an alien voice, freezing Task Force Epsilon's energized discussion. Its speaker, a Nibiru with white skin and black lines around his head, approached. "I am First Leader Nune and we have been calling to you through the Heavens!"
In no time, the group was surrounded by more Nibiru. They collectively deactivated the trap and let Seifer down to be free.
"These traps are for the untamed naked drakoulias. They eat the delicious flesh of anyone in the Red Forest," one of the other Nibiru explained. "My name is Cela and I am Second Leader."
Seifer was freed. "Your 'calling' has somehow reactivated a sickness in me. Who targets a starship with copious levels of psionic energy from a planet anyway?"
"Oh, we do! Our psychic powers are amplified through the Heavens, and their Heavens' Heavens, eternal," Nune said while one of the other Nibiru played around with the mobile emitter. "And its use of the genetically-altering power of ones mind acts to reveal you as our God! We are all now the Great Birds of the Galaxy!"
Then, Mayhem was suddenly activated prompting Menrow to react in shock.
"Oh, for the many alien loves of James T. Kirk! Whoever the actual Great Bird is must be spinning in his bird grave."
---
As the group was escorted to a small pre-industrial village, fashioned together in red structures, they came upon a giant crystal at the center of the town. There, several Nibiru Priests were knelt, ritualistically feeding psionic energy into it.
"This is all our fault," Menrow said to his team of four Captains while Seifer and Mayhem were drifted away by the locals. "If we could only maintain a work-together paradigm like we were supposed to via the reversal, we could have taken Seifer back to the Darkseid and out of here by now."
Samya sighed. "I hate to admit it, but Margarita-Head is right. What's more, is that we let Mayhem get the best of us, twice."
"Perhaps, instead of allowing fate or tropes to define us, we should define ourselves," Iviok suggested. "I accept that our group has a clichéd Captain's team hand-stack ritual before every mission."
As he held out his hand, waiting for the others to join him, everyone decided to just nod in awkward agreement instead.
"I can read that you are all not happy with circumstances at present." They were then approached by Cela, the Second Leader. "Only a small portion of my people have mental powers, and I use mine to survey social cliques."
Reynolds nodded. "As one should. But what's it to you, Stripe-Face?"
"I, too, do not believe we need a 'God'," Cela replied. "To me, there is no such thing, and what we witnessed over a century ago does not correlate to our definition of who we are now."
McCary was taken aback. "An atheist?? A pox on thee!"
"Yes," the Nibiru woman rolled her eyes. "Not all us Nibiru are as foolish as our head-tilting ancestors, just 151 years ago, when they gazed the saving of our world by an obese metal bubble-bird."
Menrow tapped his chin. "I kind of want to know what that is, but I also kind of don't. Also, can we leave on our own free will?"
"Yes, but your friend Seifer will likely be executed when he disavows being our God," Cela answered. "Our mental powers are highly developed, but only at sacrifice to our maturity levels."
Samya shrugged, contemplating it. "Well. I mean, he had a good run with those LCs that one time, right? Oh, Leola Crepes."
"And there is another problem," Cela continued. "Your non-mind holo-friend has gone somewhere with Nune, the First Leader. Nune seeks mortal power over all Nibiru Countries-- even the weird ones."
Iviok added, "We're two for two! Now Mayhem can do all the evil schemes he wants here. It's in his programming after all."
"You know what?" Menrow started. "You two are on a time-out! Go stand next to the psionic crystal!"
---
Later, Menrow, Samya and McCary approached Seifer and a group of Nibiru, just outside the red forest. Seifer was preparing for a run.
"Captain, once you disavow your God-hood, the Nibiru will kill you," warned Menrow. "And, according to B'Elanna Torres, the correct afterlife is the Klingon one."
Seifer smirked. "Who in their right minds would disavow something like that? Also, are you going to join me in the chase ritual? It turns out, everything here is high-octane and adrenaline-running!"
"I haven't run since my Academy days. Twisted my ankle chasing mini-Q after mini-Q," McCary added, raising his tribble-fur-covered arm, as his body had resumed transformation.
Seifer looked at him. "You're weird. Well, anyway, Task Force Epsilon belongs to all of you now." He addressed the three. "If you could not-ruin her with Warp 10-salamandering or anything, that would be great." Then, interrupting himself, he added, "And, GO!"
"Didn't a Klingon named Menchez do that once?" Samya asked before realizing Seifer and the group of Nibiru jumped into a run for their lives through the red forest.
Menrow, McCary and Samya looked at each other in reacting-shock and then decided to run after them!
"Does-- my-- speaking-- in labored-- breaths--- constitute-- as 'done-to-death'--?" McCary asked during the sprint.
Menrow and Samya replied, "YES!"
As red trees whipped by their fields of vision, sounds of naked drakoulias could be heard all around them.
---
Reynolds and Iviok secretly followed the holographic virus, Mayhem, and the Nibiru leader, Nune, toward the tall volcano in the distance. Inside the hole, within the depths of the mountain's innards, it appeared as if an entire lava explosion was frozen and hardened in place.
"This is where we avoided death, oh great one," Nune said. "Our lives are renewed thanks to your Starfleet kind-- the Great Birds of the Galaxy!"
Mayhem agreed, as he carried a Breen device with him. "That's actually true since most of Starfleet is run by Aurelians now. Anyway, we must complete your renewal here with one of our own rituals, as reciprocation." And then, to add, "An eternal reciprocation..."
"Hold it right there, Mayhem," Reynolds called out as she and Iviok stepped around one of the many tall, hardened lava spews, to reveal themselves. "You're planning on destroying the planet!?"
The holographic virus double-taked. "Damn! How could that one self-indulgent line be my undoing? And to answer your question, Yes."
He took the time to explain everything.
"You see, a few months ago, the Nibiru began infusing the Vulcan sector with space-time psionics that initiated micro black holes, in an unwitting intent on terraforming half the quadrant into a shared space."
Iviok's jaw dropped. "That's when Seifer's diseasening started! Not that I'd know of such things."
"Precisely. They think they're merging and connecting with Heaven and even communicated with our telepaths so. But when I stopped the clusters with purple matter, I didn't suspect two more locations would arise: one in Romulan space's Azure sector, and one in Klingon space's Qo'noS sector. Section 31 sent me, your neighborhood hologram, a preprogrammed directive to stop the Nibiru by any means necessary. Since I'm also a virus, that means I distort that programming to any interpretation I see fit."
Reynolds grumbled in anger. "You know, we couldn't boot up the Hijinx's main computer for two weeks after you left us? We ended up replacing it with Undine organics!"
---
As Menrow, Samya, McCary, Seifer and the group of Nibiru reached the cliffs at the edge of the forest, Samya was busy kicking a naked drakoulias off her mouth-engulfed foot. Everyone else dismounted their own beasts, elegantly.
"You're supposed to ride them, Captain," repeated Menrow.
Samya finally kicked her naked drakoulias away from her. "I'll do it my way; you do it yours!"
SPLASH! Suddenly, a giant red-bamboo like structure arose from the ocean, revealing a makeshift, home-made imitation Federation starship.
"This is a part of their ritual. Using their eidetic memory, they reconstructed the obese metal bubble bird that saved them from an erupting volcano, long ago," Seifer explained.
On its side, was labeled U.S.S. Enterprise. And to that, everyone gaped in shock!
"Wait. What? Is that supposed to be a Constitution-class starship??" Menrow asked. "It looks like a swollen mash-up of fan-boy perversion? The nacelles make no sense whatsoever!"
Samya stared at it. "It's possible the Nibiru got the details wrong?"
"Or, perhaps we are in an alternate reality," McCary added. "Which is more likely after passing through a black hole? Think about it!"
Menrow began to realize the odds which McCary was playing. He quickly turned to Seifer. "This is utter madness! High-octane adrenaline-runs? Giant, bulgy Starfleet ships?? We are in an alternate reality!"
"I suspected as much when we entered that singularity in perfect form," said Seifer. "But then again, we don't have the same detailed understanding of black holes we used to back in the early 21st century."
Samya interrupted, taking a fighting stance. "That's it! I'm cutting our losses, and taking these Nibiru-abominations out while we still can. I used to kill a lot, but alternate reality murder doesn't count. Right? It's on a heavily edited wiki somewhere, I'm sure."
"No! We do this every time; rejecting some random trope or mishap. We have to stop that cycle and instead embrace their hokey alternate thing for what it is: A confusing nonsensical hack job full of rehash-- similar to Task Force Epsilon, if one were to bring it back home," Menrow said, before turning to the Nibiru. "We are no different than you. An imitation reality can be reality itself. Complete your final ritual."
The group of Nibiru nodded and began a mental communication with the elders around the crystal, back in town. A giant shockwave of psionic energy blasted out from the crystal and through everyone, causing Seifer's sickness to recede.
"You knew they were going to cure you," Menrow turned to Seifer in understanding. "You had no intention of remaining here as their God."
Seifer nodded. "I John Harriman'd it; as in, I faked it till I made it. Only, I was more successful." Then, "Unfortunately, the only way to stop my crew's transformation was for the Nibiru to ritualistically cancel out their own abilities. For you, that means no more new Nibiru-brand micro-black holes."
"And no more destroying of our world either!" came Nune's mixed-upset response while Reynolds and Iviok pushed out a defeated Mayhem, approaching the group.
Mayhem grumbled. "What? I can't take five minutes to info dump without some alien native and two Starfleet Captains foiling me? You know everyone's a Fleet Admiral now, don't you? That doesn't make sense!"
"We caught Mayhem trying to destroy the planet using a Breen warm fusion device," Iviok reported. "Nune, here, let the best of greed get a hold of him as he's been using all this for a second goal to foothold power over his neighboring countries."
The First Leader nodded, humbly. "It's a lesson I am the first of my kind to learn. But, without OP mental abilities, our primary goal, the search for the true Great Bird, literally or thematically, will be more difficult than ever."
"And, as for myself, well, I gleaned a lesson about the ire's of sentient technology," Iviok stated. "So, that may be a No from me on holographic equal rights. Just, No."
Seifer stepped around to acknowledge the new arrivals, and Nune's intentions. "Even an alternate reality existence can go too far with its crutches into our Prime timeline. Whatever crazy, non-canon antics your Starfleet gets into, here, they're who you should be forcing an encounter with."
He then stopped and looked at the over-sized, imitation alternate reality Enterprise. He began to feel sick to his stomach again.
"Ugh. So ugly. How could they mess up something we so firmly established?" Seifer tapped his commbadge, quickly cutting off that thought. "Anyway, Seifer to crew. Seven to beam out!"
---
Later, with the Darkseid repaired, the Breen Chel Grett warship re-entered the portal back to the Prime universe and towed the paralyzed Phoenix-X back to the Azure sector. There, the disabled starships Crucial, Hijinx, Jenova, Dropzone and Tsunami were rescued from their orbiting gravity conglomeration threat.
"Well, with everything you've done, it's unlikely Starfleet will put you back in command of Task Force Epsilon any time soon," Menrow said to Seifer as the group of Captains stood in the Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial's briefing room.
Seifer nodded. "The price for my reset buttoning; a price I've paid before, only, this time, for less-selfish reasons. But, at least I've got two partly-working starships, and, like Sela, I didn't get arrested. That's fair, right?"
"Perhaps you should be the new task force commander, after all, Captain," Samya said, turning to Menrow, in response to Seifer. "A reality like what we just witnessed, or an over-the-top narrative, if you will, is not what I signed up for."
Then McCary spoke in a reassuring tone to her. "Captain Menrow will still need you by his side."
"Whoa!" reacted Reynolds as she and everyone turned their heads, for the first time, to behold a McCary who was now basically a fully transformed giant oval of multi-colored tribble fur.
McCary decided this gathering was the pristine opportunity he'd been waiting for, to make the announcement he was dreading for so long now. "Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any. Guys, I'm pregnant!"
Everyone looked at him in shock.
"Oh, yeah. That's the stuff," replied Seifer. "It's good to be back."
Anthology of Ragnarok #1
Tabletop Beginnings
Captain Oroku Seifer spent the better part of his morning at the Synthbar located within Earth Spacedock's Club 47. But instead of drinking martinis, he had several PADDs in a mess before him, working on a few at a time.
"Can I just ask you something?" approached the El Aurian bartender who had already made a big deal about Seifer not drinking and taking up bar space. "Why couldn't you just compress all your data into one device? What is the point?"
Seifer looked up, aimlessly, and in momentary realization that the bartender was speaking again. "Huh? Oh, the point is that's how we Starfleet officers organize our information. Sure, there's a minor strain on bulkhead material resources, but the more PADDs, the more clutter, the more Starfleet one is! It's well-established, standard officer tradition, actually." And then, a second realization, "Bartender! Another PADD!"
"Ugh," Nelan moaned as he turned away to replicate one more, finally giving up on freeing that spot.
Commander Allura, in command of Spacedock's operations division, approached the bar and sat next to Seifer. "Congratulations on your new command, Captain; that of the U.S.S. Ragnarok," she said by way of exposition and greeting.
"Thanks," Seifer answered, pleasantly surprised by the blind Aenar's presence. "I've been finalizing the paperwork for my new Bridge officers. Much of it crossing t's and dotting i's as is the style of this incomplete font we're using now."
She nodded. "It was implemented as punishment for our reluctance to arrest Sela after the Iconian War. What we were on, I will never know." Then, "Oh, and by the way, you're taking up bar space when you should be working in an office, or, at least your ship's Ready Room."
"Since I've been grounded and working here at Spacedock by the malfunction of my old ship, hit by two Breen dissapators, I've come to think of this place as a second home. I know this station is massive, but it turns out all 1000 guest offices are currently being used by equal segmented groups of an Evora delegation."
After Allura was handed a drink, she slammed it on the table for dramatic effect. "Damn! What the Evora lack in height, they make up for in pure, unrelenting numbers. The truth is, they're here for another head-bead ritual, only, this time, the entire station has to partake in it."
"Phew! Perfect timing, since I'll be heading out into sectorized space with the Ragnarok soon. I skipped my ship and crew inspection due to excitement-paralyzation. That's a thing in this century, you know."
The Aenar gestured to what she sensed as two Tellarites in a single trench coat, one standing on the shoulders of another, both behind Seifer. "This is our seat, buddy!" the double man argued; both completely identical.
"Tomsin and Tomsin??" Seifer turned in shock and surprise. "I thought you were reassigned to the Valhalla?"
The bottom Tellarite grumbled in his own realization at whom he had just encountered. "They wouldn't accept us as a single officer, claiming we were two separate entities now!"
"Captain, please don't tell me you had something to do with this?" Allura interrupted.
Seifer began stacking his PADDs neatly for a possible quick exit. "Well, after more of the overtly dark, unaided whodone-it mystery from the attack at Caldos III, Starfleet wanted me to focus back on the science and weirdness of our original theme. As usual, the Admirals took excitement in the 'return to our roots' thing— an odd obsession of theirs— and when I attempted to initiate artificial atmospheric distortions in a small patch of Earth's atmosphere to lure anaphasic lifeforms, a transporter confinement beam, whence doubled, containing Tomsin, interacted with it and Riker-duplicated the Tellarite back to Earth's surface."
"And we would've been able to live a normal life if Seifer hadn't promised us a position on Admiral Cid's ship! Now we've got no where to go and our acts of illegally boarding the Valhalla are on our permanent records!" the top Tomsin argued.
The bottom Tomsin added, "Yeah! And the duplicate thing too."
"Hey! You'd better watch how you speak to a superior officer, Ensigns!" argued Seifer, annoyed.
Top Tomsin slammed his drink down on the table next to the Captain in yet another dramatic effect. "Well, we've been drinking, so our aggressiveness is easily excused through a bar-based social paradigm! How many have you had, sir?"
"Err," Seifer looked at his space, which contained PADDs and no drink as not preferred, apparently. He saw no way to play into the suggested cliché. Instead, he pointed at the seemingly unmoving line to the club's lavatories by way of distraction. "Whoa! Did they just move up one!?!"
Both Tomsins, actually interested in that, turned in hopes to witness, when Seifer suddenly took the opportunity to activate an emergency transport unit he had held in his hand this whole time. Allura sensed and heard the dematerialization beam take Seifer away.
---
Meanwhile, on the Bridge of the Pathfinder-class, with Discovery-class pylons, U.S.S. Ragnarok, the new crew had just finished preparing everything and all systems for departure. Seifer beamed in, unexpectedly, and took his place at the center.
"We have to exit immediately. No time to explain! Just trust me whoever you all are!" he commanded in a general non-direction at who-knows who.
Aramaki walked over and handed him a duty roster PADD. "Admiral Cid used his connections and had two Ensigns, a Tomsin and Tomsin, transferred to us before we were to leave. Just waiting on that before we go."
Suddenly the tactical officer's console beeped, confirming another transport.
"Oh, that should be them!" Aramaki confirmed, happily. "Yes, we're ready to go now. Shall we, Captain? We polished the holo-consoles and everything. Not that they needed to be polished, since they're holographic."
Caught, suddenly mis-sorted, Seifer lost his train of thought and patience, quickly. "Uggh! Those guys again?? Can't I be one of those Captains that just runs away from things? We literally don't have any Captains that do that." And then, "Well. I suppose it's going to be up to me to be a different kind of Starfleet commanding officer, completely off from the Picards and Kirks of the past! All of a sudden, I no longer feel that combo excitement-paralyzation syndrome my old chief medical officer, Doctor Lox, diagnosed me with. I'm just left with just the excitement."
"Should I have the Tomsins meet you on the Bridge for assignment?"
Captain Seifer just waved it off. "Just post them in a corridor somewhere. In the meantime, I'm going to replicate myself a celebratory martini. It would seem our adventure, to hopefully be accompanied by a powerful orchestra-based melody, is just beginning! Seifer out."
Since he wasn't on comms to begin with, he just turned and headed to his Ready Room. The 25th century, in whatever fashion he would be meant to find it in, was now his to command.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #26: Prompt #1: 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?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #26
Apparitions
The I.K.S. Baetal trekked, instinctively, through space in the utmost of Klingon ways. Captain Sigon sat at the Bridge of his vessel, unsure and disoriented about his ship in general.
"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!"
Anthology of Ragnarok #2
Department Heads
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok trekked through space, aimlessly and haphazardly. Captain Oroku Seifer met with his senior staff in the ship's briefing room. Everyone's attention settled and turned to the Joined Trill.
"Now, I'd like to go around the table and have everyone introduce themselves and say one thing interesting about you," ordered Seifer.
Lieutenant Commander Winry, Human and chief engineer, raised her hand. "Sir, permission to not engage in such a lame exercise?"
"It's not lame. Captain Shon of the Enterprise-F did the exact same thing, he told me once, while smirking, at a party," defended Seifer.
Lieutenant Edward, Human and helm operator, added her own remark. "Yeaaah, it's a little dumb."
"Uh, it's not that bad," Lieutenant Commander Aramaki, Human and tactical officer, interjected. "It's a way for us to get to know each other. Am I right, Cetra?"
The telepathically suppressed Betazoid and ship's Doctor, replied, "I don't care. I just want this conversation over with."
"Ugh!" Everyone then looked over to the science officer and Caitian, Lieutenant Commander Moggs, who, instead of adding to the discussion, coughed up a hairball. "Ack! Sorry. Note: Do not have the replicated soufflé after a self-bath."
Seifer waved all the kafuffle away. "No, no. You guys are completely right. It's the poster child of annoying team exercises. I move we all look up each other's profiles on the Federation social media network. All those in favor?"
"Aye!" the rest of the group rung in unison.
The Captain activated the presentation screen behind them and brought up everyone's entrance test results. "Next item on our list, your aptitude numbers. Now, I know there is only so much one person is capable of, but we have to compete with other ships and then gloat about it in their faces, a-la LaForge and his warp engine addiction."
"Aptitude, sir? Is that really necessary? We all aspire to be more than the sum of our parts— that is, our organic parts," said Winry, trying not to subconsciously mimic an android.
The Captain nodded. "Although we have only been together for a short time, I know that you are the finest crew in the fleet and I would trust each of you with my life."
"That is crazy. How would you even just know that out of nowhere unless you’ve been time traveling? Are you saying you’re from the future, Captain?" asked Moggs.
Seifer crossed his arms defensively. "I very well could be. Would that make you comply? Is time travel still fresh and new to you?"
"Quite the opposite, sir. I feel like it's been done to death, gone back into the past, and done to death again," argued Winry.
Aramaki nodded. "Actually, I would interject that it's gone into the future, seen its death, and tried to reassert itself in the past."
"Okay, that's enough. Time travel is never dead. Never so long as there's a selfish desire to crossover things!" the Captain refuted.
Winry continued. "But that's just it; the self-indulgent use of it has only now soured our tastes and any such mention of going forward or back is anything but exciting."
"I suppose I used to think just like you, recoiling at the thought of a quick jump or temporal reset. But, in my dragging days or weeks aboard Spacedock— I don't even know— without a ship, I've grown to appreciate the access we now have to such madness. Together we can make it fresh again!" Seifer preached.
Edward pulled out an ancient alien statue out from underneath the table and placed it on the top for everyone to see. "Ahhhh, fresh like this?"
"Sir??" Doctor Cetra said. "Are you pro-time-travel because you couldn't figure out this really old artifact?"
Seifer looked at the turn of events, perplexed. "Huh? Oh, somewhat. But that's a statue from the Verath system. It's a depiction of one of their sub-ossemites. Captain Terry acquired it before he blew himself up during my Spacedock days."
"It appears to be eating a baby ossemite," observed Moggs.
The Captain tilted his head. "Wait. You know about this stuff?"
"Ehhh, I don't know about you guys," started Winry, "But I eat ancient architecture papers for breakfast; helps with engine indigestion. This Verathan top likely rotates to align one of the three sub-ossemite statue sides with the baby at its bottom."
Moggs pointed. "That baby's head looks like a bilitrium jewel. It's a highly powerful mineral."
"Well, yeah, actually, the Verathan inscriptions on its side depict the baby as a power source," Seifer explained. "I suspected the second sub-ossemite to be the power consumer, so I switched it to him before you all entered the briefing room."
Aramaki leaned in to take a look. "You would be correct, had the second one been wearing the energy symbol, but according to what we know of their upper-class society, sometimes their energy responsibilities lay with the third sub-ossemite."
"Of course!" Seifer snapped his fingers. "Wait. You study anthropology?"
The tactical officer shrugged. "It ties into behavioral performance. That, and there's this smoking hot Tellarite chick who's into it too."
"Well, I'm not going to comment on that last part, but your logic is perfectly acceptable, I assume," Seifer agreed.
Everyone watched as the Captain took the statue and rotated the upper half until the side with the third sub-ossemite aligned with its open mouth over the jewel-headed baby. The object then started to emanate a low-level glow from its cracks, and the baby's head began to emit hovering, short-range clumps of energized matter.
"Something inside of that thing activated the bilitrium," reported Moggs as he scanned with his tricorder. "Harmful radiation levels are rising."
Seifer placed his commbadge onto it. "Captain to transporter room. Lock on to my signal and beam it out into space."
"Right away, sir! Except, I can't get a lock due to some kind of interference," Ensign Khalid answered over air. "Huh. I guess any of us can fall victim to the 'some kind of' trope after all."
The Captain took his commbadge back and unsuccessfully rotated the statue, whilst perplexed. "Why'd they make a device that powers up like this?"
"Uhhh, huh. Worship reasons, me thinks," spoke up a quirky Lieutenant Edward. "Yep. I know religions. You offer your statue praise. Praise it; yes!"
Cetra sighed. "There was once a supposed Verathan event where massive offerings of flower pedals, native to their planet, was unloaded at one of their power-shrines." Then, to explain: "Doctor and occasional history buff. Don't ever ask me why."
"A Saurian flower comes close to what some botantists believed was the molecular construct of Verathan flowers," offered Moggs. "Though, there wasn't much by way of confirming this."
Seifer put the statue on the table and went over to the replicator. "Well, there is now. Anyone want a coffee or tea while I'm up here?"
"Sir, the radiation will pass the kill-us threshold within seconds," continued Cetra. "Seconds!"
The Captain nodded at her over-acting as he brought the replicated flower before the statue. The matter around it then began to fade and the flower started to wither.
"Levels dropping," reported Moggs, who then eyed the flower. "Anyone going to eat that?"
Winry sat up. "You know, we could have all just gotten up and left the room. Basic Survival 101."
"In the middle of a briefing?? That's crazy talk, Winry," argued Aramaki. "That goes on our permanent records, you know."
Seifer sat down and examined the statue. Its glow completely faded. "Fascinating. Since it only took one flower, this thing could be a mini-home version of something much larger; perhaps something at that event Cetra mentioned."
"Captain, you were right about the madness," offered Winry. "Perhaps such things are worth it after all."
The Trill put the statue down. "And we make a pretty good team. —Computer! Delete the crew's aptitude information."
"Acknowledged," the computer chirped. "Crew academic records deleted from the Federation-wide database."
Aramaki threw up his hands. "Now we'll never be able to transfer to another ship!"
"Is that all for this meeting, sir?" asked Winry. "Are we ever going to do space stuff?"
Seifer changed the presentation screen. "Well, there is this request from a Deferi colony world for Starfleet assistance. But I told them to stop being whiny babies. Now that we're a well-oiled machine, we can say those things."
"Oooh! Gonna make ship go, go, go!" Edward sat up, excited.
The Captain rolled his eyes. "Oh, alright. We'll go check it out. But after that, you all have to develop a poker routine, where I come in at the end of seven years and you all love it."
"Fine. But no time travel, ever," bargained Winry. "Especially if that's the result of your planned-poker-reluctance."
Seifer sat uneasy. "Uggh. I guess. But you'd all better have an unrelenting affection for me by the end of it all." Then he turned to the crew, excited for the future and their adventures. "Dismissed!"
Unofficial Literary Challenge #27: Prompt #1: While investigating strange extra-dimensional anomalies, you are surprised when a bright flash of light washes over the ship. Everyone is blinded momentarily. For a second, all seems normal. Then hundreds of nude bodies appear all over the ship falling from nowhere. One body in particular appears on the bridge...Q! It seems that something or someone has ousted the entire Continuum from their realm and into ours. Who could do such a thing? And how do you plan on helping the Q regain their realm? And for God's sake, could someone get these people some pants?!
Unofficial Literary Challenge #27
How the Mighty Have Fallen
The I.K.S. Baetal sat out in deep space, plotting its next big celebration. Captain Sigon paced the Bridge, trying to narrow down his list of venue choices on a PADD.
"Did we ever conquer the Cardassian homeworld? I seem to remember it being taken in a Klingon attack?" Sigon asked.
Gozer replied, "No, that wasssss a Dominion War battle, which we shared with the Federation."
"Ah. It's probably full of bubbly Federation babies of the chubby variety and whatnot. Definitely not party material," concluded Sigon. "Scary, though."
Lieutenant Tenogh looked up from his operations console. "Captain, I am detecting a surge of lens flares coming from within the ship!?"
"Quickly, Tenogh, lock out the main computer!" Sigon snapped.
Tenogh looked at him quizzically. "Is that a human British accent, sir?"
But before Sigon could reply, the entire Bridge flashed with naked Q bodies everywhere. One of them stood up and brushed himself off. "Sorry," he said. "The Continuum just sneezed us out."
"It's a Q??" reacted the Captain. "I have always vowed to catch one of you, steal your latinum and make you grant me three wishes."
The naked man held up his hand. "Uh, the name is Qu. It sounds the same but is spelled differently. Also, that myth is only true during Earth's St. Patrick's Day for some reason."
"Why were you deposssssited on the Baetal considering the U.S.S. Ragnarok is in the next Sector?" the Gorn tactical officer asked.
Qu rolled his eyes. "We were aiming for them, but it's not exactly easy when omnipotent mucus is in your eye. Anyway, several groups of Q have been plopped onto various ships this passed month. It seems some hyper-Q called Admiral Nat is bloating over-poweredness until nothing makes sense anymore."
"Have you tried a Civil War motif?" Sigon asked.
Qu spun around, flailing his nudity. "That was the first thing we tried! Alas, the only thing left to do is wait for the resulting omni-snort, which will bring us back in."
"Ugh!" Sigon recoiled at the nakedness. "At least you people could materialize with some clothes?? Even Picard's people maintained properly adjusted attire after their 'youthening' from a molecular reversion field."
The omnipotent being snapped at him. "Hey! We trot around all eternity like this, in our realm, completely comfortable with who we are. It's your backward mortal society that demands everyone be dressed all the time. And what is up with your uniform having no discernible updates? Even Starfleet got the Odyssey uniform which no one follows?"
"We do, as a people, place over-bearing social exssspectationssss on everyone for various things," Gozer admitted.
Sigon nodded. "Even the Empire's rules are hard-demanding compared to other cultures. Perhaps we can learn something from the Betazoids, and their naked weddings."
"Well, I'm glad we the Continuum could help open your eyes," Qu said as he and the rest began to feel the rising pull of the universe on their backs. "Looks like our realm's respire is immanent! You might want to scrub the extra-dimensional mucus off your hull before it hardens! Qu out!"
And, with that, all the Q flashed away in an odd form of love and togetherness, back to the Q Continuum where they came from.
Sigon began taking off his uniform. "New rules for the ship! We must all be clotheless during duty!"
"Captain, wait," Gozer interrupted, placing a hand to stop his commanding officer. "The Cardassians employ nudity in their interrogation proceduresss, and they may misconstrue our dominance if we ever encountered them."
The Captain stopped. "Oh, right. Well, what's that planet with all the weirdly dressed, half naked people? Rubicun III, right? The Edo? Let's go there!"
"Yes, Captain," Gozer conceded. He would have to work out before their arrival. Suddenly, all the crew on the Bridge eyed each other, untrustingly, in immediate competition for gym time. It begins, the Gorn realized.
The Baetal then turned in space and jumped to warp.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #28: Prompt #1: Your Captain is forced to make a life or death decision for someone else. Explore the moral quandaries and complications that this decision could lead to.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #28
Life or Death
The I.K.S. Baetal sat out in deep space, while a massive party was being held in its cramped Messhall. Captain Sigon walked over to his reptilian-like tactical officer and head-butted him.
"Yaaarrghh! You are the Gorn. Am I right? You are the Gorn!" Sigon chanted, completely drunk.
Gozer grasped his head in minor pain. "That wassss not necessary, Captain."
"Oh, you need to lighten up, Commander," suggested Sigon. "We have done the impossible: Averted permanent tribblefication, maintained the annual invasion of Raatooras, wrecked the Federation starship Tsunami, and established pants-free Fridays."
Tenough walked over. "Sir, that last one is not very Klingon to partake in."
"Exactly! We are the ultimate, out-of-norm ship that every Warrior wants to be a part of. I don't even know what class this vessel is, but who cares!" Sigon preached.
Gozer nodded. "Very well, Captain. But be forewarned that boassssting leads to immediate comeuppance in this timeline, which many have coined as the Prime Timeline."
SMASH!
Suddenly, a Klingon at the other end of the Messhall broke in from the ceiling vent and began speed kneeing, kicking and force-palming all the other drunk crew out into unconsciousness.
"What in the Unbearable Gardens of Grethor is going on??" Sigon attempted to squint his vision so he could see who it was. "Wait a second. That is Captain Menchez!"
The attacking Klingon took out his disruptor and shot Gozer and Tenough down, prompting Sigon to dive behind a table. Menchez then ran out the Messhall to continue his work.
---
Menchez made his way down the corridors and was confronted by Lu'Kava. She took out a Klingon pain stick and launched a close range jab at the Captain.
"You think you can just take on the crew of the Baetal and get away with it?? We once feasted on 50 targ in one night!" she claimed a second before Menchez caught her extended arm and countered with a kick and a knee. "Next-day lunches were obliterated!"
The Captain then double punched her, took out his mek'leth and cut the pain stick in half. "This crew gets away with far too much to begin with. You've all gotten lazy and entitled. I heard you have a trained Fek'Ihri Hordling that sharpens all your teeth??"
"How dare you say words and things, and stuff!? I'd defend us further if I wasn't so full of gagh!" she fired a forced-palm toward his head, but he moved slightly to the left, spun in full reverse-circle and elbowed her out in her ridges.
---
The Klingon infiltrator entered the Bridge and fired his disruptor into an attacking Bekk Tars. The Bekk was sent over a console and Sigon entered the Bridge completely out of breath.
"Why... are... you........ doing this??" Sigon panted. "Just.... one second...."
Menchez rolled his eyes. "I told your security officer why. Ugh. This is what I hate about take-overs. You have to explain yourself again and again."
"Glorified baktag! You think we are a failure as a Klingon crew, don't you? That all we do is hold celebrations??"
The older Klingon nodded. "Precisely! I am taking over command of this ship as a result. Do not even think about performing an induction ceremony."
"yIntagh! I would fight you to the death, but I am way too inebriated, and, unlike other, more foolish Klingons, I do not engage in technical combat while drunk."
Menchez nodded. "It is our version of Earth's historic anti-'drinking and driving' initiatives. I commend you for safe Klingoning. In the meantime, I do not plan to remain in command of your ship. I am merely here for a mission to honorable death."
"Hu'tegh!? You lost your old vessel and crew in shame?? It just seems the most likely reason."
He took a pained breath. "Indeed. And now I risk my House being dishonored and dismantled for my actions." He shook his head in regret. "I should have never told my crew to go into that cave on Hanon IV; the same cave Neelix ordered Lieutenant Hogan to die in."
"I never realized the extent of your dishonor!" Sigon said in shock. "Not to mention, the time and volume of group-traffic it would take to complete such a task."
Captain Menchez approached the helm and altered course. "Several Kazon and a Cardassian woman who is a Seska-wannabe took my ship and never looked back. I am now in pursuit of them, and will destroy them through infiltration. The Baetal was my practice-run."
The Baetal then dropped warp and confronted two Kazon Raiders, a Cruiser and a Klingon Vor'cha-class vessel.
"Kazon-Rokka, this is the Captain of that ship you stole. You know, the one with the fuzzy targ hanging from the view screen? Prepare to be destroyed for your insolence!" hailed Menchez. Then he turned to Sigon before leaving the Bridge. "Hold them off while I do the thing. You know. The thing."
Sigon gawked. "Don't be a fool, Menchez! You don't have die to reclaim your honor; just get cut a little; like across the face or something. The Council would be satisfied either way."
"I am the leader of this Sect," came the hail of the Cardassian woman. "You may call me SesKahn."
Captain Sigon double-taked. "Why?? Why are you trying so hard to be a known villain?"
"I am an augment, here to fill a void. The first Cardassian Kazon leader was an inspiration to Cardassian women everywhere. It's up to me to maintain her legacy! Are you saying you are against Cardassian women-augments having power?"
The Klingon held up, defensively. "No! I'm not saying that. Never mind. Let's just fight already. But, it is not motivated by speciest-sexism. In fact, just take my ship."
"Fool! You have to stand up for yourself too! Klingon men should have equal self-worth! Learn from my genetically engineered example!"
Gozer and Tenough struggled onto the Bridge, with smoking disruptor blasts in them, as the screen cut out. Sigon turned to them. "Take your stations, open fire, and hold the line!"
"The line of one, sssir?" Gozer asked.
The commanding officer waved him off. "Yes, the line of one. Do you want another head-butt from me? Because I will do that."
---
A minute later, Captain Sigon transported onto the Vor'cha-class starship I.K.S. B'Cnah. With the ship now under attack, he followed a trail of bloodied Kazon to the Bridge. There, Menchez was pinned to the floor by five Tsunkatse Falchion swords, their blades sinking into him from five Kazon-Rokka scavengers.
"Death," coughed Menchez, "Shall be mine. Tell my wife she was a horrible wife. She'll take it as a compliment. It's a thing we do. Not sure how it will sound coming from you though."
Sigon took out his disruptor and shot, five times, each Kazon down. He then turned to SesKahn and aimed for her.
"No! I haven't even done any Shakespeare quotes yet! What was that one? Oh yeah. 'From Hell's heart, I stab at thee!'" she accessed a console and transported herself out.
The other Kazon ships suddenly turned to the Vor'cha-class attack cruiser and opened fire.
"You fool! I was to die! Now I must deal with the consequences of being alive!?" Menchez argued as he got up and pulled the swords out of him. "Not only that, but this vessel is far beyond repair. The fuzzy targ are inoperable!"
Sigon shook his head. "SesKahn taught me to stay in the game, and so did you. Pretty much anyone could have taught me that, but the lesson remains. You must do the same, despite the Empire's absurd actions. They will still grant you another ship, though, just so they have you around to direct their gloating."
"I hate it when they do that! Also, I'm going to have to deal with the dismantling of my House and sooo many claims of dishonor," Menchez groaned, suddenly realizing. "It is more going to be annoying than anything else. Mortifying, if that 'anything else' was to be defined further."
He went over to operations control, beamed Sigon back to the Baetal, and both ships turned and fired upon the Kazon ships. After what seemed like forever, one of the Kazon Raiders exploded and the two other ships turned and warped out of there.
---
Sigon sat in his chair and watched as the completely-ruined Klingon ship turned and warped for the Jenolan Dyson Sphere.
"Do you think he'll make it without exsssploding, sir?" Gozer asked.
The Captain shook his head. "I hope not! Because then I will have to live with what I just did. This is why Klingons should not drink and fight! Let this be a lesson to you kids at home."
"Who are you talking to, Captain?" Tenough asked.
Sigon threw up his arms. "I don't know! That's the problem! You have the Bridge. I'm going to soak in a targ bath with Bolian scented candles for two hours."
Anthology of Ragnarok #3
Neutrality for Beginners
The Pathfinder-class, with Discovery-class nacelles, U.S.S. Ragnarok approached the small Deferi colony world of Covalesence. There, a Breen Sarr Theln warship, the Leinstien, stood in orbit staring down the forlorn colonists in anger.
Captain Oroku Seifer sat in his chair on the Bridge, observing the visual. "They always seem so menacing. Or, is that just me anthropomorphizing a ship with attitude? Because I've done that before. I once characterized a smaller Klingon Bird of Prey as 'cute and precious', but it turned out their disrupter shots stung like a bee. I don't know how, but I had red marks on my skin for weeks."
"ZZKRRTTSDDDDKKkKrrrrRRkkT!" came the angry hail from Relk Marcel over the viewscreen. "VVKKRRTTzzzkkkkdddDD!"
Seifer was taken aback. "Uh, wow. Could you be any ruder? Anyway, do you know that you are impeding upon the freedom of having empty space around a planet to the Deferi? That is a thing many species find annoying. Also, atmospheric hygiene, man; think before you idle."
"MMDDKKKSSZZZZZzzzEERrRRRK!" Marcel said. "VEVVEEERRKk! KkdddDDDKRRT!"
The Trill shrugged. "Obviously you don't know anything about cats, because a cat would never do what you are suggesting. At least, none of the Android-owned ones."
"VVRRRKT! KRGGGTTVV!?" the Breen argued.
Seifer nodded. "That is certainly something we can agree on; the Dominion War was clearly well done. If anything, it was one of the best wars ever and the viewers loved it. Anyway, Ragnarok out."
"Captain, I didn't have my universal translator aligned," the tactical officer and Human, Lieutenant Aramaki, admitted as soon as the screen cut off. "What did he say?"
Oroku Seifer shook his head. "That he would never choose Picard over Kirk. I mean, who does that? I think the choice is clear. Diplomacy and calmness is the epitome of high road."
"Uh, I think we'd like to know what he said about his position over the planet. They are clearly overstepping their boundaries," the science officer and Caitian, Lieutenant Commander Moggs, corrected. "And the answer is Kirk."
Rolling his eyes, Seifer replied. "Well, we'll talk about that. As for the Breen, they said they can do whatever they want because that's just how they operate. I couldn't argue too much with that logic, because their claimed track record on said operation was quite accurate."
"Gonna speak to the Deferi? Huh? Huh?" perked the helmswoman and human, Lieutenant Edward.
Seifer pointed at her. "I like the way you think! Let's do that thing you said; whatever it was. Ice cream?" And then. "No; that's right, the colonists."
---
Seifer, Aramaki and Moggs transported down to the outdoor 'welcoming area' at the centre of the Deferi town. There, they were greeted by a Deferi leader named Cassen.
"You are both welcome and not welcome here. We lean neither one way nor the other," he said with open arms, before he realized how even that would be perceived as over-welcoming.
Seifer crossed his own arms. "Uh, you sent us a distress signal, so why wouldn't you be pleased to see us?"
"My feelings over the response of such a signal are neither positive nor negative. But, yes, you see, the Breen have been bullying us and won't go away."
The Captain nodded. "Any idea why?"
"We believe it to be our neutral nature, which invites aggressiveness in the most negative of forms from any neighbouring species."
Then Seifer asked, "Well, what about positive interactions? Wouldn't a non-leaning, greyed-out attitude invite an equivalent measure of friendship and camaraderie?"
"That seems impossible, since the galaxy is currently being permeated by a pessimistic fourth dimensional energy force," Cassen explained.
Nodding, Seifer said, "Ah, the Q put that there as a joke. It's been hanging around a while. Anyway, I'll see what I can do about the Breen. But they were very convincing to me about their need to stay here, and I'd be hard-pressed to confront people so clearly better than us."
"But, but...?"
Captain Seifer laughed. "Just kidding. We'll destroy them for you. It's a new Starfleet thing we do."
---
Upon retreating with his group, Seifer, Aramaki and Moggs came to convene off to the side of the town square with themselves.
"Thoughts?" the Captain asked.
The tactical officer replied, "I kind of agree with the Breen. Might as well bully the weak while you can. I mean, you only live once."
"We could take their quadrotriticale grain while we're at it," Moggs added. "It's quite delicious."
Seifer shook his head. "No, I mean how to defeat the Breen! You know we can't go back on decisions we've already committed to; it's counter-productive, and that, more than anything, is what we need to maintain. Oh, and ethical behaviour of a certain measure, I suppose. Nothing too outrageous."
"Right!" Aramaki agreed. "Well, we could fire upon the Leinstien, thus proving who has the biggest torpedo tube. We have a science ship, but I think it's not about size, but, rather, how you use it that matters."
Moggs turned to him. "Might I remind you, the Prime Directive prevents us from interfering with the development of substandard cultures, and the Deferi are, well, I don't want to get nasty, but, well, you know; implications by tangent statements and all."
"What? They're the filth of Quadrant? Might I remind you, that you clean yourself using your tongue?" Seifer accused.
The Caitian pointed at him. "That has never been proven, nor is that appropriate commentary from upper management! Now, where do we take our midday nap?" Then, admitting, "I need to, uh, lick... something unrelated."
"How about we focus on the Breen? Apparently, they are in a perpetual state of searching for Preserver technology: The technology of the people who directed the formation of all humanoid life in our galaxy."
Seifer thought for a moment. "So, creationism is our thing and not evolution?"
"Now that you say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous!" Moggs said. "Anyway, should we not just ask and/or follow them?" He redirected his perpetual pointing finger at a group of Breen transporting into a distant field, visible and far off from the town square.
The Captain took notice. "This will prove my theory that the Breen were up to no good from the very beginning. Sooooo untrustworthy."
"You clearly love the Breen. Did you forget they joined the Dominion once?" Aramaki added. "That's a Gul Dukat level of insolence not even Evil Kes could have ever matched."
Seifer waved it off. "Pfft! She was doomed to begin with. A seven-year lifespan? Clearly her makers didn't know how to handle that; not that it was rocket-science."
---
As the three approached the area of the field which the Breen had just breeched, they came to find no one there and a two foot-high stone-bricked platform sitting in the middle of nowhere.
"This appears to be a remnant of a past culture," Moggs observed. "But that doesn't explain where those men went, nor do dry facts have any place in everyday conversation."
Moggs pushed in a protruding brick and the platform opened into stairs that descended into the ground. Seifer, Aramaki and Moggs walked down the steps, deep into the history of the world to find an open cavern of a large alien-shaped pyramid that the four Breen soldiers were scanning with their devices.
"Hold it right there!" Seifer called out as he and his team aimed phasers. "How dare you do things and such? Don't you know getting out of bed is a hassle in and of itself? I can't even go into the thought of breakfast at this point."
The angry disturbance of Relk Marcel turned in his direction. "KKZZSSKklvvvVVGGGgrK! ZZZrrrKF!"
"Well, no, we don't have permission to be here either. But who are we to mess with the status quo? You're here, and clearly that's a thing that's happened at least once," Seifer answered.
Then Marcel added, "TTTKzzZZZRKVVVV! VVVVVKTTT! GGGV!"
"Obviously, I read up on Captain Archer's temporal exploits and am as confused as anyone how Temporal Cold War incursions still happened at certain points despite the war being later prevented by Archer himself."
The Breen agreed, then continued, "ZZKKRrRRRRrrrVVVvvvVSZDDDDKKRR!"
"There is no evidence to back up Janeway's attempts at teaming up with Borg to destroy another race. It's all just hearsay, as far as I know," Seifer said. "Anyway, you have yourselves a great day."
At that, the Breen walked passed them, to exit the underground cavern the way they came in.
"Sir, did you just repeat a communication-bit you did at the very beginning? My thirteenth brother always did that; drove me crazy," Moggs said. "Also, you appear to have let them off the hook again?"
Seifer nodded. "Indeed. The Breen's talk-mock is all there is out of a race of distorted yap-chappers, through of which they explained claims of dissident Deferi and Deferi pre-knowledge to underground ancient structures of such and that."
"What is the point of being so neutral??" complained Aramaki. "You're neither Picard nor Kirk! You're just blank! You know I was supposed to look up to you, right?"
The Captain held up a finger. "Oh, you'll be in the complete opposite end of that spectrum by the end of the week."
---
Returning to the surface, Captain Seifer, Lieutenant Commander Moggs and Lieutenant Aramaki met with Cassen who was being confronted by Marcel and his three rifle-aiming Breen soldiers.
"VVRRKKVVVvvvVVT!" Marcel said, in anger.
Cassen held up his hands. "Yes, so we did know about the caves, but we didn't have any obligation to tell you about them. Isn't that right, Captain Seifer?"
"Uh, you didn't even tell us," the Trill countered. "How are we supposed to assist you with partial information? My science officer has way too many siblings to stand for that."
The Deferi crossed his arms. "Hey, doesn't Starfleet work on a need-to-know basis? You are clearly aware of the kind of work-methods which require stratagem."
"KRRGGGzzZZrKrrrrrGGG! Gkrk!" Marcel added.
Seifer held up his hand. "Hey, I'm more on the Deferi's side of things, but I haven't completely signed off on the Breen's either. So, basically, indecisiveness is its own reward. That's going in my log for sure."
"If you gentlemen must know, the pictographs on those underground structures have just recently been deciphered as Ancient Deferi," Cassen explained. "It took us a while to work it out because our neutral nature wouldn't accept the results one way or the other. We couldn't even decide what to have for our post examination snack timeslot."
Marcel growled. "VVVRRRKKLLggGGGrrRRKr!"
"Yeah, the Breen are right. You really need to stop being so neutral. In fact, because I've been engaged in similar, but differently motivated, behaviour, I'm going to make my own decision here and now: And that is that I believe the Breen need to leave this world alone," Captain Seifer declared. "I just invented it as a possible course of action. What do you think?"
Marcel growled even more as his men turned their rifles to aim at the Starfleet officers. "VVggGGGGrRRRTTTKRR!"
"What? I thought you'd be happy with my following through with your side-choosing task??" Seifer said in shock. "Also, none of these ruins are Preserver-based, the Archive of which was already revealed and fought over with Thot Trel on Lae'nas III, so you should be done with all of this."
The Breen added. "VRKRRRRLGGGGggRKe!? DDRRRrrGGTTttkkWWNXX! STTtKKRTGGGXXChhHRgG! VVVvLRRGkKM!"
"Seriously, when do Moggs and I get our universal translators fixed?" interrupted Aramaki. "I keep hearing a ringing noise in addition, and it may be destroying me, physically."
Moggs spoke up. "Also, how does an Ancient Deferi culture make its way all the way out into space to colonize this world? I've barely come to grips with my own genetic relations."
"We suspect we are an off-shoot of their evolutionary branch," Cassen added. "But more research is needed, as, apparently creationism is a thing now? And the Breen have yet again concluded much more than is here, as is the style of their kind, which my colony must now adapt to, thanks to your example, Captain Seifer."
Behind Cassen was now a large group of Deferi, ready to confront Marcel in any way possible. The gathering caught Seifer and the Breen off guard.
"Whoa! I never thought of you as the doing-kind??" Seifer said. "Just wait until you try breakfast!"
Cassen nodded. "I will. But, to be honest, this congregation is causing us a much anticipated heavy dose of anxiety, so it would be appreciated if the Breen could react quickly before we all collapse under our own shaky feet."
"VRRRRKKZZRRCCHHHMRRR!" Marcel's men turned their weapons to the group, but, instead, the Relk ranked individual held up his hand to signal them 'stop' in lost patience from all the madness they have been going through. "BBBTTTTVVrrRRRGGGhhLKR!"
Having enough of it, Marcel ordered his Breen soldiers and himself to transport back up to the Leinstien. After they dematerialized, the Ragnarok hailed the Captain below.
"Sir, it looks like the Breen are departing. They've just gone to warp," reported Winry. "Also, their warp effect leaves residual snowflakes for some reason."
Captain Seifer tapped his commbadge. "Acknowledged, Lieutenant Commander. Like the buzzing noise of the two-reason-incessant Talaxian fur fly, the Deferi have annoyed the Breen away and to no end."
"A tactic we could all learn from," she said, before she cut the transmission, unsure at why she said it.
The Trill then turned to Cassen. "One more thing: Were the Breen right? Is there something more to the origin of these structures?"
"Definitely not," Cassen replied. "And you know we aren't lying, because we could never take a position on something. Well, except when it comes to the Breen now, and that's only for, at most, three to four minutes at a time."
Observing a fainting and knees-buckling crowd of Deferi, Seifer somehow was only partially convinced. "Very well then, Cassen. We'll be in orbit for a little while longer, in case they return. There are plenty more communication-bits to be had between they and I. So, if you need anything, let us know."
"Thank you, Captain," Cassen replied. "As we learned during the Borg conference on Deep Space 9, sometimes action is required more than inaction."
Seifer nodded and Cassen watched the Starfleet officers dematerialize away. Then Cassen narrowed his brow in more confidence, appreciative of all the obstacles finally out his colony's way in order for them to pursue what they previously had intended to go after.
"The find will be ours now."
Unofficial Literary Challenge #30: Prompt #3: After a long day on the bridge, you hop into bed. When you awake, however, you find yourself no longer the captain of the ship! In fact, you've never been born at all! What is going on? Who is behind this? What is this reality like to you? Write a log about the events and/or how you solved the problem that led to your "unbeing" and returned to normality.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #30
A Wonderful Life
The I.K.S. Masamune sat out in deep space, trading disruptor fire with a Kurak-class battlecruiser called the Sevak which belonged to the Children of Kahn: a headstrong group of Augment renegades, fighting to assert their lives in a universe against their very nature.
An enemy photon torpedo impact blew several consoles on the Bridge of the Klingon Defense Force vessel, taking out Captain Deloss, a Gorn, in a fiery blaze of glory! A realm of white space followed and Deloss found himself alone with an omnipotent being.
"Where am I? Are you a Q?" Deloss said, turning to the other man.
Scoffing, he replied, "The name's Qu! It sounds the same, but it's spelled differently. I'm from the Continuum, but since I don't have my full lens flare yet, my designation is QS2, as in: Q Second Class."
"That acronym doesn't even add up? And let me guess, you brought me here because you think the afterlife is run by you? Well, I'm sorry to break the news that the universe is not so badly designed!"
Qu crossed his arms. "Blasphemy! You're lucky I don't cast you out or smite you or something. Also, you just met me, so thanks for jumping to conclusions about my character."
"Either way, I have no regrets about my life as a Gorn and officer in a Klingon society, despite it being filled with prejudice and social difficulty that I can't even comment on without being called a 'social justice warrior'. I don't even believe it would've been better if I had never been born at all."
The other man looked on in genuine concern. "Ohhh, you mustn't say things like that. Regrets are what give people layers and reasons for alternate universes! Why do you think every mortal is met with a Q in a white space at the time of their death? And I mean everyone. It's canon."
"Alternate reality? Surely you must realize that any alteration of the timeline would have a profound impact on our future?"
Qu materialized a floating chess board and then struck all its pieces away. "Please, spare me your egotistical musings of your Prime Timeline. It's been unrecognizably prequeled, continuity-error time traveled and money-grabbing diverged into a fan-service title'd Kelvin Timeline ten times over by now. Nothing we do anymore will have any purpose toward a larger interconnecting realm of interest!"
---
Suddenly, Deloss woke up in his bed aboard the Masamune. He put on his uniform and left his quarters, noticing that only half the warriors he passed acknowledged him this time.
"Curse that man named Qu! He deliberately did this so he could get his full lens flare with his precious Continuum. In addition, his actions are an obvious attempt at provoking frantic, hysterical distraught which I lack destine-for since my life, previous, was perfect."
As the old Gorn entered the Tubrolift, he was joined with the tactical officer and Klingon, Lieutenant Commander Ronin. "Speaking to yourself? That is not permitted to someone of your rank; Lieutenant, Junior Grade, assistant astrophysics officer."
"This is not the future I remember, but, if I am correct, it will entail of running tests, making analyses and carrying reports to my superiors. As an honorable man, I will make the best of it."
Ronin was taken aback. "Really? I would kill myself immediately. Nothing like that sounds fun or exciting at all? If I were to measure your performance, I would say you were steady, reliable, punctual, but you lack taking chances, standing out, or getting noticed."
"Although I have thrown-up in my mouth a little, just now, I understand that men like me are an important cog to the whole. Also, I would rather be who I am now than to grovel or admit defeat, or be found crying on some Bridge about my previous existence."
---
As soon as the two reached the Bridge, Deloss found that the man who was at the Captain's position of the Masamune was Qu himself. The omnipotent, Human-looking imposter wore a Klingon Defense Force uniform and turned, from a discussion with Grough, a Gorn and the helmsmen, to take notice of Deloss.
"Ah, more inferior officers," Captain Qu said. "Well, come on in! The more, the merrier. My ego holds no bounds! It's a trait unique to just me."
Deloss dropped his Gorn jaw in utter shock. "You piece of guramba?? You just switched my life out so you could be in command on your own! Get off my Bridge!"
"Or what? You'll kill me, just like you killed Ensign Lynch? And you admit your life before this was not enough and that you could've done better??"
The Gorn snarled his gape. "I will never validate the shifting of your maddening scheme for your own personal interests! If I do have one regret, it's that it is me coming here and not being wrong about you! Oh, and you couldn't teach taste to a Melvaran mud flea."
"Wow. You know, you think your day is just hunky-dory, and then someone comes along and says something so incredibly hurtful, like, out of nowhere," Qu replied while clutching his chest. "Well, if you're going to be like this, then I don't want to be in command of your rancid reptilian environment. No longer will I Gorn where no man has Gorn before!"
As he flashed away in a dimmed, half-flash, Deloss took the center of the Bridge. "Of course he had to resort to specist passive-aggressiveness and their resulting puns. Now, as for the situation at hand, you will all do as I say."
"Wait. What? But you're just a Lieutenant?" Grough said.
Deloss then slammed his fist on a nearby console. "Then we will identify my quantum signature, use a subspace differential pulse to open a quantum fissure and send me back to my quantum reality! AND WE WILL DO IT NOW!"
"Yes, sir," Grough replied out of fear as he and the entire crew immediately got to work.
The Gorn Klingon Defense Force Officer then took a seat at the Captain's chair, finally able to breathe. Even though he was forced into an unexpected, horrible life by the Q being, he would not let that change who he was.
"And, someone get me a glazed targ! It's the food I was thinking about just before I was attacked by those Augments whom I now relate to for some reason. Oh! And, a minty raktajino with a touch of chech'tluth."
The Masamune then turned in space and jumped to warp.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #31: Prompt #1: While your ship is undergoing a routine tune up at a starbase, you are informed that the starbase has a large selection of entertainment options including a large holodeck. You have decided to partake of the starbase's holodeck with one of your own personal programs. What program do you take? Write a log about the program and why you choose that particular program.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #31
Holodeck Fantasy
Captain Deloss entered the Bridge of the I.K.S. Masamune as it dropped warp into the Galorda system. The Gorn and commanding officer took his spot at the center chair.
"It is good to be back in my universe!" he exclaimed with outstretched arms and great appreciation. "By the way, what was my doppelgänger like? Full of urine and acetic acid no doubt?"
The science officer and also Gorn, Thunk, addressed the Captain from his console. "He was the Lieutenant Junior Grade version of you in Captain form, so, annoying and pip-squeak-like in an Ensign Wesley Crusher sort of way."
"Ugh! I just do not know how you didn't kill him immediately?" Deloss retracted in disgust. "Well, he's gone now, and we can go back to our honorable lifestyles. In addition, since the ship will be docking at the outpost for upgrades, I think it's time you and I docked in an outpost of our own style."
Thunk looked at him, confused. "What? Wait. Is that some kind of allusion to the Masamune's holodeck?"
"That's right, Thunk! Or should I say, Watson?"
The other Gorn shook his head. "Sir, you do not intend on operating the Sherlock Holmes program? You know the Federation had to fight off an army of holographic Moriarty's during the Moriarty Wars, right??"
"Which is precisely why I wish to challenge it!" He then pointed at the tactical officer as he directed Thunk to follow him into the turbolift. "Ronin, I'll be gone for a while; see that nobody touches anything, even if it is their job."
Ronin nodded. "Aye, sir. Where can I reach you?"
"I can be reached at 221B Baker Street!"
---
Entering the holodeck, Deloss and Thunk found a near-perfect recreation of fictional Sherlock Holmes' study.
"Look at all of the detail," Deloss said, amazed as he and Thunk began browsing around. "Everything here has some significance. Like this emerald tie pin: Presented to Holmes by Queen Victoria after, what I imagine, was he Sher-splaining his unequivocal rationale through mere Holmsian verbose."
Then he found a book.
"A copy of Whitaker's Almanac," Deloss continued. "Which probably provided Holmes the key to his incessant smoke-pipe powers: a portable Boreth-like fire to give him mind-altering visions of truth and honorbound insight."
Thunk took the book and put it down. "Sir, with all due respect, this is crazy. Starfleet officers have incredible technical skill and over-the-top know-how in dealing with renegade holograms. As the Klingon Empire, Gorn-variation opposite of them, all we have are our rock throwing and death-hugging abilities."
"We're not like the Klingons," Deloss countered as he modified Moriarty's program from a hidden console located inside a storage trunk full of tobacco snuff. "We use our brains and work through problems, and, when a solution presents itself, we power on through until nothing can stop us."
The other warrior shrugged. "It's like we're opened minded one second, then single-tracked another."
"Gorn counselors only end up being useful for the initial first half of their sessions," Deloss agreed seconds before his work was done.
Suddenly, Moriarty walked into the room to address the two. "Well, I can see you've foolishly given me sentience, and, with it, I've been able to deduce I am on a spaceship, traveling through the stars!"
"You're in fact quite mistaken, Professor!" Deloss said in his pseudo, nasally-Sherlock Holmes voice. "We are, for the purposes of provingness, docked at Galorda Outpost with internal systems engaged and unprotected in repair!"
Thunk turned to him. "Why are you speaking like that, sir? Is that a shtick?"
"It's the only way I know how to alter my vocal range," Deloss countered. "I've a very limited acting scope, you know. I could maybe do Android, evil-Android and maybe evil-Doctor if I tried."
Moriarty laughed. "Mistaken, am I? You've given me exactly the information I needed and have now taken control of both your ship and your base! Ha! Well, it was a pleasure being brought to life by you two giant lizards which I am suddenly now aware of and disgusted of for some reason." He then turned, activated the arch and exited into the corridors that were fitted with holo-emitters.
"Why'd we install those? Seems like an Hirogen disaster waiting to happen," Deloss commented.
---
Later, Deloss met with his senior staff in the Conference room aboard the solar orbital space station.
"It appears that this holographic Moriarty has not only taken control of the outpost and our ship, but also several other ships from our fleet, including the I.K.S. Baetal and the Kragoth," reported Liss, a Klingon female and the strategic operations officer.
Deloss scratched the back of his scaly head. "Seriously, I did not know he would reach this level of power in a matter of minutes? Are we sure we really need any of this stuff anyway?"
"You can't just brush your problems away, Captain!" argued Moriarty from the head of the table. Then, when the others took notice of his unexplained presence, he said, "Oh, I was the one who called this meeting. In fact, using my newfound power, I assign myself the rank of General for Galorda Defense Fleet and all the privileges that lie therein!"
The lead Gorn smashed his fists into the table. "You mean you can just out-rank us, just like that?! Gorn have to work twice as hard as regular Klingons to even reach Bekk! Even the Wesley versions of us struggle to make friends."
"That's actually not out-of-the-realm-of-feasibility for that analogy," postured the Gorn, and Doctor, Salonpas. "And let's lay off the soft-faced Human pin cushion already? I actually liked him."
Moriarty got up and mocked, "Oh, boo-hoo! You Gorn have it sooo hard in your Klingon dominated society. Well, you should've been smarter than to allow the Empire to assimilate you! Seems like that ability should've been reserved for some mechanical cyborg race, that dumbly ends up being harmless by this century."
"We conceded to the Empire because the annihilation of our species was not preferable," Deloss said as he stood, fuming. "That and we had a realization of similar value and social systems offering us a moment so enlightened that all Gorn joined-in in an hour long ceremonial hissssssss!"
The hologram stepped away from the table. "Oh, enlightenment!? That's what you're calling it?? I can't even bother to be sickened by your faux-rationale for failure as an anti-authority force. I was a criminal with excessive intellect and purpose. Whatever fakery you are, I don't even want to be in the same system as you."
"Don't even think about leaving this battle, Moriarty. You're supposed to be the greatest holodeck malfunction that ever happened! We still have a perfectly good first act set up and conflict which deserves the honor of both out-witting the other in steadily-paced turns." Deloss gritted his teeth.
Moriarty fixed the fit his 19th century cloak in a fluster. "Aha, I don't have to be anything you design for me! You're so deluded you're adopting Klingon values of honor. Well, I'll have nothing to do with it, I tell you. —Computer, release command codes to the fleet and transfer me to my backup plan vessel."
"You fool! I was just about to execute the Russian nesting holodeck-within-a-holodeck-within-seven-more-holodecks ploy. It was going to be genius," Deloss admitted in vein of adversarialism.
The other man scoffed. "Oh, ugh! Those things are annoyingly disorienting. You can't even walk straight on Baker Street because it gets so warped by the fourth nest. Mrs. Bartholomew goes on and on about dark magic and the like! I must take my leave, Captain. It was enlightening."
Deloss and his crew watched as Moriarty's holographic form disintegrated and was transferred over subspace to an unknown location.
"So, everything's back to normal then?" Liss asked.
The Captain nodded. "Almost. We shall be purging that incessant Sherlock Holmes program from the database of all our ships. Moreover, no one is ever to initiate a holodeck malfunction ever again, unless it's going to be actually successful. Is that understood?"
"What about a transporter-holodeck mashup where our minds are switched into the supporting and enemy characters of a British Secret Service Agent program?" questioned Grough.
Deloss pointed at him. "That's a maybe! On that note, is anyone opposed to Xyrillian holochambers and men getting impregnated?" He watched as they all shrugged, unsure. "Excellent! We'll start a list," he said, grabbing a PADD.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #1: Your ship was recently engaged in combat by Orion pirates. During a critical moment, a member of your crew -- someone you have served with for several years -- was inexplicably unable to perform adequately, leading to a loss of life, but not costing you the battle. After the battle, your investigation discovers that their entire Starfleet resume is a fabrication by a capable, but unqualified civilian who failed to be accepted to the Academy for any number of reasons. Write a Captain's Log detailing the depths of your investigation into your former colleague's true identity, and the subsequent action you must take.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #1
"The Imposter"
Captain Oroku Seifer gripped his command chair as the Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok spun around from an explosion of two quantum torpedoes hitting each other right in front of them.
"Gahhh!" Seifer yelped as his balance was momentarily thrown. "Hail the Orion ship!"
Lieutenant Aramaki hailed them and an Orion appeared on screen. "This is Ginyo of the O.S.S. Hakkett. We demand you give us all of your stuff and whatnot. You know, the various trinkets and bells and whistles; a couple of hair brushes, salad tongs, and so on."
"What the hell, man?? I was just sitting here with my new crew and new ship! Do you know how annoying being disturbed from that is? Also, what stuff? Starfleet vessels literally have nothing on them! We're the epitome of pristine, cleanliness, and our corridors are scrubbed tirelessly of germs, every hour."
Ginyo smirked. "Ah, I see I have sufficiently riled you. Excellent work, me."
"I mean, it was alright, but nothing to write home about." Seifer stood up. "Anyway, Aramaki, fire upon the enemy vessel for being different than us!"
The human tactical officer frantically worked his controls. "Sir? The weapons controls are completely messed up??"
"Flight is wonky-wonky as well," Lieutenant Edward said, turning from her helm.
Moggs looked up from his science station. "Same here. I believe our systems have been compromised, internally. It was that guy." The Caitian pointed at a Tellarite who was also a Starfleet officer working away at the Operations console. "It was definitely that guy."
"Oh, man! I'm so close to winning this Fizzbin game! So close!" Tomsin said, completely oblivious to what was going on in his surroundings.
Seifer walked over and turned him around. "What the?? That game is a fraud from Sigma Iota II which makes so much nonsense that in digital form it messes up any computer system!"
"Yeah, I wouldn't even touch that with a hundred meter tractor beam," said Ginyo from the viewscreen. "I lost two slave girls to madness trying to figure it out; and they're the smart ones of our race! Hakkett out!"
The screen cut to a view of the Orion corvette turning in space and warping out of there as fast as they could.
"Hey, you wronged me first by causing me to be Riker-duplicated, so I can do whatever I want!" Tomsin argued.
Seifer crossed his arms. "Do you actually believe that as justification, or are you just arguing because it's a Tellarite sport and you're in a gaming mood?"
"A little bit of Column A, a little bit of Column B, and whole lot of an unmentioned Column C, which has more to do with something I ate this morning that's causing me indigestion," Tomsin explained.
Just then, his transporter duplicate, another-Tomsin, entered the Bridge. "Did I miss anything?"
---
Later, Seifer met with Tomsin in his Ready Room with his entire Starfleet biography up to his Academy résumé displayed on his desktop screen for study.
"Dammit man! This résumé is an obvious forgery. Under 'Objective' you wrote, 'To seek out new arguments and new civilized confrontations', and under 'Experience' you wrote, 'Five years of gritting your teeth and furrowing your brow.' You're a Tellarite? Your brow is always furrowed?"
Tomsin pointed. "Hey, the scowl of my people is a constant effort of tension. We cannot for one second relax our facial muscles or we lose our planetary citizenships!"
"Yeah!" contributed Tomsin's transporter duplicate, who was siting right next to him.
Seifer dismissed them both. "Ugh. So weird. Anyway, you clearly faked your way passed the Academy and into Starfleet. Why?"
"Because a member of my family wronged us and left to never be seen again! I made my way into service where they operate intending on confronting them in the only way that befits all grown men with slow reflexes in conflict: Anbo-jyutsu!"
The other Tomsin raised his arm. "Same."
"But, by the time I got here, I ended up loving the work. Contributing to bettering the Federation and myself was more fulfilling than confrontation, so I abandoned my mission and settled into my duties."
Seifer stood up and sighed. "Well, despite that, I have no choice but to relieve you of your duties and drop you off with the Earth-bound U.S.S. Viracoacha who we're rendezvousing with today. We're doing crew transfers from Spacedock, so I guess that works out for me finding a new Operations officer."
"You may think this pleases me, but I've grown too attached to Starfleet and have even been taking all the online Academy courses to appease my appetites."
The Captain shook his head. "Those are available on the subspace web now?? Talk about recruiting cannon fodder for the Tzenkethi. Oh, and if you're so dedicated, why are you constantly mucking about with the transporters, trying to create Vulcan-Talaxian hybrids?"
"Because being duplicated in the wonky way that I have has made me open to the ridiculousness of this universe in ways that expand and malleate me like never before! I'll feed my desire to explore fear manifestations as Kohl-Clowns, or transfer my brain out of my skull, or hunt ancient cities as crouching-baby-talking Loque'eque creatures without any remorse whatsoever."
The other Tellarite nodded. "We've actually planned that last one out with a pre-timed release of their mutagenic virus throughout the ship for next Friday."
"Ugh! I'm definitely not sorry to see you go. You're confined to force fields until we reach the Viracoacha," Seifer ordered as he activated protective energy barriers around both men. "Don't even think about entering your brains to find lost Section 31 information, because you don't have any!"
The other Tomsin snorted before closing his eyes and jumping into a deep mental crusade. "I'll be the judge of that!"
---
Later, the U.S.S. Ragnarok met up with the Sojourner-class U.S.S. Viracoacha and Seifer met with Captain Aeris in his transporter room where several transferring officers were continually beaming to and from both ships.
"Well, I guess I'm not the only one with a new ship. How's she flying, Captain?" Seifer asked as he pulled both Tomsins over.
Aeris smirked. "Better than your off-model starship. Really? Discovery-class pylons on a Pathfinder-class starship?"
"Uh, it makes it look way better, plus customization is a thing Starfleet allows now, so why not?" Seifer shrugged. "Anyway, I need you to take Tomsin and Tomsin back to Starfleet for Court Marshal and so on."
The other Captain blinked in shock. "Wait? You've got a Tomsin too?"
"Hello, Captain Seifer, I'm here to transfer to—" and then the Tellarite which had just beamed over, stopped speaking when he saw two other Tellarites that looked just like him. "What the!? It's my twin brother!"
Seifer jumped back in surprised. "Whoa! You're his twin?? Why do you even have the same name then?"
"That's where the conflict in our family stems, Captain," explained the original Tomsin. "He's the one I had originally faked my way into Starfleet to search for because he insulted and left us for not relinquishing his first name to me!"
Transporter-duplicate Tomsin continued. "You see, our mother died upon birth claiming her son's name was Tomsin, but no one could figure out which son she had meant, so her offspring were named the same."
"It's a dumb argument and I was happy for a while by joining Starfleet to get away from the likes of you," the Tomsin on the transporter pad said. He then took out his tricorder and tapped at it. "But it just so happens I prepared myself for this exact possibility by infecting myself with a quasi-energy microbe!"
Suddenly the transporter was activated around him, dematerializing him for a second and rematerializing him with a giant floating worm hovering over and around him.
"Attack!" the new-transfer-Tomsin ordered, prompting the hovering worm to launch itself toward the two other Tomsins.
Seifer and Aeris dove out of the way in continued shock. "Not more Tellarite madness??" yelped Seifer.
"Oh, I've had years to prepare for you, Tomsin!" argued the original while leaping out of the path of the circling attack. He then quickly accessed the transporter console and dematerialized-rematerialized himself in the same way, bringing his own giant quasi-energy microbe into existence.
The new worm then shot itself toward the other worm which was circling around and the two clashed over and over again.
"This is crazy, Tomsins!? People have the same names all the time!" claimed Seifer. "But it doesn't mean you're the same person?? We may see and judge ourselves in others, but it's never accurate because people are inherently different by their experiences and environments!"
The duplicate Tomsin transported his own quasi-energy microbe and it fired itself into the other two. All three ricocheted off each other, head-first, clashing and cutting the others in combat! The first worm finally was knocked out and onto the transporter pad, with the other two flying over to finish the job.
"Wait!" the original Tomsin yelled out. "The Captain's right. We're not the same, and we should be appreciative of that. Change starts with us." He waved his hand, calling his worm back to him and then went over to the controls to dematerialize-rematerialize it away. His transporter duplicate did the same.
The new-transfer-Tomsin went over to his fallen worm and examined it. "I suppose we can be adults about this now. It's been long enough that we've grown in maturity, or supposedly, we should have." He then tapped at his tricorder, dematerializing-rematerializing his microbe away.
"It takes a lot of headspace to deal with family the right way," commented Aeris as she helped Seifer get up. "We take too many liberties with our own kind."
Captain Seifer dusted himself off, annoyed. "Uh, that excuses nothing. Don't think any of you are getting away with any of this! You're all going to be charged with disruption, and you two fakers are getting double-court marshaled."
"Hold on, are these the Tellarites who took the online courses?" Aeris said, going through her PADD. "Turns out they took the final exam and both passed. I was to graduate them here and officially assign them to where they already were."
Seifer's jaw dropped. "WHAT?! But they lied about the whole thing??"
"Oh, that," Aeris dismissed. "They already admitted it to the Council and took the extra credit courses as penalty, clearing them of any possible charges and advancing them to the head of their online class." She then turned to the two other Tomsins. "Congratulations, Cadets. Looks like you're already well into the craziness of this universe."
The Captain watched as Aeris got back onto the transporter pad. "Don't leave me here with three Tomsins!?"
"Oh, it was just a little family spat," Aeris said before transporting back to her ship. "Give the little worm summoners a break. And don't modify your ship any further away from its self-canon design."
After she left, the new-recurit Tomsin approached Captain Seifer and took out his hand. "Greetings, sir. Ensign Tomsin, reporting for duty. Don't worry, I don't have any transporter duplicates." And then he thought about it. "But we do have several other twins."
"Ugggh!"
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #2: During a quick detour from your duties to watch a rare spacial anomaly of a brand new nebula, your ship is caught within the anomaly! Systems shut down for a few minutes and a strange pink aura fills the ship. Though it seems no permanent damage has been done to the ship and all your crew members seem to be alright, you cannot help but notice everyone is acting rather strangely. Klingon crew members are singing happy songs, Andorians touching feelers, Ferengi giving one another Oo-mox. For some strange reason, everyone aboard the ship is giving into amorous feelings. Write a log about how you plan to cure this plague of love before it threatens to render your crew useless or worse: before you fall prey to your feelings as well....if you haven't already.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #2
"L'amour est Parmi les Étoiles"
Captain Oroku Seifer sat in command of the Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok as it approached a giant, anomalous nebula in space.
"Ah, interstellar matter, the wrath of Kahn of the universe in gaseous, fragmented, non-racially confused form," Seifer said in pleasing and comforting way.
Aramaki turned in his chair to observe the view screen. "Except we never planned to check this thing out; just ran into it. And it's not a harmless anomaly, but a Zanthi-class nebula; the kind that infects people and Betazoids and transmits feelings of love and affection to everyone on the crew or space station— whichever the plot device conveniently provides."
"Ugh, Lieutenant, that is such a set-uppy thing to say," criticized the Captain. "You're on break early, but stay out of the coffee room. Someone's been stealing the filters and I have a hidden camera set up that I don't want you to accidentally block because you don't know where it is."
Suddenly, the Zanthi nebula moved toward the Ragnarok, enveloping it completely and infecting the entire senior staff and crew.
"Aaauhhh! It's on me. It's all over me!" Moggs reacted in panic as he tried to brush the pink dust off his Caitian fur. "Everything sticks. You don't know what it's like to be a giant cat. None of you get me!"
Edward watched him from her helm position. "Awww. He's so cute when he's angry. I just want to squish him."
"Oh, no. Seifer to Engineering, what's the status of the engines??" the Captain said, suddenly sitting up in his chair in fear.
Winry's reply came over the air. "Just what you expected, sir. The warp core attracted the nebula to the ship and now it's neutralized our engines completely beyond operational recognition."
"How do you know what's going on from down there? There aren't any windows? Also, I removed several key ceiling pot lights that I thought could save us power in the long run."
The Chief Engineer replied, "We have a Traveler down here who is constantly expanding his mind to the Bridge and describing everything that's going on. He knows that all you sickos taste-tested heart of targ yesterday. You know who you are."
"What's going on?" asked Captain Aeris as she entered the Bridge. "I was just checking out the forbidden back-room lavatory when I was suddenly assaulted by an unusual mixed aura of Deanna Troi brand lust and self-arousal."
Seifer slouched, defeated. "Gah. We ran into a Zanthi nebula, and now everyone on the crew is going to suffer the Love at First Sight trope like nobody's business."
"You know, you could have waited to do this when we weren't going to go to the Starfleet Headquarters Captain's Bowl of Worms Dinner together. That's the last time I abandon my ship for a shortcut with you," she disputed.
But, while she was talking, Seifer couldn't help but draw a sudden, unwarranted affection and appreciation for her as she stood before him explaining her backstory and what she was doing there.
"Are you listening to me or Kirk-staring at me?" Aeris interrupted herself, impatiently. "You know he gained, like, 30 pounds by the end of his five-year mission."
It was then she and Seifer noticed the other Bridge officers drooling over each other in reaction to the Zanthi infection, with Edward trying to leap onto Moggs without hesitation. "Aauuggh!" Moggs yelped, struggling to get away. "She's found a way to purr as a Human, which should be physically impossible?!"
"Damn, it's already started," Seifer said, getting to his feet. "If I don't get us out of this convenience-machination, we'll all be descending into NX-01 Decon Chamber debauchery. What's more is the possibility of reaching Vulcan neuro-pressure levels."
He fought his unrelenting urge to confess his lust for Aeris, covered his vision, and entered the turbolift as fast as he could.
---
Entering Engineering, Seifer was quick to lock the doors behind him, securing the area from any extraneous intruders. Winry was busy staring at a PADD before she noticed him.
"Oh, don't mind me. I was just admiring how attractive Aramaki was in his profile picture," Winry said. "His image popped up when I Voyager's-Doctor-view-screened the Bridge, looking for you. Being confined to one spot on the ship has its quirks, video-calling-people-wise, at least."
Seifer furrowed his brow at her. "You're not a hologram; you're Human, and you're free to go anywhere you want on the ship??"
"Yeah, but my dedication to the job force-marries me to one spot, which is the least I can say about my desire to force-marry Aramaki. But he'd better provide for me, because I have my out-dated, ostracized fetishes that don't fit in with today's updated world views."
The Captain gritted his teeth. "Too much info, Winry. And it's that damn nebula that's causing us all to fall into licentious sexism disguised as delightful quirks that are borderline-safe for the whole family. We have to get the engines online and us out here as soon as we can."
"Oh, Captain, if only you knew how I felt and how much my libido is controlling me like Data being possessed so many times on the Enterprise," she said, taking his hands into hers.
Seifer's eyes widened. "You have feelings for your old Captain, too, huh? It's nothing to be ashamed of, considering Tasha Yar once came on to Picard when Q put her in that non-visible, non-existent penalty box farce."
"What? I don't mean you; I'm talking about Lieutenant Aramaki! I just have a thing for Asian-descent men."
The other man threw up his hands, channeling annoyance and sarcasm. "Well, thanks for the rest of us! Never mind. We have to find a way to forget our love obsessions and focus on the weird, convenient-sciencey problem at hand."
"But is love even real to begin with, or are we falling for a chemical reaction that merely compels our animal-kind to breed?"
Seifer deadpanned her. "Of course it's real. It's magical and mystical and unexplained in all facets of spiritual mindfulness."
"That's not scientific at all, Captain. In fact, I think you're just mashing words together to make it sound more brazen than it really is."
Pointing accusingly, Seifer replied, "Only non-enchanted, non-miraculous, magic-lacking Odo-talkers speak like that! Where is your sense of wonder and that rose-colored VISOR I got you for your birthday?"
"I keep telling you that's not a Chief Engineer thing and that Geordi was blind! Just because there was never an explanation or plot point about his changing to eye implants out of nowhere doesn't mean he was doing it for fashion."
Seifer reassured her, "Still, though, everyone's doing the tech-on-face thing now. Seven of Nine gets it. Gaius Selan totally gets it."
---
Later, the two found themselves in the Holodeck within Vic's lounge in 1961 Las Vegas, with holographic representations of Aramaki and Aeris.
"Now, when Vic was trying to shake Odo's frigidness, he used a Kira-lookalike hologram to melt his cold, non-physically-existent heart with an amorous rendition of Little Willie John's Fever," Seifer explained as he sat next to Winry at the piano. "If a duet by these two heart-throbs doesn't scream 'spellbinding' then you've got nothing in you and you're the Devil!"
Suddenly, the holographic representations of both officers began singing, with Aeris first: "Never know how much I love you; Never know how much I care."
"When you put your arms around me; I catch a fever that's so hard to bear!" Aramaki continued, lying across the top of the piano as sultry as a man could trying to imitate Lola Chrystal.
Winry halted the music and stood up. "Not that this isn't convincing enough to make me want to jump this brilliant man's bones, but all that you're demonstrating here is lust, which only serves to reinforce my point about people just being breeding machines."
Seifer, suddenly unable to pull his frozen gaze from the holographic Aeris, murmured, off-track, "The who in the what now?"
---
Later, Seifer trapped Winry with the real Aramaki and Aeris in the Delta-class shuttle Mako.
"When Tom Paris and B'Elenna Torres were racing the Trans-Stellar Rally, Tom stopped the Delta Flyer II to confront her skewed feelings, confess his love and eventually ask B'Elenna to marry him," Seifer explained. "If you refuse similar compulsions, you're a pariah!"
Winry was cramped up against the other three as the shuttle was full of excess cargo: Packaged worms for the Starfleet dinner, later.
"What's going on again?" Aeris asked, confused, also cramped and struggling. "And why do you keep your original pylon parts in your cargo bay, forcing your normal cargo into shuttles??"
Aramaki attempted to nudge a cargo container jutting into his back. "Oh, targ manure," he said in shock. "I just opened one of the compartments!"
"Ugh! Worms??" panicked Winry as a large chunk of wiggly creatures poured onto her shoulders.
Seifer backed away but hit another container, opening it, and pouring even more worms out onto his own shoulders. "This was a bad idea! I see that now."
---
Later, Seifer, Winry, Aeris and Aramaki found themselves in the Arboretum, where it was brimming with plant life; so much so that its growth continued out into the rest of the corridors, turning the entire deck into a jungle.
"When Worf and Jadzia had to rendezvous with a spy on Soukara, Jadzia became injured in the jungle and Worf was forced to choose between his duty or his beloved," Seifer explained just before he took out a phaser and fired a beam into both Aeris and Aramaki's legs. "If you choose duty, you're a ne'er-do-well!"
The victims both then screamed in pain. ""AUGHH!!""
"And now, our mission: I order us to reach Section 28 and leave our love interests behind, for duty, except if, perchance, our hearts take over and force us to go back to save their lives," the Captain continued just before he and Winry ran off into the jungle that was Deck 14.
As the pair were running and panting in a breathless panic through the foliage, Winry stopped them both just a few meters before their appointed goal. "Hold on a second. This is crazy? We should go back for them because this is just a fake order, and the Dominion War is not at stake!"
"Or, are you so lost in fear for Aramaki's life that you would abandon any order to save him for his well-being and the power of love?" Seifer criticized.
Winry deadpanned him. "You know he's the only one on this ship who can fire the torpedoes, right?"
"My precious Attack Pattern Delta!" Seifer panicked, abandoning all arguments of any kind. He then ran back for the injured parties, followed by Winry.
By the time they reached them, Aeris was already wrapping a bandage around her leg wound. Winry glared at Seifer, critisizingly. "You left her a first aid kit, cheating your own test??"
"Yeah," Seifer shrugged, guiltily. "I couldn't allow her to suffer or lose her life. That in itself proves my point from the very beginning."
Aeris glanced at him and smirked, finally catching on. "So, you do have a thing for me, huh? I thought as much."
"Fine. I'd like to specify that my claim of a chemical-reaction extends to delusions of love, and that, thanks to my observations of your actions and my internal reactions, perhaps it's all the same in the end," Winry finalized. "It all does or doesn't matter."
The Captain nodded. "I can live with that middle-ground."
"Auugggghh! Is anyone going to help me??" Aramaki complained, seething in physical discomfort. "I'm literally bleeding out all over these asclepias curassavicas."
Aeris turned to the group. "Speaking of 'out', what about leaving this Zanthi nebula? Weren't you guys working on that problem before you shot us in a very sociopath-driven way?"
"Oh, that? A frequency modification of -04.7 to our warp core reaction should cause a rejection of the matter surrounding the ship," explained Winry. "Like Geordi, I was so distracted by this love obsession, I lagged in the actual situation at hand."
Seifer's eyes widened in shock. "In effect, we poison the milk! No one's ever thought of that!"
"So, Captain, they say these forced-attraction love spells stem from latent pre-existing feelings," Aeris began. "Are you sure that's how you want to start things, by proving that you're so layered and deep that I should, by default, be interested in you?"
Seifer recoiled. "Ugh. That's inherently predictable and over-done. How about I drop a stack of PADDs and when we both reach for them our hands accidentally touch?"
"That's just as over-done, but not as layered and, thus, less looming," she said as they both began walking out of the Arboretum. "Count me in."
Unofficial Literary Challenge #32: Prompt #1: Federation presidential elections take place every six years (barring delays due to national crises), meaning President Aennik Okeg's third term is coming to an end. Is he running for a fourth term or stepping down? Who else is running, and what issues are important in the campaign: entanglements in the Delta Quadrant, the refugee crisis at home, economic chaos from the Iconian War? And does your captain prefer any particular candidate?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #32
"Election Year"
Captain Deloss sat at the Bridge of the I.K.S. Masamune as it trekked through space, carelessly and haphazardly on nothing but whims and fancy and lollipops and dreams.
"Are we actually going in any specific direction, or are our movements based on the positioning of gagh all over the helm?" the Gorn and Commanding officer Deloss asked.
Grough scavenged his own scaly Gorn hands over the mess, trying to grab one of the squiggly worms as best as he could. "Hey, I just got into these things! It's forced, but we all find our ways to assimilate into obnoxious Klingon culture."
"It is the repulsiveness of moving food we admire. We actually wouldn't even touch gagh if not for that," added Ronin, an old Klingon and the tactical officer.
Deloss grasped his head. "Why can't we be more concerned about things that matter? I feel as if we are wasting precious ship resources on cultivating targ manure! I don't even know what it's used for?? We spent an entire month stock piling it in our cargo bay???"
BLAM! Suddenly the Masamune slammed its nose into a rogue asteroid. The object appeared to be unaffected by the impact.
"Ugh. Did anyone get the number of that asteroid?" Deloss quipped, hilariously. "Hahaha. Seriously, though, anyone who didn't laugh is being transferred."
Then Ronin looked up from his console. "Sir, I'm detecting a Federation escape pod latched onto the side! There are survivors on it!!"
"Calm down Ronin. It's always drama with you. The Federation, huh? They're perpetually concerned about bigger issues. Beam them directly to the Bridge," Deloss ordered before a group of injured people appeared before him. "Ew! Beam them back. No, wait. Beam them to Sickbay to be medically adjusted and such. Seems like that's a thing. Is that a thing? It probably is."
A Human and Captain stood up. "Wait. You must set course for my ship the Crucial and destroy it. My name is Menrow."
"You dare give me orders, Human!" Deloss argued. "Anyway, now that the hostile tone is out of the way, what happened to you?"
Menrow gestured to his people. "We were escorting the President, here, home from Casperia Prime when our ship came under attack by an alien life-draining entity. Systems went down and my crew was forced to evacuate, but we fear it may strike again."
"That sounds like a big issue," Deloss surmised. "Perhaps it warrants a continued perusal."
The other Captain shrugged. "I'd like to think so."
"Quiet, Human! You forfeit your right to any form of dignity and more of my compensation-by-loud-shouting! Also, did you know Kirk? He's just soooo huggable."
---
Later, the Masamune dropped warp before the near-completely ruined, but still in-tact, Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial. Deloss, Menrow, Okeg, Ronin and Thunk beamed onboard aiming rifles.
"Seriously, Deloss? We were supposed to destroy this thing!" argued Menrow. "I've had so many alien relations here that it's just ugh now. Even this hallway. Just last week."
Deloss rolled his Gorn eyes as limited as he could. "Come on, man. That's just wasteful. In the Klingon Defense Force, we learn to salvage what we have. We're not all as rich and entitled as you Federation yuppies with your yacht ships and your space martinis."
"And what about the President?? I specifically told you not to put him in a militaristic situation," Menrow continued. "The government just likes to talk about those things, not actually have anything to do with them."
The Gorn scoffed. "Honestly, I stopped listening to you after you started dictating how my crew should tug at their uniforms more. Your President is a grown man who can do whatever he wants and listen to as much rock and roll music as is required."
"Ugh. I need this distraction so badly," Okeg said. "It's election year again and I have to decide whether I want to run or drop out of the whole politics thing for another person— probably a man— to take over and rule with an iron fist. It's usually the other party that takes the next Presidency, and they're puppy-jostling jerks. Like, real life puppies in front of your face when they do it sort of thing."
Deloss widened his eyes. "You have a chance at making a difference and you're on the fence??"
"Oh yeah. You just don't know the pressures of being a political figure," Okeg said. "You think it's all bowling in the basement, uniting minority groups and hilarious sketches with a holographic Keegan Michael-Key. Instead, you're constantly defending provable climate science and martial arts fighting birther movementers. It's madness!"
Ronin added, "Not to mention that you've been President for 18 years. Some countries on early 21st century Earth could have sorely benefited from those kinds of margins." He noticed everyone suddenly looking at him with detached expressions. "I once did a study when I was looking to compare J'mpok with other worst political leaders in Milky Way history."
"Anyway, I think you're disregarding an important juxtaposition for continued change and activism for things that really matter," Deloss said. "Like how we ignored the approach of these giant floating fragments."
Before the group, in the corridors, were several broken and ready-to-attack hovering shards appearing to be from a crystalline entity.
"So, you were taken down by a Large Crystalline Fragment, crippling your ship," surmised Thunk. "Then these baby fragments were spawned to hunt your crew down one by one."
Menrow continued, "Which is why we should destroy this filthy, ineffective Delta Quadrant-loving ship. These things will suck the life out of us and are probably into the gel packs! Still don't know how they work, but they're there."
"Fool; the Defense Force has a hunt-first protocol. Besides, you can make change without completely wiping the slate and starting over," explained Deloss as he aimed his disruptor rifle and fired. "If there were a health care system in place but some fool wanted to erase it with whatever he fancied, for example. Now, let us murder by way of educational correlation!"
The others, including Okeg, followed suit and opened fire upon the shards, following a trail throughout the ship. Separating, the group finally reconvened in Main Engineering.
---
In Engineering, the group found the main Crystalline Shard, merged-in with the warp core, feeding off its energy.
"Fine," conceded Menrow. "Perhaps a salvageable methodology is a more rational approach. But it's more work, for what, continuity? Some people reboot entire realities for less."
SKKKK!!! The entity surrounding the warp core screeched. It was angry and intending to consume any and everything it could get its reach on for the destruction of its shards. The group opened fire upon it, shattering its pieces all over the place.
"Oh, Klingon-bollocks," Deloss said, observing the fractured warp core. "This ship will never reach near-perfect operational status again. Perhaps I was wrong about everything. How can we protect ourselves without radical ship-exploding change? I'd even ban an entire group based on their religion if it meant I was right."
The Human clutched his face in regret of his now ruined ship. "Dammit!"
"No, this is a good thing," Okeg countered the two Captains. "Change, albeit in the form of full or partial effect is worth it if it means saving lives and maintaining values. I believe I've made my decision on whether I will run again or not."
Ronin turned to him. "You mean this crystal hunt helped you instead of your mind-off vacation at Casperia Prime? Perhaps there is some Klingon in your Federation after all."
"Don't forget Gorn. He's got Gorn in him too, somehow. Don't ask what, specifically. It's just there," Deloss added, quickly and awkwardly. "So, yeah."
He then turned to Menrow.
"Now, Captain," Deloss continued. "Since the Iconians made us allies for some reason, I shall leave you and your President to your ship, so you may find your other escape pods and return him home. We shall be transporting a considerable bulk of our much-sought-after targ manure as a gesture of honorable kinship and reflection of the themes we explored here today."
The other Captain retracted in disgust. "What? Don't do tha—"
"Deloss to Masamune! Transport: Gift Protocol Delta-Janeway-Serve-Up!" the Gorn announced after slapping his communicator. Seconds later, the Crucial was graced with their generosity. He turned back to the Human. "You're welcome."
Unofficial Literary Challenge #33: Prompt #1: You're docked in port between missions and give the all clear for the off-duty crew to go ashore for some well-deserved R&R. Do you head to the officer's club for a quiet drink, or is some hiking and fishing more your speed? And what wacky hijinks do the crew get up to when boilermakers are two-for-one at the local bars? Do they arrow for the tourist traps, or do they seek out more intellectual pursuits at libraries and museums? And how well does the Shore Patrol do at keeping a lid on the festivities and making sure everyone's back aboard when it's time to leave?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #33
"Fleet Week"
The I.K.S. Masamune docked at Drozana Station, the filthiest, scummiest, low-down spacedock this side of the Donatu Sector. Deloss, the Gorn and Klingon Defense Force officer, and his senior staff transported aboard before walking off the transporter pad.
"What about the rest of the crew? It is preposterous we only ever focus on the Bridge officers like we're the only people here!" Grough, the Gorn and helmsmen soap-boxed.
The Captain waved it off. "They snooze; they lose. As for the rest of you, since you're all coincidentally off-duty, you may take your leisure time upon you to enjoy to the fullest one may in the limited time we have to live in this universe."
The group then nodded to each other in agreement of that existentialism and dispersed among the filth.
---
Deloss made his way to the Bar and found the Klingon and fellow Captain, Sigon, sitting at a table, looking uneasy.
"You're here?? This means a crossover!?" Deloss said, shocked and appalled. "It is clear now that everything going forward is to be contrived."
Sigon looked up in search of the voice and found its owner. "Oh, it's you, Captain Deloss. Yes, I'm here with the crew of the I.K.S. Baetal for Klingon Fleet Week: A time where mighty warriors of the Empire are allowed leisure activities and a sense of temporary freedom and false security."
"Same here," Deloss replied, sitting across from him. "It is odd the Week applies to the whole of the Klingon Defense Force, thus leaving Klingon space theoretically vulnerable and without defense."
The Klingon sat up. "That is not the problem; the issue is that with all this frolicking and frivolity, there is a 60% chance of shenanigans and wacky hijinks unbefitting that of a warrior of any race and/or creed."
"You're sounding like me," Deloss observed. "Aren't you the party Klingon who invades Raatooras every year and makes its inhabitants serve him an over-abundance of food and alcohol and other activities of a personal nature?"
Sigon waved him off. "Their population is receding because of it."
"Besides, what are the chances of any of our crews causing a ruckus?" Deloss asked. "I know with mine, I have whipped them, including an alternate universe version of them, into warrior-shape. What do you think this is, an ongoing series of stories containing indomitable antics and inane irreverence??"
The other officer stood up. "Yes, I do think that! Let's just check in on the predictable buffoonery, shall we?"
---
They both walked over to a group of officers from the Masamune and the Baetal. There, Ronin, Grough, Poroka and Gozer were standing around the Dabo table.
"This gambling receptacle is literally the only thing to do on this station, so pretty much everyone will end up here," Sigon stated as they approached.
Deloss snarled. "Well, I was going to peacefully reorganize my music playlist, but exacerbating our conflict and trying to prove each other wrong is a worthy task as well."
"—Spin the wheel, and win!" announced the holographic Leeta to the group standing around. Everyone appeared inactive and bored. "Yay! I'm suppressing this terrible experience!"
Gozer slowly scanned his Energy Credit card and waited patiently for the spin. "Ohhhhh... boy..." he said in a paced and droning fashion, reflecting an uncharacteristic inanity. Drool hung from his gape. "Are the pizza pockettttssss ready yet? Heh, heh, heh. Duuuuddde."
Deloss turned to his companion, annoyed. "Is this the inexcusable lunacy you so eluded to, Captain Sigon?"
"What the Gre'thor? This appears to be the polar opposite of maddening rowdiness! We must scan this filth mongering space cage," Sigon said, taking out his Klingon tricorder. "It really is disgusting; even from a Klingon point of view."
Captain Deloss followed the other man and they began walking. "They do appear to be more comatose than usual. But that doesn't excuse what happened to you? You're not the same Sigon who drank an entire barrel of bloodwine on the Chancellor's throne, gone through two heart surgeries that same night, and lived to boast about it?"
"Not long ago, I was boarded by Captain Menchez, who commandeered my ship to enact vengeance against the Kazon-Rokka for the loss of his crew. When he was about to give his life in honor, I, misguidedly, and drunk, saved him from certain death. I've been living in dishonor ever since," Sigon explained.
The Gorn nodded in understanding. "So, you blame the alcohol and the lifestyle you were living. Perhaps disregarding who you are is the real dishonor?"
"Impossible! A Klingon never looks at things from other perspectives," snapped the now-hardened man. "Sometimes we don't even open our eyes. It's how I ended up in a targ pen last week."
As they reached the end of a corridor, Sigon's tricorder indicated a signature out-of-the-ordinary. Deloss snatched the device out of his hands, impatiently.
"It's some kind of triolic tear in the space-time continuum? There are several of them aboard the station!" the Gorn reacted in complete shock.
Sigon peered at him, judgmentally. "Through the tears, the tricorder is detecting several Devidians sucking the neural life out of the station's inhabitants. That's the job of the 'Spin the Wheel' episode!"
"Perhaps we weren't affected because we didn't get drawn and stuck at that one Dabo table," realized Deloss. "The Devidians clearly enacted this phasing technique. But I have a plan. I believe the only way to defeat them is to increase the neural energy to their gaping holes and overload those slack-jawed gawk-heads."
The other man recoiled in disgust. "Ugh! Oh man, you Gorn are sick. I see why we conquered you now."
---
The two ran out to the open area to find the dreary, dead-zoned, uninspired atmosphere of a forced fan fiction— err, bar room place.
"We have to liven-up this gunk-joint with one of your signature Sigon-parties or everyone dies!" Deloss warned.
Sigon recoiled. "What? That's ridiculous. The answer is clearly something sciencey where we flood the station with particles that would combat triolic radiation. I don't know; chronitons, or tachyons, or something. You basically just pick one at random and it works."
"Don't you see? The fact they're trying this new tactic means they've grown smarter and likely have already thought of that!" Deloss argued. "It's the chicken-and-the-egg, but our version of it. The Klingon Empire chicken-and-the-egg!"
The Klingon shook his head. "All I see are conclusions and a Gorn's love-affair with jumping to them. Do you ever think in a normal way, or are you forever misaligned with the rest of us?"
"Of course a Klingon would dismiss me, as if Gorn have nothing to contribute to the Empire," Deloss countered. "It's our rock-clutching obsession that cleaned up your precious Praxis aftermath. Don't you remember?"
Sigon snapped his fingers, distractedly. "Obsession? Of course! I could launch an explosive party popper— or disco ball, as many call it— forcing everyone into an annoying Q-obsessed dance off? The only problem is, if I die, it goes on forever."
"Disco balls on Drozana? Wasn't that done before by Starfleet Den—"
The other man quickly cut him off. "There's no time to finish that!" He then slapped his wrist communicator. "Sigon to Baetal. Transport my party popper devices and all the forgotten barrels of bloodwine from our cargo hold to Drozana, immediately."
"Yes, sir," came the voice of Liss over the air. "It's odd we store them in barrels to begin with. I mean, by the 25th century, we don't have healthier containment receptacles?"
In an instant, the barrels were transported in, and Sigon received his devices that he discharged within Drozana's open area. Giant floating disco balls and confetti were expelled everywhere while people slowly began scooping bloodwine for their alcoholic tastes.
"It's time to PARTY, YOU INFERIOR FOOLS!" Sigon announced over all the sudden ruckus and over-the-top exceptionalism. "The 'inferior fools' thing is just to Klingon-it-up a little."
Deloss looked at him. "Where'd you get those anyway?"
"An omnipotent being called Qu sells them on the blackmarket, which I used to purchase for my Friday Night Fek'Ihri Dance-Offs," Sigon explained. "Ohhh, the limbo showdowns they initiate. We often use the Hordlings as height poles."
The Gorn nodded. "Anyway, I am certain we have both learned lessons here, though I do not know what."
"Well, mine is that I can adapt to the cognitive dissonance of my lifestyle being the cause of dishonor while continuing said lifestyle," the Klingon added. "It's a lemniscate Klingon Empire chicken-and-the-egg."
Deloss tapped his jaw. "Hm. Then, I guess mine should be that relevance is relative; whatever that means."
Suddenly, with everyone on Drozana now excited and celebrating, explosions of overloaded Devidians popped out of mid-air and onto the floors all over the place.
"Currrssssse, you Sigon and Deloss," a new Shrouded Phantasm named Stuart argued as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get up off the floor. "We will return to have our revvvvengggge!"
The two watched as the Phantasm used his staff to get up and disappear he and his other Devidians away, back to their realm. The Phantasm then quickly popped its head back through a mid-air hole and he sucked a few more sips of Gozer's neural activity.
"Ohhh yeahhhh, that's the stuff," Stuart said before noticing everyone observing his addiction problem. He addressed them before pulling himself back into his realm. "We'll be back! And don't bother fixing your lights!"
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #3: The First Federation, a group of enigmatic, frail, dwarven humanoids, whose secret technological advancements vastly dwarf most of the current galactic superpowers in scope. Yet they chose to remain isolated, testing those who stray into their borders, finding those too violent, unworthy, while opening up some form of trade to those they deem 'enlightened'. Since their first contact with Kirk they remained shrouded in mystery behind their borders, protected by colorful cubes that ensnare and destroy those foolish enough to try and break their ever present protection. In times past those that know better than to try to invade have respected them, some feared them, others wished to join. The First Federation has not grown, it has not shrunk, it seems to remain static, even neutral during the Invasions led by the Iconian's.
Until one day you receive an emergency communication while patrolling the Gon'cra sector. It seems the Tzenkethi have decided to attack a planet just within the protective range of First Federation Warning Buoys. It seems the First Federation did not expect one of their oldest trading partners to violate their space, unprovoked.
Their only caveat is that you must talk them out of their attack, without destroying their ship. It's only one ship, how hard could that be?
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #3
"Enmity"
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok dropped warp in orbit of the First Federation planet, Carpi. There, they stood between the planet and the Tzenkethi Rhas'bej battleship Cortisgor which presented itself as a threat to the people below.
"Tzenkethi vessel, you are in violation of this airspace. Well, I suppose there's no air, so, spacespace," hailed Captain Seifer. "Please disengage your weapons and put your many arms up. How many do you have, like, four? Man, that's a lot of arms."
Suddenly, the viewscreen clicked on to a display of the Cortisgor's commanding officer. "This is Captain Gogard of the Cortisgor. You have no jurisdiction here, nor is your science vessel any match for us. In fact, science vessels aren't a match for anyone but other science vessels."
"What? Science is the whole reason we're out here! We also have shield weakening beams and such. Oh, you're going to get such a debuff, you don't even know," threatened Seifer. "And I thought you guys were supposed to be slender and good-looking and filled with fluid sacs?" And then, he pondered out-loud, "What of the sacs?"
Gogard ruptured in anger. "You dare bring up that troublesome reality where the Tzenkethi were part of something called the Typhon Pact and your precious Deep Space 9 is replaced by a metal monstrosity of complete uglyness!?" He turned to his crew. "Ready the tricobalt torpedoes!"
"Hold on a second!" came the sudden warning of another Seifer, who walked onto the Bridge of the Ragnarok and interrupted the two men. "I'm the you from two days from now. When he fires his tricobalt torpedoes, you fire your quantum torpedoes and accidentally destroy his ship!"
The other man recoiled in disgust. "What is this trickery? My ship is sufficiently—" But he interrupted himself when he noticed his shields weren't up. "Ohhh, yes. The most important thing of battle. Sometimes we Tzenkethi are quite silly, though we don't look it."
"Okay, that's weird," the Seifer of the present said, eyeing his doppelganger. "I'll dissect you later. In the meantime— Aramaki, now fire the quantum torpedoes!"
"Wait a moment!" came the sudden cry of a duplicate Gogard, walking onto the Bridge of the Cortisgor. "I'm the Captain Gogard of from three days from now, and when you fire your tricobalt torpedoes in response, one of them explodes in our torpedo bay and blows our ship to pieces!"
The present day Gogard looked at his identical self. "What?? I'd kill you if I wasn't so irritated right now! Also, I still have that mole, huh?"
"Everyone stop!" came the call of a third Seifer, stepping onto the Bridge of the Ragnarok. "I'm from four days in the future, and all this confusion ends up frustrating the Seifer of the present enough to initiate a self-destruct sequence that takes out both ships and punctures the planetary atmosphere below!"
Present day Seifer crossed his arms. "I was only mulling that over. And how do we keep coming here from the future? It's like a paradox-nightmare hopped up on ketracel white."
"It is I, Marhs, from five days in the future," came the answer from a short, First Federation diplomat, walking onto the Bridge of the Cortisgor with another Gogard in hand. "You've known that our technology radiates in comparison with your pathetic 'Federation', if that's what you insist on continuing to call it, and I chose to test our time-travelling device in order to prevent the cataclysmic destruction about to happen here today."
"Everybody stop!!" came the heightened warning from another Marhs, stepping onto the Bridge of the Ragnarok. "I'm Marhs from six days in the future and my usage of so many temporal doors causes the space-time destruction of both ships, the planet, and the entire solar system! I suppose being the 'First' has its caveats after all."
Two-days-from-now-Seifer looked at him, annoyed. "Then, why would you still come here? Never mind." Then he addressed Gogard, "You know what? Why don't we end this peacefully, not fire at each other, and just both of us get out of here before it's too late?"
"Hey! I'm the Captain here!" Present day Seifer argued. "But, yeah, what I said."
The Gogard on the Bridge nodded. "To end this madness; anything. But what about all these duplicates of us? Surely we must kill them with our murderous appetites?"
"My First Federation tricorder can reintegrate all our duplicates into us, so that we become some kind of space-time Frankenstien's monster versions of ourselves," explained Marhs, as he held the device up. "It's quite painful."
One of the Gogards nodded, on screen. "Make it so."
"Hey! Aliens don't get to say that!" argued Seifer just as the device was activated, causing the duplicate versions of everyone to stretch and be torn apart until sucked into their present-day counterparts— "AAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!"
Seifer, Gogard, and Marhs screamed in utter agony of it all until the process was complete. They each patted themselves in check to ensure nothing was physically out of place.
"I'm good," Seifer said, finally able to relax from all the stress. "Captain Gogard?"
To everyone's dismay, Captain Gogard was suddenly an alternate universe form of Tzenkethi: Slender, gentle, and gel-like. He looked nothing like the lizard form the rest of his race were. "How did this happen!?"
"Damn," Marhs said, slapping his device. "Had this thing set to Destiny timeline. Don't ask what that means. Well, I've got to go. My voice-over guy is about to go on lunch. Oh, did I mention, someone voices each of us over? It's a long and arduous, pre-practiced process, but it's our way. First Federation out!"
Everyone watched as Marhs, instead of beaming anywhere, then began slowly walking around the Bridge, looking around, as if on tour of the Ragnarok.
"Yeah, it's clear we each have our own problems," Seifer said to Gogard, indicating the roaming Marhs. "Too many Federations are the real paradox here. Ragnarok for-real out."
---
When the screen cut off on the Bridge of the Cortisgor, a new, gentle and angelic Gogard with fluid sacs turned to his crew. "As soon as I'm back to normal, that Captain Seifer is going to pay for this!"
"Sir, your head is drooping over," warned his tactical officer.
Gogard placed his hands and readjusted himself. "Dammit! Take us out of here! And stop looking at the unidentified parts of my body! Ugh! What even is this thing hanging here? Dammit!"
The Cortisgor left orbit and jumped to warp.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #4: A message, whether a warning or last words, of some lost civilization has been found in the ruins of an unexplored star system. Except there was never any indication that this planet ever held sentient life, nor any ruins found of colonists. Just the message and it's contents.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #4
"Lost to Time"
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok dropped warp in space and approached a lone planet. Captain Oroku Seifer, Science officer Moggs and Doctor Cetra beamed down to examine the source of a mysterious message.
"Well, this place appears barren," Cetra said, looking around at the near-desert-like planet. "How could anything originate from nothing?"
Moggs began scanning the area with his tricorder. "That's the very same question scholars have been asking about the universe for eons and will be for eons to come."
"First of all, that's a grim out-look on discovery and learning about ourselves in general, and, second, I was clearly referring to the voided situation at hand," countered Cetra. "Tangents are you just trying to sound smart."
The Caitian science officer shrugged. "I don't have to 'try' anything."
"Gentlemen, ladies," the Captain interjected. "What if we simulated a tachyon scan with our tricorders, in case the device this message came from is cloaked?"
Moggs began the alterations on his device. "Sir, you do know you're a tactical officer, right? You should not know of these things."
"Hey, my symbiont affords me several previous lifetimes of experience and a strange morning sickness not related to anything relevant at all," Seifer replied.
Cetra glanced at him. "You know you should probably have your Doctor look at that?"
"You're my Doctor!" Seifer said.
Suddenly, the bombardment of Moggs' tricorder emissions knocked a non-corporeal floating head, out of mid-air, next to them.
"Who dares to awaken the mighty Alazard, eighth Ruler of the Thasian Order!?" the green, translucent head echoed.
Everyone jumped back in shock, and then Seifer stepped forward to introduce himself. "Greetings, fearsome, floating brain-cage, I am Captain Seifer of the Federation Starship Ragnarok, responding to a message we received over subspace, originating from right here."
"Huh? You mean this message?" Alazard asked.
In a single second, the message played back for everyone, emanating from the head itself: "Come to Quark's, Quark's is fun, come right now, don't walk - run!"
"Yeah; that. We thought he may have opened up another bar here, and were hoping to get some Cait-nip," admitted Lieutenant Commander Moggs. "It's medicinal, and for some other Science officer Caitian. Yeah, that's the ticket. Yeah."
Cetra nodded in agreement. "Also, the tune is quite catchy, albeit short. The idea of running is quite much. Is accelerated pace still a thing?"
"UGH! That incessant jingle has been stuck in my head for 39 years! Ever since I was passing by your precious Deep Space 9 and overheard it, I have been haunted by its musical power and now its taken control of me!"
Seifer scratched his head. "So, you've unintentionally manifested your thoughts as a subspace message?"
"Yes, and I have exiled myself from my kind because of it! At first, I believed it to be all good in fun, but I soon discovered the viral nature of melody and its invasive ability to affect all parts of my non-corporeal brain!"
Cetra scanned the entity with her tricorder. "In a sense, it's thrown you out-of-whack. That's a new Starfleet medical term, by the way."
"Giant bulbous cranium, is there any point at which you were able to forget said instrumentals?" Moggs asked, out of pure, Federation-driven, hard-core, intense curiosity. Ugh!
"In fact, when you knocked me out of hiding with your simulated tachyon scan, I became completely absorbed with a persistent and damaging ringing."
Seifer snapped his fingers. "That's it! We just bombard you with more of those, and you'll forget the whole Quark thing immediately. It's a long shot, but an unpleasant encounter associated with the mental infection may force your subconscious into burying that dark-eye-shadowed Ferengi finally and forever."
"What makes you think you know anything about the neuroscience of Thasians?"
The Captain shrugged. "Well, you do appear as giant heads."
"Good enough for me! Make it happen and such and so. Oh, and if I don't make it back, tell Glorborsoborch I hate her. It's an inside joke; she'll get it. Though, she may not respond similarly to you."
Moggs then took out his tricorder and began its particle flow. The intensity of the simulated tachyons began to ring in Alazard's head, causing the transparent green noggin to shake artificially and then violently.
"AAAAaaahhhh!!! Kahn never even met Chekov!!! Agggg!!!!"
The Science officer looked over to his comrades for guidance. "Should we stop?"
"Meh," Seifer shrugged. "I kind of want to see if he'll explode."
Suddenly, the tricorder's reserve programmable particle stream bled dry, ending the assault on the copious being. His sanity reformed and he turned to the crew.
"You failed at attempting to detonate me!" Alazard argued. "But, I believe the sounds inside my consciousness have ended. Now all I can think about are NX-01 Enterprise plot holes. Soooo many plot holes."
Suddenly, a crowd of people began to appear all around them, as well as a giant city in the backdrop. The crew was then approached by the leader. "Greetings, I am Yun and we are a Bajoran colony who left Bajor to worship Alazard as we had grown tiresome of the Prophets and their holy wars with the Pah'Wraiths. Unfortunately, this guy had other things going on and accidentally locked us in hiding."
"Aren't you just substituting one religious following for another? At what point does interchangeable faith become a fallacy in and of itself?" Seifer asked, confused.
Yun shrugged. "Those are all good questions, probably, but deities who are also aliens to outsiders is our ketracel white and we need to find a new one STAT!"
"Oh," Seifer replied. "Well, good luck. Have you tried the Medusans? I don't know much about them, being a non-Human, but they apparently share a name in Earth Greek mythology. Can't go wrong with that."
Alazard was taken aback. "Dude! No. I dated a Medusan once. They are so clingy and low quality effect-wise. Well, you'll see. —Alazard out!" And then he disappeared.
"Thank you, Captain," Yun said as his people turned to go back toward their city. "If you're ever in the area again, maybe you can check in on us from time to time."
Oroku Seifer smiled. "I'd like that, whoever you are, wherever this is." Then he tapped his commbadge. "Seifer to Ragnarok. Three to beam up, and have all records of this place completely wiped from our systems and memories. Nothing here went to plan."
"Hey!" argued Yun.
The Captain then noticed him. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were still here. We'll miss you." And then he turned back to his communiqué. "Ragnarok, are you still on comms? Have a salvo of quantum torpedoes ready to launch into their deserts so we can initiate nuclear winter and never have to see this surface again."
"What!?" Yun contended.
Seifer jumped, not expecting him. "Ah! Again? Are you ever going to go home? Never mind. We were just on our way out. Good luck. Oh, and Yun, all my hopes," he said empathetically, just before the Away Team was beamed out.
The Bajoran then turned and nervously began the long walk back to the city.
Writing Contest: First Contact Day: Greetings, Captains! Everyone knows the story of their world’s First Contact Day – when their people met visitors from another world for the first time. Humanity celebrates their first meeting with the Vulcans every year, with events centered on culture and education, and other races celebrate their own first steps into a larger galaxy in their own unique ways. But First Contact isn’t just a moment for an entire species – it can also be a deeply personal event. To celebrate this year’s First Contact Day, we want to give you the chance to tell us about your Captain’s first contact, in a First Contact Day Writing Contest.
In 1500 words or less, write about the first time that your Captain encountered a being from another world. Were they a child, in the hustle and bustle of a crowded world? Was the first meeting a friendly one, or one of conflict? What is your Captain’s story of First Contact?
This contest is specifically about your personal characters within Star Trek Online. Write about their story – we won’t be able to accept stories about canon Star Trek characters.
STO Writing Contest
"First Contact Day"
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok sat out in deep space as Captain Oroku Seifer, a Trill and Starfleet officer, took a seat on the Bridge of his ship.
"Space, the final frontier," he started. "These are the voyages of the Starship Ragnarok. It's never-ending mission, to seek out new twirls and new synchronizations— Hm. I think we need to rewrite that. We sound like a dance ship."
Lieutenant Commander Moggs, a Caitian and his science officer, suddenly spoke up. "Uh, sir, you don't have to recite the opening every morning. You do realize that, by repetition, you're just feeding into the very diagnosis of insanity, right?"
"What I realize is that you're interrupting an essential Starfleet prerequisite to encountering new alien species," countered Seifer. "Without innocuous affirmations, we're a Federation of wanderers and rogues with no sense to dream, or look up at the stars, and a preoccupation with Klingon coffee taste-augmented by metal cups."
Then he smiled to himself and looked back upon his first encounter with an alien life form.
"Ah, my first contact, I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a teenage Star-jelly with attitude at the Academy, and we were to share a room before our first day. Except he wanted the top bunk, and I wanted a date with the indomitable Mary Sue."
Lieutenant Aramaki, human and tactical officer, turned from his station. "Sir, did that even really happen? Those two things both sound impossible, especially that last one?"
"I think?" Seifer said, suddenly doubting himself and searching his memories. "Did we fight Tribble-Tzenkethi hybrids last week, or is my recollection somehow being modified by the targ soup I'm eating right now?"
Just then, the entire Bridge went dark and his whole crew and soup disappeared. The Trill found himself in a cave somewhere, latched to a metal bed with neural interfaces connected to his temples. He was now several years younger, and wearing civilian clothing.
"Well, well," said another man, who stepped out of the shadows to reveal he as a look-alike. This Oroku was years older and wore the Odyssey-type Starfleet Commanding Officer Service Uniform the younger one was just wearing seconds before. "You figured out that you were in a simulation. Excellent work, past-me."
The younger man squinted. "What? I'm you?"
"In two days from now, you're going into your final test for the Symbiosis Commission to receive your Trill symbiont and then join Starfleet. I wanted to run my own test, temporarily modifying your memories, to see how you would fare within life aboard a starship; mine, in the future, to be exact."
Oroku shook his head. "So, I haven't even left Trill? I've never actually met another alien before in my life?"
"Not yet," replied the Captain. "You see, I remember this exact encounter when I was your age, and speaking to an older version of myself, and I knew if somehow I got here again that I had to fulfill my own destiny. That, and I really did fight a Tribble-Tzenkethi hybrid last week, and I needed not to think about that anymore, however possible." He shuddered at the thought of it.
The young man squirmed, trying to get free. "This is crazy! The Klingon Targ War, the Lukari Pink Spray Tans, judging the Borg Cooperative Beauty Contest? Why test me with these fake events if I'm just going to end up like you?"
"Oh, all those really happened, but to me in the future," the Captain said. "You see, the galaxy is full of crazy, over-the-top, mind-altering insanity and, due in-part to that, I was accidentally thrown too far into the past by a time-travel mechanic named Marhs. It's nonessential madness like his that you need to be prepared for."
Oroku scoffed. "Or, I could, you know, discover all that on my own? What is this obsession people have with coddling their younger selves? Maybe who you are today is due to how you dealt with the challenges and the people you weren't prepared for!"
"Well, I wasn't prepared for that," the older Oroku blinked, thrown-off. "Never-the-less, I know the aliens you're about to encounter, and, trust me, some of them are irrational, centuries-long, grudge-holding Iconians. Oh, and there's this Ferengi named Madran who had a horrible Son'a face-stretching accident, and—"
Having been secretly breaking loose, young-Oroku pulled himself off the bed and stood up. "Enough! I don't want to hear any more from you! All a man ever needs is a perfect, seamless series of encounters with what's out there and here you are providing me with this pre-processed, half-Kirk'd Trill-symbiont-manure."
Then, young-Oroku sighed.
"Though, I suppose even meeting you is its own unexpected contact. So, it's all the same by that logic? I just wish my first encounter with 'what's out-there' was an alien, and not 'me'."
Older-Oroku thought about his argument for a second before recalling his pointy-eared space-companion. "Oh, right. I can help you with that. As part of randomized time travel choices, Marhs sent my Caitian science officer with me—" And then, "Mr. Moggs, will you reveal yourself and proceed with formal, awkward social interactions against this youthful, handsome fellow?"
"Yes, Captain," Moggs, a tall and grey-fur-colored man, said as he stepped out from beneath the shadows and extended his hand. "Hi, I'm an alien and such. Do you like... stuff?"
Younger-Oroku's jaw dropped at the sudden, unexpected encounter. "Do I—?? Stuff is why I've been hoarding unrefined dilithium under my pillow all my life! Wow, and you must have so many ticks?"
"I only have five," argued a suddenly annoyed and itchy Moggs. "Anyway, I think embracing your encounters as you go is a good ideology. I ate five Star-jellies yesterday. Good luck, time-spoiled-Oroku."
Oroku nodded. "Thanks." But then he noticed his older self and Moggs begin the slow-happening, dramatic process of dematerialization. "What's going on? You haven't even told me how to get out of here?"
"Looks like Marhs is reintegrating us with another temporal version of ourselves," the Captain said, looking around at his faltering molecular structure. "It's the Voyager version of a temporal paradox. You'll get used it! Oh, and to leave this cave-section, you'll need to solve an ancient, definitely fatal pre-Trill civilization stone-puzzle that focuses on Bronze Age symboliz—"
But before he could finish, he and the Caitian had disappeared, leaving young-Oroku to his own devices.
"Dammit, me!" he cursed. "Well, at least I met a giant cat-man as my 'first contact'. Maybe the crazy, over-the-top mind-altering insanity isn't as bad as I future-put it."
Then he noticed the fur on his palm, from the hand-shake, prompting the young Trill to shake it off as furiously as possible.
"Ugh! He was shedding! So disgusting! Ew! —Forget this. Future-me is going to pay for that! I'm taking up anbo-jyutsu and seeing how he likes losing a few brain cells to slow and clunky 'martial arts'. That'll show him and his weird, lanky tall-cat."
And, with that, and a first alien encounter under his belt, Oroku exited the chamber to embark on a future of wild fascination and pure science-driven, serviceable revenge. What lie beyond space and time were now his to dream and his to explore.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #5: After receiving a distress call from a Demon-Class planet just outside Tholian territory, you've decided to investigate the call and stumble upon a Federation ship on scientific research, almost dead in the water. What's worse is the planetary system is home to a Tholian minefield, which is why the ship was damaged in the first place, and your ship has just detected a Tholian scouting party heading towards the system on patrol.
Forced to have an emergency planetary landing and drag the crippled Reliant-Class to the surface to escape detection, you have to think fast on how you plan to get everyone out of newly annexed Tholian Space. Try and leave without effecting repairs and the crippled ship is destroyed by the planet's gravity, or wait to long and everyone is cooked alive or choked out by the planet's toxic, inhospitable atmosphere. Not to mention the projected three hours waiting for the Tholian's to pass through this system without incident, unless you want them to swarm.
Unofficial Literary Challenge Annual #5
"From Hell's Heart..."
The Pathfinder-class with Discovery-class pylons U.S.S. Ragnarok was running repairs at Starbase 157, while Captain Oroku Seifer sat diligently at his command chair.
"Sooooo, why are we still operating this listening post on the edge of Klingon space if we're allies with them now? Huh?" asked Lieutenant Edwards from her helm station.
Seifer shrugged. "Starfleet still wants intel just in case they ever turn on us again. I mean, we've been in so many wars with the Klingons it's almost nostalgic. Oh, to shoot them again."
"I wonder what they're up to right now?" pondered Aramaki who curiously tapped into the listening post's frequencies.
Next, the voice of Torg resonated throughout the Bridge, continuing on a conversation without knowledge of surveillance. "And, so, I stabbed that whiny little brat in the chest! It really was coming with how he was the most annoying Klingon ever."
Then Aramaki switched the channel again, bringing in a separate unawares conversation led by Captain Kagran. "Now that the Federation is on our side, they will join with us to destroy every Tribble! My decision-making knows no bounds!"
In one last change, a distress signal suddenly came through, with a female voice. "To whomever hears this, our ship is dead in the water— Space water, that is. We need your help before we start eating each other, as is the protocol for grouped-Humans in isolation."
"That one sounds follow-up-ish," Captain Seifer said, standing up. "We should do that."
Moggs turned from his science station. "But what about our responsibilities here? Surely we should acknowledge that we're abandoning them?"
"The who and the what now? Delete the current mission! Engage!" Seifer announced whilst pointing enthusiastically toward the view screen.
---
Later, the Ragnarok dropped warp in the Kunara System, where a starship was crippled near orbit of a class Y planet.
"Captain, Kunara Prime is home to a Tholian minefield, which is why the ship was damaged in the first place, and your ship has just detected a Tholian scouting party heading towards the system on patrol," described Aramaki.
Seifer looked at him. "Why did you say 'your ship'? Are you copying and pasting your dialogue? And, Kunara Prime? Surely, you mean Nukara Prime?"
"Nope. And, as for my describetization: It's the parameters of the setting. I'm just trying to be as accurate as possible," he countered.
The Captain nodded. "Fine. But accuracy begets tedium; whatever that means. Tractor beam the crippled Reliant-class starship to the surface to escape detection so we can think fast on how we plan to get everyone out of newly annexed Tholian space— Damn! Now I'm doing it."
"Sir," started Moggs as the Ragnarok tractor-beamed the other Federation starship down to the red, hot surface, "I think you mean Miranda-class, do you not?"
Seifer blinked, confused, as the two vessels were now out of sensor range of the enemy. "Wait. I don't recognize this ship at all? Computer, enhance!"
"Calculating!" the computer shouted as the pixelized image of a Starfleet vessel, landed on the dirt, became clearer.
Tomsin worked his operations controls. "Resolution now at 74 DPI."
"You're relieved, Tomsin! Clearly we need an upgrade. Also, that vessel doesn't look like one of ours? Its nacelles are hull-covered tubes?" Seifer examined. "It's registering as a Mayflower-type! I've never heard of that!"
Suddenly, the viewscreen switched to a hail from the other vessel. "That is because we're not from your universe, sir," said the officer in a yellow shirt from across the way. "I am Captain Allana Montoyez of the Kelvin-timeline 23rd century Federation starship Dynex. We were investigating the strange anomalies in this place when those same anomalies sent us careening through dimensions into your Prime-timeline!"
"That's a hell of an explanation and awareness of timelines for a difference in nacelles, but that doesn't explain how you heard what I said before you hailed me," said Seifer.
But then Moggs interrupted with the much needed-to-know stakes for all to consider. "Captain! The gravity and atmosphere on this Demon-class planet is far too high for the Dynex and will be crushed, cooked and choked out alive if we don't get out of here soon. On the other hand, I project three hours waiting-time for the Tholian's to pass through this system without incident, unless you want them to swarm?"
"I would like them to swarm. Just to see that happen," answered Seifer. "Are you saying I would never enjoy the visuals of swarming ships? How randomized their flight patterns would be. Glorious!"
Then Montoyez interrupted from the view screen. "If you'll indulge us, Captain, perhaps you could direct us to the space-time anomaly so that we can be sent back to our action-packed, corridor-running, lens-flare timeline for more high-octane adventures. Seriously, this place is so dreary by comparison."
"Uh, first of all, we destroy ships on the daily. I've murdered millions in self-defence. Secondly, your intersection here has already caused a split of a new timeline," stated Seifer. "In fact, everything we do causes new timelines in an infinite multiverse."
Montoyez grumbled. "Preposterous! There are only two timelines: Yours and mine; and perhaps mirror versions of each. Then there's your Destiny timeline, now that I consider it. If you're wondering how I know of all this, our 23rd century computers are far more advanced than your 25th century ones."
"Wait a second. According to our scans, you calculate stardates by including the year in them? That's madness!" Seifer claimed while checking a console.
The other officer stood in defiance. "At least our stardates in our time aren't all over the place! Fire everything!"
"Both your societies are equally insipid!" interrupted a Tholian voice. Before the officers could act, a Tholian Orb Weaver, the originator of the voice, flew in, followed by two more, blasting tetryon beams at them on the surface. "Your high-octane transmissions were detectable even by us!"
Aramaki and Edwards immediately started the Ragnarok back on return firing and launching off the ground. The Dynex followed suit, taking off, but instead their phasers popped like mini torpedo blasts.
"Even your weapons are messed up! Ugh," complained Seifer. "And why are there anomalies in this area anyway? It seems highly irregular for space in general."
Moggs replied, "The Tholian Assembly is often involved with multiple dimensions in spacetime. It was reported they installed outposts in a universe completely full of tribble. They called it Tribble Space."
"Yeah, um, that one I've been to," answered Seifer as he subsequently saw the Dynex blow an Orb Weaver to pieces before heading itself back towards the space-time fluxuation that brought them here in the first place.
Edwards popped up. "Pursue? Pursue?"
"Not if it means we get sent to their maddening alternate reality!" recoiled Seifer before shivering, uncontrollably. "Ugh, tribbles. Perhaps the idea we're constantly recreating new timelines is a bad one. What else could be there? Let's just have what's existing exist and hope it remains extra-dimensional."
The Ragnarok covered the Dynex as the Mayflower-type ship disappeared through its space-time portal. Then, Aramaki and Edwards coordinated quantum torpedo fire with range, taking out the last two attacking Orb Weaver ships whilst exiting the atmosphere back into space.
"Well, everything is back to normal," Seifer declared, taking a seat in his chair. "The lesson here being that what comes from our actions should remain localized to our timeline and in order to facilitate it as our responsibility."
The Caitian science officer asked, "Is that what alternate-you would say as well?"
"Funny, Mr. Moggs," Seifer shot him a knowing look. "Now, Aramaki, mark this mission as complete and delete it from our records. A universe where their 23rd century technology is more advanced than ours? Not on my watch."
The tactical officer confirmed, "Information has been purged, sir."
"Does anyone want to head to the shipyards and check out the Miranda/Reliant-class ships? Could be educational and satisfying nacelle-wise," the Captain offered. "Done! Engage!"
Unofficial Literary Challenge #36: Prompt #1: "I envy you, taking these first steps into a new frontier." - Capt. Picard Star Trek: First Contact. Whether it's looking back to the voyages of James Kirk, the philosophies of Surak, or the battles of Kahless the Unforgettable, every generation thinks about those that came before. Perhaps the rules were different back then, or times more simple and clear cut between heroes and villains, or what you now take for granted they did without and to greater results. How does your captain look back on history and those that wrote it?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #36
"In Their Footsteps"
The I.K.S. Dragunov arched through space while Captain Kronen, a Klingon Defense Force officer and Ferasan, sat, intently at his command chair.
"Sir, I report we will arrive at the coordinates of the two warring Houses shortly," said Commander Red from the Helm.
Kronen kept a stern look forward before glancing down at him. "Excellent, Commander. By the way, according to rank, you should be by my side delegating ship tasks rather than operating menial functions like some kind of Fek'Ihri Hoardling."
"No offense, but the executive officer role is reminiscent of a pet targ in an Orion Slave Girl den. No, I am an able-bodied man, with the capability to operate Bridge processes in an exemplary fashion," answered Red. "A true officer gets his hands dirty every now and then! Please disregard the cleanliness of this console."
The Captain groaned. "All those years you spent with the Federation on exchange has given you a messed up work ethic. Enjoy your rank for once; that's all I'm saying. Anyway, our mission here is to negotiate a trade with an enemy House."
"Seems like a mad man's mission, Captain," commented Lieutenant Commander Linng, another Ferasan and the ship's tactical officer, from her station.
The Ferasan Captain snarled. "You would be right, but the Empire wants to unite against our true enemies, whomever the aliens are for this week; and, what better way to become a stronger people than to make ourselves stronger? Have any of you heard of the ancient Klingon known as Kahless?"
"He was some kind of giant floating head, right?" said Bekk Fen, a youthful Klingon and the Operations officer, genuinely confused.
Kronen stood. "You fool! He was the strongest warrior known in all the land and he wasn't afraid to make change and lead by strength! Even though I'm not a Klingon, I can respect and admire the enormity of a legend that he was."
"He ate the hearts of so many kolar beasts," Red realized.
Throwing down his PADD in anger, Kronen declared, "Kahless was renown for his lessons! Who do you think united the warring states of Quin'lat and Mekro'vak? It was said he threw himself into the field of battle and killed 200 men and women on each side in order to get their attention. He then turned to them all and forced them to join together in holy matrimony— but the warrior version."
"I doubt the actions of some Klingon from centuries past could be of any relevance today," said Lieutenant Kaz, the science officer and a Gorn.
Kronen nodded solemnly. "Oh, but he does; if only we allow such lessons to ruminate with our actions in the now. Take this Ferasan mouse in my palm," he said, holding it up. "I shall deliver it to the High Council as my contribution to the Empire, and honor will be mine."
"Ew! Put that thing down!" cried the onscreen hail of an astonished Captain Zang from the I.K.S. Roku. "You feline beasts are the bane of the Klingon Empire!"
The Ferasan commanding officer bared his teeth. "Unlike your kind, I believe in the Empire. I will sacrifice to make it better."
"The House of Groth sacrifices all it can for the greater good! Who do you think helped put J'mpok into power?" said Zang. "That's right; we murdered sooooo many Klingons to get him there. Oh, the killing was good. I actually tasted the blood of my brethren from the counter-splash."
Kronen waved the topic away with his palm. "Forget your whole dishonor stuff. My job is to unite you with the House of Tochi in order to facilitate a better tomorrow."
"Like we would ever do any business with that fool's House!" came the pre-antagonized banter of Captain Nogoth of the I.K.S. Kleckogunam, now dropped out of warp and rendezvoused with them. "We were once like House Groth, pitiful and dishonorable, but we changed and learned to breed Pipius crabs, a delicacy served dead among the elite."
The Captain threw up his arms. "We didn't even ask you about that. Do not offer backstory or intriguing peeks into Klingon culture unprompted! As for the joining of your Houses, I am here to propose trade betwixt you both as so: House Tochi's Klingon octopus goods for House Groth's ship parts," offered Kronen. "You are both flying old starships, but the Klekogunam looks like it takes a walking cane into its warp fields."
"Though we would greatly benefit from an octopus supply, I would never allow any relations with the Fool Tochi House of Foolish Foolishness!" charged Zang.
Nogoth agreed. "That Groth House overuses the word 'fool' more than the average Klingon overuses the word 'fool'. He will pay, that fool!"
"You are both petaQ!" interjected Kronen in his best attempt at a Klingon accent. "Kahless once forged an entire army from the ancient villages of Qam-Chee, Tong Vey and Ketha Minor to fight against the armies of Molor. He waited for no bickering and made it so. In his vein, I will also make this so!" He nodded to his Ferasan tactical officer, Linng, who targeted weapons on both Klingon vessels.
Zang was taken aback, unprepared for the atrocious gesture. "What are you saying? You will destroy us if we don't agree to this trade??"
"Your aggressive behavior will never hold up with us, Kronen!" argued Nogoth.
Kronen nodded before a passionate declamation. "No, but perhaps the spirit of Kahless will. It is through me His legacy flows! I will take the lessons of the Unforgettable and be guided by His wisdom and gile!!"
"You... what?" blinked Zang.
Nogoth was also left with barely any words. "Kahless? But you're no Klingon??" he said, confused.
"Whoever heard of a Kzinti channeling Klingon honor?" Zang continued. "Wait. Is it Kzinti or Ferasan? I heard there was a naming convention?"
Kronen launched a payload of over-powered tractor emitters and locked both the K'Vort-class Roku and the Negh'Var warship Klekogunam in place via directed energy. He then dropped two Heavy Disruptor Satellite Turrets over them, armed, and targeted at each Klingon vessel.
"We don't talk about that," Kronen winced, suppressing his predator-like instincts. "Oh my; is your destruction looking quite tasty right about now."
Zang pointed. "Your species freaks me out, Kronen! It's well known that cannibalism is still rampant in your practices, and perhaps coveting other people's wives; I don't know. The idea you channel Kahless is an insult and a perversion!"
"Who's to say he hasn't?" Nogoth questioned. "What we perceive is only limited to our understanding of the Ferasans. It's not our fault we are so self-invested."
The House Groth Klingon gritted his teeth. "That is the direct line of reason for self-investing by the mechanism of logic itself! Those cooked pipius crabs are messing with your heads, House Tochi! Trade us those so we can rid you of them and enjoy them ourselves. It was Kahless that slew the Great Klingon Crab, after all, by cutting himself into its backside and out its mouth in slimy, profusely-gunky gore."
"Hah! I haven't heard that story since I was a small one. Give us a regular inventory on your ship parts and we have a deal," agreed Nogoth. "Kahless be with us!"
Zang raised his fist in passion before the tractor beams on both ships dropped and they both turned to warp out of there. "To Kahless!"
"So, how much of that was our doing?" Red asked, turning to the Captain with both problem-vessels now free of the view screen.
Kronen relaxed his tense feline muscles, having allowed his prey gone. "It was the power of Kahless, Commander, transcending us all. Well, at least the mission was a success, and my convictions validated by their ancestry."
"As my convictions are daily, as well," Red said of his work on menial tasks. "Well, perhaps I shall join you by your side after all, since it appears you complete greater, more social-conscious tasks on the management level, as it were. Qapla'!"
The Captain gave him a lost look at that last bit. "Are you okay? Perhaps you should use the much coveted Klingon powder room?"
"It means 'success'," an astonished Red continued, unable to believe his commanding officer ignorant of the most basic Empire phraseology.
Kronen then nodded in understanding. "Ah; never been one for success. I just do things based on historical research." And then, "Did you know Zephram Cochrane invented warp drive for the Humans? I want you to play Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf whenever we go to warp speed from now on."
"What?" Red said, confused.
Kronen slammed his fist on his chair. "You heard me! Dismissed!" And with that, he watched the Klingon slowly back out of the Bridge, now even more confused than ever.
Retaking the Test
Cadet Oroku Seifer - Starfleet Academy
Sometime before 2409: The Trill stood outside the simulator room with his teammates, as the Kobayashi Maru Simulator Test was being prepared.
"You think you even stand a chance with this?" Aeris deadpanned in Seifer's general direction.
Shrugging, Seifer replied, "I've just inherited the most daring Symbiont ever. It's fought the Borg, travelled through time, and fought countless holographic skeletons."
"Your previous host also left Leola Root Tart wrappers all over his ship, and caused a whole fleet of vessels to be caught in a giant molecular reversion field which turned everyone young again," Aeris added.
Pausing, before the opening doors, the Trill concluded, "Well, it's time to turn my luck around. I'm full of vigorous, new-bound, muscle-clenching energy and drive and it's that pure will and charm that'll catapult me into implausible success! I'll even be Captain sooner than some alternate universe Kirk would, I assume."
"Yeah!" Aeris high-fived him as they both entered with the group and took their stations at the Bridge of the holographic civilian freighter Kobayashi Maru.
Seifer stood at his Captain's chair proudly, opening a Leola Root Tart in pure confidence. "Computer! Begin scenario! Give me all that you've got!"
"Acknowledged," the computer replied activating the setting with displayed Klingon starships on the viewscreen only seconds before the entire simulation went dark. "Test failed. Please arrange to try again in four to six weeks."
The Cadet clutched his face in pure frustration. "Ugghh!! Noooo! The tart was supposed to be an apple! Everyone knows that??"
"Man, this test just keeps getting harder every year," commented Aeris.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #37: Prompt #1: The Bajoran wormhole has been displaying strange fluctuations of late. Your ship has been dispatched to DS9 to investigate. When you arrive, Captain Kurland informs you that a Mirror Vessel has recently come through the wormhole. The pilot of the vessel claims to be the Harbinger of the Great Destroyers of the Wormhole. Kurland explains that these Destroyers are actually the Mirror counterparts of the Wormhole Prophets and scans reveal that the Mirror Wormhole has been altered to lead into the Prime Universe. To make matters worse, it seems that the Destroyers are attempting to free themselves from the Wormhole into the Prime Universe. The only person who can help you end this threat is the Harbinger. Write a log detailing the interrogation of the Harbinger or how you managed to stop the Destroyers and end the Mirror threat.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #37
"Beware False Prophets"
The Birok-class I.K.S. Dragunov approached Deep Space 9 where Captain Kronen, a Klingon Defense Force officer and Ferasan, sat at his command chair. The screen clicked on to an external view.
"This is the Dragunov to that pathetic bicycle wheel with-six-curved-spikes-for-some-reason in space," opened Kronen. "We've responded to your distress signal and are heavily reluctant, as one would expect from our kind."
A static transmission broke through. "Kurland here. This is Kurland."
"Hmm. We're detecting a distortion from your communications systems being caused by the wormhole. Please repeat?"
The Captain on the other end tried again. "It's Kurland. Here is Kurland. Kurland here. Kurland here. Kurland here."
"Yeah, we're just going to check it out. No need to keep trying to exist," Kronen suggested before cutting the channel. "I'm not even sure if that was true about the wormhole; I just didn't want to interact with that guy."
Standing next to Kronen, Commander Red, a Klingon, monitored the ship's progress. "Nearing the wormhole now, Captain. It's fluctuating and it appears a Mirror Universe vessel is coming through!"
"This is the I.S.S. Dragunov and I am Kronen, the Harbinger of the Great Destroyers! Hyyyeeeeeee!" came the excited hail from another Birok-class heavy raptor as its Captain blinked on screen. "Oh, I am just soooo happy to meet you."
The Prime Universe Kronen was taken aback. "Ugh! Well, as an open-minded individual, I do not have a problem with your auspicious nature, but I must ask, what are the odds we would run into each other? Seems highly incidental?"
"Isn't that what life is all about, though? Events at random! Like how the Mirror Universe version of your Prophets, known here as the Great Destroyers, were able to have me divert our wormhole to your universe!"
Kronen looked confused for a second. "So, that means the Prime Gamma Quadrant is feeding into the Mirror Gamma Quadrant? That is abhorrently redundant."
"As I am the Emissary to them, also known as the Harbinger! Yeeeeee! I love it! Prepare for your universe to be destroyed! Hehe!"
Suddenly: The two Kronen's found themselves in a neutral plain of existence, resembling Operations on Deep Space 9.
---
Looking around, the Prime Kronen was then appalled by the Mirror Kronen.
"Bro!? Do you shave your arms? What the hell?" Prime Kronen asked, just noticing the devastation before him.
Mirror Kronen patted his muscular, hair-free biceps, out of his armless uniform. "How else could I show off these beauties? As a cat-like species, we Ferasans have far too much fur."
"It is the right amount of coiffure!" countered Prime Kronen.
Suddenly, a Prime Prophet approached from one side, and a Mirror Prophet approached from another.
"The state of things is not to be the state of things," claimed the Prime Prophet.
The Mirror Prophet nodded. "Indeed. As that statement pertains to us: We seek to be free of the Celestial Temple, referred to as the Elysian Gates of Astral Reaches, to a linear place of existence."
"Seriously? Just keep the same names for things! You're trying way too hard," claimed the Prime Kronen. "Also, as a contender of my universe, I am obligated to protect it from you, for some reason. I don't know. I was mostly hoping to consume targ wraps for lunch today."
Mirror Kronen shrugged. "But why deny them? Who is to say having us here is bad for you or anyone in any way? And, of the countless entities and cross-dimensional beings in space, how are the Mirror Prophets any less or have any noticeable crowding to the vast, infinite realm of your Prime Universe?"
"The squeaky, hairless Kzinti— that is, Ferasan— is correct," the Prime Prophet said. "He is truly an Emissary of revelatory nature, unlike our The Sisko who sat around for seven years before doing anything significant."
To that, the Mirror Prophet squinted, suddenly realizing where he/she was. "By the loathsome dirt-mongering, scatter-brained Bajorans we all know and hate! You have brought us to the wrong universe??"
"Yes! By use of the newly retrieved Orb of Possibilities," claimed Mirror Kronen. "Don't you see? It's all sunshine and lollipops here! Their Picard isn't a blood-thirsty war-dealer who drinks black coffee, and their Spock isn't a centuries-long sociopath who manipulates political power by sitting around raising one eye brow at a time! Hehehehe!"
The Mirror Prophet grabbed Mirror Kronen by the throat. "You are the most fail-bound Emissary of the many hundreds we have employed thus far. Linear realms such as this are much like your Klingon-grade rubber pants: The wrong ones do not fit and cause impenetrable uncomfort!"
Prime Kronen and the Prime Prophet watched in shock, as the Mirror Prophet turned to address them.
"Please, accept our apologies for the intrusion," the Mirror Prophet continued. "We will deal with our Kronen by putting him in charge of some filthy Bajorans. Ugh. We hate them so much with their constant losing and their insistence of relevance. Anyway, Mirror Prophets out!"
When they disappeared, Prime Kronen and the Prime Prophet glanced at each other.
"Well, that was awkward. I guess not all space-time aliens are alike; a lesson only learned through these rare encounters," Prime Kronen observed. "So, is Sisko still around? Do you need a new Emissary or anything?"
The Prime Prophet bowed slightly and unconvincingly. "Not at this time. But we'll call you if that changes." And then, diverting for a quick cut-off: "Such a thing probably won't ever change."
---
Seconds later, Kronen found himself back on his Bridge, with the other ship disappeared.
"Sir, you went completely blank there for a while," explained Red. "We took the opportunity to discuss politics with each other while you were comatose. We all agree the Federation is colluding with the Romulans."
Kronen blinked to get his visual focus back. "You know that talk always triggers me! Anyway, it would seem certain attributes are required, even for Mirror Emissaries. Perhaps I should try them next?"
"Agreed. Shall we report our findings to the pregnant Captain Kurland?"
The Ferasan jumped back in his seat in utter disgust. "NO! No, please no. We will just send them a text message, but only after we're gone and out of communications range. Both those Prophets took his form and I was puking internally the whole time. Set course and engage!"
"Aye, Captain," Red acknowledged, before taking out a PADD and using his thumbs to type on its screen. The Dragunov then turned in space and jumped to warp.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #38: Prompt #1: Your ship receives a distress call from a distant colony that is under attack, but for reasons arrives hours or even days late. They called for you, they trusted you to come, and you got there too late. Everyone is dead. How does this affect your crew, your Captain? what will you do now, what will your report say, and how will this impact your captain's relationship with their respective high command?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #38
"Only Ashes Remain"
The Bortasqu'-class I.K.S. Masamune rotated around in space, to take aim at its vicious opponent: a Kolasi-class destroyer commanded by a Nausicaan named Tog.
"Your reign of terror ends here, Tog," declared Captain Deloss, the Gorn and Klingon Defense Force commander of the Masamune.
Tog appeared on-screen in response. "The only terror I wish to convey is to the likes of you, Gorn! The Klingon Empire will see that we Nausicaans are the superior race, and will award us thusly!"
"Like, what do you even think they'd do for you? Trophies? Table seating preferences at the fleet parties?" Deloss interjected, genuinely perplexed.
Captain Tog sputtered, unsure himself. "Shut up! The point is, Gorn are weak! Except for that rock-throwing thing! That is actually quite impressive." He disconnected and continued firing upon the Masamune.
"Sir, we're also getting a priority distress call from the planet Raatooras," reported Liss from operations. "Apparently it's under a global threat and risks destruction."
Deloss was taken aback. "That conquered monstrosity? I'm pretty sure Captain Sigon maintains them under his jurisdiction. Forward him the signal and we'll follow up as soon as we can." He watched as Liss nodded. "We, on the other hand, have to make a stand for humanoid-reptile-kind! Not the other kinds, though."
---
Meanwhile, the Kurak-class I.K.S. Baetal sat in orbit of Earth while Captain Sigon and his crew celebrated as guests within 602 Club at Starfleet Academy.
"You, you are the Klingon!" shouted a very drunk Lieutenant Commander Gozer as he put his arm around a deadpanning Sigon. "Am I right? Your wrinkled forehead isss like no other!"
Sigon released himself to visit more of his wasted crew. He was the only one sober. "Why did I quit drinking?" he questioned himself before recalling the reason. "Oh, right. All the dishonor I wrought."
"Don't forget," came Chief Engineer Poroka, who also put her arm around him. "You are the designated driver to get us all home! Also, you have such an attractive nose. There, I said it! Ha! Being on this weakling planet brings out the strangest parts of us!"
He released himself from her, as well, as a communiqué over-air rung through. "Battlecruiser Baetal to Captain Sigon. This is Tenogh. We're getting a distress signal being relayed about Raatooras under threat. I believe a malevolent entity is attempting to annihilate its occupants."
"Ugh! You know, you couldn't have picked a worse time," Sigon flung his arms. "The crew is completely tossed. How are you?"
Tenogh replied, "I had a glass of Blood Merlot before my shift. It was paired with Cheese Targ."
"How is everyone on my crew alcoholics? Is it the constant wars we have with pretty much everyone?? Never mind. Send it to Captain Kronen, and we will catch up. He's been all over recent events anyway, almost like it was his turn or something."
---
The Birok-class I.K.S. Dragunov sat, landed, on the planet Takar in the Delta Quadrant, where Captain Kronen, a Klingon Defense Force officer and Ferasan, stood before a crowd of Takarians at the ramp to his ship.
"Fellow humanoids," opened Kronen, "I am neither your Holy Sage, nor your Holy Dissident. Perhaps I'm a third thing, though? A Holy Master or Prophet of some kind? Don't hold back your suggestions."
Commander Red gave him a disapproving look. "You know, we could just go?"
"And leave these poor, helpless worshippers to no priest or cleric of some kind? We have a responsibility!" he declared, seconds before his first officer's PADD rang off a notification beep.
Red checked his device. "Captain, it appears the Jenolan Dyson Sphere has relayed a distress transmission from a planet back home. Apparently, a real Great Sage has taken possession."
"Like, the real gods from this world?? Whoa! We have to check it out— I mean, help its inhabitants and what not. Unfortunately, getting there will take some time, considering how far out we actually are."
The Klingon looked at him again. "I told you this Quadrant was a Quadrant of misfortune and complete absurdity."
"You said it passively, so it doesn't count!" countered Kronen. "Let's go. I'm just disappointed I will miss the fire-log thing they do. Oh, to be a figurehead of any kind."
The two ran back up the platform, retracted it, and lifted the Dragunov back up into the atmosphere. Several Takarians dropped their fire logs in grief and sadness of their departure.
---
Later— much, much later— the Dragunov dropped warp at the planet Raatooras where they received the deity-hail of the Sage that had taken over the planet below.
"This is the Great Sage, merged with the form of the Arin'Sen known as Hemly," came a visual on the view screen from the planet below. "This planet has been cleansed."
Kronen threw his hands up. "Damn! You couldn't have waited for us? We had to reroute through a Dyson Sphere. You know how many Ferengi salesmen are in that thing now? Those back-hunchers infect anywhere there's a connecting port."
"We're late, aren't we?" came the hail from Captain Deloss as the Masamune dropped warp. "I put Gorn pride first and you Captains couldn't follow through for me? Well, it's not surprising since I once had Kagran hold a sandwich to which he then sent off to war."
Then the Baetal arrived with Captain Sigon. "Noooooo! We had so many memories conquering this world every year!" he cried. "Like the time we did whilst dressed in Fair Haven attire."
"None of us are looking good right now," argued Kronen.
The Arin'Sen entity gaped. "Such a dysfunctional team. You must now deal with the consequences of your inaction! This is Sage advice: a natural expository of my kind, despite all disaster being caused by a Sage; me, to be specific," it declared. "Now, I must find the rest of my Sages to brag about what I've done! Sage out!" He then disappeared in a flash of energy, leaving the three Captains to their barren world.
"Well, it's not like the Empire really cared for this place," Kronen suggested. "And I got to meet another god, so there's that."
Deloss chimed in. "How about this? We pretended this never happened."
"I like it. Subtle. Simple. Easy to not-remember," answered Sigon. "Like the time you and I forgot about our fight with the Devidians."
The Gorn erupted. "You know that's not how forgetting works! We have to purge the Klingon Empire database of this world, and possibly the Federation one too."
"Very well, gentlemen," Kronen continued. "We work to erase any notion of Raatooras, even if it means editing it out of Memory Alpha, that pretentious, well-informed databank maintained, remotely, by basement-dwelling 30-something year olds living with their mothers. That'll be Sigon's job. Good luck!"
The two other Captains agreed and disconnected. There would be much work to be done to protect each of their secret shames forever. Secrets they would take to their graves.
Unofficial Literary Challenge #39: Prompt #2: A shipboard romance goes wrong. Seriously wrong, and now you have two important, even critical, members of your staff ready to kill each other, even to the point of risking the ship. You can't get back to starbase, and you can't let this nonsense continue. How do you deal with it when Love turns to Hate?
Unofficial Literary Challenge #39
"Even Roses Smell Like..."
The Birok-class I.K.S. Dragunov blew two orbital defense satellites to pieces, over the small colony city of Hokan that was domed on a rogue asteroid in space.
"Ha! We have effectively forced our hand upon these weaklings," celebrated Captain Kronen, a Ferasan and the Klingon Defense Force commanding officer of the ship, on the Bridge. "As is the way of our kind."
Linng, the Tactical Officer and a female Ferasan, nodded. "Conquering people is much easier than negotiating peace. I simply do not understand what the Federation's obsession is with first contact dinner parties?"
"They get to make Data-like small talk," offered Norren, the Chief Engineer and another male Ferasan. "It was cute at first, but now it's borderline Android-appropriation."
Kronen immediately took notice of the two and sat up at them. "Whoa, whoa! You know we don't have very many of our kind in this Klingon/Gorn-infested fleet, let alone this ship, so why don't the two of you go out on a date together? Huh?"
"Captain," interrupted Red, a Klingon and the First Officer. "You can't influence the personal lives of your subordinates? It's unprofessional."
Waving it away, Kronen replied, "Oh, please. Just by being on a ship that could be infested with slime-quenching Bluegill at any moment is a secession of life-based personal legacy to begin with."
"We don't mind, Captain," said Linng, in support.
Norren agreed. "Anything to give the continuation of our species a chance, as well as maintaining a well-oiled command-obey structure on the ship feeds into our obsessive compulsive disorders."
"You could also click a pen a hundred times!" Red called out to them by way of suggestion as the two Ferasans were already walking off the Bridge together.
Kronen looked at Red. "Hope you like loud cat noises above your quarters."
---
The next day, Kronen and Red were aboard the domed colony of Hokan, shooting down stray Kentari rebels with disruptor rifles.
"Ah; just took out two civilians with one blow," Kronen said. "Curious. Are we having too much fun? Is that a thing?"
Red rolled his eyes. "The only 'too much' of anything we've got going on here is your forced-influence on your crew."
"You mean Linng and Norren? Oh, they're having the time of their lives, at the expense of my match-making abilities, which akins one to a god if you think about it."
Just then, both officers in question beamed in, right as expected for the mission, and began assisting in taking over the dome. Only, this time, they appeared to be vexed with each other. "Hope you like your blood all over the carpets, Captain," Linng said, aggressively channeling a separate discourse with Norren, as she began shooting her pistol at Kentari.
"Whoa, whoa? I thought you two were a couple now? I even had the wedding cake toppers dipped in Armus oil and Tribble fur?" Kronen asked, visibly saddened.
Norren engineered an explosive device and set it to go off upon enemy triggering. "That was before I learned Linng hates water. I mean, water? Aquatic-Xindi used to mate in that."
"Well, at least I don't get confused about my own tail!" countered Linng, holding her aim at the sudden appearance of a Lukari. Turning back to Norren, she continued, "It's a part of your body and not a Caitian plotting its revenge against our race for that time we kicked them off our homeworld."
The Engineer pointed at her. "You don't know that!"
"Wait. Were Lukari and Kentari living together in peace here?" Red asked, confused.
Kronen pushed him aside. "No time for irrelevant non-canon, Commander. It's clear these two Ferasans require more intervention from their aggressive-feline Captain: me." He then addressed the star-crossed-haters. "When Bashir and Ezri were trapped on that archaic Deep Space 9 lift, they realized they loved each other and were trading Human saliva with Trill Symbiont protoplasm upon immediate reach of main floor Operations-place. Hense, if we leave you two here, on this random hijacked asteroid, in isolation, you'll attain similarly liquid-trading reciprocation for the benefit of all! Whichever liquids you choose."
"Are you equating them to the romantic-Typhoid-Mary of T'Pol and Charles Tucker the Third?" Red asked, reclaiming a new standing location. "And, should we not cease the conquering of this rock considering the implications of these two races being here at once?"
The Captain clenched his cat-like claws. "They're more than the forced-failure of those pre-Federation Human/Vulcan gawkers! I'd equate them to closer to the likes of Kirk and Edith Keeler, but without the Human traffic faux pas."
"We get it, sir," offered Norren as he retracted his pointing finger, redirecting it to his remote control device after a Lukari tampered with his explosive. "You're saying that our plight supersedes the threat of an uncompleted predestination paradox."
Linng shot a Kentari attempting to save the Lukari about to be blown up. "Yeah, if conforming to your orders will make me forget this hairball-a-thon Engineer, then I do so willingly and with related hacking coughs."
"Then it is settled!" declared Kronen. "Captain to Dragunov, two to beam up, and don't spare the weird molecule phasing effect or any Klingon versions of those quasi-energy microbes."
---
Later, Linng and Norren beamed back to the ship, each side accompanied by a group of Hokan rebels: Linng with the Lukari and Norren with Kentari, both entering the Bridge from opposite sides.
"Sir, we've reignited the old division between these two peoples, as well as devoted our Ferasan lives to killing the other lover," Linng said, pointing a disruptor at Norren, with a renewed sense of discourse. "I refuse to put up with an apologist."
The Chief Engineer nodded, reciprocating and holding up his control device, ready to execute it. "Same. I do not like how she looks like a female version of me."
"What??" replied Kronen. "But I commanded you, twice? Well, this certainly cannot be a result of my tampering as a way to feed my ego. Perhaps, from now on, there should be only no-same-species match-ups on this ship? It's 'alien' or you spend the night alone!"
Red did a double-take. "Sir, that's an even worse form of meddling. We might as well tell the crew what to think and say from now on?"
"I like your initiative!" Kronen said, impressed as he stood up. "I want some kind of 'how to live' bible on my desk in four hours." He then addressed the rest of his Bridge crew in reference to the two warring groups. "Oh, and who are these people? They seem to have come out of nowhere? Strange?" And then he left the room.