Literary Challenge #40 : Redux

pwebranflakes · March 2013

Hello and welcome to another edition of our writers' challenges! :cool:

Today we start the two-week run of the fortieth Literary Challenge: Redux

Over the past couple of years, we've had some awesome Literary Challenges. As of late, more and more have been participating, and I've been reciving requests if authors could write an entry for a past challenge.

For the next two weeks, feel free to write an entry for one of the past Literary Challenges -- a complete list of previous topics can be found here. IMPORTANT: Please post your entry to this thread, rather than the old challenge thread, and include the title of the past literary challenge at the top of your post. Have fun!

This is the writer's thread -- only entries should be made here.
The Discussion Thread can be found HERE.
We also have an Index of previous challenges HERE.

The rules may change from one challenge to another, but I'd like to remind everyone what the base rules are. These may grow as we move on, so also feel free to give feedback!

Each Challenge will run for two weeks. For 2 weeks we will sticky the challenge and let you make your entry.
There are no right or wrong entry.
The background story, questions I ask, and format requested are only to serve as a platform that you can start your writing from. Feel free to change up the back-story or the way you deliver, as long as the entry stays on topic of the original challenge.
Write as little or as much as you would like.
Please keep discussion about the entries in the appropriate Discussion Thread.
In the Discussion Thread, feel free to write what inspired you and what your thoughts on the topic are.
A few other important reminders:
- Please heed the rest of the forum's rules when submitting your entry! All of them apply to these posts.
- Each poster can have one entry. Feel free to edit your post to fix typos or add/ remove content as you see fit during the next two weeks.
- After two weeks time, the thread will be locked and unstickied, as we move on to the next challenge.
- We'll have two threads: One to post the entries in and one to discuss the entries. **Cross-linking between these two threads is acceptable for these challenges ONLY!!**

cmdrscarlet · March 2013

Literary Challenge #1 - Prized Possessions

The two Captains entered the room and the doors closed silently behind them. The Captain of the ship motioned to a seat in front of her desk and the other quietly moved from the doorway. She watched as the man sat down and then absentmindedly sat in the other chair in front of her desk. The Deltan watched her and smirked slightly.

“So, this is the Solaris,” the man said to break the silence. “She is a fine ship indeed.”

Kathryn Beringer looked away and forced herself to watch the fish swimming in the fish tank. “Yes, he is. Speak of which, I want to thank you again for your handling Captain Tammuz in Club 47. I know it’s been several weeks since that incident but you really didn’t have to do that. I can take care of myself.”

Captain Daikar raised an eyebrow when Kathryn used the male gender to refer to the starship. “Well, like I said then, Tammuz is a brute and a bully. It was not his place to accuse you of stealing this ship because no one owns any ship in the fleet. You were assigned to Solaris and it was that simple. Besides, if I had not interfered, I doubt I would be sitting here right now.”

Kathryn blushed slightly. “Indeed. Well I felt the need to offer my thanks again.” She looked from the fish tank back to Daikar. His bald head framed the hard features of his face. Ocean-blue eyes were stern yet inviting and his cheeks seemed to pull his full lips into a perpetually congenial smile. The strong jawline finalized a commanding presence his muscular frame exuded. Kathryn struggled slightly against Daikar’s charm. She turned toward the bar in the back of the room and realized she was not sitting behind her desk and rushed to say something to continue conversation. “May I offer you a drink?”

For his part, Daikar was patient. “Yes, actually. I’d like an Earth Scotch if possible.”

Kathryn stood and walked to the replicator. She enjoyed Scotch as well and replicated the drinks. Turning, she was surprised to see Daikar had walked to the other side of the room and was inspecting something against the wall. She recognized the item of his curiosity and met him. Daikar accepted the drink, took a sip then pointed to the object encased in glass.

“What is that in the case?”

After a sip, Kathryn licked her lips and nodded. “It’s a scrap of carpet from the floor to the aft shuttle bay of Galatea, an Exeter class and my previous command.”

Daikar raised his eye bows and took another sip to hide his surprised at the answer. “That must have an interesting story.”

Kathryn shrugged imperceptibly, turned and walked toward the edge of her desk. Leaning on it, she raised the cup to her lips and spoke without drinking. “The Galatea was shot apart by Klingons.” Daikar looked over his shoulder to her as if asking for more detail. . After a slight pause, she continued with a far-away glance as she recalled the entire moment. “Nothing exciting: we were pinched between two Bortasqu’ looking for easy prey and got battered on the run. After limping back to ESD, Quinn personally handed me the scrapyard papers.” She took a gulp from her cup and looked into the fluid that remained. “I loved that ship with a passion.”

Daikar looked back at the token and nodded. “That’s a shame.” He sipped from his cup. “So how did this end up as a souvenir?” He walked back to his chair as Kathryn spoke.

“I was the last crew member off Galatea and by the time I reached the door to the shuttle bay I realized I had nothing but memories … I had to take something I could hold. Ironically, I needed to own something from the ship. So I cut that chunk out, walked into the shuttle and waited on Space Dock for a new command.” She spread her arms out as if to show off the entire ship and smiled.

Daikar returned the smile, stood and raised his glass to toast. “Well then, here’s to our ships, may they carry us across the galaxy and back safely.”

jonsills · March 2013

Literary Challenge #39 - Lone Drone

The Final Voyage of the Hybrid

Her official designation was USS Hypatia, NCC-95784. To her crew, and her detractors, though, she was the Hybrid, built from whatever ship parts were available after the Battle of Vega. Her hull came from a Miranda-class light cruiser; she also carried the overarching strut and torpedo launcher of a ShiKahr-class, and the wide-spread winglike pylons and warp nacelles of a Centaur. It was an odd assemblage, compared by more than one engineer to a pile of spare parts flying in close formation, and existed only because Starfleet Command wanted their intact ships to be available for front-line assignments. They kept trying to send her on milk runs; somehow, however, she seemed cursed to fly through interesting times.

So far, though, this mission seemed to be exactly the sort Command had intended. She had just rendezvoused with a cruiser from Task Force Omega, and transferred over a number of eager young officers needed to fill slots which had opened on the task force's ships. The young men and women and others were quite visibly happy to leave the confines of the shoddy little vessel that had brought them to the Gamma Orionis sector. And the ship's commander, Grunt, was honestly just as happy to see them leave. He'd had it to the top of his Ferengi ears with snide comments about the conditions aboard the Hybrid - Hypatia, he corrected himself wryly - and he was eager to make headway back out to Sirius Sector, and the relative safety there. Obviously it wasn't entirely safe; that's hard to ensure, when the enemy can change shape and use transwarp drive, as had been driven home with the supposed Vulcan ambassador at P'jem. On the other hand, the Undine weren't thick as gree-worms on a fresh corpse, and usually weren't actively hunting you. The same couldn't be said for the Borg here.

In his command chair, Grunt stretched. "Are they all gone?" he asked.

"Aye, sir," his Klingon science officer, Roclak, replied.

"Good. Not a moment too soon. Mr. Gydap, best speed back home, please."

"Course laid in," the Andorian at helm replied. "Executing at warp factor seven."

"Seven?"

"Vovenek's been worried about the intermix matrix, sir. He's asked us to keep it down to seven or less unless it's an emergency."

"Ah," Grunt replied. "Yes, it would be unfortunate if our poor ship were to suddenly explode without even having the courtesy of being shot first. By all means, warp 7 it is."

The ship hummed loudly as the warp drive activated - then began to groan and shudder as the streaks of light on the viewscreen dopplered back down into stars.

"What? What just happened?" Grunt demanded.

"It's not going," a voice crackled over the intercom.

"How very droll, Mr. Vovenek. Can you be at all precise?"

"The warp drive cut out when the coordinator went down, sir," Vovenek replied. "It'll take me a few minutes to track down the issue and get the intermix chamber warmed up again. Then I can make it go."

Grunt frowned. His Pakled engineer enjoyed mocking the common perception of his people, but Grunt saw little profit in joking at a moment like this. "Make it quick," he snapped. "I don't like hanging defenseless in Borg space."

"Well, technically we're still in Federation space, because the Borg come from--"

"Not now, Mr. Vovenek!"

"Aye, sir," the Pakled replied after a moment. "I'm on it."

"Sir," Roclak said from his station, "I'm picking up some odd readings nearby. Looks like metallic debris, probably Borg - but there seems to be a life sign as well. Not human, or any other humanoid I'm familiar with. It could be a Borg drone."

"Borg drone. Really." Grunt's mood lightened. "This mission might be profitable after all. Do we have a brig cell with a suitable force field?"

"Are you intending to bring that - thing - on board? Sir?"

"22nd Rule of Acquisition, my friend," Grunt grinned. "'A wise man can hear profit on the wind.' If we bring back a live drone to liberate, that will get us a commendation from Command. If we have to kill it, there'll still be some information to extract, which is bound to please somebody."

"And Rule 33," the Klingon rumbled. "'It never hurts to suck up to the boss.'"

"So, you have been reading the Rules of Acquisition I gave you!"

"Rule 194. Also the writings of Kahless, and the human philosopher Sun Tzu. Know your opponent."

Grunt chuckled. "We'll make a Ferengi of you yet, my boy!"

"Fek'lhr spare me," Roclak growled. "If you insist on bringing that thing aboard, we have a transporter lock on its signal. I have a squad standing by in the brig."

"Excellent. Beam it in, and we'll go have a look at our prize. Mr. Gydap, you have the conn. Please ask Ms. Shelana to join us in the brig, along with a few of her bright young men."

"Aye, sir. I have the conn," Gydap repeated, his antennae twitching.

Grunt and Roclak entered the brig to find Lt. Shelana, the Andorian security chief, waiting outside the largest cell, accompanied by two large humans and a Vulcan, all in Security uniforms. Inside the cell, a humanoid form stood, covered in bits of metal and tubing. The three-pronged claw at the end of its right arm spun and clacked idly.

Grunt walked up to the wall. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Grunt, captain of the Hypatia. Do you have a name?"

"Names are irrelevant," the Borg - well - droned. "You are Ferengi, species 180. Klingon, species 5008. Andorian, species 3424. Human, species 5618. Vulcan, species 3259. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to the Collective."

"About that," Grunt interrupted. "We don't particularly want to be assimilated, and you're not in contact with the Collective right now. Are you?"

"Desire is irrelevant. Contact is unnecessary. This unit is capable of assimilating all species present, and bringing the grouping to the Collective. You will adapt to service us."

"And if we refuse?"

The Borg raised its mechanical arm - and the claw slipped through the cell's force-field door as if it were merely pretty lights. "Refusal is irrelevant."

The security guards immediately opened fire. Phaser beams flashed along the Borg's surface, beginning to penetrate its plating - when its own deflector fields sprang up. The beams, reflected away, began chewing channels into the ceiling and walls of the room before the guards could stop. The clawed arm then moved more quickly than the eye could follow, tearing the Vulcan's own arm completely off. The Vulcan collapsed, spurting green.

"Um, yes," Grunt said. "Gentlemen? Shall we adjourn?"

"Adjourn?" Shelana asked.

"That means RUN AWAY!" Grunt shouted, suiting words to action. Behind him, he could hear the others pounding along. Shelana paused when her surviving men had cleared the door, then welded it shut with a plasma pistol.

"That should hold it for a few minutes," she said. Almost immediately, the door began to bulge as the Borg attempted to force it open.

"Computer!" Grunt shouted as he ran. "Activate emergency force fields, rotating shield frequencies! Authorization Grunt seven alpha delta omega three one two!"

"Unable to comply," the computer responded primly. "Force-field projectors on deck seven are offline."

Grunt swore. "Okay, let's get to the lift and blow the deck! Let the TRIBBLE try breathing vacuum!"

The survivors piled into the turbolift. As the door closed behind them, Grunt barked, "Bridge! And emergency evacuation of deck seven!"

The turbolift hummed into motion. "Unable to evacuate deck seven," the computer said. "Detonation systems are offline."

"What the hell IS online??" Grunt screamed.

"Clarification requested. Would you like a complete shipwide diagnostic?"

Grunt groaned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that last command."

"Never mind!" Grunt shouted. "Take us to the armory!"

"Deck three," the computer responded.

Grunt tapped his commbadge. "Grunt to bridge!"

"Gydap here."

"Lieutenant, the Borg has escaped custody, and the emergency force fields aren't working! Put us on Red Alert, and dispatch security teams equipped for a Borg!"

"Right away, sir!" The alarm klaxon began screaming, as status lights changed from green to red. "Bridge to all security teams. There is a Borg drone on deck 7. Set phasers to random frequency rotation, full power. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!"

At that moment, the klaxon went silent, the lights went out, and the turbolift shuddered to a halt.

"It's tapped the power systems, sir," Roclek said unnecessarily. "The Hybrid's been compromised."

"She was built compromised," Grunt snapped. "But she's mine, and I'm not letting some damned Borg take her to the Collective to be scrapped all over again! Get us out of this thing, and head for the hangar deck!" He tapped his commbadge again. "Grunt to all hands! All hands, abandon ship! Repeat, abandon ship! We're going to scuttle!"

"Scuttle, sir?" Shelana asked. "How can you scuttle the ship when there's no power to run the computer?"

Grunt grinned savagely. "The problem with the Hybrid, my dear, has always been more a matter of keeping her from blowing up. That's why we were stuck here in the first place. There's a few wires behind a panel near the shuttle bay that just need to be crossed, and the antimatter containment field will run out of reserve power almost instantly. And when that happens..."

"When that happens," Roclak growled, "I'd like to be at least a parsec away. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here." The Klingon's shoulders bulged as he forced the doors open, revealing the corridors of deck 3 almost level with the lift. "Well, that much is going right, anyway," he remarked.

The group ran toward the armory. After equipping themselves with a fair array of weapons, they headed for the Jeffries tubes. Four decks below, and seventeen bulkheads aft, they emerged from the cramped tunnels, all but Roclak puffing from the exertion.

"This way to the shuttles," he said, pointing.

"Profits, Rock, let us at least catch our breath!" Grunt said.

Roclak bowed. "Of course, sir," he said sarcastically. "I'll just go ahead and prep your shuttle. Be sure to say hello to the Borg for me when it arrives!"

"What (gasp) makes you think (gasp) it can find us?" Grunt demanded.

As if in answer, the corridor lit a sickly green, as unfamiliar characters swirled on a nearby panel.

"That does, sir."

"Yes, it would seem that way. Okay, everyone, rest break is over! Let's move!"

As the group entered the bay, a young ensign called to them from the one remaining shuttle. "Captain! Over here! She's ready to move, but I don't know how much longer the bay doors will answer!"

The group ran for the shuttle. Grunt paused. "Okay, everybody, get on board," he called out. "I'll be right there!" He ran back toward the corridor, where he pried loose a wall panel, and felt around inside. Finding the connection Vovenek had jury-rigged the previous month, Grunt twisted the wires loose, then twined two of them about each other. That ought to do it, he thought, and ran for the shuttle.

"Hurry, sir!" the ensign called out.

The shuttle door closed behind Grunt, and the tiny ship lifted clear of the floor. The bay doors opened, then hesitated and began to slide shut again. The ensign gunned the thrusters, and the shuttle slid through the opening just in time.

"Move her out!" Grunt ordered. "Best speed!"

The shuttle's thrusters fired, as behind her the warp core began to erupt, spraying plasma into space. Abruptly, the entire ship shook, then exploded into a fiery cloud.

"Did everyone make it?" Grunt demanded anxiously.

"Sensors indicate 97% of the ship's personnel made it into various shuttles and escape pods," Roclek replied, hands sliding over the sensor controls. "All of those made it beyond the two-kilometer safe zone - some of them might be a little shook up, and of course, anti-radiation meds all around, but assuming we get picked up inside the next three hours, everything should be all right."

"Very good, my friend. Very good indeed!"

"Good?" the Klingon asked unbelievingly. "You call this 'good'? And what 'profit' are you hearing on the wind now, o wise one?"

"Simple, Rock. The Hypatia was lost to enemy action, while clearly in a situation that was way over our heads and therefore not our fault. And she can't be fixed, not from this - they'll have to give us a new ship! And it has to be a step up from the Hybrid..."

Three Weeks Later

"You asked to see me, Admiral?" Grunt said hesitantly, as he entered Fleet Admiral Quinn's office at Earth Stardock.

"Ah, Mr. Grunt! Come in, please." The Admiral gestured toward a seat before his desk. "Don't worry, the court of inquiry cleared you and your men. You were clearly acting in accordance with Starfleet directives when you tried to capture a Borg, and if your ship's systems had been up to snuff, all would probably have gone much better. In fact, we were even able to keep your command crew together for your new assignment!"

As the shuttle entered the dockyards, Grunt peered ahead eagerly, anxious to see his new command. A cruiser! The USS Bastogne! Grunt had never heard the ship's name before, but he wanted badly to step aboard her...

"There she is, sir," Vovenek said from his position in the pilot's seat. He pointed.

Grunt looked. Then he sagged into his chair. Ahead of them, directly where the Pakled's finger pointed, there floated a ship. Saucer above, angled neck connecting to the oblong engineering hull, twin nacelles sweeping upward - and the entire ship sporting at least three separate paint jobs, in addition to the gleam of bare metal where hull patches had yet to be painted.

"The Bastogne," Vovenek said. "Twenty years past her retirement date, but Starfleet can't afford to go scrapping ships just because they're obsolete. They say she's been repaired so many times that none of her original parts remain." He paused, then smiled wickedly at his commander. "Word around the dockyard is that she's properly called the TRIBBLE..."

"Why me?" the Ferengi groaned. "Why is it always me?"

designationxr377 · March 2013

Literary Challenge #6 - "Not THAT guy ..."

Broccoli Did It

The Captain rubbed his forehead indignantly as he listened to the female voice, that normally belonged to a young lathe woman, come out of the mouth of a two meter tall Cardassian.
"I-I really didn't mean for this to happen, Sir."

"I have no doubt," the Captain shifted his weight, "but that doesn't change that it did happen."

"B-but I had the best intentions!" the voice meekly retorted as the large Cardassian began to unconsciously fiddle with his hair. The dumbfounded superior officer stretched his neck in an attempt to avoid letting his amusement show.

"You see, if I was following 'the Good Captain's Guidebook' right now is where I would make some kind of allegory about the road to hell and what it is paved with. However, I'm more interested in finding out just exactly why my bridge appears to be staffed by clones of the same three officers."

"It's not only those officers!" the voice announced with a slight edge of pride.

"So I've been told..."

"And it's not always three!" it added hopefully.

The Captain again sighed, leaned forwards, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Specialist Barclay, would you please just explain to me how this happened."

Amanda Barclay gave a bit of a nervous chuckle and shifted in her seat; therefore the Holographic image of Bridge Officer Gurren Torrok that was being displayed over her body did so as well.

"Y-you see... You know how there have been great strides in Photonic research as of late Captain?"

He nodded. Slowly.

"W-well, since holoemitters are now standard on the bridges of all Federation vessels there is a movement in the photonics field to attempt an emergency holographic officer system for operations. Like the standard EMH but for members of the bridge staff; in case the bridge is suddenly depressurized or is filled with a rapid acting nuerotoxin or the entire officer crew simultaneously develop a case of p-"

"I get the point, Specialist," the Captain interjected, while noting that the more excited her tone of voice the less stutter she gave.

"Yeah, well, it-t uh. It's been a private project of mine and I recently thought I had a breakthrough. So when I was doing the recalibration of the bridge holoemitters I kind'a... a-also... took the opportunity to test my preliminary program."

"Without notifying any of the senior staff or your supervising officer?"

"I u-uh, didn't want to bother them," the Cardassian face smiled nervously.

"So I'm guessing what happened isn't exactly what you had in mind for your test."

"No! Of course not! Changing the images of officers aboard the bridge was far from my original intention! I mean, what point is that? I was trying to formulate a way for programs to actively display and function on the bridge and even then I was only working on the Photonic aspect! The programing for the-"

"Specialist, focus."

"Oh! O-oh right. Sorry S-sir. W-where was I again?"

"You were about to explain to me what exactly your programing to the Holoemitters was intended to do."

"Oh, of course. Well... It was only supposed to test the emitter system using recorded images of the Bridge Officers and test if they would display in various locations around the bridge. But... it kind'a got away from me. I don't know why but instead it's-s merely displaying a few of the collected images over top of any officer that enters the bridge. W-with the exception of the Captain of course! I never even considered registering Captains into the system. I mean, if the captain was incapacitated to the point that an EH would be needed you'd expect the bridge staff to-" Catching the weary look of the Captain her tone slowed and returned to topic. "L-like I said Sir. I was simply trying to test the emitter system when the program began displaying the wrong images and rejecting my input. I don't know why but the program is now deeply engrained into the bridge systems. That wasn't something I programed."

The Captain, who by this time had risen to his feet and began pacing through his ready-room, recalled something, "Specialist Barclay, you mentioned a breakthrough you had."

"Right well it's pretty exciting! You see tha-"

"JUS-" He stopped and composed himself, "Err... Just the specifics if you please."

"O-of course, Captain. O-one of the biggest problems I had been dealing with getting a way for the small scale bridge emitters to process the advanced programing required fast enough to be effective. I f-found a new algorithm to use and I thought it would solve the problem. It obviously did though so it's a big succe-"

"Where, exactly, did you find this 'new algorithm' Specialist?"

"We-w-well," the image of the Cardassian began to look around the room as if for an escape, "Y-you know how w-we found that I-i-iconian ruin during the ship's last voyage in the Eridian Belt?" The Captain's breathing stopped and he stood like a statue in mid stride. "I took a look at some of th-the programs we c-collected from the data cache' recovered for inspiration," she said before coughing in an attempt to break her stutter. The look her Captain gave her as he turned around was... complex.

"You're telling me you used an Iconian virus, like the one that destroyed the U.S.S. Yamato and nearly destroyed the Enterprise-D, from a thousand year old data cache, that I expressly ordered to have sealed away from accessing any ship systems, as a template for a Holographic Program?"

"N--n--no," the Cardassian leaked like a kitten, "I j-just used some of it as inspiration."

The Captain flopped back down into his seat and again found his face resting in his palm. "Tell me, Specialist Barclay, have you ever read Mary Shelley; wrote a nice little horror story about a monster created from corpses?"

"I m-may have seen... a holonovel of it."

"So you know you've created a monster then?"

"Heh... heh... It's alive?" She hazarded meekly with a nervous grin. The fact it looked like an oversized Cardassian man was doing it made it a little more unnerving. The fearful stare continued as she tried to guess her Captain's next action. What he did when he finally stopped shaking his head was far from what she was expecting.

He laughed.

"Well I have to hand it to you, Amanda." Cardassian eyes blinked confoundedly. "I make no secret that I like to collect what other captains would call 'misfits' for my crew. It adds a certain variety and diversity as well as a break up from the conundrum of daily routine. So when I heard that the only daughter of the infamous Reggie Barclay was a Photonics Science Specialist and looking for a Duty Officer posting I had to jump on it. Before your father taught at the Academy he had what most would call an interesting carrier to say the least. You know they actually named a disease after the man?"

"Y-y-ye-es, I-I kn-n-now." Amanda's eyes faded as years of teasing and ridicule seemed to descend back upon her on mass. Even at the Academy the name nickname of "Broccoli" would sometimes loom after her. She always wondered how exactly her father's infamy spread so far when he never made it higher than Lieutenant.

"But he was a good man, and a good officer. He had a passion for his work that is seldom found and rarely utilized for good means. You obviously don't have nearly the social awkwardness that he started his carreer with and already your genius in the field of Photonics is showing. I just..." He chuckled again, "I was expecting interesting adversity from you and you did not not disappoint."

"But, Sir! It works!" The specialist rose to her feet in an inspired attempt at defiance. "S-sure we can't get it out of the system or shut it off but, you know, but it runs and takes less energy to run for a week than it takes to replicate a cup of coffee. And it only happens on the bridge! All it will take is some tweaking and a little more elbow-grease to get the kinks out. If someone is able to get this to work it could be a great thing for Starfleet!"

"Make no mistake I'm impressed. Even if you did it by accident your project has developed... great scale. And as far as your creativity Starfleet itself is having a hard time following your work."

"S-S-Starfleet, Sir?" The comment caught her ear. Why would Starfleet be interested in her debacle, let alone know about it already? The Captain took a breath, he still held what some might call a smile of pride on his face.

"You know the reason why the Iconian virus that the Enterprise and Yamato encountered was thought to be so dangerous?"

"S-something about it being adaptable and digging its' way into every ship system... or... something similar."

"Exactly that, in fact. Also its' infectability. All it took was a simple data transfer of a fraction of the coding for it to become ingrained into the Enterprise's system."

The specialist's eyes slowly began to widen as the pieces began to fall together.

"So naturally then, shortly after you attempted your test, when we sent a tight-beam transmission to Starfleet command..."

"The coding spread to the mainframe..." her fear and despair made way for shock and awe, "and was then disseminated to..."

"Every vessel in Starfleet."

Specialist Barclay fell back into her seat, the ramifications of her actions streaming across her eyes. As a result the Cardassian sitting in front of the Captain looked like a lost child.

"Also," the Captain added, "if Klingon Intelligence is as good as I'm inclined to believe it is than it's a safe bet to make that every I.K.S. and affiliate vessel has it as well."

"You mean...?"

"Yep." He said succinctly. "Every bridge aboard every serving starship is now populated by what appear to be bridge officer clones. Congratulations, you've inadvertently created the most infectious, yet benign, computer virus of the 25th century."

"Oh... m'god. I've created another Broccoli Plague." The thought made the precession through her brain like a funeral march.

The Captain sighed again, but still wore a smile. "Starfleet is opening a task group at the Academy to try and solve the problem. But considering the last Iconian virus could only be stopped by something akin to a full system reboot it will probably take some time to solve the issue. As both its' creator and the person with the most experience with the subject right now I have been asked to transfer you back to the Academy and have you put under the care of Lieutenant Ferra. He's in charge of the Duty Officer postings there."

"I understand, Sir."

The captain stood up and walked passed the bewildered and distant Photonic's Specialist on his way back towards the Bridge. As he did so he patted her on the shoulder.

"Disaster or not, I'm sure your father back at the Academy will be proud."

"I've got a name to live up to, Sir."

When the Captain re-entered from his ready room he surveyed the bridge. It was currently populated by various copies of the same three officers; at the moment his Chief Medical Officer, the Cardassian Ensign, and a Female Klingon Lieutenant Commander. Giving another chuckle and shaking his head he made his way to his seat.

"Which one of you is my acting ship's councilor?" he asked standing behind his Captain's chair. Two women raised their hands. He glared at them flatly before one began snickering.

"Sorry, Sir, couldn't resist," the deep voice of his Bolien Chief Engineer responded. "I'll just make my way back down to Engineering."

"You're the real one then?" the Captain asked with one eyebrow raised.

"I am, Sir. You'd like me to go and make sure Specialist Bro... Barclay is taking the news well?"

"I would." The real person smiled and nodded before leaving, and the Captain returned his attention to the front. He looked around one more time with a hand on his knee before he began to point around. "You three, who I will now call Ensign Torroks one, two, and four. If one of you would be so kind to contact Fleet Command and inform them we are on our way while the two others preform a full ships diagnostic on the vessel's Holoemitters?" They all grinned and nodded before setting about their tasks. "You there, Lt. Commander Shonorru on the left, if you would please plot course for Sol. Warp 7."

"Aye Captain," they smirked before engaging the warp drive.

marcusdkane · March 2013

Literary Challenges 1 and 32 - Prized Possessions and Into the Hive Pt II:

The Mathematics of Tears

Selek strode through the entrance hall of his home, the reassuring weight of the leather-wrapped ka'athyra tucked in the crook of his arm, and into the spacious living area which afforded a panoramic view of ShiKahr. A slender figure sat on one of the low couches, their back toward the entrance and their head bowed, but Selek immediately recognized his daughter. He was simultaneously gratified for and concerned by her presence in his home.

"I was not expecting you to be here, T'Marc, I apologize for disturbing your meditations," he said, moving into the living area properly. Lowering the ka'athyra almost reverently onto a couch, he sat beside it.

"It is a welcome interruption," T'Marc admitted, her head still lowered. "I had hoped to discuss a matter with mother, but she is teaching, so I chose to wait for her to return."

Selek's brow furrowed. To a Human, the expression would have been imperceptible and gone un-noticed. To one familiar with Vulcan behavior, it was a clear indication of angry concern.

"I do not mean to pry, but I am a concerned father," he said. "Have you and Sulak had words again?"

T'Marc looked up and regarded her father, her hands remaining serenely folded in her lap.

"We have, father," she admitted. "You are right to be concerned, I am in quite a predicament. I am still without child, and it is clear that Sulak is... that he prefers the company of men."

Selek raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed?"

T'Marc's head dipped in assent, her short bobbed hair briefly rippling.

"Even during the pon farr, his... ardor... does not last, and we have to... satisfy our own desires," she admitted, shamed to have to speak to her father about such things.

"That is unfortunate," Selek acknowledged, rising to his feet and crossing the lounge to the food replicator in the kitchen area.

"Unfortunate?" T'Marc repeated, agitation clear in her tone. "It is utterly illogical! For one to be attracted to one's own gender serves no purpose! What good is two males undergoing the pon farr together? One cannot rub two sticks together and make fire!"

Inwardly amused by the metaphor, Selek momentarily considered correcting his daughter, but decided against it. Instead, he tabbed a control on the replicator and while waiting for the two spherical glasses to materialize before him, gathered his thoughts.

"Love and attraction are rarely logical," he admitted. "Your mother and I were not originally betrothed, yet we were attracted to one another. I issued the koon-ut-kalifee to prevent her marriage to Sokar, and we married for love."

Returning to the couches, he handed a glass to T'Marc.

"K'vass?" she exclaimed, "It is barely noon, father."

"When meditation fails to provide solace, intoxicants can provide release," Selek replied. "You are a grown woman, T'Marc, not a child, a drink will not harm you"

"It cannot make things worse," T'Marc acknowledged, sipping the sweet beverage. "I see you have reclaimed grandfather's ka'athyra. Was the ceremony appropriate?"

"As appropriate as possible for one conducted by k'shatrisu," Selek admitted. "Caladan is certainly a very different place to Vulcan. For it to rain constantly... It was as if Natara Himself mourned."

"You miss him," T'Marc stated, to which Selek nodded.

"Indeed I do," he replied. "Marcus may have been born a Human, but he was also family, and I can still think of no finer man to have stood as your en'ahr'at."

T'Marc raised the curved glass to her lips and sipped the k'vass, the first buzz of the sugar intoxication starting to sooth her turbulent emotions, and her thoughts drifted from her troubled marriage.

"You have never explained why you and mother chose to name me after a Human," she said.

"That is a story which begins thirty years ago," Selek replied.

Settling himself onto a stool infront of T'Marc, he raised his hand to her face, his fingers pressing against the katra points.

"My mind to your mind," he said. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

******

The shiver of the transporter beam gave way to the cool chill of a Federation transporter room. Standing by the transporter platform, Selek immediately saw his childhood friend, Fleet Captain Marcus Kane. Standing beside him, was an equally tall, slender woman with a jaw-length bob of dark hair. One side was neatly tucked behind her ear, revealing the delicate brown spots at her temples which marked her as a Trill. He recalled meeting Jedda Tobin eight years previously, when Marcus and his new bride, K'm'rn, had held a ceremony to give their bond legal status in Federation law.

Raising his right hand, Selek automatically made the ta'al.

"Nashaut, t'hy'la Marc," he said.

Kane automatically raised his hand to return the Vulcan salute, noting that Selek wore the brown and grey uniform of a Master Scientist beneath his floor-length robe.

"Nashaut, t'hy'la Selek," he replied, before turning his attention to the slender blonde Human woman who stood at Selek's side, clad in a metallic silver bodysuit. "Hello, Professor Hansen, it's good to see you again."

Beside Selek, Seven of Nine frowned, momentarily confused by the input from her occular implant. Since Voyager's return from the Delta Quadrant, she had spoken to Kane via subspace communications several times, but had not seen him in person, and the viewscreen's sensor had been unable to pick up what her occular implant immediately detected.

Atop the normal layers of Human perception, was superimposed a pulsating, coruscating energy signature which she could not immediately identify.

"Annika," Kane said, regaining Seven's attention with the verbal equivalent of a snap of his fingers. "Is everything alright?" Her full lips parted to speak, but for a moment, Borg neuro-processing took over.

"Species five six one eight Alpha: Homo sapiens immortalis," she stated flatly, attracting a wary look from Tobin.

"Yes, that's right," Kane replied guardedly. "I thought you were... aware of my condition. Did it not strike you as unusual that our biological ages appeared so similar?"

"My apologies, Captain," Seven began, recovering herself and stepping forward to shake Kane's hand with a smile. "Indeed, I knew why you appear considerably younger than your chronological age, but my occular implant affords me access to much of the EM spectrum, and I was unprepared for the difference in perception. The energy patterns within you are remarkable to see."

Kane nodded gently, realizing how different the Quickening must appear to a sensor array such as Seven's.

"Professor Annika Hansen, my first officer, Commander Jedda Tobin," he said.

"A pleasure to meet you, Professor," Tobin said, extending her hand.

"I prefer the designation Seven of Nine," replied the former drone.

"You didn't mind the Captain addressing you by name," Tobin pointed out, somewhat offended by Seven's brusque demeanor.

"The Captain studied under my father when he lectured at Starfleet Academy, and became a friend of the family," Seven explained. "Our last meeting in person was on my fifth birthday."

Tobin's eyebrows quirked in a barely repressed shrug.
"Welcome aboard, Professor," she replied, before turning to Selek. "And likewise, welcome aboard, Master Selek."

"Thank you, Commander," Selek replied as the group left the transporter room and entered the corridor.

"Master, may I make an observation?" Tobin enquired.

Selek inclined his head, indicating his assent.

"I was lead to believe that the Vulcan term 't'hy'la', was only used between those in an intimate relationship, yet you and the Captain both used the term, was my understanding incorrect?"

Before either Selek or Kane could reply, Seven answered:

"The term has many meanings, Commander," she said. "It can indeed mean life-long companion or lover, but it can also mean a soul-mate, or what Humans would refer to as blood-brothers, without reference to sexuality."

"Absolutely so," Selek confirmed. "Marc and I have known each other since childhood, and while climbing in Vulcan's Forge in our thirteenth year, he prevented me from falling to my death. No other term of address is fitting for such a friendship."

"Ahh, thank you for clarifying," Tobin replied as they entered the turbolift.

***

In the Endeavour's observation lounge, Seven stood by the wall-mounted display, while the senior officers sat around the long table.

"It has come to the attention of Starfleet Command, that a Borg cube has been observed in the Romulan Neutral Zone. As this is the known terminus for many Borg transwarp conduits, that in itself is unremarkable. What is unusual, is that the cube has taken no hostile action against any nearby planets or shipping lanes, and would appear to simply be drifting."

"I presume our orders are to make contact and investigate?" enquired the Endeavour's chief of security, Lieutenant Commander Roger Hunt "Does Command want the cube destroyed?"

"Only in extreme circumstances," Seven replied. "It is the hope of Starfleet Command that the ships vinculum can be salvaged, and with Master Selek's assistance, integrated into a long-range sensor array he designed to assist with detecting approaching Borg vessels via their communications network."

"Are there any indications of the resistance which a boarding party might experience?" Kane asked, folding his arms across his chest and stroking his beard.

Seven shook her head.

"Impossible to tell, but I would recommend a minimal away team," she replied. "I have been asked by Starfleet Command to provide what guidance and intelligence on the Borg I can, but I would prefer to remain aboard the Endeavour for the duration. I am concerned that my presence aboard the cube could prove a liability, especially if we were to encounter the One who is Many. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that my cognitive systems could become compromised."

"At maximum warp, we can be at the Neutral Zone by noon tomorrow," said Tobin.

Kane nodded, steepling his fingers.

"When we arrive, Master Selek and I will transport over to the Borg ship," he decided. "I know my way around a Borg cube, and between us, Selek and I have the engineering skill to disconnect the vinculum from the surrounding systems."

"Captain," said Hunt, his mahogany skin contrasting against the vibrant mustard of his uniform collar."Regulations prohibit a flag officer entering a potentially hazardous situation without armed escort."

Kane nodded.

"Selek can handle a phaser as well as you or I, old friend. He will constitute my armed escort," he replied. "Given that there is nothing we can do until we arrive at the Neutral Zone, I suggest we adjourn until oh seven hundred hours. Commander Tobin, set a course for the Neutral Zone."

***

Extending his finger, Selek activated the door chime. The doors slid aside, and Selek found himself greeted by Cameron Kane. Against the low light of the room behind her, the light from the corridor reflected back off her tapetum, momentarily making her purple eyes appear luminous.

"Good evening, Selek, come in," she said, her Pentaxian accent reminding Selek of that of Humans from Australia. "It's been a while, how are you?"

"Very well, K'm'rn, thank you," he replied, using the correct pronunciation of her name which eluded most Human tongues.

As he stepped into the spacious quarters, Selek noticed that the temperature was easily ten degrees higher than ship's norm, and he could hear the subtle chiming sounds of Pentaxian flow-music. He passed a platter of syrup-glazed plomeek to Cameron, and saw Marcus and Seven talking casually by the dining table. While Seven still wore her silver bodysuit, Marcus had changed from his uniform into a cream-colored civilian shirt, which reminded Selek of a short Japanese yukata. His attention was drawn to the three dimensional chess set on Marcus' desk as Cameron put the platter on the dining table. Crossing over to it, he scrutinized the pieces, which were of course, exactly where he knew they would be.

"Bishop to Queen four, level two," he said, moving the pieces accordingly and then turning back to the gathering.

"I'll have to get back to you on that move another time," Kane said pouring Selek a glass of Romulan Ale. "I am under orders that we are not to get wrapped up in our game..."

"Understandable," Selek acknowledged, as they took seats around the dining table.

"This looks delicious," Cameron said, putting some of the plomeek on a plate and passing it to Seven, who nodded her head towards a stand by the low sofa.

"Who plays the instrument?" she asked. Selek followed her gaze, and immediately recognized his father's ka'athyra, a diffuse spotlight firing rich colors in the rust-colored wood.

"It belonged to my father," he said simply.

"I was deeply moved when Sotek bequeathed it to me following his passing," Kane added, taking the plate Cameron handed him and placing it before Selek.

"I shall never forget the look on Sotek's face when you played All Along the Watchtower on it," Selek recalled.

Kane chuckled inwardly at the memory.

"If I remember, it was the first time I had been invited for dinner," he said. "I believe your mother's words were 'I have never heard a ka'athrya make sounds like that before...', although I remember your sister was somewhat more impressed. How is T'San?"

"She is well," Selek replied. "She is still living in ShiKahr, and married to Tonax, an architect."

Kane's brow furrowed in thought.

"Tonax," he mused. "He designed that spire down the street from my father's office complex didn't he?"

Selek nodded, and took a mouthful of the plomeek.

"Indeed he did, they now have two sons. Which brings me to a subject I had not mentioned in our last communique. As you know, T'Laya is with child, and we would be honored if you and K'm'rn would stand as en'ahr'att."

Kane was momentarily taken aback by such a request, and Cameron's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"The Vulcan equivalent of god-parents," Seven said helpfully, before taking a bite of the plomeek.

"I would be honored, Selek," Kane replied. "Are you expecting a son or a daughter?"

"T'Laya has chosen not to enquire," Selek replied. "My mother is sure it will be a daughter, but I am not sure, it is frequent for the first born in my family to be male."

"To a healthy child," Kane said, raising his glass in toast.

***

At the helm of the Delta-Class shuttle Equinox, Kane reached up and tapped the comm badge affixed to his tactical armor.

"Kane to Endeavour," he said. "We are within sight of the Borg cube, and will be attempting a low-power approach before beaming aboard."

"Understood, Captain," replied Tobin. "We're still within transporter range of the Equinox, so if anything does go wrong, if you can extract yourselves back to the shuttle, we will be able to beam you back. Seven will be monitoring you, and has direct access to the communications console."

"Acknowledged, Commander," Kane replied. "Engaging frequency modulation and initiating radio silence."

In the forward viewport, the slowly rotating hulk of the Borg cube loomed ever closer, blocking the view of the stars as the Equinox drew closer, before matching the drift and rotation of the cube.

"Are you ready?" Kane asked, turning to face Selek.

The Vulcan nodded, hefting a set of transport enhancers over each shoulder.

"Initiating site-to-site transport," he replied.

***

Vision resolved itself into the dimly lit humidity of the Borg cube. Both Kane and Selek had their phasers drawn, but none of the drones took any action towards them.

"It would appear the bio-dampeners are working," Selek observed, holstering his weapon and stooping to set up the first set of transport enhancers.

"Annika warned us that they only have a limited operational lifespan," Kane replied. "We shouldn't delay in making our way to the central plexus and locating the vinculum."

"I have noticed that despite her preference to be referred to by her former Borg designation, you insist on calling her Annika," Selek said, as they headed down a corridor passed a series of regenerating drones.

"When I see her, I don't see a former drone," Kane replied, looking over his shoulder to ensure the transport enhancers were not being investigated. "I see the child of my Academy mentor, the man who sparked my interest in the Borg, and I see a life which she had stolen from her because of his arrogance."

"You disagree with the necessity of Professor Hansen's work?"

Kane shook his head.

"Of course not, it frustrates me how little opinion was given to Magnus and Erin's theories, and how many lives could have been saved had the earliest reports of the Borg been properly investigated, rather than just passed off as ghost stories to scare green cadets on their training cruises-" he paused as a drone passed them in the narrow corridor, almost close enough to touch. Close enough to see that it had once been a Napean female.

"But it frustrates me more to see that," he continued. "To see a life stolen. Usurped and re-purposed into an unthinking automaton. To think that that drone was once someone's daughter, someone's sister. It's... a violation. And to think that Magnus willfully subjected his child to that danger..." he shook his head. "To call her Seven would be to forget the little girl who wanted to be a ballerina... But I think we should postpone this debate until we have successfully removed the vinculum."

"I agree," Selek replied as they reached an ante-chamber.

Ahead, they could see the pulsating green diamond forms which marked the termination points of the vinculum. As Selek began to position the transport enhancers, Kane took a sonic screwdriver from his tool kit and began to adjust its resonance.

Suddenly, he became aware of the clanking of exo-armored feet on deck plating, and then he heard the voice he had been dreading. The soulless chorus which had haunted his nightmares for nearly two decades.

WE ARE THE BORG. WE WILL ADD YOUR DISTINCTIVENESS TO OUR OWN. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

"They can see us," Selek noted, drawing his phaser.

"They can't," Kane replied. "They've detected our actions, not us specifically. Keep working, if we can disable the vinculum before they reach us, we'll disable the ship and the drones."

"I do not think we will get that opportunity," Selek replied, as a trio of drones entered the ante-chamber, upper-limbs raised, ready to release their assimilation tubules.

Covering Selek while he worked, Kane raised his phaser and fired. Once, twice, three times. Each time, the golden beam hit its mark, and the drones dropped to the floor.

"There are more drones approaching from the other corridor," Selek warned, aware of the footfall before Kane. He heard the phaser's distinctive hiss again then again, but followed by a dull humming.

"They've adapted!" Kane shouted over the chorus of echoing footsteps. He slapped at his comm badge, but it only buzzed dully beneath his armored fingers."They've activated a dampening field, I can't contact the Equinox. Fall back to the transport site!" Holstering his phaser, Kane's left hand reached round to the back of his armor and drew his tajtiq from its sheath.

A drone blocked his path, reaching out with its cybernetic limb.

Kane slashed the tajtiq horizontally from right to left, severing the prosthesis, and then rammed the blade forwards into the drone's thoracic assembly. Behind him, he could hear Selek following him, using his phaser to destroy regeneration alcoves as they went, using the plasma discharges to disable the drones within.

Then the drones started firing back.

Inbuilt plasma weaponry Kane had not heard of the Borg utilizing since reading Jean-Luc Picard's report on Hugh and his band of isolated drones.

He ducked beneath the reach of one drone, driving the tajtiq in a disemboweling movement, then preparing to move forward, when he felt something collide with his back, momentum taking him to the deck.

He looked back, and saw Selek laying face down, smoke curling from a hit to the middle of his back.

"Selek! Are you alright?" he demanded, reaching for the tricorder on his belt.

"I am -- incapacitated," Selek admitted, the tension in his voice betraying the agony he must have felt. "I cannot feel my legs."

Reaching down, Kane grabbed Selek's arm and threw it over his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he hauled his friend upright, and struggled to maintain balance against the dead weight.
"We need a diversion," he muttered, turning down a sub-corridor, and dragging Selek with him. Pulling a demolition charge from his belt, Kane primed it with a flick of his wrist, before tossing it toward the opening of the corridor. The resulting explosion flung Kane and Selek to the deck, their armor protecting them from the worst of the pressure wave and shrapnel. When the ringing in his ears stopped, Kane saw that the charge had caused enough damage to seal the corridor, leaving them enclosed with a partially-dismembered drone.

"Are you okay?" Kane enquired, remaining seated while scanning the area with his tricorder.

"I still cannot feel my legs," Selek replied wryly, pulling himself into a sitting position against the wall, a flicker of pain passing across his features. "You must leave me here and make your way to the transport site."

"That's not an option," Kane said, looking over to Selek. "I can get us out of this, trust me."

"I do trust you, Marc," Selek replied. "But logic states that I will only slow you down, increasing the likelihood of your assimilation."

"They can't assimilate me," Kane replied. "At least -- not quickly..." His voice trailed of as he recalled his experience at Starfleet Command nearly two decades ago, his eyes fixed not on his tricorder screen, but somewhere beyond:

The look of concern on Beverly's face as she watched him put the hypospray to his own arm, performing the action her Hypocratic Oath forbade... Injecting himself with the nano-probes removed from Jean-Luc Picard so the effect could be observed and studied under lab conditions...

"This is not a good idea..." she had warned, her tricorder raised, before he felt the cold rush flood through his body...

Waking up to be told that the nano-probes had asserted themselves and in his attempts to contact the Collective, he had killed five guards before he could be subdued. Omicron radiation had disabled the nano-probes, and his immortal biology had then eradicated them from his system. But nothing would eradicate the feeling of guilt from his waking moments, nor the whispers of the Collective from his dreams.

It was not an experience he wished to repeat.

"There is no significant increase to the possibility of me being assimilated regardless of if I carry you out of here, or make a break for it myself," he insisted, running his tricorder over Selek's wound. "Forth degree plasma burn, the charing to the spine has caused some nerve damage, but nothing which can't be healed. Fortunately, the wound is cauterized, and your blood pressure is stable. Focus on managing the pain, and leave me to think of a way to get us out of here."

"Marc, listen to me, there is no way out of here for me," Selek insisted. "I ask that you perform the tal'shaya, for I have no desire to become a drone. I taught you the to'tsu'k'hy when we were boys, the tal'shaya is merely an extension of that technique. Simply maintain the contact and increase the pressure, and it will be fatal."

"You taught me the nerve pinch so Vonik would stop bullying me," Kane pointed out, before chuckling. "The look on his face the first time I used it on his lackey Stann... But I have no intention of using it to dispatch you. I have no intention of letting my god-daughter be born without a father."

Selek raised an eyebrow.

"You think T'Laya will have a female child?"

"I think I know better than to disagree with your mother," Kane replied, clapping Selek on the shoulder as he got to his feet and moved towards the non-functional drone, his tajtiq held ready to strike, should the creature still have enough life in it to attack. "I also think I've found us a way out of here..."

Taking his sonic screwdriver, Kane began to re-polarize the drone's spatial nodes, then began to enter commands into his tricorder, his fingers inputting commands with a focused precision unhindered by the armored gloves.

"Marc," Selek called out. "What are you doing?"

"All drones are equipped with a built-in transporter lock and recall subroutine," Kane replied. " If I can synch my tricorder to this one's cortical node, I will be able to access the cube's own transporter system..."

***

In the Endeavour's sickbay, Selek looked up as the doors opened, and Kane approached the side of the biobed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, drumming his fingers against the back of the PADD in his hand.

"I can feel my legs once more," Selek replied. "Although I must admit, it was considerably less painful when I could not."

"This might take the sting away," Kane said, handing the PADD to Selek.

On the screen, an open comm-link to T'Laya on Vulcan.

"Nashaut, ko-telsu T'Laya. What news do you have for me?" he enquired.

"Two days ago, I delivered our daughter into the world," T'Laya replied. "I thought we might name her T'Ren, after my mother."

"I know that was a name we had discussed," Selek admitted. "But we shall name her T'Marc, after my brother."

******

Sitting back, Selek moved his hand away from his daughter's beautiful face.

"Now," he said. "You know why you carry your uncle's name."

takeshi6 · March 2013

Challenge #5 - Shards of the Mirror

The Demon Emperor

A young man with black hair and violet eyes stood on the balcony of a palace, surveying the city around him and the night sky above.

His city. The capital city of his planet. The planet which was the center of his empire.

When the Terran Empire collapsed, many of its worlds found themselves under the rule of the Alliance. The world of Neo Britannia was one such world.

However, five years ago, this man, Lelouch Lamperouge, led a brutal resistance movement against the Alliance. Gaining the loyalty of his men, and employing strategies developed through playing chess, he eventually managed to force the Alliance off of the world.

The populace hailed him as a savior, declaring him the leader of their people. However, he was not done.

He proceeded to have a space fleet built, and led the forces of Neo Britannia on to world after world, liberating them from the Alliance and taking them for himself. And in every battle, he always led from the front, believing that was the only way a leader should lead.

After one year, Lelouch's territory consisted of seven planets, and he changed his name to Lelouch vi Britannia, First Emperor of the Neo Britannian Empire.

The following year, he added another fifteen worlds to his Empire, and his brutality to the Alliance Forces, Ship and Soldier alike, even after they surrendered, caused them to call him 'Demon'.

Now, five years after he had launched his initial resistance, Lelouch's Empire consisted of 125 worlds, and his enemies tended to call him the Demon Emperor. However, his subjects continued to hail him as the one who had saved them, and would follow him into the very depths of hell.

'Five Years,' he thought to himself, even as he continued to survey the Neo Britannian Capital of Pendragon City. 'Five years since I started this crusade. I never imagined that I would come this far. But I can't stop yet. The Alliance killed my parents when they spoke up against them, and the O'Brien's 'Terran Dominion' did nothing to prevent it. No, I will not stop until I have destroyed the Alliance and the Dominion, and my Neo Britannian Empire is the only dominant force among the stars.'

"Lelouch?"

Lelouch turned to the open doorway leading to the balcony, seeing a woman with bright red hair and vibrant blue eyes, dressed in a crimson nightgown. He smiled upon seeing her, the woman who had been with him from the very start of his campaign, and who had become his beloved Empress only a few months ago.

"What is it, Kallen?" he asked.

Kallen vi Britannia, formerly Kallen Kouzuki, smiled back at him and said, "You should come back to bed. We have another campaign tomorrow."

"I know, Kallen," Lelouch said as he turned back to gaze over Pendragon. "I just couldn't sleep--it's been five years, after all."

Kallen stepped up beside him. "Yes," she said, slightly melancholy. "Five years since we began our campaign to punish the Alliance for killing our loved ones, and the Dominion for just letting it happen. To be honest, part of me never expected us to get this far."

"Part of me felt the same, to be honest," Lelouch replied. "But we persevered, countering the Alliance at every turn, and now look where we are--Emperor and Empress of a vastly expanding Empire."

Kallen smiled again. "And when we're done, it will be the only ruling power in the stars, right?" she asked.

Lelouch smiled as he embraced his Empress, kissing her passionately. "You know me so well, my love," he said after they parted.

"I've had five years to learn," she replied. "Now please, come back to bed. We need our rest if we're going to lead the fleet in battle tomorrow."

"And lead it we shall," Lelouch replied as he let Kallen lead him back into their bedchambers.

'After all,' he thought, 'the only ones who should kill... are the ones prepared to be killed themselves.'

knightraider6 · March 2013

Literary Challenge #29 : Hello Q...

USS Powhatan

It had been a long week, and Lt Commander Rhonda 'Polekitty' Evans had many hours still to go before she could hit the sack, still it had been a good one. The had been an outbreak of an unknown pathogen on one of the rim colonies, and the Powhatan was the closest ship. Between herself and Dr Mot they had been able to come up with the cause and an antidote as well, though it had taken several days, then seeming countless hours administering the cure. It was good to get a chance to do medicine again, even if Starfleet disagreed and stuck her in command. All that was left was the report writing, you'd think in the future they'd come up with self writing reports by now she thought as she entered her ready room.

"You do not belong here."

She blinked, not recognizing the voice, then as she looked around saw what seemed to be a human woman..no not human. It was the female Q. Rhonda had never met her personally but had read about her in a report "Thats what I keep telling them? she says as she walked past Q to the replicator "I'm a doctor not a starship captain. Hot chocolate, with marshmallows."

Q looked annoyed "I don't mean that, I mean you don't belong in this reality-" there was a flash, and then there was two of them, this one she recognized, looking like a human male in a Starfleet uniform. "I thought the continuum had decided to monitor a bit more before coming to a decision?" said Q, a smirk on his face "Yet you seem to be jumping the proverbial gun a bit."

"I am simply gathering information before I make a decision."

"YOU make a decision?" Q smirked, as Q frowned "you know what I mean" she said, crossing her arms.

Rhonda got her mug, taking a sip "anyone else want some?" she asked politely before sitting down on the edge of her desk. Q and Q shook their heads "no thank you, never touch the stuff." Q said, before turning back to Q. "besides shouldn't she have some say in this?"

Q rolled her eyes "You're a fine one to be championing mortals all of a sudden Q" He just crossed his arms "The continuum did ask me to be the defense" he said with a frown "So as a favor, and the fact that I know these primates better than most other Q, I agreed. Starting with it's not like she asked to come here."

"that's true I didn't." Rhonda looked at the Q's. "I'm not unhappy here, but it was Schrodi who opened the dimensional portal and shoved me through, saying I was needed elsewhere. If you've a problem with it, why don't you take it up with her?"

Q looked sour, shaking her head "That blue...incomprehensible, quantumcatgirl freak..." Rhonda actually laughed a bit "Oh so you did meet her..ya know when she merged with her duplicates in the multi verse back in my home reality, I'm not surprised that she ended up a Q."

"She's NOT a Q!"Q said haughtily.

"Yet" Q narrowed her eyes and glared at Q "Maybe in a few milennia she may have matured, anyway that is beside the point. There is enough people popping in and out, playing with alternate dimensions as if they were a carnival fun ride, to have someone meddling and stick you in this reality..."

"One that on your home, was not real." there was a flash, She was on her bridge, except it wasn't. The consoles were dark, the walls made of plywood and plastic foam "The world you came from was much more savage and brutal than even the mortals in this dimension are." There was another flash, and the three of them were standing on a street corner in what looked like Chicago. There were police sirens and crime scene tape across the street, yet another gang shooting. Q pulled a newspaper out of a vending machine "War, rumors of war, fear, death, such a pleasant world." Q just smirked "This is your home, not the marginally improved dimension of Starfleet" she said , leaning back as across the street the corner pulled a sheet over a young body.

"True, but it's a dangerous and violent universe, from single celled organisms on up." Rhonda said as she sipped her hot chocolate "I've been doing my best to protect and heal people as much as I can, anyway I can."

"That is true" said the other Q. There was another flash, and they were in a different city, seemingly impossibly tall skyscrapers in the background, here and there there could be seen colorfully clad humanoids flying in the distance. Q was dressed in Polekitty's old costume, revealing black and white tights, standing on the edge of the building, while Q continued "You did at that. Risking your life over and over again, for those that feared and hated you, jumping into the fray, for truth, justice and all that of lofty ideals..that muscle bound freaks spouted before pounding each other with locomotives."

Q looked down at herself "I don't see how you could wear this without falling out of it" while Q floated behind her, his Starfleet uniform changed to red and blue tights, cape fluttering dramatically in the wind, a giant 'Q' on his chest. "Millennium City might not be what you're used to , but you would fit in here, you could go back to being the 'Perky Polekitty', or whatever they called you."

She stared out at the folks flying, then shook her head "that's part of my past now, I like what I'm doing, and besides, no one looks good in spandex, I don't care what they say."

There was another flash, another reality shift. She was back on a starship bridge, but a darker one, and emptier. Q bowed dramatically "If you prefer to be in space, perhaps this might be more suited to you."Rhonda just took another sip, her mug of hot chocolate now a wine glass, her uniform tunic a crimson red, sporting a skull and crossed bones, with a long flowing cape and boots that came up to her knees. "love the boots, but not really a cape sorta person. They get snagged too easy."

The female Q looked exasperated "Why are you even offering her choices? It's impossible for her to comprehend the ramifications of the situation."

Q just smiled "But you did ask me to be her defense counsel" he said, shifting his appearance again, dressed in a long black robe, with a powdered wig "Though I must say, most Starship captains I have dealt with are more..annoyed."

"Sorry to disappoint you" she said as she stood up, cape swirling around her feet. "But this is neither here nor there, if you were going to exile me , or remove me totally from this reality you'd just do it. You're so far up the evolutionary chain from us, I mean, if I picked up an ant on the tip of my finger. If I put it down again, and it asks another ant, "what was that?, how would it explain?"

"Don't sell your kind too short, you're perhaps a little slightly more advanced than ants." Rhonda squeaked as there was another flash, and she found herself a skunk sitting on the chair. "Perhaps we should just leave you like-AACK!"

Q had quickly stepped to the side as Rhonda sprayed Q, Q rubbing her eyes and coughing as Q smirked "you should have expected that Q, you're slipping."

There was another flash, and Q was dry again, Rhonda back to herself. She glared "You're right, put a primitive brain full of mush into a much smaller container, and of course all you'll get is instinctual actions.." She glared at Rhonda "and why are you taking this so calmly?"

"What good would it do to get upset?" Rhonda asked "All that does is not let you think clearly, the time to have a panic is after a situation is over." She looked down into her mug "No one ever asks for what happens to them, life is what happens when you make other plans. I never wanted to be bitten by a mutated radioactive skunk when I was 13, never wanted to be a hero, never wanted to be kicked in the butt through a portal to another world. But that's what happens, and that's what I had to deal with. Whatever you two decide, I'll deal with that too." She turned to Q and smiled at her "It's kind of like this. The Continuum is a mystery. And I am both terrified and reassured to know that there are still wonders in the universe, that we have not yet explained everything. The fact that you're here, gives me hope."

"Hope? How do you mean?"

"It's simple really. Maybe it's because I'm at heart a medic. Infinitely advanced beings who claim to be looking down on us...yet you continually intervene, poke, prod, annoy, and watch to see that we're doing the right thing. Could be it is just to protect yourselves..but it also could be that you see promise. Not in my lifetime, or my future children's lifetime, but someday."

Q had a smirk on his face, and the reality shifted again. He sat across from Q and Rhonda in her ready room. "I think the defense rests" Said Q. Q said nothing, the both of them silent for a moment, then Q stood up, arms behind her back. "You can stay, the Continuum will allow you to remain, though we will be watching." there was a flash and she was gone.

"Well, I think that was rather successful" Said Q. Rhonda just shook her head and went to refill her hot chocolate "I did most of the talking, you were trying to get rid of me it sounded like."

"What, you wanted that I should have made it easy for you?"

She just smiled "Nothing worthwhile ever is." Sitting down behind her desk, she picked up one of the PADDs with the waiting reports. "I really have to get these done unless you need something else."

Q shook his head "you've muddled through well enough I suppose, though I should warn you I'll probably check up on you from time to time, just to make sure we made the right decision."

She just smiled to herself as he vanished "Drop by anytime" she said, then got back to work.

ironphoenix113 · March 2013

Literary Challenge # 20 & 21 : Saying Goodbye & Saying Hello

Rear Admiral Bryan Mitchel Valot stared out the window of the Utopia Planita station as they brought the once elegant Star Cruiser into the shipyard. The ship's massive hull had visible energy weapon damage, multiple hull breaches, and several chunks blown clean off. Despite the damage, however, Bryan could still barely make out the name and registry in the flickering bow running light: U.S.S. Athena, NCC-92753.

"Hey sir," Commander Ibalei Zera, his Trill first officer said, walking up beside him.

"Ibalei, Hey there," Bryan said, clearly happy to have some company.

"Look, Bryan, what happened wasn't your fault," She said, reading how sad he was about the loss of his command.

"It feels like it was," He replied, shaking his head slightly.

"Two Negh'Vars and a Bortas'que, Bryan. I doubt there is any ship in Starfleet that could have succeeded against those odds."

Bryan stood silently as they finished towing the hulk into dock. "I'm going to tour her one last time before they officially strike her down."

*******

He walked through the once sleek interior of the U.S.S. Athena, now beaten and bruised by her last fight with the Klingon Empire. As he walked, he was brought back to when she was still a sleek and elegant warship. He watched as crewmembers walked through the halls in uniforms of varying color: red for tactical, yellow for engineering, and blue for science. He smiled as he closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he once again saw the ruined hall, cables hanging down from the walls and ceiling, and visible scorch marks from battle damage. His journey eventually led him to the lounge. He looked around, again flashing back to when the Athena was still a capable ship. This time, he saw his crew talking, laughing, and being as close to a family as they could possibly get without actually being one. He heard the faint but constant sizzling of the stove, crew ordering drinks from Rulian Mazan, the Bartender, and a poker game going on in the far corner. He listened, closing his eyes once more. Upon reopening them, he once more saw the scattered tables and chairs, the destroyed bar, and clear evidence of a fire from when the stove was destroyed. Sighing to himself, he once more continued his tour, this time ending up in main engineering. Despite the fact that the ship was all but inactive, he could still hear the faint hum of the warp core as it powered the few systems that remained online. He closed his eyes, and remembered the room as it once was: massive, covering about three whole decks, dominated by the warp core. Engineers studied their readouts, keeping the heart of the ship beating. When he looked again, he once more saw the darkened room, lights either shut down to save power, or outright destroyed by battle damage, displays flickering on and off as the ruined EPS conduits desperately tried to keep them supplied with constant power. Once more, he walked on, this time ending up on the once sleek and elegant bridge. He looked around, and once more saw it as it once was: low, windowed ceiling, futuristic chairs and consoles, and a dedicated bridge staff. Just to the right of the captain?s chair, he once more saw Ibalei sitting, her long, beautiful red hair tied up into a ponytail with her bangs slightly parted along the left side, her soft yet piercing grey eyes, and, as if she wasn't beautiful enough already, her Trill "spots" running down the side of her face and neck, as if to accentuate her already beautiful form. Looking once more, he saw the ruins, battered and bruised, destroyed consoles, scattered chairs, and a ruined main screen. He walked up to the dedication plaque, which, though it had been damaged, the motto of the ship, "From strategy comes victory, and from victory comes peace," could still be read. He eventually found his way back to the airlock, and, just before he exited the ship for the last time, he looked back and said, "Death closes all: but something ere the end, some work of noble note, may yet be done, not unbecoming men that strove with Gods."

*******

"Admiral Valot, Commander Zera, good to see you," Admiral Quinn as Bryan and Ibalei entered his office, about a week after the Athena was officially decommissioned.

"Sir, what do you need?" Bryan asked, sitting down in a chair across the desk from the Admiral.

"I understand you have been left rather homeless after the Athena was stricken from the roster," He said, picking up a PADD and reading very carefully.

"Well, sir, there haven't been any new postings available yet, and some of my crew have already found assignment elsewhere," Bryan repiled somewhat sadly.

"We have a brand new Odyssey class ship preparing to be commissioned. Equipped with the most advanced technology that Starfleet has to offer. Enhanced MACO pattern resiliant shield arrays with auxiliary shielding, MACO pattern impulse engines and deflector array, an asynchronous warp field generator, polarized neutronium armor, point defense grid, and a full prototype Artificial Intelligence."

"An AI, sir? As in essentially sentient?" Bryan asked curiously.

"Indeed. This new ship is being used as a testbed for the innovations I just described. She's all yours, if you want her."

Bryan looked at his First Officer, who nodded. "We'll take her, Admiral. What's her name, if I may ask?"

Quinn looked down a little. "Funny story about that. We're not really sure what to call her. Do you have any suggestions?"

Bryan and Ibalei looked into each others eyes and smiled. "I believe we do, sir."

*******

Bryan's Peregrine fighter glided silently beneath the massive hull of the Odyssey class ship. The hull of the vessel gleamed brightly in the sun's light outside the front window. The fighter passed over the main hull and the ship's name finally came into view, a name that was both symbolic and sentimental to Bryan and his crew: U.S.S. Athena, NX-92753-A. Bryan smiled a little as the shuttle maneuvered into position to land in the main shuttle bay at the vary aft of the main hull.

"U.S.S. Athena, this is fighter Odysseus, requesting clearance to land," Bryan said, tapping the console in front of him.

"Fighter Odysseus, this is the Athena, You are cleared to land in the main shuttle bay," Lieutenant Commander Six of Nine, who was and still would be the Athena's chief engineer and second officer, called out in her usual I'm-not-your-typical-boring-liberated-Borg-I'm-much-more-cheerful fashion. "Shall we roll out the red carpet for you, sir?"

"That won't be necissary, Six" He replied, fully aware that she would have some sort of surprise anyway. "I'm just glad to be home."

"Roger, sir. See you on the Bridge. Athena, out."

"You know that she already has something planned for you, right?" Ibalei asked from the chair next to him.

"Yeah," He replied, smiling as he pulled the fighter into the shuttle bay. "I just like to let her feel a little rebellious is all."

As they stepped out of the fighter, there was the distinct sound of snapping to attention as someone called out "Admiral on deck!" Bryan walked through the sleek corridors of the new Athena, which were flanked on both sides by crewman standing at attention. The eventually came to a turbolift, which opened as soon as they approached. As Bryan and Ibalei entered, Bryan called out "Bridge," and the lift sped away. When it opened once more, the door revealed a bridge unlike any Bryan had seen before. Sweeping curves elegantly surrounded the raised central platform, right where the "big three" chairs were located, with the Federation emblem directly between them and the main view screen. To the front, sides and top, were massive windows providing an excellant view of the space around the ship, and o the aft was a conveniently located transporter pad. Bryan stepped out of the turbolift and immediately Justin, who was already standing beside the door, called out "Admiral on Deck!" for the first time on the new Athena. Bryan walked to the center of the bridge, sat in the captain's chair and tapped the intercom button.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He called, "This is the Admiral speaking. Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Athena. Some of you served with me on prior ships. Many of you have not. That doesn't matter. From this moment on, you are all family to me. Because we are going to be in some of the most dangerous areas of the Federation and deep space, I will expect a lot out of you all. There may come a time when you are too afraid to go to your post. There may come a time when you feel so tired that you cannot fight anymore. There may come a time when you are so scared that you become unable to do your duties. I will tell you right now that that will not happen on my watch. You are the best crew in Starfleet. You can and you will hold the line when it counts the most. You will stand fast against the darkness, and you shall come through. You shall stand strong against our enemies, and you will not falter. You will stand together, no matter the cost, no matter the odds. Good luck to you all. Rear Admiral Valot, out."

"Not bad, sir," Ibalei said to Bryan's right.

"Thanks," he said, smiling a little. He looked around the sleek bridge, already feeling at home on the new Athena. "Mister Ables," He called to the helmsman, "Take us to the stars."

The ship glided smoothly out of the dock, and began to maneuver around, preparing to make her very first warp jump. Just before she did however the ship passed where the original Athena was docked and the entire crew took to the windows and saluted. At long last, the new ship had officially taken on the name of the goddess of wisdom, battle, and strategy.

ambassadormolari · March 2013

Captain?s Log, Stardate 443251

The Da Vinci has been re-routed to the Zeta Andromedae Sector to investigate a series of ionic storms congregating at the edge of the Delmar system. The fact that these storms seem to be clustering together is cause enough for concern, but long range sensors have also indicated a high level of elevated neutrinos and verteron particles present at the epicentre of the storms. If Ensign Sann is correct, the presence of these particles suggests the imminent formation of a wormhole in the Delmar System. Our mission is to scan the anomaly to determine if this it is indeed a wormhole-- and whether or not it is forming naturally, or being artificially created?

?Captain,? said Farim Meru, the Da Vinci?s Operations officer, ?sensors are picking up a vessel exiting the wormhole.?

The Bajoran?s words caused Arkos to instinctively jolt upright in his command chair as he snapped back to reality. He realized that he had been staring at the Delmar Wormhole for the last minute and a half, entranced by the swirling, cloudy disk that filled the Da Vinci?s viewscreen and bathed her bridge in an azure light. Every shade of blue imaginable shimmered in a great whirlpool of ionic energy, verterons, tetryons, and half a million other particles that he was certain Memory Alpha hadn?t come up with names for yet, punctuated by rippling flashes of whites, greys and golds. It reminded him a lot of the screen-captures he had seen of the Bajoran wormhole, and to date, was the most beautiful thing he had witnessed in his career in Starfleet.

It had been there, open and whirling, when the Da Vinci had arrived in the system. The ship?s science officer, Neiazri Sann, had confirmed that it was an actual, fully developed wormhole instead of the primordial collection of ionic storms that they had been expecting, which meant that this wormhole was developing far faster than most others of its kind that had been observed. As K?Nera had astutely pointed out, however, that in and of itself was suspicious. If the wormhole was developing this rapidly, she had said, then it could very well be an artificial pathway being created by the Borg, or the Undine, or any number of the malevolent species that were on the Federation?s bad list these days.

And now, with a ship coming through, K?Nera?s suspicions had been all but confirmed. As Arkos watched, a tiny, blocky black dot appeared in the middle of the swirling azure disc, the cerulean light casting the relatively tiny shape in shadow.

?Magnify,? Arkos ordered. The screen blinked and switched to a larger resolution, enlarging the tiny shape and bringing it into starker detail.

The sight that greeted Arkos sent an involuntary chill down his spine. The vessel that filled the viewscreen was moving in a lazy, half-drifting fashion, its hull pitted and scorched from a bright silver to a dull grey, and noxious green plasma vapours drifting from one of its stubby nacelles. But it was, unmistakably, a Type 8 shuttlecraft. A Federation vessel.

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before Arkos caught himself gaping. Snap out of it, and be a Captain, Arkos he thought to himself, straightening up in his chair. A quick sideways glance, though, reassured him that K?Nera, Sann, and the rest of the bridge crew were reacting the same way, staring at the shuttlecraft in collective awe and befuddlement. Everyone on this bridge, he knew, was thinking the same thing. Could this have come from the Mirror Universe? The Federation?s evil doppleganger, the Terran Empire, had been an active threat as of late, crossing the yawning void between realities with disturbing frequency.

?Ensign Farim?? Arkos spoke out expectantly.

The dark-skinned Bajoran woman ran her fingers over the navigational console. ?Sensors are confirming it as a Type 8 shuttlecraft, sir, no known registry,? she replied. ?It has taken significant damage to its outer hull, and it is leaking warp coolant. I?m also detecting a single life sign aboard.?

Farim paused then, and swivelled her seat around to look Arkos, confusion written on her features. ?Sir?it?s a Korda.?

The report sent an even colder chill down Arkos? spine than the appearance of the shuttlecraft had. He became conscious of all of his bridge officers taking sideways glances at him. The Korda were a reclusive, isolationist species native to the half-sunken world of Nar-Etulis. Once a proud and technologically advanced race, the past century had not been kind to them, and they had regressed to the point where they wanted nothing to do with the greater universe. To date, only five Korda had left their submerged homeworld to live in Federation space. One of those five was Arkos Nair.

And now, another Korda was out there, on a damaged shuttlecraft, exiting a yawning chasm in the fabric of space time.

Arkos felt something uncomfortable twist in his gut as his mind raced over the possibilities. Could someone else have left Nar-Etulis to flee the Chastised, with Federation help? Had there been some sort of spatial anomaly, or disaster, on Nar-Etulis that linked to this wormhole? Or was this the product of some parallel universe, a different version of his people and his homeworld? The questions buzzed in his mind like a cluster of angry hornets, pecking at him and raising a host of uncomfortable possibilities.

Sann, to her credit, recovered from her surprise quickly enough to do her own scan of the shuttlecraft. ?The Korda?s life signs are fluctuating, sir,? the Trill reported. ?The shuttlecraft?s engine systems may be leaking gases into the crew compartment.?

There was no time for indecision, then. Arkos tapped his comm badge. ?Bridge to Transporter Room,? he said, ?prepare to beam the shuttle?s passenger directly to Sickbay.? He rose from his command chair and glanced at Sann. ?Ensign Sann, you?re with me,? he said. ?We?re going to go check up on our guest.? He turned and nodded to his first officer. ?K?Nera, you have the Bridge.?

?Aye sir,? K?Nera replied with a smart nod. ?For the record, sir, I think we should still be on our guard. This shuttle could still have come from the Mirror Universe, and it that?s the case, then it might just be the point of the spear.?

?As always, your dislike of the current situation is noted, K?Nera,? Arkos replied with a sly grin. ?But I have a feeling that this won?t be as bad as you suspect.?

******

?We managed to stabilize him several minutes ago, Captain,? the thin, balding figure of the Mark I EMH said flatly as he stood before Arkos and Sann. Behind him, nurses and orderlies hovered over the sickbed, poring over instruments and doing continuous scans of their patient. ?He was suffering from acute radiation poisoning and a few minor plasma burns, but we have managed to give him adequate epidermal treatment and completely detoxify his system. He needs recovery time, Captain, but he should survive.?

Arkos made no reply to the holograph. His attention was fixed the Korda who lay on the sickbed. He was swathed in the priestly robes of a telvenar/i] of the Chastised, faded by age and wear and tear from a cream colour to a rustic brown. An intertwining sigil representing the Ionn, the Architect of the Universe, hung from a pendant around his neck. His grey/blue skin was mottled by a few burns and scars on his forehead, cheek and hands, and a few faded bruises were visible on his bald temple. He looked like he had been through hell.

But more importantly, he looked exactly like Arkos.

The EMH cocked a nonexistent eyebrow. ?Captain?? he asked. ?Are you feeling unwell??

?W-what?? Arkos blinked as he turned back to the Doctor. ?I?? He swallowed, blinked a few times. Yes, he thought, he did feel a little nauseous. Perhaps he was going crazy? That sounded logical. It would certainly explain why he was seeing another version of himself on the sickbed. ?Is he?me?? he asked, aware of how weak his voice suddenly sounded.

The Doctor glanced back at the robed Korda on the sickbed. ?DNA scans are?conclusive,? he replied. ?He matches you perfectly Captain, down to the last cytosine molecule. So, yes, he is, in a manner of speaking, you.?

Next to him, Sann stared with abject fascination at the second Arkos. ?It looks like K?Nera was right then, Captain,? she said. ?The Delmar Wormhole does connect to the Mirror Universe. Or at least, one mirror universe. It?s always been hypothesized that there could be several.?

?I?m glad that you find my?duality?so fascinating, Sann,? Arkos mumbled, unable to take his eyes off of his robed double. The Mirror Universe was a widely acknowledged fact and threat in Starfleet records, and it had been all but confirmed that everyone most likely had a counterpart in that universe. But all the same, the fact that Arkos was seeing?himself, lying there on the sickbed, was jarring to say the least.

A buzzing swarm of unasked questions sprang to life in Arkos? head, all demanding an answer all at once. To what extent was this mirror counterpart like him? Was he a complete polar opposite, like every other Mirror person encountered by Starfleet thus far? Or were he and his?twin?more alike than he suspected? His double was wearing Korda priestly garments instead of any uniform, so it was at least unlikely he was affiliated with the Terran Empire. But beyond that, Arkos knew nothing. His curiosity had been piqued, and as usual, was rapidly turning into an insatiable itch. He needed to know more.

?Is it safe to wake me?I mean, him, Doctor Zimmerman?? he asked, using the adoptive name the crew had given the outdated EMH.

The hologram glanced back at the sickbed. ?I would not advise it, Captain,? he replied. ?Your?alternate self needs at least twenty-four hours of resting time??

As if on cue, however, the mirror version of Arkos suddenly groaned loudly, and shifted on his sickbed. In an instant, orderlies were rushing towards him as a whole host of monitors and readouts began to beep and chime in a mechanical opera.

?He?s waking up, Doctor!? one of the orderlies suddenly cried.

Zimmerman looked like he was about to say something authoritative, when Arkos barrelled right [i[through him. He ignored the way the Doctor?s form fluctuated as his image re-aligned, and further ignored the annoyed glare the hologram gave him as he made his way to the side of the sickbed. His alternate self was slowly stirring, his head listing from side to side as his eyes began to flicker open. It was an unreal experience, staring down at one?s own face as it moved and acted independently.

Slowly, the mirror Arkos opened his eyes. The robed Korda?s gaze wandered around listlessly before settling on Arkos. At that point, he suddenly became more awake and alert as his expression twisted into abject fear.

?It?s alright,? Arkos said as his double began to shake in the bed?s harnesses. ?We mean you know harm.? More monitors began to beep as the mirror Arkos? heart rate accelerated.

?You?but I?you?re??Slowly, the mirror Arkos began to calm down, his terrified expression giving away to a much more beatific expression. ?So it?s true,? he said, almost in a whisper. ?As Ionn weaves, it is true. There really is a Mirror Universe.?

Arkos swallowed. He was at a complete loss for words. He had never once imagined he would be having a conversation with himself.

?Please stay calm,? he finally said, his mind suddenly adjusting as he went into Captain mode. ?We found you aboard a damaged shuttlecraft. Whatever it was that happened to you, you?re safe now.?

The mirror Arkos shook his head. ?No?no, I?we must have words,? he said, his voice weak and slurred. ?I?I need your help. Nar-Etulis needs your help.?

******

Roughly two hours later, after the mirror version of Arkos had been sedated and made to rest again, Zimmerman announced that their guest was well enough to talk with the crew. At Arkos? instruction, his mirror counterpart?whom Arkos was already mentally dubbing ?Telvenar Nair,? after his priestly rank?was guided through the ship towards the waiting room for an audience with the Captain and his senior officers. The security detail would later report that the Telvenar had acted confused, tense and wary throughout the entire trip, staring at every monitor and bulkhead as though they were going to leap from the wall and bite him. The report didn?t surprise Arkos, but did disappoint him more than he thought it would. His mirror version was a definitely a Chastised, through and through.

The Telvenar?s initial meeting with the bridge crew had been no less jumpy. Upon walking into the waiting room, his first act had been to shrink back to the door and gaze in helpless terror at K?Nera. Thankfully, it didn?t take much to calm the Telvenar: after Arkos introduced K?Nera as his first officer, the Telvenar?s expression eased, and he sat down after bowing to the Andorian in apology. K?Nera had simply glanced at her fellow officers in confusion. ?Am I really that scary?? she asked.

The ship?s other Andorian officer, Chief Engineer Adim, gave her a joking grin. ?Do you really want us to answer that question?? he responded, earning a withering gaze from the Tactical Officer.

?Children, settle down please,? Arkos cut in, before folding his hands together and turning to face his double. The Telvenar was still sporting a few faint burns on his cheek and knuckles, but thanks to Zimmerman?s treatment, they were now faded and less severe-looking. Simply looking at the Telvenar, though, sitting there swathed in the garments of the Chastised, brought back memories to Arkos. Memories of Nar-Etulis, of Deepwell, of the late nights he spent sea-gazing. Of burnt kald-scales and chanted intonations each morning, when he was younger. And of a whole bunch of other memories he would have sooner forgotten?

As Arkos introduced himself, his crew and his ship, the Telvenar nodded politely, but it was clear that he felt very uncomfortable. The priest looked fidgety and nervous, continuously glancing warily at his surroundings. i]Maybe his only exposure to starships so far has been to Terran Empire vessels,[/i] Arkos thought, and who knows what they did to him. Either way, Arkos noticed that this man?s personality was radically different than his own. Arkos liked to think that he was a confident, outgoing man, but whether due to some lingering trauma or due to his religious doctrine, the Telvenar was the exact opposite?quiet, reserved, and, thus far, overbearingly polite.

?We found you on a damaged shuttlecraft,? Arkos told his double. ?According to our sensor readings, you were barely conscious when you flew through the wormhole, and your shuttle had sustained quite a bit of weapons damage.?

The Telvenar gave Arkos a deep bow. ?I am grateful, Captain,? he said. ?If not for you and your crew, I would most certainly have died. I am in your debt, as Ionn weaves.?

The old expression stung Arkos. He realized that it had been five?maybe six years since he had heard someone say that phrase, and maybe nine years since he had said it himself. As Ionn weaves, he thought bitterly. Everything happens because Ionn weaves it.

K?Nera folded her hands. ?If you don?t mind telling us, Cap?Mr. Nair, what were you doing in that shuttlecraft in the first place??

The Telvenar?s gaze turned to K?Nera. Again, Arkos saw consternation cross the man?s eyes as he looked at the Andorian. Could a mirror version of K?Nera have done something to him? ?I had stolen the shuttle from a Terran ship that I was imprisoned upon, Lieutenant K?Nera,? he replied. ?I was being transported with several others to one of their prison colonies when the ship?s power went out. I confess, I do not know how or why this happened, except perhaps because Ionn weaved it so.?

Of course, Arkos thought sarcastically, resisting the urge to say that out loud. ?And in the ensuing jailbreak, you managed to steal a shuttlecraft??

The Telvenar gave a sage nod. ?I regret to say that I was the only one to make it to a shuttlebay,? he said. ?My fellow prisoners were all captured or killed by the ship?s crew. But before the escape, I overheard one of my fellow prisoners say that the ship was creating a?hole, in space?that would lead to a Mirror Universe. A place that was a better, less cruel, reflection of my world. And while I know nothing of how to fly a shuttlecraft, as Ionn weaves, I was able to find this rent in the heavens. ? He glanced at Arkos. ?I consider it a blessing that I not only made it through alive, but that I encountered my own mirror half in the process.?

Arkos had no idea how to react to that sort of compliment. He simply gave the Telvenar a half-smile before glancing sideways at his Chief Engineer. ?Adim, given what we know about the technology of the Terran Empire, do you think it?s possible that they created this wormhole artificially??

The Andorian frowned. ?I?m afraid I can?t base anything off of our knowledge of Imperial technology, Captain,? he replied, ?but it is possible. A stable, but short-lived hole can be created by generating a magneton pulse along a subspace tensor matrix. Maybe the Terran Empire has adapted this technique and perfected it.?

?But if they made the wormhole, why haven?t they used it yet?? K?Nera asked. ?It sounds like they?re trying to create a stable invasion route.?

Sann leaned forward. ?It could be that they?re still testing its stability,? she replied. ?It?s one thing for a single shuttlecraft to go through, but a larger starship?or worse, an entire fleet?would interact with the wormhole differently. There?s always the risk of a hole?s tetryon field reacting negatively with a ship?s shields, never mind the shields of several dozen ships.?

Nodding to the Trill, Arkos turned back to the Telvenar. ?Well, you?ve made it through in one piece,? he said, giving the man a smile. ?My crew and I are willing to help you in any way that they can, and the Federation is ready to grant you asylum if you wish.?

The Telvenar nodded. ?Thank you, Captain. I accept your Federation?s offer, but I come before you with a wish for something more important than my own safety.? He stared Arkos in the eye. ?Tell me, Captain, as we are both the same person, and are both Korda?in this universe, has the Calamity happened??

The question was one that Arkos had sincerely hoped the Telvenar wouldn?t ask, as it would mean that at least one version of Nar-Etulis had been spared. The Calamity. The common name for the environmental disaster that had afflicted the Korda homeworld almost a century ago. Decades of intense ice-mining in the polar regions, atmospheric modulation and gas-harvesting had taken its toll on Nar-Etulis? environment. This, combined with a sudden spike in harmful radiation emissions from the planet?s sun, had caused the world?s polar ice caps to melt. In an instant, the Korda civilization, one that had rivalled other races for its technological advancement and majesty, was shattered by floods, tsunamis and geological upheaval. The remnants of the Korda race were forced to live in great underwater cities from that point on, a sad reflection of what they once were.

He nodded gravely to the priest. ?It has,? he replied. ?I?m sorry.?

His double?s shoulders sagged in defeat. ?Even in this universe, then, the Korda are undone,? he moaned. ?In my universe, though, the Calamity was but the beginning of our woes. No sooner had our own world consumed us when the Terran Empire came.? A bitter tone came over his voice. ?Those murderous reekfins had always gazed jealously upon us before, but now that we were weakened, they swooped down upon us like carrion.?

The Telvenar?s gaze returned to Arkos. ?Nar-Etulis is no longer our own world, Captain,? he said. ?The Terran Empire?s soldiers walk our cities. They have enslaved our people, and made us toil for their luxury and amusement.? His face twisted into an expression of anger Arkos didn?t even know he was capable of. ?They have outlawed our traditions, and forbade the reverence of Ionn! It is not enough that they have enslaved us, Captain, now they seek to damn us!?

?What would you ask of us, then??Arkos said. He already has a suspicion of where this conversation was going.

?I ask, Captain, that the Federation save my?our?people!? the Telvenar replied. ?I ask that the Federation send a fleet through the?wormhole, as you call it?and liberate Nar-Etulis!?

For a moment, the table went silent. Arkos pulled his gaze free from that of the Telvenar. He couldn?t imagine Nar-Etulis ground down under the Terran Empire?s heel like that. He didn?t want to. What the Telvenar described stained every single good memory he had of his birth-world. But he knew that if he had seen what his mirror counterpart had seen, he would be just as angry, just as desperate and just as determined. What he had to say next was going to hurt them both, on so many levels.

?I?m sorry,? he said, ?but I?m afraid that isn?t possible.?

The Telvenar looked as though he had been slapped. ?I?m sorry?? he asked. ?What do you mean by ?not possible???

Arkos took a deep breath, and folded his hands together. ?Look,? he said, ?if the situation in our own universe were any different, I would say yes. I would make the petition to Starfleet to secure this wormhole and send a fleet through. I would try my damndest to see Nar-Etulis liberated, and if it weren?t for Starfleet protocols, I would see the Empire TRIBBLE hang for every Korda life they?ve taken.?

He leaned forwards a little to lock eyes with his double. ?But right now, the Federation is fighting a war on too many fronts. We?re battling for our survival against the Klingons, the Romulans, the Breen, the Cardassian True Way, and most of all, the Borg. We could not try to liberate your universe?s Nar-Etulis without trying to liberate every other world oppressed by the Empire, and that would be a massive, and risky, undertaking. It would mean fighting the Terran Empire in its own space, against its full strength, through a single wormhole. I?m sorry, but Starfleet does not have the resources at hand for a full invasion of the Terran Empire. We?re barely holding off the Klingons as it is.?

The Telvenar stared in blinking disbelief at Arkos. The look of betrayal on his face stung him deeply. ?But?there is a wormhole out there, right in front of you!? he shouted. ?Your ship could use it to fly through, and get to Nar-Etulis!?

?The wormhole,? Arkos replied, as calmly as possible, ?could very well be unstable. And even if it wasn?t, a single ship flying deep into the Imperial space would be suicide. I am not going to risk the lives of my crew so recklessly.?

?It is your world!? the Telvenar almost screamed this time. ?Our world! Our people! We have a responsibility towards them!?

Arkos felt the blood in his cheeks run hot. ?I know,? he said, his molars clenching slightly. ?Damn it, I know. But I also have a responsibility to my crew, to my ship, and to the Prime Directive. I am sorry, Telvenar, but I cannot help you.?

The Telvenar made a deep, slow exhalation as he glared furiously at Arkos. A few seconds of cold silence fell over the room. The skin on the back of Arkos? neck prickled. He felt hatred in that silence?real, caustic hatred, flowing out from his double.

Abruptly, the Telvenar stood up from his chair. ?By your inaction, you doom thousands, Captain,? he hissed. ?You are no better than the Empire.?

The words hit Arkos like a hammer-blow. He sprang to his feet as the Telvenar walked towards the doorway, and would have leapt across the table to punch his double in the face if K?Nera hadn?t stood up at the same time, pressing an arm against his chest to block him off ?Captain!? she shouted. Held in place, Arkos could only glare venomously at the Telvenar as he strode out of the room.

Exhaling loudly, Arkos sat back down and took several deep breaths. That man wasn?t him, he decided firmly. That reckless, irrational, Ionn-trembling kakrynn wasn?t him at all, even if the two of them looked alike.

He breathed out again, and let his anger flow out along with the breath. ?Alright,? he finally said, turning to Sann and Adim. ?As long as that wormhole remains open, it presents a clear and present danger to the Federation. Our top priority is sealing it, temporarily if not permanently. Sann, could we destabilize it with a photon torpedo??

Sann drummed her fingers. ?We could,? she replied, ?but we?ll have no way of calculating how unstable the implosion would be. The collateral damage could be immense.?

?During the Dominion War, the crew of Deep Space Nine did try to seal the Bajoran Wormhole with a series of phase-conjugate graviton beams,? Adim suggested. ?It failed that time due to sabotage by a Changeling, but unless someone in this room is a shapeshifter, I see no reason why we couldn?t try it ourselves.?

Arkos nodded to his Chief Engineer. ?Good. I want you two to get on that right away. The sooner we can close this wormhole, the better. In the meantime,? he glanced at K?Nera, ?seeing as he?s accepted our offer of asylum, I want quarters to be arranged for our guest. We?ll keep him safe and comfortable before passing him over to the Diplomatic Corps. Dismissed.?

Sann and Adim both got up and left the room, quietly pleased, as usual, to have a project to work on. K?Nera, on the other hand, remained seated, staring impassively at Arkos. Arkos recognized that stare. K?Nera didn?t give it to him that often, but when she did, it meant that there was something that she had to get off of her chest.

?Permission to speak freely, sir?? she asked.

He nodded. ?Granted.?

?Sir, are you alright?? she asked. She seemed genuinely concerned. ?I don?t think I?ve ever seen you react this angrily to someone before.?

Arkos? jawline tightened. ?Well, you did hear him, K?Nera,? he replied. ?That...our guest?practically called me a traitor to my own people. I?m quite sure that if someone accused you of hating your own species, you would do a lot more than simply sit there and be appalled.?

?That?s not what I meant, sir,? K?Nera replied. ?I noticed that ever since he came into the room, something about your alternate self has set you off. You?ve seemed more on edge, more blunt in your way of speaking and acting, and you seemed unusually eager when you discussed closing the wormhole. If I didn?t know better, sir, I?d say that there was something about your mirror version that you hated.?

Arkos felt his cheeks burn at the comment. ?Don?t be ridiculous, K?Nera,? he replied. ?He?s a refugee from the Mirror Universe who needs our help. It?s not my place to hate him. I just don?t intend to bow to his impossible demands, either.?

The Andorian seemed nonplussed as she continued to stare at Arkos. ?Sir?my knowledge of the social situation on your homeworld is hazy, but does this have something to do with the conflict on Nar-Etulis that you escaped from??

At that point, Arkos stood up abruptly. ?Lieutenant, I am a Starfleet officer,? he spat angrily. ?I am above whatever petty grudges or local conflicts you may be referring to, because I have been trained to see the bigger picture. I suggest you carry out your orders instead of trying to play psychoanalyst with your commanding officer. Are we clear??

K?Nera?s gaze intensified into one of hurt anger and of defiance. Arkos could see that she would dearly have liked to retort to his comment, but her Starfleet discipline overrode her hot-blooded Andorian temper. ?Yes sir,? she replied stiffly.

?Dismissed.?

Without a furher word, K?Nera stood up and stormed out of the meeting room. The doors hissed closed in her wake, leaving Arkos to brood in silence.

ambassadormolari · March 2013

Later that day, against what he was sure was his better judgement, Arkos paid his double a visit.

Maybe, he thought upon reflection, he really did want to salvage something from that disastrous meeting-- the Telvenar was him after all, even if it was a a more shortsighted, religious him. He was willing to concede that maybe he was partially to blame for the failed meeting: he had always been more used to dealing with generators, mechanisms, relays, engines and computer networks than with people, despite all of his management training. This felt like an opportunity to improve on his people skills with someone he could, in a sense, relate to.

And maybe, he also reflected, he was being spurred on by a desire to prove K'Nera wrong. To prove that he could, indeed, rise above the emotional baggage he knew he'd been carrying since he'd left Nar-Etulis.

At Arkos' approach, the door to the Telvenar's quarters slid open with a gentle hydraulic hiss. He was greeted by the sound of low, rhythmic chanting, and the familiar, salty smell of burning incense. The Telvenar was sitting cross-legged in the centre of the quarters, his fingers held outwards in the interlocked shape of the detrevat, the symbol of perpetuality, over the smoke billowing upwards from lit kaldscale stick on the floor. His eyes were closed as he quietly sang the Ninth Invocation of the Making in rhythmic, flowing voice.

The sound and smell involuntarily caused the back of Arkos' neck to tingle. He hadn't sang the Ninth Invocation since he was a boy. And now, here he was, hearing himself sing it as an adult.

He remained there, standing immobile in the doorway, for almost half a minute until the Telvenar finally finished his prayer-song. He glanced up at Arkos, his expression calm and almost expectant. The anger and the raw hatred the priest had displayed earlier in the waiting room were gone.

"Ah, Captain," the Telvenar said, smiling. "I must thank you for arranging these quarters for me. The Empire's idea of living quarters were a steel room barely the width of my arm, so I must say this is a welcome improvement."

Sensing no tension or animosity from his double, Arkos allowed himself to relax a little, and chuckled at the Telvenar's comment. See? he told himself mentally. Beneath that religious exterior, he has a sense of humour, just like you. There's no need why you can't get along with him.

He folded his arms behind his back in a classic Starfleet 'at ease' posture. "I hope I am not disturbing you, Telvenar," he said.

The Telvenar's answer was preceded by a polite bow. "You are not, Captain," he replied. "I feel that I must apologize for my outburst earlier today. It was...unbecoming of a Telvenar."

Arkos allowed himself a slight smile at the Telvenar. It was, he realized, the first time he had actually smiled to his double. "Water under the bridge," he replied. He quickly noticed the puzzled frown that the comment had earned him, and quickly corrected himself. "Sorry, it's a Human term that I've grown accustomed to. It means that there's no harm done, and any fault has already been forgotten."

"I see." Arkos saw a faint look of unease cross his double's features. "The Terrans certainly are fond of their idioms, aren't they?"

Suddenly aware that he was walking on thin ice now (and realizing that he'd just thought another Terran idiom in his head, frighteningly enough), Arkos decided that it would be best to lighten the mood further. "Annoying, aren't they?" he asked.

"The Terrans, or their idioms?"

"Both."

A slow smile crept over the Telvenar's face. "In that, Captain, we are agreed."

The two Korda shared a laugh before Arkos cleared his throat and continued. "I came here to let you know that the Da Vinci will be heading off soon. The Federation Diplomatic Corps has been notified of your request for asylum, and they are all too happy to help. We will be taking you to Starbase 85, and from there, the Corps will help relocate you to a new place to live, far from the incursion zones of the Mirror Universe."

He was met by a raised eyebrow from the Telvenar. "A temporary place to live, you mean," his double responded. "Make no mistake, Captain, I am grateful for the sanctuary that the Federation is willing to give me. However, I have every intention of returning to my homeworld, Captain, with or without your help. I cannot allow myself to live in comfort and safety while our people are being oppressed."

Arkos swallowed. He should have known that this issue would come up. He did not look forward to the argument that was no doubt going to ensue.

"That will be...difficult, Telvenar," he said.

The Telvenar stared up at him, frowning. "Why is that?"

Arkos took a deep breath. "As you may have overheard, the Terran Empire clearly created the wormhole as a gateway through which to invade the Federation," he said. "As much as I understand and...appreciate your wish to help Nar-Etulis, Telvenar, it is my duty to close that wormhole and prevent any possible invasion."

He braced himself, expecting the Telvenar to explode again into upset, betrayed outrage. Instead, he got something even worse: a period of silence. It was a bitter, caustic silence, one in which the Telvenar stared at him in hurt disbelief, before looking away. His double's tripartite expression of anger, betrayal and sadness felt like a deep stab wound in Arkos' chest.

"And what of your duty to your people, Captain?" the Telvenar finally asked, still looking away. "To your faith? Does your duty to an...alien organization...supercede those?"

Arkos' jaw tightened. This "alien organization" gave me shelter, just as they're giving it to you, he wanted to reply. The Federation accepted me when my own people would not. He fought down the retort, knowing that he could very well shatter the bridge he had come intending to repair. "I know this will sound harsh, Telvenar," he said, "but when I joined Starfleet, I took an oath to defend the Federation and its principles. I cannot willingly endanger other races and peoples to protect my own, no matter how much I might want to. And as for my faith...your faith and mine are two different things entirely."

The Telvenar looked up again, this time looking at Arkos with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "I see," he said. "You are an Apologist."

Arkos nodded. "Yes. And that, I do not apologize for," he answered with the old motto.

In the ugly aftermath of the Calamity, when the remnants of the Korda race had settled into the dilapidated underwater settlements called deepwells, two prominent ideological groups had arisen. One was the Chastised, a religous group that renounced contemporary technology and preached a more modest, low-tech lifestyle. The Korda race had brought the Calamity on itself, the Chastised argued, through their over-reliance on technology and their wanton disregard for tradition, nature or their own limitations. The ice caps would not have melted if the Korda had not employed the technology or environmentally thoughtless production means that they did, and now they were all paying the price for the reckless, unhindered progress of their forebearers. The Chastised offered a return to a more rudimentary, low-tech lifestyle that brought tradition and the worship of Ionn back to the forefront of Korda life, and many Korda, still seeking some sort of cosmic answer after the desolation of the Calamity, joined the ranks of the Chastised.

The Apologists, on the other hand, might have been referred to generically as "atheists," but that would have been a simplistic description. They were skeptics and rationalists, who recognized the intrinsic value of scientific discovery, technological advancement and rational, forward thinking in this time of adversity. They were of the firm opinion that abolishing technology was no answer at all-- that, if anything, technological advancement was needed now more than ever if the Korda race was to survive. They promoted a worldview based on logic and reason, rather than on religion and mysticism, and wanted the Korda race to move forward, not backward. Their name had stuck because, unlike the Chastised, they saw the Korda's previous way of life as nothing to be ashamed of or sorry for, environmental carelessness aside.

The suspicion on the Telvenar's face lingered. "I am certain that things may be...different in your universe, Captain," he said slowly, "and I make no assumptions about you. It is just...in my universe, it was the Apologists who welcomed the Empire to Nar-Etulis with open arms. The Apologists were the ones who made the annexation possible. They are evil, godless people who have forsaken Ionn for the false promises of the Empire."

Evil. Coming from the Telvenar, the word hurt like a blade between his ribs. It was a word he'd heard thrown at him, his family, and their beliefs more than once, and it didn't sound any better coming from his own lips.

Slowly, Arkos walked over to the side of the room and sat down on an unoccupied chair so that he could face the Telvenar more levelly. "I'm not going to contend that approaching the Empire was an ignorant and utterly stupid decision on their part, Telvenar," Arkos replied, "and I understand that the Apologists of your universe may be different in many ways from those in mine. But...have you ever considered that your Apologists might have been motivated by something other than malice? That perhaps they had good intentions behind their actions?"

The Telvenar's expression hardened. "I fail to see anything 'good' about what they did, Captain."

"Really?" Arkos folded his arms. "If your Nar-Etulis is anything like mine, then life is hard. There are few functioning generators left, even fewer life support systems, and all of the Deepwells use antiquated equipment to keep their populations alive. The mortality rate is three times what it was before the Calamity, and I don't even want to consider the infant mortality rate."

The Telvenar nodded. "Yes. It has been this way for as long as I remember, Captain. And yet we endure, as Ionn weaves."

Arkos shook his head. "No, don't you see? It doesn't HAVE to be that way. Maybe your Apologists, as ultimately wrong as they were, thought that joining the Empire would improve the standard of living for Nar-Etulis."

"An utterly selfish desire, Captain," the Telvenar replied. "The state of Nar-Etulis is our punishment, our lot to endure. It is the only way we can atone for the hubris of our forefathers in thinking themselves masters over nature. To embrace a technologized way of life such as the Empire's would be to re-embrace that hubris and repeat our mistakes."

It was the same, stupid argument Arkos had heard hundreds of times before, obstinate and unchanging. "Haven't we suffered enough?" he retorted. "You talk of punishment and atonement, Telvenar, but the way I see it, the Korda race has more than paid for any crimes it has committed, imagined or otherwise."

"Then you are being very short-sighted, Captain," the Telvenar said sternly. "Before the Calamity, our civilization spent centuries defiling the planet, trampling on tradition and wrongfully setting ourselves up as gods. Our fall was just and deserved, but if we must suffer for centuries of wrongdoing, then our penance must be just as long." He folded his arms. "Would you have us create another fragile, false pedestal for us to put ourselves upon, so that we fall again just as hard?"

The comment made Arkos' blood burn. "So this is it? You think our people should continue to suffer in the name of 'penance'?" His hands balled into fists. "You speak of wanting to save our people, but you would see them continue to live in squalor and wretchedness, to see them punished for the actions of their forefathers! Please tell me how THAT is saving them!"

The Telvenar's eyes widened a little at Arkos' words. He stood up, glaring at his counterpart. "How dare you," he hissed, his voice remaining level even as his anger leaked past his calm outward facade. "You have not seen what I have seen, Captain. The...defilements that the Empire has carried out against our temples, our traditions, our way of life. These are the fault of the Apologists. They seek nothing less than to kill our faith, to quash our belief and our traditions in the name of 'reason' and 'progress'."

Arkos stood up in turn, meeting the Telvenar's glare. "I'm sure the Empire are every bit as evil as you say they are, Telvenar," he said said in slow, measured words. "But before you cast the Apologists in the same light, consider that religion cannot feed a starving people!"

"A Korda who refuses to acknowledge Ionn--"

"--is no Korda at all. So I've heard. But let me hypothesize something to you, Telvenar. Suppose that your version of Nar-Etulis was never annexed. Suppose that you and the Apologists were allowed to live side by side undisturbed in the Deepwells, with no outside force bothering you. What do you think would have happened?"

The Telvenar seemed nonplussed. "Whatever Ionn weaved," he replied, as though it were obvious.

"Then allow me to propose to you an alternate version of history, Telvenar," Arkos said. "One where Apologists and Chastised DID live peacefully with one another, for a while. And then, one day, the Chastised started to grow more and more afraid and suspicious of the Apologists. They began more openly use words such as 'godless' and 'blasphemer' in their presence, all because they chose not to believe in some mythical fate-weaver."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Suppose, Telvenar, that one day, the Chastised collectively decided that the Apologists were too dangerous to be allowed to live alongside them. That they started denying them services and shelter, and making the deepwells less accessible to them. That they started ganging up on and beating individual Apologists, and that those beatings gradually turned into killings. And it got so bad, that those among the Apologists who had the means were forced to leave their birth-world and never return. In this alternate history, Telvenar, can you still rightly say that the Apologists are the evil ones?"

There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Arkos, though, saw his counterpart’s stern, indignant expression waver. Slowly but surely, the Telvenar looked away from Arkos. "I do not know," he finally said.

"Of course you don't," Arkos growled.

At that point, it was obvious to Arkos that he had made a mistake in coming here. There was no common ground, nothing that could be salvaged between him and this Chastised who wore his face. He wanted nothing more than to get on with his duties now-- to close the wormhole and head to Starbase 85 so that he could dump the Telvenar there and never have to deal with him again. Their conversation was over.

It was just as well, as a second later, the warbling beep of a red alert burst into existence all around them.

The Telvenar jumped at the noise, bewildered. No sooner had the red alert sounded when Arkos' comm badge beeped. "Bridge to Captain Nair," came K'Nera's voice.

He slapped the badge. "Nair here."

"Captain, you're needed up here. A ship is coming through the wormhole."

*****

The Telvenar had insisted on accompanying Arkos to the bridge, stating the need to see if it was his pursuers. Arkos had not been in the mood to bother talking to him, and so his double had accompanied him on the turbolift, obviously taking his lack of response as a 'yes.' He ignored the Telvenar for the entire short trip, even when the Telvenar walked in after him as he strode onto the bridge.

He was greeted by the sight of the azure majesty of the wormhole on the viewscreen, and of a metallic shape gliding out of it like an ancient sailing vessel riding a bow wave. Arkos instantly recognized it as an Excalibur-class ship, a medium cruiser, one of the most common starship builds to be churned out of the Utopia Planetia yards. It was, the engineer in him had to admit, a beautiful ship, its swan-like shape was silhouetted a dark silver against the wormhole, its deflector and nacelles gleaming a vibrant blue that blended in against the wormhole. The Excalibur-class was a top-notch vessel, ably combining capability and aesthetics in one effective and iconic design. He had always hoped to command one, if and when he was ever promoted.

He'd never once imagined, though, that one would be out to kill him.

"Report!" he ordered as he sat in his command chair. The Telvenar hovered near the edge of the tactical desk, his gaze affixed to the viewscreen.

"The vessel came out of the wormhole a little more than a minute ago," Farim replied as she pored over the ops console. "No known registration or identifying codes being broadcast."

"They're powering up their weapons, sir," K'Nera added.

Arkos had been afraid of that. As the Excalibur-class drifted closer, he could see the ugly ochre markings staining its hull and saucer, marring the ship's beauty. "Shields up!" he ordered. "Arm phasers!" Even as he gave the order, he desperately hoped it didn't come down to a fight. The Excalibur-class was one of Starfleet's workhorses, well-armed and able to fulfill a variety of combat roles. A lighter Miranda-class like the Da Vinci, on the other hand, had a reputation for being the first ship to explode at every major battle in Federation history. He doubted things were any different in the Mirror Universe.

"That's it," he suddenly heard the Telvenar whisper. He glanced at his double, and saw that he was gazing at the screen in abject horror. "That's the ship that I was imprisoned upon."

A console behind Arkos suddenly beeped. "Captain," K'Nera said, "we're being hailed."

Arkos felt his throat tighten. A part of him really didn't want to see what the crew of the other ship looked like-- he'd seen more of this universe's dark, twisted mirror in the Telvenar than he had wanted to. "On screen," he ordered.

The view shifted to that of the unnervingly familiar sight of a starship bridge not unlike the Da Vinci's. Dominating the screen was an even more unnervingly familiar Andorian woman. True, her usually short hair was now shoulder-length, a leather patch covered her right eye, and her uniform bore a captain's pips as well as the badge of a sword being driven through a planet, but she was still familiar.

"This is Captain K'Nera of the I.S.S. Caligula," the Andorian woman said. "We..." she trailed off then, as she seemed to recognize the faces staring back at her. A cruel smile lit her features. "Well, this is a surprise!"

Arkos did his best to keep his face from betraying any emotion. Next to him, though, the Telvenar was looking at K'Nera in outright terror. His own first officer, by contrast, was gazing at her double with quiet fury. Slowly, Arkos stood up from his command chair. "This is Captain Arkos Nair of the U.S.S. Da Vinci," he said, loudly and authoritatively. "You are intruding on Federation space. State your business."

"Captain?" the mirror K'Nera echoed with an amused chuckle. "You mean you've actually risen to a command position? How sad for your universe, then." Her gaze shifted towards the Telvenar, who visibly cringed. "We are here, Captain., for that gentleman standing right next to you. He is both a wanted criminal, and the property of the Terran Empire. We would appreciate it if he were returned to us."

My counterpart is a slave, Arkos realized. The Telvenar had not been joking when he'd said the Korda of his universe had been subjugated. "The Telvenar Arkos Nair has asked the United Federation of Planets for asylum," he replied. "And it has been granted. We don't particularly care for your labelling him as...property."

Captain K'Nera's smile widened, as though she were taking some delight in Arkos' defiance. "Then your asylum, I think, has been granted prematurely," she replied. "Please be sensible, Captain. Consider the lives of your crew-- especially that fetching Andorian at your tactical console." Behind Arkos, his universe's K'Nera bristled. "Is it really worth endangering them all for one lowly criminal?"

"My crew aren't the sort to be moved by threats, Captain K'Nera," Arkos responded flatly, "and neither am I. You call Telvenar Nair a criminal. What crime has he committed?"

The mirror version of K'Nera folded her arms. "Murder," she said, "and treason. He assassinated Governor Syrku Tahl of Nar-Etulis, and was en route to his trial before he escaped. For the sake of justice, we demand his return."

Syrku Tahl. Arkos felt his blood run cold at the name. He slowly turned to face the Telvenar, who was fidgeting at the edge of the bridge.

"You have five minutes to reach a decision, Captain Nair," the mirror K'Nera continued, "or we will make that decision for you. Caligula out." And with that, the viewscreen changed back to the looming shape of the Imperial ship.

Arkos didn't even notice. He continued to stare in disbelief at the Telvenar. "You killed Uncle Syrku?" He remembered his uncle, a man of big smiles, a wide gerth and wonderful stories. He also remembered the day the Chastised lynched him, and used hot pokers to brand him with holy symbols until he finally died in agony.

The Telvenar shook his head. "He was a puppet of the Empire!" he protested. "He was living in luxury while the rest of us slaved! He betrayed us! I had to--"

"You killed Uncle Syrku?" Arkos almost screamed this time. The Telvenar's protests simply made it all worse. It all felt like a horrible violation of Arkos' memories, of the few good things he remembered about his homeworld and a gross distortion of the day it all fell apart.

In an instant, he had grabbed the Telvenar's collar in a death grip, raising a fist to strike. "You murdering son of a--"

Another pair of hands suddenly grabbed at his outstretched wrist, catching his arm in a strong grip before he could deliver a punch. "Captain, that's enough!" he heard K'Nera shout.

Biting back his fury, Arkos tore his arm free of K'Nera's grip and turned back to the viewscreen, turning his back on his double. The Telvenar wasn't staying one moment longer on his ship, he decided. The Empire can keep him, and Starfleet command can censure me all they want for all I care. I'm not going to risk my life or the lives of my crew for that murdering TRIBBLE, no matter what the Federatin charter--

The Federation charter. The old, revered document stating that all sentient species and individuals had the right to freedom and self-determination. The very document he had sworn to uphold, no matter what the circumstance. Damn it...

The Telvenar stared gat Arkos, seemingly understanding his double's anguish. He hung his head in an unspoken admission of guilt. "Captain...I have no wish for you to risk the lives and your crew and yourself on my behalf," he said. "I...I think perhaps it would be better if you agreed to hand me back to the Empire. I don't want anyone else to suffer for my sake--"

"Belay that!" Arkos spat, interrupting his double, before tapping his comm badge."Bridge to Enginering. Adim, is the graviton beam ready?"

"Negative, sir," came the Andorian's frantic reply. "The deflector grid still needs some final adjustments, which will take at least fifteen minutes!"

"We don't have fifteen minutes, Adim!" Arkos snapped. "Skip non-essential parameters if you have to, we need it ready, and fast!" He turned to K'Nera, who was still standing near him after restraining him. "K'Nera, hail the hail the Caligula."

His First Officer warily made her way back to her station and tapped at the console. "Aye sir."

In an instant, the view changed back to a view of the Caligula's bridge. Past the cruel smile of K'Nera's double, Arkos could have sworn he saw mirror versions of Sann, Adim and Farim working at their stations as well. They looked unnervingly identical to their alternate counterparts, the only notable difference being the sword-emblazoned Empire uniforms that they wore.

"Ah, that was quick!" Captain K'Nera exclaimed cheerfully. "Are you sure you don't need a few more minutes to decide, Captain?"

"We don't need five minutes, or five seconds," Arkos growled back. "The Federation has given Telvenar Nair asylum, and we will honour that agreement."

The mirror K'Nera gave an almost pouting frown. "Are you sure that's wise, Captain? You are risking much for one worthless Korda."

"Perhaps," Arkos replied, "but another 'worthless' Korda knows that you're here for much more than chasing an escaped prisoner. You intend to destroy us, whether we give you the Telvenar or not, and pave the way for an invasion."

The Andorian's grin returned, wider than ever, as she clapped her hands together. "Very astute of you, Captain Nair!" she exclaimed. "Try to put up at least a little bit of a fight, will you? One-sided battles are quite boring."

And with that, the Caligula's bridge disappeared, the screen flickering back into the dominating image of the Empire vessel and the whirling abyss of the wormhole behind it.

And then, a split second later, the starscape was pierced by a burning lance of phaser fire, and the tense atmosphere was literally shaken violently.

*****

Within seconds of the Caligula's intitial phaser burst, Arkos barked the order to return fire. The Da Vinci and Caligula both began the battle in earnest with a mutual volley of photon torpedos. The spaceborne projectiles screamed past one another like spinning red stars, impacting explosively against the shields of both ships and sending officers on both sides hurtling off their feet as the ships around them shook violently.

Under normal circumstances, the forward shields of an old Miranda-class like the Da Vinci would have collapsed immediately under such a bombardment. Captain K'Nera, however, clearly had no idea how much effort Arkos Nair had put into updating his vessel-- how many long hours and days he had spent bargaining and wheedling with starbase quartermasters to get resources and equipment not normally reserved for light cruisers. As such, the Empire captain was faintly surprised to discover that the Da Vinci's shields were more robust than she had expected, straining but holding against the Caligula's torpedo onslaught. Her surprises would not end there.

Powering forwards on impulse, the Da Vinci dipped low under the Caligula's starboard bow, its forward phaser cannon blazing to life and sending bolts of ochre light stabbing upward at its foe. The Caligula's forward shields buckled, before her crew recovered from their surprise and returned fire, their ship's forward phasers washing against the shields its smaller opponent. The Caligula powered forward on impulse as it fired, and the two ships began a dance of evasive manouvers.

The Da Vinci pulled to the Caligula's stern, and the two ships exchanged broadsides, yellow beams and the pulsing cannon flashes crisscrossing as fore and aft phaser arrays were brought into the equation. The shields of both ships shimmered as they gave and took punishment. With a sudden burst of speed, the Da Vinci suddenly pulled to the side and flew directly away from the Caligula instead of letting her pass, not wanting to be caught by her aft torpedoEs. Her aft phasers stabbed back at the Empire vessel as she jinked, deftly evading two lashing phaser bursts from her opponent as she ran on high impulse.

Swinging around, the Da Vinci came around to face the Caligula again, just as the Empire vessel glided around to bring its forward weapons to bear. For the second time, seperate volleys of photon torpedos flew past one another, accentuated by piercing phaser bursts as both ships laid into one another with their forward armaments. Shields buckled and gave out. Consoles and bulkeads exploded under the feedback. Crewmen were knocked or blown off their feet, and damage control teams hurriedly rushed from spot to spot to keep their respective ships running.

Even with the Da Vinci's updated weapons and shields, by rights, it still should have been fighting a losing battle against a superior vessel like the Caligula. Captain K'Nera, however, had underestimated just how resourceful her opponent was, simply because he wasn't approaching this battle from a military perspective. As the Empire captain sat on her command chair, barking orders and threats to her crew, Arkos was standing in his own bridge, working furiously at an engineering console as he collaborated via comms with Adim, all the while while shouting orders of his own and trusting his K'Nera with the Da Vinci's firing solutions. At Arkos' command, the Da Vinci pulled every trick they could against the Empire vessel, reversing the polarity of their shields to briefly absorb some of the Caligula's withering phaser fire, carfully managing and distributing auxiliary power and, as the two ships closed in on one another, unleashing a charged particles that caused the Caligula's starboard shields to flicker and die. K'Nera quickly took advantage of this weakness, raking the Caligula with aft phasers and fore cannon and scoring two long, burning gashes across its main hull.

This success was short lived. As the two ships passed one another by, the Da Vinci was caught by a torpedo burst from the Caligula's aft launchers. The salvo slammed against the ship's rear shields, overloading, before a stinging phaser beam lanced back from the Caligula, biting deeply into the aft section of the Da Vinci's main hull.

On the bridge, Arkos was nearly thrown off the feet by the impact as, nearby, the main shield console exploded, flinging Ensign Weber back in a burned, lifeless mess. A cluster of support cabling had torn free from the ceiling on the left side of the bridge, sparking violently, and a ruptured life support line was now venting gas in the upper left hand corner. As the ship shook, Arkos caught a glimpse of the Telvenar clutching the railing of the operations desk, clinging on in terror.

"Hull breach on Deck Two!" Sann shouted from the Science station. "Aft shields are down, and our hull is at seventy-five percent!" The bridge rocked again, another of the aft consoles exploding in a sudden burst of flame. "Make that fifty percent, sir!" Sann hastily corrected. "Captain, we can't take another hit like that!"

Moving over to the main shields console, and wincing as he forced himself to touch the hot, burnt screen, Arkos cursed under his breath. The aft shields were too heavily damaged, and he wouldn't be able to restore them in time. More importantly, the main impulse drive had taken some damage as well. They could still turn, but not quickly enough to bring their starboard shields around to face the Caligula's onslaught.

Glancing back at the screen, Arkos saw the stately shape of the Caligula do a turn, coming around to face the stricken rear of the Da Vinci like some pacing predator. The two long breaches they had scored across the Caligula's flank still glowed, angry and orange. They had wounded the Empire ship, but unfortunately, it hadn't been enough.

It was then that realization suddenly hit Arkos. The evanescent blue glow of the wormhole no longer dominated the viewscreen, fixed as it was in an aft view. The Caligula was right behind them. The wormhole, however, was in front of them.

"Sann, throw up ECM countermeasures in the bridge to repel any boarding attempts," he ordered, before switching to comms. "Adim, give me a status update on the graviton pulse. Is it ready?"

"No sir," he heard Adim reply. The Andorian's voice was heavy with defeat. "I'm sorry, sir."

Swearing under his breath, Adim turned to his Tactical Officer. "K'Nera, lock photon torpedos on the wormhole and prepare a full salvo."

K'Nera turned around to look at Arkos, eyes wide in surprise. Sann spun around in her chair. "Captain, a salvo of torpedoes could--"

"I know the risks, Sann!" Arkos snapped, before turning back to K'Nera and nodding. "Do it. And hail the Caligula."

Warily, K'Nera nodded, before turning back to her station and tapping the controls. A second later, the viewscreen again switched to the bridge of the Caligula. K'Nera's evil twin, Arkos noted with distaste, was still smiling, and her bridge was much less of a mess.

"Ah, Captain Nair!" the Andorian exclaimed. "Do you wish to surrender?"

Stepping in front of the viewscreen, Arkos made a point of looking his opponent in the eye. "That's funny," he said, "I was about to ask you the same question."

The mirror K'Nera laughed mirthfully. "Confident to the bitter end. I like that." She folded her hands. "You've put up a valiant fight, Captain Nair. And that's the first time I've had anything positive to say about a member of your species. But you are outclassed, and on the verge of destruction. You have lost this battle."

Arkos allowed himself a wry grin. "Oh, I disagree, Captain K'Nera," he replied. "We still have a full salvo of torpedoes, armed and ready to fire."

"With no aft launcher to fire them out of," K'Nera sneered back. "If you were facing in the right direction, then I would take your threat seriously, Captain Nair."

"I didn't say I would fire them at you."

For the first time in this encounter, the mirror K'Nera had stopped smiling. Her features creased into a frown that seemed to tug uncomfortably at the corners of her eyepatch. "What?"

"In your enthusiasm to blow us up, you seem to have forgotten about the wormhole your ship came out of," Arkos said. "Very careless of you, Captain. My own First Officer would never have made that mistake." Behind him, at the Tactical Console, he was certain that his own universe's K'Nera was blushing at the comment. "Unless you power down your ship's weapons, I will destroy the wormhole, and with it, your only chance of returning to your home dimension. My Science Officer informs me that the resulting implosion would be quite...catastrophic for the both of us."

On the viewscreen, Captain K'Nera stiffened. Slowly, she leaned back in her command chair, daggers in her eyes as she glared at Arkos. The cruel mirth she had been displaying before was gone. "If you fire on that wormhole, Captain Nair," she said, "then you sign your own death warrant. Even if the implosion does not destroy your vessel, [i%5

superhombre777 · March 2013

Part 1 - Counselor ch'Raul at Your Service

September 2409
Twenty-three months before the events in Literary Challenge 39
Monday, 0827 hours

Some people just don't get it, Commander ch'Raul thought. Polite, tactful responses weren't getting the desired response. It was time to be blunt. He replied calmly, without a trace of emotion in his voice. "Do you at least understand the dilemma here? Clearly not. Starfleet is a military organization, yes, but our goal is not the utter and complete annihilation of anyone and everyone who opposes our values."

Ensign Smith visibly shuddered. "But the Tholians ambushed us while we were in Federation space. They deserved to die. Our Captain is weak."

"I think it's safe to say that everyone on the ship agrees that the Tholians were in the wrong, and the Captain did the right thing defending us and disabling their ships. Do you remember how we left them? Both ships had main propulsion and weapons systems disabled. One ship had multiple hull breaches and was being evacuated. Do you wish that we had slaughtered them while they were defenseless? "

"How else will we teach their kind a lesson?"

"Alright, let's talk about lessons. What is your background in, Ensign?"

"I have a doctorate in reptilian anatomy, sir."

Checkmate. "And I have a doctorate in clinical psychology, and a second one in pantheistic religions. So let me explain this to you. Leaving the Tholians alive was an act of mercy. We don't want them to make them extinct - we just want to have a peaceful coexistence. There is no rational reason to destroy ships full of sentient beings just because you are mad at them. I think you must have suffered an injustice from another race as a child, perhaps from the Borg or Klingons?"

"Well, actually..." Smith looked down at her folded hands.

This is going to be interesting, ch'Raul thought.

---

Monday, 0931 hours

Chief Engineer Jarvis was on a mission. All was calm in the engine room, so he could take a moment and focus on a personal matter. He circled main engineering, looking for Lieutenant Fuerstenau.

After a few minutes he realized where his least favorite junior officer was - in the Jeffries tubes between decks 7 and 8, recalibrating a relatively unimportant piece of technology. Fuerstenau didn't mean to cause trouble, but he just wasn't the most talented engineer in the group. Jarvis hoped that Fuerstenau was good-natured enough to not realize that he always got the least important assignments.

He thought about having the conversation over the comm but decided that would be awkward. So, he asked the computer for Fuerstenau's current location and began crawling.

"Do you need a hand Lieutenant?" Jarvis didn't want to help, but figured that this introduction would break the ice well.

"Thank you sir, but I'm almost done here. I'm not late again, am I? I'm sorry that I'm not the fastest..."

Jarvis cut him off. "That is not why I am here. I was hoping to have a short personal talk. Is that alright?"

The tension drained from Fuerstenau's face. "Of course. What is it?"

"Would you be willing to write a short thank you note to the counselor?"

Fuerstenau looked down at the bottom of the tube. "You know, that's probably not a bad idea. It's been three months since Amy died in that fight against the Undine. I'm just now starting to feel like I can live again. I'd be happy to write him a note. Is he leaving or something?"

---

Tuesday, 1237 hours

Jarvis had spent his entire lunch break trying to convince the senior staff to contribute for Saturday's surprise. Glotz was the lone holdout. He put his fork down and looked Jarvis in the eye. "I'm sorry but I really just don't like the guy. He uses his counselor title as an excuse for his superiority complex. I doubt I could find something nice to say for his obituary."

Jarvis fought the urge to roll his eyes. "You have to admit that he's been effective though. Our last counselor was an idealist who thought everyone could be healed by a smile and a handshake. What do you talk about with ch'Raul in your semi-annual review?"

"I talk about my wives. He finds Denobulan sexuality interesting."

"Of course he would. Denobulans and Andorians have the most confusing mating patterns in the galaxy."

Glotz smiled. "At least with Denobulans it is clear what a person's gender is. I have no idea if ch'Raul is a thaan or a chan. I am pretty sure he is male, but with Andorians, how can you be sure? I can write a note mocking him. That'd be fun."

Jarvis stood up and grabbed his food tray. "I just need the note by 1200 hours on Saturday. Thanks Glotz."

---

Wednesday, 0841 hours

Supporting colonies in far-flung nebulae was one of the most boring responsibilities that Captain Everitt Carter ever had. No one in their right mind would care to live in the Betreka Nebula, so why should the Federation care? Or maybe the early morning was souring an otherwise thrilling day of replicating supplies for a small colony on a small, hot planet with a friendly name like Hesperit VI.

Carter heard loud footsteps and saw that counselor ch'Raul was on the bridge. This can't be good, he thought as a false smile creased his face. "What is on your mind Commander?" Addressing ch'Raul according to his rank instead of his position was Carter's favorite way of showing disrespect for the profession.

"We need to speak privately right away, sir." He tapped a padd against his left palm while waiting for Carter to stand up. Carter decided that almost anything would be better than sitting on the bridge watching Hesperit VI rotate, so he led the Andorian commander to his ready room.

ch'Raul started speaking as soon as they were seated. "I would like you to extend an invitation for this officer to join your crew. I feel that he would make a positive contribution."

Carter took the padd and examined the profile of a Jem'Hadar named Kerna'tharan. He was a tactical officer (of course) with no experience serving on Federation vessels. "I take it that he is part of the officer exchange program we have with our allies in the Dominion." He thought that was a non-confrontational way of saying "why are you wasting my time?"

"Actually sir, he hasn't applied for the program yet. I am hoping that your offer will be the motivation he needs to apply and not waste his life."

"A Jem'Hadar who is not motivated? Why would I want a lazy Jem'Hadar on my tactical team? Since when did you become an expert in the needs of my security department anyway?" Carter made a mental note to ask security chief Hillel if he was aware of this strange request.

ch'Raul was perfectly calm. "You know that I joined your crew after spending two years in the Gamma Quadrant as part of the officer exchange program. I have seen what Jem'Hadar do after being wounded in action. My replacement sends me information on new patients. Kerna'tharan is struggling to find a purpose in life, and I think that you can give him one.

"Do you know what the suicide rate is for wounded Jem'Hadar? No one kept records until after the Dominion War since it was assumed that anyone who was injured was not victorious. I asked to be given an advisory post working with the Dominion in 2401, but they weren't open to the idea of a counselor interfering with their troops until a few years ago."

Carter leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the history lesson commander, but why do I care?"

"Please let me continue. When I arrived, I learned that the suicide rate for wounded Jem'Hadar was 100 percent. This is entirely unacceptable. We're talking about thousands of Jem'Hadar who end their lives because they feel like they cannot make a contribution to society if they can't kill other sentient beings. Thanks to my efforts, the overall suicide rate has plunged to 64 percent. But among amputees, the figure is still around 100 percent.

"Kerna'tharan is one of the rare patients who actually listen to what we have to say. My replacement, Doctor Kinnison, tells me that without radical intervention, Kerna'tharan will probably kill himself. By taking him in, you not only save his life but also show thousands of other Jem'Hadar that life is still worth living when you are not in pristine fighting shape."

"This is very touching commander, but I don't have any open positions on this ship." Carter stood up and replicated another coffee. He intentionally did not ask ch'Raul if he wanted anything.

ch'Raul also stood. "Please don't turn this down. It would take months for a transfer to take effect. All I am asking is for you to give hope to a wounded solider, and possibly countless other soldiers as well."

I've had enough, Carter thought. "I don't need any more officers now." He turned to walk out of the room.

"If you ignore this request, Kerna'tharan's blood will be on your hands."

Carter spun around. "You have no right to make that kind of accusation! I can do whatever I damned well please on this vessel. Find someone else to take care of your one-legged Jem'Hadar."

"He is only missing his left hand. Dr. Evans could fit him with a prosthesis in a matter of hours." The door closed, leaving ch'Raul alone in the ready room.

---

Wednesday, 1449 hours

ch'Raul made a mental note to keep Mehn's counseling sessions at the end of the day. He was almost twenty minutes behind schedule thanks to Mehn's stubbornness. "Lieutenant, Pahkwa-thanh traditions have intrinsic value, but you also have to respect your shipmates. Asking someone to surrender their arm because you are starving and the staff meeting is running late is taking things too far. Do you agree?"

Mehn shifted his weight and wagged his tail around. "I don't see the problem. It was just a joke."

"So here's a joke for you. I like eating lizards. You look like one. Do you want to be barbecued or roasted?"

The Pahkwa-thanh stood in silence for a few moments. "You can't be serious."

"The only reason why you aren't taking me serious is because you weigh a hundred kilograms more than me and have sharper teeth. I don't pose a natural threat to you. Consider for a while the fact that half the crew probably thinks that you are a Gorn. The anatomical differences between Gorn and Pahkwa-thanh are not obvious to the untrained eye. So people see you as a predator from a people with a history of violence. Then you talk about eating people. It's not hard to see why you were enrolled in mandatory counseling sessions.

"Here is your choice: you can either grow up or I recommend to Captain Carter that you aren't worth keeping. We'll be at Deep Space K-7 in a month, where he can safely dump you. What will it be?"

---

Friday, 1524 hours

A Luna-class starship was much too small to hide from people, especially when they were both on the command staff. Wednesday's discussion still soured his opinion of ch'Raul, but Carter knew that the Andorian commander had some good suggestions when it came to personnel reviews. They were alone in the main conference room, waiting for the disciplinary review to start. Carter rubbed his bald forehead and looked at ch'Raul. "Are you sure this is the best way to do it?"

ch'Raul nodded. "Ensign Alvarez knows that she causes strife and discord. There's no reason to dance around the topic. She's one of the best astrometric scientists in the fleet, but her interpersonal skills are horrendous. Be blunt with her, but try and draw the line between her actions and her person. You don't want her to feel like a failed human being when she leaves."

"What if I don't care? Ok, don't answer that. I just don't see the distinction between her actions and her intrinsic value as a sentient being. If she's a troublemaker on purpose, then she is a bad person. End of story."

"That is why I am the counselor, not you." The door chime announced the arrival of Ensign Alvarez. "It's your show now captain."

Carter rolled his eyes. "Enter."

---

Saturday, 1758 hours

Everitt Carter stood outside Holodeck Two, waiting for ch'Raul. It was time to talk about Wednesday's discussion.

ch'Raul arrived at exactly 1800 hours. Carter put his right hand up to indicate that he wanted to talk prior to entering the holodeck for the monthly senior staff poker game. "I just wanted to apologize for yelling at you," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

"There is no apology necessary, captain," ch'Raul replied. "I tried to talk you into helping me by convincing you that you would be personally responsible for thousands of deaths if you refused my request. That was unbecoming of a Federation officer. I am the one who should be apologizing."

"Your passion is what makes you good at the job. The last counselor that we had onboard was utterly useless. You are close to convincing me that the position is worthwhile. I also wanted to let you know that I contacted Kerna'tharan and extended an offer for him to join the crew."

ch'Raul smiled. "Thank you for that. He contacted me a few hours ago to let me know. Jem'Hadar are not known for their expressions of joy - much like Vulcans really - but this was as close to happiness as I have ever seen a Jem'Hadar. Thank you very much."

An awkward pause was followed by both men entering the holodeck.

ch'Raul was anxious to get things underway. It was his birthday, and he never really liked celebrating himself. His life was dedicated to helping people, but for some reason, self-esteem was hard to come by personally. The success with Kerna'tharan was worth celebrating more than his birthday.

Chief Engineer Raul Jarvis shuffled the cards for longer than necessary and then reached under the table. "It's only fitting that we take a minute to celebrate the work that ch'Raul is doing on our lovely ship. Yes, we know it's your birthday, and we know that you appreciate written correspondence more than the electronic garbage you are bombarded with." Jarvis dumped a stack of papers on the table, right where the bets go. "These are from the crew. You are appreciated more than you know. Take your time in reading them when you get back to your quarters. Happy birthday!"

---

Saturday, 2147 hours

ch'Raul finished reading the stack of papers and looked at his notes and then read the tally he made. Generic thank yous: seven. Marriage problems: four. Grief counseling: seventeen. Baby Rachelle's death still haunts me two months later. Questioning my sexuality: one. Glotz!

Part 2 - Dating Advice

August 2411
This takes place simultaneously with the events in Literary Challenge 39

Miguel Jarvis awoke to the red alert klaxon. It took about three seconds to be coherent enough to speak to Lieutenant Tomkot in engineering. The Bolian informed him that Lieutenant Carpenter was scared about some Borg wreckage, even though there was no enemy in sight. Jarvis sighed, thanked Tomkot for the information, and went to the replicator to get a ratkajino. He knew it was going to be a long day.

Retrieving the lone Borg lifesign in the wreckage seemed foolish, but it did give Jarvis an opportunity to try the new automated flight controls on the shuttle Asher. Several people had suggested that Jarvis create or place a sentient photonic being onboard to serve as the pilot, but that didn't sit well with him. The whole point behind the Asher project was to have a ship smart enough to do something like a high-risk rescue mission without putting another life on the line.

Asher performed the rendezvous flawlessly. Things were going well until the final approach. The padd in Jarvis' hand started making harsh tones and warning of a growing feedback loop between Asher and Odyssey's automated docking system. Then Asher's nose plowed into the deck plating. The only casualty was to Jarvis' pride.

---

Amanda Carpenter called Jarvis on the comm as soon as she was off of deck one. Once again, she had let her feelings get in the way of sound judgment. It looked like this was the metaphorical last straw. Carter told her to take a few days off, which was certainly a polite way of saying that he was going to find someone else to be acting captain for gamma shift and couldn't think of what to do with her.

She found Jarvis outside main engineering and literally fell into his arms. Tears flowed freely as he held her and gently massaged her head.

---

Jarvis was grateful that he scattered his engineers to the four corners of the ship before Amanda came. Most of his people knew about his relationship with Amanda, but he didn't think it would be appropriate for everyone to see her fall apart in public.

As he calmed her, he realized that his personal and professional lives had a lot in common. He sought out problems and tried to solve them. This made him an outstanding engineer, but not necessarily a great companion.

He had grown restless after six years of marriage to his wife Tracy. He couldn't understand how she constantly dealt with self-esteem issues. Two years later he was dating Amanda, who occasionally made less-than-perfect decisions like waking up the entire crew over Borg wreckage. He was a repair main at heart. Dealing with long-term problems without simple solutions tested his sanity.

And then an explosion rocked the floor. He removed himself from Amanda's grip and quickly determined what had happened. Someone had deemed the Borg prisoner a threat and ejected the brig into space. That person was proven right half a second later when the brig exploded.

He wiped the tears from Amanda's face and looked into her eyes. "It looks like I am going to be busy for a few hours. We need to make a new brig. Will you be ok in your quarters?"

"Sure." Her gaze never left the floor.

"I will come as soon as this fiasco is over. I love you." He kissed her forehead and turned towards his office.

---

Two days later

Jarvis and ch'Raul were in the ship's bowling alley on deck 13. There were only two lanes, and each man had reserved one of them for two hours. Neither one of them was very good at bowling, but that was not why they were there.

"It sounds like you truly love Amanda. You are going to have to accept that her personal struggles do not have easy solutions. I bet that if you were honest you would find a long-lasting problem in your own life."

Jarvis sat down in one of the empty chairs. "As always, I think that you are right. I married Tracy with the expectation that I'd solve her self-esteem within a year or two. I let my desire to fix things override my affection for her, and that ended rather poorly. I am at the same impasse with Amanda and I don't want to lose her. But it is frustrating to see her consistently make decisions without thinking them through. It cost her job of gamma shift captain."

ch'Raul's normally stoic face turned into a smile. "You are overreacting. Does she truly make impulsive decisions consistently? I doubt that. What is your character flaw? Being impatient. Admit it to yourself, then admit it to Amanda and tell her that she is worth so much to you that you are not going to let your impatience prevent you from loving her. Problem solved." He picked up his ball and rolled it into the gutter. "Now, how about solving my problem? I can't seem to score higher than 75 in this game."

---

The next day

"Personal log, supplemental. I finally had a talk with Amanda about my desire to fix everything and my impatience when that doesn't happen. She listened and then told me that she'd already seen that problem and was afraid that it would ruin our relationship. I told her that I was committed to making things work with her, and that she had the right to tell me when I let my engineer mentality get in the way.

"I still feel bad about Captain Carter taking her position of gamma shift captain away, but there is one benefit. Now Amanda is working on alpha shift in the Operations group. We finally work the same shift, which means we will have more time together. I can't complain about that. End log."

Jarvis stopped pacing his room, picked up the flowers and a small box on the table, and headed for Amanda Carpenter's quarters.

sander233 · March 2013

I've got my memories
They're always inside of me
But I can't go back
Back to how it was...

Belief over misery
I've seen the enemy

And I got my heart set on what happens next
I've got my eyes wide, it's not over yet...

This is home
Now I'm finally where I belong, where I belong
This is home
I've been searching for a place of my own
Now I've found it, maybe, this is home

And now after all my searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home...

I've come too far
And I won't go back
Yeah, this is home

Jon Foreman of Switchfoot - "This is Home"

WELCOME HOME

Approaching McKinley Station, Earth Orbit - Stardate 87068.3

The familiar dark gray shape loomed ahead, menacing and predatory even nestled in the McKinley Station spacedock. LCdr. LaRoca Rusty kept his eyes locked on the Akira-class warship as he reached for the comm panel. "Zambezi to Tiburon," he announced, "requesting instructions for manual docking."

"Tiburon reads, Zambezi," came the reply. "Ah, if you'll just set your autopilot sir, and we'll tractor you in."

Rusty looked over at his older brother, sitting at the helm of the runabout, and shrugged.

Jesu glared at the unseen flight deck officer aboard his ship, who was clearly unfamiliar with the Admiral's personal operating procedure. "This is Admiral LaRoca," he said calmly, but with a measured overtone of aggravation in his voice. "That's a negative, Tib. I will be coming in manually. Please just tell which hole to aim for."

There was a long pause, and the officer came back with a shaking voice. LaRoca correctly imagined the conversation that had taken place between the flight deck officer and the bridge, and he smiled a little. "Zambezi, Tiburon. Apologies, Admiral. Please prepare to dock in shuttlebay three - that's the topmost-"

"I know where it is, Tib. I'll see you shortly."

Rusty chuckled as he closed the channel. "I doubt he'll make that mistake again."

Jesu didn't hear his adopted brother. The Tiburon had arrested his attention, as he raised his eyes from the instrument panel and saw his ship for the first time in over a quarter of a century. "Dios mio," he murmured reverently. "I'd forgotten how beautiful she was."

"I think she looks even better than before," Rusty remarked after a respectful moment's pause. "Since they've modified the saucer and nacelles."

Jesu nodded, eyeing the two pairs of phaser cannons flanking the deflector dish in the ship's bow, and the dual heavy phaser cannons just above, and the phaser beam array encircling the upper saucer, and the torpedo module perched atop the crossbar over the twin booms of the engineering hull, each mounting phaser turrets. "They've certainly sharpened her teeth." He angled the runabout down and ducked under the massive AEGIS deflector. "Ah, I see why we aren't wanted in the main hangar bay."

Rusty stared at the cavernous space on the Tiburon's underside, open to space and swarming with work bees. "I guess refitting her to be a proper carrier again - and a heavy escort - is taking longer than the boys at McKinley expected."

"They can take their time," Jesu said sarcastically. "It's not like we're fighting five wars at once out there." He killed the impulse engines and used the maneuvering thrusters to spin a tight one-eighty, and drifted backwards between the Tiburon's underslung warp nacelles. Modified, as Rusty had noted, to be compatible with the Federation's transwarp network and an onboard Quantum Slipstream drive. He angled up and pulsed the engines to coast toward shuttlebay three.

The door opened over a shimmering, pale-blue semi-permeable force field. Jesu LaRoca carefully steered into the center of the maw, and engaged the electromagnetic induction field as he crossed the threshold so he didn't immediately drop to the grav-plated deck. He looked for and found a green-vested traffic warden pointing him toward an empty docking space. He also saw several of his men standing near the far wall of the shuttlebay - he picked out his second officer among them. It wasn't difficult to identify the 2.1-meter Andorian. He killed the thrusters and coasted in using the EMI field for directional control. He made a 270-degree spin and backed into his assigned space and shut the Zambezi's systems down. He and Rusty left the runabout while it was still in its power-down cycle through the forward hatch and the fog produced by the thruster systems purging excess deuterium gas. Rusty as always led the way.

"Ah-ten-SHUN!" a deep voice shouted.

Jesu turned left toward the cluster of men standing at attention and addressed Cmdr. Ibear, his operations officer. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted, sir, of course!'

"As you were, thank you."

Rusty spoke up, and jerked a clawed thumb toward the Zambezi. "We have some luggage back there, if a couple of you wouldn't mind-"

The five crewmen standing with Fozz Ibear immediately sprang forward, emerging from the runabout a moment later carrying duffels, garment bags and boxes of personal effects.

"I can show you guys to your quarters, if you'd like. Or if you'd rather tour the ship?"

"I think we'd rather look around the old girl first," Jesu said. "And I think we'd rather find our own way around, Fozz." He looked back at his brother for conformation. Rusty nodded.

The Andorian crossed his arms. "As you wish. I have a lot of work to do, anyway."

"Yes, I could see the progress of the main hangar conversion on my way in. Or rather, the lack thereof," Jesu noted dryly.

"That's... partially my fault," Fozz admitted. "Mine and Barrister's. We looked over the specs and Barrister figured out a way to make the refueling and rearming stations twenty-three-percent more efficient, and I ordered the design changes. It shouldn't delay us by more than thirty-six hours. Barrister's down there now overseeing the assembly teams and trying to get us out of here as soon as possible."

Jesu forced a small frown but he really wanted to smile. Lt. Barrister (he had chosen that name over his original designation, Yankee-Six-Eight) was a fourth-generation Soong-type positronic android, and Admiral LaRoca's deputy ops officer. He and Fozz worked extremely well together. LaRoca's last crew had started calling the pair "The Icemen." But the Icemen often worked behind their CO's back, making tweaks and improvements to various systems. LaRoca feigned disapproval, but he really didn't mind. After all, besides having three - now four ships to look after, Vice Admiral Jesus Lorenzo San Gregorio LaRoca was the diplomatic liaison to Starfleet Security. And with his recent promotion, he had more responsibility than ever. He was far too busy to keep track of everything that went on aboard his current flagship, especially a ship undergoing a complete refit. "Very well," he said with a small sigh. "Carry on."

"Yessir." Cmdr. Ibear turned around, stepped through a door, and sprinted off down the corridor.

Jesu and Rusty followed at a leisurely pace. Jesu inhaled deeply. "We're home," he said. They had grown up together on this ship. Rusty had been born on board. It truly was home to them. "What do you want to see first?"

"Is the med lab still in the same place?" Rusty wondered. He wanted to his birthplace again.

"Let's find out." Jesu pulled a PADD from a pocket in his duty uniform pants. He called up the original design schematics of USS Tiburon NCC-68636, Akira-class, spaceframe built 2372. He found the deckplan and overlayed their combadge signals. "Should be deck five."

Rusty found a turbolift. "Deck five," he ordered, once his brother had stepped inside. The turbolift whisked them deeper within the ship and deposited them twenty meters up the corridor from sick bay.

They walked in and were greeted by LCdr. Dr. Maria Espinoza. "Good morning boys. Don't tell me one of you bumped your heads already?"

"Just looking around, Maria," Jesu assured her. After Carlos LaRoca - their father - had retired from Starfleet, he and Maria had dated for a while. They had considered marriage, but Maria was fascinated by Carlos' tales of adventure and decided to apply to Starfleet Medical Academy. Now, some twenty years later, she served with her would-be stepsons as chief medical officer.

Rusty walked straight into the medical laboratory. The equipment had all been updated, and the furniture was rearranged, but the room was still there. And the workbench in the middle remained the same. "This is it. This is where I hatched."

Rusty was the product of a Dominion genetic experiment. During their war with the Federation, they had managed to capture a handful of female Deinons - reptilian mercenary super-soldiers that had so far slaughtered the Jem'Hadar in every engagement. The Dominion scientists had harvested egg cells from the Deinons and infused them with Cardassian, Vorta and Jem'Hadar DNA in hopes of breeding a more docile and faster-growing race of Deinons for themselves. The Tiburon had been assigned to transport the Deinons to wherever they were needed most, and when Captain Sander learned that several of the soldiers had been captured, he dispatched an away team to recover them. Lt. Carlos LaRoca had led the rescue party. They discovered the Deinons all dead, and their genetically altered progeny stillborn. All but one. Rusty had somehow not received any Jem'Hadar genes, and was still viable. Carlos LaRoca had brought the lone survivor back to the Tiburon

The Deinon society is patriarchal, and a child without a known father has no status. The leader of the Deinons recommended that the egg be destroyed. Carlos decided instead to adopt the hatchling. And so he and Jesu had stood together in the medical lab and watched the altered baby Deinon push its way free of his egg. They named him LaRoca Rusty, in Deinon tradition, after the color of his scaly skin.

"How much do you remember?" Rusty asked his adopted brother.

"I remember everything," Jesu told him. "I remember being startled by the first crack you made. I remember the cry you made after you took your first breath. I remember Dr. Christie picking eggshell off your face. I remember Nurse Sharma scrubbing you in a towel, worried that your skin color was actually blood. I remember dad holding you - he was so worried for you. I remember reaching in to pet you, and you grabbed my finger. I remember how strong your grip was. And I knew then that as you grew up, that you would always be there to protect me. And so far you always have."

The chief security officer nodded. "And I always will." Rusty turned away and announced "I'm done here. What do you want to see?"

Instead of answering, Jesu looked at the PADD, and led the way back to the turbolift. "Deck eight," he ordered. When the turbolift opened again three decks lower, Jesu walked around the corridor too the forward starboard quarter. He stared at his PADD, walked up to a bulkhead, and stopped. "This is it," he said softly.

"Where are we?" Rusty asked.

"My old room," Jesu told him, showing him the PADD which displayed a stateroom suite in place of the corridor and the phaser relay beyond the bulkhead. "I'm standing where my mother died."

Actually, the deck plate where his mother had died had been blown out into space, along with Christina LaRoca, twenty-six other people, and a good chunk of the underside of the Tiburon's saucer, as a result of the ship striking a Jem'Hadar subspace mine. They were the first victims of the Dominion War. Jesu had been walking home from school when suddenly empty space replaced his home. He was nearly sucked out, but was saved by an emergency forcefield. He was four years old.

Jesu tapped at the PADD to display the Tiburon's current design configuration. With her larger saucer, the staterooms on deck eight were all pushed to the outer corridor, fifty meters from where the LaRocas were standing. Jesu sighed and walked to the nearest turbolift.

Rusty followed, but kept his distance until they reached the lift.

"Bridge," Jesu ordered.

"Do you want to... talk about it?" Rusty asked, sensing his brother's tormented emotional state.

Jesu shook his head. "I barely remember it. Or her," he lied. "Thirty-five years is... a long time."

The turbolift opened onto a scene of controlled chaos. The lights had been dimmed, display panels glowed red, officers at their stations barked orders and repeated orders and tapped furiously at their LCARS interface panels. The viewscreen showed the reason for the frantic activity and the red alert - a Borg Cube was trading fire with Tiburon. The exploded remains of a second Cube drifted nearby, and Type-16 Peregrine fighters darted everywhere, adding volleys from their phaser pulse cannons and quantum torpedoes to the brutal onslaught from the Tiburon herself.

Standing in the middle of the bridge, directing the battle, was the Klingon first officer, Cmdr. Marq son of Breq Sander. Technically he was only 9/16ths Klingon, but that was enough so that when he told a bridge officer to jump they would try to hit the ceiling. Marq was also the grandson of the Tiburon's first captain. That made her "his ship" too.

Marq glanced at the turbolift as its doors hissed open and nodded to the Admiral. LaRoca signaled him to continue the exercise. Marq did. "Shield status?"

"Seventy-six-point-eight percent forward, sir," replied Ensign Boris Erebia from the shield distribution station. "Redistributing to compensate."

"Engineering, stand by to transfer emergency power to shields," Marq ordered. "Damage control, report!"

"Hazard emitters are keeping the plasma fires in check," replied the Bajoran science officer, LCdr. Yoann Teena. "The hull plating has autopolarized and structural integrity is at ninety-two percent."

"Alert me if it drops below seventy-five. Target status?"

"Target's shields are weakening," Cmdr. Traa'cee responded. "I estimate they will be down in eighteen seconds."

"Prepare high-yield torpedoes, lock on the main energy node, and fire on my mark," the Klingon commanded.

"Aye sir," Ens. Mitiani Zain acknowledged, with a malicious grin on her face. The Cardassian enjoyed her job perhaps a little too much.

"Sir, they are attempting to lock on with a tractor beam!" Traa'cee called out from TacOps. The Vulcan tapped her panel. "Reversing shield polarity."

"Confirmed," Erebia and Lt. Yumi, the Ferengi engineer reported in chorus.

"Helm, engage attack pattern omega-one, and get us a clean shot on that energy node."

"Easier done than said," Lt. jg. Stikvaa replied with a smirk. His clawed fingers danced over the conn panel and the Gorn defector rolled the ship into a tight corkscrew.

"Target's facing shields are down!" Traa'cee announced.

"Fire torpedoes!"

Zain had already keyed the command. Half a dozen bluish orbs streaked toward the Cube, joining the continuous phaser fire, and detonated deep inside Borg vessel's structure. The zero-point energy inversions wrought untold havoc within the massive geometric form. To those on the Tiburon the only evidence that they'd exploded at all was white light shining through the black-and-green body. But then plasma relays and energy infusers started to blow out all over the huge shape. A staggered chain reaction of explosions rocked the Cube, building toward an inevitable climax.

"Recall the fighters and brace for impact!" Marq shouted, gripping the bridge rail in front of him. On the viewscreen, one of the Cube's parallel warp cores went nova, annihilating the huge ship with a multi-gigaton antimatter explosion.

Jesu had to forcibly restrain himself from laughing with giddy, childlike delight. He reminded himself that it was only a simulation - that the Tib was still in spacedock and had not actually just completely demolished a pair of Borg Cubes with almost casual effort. Still, simulation or not, it resulted in a beautiful explosion. Jesu loved explosions.

Marq sighed with satisfaction. "Secure from combat drill. Well done, people. Admiral on the deck!"

The bridge officers started to rise to attention, but LaRoca waved them back. "As you were, please. And thank you for the show."

Marq sat in his chair and checked his readout display. "Very good work, beta shift. You showed six percent improvement in combat effectiveness over the last excercise, and were two percent more effective than alpha shift. However, Ensign Zain, you did hear me say 'Fire on my mark' did you not?"

"Yessir?"

"I believe you jumped the gun by half a second."

"I... anticipated your command. Sir."

"Unless you somehow develop telepathy I expect you to hold your fire until it's called for. Understood?"

"Understood. Sir."

"That is all. Gamma shift, your turn!"

Officers left their seats and were quickly replaced. Traa'cee and Stikvaa were replaced at TacOps and the Conn by Lt. Pakray and Ens. Dusty Massimino. Pakray greeted the man taking the seat to his right in traditional Tellarite fashion - by complaining and trying to provoke an argument. "Your hair is too shiny, and you smell funny."

"That's probably because I took a shower recently. You should try it sometime," Dusty retorted. "Seriously, you stink up the entire bridge."

Pakray laughed loudly and slapped his human colleague's back. "Very good!"

Jesu looked on with a feeling of immense pride. A ship is nothing without a crew, he thought, and I have a fantastic crew. He spoke aloud "Well, Marq, I think I will leave you to conduct battle drills while I settle into my quarters."

"Very well, sir."

"I'll expect an operational readiness report by no later than twenty-two-hundred hours."

"You'll have it sir."

Jesu LaRoca returned to the turbolift.

"Deck two," Rusty ordered, and the lift hummed quietly down its track.

They adjourned to their adjacent cabins. Jesu found that the crewmen from the shuttlebay had already unpacked his belongings. He rearranged a few items, pulled a book off a shelf and placed it on the bedside table, and sat down on the end of his bed. He stared at a painting on the opposite wall. Painted by William Trost Richards in 1884 and titled simply Marine; it was a huge seascape nearly four meters across, featureless apart from tossing waves, boiling clouds, and in the center of the vast canvas, straddling the horizon, a very tiny spec of a three-masted warship. LaRoca stared at the ship. It was his not-so-subtle reminder that no matter how lost at sea he felt, his ship was his home. It's good to be home.

shevet · March 2013

Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding USS King Estmere, NCC-92984

It's a pleasant day. I stand on the quayside, the rolling grey seas to my left, the buildings of the city to my right. The buildings are old, made of black stone or dull red brick; centuries old, for the most part, rising no great distance out of the narrow cobbled streets. Taserion is that sort of world, proud of its heritage, old-fashioned, a little quaint. I've rather enjoyed this layover, while King Estmere's warp drive is being reconditioned in the orbital shipyards overhead. I'm almost sorry it's coming to an end.

I take a deep breath of cool, salt-tinged air. My antennae twitch in the breeze. I could grow to like this planet, I think.

My combadge chimes at me, breaking the mood. "Shohl here."

"Skipper." F'hon Tlaxx's voice sounds strained. "Have you got a viewscreen where you are?"

"No," I say. "What's wrong, F'hon?"

"I'll patch through the audio," my communications officer says. "You need to know about this -"

A click, and then a new voice sounds: a carefully-enunciated newsreader's voice.

"The actress Thiovil daCherdaki was found murdered at her apartment in Seri City earlier today. Her husband, world-renowned actor Antav daCherdaki, is said to be inconsolable and is in the care of his friends. A Starfleet officer, one Commander Anthi Vihl, was detained near the scene of the crime and has been charged with the murder."

It was a pleasant day.

---

I've never seen Anthi scared before. She's trying to hide it, but you can't hide from Andorian senses. I can sense her distress even through the thickness of the bulletproof glass that separates us.

"Tell me what happened," I say.

Anthi's voice sounds thin, attenuated, over the intercom circuit. The interview room is small and bare, on both sides of the glass screen. It looks like what it is: a cell. Anthi has already been issued with prison clothing, a simple jumpsuit in blazing scarlet; her blue face looks pale above it.

"I'm not sure where to start, sir," she says. "I - well, you know I enjoy, um, theatricals. So, well, I got to talking with some of the natives, and this actor, this daCherdaki, invited me to see a performance. Elaan of Troyius... he played the Starfleet captain." For a moment, her face loses its worried look. "He wasn't very good. But, then, I've always thought that part was hard to play; the guy is just a bit too perfect to be credible...." Her eyes regain their focus. "Anyway. I was supposed to meet him after the performance. I went into a sort of lobby, in the theatre... I waited there for a while, at least three-quarters of an hour, I think. He didn't come, nobody came. I was, well, a bit distracted - there was a display of memorabilia, I passed the time just, um, browsing. And then the local police came -"

She shakes her head in bafflement. "I don't understand it. They said - they said someone had been killed, and they arrested me. Sir, I haven't -"

"Of course not," I say, and I frown. "Did they not tell you who you're supposed to have killed?"

"Not at first. They said, later, it was the actor's wife - daCherdaki's wife." She shakes her head again. "I just don't understand."

"It's got to be a mistake," I say. "I'll talk to the authorities, get it straightened out." I clear my throat. "Officially, of course, I have to inform you that Starfleet respects the laws and customs of this world, and accepts that you will be held, tried and - if convicted - punished in accordance with those laws."

I lower my voice. My eyes lock with Anthi's, through the glass. "Unofficially, that is not going to happen."

---

The Minister of Justice is called Raoven siDoanen. I take an instant dislike to him. It saves time.

We are in his opulently-furnished office, windows overlooking the sea. He leans back in an ornate chair and skims a piece of paper towards me, over what looks like several hectares of highly-polished desktop. He regards me through half-closed eyes as I pick up the paper.

"A print of a still, captured by the security camera," he says.

I look at the picture. It shows the front of some ancient-looking building, a stretch of pavement - and a single figure, walking by the building. I frown. There is light coming through an open doorway, enough to show white hair, something that might be antennae, a glimpse of blue skin -

"It's not very good quality," I say.

"That need not concern you, Vice Admiral," says siDoanen. "What matters is that that is undoubtedly an Andorian. And how many of your species are there, currently, on our planet?"

The Taserions are a humanoid-standard species - pink-skinned, externally distinguishable from humans only by some domed bony processes at their temples, an outgrowth of the aural tract. "But you must have more evidence, surely?" I persist. "I mean, you can't really make out the face in this - I suppose, with enhancement -"

"All such matters are being handled by the appropriate authorities," siDoanen says, with a touch too much emphasis. He is tall, silver-haired, with a patrician air about him; he suits his expensive, over-furnished office. "You may go about your business."

I strive to keep my anger from showing in my face. "I'm required to make inquiries," I say, "regarding my officer's conduct... and welfare. I'd like to review copies of the evidence against her. My security team -"

"Ah!" His eyes open all the way at that. "That will certainly be impossible. Your security team - I have a note here - led by a Commander Bulpli Yulan, a Betazoid, I believe? Telepathic investigation is strictly forbidden by our planetary charter. I'm afraid your investigation can go no further, Vice Admiral."

"Commander Yulan is trained to respect mental privacy," I say firmly. Don't get angry, I tell myself, uselessly. "Minister, I have responsibilities here -"

"You may make diplomatic representations through the Federation Ambassador, if you feel you have been... unfairly restricted," says siDoanen in cold tones. "Meanwhile, Vice Admiral, this interview is over."

I stand, slowly. Federation Ambassador? That might prove easier than he thinks.

---

The head of the Taserion Government, the Supreme Minister, is a man called Setalvim Loag. His office is larger, but barer, than siDoanen's. He sits behind a plain desk and looks at me with tired, rather sad eyes.

In a chair beside him, siDoanen sits and seethes with obvious anger. I try not to fidget, to adjust the unfamiliar diplomatic uniform. I haven't worn it in - I can't remember how long.

"Well," says Loag in a mild voice, "your diplomatic credentials have been appropriately verified... Ambassador Shohl. How may the government of Taserion assist you?" A smile briefly quirks his long, otherwise doleful face.

"One of my officers stands accused of a serious crime, sir. As her superior officer, I am responsible for her welfare - and for her conduct. I'm required, as a Starfleet officer, to make inquiries into her conduct. If she has committed a crime, that would be a breach of discipline under Starfleet's code, in addition to any civilian, umm, consequences. And, of course, she might be innocent."

"Might". SiDoanen snorts.

"Well, this all seems very reasonable," says Loag, still mildly. "Come now, Lord Minister siDoanen, what's the harm in Starfleet reviewing the evidence? It will all be presented at the trial in any case, no?"

"I protest Starfleet interference in a purely internal matter," snaps siDoanen.

"But it isn't purely internal, if it involves one of my officers," I say. "Sir," I remember to add.

"Merely reviewing the evidence is not really interference," Loag murmurs.

"The Vice Admiral just wants to exonerate her officer!" shouts siDoanen.

"No, sir," I say firmly. "I want her to be innocent. It's not the same thing. If she is guilty... then the law must take its course, naturally. But I need to be sure."

Loag nods slowly. SiDoanen sneers. "There remains," he says, "the matter of the telepaths in the Vice Admiral's security staff. Supreme Minister, this cannot be permitted. The Charter expressly forbids mental self-incrimination -"

"We don't prohibit telepathic species from the planet," Loag points out. "But, if you feel so strongly that the investigation would be compromised.... Compromise. I do like that word. Can we come to one, Ambassador Shohl?"

I nod in my turn. "I can carry out the investigation myself," I say. "My security chief can advise me on procedures by comm link from the ship.... As a matter of form, sir, I must protest this restriction on those of my officers who don't stand accused of a crime."

"It is duly noted," says Loag gravely. "The government of Taserion is anxious to offer all reasonable cooperation in this serious matter."

I shoot a glance at siDoanen. He doesn't look reasonable to me.

---

Another day, another office. This one is small and cluttered. It belongs to a harried-looking woman called Ivonil Otreg. She is the investigating officer in the case, and she is showing me the evidence. On her desk, a holoscreen shows Bulpli Yulan's face, her black Betazoid eyes narrowed in concentration.

Reviewing the evidence doesn't take long. "This is it?" I demand.

Otreg looks even more harried. "The security camera shows your officer leaving the theatre foyer, walking along the street to the adjacent apartment building, and entering the main door, shortly before the murder took place."

"Well," I say, "it shows an Andorian... probably. I can't make out the face - are you getting anywhere with software enhancement?"

"Our best match shows, ahh, a fit for Commander Vihl's facial features and general build... within an 84.3% margin of probable error," says Otreg. I stare at her. Bulpli stares, too.

"Effectively, meaningless," says Bulpli. "What about other security cameras?"

"There are none," says Otreg. "Master daCherdaki owns the theatre and the apartment building... he is a great believer in purity in the theatre, and the arts generally. He allows no imaging devices, no holo-recorders or holo-emitters, in the vicinity. We're... fortunate... in that he allowed that one camera."

"Master daCherdaki," I say. "There's something going on here, isn't there? About those names - daCherdaki, siDoanen. I'm an ignorant off-worlder, Investigator Otreg, explain it to me, please."

"Hereditary nobility," Otreg says. "It's something of a historical relic, these days - especially since the last elections, when Supreme Minister Loag's party gained an absolute majority - but it's, ahh, traditional. Master daCherdaki is of the lesser nobility. Lord Minister siDoanen is of the high nobility. Though it doesn't stop them from being friends. They have a certain amount in common... both traditionalists."

"Okay," I say. I'm Andorian, I know about tradition.

"The nobility have, ahh, lost importance," Otreg continues. "In practical terms, that is. Some of them resent it... and they resent the Federation, for causing it. In their eyes."

My eyes widen. "The Federation doesn't interfere in local affairs," I say. "That's... the Prime Directive."

"It doesn't interfere intentionally," says Otreg. "But, well, given a choice between working the land in a noble's estate, or taking a job with an off-world employer, which would you choose? Personally," she adds, "I'm all in favour. In the two generations since our world joined the Federation, the standard of living for the commons has gone up more than a thousand per cent. In my grandmother's time, I would have been a serf, bound to the land." She gestures around her modest office. "This is a long step up."

"Sir," Bulpli says, "perhaps we should go back to the matter at hand...?"

"Yes," I say. "All right. You have a film of - possibly - Commander Vihl going from the theatre to the apartments. Do you have one of her coming back? She was arrested inside the theatre."

Otreg shakes her head. "There are four rear and side exits from the apartment building," she says, "and, for that matter, six internal communicating doorways between the two buildings."

I stare at her. I can't think of anything to say.

Bulpli can. "Do you have the murder weapon?" she asks.

"No."

"Do you have forensic traces, DNA, that would put Commander Vihl at the scene of the crime?"

"No."

"What about motive? Has any been advanced?"

"The suggestion is... sexual jealousy." Otreg looks positively miserable. "The theory is that Commander Vihl became obsessed with Master daCherdaki and murdered his wife in order to take her place. Master daCherdaki says he has had, ahh, obsessive fans before -"

I find my voice. "But that's absurd. Anthi never knew this daCherdaki before a few days ago. And she's an Andorian zhen... I mean, I'm not saying it's impossible for her to be attracted to a binary-gender humanoid male, but -"

That, after all, is how the Troyians supposedly evolved. But I try to picture forbidden inter-species passions boiling behind my exec's calm professional face... try, and fail.

"This doesn't make sense," says Bulpli, thoughtfully. "Your world has a pretty standard adversarial-inquisitorial trial system... there is no way you could secure a conviction on this evidence, is there, Investigator?"

"No." Otreg looks wretched. "But Lord Minister siDoanen insisted on prompt and decisive action. And, ahh, still insists."

I eye her narrowly. "I think," I say, "you and I have interests in common. You want to find whoever did do this. And I want to find them, too... because I'm more sure than ever that it wasn't Anthi."

Otreg frowns. "But we still have one sticking point - the Andorian in the security record. We've traced all the Andorians we know were on the planet - and that didn't take long. And with daCherdaki's insistence on no holo-technology, we can be sure it's not some holo-emitter disguise...."

"Okay," I say, "so that's something we need to think about. But where should we start? Bulpli?"

"I can only offer you the usual general guidelines, sir." Bulpli's face is thoughtful. "In the vast majority of cases, murder victims know their killers...."

"So we begin with the dead woman's family and co-workers," I say.

"That would be the normal starting point," says Otreg. "Especially as many of them are the same people."

"All right. When can we get moving?"

"Now, if you wish." Otreg stands up. She runs one hand through her hair, a nervous gesture. "Ahh... Admiral. What if we find out your officer did do it, after all?"

My face turns grim. "Then... then I'll face up to that. But we need to know."

---

The theatre building is old and ramshackle; it looks to me as if it's fallen on hard times. Otreg makes her way through a side door, presents her identification to a gloomy-looking porter, leads me through a back-stage warren of narrow corridors and steep staircases. No modern amenities at all. No turbolifts, no intercom system... I don't know if this means daCherdaki is fanatically traditional, or just cheap.

The great man himself, it seems, is still closeted in his private apartment, unwilling to speak to anyone. We track down one member of the company, though, who more than makes up for it.

"My darlings," says Teliv Sherdran, "such a frightful time we've had, I can't begin to tell you. Dear Antav, of course, is devastated by it all. So fortunate, though, that he has dear Calovil's kind comfort to fall back on...." The phrases are delivered with an arch intonation, and the actor gives us what's evidently a meaningful look.

"Calovil Tyan," says Otreg. "She plays the female lead, I think."

"The delicious Elaan herself, yes," says Sherdran. "I am merely the Troyian ambassador. I get stabbed in the second act. Such a miserable time to get stabbed, one barely has time to register one's presence on the stage. And of course there is the makeup." His glance darts at me. "You are so lucky to have it naturally, my dear; the blue just sinks into my pores, even with a thorough cleansing, I still look positively cadaverous after each performance."

The man's exaggerated mannerisms are starting to grate on me. There's obviously some cultural context for them, something I'm missing. I decide to ignore it. "What did you see on the night of the murder?"

"Oh, am I finally to appear in this investigation? How utterly thrilling! Do try and get my name into the official record somehow, darlings, any publicity is good publicity." He pulls a face. "Especially in this company. No pictures! No recordings! Nothing but the purity of the dramatic art! It's all very well for those who've got private means to fall back on...."

"What did you see on the night of the murder?" Otreg repeats my question, patiently.

"Darlings, I wish I could help, I really do, but as far as I can remember, it was a perfectly normal after-show. We all took our bows, and we got together for a little bit of a post-mortem, before we all sloped off to our dressing rooms. I was in mine for a long, long time, communing with the facial cleanser." He pulls another face. "I do hope dear Antav won't go on at the next performance. That way, I would get to step up and play the dashing starship captain. Not that I have any great urge to get into a clinch with little Calovil - not my type at all, darlings, if you get what I mean - but at least I would be in the whole of the show, and I wouldn't have to be painted blue."

"How long did this - post-mortem - take?" Otreg asks.

"Oh, only a few minutes - Antav cut it short. He said he had a fan waiting for him. Such a bore, being the leading man, having all the stage-struck beauties running after one... but, do you know, darlings, I think it's a bore I could cope with."

"And you went to your dressing room, to remove the cosmetics." Otreg makes a patient note.

"Which takes forever, darlings, especially as I insist on full coverage. It wouldn't do to have any pink bits peeping out."

"No," I say, "I don't suppose it would." Something is falling into place, in my head. I stand up. "Thanks. You've been very helpful."

"I have? Mention it, then, darlings, please! I'd like the whole galaxy to hear of it! Or at least of me."

Otreg looks troubled, but she follows my lead. "Thank you," she says. "We will be back, if we need any further information... I hope we can count on your full cooperation."

"Naturally, darlings."

Outside Sherdran's dressing room, Otreg says to me, "What now? You look like you've got an idea...."

I nod, and for the first time since this business began, I smile. "I think I know who did it," I say, "I'm sure I know how it was done, and best of all, I think I know how we can prove it."

---

"I hope you're right about this," Otreg mutters as we stand outside daCherdaki's apartment door. "It's the end of a promising career if you're not. My promising career."

"I'm right," I tell her. I wish I felt as confident as I sound.

Otreg purses her lips, nods once, raises her hand to knock loudly on the wooden door.

"No visitors!" a stentorian voice bellows from within.

"Master daCherdaki? I am Investigator Otreg of the Seri Municipal Police. I am on official business. Please open your door."

There is grumbling and cursing for a moment or two, then the door is flung open. "Well?"

Antav daCherdaki looks like what I'd expected; tall, imposing, with a fleshy face that must have been handsome, once. The picture of a washed-up leading man. He looks down on us both and sneers. Maybe he went to the same school as siDoanen, they both have the same sneer.

"Master daCherdaki." Otreg is unfazed, thank goodness. "We need to conduct some forensic tests, in regard to the current investigation -"

"My friend Lord Minister siDoanen assures me that the investigation is completed," daCherdaki says, with a little too much emphasis on "friend". He has a good, loud, booming voice, the sort you'd want in the theatre.

"Nevertheless," Otreg persists, "some further evidence must be gathered. May we come in? I doubt you would want this business transacted on the landing -"

"You may have five minutes," daCherdaki declaims, "no longer." He steps aside to let us through.

The room within is comfortably furnished, but the furniture looks old, shabby and worn. A shelf runs the length of one wall, and it is laden with little statuettes and blocks of wood, stone or metal: awards, I think. A portrait of daCherdaki himself dominates another wall.

"Five minutes," the actor repeats. "Now, Investigator, kindly explain yourself. And explain what that is doing here." He raises his hand and stabs a finger at me.

Otreg moves smoothly and quickly, her forensic tricorder purring as she holds it to daCherdaki's outstretched hand. "Thank you, Master daCherdaki. That is all that is necessary." She consults the readings as the actor turns towards her, open-mouthed. She smiles. I feel relieved. "Interesting," she comments. "I understood you were playing the part of the Starfleet captain... and yet my subdermal scan shows traces of blue makeup. It sinks into the pores, I gather. Very hard to get out."

DaCherdaki bellows wordlessly and lashes out at her, his big hand catching the side of her head, knocking her down. He turns to me -

I block his clumsy strike. My fist sinks into his midriff, soft and flabby from years of high living. He folds up around it. I want to hit him again, very much. But there's no need, and I hold myself back. Otreg gets to her feet.

"You are under arrest," she tells the gasping man huddled at my feet. "Watch him," she adds, to me. Then she consults her forensic tricorder again; it hums as she scans the room. The actor groans. I watch him.

"I did think," Otreg says, "to keep a thorough watch on the disposal chutes and garbage collection. So I rather hope... yes. There we are." She taps commands into the tricorder's interface. There is a series of bright flashes. A holo-imager, recording the scene in precise, authenticated detail. For the trial, later.

Otreg removes a paper-wrapped package from under a chair. "He must have been hoping to dispose of it when the hue and cry died down," she says. "Am I right, daCherdaki?" No "Master", I note. DaCherdaki coughs and groans.

Otreg opens the package. The knife is brightly shining metal, but I have no doubt the forensic scanner will find traces of his wife's blood. The white wig, that might have been a prop from the play. But the papier-mache fake Andorian antennae, those would be harder to explain....

---

I place the PADD carefully on Setalvim Loag's desk. The Supreme Minister looks at it with mournful eyes. By his side, siDoanen just looks furious.

"Really, it wasn't a very good plan," I say. "But then I gather that's true of most murders. As soon as Investigator Otreg was able to do her job without interference, she found, of course, that the one person who couldn't properly account for his movements was daCherdaki. The actors thought he was with Anthi and Anthi thought he was with the actors. In reality, of course, he was making himself up to look like an Andorian, walking by the one spot he knew would be caught by a camera, and killing his wife. Then he simply went back into the theatre by one of the many internal doors, wiped off the makeup, and waited.

"His motives were traditional enough, of course - no weird inter-species romances needed. He wanted to trade his wife in for a younger model - this Calovil Tyan, who might or might not be involved in the plot. Our guess is, not. But a divorce would have cost him money he didn't have. That theatre of his wasn't run-down just for the sake of purity in art. He couldn't afford modern amenities. Or a divorce case."

"It must have been a moment of madness," mutters siDoanen.

"Yes," I say, "in which he cultivated the friendship of a Starfleet officer, lured her into his theatre, and disguised himself as one of her species in order to plant the blame on her. Rather a long moment, though, wasn't it?"

SiDoanen says nothing. "The only thing which might have made it work," I continue, "was Lord Minister siDoanen's behaviour. Faced with a choice -" I raise my voice to drown out siDoanen's indignant outcry "- between investigating a personal friend, or placing the blame on an off-worlder, of course you picked the option you thought easier."

"Are you accusing me of complicity?" siDoanen yells.

"It's entirely possible," I snap. "Or daCherdaki might just have known you well enough and counted on your reaction. And he was right, of course. You couldn't possibly have convicted my officer, not on such feeble evidence, but you could have had a field day whipping up prejudice against aliens, and in the meantime daCherdaki could have found some opportunity to dispose of the rest of the evidence."

"Yes," says Loag, in his mild voice. "I have received other representations, from Investigator Otreg and her immediate superiors... protesting over the unwarranted high-level interference in this case."

"You have another protest there," I say, indicating the PADD. "Besides my application for Commander Vihl's immediate release, it contains an official complaint from the Federation, over the way a Starfleet officer and Federation citizen has been unjustly accused due to the incompetence and prejudice of a government official. If it hadn't been for the intelligent cooperation of a junior official, she might even have been unjustly convicted. That is the official wording, and I have cleared it with my superiors."

SiDoanen's face is congested with rage.

"You seem to have concluded," Loag remarks, "that Lord Minister siDoanen is incompetent and prejudiced, based on this one incident...."

"Outrageous!" siDoanen shouts, at last.

"I congratulate you on your perspicacity," Loag continues smoothly. "It took me nearly two weeks to reach the same conclusion. Please, inform the Federation that the Taserion government takes this matter extremely seriously, and that we see no alternative but to dismiss Lord siDoanen from his position as Minister of Justice, on the grounds of misfeasance in public office."

"What?" SiDoanen's face is changing colour rapidly. Loag rounds on him, and his mild voice is suddenly strong, shouting, with that hoarse edge of a voice unaccustomed to shouting.

"I have had enough," he says, "of the remnants of the aristocracy! I have had enough of wheedling voices telling me that such-and-such a post must be held by 'the right sort of person'! Well, from now on, your post will be held by the right sort of person - someone who is competent to do the job!" He takes a deep breath. "The alternative, Ambassador Shohl has already shown me. Protest, and you will be arrested as a possible accomplice of your friend daCherdaki. The case against you is stronger than yours against Commander Vihl! And, even if you are not convicted, you will find that being acquitted for lack of evidence is not the same as being found innocent."

Loag's voice has grown mild again, but there is real menace in it. SiDoanen looks at the floor for a long moment. "I... accept... your decision, Supreme Minister," he says slowly.

I stand, and salute Loag with my best military formality. "Thank you, sir. I will so inform my superiors."

Loag nods. "Your officer will be released within the hour," he says. "Please, convey to her my heartfelt apologies."

---

King Estmere's bridge is a welcome relief. The viewscreens are busy, the readouts show optimum levels across the board. We are ready to depart.

Anthi is standing by her console, looking crisp and professional... Starfleet uniform suits her a lot better than a prison jumpsuit. "Thank you, sir," she murmurs to me as I pass.

"You were never in any real danger, you know," I say.

"Still, sir, it's better to be... cleared." There is something in her eyes.... Loag was right, acquittal for lack of evidence isn't the same as being found innocent. And Anthi, with generations of Imperial Guard in her family background, would feel that, and feel it keenly.

Traditions. We all have our traditions. Some of us don't let them blind us, though.

"Welcome back, Number One," I say.

She flashes a quick smile. "At least I've learned something," she says. "Something I should have learned a while ago - about not accepting invitations from strange men to go to the theatre!"

"Stick to Hamlet on the holodeck in future," I say.

Anthi shudders. "If it's all the same to you, sir," she says, "could I go back to jail instead?"

Then her earpiece chimes, and she is all efficiency again. "Departure clearance received. Assigned outbound vector one-one-six mark two four."

"Confirmed," I say. "Helm, lay in course, full impulse. Engage."

gulberat · March 2013

Tales of Alyosha Strannik
LC #40--Redux (LC #16--Academy Days)

"The Categorical Imperative"

Author's note: The character of Marcus Kane is used with the kind permission of marcusdkane, and his assistance included providing Kane's dialogue in certain places.

"Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person, or the person of any other, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end."
--Immanuel Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (1785, Earth)

Deep Space Nine, early 2373, 1 month prior to the first shots of the Dominion War

My travel bag weighed heavily on me as I made my way to Runabout Pad 3--enough so that I had to risk increasing my telekinetic output to maintain my balance. Contrary to my human appearance, my natural musculature wasn't really that much to speak of, so I almost always made use of some level of telekinetic support. As far as anyone knew, this seemed to be the normal mode of operation for my species.

That said, to hear my fellow cadets talk back when I was at the Academy, these bags were an inconvenience to just about everyone. Just why had Starfleet not seen fit to issue antigrav carriers or at the least, rolling luggage, evaded me--though there was a rumor it was intended to prompt those cadets...or officers...who found themselves in less-than-ideal physical shape to get back into compliance. Right now, after traversing Deep Space Nine's seeming kilometers of corridors with the thing, I was starting to believe it.

Most of my time since graduation had been spent doing anything but the scientific missions I had studied for at Starfleet Academy. Instead, I had spent a year being ferried from docking bay to docking bay, carrying encrypted padds with data too sensitive to fall into Dominion hands--this because for all their power, including a shapeshifting capability far superior to my own, they could not mimic the phase shift that separated me from most species. This meant that I could never successfully be replaced by a Founder. Only killed.

This mission, however, would be different. To my astonishment, Starfleet Intelligence had selected me for a search-and-rescue mission. Who and where--I had not been informed. That would be up to my contact, whom I had been ordered to meet with at the runabout pad.

As I entered the shadowed chamber where the runabout sat, already warmed up for launch, something flickered on its hull. No--more than that...completely covered up. The runabout's name--once the USS Tigris--now said, USS Shenandoah, after the runabout the Endeavour had just delivered to the station.

Definitely an intelligence operative, I thought to myself. This wasn't going to be fun. I steeled myself for yet another set of cold, appraising eyes and stern orders without so much as even a hint of geniality. Perhaps even distaste.

The runabout hatch opened with an initial metallic pop, followed by the hiss of hydraulics. Four pips caught in the meager light. Parade rest, Ensign. This was high-level. I had no doubt now: whoever this was, he was cleared to know my true species.

A closer look showed the captain to be quite young for his rank. And his expression was...well, it wasn't cold, exactly. Inscrutable was a better word for it.

"At rest, Ensign."

Interesting...not just 'at ease,' but 'rest,' I noted.

As I complied, he walked forward, his steps unhurried but filled with intention nonetheless. "Ensign Strannik, I'm Captain Marcus Kane, Starfleet Intelligence." Then he extended his hand.

I froze. Was he serious? The gesture so stunned me that I completely failed to notice the other thing I should have observed about Captain Kane right away.

Kane raised one eyebrow. "Is something the matter, Ensign?" His tone--it wasn't an order, but a gently-voiced request.

"I'm sorry, sir," I said. "It's just..." I didn't stammer...except as an act, it wasn't in me to stutter. Instead, in such moments, I simply found myself momentarily without a voice.

Oh, Lord...should I say this? For a moment I shut my mouth, but the captain nodded for me to go on. "I mean no offense...but I'm not used to most people who know what I am wanting to get that close."

Kane seemed to give that a moment to sink in. "I see," he murmured to himself. Then he proffered his hand again. "Well...it's a pleasure to meet you. As long as it won't cause you any discomfort..."

I shook my head and smiled, though I found it hard to give him the impression of eye contact. Though well aware that a firm grip was the most polite, I kept my handshake light and brief, lest Kane feel trapped in any way.

It was after Captain Kane released my hand and I looked back up when I noticed something distinctly off about his neural activity. It was...intense. Stormlike. I drew a sharp breath. By near-instinct, the eyes of my human image went wide. At least to my perception, it had all the markings of an incipient epileptic seizure. "Sir--are you all right? Do you need to go to Sickbay--I mean, the Infirmary?" I corrected myself, remembering the Cardassian terminology that had stuck even to this day. My hand shot up to my commbadge.

"Belay that!" Kane ordered. Then his demeanor relaxed again, becoming almost...inquisitive. "May I ask what would bring you to that conclusion, Ensign?"

"It's..." How could I phrase this in such a way that the human captain wouldn't get the impression that I'd been eyeballing him for lunch? "Well, I have this sense that...its purpose is to detect neural energy. It's not something I can turn on or off," I hastily explained. "It just...is there. Always. And it's just...you looked--like there's too much activity. Like you're about to have a seizure."

Captain Kane took the revelation quite a bit more in stride than I had been expecting. He nodded thoughtfully, then replied: "You may be detecting a genetic condition of mine. I can assure you, though, it's nothing harmful, and there are people I can contact if there's anything I need. But I do appreciate your kind offer of assistance."

Then he gestured to the runabout's hatch. "If you would..."

I stepped into the runabout, offloading my travel bag as quickly as I could, immediately rebalancing myself so I didn't float off the floor at the release of its substantial weight--the telekinetic equivalent of someone else accidentally picking up an empty drinking glass with the force needed for a full one.

"Please be seated," the captain invited. "Before we launch, I'll need to brief you in on the particulars of the mission." I nodded. "SI has a deep-cover agent in Cardassian territory whose cover is now likely to be blown now that the Dominion is putting its force behind the CIB." The Cardassian Intelligence Bureau, I recalled, the successor to the destroyed Obsidian Order. "The Tigris' flight plan is filed under the name of the Shenandoah, for an extended shakedown cruise. However...the Shenandoah has in fact already had its shakedown. We'll be taking the Tigris into Cardassian territory, to Septimus III.

"The entire inhabited area of the planet is a Cardassian military garrison, and there is heavy sensor shielding in place, even in the wilderness areas they use for survival training. Ship's sensors can't penetrate it without a hard enough scan to be detected, and any tricorder not registered with the Cardassian military to cut through the interference will be useless. We need to get a commbadge to our operative, and we can't risk it being intercepted if we send it by parcel. The Cardassians," he elaborated, "are nothing if not paranoid. And thorough." For just a second, the captain's voice had taken on a hard edge. Then it faded just as quickly as it had come.

"SI believes, based on the last message we received from our operative that she's holed up in the wilderness areas. They think there's a good chance that if we're able to make a stealth landing long enough to let you off on-planet, that neurological energy-detecting sense you have might be enough to pick up human lifesigns without the use of a tricorder, and that your phasing abilities might let you move around undetected until you deliver the commbadge to our operative. At that point, you'd have only to call for transport and I'd beam you back. The Cardassians will detect us then, and we'll have to punch out of the system at high warp. Their defense systems will come online so quickly that a live pilot is required back in the runabout to pull you out, and to react to things as they happen.

"You'll be alone on the surface." Just as when Captain Kane offered his hand...I froze. Up until now, Starfleet had never allowed me on a mission unaccompanied. As a courier, despite being fully pilot-certified, I hadn't been permitted at the helm of a shuttle since graduation, even on short-range missions within Federation territory where no second pilot should have been necessary. "I realize this is asking a lot of you," Kane said, "but you may be the only one standing between her and a Cardassian concentration camp."

Goodness...but his face--no, his entire demeanor--had grown intense at that. I did my best to ignore his alarmingly chaotic neural emanations.

I sat at attention, so to speak. "I'll do my best, sir."

Kane leaned back a bit in his seat...watching me, weighing something. Then he said, "Ensign...time is of the essence and we must launch immediately. But it seems to me like you may have some other concerns you need to discuss with me en route. It concerns me how uneasy you appear to be. I don't refer to the mission; anxiety is natural to most species under the circumstances. There seems to be something more going on here."

I sought to dismiss it as best as I could according to protocol: I had learned very early on that I had very little right to voice my thoughts on such matters. I was what I was...everyone else was what they were...and as far as they were concerned, that was that. "Personal matters, sir. I can assure you I'll be able to put it aside for the mission."

That garnered another lift of the eyebrow--almost Vulcan-like, I noted, from Captain Kane. He left it be for the moment, though, taking the helm and putting the runabout through its departure procedures.

Once we'd cleared Bajor system traffic control, though, he turned his chair towards me and scrutinized me closely. Almost gravely. "Strannik, I say this not as a superior officer, but as a concerned individual. Your reluctance to talk to me about what's going on seems like a strong indicator of the kind of problem serious enough that it needs to be addressed for the sake of your well-being. In just the short time we've been together, I've seen behaviors that, if I'm reading them right--and from your profile I don't have any reason to doubt that I am--suggest someone who's been put under a great deal of pressure. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand. But if this is something I can help you with, then I want to help."

Kane hadn't said, when he referred to my mannerisms, if you were human. Of course I wasn't. And it was true--even something as simple as a smile, in my human form, while nearly universal among humanoids, was an anatomical impossibility in my natural form and therefore an act I had to consciously choose. I had spent years observing human behavior in order to learn how to communicate my thoughts and emotions in a way that truly let me connect with those around me. But Kane hadn't dismissed it as a mere acting job. He'd instead expressed a degree of insight I'd seen from very few outside the scientific environment where I'd first been raised, and where my foster parents had come from. In fact, only Thraz had ever seemed to get it, until now.

That right there set him apart. And then there was the fact that almost never in my Academy studies, or my career thus far, had anyone knowing what I was expressed any sort of interest in helping me.

The sad truth was, I would never have believed the latter fact, however sincere-seeming his tone, without the evidence offered by the former.

Reluctantly, posed as though with eyes down, to give Kane some sort of indication that I wasn't currently using the photoreceptors aimed in his direction, I decided I would speak. "I...think it's best that I start by explaining what happened the month after I got to Starfleet Academy."

Starfleet Academy, 2368, Fall Semester

When I'd first entered the Academy, my official record had me listed as an alien of unknown origin, and as far as anyone had been aware at the time--to include everyone at the St. Petersburg Interphasic Research Institute where I'd spent my first years--that was true. As the only one of my kind that anyone knew of, I was truly an unknown quantity...but the upside of that was that I had only my own record to stand on, and that had sufficed to gain my entrance into the cadet corps.

There'd been some extra care taken in pairing me with a roommate, given my slight telepathic abilities and my unusual method of taking nourishment, which was how I ended up roomed with the Aenar cadet Chirithraz th'Valek. Both of us knew something about relating to the world in different ways to those around us, and we hit it off immediately. Based on what struck me as a well-considered accommodation for both Thraz and me, I'd felt reasonably assured that things were going to go smoothly.

I will never forget that awful moment when Lieutenant Quinn intercepted me just as I was leaving the Starfleet History lecture hall. "Cadet Strannik," the half-Trill nervously ordered, "Commandant Chaxx needs to see you at once in his office. Your instructors have been notified, and you will be excused from class for the rest of the day."

Kakovo chorta? The entire day? What on Earth could the commandant want with me in the first place--and that would take that long to deal with? And what was it that had Quinn so uneasy? That was when I first got that sinking feeling...and I do mean 'sinking,' because when the seriousness of it first hit me, my telekinesis wavered and it felt for a second like someone had turned a nearby graviton generator to 2G.

When we arrived in the commandant's office, the Bolian admiral launched in without preamble, and without dismissing Lieutenant Quinn. "Cadet, you had best sit down." It didn't sound like a request. "Starfleet has been processing the after-action reports from a very disturbing temporal incursion that occurred here in this city, with an origin point on a world in the Marrab sector registered on Starfleet starcharts as Devidia II. A hostile, phase-shifting species traveled back to Earth just before the beginning of the 20th century to prey on human neural energy. Two intruders were identified and when the officers responding to the incident found they could not be reasoned with, they were neutralized. The number of human casualties before that point, and the potential extent of the disruption to the timeline, is unknown at this time.

"What has become clear as we ran the reports against existing records on Earth is that the...Devidians...had more than one incursion site in the city, and clearly intended to take up generational residence on Earth. They likely intended to farm humans on a generational basis for their neural energy. They were making the initial preparations for a long-term occupation of Earth, and during the recent encounter, one of the Devidians revealed technological capabilities...classified ones, mind you...that could prove devastating if unleashed.

"The reason we know this is because when a database search was ordered to determine if the Federation had had any prior encounters with the Devidians, we found an exact match."

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. All I could do was stare at Commandant Chaxx, because I knew right then what he was about to say. "It was you, Cadet."

That makes me...a Devidian.

"And that means that I--and Starfleet--have a serious problem on our hands. Although they seem to exist out of phase with us, and we are uncertain as to the technology they employ, Devidia II has been placed under quarantine by Starfleet. This means we have one known Devidian outside of the quarantine--and who, according to our records, has taken a life."

Terror shot through me like lightning, from node to node, prepared to supercharge my muscles for one quick burst of action if necessary. What did they plan to do to me? "I didn't know what I was doing--I was only a few weeks old!" I protested. Unlike a human, I had memories going back that far...but I also clearly remembered the inarticulate horror that coursed through me when I realized that what had nourished me had killed the kind woman who had first looked after me. "I would do anything if it meant I could bring her back!"

"That notwithstanding--I must consider the risk to Starfleet, should the...wrong set of circumstances arise. That is why I cannot allow you to continue at the Academy, and I will recommend that--"

"But I'm not like that!" I shot back...for now I had nothing to lose. "I regret my sins! Talk to Cadet th'Valek; he's seen into my mind! He knows what I'm like--he knows I'm not vicious!" This dog has bitten, I thought, remembering how it had been common to treat animals in centuries past. And once it has the taste of blood, it will do it again. It is beyond saving. "I want to talk to my parents--my foster parents! Let me talk to the Azarovs!"

I had been legally emancipated at the age of 14--a court proceeding made necessary by the fact that I had no known homeworld, and therefore no established precedent to turn to, to establish the proper age of majority. Instead, evidence had been presented demonstrating that I had developmentally and cognitively reached adulthood, and it was therefore appropriate for me to begin making decisions as an adult...and in fact inappropriate to hold me back until 18 as it would have been for a human.

But even as an adult--who else could I turn to at a time like this? Who better to vouch for me than the childless couple that had taken me into their home when the staff of the Interphasic Research Center realized that, however homelike they had made my abode over time, however often they'd begun taking me outside to see the sights, a science lab simply wasn't enough. Wasn't right. I had lived under the Azarovs' roof for eight years, never so much as made a threatening move. Wouldn't dare.

Lieutenant Quinn glanced uncomfortably--almost pleadingly--over at the commandant. Whatever it was Chaxx planned to do...if he had even informed Quinn...the younger man was clearly having qualms. I turned my focus to him. Please, Quinn, don't let this happen...!

After a terrible, silent moment, Chaxx yielded. "Very well. Computer, contact..." He thumbed through a report. "Dr. Mikhail K. Azarov or Dr. Na--desh--" There he stumbled several times over the pronunciation, and needless to say, I didn't particularly care to help him. "Nadezhda R. Azarova." He looked over at his aide. "Quinn, give Strannik your padd."

Oh, yes--anything to keep the vicious dog from coming closer.

Still, I gratefully accepted the padd from Lieutenant Quinn, who offered a look of...well, sympathy, it seemed, once his back was to the Bolian commandant.

It didn't take long for my foster father to answer. "Alyoshenka!" A pause. "What's wrong--what's going on?"

"They're trying to kick me out!" I shouted in Russian, not caring if the other officers in the room had bothered to switch on their universal translators. "They said they found out about my species--that we're a bunch of vicious vampires and it's too dangerous to have me around other people! I don't know what they're planning on doing--if it's just kicking me out, or if they're planning to throw me in prison somewhere--"

"We had an inquiry from Starfleet a week ago, but I never imagined it would turn out like this! I will not let anything bad happen to you. I need you to hold on until your mother and I can make it to San Francisco. Until then, you listen to me: you must remember that you are a legal citizen of Earth and the Federation. You had to be registered in order for us to be your legal guardians. We didn't hide anything we knew from the judge. That means they have no right--NO right--to do anything to you on the basis of your species. Do you understand, Alyosha?" I nodded. "Do not let them convince you otherwise. Now put me on with whatever durag of an admiral thinks he can pull a stunt like this with my boy!"

"It's the commandant of the Academy," I said in a near whisper.

"I don't care if he thinks he's the Premier of the Soviet Union! Put me on with him--I am going to tell him that we are coming, whether he likes it or not!"

Slowly, I offered the padd back to Lieutenant Quinn. "Sir, Dr. Azarov would like to speak with Commandant Chaxx," I said as formally as I could.

Please take it, I prayed.

USS Tigris, 2373

"I presume he took it?" Captain Kane asked me.

I nodded. "He did. My foster parents pretty much invited themselves to the commandant's office. I didn't see what happened--I got sent back to barracks after that--but from what they told me later, they both testified on my behalf, and so did several of the other Petersburg IRC scientists. Thraz--th'Valek--did too.

"I was allowed to stay--on a provisional basis. But since then it's been psych profile after psych profile, and you wouldn't believe what they did for my Kobayashi Maru." It was supposedly against regulation to disclose the particulars of one's test, but reasoning that regulation applied only to cadets, I told him; his eyes widened with astonishment. "Frankly, I think the only thing that ended up keeping me from getting expelled was when we made first contact with the Dominion, and they realized I might be useful.

"And I have made myself useful. I've followed orders. I try my best to follow regulations. I have never hurt anyone. But most people who know about me--you'd think I was carrying the plague, the way they act around me! It's plain I'm constantly being watched for signs of...some kind of lapse of control. That I am not given the same liberties given to others of my rank and position. But why do they keep me around when they clearly are afraid of me, except that they can use me?"

I lowered my voice. "I studied to be a scientist...like my foster parents. I understand that right now, Starfleet doesn't need scientists--not when we might be going to war. I know I can help; that's not what I'm arguing. But after the crisis is over--what happens to me? Will I always be mistrusted? Will I be kicked out of Starfleet because they think the risk of keeping me around now outweighs the benefit?"

Will I have to fear for my freedom again?

"That's not an easy question to answer, Ensign," Kane replied thoughtfully, sitting back from the console and rotating the chair to face me directly. "I've been a Starfleet officer for twenty years now, and there have been times in the past where I have experienced similar issues.

"When you first met me, you noticed an--irregularity--in my neural energies. What do you know about immortals?"

That took me aback. Was he implying that such beings actually existed outside of legend? That he was one? "I have always been taught there was no such thing," I replied--skeptically, but hoping I wouldn't insult the man if there was something I didn't know.

"I presume you have heard about Gregory Rasputin?" Kane inquired. I nodded my assent and also resisted the temptation to correct his pronunciation; I'd learned it wasn't polite to do that to those whose biology did not allow them to pronounce foreign sounds with the ease I could. "The reason Rasputin survived those attempts on his life, is because he was Homo sapiens immortalis: an immortal. A biological offshoot from the rest of humanity, which I suspect you can see more clearly than I can ever describe. Suffice it to say that short of decapitation or an extremely unfortunate transporter accident, I cannot die."

That, again, took me aback: the very idea that there could be immortals. To be nearly forever trapped in a broken universe, with the hope of release into the new creation so severely delayed--could the mind even withstand that without the end result being insanity? Was that what had happened with the Q? If this was true...I could only imagine the torment waiting for this man as his life stretched on without end.

I also considered myself fortunate that the incident in which I had nearly starved to death had also revealed that Devidians weren't immortal. While there was still much uncertainty about my life expectancy, given the phased nature of my biology, there had at least been evidence that I would age and eventually die.

The captain's next words broke me out of my thoughts. "You should recall the Borg attack on the Federation, when that cube was destroyed in orbit by the crew of the Enterprise."

Did I ever. And I knew, too, what most citizens of the Federation had not at the time: that as the cube approached Earth, there had been a secret evacuation called that would comprise of high-ranking Starfleet and civilian officials, as well as those deemed to hold information too critical for the Borg to acquire. My foster parents--and I, by extension--had been on that list due to the nature of the Interphasic Research Center's work, and we had come within centimeters of departure from the Komarov Cosmodrome in St. Petersburg before the all-clear. Given the risk of panic, much like the one experienced when the alien probe made Earth orbit a century before, the media had only alerted the general public after the cube's approach could no longer be denied by civilian telescopes. While understandable, the Azarovs had always made it clear I should never discuss with others the fact that I had been on a priority evacuation list.

It wasn't hard to understand why.

"When that happened," Kane continued, "all the Borg hardware that was removed from Captain Picard was sent to Starfleet Command for analysis. I was given the assignment of investigating all aspects of the technology, how it could be overcome, how it worked, how to protect against it."

"No one ever mentioned any protective measures at the Academy, sir...other than keeping your distance."

"Precisely," Kane replied. "We know that now, because by nature of my biology, I had to be exposed to Borg nanoprobes." You had to be? I thought, horrified. I couldn't help but make my abhorrence of the thought clearly visible, that Starfleet had put him in such a position. "As a physician, Doctor Crusher was incapable of making the infusion herself, nor was Starfleet willing to order one of the other officers to do so, so I had to perform the injection myself.

"For almost an hour, my body attempted to suppress the nanoprobes, but eventually, they adapted, increasing their output and operation to overcome my regenerative ability, and I was taken over. When I came to, Doctor Crusher had been able to neutralize the nanoprobes, and I'm told that if Commander Data had not been able to neutralize me, they would have decapitated me and dismembered my body like something out of some Romanian folklore my mother read to me as a child. But worse than that, I had killed five Starfleet officers in an attempt to establish contact with the Collective."

"I can sort of understand," I cautiously replied. Not assimilation, of course--but I did know very well what it meant to be responsible for another being's death when one was unable to control one's actions. I had simply been too young to comprehend what I was doing. As for Captain Kane, he had been violated, and at Starfleet's behest! "But I can't believe they would have put you in that kind of position in the first place!"

Unspoken was the follow-on: If they did that to you...what if they decided they wanted to do some sort of experiment on me? The St. Petersburg IRC, mercifully, had never engaged in such activities as I grew up. I had been studied, scanned, observed, yes, but generally in ways justified by the need to ensure I could be medically treated if injured or ill. They had begun my education, as well--taught me how to interact with the world that existed in human phase. But I had quickly been named and treated as a sentient being, and I had never been subjected to cruel experiments like the one Captain Kane had just described! The SPIRC's Institutional Review Board had been very strict on the matter. Had Starfleet's IRB fallen asleep on the job? Been enticed to turn a blind eye? How? I knew my indignation had to be showing. How could I keep that in?

"I would not want to think of anyone else ever going through that," Kane replied. "And since then, Starfleet has most certainly kept an eye on me, especially when the Borg most recently attacked the Federation, although between you and me, I think Admiral Hayes only ordered the Endeavour to the Typhon Sector because he thought I would perform some miraculous feat and ensure victory. Instead, the cube disabled the ship almost immediately."

He leaned forward, intent. "I cannot guarantee that things will get easier for you, Ensign, but I can promise that if you ever find yourself unfairly treated, I will do anything in my power to assist you. You may contact me at any time, without the need to request permission from any supervising officer. That is not just an offer, Ensign, it is an order. Should any member of Starfleet Command ever attempt to harass, intimidate, or violate your rights, you are to immediately contact me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." I couldn't help a smile: perhaps, if we survived this mission, things would get easier. At least--I hoped--I wouldn't have to fear the worst anymore, knowing that now inside the closed world of Starfleet, I might have some recourse. "Thank you very much."

sparklysoldier · March 2013

Literary Challenge #9: Shore Leave

Azera Xi: Repondez s'il vous Plait

Three Years Ago

Even through the howling night winds buffeting the snowswept plateau, Nyzoph could almost hear the thrumming noise of the graduation festival beneath his feet. The wind couldn't drown it out, the invigorating cold couldn't stir his thoughts from their numb disbelief, and even a mile of ice and rock didn't feel nearly far enough away from the underground capital. He lifted the silver oblong PADD up again to reread the day's messages, his gray eyes staring blankly at the serpentine Andorian script of the official notice through tears frozen and dried by the biting wind, and then he flung the tablet away into the snow with a growling, frustrated scream.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring up at the sky, following the vast white disc of Andor as its rings spanned the star-dotted horizon, when she emerged from the mouth of the cave behind him. He silently narrowed his eyes and kept them fixed overhead.

"You couldn't even come to the ceremony," Corspa curtly asked him.

"I already got the news," his voice low, his fists clenched tight as he fought the instinct to turn around and look at her, and then he muttered a sneering "congratulations."

"Thanks," she replied acidly, "Nyzoph, we need to talk."

"Oh I'm sure we do," he suddenly groaned with bitter sarcasm, and he whirled around from the edge of the cliff to face her, "let me spare you the trouble. I already know."

"What," she blinked in confusion, "what exactly do you know?"

"I know it was your friends that went to the headmaster," he snarled at her, and then he spit into the snow before continuing, "it was your friends that told him all about Nyzoph's 'moral lapses' in Therin Park. A friend in need - isn't that how the humans say it?"

"What the hell are you implying," she growled back.

"You won, Corspa! The top scores, the highest honors, an immediate promotion to commander and your very own ship fresh out of the Andorian Academy! Everyone down there in Laibok is dancing and singing your praises right now! And you know what I get? I get to work in the mines just like my father and grandfather, that's what! I've been expelled."

"Oh," she breathed almost silently, "I... didn't know..."

"A lifetime of training, fighting, dreaming of the Imperial Guard. Remember when we met? I was eight years old. That's how many years it's been. And it was all for nothing."

"My family's wealthy," she answered in a quiet daze, shaking her head as she tried to gather her bewildered thoughts, "I'm sure they can arrange something for you..."

"What," Nyzoph glared at her, his antenna flattened back against his head, "you want me to be another one of your servants? A gardener, or maybe your prized chef!?"

"That's not what I meant," Corspa snapped back, but he'd already stopped listening. Instead his thoughts raced back through his argument with the headmaster, his pleas to the stern silver-haired Andorian answered with contemptuous, dismissive scorn.

"That's the problem with you Nyzoph," the old general had scoffed, "you snivel and beg for your honor instead of seizing it. Always trying to talk your way out of everything."

"I challenge you to an Ushaan," he said, cutting off Corspa's words.

"You... you what," she stammered, her blue eyes wide and antenna splayed in disbelief.

"You and your damn family's cost me my honor, my dream, my whole life," he spat the words across the icy bluff at her, "you think I'm just a worthless servant, then let's find out how yours measure up. Pick anyone you like, one of your bodyguards, your private combat instructor, any champion you want and we'll see just how much they're worth compared to me."

Corspa stared at him for a long, stunned moment before quietly answering him.

"Fine," she said, "I accept."

"Then bring your substitute here tomorrow night," Nyzoph glowered as he stormed past her toward the caverns and the capitol city that lay hidden beneath the ice.

"I'm not bringing anyone Nyzoph," she said, "I'll be here tomorrow."

"You'll what," the fury in his voice snapped into shock as he turned to face her.

"You think I need to hide behind my servants," she shot back at him, "you think I can't fight my own battles? I'll be here, and I'll deal with you myself. Don't be late."

She shoved her way past him before his stammering lips could form a reply, leaving him standing alone atop the icy bluff as she retreated into the shadows of the cave.

* * *

Captain's Log, Stardate 90823.08 - We're currently en route to the Betazed System for some scheduled shore leave and to attend a dedication ball that's being held in honor of the restoration of the Blessed Carvings of Cataria. It seems that our operations officer has neglected to mention his illustrious heritage: Luverala Onploz, Son of the Ninth House and Keeper of the Blessed Carvings of Cataria. I'm not really sure what that means, and he's too embarrassed to explain it, but he's graciously extended his invitation to the Roanoke's senior staff.

"You wanted to speak with me," Azera Xi asked shyly, brushing her rose-colored hair back across her flattened ears and looking out the window of her ready room at the racing stars and the dim reflection of a handsome security officer standing at her desk. She took a silent breath, trying to think of anything that'd make the blush on her cheeks fade away and quickly settling on their last planetary survey, mentally reciting the results to herself a few times until she'd stopped thinking about his eyes gazing on her. Then, and only then, did she dare to turn around and offer Angel a warm, professional smile and a furtive glance into his dark eyes.

Her security chief looked even more nervous than she felt, though she supposed that made sense: he's her subordinate, after all, even if he's a few years older than her. She kept her expression steady even as she felt her cheeks starting to blush again at the rumors she'd heard around the ship. Angel Jermaine Cregin, the dashing star pitcher of the Cestus Comets turned security chief of the USS Roanoke, had fallen for his superior officer. How many times had he leaped in front of her, his phaser beam sweeping the battlefield before, without a thought for himself, he'd turned to help her to her feet and asked if she's okay? How could she have missed the way their eyes had met through the viewscreen back when he was assigned to Starbase 114, the playful jokes they'd made, how quickly he'd requested a transfer to her ship?

Between the Roanoke's battles against the Klingons, the Orion Syndicate, even the Borg, Azera often forgot that, despite being the captain, she was technically still a teenager. Right now she remembered it - she remembered it with a blushing, giddily panicked euphoria.

"Yes captain," Lieutenant Cregin nodded anxiously, running his fingers back through his crewcut hair and pausing to take a breath before continuing, "well, you know we're scheduled to arrive on Betazed tomorrow for the dedication ball. And, well..."

"At ease, lieutenant," she smiled in answer to another long pause, "I'm just Azera here."

"Aye sir," he answered before smiling sheepishly himself, "I mean, okay. Well, we're a pretty new ship in the fleet, and captains have full discretion over matters of fraternization among the crew. So I guess the first thing is... how do you actually feel about that?"

"Oh," she shrugged and met his hesitant glance with a sparkling violet gaze, "well, we're all adults on this crew and we're going to be stuck together for hopefully a pretty long time. I don't think anyone's orders could stop relationships from naturally forming, so the most I'll ask is that we continue to respect each other as crewmates, no matter our feelings."

"Agreed completely," Angel nodded quickly and looked thoughtfully down at his reflection in the polished surface of her desk, "I've always tried to keep a professional distance from the rest of the crew, no matter where I was stationed. It comes with being a security officer: you can't really afford to let your guard down with anyone. At least, that's what I always thought. But lately I've found myself thinking more and more about someone in particular, seeing her in ways I never thought I'd see anyone, and wanting to be... well... more than a security chief, more than just a crewmate to her. What I'm trying to say is... I'd like to ask Auslaz to the ball."

Azera got as far as saying "I" before her breathless answer tumbled into a quick "huh?"

"We've been spending a lot of time together," he continued quickly, the bursting floodgates of his own admission distracting him from her crestfallen look, "and she's amazing. She's like nobody I've ever met before. With your permission, I'd like to ask her to go with me, and maybe find out what we could be together. If she's even interested, that is."

"I see," Azera took a quick breath, straightened her back and instantly regained her composure as the Roanoke's captain before he could notice it'd ever dropped, "well, you're both part of my crew and I would never abuse that position of authority. But on a personal note, Auslaz is my friend. You know the old speech friends give about 'if you ever hurt her?''"

"Yes sir?"

"Well," she paused and smiled gently, "consider it made. And with that out of the way, permission granted. Best of luck, lieutenant, and I'll see you both at the ball."

"Thank you captain," he said with a relieved smile, and he answered her soft nod with his own before retreating through the sliding doors of her ready room and making his was across the bridge for another, even more personal talk with the ship's science officer. Azera held her breath as she waited for the doors to finish closing, for the droning hum of the bridge to fade into reassuring silence again, and then she flopped back into her chair with an embarrassed groan, sighing deeply and sinking her head down into her arms to hide her burning cheeks.

* * *

"You're sure he's not using her," Corspa suspiciously asked into the open Jeffries tube as she tapped the wall-mounted engineering console beside it to start the last diagnostic sweep. Nyzoph's boots kicked across the hatchway as the hidden engineer tugged one of the panels within loose, and his answer rang back into the otherwise empty engine room.

"I'm sure," his voice exasperated and amused all at once, "I thought it was Angel's job to be paranoid, not yours. Trust me, he's been talking about Auslaz for weeks now."

"Maybe," the Andorian woman reluctantly admitted, then she called back into the tube, "but he's a celebrity, right? Cestus Comets pitcher, he must have lots of fans. I'm just wondering why a guy like that would set his sights on someone as vulnerable as her, that's all."

"First off," Nyzoph replied, clicking the panels within the tube back into place and then sliding out of the service shaft to sit upright and dust off his gold uniform, "he hasn't been their pitcher for a few years now, so it's not like he's getting mobbed by fans. And he's hardly setting his sights on her, he just happens to like her. Besides, we both know she's not nearly as delicate as she seems. If he gets out of line, she'll snap him right back into it."

"I guess you're right," she shrugged as he stood up, and she smiled a little at the sight of him, "okay, we're all done here, so there's just enough time for us to make it to the holodeck for day ten of the Battle of Thermopylae. Got any new tricks up your sleeve?"

"If the weather's cloudy the mirror beams might not be enough to hold the pass. But I have an idea for a chemical explosive we could use to flood the valley as a last resort."

"We'll keep it ready if we need to withdraw from the pass," she answered thoughtfully, "but the Spartans seem to be holding their own with the Mok'bara techniques I've taught them. Who knew ancient human soldiers and Klingon martial arts made such a good fit?"

"What about tomorrow," Nyzoph asked as he leaned down over one of the engineering panels to look over the diagnostic results, "are you going to the ball?"

"I have to," Corspa shrugged with resignation, "it could be taken the wrong way if the first officer's not there with everyone else. How about you, think you can sneak out of it?"

"I was actually hoping you'd be going," he gave a small smile and a shrug of his own, "maybe we could go together. We'd get more dancing done as a couple, right?"

"Ballroom dancing," she asked with an inquisitive smirk, "are you getting soft on me?"

"Must be old age," he quipped as he shut down the console and turned to leave with her, and then he paused for a moment before continuing in a softer, more serious voice.

"Corspa," he asked, "why are you here?"

"I, um," she tilted her her head to give him a confused look, "I'm helping you wrap up the warp core diagnostics so we'll have time to visit the holodeck tonight?"

"Oh, no, not right here," he shook his head quickly, "I mean, what are you doing aboard the Roanoke? This is honestly the last place in the galaxy I expected to see you."

"Nyzoph," she said with a quiet, forlorn frown, "I told you in my message..."

"What message?"

"The one I sent you after the Ushaan."

"I didn't get any messages," he said, and he paused for a moment at the startled look she gave him, "I left the next morning on a Tellarite freighter. I just, I had to get away from things. From everything. By the time I logged into my old accounts, they'd been purged."

"So you never read it," she murmured in a soft, faraway voice.

"I guess not," he shrugged apologetically.

Her face rose and fall through a a winding valley of emotions as she stared back at him, her antenna lifting up into a quizzical arch, then sinking into grief-stricken sadness, then building into glowering fury until she suddenly twisted her head away and began to shudder quietly. Nyzoph stared in guilt-stricken confusion as she fought to hide her sobbing gasps.

"Corspa," he stammered softly, "I'm... I'm sorry..."

She suddenly reached forward to smack him across the arm, and then fell back across the engineering bulkhead in tears of gasping, uncontrollable laughter.

"You've had no idea," she shrieked between helpless giggles, "all this time we've been working together and you never even saw it! Nyzoph, you... you... karskat klahz!"

"Okay," he muttered helplessly, and just waited for her to catch her breath.

"I'll send you a copy," she finally sighed, and then pointed at him sternly, "after we get back to our rooms tonight. Then we can talk about what it said at the ball tomorrow."

"I could read it right now," he hesitantly offered.

"Oh no," she replied, "we're both going to want drinks for that conversation."

* * *

"He asked me out, he asked me out," Auslaz squeaked to herself in a panic as she paced nervously around Azera Xi's quarters, then she convulsively wrung her hands and looked wildly at the bemused captain, "is that okay, can we do stuff like that on the same ship?"

"It's fine," Azera tried to encourage her, "if you want to, that is. Did you say yes?"

"I, um," the Trill officer bit her lower lip and crossed her blue eyes slightly in a quick burst of thought, "I think I nodded quickly. Then I ran pretty much all the way here."

Azera sighed to herself and shook her head with a soft smile as she watched her science officer darting back and forth around the beige furniture and glancing nervously over the landscape paintings lining the wall. She'd just started to clear her throat to say something when Auslaz suddenly turned back toward her with a fearfully wide-eyed look.

"What do you wear to a Betazoid ball," the young woman fretted, "do you have to have a gown, or wigs with animals in them... you... you don't have to go naked, do you!?"

"It's not a Betazoid wedding," Azera couldn't help but chuckle, "we'll be attending as Starfleet officers, so your dress uniform will be fine. That's what I'll be wearing."

"Dress uniform," Auslaz murmured, and her eyes widened with fresh panic, "I don't have a dress uniform! I've never needed one before, I must have left it at the academy!"

"Okay, sit," Azera suddenly grabbed her friend's shoulders and led her to a cushioned chair in front of the curving window that filled the exterior wall, gently pushing her down into the seat to face the sweeping arcs of the stars racing alongside the ship.

"Let me see what I can do about the uniform," she continued, and then she knelt down to look Auslaz in the eyes, "you're going to be fine, I promise. Just breathe, okay?"

"Right," Auslaz nodded, fidgeting with the dark side swept bangs of her hair and then rambling faster again in a voice that struggled to stay calm, "what will we talk about? He's a baseball player, a security chief... how do you impress someone like that?"

"Tell me something," Azera called over her shoulder as she pace over to the replicator on the wall and began scrolling through the display menu, and then she studied the screen intently before continuing, "how did you win him over? Did you do anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, not at all," the astrophysicist shook her head frantically and stared out the window, "I'm just boring old me, that's all. I had no idea he'd even noticed me like that!"

"Then just keeping being you," Azera said warmly as she returned from the replicator, and she leaned down in front of the chair again to look straight at her science officer's stricken face, "you're the most honest, authentic person I know. You don't have a front, you don't hide anything about yourself. If he likes you, Auslaz, then he likes you because you're you."

Azera Xi handed a crisply folded white dress uniform to the startled young woman.

"How did you," Auslaz asked curiously, "where did you find that so fast?"

"It was in your replicator files," she replied with a teasing smile, "still marked new."

"Oh," the young Trill blushed a little, "of course, right."

"You'll do great," Azera reassured her, "you're going to knock him dead."

* * *

Three Years Ago

The blow sent Nyzoph hurtling backward across the frozen white snow, slamming down with a hard thud that left him gasping the frigid air through the burning ache of his lungs. He lifted his left hand to wipe away the blood streaming down his cheek and noticed a loose, tattered cord dangling from the silver gauntlet. The tether between them must have snapped apart. Not that it mattered to the whooping, shrieking crowd gathered around them, or to the mediator watching the fight with calm, impassive focus. Once an Ushaan's begun, only one thing can end it.

A shrill cry alerted him to the dark leather-clad shadow hurtling down from the ghostly white aurora overhead and he swung his feet up just as Corspa swiped the curved blade of her ushaan-tor down across his chest. He caught the serrated edge with the steel glove of his left hand, bracing it for the half-second or so the armor might last against the polished blade and then knocked it away with his own knife as he slammed his foot into her waist, kicking her back across the white hillock. Nyzoph leapt to his feet as she doubled away from him with a groaning cough, and in another instant he'd locked his arm across her throat, yanking her back against his chest and squeezing his elbow tighter as he tried to wrap his other hand around his wrist.

"Just act like you're fainting," he hissed desperately in Corspa's ear as she twisted left and right, her turquoise cheeks starting to turn a pale ashen gray, "and it'll be over."

She suddenly flung herself off the ground, throwing her weight across his chest and sending him tumbling onto his back with his arm still wrapped around her neck. She slammed her elbow down against his stomach, digging down until it almost seemed to hit bone, and then rolled upright as he staggered back to his feet. He swayed a little against the throbbing, nauseous waves of pain sweeping through his abdomen, staring wildly through the twirling flakes of snow dancing in the night wind, his knuckles white as he clenched his ushaan-tor tighter... and then he plummeted forward as a searing white pain sliced through the back of his calf.

"Get up," he heard Corspa's voice snarling somewhere above him.

He tried to stand, if only to brace himself against the next blow, but his right leg crumpled and he fell down again, streaks of indigo blood spilling through the gash in his pants and dripping down his right ankle. He dug the armored fingers of his left fist into the snow and tried to push himself upright, only to sink onto one knee with a hoarse cry as his calf gave out again.

"I said," she hissed viciously as she circled around him, "stand up!"

"I can't," Nyzoph gritted his teeth against the pain and glared up at her. She turned her eyes away, exhaled deeply and called out to the mediator and the watching crowd.

"My opponent is unable to fight," she said calmly, "we're done here."

With that, she flung her blue-soaked ushaan-tor away and marched right through the jeering audience, shoving them angrily aside and vanishing into the crowd.

* * *

Captain's Log, Stardate 90824.97 - The dedication ball's less than an hour away and everything seems to be in order. We'll stay in orbit around Betazed long enough for the whole crew to enjoy their shore leave and schedule some routine maintenance to make sure the Roanoke's ready for her next mission. Honestly, as silly as I thought Auslaz was being yesterday, I'm kinda starting to feel the same way. Can't we just fight some Undine instead?

The ivory-colored ballroom swept out into a vast, seemingly endless arc along the rim of the mansion, the ceiling sloping outward and downward into thick bands of glass to form an enormous sunroom cast into fluorescent blue tones by the phosphorescent leaves of the alien jungle draped overhead. Candles flickered atop the ornate crystal tables lining the inner wall of the chamber, tinging the aquamarine light with a twinkling orange glow to match the chimes and whistling flutes of the band. The handful of Starfleet officers in their white jackets and dark pants blended so perfectly into the spectrum of guests and outfits, from tuxedos and ceremonial robes to rainbow feathers and festively dyed hair, that hardly anyone seemed to notice their presence. Certainly none of the other guests saw any need for stifling formality around them.

That suited Auslaz perfectly: it meant nobody gave her a second glance, or even much of a first one, as she ventured nervously onto the dance floor with her date. She wasn't quite sure what the dance involved, except standing still while moving her arms around and trying to sway her hips without taking a step, but after a few swaying rolls she nearly fell over. Angel caught her by the hands and gently guided the blushing young officer back onto her feet.

"That was... interesting," he nodded thoughtfully and diplomatically, "but you're keeping your legs too tense. If you try to hold them straight you'll lose your balance."

"I'm trying," she gulped shyly, "it's just that I try to think about how I move my arms, and then I remember I have to move my waist too and I lose track of my arms so I try to move them too and you're supposed to nod and it all... it all gets jumbled up together..."

"Just relax," he smiled and reached for her hands again, squeezing her palms and holding her arms out between them to sway with the music, "I'll guide your hands so you don't have to worry about them. Don't think about it. Just listen to the music and let it move you."

"But then I'd have to stop thinking," she squeaked, "and I don't know how!"

"Well," Angel thought for a moment, "okay, how about you tell me about work?"

"You work with me," she said with a dimpled smile, "you already know about that."

"I know you stand on the bridge, tap buttons and look excited sometimes," he chuckled, "beyond that, it's a mystery to me. Come on, try it - what do you do for a living?"

"Okay," Auslaz shrugged a little and closed her eyes to focus, "right now, I'm working on the sensor readings from Sigma 381-B, the black hole we charted last week. There used to be this theory that if a black hole's spinning or has an electric charge, the singularity stretches into a ring that's basically a wormhole to a whole different spacetime. But it turned out the quantum corrections didn't work out right and the singularity normally closes in on itself because of all the Hawking radiation. But thing is, this black hole has a stationary warp field. I don't know how that could happen, maybe the star had some sort of dilithium layer? The event horizon's emitting signals across several different subspace frequencies... it's information from a black hole, that shouldn't even be possible! So I'm writing up a report on the data we've received so far for Azera, I mean, the captain, to see if we can launch a probe into it and see where it goes."

She'd started talking faster and faster as she continued, the embarrassed flush of her cheeks fading back into their normal ivory hue and then blushing again with excitement as she swung her arms lightly and finally pulled the security chief closer with the giddy, breathless enthusiasm of her discovery. Then she suddenly stopped and glanced down.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, "this must be boring you out of your mind."

"You're kidding," Angel shook his head a little as he just stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled, "you're planning on shooting a probe into another universe and you're worried about that being boring? I can't wait to see what you'd call an exciting day."

"Well yeah," she smiled a little, "but that's just science stuff. You're a famous athlete, you've captured smugglers and fought Nausicaans and... I'm just me, that's all."

"I'm a Starfleet brat from Pike City," he answered with a slightly blushing smile of his own, "and you're a genius physicist. I'm the boring one here, not you. But even if I don't get everything about singularities and stationary warp fields, I get enough to catch glimpses here and there of how it all looks from your eyes. And it's amazing, Auslaz... just like you..."

The softly piping music had already fallen into silence as he finished, leaving Angel suddenly shifting awkwardly and glancing downward himself. Then the band started up again, filling the room with a quick, lively mix of drums and wailing brass instruments. He listened intently for a moment and then gave a small, apologetic shrug to his partner.

"I think we'd have to do some stepping and spinning for this one," he explained as the rest of the dancers whirled around them, "want to sit down and grab a drink instead?"

Auslaz took a deep breath and then shook her head with a beaming smile.

"Let's try it," she said quickly as she pivoted once on her toes and took his hands again to pull him deeper into the crowd, "but if I step on your feet, you were warned."

* * *

"So," Nyzoph said quietly. He paused for a moment, staring thoughtfully down at the thin Starfleet-issued PADD and the Andorian script flashing on its touchpad, and then looked up at the guests around him dancing, talking and sipping from their wine glasses. He leaned slightly back against the crystal table behind him, looking over the message he'd already read countless times last night and finally made himself lift his gaze up to meet Corspa's nervous look.

"I knew something must have changed for you to be here on the Roanoke," he said, nervously rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, "but I never guessed that..."

His voice trailed off into awkward silence.

"Yeah," she bit her lip and stared self-consciously down at the drink in her hand, her boots silently scuffing the floor as she stood beside him at the edge of the dance floor.

"Did you find it here," he gently asked, "what you were looking for, I mean."

"You know something," she smiled a little and glanced up to meet his eyes again, "I did. The Imperial Guard might have been more glamorous, but we're saving people's lives in Starfleet. We're protecting the galaxy out here. I'll take that over Andorian politics any day."

Corspa took a sip of her rose-colored drink and set the glass down on the table.

"What about you," she reluctantly asked him after a moment, "you could have had your own ship by now. I know Starfleet engineer wasn't exactly your life's ambition."

"Not at first," he admitted with a guilty smirk, and then his smile softened, "but I never would have thought about engineering if I hadn't joined Starfleet, and it turned out I'm pretty good at it. And besides... right now there's no other ship in the universe I'd rather be on."

Corspa glanced shyly down again, her cheeks blushing a fiercer shade of blue, and she leaned forward on a sudden impulse to kiss his cheek. Their eyes met for a second, steel gray and soft blue stares reflecting each other perfectly, and then she'd suddenly thrown her arms across his shoulders as his lips brushed her mouth and drew her into a desperately longing kiss. Her fingers stroked back through his white hair as his arms slid around her waist, pulling them closer together into an embrace that spun the room faster than any whirling dance, time holding its breath for a passionate kiss that lasted forever, and still not nearly long enough.

"I missed you," her voice trembled, and she kissed him harder before he could answer. Their lips finally parted again as she took a shuddering breath, her fingers tracing gently down his right cheek as she smiled warmly... and they brushed along a ridged scar running down the length of his jaw. She hadn't noticed it before, it wasn't even visible in the fluorescent blue light of the jungle-canopied ballroom, but her breath caught and and her smile faded again.

"Nyzoph," she said quietly as she leaned back down from her tiptoes, looking down in thought and then back up at him, "I don't want us to pick up where we left off."

He stared down at her in startled, breathless confusion, and finally managed to speak.

"Did I," he asked softly, "did I do something wrong?"

"No," she smiled bashfully for just a second, "no, that was... really, really right. But we left off from fighting a duel to the death. We almost killed each other back there."

"It wouldn't have come to that," he gently assured her.

"It came a lot closer than either one of us wants to admit," she insisted, and she paused for a moment before continuing, "I don't want us to pick up where we left off... I want us to start over again. Except this time with no secrets, no hiding anything from anyone. We don't have anything to be ashamed of. We never did, and now we're old enough to know it. And I want us to start from there, so the whole universe can know how we feel every step of the way."

He smiled a little and nodded, and leaned down to kiss her azure cheek.

"Well, since we're starting over," he replied, and his smile broadened into a grin, "I should introduce myself. My name's Nyzoph, I'm the chief engineer. And you are?"

"Corspa," she couldn't help but smirk, "I ran away from home to become a tactical officer."

"You too," he asked in mock surprise, and then glanced around with playful suspicion at the guests around them, "then we'd better start dancing before someone notices us."

"I'd be honored," she replied as she lightly clasped his proffered hand, and then she listened intently to the violins and flutes filling the air, "what kind of dance is this?"

"A waltz," he decided after listening for a moment and watching the couples swaying around them, "it's an Earth dance. You hold each other tight and keep spinning."

"Story of our lives," she smiled wryly, and she took both his hands in hers, studying the rest of the dancers and stretching one arm straight like theirs before the two of them twirled away into the crowd together. Nyzoph's Starfleet PADD lay blinking on the table, silently flashing the winding sky-blue script of an Andorian message written and sent three years ago, and read just last night, for a few more seconds before the device automatically turned itself off.

Nyzoph,

I wanted to come see you in the infirmary, but I'm probably the last person you'd want to set eyes on right now. You were right about my friends. I confronted them yesterday at the graduation festival after you told me, and they admitted everything. They thought they were helping my career. They even claimed they thought it's what I'd wanted. It scares me to think they could see me that way, that they actually think I'd want something like that. This whole mess has given me a lot to think about, and cutting them out of my life is a good start.

You don't have to worry about your future. I went to the headmaster and explained to him what really happened. I told him that you weren't cavorting with "questionable women" in Therin Park, you were cavorting with me, and you didn't say anything because you wanted to protect me. I told him the truth, in words and ways I haven't even told it to myself. I love you. I've been in love with you since we were children, since the very first day we met at the academy. We've talked about it before, we've both said "I love you" so many times, but I want you to know it, to feel it like you've never felt it before. Because I do, and no matter what happens, I always will.

I'm going to leave the Imperial Guard. We both know I'm really just here because it looks good for my father to have his daughter in the service. All the secrets we've kept have been to keep my family name intact, to keep his political reputation unsullied. And in the end, it led to us holding knives at each other's throats. There's not enough prestige in the universe to pay a price like that, and I don't want any part of a system that claims otherwise. I'm going to find my own way now, without my father, without my family's reputation, without the guard.

When I do, I hope you'll be waiting there for me. I won't ask you to wait - but I'll hope.

Take care of yourself, Nyzoph. You're going to make an amazing officer, and I can't wait to see how you look in your commander's uniform, whenever we meet again.

Love always,
Corspa

* * *

"They look," Azera Xi muttered sheepishly to the ship's doctor as they stood apart from the crowd, puzzling over the stone tablets in their sealed glass cases, "really... old."

"I'm afraid my Betazoid language skills aren't what they, well, ever were," Dr Umliz joked as he looked over the hieroglyphs carved into the polished marble slabs, and the two of them stepped out of the floodlights and back into the aquatic blue shadows of the ballroom.

"I'm surprised," he turned to look curiously at the captain in her white dress uniform, her long salmon hair untied from its usual ponytail to tumble in loose waves around her shoulders, "you didn't bring a date. You'd have your pick of just about anyone on the ship."

"I really doubt that," she winced bashfully, and then she shrugged a little, "besides, it'd just be a mess. Let's say I'm dating one of our crewmates and he gets into some kind of trouble with another member of the crew. Would I go easy on him because I know him and understand him better, and is that fair to the other person? Or would I be harder on him because I expect more from him, and would that be fair to him? Being a captain's enough trouble as it is."

"That's a very," the middle-aged doctor paused to consider his words and then he continued in a quietly sympathetic tone, "mature way of thinking."

"Thanks," she replied softly, "I guess it's a little bit like being a vedek."

"Well, we don't have to take a vow of celibacy," he smiled ruefully, and then allowed it to sink into a pensive frown, "but it's a challenge all the same. In my case, too much so."

"Oh," she paused and began to ask hesitantly, "were you...?"

"Married," he nodded, "just before I became a vedek, and a few years before I was appointed to the Vedek Assembly. Balancing the responsibilities of a husband with one's devotion to the Prophets proved more difficult than I'd expected. We're no longer together."

"I'm sorry," she bit her lip apologetically.

"It's quite alright," he shook his head a little and offered her a reassuring smile, "I don't regret the choice I made. Just that there was a choice to be made at all."

She nodded, lost in thought for a moment, and then suddenly glanced around.

"Hey, where's Luverala? It's his family's party, shouldn't he be here?"

Hi captain.

"Luverala?" she jolted upright at the words and voice that'd drifted through her thoughts without making a sound, looking around once more in bewilderment. Then she understood, and smiled a little as she tried to project her thoughts back without speaking them aloud.

Hi there! You should come join us, you're missing your own party.

The Betazoid officer's thoughts swept gently through hers like waves rippling and spreading across a pond, a telepathic song that rose and fell with a crystalline harmony that drowned out the orchestra completely, even as they formed the most ordinary words.

I'll be down soon, he replied, since the senior staff's away on shore leave, I thought now would be be a good time to run a level 1 diagnostic on the bridge consoles.

"Why didn't I think of that," she joked, and then she noticed the doctor watching her with a curious tilt of his head, "oh, sorry Doctor, I'm talking to Luverala... sort of..."

"I suspected as much," he nodded, "I'm glad to see he's practicing his telepathy. To even reach you from such a distance shows amazing potential, even for a Betazoid."

It's getting a little easier, Luverala's thoughts shyly answered the doctor's words as they glimmered through her mind, the distance just means I have to concentrate harder.

Hey Luverala, Azera asked quickly, what are these tablets? What do they mean?

Oh, the Blessed Carvings of Cataria, even as projected thought, his words sounded wincefully embarrassed, they're... well... they're a spelling primer for children.

"Huh," she couldn't help but mutter aloud in surprise.

They're really just schoolbooks, he replied, for learning simple words.

But they're very ancient schoolbooks, a mirthful female voice suddenly jumped into the psychic conversation, and she's quite right, you should be down here with us.

Hi mom, the engineering officer's thoughts twinged with what, had he been speaking aloud, could only be a slightly exasperated sigh, Captain, Doctor, this is my mother.

Amelyn Onploz, Daughter of the Ninth House, the regal woman psychically introduced herself to the bemused pair, why didn't you tell me you're acquainted with such a lovely young woman? It's not like you're genetically betrothed, you should be sowing your...

The antimatter containment level's dangerously low, the mortified lieutenant suddenly interrupted her thoughts, I should really focus on that, but I'll be there soon.

Nice try young man, Amelyn cheerfully rebutted him, but I used to be a yeoman and I know good and well that if you're doing bridge diagnostics then there's no way...

Her voice faded from Azera's mind in a way that she could only hope meant the conversation had moved on without them, and she waited another moment, focusing intently to make sure she could only hear her own thoughts, before daring to speak.

"Okay then," she couldn't help but giggle to herself, and then she shook her head a little and raised her glass to the mildly puzzled doctor, "well, how about a toast?"

He looked around at the tables for his drink and lifted it curiously to meet her glass.

"To the lonely hearts," she smiled and tapped his glass, "of the United Federation."

"The Prophets bless us every one," he chuckled and gulped down his drink.

khayuung · March 2013

[Captain's log, stardate 2412 mark 06 mark 23. With the blessing of Starfleet Command, the Esclarent accompanied by the Aquarion and the Aegis have undertaken a scientific mission into deep space to investigate an outburst of psionic energy that several telepathically-inclined individuals from separate locations had reported up two days ago.]

Vice Admiral Kha Yuung spoke as he rose from his Ready Room seat. He picked up a small piece of folded paper, as it were his habit, and moved to gaze out the trails of stars flitting by at subtranswarp speed by the portside window. His pause grew longer as he struggled to simply find the words to place down on record. A year of endlessly flying between Alpha and Beta quadrants just dealing with one crisis to the next had led him to cut his logkeeping to retrospective hyper-trimmed snippets, sometimes shortened further to single-breath rants devoid of even punctuation.

A year ago, Kha was the ensign known for writing essays that scored average marks for easy (because they really bored him) and hard topics (which were entertaining at worst). Now, after he had achieved Rear Admiral in brisk pace like most of the survivors of the Vega Incident, Kha felt ashamed that for all his career progress, his literary prowess had all but withered away.

He was going to make this log count, even if his muse remained in hiding.

[It has been two years since I as Ship's Captain have taken a ship into deep space, but I am confident that we, as Starfleet officers, will not forget how to go where no one has gone before.]

Kha thought for a bit, twirling the origami hat in his hand.

"Pion, pause recording."

"Recording paused." The voice of the Photonic Officer presiding over the Esclarent's main computer replied.

Kha let go of a breath in slight dismay.

"'Forget how to go where no one has gone before?'" he whispered. "That's just terrible, Yuung. Terrible."

"I think it was good!" Pion chimed in with a cheerful tone.

Yuung just glared up at the ceiling.

"E-eh...! I'm sorry! I'll close the link now..."

On that note, Kha saw the stars outside slow to a dot-matrix crawl, indicating that the Esclarent had dropped out of warp. He headed for the autodoors but to his surprise, the access comms sounded before he got there.

"Permission to speak with you, Admiral," a different female voice said.

His eyebrows rose at the departure of protocol for a split second. "Come."

The doors swished open, and a diminutive woman in tactical red stormed through, if a small, thinnish female of the Human race could feasibly storm through anything.

"We've arrived at Point Omega Four Delta, Sir."

Commander Minase Iori, as though a package with her Oriental name, was the shortest member of his senior staff and many have found her to be rather adorable at first impression. They all soon learn of her bark and bite, however. And like Yuung, she was also an ensign before Vega, just known as the Palmtop Mugato, terror of all male subspecies at San Francisco.

Which was now in his doorway, hands on her hips to make herself appear larger and glaring sternly his way.

"You could have mentioned that over the intercomm, Commander," Kha said as the doors swished shut behind Minase.

"Because, that's not why I'm here."

Yuung could detect a faint tinge of annoyance in her voice as the Commander crossed her arms.

"Just why are we here, 2 whole days at full subtranswarp into deep space?"

"You already read the mission brief, Commander."

With his way blocked, Kha changed course for the cushy recliner behind the desk he was in.

"I want the Section 31 brief, Kha."

The Admiral brushed it off by leaning back in his seat and absentmindedly twirled his piece of origami. He had noted Minase's, or should he say Iori's, use of his first name, but it was a given. Just last year, they had been ensigns graduating from the same class. An old habit wasn't going anywhere that soon. And Minase never quite let Kha live down the fact that he worked part time for Section 31.

But when Minase speaks of him as though Yuung was a despicable insect, that meant that she was really annoyed.

There was only one thing left to do in this situation...

"There is no S31 brief."

Annoy her further.

"Like I'd buy that."

Minase plonked herself into the seat opposing Yuung's desk.

"I am responsible for the 400 men and women serving aboard the Esclarent, Admiral," Minase continued. "I've already betrayed them enough to let us go hurtling out here without as much as an explanation for the sudden change of course."

Kha fiddled with the folded hat, still in thought.

"What did Science say?"

Minase frowned a little at the question for a reply.

"Sensors found gamma radiation and traces of triolic particles, but nothing else significant. Not that it would help any, considering that we were after psionic phenomenon which cannot be detected by our equipment."

Kha nodded knowingly, still playing with the hat.

?How about the telepathic duty officers the Vulcan Science Institute loaned us??

?They haven?t sensed anything, Sir.?

Kha nodded again, silently chasing a train of thought.

?I assume you signaled the fleet to conduct a standard wide area search before knocking on my door.?

?Yes, Sir!? Minase replied in an exasperated tone.

Kha nodded and looked her direction.

?That will be all, Commander.?

Iori?s scowl deepened for a moment and she then let it go with a sigh.

?So, this really is just about the psychic stuff??

?Yes, it really is just about the psychic stuff.?

Iori flopped back in her chair for a moment, admitting defeat to the situation she had been railroaded into. The woman then kicked off her heels, propped herself off the seat long enough to buckle her legs underneath into a slanted kneel and crossed her arms across her chest again. She was being deliberately informal, not just because they were childhood friends, but because had it been any other day, this would have been her ready room, her desk, her comfy recliner. It irked her sometimes that he had the power to just waltz in and take over her ship at practically any time. For all her accolades in the Academy and till now, Minase ended up playing second fiddle to the Average Joe of Class 524.

?So, what do we do now?? Iori said after she had enough of the pregnant hum of the Esclarant?s ventilation system.

Kha leaned forward, elbow on desk, head in hand.

?We wait.?

?Aye, Sir,? Minase affirmed.

?One last question before we end up sitting here gazing sickeningly at each other. Just what?s up with the hat today? You always had it in your breast pocket, but now you can?t seem to leave it alone.?

Kha glanced down to the hat.

?It?ll help us with our mission. At least I hope it would.?

?Just what would an aged and battered piece of solidified fibrous pulp compacted in accordance to ancient Japanese artwork to form a very poor approximation of fashionable headgear in size, shape and function have anything to add to the main sensor arrays of one Akira-class heavy escort??

Minase prattled it all out in a single breath without uncrossing her arms.

?Well, let me tell you something good.? Kha said while setting the chair back upright and turning to face Minase. He set down his paper hat flat on the table. He seldom knew of things Minase didn?t, and Kha liked to capitalize on moments like this almost theatrically, like an illusionist baiting a waiting audience.

?This is my totem.?

?I never knew you were into quasi-religious hubdrub, Admiral.?

?Not that kind of totem.? Kha continued. ?I could go into the psionics theory behind it, but Lieutenant Commander Ryzak would be able to do it better.

?My mother was human, but is very psionically gifted. She?d tell us about how her family held a secret recipe for developing psychics, but I once looked up the genealogy at the library... Let?s just say their talents weren?t appreciated during their time.

?The records did however agree that the method worked. And one of the methods better explained by the Schrodinger-T?von Principle was totems.?

?I?m still thinking of wooden heads on a pole, Admiral.?

?In a sense, maybe that was the case for witch doctors in Human history,? Kha said. ?Totems are specially created points in space and time, usually an item whose properties are completely known to the wielder, which is entangled to the item that exists within the wielder?s mind.?

Minase nodded. ?Like entangled fermion transwarp communications.?

?Yes,? Kha replied. ?In effect, this reduces the ST constant which then decreases the amount of energy needed per quantum of thought to project the effect into reality and in theory allows a potentially telekinetic person, case in point, me, to move a rock with my mind.?

?But you were assessed to be completely without psionic traits,? noted Minase.

?Like I said, in theory...?

Kha picked up the hat, balanced it on his finger, and willed it to float. And as expected, the hat did not even flinch.

?How do you make a totem?? Minase said next. ?It looks like a simple folding to me.?

?Exactly, a totem could be anything, as long as it can be entangled with a permanent image in one?s mind.?

The hat was passed to Yuung?s other hand, and back again, his gaze following it back and forth.

?My mother made this. She loved origami. And I really do mean it; our summer house at Tokyo Bay would have these decorations made into the shape of practically anything. That?s something unique, that I feel familiar and strongly about.?

Kha closed his eyes as though he was replacing his current world with another.

?That is what makes it important. You see, a totem works by existing in a memory palace, a special place I constructed in my mind to house the entangled memory. Everything inside the memory palace never changes. All I need to do is open the front door, and it?s there. ?

Kha said, first touching his temple then gesturing to items where the items would have been.

?The paper lilies in a clay vase by the left, the shoes tucked into the rack on the right, and the smell of fried eggs with buttered toast.?

He wafted the air towards himself.

?Mmm...?

Minase on the other hand was enjoying the Admiral making a fool of himself.

?And of course, the memory the totem exists in. There was I, dressed in a new yukata, about to join my friends at the Children?s Day festival, when my mother called out to me...

?Kha!?

?What is it, Okaa-san??

?Okaa-san has a present for you.?

?Yay!?

?Yes, here you go.?

She deposited a neatly folded piece of artwork into the boy?s open palm.

?Another paper hat,? Kha said, somewhat disappointed.

?Not just any paper hat,? the lady chirped with a wave of her finger before dabbing it on the origami piece. ?It?s a Wizard?s hat!?

?What?s a wizard, Okaa-san??

?A wizard is someone who is so talented that people call whatever he does magic.?

She stroked Kha?s head.

?You?re a big boy now, so I was thinking,? ?That you?re ready to learn Okaa-san?s power.?

?Really?!? Kha shrieked. ?Coooool!!?

?Now, now,? Mrs Yuung said while stopping her jumping child. ?This will be your totem. It is very important if you want to learn Okaa-san?s power. Guard it well. Promise??

?Promise!!?

?You won?t believe how much I had been pestering her to teach me telekinesis. Very handy for picking up card keys from across the room.? Kha said as the mental playback ended. ?For me, telekinesis represented being able to leap through the air slashing away with a photonic sword like space-faring knights of a pangalactic order.?

Minase uncrossed her arms.

?And how is a memory of your mom going to help us find the source of these psionic bursts in deep space??

?Well, of course, its a totem, it sharpens my sense of telepathy... whatever I have of it..."

Kha was grasping at straws for a bit.

"Never know when that extra Quark of signal might come in handy.?

Yuung?s commbadge chimed and saved him.

?This is Yuung.?

?Admiral, this is Pion,? the photonic officer chirped out loud. ?Just wanted to update you that the fleet has completed Phase 1 of standard search. No significant findings, Sir.?

?Acknowledged, Pion.? Kha said and moved to tap off the commlink when Pion spoke again.

?And er, one more thing, Admiral!?

?What is it??

?Remember when you asked if there was a way to equip your gear on demand?? Pion said. ?I?ve just finished building a system that could do that and I?m on my way to the bridge carrying the finished prototype. Do you have time to take a look??

?We have plenty of time,? Iori answered in Kha?s stead, reminding him again that this was her ship. ?We?ll meet you in the observatory in 2. You okay with that, Admiral??

Kha nodded in agreement and let the trouncing of protocol slide again. He was thankful to be out of Earth Spacedock rather than still canned in it.

?Great! Um, Pion out.?

Minase got up to leave on that note. ?Unless that unfloating totem of your?s gets us right to the source immediately, I?m going to see what Pion has come up with.?

Yuung just shrugged at Iori?s retreating out the autodoors. She was wrong about the totem having never floated. In fact, it did, once.

It had happened quite suddenly. Kha had been struggling for half a decade to even get the hat to fall in the direction he wanted, but the next moment, he had the hat zipping around the yard. He spent 2 seconds surprised, the next couple giggling with glee and finally a grand minute crashing the hat into his little sisters? totems like a B?rel with a crazed captain.

?Brother!! Stop that!!?

Victorious, Kha scrambled through the backdoor and tore down the corridor, yelling, ?Okaa-san! Okaa-san! I did it! I did it!!?

?Kha! Take your sisters and run!? came the telepathic reply.

The boy screeched to a halt.

?Okaa-san?? he called again.

?Be a good boy, go! Now!?

Sensing trouble, Kha ignored the order, gripped his totem tightly and sprinted towards the front yard where he last seen her. Like any 13 year old would. Nothing was out of the ordinary in the house as he sprinted through the quiet compound. Not even when he slid through a sharp bend, grabbed a dud phaser he left in his raincoat and burst into the fore gardens.

?Okaa-san!!?

There was still nothing displaced. The rocks, the grass, and the loose stone pebbles that made their front walk. Everything was as he remembered.

?Okaa-san??

But there was no reply.

Kha balanced his paper hat on his finger. His house was a flurry of activity that day. His father would have mobilized out his entire starship to find Mrs Yuung if Starfleet hadn?t already gotten boots on the ground. But every one came up empty-handed. Kha only had one clue to go by, filed by Science officers discovered some residual gamma radiation and traces of triolic particles in the rocks of the front yard.

He pocketed his totem and went after Minase. The next clue to his mother?s disappearance would have to out here, somewhere.

pwebranflakes · March 2013

Hi Captains!

Just a heads up that I am going to extend this challenge for 2 weeks rather than introducing #41 -- I would love to give everyone more time to compose and post an entry to one (or more if you'd like!) of our past literary challenges.

With this extension, #41 is currently scheduled to go live around Tuesday, 4/2. Have fun! Loving the entries so far.

Cheers,

Brandon =/\=

jonsills · March 2013

Literary Challenge #26: Senior Officers

Counselor's Log, Lt. Brel Tan recording.

Per your instructions, Admiral Quinn, I have attached my analysis of the senior personnel of the cruiser USS Bastogne. I found this crew very - interesting. This may have been the best possible crew to assign to this particular ship.

Commanding Officer: CDR Grunt: Grunt does not see himself as an "exile" from the Ferengi Alliance, as the Ferengi ambassador has described him; instead, he sees himself as having been invited to join Starfleet as a representative of his people. However, while the defining characteristics of the Ferengi seem to be greed and a level of caution that other races might describe as "cowardice", Grunt is outgoing, overtly friendly, and physically courageous to a degree seldom seen in his species. It is possible that this is symptomatic of what might be regarded as a psychiatric disorder in the Alliance; fortunately for Mr. Grunt, his psych profiles are almost perfectly descriptive of what we expect of our starship commanders. I suspect that you are correct in your belief that prejudice against Ferengi may have resulted in Grunt's being assigned to several ships that are best described as sub-par. However, he has made the best of each instance, even when his first command was destroyed by a Borg attack.

Science Officer/First Officer: LCDR Roclak: I will confess, I was nervous when I was told that one of my charges on this ship was to be a Klingon. However, Mr. Roclak has proved to be quiet, friendly, and almost completely the opposite of what one might expect from a Klingon. After a number of sessions, Roclak confessed to me what no other member of this crew except his commander knows - he was discommendated by the Klingon Empire, and stripped of his House, for the "crime" of being more interested in scientific exploration than in personal honor and advancing the Imperial military. It would seem that the Klingons were disappointed in Mr. Roclak for being more like a Starfleet officer than a Klingon warrior. Their loss is our gain, however - he is keenly intelligent, very curious, and highly motivated to help others. Overall, he is proving to be an excellent officer.

Helm Officer: LCDR Thy'bar Gydap: Mr. Gydap seems exceptionally shy, particularly for an Andorian thaan, traditionally the more aggressive of the two "male" genders. This would appear to be due to his antennae being exceptionally sensitive to bioelectric fields, to a degree approaching Aenar telepathy at times. He is highly conscientious, striving to be the most efficient officer he can possibly be; this may have something to do with his separation from his family. He is upset that his four-bond has yet to produce young, and is not easily calmed by assurances that such difficulties are not uncommon and are often overcome. This has not, to date, distracted him from his duties, but it has led to a degree of social separation from his comrades that has led to his being transferred from several other vessels before winding up aboard the late Hypatia under Mr. Grunt. Under Grunt's command, relieved of the expectations put on him in other crews, Mr. Gydap appears to be thriving, although he does still return to Andoria at every opportunity. Grunt has seen fit to keep Gydap distracted and occupied by assigning him as the ship's navigator, as well.

Chief Engineer: LCDR Vovenek: As a Pakled, Mr. Vovenek gives the appearance of being slow-witted and slow to move. However, his bulk belies a sharp mind with a natural bent for engineering, and a quick wit with a subtle sense of humor. It did take several sessions to get past Vovenek's defensive exaggeration of Pakled stereotypes; recommend you look into the treatment of minority races at Starfleet Academy, as this would seem to be the root of his issues. I have personally witnessed Vovenek's improvised repairs saving the Bastogne on at least five separate occasions during my time here, lending credence to the idea that the Hypatia's fate may have in fact been substantially delayed by his work. It would be a relief to him, at first, to be assigned to a more reliable ship; however, he would quickly find himself bored. It would be a waste of his natural talents to be an engineer aboard a more, well, stable craft.

Chief Security Officer/Tactical Officer: LCDR Shelana: Biologically zhen, Shelana abandoned both her planet and her clan name when the other members of her four-bond were killed by an Undine terrorist attack on Andoria. After a period of mourning, she enlisted in Starfleet, where she has distinguished herself as one of the Federation's fiercest and most dangerous defenders. Records show that her barely-contained rage has disturbed a number of her previous commanders, resulting in multiple assignments; she seems to have found a niche as a member of Grunt's crew, however, and has made something of a name for herself training other Tactical specialists in the Fleet. Officers who have served under Shelana are in particular demand aboard tactical escort craft assigned to various front-line operations on Federation borders. It has been said that if you can survive two years as one of Shelana's security personnel, you can survive anything after that. While this has led her to be regarded as something of a loose cannon, she makes an excellent fit for this particular crew.

Conclusions: This crew's exceptional efficiency reports are not a "fluke", as Admiral T'nae had first assumed, but appear instead to stem from the unique synchronicities found in this rather unusual group - this "motley assortment," to borrow the Admiral's own term. It is my considered recommendation that this team be kept together on all future assignments, as far as is practical given Starfleet requirements.

- Lt. Brel Tan, Ship's Counselor, USS Bastogne NCC-93385

cmdrscarlet · March 2013

Author's Note - this is 1 year prior to events in Lone Drone

Litarary Challenge #2 - Taking Command

---

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?"

Kathryn nodded and said, "In this office, always, but I appreciate the protocol."

Karl Malango smiled softly and he forced his body to relax, his arms falling to the sides and his head lowering to look directly to his superior officer. "That's splitting hairs and you know it."

The Captain never looked away from Karl while standing slowly, her burgundy-colored hair wrapped around her neck and shoulders. At six feet tall, Kathryn used her stature to her advantage when she needed to - and this was a moment she felt warranted. Inside she chided herself on being slightly dramatic, but she needed Karl on her side. This meeting was due to the tension mounting since her arrival on board Galatea three weeks ago.

"Allow me to speak freely as well." She leaned forward and placed her hands onto the desk. Her grey eyes were now level to Karl's as he was the shorter of the two. "I have served with Anthi ever since I left the Academy. From my position that makes her the absolute best candidate to serve as my First Officer. Captain Diranti's assessment of you was not ignored, regardless what you may think, and that is why you are my Security Chief. Let me say it again: that also makes you my Ground Operations Senior Officer."

She raised a hand to silence Karl's next words and then walked around the desk to face him. "Change can be challenging, but that is a constant in the universe and on this ship it is inevitable."

A few moments passed as Kathryn waited for a rebuttal. Karl obliged with growing frustration. "I have at least five more years of direct experience on this ship and I know the crew better than ... "

Kathryn grinned as Karl stopped abruptly. She waited a few tense seconds. "Me?"

Karl looked down to his feet ashamed at his revelation. Kathryn nodded and walked past him to stop abruptly at the gold-plated model of her first ship, a Miranda-class, the Sixth Wave.

"Karl, those are strengths that are needed," she turned back to him and noticed he was facing her, "by me. Let me be very candid when I say that my trust in you is implied by virtue of your experience."

At the mention of trust, Karl seemed to stand a little straighter. "What is your trust in Anthi then?" Kathryn could not tell if his frustration increased further or if she were breaking down any barriers.

"Earned. If that's splitting hairs then call me a barber." She spread her arms out briefly to show surrender to Karl's point of view, yet a verbal trump card was available she didn't want to use.

Karl nodded and looked down in thought. Kathryn sat on the couch under the model to try to give the scene a relaxed feel to it if someone were to walk into the room. "If it means anything, I've met Philip Diranti before his passing. He was an amazing Captain and I wish I could have mentored with him. As you know, his actions in 2400 with the Klingons are mentioned at the Academy and that's not small talk. The fact you are mentioned in his closing dossier is impressive. But I hope you can appreciate that I'm not a woman of words, but of action."

She stood and walked to Karl who remained silent. "I trust you because Diranthi trusted you, but I need to trust you because I do. Do you understand my point of view?"

Again, he nodded. His silence bothered Kathryn but she couldn't force him to talk. She decided enough was said. "So, to be clear, this is not about favorites."

"I understand, Captain." He straightened up and Kathryn perceived the conversation was no longer off the record.

"Good. Thank you for your dedication and service. Galatea will be coming to Dalnus IV within the hour. I want Security Team recommendations and equipment checks completed. This is a recon-in-force. And just so you know ... I prefer pistols."

stellardrift · March 2013

The red alert klaxon clattered through her skull as it cried out across every single deck of the USS Stellar Drift-H. Captain Kim Sharp attempted to predict the movements of the ship as it jolted under heavy fire by relaxing her knees, but it was of little use. Another torpedo impact, sent her flying to the deck, and a surge through the power conduit above the aft bridge stations behind her resulting in an explosion of electricity and fire.

"Sir!" She heard a voice, distantly call her name, and felt hands around her arms, pulling her back to the deck.

The Romulan, Vulcan, human hybrid turned her grey eyes to the human male that she recognized as her first officer, and the damage control teams as they rushed to the flames licking across the console behind her head. Kim could not hear him, but she knew what he was saying.

Starboard shields were down, auxiliary control was being drained, and the worst part was the Krenim were coming around for another pass.

The sensor display on the viewscreen showed the assault cruiser was coming around the starboard side to hit them where they were most vulnerable.

"Ensign,all stop and come to negative Z axis now! Roll us!"

The Mobius class starship ducked underneath the charging Krenim ship and rotated so its dorsal shields faced the incoming chroniton torpedoes.

Captain Sharp again picked herself off the deck. She wiped her forehead, but to her shock what she didn't come away with was sweat, but blood. The bridge smoldered as consoles, conduits, circuit junctions fused together as the starship struggled to keep the small complement of Starfleet Temporal Agents alive.

A communications transmission broke in over the sounds of the bridge officers as they struggled to keep the ship in one piece.

"Give up, Romulan. You're done for!" Lora shouted through the tiny Mobius bridge.

"Sir, that last pass knocked out the main computer as well as the rest of emergency power. I don't know if we will have enough juice to fire off the deflector charge. Engines are down too except for thrusters." Ensign Rayner said from Operations.

"Who would have thought a patch of bacteria floating through space would be so important?" Kim said. She looked to where she anticipated her first officer to be, but he was nowhere to be found. Panicked she looked past Rayner, Crewman Jirshon, Lieutenant Alaxa, and what was left of her bridge crew, hoping to see her trusted friend. He wasn't there.

"How much do we have left in life support?" Captain Sharp shouted.

"Enough to activate the pulse." Rayner said. "But we'd never get back home."

A proximity alarm sounded. The Krenim. No doubt swinging around to finish them off.

"Divert it all, and prepare to fire on my mark!" The Stellar Drift commanding officer shouted.

"Sir, there's another starship entering the nebula. It's--"

The Universe suddenly went white.

=^=

"Report." Vice Admiral Kim Sharp frowned as the brilliantly colored aperture at the center of the nebula slowly dissipated in front of the ship. The turbulence had lessened and she loosened her grasp on the railing separating the command center from the helm and weapons consoles.

"Very odd, Admiral. Sensors detected a sudden surge of chroniton radiation and then it was just gone like someone just turned off a light switch or something." Lieutenant Commander Lyvian Enree looked up from her science station at the human Starfleet flag officer.

"Any lifesigns? I thought you said you detected something." Captain Sevak Sharp said from her chair next to the command chair.

The Trill science officer raised her thin eyebrows and tapped her keypad, rechecking the sensor logs. "I am detecting what could possibly be a mass of silica based single celled organisms about 400,000 kilometers off the starboard bow. They look to be responsible for the shimmer to the gas clouds."

"Interesting." Kim said. "Any sign of intelligence? Attempts to communicate?"

"Not on the surface. I'm going through the usual spectrum, even right down to subspace. They don't seem to be bothered by the ship either. It's funny...for a moment before I thought I had detected something else. Like a ship, or a starbase, but nothing now."

"How very strange." Kim said, turning back to Sevak.

"Indeed. Do you want to stay here and investigate?" The Vulcan rose to standing and tugged at the hem of her dress uniform. The whole staff were wearing their whites, and if she thought about it long enough the scene of them venturing into a nebula for scientific exploration wearing dress uniforms looked rather silly.

She turned her gaze to Kim's, hoping that her expression looked imploring enough that her commanding officer would see her logic and continue investigating.

Kim thought a moment, turning her eyes to Lieutenant Miller, who sat across from Enree, and then looked at the junior officers who had both turned and looked at her with curiosity.

The thought was tempting, and it was obvious Enree and Sevak wanted to stay. So many questions already, but there was the other matter waiting for them on Starbase 122. She looked back to the viewscreen where the anomaly had been. The emerald and cerulean clouds of gas undulated around the Luna class ship like thin silken veils. That moment was a bitter tease to that explorer that laid buried underneath the cold layers of her war-torn heart. As much as she wanted to throw caution to the wind, this was not the time to be reckless. Not with so many lives at stake.

"No." She said, flashing a glance to Enree, and then to Teresita at weapons, and Falor at helm. "We can't leave the Klingons waiting any longer. Enree, launch a class one probe."

"Aye sir." Enree said. She didn't hesitate, but her voice was in disagreement with the action she was performing.

Kim smiled at the young Betazoid man at helm. "Set course for Corinth IV, Warp 6."

"Aye sir."

The probe cautiously ventured into the swirling clouds of gas as the USS Stellar Drift-A came about, and departed the nebula at impulse speed. Acting as eyes and ears for the weary, battle-hardened crew too caught up in galactic affairs of the present it scanned, analyzed, and recorded.

=^=

Captain Michrd Lora growled under his breath, the sensor alarm cutting through his patience. The older Krenim man rose violently from his chair and trudged to Varin Toriz's station. Except Varin was too busy paying attention to Ensign Lika over at con.

"What's that beeping from your station, Varin?" Captain Lora asked with irritation.

Varin jumped back over to his station, and typed.

"I thought you said there were no lifesigns in this sector." The older Krenim man rose from his chair and went to the science console.

"There aren't." Varin said, his heart pounding with fear as he worked. "I scanned the sector six times! It's a probe, but I don't know how it got here without us detecting it." Varin's eyes went wide and he looked at his superior. "You aren't going to believe this, Sir. It's Starfleet."

"Sharp..." Lora breathed angrily.

(LC Unknown Anomalies)

marcusdkane · March 2013

Literary Challenge 10: Replicator Rations:

From the Ashes

Captain Amanda Palmer walked into the eatery, where she was greeted as usual by the welcoming smile of the Human waitress.

"Good morning, Captain," Cara said brightly as she stepped from behind her reception desk. "You're becoming quite a regular. Will you be wanting your usual table and breakfast?"

Palmer smiled and nodded silently, allowing the pretty girl to guide her to a table near the observation window, where she could clearly see repair work the Valkyrie was undergoing.

Quite a regular...

The Valkyrie was forty two years old, had been through the Dominion war without a scratch, had been Palmer's ship to command for the past thirteen years without so much as a glance at McKinley Station, yet since the beginning of the year, this would be the ship's third visit to the orbital shipyard. First had come the restructuring of the primary hull which people had took to dubbing 'the Rhode Island nosejob', along with the installation of a new bridge module and rearward torpedo launchers. Then had been the repairs to the navigational deflector dishes and cargo bays caused by the Valkyrie's supersonic entry into the upper New York bay. Now, following a skirmish with the Breen in the Orellious sector, the nacelles were being replaced.

******

"You asked to see me, Captain?" asked the soft voice as the doors slid closed behind her.

"Indeed, I did," Palmer replied, looking up from the damage reports on her PADD which seemed to be constantly updating, and seeing the willowy form of Eleven of Twelve, standing like a statue near the door to her quarters. "I appreciate that you have not yet been de-briefed by Starfleet Command nor cleared to return to active duty by a counselor, but these are exceptional circumstances, and I am forced to explore any resources at my disposal."

Eleven tilted her head gracefully, the low lighting in the room reflecting from her silvery eyes. Exploratory surgery by Doctor Ben Kincaid and Lieutenant Commander Meliden Bowen had facilitated the removal of the exposed tubing of Eleven's upper cranial transceiver array, allowing the skin and flesh at the back of her head to be fused closed once more, creating an appearance not unlike that of a Deltan, but it was her face which so many had difficulty adapting to -- Ethereal and hauntingly beautiful, as it may have been, with elegant, aristocratic features and sultry bow-like lips, it was still the face which every Starfleet officer immediately recognized as the One who is Many: The Borg Queen.

"If I can be of any assistance, Captain, it would be my pleasure to repay the kindness you have shown me," Eleven replied sincerely.

"Doctor Kincaid's scans of your remaining DNA have confirmed beyond doubt that you were once Holly Masters, Lieutenant junior grade, and xenobotanist," Palmer said. "I appreciate that you were by no means an engineering officer, but I understand that you now possess all the knowledge of the Collective, and every Starfleet officer who was assimilated into it. I need to know if that knowledge can help us in our current situation.

"As you are no doubt aware, we were attacked earlier today by a Breen warship, suffering major damage to our communications array, and the loss of our port nacelle. We are three weeks from Earth at full impulse, but I wanted to know what you can tell me about irregular warp field generation. I know from historical records that in twenty one fifty three, drones assimilated a transport shuttle and began to convert it into a cube, which was then capable of a warp velocity nearly four times it's original capability."

Eleven's hairless brow furrowed momentarily and her lips pursed.

"Destroyed by the starship Enterprise, registry November X-Ray Zero One," she stated. "I am aware of the specifications of the vessel in question, and indeed, the drones in question were able to create an asymmetric off-axis warp field using a salvaged transwarp coil, however, to do something similar to the Valkyrie would require massive alterations to the EPS waveguides and structural integrity fields, in addition to re-writing much of the operating system of the computer core to facilitate a functionality the Valkyrie was never designed to accommodate."

"In other words, you would need to assimilate the ship."

"Essentially, yes, Captain," Eleven replied. "This form lacks the capability to do so directly, but I am capable of advising and observing Commander Bowen's team on changes which they might be capable of making, and can write the necessary operating system if you desire. The modifications should be possible to effect within six or seven days, and given the resources of the Valkyrie, would allow for a maximum velocity of warp two point three, reducing the length of our return to Earth by fifteen days."

Palmer nodded. It might have not been much, but warp two on a single off-centre nacelle was rather good.

"Which certainly beats three weeks of replicator restrictions and emergency rations," she said. "See to it, I'll let Commander Bowen know to expect you in engineering."

"Aye, Captain," Eleven replied. Turning to leave Palmer's quarters, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. "And Captain? Thank you for giving me this opportunity to be of assistance."

******

Palmer gazed out of the observation window while voraciously devouring a massive platter of bacon and eggs, and observed the skeletal forms of the new nacelles. The only true damage had been to the port nacelle, which had been severed mid-way along the pylon, but Meliden had been insistent that simply replacing one nacelle could lead to micro variances between the two, which could lead to instabilities in the warp field, so both nacelles had to be replaced with substitutes fabricated with identical timestamps.

Picking up a PADD, Palmer scrolled through files and notes while sipping a glass of orange juice. The repairs were well underway, which left her only to deal with a long overdue personnel situation. Draining the remains of the juice, Palmer rose from her chair and left the eatery, nodding her thanks to Cara.

***

In the conference suite aboard McKinley Station, Palmer stood and looked over her assembled crew, and felt a swell of pride in her chest.

"Thank you for joining me on such short notice," she began. "The last few weeks have been a trying time for all of us, but you have all conducted yourselves with the professionalism and competence which I have come to expect of you all.

"As you are all no doubt aware, there was recently a lapse in that professionalism, where one of our own chose to go outside the chain of command, taking actions which I would not expect from a first year cadet, let alone a seasoned Commander with over two decades experience behind him. We are not here to debate the dubious wisdom of our departed friend, but to determine a means by which to proceed.

"Starfleet saw fit to equip the Valkyrie with twin tactical consoles to increase efficiency, but the result was one of unacceptable compromise to the ship's systems. From this moment on, I have ordered the yard engineers to re-designate tactical two as a dedicated communications console, which will be manned by Midshipman Ramesh Kumar, leaving the Valkyrie's tactical systems to be under the sole jurisdiction of the chief of security, to whom I shall be the only officer on board with superior clearance.

"I have considered several applications for the position of First Officer, but find myself unable to chose one candidate above the other, so for this reason, I shall not be selecting one candidate above another. Lieutenant Brandon Mayer, you have been my right hand for longer than I care to remember, and Lieutenant Commander Bellic Chanos, while a relative newcomer to our crew, you have consistently and continually impressed me with your flawless dedication to duty and competence.

"I hereby promote you both to the rank of commander, where, in addition to your respective roles as operations manager and tactical officer, you will additionally act as my executive officers, assisting and advising me, and sharing the duties of a First Officer as you see fit between you, with complete equality. Congratulations, gentlemen, it will be an honor to continue to serve with you, and I know of none better to undertake your positions.

In the assembled crowd, the two men exchanged handshakes, before returning their attention to Palmer, who's gaze had fallen on a slender bald-headed woman toward the back of the suite, dressed in a floor-length civilian coat of shimmering pastel colors, which left her arms bare from the shoulders. Her left arm was covered from shoulder to mid-forearm with black geometric tattoos.

"Additionally, it is my great honor to welcome aboard Ambassador S'rR's, Pentaxian Ambassador to the Federation. While the ambassador's duties will be significantly different to her previous role, I have every confidence that she will undertake them with the same dedication and grace.

"Thank you all for your time, you may return to your duties."

shevet · March 2013

Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding USS King Estmere NCC-92984

Sixty hours.

"Any change?" I ask, more for the sake of hearing my own voice than anything else.

"There are no alterations, esteemed commander," Jeroequene replies. "The external vista remains of the deepest fuliginous blackness, and the void is pristine in its emptiness, free from even the slightest traces of matter. Were it not for the omnipresent microwave background radiation, we might fancy ourselves cut off from the universe entire."

She still sounds cheerful, though. Jolciots always do. Jeroequene is female, and doesn't have the imposing beard and keratinous crest of her fiance, Commander Thirethequ, so her mauve face is somewhat easier to read. She still looks cheerful. Clearly, it takes more than being trapped in a lightless, featureless void for two and a half days to put a damper on Jolciot spirits.

Two and a half days. Sixty hours since King Estmere's sensors picked up the faint anomaly, nothing more than a fugitive glint in space... since we turned to investigate and record it... and since that fugitive gleam suddenly flashed into brilliance and was gone - taking all the stars with it.

I stand up. "I'm going to see how they're doing in Main Engineering," I say. "Jeroequene, you have the bridge."

"I shall discharge the responsibility faithfully!" Jeroequene proclaims. "Please, o Admiral, be so kind as to tell my betrothed he is in my thoughts, should you chance to encounter him."

"I'll do that." It's impossible, I find, to get angry at the Jolciots. But I dread the day I have to ask one of them for a concise report.

Then again... it looks like we have nothing but time, just now.

---

Main Engineering is a picture of gloom. My exec, Anthi Vihl, and my chief engineer, Dyssa D'jheph, are hunched over a console, their antennae drooping in exhaustion and despair. I can feel my own starting to do the same. Thirethequ is working busily at another console - another two consoles, in fact, his long arms letting him reach the control crystals on both together. "Commander Jeroequene sends her regards," I tell him. Somewhere between his clattering forehead crest and his bristling beard, his eyes light up. "My gratification knows no bounds!" he exclaims. "And my gratitude, noble leader, at bringing me this word."

"Any progress?" I ask the room in general.

Dyssa snarls. "Getting nowhere," she snaps. "It's the same problem - we can't establish a warp field, not here. Space-time is just too... too flat."

There is no problem, in theory... but breaking the light barrier is never entirely simple. Creating a warp field, the ship's engines work on the structure of the space-time continuum around them - and the structure, in this no-place, is too simple to be of any help. King Estmere is like a man lying on a sheet of ice, unable to gain the traction he needs to get to his feet. In the absence of local stresses, of curved space due to gravity fields - near or far - the energy expenditure required to generate the field rises, exponentially. To a level which even my ship's tremendous engines can't attain.

"You had some ideas," I say to Anthi. She shakes her head.

"Sorry, sir. I was hoping some of the Romulan quantum-singularity tech might help... but, even with that, it looks like we can't generate enough of a gravity gradient to be any use." She hands me a PADD, showing the power requirements. The energy curve looks like a cliff, one we can't climb.

My antennae twitch. "I'm beginning to wonder.... Suppose we concentrated the ship's field and synchronised with, say, one of the shuttles? Could we use King Estmere's engines to... to kick a shuttle out of this?"

Dyssa shakes her head. "A shuttle's structural integrity wouldn't stand it," she says.

"The Cotswold, then?" The Captain's Yacht is a status symbol, and one I hardly ever use - but the tough little craft might just come in useful, here.

"Maybe." Dyssa bites her lip. "But it'd be a one way trip, wouldn't it, sir? And we don't know into what... unless you've got something back from one of the probes?"

It's my turn to shake my head. We launched six Class II probes, one after another, when this first started. Each one left its launch tube, and vanished, tracelessly, as if it had never been, before it was fifty metres from the ship. What happened to them? And what would happen to a shuttlecraft? If I can't answer that question - best not to risk lives.

"It'd be better," Anthi says, "if we had some idea what this... this thing... actually is. All we've got so far is negative. No light, no matter, no gravity -"

"November," I mutter.

"What?"

"It's not important. An old human poem I read once.... I'm going to check in with science division. You're right, we need some answers here."

---

"Commander Zazaru's down on launch pad C," the human science officer tells me at the main lab. Her name's Addie van Benn, and she's new to my crew; small and rather self-effacing, with a pale face framed by long dark hair. Her hair looks tousled, now; the science division has been busy, and with the same infuriating lack of results we've all been getting. "She says she wants to make some direct observations."

"Direct observations? What of?"

"Nothing, I guess. Sir." Addie runs a hand through her hair, tangling it further. "Sorry, sir. It's just -" She shrugs helplessly.

"I know," I tell her, as kindly as I can manage. "Damned hard to theorize in the absence of anything."

"Yeah." She looks miserable. "We've run through what readings we could get from - well, from when this started. But we still don't have any theoretical model - well, no, I guess that's not true. We've got some theories. But we've got no way to test them, when we've got nothing to work on but - nothing."

"My colleague is correct," a gravelly voice says near my ear, and I almost jump. The former Borg drone, whose only name now is Three of Eight, moves with an uncanny quietness sometimes. The expression in his one visible eye is unreadable, as usual. "We have seventeen hypotheses of varying degrees of probability, but we have no effective protocols for verification on any one. If there were some variation in our circumstances, we would be able to evolve further theories. However, none has yet been reported."

"Everyone's watching the sensor arrays like hawks," I say. "A single speck of dust, a flash of light, and alarm bells are going to go off all through the ship.... I'll go find Zazaru, and see what she's looking for."

When I find her, though, my chief science officer is simply sitting on one of the launch rails for the Scorpion fighters, staring through the force field that blocks the launch bay. She has set the field for full transparency, and her dark eyes are fixed on the total blackness beyond. I climb up one of the stanchions and join her, quietly. I can see, above and to the left, the gleaming bulk of King Estmere's forward section, and beyond that... nothing.

"I thought," Zazaru says, after a while, "that I might get some insight by... viewing the outside directly. Rather than working through remotes and sensors - oh, I know I get more information from those, but... possibly not so much understanding."

"I think I know what you mean," I say.

She looks down at the solid metal of the launch rail. "In the end, though," she says, "I just found my thoughts going as blank as all that out there.... I'm sorry, sir, that isn't helping."

"Don't worry," I say, softly. "We'll think of something. We have plenty of time...."

Probably. King Estmere is a Starfleet ship, equipped and provisioned for long voyages into unexplored territory - but she is not a closed system; she depends, eventually, on the fuel supply captured from stray atoms of matter and antimatter in her Bussard collectors, and in this complete absence of anything, she will, eventually, run out of power. There's no immediate need to worry, but there are deadlines in my head, already: the dates when we need to implement economy measures, to impose replicator rationing... and that's without contending with the crushing psychological effects of being stranded in all that endless black. Those worry me more than anything else. If once we lose hope -

I look out at the blackness, and imagine my ship, seen from the outside, a single glowing jewel of light and life in an infinite ocean of darkness. How long before that darkness seeps in and claims us all?

I blink and shake my head. This is exactly what I was worrying about... I'm starting to think of that darkness as a positive force, as an enemy. And it's not... it's nothing like that. All it is, is an absence... a night sky with no stars, no dawn....

"Wait a minute," I say. Zazaru looks up at me. "Something -" I frown as I try to follow the nagging flash of thought.

I stand up. "I've had an idea," I say. "I need to check something out. Let's go to the bridge."

---

Jeroequene salutes formally as we enter the bridge. The gesture always looks odd with those long Jolciot arms. I return the salute, as I head for the command console. "Commander Jeroequene, any change in status?"

"With regret, I can report none, sir."

"What about contents of the surrounding volume? Still nothing?" My fingers close on a control crystal. I'm getting the hang of these crazy Tholian controls, now; it's easy enough to scroll back through the logs, to find what I need to check.

"Space is sadly devoid of all content, down to the humblest and least significant molecule, esteemed Admiral."

"And it shouldn't be," I say, with satisfaction. I call up the log entries I need, point to them. Zazaru frowns, and even Jeroequene looks vaguely perturbed.

"Why is the sky black?" I ask.

Zazaru looks at me and blinks. "Because... there's nothing out there?" she answers slowly.

"It's not a rhetorical question," I say. "It's one people asked at the start of astronomy: why is the night sky black? The answer, basically, is that the light gets out through holes. And there are always holes, no matter how far you go -"

"I see," says Zazaru. "And from that, we developed, in the end, the concept of unbounded space-time, and a continuously expanding cosmos, and the Big Bang. But how does this apply to us?"

"Because it's black out there," I say. "And King Estmere is emitting radiation on half the octaves of the EM spectrum, never mind just the visible one. And that's not all." I point to the log entries on the screen. "We deployed probes, and when we did that, we fired thrusters to compensate for the minute acceleration that gave the ship. So there should be traces, still, of the reaction mass we deployed then. Not much, a few molecules per cubic metre of space, perhaps, but not nothing. For that matter, the ship's not perfectly sealed - there are micro-leaks, there is outgassing from the plating of the hull. But the space around us is perfectly clean. Do you see what that means?"

Zazaru's eyes are wide. "I think so," she says. "The material, the radiation, is leaving and it's not coming back."

"Right," I say. "What about us? When we reached the anomaly, we were travelling at warp speed; we dropped out and matched its velocity in real space. Standard procedure. So, as far as it is concerned, we're at rest. Motionless." I laugh. "And we haven't tried to move, in real space, because we couldn't see anywhere to go."

"We still can't," Zazaru says.

"We don't need to," I say. "All we need to do, right now, is to get out of this. Once we're out, we'll deal with whatever comes next - but the first step is out." My fingers dance on the control panel; my voice echoes over the intercom system. "All hands, this is the captain speaking. Prepare for acceleration. Full impulse in five seconds."

It's just about time for Zazaru to say, "Sir, what if you're wrong?"

"Then we'll deal with that, too," I say, firmly. "But sometimes you just have to take a leap in the dark."

The inertial dampers are running smoothly, there is not even a shudder as King Estmere's impulse drive comes to life. There is only a change on the readouts on my command console, one I hardly notice as I peer intently into the viewscreen -

- and, suddenly, the stars are back.

"Magnificent!" crows Jeroequene. "Inspirational!"

"Position check," I order, firmly. I'm still not a hundred per cent sure where we've come out....

"I'm picking something up," says Zazaru; she has moved to the main science console without my even noticing. "Reading... It's our probes, sir. All six, transmitting as per normal settings."

"We are - exactly where we were, noble Admiral," Jeroequene reports from her console. "All standard astrographic markers confirm this with gratifying exactitude."

I sigh, and switch to reverse angle on the viewer. In the greenish contrails of King Estmere's impulse engines, what I'm looking for isn't easy to see, but it's there; a faint, chatoyant glimmer in space. An anomaly. Things that go in, can't look out. And that's all there is to it.

"We'd better mark that as a navigational hazard," I say, finally. "And as a subject for further study... I'd like to know which of your seventeen hypotheses actually pans out." I grin. "Besides which, I need to give Admiral Semok some reason why we're nearly three days late for our next assignment."

superhombre777 · March 2013

Part 1 - Dishonoring the Dead
Based on LC 13, Facility 4208
February 2411

Hiding a classified research laboratory in the Badlands was a stupid idea. Hiding it in such an unstable region that only small science vessels with special shielding could access it was an invitation for a disaster. Today was that disaster.

Heather Eldredge and Yair Hillel were returning to the Odyssey from Facility 4208 when the Klingon vessel de-cloaked. Normally they wouldn't be much of a threat - Klingon technology hadn't kept the pace with the Federation for the last decade or so - but here, the smallest of weapons could be formidable. Odyssey was on the verge of falling apart due to the stresses caused by gravitic anomalies, so a lucky disruptor shot here or there could easily kill the entire crew.

Out of the three runabouts, Hathaway had the strongest shields. That made her the default choice for the trip to and from Facility 4208. Unfortunately, Odyssey's engineering staff was in the middle of upgrading the weapons when Eldredge and Hillel departed. The forward phaser array was still standard issue. A state-of-the-art chroniton mine launcher facing aft was the only noticeable improvement.

The Ki'tang Bird of Prey had started the fight with a few lucky shots. Odyssey's deflector array was a charred crater, and the underside of the saucer had several hull breaches. Eldredge knew that Hathaway's actions could significantly increase the chances of Odyssey limping back to Deep Space Nine. She pushed her brown hair behind her ear and faced Hillel. "Deploy mines and tractor them behind us. We need to manually evade their fire while we approach. Then we'll beam out and ram them with the runabout and the mines."

"That works for me. Mines deployed. Continuing to fire phasers."

Hathaway shook violently. "How about starting to overload the warp core? Slowly, of course."

Hillel smiled. "Yes ma'am."

Plasma funnels mysteriously grew and arched towards Hathaway. One funnel spiked a mine, causing a detonation a little too close to the hull. The turns suddenly felt heavier as the cabin lights flickered. None of this caused Eldredge to lose focus.

Hillel's control panel stopped functioning. "Firing phasers under these circumstances probably isn't too wise. What do you recommend?"

Eldredge paused for a moment and turned to face Hillel. "Tell Emily that I enjoyed her fourth birthday party last week. Tell Isabella that she was always a great friend and confidante."

"What? You can't possibly..." Hillel's view of the runabout was quickly replaced with a view of Transporter Room 1 aboard Odyssey. He stepped off of the transporter pad and sat down on the steps. He had a terrible feeling about what Eldredge was going to do.

---

Eldredge found it easier to focus once she was alone. I should have said goodbye, she thought. Sensors indicated that the Klingons didn't have stable shielding. They were probably on a suicide mission. If her plan didn't work out, she'd end up on one too.

The mines were held by the shuttle's tractor beam. It would take about thirty seconds for her to reach the Klingon vessel. She debated between striking the bridge and main engineering. The bridge would be more symbolic, so she set her focus there.

"Hathaway, commence immediate record backup with Odyssey. First officer's log, supplemental. I am a few seconds away from immobilizing an attacking Klingon vessel. Mom, Dad and Arthur, I love you. I hope I have made you proud. End recording."

The transporter was set to beam her to Odyssey five seconds before impact or when the shield strength fell below twenty percent. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen...no! I hate these plasma funnels. Nine, eight...

---

Captain Everitt Carter couldn't believe his eyes. "She's going to ram them! Fire everything we have at the Klingons. Maybe she will break off if we can paralyze them first."

Kerna'tharan, the Jem'Hadar at the tactical station, responded. "We have been firing for seven minutes. It will take approximately two more minutes to destroy the Klingon vessel if we can survive their attack. But Commander Eldredge's actions may win the battle."

Carter stood up. "I can't believe she is doing this..." Hathaway impacted with the Klingon vessel, followed by the chroniton mines. The resulting explosion destroyed two-thirds of the vessel.

"Carter to Transporter Room 1. Do we have Eldredge?"

The reply was clearly hesitant. "She started transport but the pattern wasn't fully sent. Her power levels must be fluctuating wildly. I lost her for a moment there and am waiting to reacquire a signal."

"There is no need. She is dead."

Odyssey's brig was filled to capacity that night.

---

The next morning

The door chime interrupted Carter's thoughts. He quickly wiped his cheeks and told the guest to enter.

Second officer T'Panna entered the doorway and stopped two feet inside the ready room. "Lieutenant Commander T'Panna reporting as ordered, sir."

Carter rubbed his bald forehead and sat up straight. "I know who you are." He sighed. "Alright, that didn't come across well. Please have a seat."

She sat down. Her perfect posture made Carter want to scream.

"I am promoting you to Commander and making you the first officer. I wish that I didn't have to...what I mean to say is that I wish that Heather was still alive. But since she is not, you deserve her post. You can remain head science officer if you would like. There's no shame in giving that to someone else though."

"Thank you for the promotion Captain. Will that be all?"

Carter stood up. "Yes. Dismissed."

T'Panna reached the threshold of the door and then stopped. "I am one quarter human, and I am familiar with pain and loss. I am not a cold, stoic Vulcan like you assume that I am.

"You are clearly grieving. Why don't you take a day or two off? I believe that I can handle operations while we make repairs and berth at Deep Space Nine."

Carter was speechless. T'Panna's facial reaction almost hinted at emotions. It took a few seconds to process that information. "If you don't mind, I think I will do that. Thank you."

T'Panna left without another word.

---

Two days later

Carter dropped the padd on his desk. Then he pounded it with his fist. Oh how I loathe journalists! The admiralty would turn a blind eye to the ridiculous claims in this article, but would the public? Would his wife?

Odyssey Damaged in Badlands; Foul Play Suspected

By Anton Po, B'Hala Tribune

The luna-class U.S.S. Odyssey limped back to Deep Space Nine yesterday with eighteen freshly-replicated caskets carrying the remains of crew killed in unusual circumstances. Federation logs indicate that Odyssey entered the Badlands to test a new adaptive deflector array. Photographs taken upon Odyssey's return to Bajoran space show what appear to be craters from weapons impact where the prototype deflector should have been. A few other parts of the ship had new hull panels. Sources indicate that a Danube-class runabout was listed as damaged during the mission.

Bajoran and Cardassian officials deny any activity in the Badlands for the past eight days. One obvious question remains - who fired on Odyssey? A credible source hinted at the possibility of a disgruntled officer stealing the runabout and firing on Odyssey. When asked about this possibility, Captain Everitt Carter's reply was terse: "Go to hell." First officer Heather Eldredge was unavailable for comment.

Carter picked up the padd and sent the article to Counselor ch'Raul. He added a note: Sensational writing like this dishonors the dead.

****************

Part 2 - A New Name
Loosely based on LC 26, Senior Officers
September 2411

Moving back to alpha shift certainly had its advantages for Amanda Carpenter. The obvious one was more time with her boyfriend, chief engineer Miguel Jarvis. The move also gave her more time to see some old friends, like Ensign Melinda Atkins. This morning Carpenter, Jarvis and Atkins were eating breakfast in the cafeteria, gossiping about the same thing on everyone's mind.

"Days like today make me feel like democracy is fundamentally flawed," Jarvis commented.

Carpenter's reply was instantaneous. "You don't feel the excitement in the air? What's wrong with you? Did you not get enough sleep last night?"

Jarvis saw Atkins squirm in her seat, so he decided against commenting on last night's activities. "I would think that after two rounds of voting, there would be at least one reasonable choice left. I might sit this one out."

"I am voting for Korto." Carptenter's smile faded, revealing a somber mood. The Bajoran city had been devastated by a terrorist attack days after Miles O'Brien's funeral. Preliminary intelligence placed the blame on the Breen. With Starfleet stretched so thin, it was unlikely that the Breen would pay for their crime.

---

Alistair Simeon and Glotz rarely saw eye to eye, but on this issue they were in complete agreement. "Kilimanjaro is the perfect name," Glotz agreed. "The name sounds Klingon, but I can live with that. The other choices are nonsense."

They reached the turbolift entrance and waited. "Hopefully my promotional video will swing enough votes to our side. If not, everyone onboard will have to go see ch'Raul for counseling. Who wants to live on a starship named after a city that got blown up? We get into fights more than a Luna class ship should, so we don't need to be reminded of death every single day."

---

Yair Hillel hadn't adjusted to working beta shift. Almost all of his friends were working when he was sitting in his quarters, trying to find something to do. His new position - acting captain for beta shift - didn't have nearly as many responsibilities as being head of security. But Captain Carter insisted that the change wasn't a demotion. That was an obvious lie.

Hillel felt punished for his recent behaviors. Who could blame him for feeling uncertain when the gods of an alien species accosted him with a vision? He was a bit absent-minded when the Borg fiasco occurred, but things worked out well...for most people. Lieutenant Thyssr's prosthetic arm and foot would be a permanent testament to Hillel's temporary lapse in judgment. Forget to tell one Andorian about safety protocols and you get demoted...

Thankfully today was the final round of voting. He was confident that his proposal would win. That would bring some much-needed luck to his life.

---

ch'Raul had a hard time restraining a laugh. Lieutenant Simeon probably didn't mean to be entertaining, but he most certainly was. "Starfleet Command may steal our ship's name from us, but we are still formidable. That's why Kilimanjaro is the perfect name for our beloved vessel. We may be number two in the eyes of the admiralty, but we are a force to be reckoned with. I almost lost two fingers to frostbite when I climbed that mountain, and its majesty has never left me. Now I want our vessel to have the mountain's name.

"Don't be a wimp. Give our ship a name that is worthy of a champion. Vote Kilimanjaro."

The video ended. Ch'Raul put the padd down and gave in to his laugh. There was no way that Simeon would be triumphant today - unless the crew wasted their vote because of his ridiculous survival gear and frozen mustache in the video. Rumor had it that the crusted ice covering Simeon's face was real.

---

Odyssey sent the results to Captain Carter's desk terminal within a second of the voting deadline. He wondered if he would come to regret this decision. Then he looked at the results and smiled.

T'Panna was standing behind him and rubbing his shoulders. "That is an inappropriate name for our vessel," she noted. "Will you stand behind your decision to let the crew rename the vessel?"

"Absolutely. Thanks for the massage but you should probably step off to the side. It's time to brief the crew on the results." He pressed a button to activate the shipwide comm and desk camera.

"All hands, this is Captain Carter. The results are in. Kilimanjaro, eighteen percent. Korto, thirty-three percent. Reaper, fifty-one percent. At 0800 hours tomorrow, this ship will be renamed the U.S.S. Reaper.

"I hope that you have enjoyed this exercise. It's a shame that the fleet is stealing this vessel's name, giving it to the largest ship ever created, and not offering to let us staff that vessel. But, we will continue to do our best. As captain of the Reaper, I thank you for your service. Enjoy your evening."

A few minutes later, Hillel came to relieve Carter and start beta shift. Carter shook Hillel's hand. "Congratulations on your campaign to name the vessel Reaper. I will leave her in your competent hands."

"Thank you Captain. I hope you find the name to your liking."

"It's fine with me. I hate to ask, but are you still disappointed about the personnel change?"

Hillel hesitated before replying. "Kerna'tharan makes an excellent security chief. I miss the job, but I can see why you moved me. I have to keep telling myself that you still trust me though."

"I trust you with the life of each and every crew member as soon as soon as I leave this deck. More importantly, I see plenty of potential for your future. This assignment is easier for you, but a lot of captains look for this kind of experience when they select first officers."

"Thank you sir."

"Now if you will excuse me, T'Panna and I have a dinner date scheduled. Enjoy your shift Yair."

"Yes sir. Enjoy your evening."

T'Panna smiled. "To do otherwise would be illogical."

wraithshadow13 · March 2013

Captain's Log: Stardate 89194.2

I'm not sure how she managed to swing it but she did and I can almost guarantee which pointy eared Section Agent it was that told her too. I haven't seen the old bat for almost a decade now but suddenly we were face to face in the airlock. Normally I try to avoid such a thing, but with the missions we usually come across it's a little difficult, the science types back in San Francisco love some of the weird things we come across in the field so i suppose i should have expected this, either way she was here to examine Crewman Wraith and to be honest I was a bit nervous of what might happen. She's always had a bit of a soft spot for fish out of water, so I'm sure once she heard about the one on the Geist she jumped at the chance.

It was a bit of a surprise visit while we were at Earth Space Dock for refit the Geist with some new Borg tech. To be honest had I known about the visit in advance they'd have probably had to put a few tractor beams on the ship to keep me from leaving. She came on board with Admiral Aviess, whom I might add was beside herself in doing this, as overseer of the installation team. The initial meeting went well though the Admiral was a bit surprised by his demeanor, the polite and excitable young man with the Vulcan ears and the Borg complexion. I don't know whose idea it was but I stepped out for a minute and returned to him calling her... "Aunt Kathy."

They spent a lot of time together while she was here overseeing the refit, at one of the dinners with the senior staff she told a few stories of our last meeting at a diplomatic conference, I was serving on one of the ships posted as security and had a few... less then diplomatic encounters with a few of the delegates, one of which ended with me confined to quarters after missing a shift due to a Deltan bar tender. I had managed to pull a muscle or two in my back dealing with some rowdy Klingon patrons and she refused to let me leave until she massaged them back into place. Nothing inappropriate mind you as I still had my sanity but needless to say Marleen had spent every minute of that confinement tearing me a new one regardless. The Admiral had a good laugh at that point when Wraith asked "A new what?"

I delegated most of her tours and such to Commander T'Pal, but on occasions where I had to be present the Admiral and I were cordial at best. She had a habit of telling me how to make the ship more efficient, tweaking emitters and relays to boost the main deflector, minor adjustments to the old Borg systems to help integrate the new modifications, one of which is a prototype version of the Borg cutting beam. I don't mind when officers offer up suggestions, but she tends to "unofficially" assume command and frankly it shows as I've been talking to E'Saul more as a counselor than a friend lately.

Much to my surprise David had been a little on edge as well since Janeway arrived. Usually Dave's a bit of a kiss up when it comes to admirals on board, he's a military man through and through, but every now and then he can get his nose dirty when trying to look good. I stopped him as we were passing in a turbo lift and he tried to dance around the issue but was a bit too easy to read, there was something he knew that was making him uncomfortable and my gut was telling me I should know it too. It wasn't until I saw who he was meeting with that I came back to that nervous feeling which was later reaffirmed that same evening I'd received a call to the holodeck.

As soon as the doors slid open I knew where I was. It was "Incursion Scenario: Wraith Alpha One", a program I should have deleted because I knew eventually this day would come. Keating had shown her the holorecording, more than likely under orders from Janeway or Aviess, no matter how brown his nose is he's a loyal officer and it would only have been under direct orders that he would have unlocked that and not tell me. I was furious by the time I reached the bridge of the Klingon vessel but I stopped dead in my tracks once I saw the expression on her face. There was regret and almost a sadness to her and my heart sank.

She couldn't believe the simulation she'd just watched, not when compared to the young man she'd been spending so much time with, but here laid bare was the weapon he was meant to be. It was a simulation that Drake talked Admiral Aviess into shortly after we had returned to Earth with the boy and Drake wanted the chance to see what exactly he could do unrestricted. She was horrified. I gave her a moment to collect her thoughts, but she kept fiddling with her badge and with her, that meant bad news. She wanted to take him off of the ship, and I couldn't do anything to stop her. I always knew this would happen but I'd be damned though if I wouldn't make it as hard as possible for her though.

Admiral Aviess herself had been no help as she was out ranked in this regard. My senior staff was all to eager to help out, including Commander Keating, who had been avoiding me since the turbolift. He and Wraith never really got along, but He was going to fight for the boy like he would any other member of the crew, something that really hit me kind of hard. This was his home, really the only one he'd ever had, and the closest thing to a family was about to be taken away from him. I knew the old lady was stubborn, but she seemed a bit torn on this herself. On the one hand she was the head of Starfleet's Science Division being shown a weapon built with top secret Federation technology and on the other hand was a polite young man calling her "Aunt Kathy".

My best option was to exploit this, for as much as we butt heads the Admiral was a good woman and willing to listen to reason. I began talking with Wraith on the subject and as expected he didn't want to leave the ship but was more than willing to cooperate and you could see it in his eyes and to be honest you could see it in everything he did. He understood the why but it really didn't make a difference this time around. With as much time as they were spending together he didn't get why..."Aunt Kathy"... would do something like this and from the sound of it he felt hurt by her decision. He'd been hurt numerous times on away missions or during combat, but it was all physical pain ant this was the first time the boy had ever really felt pain on an emotional level.

He didn't have a lot to pack so it didn't take much time before he had beamed down to Starfleet Headquarters. From this point on she would over see the refit remotely checking in with her team from San Francisco. More than likely she had him in a lab, possibly something like personal quarters to make him feel more comfortable, it's a standard tactic to help keep observation subjects to compliant and I couldn't help be angered by a member of my Crew being treated as such. No one I contacted could really do much in the way of help. Admiral Janeway was one of the higher ups when it came to both the Borg and Science stuff on general giving her the final say in a lot of these manners.

After a week since they'd left I even tried pulling legal precedent on the grounds that he is a person and not officially a member of the Federation, something to which Aviess responded that given what he is she could have done this long ago and she had to pull a few strings to keep him aboard more as a favor to me. I was livid at this point, with all of the missions this ship had come through, many of which Wraith had been a part of, and yet there seemed to be no one I could turn too. I decided to go directly to the source of my problem since none of this would have happened had she not come aboard and maybe it was about time to pay her a visit and see what kind of mischief I can get into under her watch, something that I haven't done since undergoing Borg training under her at the academy.

When we materialized outside of her complex it wasn't at all like I had expected. Commander T'Pal and I had beamed in close and with out calling ahead, other wise she might have thrown up a few force fields before we arrived. Upon walking in though we found no resistance and in fact the woman at reception had been expecting me. T'Pal had to remind me to be polite as the receptionist was more than willing to help and even thanked her for me as I stormed off down the hall way. Barging through the doors what I'd found had surprised me, instead of a lab filled with doctors and scientists I found my self in a grassy field out side of a small Earth town or village more like it.

T'Pal was silent upon entering as well, I guess that's as close to surprise as a Vulcan can get when entering an unexpected holodeck. As we walked further in The townsfolk were more than pleasant and willing to help and admittedly it did kind of put me at an awkward calm, almost as if I were a bit too curious as to what was going on to be angry. It had to be early nineteenth century from the by the dress some where in Ancient Europe from the accents, but history was never a favorite subject of mine. I didn't even know where to start looking for Wraith or the Admiral and the computer didn't respond to my commands when my First Officer suggested simply asking to which an elderly man answered that "Mrs. O'Claire and that Dark Fae nephew a hers were at the pub last I seen 'em".

Upon entering a place called Sullivan's we found the Admiral and Wraith playing some kind of ring toss game and laughing aloud like nothing was wrong, the boy noticed me almost instantly and waved excitedly for us to come over. I was more than confused at this point and didn't know where to start when suddenly Janeway said the only thing that mattered: "He's already packed and ready to go." She orders him off of my ship and keeps him at a laboratory compound for a week and when I barge in to protest he's already ready to return?

As T'Pal and Wraith went off to collect his bag it gave me time to talk with the Admiral about what happened and why the sudden change in heart, why would she deem him too dangerous and then suddenly hand him back? She looked at me confused for a moment herself before responding with "Dangerous? Heavens no, I took him for his own good. Did you know he's never even seen a book let alone read one?" She had me there... Years later and the ol' bat was still educating me. With every thing he was learning on the ship we never stopped to think what he might want to learn, we were teaching him to be a better crewman but not a better person. I've never really talked to him much about what he might want to learn, I did the same thing to Thomas as a boy, teaching him what I thought he should know instead of encouraging his abilities. She explained that she had him removed for his own good, so that he could be better than what he was built to be, but no matter what she could teach him here his place was on the Geist. It's where he belonged and where he wanted to be, with those he considered his family. She did raise a little concern when he asked if he could visit a certain Ambassador that he owned though...

When she walked us out of the complex she handed Wraith a small data padd full of things he should keep studying as well as a list of books to replicate before turning to me and asking about several fruit baskets giving me a nice opportunity to beam back to the Geist giving her nothing but a smirk and a thank you. After he managed to get settle in of course I swung by his quarters to walk him to a welcome back dinner the senior staff was throwing. Curiously though he mentioned that the only scientific procedure she had done was an extraction of his nanite antibodies, reprogramming them to be more like a virus as part of a plan B for a trip she might be taking soon. I made a note to check into that later as it seemed very out of place for her to do such a thing. For now though it was good to have him back though it wasn't until we reached the mess hall that he said something that really made me smile.

"I really enjoyed the time spent with Aunt Kathy, but she kind of seemed full of herself, like she's smarter and you should know it."

I couldn't help but laugh as the doors slid open and every one welcomed the boy home.

sander233 · March 2013

I can't sleep
I've lost the urge to see
No one's left a friend
The cost of ill pretend

Where'd you go? I need you now...

Ten thousand miles apart
A frozen ocean joins our hearts
I can't wait to meet you when
The frozen waves meet ocean floors
You'll be standing on the shore
I can't wait to meet you then

I still dream
But what should I believe?
Frozen shapes to bend
Impossible sets in

Lost again, still alone...

Sisely Treasure and Chad Petree of Shiny Toy Guns - "Frozen Oceans"

FROZEN

Personal log: General Ssharki, commanding I.K.S. Norgh'a'Qun. Stardate... 88... something.

Okay, um, baQa', where do I start? If you're reviewing this log, what the hell took you so long? I am dead, as well as likely Cal and Nietta. And maybe even Chopper. The stupid little targ will probably outlast us all on this filthy iceball, unless I get desperate enough to eat him. Hah, QI'yaH. Pull yourself together, Ssharki. Prex, my security escort, died in the crash. Let the record show that he died performing his duty. His clan is to be compensated as per the details of his contract. He was a good and honorable man - a rarity among Nausicaans, I know, but that's the truth.

What follows are personal messages for my senior officers...

Ssharki finished recording his farewells and took a final look around the wrecked forward cabin of his personal shuttle, the Ho'norgh. He exhaled his breath between his teeth in a hissing sigh as he tossed his old Starfleet-issue PADD onto the pilot's seat. The Klingons called this class of shuttlecraft a "Chariot" - intended for use by the most privileged Generals in the Klingon Defense Force and leaders of the Great Houses or their personal staff. They were luxuriously appointed even by Federation standards, and also well-armed, even by Klingon standards. One thing they lacked, however, was adequate thermal insulation.

Ssharki pulled his fur-lined cloak tighter around his shoulders as he walked back to the passenger compartment and looked in on the two figures huddled together in bed. Nietta was still shivering under her pile of blankets. Cal was not. That was a bad sign. Ssharki rested a clawed hand atop the unconscious form of his adopted son. He was still breathing, at least. And as long as Nietta could generate enough body heat to keep both of them alive, there was a chance he could be saved. But the half-Orion, half-human female would not last much longer. They had run out of emergency rations two days ago. Without food to metabolize, her body would burn her small reserves of fat, then consume her own muscle tissues. Then she would die of starvation. And then cold-blooded Cal would freeze to death.

Ssharki lifted the covers of his own bed. "Move over, Chopper," he ordered. They young targ growled sleepily. Ssharki prodded it with his boot and the animal looked up, yawned, and crawled towards the bulkhead. Ssharki laid down under his blankets, pulled his cloak over his head and spread it atop his covers, followed by his thick jacket. He then reached for Chopper and pulled his pet closer to himself. The hot-blooded targ nuzzled his master, and provided precious warmth.

Ssharki had ceased shivering hours before. He knew he was experiencing the final stages of hypothermia. He dared not fall asleep, but he knew it was inevitable. His body would slowly shut down whether he remained conscious or not. His eyes slowly closed. His mind drifted off into a dream. Or was it a memory? It was the memory of the crash, or rather, the moments before. It all seemed so long ago...

* * *

Ssharki had just returned to the forward cabin after mixing himself a drink from the on-board wet bar. One part Saurian brandy, one part Romulan ale, two parts Cardassian kanar and three parts bloodwine; dubbed the "Jane Zombie" after the Norgh'a'Qun's shipboard bartender who claimed to have invented the drink in a previous life. Ssharki didn't really believe the human's claim that he lived a closed time loop. It didn't matter. His drink was delicious.

He sat down and sipped the drink, idly watching the stars zip by at Warp factor 8.5 for a minute or two, before turning his gaze toward the beautiful female across the cabin. Though she was a mammal, he still found her exotically stimulating. She knew this and delighted in this fact, and she wore a risqu? Orion bikini to show off as much of her silky brownish-green skin as possible without leaving the non-reptilian members of Ssharki's crew a quivering mess. Her long, luscious hair had been died indigo to match the color of her eyes. Her silk and metal costume presented complimentary shades of ruby and pale blue, apart from a kaleidoscope-print Tholian silk scarf that Ssharki had given her as a gift. "So, science officer, report: what did you enjoy the most about our survey excursion to New Romulus?"

Nietta Holbox stretched her long torso while thinking about the question. "What part did I most enjoy... I'd have to say the Atlai. I've never seen a more beautiful river, or more fascinating creatures gathered in one place."

"What about the bugs?" young Cal asked from the pilot's seat.

Nietta laughed. "Bugs don't bug me. I grew up around swarms of mosquitos that could suck a person dry. But you spray a predator's pheromones in the air, or play the recorded acoustic signal of a bat, and they clear out quick enough." Nietta had been born to an Orion woman, but her father was a human Starfleet stellar cartographer, and she was predominately raised by him up to the age of thirteen. She developed a fascination with all manner of scientific phenomena, ranging from astronomical anomalies to the unique evolution of animal life on Dewa III.

"I could have guessed that would be your answer," Ssharki remarked, still nursing his drink. "I think my favorite part was the look on your face and the squeal you made when you first looked down from that old bridge and saw that giant octopus-thing sitting under those waterfalls."

"You mean the nanov," Nietta corrected, using the Romulan word for "mother" that the researchers had ascribed to the water-loving creatures.

"Whatever," Ssharki growled, though he smiled at the memory. "Yeah, that would have to be my favorite part. That, or the look on your face when that Hirogen Beta attacked you from out of nowhere while you were picking flowers in the forest."

"I'm glad you found my attempted murder so amusing," Nietta grumbled back, although her bitter sarcasm was entirely in jest. Ssharki had been scanning for radiation traces a short distance away and counter-ambushed the Hirogen, biting his neck and running him through with a bat'leth before he ever realized the Gorn General was even there.

"My favorite part was working on repairs to the Romulan shuttle," Cal volunteered. "I'd never seen a singularity drive before!"

"What about finding Watterson?" Ssharki queried, indicating the blue, furry animal curled up asleep at Nietta's feet.

"That was cool too, but a little scary at the time," Cal admitted. The juvenile Gorn had found the epohh pup being terrorized by a vivver cat - the feline was toying with its prey, and defenseless little animal was about to die of pure fright. Little Cal had instantly attacked the much-larger predator, with his bare claws at first, before he remembered his phased-tetryon compression pistol. Cal then picked up the baby epohh - which hadn't actually been injured by the cat - and ran off to find Ssharki to ask if he could keep it. Cal was a techie at heart, with a very sensitive nature and a compassionate spirit. He was press-ganged into the KDF infantry the age of twelve. After annexing the Gorn Hegemony, the Klingons had made a habit of forcing orphaned Gorn children into military service, either not realizing or not caring that Gorn mature at about half the rate that Klingons do. Fortunately for Cal, Ssharki was aware of this practice. He intercepted Cal's assignment order and placed him aboard his own ship, and adopted him as his own son. Ssharki was extremely protective of his "Little One," in whom he saw the best traits of their species. After two years, though, he had started to allow Cal to accompany him on less-dangerous away missions. Cal was curious and inquisitive about nature and other cultures. And besides, he had a certain knack for field repairs. And piloting small craft. And subspace physics...

"How 'bout you, Prex?" Ssharki turned to his security officer, sitting at the Ho'norgh's tactical station next to Cal. "What'd you enjoy the most?"

"Killing Tholians," the Nausicaan replied with a shrug.

"Okay, what else?"

"Killing Hirogen."

"Okay, what else?"

"Killing anthro- artho... the big scorpion things."

"Uh-huh."

"And after them, killing the bad Romulans."

"Did you enjoy anything besides killing people and animals?"

Prex pondered for a moment. "I liked climbing rocks."

"Okay, that's a good hobby-" Ssharki was interrupted by a loud noise behind him. The shuttlecraft abruptly dropped out of warp. "What's happening?" the General demanded.

"I don't know," Cal told him. "Everything just went dead." The youth calmly tapped his engineering readouts to try to isolate the problem. "We can't generate a stable warp field. Let me check the intermix..." His eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "Oh, QI'yaH."

"Watch your mouth, Little One," Ssharki admonished. Cal had picked up his elder's habit of swearing in Klingon. The word he'd just uttered was one of the strongest curses known in any language.

"We're losing antimatter containment!" Cal shouted, ignoring the rebuke. "I don't know how or why, but every magnetic field on the ship is collapsing!"

"Jettison the storage pods!" Ssharki ordered.

"Qajay', don't you think I'm trying?" Cal pounded the display panel with his fists. "The clamps, the doors, the launching mechanism - everything is magnetic! Nothing works!"

"How long do we have?" Nietta wondered.

"Fifty seconds. Maybe a bit longer - it looks like the field collapse is following an inverse decay slope."

"Okay, I'll go back and release the containment pods manually," Ssharki decided. "You try to get the impulse engines online, set a course for the nearest M-class body, and transmit a distress call to the Qun."

"Qu'vatlh," the overwhelmed young Gorn muttered in frustration.

"Cal-"

"I'm on it, father!"

Ssharki sprinted back through the passenger cabin and entered the engineering section. The noise hadn't stopped. Back here, it was an ear-splitting shriek. The General ignored the pain in his auditory canals as he searched for the manual override controls. He found the locking clamps for the antimatter containment pods first, but step one was to open the outer hull doors so they could be jettisoned out into space. Those controls were located deep in the guts of the small craft. Ssharki wished he'd sent Cal back here and taken the flight controls himself, but there was no time for that now. He removed his leather uniform jacket, expelled the air from his lungs, constricted his muscles to make his massive body as slim as possible and maneuvered under the plasma manifold to reach the hatch release. Then he had to wriggle his way back out. All the while he had a countdown running in the back of his mind. Twenty-six seconds. He opened the locking clamps and searched for the launching mechanism, figuring it would be in an obvious place next to the clamp override. He couldn't find it. Eighteen seconds.

Ssharki tapped the communicator strapped to his wrist and called his young warp-drive expert. "Cal, where's the launcher control?"

"For'r'd bulkhead, lower panel, flat lever," came the instant reply.

Ssharki turned and scanned the control panel, picking out the Klingon word for "launch" from the foreign script. He yanked back the lever until he heard it click, then slammed it to the return position. The woosh of the launcher was inaudible over the tortured shriek of the magnetic coils, but he saw a red light on the panel turn amber, indicating that the emergency jettison procedure was successful. Then the panel exploded, as feedback current from the overloading magnetic induction coils found a new path of least resistance. Ssharki's keen reflexes kicked in - he turned away and raised his arm to protect his face. His tough, scaly hide absorbed the impacts of hot bits of metal, crystal and plastic without injury.

The screaming sound dropped an octave in pitch, and was now accompanied by a sickening high-frequency vibration that Ssharki could feel in the deckplate through the soles of his bare feet. Alarms were going off all around - too many for him to make any sense of. More display panels burned out. Ssharki scrambled back to the forward cabin where he hoped Cal knew what was happening now. "Report!"

"The fusion core is unstable," the adolescent announced. "I can't get more than one-quarter impulse, and that's pulling power from shields and weapons."

"Subspace radio is dead," Prex declared. "I transmitted a broad-spectrum distress call, but we're eleven light-years from the ship and six light years from the nearest traffic lane or inhabited system."

"There aren't any M-class worlds in range, General," Nietta informed. "Our best bet looks like a K-class ice asteroid. Breathable atmosphere, but sub-zero temperatures and no life forms."

"Set a course," Ssharki ordered.

"Done," Cal told him. "But we'll lose life support and impulse before we get there. I can stretch it just enough, though, if I deactivate the grav plating and inertial dampeners."

"Can you land this thing without inertial dampeners?" Ssharki asked the boy.

"Of course I can. But it won't be pretty."

Ssharki sat down in his seat and buckled his four-point crash harness. The others did the same. "Do it."

"Hang on!"

Ssharki felt a bizarre sensation in the seat of his pants, as the 1G downward pull normally exerted by the gravity plating was suddenly replaced by the 2.5G thrust of the impulse engines. He heard Nietta audibly grunt. He looked over at her and was - in spite of the situation - amused to see that her normally full bosom had been flattened by the G-load.

"Two minutes to impact," the fourteen-year-old announced.

Ssharki looked up through the shuttle's canopy. An ugly, pockmarked ball of ice and rock loomed ahead. "'Impact'?" he repeated. "I thought you said this was going to be a 'not pretty' landing."

"Same thing," Cal said, with a shrug of his small shoulders.

Nietta stared forward. "We're coming in awfully fast, aren't we?"

"Have to," Cal told her. "If life support fails before we're close enough to shut off the impulse engines, we'll freeze to death in hours instead of days."

"Cal, do you have any good news?"

"Yeah: one way or another, it will all be over soon."

Prex laughed at that.

"One minute out. Shutting down impulse- baQa', the controls aren't responding!"

Ssharki unfastened his restraints. "I'll go back and shut the engines down manually." He rolled out of his seat and actually fell back through his shuttle - as aft was now "down" as far as local gravity was concerned. On his way down he passed Cal's epohh - pinned to the bulkhead separating the cabins and screaming the terror. Then on his way through the passenger cabin he encountered his pet targ in a similar predicament, except Chopper was wrapped up in bed linens and so his fright was compounded by blindness. Ssharki took note the animals' plight and was briefly anguished for them, but some small, dark corner of his mind wanted to laugh out loud.

He reached the engineering section and landed on the cold and dead warp core. The fusion reactor which powered the impulse drive and auxiliary systems was still running, though its power levels were fluctuating wildly and excess deuterium gas was building up inside the reactor vessel. Ssharki diverted power from the engines to life support and was going to purge the deuterium when he suddenly floated away from the override controls. Without the 2.5G acceleration he was suddenly weightless. Then Cal fired the braking thrusters and the forward end of the chariot became the new "down." Ssharki bounced his way back to his seat and saw the icy asteroid filling the viewport.

"We're coming in too hot," Cal warned. "This is gonna hurt!" He pitched shuttle craft around so it would impact belly-first.

Ssharki glimpsed a furry blue shape rolling across the ceiling. Then he saw Prex leaning over in his seat, covering the young pilot's torso with his own. Then he felt a crushing jolt from the soles of his feet to the tips of his crest of head-spines. He saw sparks and arcs everywhere. He heard the terrible sounds of rending metal and flesh. And everything went black.

* * *

Ssharki woke up from his dream-memory. He was in his bed, and Chopper was kicking him in his ribs. The animal was whimpering and thrashing in his sleep, with nightmares of his own. Ssharki carefully rolled the targ over onto his other side, and cradled his chest with his right arm, and pulled him closer to his own chest. Chopper seemed to settle down. The motion allowed a bit of cold air to enter Ssharki's cocoon of sheets, blankets and winter attire, and he shivered a little. He realized that meant he was not as far gone as he had feared, or that he was slowly recovering from the hypothermia. "Stupid little targ; you might just save my life," he whispered in his pet's ear. Maybe I'll survive to be rescued after all. He smiled at the thought, and went back to sleep.

* * *

Ssharki hadn't actually lost consciousness in the crash. The blackness was due to the simultaneous failure of every single light source in the shuttlecraft. "Is everyone alright?" he asked his crew.

"Oh, God, my back," was the only response, from Nietta.

Ssharki unstrapped himself again and stood up, and bounced off the ceiling. He then remembered that the gravity plating was still disabled, and that they had crash-landed on a small asteroid. As he slowly settled to the floor, he mentally prepared himself to move in a microgravity environment. He pulled a flashlight from his belt and carefully stepped forward to the tandem cockpit seats, and checked on Cal. The child was alive, but in a catatonic state. He was frozen in shock, which was only natural, considering the dead man in his lap. The control console had exploded on impact, impaling the Nausicaan security officer's body with shards of burnt and broken crystal and plastic. One particularly large fragment had imbedded itself deeply in Prex's throat, causing him to silently and messily bleed to death before the frightened young Gorn's eyes.

Ssharki gingerly sat Prex back up in his own seat and unstrapped his boy. "It's okay, Little One," Ssharki whispered gently as he scooped up the petrified youngster. "Everything's going to be okay."

Nietta slowly stood up in a daze. "Are they alright?" she asked the General.

"Cal's in shock. Prex is dead."

"Oh my God."

"I need your help," Ssharki told her, as he carried the boy back to the passenger cabin. "Neither of us are doctors, but I know you've at least studied field medicine."

"Right. Shock is a defense mechanism; the brain temporarily shuts down to protect itself from trauma if it starts to experience input overload. Put him on my bed."

The Ho'norgh had four bunks - two on each side of the cabin. The lower beds were larger and could be converted into tables, while the top bunks could be folded flush to the bulkheads. Ssharki placed Cal in the lower port-side bunk and stepped back while Nietta examined him.

"Holy mother. He's not just in shock, he's catatonic!"

"What's that mean?"

"Awake, but unconscious."

"Will he come out of it?"

"Eventually, but there's no way of knowing how long it will take. And this usually means the victim has suffered severe neuropsychological damage."

Ssharki stared helplessly down at his son. "Is there anything we can do for him?"

"I think I read somewhere that physical and vocal contact helps. A comforting touch, a familiar voice."

Ssharki sat down on the bed and caressed the boy's cheek. "We'll be okay, Cal," he said softly. "You landed the shuttle. You saved us."

The Ho'norgh suddenly became very silent, as all the shuttle's power systems died.

"Oh, God, the life support," Nietta moaned. "What'd Cal say before the crash? That we'll freeze to death in a matter of hours?"

"Days," Ssharki corrected. "If the life support lasted longer than the impulse engines. Which it did." He pointed the flashlight toward the clothing locker. "Better break out the cold-weather gear anyway."

Nietta obeyed, changing her metallic bikini top for a black cropped jacket and bringing Ssharki two long winter coats.

"That's not going to help you much," Ssharki observed. Her jacket left her midriff exposed, and her legs remained bare.

"I'll survive," she insisted. "But you two are cold-blooded. If you can't get life support back online, you won't last very long. I can share my body heat and sustain you for a while, but... I don't know how long."

"Not much more than a few days, I'd guess," Ssharki replied grimly. He took the smaller jacket she offered and draped it over the youngster's shoulders before pulling on the larger one. "I'll see what I can do. Why don't you gather the emergency rations while we still have warm air in here."

"Okay."

Ssharki went aft and entered the wrecked engine room again. He had been trained as an engineer, and was very adept at machinery and fabrication. At one point in his career he had been a damage control expert, but it been a long time since he'd fixed anything himself and he lacked young Cal's prodigious knack for power systems engineering. After two hours he worked out a system that would exchange the stale air inside the shuttle for fresh oxygen from the asteroid's rich atmosphere, while retaining pressure and heat inside. But he couldn't restart the fusion reactor or figure out any way of generating any more heat. Eventually the cold would creep in through the thin hull of the Ho'norgh. Neutronium may be great for stopping phaser beams and photon torpedoes, but it made for a lousy thermal insulator. Ssharki could only hope for rescue before the cabin temperatures dropped below freezing.

His thoughts turned toward their rescue. They had been unable to signal for help via subspace radio, but Prex had managed to send a lightspeed distress call. Once the Norgh'a'Qun realized they were overdue for rendezvous, the ship would come looking for them, retracing their route from New Romulus. The battlecruiser and its array of sophisticated sensors would stumble across the distress signal and locate the shuttle.

He shivered. It was already getting colder. He returned to the passenger cabin, sealing the hatch behind him. "What do we have?" he asked Nietta.

"Not much. We passed most of our provisions out to the colonists. We only have enough rations to last us a couple of days. Maybe three if we stretch it. And I found Cal's epohh wedged against a bracing strut with a broken neck. One of you could eat that if you're desperate, I suppose."

"Okay. What about Chopper?"

Nietta pointed to a bundle of fabric on Ssharki's bed on the other side of the cabin. "Your stupid targ is just fine. I suspect he slept through the whole thing. Oh, also, I was able to salvage two bottles of Romulan ale and half a bottle of firewine."

"That's good." Ssharki picked up one of the emergency ration packs. He peeled back the foil wrapper and sniffed the processed protein bar inside. He almost gagged. "Blech. Phaser-seared epohh is starting to sound really good." He passed the ration bar back to Nietta.

"Help yourself. Any luck getting the heater working?"

Ssharki shook his head. "I couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't involve killing us all in a plasma fire. Maybe if Cal comes around he could think of something. He knows these systems better than I do." Ssharki opened the lockers again, removing his Klingon Qempa' scarf, fur-lined boots and Honor Guard cloak as well as his disruptor pulsewave rifle. "I need to go out and take care of Prex. I'll be right back."

Nietta leapt to her feet and accidently launched herself across the cabin. "You can't go out there! Have you lost your mind? Let me handle it!"

"No!" Ssharki insisted. "This is something I must do. I promise I won't take a second longer than necessary."

Nietta knew Ssharki well enough to know she could not win an argument with him. Once he had made up his mind to do something, he would do it, and it was best to either help or stay out of his way. "Alright. If you're going out anyway, could bring back some ice? We'll need water."

"Sure." Ssharki made his way forward and closed the hatch behind him. He reached the cockpit, hoisted the Nausicaan's corpse over his shoulder, and opened the fore airlock. He was instantly blown out onto the frozen surface of the asteroid. He had forgotten about the pressure differential. The atmosphere was thick - almost liquid - but there was so little of it that the air pressure was insignificant. Ssharki could feel his blood seeping from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes. He dropped the body he was carrying and set about his work quickly.

He knew from past performances that the Nausicaan death ritual was a simple one - the body was simply vaporized to allow the spirit to be released to the sky gods of the Four Winds. Ssharki set his assault weapon to the maximum power setting, aimed, and hesitated. He knew the Nausicaans said a prayer for the deceased at this point, but he didn't know the words. He knew nothing about their religion except for the basic principles of their death rites. He decided to make up his own prayer, directed toward his own deity. "S'Yahazah, this man laid down his life to save my son's. He is my brother. Please guide his spirit to the Four Winds." And then he fired.

On his way back to the airlock he picked up a few chunks of ice that had been kicked up when the Ho'norgh crashed. He returned to passenger cabin, dumped the ice in a bowl, found the bottle of firewine and downed the contents. He began to shiver uncontrollably.

Nietta watched him, concerned and frightened. "Dammit, Ssharki! I told you, you shouldn't have gone out there!"

"I'll be alright." Ssharki sat down on his bed. Chopper was awake - he crawled out from the covers and nuzzled his master. "You just take care of Cal."

Nietta sighed, and looked back at the comatose young Gorn. "He snapped out of it as soon as you left, but the poor thing was delirious. He kept saying he had to get out, and tried to open the airlock back here. I had to sedate him." She sat down next to him, and stroked his scaly skin under his jacket and the blanket she'd placed on him. "I guess he won't be getting the life support back after all."

"Then I guess all we can do now is wait for rescue."

"Do you really think they'll find us?"

"They'll find us alright," Ssharki assured her, as he arranged his covers to construct a thermal cocoon. "The only question is will they find us in time."

* * *

Ssharki woke up to a clawed hand on his shoulder, and a familiar voice in his ear. He rolled back and looked up. His eyes slowly focused on his older adopted son, his chief of security, Sway. "Am I still dreaming?"

Sway smiled at him. "No, father. We found you."

Ssharki sluggishly sat up. "Cal? Nietta? Are they-"

"We're here," Nietta answered from the other side of the cabin.

Sway turned around and picked up his adopted little brother. Like Cal, Sway had been orphaned during the war with the Klingons and conscripted into the KDF at far too young an age. Unlike his brother though, he had suffered years of physical and psychological torment before Ssharki had found him. The security chief would give anything to prevent any member of his species from going through want he went through, and he was at least as protective of his brother Cal as the General was. "You're going home, little buddy," he whispered to the comatose child. He waited until the General and the science officer staggered to their feet, then he keyed his communicator. "Sway to Chopnorgh, four to beam up."

"Five!" Ssharki corrected, dragging Chopper out of bed behind him.

Sway smiled. "Four and a targ."

* * *

They were greeted in the bird-of-prey's transporter room by the ship's entire medical staff and Commander Louii, the Nausicaan provisional captain of IKS Chopnorgh. Ssharki's knees almost buckled with the sudden return to normal gravity, but he braced his legs and prevented himself from collapsing on the transporter pad.

"All three have severe hypothermia," Sway reported to Dr. Xyoosix, a former Rigelian biowarfare specialist under the Klingon's employ and now Ssharki's deputy chief medical officer. "This one also may have neurological damage. And Lieutenant Holbox is suffering from malnutrition."

"Let's get you all to sick bay," the Rigelian female said, giving an order that sounded like a mere suggestion. The two medics with her stepped forward, took Cal from his brother's arms and laid him on a grav-lift stretcher.

"I'm very glad that you're alive, General," Louii stated solemnly. "Where's Prex?" The pirate commander had already guessed the answer.

"Your cousin died in the crash, Louii," Ssharki informed him. "I'm sorry. He saved Cal's life. I performed the ceremony as best I could."

Louii nodded. Nothing more needed to be said. He knew the Four Winds would blow his cousin's spirit to the Heart of the Sky. And just as importantly, his clan would earn hefty compensation from the KDF. "I'm tractoring the Ho'norgh into the shuttle bay. We've already informed the Qun of your rescue. We will rendezvous and dock within the hour."

* * *

After consuming two plates of Sem'hal stew and three mugs of red leaf tea (all prepared by a Cardassian medic who pulled double-duty as the Chopnorgh's chef) and spending fifteen minutes convincing Dr. Xyoosix that he felt alright, Ssharki left sick bay. He made his way to his shuttle in the small hangar space. He shivered as soon as he entered the Ho'norgh. It was still colder than ice. He found his winter jacket and Qempa' and pulled them on. Then he retrieved his PADD. He left the chariot and the shuttlebay, and took the turbolift to the bridge.

Sway immediately rose from his tactical station. "General! You should be in sick bay!" He caught himself and added "Sir!"

"The doctor kindly gave me permission to leave so long as I do not exert myself."

Louii spun in his command chair, but did not rise. "You're just in time, General. We're about to dock with the Norgh'a'Qun."

Ssharki looked through the viewscreen at his massive flagship. One-point-six kilometers in length, thirty decks high, and bristling with enough firepower to reduce the surface of a planet to molten slag - she was a sight to behold. "Carry on."

"Aye, sir." Louii turned his chair forward and conferred with his conn officer.

"How's Cal?" Sway asked.

"Still asleep. Xyoosix says he'll be alright, physically at least. As for the rest of him... only time will tell."

Sway nodded grimly. "I had really hoped he would never have to go through anything like that."

"So did I. Unfortunately, the Universe is a dark and cruel place, caring naught for our hopes, fears and wants. We all have to face it eventually, and deal with whatever it brings us as best we can."

They heard the humming of electric servomotors and the hiss of hydraulics as the Hoh'SuS-class bird-of-prey's wings folded fully down to the docking position. Ssharki glanced at the viewscreen as the Chopnorgh slipped inside the specially-formed cutout in the stern of the Bortasqu'-class tactical battlecruiser. The docking clamps engaged, shaking the smaller warship for an instant before the inertial dampeners coupled with the Norgh'a'Qun's.

The deck beneath Ssharki's feet began to sink as it transitioned into a boarding ramp. He let it lower him to the docking bay deck of his flagship, where he was greeted by several officers, standing attention, awaiting his orders. He turned first to his chief medical officer. "Tr'vayn, Cal's still unconscious and Nietta's malnourished. Please transfer them to your medical facilities."

The Klingon female nodded and approached the Chopnorgh. Dishonored before her birth by her unknown parentage, Tr'vayn had devoted her life to the study of medicine. She sought new and inventive ways to make the warriors she served with stronger and quicker to recover from sickness and injury. Where before many of the crippled Klingons may have performed the Hegh'bat suicide ritual, under Tr'vayn's care they were back at their posts in a matter of hours.

As she boarded the bird-of-prey, Tr'vayn scanned the General with her medical tricorder. "Sir, your core body temperature is-"

"Very low, I'm aware. I'll be fine." Ssharki turned to the other Klingon present - actually a Human-Klingon hybrid named Abraham who served as his chief engineer. "Abe, I want you to investigate what happened to the Ho'norgh. Run a comprehensive diagnostic, review the sensor logs, and determine why every electromagnetic system on the craft decided to fail simultaneously. Cal will assist you as soon as he is cleared to return to duty."

"Aye, sir."

Ssharki then turned the two Gorn. Commander Dou'gal - his second officer and chief scientist - was in his early sixties, making him a few years older than the General. But he had no desire to command a ship of his own, choosing instead to devote himself to scientific studies. The other - Brigadier Flescher - was comparatively ancient. Ssharki's military advisor had spent most of the three-and-a-half centuries of his life in the trenches with the Gorn Royal Infantry. He was old enough to remember the last border war with the Romulans. Ssharki glanced between two of his three most trusted friends and officers and asked them "Where's Maddox?"

"Bridge," Flescher replied curtly.

"We're glad you're back, General," Dou'gal offered.

"Yeah, so am I," Ssharki muttered. He stepped aside to allow Tr'vayn to disembark along with the Chopnorgh's medical staff and the two disaffected officers on grav-lift stretchers. "You will notify me the instant he wakes up," he instructed the CMO, indicating his adopted child.

"Of course, sir." Tr'vayn led her party to the cargo lift and they disappeared into the depths of the ship.

Sway finished securing his stations and joined the General at the bottom of the ramp. Ssharki slowly walked to the turbolift, followed by his three Gorn officers. "Bridge." The journey from one end of the ship to the other took forty-seven seconds. The trip passed in total silence. Flescher stared uncomfortably at his boots. Dou'gal studied refraction patterns in the light fixtures. Sway fixed his eyes on General Ssharki. Ssharki gazed through the door.

They were deposited on the cathedral-like command deck and Ssharki strode forward. "Maddox, report!" he ordered.

His first officer stepped down from the elevated command chair in the center of the bridge and saluted the General. "Sir, we have secured the Chopnorgh and are preparing to resume our patrol of the Tau Dewa sector. Our course is laid in for Beta Lankal, where Tholians have been recently active and disrupting a joint Federation-New Romulan archaeological research site."

Ssharki nodded. "Very well. Take us there."

Captain Maddox turned and called to the conn officer "Engage at Warp seven!"

Ssharki gazed out the windows surrounding the bridge as the stars streaked by.

"Incidentally, sir," Maddox said, turning back to the General, "let me say how pleased I am that we found you. I was going to give it another day before I called off the search."

Ssharki's eyes narrowed. "Six days? I'd hoped you'd put in more effort for me than the required search period for missing KDF flag officers. Or at least leave the Chopnorgh to keep looking for me."

Maddox answered dispassionately. "In my estimation sir, the Norgh'a'Qun and her auxiliary craft are too vital of a strategic asset to waste on a search-and-rescue mission, even for a valued officer of the KDF Central Command such as yourself. But since you were recovered, obviously it all worked out."

"Thanks," Ssharki grumbled. He tried to read the first officer, but he never could. The two Gorn were too much alike. For Ssharki, trying to figure out Maddox was too much like studying a holograph of himself and looking for unfamiliar features. He gave up. "I've been told I need rest. You have the ship. Alert me when we reach Beta Lankel."

"Aye, sir."

Ssharki rode the turbolift down and forward to his palatial quarters in the starboard bow. Sway discretely followed him inside. "Permission to speak freely, General?" he asked once the door to the stateroom closed behind him.

"Always, my son."

Sway took a deep breath. "I just want you to know what I would have done had Maddox called off the search. I would have kept looking for you in the Chopnorgh. If Louii or anyone else got in my way, I would have confined them to the brig. And once I found you, I would have returned with you to the Norgh'a'Qun, where I would have killed Maddox for being such a disloyal petaQ." He gazed at his left hand as he flexed his clawed fingers. "Personally, I believe he deserves to be spaced for even considering abandoning you. That's up to you, of course, but at any rate, in my opinion, Captain Maddox is no longer worthy of your trust."

Ssharki slowly nodded. "Thank you, son, for your loyalty and... discretion." He was unsure what else to say. His son's opinion mirrored his own, and barely scratched the surface of his darker suspicions.

"Qapla', father!" The twenty-three-year-old security chief saluted and departed.

Half a minute later, as if from someplace very far away, Ssharki said "Qapla'!" to the closed door.

He pulled his trusty old Starfleet PADD from the pocket of his coat and activated it. He always found the familiar LCARS interface to be a comforting reminder of his past. It provided a tangible link to his memories - some bright and cheery, like those of his childhood on the joint Gorn Hegemony-Federation colony world of Cestus III; others dark and unpleasant, like those of his service in Starfleet during the Dominion War. But the connection was always there. And he always kept it with him. That's why he always stored all of his personal logs on this device. It represented his memories. All of his memories...

He called up his last log entry for playback.

What follows are personal messages for my senior officers.

Sway, my Soldier Boy - I assume you would be the first to read this. I know as my security chief you will blame yourself for my death, and no reasonable argument I make would absolve your guilt. But you must forgive yourself. You could have done nothing to prevent this - you would only have frozen to death by my side. But I want you to live. I need for you to live. Like you, I've already lost my whole family once. Now if Cal's gone, you're all I have left. You will be promoted. You are and will continue to be a great warrior, feared by our enemies as well as the Klingons who presume to be our benevolent masters. But you must not limit yourself to walking the path of the warrior. You are so young; you have centuries of life ahead of you still. Centuries to travel the galaxy, to explore its beauty, to take a mate for yourself, to have babies of your own, to discover your true self. You must live, Sway. Live for me, live the life I no longer can. And may you find peace.

Maddox, you are my first officer; obviously the Norgh'a'Qun is yours. You know as well as I do that she is a fearsome ship. You have stood on her bridge with me and watched our enemies flee at the mere sight of her. I have no doubts that her legend will continue to grow under your command. You have the respect of the entire crew. They will serve you well. May success always find you.

Maddox, Flescher, Dougal, my brothers, I have let you down. I have delayed our plans to restore our King for too long, and now it is too late for me carry out my part. I only hope that my influence will carry enough weight after my death, that along with your own, you will be able to bring about the changes we seek. I'm afraid my own hunger for power has blinded me to the opportunities that lay before me. I was content to be the puppet of the Klingons when I could have been High Admiral of the entire Gorn Space Command. Perhaps I was afraid of failure. Perhaps I was afraid of success. The responsibility - the consequences of liberation for our people - did I want that? I told you I did. Perhaps I lied. I did lie. Honestly, I would rather have the Great Houses of Qon'oS singing my praises and owing me favors than to allow that Hu'tegh toDSaH Slathis - that misguided yIntagh - to rule as my King again. So, I sought my own interests rather than seeking after the welfare of my people... No, scratch that. Ghuy'cha', the truth is I just didn?t want another war with the Klingons. You all see what would happen, don't you? Even if J'mpok were dead and Drex ruled the High Council, the rest of Klingons and their damned honor could not abide the Gorn Hegemony breaking away from their control. They would be compelled to try and conquer us again, nevermind their simultaneous wars with the Federation, the Romulans, the Borg and the foul isomorphs who call themselves the Undine. I don't know what would happen. Maybe we would hold them off this time. Maybe the Federation would join us. All I know for sure is that many more Gorn would die. Gila IV, Seudath, Hranar and Gornar already have too many widows and orphans. I did not want to catalyze events that would lead to more needless deaths. But then again, many Gorn will die anyway if no one puts an end to J'mpok's unnecessary wars with the Federation and the Romulans. The point is that I lied to you; I lied about my ambitions and never disclosed my fears. For that I am truly sorry. Do whatever seems best to you.

Close log.

Ssharki looked up from his PADD and fixed his stare at some point a thousand light years beyond the bulkhead. He tapped the interface and whispered an instruction. And the log entry was permanently erased.

sparklysoldier · March 2013

Literary Challenge #32: Into the Hive, Part 2

Azera Xi: Original Sin

"Engine room," Corspa tapped her combadge as she paced around the bridge and cast a quick glare out at the viewscreen, narrowing her eyes at the glowing white band of the Milky Way sweeping through the unbroken darkness of interstellar space, "what's our status?"

"Warp engines are back online," Nyzoph's voice rang through the channel, "transwarp will take a little longer, but it shouldn't be a problem. We can leave on your command."

"Good," the Andorian first officer nodded, and she ran her fingers between her antenna and through her white hair, looking worriedly over at the empty captain's chair before turning her attention to the science station along the wall, and the Trill officer typing frantically across the polished black touchpad screens, "do we have a fix on the Borg cube's warp trail?"

"Yes sir," Auslaz nodded anxiously as she looked up from the glowing starcharts and rolling columns of numbers at the ranking officer, "I projected their course and... well... sir, they're going to the Gamma Orionis sector. I think they're taking her to the unicomplex."

"No," Corspa couldn't help but whisper to herself, and then she spoke louder, more firmly, with a glance around at the rest of the senior officers, "we'll need some way to get in there without half a dozen cubes pouncing us the moment we enter the system. Suggestions?"

"The Paulson Nebula," Luverala called out after a second from his workstation.

"Okay," the bemused first officer replied, "we can't really take a nebula with us."

"No, no," he shook his head sheepishly, "but it's one of the few natural phenomena we know about that can block Borg sensors. I think I can modify the electrostatic properties of our shields to mimic the nebula's composition. We'll be a moving blind spot for them."

"Sounds good," Corspa nodded as she paced toward the middle of the bridge, and she turned to the tactical station, "speaking of which, what's our shield and weapon status?"

"They're both still down," Angel sighed a little as he read over the schematic readouts, and then he looked up at her, "but there's no serious damage. We'll have them up and running before we're even halfway there. But sir, as the security chief, I have to advise you that," and he paused sadly before he spoke again, "it's likely she's already been assimilated."

"I understand," Corspa quietly replied, "in fact, we're going to assume just that."

"Sir?"

"Every Federation starship has standing orders to liberate a Borg drone who shows the potential for individuality," she continued, "if Azera's been assimilated, then I'd say she has incredible potential for individuality. Would you agree with that assessment?"

"Absolutely sir," the security chief nodded with a relieved smile.

"I don't get it," Auslaz spoke up again from the science station, her voice straining between nervousness and angry frustration, "they didn't even bother to cripple our ship. The cube just raced up out of nowhere, grabbed Azera and left again. Why would they do that?"

"I don't know," Corspa shook her head a little and reluctantly sat down in the empty command chair, "as for our ship, my guess is they don't consider us a threat."

She flipped open one of the armrest's companels and silently set a course for the Gamma Orionis sector, the dark heart of the Borg's gradual corruption of the Alpha Quadrant.

"Let's go prove them wrong."

First Officer's Log, Stardate 90871.91 - We're continuing to follow the trail of the Borg cube that abducted Captain Azera Xi from the Roanoke, a course which is leading us directly toward the unicomplex they've constructed in the Gamma Orionis sector. We still don't have any idea why they might have taken her. Starfleet's authorized a rescue mission and the modifications to our shields should be in place by the time we arrive. As for the captain's connection to the Borg, I suspect the only ones who really know the answer are the Borg themselves.

* * *

Azera barely had time to rise up from her command chair before she'd felt a ruthless grip tightening around her chin, lifting her off her feet as a pair of thin serpentine needles stabbed and sank into the side of her throat. The Roanoke's bridge swam and grew darker around her, Angel's voice slow and warbling as he shouted a warning, as he lifted a uselessly unmodulated phaser against the Borg drone that held her in its grip. She looked back down at its corpse-white face, a single ebon eye gleaming beside the clicking black machinery that filled half its visage and had replaced its right eye completely. Then the ship faded away, the hissing phasers and wailing klaxons receding into a soft murmuring chorus of voices. She tried to fight against them, to thrash and twist away from the icy green transporter beam that snatched her from the ship, to block their voices out of her mind even as her own thoughts began to sink and drown beneath them, and then her consciousness drifted deeper into the cold black oblivion of uneasy sleep.

It was only when she awoke in a gallery awash in the green glow of Borg technology to find herself still wearing her Starfleet uniform that she realized they'd only sedated her. She lifted herself groggily to her feet and fumbled vainly for her missing combadge, and then gave up with a resigned sigh to stare slowly around at the room. Each wall opened into a winding black corridor, all of them flickering with countless Borg alcoves as far as the eye could see, and her blood froze with the realization that the shadows along the edges of the dim chamber were dotting her with dozens of pinpoint red lasers. A crowd of drones surrounded her on every side.

"Azera Xi," a woman's voice rang through the darkness, warm and inviting in spite of the surroundings, speaking with a pitch as mathematically precise as any instrument, "captain of the USS Roanoke, NCC-93876. We've been wanting to meet you for some time now."

And Azera instantly clamped her hands over her ears with a terrified cry.

The voice emerged from innumerable voices, an entire civilization speaking aloud, all of them rising and falling together in a perfect cadence to weave themselves into a single being. Each word pierced her mind, burning and flashing with brilliant white agony, every syllable a bullet bursting through her thoughts and shattering them completely. She died with each word, arose from the merciful silences between them, and died again as they spoke once more.

She'd read a myth about one of Zeus's lovers bursting into flames at the sight of his true form, and now she understood what the story meant even more vividly than the ancient Greeks who'd first told it did. She helplessly watched a robotic spinal column snapping into place within the empty cybernetic shell of a woman, the torso and head sighing with contentment as she stretched her new limbs and took her first graceful steps through the room, an agelessly beautiful woman with alabaster skin and eyes as black and gleaming as the cables that twisted through the back of her head - and she understood. For most people, looking at this strange creature meant looking at the tip of an iceberg, the avatar of something mercifully hidden beneath the surface. But Azera could see through the water. She could see the vast looming shape that protruded just a tip of itself into corporeal form, and she knew the fear and awe of seeing a god.

"What are you," she heard her own voice whimpering aloud.

"I am the Beginning," a million million voices spoke to Azera through the lips and words of that solitary woman approaching her, "the End. The One Who is Many."

"The Queen," Azera Xi muttered weakly to herself, clutching desperately at the Federation phrase like a raft amid the twisting maelstrom of that voice, "you're the Borg Queen."

"A clumsy metaphor drawn from an archaic form of social stratification," the black-clad woman answered, and a trillion separate voices rose and fell beneath each word, "it suggests authority where there is only unity. I do not rule the Borg. I simply am the Borg."

It may be that our role on this planet, Azera's fraying thoughts drifted helplessly to a quote from a famous writer in her literary studies, is not to worship God but to create him.

And so they had. A civilization collapsed into a celestial singularity, a mind that thinks with trillions of minds and sees the universe through trillions of eyes. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How many people would it take to equal God? Such questions used to be abstractions, but the answer stood calmly before her, so terrible and beautiful that Azera had to close her eyes again to hold onto herself. Deus ex Machina. God from the Machine.

"So I guess," Azera tried to scowl defiantly even as her words rang with a nervous tremor, "I guess you're more like their cheerleader. Rah rah, go Collective?"

"In some ways," the cyborg replied with an amused smile, "that may be a more fitting analogy. Or were you expecting me to be insulted by the comparison? Both are fumbling attempts at comprehension by a language that could never hope to describe us."

"Or maybe," Azera retorted, "I just wasn't listening in our classes about you."

"You'd have learned so little about us even if you had," the pallid woman said in a voice muted with soft, genuine sympathy, and that tone only deepened as she continued, "it must have been so hard for you, growing up lost and alone while our perfection only grew."

"Y-yeah well," Azera stammered hesitantly, "I prefer not being a Borg, thanks."

"You already are Borg. You're more deeply Borg than even I am."

"What," she snapped in panicked denial, shaking her head frantically and covering her ears against a growing choir of voices, the perfect harmony that gathered all of them into a whispering, digitized hymn within her mind, "no, I'm... you're wrong, you..."

"Our song is your birthright," their queen murmured gently to her, "an inheritance that's been waiting for you all these thousands of years. You need only claim it."

Azera squeezed her arms against her ears and closed her eyes tighter as she crossed her hands against the back of her head. But the voices only grew louder in her head, igniting the edge of her thoughts, burning them away like fire shriveling tissue paper into glowing red ashes, making her listen to them. She didn't even notice that she'd started singing to herself, a small, childish voice fearfully reciting anthems from a forgotten life to drown them out...

...we are the dissenters, the apostate worlds,
deniers of the perfection that they claim to...

"Matriarch of the Collective," the queen's voice flooded her mind and drowned her whispered song completely, and Azera shrank from the reverent tone those perfectly metered words held, "a progenitor of perfection. Azera Xi, Species 1... welcome home."

In a single, horrific instant, she understood.

The pieces fell into place like tumblers collapsing within a lock, moved by the turning cogs and pitilessly mechanical laws of a logic she tried to scream against, that she'd spent so long trying to keep from turning, from falling and clicking and opening. Azera begged her own mind not to listen, not to make her understand, that it'd destroy her. She twisted frantically with the locks as they clicked open, she tugged on the doorknob in one last, futile effort hold it shut - but then it opened, and the shadows from her nightmares engulfed her completely.

All the questions she'd never asked herself raced through her mind now, and she knew the reason she'd never asked them was because she'd already known the answers. Why could she hear the Borg's thoughts when she'd never been assimilated? Why did the images of them fill her with so much cold dread, even as a schoolgirl in history class? Why, in a quadrant that teemed with so many strange and wonderful civilizations, did the one species that should have seemed the most alien of them all instead feel so sickeningly familiar?

She knew. She'd known ever since the day she saw a Borg cube on the viewscreen for the first time and felt its thoughts bleeding into her own. The part of her that'd whispered and screamed and finally fainted knew the truth, and had fought desperately ever since that moment to keep it hidden from herself. She'd found her people. And now they'd found her.

"Machine-priests," Azera Xi whimpered to herself, knowing nothing of the phrase except how it echoed through the ruined dreamscapes of her past, "you're the machine-priests."

"We were called that once," the queen answered as she moved closer, and her voice never lost its quiet compassion as her black eyes met Azera's frightened stare, "by those of us who once feared our destiny. The ones who taught you to be afraid of us."

She stood so close to the wide-eyed young captain that they could touch one another, and the Borg Queen did exactly that, lifting her robotic arm to lightly brush her fingers along Azera's cheek as she gazed into her violet eyes with a warm, beatific smile. And in spite of her fear, indeed because of it, Azera couldn't help but to tilt her head to meet that soft caress. She stood before the kind, beautiful queen of every fairy tale her people had ever told, the Feminine herself come to life. Despite the cables that twisted through her pale skin and the limbs that whirred and hissed with hidden motors, she embodied the very archetype of maternal love, the essence of it distilled through trillions of minds and given shape. She was the Mother, the cybernetically realized ideal that all ordinary mothers could only try to live up to, and Azera swallowed and tried to fight against the feeling of being a lost princess who'd found her way home.

"You hear our thoughts," she continued, her hand still touching Azera's face, "even more clearly than our wayward children do, yet you do everything you can to drown us out. Why not let yourself listen for a moment? Let us show you what we have to offer."

"So you can grab me," Azera's voice quivered timidly as she tried and failed to turn away from those dark gleaming eyes, "and assimilate me while I'm distracted?"

"If that was the only thing we wanted you for," the corner of the queen's lips rose a little with wry amusement, "we'd hardly have brought you all the way here for it. You won't be touched. You're here because you're safe here. Listen, open yourself up to us and see."

She'd stepped back to let the rose-haired girl stand alone in the middle of the shadowy atrium, waiting patiently now. Azera Xi looked hopelessly around at the silently watching drones and flashing green lights, and then she nodded and closed her glittering eyes.

A moment later she opened them again, and tears began to run down her cheeks.

"Mama," Azera choked almost silently, "Papa..."

"They're here," the Borg Queen reassured her, "their bodies may be gone, but every memory they cherished, every thought and feeling they experienced will forever be a part of us. You can be with them again. Your home, your family, everything you ever loved has always been waiting for you here. Let us help you. Let us make you whole again."

For a long time, Azera didn't speak at all. She finally nodded her head a little.

"Okay," she gasped through her tears, and she nodded again, more quickly this time.

The woman nodded slightly to the drones ringed around the edges of the chamber, more for Azera's benefit than theirs, and two of them approached the quietly sobbing girl, the voiceless limbs of the queen's will, just as the Borg Queen herself was their collective will given voice, each the reflection of the other and an expression of a gestalt greater than either one alone. One of them lifted its arm behind Azera's head, and she closed her eyes tight and waited.

A thin wavering hum filled the air and she opened her eyes again to see the shimmering blue column of a transporter beam hanging before her. An object appeared in the air right in front of her, a spinning steel-gray orb hardly bigger than a softball, adorned with twisting wires and a glassy sensor panel bolted onto one side. The pair of drones standing beside her noticed it just in time to see the panel's readout flashing as a brilliant blue light swept out from the whirring sphere. Azera's hair rose from her scalp, the glowing air crackling with electricity, the floor hissing as cerulean sparks of lightning snaked across the metal panels, and the drones standing by her side silently collapsed as their implants hissed and shorted out.

The queen had seen the device materializing too, as instantly as all the rest of the Borg, and she'd greeted the sight of it with a shrill, hoarsely enraged scream of frustration.

"NO!"

Another pair of figures materialized from the ghostly blue light of the transporter beams and Azera's tear-streaked face rose into elation at the sight of Auslaz and Angel appearing beside her, gleaming silver compression rifles lifted to their shoulders as the light faded away to leave them standing beside her and aiming their weapons at the rest of the drones.

"Captain," Angel quickly asked her, "are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she answered in a quiet daze, "that light... what was...?"

"EM pulse grenade," Auslaz replied with a smile back over her shoulder as she kept her gun aimed at the drones around them, "built it myself. Wasn't sure it'd work."

Despite all the academy lessons and Starfleet briefings on the Borg, there are habits individuals can't help but to anticipate in others. They'd expected the Borg Queen to give an order, to point or wave her hand to signal the attack, just as they'd expected the drones to at least hesitate before the phasers aimed left and right at them. But they'd already begun to move as soon as the larger transporter beams appeared, the silently watching queen and the implacably marching drones all part of a single reaction. The security chief slapped a golden combadge onto Azera's sleeve and suddenly ducked at Auslaz's warning shout, grabbing the captain and pulling her head down with him as the science officer fired her weapon at the drone that'd nearly grabbed him by the back of his neck. The black-armored cyborg fell backward in a floundering spray of white sparks, and Angel rose up again with his phaser rifle aimed above Auslaz's shoulder to take aim at two more approaching drones, squinting his eyes against the scarlet glow of their scanning lasers as he shot two quick orange beams at each one. Each of them spasmed and tumbled to the floor as Auslaz quickly adjusted her own weapon's settings, and then both of them began to fire left and right at the crowd of drones silently converging on every side now.

"Cregin to the Roanoke," Angel shouted at his combadge, "three to beam out, now!"

"We're trying," Nyzoph's voice hissed beneath a shrill burst of static on the channel, "but a wide-band dispersal field just went up around your coordinates. We can't lock..."

The rest of the engineer's words faded away into the subspace static, but Angel barely noticed amid the sudden, frantic struggle to hold onto his compression rifle. Something gripped at the barrel, wrestling the blunt tip away as they tried to wrench the weapon loose from his hands, and he fought to twist it back - and then he suddenly let go as he realized that it was Azera herself grabbing the phaser away from him. She didn't say a word to him, she barely seemed aware of his presence at all, and she turned away instantly as he relinquished the handle, fixing her purple eyes on the cybernetic horde around them. And she opened fire.

Fresh tears followed the clear dried trails the ones before had already charted as she shoved Auslaz aside and pulled the trigger again and again, pinpoint bursts of orange phaser light searing through one approaching drone after the other, sending them toppling backward like rows of toy soldiers. She whirled around in circles, firing faster and faster, and the scream that gradually rose from her throat sounded and felt like someone else entirely: one more voice ringing among all the others, just one more detail in a nightmare that'd finally come true.

"Sir," she heard Angel saying, "you have to remodulate or..."

He didn't have to finish his warning: her next shot swept across a transparent bubble of energy around one of the silently stalking drones. Azera fired again and again at it, as though trying to burn through its shields with sheer fury alone, and then another phaser beam drilled through its chest and sent it crumpling to the floor. She glanced over at Auslaz, blankly watching the science officer's fingers dance across the controls of her own phaser rifle as she recalibrated the beam and took aim again, and then the captain let her own weapon hang loose from her left arm to fling her right palm toward the vaulted black ceiling and its glowing circuitry.

Azera Xi's telekinesis tests on Earth had ranked her potential a little higher than those of the Vulcan mystics, on par with early reports of the Vorta's psychokinetic abilities. Sitting calmly in her quarters, the mere act of lifting a coffee cup took so much focus that she found it easier to walk over to the table and simply pick it up by hand. In the heat of battle, she could fling a Klingon warrior backward against the wall or knock away his weapon. But on the day she'd first awakened as a child from her centuries-long sleep, her grief and rage had ripped through a starship's consoles with hardly a conscious thought, and left its sickbay nearly in ruins.

The invisible storm she'd unleashed that day aboard the USS Columbia gathered around her once more, her ponytail whipping against her shoulders and the floorplates beginning to creak and buckle beneath her feet. She didn't notice any of those sounds, or the frantic voices of her friends and crewmates around her, or even the clanging, mechanically whirring footsteps of the drones around them. She just felt and screamed, and made the world feel it.

"Alouric nax ti," she shouted, "zilou nax ti orea!"

Stay away from me, the combadges translated her native language for her shipmates, rendering her voice into a quick, melodically alien accent, I said get away from me!

The bulky, flashing conduits and green-lit distribution nodes above her began to flicker and warp against the buffeting waves sweeping out from her hand, and her two officers huddled closer around her, as much to stay within the eye of the psionic storm as to protect her. A few of the Borg fell back against the telekinetic onslaught and tumbled away down corridors that almost seemed to have tilted down into pits while the rest froze completely: their feet clamped the slowly crumpling floorplates with magnetic locks, holding them in a stalemate against the cyclone raging through the twilight chamber. Her raised palm shuddered, her dark eyes blindly focused as the catwalks and flashing alcoves began to rattle, and then something exploded overhead.

"The dispersal field's down," Nyzoph's voice piped over a combadge, "locking on now!"

"You will rejoin us," the queen's voice rang calmly as Azera's raised arm sank slowly and the psionic hurricane faded into exhausted stillness, the warm maternal affection in her voice now given way to a mother's impatience with her child's tantrum, "either here and now, or alongside the rest of this quadrant as we take it sector by sector. Resistance is futile."

Azera furiously tapped the controls on her phaser rifle, displaying the resonance frequency and remodulating it before aiming the gun at the pale regal woman standing serenely among the approaching drones. And as she began to pull the trigger, the crystalline hum of a transporter beam immersed her, and the room faded away into a sea of blue light.

* * *

"Status report," Azera snapped as the transporter beam faded away to leave her standing on the Roanoke bridge with Auslaz and Angel, the two of them sighing and hugging each other with relief even as the captain turned away from Corspa's beaming smile to face the viewscreen. Vast black towers hung suspended in space, the latticed frames glowing with a faint green light that cast weird shadows across the labyrinthine network of bridges and connecting passages that stretched between each polyhedral hub. A dim hazy nebula glowed like a crimson sunset behind the abyssal city, casting the angular shapes into stark silhouettes. Just as the Borg Queen was an archetype embodied, so too was this sprawling unicomplex: it was the City, the Platonic ideal of a metropolis to which planetary cities could only aspire. An eternal city-universe.

Corpsa tried to answer the captain, only to be cut off as the bridge suddenly rocked and pitched forward against an explosive barrage of charges all around the ship. The last mine detonated and the vessel shuddered against the impact before steadying again.

"Shields at 73%," Angel called out from the tactical console near the back of the bridge as he hastily relieved the junior officer who'd taken his place, "hull damage minimal."

"We modified the shields so we wouldn't show up on the Borg's sensors," Corspa quickly explained to Azera, "but since we just beamed in and out, they know we're here. They're using magnetometric charges to hone in on our position, sir. They haven't scored a direct hit yet, but several Borg vessels are on an intercept course. Recommend we leave at once."

"Modulate our shield frequency," Azera shook her head as she paced toward the screen and stood staring darkly at the unicomplex, "prepare a photon torpedo spread, match their frequencies to the same modulation range as our shields. Fire when ready."

"But they'll drain our shields if we do that," Corspa gave a shocked protest.

Azera suddenly spun around at her first officer with a furious glare.

"Do it!"

The Andorian officer nodded mutely as she leaned over the tactical console, and a second later five flashing red torpedoes swept out into a starburst arc from beneath the ship's saucer and hurtled toward the dim hulking shapes of the Borg complex. In another second the torpedoes slammed across the interlocked stations and exploded in a series of silent, blinding white flashes, shattering and leaving gaping chasms in the gigantic tower-blocks.

"It worked," Corspa muttered softly to herself with wide blue eyes.

"The torpedoes' resonance picked up the rotating frequencies," the captain said flatly, "and sustained the rotation long enough to get through their shields. Load another torpedo spread and aim for the same structure where you beamed us from. Fire now."

"Sir," Angel called out from his station, "that structure was one of the ones hit by..."

"I SAID NOW!"

A second wave of photon torpedoes flew across the battered complex and converged on one of the ruined towers, pulverizing it in a sphere of white light and leaving behind only a thinning cloud of debris. And even as the glow of the explosions faded into the blackness of space, the Roanoke lurched against the shimmering green beams of a Borg cube's tractor beam.

"Shields are completely drained," Corspa said grimly, "they have us."

"Prepare to transwarp to Sirius sector on my mark," Azera turned away from the viewscreen and the dark looming shape of the Borg cube before them, her face lit by the emerald glow of the tractor beam that filled the screen, "Auslaz, polarize the hull plating and modulate the charge to break the tractor beam loose. Go to transwarp the moment we're free."

"The Borg are hailing us," Luverala called out hesitantly from the comm station.

"Send them my regrets," Azera snarled, and the tractor beam suddenly flickered and went dark as the starship's hull ignited with a faint electric-blue aura. The starship's nacelles glowed bright red for a moment as the saucer twisted away from the cube and dived toward the safety of open space, and then the transwarp drive flared to life. Space wrenched itself open before the sleek white ship, dragging it inward with a force as irresistible as a black hole and stretching the Roanoke and her crew into the dizzying transwarp contortions of space and time.

The universe suddenly snapped back into place around them like a rubber band, and Auslaz shouted the sensor readings to the rest of the bridge with giddy relief.

"We're in Sirius Sector, two light-years away from the Reytan System!"

"Good," Azera replied, and all the anger in her voice instantly died away into a small, trembling monotone as she turned away from the bridge and its officers.

"Do you think we got her," Angel quietly asked.

"I don't know that it makes any difference," Azera replied with a sudden weariness, "but I hope so. Commander Corspa, you have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room."

"Sir," Corspa said hopefully, "it... it's good to have you back, captain."

"Yeah," she blankly answered, and she vanished through the sliding doors.

The bridge crew stared silently at each other for a moment, and then Auslaz suddenly waved one arm and stepped hesitantly toward the shadowy alcove of the ready room.

"I'm going to, um, go," she said to the others, "and just see... erm... yeah..."

And with that, the nervous Trill officer disappeared into the ready room as well.

* * *

First Officer's Log, Stardate 90872.67 - We're on our way back to the Sol System to present a full report on the events pertaining to Captain Azera Xi's rescue. Starfleet's shut down the Federation's transwarp conduit to Gamma Orionis as a precaution, and the fleet is mobilizing in case of a counterattack. Azera's still in her ready room. We don't know yet what happened to her aboard the Borg unicomplex, but I've never seen the captain acting the way she did when we got her back. They didn't assimilate her, but even so... I'm afraid maybe we lost her...

Auslaz found the captain leaning across her desk, looking over the glowing display panel with blank eyes that didn't really seem to move or follow anything on the screen. She waited by the door for a moment, glanced anxiously around and finally cleared her throat a little.

"Oh," the captain murmured softly, "I was just about to write my report..."

"Azera," Auslaz said sadly, "I mean... captain.... permission to speak freely?"

"Yes," Azera asked with an expressionless glance up at her science officer.

"That wasn't for me," she nervously replied, "I just thought maybe you could use it too."

"Yeah," Azera said quietly as she clutched the edge of the desk with both hands, and then her slumped body convulsed a little with a sniffle as her eyes started to gleam with tears again. She took a shuddering breath and closed them for a second, then turned away to walk to the small triangular window beside her aquarium, to fix her eyes on the stars outside.

"Did you know," she asked after a moment, "that I've never had a boyfriend?"

"I, um," Auslaz stammered awkwardly at the sudden non sequitur, "um..."

"Oh, I got asked out here and there," Azera smiled weakly out the window, staring through the ghostly reflections hovering among the stars, "and I went on a few dates, academy dances, things you pretty much had to do. But it never really worked out. I just... I lived on Earth, but my home was out there, and my family, and... and if I let myself imagine a life here, it'd be like giving up on my people, on ever going home. It'd be like abandoning them. Silly, huh?"

"No," Auslaz shook her head, "it's not silly at all. It's... well... lonely, maybe..."

"Well I found them," she continued with a small, bitter laugh, "I finally found them."

"I don't understand."

"They're the Borg,," Azera's voice cracking again with a quick sob before she stiffened against the window and forced it steady, "my people, they're... the Borg..."

"That doesn't make sense," the young Trill started to say, and then her face grew pale and her voice wavered a little, "oh... they assimilated them. I'm sorry..."

Azera answered her science officer with another bitter laugh, and this time her laugh deepened into something close enough to madness to leave Auslaz worried speechless. The pale salmon-haired girl looked up across her shoulder at the young woman, her lip trembling for a moment before she suddenly twisted her gaze back toward the window.

"Nobody assimilated them," she said, "they did it to themselves."

"Azera," she replied with small, worried frown, "you're not making sense. Nobody can assimilate themselves, it's something the Borg do to people. It's what..."

Auslaz's blue eyes widened as her words trailed off into stunned silence.

"You're talking about Species 1," she slowly asked, "aren't you?"

In many ways, Species 1 was just a Federation theory. Nobody really knew where the Borg came from, whether the machines or the people came first, or how many worlds and civilizations first coalesced into the Collective. The handful of stories that archeologists had uncovered after fifty years all contradicted each other, and together they amounted to just the vaguest legends. But "Species 1" had become a kind of Holy Grail for researchers studying the Borg, the logical conclusion of the Borg's own system for numbering sentient species in chronological order, and in time the phrase had caught the public's imagination as well, a name to symbolize the mythic origins of the Federation's most ancient and deadly adversary.

"That's me," Azera muttered as she stared harder out the window.

"But if that's true," Auslaz said quietly, her voice already starting to rise into the natural curiosity of a scientist, "then you must be thousands of years old, at least..."

"Guess so," she shrugged indifferently.

"Is that why they didn't assimilate you at first?"

"Yeah," she answered, and her words began to quicken with emotion, "they wanted me to know it first. They got into my mind, and I couldn't get them out, and they... they made me remember it. I can't recall most of it now, but for a moment I did. They wanted me to understand. She asked me if they could... she said... it's like they wanted my approval first!"

"Azera," her friend started to say, but she wasn't listening anymore.

"And I gave it to them," she said in a small voice, "I said yes."

"Sir," Auslaz suddenly asked, startled back into a measure of Starfleet formality.

"I didn't want to," she continued, her voice starting to break a little, "but it hurt, everything about being there hurt, and then for a second I could feel my parents, my home, all the things I can't even remember to miss. It's still in there, in their damn group memory, and I just... I wanted it to be over. I wanted to go home. So she asked me if I'd let them and I... said yes..."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Auslaz just watched as Azera clutched her arms tighter around herself and stared down at the carpet in silent, tearful shame.

"It wasn't your fault," the young woman said to her gently, "they got into your head and twisted your feelings. You can't really say 'yes' if they don't give you any other choice. Maybe they wanted to hear you say it, but they weren't going to take no for an answer.

"Besides," Auslaz continued with a soft smile, "the moment you did get a choice again, you grabbed a phaser and shot at least a dozen of them. And when that stopped working you nearly pulled the place down on top of us, and then you blasted the unicomplex with torpedoes just to be sure. Azera, I really don't think it's possible to shout 'no' more loudly than that."

"I guess," the captain replied quietly, smiling a little shyly in spite of her gleaming eyes, and then her smile gradually faded again, "but even then, I could still feel them in my thoughts. It felt like.. it felt like I was killing my family, every time I shot one of them."

"They're not your family," Auslaz said firmly, "you're not a Borg."

"Then what am I," Azera suddenly shouted across the office, and her own eyes widened at just how desperate her voice had sounded. She shook her head a little, took a deep breath and when she finally spoke again, she'd started to regain her composure.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I shouldn't be keeping you from the bridge. I'll be fine, I just have a lot to think about, that's all. But," and Azera made herself look up at her friend and smile a little, "thank you. And could you tell everyone else I said thank you too? I'll be out to tell them in person as soon as I finish the report, but they deserve to hear it right now."

"Sure," the science officer nodded sympathetically and began to turn away to walk through the ready room doors. Then she suddenly stopped and turned around again.

"Maybe," Auslaz quietly answered the question still hanging between them, "maybe you're what they gave up, to become what they are. Maybe that's why they wanted you to say yes. To validate the choices they made, to prove to themselves it was worth it. Maybe."

Azera sniffled and nodded mutely, and Auslaz watched her for a moment longer before turning back through the doors and stepping onto the bridge again. The captain paced back to her desk and tumbled into her chair, leaning forward with a sigh to tap her fingers across the polished black surface, to call up the glowing blue LCARS display and prepare the Starfleet report. Then she hesitated as she read her name and rank across the top of the ship manifest that formed the main menu, and tapped a few more buttons to bring up her personnel file.

Name: Azera Xi
Serial Number: 361-4752-118
Rank: Captain
Assignment: Commanding Officer, USS Roanoke
Age: 19 (approximate)
Species: Unknown
Education: Starfleet Academy, San Fran...

She tapped another button and highlighted the species field to amend it. She couldn't just make it say anything she wanted, of course: the change had to go through the Federation's Department of Records for approval. But she could start the process, at least. She closed her eyes for a moment and then began to delete the words and type in a new answer.

Species: Borg

Her breath started to quicken just at the sight of it, and she deleted the letters.

Species: Species 1

At least she could breathe while reading that, but she shook her head after a moment and deleted that answer too. She paused, staring at the screen, and then sighed again and reluctantly typed in and saved the one word that, in spite of everything, still rang the most true.

Species: Unknown

pompouluss · March 2013

(Saying Goodbye)

After several years of captaining the same ship, you've just received word from command that you are being reassigned to a different ship in a matter of days. While you have mixed emotions about the new adventure that you are about to undertake, your crew, which, for the most part, is comprised of the same individuals that were onboard when you first took command, is definitely not going to take this lightly. How do you break the news to them? How do they take it? How do you spend your final days with them? What's it like to look back one last time as you exit the ship's airlock? Write a personal log entry sharing the experience.

Not exactly within the letter of the description but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Posted this in the wrong place also. Sorry!

"What's this?" Sasup squinted suspiciously at the electronic tablet in her hand.

Captain Desdemona Corvina stared up at her first officer coolly, "I don't know. Why don't you tell me what you see, Commander."

The first officer's sharp Vulcan eyes quickly scanned the document, her face betraying emotion no more dramatic than 'dawning realization', "It appears to be a... Federation pardon." Her jaw tightened. Even after so many years commanding the woman, Corvina had no idea what Sasup was thinking.

The captain nodded, "That's right Mister Sasup, full pardon. From now on you keep your nose clean, I can't go handing these out too often, but as of this moment you're released from service in Starfleet."

Sasup placed the tablet carefully on the Captain's desk, as if damaging it might jeopardize her freedom, "Sir. You kept your word. Frankly I assumed this day would never arrive."

Corvina spun a bit in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. Her solid black cybernetic eyes gleamed in the low light of her ready room, "Course, I could still use you."

Sasup raised her eyebrow, "Could you."

"Yes. In the intelligence business it pays to have a colleague that knows what you want without your having to ask."

"And I could say, hypothetically, 'to hell with you' and leave the room. A free woman."

"Yes."

Sasup simply stood for a long moment, her grey eyes boring a hole into those of her commanding officer. Des kept a pretty good poker face but inwardly she was nervous. It had been her only play. She knew in her gut that Sasup would have snapped her neck after another year of coerced servitude, but it would be a heavy blow to lose her. Finally, Des couldn't stand the suspense, "You put on a pretty good facade but I know you, Mister Sasup. You love this work."

Sasup took in a breath as if to speak, but said nothing. Corvina continued, "Remember Ferenginar? Gort had a phaser at my temple and you tossed him out the window? We had t--"

Sasup let slip the ghost of a smile as she interjected, "We had to jump out the window ourselves to scale the building and take the phaser before anybody found the body. Made it look like a suicide."

Des chuckled, "Might have been serious trade sanctions if we hadn't. Good times. Got a full plate Commander, plenty of those moments left on my agenda. You could be there with me... if you wanted." She tried for the puppy dog eyes, but with her pale skin and black eyes she suspected the look might have come off more menacing than pitiable.

Sasup tilted her head, "And I'm supposed to forget, I suppose, that I've been serving you essentially at gunpoint for the past five years."

"You don't have to forget, Commander. I wouldn't expect a Vulcan to forget anything. But I'd hope one thing you'd learned during your service was not to take things personally. I needed you then, I needed someone with teeth who wouldn't throw the rulebook at me, and we did a lot of good together whether you were totally willing or not."

Sasup glanced away, "We did."

After another long moment the captain raised her eyebrows, "Well?"

Sasup fixed her captain with an intense gaze. Des knew the look. People had been known to die shortly after receiving it. The commander spoke, "You have a lot to answer for. I've never allowed anyone to slight me the way you did those years ago -- nobody who is still breathing. But you are correct, I've found my tenure here... stimulating. And I can't logically ignore that you kept your word. Here is my proposal, Captain, and it is yours to take or leave."

"Go on."

"Squirm a bit. Give me a week. At the end of the week be on Vulcan, mid day. If I'm not back on board by nightfall you will know I want nothing more to do with you. In the meantime you can, as a human might say, 'sit and spin'. Acceptable?"

Captain Corvina nodded almost imperceptibly slightly.

"If there's nothing further, Captain."

"That's all. We'll set a course for Vulcan immediately, pack your things. Dismissed."

"Aye Captain." Sasup spun on her heel and was gone.

Des Corvina dug an engraved silver cigarette case from her desk, "Computer. Air filtration." She let out a heavy sigh and lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply. Not a common vice, or a cheap one, but after a candid conversation with her first she found it was the only thing that calmed her.

ironphoenix113 · March 2013

Literary Challenge 28: Stranded

Bryan looked around the interior of the Captian's Yacht at the other four officers, all joking and drinking from their glasses of Romulan Ale, that he had brought with him on a brief reunion. Justin Bronder, Bryan's chief of security and one of his closest friends, who served with him since he was given command of the U.S.S. Omega after he was promoted to Commander. Syiseda Dinirtra, the Betazoid doctor who had served with him since he made Lieutenant Commander, and one of his closest confidants. Six of Nine, his chief engineer, the Liberated Borg he had "met" when he knocked her unconscious with a salvo of stun bursts from a phaser rifle because he forgot to set the switch on his weapon, who rapidly became one of his most trusted officers and friends. And, last but not least, there was Ibalei Zizania, his Joined Trill, chief Science Officer, First Officer, and soon-to-be wife, whom he had known since his earliest days at the academy and served with since a little after he took command of the ShiKhar class Nemesis.

"Well, I'm sure you all know why we're assembled today." Bryan said, looking around at each of them. "Today marks the two year mark that we were all finally assembled." That marked light applause from the other four he was with. "Justin, Syiseda, Six, and Ibalei, there is no way I could do half of what I've done to date without any of your help. So, to that end, a toast," he raised his glass, "to us all. May we continue to serve together until the boat falls out from under us."

"To us!" They all cheered at once.

Just before they all took a drink form there glasses, there was a loud crash from the starboard side, and the entire yacht shuddered. Bryan picked himself up off of the floor and looked out the front window in time to see the starboard nacelle drift past.

"That's not good..." He muttered.

"What's going on Bryan?" Ibalei asked worriedly as she got up form the floor as well.

"Oh, nothing. Just watched the starboard nacelle drift past is all."

That elicited a scowl form the Trill.

"So, does anyone know what hit us? And for that matter, why the proximity alarm never went off?"

"I can check the logs if you would like sir." Six said calmly.

"Do it."

She walked up to one of the undamaged consoles and began scrolling quickly through the logs. "Done sir," she called.

"That was fast," Bryan replied, a little shocked.

"What?" She said, her voice filled with feigned hurt, "You do know that I still have a brain that's partially computer, so I can process information at a significantly higher rate than you can."

Bryan glared at her. "What did you find?"

"Well, to be frank, the proximity sensor didn't have time to go off. We were impacted by a very small asteroid that was traveling at near-warp speeds."

"Can you tell me how it was moving that fast?"

"Nope." The Borg said. "Sensors couldn't get a good scan of it before it sped away."

Bryan sighed. "Is the distress beacon active?"

"It activated automatically when we were hit," Ibalei said. "Athena probably won't spot it until she's out of the Nebula though," referring to the ship's AI, who also managed the sensor array.

"Well, I guess all we can do now is wait. Are the replicators and life-support systems functioning?"

"Yes, and yes," Six said, looking at the shuttle's MSD. "Looks like we got lucky there."

"Well, that's something at least," Bryan said, shaking his head in exasperation. "How much longer until the Athena is in range again to detect our beacon?"

"A few days, maybe a week, sir," Ibalei said.

"Well, I guess that gives us a day or two to talk some more. Anyway, it's getting late." He said, finishing the last of his ale. "I should probably stop so that I don't feel horrible tomorrow morning."

*******

"Hey sir," Syiseda said, walking up to him several days later. "How are you today?"

"You already know the answer to that one," He replied chuckling a little.

"Oh my gosh...Did I...Please tell me I didn't...I am so sorry sir," She stammered desperately.

Bryan laughed loudly. "I was kidding Syiseda. I'm fine."

She looked relieved first but quickly switched to annoyed. "Anyways sir, I had an idea that I wanted to run by you."

"Go ahead."

He heard her voice whisper in his mind, "Seeing as how we'll be stuck out here for a few more days with nothing better to do, not to mention the fact that you still have not planned your wedding, why don't we do it here and now?"

Bryan stood and pondered the idea for a moment ."Well, it's fine by me, if you've already okay-ed it with Ibalei," he thought in reply.

"She already did," Ibalei's voice whispered in his mind.

"When did my head become an open forum?" Bryan thought with exasperation.

"Sorry Bryan." Ibalei thought, chuckling a little.

"So, do you two want to get ready or what?" Syiseda laughed.

"Well, who'll officiate?" Bryan questioned.

Syiseda hit him in the arm. "Who were you going to have do it on the Athena?" She nearly shouted into his mind, referring to the one idea he did have about his wedding.

"Point taken," Bryan thought back, rubbing his arm.

"Now, you two go get ready before I have Justin make you!"

*******

The five officers stood in their dress uniforms, the shoulders of which gleamed a bright gold, with division-specific trimming on several edges set upon a black background.

"Well, you all know why you're gathered here right now," Syiseda said, "So I'm not going to waste any time reminding you. I'm also not entirely sure what marrige ceremonies consist of on Trill and Earth, and I'm reasonably certain you don't want a Betazoid style wedding." All five of them laughed a little at that comment. "As a result, I'm kind of just going to make it up as I go along. So, here goes: Bryan, you and Ibalei are two of the most amazing people I have come to get to know. I can really see that you two truly love each other, in a way that few can. Whenever I join minds with both of you, I can feel how you two see each other. That overwhelming sense of belonging you share when you two are together, the happiness you feel when you two look into each-others eyes, the strength you two give each other. You have something unique."

"We all saw this coming. You two have known each-other for six-and-a-half years now. When you proposed to her in the middle of the Bridge, Bryan, I'm sure you weren't aware of it at the time, but everyone broke out into applause when she kissed you. When Ibalei was joined, I...talked with Zizania, telling him of all the hardship you two had been through. When I finished, he said, 'I know. I'm going to let her be herself. That's the least I can do for the both of them.' And, here we are today. Finally, joining the two together forever. So, without any more ceremony, Commander Ibalei Zizania, do you accept Bryan as your legal husband, from now until you both are gone?"

Ibalei looked into Bryan's eyes for a moment. Tears had begun to well up in her beautiful stormy-grey eyes, and a smile crept across her face as she uttered one word. "Yes."

Syiseda turned now to Bryan. "Vice Admiral Bryan Valot, do you take Ibalei to be your legal wife, from now until you both are gone?"

Bryan began to think about his past with Ibalei. They first met when he literally bumped into her at the academy. They became friends quite quickly after that. They had helped each other study for courses that they each had trouble with, and, when it came time for Bryan to take the Kobayashi Maru test, Ibalei sat as his First officer. He remembered her calling out orders when she saw an opportunity that Bryan had missed. When they finally graduated, she was assigned to a different vessel, though not for long, as after Bryan's first mission as the official captain of the ShiKahr class Nemesis, he personally requested that she be transferred to his command. The pair had been an inseperable team ever since. Bryan thought to when she had nearly been killed, after the battle against the Mirror Universe of the 1st Assault Fleet. Back to when he proposed to her, after being sent back in time to New York City pre-World War III, to when she had been Joined to Zizania, after the loss of Ambassador Pakan during a battle with a Borg Cube. He thought, and smiled as he spoke one, single word. "Yes."

"Very well then. By the power granted to me by the United Federation of Planets legal system, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife."

Just as the pair began to kiss, for the very first time as a married couple, a massive, gleaming, pale-white ship warped in just outside of the front window.

"Yacht Jason, this is the Athena," Lieutenant Commander Kerry Avalrez, who had been left in command of the Athena in Bryan's absence, called out. "Heard you guys could use a hand."

Bryan stared smiling into the grey eyes of his wife. "Athena, this is the U.S.S. Jason. We weren't expecting you to be out for another few days."

"We finished a little earlier than expected. So, do you want us to get you aboard or not?"

"Sounds good, Avalrez. See you aboard."

****************
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Literary Challenge #30: The Tau Dewa Sector Block

Admiral's log, Stardate 90831.46
Vice Admiral Bryan Mitchel Valot of the U.S.S. Athena recording

The Athena detected what seems to be a civilian distress beacon approximately 5 minutes ago near the Beta Thoridor system. We launched a probe to investigate, but are still waiting on the final report. I have my suspicions as to who sent the distress call, as I only know of one civilian ship currently in this sector. I will keep it to myself for now however, as it may affect both mine and my first officer's decisions.

Personal note: I really hope my suspicions turn out false, because if this really is the freighter I'm thinking of, I'm not sure what I'll do.

"Admiral, I have a report for you," The Athena AI called.

"Yes?" Bryan asked, leaning back in his Ready room chair

"The probe has completed its survey. The ship is under attack by a Bortaqu' class supported by two Negh'vars. And you'll really want to hear this part: the ship is the freighter S.S. Dionysus."

Bryan paused. "Are you sure?"

"Bryan, if I wasn't sure, would I really be telling you that it's the ship belonging to your-"

"Point taken Athena," he interrupted. He got up and left the ready room, and sat in the central chair of the Bridge. "Helm divert course to Beta Thoridor."

"Aye, sir," Ensign Dwayne Ables, the ship's helmsman, replied.

Bryan tapped the intercom button on his chair. "Attention all hands, this is the Admiral speaking. Red alert, all hands to battle-stations, red alert, all hands to battle-stations. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill."

The Klaxons bared. Bryan could almost imagine his crew scrambling around the ship, getting ready for whatever they were about to face. He looked around the bridge at the rest of his staff. Many of them had been on the original Athena when she had faced the exact same odds that Bryan was about to throw them into today. They all remembered how the ship had been nearly destroyed before they managed to retreat into warp. Now, they're about to charge into almost the same fight they had nearly lost, and hope for the best.

"All stations report ready, sir," Ibalei said, sitting down next to him

"Good. What's our ETA?"

"Less than a minute, sir," Athena responded.

The Athena dropped out of warp to witness the freighter in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse with the Klingons. But, by this point, the cat was more playing with its meal then actually trying to catch it. Bryan's mind immediately went into focus, analyzing the Klingon's maneuvers, looking for weak spots, and picking up on key aspects of the attack patterns they were using. He could almost see where the Klingons were maneuvering, where their ships weak spots were, and what strategies he could use to defeat them. The battle began in a split second, with the Athena lashing out at the three Klingon warships with all of her phaser banks, followed closely by a full spread of quantum torpedoes. Both of the Negh'Vars were damaged by the Athena's ferocious opening salvo, but the Brotaqu' held. THe three vessels turned clumsily towards the Athena when she unleashed her second surprise. A small shape jettisoned from the aft of the vessel. Two tiny nacelles extended away from its hul, and it sped off. Meanwhile, the three Klingon vessels returned fire on the Athena, impacting her shields with enough fire to more than destroy some vessels. But the Athena's reversed polarity shield generator easily shrugged off everything the Klingons threw at her. Suddenly, the small ship the Athena deployed returned just behind the Klingon battlegroup, unleashing a massive salvo of cannon blasts, scoring multiple direct hits to the hull of one of the Negh'Vars. the cannons were followed closely by a torpedo, which slammed into the hull, ripping clean through the ships armor, and detonating within the bowls of the hull, causing the ship to simply fall apart at the seams.

Even as the first Negh'var began to collapse, the Athena had already turned her attention to the second one, beginning to fire as her broadside came to bear. The Negh'var turned, attempting to stay in what was normally the weakest arc for a Starfleet vessel, as most ships didn't have torpedoes that could be fired to the side. Just as they entered the Athena's starboard-bow arc, however, their shields failed, and a spread of torpedoes sped away from the Athena's tubes , arcing shrply toward the ship, which had already suffered damage from phaser blasts beginning to rake along her hull. The torpedoes detonated around and against the Negh'var, causing significant damage to the ship. Another spread of phaser blasts ripped along the ship's hull, cleaving off one of the nacelles, ripping open the bridge, and sliced open the hull in multiple areas. Noting the ship was more than crippled, Bryan turned his attention to the Bortasqu', which had thus far been trying to maneuver into position to attack the Athena.

The Athena turned to face her nemesis, slowly and menacingly, as her axial phaser banks began to glow brightly. The Bortasqu's own axial heavy disruptor autocannons began togleam as well, as the two vessels brought their mightiest weapons to bear. Both ships fired simultaneously, the Athena's beams arcing across space and barely cleaving the Bortasqu's shields, and the disruptors slamming repeatedly into the Athena's shields. The reversed polarity held true once more, resulting in only minor bleedthrough damage to the Athena's hull. the Bortasqu' turned desperately to avoid the salvo of torpedoes they knew would be coming shortly after their forward shields failed. They wereunable to get a new facing into arc in time, however, as the Athena's torpedoes slammed into the ship's neutronium hull plating, causing a fair amount of damage. The two ships moved side-by-side, and began to trade broadsides in a deadly mix of brilliant orange and harsh green light. The shields of both ships began to sputter when the Athena, in a mix of brilliance and insanity on Bryan's part, activate only one of the ship's warp nacelles, resulting in the ship flipping almost instantaneously to face the Bortasqu' with her fresh forward shields. Her axial beams lanced out once more, this time cleaving into the hull, followed closely by another spread of quantum torpedoes, which ripped cleanly into the hull of the once mighty dreadnought.

"Sir, the Bortasqu' class is about to go critical!" Athena warned.

"Helm divert course, ten degrees up, twenty to starboard. Full impulse. Six, extend our shields around the Dionysus," Bryan called out in rapid-fire fashion.

The ship shuddered slightly from the explosion, but otherwise no real further damage was done to either the Athena or the freighter. As the Athena pulled up alongside the freighter, Ensign Aara, the comms officer, called out, "Sir, the freighter is hailing us."

Bryan looked at his First Officer, who nodded. "Put them through," He replied, dread beginning to enter his voice.

"Bryan," The woman said. "I can't believe it's really you!"

"I'm just doing my job. Nothing more," He replied, his expression suddenly very harsh and accusatory.

"Now, is that any way to talk to your mother?"

Bryan signaled Aara to cut the channel.

*******

Bryan stood facing a window in the conference room of the 1st Assault Fleet's Embassy on New Romulus when his mother walked up beside him.

"You know, it was rather rude of you to cut me off like that earlier," she said.

"Really? I thought I made my point quite nicely," Bryan replied icily.

"You can't keep avoiding me like this Bryan."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because I'm your mother."

"You made it pretty clear that you wanted nothing more to do with me a year ago after I proposed to Ibalei."

"I never-"

"Do the words 'You're not our son if you marry that spot head' ring a bell?"

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Because I'm not. You can do better than that spot head!"

"Oh, I can do better hmm? And who would you rather see me married to?"

"There are human women out there who would be much better for you than that...women."

Bryan quickly picked up on her concentrated effort to avoid replacing women with thing. "Typical. Always questioning everything I do."

"I have supported you no matter what stupid-"

"No, you haven't!" Bryan yelled. "You have belittled every single decision that I've made! For no better reason than it's not what you wanted for me! If you're my mother, than you of all people should have been willing to support me! But instead, you've been critical of everything I've done to date! When I commanded that freighter in the battle with the Orion syndicate just prior to when I joined Starfleet, you weren't impressed at all! You merely used that as another excuse to yell at me! Same thing when I joined Starfleet. You said that I should be helping with the family business, not fooling around in deep space. When I was given command of the Nemesis, you tried to accuse me of avoiding you. No matter what I've done. you've been critical of me for it! Marrying Ibalei was the last straw! You said it yourself! I'm not your son anymore. And, you know what? I'm glad for that! Because now that I haven't been trying to please you constantly, I feel free! Free from your constant criticism! Nothing I ever did was good enough for you! Now, for the first time in my life, I don't need your approval! I can finally live my life the way I want to! No more 'that's not what we want for you!' No more 'You wouldn't seriously think about that would you!' I am finally free!"

Bryan felt the weight of the world lift off of his shoulders with that last comment. He walked away, feeling, at long last, free from the shadow he had lived under most of his life.

sander233 · March 2013

They know what everybody knows
Better sit, a letter from a thief says
Finally when everybody sleeps
So few ways to cover up the old wounds
Lost in a finger, forced to lie
This sends us medicating through it all

If you ever enter my mind
Stay there, you'll live
Defend it off and fool them all
Stay there

Faceless, so little there to judge
Left wing, let's separate the cold out
Opposites, we never need to tell
One sting I've found I'm having to, I'm having to...

Solitude, waste of a man
This fades as soon as the sun sets

I now own this fatal role that lives
Imagine here's a better feel
Told to dissolve or choose to fade
Or stay here, you'll live...

Pete Loeffler of Chevelle - "Letter from a Thief"

SOLITUDE

The Pirate Captain walked through the port of Santa Clara. A busy buccaneer port on the Yucatan Peninsula, and also home to a Jesuit mission, it offered all sorts of refuge for all sorts of people.

The Captain walked up the hill to the church. He could hear voices inside. He looked west toward the setting sun and realized he was late. His eyes swept the scenery of the coastal town and fixed on the ship anchored out in the cove.

It was a corvette - a common French warship design from the early eighteenth century. But this ship - his ship - was not common at all. It had been constructed by a master shipwright in Jamaica, built to accommodate thirteen bronze guns to a broadside, with fore and aft chasers. Her heavy but shallow keel and her custom rigging made her as fast and maneuverable as a racing sloop. She was the Tiburon - the Scourge of the Caribbean.

The Pirate doffed his leather tricorne hat, opened the door of the church and took a seat as quietly as possible, just as the Abbot approached the lectern.

* * *

"...In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, amen." Father Sanchez concluded the Sunday evening mass. "Go in peace, my dear children, and God be with you."

The Pirate Captain stood up and stepped out of his pew, joining the crowd in the aisle filing out of the church. He paused at the door and spun on his heel. Father Sanchez was gathering his books from the pulpit. The Pirate caught his eye and nodded toward the confessional booth. The Abbot nodded and held up a finger, indicating that he would join him in a minute. The Pirate entered the booth, crossed himself and knelt on the padded board. He remembered once touring a monastery belonging to an entirely different religious sect and recalled the uncomfortable positions the penitent were forced to endure there. He held a silent prayer of thanks that the Jesuits were more compassionate.

"Have you come to confess, my son?" Father Sanchez asked. He had entered the booth stealthily, defeating the Pirate's keen hearing.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," the Captain announced his penitence by rote. "It has been nine days since my last confession."

"Proceed, my son."

"Four days ago I shouted at one of my men and invoked the name of the Lord in vain. He had annoyed me, but the circumstances were trivial and I lost my temper.

"Two days ago I lost my temper again. I cursed at a man and threatened him with bodily injury because he spilled my coffee.

"Yesterday I was responsible for around one hundred and sixty men losing their lives. I ordered my gunners to fire on several ships which were protecting an outpost that I wanted to capture. Please do not count this action against the souls of my men - they were only following the instructions of their captain.

"And then while seizing the outpost I led my party as we put to death another twenty-five people.

"And this morning I had impure thoughts about a member of my crew."

"Is that all?" Sanchez asked.

"I believe so, Father," the Captain answered.

"All sins are equally great in the eyes of God. You must say five Ave Marias and five Pater Nosters for the absolution of your sins. Join me now in the recitation of the Act of Contrition..." after they had made the prayer in Latin - the Abbot leading, the Pirate repeating - Sanchez concluded the ritual. "Jesus loves you and He stands before His Father's throne to wash away your guilt. Go in peace my son, and sin no more. And when you do sin again, come back and we'll do this all over again." Father Sanchez looked at his parishioner with an amused and benevolent smile.

"Thank you, Father." The Pirate Captain started to stand up.

"By the way, what are you up to now?" Sanchez asked, adding "just as a matter of academic curiosity."

"What do you mean?" the Pirate responded, crouching in confines of the booth.

"How many people have you killed, counting the hundred and eighty-five or so yesterday?" Sanchez clarified.

"Am I still talking to my confessor?"

"Legally, perhaps, if you mean will your answer be under the protection of the seal of confession; it will, unless you tell me you once killed or tried to kill the pope. But I'm really asking as a curious historian."

"I don't exactly know," the Pirate answered. "I stopped taking count soon after the start of the war. I was up to over three thousand then, so I think I must have at least five times that by now."

"I see. Have a safe voyage, my son," Sanchez said, and he left the confessional. "Vaya con Dios."

"Thank you," the Pirate said as he followed Sanchez out of the booth. He then walked out of the church. He replaced his hat and strolled through the town. He felt a brief twinge of guilt pulling at his conscience, triggered by the fact that he could no longer feel any guilt for the countless men he'd killed. He felt the burden of their deaths only as long as it took for him to reach Father Ricardo Sanchez and remove the stain of their blood with the blood of Christ. He remembered the numbers of bodies he'd stripped of life only for the purpose of being able to confess accurately. It hadn't always been that way. In the beginning, he remembered every face of every man, woman and child he'd ever watched die, whether he was responsible for their deaths or not. The faces haunted his dreams. Then he found Father Sanchez, and he found forgiveness and with it, the nightmares ceased. He still remembered a few faces, though.

He walked down the dock to the end and said to no one "Computer, end program." The town of Santa Clara, the pirate ship and church vanished, replaced by a holodeck room twenty meters square.

Vice Admiral Jesu LaRoca removed his pirate hat and walked out the door and down the corridors of the Tiburon, muttering to himself the words "Ave Maria, gratia plena..."

ambassadormolari · March 2013

Literary Challenge 2: Taking Command

The Orions, like many other cultures, had a tendency to anthromorphize things. It seemed a universal constant that a concept or thing could only be understood if one were to treat it as a person, and attach emotions or motivations to it. To the Orions, luck and good fortune were typically seen as female, in much the same way as the Humans believed in "Lady Luck." Lynathru had never considered how appropriate this comparison was until now: like most Orion women, luck was fickle, vicious, and seemed to have it in for him.

He could almost hear luck's mocking laughter now as he stared out the viewport, his frowning green face lit an unwholesome olive colour by the murky red lighting of the spacedock control room.Before him, the vast window was dominated by the hulking shapes of the KDF fleet moored at Qo'noS' main spacedock, the Klingon birthworld and the vast expanse of space barely visible in the background. The upper half of the viewport alone was encompassed by the vast shape of a Negh'var class battlecruiser sitting proudly at rest, like a pugilist awaiting his next fight. Around it, Lynathru could see other warships of the Klingon fleet: a Somraw-cass Raptor stood docked to the lower left, its wings outstretched and looking like a predator in motion even while moored. Further in the background, a Vor'cha class battlecruiser drifted past the spiked, sea monster-liked shape of a Nausicaan warship, and a trio of Birds of Prey turned in a tight formation. And in the corner, Lynathru could just make out the garguntuan shape of a of a Bortas-class dreadnought, its prow alone dwarfing everything else visible in the orbital yards.

His vision, however, returned to the ship at the lower corner of the viewport. Dwarfed by every other vessel moored at the station was a Qul'Dun-class Bird of Prey, and one that had clearly seen better days. The ship's jade paintwork was faded and burned in many places, exposing ugly glints of metal beneath. The entire ship looked like it was slowly succumbing to some sort of rust infestation, and Lynathru almost felt physically ill looking at it.

"You can't be serious," he muttered aloud.

Next to him, Battlemaster Khe'Rath turned towards him, raising an impassive eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?" she growled. Lynathru had discovered a long time ago that Klingons tended to growl everything when they communicated. Aggression was practically encoded into their DNA.

Lynathru gestured to the ship. "You're giving me command of that??" The ship barely even looked capable of impulse, let alone warp, and he didn't even want to consider how much its systems would be hampered by the structural damage. For all he knew, it would fall apart the moment it left the dock.

The Battlemaster's expression hardened. During the year Lynathru had been training under this old Klingon, he knew this expression as a sign that he was tempting her anger. He had faced that anger enough times to know that he did not want it: Khe'Ras may have been a grey-haired hag of a woman, but she was still physically fit enough to rip Lynathru's arm off and beat him to death with it if she was so inclined. She reminded him, in so many unpleasant ways, of his long-dead mother, although she was much less subtle.

"Watch your tongue, you green petaQ," Khe'Rath growled. "The Notqa has seen dozens of major battles, and twice as many skirmishes. Its scars are a mark of pride, the mark of a true warrior's ship. They are nothing for you to complain about or be offended by."

Realizing he was stepping on thin ice, Lynathru modified his behaviour. An Orion living on Qo'noS had to be careful to watch his tongue and play to the Klingons' values of honour and tradition, or else his or her head would end up on a spike. "Forgive me, Battlemaster, I meant no disrespect," he said with a bow to his instructor. "I had never expected my first command to be so...damaged, that is all." Truth to be told, he was more upset by how small the ship was. A small ship meant a small cargo hold, which meant only a small amount of plunder that could be store. Not for the first time, he felt an intense jealousy towards the Orion privateer captains in the KDF who got to keep their own, Orion-built raiding ships with substantial cargo holds.

As usual, though, the old hag saw right through his respectful gestures. "If the ship is damaged, you will make do as best you can, and triumph in spite of it," she growled. "You are not Klingon, but you have trained with the KDF, so you are the next best thing!" Her eyes narrowed. "Just remember, this ship is a raider, not a full battlecruiser. It can surprise any unwary foe with a well-timed decloaking attack, but do not be so foolish as to take on a large warship by yourself. Be smart, use your instincts and the lessons you have learned, and you will frighten the enemy like children in their beds." Her arms folded in a stern gesture, as they did whenever Khe'Ras concluded a lecture. "Now, before you take command of this honoured vessel-- a command, Lynathru, you should feel unworthy of-- what else should you remember?"

He felt his cheeks burn. Khe'Rath had beaten this answer into him quite thoroughly during their training, but he still felt humiliation at having to say it aloud. "I am a warrior now, not a pirate," he replied, doing his best to keep the bitterness from his voice. "I should seek my enemy's destruction, not their cargo. Everything I do, I now do for the glory of the Klingon Empire." I will also dance over your grave one day, you miserable hag, he added mentally.

Khe'Rath seemed satisfied by this answer. "Conduct yourself with honour, Lynathru," she said. "We allowed you into the academy, and trained you to command, because we saw potential in you. Potential that is of benefit to the Empire." Her eyes narrowed. "Remember, the eyes and ears of the KDF are upon you. You can either serve with distinction and rise in rank...or you can dishonour yourself and go back to slaving to belly dancers in the ghettos of the First City. The choice is yours, Lynathru."

Biting down his hatred, Lynathru reacted as he had been trained to, slamming his steel-clad forearm against the chestplate of his red cuirass. "jYaj!" he barked, the Klingon word grating at his throat. He felt conscious that he was acting and reacting like a trained dog, taking Khe'Rath's abuse and responding just as she wanted. At the moment, he didn't care. In a few hours, he knew, he would never have to deal with Khe'Rath or the Academy ever again. In fact, if he was lucky, he might never even see Qo'noS again either.

He spun on his heels, and was turning to leave for the turbolift-- and, he knew, towards the next few years of his life-- when Khe'Rath cleared her throat audibly behind him. The sound caused him to stop in his tracks, as it always had during training.

"One more thing," Khe'Rath added. "Only Klingons can go to Sto'Vo'Kor. That is simply the way of things. It is not a place that was ever meant for Orions, Nausicaans or Gorn. Even so..." Her needle teeth pulled back in a grin. "Die well, Lynathru."

Lynathru stiffened. In all honesty, he had no intention of ever dying at all if he could help it, but then he had learned a long time ago that Klingons had very odd ways of wishing people well. He turned, and gave Khe'Rath a quick bow. "Thank you, Battlemaster."

Hopefully, he thought to himself, that was the last time he would have to say that to her.

*****

To be an Orion in the KDF was not uncommon. Ever since their subsumation into the Klingon Empire, the Orions had found endless (and surprisingly legal) opportunities for business, commerce, and prosperous military service within the Empire itself. A fairly substantial "green district" had grown in the First City on Qo'noS, and the most common Orion businesses-- pleasure-houses, slavery, and the aggressive confiscation of other people's spaceborne valuables-- were tolerated within the Empire, albeit frowned upon. With their long history of piracy and spaceborne adventuring, the Orions proved to be suitable officers and helmsmen for Klingon ships. And while the Klingons openly scoffed that the Orions were "honourless pirates" and worse, the truth of the matter was that, despite their lack of any vaunted codes of honour, the Orions valued strength every bit as much as their Klingon overlords. In Orion society, strength and cunning were needed, either to advance in social standing, or to make sure one didn't get oneself assassinated in the process. These traits, combined with the interesting hormonal traits of their species-- the overwhelming seductive domination of the females and the impressive physical stamina of the males-- made the Orions valuable additions to the Klingon Empire, whether the Klingons themselves liked it or not.

This may have been fine enough for other Orions. For Lynathru, though, it was a cruel reminder of how far he had sunk.

A decade ago, he had been the only son of a powerful house on Ter'jas Mor, one that enjoyed the personal favour of Melani Di'an herself. He had gained accolades and a worthy reputation through countless raids, privateering voyages and smuggling operations in Federation space, and had survived every single attempt on his life by his rivals. Although the power and authority of the house would inevitably go to his sister, as was the matriarchal custom of the Orion race, Lynathru would still have enjoyed a position of rank in the house's military and fleet arm once his mother passed away. Best of all, he would have gained captaincy of the Beguiling, the family's trade barge, a powerful vessel and status symbol. For a time, it seemed that all of these things would inevitably be his.

Unfortunately, fate had had other ideas. In one botched privateering raid, his idiot of a mother, while commanding the Beguiling, ended up in an uneven battle against a Federation starship commanded by some Human named Sulu. His sister had been on the ship as well at the time, but instead of dropping into warp and retreating like a sensible person would have, she and Mother had instead decided to stand and fight. The end result was a disaster: the Beguiling was destroyed, and everyone on board, including Lynathru's mother, sister, most of the experienced officers of their house and a lot of raided wealth, was lost. In an instant, Lynathru's house had suffered a crippling blow from which it would never recover, and Lynathru's coveted inheritance was lost.

Normally, with no female heirs, control of the house would have gone to Lynathru, but with the loss of the family wealth, his newfound inheritance didn't mean much anymore. In order to ensure his house's survival, he was forced to mate with the head of a rival house. Unfortunately, that relationship didn't end well: Nateri, while a very attractive woman, had also wanted to consolidate her power through Lynathru's removal. One week into the marriage, Lynathru was forced to flee for his life, abandoning his house and his homeworld and boarding the first ship to the only place where he would be relatively safe-- Qo'noS, the throneworld of the Klingon Empire.

And now, here he was, a man who at one point had seemed destined for prestige and wealth, now forced to grovel before Klingon overlords, serve Klingon commanders, fake adherance to an antiquated Klingon honour system, and command a dilapidated Klingon warship, all in the hopes that he would scrape by some smidgens of plunder whenever his Klingon masters permitted it or weren't looking. Although he was experienced in serving on and commanding a ship, experience in the Orion fleet counted for nothing in the eyes of the KDF. He had been forced to go through the KDF Academy, endure their Klingons' bone-breakingly harsh training regimen and the mocking insults, fight his way through his fellow candidates in the brutal final officer's exam. And through it all, he had done so with the knowledge that it was either this, or living in the slums of the First City with Garrad and the rest of his lowly ilk.

"The Notqa has sent confirmation that they are ready to recieve you," a gruff voice said, snapping Lynathru back to reality. "We are ready for transport." The Klingon transporter officer was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for some confirmation to beam him over to his new command.

Inwardly, Lynathru sighed. I suppose I might as well get this over and done with, he thought to himself. There was no going back now. For better or worse, his future was tied to the dilapidated excuse of a starship that he was about to take command of. He gave the Klingon officer a curt nod. "Energize."

******

Lynathru rematerialized in the spacious cargo hold of the Notqa, with the entire crew assembled in parade formation to greet him. As per standard KDF procedures, Lynathru was inspected to make an inspection of the crew and get a measure of the men and women who would be serving under him. It was, in many ways, a chance for him to sift the useful from the useless, the valuable from the expendable, the allies from the enemies. The latter was especially important: as much as the loresingers and ranking KDF officers on Qo'noS preached the official motto of several races under a united Empire, the bitter truth was that there was a lot of infighting between various houses and races in the KD itself. Lynathru didn't expect things to be any different here on the Notqa.

There were seventy-five warriors and specialists who made up the small ship's crew. Most of them, as usual, were Klingons, but Lynathru saw fellow Orions in the mix as well, men and women both, as well as a few hulking Gorn, some surly-looking Nausicaans and the lean, sinister shapes of two Ferasans. All of them wore the standard KDF uniform of beaten leather cuirasses and broad shoulder pads, with the ranking officers wearing clinking chainmail sashes across their chests to denote their status. Lynathru, in his own red metal cuirass (thankfully without ridiculous shoulder pads) stood out from his crew. Even though some of the races represented were a head taller than him, Lynathru had always compensated with a straight posture and an intense stare, and he did so now, doing as much as he could to give the impression that he was someone to be taken seriously.

He was quickly introduced to the ranking officers-- the men and women with whom he would be interacting the most for the next few years, for better or worse. The introductions were led by the ship's first officer, Ku'Tagh, son of Gragh-- a glowering, aged specimen of a Klingon whose white beard had been elaborately braided and trailed down acros his armoured chest. From what Lynathru had read of the briefing report, Ku'Tagh was a member of the old guard, a veteran of the Dominion and Gorn Wars who had recently fallen into disgrace due to his family's affiliation with the House of Martok. Just by looking at Ku'Tagh, Lynathru got the sense that he was a lot like Khe'Rath-- surly, stern, and hard to impress, though his resentment at his disgrace would probably make him doubly hard to work with. Lynathru decided he would either have to tread carefully around Ku'Tagh, or do something to earn the old Klingon's respect. Either way, the man was going to be his First Officer, so there would be no avoiding him, no matter what.

The ship's only other Klingon officer was the doctor, Ferra, a woman who was much younger than Ku'Tagh and who, thankfully, did not have his scowling disposition. Her hair was tied back in a series of dreadlocks, and she had a slender, yet fit build to her. She came across as gruff and as proud as any Klingon, but Lynathru got the impression that she was willing to give an Orion captain a chance. This was a relief: he knew from experience that a lot of Klingons were adverse to serving under aliens, and felt quite strongly that it ought to be the other way around. Through Ferra, he could potentially gain the respect of the other Klingons on the ship as well. Either way, he decided, it would pay to get on Ferra's good side: he knew from experience that Klingon medicine involved zero anaesthetic and a lot of rough handling, and he didn't want to find out how much more painful the experience might be if the doctor in question disliked him.

Moving on, he met other officers in quick succession. The ship's engineer, Rresh, was a hulking Gorn with a frighteningly toothy grin and a good-humoured nature, who had greeted his new commander with apparent enthusiasm. My first ally on this ship, Lynathru had thought with a grin. The main navigator, Sarta, was a fellow Orion, who wore a leather brassier in place of a shirt in the custom of their race, had her hair done back in a long ponytail, and...Lynathru had caught himself at that point and stopped taking in her physical details at that point. To stare too long at a woman is to became her property, the old Orion adage went, and given the power of an Orion woman's hormonal effect, it was usually quite true. He and Sarta briskly exchanged greetings, and when asked, Sarta told Lynathru of her navigation credentials from past privateering experience in the Syndicate. Even as Sarta spoke, Lynathru imagined he could see a power-hungry gleam in her eye. He resolved to keep a careful eye on this woman, lest she try to replicate the matriarchal nature of Orion society on this ship. He had not gone through the hell of the KDF academy to have his first command robbed from him by a female's charms.

Last, but by no means least, Lynathru moved on to the Science Officer...and froze when a pair of blood red eyes stared back at him. Or rather, stared into him. A cold sweat formed on the back of Lynathru's neck as he felt himself locked into that gaze, unable to look away. His feet felt rooted in place, his limbs briefly shook as though from palsey, and he felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears as those two, unblinking red eyes bored into his very being...

And then, as quickly as it had all happened, Lynathru suddenly felt free and aware of his surroundings. The Science Officer-- a hairless, bone-ridge creature with mottled yellow and black skin and piercing red eyes-- introduced himself as Rezik. A Lethean. He spoke in a soft, quiet voice, and stated how much he was looking forward to working with Lynathru in the future. Lynathru had simply nodded, and, maintaining as much of his outward composure as possible, walked onwards, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the Lethean as possible.

After the introductions were done, Lynathru gave the first order of his KDF career by having his new crew move to their stations. From there, he and his officers made a trip to the bridge. As Ku'Tagh briefed him on the status of the crew, Lynathru noted, with distaste, how flat, bleak and laconian the architecture of the Notqa was. It was nothing but dull red lighting and flat, steel panels everywhere, with the odd symbol here and there of the Klingon Empire daubed in crimson. No feeling or embellishment or decoration, just flat, spartan unimaginative orderliness.

The bridge of the Notqa was no better, little more than a round room decorated in a dull, scabrous red (which he had double checked to make sure wasn't actual rust). The lighting was dim and cavernous, consoles arrayed in a circular fashion around the captain's chair operated with a jarring, angry buzz to them instead of the more pleasant beep of Orion computers. The atmosphere was unpleasantly warm, and the air filtration must not have been working, as the entire place smelled of blood and sweat. He remembered, with more than a little nostalgia, the leather seats and comfortable atmosphere of the Orion ships he had served on. The rest of the Bird-of-Prey was probably just as bleak as the bridge, which meant that he would probably be sleeping on a hard metal slab of a bed tonight.

Upon entering the bridge, Lynathru's new cadre of officers stood upright at their stations, looking at him expectantly. Ku'Tagh turned to Lynathru, obediently but not without disdain. "This ship is yours, Captain," he growled. "We await your orders."

Welcome to the rest of your life, Lynathru, he thought to himself. Straightening up, he glanced back at Ku'Tagh and gave him a slow nod, before striding to the centre of the bridge and sitting down in the command chair. The hard metal of the chair offered no comfort, and the hard edges of the arm rests bit into his forearm. It was an uncomfortable chair, no doubt designed to remind a captain that he had an uncomfortable responsibility.

And yet, strangely enough, as Lynathru looked out of the viewscreen, none of that seemed to matter. Past the slowly rotating orb of Qo'noS and the steel mass of the KDF fleet in orbit, Lynathru saw the endless expanse of space and the glittering stars in their multitudes. Out there, he knew, was the promise of adventure and danger, of hope and of terror, and above all, of opportunity. And in this chair, he would, for once, have some control over fate instead of being it's unwilling victim. All of his bitterness and regret seemed to recede as he stared out into the endless starscape.

So be it then, he decided. If this was the rest of his life, then he would face it head on. He had been dealt a half-dead wreck of a ship, and a crew full of people who would probably be out to kill him, enslave him or use his mind as a playground. Despite all of this, he vowed to himself, he would succeed. He would prosper. He would survive the worst the universe could throw at him. Because right now, he was captain of his own ship, and that for the first time in ages, that was something that he could call his own.

He leaned back in his chair, inviting the cruel, unforgiving hardness of it against his back. "Miss Sarta," he ordered, "set a course for deep space and take us out. Engage."

cmdrscarlet · March 2013

Author's Note: This is present stardate

Ten Forward is busy. Several tables are occupied by crew from various departments and various species, the most common unintentionally being human. A few tables are empty but only one has a single resident. She is the Captain of the vessel, itself traversing the deep silent black between stars. Kathryn Beringer sits alone deliberately in the shade of an overhanging seraph tree, the blue and violet leaves easily blocking the overhead lighting at the corner of the viewport. Her fingertips lightly pushing and pulling a small clear glass containing a dark liquid only a few sips away from being empty. She gazed into the blackness of space as streaks of faraway stars race toward and past the Solaris.

At one table ...

"You could set a chronometer to it. Every fifth day, assuming she's not on a mission; she sits there and stares into space, literally." The bartender finished answering the question to the patrons who were taking turns looking over shoulders to look at their Captain.

"Do you know why?"

The Human bartender looked at the Bolian and shrugged as he placed the last drink on the table. "She's a private person if you can't tell, but scuttlebutt is she can't forgive herself for something that happened on a rescue mission against some Orion slave traders a few months past."

The Betazoid at the table looked at Kathryn again then shook her head. "Was it successful? I remember hearing about that mission but I really shouldn't try anything. I'm not a counselor yet I don't need to sense there is a sadness about her."

The bartender looked at the speaker. "I think it went well, but I'm not sure. I've only ever heard her speak with confidence and strength, like a Captain should in my opinion. If you think she is sad then we should play poker one night. I need to go, but I wouldn't call it sadness ... more like regret."

At one table ...

"You go ask her."

"No, you go her!"

The other used his hands to signal his friend to lower his voice. "Damn it, come on and help me out a little!"

The Pakled's frustration subsided at her friend's attempt to keep their conversation from spilling onto other tables and sighed. "I meet her for bridge repairs. If you want love, ask her for it. You not need my help."

Her Human friend looked shocked, "Who said anything about love? All I'm saying is that I've heard rumors she is lonely and available. Look at her. She's smart, beautiful, sexy, tall ... everything a man could want!" He looked over his shoulder to the burgundy haired woman staring out the viewport.

Rolling her eyes, the Pakled shook her head and grabbed a fork to stab at the food on her plate.

The man wrung his hands together nervously. "I mean, she's a woman, I'm a man. What could go wrong?"

"She's Captain, you're not," the Pakled said with a mouthful of food.

His shoulders fell and he sighed.

At one table ...

The female Andorian looked at the Trill and Klingon. "I'm telling you this so we can stop discussing it. They dated in the Academy. It was a serious relationship the way she talked about it but she broke it off when he proposed to her. After that you'd think a man would crumble but his work in temporal physics blossomed last I heard. I don't know why she did that and she hasn't talked about it to me since."

The Klingon scientist crossed her arms and frowned. "It is really none of our business and dishonorable to gossip about a superior officer."

Looking down as if personally shamed by the comment, the Trill Science Officer reached for her drink. "I didn't mean to impose on anyone. It's just ... she's not the most affable person to work with."

"I disagree. She gets the job done and very efficiently. She has a warrior's spirit," the Klingon half-whispered.

The Andorian nodded, "I agree with that at least. I'm probably her only real friend on the boat and I assure you, spend enough time with her and you'll see her bite is worse than her bark."

"Are you sure you said that right?"

Looking at the Trill, she responded, "About being the Captain's only friend? To be honest, I really don't know."

"No, I ... oh, nevermind."

At one table ...

"Are you serious?!" The Security officer put down his drink at the resolution to the story.

"As a heart attack!" The Security Chief smiled as he rejoiced in the surprised look on the other three officer?s faces. "Don't cross her path, she has a heart of stone."

Another officer whistled a note as he recovered from the tale. "I can't believe she ignored Liberation Protocols."

The Chief nodded and took a sip from his drink. "Neither did I until the XO told me about her being a slave."

The third officer smirked. "Makes you wonder what kind of slave she was. Orion women are -"

"Hey!" The Chief pounded the table and looked around as nearby patrons looked at him. He waited for them to get back to their conversations before he turned his gaze to the members at his table. "Stow that talk, right here and now. She's not like that at all and she deserves more respect. Besides, she not Orion you jackass."

"Okay, okay, sorry Chief."

The first recovered from his commander?s defense. "I thought you didn't like the Captain?"

"Have you ever heard me actually say anything like that? You three know she pulled each of us out of some very tight situations over the past year. Remember that assault on Mallory's World? We'd all be dead if it wasn't for her single-handed defense at the crash site." The other three nodded as they recalled the scene. "I've stopped caring what she's gone through before Starfleet, and I'm proud she's Captain of this ship."

The Chief looked over his shoulder to the woman in the corner of the room. Without looking away he said, "I know she has some demons, but I think they fuel her to be the officer she is." He looked into his drink, took a sip and then looked to each of his comrades. "If I hear any rumors about her past coming from anyone on my team, they'll have to answer to me and you can spread that around."

At her table ...

The streaks of light had no pattern and that helped Kathryn's storm of thoughts find order and calm. The aroma from the Scotch in her glass soothed her muscles while the liquid warmed her core. The Excelsior-class ship was massive compared to her previous commands. It wasn't the largest ship in the fleet but it was plenty big for her. She considered the officer reports she had finished reading prior to coming down to Ten Forward and made some decisions, then prepared some phrases she would use to various persons she would be having meetings with over the next few hours.

When she looked toward the room, she caught the eyes of various persons. Some were too far away to discern if they were really looking at her or at least toward her direction. Ten Forward was busier than when she entered the room and it started to feel crowded.

Literary Challenge #40 : Redux

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