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Literary Challenge #50 : Redux 2.0
pwebranflakes
Member Posts: 7,741
Hello and welcome to another edition of our writers' challenges! :cool:
Today we start the two-week run of the fiftieth Literary Challenge: Redux 2.0
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!
Today we start the two-week run of the fiftieth Literary Challenge: Redux 2.0
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 receiving requests if authors can 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!
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!!**
Post edited by pwebranflakes on
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I don't know if there is a character limit after the initial post, but when editing my original post, I could not get the full thing to post again.
The cool metal of the phaser rifle pressed comfortably against her cheek; through the sight Octavia carefully scanned the corridor. Two strips ran down either side of the corridor slowly pulsing a deep red.
"Clear", the voice of Lt Hernandez whispered from the com unit nestled snugly in her left ear. He crouched quietly in a shadowed alcove nearby, his form appearing and disappearing with the alert lighting. His voice carried to her ear from the sub-vocal receptors built into the neck of his Polymorphic Armour. She wished the Captain hadn't decreed that all senior officers weren't to wear body armour while on the ship.
*Scares the new people, yeah right. What about the rest of us*
Hernandez's face emerged from the shadows looking expectantly at Octavia. She nodded slightly.
"Forward" again the whisper, presently three forms faded briefly into view as they moved down the corridor ahead. Squad three were "her squad" and Hernandez was their Sgt. No matter where Octavia found herself it always seemed that Squad Three were somewhere nearby. Officially attached to the Republic's MACO detachment they, as did a number of squads have a special assignment as security detail to the senior staff.
"Clear" a different voice, McNab, this time informed her. Hernandez was already moving forward down the corridor. Charlie would be behind them somewhere but with his stealth unit active he would be incredibly difficult to spot, but she could feel his presence behind her as she moved quietly but much less silently after Hernandez.
They arrived at the door, behind which sensors indicated the intruder had been detected.
*The new standard intrusion alert seems to be working*
She mused absently as Hernandez scanned the door with his tricorder. The captain had instituted the protocol after the third borg intrusion of the Republic. Red Alert indicator, no klaxon, a silent alert and the closest member of senior staff and the detail tasked with investigating the disturbance. She worried about the long term effects on the crew, operating on such a high level of vigilance but the fourth incursion had more then proven the effectiveness of the protocol.
Hernandez nodded and moved to one side of the door, raising his rifle to his cheek. Behind her she felt all emotion drain from team three, being replaced with a cold resolve and focus. She also felt their concern, one of sometimes uncomfortable situation she found herself in as Ship's Counsellor. The team thought of her as everything from their kid sister to something far more intimate in the case of Hernandez.
*Sigh, men*
She reached forward with her mind into the room beyond the door. The focus increased, they'd danced to this tune before and the team knew they were approaching the finale.
She sensed a mind in the room, but it was elusive, indistinct, much like trying to grasp smoke. It certainly wasn't Borg or any other race that she had encountered for that matter. She withdrew from the mind and opened her eyes. Hernandez, looked at her with a mixture of inquiry and concern. She nodded slightly, taking it as a signal he tapped the door control, the focus behind her like a laser as team three sought the target beyond with their scopes.
"Well hello Counsellor,"
The voice was strong and calm; she heard it echo in her mind as he spoke.
"I apologize if my method of arrival has caused any trouble."
If thoughts could kill she assumed that the alien sitting cross legged in the middle of storage locker 5 would have certainly been slain by team three. Opening his eyes, it was clear that he could also feel the weight of their focus.
"I'm known to your kind as 'The Traveller' and I must speak with your captain.
She lowered her rifle, as a sudden surge of memories flooded her mind and she knew who he was.
Standing slowly, her legs reminded her just how much adrenaline had been coursing through her veins she tapped the comm badge on the left side of her chest.
"Stand down from condition red"
Hernandez relaxed slightly but the focus from further up the corridor remained.
Turning she continued "Stand down". Moments later three forms resolved from the shadows of the corridor moments before lighting returned to its normal intensity. All wore combat armour and slightly sheepish expressions. Hernandez watched the Traveller, appraising him much as he would an opponent before combat.
"Octavia to Captain Fenton,"
Her badge chirped.
"Yes Commander," The captain's voice never failed to impress her, full of calm confidence tinged with cold resolve and a hint of implied violence.
"We have a guest captain, someone named 'The Traveller' I believe that his last contact with the Federation involved the USS Enterprise D."
"Jean Luc Picard?"
"Aye, sir".
The pause stretched, the squad moved forward with a look from Hernandez who moved to cover the intruder and protect Octavia should his intentions prove less then beneficent.
"Bring him to conference room one, Commander".
"Very good sir," The badge chirped again as the channel closed.
Stepping toward the alien she felt concern spike from the team, mcNab's rifle rising slightly almost of its own volition.
Raising an eyebrow and shooting a sideways glance at mcNab whose face immediately coloured, his mood changing to one of embarrassment, Octavia stepped closer to the alien and extended her hand to help him to his feet.
"Welcome to the USS Republic"
The turbo lift came to a stop, the doors opening with a hiss. The only thing Chisom hated more then Security drills was security incidents, they took him away from Engineering and his attempts to rebalance the Quantum Slipstream drive. As he moved around the edge of the bridge the crew seemed to sense his surly demeanor which only served to make him more grouchy.
*Damned telepaths!*
A young slip of a girl, Betazoid of course stiffened as he passed.
*Serves her right for not keeping he mind inside her own head*
The remainder of the crew flowed out of the Engineer's way has he moved to the door separating him from conference room 1.
The last encounter with the Borg had compromised over 40% of the ships distributed Anti-matter reactor network. It was a brilliant design and something that, even once they had adapted their tactics had slowed their assimilation of the Republic sufficiently for the crew to destroy their vessel and beam the remainder into open space.
*Good to see Alpha squadron got some target practice in* he thought, a grin tugging at the edge of his lip.
The door whisked open and he strode into the conference room. He was last of course, he always was these day. A place had been left for him near the door. The odd electronic speech of Kal zeth picked up as the door closed.
"Captain, we have no record of this 'Traveller'."
You didn't have to be an expert in body language to realize he saw the alien sitting across from Captain Fenton as a threat. Fenton's eyes, uncanny black orbs drew in the light but his gaze bore into the alien. To his left Commander Duchene glanced in his direction, an eye brow arched, silently commenting on his tardiness.
*Great another one*
She returned her gaze to the alien, her mouth twisting with a wry grin. Chisom felt uncomfortable on the Republic, he was terran, No, Human, on a ship where his race was in the minority. It wasn't something that he had ever experienced on a Federation star ship. The crew had a much higher proportion of Betazoids and Vulcans then he would have expected. His gaze moved over the captain.
*Then there's Fenton*
The captain was an alien, not of any species that he'd encountered, not that he'd travelled wildly but the captain was close to human physically, but far enough away to leave you with an uncanny chill in his presence.
"The traveller is an alien that the Federation last encountered quite a while ago. I believe that you were recruiting from Star Fleet's finest back then". Captain Fenton responded to the Breen officer's comment, his gaze locked on the Traveller and sporting a gin almost the mirror of Ailena's.
"Well it wasn't exactly like that, but it does explain my arrival here. I knew that, as a Federation star ship, you'd be privy to the records of my last meeting with your people. So, a more direct approach was called for."
*Ok, so he's a grey alien we've met before*
Chisom didn't see the appeal, the creature seemed to be a little taller than he was, grey skinned but otherwise humanoid in appearance, certainly nothing to draw such attention.
Aliena was looking directly at him; there wasn't even a hint of warmth in her eyes.
"The Traveller and his people share a preternatural ability for warp travel. They can manipulate warp fields, amongst other things using only the power of their minds".
She had him at Warp travel, he remembered now that he's read some older reports from a former Star fleet engineer, Fe'Forge maybe? He fell into the empty chair and worked on organizing the myriad questions he had for someone with such an intimate knowledge of subspace.
The plump one fell into the seat closest to the door. A moment later the translation circuits confirmed his understanding the Captain's response to his question.
*Hmm, yet another alien whose existence the Federation has concealed from the Confederacy.*
Aliena, the first officer returned her gaze to their "guest". He's seen that look from her before, not for the first time he was grateful that his physiology made it difficult for her to read his mind. He felt the gaze of another pair of eyes on him from further down the table, following the feeling he locked eyes with the ships' counselor. Well would have, had see been able to see through the visor of his environmental suit. While not all Breen required the suit to do more then obscure their appearance his species needed the suit for more then keeping up appearances.
The silence stretched before finally the "Traveler" continued.
"Yes, we have an affinity with warp travel. But we also seek out others with .. unique abilities, also places and events that are similarly momentous".
He, if it really was a he, was looking at him as he spoke.
"I'm uncertain as to what has drawn me to you at this time, but I am certain it will present itself soon enough. If you would extend me the courtesy of your company for a time captain we both may just witness something wondrous."
The environmental suit creaked slightly as he twisted to see the captain. He was considering, his black orbs seemed to be staring down the grey alien.
"Star fleet's mandate is one of exploration; we have a few days worth of additional repairs to complete before we move back into contested space. During that time consider yourself our guest."
The captain looked beyond him, his focus on someone further down the conference table.
"And since Ms Vaughn first made your acquaintance I am sure she will be more then happy to be your liaison while you are aboard."
The trilling voice of the young Betazoid Lt Commander responded from behind him.
"Certainly Captain."
The Traveler nodded slightly in appreciation.
"If that's all, we are adjourned. Mr Chisom if you could meet me in my ready room and update me on the status of our repairs"
The captain stood, and strode confidently through the door, followed closely by his clearly disappointed Chief Engineer. The other members of the Republic's senior staff broke up into small groups and gravitated toward the various exists of the conference room. Commander Vaughn stopped briefly to chat with the alien before she also departed.
He once more took stock of the alien and marveled, not for the first time how trusting the Federation was of alien species that it had only briefly encountered. That trust had afforded him the opportunity to serve on the Republic. His reverie was broken by another officer, the ranking wing commander of the Republic's Fighter Squadron passing him a PADD and waiting expectantly for him to review its contents.
*Back to work I guess*
The last of the officers exited the conference room, leaving the Traveler alone with his thoughts.
He had been certain that one of the eclectic collection of alien beings that made up to the Republic's command crew was the reason for his visit. But the sense still lingered, elusive but overpowering in it's intensity.
An ensign stepped from the alcove where she had been hidden, the PADD that she had been reviewing dropping to her side. The PADD was a ruse of course, he felt that immediately. He looked on her not only with his eyes and felt her uncanny nature well before he noted the way the green light roiled where here iris' should have been.
To the others she would have seemed completely normal and almost completely non-descript. But he, only sensing a sliver of her true nature knew better.
"So it is you who has brought me here"
It was a statement of fact, one "she" didn't even attempt to contradict.
"I have heard of your kind but it was been quite some time since I encountered one of you." her voice as sultry, he skin olive and her eyes burned with emerald light.
"You're the one the Q fear" again a statement, but even he was momentarily concerned by any being that gave the mercurial Q pause.
She laughed, her voice like chimes "They have good reason, although it isn't me personally that they fear".
He looked at her quizzically; she actually believed what she said. She took note of his confusion and only the hum of the ship's systems filled the growing void. Looking deeper he saw the difference, it was subtle, something the Federation crew would call a "Phase variance".
"You aren't from here, you're from somewhere else".
"How nice of you to notice." her response was tart and a little sarcastic.
Her confusion was clear now, as was the reason that he was drawn here.
"You are not unique here, once such as yourself exists in this universe. I can see that her story is different to yours. You are as light as she is dark, like two sides of a coin".
The realization slowly spread across the face of the body she wore, no not wore this one would have created it rather than stealing it.
"She is all that survived those events on this side of the mirror, as you are the survivor of yours. I have not met her, I only know of your and your kin. But she is vastly different both in form and countenance."
*The Q are wise to fear them*
She was quiet for a time, contemplating his words.
"I thank you, you have given me much to consider. This isn't something that I had anticipated."
He sensed the weight of her obligation then virtue of her calling and the depths of her despair in a moment. But only a moment before her control returned and her resolve solidified.
"But your presence here complicates matters." he could feel her gaze weighing alternatives, some of which clearly would involve his destruction.
"Might I make a suggestion?" he replied. Sensing his plan she raised an eye brow, a wry grin the only hint of assent.
Octavia reached forward with her mind into the room beyond the door. The focus increased, Team three had danced to this tune before and the team knew they were approaching the finale.
She felt nothing, her eyebrows furrowed and she looked toward Hernandez. Seeing her confusion he looked back at the tri-corder. She saw her expression mirrored on his face. He tapped the panel and the room to storage locker 5 sprung open. Hernandez was into the room before the door had even completely opened. McNab faded into view in the space he'd just vacated his rifle raised to his cheek.
"Clear", the voice was not augmented and came clearly from the storage locker. McNab flowed into the room as the last two members of the team took up flanking positions in the corridor.
"I was certain there was something there ma'am", Hernandez's voice was laden with suspicion. "Maybe we missed a Borg on the last sweep".
He had a point; the USS Enterprise had encountered a similar tactic used by the Borg in the past. The report that had become required reading at the academy.
She taped her badge.
"Computer scan this deck and report unauthorized bio signatures." A few chirps issued from her badge followed by the calm voice of the ship's computer.
"No unauthorized bio-signatures detected"
"Secure from condition red", taping her badge she then focused on Sargent Hernandez "Sweep this deck again it could have been a glitch but let's not take any chances.
With a nod Hernandez and his team split up and began a sweep for the deck. Turning to a section on the wall Octavia scheduled an engineering team to investigate the storage locker and surrounding corridors. As she worked an idle thought crossed her mind.
*I always thought mcNab had Blue eyes, why did they look green?*
U.S.S. Saintchrist NX-94238-F
What should have been an easy patrol quickly transpired into a scenario I thought could never happen, an ambush by the Tal?shiar with small Breen elements while patrolling the outer fringes of the newly established Romulan Republic territory. We were light years away from the nearest Starbase or Republic ship taking the time of patrol as a brief respite from the problems with the Borg and Tholians. The Saintchrist survived but barely, I can still remember the events after we won that ambush.
Location: Bridge of the U.S.S. Saintchrist
Much of the Bridge is in shambles; consoles dead or flickering, everyone on the bridge are exhausted.
Vice Admiral Balthos: Two what?s the ships Status? I want a complete damage report.
Chief Engineer Two of Five: Much of the ship has taken extensive damage, we have hull breeches across the ship with force fields in place, the port nacelle has been completely destroyed and the warp core as you know was ejected to prevent a warp core breach when the port nacelle was destroyed. We are running on reserve generators to make up for the loss of the core.
Vice Admiral Balthos: send out a distress call to the nearest starbase or ship relaying our current status and situation report.
Two of Five: Unfortanely all out source communications from the ship is impossible, the Communications Array was also destroyed in the battle.
1st officer Takerra: Admiral with us on reserve power and our current power consumption were going to be dead half way to Starbase Sierra.
Vice Admiral Balthos: I see then I have no choice, I thought I?d never have to issue such orders as these: shutdown all non-essential equipment including the astrogation lab, All access to the turbo lifts are restricted and all personnel must travel through the Jefferies tubes, Evacuate and restrict access to sections of the ship with extensive damage. Reduce Sensor coverage to short range sensors; reduce life support to minimal use. As of this moment the entire ship is on replicator rations no more than one per day.
The Entire Command staff on the bridge nodded their assent of the orders and began to disperse all except 1st Officer Takerra who took a seat in the Admiral?s command chair.
Vice Admiral Balthos: Notify me if anything happens?
Takerra just nodded her ascent, she alone had served with the Vice Admiral since his command of the NX-Class Sangrail and knew entirely the pain he felt seeing his ship in tatters barely able to keep her crew alive.
That very evening the crew were gathered at the mess hall and the Admiral formally notified them all of the situation, many of the crew were crest fallen some of them were cadets fresh from the academy while others were veterans who survived the Saintchrist?s tour of duty against the Borg. The surprise to the Admiral was the crew?s determination and faith in him to bring them back home, they completely trusted him; after all he?d gotten them out of worse situations.
Week 5 Stardate: 91319.81
Location: Two months away from the nearest Federation Listening Outpost
Captains log: It?s been 5 weeks since the Tal Shiar and Breen ambush, Two has been able to patch up some parts of the ship using the supply?s from the cargo bay?s but she says the damage is too severe for her to fully seal all the hull breaches with the ships limited supply in the cargo bays. We?ve begun using the Hydroponics bay to increase our food rationing but so far it hasn?t been too much affect since only so much food can be produced from the bay?s vegetation. So far not a single ship has found us yet especially with communications out. Helm projects that at our current speed under Impulse power, 4.5, we should reach a federation listening post in the next two months. I?ve found myself extremely-
The Admiral?s Com-badge chirps and Takerra?s voice comes out of it along with the ship going to red alert.
Takerra: Admiral to the bridge
Vice Admiral Balthos got up from his chair in his ready room and walked out onto the bridge just as Takerra vacated his command chair for him and sat down next to it. As he sat down in his command chair he noticed the tension amongst his bridge crew.
Vice Admiral Balthos: Report.
Commander Loran Ecklat, the ships tactical officer: Short range sensors just detected a vessel de-cloaking directly ahead. What we can tell from our limited sensor coverage, their Romulan vessel but without boosting power to the sensors I can?t verify whether their Tal Shiar or Republic.
Vice Admiral Balthos looked to Two: What?s our Combat status?
Two of Five: Were not fit for combat, at best I can guarantee you 25% shields and limited Phaser fire up to 15%. After that?s exhausted we?ll be completely defenseless.
Vice Admiral Balthos chewed his bottom lip, the situation was a complete disadvantage and he could see from the view screen that they were facing something that he wished had not choose to find them, a Reman Scimitar.
Vice Admiral Balthos: Takerra I need suggestions
Takerra: For once sir I can?t offer you any, back on Andoria we?d ram our ships into the enemy when our own ships were this damaged and at a tactical disadvantage or flee if we could.
Just as the Vice Admiral was about to make up his mind the view screen started to flash in a series of bright lights each with a different interval.
Loran Ecklat: Sir it appears that the vessel is sending us a message but through Morse code. From what I can tell it say?s ?U.S.S. Saintchrist stand down, this is the Romulan Republic vessel I.R.W. Qortacis, if you can understand please lower your shields and allow us to dock with your ship.?
Everyone on the bridge was quiet and eventually it started out as a soft murmur but grew to an ecstatic cheer.
Vice Admiral Balthos: Loran send a reply by dropping our shields and standing down weapons, if we still have the forward overhead lights signal to them to dock on the starboard side of the ship. Takerra you have the bridge until I come back.
Takerra and Loran both smiled and nodded their assent. The Vice Admiral carefully made his way to the Starboard Docking hatch to greet their rescuers. When he arrived he found security already posted to the sides of the hatch but many of them didn?t have their weapons at the ready. The Hatch silently opened and it was the Vice Admiral who gasped for standing before him was someone he had not seen since his Commanding of the U.S.S. Mattaguchi and the days that Admiral Quinn Ordered him to work with the lady.
Vice Admiral Balthos: what in the hell are you doing here you Romulan TRIBBLE?
Instead of a frown or scowl all that was on the admiral?s face was a smile as he completely hugged the lady.
Vice Admiral Balthos: It?s good to see you again Commander Elise.
Elise was surprised, she hadn?t expected this reaction from Balthos nor had she even expected him to even hug her.
Vice Admiral Elise: That?s Vice Admiral Elise, and yes it has been a while Balthos. Starfleet notified the Flotilla of your failure to rendezvous with Starbase Sierra at the end of your five day patrol of the edge of our space. We surmised that you most likely had been either captured by the Tal shiar, which Starfleet quickly disregarded saying that an Odyssey Class was too powerful to be captured unless by extreme measures. The other possibility we had was that your ship was somehow severely damaged with long range communications inoperable and warp drive offline. So the Flotilla dispatched me to find your ship and render any assistance.
Vice Admiral Balthos was still reeling from this and the smile never left his face even as they left the port docking hatch and headed for Main engineering through the Jefferies tubes.
Vice Admiral Balthos: To be honest many of us suspected that we?d run out of power even before we reached the nearest listening post to relay a distress call. It?s actually a miracle that you and the I.R.W. Qortacis arrived. Much of the ship is down in fact I believe you?ll see from the master ship display in Engineering.
Vice Admiral Elise simply nodded as the crawled through the Jefferies tubes; it wasn?t until she saw the main engineering that she saw the extent of the damage. Main Engineering was extremely damaged; there were chard patches of bulkheads and some of thoughs bulkheads were hanging from the ceiling. The warp core which should have been humming was gone which meant an event of dire circumstances nearly happened. She looked at the master Ship display and saw many sections of the ship were red, most especially at the port nacelle.
Vice Admiral Elise: Elise to Qortacis Beam over all repair supply?s to the Saintchrist and assists their engineers in any way possible. Set course for Starbase Sierra at warp 5 with the Saintchrist in tow.
Elise hadn?t even touched a com-badge; she simply spoke to her wrist and a voice most likely her first officer spoke out from it with their acknowledgement.
Vice Admiral Balthos: Thanks Elise, once again I owe you another one.
Stardate: 91327.45
Location: Starbase Sierra
Captain?s log: Were finally home at Starbase Sierra, it took us three days under the I.R.W. Qortacis?s warp power. Elise?s crew helped seal much of the Saintchrist?s Hull Breaches through temporary repairs; I?ve granted the crew two months shore leave while the ship is repaired. They?ve earned it with the things we?ve faced so far. As I make this log I find myself looking at the ship models of the classes I commanded and feel a source of pride, Each ship survived an encounter that almost destroyed it and each time brought the crew together stronger each time. I?ve requested with Starfleet Command to allow the Saintchrist to serve with the I.R.W. Qortacis as a liaison of the Federation given my Diplomatic authority as a federation ambassador. My request gratefully was approved and Starfleet has also dispatched some small fleets to help patrol and secure the Republic?s borders from the Tal Shiar. I can only hope that these engagements with the Tal Shiar don?t escalate to something far worse than piracy attacks on a legitimate and newly established Republic government.
The Com-badge Beeps: Admiral you?re going to be late for our match in the Holodeck and if you?re late then you?re going to have to face Kuroh?s wrath.
Vice Admiral Balthos: I wouldn?t miss that Takerra nor would I want our Klingon Chief of Security in a foul mood, I?ll be there shortly.
Vice Admiral Balthos got up from his chair and looked out the window for a brief moment and thought he saw a cloaked vessel but immediately disregarded it as his imagination setting course for the Holodecks.
Unbeknownst the Admiral that was a cloaked vessel specifically an alien cloaked vessel that hid itself in Subspace. Dire things were awaiting this galaxy and the Saintchrist.
It was always a discussion I dreaded during the admirals table night. Engineering versus science versus tactics. And it always boiled down to a split in the senior staff, with science holding its own in the debate.
Yet right here and right now, that debate was rather moot as the question on every mind would entail just one thing which I summed up rather nicely. "Just where the hell are we?"
I found the utter silence on the bridge rather telling. But then, it isn't every day that a routine stargazing mission finds a star that causes subspace folding, which seems to have never been observed or quite understood before. And it isn't every day that subspace fold like that passes through your ship. Other then some bumps and bruises we were fine. Location wise it was another matter though. There was nothing there to remind us that we were in the Sol sector, one of the busiest sectors of the Federation.
And that was the reason the bridge wasn't silent anymore. It was Alouda, the deputy science officer. "Sir, we seemed to have been moved into another reality. And I'm cannot confirm this yet, but we seem to have been temporally displaced as well."
"Oh joy, quantum displacement and time travel in one package, how convenient." I didn't admonish Sil for his sarcastic comment since he was right anyway. I sighed, I knew of the headaches that involved time travel and I thought that whoever figured out the expression that when it rains it pours had obviously never been in command of a starship before.
That was when the navigational sensors started blaring a proximity alert.
That proximity alert turned out to be something huge.
That huge thing, turned out to be a Klingon Vo'Quv carrier! As she came on the screens I could only marvel at her size, especially when all of us on the bridge got to see it up close and personal, and without getting shot at in the proces.
I could also marvel at the ease by which she was handled. Like a swan she effortlessly passed over the Limburg, her bulky shadow doing nothing else then drowning the Limburg quite literally, and continued on for a short distance before coming about. Her bow was soon aimed in our general direction. Nothing else happened.
She didn't launch her fighters, nor did she power her weapons. In fact, the huge Vo'Quv just stayed there and did nothing. Only then did the com panel ping.
"We're being hailed, by the I.K.S Tor'Che." I knew that name a little too well. Her master and commander would be the Klingon equivalent of me, no matter which way you looked at it.
"That's an improvement, they wanna talk first instead of shooting us. On screen." I remarked to no one in particular.
"Ah, I see the Federation has run into the same problem as we have. How very fortunate." The certain sarcastic undertone surprised me. The sender of said message was someone I didn't expect to see as the intelligence reports had put her and her vessel at least three sectors away. The voice of the Klingon female wasn't as gruff as some of the male voices I had heard. In fact, I figured B'Valla to be rather intelligent for a change.
"General B'Valla, I thought you weren't anywhere near this bit of space."
"Ha! Admiral Torvan, it seems the fools at your Starfleet should send dedicated science officers to do a scientists work and not engineers." She almost snickered.
I wanted to bring the discussion back on topic before we got anymore creative on our insults. "Now that we have exchanged the usual pleasantries, would you happen to know where or when we are?"
"What's the date on your ship chronometer?" The question surprised me, yet I decided to answer it.
The answer didn't really surprise B'Valla "hmm, it seems we have been here about 4 hours longer then you. Perhaps this could be of some use to you."
Sil then reported from the tactical station that we were receiving a data package. The package turned out to be clean, and was soon rerouted to the science station. Here, Ozloe and Huey and myself studied the package with interest.
The stellar phenomena that the general had recorded didn't interest me as much as some of the old audio recordings that played. "What the hell?" I recognized the recordings a little too well.
Finally from the helm panel, Takerra chimed in. "Admiral, I think I have a fix on our position."
"Just how far from Earth are we?" I casually asked.
Takerra could only gawk. " How did you..."
I could only smile. "Did you catch that, general?"
"I did. I know you people know about quantum realities and all its assorted problems. I take it you checked that as well?" That question seemed odd for a science officer, even if it was a Klingon. But if B'valla had never been to a different quantum reality other then the Mirror 'verse before....
I nodded and motioned for Ozloe to transmit our own findings. B'valla briefly glanced sideways. "Grrr, just as I figured. You and me, we've been displaced in both time and space, and from the looks of things its about a 400 year displacement.?
We spoke the next words at the same time ?Now what??
B'valla had her answer ready first. ?If we do find a possibility to travel back, we'll need a reference.?
An audible groan escaped my lips. Earth, blending in and not mucking up a timeline....and keeping the Klingons under control at the same time... when it rains it definitely pours. I sighed, this would take some rather delicate maneuvering, but, I figured B'Valla had already figured that if we wanted to get out of here, we would need to cooperate. So I was sure she would go along with what I had in mind.
"I think I know the place where we can get that reference. There are however some conditions."
When there was no response, I gave B'Valla the conditions and added that we were in this mess together, and that it would be better if we cooperated. All I got in reply was a smile and yet another question.
"Wouldn't it be a little dishonorable to blow you and your vessel to atoms at a time like this? Its obvious the galaxy threw us both a curve, I think we may need each other to get out of this."
B'Valla closed the com link before I could answer.
To make a long story somewhat shorter, the voyage to Earth was boring. There were a few stellar oddities here and there, but these weren't interesting enough to study yet. In 400 years this would be different though.
Getting into the solar system was an entirely different matter though. Oh, the Klingons had their nifty gadget in the form of a cloaking device but we didn't have that luxury. Instead, we found a way to use the shields to diffuse any kind of early space monitoring devices of which I was sure there were plenty already in orbit.
We were scanning like crazies though. Most of the broadcast channels we picked up were transmitting gibberish entertainment programs. We had a fair sized group of amateur holo novel writers aboard and a smaller group of historians aboard. I was sure they would be thrilled about this. After all, it isn't everyday you get a chance of add to the historical databanks in such a way.
Then there were the data streams. The volume and content were staggering in their own way. Games, movies, data on anything and everything. Again we recorded what we could. I was pretty sure that B'Valla was doing the same over on her ship.
I did not expect her to call, but she did. I didn't expect to see that kind of facial expression either. There was a seriousness about her as if she had heard from Chancellor J'mpok himself out here.
"We have something you should look at." A light in the armrests of the command chair indicated a data transmission. The contents of that data transmission made me shiver, I didn't bother looking or asking why the Klingons had been scanning for that sort of thing exactly as I pretty suspected that they used their chance of learning about Earth without any kind of Starfleet vessels shooting at them.
"What do you propose we do about this?" her question seemed valid.
"Joint operation?" I chided myself for asking the question without actually thinking about it "I know from the file we have that you detest bio weapons rather intensely. I don't fancy the thought of something like that going of in a population center in this day and age."
B'Valla smiled "I'm glad you see it my way. I do indeed find it dishonorable to kill an enemy with a bioweapon. Although the Federation and thereby Earth are an enemy it would bring dishonor to attack in this fashion."
And so the preparations began.
Since the Klingons had the cloaking device it was soon decided that we would use the Vo'quv to get to transporter range of Earth. We would both provide tactical and support teams. I had to swallow my pride a little bit. The Klingons had the bigger crew so they would play the bigger part. B'Valla had one other surprise in store. She, and two of her officers wanted to be part of the away team. I told her she would have to do her best to look as human as possible to fit in.
About four hours later I got to see the results.
By then, we were aboard the Tor'Che, in one of the conference rooms, waiting for the Klingon part of the team as the larger main entrance door finally opened to reveal B'Valla and her two officers.
“Oh boy!” Sil, who had been my tactical choice for this mission recognized the Orion woman as soon as I did. Her dress choice didn't help that much with the need to blend in. It was a dull black low cut affair that exposed bits that wouldn't normally be exposed. Her skin had a somewhat tanned complexion instead of the usual green.
Both B'Valla and her own tactical officer, which was a Klingon male that seemed to be 7 foot tall or thereabouts, were rather more successful in their attempts at blending in. The male wore a long leather jacket and seemed to have a full set of matching hair that covered his ridges. He also had a pair of sunglasses on his head. B'Valla had her hair in the same way, a full head of it that covered her ridges, and was wearing a short leather jacket, jeans and sneakers, just like I was. She too had a pair of sunglasses on her head. I couldn't really tell if the general was even wearing make up or not.
Luckily both Sil and Ozloe knew better. Sil had chosen jeans, sneakers and a parka coat. Ozloe was wearing a business suit, without a tie and had the top two buttons of her blouse undone. On her feet were low heels and she had removed her Trill spots.
“Nice choice, although your Orion leaves little to certain imaginations.” Even the Klingon male had to laugh and answered in B'Valla her place “Since Neela is a bit of student of Earth history, mostly the entertainment, or so I believe, she figured this wouldn't attract all that much attention.” My thoughts were already heading in the opposite direction. Neela would attract too much attention.
From the corner of my eye I could see a little speck of doubt by the general, but something like this would be her job to correct, not mine.
I eyed my replicated watch. It was almost time. Further thoughts were interrupted by the ships PA system. My Klingon wasn't as good as Sil or Ozloe so I had to look to them for a translation. “ That was the helm. We're almost at our destination.”
I knew B'valla meant business. I never knew just how much business she actually meant.
The conference room was equipped with a large screen. I was a little surprised to see the general walk up to the screen and activate it with a few swipes of her hand. She noticed my astonished face. “What? You guys are not the only one with tech like this.”
With little to no effort at all a grid came up that displayed a group of buildings that seemed to have a glass facade. The general adjusted the display until the resolution was as sharp as any of the images we could display on our own screens.
“The scans show the weapon to be inside of the central building. Unfortunately neither we nor you have been able to do much more then determine a general location. Scans of the general area have been somewhat obscured through a larger combination of human life signs and exhaust fumes amongst others.”
She was right. Although my knowledge of the 21st century was rather scant, I knew that aerial pollution was a bit of a problem back then. Esspecially in the big cities.
B'Valla went on “We've managed to glean some information from earth's data net about the area its self. It seems our target is a convention center, in a city called New York.”
“Interesting” I muttered it half aloud.
“Oh, that isn't interesting. The really difficult stuff is in getting to this convention center and getting in.” B'Valla then proceeded to fill me in on the rest of her plan.
Our first step would be to beam down to a nearby filled to capacity parking lot. From there would make our way on foot to the center where we would begin our search. From the pictures I had my doubts about our beam in point. If there was something happening there, our arrival in a show of light could also attract unwarranted attention, and that was the last thing we wanted.
After beaming in we would make our way into the convention and spread out for the search. When we found what we were looking for, we would relay coordinates to the Tor'Che which would beam out the object. After that we would leave the convention and 'disappear into the night'. For some odd indescribable reason it sounded a little too good to be true.
It wasn't, up to the part where we would make our way into the convention, everything had gone according to plan. What happened next, even Lieutenant General B'Valla couldn't have forseen.
As we stood in line to get in to the center I was surprised at first that Neela wasn't oggled any more then she already was. It lessened when she 'attached' herself to the 7 foot Klingon tactical officer. Since she was also the only one who had some experience with money, the Orion woman also paid our entrance fees.
After that, we split up and went off to search.
I found myself partnered with B'Valla, who asked me just one question “ If you're an engineer, how would you enhance the spread of a bio weapon?” She looked at me with an intensity that told me that I'd better have my knowledge prepared.
I looked up briefly and soon spotted what I was looking for. An air conditioning duct. “The usual way, through the environmental systems.”
A somewhat toothy smile was my answer. “Very good. Now shall we find an access?”
I didn't reply as my attention was caught by something, or rather someone else that came out of a door somewhere to our rear. “What the...” My mouth almost fell open at the sight.
And as curious as she probably was, the Klingon general turned around to see what I was looking at. She was in time to see her own surprise, or rather, two of them.
Klingon warriors. And just in front of them was a Starfleet captain, as he would have looked during the time of either admiral Sulu or the last commander of the Enterprise-C, Rachel Garret.
“Isn't that captain rather out of uniform?” B'Valla seemed somewhat perplexed or was it surprised by the two Klingon warriors. She halted her step. I could see her other surprise as the two Klingon warriors and the captain struck up a rather friendly conversation that I could follow easily. B'Valla was still a little perplexed and I was pretty sure her curiosity was getting the better of her. I felt her eyes upon me. I nodded. My curiosity was getting the better of me as well.
So we did it, we followed the three people. We followed them until they entered a room. As we wanted to enter the room we were prevented from doing so by some one that looked and acted like security. As it turned out we needed to either have tickets or be in some kind of uniform. B'Valla was a little shocked and surprised. I managed to steer her back to our own mission with very little effort.
For a brief moment I wondered what was going on in that room. And this time, I was pretty sure that B'Valla wondered the same. “You know, we could always beam back in uniform after we've dealt with that bio-weapon.”
The response was the Klingon variant of a chuckle. “Are you sure you're not a Klingon, admiral?”
That made me chuckle. In this way I didn't notice B'Valla tense up. That stopped as soon as the Klingon general put an arm on my shoulder. “Look at that.”
That, was a young woman, wearing her dark hair in a ponytail and wearing something that identified her as belonging to some sort of service company. She was also carrying a mobile device and was holding it to her ear. She seemed to be rather tense. Maybe even a little to tense.
“Shall we?” as casual as possible we began to follow the woman. I started to tense when we followed her into the basement, away from anything that looked like either locker rooms or control centers or the like.
Within a minute I realized we found what we had been looking for. Two men about the age of the woman were providing security and look out whilst two others were fiddling with a container. B'Valla was already going for her 'phone'.
“That would be a little useless down here, don't you agree?” the rhetorical question froze me in my tracks. It was the sixth man, a man that we hadn't seen. And he was carrying a weapon, a slug thrower, something that were we were from would be outdated beyond belief but not here. Here, at this short distance, a weapon like this would be dangerous. I had my hands hanging to the sides and slowly put them in my jacket pocket and reached for the 'phone'.
The phone that we had would be a little different then the usual thing these people would be used too. In both mine and B'Valla her case, the phones would double as a communication device and a tricorder amongst a 'few other functions'. One of those functions would be considered a subspace ELT. Once activated, this beacon would alert any and all members of an away team that one of their own was in trouble.
I was able to activate the ELT by pressing three times on what on a normal phone would be a photo button. Then I handed the phone over.
Number six, as I thought of him, now seemed a little more happy. “Good, good. This way.” The woman we had followed now opened a door and motioned us inside. B'Valla and I walked into a room that contained a single desk, undecorated brick walls and a lot of piping. Near one of the pipes was the access required for what I thought was the bio weapon that was brought in behind us by the two men that had been fiddling with it. The phones were laid down on the desk and the door was locked behind us.
Number six seemed ecstatic. “To think that all I had to was wait for some pigs to fall into my trap.”
“Pigs?” I could see B'Valla didn't quite understand.
“You don't fool me with that, you Federal types are all alike, wanting people to conform like you do.”
Right there and then I suspected that our number six had a few issues.
“Conform? to what?”
I didn't expect six to answer, but he did. “To your school of thinking, that the government is always right. It isn't.”
“So, resistance is futile and we all need to be assimilated?”
That remark got me a full on hit on my left cheek and a curious eyebrow from the Klingon general. It was hard enough to make me taste blood. Other then that I didn't flinch. Neither did B'Valla. She growled instead. I caught a few words. Dishonor was amongst them.
For a brief instant I thought the hit on my cheek had done more damage as I heard a beeping sound off in the distance that was getting louder by the second. And just as I looked at the table and six was about to hit me again, the world turned white.
I can't open my eyes.
I'm trying...really trying.
But I can't.
Wait...am I breathing?
Am I dead?
No...I can feel something...somebody's holding my hand.
Wet.
A tear drop? On my cheek?
How the hell can I feel that?
Why the hell can't I OPEN MY EYES?!?!
*************
Tripler Starfleet Medical Center, Oahu
L'naa gently kissed Nico's forehead, whispering tenderly, "I know what to do." She smiled and wiped another tear from her eye. "I promise things will be alright."
A cough sounded from the doorway. "Don't make promises you might not be able to keep, youngun." Doc Irve slowly walked over to her, arms crossed. "I can tell you this...when you make a promise you can't keep, you'll regret it. Trust me on that."
L'naa stood up and faced him. "I do trust you, Doctor," she said, still holding Nico's hand. "I would not have asked for your assistance in this matter if I did not."
He frowned, quietly saying, "I know you do. I don't like what yer asking." He sighed. "But I don't have to like it...and I like seeing these two in a coma even less," he added, motioning to Nico and Sotek lying motionless on the two biobeds. He looked at the readings on the wall mounted display, shaking his head. "You sure about this?"
She smiled, nodding, "Yes, Doctor. Of this I am sure."
"Ok then...I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Doc Irve growled.
L'naa looked up, calling out, "Q? I know you can hear me." The room went deathly quiet, and a cloud chose that moment to cross the sun, darkening the room. "I need your help."
Nothing.
L'naa lowered her head and closed her eyes.
"Please."
And the room dissolved into a bright nothingness.
*************
Doc? Doc? I can hear you! What don't you like?
L'naa?
L'naa? Help me!
Damn it...why can't I OPEN MY BLOODY EYES!?!
*************
The brightness dimmed, and the world came into focus. L'naa opened her eyes, blinking hard to chase away the spots. She squinted as her normal vision returned, looking out a set of windows at a Class-M planet she didn't recognize. Turning around, she saw what looked to be the observation lounge on a Galaxy-class starship. Doc Irve stood at one end of the table, mouth agape as he stared at the wall. L'naa looked over to the wall, and her jaw involuntarily dropped down.
Tradition on most Galaxy-class ships held that models of previous vessels bearing that ship's name were displayed on the wall opposite the observation windows. Sometimes there was a single starship, sometimes a veritable fleet of sea-going and orbital ships from Earth's history.
Instead, 47 portraits covered the wall...all of members of the OG.
The portraits were what Nico called the 'hero pose', a ship's senior officers lined up on the bridge. The people were the same...but different. Nico was absent in one, Sotek in another. Uniforms were different...and L'naa suppressed a blush at one picture that portrayed her in a barely-there version of what she knew as the Mirror Universe standard. There was no logical order to the way the pictures were arranged...ones of her as an Ensign were mixed with those of her as an Admiral. She looked towards the one that Doc Irve was staring at, and was horrified: half of Nico's face was twisted in a hideous burn, while Sotek was missing an arm. Sara's innocent face was also covered in terrible scars, and Arky's antenna were replaced by evil looking Borg-type facsimiles.
Doc Irve's voice was barely above a whisper, "My God."
A bright flash at the other end of the table popped Q into the room, stating, "God? God has nothing to do with this." Q was wearing a Fleet Admiral's uniform from 2290, with dozens of medals pinned on both sides of his chest. "And neither did I. This?" he asked, motioning to the portraits, "...this is...well....it is what it is. Or may be. Or was." An impish grin appeared on his face, and he continued, "But that's not of much help now, is it?"
Doc Irve glowered at him. "Damn you...are you going to keep playing games? What the hell give you the right--"
And Doc Irve disappeared in a flash, where a tribble the colour of his hair popped down on the table.
L'naa shook her head. "Please Q. Don't do this."
Q pointed at the tribble. "You ask for my help, then curse me? That's not very nice now, it is?" He looked at his reflection in the window, pointing at one of the ribbons on his uniform. "Did your Starfleet really once give out medals just for passing Basic Training?"
L'naa lowered her eyes. "Q...I do need your help. We need your help. We are," she said, motioning to the screeching Tribble, "just very tired. I apologize for the doctor. Please."
Q snapped his fingers, and the tribble vanished. "Since you asked so politely. Manners count, you know. Do you really want him here? He's not necessary for what you're asking."
"Doc Irve has earned the right to be here. He has always been there for us. He has earned my respect countless times over." She paused, sensing that emotion was creeping into her explanation when she needn't explain herself. "Yes. I do want him here."
Q caught that pause, and smiled. It seemed like a genuine smile, not his usual smirk. Was he pleased that L'naa was regaining her usual control?
"Well," Q said, "if you're sure, you're sure." He again snapped his fingers and Doc Irve popped into existence once more. "Hopefully he'll play nice...or next time I'll turn him into a targ."
Doc Irve pursed his lips and tilted his head forward, hooding his eyes, but he kept silent.
Q pulled out the seat at the head of the table, saying, "Good enough." He sat, undoing the clasp at the right hand corner of his uniform. "I don't quite get the fashion choice here...but I like the look of it."
Doc Irve opened his mouth, but L'naa spoke first. "Q...please." She swallowed, wondering how to proceed. "The uniform is fascinating, as are the decorations. But I need your undivided attention to solve this problem."
Q looked offended. "Solve?" he asked. "Do you think you can solve this? Because you can't. You can just accept it. That is the main problem...you and your Captain, always trying to *solve* things that just *are*." He played with the clasp on his uniform. "And I can multitask very efficiently...just like you have, in the past, within the training pods at the Vulcan Science Academy." He frowned. "Haven't you figured it out yet that distracting you with questions not related to current events broadens your perception? Improves problem solving?" Q sighed, continuing, "Even Klingons play plasma-mine-find on their PADDs when thinking of whom to fight next."
L'naa took a seat at the center of the table. "I apologize."
Q smirked at her. "Hmmph. Accepted." He looked at Doc Irve, who took that as an invitation to join them at the table. Q waited for the doctor to sit, then asked, "So...how do you wish to proceed?"
L'naa again swallowed, her mouth dry. "I have come to the conclusion that our entire group is required here to address the issue," she said, avoiding saying that she wanted to solve the problem. "It appears that the Captain and Sotek are in comas because their minds have fragmented due to the anomaly we experienced."
"Ah yes...the mirrorred mirror room at the Academy." He raised an eyebrow, stating, "a most interesting chain of events." He lowered his voice, asking, "are you surprised at the lengths that other you went to? What she did?"
L'naa stood up and walked to the replicator, punching the preset for a cool glass of water. She watched it coalesce, then picked it up and took a sip. "No, Q," she said, "I am not surprised. Vulcan emotions can be quite...powerful. But I do not answer for her. I only answer for myself."
Q straightened in his seat, beaming. "Yes! You're figuring it out all by yourself!"
L'naa ignored the condescension, returning to the table. "We are each responsible for our own actions, not those of others. I cannot control the other realities...I can just do what I can to live in mine." She took another sip of water. "I need your help to stop the anomaly that you started."
"What *I* started?" Q asked. "Me?"
Sitting down, L'naa said, "Yes, you. You did the favour for the oldest version of Nico." She pointed to the corresponding portrait on the wall. "That action with the Red Matter...that cracked open the multiple universes in Nico's mind. And that was the breaking point."
Q frowned, asking, "You believe that if I left it up to you to resolve that day, you would have debated a different outcome? And your Captain wouldn't reach this breaking point?"
With confidence, L'naa answered. "Correct. *We* would have debated it. *We* would have done it. And then *we* could own the choices we made. By interfering...you denied us choice."
"Which *we* are you talking about...*we*, the people in this universe, or *we* the L'naa's throughout the universes?" Q asked.
"Both," L'naa stated. "I appreciate that you did this to help the oldest Nico, but in doing so, harmed so many."
Q scowled, "Yet here you are asking for my help. Won't that bring more harm?"
L'naa raised her head. "The being I now know as T'rvor...The Traveler...repaired the other universes...the other timelines...the other realities...when he met my counterpart. The one who..." L'naa's voice trailed off.
"The one who took drastic measures," Doc Irve said. "That's not you, youngun...just remind yourself that."
"How supportive, Doctor," Q said without a trace of sarcasm. "Interesting euphemism for suicide. Not a choice of a sane being."
Doc Irve seethed at Q, "Don't you get sanctimonious on me. Your kind had their own issues with suicide...or have you forgotten?"
"Quinn," Q said, sadly. "No...I have not forgotten. Again...not the choice of a sane being. But I don't feel like debating that, Doctor. Point taken." Q looked to L'naa, asking, "So...what *exactly* are you asking my help with?"
*********
Damn it, why can't I open my eyes?
<Flash>
I opened my eyes.
And closed them again.
Q.
I sighed, "If I'm dead...then this must be hell if you're here."
An unfamiliar voice cut through the air, demanding, "What is the meaning of this, Q?"
I opened my eyes, and took in the room. It looked like an Observation Lounge, and it was full of people that looked as confused as I was.
Q was standing at the head of a table, arms open towards a bearded Starfleet officer. "Come now, Billy...haven't you learned any manners over the years? Ladies and Gentlemen...may I present Billy Riker of the Titan?"
An attractive brunette placed her arms around Riker, saying, "Will, no. Don't." She stared at Q, lowering her head. "Q, we are in the middle of an important meeting...crucial to the development--"
"Crucial meeting, Deanna?" Q interrupted. "You both got off duty and were playing with your daughter!"
Riker growled at Q, "That *is* crucial, Q. Time with Tasha is *the* most important thing to us."
Q smiled, gesturing to the room. "See, everyone...even Neanderthals can learn something given enough time!"
I grabbed a seat and flopped down. "Q," I said, exhausted, "If you're not gonna explain what's going on, I beg that somebody else will."
"I second that," came a voice from across the room, a voice I had not heard in some time. Arky looked around the room, pausing when he noted his wife beside him. He stepped forward, and made a semi-bow towards Q, saying, "Kindly return Sara and I to our home. We have nothing to contribute here."
Sara's mouth was agape, eyes a mix of confusion and happiness. She was happy to see us, happy to be on a Starfleet vessel...but confused as to the why.
That made two of us.
"I also concur," Sotek groggily said. My friend was in a hospital gown, frowning at the group he stood before. I looked down and noticed I was in a similar gown, and the events of the past few months came rushing back.
Good thing I was sitting.
Q's voice took on an edge, and he loudly proclaimed, "You all have something to contribute...and I will address each of you in turn. Please be seated." When nobody moved, Q snapped his fingers, and everyone was now seated at the table. "Now, please direct your attention to the lady in the middle, and she'll make things clear to you."
I looked over and saw L'naa grabbing at a glass of water. More memories came flooding back to me, and I thought that I would be sick.
L'naa said, "I am sorry to bring you here," she said. "Or rather, that Q has brought you here. But I desperately need your help..."
"An' I'll be happy to help you oot, lassie...but yuv got to tell me what ya need 'fore I can give it." This came from an older man in civilian dress. I tilted my head, recognizing the face. Montgomery Scott! My mouth dropped open in astonishment, and I looked around the table to see who else was at this party.
Q sat at the head of the table, Sara and Arky to his right. L'naa was in the middle, with Sotek beside her. Billy, or Will, sat between Deanna and Doc Irve. An elderly Vulcan male sat next to Deanna, and my jaw dropped more when I recognized him as Ambassador Spock. With him on one side, and Mr. Scott on the other, I was surrounded by legends.
And more confused than ever.
"Please," I croaked, "somebody fill me in before my head explodes."
"I'd pay to see that," spit out Arky.
Sara slapped his hand, "You stop that now, Blue Boo."
Q chortled, "Blue Boo?"
Sara blushed, shrinking down in her seat. She starred daggers at Q, "Yeah. Blue Boo. You got a problem with that?"
"Oooh, I like her!" said Mr. Scott.
Deanna leaned forward, saying, "Please...I believe the Commander was explaining things?"
L'naa took a deep breath. "Thank you Ma'am...my name is L'naa."
"Deanna Troi. This is my husband, Captain William Riker. And Ma'am is my mother...please call me Deanna."
"Thank you...Deanna." L'naa took another drink of water, emptying the glass. She pointed around the table. Captain Sotek, of the Honolulu. Captain Garret, of the Bonaventure. Doctor Irve, CMO of the Bonaventure."
Q interrupted, "Let me speed things along...Mister Scott, formerly of the Enterprise, and Ambassador Spock, formerly of this universe. And little Sara and her Blue Boo round things out."
"Q, please," L'naa said. "Please."
Q waved his hand. "Very well. I will refrain from interrupting, else I cause some other calamity." He tilted his head towards Arky. "Sorry, Blue Boo."
Arky puffed his chest but said nothing. From what I remember, that was a bad sign. He exhaled slowly, saying "Insult me if you wish, Q. Get it over with. I refuse to react, as it wouldn't do any good."
Deanna spoke quietly, "L'naa, please continue. What is this all about?"
Her voice a whisper, L'naa said, "Again, I am sorry that you were brought here. But we need your help. *I* need your help."
Ambassador Spock's voice was strong, and he asked, "What type of assistance do you require, L'naa?"
"Advice," L'naa said. "Guidance. You were brought here because you exemplify the solution to the problem before us."
Q wagged his finger, saying, "Uh uh uh, Commander. No solutions."
"I mispoke," L'naa said. "Rather, your reaction to situations...they are what we need to strive towards."
Mr. Scott's brogue cut the air, "Aach...whut do ya think ya can learn from the likes of me? Unless ya need yer ship fixed, that is."
L'naa breathed out slowly, answering, "Mr. Scott...I ask you to remember the loss of Midshipman Preston."
Mr. Scott sadly shook his head. "Lassie, why'd ya wanna go and bring that up for?"
Doc Irve spoke up. "Loss, Mr. Scott. She wants to know how you dealt with that loss?"
"Aye. A hard loss it was." He blinked away a tear, saying, "I lost my nephew because of a treacherous sneak attack by a snake called Khan. He attacked the Enterprise because of the Cap'n...and for a while I blamed Jim Kirk for it."
Arky hissed, "Sounds familiar."
Mr. Scott looked at him sadly, "Did ya lose somebody close to you, laddie?"
Arky lowered his eyes, saying, "*My* nephew also died because of *my* Captain."
His voice took on a tender lilt, "Laddie...did yer Cap'n kill yer nephew?"
"He flushed him into vacuum. Cut away a nacelle he was in."
"Well, a Cap'n don't cut away a perfectly good nacelle, does he? An accident, I take it?" Arky didn't answer, but nodded. "Like recognizes like, laddie. Yer an Engineer, right?" Another silent nod from Arky. "Then you know better than most...things break. Machines aren't perfect...and they break. If they didn't break, they wouldn't need us ta fix dem, would dey? Yer nephew...another Engineer?"
This time Arky creaked out a barely audible, "Yes." His voice grew stronger. "And a damn good one."
Mr. Scott smiled, "Of that I have no doubt. And as such...he knew the risks. As do you. Rememba when ya first stepped on the decks of a ship? How did ya feel? Did ya care about the risks?"
Arky stared at Mr. Scott, saying, "No. I just wanted to be there."
"As did yer nephew, laddie. As did mine. And we all know that things break, and we do our damned best to fix them. Most of the time we can...but there are some times," he said, nodding towards Ambassador Spock, "that we canna fix them. But don' waste yer time hating someone who didn't break the thing on purpose. Take it from an old man...it is not worth the effort."
Arky sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. He looked down, a tear running down his face. Sara turned and placed her arm around him, whispering something into his ear. Mr. Scott smiled at the display of emotion, as did Deanna and Will.
Riker waited a moment, and spoke to Q. "So if we're abject lessons for these people, what do I teach them?"
Q pointed to L'naa, saying, "She's chairing this meeting, Billy. Do keep up. But wait...she wouldn't know about Tommy, would she?"
Deanna broke in before her husband could retort. "Q, it would be most appreciated if you stop provoking Will."
"Fine," Q said, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand. "I'm not getting a rise out of him anyways. Seems like you've mellowed in your old age, Captain Riker. Put on some weight, too.."
"Q," Deanna said.
"Withdrawn, Counselor." He smiled at Riker. "Had to give it one more shot."
Riker glared at Q, stating simply, "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Q." He swiveled his seat towards L'naa, saying, "I'll assume that Q is speaking about my...brother..." Riker frowned, not knowing how to continue.
Deanna took his hand, saying, "Years ago, there was a transporter incident. Will's pattern was divided, and a copy was...left...on a planet for quite some time."
Riker leaned forward, taking over from his wife. "But to him, he was abandoned. And it ate away at him. He changed...became what I could have been. And afterwards, he did some things I'm not proud of." He stood up, and walked towards the replicator.
Q noted this, and snapped his fingers. "I'm not a very good host, am I?" he asked, as flashes of light popped over the table briefly, glasses of water now appearing in front of each person. "I'm out of practice...something Lady Q insists I work upon."
It was Riker's turn to smirk. "Lady Q?" A glare from Deanna stopped him from going further, so he addressed the group. "For the longest time I was preoccupied with what could have been...with a reality that wasn't real for me, but was for Thomas." Riker sat down again, sighing. "It took a while to accept that he did what *he* did. Not me. It's in the back of my mind that I *could* be capable of what he did, if circumstances were different...but you can't live life constantly questioning 'what if." Deanna proudly smiled at her husband, and he took her hand in his. "I learned to live *my* life, not somebody else's."
His words were resonating in my mind, and it felt like a switch was tripped. I blinked...and it appeared that there was one less portrait on the wall then there was when I first opened my eyes.
Q pointed to the wall behind Riker, asking him, "Aren't you at all curious about the 'you' in those universes? About the other Deanna's? About the Tasha's, and the Jonathan's, and the Christine's?"
Riker squared off against Q, not taking the bait. "No. They live their lives. I live mine. What will happen...will happen. And I'd be foolish to try and change it."
Ambassador Spock's calm voice came quietly from beside me. "I too understand this, and commend Captain Riker for learning that lesson while still young." A bemused grin came from Riker, as if to ask the definition of 'young', but he said nothing. Spock continued, "and I can only infer that my contribution to this is to advise you to not try to alter the events of alternate realities." He looked around the table, holding Mr. Scott's gaze longer than the others. "I have a...unique...insight into this. And to further explain may alter this timeline, and cause inadvertent damage. So I will not tell you whether or not one should attempt to alter different realities...I only ask you to do what you feel is right."
Q wagged his finger at the Ambassador, saying, "Now now, Mr. Spock...that's a cop out."
"I beg to differ," Spock said. "It appears that the events this crew is dealing with were caused by interference. Yours. Explaining my experiences after leaving their reality could affect their future choices, creating a predestination paradox." He looked directly at me, saying, "and that would cause more damage than my silence. Do you not agree, Captain?"
I looked at the elderly legend sitting next to me, my jaw agape. I realized that this was my default expression when faced with multiple reality situations, and promptly shut my mouth. I pointed to the portraits on the wall, asking, "Ambassador...is one of those realities yours?" Too late to retract my question, I realized that he wouldn't possibly know.
He looked at me with kind eyes. "Yes, Nico. We have met. One of those realities is where I...reside...now." He winked mischievously, adding, "And I will not say anything other than I recognize the fact that your crew...your friends...they will go to extreme lengths to help one another. As Mr. Scott said...like recognizes like."
Mr. Scott clasped my shoulder, saying, "Amen to that."
My mouth popped open again, and I struggled to shut it this time.
Deanna was next to speak. "Q, it seems that you have brought them here," she motioned to Will, Mr. Scott, and Ambassador Spock, "for reasons that are clear. But why am I here? I don't sense any emotions from this crew that would lead me to believe my presence is also required."
L'naa was the one to answer, "Deanna...may I ask a personal question? I do not mean to be intrusive...but I feel I may know why you are here."
Deanna looked uncomfortable, and Riker grasped her hand more tightly. She looked at him, and he answered with eyes that spoke volumes. "Commander," he said, "we've been though a lot over the years. A *lot* of painful experiences. Is your question really necessary?" He leaned towards L'naa, imploring upon her not to cause his wife any pain.
"Will...it's alright," Deanna said softly. "I sense a...familiar feeling." Deanna blushed as she realized what she was feeling, then gave L'naa a gentle smile. "Go ahead."
It was L'naa's turn to blush, and she cast her eyes down. "Taking responsibility for your own choices...I don't know how to do that with..." her voice went quiet, and she didn't continue.
Q spoke up after a moment. "Come now, Commander," he said. "You asked for my help, so I brought them here. They opened themselves up to some painful memories to answer your questions...it would only be courteous for you to open *yourself* up as well."
Doc Irve jumped up from his seat, yelling at Q, "You leave her alone! You--"
"It is fine, Doctor," L'naa broke in. "It is only fair."
Mr. Scott leaned forward in his chair, whispering to Ambassador Spock, "Remind you of somebody?"
"Indeed," the Ambassador whispered back.
Deanna turned towards L'naa, and spoke softly. "I haven't met any empathic Vulcans with your level of control before. But I can answer your question without you asking it." She took a breath, and smiled. "You care deeply for him...and fear what might happen. You fear what decisions you might make...you fear making the wrong one. But to not act on your feelings...then you will remain in that limbo of 'what if'." She turned to Riker. "And a wise man once said you can't live life constantly questioning 'what if'." Deanna stood up, and Riker also rose. "Q...I believe that we are done."
Q smirked, saying, "Yes...I suppose we are." He snapped his fingers, and Will and Deanna vanished into a flash of light, as did Mr. Scott and Ambassador Spock. He looked smug, pleased with himself. "Thought that they'd be the right ones to talk to you. Picard and Crusher...well..." he paused. "I've pestered Picard enough in this lifetime."
I had to break the awkward silence that followed.
"Ok...what now? I mean...I've been through counseling before. Seems like this point is what a counselor would call a good starting point for us..." I glanced up, and met Arky's eyes. They weren't filled with hate this time, none that I could see.
"We move on," L'naa whispered. "Move on with *our* lives."
I looked to Q, squinting, "So...why is it that you brought those people here?"
Q glanced around the room. "People tend to take advice from those they respect. You may have not met them before...but you know of them. Of their deeds. And you respect them. So their words, coming directly from the source, have the weight necessary to break through that thick skull of yours."
"That's not all, is there?"
"No," Q said. "Look...I have meddled where I shouldn't have. Interfered for nothing other than my own amusement. But believe it or not...the Q can learn from mortals. Can admit when a mistake was made. And have the courage to own that mistake, and correct it."
"Your correction...will it affect the other realities?"
Q looked out the window, deep in thought. "No. My action at the Academy broke *you*. The other 'you's'...none of them had gone through the trauma you had. Your friend here," he said, motioning to Sotek, "broke when he melded with you. And she," he said, pointing to L'naa, "broke a long time ago, but managed to hold it together. Very impressive, my dear."
I closed my eyes, saddened that my friends were being called 'broken' by this omnipotent being. "Can we be 'fixed', then?"
"You'll work at it," Q answered. "As you put it, this is a starting point. Have you had closure to where you can proceed from this point? I won't answer that. Only *you* can. But do you at least know what *needs* to be fixed? I think you all do." He stood up, motioning for us all to rise. "What say you, Blue Boo?"
Arky slowly stood up, glaring at Q. His antenna twitched in agitation, and I thought he was going to throw a punch. But he didn't, and he looked down, whispering across the room, "We'll call you in a while...pinkskins." Sara jumped up with a huge smile, grabbing her husband around the waist. She winked at us, and then Q flashed them back to their summer home in Yellowknife.
Doc Irve stood up, muttering, "I'll never figure their kind out." He pointed to Q, hissing, "And you? I don't *want* to figure you out."
Q smirked, waving his arms, "The feeling is mutual, Doc." A flash, and Doc Irve vanished.
Sotek rose and spoke quietly. "This will take some time to process."
"I suppose it will," I said.
"I will be there to assist you."
"And I for you, my friend."
Q broke in, "How touching! I wonder what I'll have to do to get Sisko to drop his guard? Ah...not your concern." He snapped his fingers, and the room dissolved to white. Before it did, for just a microsecond...I looked at the wall opposite the windows. A single picture was flanked by a dozen gleaming bronze ships.
********
Why the hell can't I open my eyes!
My chest was screaming in pain, as if I was impaled upon a white hot spear. I opened my right eye...
Huh?
I can open my eyes?
A voice cut through my agony, "Hold on...hold on..."
A felt a hiss at my neck, and the pain receded. Not fully...but enough to stop gasping for air.
"Welcome back," came the gruff voice of Doc Irve.
I blinked multiple times, my eyes aching. Hold that...*everything* ached.
"Wha.." I gasped out.
Doc Irve laid a hand on my shoulder. "Don't talk. Rest. There's gonna be lots of time for talk later." He patted my shoulder the way he had many times. "Rest now." He walked away, pointing a finger at Sotek in the other biobed in the room. "You too...rest. And if you try to get *him* food he's not supposed to have, I'll skin you alive."
Sotek winced in pain, yet managed to throw a shaka at Doc Irve.
"He's getting better already," Doc muttered to himself, walking out the door.
I looked to the other side of the bed to see L'naa sitting next to me. She held onto my hand, and was smiling shyly. "Hey you," she said.
"Hey," I croaked back. "Dream?"
"It wasn't a dream. But now you must rest. Sleep. We will talk later. Know this, Nico. Things will be alright."
My throat was killing me, but I rasped out, "How...Q...did..."
"Shhh," L'naa said, placing a finger on my lips. "What Q did isn't important to *us*. I will be back tomorrow. Just sleep." She slowly stood straight. "You too, Sotek."
"I would be easier for me to sleep if you would be quiet," Sotek said with a sly grin.
Her hand grazed mine as she stepped back. I closed my eyes, feeling the meds Doc Irve injected starting to take effect.
I thought I heard her voice as I drifted away.
"Goodnight, Imzadi."
Imz-what? What the hell does that mean?
I'll ask her tomorrow.
I fell deeper into the black, peacefully realizing that this was the first time in a long time that my thoughts were not of yesterday, but of tomorrow.
(In the spirit of literary challenge 26, this story explores the background of the Federalist's Tactical Officer, Quallo. It was actually written some time ago, but I haven't had a good reason to post it 'til now.)
The Prize Fighter
He pulled the lever to open the maintenance hatch on the torpedo. It was the 44th torpedo in the ship's arsenal of 50. He tapped a few buttons on the hidden access panel, and synched his tricorder to it's onboard computer system.
"Targeting functions within acceptable parameters. Photon warhead stable. Propulsion unit tests optimal." The computer reported its diagnostic findings.
Quallo sighed softly, "Just six more to go. Then I can call it a night."
The door to the torpedo bay opened. Captain Deet entered.
"Captain, is there something I can help you find?" Quallo asked, dropping what he was doing.
"Actually I'm here to speak to you." the Captain replied.
"Oh, you didn't need to come all the way down here, I would've come to your ready room." Quallo wondered why she hadn't.
"I've got two working legs. I know too many captains who forget that they have an entire ship of moving parts underneath their bridge, and they never come down to see it- yet they always expect for it to work perfectly... What are you doing in here anyway? Your shift ended at seventeen-hundred."
"I just wanted to run an inspection on the photon torpedoes. I'll be sure to finish in the next 15 minutes. I've got an hour of holodeck time at twenty-hundred hours that I don't want to miss." Quallo explained.
"See that you don't." the Captain shot back, concerned that her officer was overworking himself, "Do you need more help with the weapons systems? I'm sure we can move some personnel to help you get these diagnostics done."
"No, Captain. Thank you. It seems like Ensign Anderson has done a fine job with recent torpedo maintenance, I just wanted to double check."
"Do you have reason to believe his work was unsatisfactory?"
"Not at all, he's a fine officer... but... I'm ultimately the one who will pull the trigger to fire these torpedoes. So I'm also ultimately responsible for making sure they work right when I do. There could be a lot riding on these." he paused, "I hope I'm not overstepping my authority here; I know it's redundant, and that's why I do this on my free time."
"I certainly applaud your commitment and dedication, I only hope you're not working yourself too hard. Just make sure you don't miss your holodeck time- that's an order." The Captain smiled before turning to walk out.
"Oh, I almost forgot why I came down here." she added, "The Federalist has been asked to change course in order to bring some medical supplies to Dessica II. We should be entering orbit shortly. I know you grew up there, so if you'd like to catch up with some old friends, I'd be willing to stay in orbit for a few days."
Quallo suddenly looked alarmed. "Thank you Captain, but I hope I never go back to that planet. I don't have fond memories or old friends there."
"Very well, Mr. Quallo. Let me know if you need anything." The Captain left Quallo to his work, the doors sliding shut behind her.
Quallo returned to his work. "Computer, when was the last diagnostic on our phaser array?" He queried.
"The phaser array underwent a full diagnostic 3 days, 14 hours ago." the computer immediately answered.
"Prepare another diagnostic..."
---
The next morning, Aznia Deet entered the bridge at zero-seven-twenty hours, she walked into her ready room directly to the replicator: "Bolian Tonic, 2 degrees Celsius, large." A cold, fizzy, transparent purple drink appeared in a clear tall glass, which she eagerly sipped. She never started the day without her ritual pick-me-up, and a quick glance at the ship's status report.
several minutes later, Aznia returned to the bridge with her drink, dismissing Lt. Atom from command of the Delta Shift. The android officer returned to his post at the science station.
Giving her first order of the day, Captain Deet ordered a hailing frequency be opened to the Dessican administrator.
After a moment he came on screen, "Administrator Bort, have your facilities received all of the medical supplies?"
The rotund Bolian bureaucrat responded, "Yes Captain, we are in your debt. These supplies will save lives here." He paused, a curious look coming over his face. "Is... Is that a Bolian Tonic you're holding?"
Captain Deet looked down at her drink mildly confused. She then looked back up at the administrator with a smile and answered "Why yes it is. I'm quite fond of it actually."
The Bolian chuckled, "It just so happens that I've got an entire case of tonic here, fresh from Bolarus- the genuine article too! I would be very pleased to have you and your staff join me for a drink and a meal. I know Dessica II has an old reputation for being a lawless, dangerous place; but we've made great strides under my administration. I'd love to a chance to show a Federation representative some of our reforms and accomplishments."
"Certainly. I'm looking forward to it."
"Splendid. I'll make preparations! Say... thirteen-hundred hours? I'll transmit beam-down coordinates shortly."
Aznia nodded, smiling. The communication channel closed. She turned around to face her crew, noting that Ensign Bohannon at Tactical was the only officer still present from Delta Shift. "Computer what is the time?"
"Zero-seven-thirty-three hours, seventeen seconds." The precise instrument responded.
"Ensign Bohannon, has Lt. Commander Quallo informed you that he would be late?"
"No sir, I just haven't been dismissed yet." the Ensign alertly responded.
"Deet to Quallo, report." Aznia tapped her comm badge.
There was no response.
"Computer, locate Lt. Commander Quallo." Aznia demanded, as concern filled the bridge like rising water.
"Lt. Commander Quallo is not aboard the Federalist." The computer stated, mater-of-factly.
"When was he last aboard, how did he leave, and where was he located?" A subtle panic set into Aznia's voice.
"Lt. Commander Quallo was last detected in Jeffries Tube 52-a at twenty-hundred-thirty-seven hours, 54 seconds. Unable to determine method of disembarkment."
"Deet to Lt. Dewoh, meet me with a security team at the entry to Jeffries Tube junction 52-a." she ordered. "Span, you're with me."
---
The Trill and Vulcan senior officers marched quickly through the lower corridors of the Federalist toward the junction. There they met the imposing, tall, maroon skinned Saurian security officer; "Lt. Dewoh, we have a situation. Lt. Commander Quallo has vanished from aboard the Federalist, and we need to know how he's left and where he's gone." She demanded.
Lt. Dewoh's awkward mannerism and stoic stature remained unchanged, he simply gave an exaggerated nod of acknowledgement to the captain, stating "Aye, ma'am." before rapidly getting his team to work. He was always an unusual character aboard the ship. Very dedicated to his work, but socially alienated from the rest of the crew. "Level five sensor scans of all these conduits on the doubles!" He pitifully tried to mimic a more typically 'humanoid' mannerism, as he pushed his mostly-human security team to work.
It was a matter of moments before the security team found a tool kit unattended in the Jeffries Tube with diagnostic systems engaged. Ultimately, they were unable to find evidence of tampering or sabotage. There was also no evidence of any standard transporter technology having been employed.
Aznia waited outside the corridor as the security team conducted their continuing sweeps. It was about an hour before she heard Lt. Dewoh's unusual voice declare "I've got it! I've got it!" as he crawled out of the cramped access tunnel.
"Folded Space Transport!" He proclaimed.
"I'm sorry, what?" The Captain required clarification.
"It is a technology that has been abandoned for years. It is very dangerous to organic tissue- prolonged use will kill you; but it transports individuals undetected, long range, even through shields. Very sneaky, ma'am."
"Are you sure?" Aznia probed.
"Sure as sure is and will sure be." The awkward Saurian botched the saying, "After removing the impossible, only a Folded Space transporter remains the improbable."
"Very nice work, Mr. Dewoh. I want you to stay on the trail, report any findings to me."
"Aye! Here to be service! We will find him!" Dewoh stated with sincere enthusiasm.
---
Captain Deet returned to the bridge. Sitting in the Captain's chair, Aznia found herself more uncomfortable than she's ever been in that seat before. "Open a channel to Starbase 39-Sierra, Admiral Edward Park."
The viewscreen flickered on, an old, grizzled officer stare back at the young Captain. "Deet! It's been far too long. How've you been?!"
Aznia softly smiled at her old friend, "Things have been better, Admiral."
"Admiral?" the old commanding officer responded with surprise. "Drop the ranks, Deet. What can I do to help?"
"One of my officers has gone missing. He was pulled from the ship with a Folded Space Transporter. I need any information you have on this technology. I also need a detailed personnel file on Lt. Commander Quallo, including his history on Dessica II. I have reason to believe someone in his past is behind this."
The admiral's tone turned somber, "Absolutely Deet. I'll have it transmitted over immediately. Is there anything else I can do?"
Smiling, Aznia finished the conversation "I don't think so, Eddy. thank you for your help. I'll buy you a drink next time I'm around."
"I'd like that." the old friends ended their call.
"Get Administrator Bort on screen." Aznia jumped from one thought to the next.
The fat Bolian's smiling face again appeared on screen. "Our meeting isn't for another hour, Captain. Is there something I can do for you?"
"I'm afraid we might need to cancel our plans, Administrator." Aznia's stated seriously, "A crew member has gone missing, abducted by a Folded Space Transporter, and we have reason to believe that it may have something to do with his history on Dessica II."
"That's just awful, I will alert our authorities to be on the lookout. I like to think that this planet has made great strides in stamping out the presence of organized crime, but there is still a healthy criminal element on this planet. What is your crewman's name?"
"His name is Quallo, he is a Ferengi who grew up on the Travisian Coast of the Ketral Continent." The Captain informed the Administrator.
"I'll look into it right away, I'll let you know if I find anything." Bort closed the channel.
"I'll be in my ready room." The captain stepped into the privacy of her office.
---
At her console, the Captain began to sift through the information streamed from Starbase 34-Sierra. Quallo's history was spotty. His location and date of birth were recorded, as was his date of enlistment in Starfleet. Starfleet seemed to have no detailed or relevant history on him prior to the date he stepped off the transport to Earth.
Information on the Folded Space Transporter was more detailed. It explained a process to detect a transport in progress. An Adaptive Supspace Echogram would be able to detect the location of such a transport if another one occurs. "We just need to get them to use it again." she quipped to herself.
Aznia immediately communicated this information to her crew. After a short wait, a communiqu? came in from the Dessican Administrator's office.
"Captain, your officer had an interesting history on Dessica II. Have you ever heard of Wawu Stickfighting?" Administrator Bort asked.
"No, I'm afraid not." Aznia responded somewhat impatiently.
"It is a barbaric martial art that this planet's natives used to practice. In the ancient version of this event, competitors would be armed with a wooden shield, and a burning stick. A fire would be lit on each end of a rectangular field of combat. The competitors would wait until their weapon's end was red hot; then the objective was to burn your opponent with the hot end. The first competitor to impose three scarring burns on their opponent wins the contest. A modern variation on this sport had become popular on Dessica II several years ago, it combined a modified Klingon Pain Stick and digital scoring. Three years ago, my administration banned the activity, as it attracted the attention of all of this planet's organized crime. Gambling, drinking, violence, injury... it all followed these events. Anyways, two decades ago, your officer was quite the competitor. He was a professional, and he appears to have had a an undefeated career that included 25 consecutive wins... until..." The administrator paused uncomfortably.
"Until what?" The Captain demanded.
"It seems that in his 26th event, the opponent was killed after Quallo landed his first strike. Quallo left the scene immediately. He hasn't been seen on Dessica II since."
"Aren't these weapons non-lethal?" The captain asked with alarm.
"They're supposed to be!" The Administrator said with a scoff tone. "Now you can see why I've banned the practice! It seems someone tampered with the combat stick. Either your officer, his trainers, or gamblers. The authorities at the time declared the case closed. Unfortunately, justice meant very little to my predecessors. A full investigation was never conducted... but If you want my opinion, you need to find out more about his opponent if you want to find your officer's kidnappers. He was an Orion named Gevish-Nar."
"Thank you for your information, Administrator Bort. You've been a great help." Aznia finished the conversation.
"Contact me if you need anything else." the channel closed.
---
Aznia walked onto the bridge. "Orions." she sneered. "Span, Atom, you're with me." she tapped her comm badge, "Lt. Dewoh, meet me in transporter room 1."
Span stopped the Captain, "We can take care of this, Captain. Your place is on the bridge."
"No. Under normal circumstances, I'd be inclined to agree. But it's the job of a captain to safeguard their crew. I need to be there. I need to help find Quallo."
Span relented. They organized in the transporter room as Ensign Keesa transported them to Travisian City.
---
Quallo sat quietly in a small, dark room. "I didn't kill him! He was my friend!!" He pleaded through the door, unsure if anyone was listening.
Painful memories flooded the Ferengi's head. Since his final fight, he'd always assumed he was a wanted man. Revenge could be sought by Gevish's family, fans, and even friends- though he counted himself among them. He understood why people wanted him dead, sometimes he felt that way himself.
Quallo thought back to his life before that fight. He trained with an Orion gym, Gevish was one of his best friends and sparring partners. The Orion clan had taken him in like family. The skills built between the two fighters in that gym reflected the greatest strengths of mutual respect and understanding. Between the two of them, they had trounced the greatest opponents from all of the region's best gyms. The Wawu, the Yridians, the Romulans, none of them could find an opponent worthy of the competing against the boys from the Orion gym. It was only a matter of time before promoters and fans realized that Quallo and Gevish needed to compete, as they were together in a league of their own. It was billed as the greatest event in the history of the planet.
There were nearly 50,000 in attendance. Gambling money flooded the arena as hustlers and bookies worked to shave every slip of gold-pressed-profit they could. The event was abuzz with energy. Nothing fazed either fighter. They stared eye to eye before the referee brought each fighter his pain stick. Quallo shifted the grip in his hand, noticing that this was not his favorite stick; but the fight was about to start, and neither fighter was about to break the energy flow in the arena.
When the fight started, Quallo found himself unprepared for the ferocity of his opponent. He was on his heels far more than he'd ever been. He'd always been a careful fighter, waiting for the opponent's aggression to show, then striking at weak points systematically. It was unusual to see Gevish taking such aggressive tactics, he'd clearly changed form to take Quallo off guard. Gevish raised his stick at a downward angle indicating a lunge at the legs, so when Quallo moved his shield to block, Gevish backhanded his stick, slapping it across Quallo's shoulder instead, scoring the first strike of the match.
For the first time in his professional career, Quallo felt that he might be out of his league. His confidence was shaking. He wondered if the preparation and cunning of a Ferengi could possibly defeat the strength and size of a finely tuned Orion. The fighters retook their relative sides on the arena. Quallo decided to stick to his guns, he couldn't let Gevish throw him out of his comfort zone. Gevish came out of the gate with an extremely aggressive running swing, and this was the exact opportunity Quallo had waited for; he slid to the ground just as the stick swung over his head, and before Gevish could recover, Quallo jabbed at his shoulder, which had been left exposed by the over-aggressive move.
Quallo felt an enormous sense of satisfaction as the impact fell, his attitude instantly turned more upbeat. He jumped to his feet with vigor before realizing that something was very wrong. Sparks had flown upon impact, and the end of his pain stick had discharged so violently that its capacitors had burst. Gevish still stood upright, every muscle in his body tensed to it's fullest. Green blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, which stared lifeless and straight toward Quallo. His body seemed to take an eternity to fall. Quallo froze while referees, attendants, and trainers all rushed in. Quallo dropped the broken pain stick, slowly walking in to see his fallen comrade. Death was pronounced very quickly, so Quallo ran. Before reaction could set in, before anyone could realize what had happened; Quallo's flight instincts escorted him from the arena.
Amazed that he escaped, he boarded the first departing transport shuttle he found. Quallo booked transport to the Shorahn continent. By the next morning, he was on a freighter to Benzar. Along the way, he considered several new career paths. He needed a fresh start, and he wanted nothing more than to get away from fighting. The most peaceful people he could think of were the people of the Federation. He bought passage aboard a trader's vessel on a trip to Earth, where he applied for admittance to Starfleet Academy.
Now Quallo sat in the dark, his past having finally caught up to him, he couldn't run anymore. He didn't know who'd taken him, but he definitely knew why.
---
Captain Deet had found her way to a back alley bar in Travisian City. She'd been told that it was a popular Orion hangout by a trustworthy source. She stepped around the corner into the alley, and instantly came face to face with two large Orion men leaving the bar. Aznia reached for her phaser, ready to draw down on them. Commander Span put his hand on her arm to stifle her overreaction.
"Excuse me ma'am." one of the Orions said before walking past. She eased up after the irrational moment of fear. Span shot her a look as if to say 'I expect better', and she knew he was right. She regained her poise quickly.
They walked into the bar, where Commander Span drew the attention of the Orion Bartender. "Do you know anything about Wawu Stickfighting in the area?"
The bartender was unhappy with this use of his time. "Look. If you want to talk, buy a drink... I'll think about it."
Lt. Dewoh stepped up to the bar. He removed a gold pressed latinum 10-sided die from his pocket. It had alien symbols on each side of it. "Lucky charm... You get luck, we get knowledge."
The bartender looked at the die, then looked up at the Starfleet officers. He put the die in his pocket. "The two guy who runs the local gym just left. You must've walked right past him." He pulled over a napkin, removing some kind of pencil from his pocket, and drawing a crude map of their gym's location. "Now buy a drink, or get out of here... and you never talked to me."
Aznia led the way out of the bar. She turned back only to thank Dewoh for the die. "I'm sorry you lost your lucky charm."
"It was just a die. A charm is no value if you don't use it for the benefit of reality." Dewoh responded rationally. "Just glad I used it well."
---
The away team followed the crude map to a quiet building nearby. "Perhaps we should just handle this directly." Span knocked on the door. Several armed Orions emerged from around the corners of the building, the away team found themselves ambushed.
"Why are you asking our bartender about us?" The lead Orion inquired hostilely.
"We're investigating the disappearance of one of our crew." Aznia responded frankly.
"We've got no business with Starfleet." the lead Orion lowered his weapon. "What makes you think we know anything?"
"Do you know the name Gevish-Nar?" Aznia asked, as the lead Orion became visibly upset.
"My name is Tellis-Nar. He was my brother. If I ever find out who's responsible for his death, I will kill them with my bare hands." He insisted. "I lost two brothers that day. There was another fighter from my gym that was tricked into killing him. We never found out what happened to him. I miss those boys every day."
"So you don't believe Quallo was responsible??" Aznia asked with some surprise.
"You know Quallo?? Where is he!?" Tellis' mood lifted. "Of course he wasn't responsible. He was family!"
"Quallo's the missing member of my crew." Aznia informed Tellis.
"I'd look at the Yridians. They lost a lot of money on that fight. If they believe Quallo cheated, he could be dead by now."
"What do you propose we do?" Span asked.
Tellis invited the away team inside his gym, they followed him through a hidden door in a back room of their facility. After going through a long tunnel, they found themselves in a concealed hangar bay. There, they found a massive arsenal: rifles, cannons, and even two Scorpion Fighter Ships.
"The Yridian Clans dominate an area of the continent called Balastrade. With your help, we could storm their headquarters and deal a crippling blow to their leadership once and for all! Maybe we can find someone there to tell us where Quallo is."
"...as the planet erupts into gang warfare? No, we can't be a part of this." Aznia rejected the plan.
"In the years following the fight, the relations between the Yridian and Orion clans deteriorated. When stickfighting was eventually banned, the only common ground we had was erased... Captain, if you want to see your crewman again, you need to help us!"
"I'm afraid I can't interfere in your conflict, Tellis. I'll let you know if anything changes." Aznia wouldn't budge. "Deet, to Federalist. Beam us up."
---
Back aboard the Federalist, Captain Deet felt as if no ground had been made. Certainly she couldn't involve herself in the middle of Dessica II's prominent gang war. She felt like she'd uncovered more questions than answers. "If you need me, I'll be in my ready room." She retreated to her quiet sanctuary, ordering herself another Bolian Tonic.
"Captain, we're receiving a hail you may want to answer." Commander Span's voice chimed in just as Aznia relaxed in her seat.
Deet hung her head for just a moment before returning to the bridge. "On screen."
A wrinkled Yridian face appeared on her viewscreen. "Captain, we are not your enemy." he instantly pleaded.
"Why would you assume that you are?" Deet played coy.
"Let's drop the pretense. We deal in information. We have eyes everywhere. We don't know where your crewman is, but we know we don't have him."
Aznia was intrigued, "What reason do I have to believe you? If you have informants everywhere, then why don't you have answers for me?"
"If you want my best guess, Tellis has your officer somewhere. He's not at their gym, or in that secret bunker of his..." Aznia raised an eyebrow at the Yridian's knowledge. "Yes. I know about that. As far as I can tell, Tellis was willing to kill his own brother in the name of profit. How do you think he financed that arsenal of his? I would assume that he's kidnapped his 'old friend' in order to create a situation where he could put that arsenal to use!" The Yridian made a strong case.
"He made money on the fight?" The story started to click. "...He made money on the fight." Captain Deet paused the conversation for just a moment. "Lt. Atom, see what you can do to verify this information."
"...and here's another free piece of information. Two days after the fight, he got his hands on those Romulan Scorpion Fighters from a Reman arms dealer named Nevvik. Is it simply a coincidence that he found the income to afford something so advanced?"
"If he's got such advanced firepower, why hasn't he attacked you yet?"
"In this cold war, you don't only need the firepower to defeat your enemy. You need the firepower to push back the authorities who will capitalize on the opportunity to crush two weakened powers at the same time."
Aznia looked down at her drink. "I've got an idea, and I need your help."
---
Aznia sat down in her ready room, "Computer, open a hailing frequency to Administrator Bort."
The Bolian face appeared on her console. "Have you had any luck, Captain?" The administrator questioned.
"I believe so, administrator. I've been in contact with a Yridian information dealer who claims to have intercepted information about where my crewman is being held. He hasn't informed us yet because he insists on making the transaction in person. Security is a great concern for him. He'll be beaming aboard shortly to explain the situation, and he's agreed to stay aboard until our crewman is recovered."
"Wonderful news. I just suggest that you may want to rethink your meeting plans incase the Orions are monitoring our channel. I'd hate to see something happen." Administrator Bort warned.
"I'll take your advice into consideration, administrator. Thank you for all your help."
"Any time Captain." The Administrator closed the channel quickly.
Aznia walked down to the transporter room briskly, meeting Ensign Keesa at the controls. "Energize"
A figure began to appear on the transporter pad. Upon materializing, the Yridian vanished in a flash from the transporter pad.
"Deet to Dewoh, they've taken the bait!"
"Coordinates are routed to your console now! The Adaptive Supspace Echogram reflects a holding area under the Administrative capitol!"
A security team flowed into the transporter room to meet the Captain, "Beam us to directly to the administrator's office."
---
The team materialized in front of Administrator Bort's desk.
"You're under arrest, Bort." Starfleet officers beamed in on every level of the facility. "Where are my men being held."
"What do you think you're doing, Captain?" The Administrator disregarded the charges. "You have no basis to make such claims!" The Bolian became visibly nervous.
She turned to the Administrator, "What I didn't tell you is that we found a way to track your Folded Space Transporter. We just needed to give you an excuse to use it again."
"I... I have no idea what you're talking about. You have no business being here! You'll pay for these accusations!" The petulant leader bargained.
"Quallo and the Yridian informant are secure Captain." A security officer reported in on a comm channel.
"Huh. Look at that." Aznia taunted the Bolian.
"You've ruined everything. I was on the brink of destroying these vermin clans once and for all!! I got rid of their little barbaric sport, I've been instigating them for years, I've pushed them to the brink of destroying one and other, and I would've been there to clean up the remnant mess once they were gone! You've done this planet a disservice, Captain!" The Bolian turned cerulean with anger.
Deet didn't care about his agenda. "You're a kidnapper... and you're coming with me." she demanded.
Bort lunged at a control panel at his desk, activating a Folding Space transport. Before the security team could react, the Administrator had vanished.
"Deet to Federalist! He's used the folded space transporter!" Aznia alerted her ship.
"He's gone Captain. He transported to a ship that just cloaked and left orbit. We've lost him."
Quallo entered the Administrator's office with the Yridian leader. "Captain, I'm so glad to see you."
Aznia's face was stern, "I'll have you court martialled for this." Quallo was taken aback. "I ordered you not to miss your holodeck time." they both smiled.
---
Before the Federalist left orbit, Captain Deet beamed to the Orion gym, where there was one last piece of business to attend to. Again, she was were greeted by the Orion clan.
"Tellis, I thought I'd let you know that this situation is diffused, and Quallo is safe aboard the Federalist." she informed the large green man.
"That's wonderful news." he answered.
"There's just one thing..." Deet made sure that several of the Orions were within ear shot, "I looked into some financial records, and it seems that your financial accounts came into a windfall after Quallo's last fight. In fact, my crew was even able to contact the Reman arms dealer who sold most of the arsenal to you." Tellis began to look very nervous. Several of the other Orions began to turn their eyes angrily toward Tellis. "It's all right here in this report... awful coincidence, don't you think?" She tossed the PADD onto the ground, as the enraged Orion clan slowly surrounded their leader, backing him up against a wall. One angry Orion reaching down to pick up the report.
"This is... a... misunderstanding. I can explain this..." Tellis pleaded.
"I'm sure you can." Deet acknowledged. She tapped her comm badge, "Deet to Federalist, beam me up."
Dominique McElligott as Captain Aznia Deet
Edi Gathegi as Commander Span
Quentin Jackson as Lieutenant Quallo
Krysten Ritter as Lieutenant Commander First of Eight
Sean Murray as Lieutenant Atom
Christopher Heyerdahl as Lieutenant Dewoh
[First mention of a main character will be a link to their picture.]
x
The distress call came in shortly after Vice Admiral Joanne Roslyn had returned to the bridge after lunch. She had already resigned herself to an afternoon of maintenance reports and crew evaluations when Ensign Banks spoke up from where she had been quietly working at her station.
"Admiral, a sector-wide automated distress call has gone in, bearing 024-176-009, Deep Space X05. Long range sensors show Borg activity, possibly a single tactical cube. We are 3 hours and 17 minutes away at maximum warp. Acknowledge?"
Joanne stood up from her Captain's chair, turning around to look at her comms officer. To her left, Commander Corspa Eide looked up from the tactical station. "X05, is that −"
"Yes, it is. Acknowledge, Ensign." Joanne said.
Ensign Banks nodded, then paused, and frowned at her console. "We have just received orders to stand down and act as support-on-request to the U.S.S. Pankhurst, an Aquarius Destroyer, that will respond to the distress call." She looked up, puzzled. "Admiral, the Pankhurst is 8 hours behind us."
Joanne nodded slowly, and turned back around to face the viewscreen. "Ensign, please get me the response coordinator for this sector."
After a few seconds, the face of Admiral Holland appeared on the screen. He always looked a bit pained, as if he generally disapproved of just about anything that happened in his sector. His expression grew even more weary as he recognized Joanne, and interrupted her just as she was about to speak.
"I know what you want, Roslyn. The answer is no. I've already given Captain Tean the go-ahead." he said as he leaned forward and laced his fingers on his desk. "And don't give me that attitude."
Joanne made an effort to keep her face neutral as she realized that her expression must have said "well, sod that" very clearly. She took a deep breath. "Admiral, with all due respect, having us sit here and wait for the Pankhurst is completely insane. I appreciate your concern, but we have mastered similar situations before and can handle this just as well."
Admiral Holland shook his head. "This is different. I don't want you there, you are bound to mess up."
It was like the whole bridge crew held their breath as one. Everyone stopped what they were doing to focus on the exchange between the two Admirals, wondering what could have possibly prompted this open distrust in their captain and their ship's capabilities. Sure, the crew knew about Joanne's ...dislike of missions involving the Borg, and the Mutabor was 'only' a science vessel, but they were still good and they had a master tactician in their first officer. Only Commander Eide herself was waiting patiently, unconcerned that Joanne would get her will, one way or another.
When Joanne responded, her voice had gone from business-like to icy, her head held high. "The chances of losing all station crew are too high if we wait. By the time Captain Tean gets there, it will be too late, and that is not something I would like to take responsibility for. I am well aware of the risk to my own crew, but this is our job."
Admiral Holland managed not to wince, and instead just looked tired. "Alright then. Go. But remember, the Pankhurst will be too far away to save you."
Joanne inclined her head in what could barely be called respectful and motioned for Banks to end the transmission. There was silence on the bridge for a moment before the usual activity resumed, with Commander Eide giving out orders to change course and prepare the ship for combat.
"Briefing in 15 minutes." Joanne snapped and left the bridge.
x
The mood in the briefing room was subdued as Joanne walked in, her officers quietly chatting to each other and Commander Corspa Eide working on a padd. The conversations stopped as Joanne sat down in the chair at the top of the table and looked around. On her left, Commander Taallir was looking at her with his typical neutral expression. Lt Commander Hrin Ojhyni next to him was looking at her expectantly (and also a bit confused, since the chief engineer had missed the little show on the bridge earlier), just like Lieutenant Elizabeth Harper to his left, nervously tapping her fingers on the tabletop.
To Joanne's right, Corspa now connected the padd to the table's holo emitters, and next to her, Ensign Kamryn Banks had clasped her hands on the table, looking down. Doctor Siluur was missing, having already been brought up to date by the Admiral and given an assignment.
With a sigh, Joanne nodded to Corspa, who called up a hologram of Deep Space X05's system over the table and stood up from her seat. The miniature station was orbiting a very barren-looking planet, barely illuminated by a weak red star several AU away. The computer had placed the equally miniaturized Borg tactical cube right on top of the station, giving the whole display a rather doomed air.
"We are now 2 hours and 57 minutes away from Deep Space X05, a station conducting classified research for the Omega/M.A.C.O. task force. They were placed as far away from any volumes of space that had previously experienced Borg activity to minimize the risk of discovery, but as you can see, that plan unfortunately failed." Corspa began.
"Long range sensors show that the station is still there, so we can assume that the Borg do want to acquire whatever information they can, instead of just destroying it. We will use that to our advantage."
"Uh, excuse me, but I don't really see what we can do about a tactical cube?" Lieutenant Harper asked, her eyes flicking between her commanding officers.
"We're not going to do anything about it." Corspa replied, prompting raised eyebrows around the table.
"What then?" Lt Cmdr Ojhyni asked. "There is no way the Mutabor can protect the station from the cube long enough for the Pankhurst to arrive."
Corspa gave her fellow Andorian a bare-toothed smile, silently daring him to keep relying on the Destroyer any longer. "She won't have to. Here's what we are going to do."
She tapped a button on her padd which made a model of the Mutabor appear on the edge of the holo display. The tiny ship moved in towards the station from behind the planet, approached it without slowing down, flew straight past underneath it and then winked out at the edge of the hologram.
Lt Harper seemed to want to say something about that, but bit her tongue when she saw the dark, absent look on Admiral Roslyn's face and received a warning glare from Ensign Banks opposite her. Instead she hazarded a guess. "I fly us in from behind the planet to minimize detection time, a team beams over to the station and I hide the ship somewhere in the system?"
"Exactly." Corspa said, zooming in on the station until its hull seemed to dissolve and was replaced by a schematic of the station's interior. Several compartments at the centre were flashing green, with a network of red-coloured pipes surrounding them like a cage.
"The main laboratories and the computer core are designed to function as 'panic rooms', if you will. These are self-contained, plated with a variant of ablative hull armour and have a back-up shield similar to the one used to protect our base and the greater population centres on Defera. As a last resort, huge coolant tanks have been installed at the top and bottom of the station, so that it can be flooded with corrosive material. We're hoping that won't be necessary, but we don't know how long their defences will be able to hold up under constant attack and without specialists working to keep them up. On top of that, we don't know if all station crew made it into the safe areas."
"Finding and getting everyone to safety is our top priority" Joanne now broke in. Her voice was hollow, as if the station had already been under siege for several days, and her officers exchanged worried glances. "According to Admiral Holland, who, honestly, can shove it, our first objective should be to secure the research and relevant data, but that's not going to happen." She got up to stand next to her first officer and pointed to a small marker several decks above the panic rooms.
"This is where Corspa and I will beam in with two teams. We will work our way down towards the safe rooms, picking up crew and picking off Borg as we go. We will then barricade ourselves in the panic rooms and either be collectively beamed to the returning Mutabor, or failing that, wait for the Pankhurst to deal with the cube. Questions?"
She looked around the table once, obviously itching to get going in a way that was completely uncharacteristic of her usual reluctance to engage the Borg. The tension that was a sure sign of her horror of them was still there, but it seemed laced with a blinding anger that was clearly reflected in the plan, and made the whole thing look less and less like a good idea to her officers.
After looking at Corspa and trying to figure out why she was so calm when usually her and Roslyn would spend hours tweaking a plan of attack and still disagree on a crucial point by the end of it, Lt Cmdr Hrin Ojhyni said, "I am very uncomfortable with the idea of you basically locking yourself in and trying to hold your ground for such a long period of time." He paused, expecting some sort of the usual discussion that he always ended up having with the Admiral, but she just stared at him. Hrin realized that she knew that he was right, but simply didn't care, so he tried again. "At least let me be part of the team, you'll need someone to keep the armour and shield up and running for as long as possible when the Borg keep beaming in more drones."
Joanne answered with a flat "no" and looked away from him. "Next."
Lt Harper's discomfort was openly visible as she asked, "What if the Borg spot us and do come after us? If they engage us in combat we won't last long, and then you're stuck on the station for good."
"I was rather hoping that your flying was good enough to evade them for a couple of hours." Joanne said with a thin, unpleasant smile that made Lt Harper look down in defeat. Ensign Banks tried next. "They might not have spotted the panic rooms yet, you might end up drawing unnecessary attention and endanger the station crew even further. It might be safer to wait."
Joanne shook her head. "We will not just wait, Ensign." she almost hissed, taking everyone aback with her sudden aggressiveness. Corspa, still silently backing the Admiral, put a calming hand on Joanne's arm, giving Hrin the confidence to try and talk sense again.
"On that note, they might just decide that the information they could gather isn't worth the hassle, and simply destroy the station." he said.
Joanne nodded slowly. "That is an acceptable risk. I would rather die on that station than sit here in safety knowing that I didn't even try to save all these people from getting assimilated!"
That stunned everyone into silence. It wasn't that they didn't share this notion, but it was so unusual for Joanne to speak in such a manner, with such bitterness that no one knew what to say.
It was Commander Taallir who broke the silence, speaking for the first time. His voice betrayed none of the growing uneasiness of his colleagues and was instead deeply imperative. "Admiral, we have brought forth a number of legitimate concerns that, under any circumstances, would have made you reconsider this plan. Why is it that you are so intent on going through with it?"
Joanne stared at him, looking lost. She brought her hands up to her face and turned away from the table, looking out of the window at the streaking stars for a long moment. When she turned back, hands on her hips, there was a strange vulnerability on her face that none of them had ever seen before.
"It's because... I.. my... the station director is Doctor Imberia Roslyn, my mother."
Instantly, the mood in the room changed. The officers all sat up straighter in their chairs, and it was as if their doubt and apprehension fell away from them, to be replaced by determination and sympathy. Nobody questioned her decision now, and there were no accusations of being "emotionally compromised", as Admiral Holland had put it in his short message earlier. Joanne was so stressed that the relief in the face of such loyalty made tears rise in her throat. Swallowing them down, she sank back in her chair, and watched her officers go at the plan again - this time, offering their expertise and support, making suggestions to ensure that everything would go smoothly and everyone would be safely returned.
We might just make it, Joanne thought.
x
Part 2
LC 25: To Boldly Go?
Stardate: 90791.20
Personal Log: After a routine exploration for True Way forces in the Badlands, as well as dropping off supplies for the Lazon II colony, we came upon a Type 8 plasma storm. On the advice of my Chief Science officer and Astrophysics lab, we have decided to risk it, and observe this rare phenomena.
*****
Stardate: 90796.35
Zinuzee has reported to me that the evidence all points to one conclusion. The wormhole that opened a 18 hours ago, is stable enough for one shuttle to go through. Though she did note that the chronitons that were scanned at the other event horizon, didn't match ours, and that tachyon emissions were detected on both ends, which wasn't unusual in wormholes. The conclusion the science team came to was that, from relative data, the wormhole ended up in the Delta Quadrant, roughly 50,000 light years from here.
***
Of course I had to see this, with the Delta Quadrant being my old stomping grounds; I had to see what had changed in the past 100 years since I had been there, with the Borg and many powers vying for control in the chaotic sector. So I put Zinuzee as acting captain, and took off in the U.S.S. Cordius through the wormhole.
*****
Stardate: 256790.35
The sterile cell was bleak and white, though you couldn't tell because of the artificial light through deep, black shadows across the walls. It was a 10x10 cell, small but efficiently placed with a bunk bed, small sink, as well as a small library of books across from it. There wasn't a mirror in the room, so I had to make due with cleaning up the blood from my split upper lip. I hung my face down towards the sink, as I tried to remember what happened after I blacked out.
****
Flashback...
The Cordius had arrived through the event horizon, and the forces of gravity had almost made me pass out, 'so it wasn't here', I had attempted to set course for the nearest planet orbiting a class G star, some 3 light years away. Somehow I failed to notice the three unknown spaceships decloak to my left, before one alien transported on and attempted to knock me out. I had put up a fight, before a second one beamed on and knocked me out with a hypospray of unknown chemicals.
****
Somewhere along the way, I remember being strapped to a bio bed, before breaking free and attacking a few guards in blind rage from the chemical overdose. That must've been where I got the split lip from. After being subdued by a few guards and three telepaths of similar species, I was tossed into the cell I inhabit now.
I groaned, the pulsing in my head must have been the neural suppressants wearing off. With those wearing off, I at least could use my telepathy and psychokinesis. I could feel my body healing from the small scrape faster, now that the drugs were wearing off, and my regenerative tissue began to heal.
"Ahh, awake I see, our mysterious visitor" said a elderly voice from beyond the cell's force field. Approaching the field's perimeter, an elderly humanoid figure in a black, long, robe-like, cloak and jacket. Battle scars adorned his face among the wrinkles of skin on his face, a portion of skin above his right eye was missing; his eye replaced by a facsimile almost Borg-like in nature. The man had different features then those I had witnessed earlier in the guards; almost eerily-familiar facial features I couldn't quite place. He leaned on a wooden cane of warped wood, though his stature showed it was more to lull the enemy into a false sense of security, then for his benefit. Then I recognized his species, he was Ocampa! Or at least he was partial Ocampa, and so were the guards from earlier. He had piercing purple eyes, a rare and uncommon feature to Ocampa people, and gray hair with a white streak above where his right eye was replaced.
"They say like knows like, and I can tell your telepathic, and once you meet a telepath they say you can always find their signature again... and you seem familiar, like I should know you..." he said. He walked in front of the cell, before taking his cane and tapping it on the force field. "Your scans say you're an Ocampa hybrid, one from the lost forty-seven colonies, one of the two founding colonies of the young empire, and yet we know nothing of you," he said, "Who are you?"
I smiled at him, and decided to use my mirror's name. "Sharvan, and that's all you'll get from me," I replied, "Now tell me what this whole empire's about, last I heard there was no '47' colonies; I'm from a planet that's long gone from my point of view."
It was his time to smile. "My boy, it seems either you're insane, gullible, or have been sent forward in time...." He chuckled at this, then turned around. "I'll humor you though with the history of the empire." He grabbed a chair and set it in front of the force field.
*******
The Empire began over 279 years ago of course, but you should know that....
All those years ago, and two men, the founders of our empire, reached out across the empty sky, as two planets met in body and in mind. The two planets passed every two years, for they were in the same solar system. Twin suns of the solar system holding the planet Excrivion and planet Quir'ton held two distinct civilizations, the Excrons and Querons, now subspecies of the main branch of Ocampa. The Caretaker, our once master and enslaver, engineered the two species to survive if the home world couldn't be saved.
And then they learned of each other. For hundreds, thousands, of years we had lost our telepathic abilities, yet two young children, one on each planet, had been born with the natural ability again.
Every two years they would pass each other, and every time, they reinforced their young minds to reach out to meet the other. Now over twenty years past their first meeting, they could finally reach the stars. People beyond the stars had come and shared technology; information about the stars the ancestors had lost long ago when forgotten by the Caretaker.
The day had come for our people to reunify.
Then the Borg came.
They tried to assimilate our people, destroying our civilization, before one man, the founder, the First, sacrificed himself to destroy the cube as it razed our planet.
Unknown to us, he was the greatest of our people, a psychokinetc of the likes matched by none. His stellar sacrifice would alert the Caretaker to our presence once again, rekindling his search for the perfect replacement. Then he found the second founder, not as strong or powerful as the first, but a great leader and visionary.
The Caretaker enhanced his life, lengthening his already long lifespan, so once he died, the second could become the new Caretaker. And he did die.
The founder united the people under the example of the First, finding the remaining 45 lost colonies, and creating the young first empire of the Ocampa. He took the name of Emperor for a new title, to lead his people into a new life of discovery.
Then it became a bloody war of conquest. The Kazon and Trabe harassed the Ocampa people, and so they were the first to be conquered by a new empire. Then the Devore Imperium was the next to fall under Ocampa influence; hatred for telepaths drove them to attack the Ocampa and exterminate them, but ended freeing telepaths in the surrounding systems from Devore rule when they were overthrown. The Voth were next, hating the encroachment the Ocampa had on their sovereign territory, only to fall into a treaty with the Ocampa after their twentieth City Ship came under Ocampa control. Then the Krenim joined forces with the Ocampa Empire, using their technology and resources to expand the rule of the empire. Finally the Krowtonan Guard and it's military might came against the empire, only to be absorbed into the fold. Then the Borg began to attack the empire, and a mighty onslaught that would last a century began. Finally the Borg Unicomplex 1 fell to the Ocampa empire, the queen killed under the Emperor's sword, and all Borg freed from assimilation.
Finally after fifty years of rebuilding, the new empire is at peace with the remaining powers in the Delta Quadrant, and now we have begun an new age of expansion for the empire, and have even made contact with another superpower....
*******
"..the Federation, a few 70 thousand light years from here, not to bore you with any details" he said ending the tale he was telling. He got up and put the chair back where it was. "But I'm sure you already knew that Gregs, you've been in the Alpha Quadrant for some time now, haven't you....brother," it was more of a statement then a question, "Now a new war has begun, a civil war because you have returned, and now a rebellion has formed from the ashes of the old subdued powers." The old man sounded more cynical now, a hatred and seething in his voice showing his displeasure towards me, and confirming my suspicions.
"Like recognizes like, Berg, as you said, and I could never forget my little brother and his goals for unification," I said to the elderly Berg Eria'nos, "I had hope that you weren't the Emperor in this story, and I'm sorry to see I died in this universe before I could correct your power hungry fall, but I'm sorry, I am sincerely, overbearingly, sorry I failed you."
The purple eyed Emperor was crazed and hysterical at seeing me apologize. "You left me Gregs, you left and they wanted you to rule them," he shouted, "When the Caretaker came, all I saw was a scared being who wanted to find a replacement, and upon hearing his best choice was dead, he chose second best!" He beat his cane on the force field, trying to reach me. "The blood of all those I killed in rage were all because of you, and now your return has caused all of what I built to crumble beneath me," he turned away, "they worship you because you sacrificed your lives for them, and I'm the ruler who lead them in a hundred year war....they hate me now more then ever, no matter all the good I've done to bring peace to this quadrant!" He slammed his fist on the wall, and rested his head in his arms.
"You're no better then the Borg Berg, you've assimilated and destroyed civilizations because you wanted peace, peace through war!" I shouted back at him. I fumed he could blame me, another version of his brother, to shift hundreds of years of regret onto me. "I'm sorry you did this, but in my world, the Borg never invaded, heck our solar system was destroyed by a Planet Killer in my timeline, we never had a chance to reunification, and you've hated me for years, Berg, you've always hated me for leaving them all behind when we could do nothing!" I yelled, not even realizing the energy coursing through me, nor the fear in Bergs eyes, reducing a leader to a fearful child. I put my hand on the wall, destroying the force field generator's separating me and him, destroying it with my psychokinesis. "I'm glad our planet died now Berg, that this useless universe never existed, you could see it too, if you look past the false wall you've surrounded yourself with." With that I stormed out of the prison, a storm of psychokinetic energy throwing soldiers of varying species across rooms and hallways, until I found my shuttle. I left the planet and returned through the wormhole to my home.
*******
Stardate: -18522.89
A figure, an elderly humanoid in a black, long, robe-like, cloak and jacket walked in the station. He had seen an alien similar to a jellyfish, an artifice intelligence, and a reptilian of unknown origins, and he stood now in front of an unknown life form bioplasmic life form named Bevvox.
They had unanimously agreed with his suggestion, and were to go through with his proposition, to send a Planet Killer from another timeline against a lonely binary pair, to destroy it's system.
The old man looked out to the stars, a tear in his purple eyes, hoping through his destruction, he could cleanse his hands of the blood he shed. He had a long journey ahead, but hopefully he could create a different future then the Empire he had created.
The Krenim Temporal Warship shortly departed the Think Tank Station, it's lone occupant lost in thought, to continue it's long journey through the multiverse.
********
Present time:
I had returned to the Oregon, not explaining anything to my crewman of my experience. I went to my 'stash' and pulled out a glass, it was going to be a long night.
From: Admiral T'Nae, Sector Command, Starbase 39-Sierra
To: Commander Grunt, USS Hephaestus NCC-91748
You are hereby directed to take USS Hephaestus to Earth Spacedock, where you will report to the office of Fleet Admiral Jorel Quinn for further orders. Authentication 793-Alpha-Tangent-Blue-Drift.
"Well?" Grunt asked.
"Authentication checks out, sir," Roclak replied. "Rather terse, even by Vulcan standards, but there it is." The Klingon shrugged.
"Hmmph. You know, Rock, I don't think she likes us. Probably because we're too illogical, but we still get results." The Ferengi sat back in his command chair. "Very well, Mr. Gydap, best speed to Sol system, and take us into Spacedock there."
"Aye, sir. Vector toward Earth, warp factor 8, engaging."
The blunt arrowhead of the Hephaestus turned, then streaked toward a star too distant to see, leaving sluggard Light in its wake.
The Ferengi stopped in front of the desk, snapping to attention. "Admiral, Commander Grunt reporting as ordered!"
The Trill behind the desk gestured toward a chair. "Relax, Commander, and have a seat. I saw T'Nae's communique. She apparently didn't see fit to tell you why you were being dispatched here."
Grunt sat, still stiff. "No, sir, she chose not to share that information."
Quinn smiled. "Sounds like her, all right. One of my earlier hosts knew her when she was a girl. She had a stick up her backside even then." He slid a PADD across the desk. "Mr. Grunt, I am pleased to confirm your promotion to the rank of Captain. Congratulations."
Grunt took the PADD. "Thank you, sir."
"You'll also find in there further personnel actions - Roclak gets his commander's pip, for instance. Also, you're to transfer your command from the Herpes- pardon me, the Hephaestus, to a brand-new ship, the USS Bedford. She's a Celestial-class exploration cruiser, and you'll be taking her on her shakedown cruise. You'll be taking most of your senior personnel with you, although your CMO's up for retirement. I think you'll find the ship's new CMO right up your alley, however. Oh, and we'll need to assign you an operations officer - your first officer's going to be far too busy to do that. Would you mind having an android under your command?"
"Beg pardon, sir? Why would I object?"
"That's what I thought," Quinn smiled. "Of course, any other personnel who wish to transfer can go with you. I'm afraid that T'Nae's going to finally get her way with your old ship - the Starfleet Corps of Engineers will be fascinated to learn how your team managed to integrate such, ah, disparate components into such a fine craft."
"I see. Sir, will transfers take place before SCE gets the Herpes? If you'll pardon the expression?"
Quinn chuckled. "I'll assume you mean the ship, not the virus. And yes, all personnel will be allowed to transfer. Just don't forget any personal effects."
Back aboard the Hephaestus, Grunt was finishing the briefing of his command staff. "And Rock, Shelana, and Vov - you all get promoted to Commander. Sorry, Gydap."
The Andorian shrugged. "It's not important, sir. It's not like there would be a pay increase or anything - they'd have to pay us first. And I'm just as happy to stay at the helm."
"Thanks, Gydap. One question - Mycroft, are you with us?"
"Yes, Captain," came a voice from the comm panel.
"You have the specs on the Bedford. Can you live there?"
"Yes, I can, thanks for asking. She's got the very latest in bioneural quantum computing systems - she's practically self-aware already, just waiting for an AI package to be inserted. And hey, by sheer coincidence, I'm an AI package!"
"Great. Don't let it go to your head, though - I'm still your commanding officer."
Mycroft chuckled. "Noted, Captain. As soon as you get me the command prefixes, I can begin transferring to her systems."
Grunt tapped at the console before him. "There you go, Mycroft. Okay, everyone, start packing - we start moving to the Bedford at 1200 tomorrow, station time."
He stood, and everyone followed suit and began streaming from the room.
The following morning, Grunt could be found walking through the corridors of his new command, dodging junior officers running about on errands or carrying pieces of equipment. Ducking under a hard-to-identify component being moved by a pair of burly young Humans, he slid through a door and into the ship's sickbay. "Hello?" he
called out.
"If you're looking for the doctor, I'm in my office," a gruff voice called from across the room. Grunt followed it, to find its owner, a middle-aged Romulan wearing a Starfleet uniform.
He was momentarily startled, but recovered quickly. "Dr. tr'Dalen, I presume? I'm Captain Grunt."
The Romulan looked him up and down. "Ferengi. Never treated one of you before. Try not to get injured before I can review the literature."
"No promises, doctor," Grunt grinned. "And the one you should worry about is our chief engineer, Vovonek - he's a Pakled, and he's also prone to jury-rigging anything he doesn't have the proper parts for. You'll probably be treating him for plasma burns before the week is out."
"Yes, I heard about him. Understand he put together your last ship from scrap parts?"
"It wasn't quite that bad, but he did do a remarkable job of bringing the old girl back to life. Now, doctor--"
"Just call me Llunih," tr'Dalen interrupted. "And I've heard all the jokes, so don't bother."
"Jokes? What do you- oh, I see. Yes, it does sound vaguely like 'loony', doesn't it? It doesn't mean anything in my language, though. Anyway, Llunih, that answers my question - I was going to ask what you like to be called. A lot of Humans in your position like to be called 'Doc' for some reason, but I didn't want to give offense."
"A man in my position doesn't have a lot of room to be offended, Captain."
"Ah, yes, about that," Grunt started hesitantly. "Your file didn't have much background information. Is there, ah, anyone we need to keep an eye out for? Tal Shiar looking for you in particular, or anything?"
"Nothing like that, no," tr'Dalen replied. "I did jump ship from the Imperial fleet, but that was about fifteen years back, so I can't imagine they're still looking for me. Given the way most of the galaxy seems to feel about Romulans, though, thanks in large part to that faelirh ch'susse-thrai Hakeev, may he rot in Areinnye, it's not like I can just up and change careers, even in Starfleet. But thanks for being delicate about it, I guess. Never been much for delicacy, myself."
Grunt grinned. "I can tell, yes. Well, Llunih, it looks like some new equipment has just arrived, so you're probably going to be busy for a while. I'd best get back to captaining."
"You do that. Just remember, you've got a physical scheduled for next Thursday at 1400 ship time. Don't be late. You don't want me to track you down." tr'Dalen smiled, an expression he didn't look used to.
Grunt emerged from the turbolift into the Bedford's bridge, a scene of much bustling about as various personnel completed last-minute checks on equipment; particularly busy was Zoex's weapons console, where the newly-minted lieutenant was installing some of Shelana's personal variations on standard Starfleet command circuits. It all came to an abrupt halt as a baritone voice called out, "Captain on the bridge!"
"As you were," Grunt replied, and the work resumed. He stepped down into the command well to the owner of the voice, a Human of fairly average appearance aside from the bright yellow irises of his eyes. The being stood, turning to face Grunt respectfully.
"Lt. Turing, sir, ship's operations officer," the android said. "I am unaware of the desired level of formality, sir. Did you wish your presence announced on the bridge in the future?"
"Don't bother, lieutenant," Grunt answered. "Things can get a little, well, frazzled from time to time, and the other members of the crew might not appreciate having to stand at attention every time I go through those doors. Thanks for asking, though."
"You are quite welcome, captain. I wish to report that all is ready for departure at your command."
"It is?"
"No, sir, it is not. However, I do wish that I could report it. That was a joke, sir. I am aware that I am not yet very good at them; however, I am informed that one improves with practice, so I shall endeavor to practice this skill. In point of fact, at current rates, we should be ready to depart from Spacedock sometime tomorrow afternoon - all transfer personnel have reported in."
Grunt smiled. "That wasn't that bad a joke, son. Just listen to Roclak for a while - when he's not cursing in tlhIngan Hol, he's got a pretty good sense of humor."
"Thank you, sir," Turing said soberly. "I have also had some fascinating conversations with Mycroft, who has recently finished installing himself in the ship's systems. I am uncertain of the protocol of maintaining a ship's AI that is not a member of Starfleet, however, sir."
"Meaning you don't entirely approve? No, that's all right, lieutenant, you're allowed to disapprove of me from time to time. However, Mycroft's history is - ah - interesting. He certainly has dealt with Starfleet procedures enough to have a good handle on them - he was developed on a classified Starfleet installation. He's been checked out by Mr. Brel, our counselor, as well, else I'd never have let him run the cyberwarfare systems on the Hephaestus. Suspicion can be a good thing, Mr. Turing, but Mycroft can be trusted."
"Ah, I see. Thank you, captain. I shall now trust Mycroft."
"That's good." Grunt looked at the ceiling. "Now, Mycroft, this is not your sign to play practical jokes on the lieutenant."
A hologram of a slightly overweight Human in outdated clothing flickered into existence. "Practical jokes, captain? Me?"
"You. I still remember the time you reprogrammed the replicators so they delivered root beer instead of coffee. Mr. Manalang was in favor of deleting you with a hammer, you know."
The hologram chuckled. "Ah, yes, the look on his face! Very well, sir, out of respect for you I shan't educate my young cybernetic friend in such techniques."
"Good. I'd hate to have to replace you with a vanilla AI from the Fleet database. Well, Mr. Turing, things seem well in hand here. If anything comes up, my combadge is always on. Now I'm off for a quick lunch."
The next day, and preparations for departure were completed even more quickly than the android had supposed. Grunt sat in his command chair. Turning to Vovonek at the engineer's seat, he asked, "So, Commander, what derisive nickname are we stuck with this time?"
"The Bedpan. I think it's because of the shape of the saucer section."
Grunt half-smiled. "They're not as imaginative as they used to be, are they? Very well, readiness check."
"All sections report prepared for departure," Roclak replied from the first officer's seat.
"Good." Grunt leaned forward. "Mr. Gydap, take us out."
The nacelles pulsed blue, the impulse outlets glowed fierce orange, and the massive bulk of the Bedford slid clear of Spacedock, accelerating outward. A flare from the nacelles, and she vanished from Earth's skies.
BROTHERS IN ARMS
Vulcan, 2349
As he entered the austere apartment, Selek felt the chill of the environmental controls which kept the temperature at a constant 23 celsius. As always, his eyes were drawn to the massive oil painting on the north wall -- an original Lynch sea-scape of Caladan titled Storm. At certain times of day, sunlight would fall on the painting, imbuing it with an almost lifelike quality. He tried to imagine the world, where an over-saturation of nucleogenic particles in the atmosphere meant that it rained constantly, but despite the churning green ocean and streaked torrential rain in the painting, he was unable to visualise being in such an environment.
The main living area was deserted, but ambient, electronic music drifted from the speakers, so Selek knew that the domicile was not deserted. Placing his rucksack by a sofa, and turning away from Storm, he headed down the corridor towards the bedrooms.
Reaching the first of the bedrooms, he looked round the open arch, and saw his best friend, Marcus Kane, leaning over a workbench set up in the corner of the room, with enough tools and equipment to put an engineering lab to shame. Remaining focussed on the project before him, he nevertheless acknowledged Selek's presence.
"Nashaut, Selek," he said, not looking up from the work which occupied his attention.
"Nashaut, Marc, are you ready?" Selek enquired in Vuhlkansu, stepping across the threshold.
"Nearly..." Marcus replied in the same language. After three years on Vulcan, he now not only read, spoke and wrote the language fluently, but due to his lessons and ongoing mental re-training with Master Sovak, frequently thought in Vuhlkansu as well.
Selek noted the climbing and camping equipment already packed in a rucksack on the bed, and stood closer to his friend. Clasping his hands behind his back, he peered over Marcus' shoulder.
"What are you doing?" he eventually enquired.
"I was going over that map of the Sas-a-shar desert last night, and I thought the Plain of Blood looked an ideal place to do some hoverboarding," Marcus replied, not lifting his eyes from the upturned meter-long form of a Margera Slingshot as he deftly manipulated two sonic screwdrivers on either side of one of the anti-grav discs. "This hasn't been out of storage since we got here, and I needed to adjust the graviton output to compensate for the local gravity."
Selek raised an eyebrow.
"An interesting proposal," he admitted. "I anticipate it would be an exhilarating experience, but I do not possess a hoverboard."
"No problem, I've got you covered," Marcus replied, sitting back on the stool. "Ali!"
He paused a moment, but there was no reply, so he shouted louder:
"ALI!"
"What?" came a shout from another room.
Switching to Federation Standard, Marcus yelled:
"Selek needs your hoverboard!"
"Fine!"
Marcus looked to Selek and raised his eyebrow, before leaning back over the workstation and repositioning his tools.
"Just one more tweak of the power cells, and it'll be good to go," he said, reverting back to Vuhlkansu, as behind him, he heard the slap-slap slap-slap of his twin sister's bare feet on the heated marble floor as she entered the room.
"Hey, Selek, try not to break it," she said, slapping the deck of the pink and green Mattel Classic against the Vulcan's midriff.
Unlike Marcus and Selek, who wore locally produced lightweight hiking clothes, Alix wore a faded grey Lantic City Raptors T-shirt, and high-cut black denim shorts which left her willowy legs bare. She made a show of glancing at the chunky black bracelet of the Rolex Star-Dweller on her wrist and sighed. "It's nearly lunchtime, and I'm not doing extras, when're you f*gs leaving?"
"We are not homosexuals, we are friends," Selek stated.
"Two guys going out into the desert by themselves -- sounds pretty TRIBBLE to me," Alix countered.
"She's just yanking your chain," Marcus told Selek. "She thinks she's being funny. Isn't that right, Ali?"
"Gramma Lieselle thinks I'm funny..." Alix replied, with the sullen pout that warned she was on the verge of becoming spiteful.
"Gramma Lieselle thought she was sitting on a commode the last time we saw her," Marcus recalled. "Now that was funny..."
"D**k!" Alix snapped, shoving her brother as he adjusted the gravitic compensator of her hoverboard, before turning her unnerving glare on Selek: "And you can stop laughing too!"
"I am not laughing," Selek pointed out, although he was inwardly amused by the mental image.
"Both of you can just f**k off!" Alix howled, storming out of the room, before yelling over her shoulder: "And don't break my board! It's f**king Vintage!"
"Thanks, Ali, love you!" Marcus called after her retreating form.
"F**k off!" Alix yelled back, before muttering. "Love you too..."
"I do not think your sister likes me," Selek said, as ShiKahr raced past the windows of the air-tram.
Both teenagers stood in the center isle of the air-tram, casually holding the overhead handrails, their rucksacks positioned between their feet so as not to inconvenience the other passengers. Marcus tilted his head contemplatively.
"Try not to take it personally, Alix does not like many people," he pointed out, realising that Selek deserved to know the truth behind Alix's hostility. "She gets jealous of others taking my time from her, but she can't help it. She was -- resequenced before we were born."
"Resequenced? Like an Augment?" Even with Selek's disciplined tone, his shock was clear in his voice.
"A similar procedure, but a very different outcome," Marcus replied. Aware that a few passengers had subtly shifted to better monitor their conversation, he specifically said: "Federation law allows for the treatment of genetic conditions. Alix suffered life-threatening genetic damage in-utero, which required resequencing to repair. She has none of the physical enhancements the Augments had, but she still experiences the same behavioural issues and social difficulties, albeit to a milder degree. If she truly disliked you, she would not have allowed you to take the hoverboard."
"I was not aware of that," Selek admitted. "I shall be mindful of that during our future interactions. Did you remember to pack the portable replicator?"
"I did, as well as two dozen Starfleet ration bars and a filtration canteen." Marcus said, before glancing at his own Star-Dweller as the air-tram slowed as it approached the next terminal. "We should reach Gateway within the hour."
The doors opened, and most of the passengers departed, to be replaced with a few new travellers.
"It is the Human weakling and his nursemaid..." a derisory voice said from the door, which made Marcus' blood run cold.
Turning, he saw Vonik, Stann and Serrak had entered the air-tram, and were aggressively observing him and Selek.
"I have nothing to say to you, Vonik," he said, focussing to keep his breathing even, and deliberately turning his back to the bullies.
"Only because you know I speak the truth," Vonik insisted. "Or are you afraid that I will beat you again, as I did before?"
Marcus turned to face his antagonist, his hands before him at his waist, his fingertips steepled together, pointing to the floor.
"You were only able to beat me before, because I was over-exerted and unacclimatised, thus unable to defend myself," he said calmly. "That will not happen again. I am accustomed to Vulcan's climate now, and have studied the va'sumi."
For all his apparent calm, Marcus' pulse raced as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He had indeed studied the Vulcan martial arts, but that did not change the fact that any one of the bullies had three times his strength, and could easily cripple, or even kill him, with a well placed blow.
"We accept your challenge!" Vonik declared, before launching himself forwards, his fists swinging.
Backing up, Marcus avoided the first two punches, but the third landed on his cheek, making lights flicker in his peripheral vision, and spinning him against the vertical handrail in the middle of the isle hard enough to knock the wind from him. Grabbing hold of the handrail and using it as a pivot, Marcus swung round and forwards, bringing his legs up and slamming the heel of his foot into Vonik's face. The Vulcan youth staggered back, tripping and crashing into a seat, where he then fell backwards onto the floor between the chairs.
Seeing Serrak grappling with Selek, Marcus moved to help his friend, when he felt pain flare in his lower left ribcage, as a hard blow landed from behind. His left leg went numb and he dropped to the floor of the air-tram, going down on one knee. In the periphery of his vision, Marcus saw Stann moving in behind him, and unable to regain his footing in time, he shifted sideways as Stann punched down at him, in a kneeling variant of the navorkot. Reaching out and grasping Stann's wrist, he stood, applying pressure to the back of Stann's elbow in an arm-bar technique, and using the Vulcan's own momentum to shift him off-balance. As Stann staggered forwards, Marcus' hand glided swiftly over Stann's triceps, up to his shoulder and neck, and he stiffened his fingers over the pressure points as Selek had taught him. After stiffening reflexively, Stann went limp, and he collapsed towards the floor of the air-tram unconscious. Marcus let him drop, and turned to face Vonik once more.
Using the seats to pull himself up from the floor, emerald blood streaming from his nose and mouth, Vonik stared aghast as Marcus stood firm, his fists still raised. He had never seen the to'tsu'k'hy employed by a non-Vulcan, and he began to realise Marcus was no longer the easy target he had been three years ago.
"There is another terminal in a few minutes," Marcus said, not lowering his guard. "Disembark with your unconscious lackey, and this need not go any further."
"That will not be possible," a stern voice said from behind Marcus.
Turning, he saw a dark-skinned Vulcan male rise from his seat, holding up a small PADD, clearly configured to provide a comm line.
"I have notified the authorities of this incident," Tuvok said. "You boys should be ashamed of yourselves for brawling publicly in this manner."
"Shame is an emotion," Vonik countered aggressively, attempting to draw himself straighter.
"On the contrary," Tuvok replied severely. "When one behaves unacceptably, one disgraces oneself. It is only a sense of dignity and self-respect which prevents one from repeating such acts. Do you respect your conduct this day?"
Vonik lowered his gaze.
"No, Master," he admitted, addressing the adult with the appropriate honorific for a teacher. "I apologise for my conduct."
"It is not I to whom you owe the apology," Tuvok observed.
"I apologise, Marcus," Vonik said.
"Forget about it," Marcus replied. "Just leave me alone from now on."
Vonik nodded silently, as the air-tram slowed and entered the terminal. He and Serrak stooped, and grabbed Stann under the arms, hauling him upright as the doors opened, and two security officers entered the carriage.
"Who precipitated the incident?" one of the officers enquired. The name on his uniform was Tonnek
"That boy," Tuvok said, indicating Vonik, who lowered his head.
"Has anyone been injured?" the other officer, Semok, asked.
"I am unharmed," Marcus replied. "The issue is resolved. Vonik has apologised, and I do not wish to press charges. I simply wish to continue my journey to Gateway with my friend."
"Why do you travel to Gateway?" Tonnek asked.
"I am a student of the Vulcan disciplines," Marcus explained. "My tutor, Master Sovak, suggested that I visit the Sas-a-shar desert. My friend, Selek, volunteered to accompany me as a guide."
"Is this correct?"
"It is," Selek vowed. "Marc is d'Vel'nahr -- he lives according to Surak's teachings."
Tonnek scrutinised the Human youth: He wore a student's robe over locally produced clothing which was well suited to hiking, and with his sleek, dark hair worn long in the style of Syrran, to cover the tops of his ears, he could easily be mistaken for a Vulcan at first glance. Tonnek nodded, satisfied with the explanations.
"Very well, you may continue on your journey," he said, before turning to face the three bullies. "As for yourselves, although no charges are being pursued, a reprimand will still appear on your files for disorderly conduct, and your parents will be notified."
Dusk had fallen, and Selek and Marcus were hiking through a gully with gently sloping sides.
"Are you still determined to join Starfleet?" Selek enquired. "Your grades would be enough to gain you entry to the science academy, and you would be able to study under some very prestigious engineers."
Marcus shook his head.
"Members of my family have served in Starfleet since the signing of the Federation Charter," he replied. "Engineers, scientists, medics, one even commanded an NX Class starship. I can't think of a better opportunity for a hands on engineering career, than keeping a starship operational."
"Unless you were to enter your father's business," Selek observed, but again, Marcus shook his head.
"It would be good to work with Dad," Marcus admitted. "He has always encouraged my projects. He didn't even object when I tried to increase the efficiency of the repulsors of his Ferraudi and corrupted the engine management system, but I think Starfleet represents the most rewarding opportunity for me. Working with Dad would be too theoretical, too corporate. Can you imagine me giving tours of the production facilities to his prospective clients?"
"Indeed, that might not be the best career for you," Selek conceded.
A high-pitched shriek tore through the deepening darkness.
"Sehlat!" Selek snapped, looking about in an attempt to locate the creature, which leapt over the crest of the gully. "We must reach higher ground!"
Rather than running, Marcus swiftly shrugged off his rucksack. His hands dove inside, and he pulled out his mother's Type II phaser pistol and a power cell. Slapping the power cell into the grip, he snapped the upper cowling forward and backward to prime it, as the sehlat bore down on them.
Raising the phaser, he snapped off a shot which brought the sehlat down.
"Is it dead?" Selek enquired.
"No, the phaser is set to stun," Marcus replied.
Selek turned to Marcus.
"We should leave swiftly, if the Sehlat recovers our scent, it will stalk us for the remainder of our hike.
"If we use the hoverboards, that might break the scent trail," Marcus suggested, removing the power cell from the phaser, returning it to his rucksack, and sliding his hoverboard from inside.
"I must admit, I have never ridden a hoverboard before," Selek admitted, taking Alix's hoverboard from his own rucksack.
"Nothing to it," Marcus replied, slipping his left foot through the throttle strap and fixing a flat rectangular clip to his belt and passing one to Selek, who examined it with a raised eyebrow.
"It's an orientation sensor," Marcus explained. "It interfaces with the onboard processor, and gives a reference point for your center of gravity to act as an additional axis. Without one, the boards have a tendency to slide out from beneath the rider during extreme manoeuvres."
"Will it help me stay on the board?"
"Not exactly... It will help the board synchronise to your weight and movements, but it is only the throttle strap which is keeping the board under your feet. An abrupt change of direction, and you will still be thrown off. Rotate your dominant foot clockwise to open the throttle, anti-clockwise to slow down, and flex your ankles to change direction."
"Rotate clockwise, rotate anti-clockwise, flex ankles," Selek repeated, clipping the sensor to his belt. "I believe I am ready."
"Okay, let's go," Marcus said, putting his rucksack back on, and pulling the straps tight.
With a practiced flick of his foot, he launched the hoverboard forwards, gliding up and down the sides of the gully to avoid some of the larger boulders, the cool evening wind blowing through his long hair as he raced forwards.
Aiming towards a clear section, he looked over his shoulder to see that Selek was following, his Vulcan reflexes allowing him to control the unfamiliar device without difficulty, as he skimmed over the undulating terrain.
Selek awoke to a fizzing, snapping sound. Pulling his shirt over his head, he opened the front of his one person tent, and saw Marcus crouched by the fire, cooking food in various pans. He looked up as Selek shoved his feet into his hiking boots and resealed his tent.
"Nashaut, Selek," he said, raising his right hand in the ta'al, as his friend approached the warmth of the fire.
"Nashaut, Marc," Selek replied, returning the gesture. "You said you had packed a portable replicator."
"I did, it's right there," Marcus replied, nodding towards the unit, while using a wooden spatula to manipulate the streaks of bacon frying in the pan next to thick patties of reddish-brown meat. A second pan to the right, contained fluffy scrambled eggs, while in a third, beans simmered in a thick, orange sauce. "Whenever our mother took Alix and I camping, she would always replicate raw food to then cook in the traditional manner. She said it was important that we know how to cook without access to replicators."
"I have eaten your sister's offerings," Selek observed. "Even with a replicator, her culinary skills leave room for much improvement."
Marcus nodded, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
"This is why I prepare all the meals," he said. "Would you like some bacon? There are bread rolls ready beside you, along with the following sauces: red, brown, American mustard, English mustard and tiger."
Selek nodded, and picked up the red bottle.
"What is next to the bacon?" he enquired.
"Sausage meat patties," Marcus replied. "Would you like one with the bacon?"
"I think I shall," Selek decided. "Flesh of swine is clearly part of the traditional Human camping experience. It is a misconception that all Vulcans are vegetarians, and it would be illogical to not partake fully."
Marcus used the spatula to first drizzle some of the cooking oil onto the split roll, then laid strips of bacon into place, swiftly followed by one of the sausage patties.
Selek used another spatula to scoop some of the eggs onto the top of the mound, then covered it with the top half of the bread roll. He took a large bite, and inclined his head appreciatively.
"Excellent," he said. "You were clearly attentive of your mother's lessons. If you cannot become a Starfleet engineer, you could always enlist as a chef."
"I had never considered that possibility," Marcus admitted, amusement clear in his tone, despite his training, as he began to prepare his own breakfast roll, and reached for the bottle of tiger sauce.
After a second course of eggs and beans, the youths re-packed their gear and smothered the fire. Selek looked up at the vertical rock wall of the canyon, then looked back to Marcus.
"What do you think?" he enquired.
"Summit by lunch, back down by sunset," Marcus replied confidently, reaching back into his chalk pouch and dusting his fingers.
"I agree," Selek said, moving towards the rock face, driving a fusion piton into place and then tying off a support rope. "I shall ascend first, having climbed here before with my father, I am familiar with the route."
Two hours and over a hundred feet above the canyon floor later, wiping rock dust from his eyes, Selek reached out to take hold of an outcropping, but as he shifted his weight, it crumbled away beneath his grip, and as if in slow motion, he felt himself falling back, away from the rock face.
Looking up, Marcus saw Selek plummeting towards him, and reacted instinctively. Taking a firm grip on the rope with his right hand, with his left, he reached out and grabbed.
He felt his fingers close on something solid, nanoseconds before an almighty pain exploded in his arms and shoulders, nearly causing him to black out. A terrible pendulous force threatened to rip him from the rock face, but he maintained his grip on the rope. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the sound of blood rushing in his ears, Marcus looked down.
He saw his hand clamped round his friend's wrist, Selek's fingers gripping his own wrist. Pain flared again from wrist to elbow, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire.
Selek's eyes were wide with terror as he shouted up:
"Do not let go, Marc! Do not let me fall!"
"I won't," Marcus promised, feeling something in his elbow twinge, and pain shot from his fingers to his shoulder. "There is a two meter wide ledge, one point five meters below you," he said. "You have to drop down to it."
"I cannot," Selek shouted back. "Do not let me fall!"
"I won't let go," Marcus promised. "But my arm is injured, and I don't know how long I can maintain my grip. You must cut your drag line and drop the kit, or the weight will pull us both to our deaths. You must hurry and regain your footing."
"I cannot!" Selek insisted, before admitting: "I am afraid!"
"Calm your mind!" Marcus insisted. "Fear is a choice, a decision. You must control it so it does not control you. If you do not drop to the ledge, we will both fall. You must calm your mind. Focus on your breathing: On the expansion and contraction of your lungs. Feel the calm replacing your fear."
Selek nodded and closed his eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, he remained suspended by Marcus' vice-like, but rapidly weakening, grip.
"I am in control once more," he declared, pulling a forward-curving knife from his belt and severing the drag line. Immediately, some of the strain on Marcus' arm was gone as the equipment bag dropped lazily toward the canyon floor, bursting open on impact, and scattering the contents across what had been their campsite. "I see the ledge, and can safely drop to it."
Selek released his grip, and Marcus did likewise, before sliding down the rock face to the ledge.
Immediately, Marcus released his grip on the rope, but was unable to raise his arm again to regain purchase, and he was forced to drop clumsily to the ledge.
"Now we're really in trouble," he sighed, leaning against the canyon wall.
"How severely are you injured?" Selek enquired, noting how Marcus' left arm hung grotesquely, his fingers contorted, stiff and claw-like.
Reaching across his body with his right arm, Marcus fumbled clumsily in the thigh pocket of his shorts and pulled out his PADD.
"There's a rudimentary medical app on here," he said, passing the PADD to Selek. "It's not as good as a medical tricorder, but it will give you a simplified diagnosis."
Scrolling through the apps, Selek activated the correct one, and held the PADD close to Marcus' torso.
"Your left shoulder is not only dislocated, but the muscles of the rotator cuff are torn," he announced. "The ligaments in your elbow have separated from the humorous, and there is damage to the tendons in your wrist. You have similar damage to your right wrist, but your right elbow and shoulder are merely sprained. I apologise for having caused you such harm."
Marcus shook his head, dismissing the apology as unnecessary.
"I couldn't let you fall."
"Your oxygen saturation is at ninety percent, you require tri-ox."
"I've not had a shot of that in -- how long have we been friends?"
"It has been nine hundred and eighty five days, since I intervened in your beating from Vonik," Selek replied. "I believe that would constitute the beginning of our friendship."
Marcus nodded.
"Then that is how long it has been since my last shot," he replied. "And even if we had any tri-ox, it would not enable me to climb down to ground level, my shoulder is too severely damaged. Use the PADD's communication app to send an emergency beacon."
Selek lowered his gaze to the status icons at the top of the PADD's screen, then looked back to Marcus.
"It has no data net connection," he said. "The geomagnetic instabilities in the region are notorious for interfering with technology at ground level. It is indeed an irony that the device functions, but is blocked from accessing communications frequencies."
"Every problem has a solution," Marcus rationalised. "Do you know how high the range of the interference extends above the ground."
Selek shook his head.
"Observation craft overfly the region, but at considerable altitude," he said.
"So we need to get a beacon off the ground," Marcus mused, looking to where his hoverboard had fallen from his rucksack onto the ledge.
"Could you modify the hoverboard to reach a higher altitude?" Selek asked, following his friend's gaze. "It could lift the PADD above the interference."
"We need to keep the PADD with us, to provide a visual beacon," Marcus replied. "But we can certainly raise a beacon above the interference."
Selek raised an eyebrow.
"What did you have in mind?" he enquired. "My PADD was in my pack, it was probably damaged beyond use in the fall.
"My watch is synchronised to a timing pulse from a beacon in the city," Marcus explained. "If you can reverse the polarity of the transceiver, we can use that to act as our beacon."
"You are the engineer, Marc," Selek said. "I cannot perform such modifications."
"You're going to have to," Marcus replied, pulling his sonic screwdrivers from his belt pouch with observable difficulty. "I can't use these with my hands messed up like this, but I can talk you through the procedures."
Selek nodded.
"Where do I begin?" he asked.
"Compress the sides of my watch, at the three and nine o clock positions, for three seconds," Marcus said, raising his right arm toward Selek.
With a nod, Selek took hold of the seamless black bracelet, and depressed the sides as instructed, counting silently. As he counted three, the turquoise hands and markers of the digital dial flashed twice, and the bracelet separated above the twelve marker. Selek took the watch from Marcus' wrist.
"You'll need to adjust the oscillating aperture of the sonic screwdriver to point four microns to open the casing," said Marcus, as Selek picked up one of the slender tools. "Then recalibrate again to point one micron, to reverse the polarity of the timing transceiver."
Selek nodded, and began to rotate the control collar of the sonic screwdriver.
Opening his eyes from his meditation, Sovak glanced about him. T'Reya was changing the oil in the torches which provided light in the rough-hewn rock walls of his sanctum, which allowed Sovak to know the time.
"Is Marcus outside in the monestary?" he enquired.
The slender priestess initiate turned to face Sovak, her head lowered deferentially to the kohlinar master.
"He is not, Master, nor have I seen him today," she replied. "His punctuality is usually impeccable."
Although he did not experience the emotion of concern, Sovak appreciated the gravity of the situation."
"Go to his home and ascertain the nature of his delay," he said. "He would not be late for a lesson without good reason. It is only proper to offer assistance."
T'Reya dipped her head in assent.
"Yes, Master," she said. "I shall leave for ShiKahr immediately."
As she left the meditation chamber, T'Reya experienced a pang of worry. In the three years she had known him, Marcus had proved to be a worthy pupil, absorbing Surak's wisdom through Sovak's teachings, like a sponge absorbing and retaining water. That he appreciated T'Reya's company was clear. He treated her attentively and with respect, never ogling her body, despite the diaphanous gown her position required her to wear. He was always willing to accompany and assist her as she performed her duties, both in the monestary, and in ShiKahr, frequently, and illogically, offering to perform deeds of heavy lifting, which with her superior Vulcan strength, she was not only more than capable of performing herself, but indeed better able to perform than the Human boy. Nevertheless, his sincere offers to assist T'Reya were endearing, and as she began the mile long hike across the desert from the monestary to ShiKahr, she found herself hoping that no misfortune had befallen her young admirer.
At the sound of the door chime, Alix got up from the sofa in the lounge, and made her way to the appartment's door. Reaching out, she tapped the control pad, and the door slid aside to reveal a Vulcan priestess standing in the hallway.
"Yes?" she said in Federation Standard. "What do you want?"
"I am T'Reya, of the Folu monastery," T'Reya replied in the same language. "Marcus has failed to attend his lesson with Master Sovak, and I have been tasked with locating him and discovering the reason for his absence. Is your father present? May I speak with him?"
Alix scrutinized the Vulcan woman before her -- She was slim and toned, considerably taller than Alix, with long limbs, and firm TRIBBLE which seemed almost over-sized for her slender frame. She was incredibly beautiful, but carried herself with a serene dignity completely oblivious of the fact.
"Dad's been working away, but should be home soon," she said. Her stomach knotted at the idea of Marcus being in trouble, but there was something soothing about the priestess' demeanour which Alix found strangely reassuring, and she made a sudden decision. "I like you, you can wait for him inside if you like?"
T'Reya dipped her head in acknowledgement of the hospitality.
"That would be most agreeable, thank you," she said, following Alix into the apartment.
When we have a guest, we offer them a beverage... Mama's voice echoed from her memory, firmly imparting simple but fundamental social niceties which Alix would otherwise have been incapable of considering.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "We have loads of non-replicated stuff: Mountain Dew, Pepsi, RedTarg, Sprunk, uh, various blends of coffee, teas, bourbon, vodka, Dad even has a stash of Romulan Ale in his study."
"Mountain dew sounds quite acceptable," T'Reya assured Alix.
"Okay, I'll have that too," she said, opening a large bottle which hissed viciously with released carbon dioxide. She filled two highball glasses of the effervescent fluid and handed one to T'Reya, who took a sip, then inclined her head.
"Most refreshing," the Vulcan said, before taking a longer swallow, and another and another, rapidly draining the glass.
Alix smiled and raised the bottle.
"More?"
"Please,"
Allowing the autopilot to maintain his position in the air traffic, Paul Kane tapped his fingers against the steering wheel of his mid-22nd Century open-top air-speeder, in time to the syncopated beat of Take Five.
After two weeks on Storm Station, he was glad to be back on Vulcan, and looking forward to a quiet evening with his children -- not that they could truly be considered children anymore. Alix had started using cosmetics, and Marcus now had the demeanour of a two hundred year old Vulcan. Either way, they were still his babies, and while he had been off-planet, he had missed them immensely. He had attended the design briefing as a favour to his closest friend, Admiral Wesley Cooper, who had wanted Paul's input on a new torpedo system. The STS Program Manager, William Sander, had been convinced that a 'quantum' torpedo was merely an exercise in theoretical intellectualism, but Paul's equations and simulations had proven otherwise. Even though the Kane family had left Earth in the early 22nd Century for Caladan, their roots were from Boston high society. Sander, despite his position, was still very much the Seattle hipster, and an immediate East Coast-West Coast rivalry sprang up between the two engineers. Paul knew that Kane Industries had been a professional thorn in the side of Star Enterprises for decades, but now, that rivalry had become personal. To have an outsider come to his home field and make him look like a grade-schooler, had definitely not sat well with Bill Sander, especially not when Admiral Cooper had supported Paul's proposals...
The chirping of the onboard comm unit caught Paul's attention, and he reached out to tap the screen of the comm. A section of the forward windshield projected a translucent hologram of an attractive, but sharply-featured Vulcan woman.
"T'Jenn, what can I do for you?" he asked, immediately recognising Selek's mother.
"Sotek and I wondered if Selek was with you and Marcus," she said. "He has not returned from their camping trip to the Sas-a-shar desert."
"I'm not home yet myself," Paul admitted. "I've only been back on planet half an hour. I haven't had any messages from Alix, but I am on my way to the apartment. I'll contact you as soon as I'm home and know what's going on."
"That would be much appreciated, Paul, thank you," T'Jenn replied, before cutting the comm line.
"Call Marcus," Paul said with a mild frown. Almost immediately, the comm unit bleeped disconcertingly.
"Unable to make connection," the synthesised voice said. "Receiving unit is not connected to data net."
Could still be in the Forge, could have his PADD on charge... Paul told himself.
"Call home," he said.
This time, the comm unit was able to make a connection, but the call went unanswered. After thirty seconds of the link chirping, Paul reached out, cutting the autopilot and assuming manual control of the speeder. Gliding out of the commuting lane, he opened the throttle and with a roar of power from the central turbine in the forward hood, the aluminum-shelled air-speeder raced forward toward downtown ShiKahr.
When he entered the apartment, Paul saw something he could never have imagined seeing.
Bottles of Mountain Dew were strewn across the floor, while Alix and a Vulcan priestess were jumping around and yelling into a karaoke machine.
"One way, or a-notha! I'm gon-na find ya! I'm gonna getcha getcha getchagetcha!" they screamed in a strangely perfect harmony.
"What the hell's going on?" he demanded, trying not to laugh out loud.
At once, they stopped singing, and spun to face Paul. Alix grinned broadly, and ran towards her father, while T'Reya attempted to regain her dignity and hold herself straighter, as the backing music continued.
"Mister Kane, my name is T'Reya. Master Sovak charged me with ascertaining the reason for Marcus' absence from his lesson," she said. "Your daughter was good enough to entertain me while we waited for your arrival," she said, attempting to overcome the sugar intoxication.
"We've had the best time," Alix said, throwing her arms round Paul's waist.
"So I see," Paul said, smoothing his daughter's hair. "Go to your room, Kid, we'll talk later."
"Okay, Dad," Alix agreed happily, before heading down the corridor, not thinking to give her leave to T'Reya.
"So you're T'Reya," Paul said, as if experiencing a realisation. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Marcus is an attentive student, I am gratified to have made an impression on him," T'Reya said.
"Oh you made an impression on him alright," Paul said wryly, deactivating the karaoke machine
T'Reya's cheeks flushed a deep bronze, and she was momentarily taken aback, realising that Marcus clearly spoke of her frequently.
"I did not realise he was so -- enamoured," she admitted, somewhat taken aback, but not offended by the revelation. "I must also say that Alix was an excellent hostess. I am sure she did not intend me to become intoxicated."
"Well, we've all been there before," Paul admitted. "I see no reason to make Master Sovak aware of this. It's nice to see Alix interacting well with people other than family. I've really gotta find out what's happened to Marcus. You're more than welcome to stay while I make enquiries. It'll give you time for your head to clear before reporting to Master Sovak."
"Marcus has frequently assisted me," T'Reya said. "I will assist you in locating him."
Paul nodded, and headed to the comm unit.
"Call emergency services," he said. A moment later, the screen filled with the head and shoulders of an elegant Vulcan female.
"I am Investigator T'Mell," she said. "How may I assist you."
"My name is Paul Kane, my son, Marcus, has failed to return home from a camping expedition to the Forge. He was accompanied by his friend Selek, son of Sotek, who has also failed to return home."
"Thank you for your report, Mister Kane, I shall despatch a shuttle to investigate," T'Mell said. "Please remember that the Sas-a-shar desert is vast, and locating your son and his friend may take some time. I would request that you remain at home incase he should return, and of course, notify me if he does so, or otherwise makes contact."
Marcus was floating. At least, it felt like he was floating. He could feel his mother's arms around him, see her face smiling down on him as she sang.
"Don't eh-ver, be lone-ly, re-mem-ber, I'll all-ways care. Where-ever, you may be, re-mem-ber, I will be there."
He may have been able to control his thoughts and emotions whilst conscious, but his unconscious mind still refused to be bound by the Vulcan techniques he had learned, and as always, there was a shift from being cradled, to the rocking motion of lying on the shattered trimaran, watching helplessly as the raptor sharks tore his mother to pieces -- sacrificing herself, that she may sate their hunger enough to save her son's life...
---
Selek looked up from his meditations as he heard Marcus moan fretfully. He had been asleep in a foetal position for hours, the adrenaline having finally worn off, and fatigue taking over. His eyes twitched beneath his eyelids, and tears rolled from his eyes. Unsure of what else to do, Selek reached out and pushed Marcus' knee, using just enough force to wake him.
"You appeared to be in discomfort," he said, attempting to spare his friend's dignity by not pointing out that he had been crying.
"I was dreaming about my mother," Marcus replied, rubbing his wrist across his eyes, before looking about and realising that night had fallen. "How long was I out?"
"Nearly eight hours," Selek replied. "I completed the recalibration of the hoverboard's gravitic compensator and graviton generator three hours ago, and it is now maybe a thousand feet above our location. I also tied your rucksack to the base of the hoverboard with a climbing rope to act as a rudimentary anchor to keep it drifting too far from our location. The PADD has been set to flash every one point five seconds, which should be visible for several miles at this time of night.
"Good thinking," Marcus said, adjusting his position to sit with his back to the canyon wall. "Perhaps I'll make an engineer of you after all."
Sitting in the back of the med-shuttle, Selek turned to the medic.
"Will he be alright?" he enquired.
"His injuries will respond well to regeneration therapy," T'Lami replied. "He should recover fully."
"You saved our lives, Selek," Marcus said, rising up on his elbows. Raising his right hand, he attempted to make the ta'al, but the damage to his ligaments made his fingers tremble and flex randomly, unable to correctly position.
"Ti pla' t'hy'la," Selek said, reaching across to take hold of Marcus' hand with both of his own, separating his fingers into the correct position, then making the ta'al himself. Lay back, brother.
x
After the briefing was over, Joanne made her way to her office. There was a call she had to make before they reached Deep Space X05. Sitting down at her desk, she requested a direct line to the U.S.S. Payne, impatiently tapping her fingers on the table until a stressed-looking diplomatic aide appeared on the screen.
"Get me the ambassador." Joanne said, not bothering with pleasantries.
The aide sighed. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Admiral. The ambassador is in a very important meeting and─"
Joanne leaned forward. "That was an order, Lieutenant."
The aide frowned, but nodded and walked out of the picture. A couple of minutes later, during which Joanne buried her face in her hands and tried to calm herself down, she heard someone say "It's your daughter, ma'am" and a middle-aged Trill woman in the white and gold of the Diplomatic Corps appeared on screen.
Joanne choked down a sob of relief. It had been silly and irrational of course to think that anything could have happened to Ambassador Eizann Roslyn so many light years away, but it still took a huge weight off her shoulders to know that her other mother was safe.
"Hey, mama." she said quietly.
"Love, what's wrong? What happened?" her mother asked straight away, looking for all the world as if she wanted to reach through the screen and put her arms around her daughter. "You are so pale."
Joanne's hands automatically went up to the spots on her neck and temple, a nervous habit that she'd been trying to lose since her academy days. Feeling all of ten years old and not much like a Starfleet Admiral at all, she shook her head. "I'm fine, mama. But I need to ask you something. It might be important."
"Go ahead."
"Do you know what Im is working on at the moment?"
Eizann frowned. "You know she can't talk about her work. Why?" When Joanne didn't answer, her mother moved closer to the screen, her face anxious. "What is going on, darling? Is Imberia alright?"
For a moment, Joanne was tempted to tell Eizann everything, but then decided against it. She didn't want her mother to worry, and most of all, she didn't want to make a promise that she might not be able to keep.
"Yes, yes." she answered quickly, knowing that her mother probably wouldn't believe her but would also understand enough to refrain from asking more questions. "I'm just... in a bit of a tight spot. I feel like I might be making a mistake, although I know that I'm doing the right thing. It's like... I wish somebody would tell me what to do!"
Eizann's eyes widened. "You're not going against orders, are you?"
Joanne almost laughed. That was the least of her problems right now. "No, no. But only because Admiral Holland is such a complete pushover, really." she said.
Her mother decided to let that slide. "And Corspa is with you? You can always trust her judgement." Eizann said.
Joanne looked away. It was true that she could always rely on her first officer, and Corspa had often enough given her a piece of her mind in a way that, on any other ship, would have gotten her thrown in the brig, even if she was usually right. But this time... Joanne was half-consciously aware that at the moment, Corspa was acting more on what she perceived as her duty to her friend rather than the ship she served on. Joanne refused to think about that too hard, afraid that acknowledging it would somehow make Corspa change her mind.
"We're good." Joanne said finally, giving her mother a weak smile. "Thanks, mama. I'll let you get back to work now."
Eizann nodded. "Alright. Please call me again as soon as you can."
"I will." Joanne said, then the screen went black.
x
Fifteen minutes out from Deep Space X05, Joanne, Corspa and ten of Corspa's best strike force members assembled in the transporter room. Doctor Siluur was going around from person to person, handing out immunosupport nanite hypos and stern advice. Corspa was personally checking everyone's armour and shield, and Joanne managed not to drop any of her equipment as she was putting it on. Her backpack was heavier than usual, containing, like everyone else's, a set of transporter enhancers, enough grenades and mines to make the team's combat technician a tiny bit nervous, and enough energy cells to power her phaser rifle for 8 entire hours, should that become necessary. She was still checking her kit and supplies when Corspa stepped on the transporter platform.
"Listen up, everyone!" She took a quick look at her wrist computer. "In thirteen minutes, we will emerge from behind the planet and beam over to the station as soon as we are in range. You all know what your jobs are. I'm your team leader today, and the Admiral will be our medic, as usual." Nobody batted an eyelid at this, since it was pretty much standard procedure for Joanne to stay in the rear and get hollered at for hypos whenever the Borg were involved.
"You've all read Admiral Holland's mission briefing. Forget it. We will only try to salvage the station's research when we have made sure that everyone on the station is safe and can be kept safe." This was met with a chorus of "aye, Commander", and nobody showed any qualms about ignoring the Admiral's orders like that.
Joanne was only half listening to Corspa when Siluur came to stand next to her and slipped two unmarked hyposprays into a spare slot on the Admiral's belt, accompanied by a profoundly disapproving glance. Joanne mouthed "thank you" at the Doctor, who just shook her head and left the transporter room.
And then, everyone got in position on the transporters and waited. It took Joanne all she had to keep from starting to pace and make everyone else nervous too. She almost jumped when the voice of Commander Taallir, who was in command of the ship while she and Corspa were gone, came in through the comm.
"We are now approaching the station, prepare for transport." There was a pause in which they could hear him giving orders, and then "Be careful."
x
The first thing that Joanne noticed when they materialized on the station was how dark it was. Not the green-grey darkness of Borg occupation or the quiet, comfortable twilight of the station's night cycle, but the total, heavy black of a complete systems shutdown. The temperature had already gone up as well, either from the Borg adapting the environmental controls to their liking or the station's dormant systems failing to pump excess heat into space, Joanne couldn't tell. She did, however, just catch the blue light of the Mutabor warping away through one of the windows. Turning away from the comforting sight of the stars and the limb of the planet moving beneath them, she tugged down her night vision goggles and got into position behind Corspa.
Their advance towards the centre of the station passed in a blur. They encountered the first drones two decks below where they had beamed in, and found the first station crew member five minutes after that. Every time they spotted a drone still wearing the white and blue uniform of the research staff, Joanne's heart skipped a beat, but none of them wore her mother's face. The grey station walls quickly gave way to the black, twisted pipes and consoles of the Borg, but it looked like they had been working their way up from the bottom of the station.
Two decks down further, the Borg modifications became impenetrable and they retreated until they reached a much quieter area, where they first found two researchers hiding in a maintenance shaft and then one of the two emergency doors leading to the panic rooms. It took Joanne two attempts to get the computer to accept her access code and open the plating over the door, and then they entered the airlock leading into the safe areas. While waiting for the lock to cycle through, everyone took off their goggles, blinking to get their eyes used to the yellow light after the green dim, and took deep breaths of the freshly recycled air, trying to get the stale taste of Borg infestation out of their lungs. Corspa talked quietly to the station staff they had picked up earlier, who turned out to have basically no idea about what exactly had happened and if anyone had made it to safety.
When the airlock door opened, Joanne was the first out. They stepped into a huge, multi-level area riddled with free-standing consoles, lab equipment, containers, labelled partitions, rows of vats covered with milky glass - and about forty station staff working everywhere. Apart from their tense gestures and exhausted faces, it was as if nothing bad had even happened. Then someone a level below them cheered, Corspa motioned the security teams around the room, and Joanne, barely keeping her voice from cracking, started calling for her mother. "Where is the director? Where is Doctor Roslyn?"
"I'm here, I'm here!" A Trill woman in a lab coat, clearly taken by surprise by the sudden commotion in her lab, climbed down a ladder to the level on which the team from the Mutabor had entered. Joanne thought her legs were going to give out when she spotted her mother, safe and unharmed.
"Jonna, how did you-" Imberia didn't get to finish her sentence as Joanne strode over to her mother and pulled her into a tight embrace, ignoring her kit painfully digging into her chest and everyone around them politely turning away.
"I was so scared, mum, I just kept thinking - what if - what if you'd been assimila- assimi- and it took so long to get here and- and-" Joanne's whispers faded as her voice failed. She felt the dread pour out of her with every breath, and the tiredness that came after an adrenaline rush and hours of being wound up so tightly settling into her bones.
Imberia took her daughter's face in her hands when she finally stepped back, smiling at Joanne. "I'm safe, everything's fine, Jonna, you made it, nothing happened to me."
Joanne nodded, taking long, deep breaths. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders as she felt the dignity and confidence of her rank return. Her mother waited until she could see that Joanne was herself again, and asked, "Now that you're here, Admiral, what is the plan?"
"We're going to get everyone out of here. The Mutabor is in system, and another ship is coming." Joanne said, waving Corspa over.
"How many Borg are outside? Can we make it to the escape pods?" Imberia asked, looking at her daughter and Commander Eide, who shook her head. "They have us surrounded completely. I would suggest that we shut off a route using emergency bulkheads and forcefields, flood everything with coolant and that way only have to deal with a limited number of drones but we can't do that with the power out and..." Corspa stopped when she noticed the look on Doctor Roslyn's face.
"Did you say the power was out?" she asked, paling.
Corspa nodded. "From what we could tell, they either shut it off completely or have rerouted it to suit their own needs. Why?"
Imberia rubbed her hand over her face, looking exhausted. "The armour has its own power source, but because it's so energy-intensive, that lasts only about six hours. The station's main supply is supposed to work as a back-up, just in case. We've already been in here for almost 4 hours..."
The silence that followed was broken by the sound of an explosion reverberating through the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look around, waiting anxiously. Less than a minute later, the sound was repeated, louder this time. An ensign from the Mutabor who'd been monitoring the defences at a wall panel called over: "Armour integrity has just gone down 4%, Admiral!"
"We weren't careful enough." Corspa said quietly. "We led them straight here."
"Open the coolant valves!" Joanne ordered. "That way we can at least get them off our backs for a while." The ensign nodded and turned back to the panel. The dull thudding of the Borg weakening the ablative armour was becoming more and more regular now, instead of cutting off.
Imberia swore under her breath. "They must have vented the tanks into space."
Corspa's face hardened. "Right. Let's get a move on, people!" She took Joanne's and her own backpack and, with the help of other officers and lab staff, started putting up the transporter enhancers. Joanne gave orders to use the emergency beacon to contact the Mutabor, and then started to rally lab staff towards the middle of the room. All of them seemed to be carrying some piece of equipment, a container or even whole memory cores, which were starting to take up the majority of space within the small circle of transporter enhancers. Joanne spotted her mother delegating people to take equipment with them and quickly walked over to her.
"We cannot possibly take all of this, mum." she said. "There are so many people here, it's going to be tight as it is."
"We have to take it. This research is invaluable, do you understand?" Imberia answered.
"It's not as important as everyone's lives!" Joanne almost had to yell by now, the noise of the armour slowly breaking down under the continuous assault filling the room. "Research can be repeated─"
"It took us years to get this far! If we lose it to the Borg now ─ at least beam it up after us! We can split into groups─"
Joanne shook her head. "We don't have the time. Get everyone in transporter range now, Doctor. That is an order."
Imberia just stared at her daughter for a moment, angry and unbelieving. Then her face closed off, and she did as she was told.
By the time everyone was in position, the station crew inside a protective ring of Corspa's team, their weapons raised, the lights had started flickering, and there was still no word from the Mutabor. Joanne refused to even entertain the thought that they had been attacked by Borg cube on their way back towards the station, and kept working on the emergency beacon, trying all known frequencies and comm protocols.
With a sudden finality, the noise of explosions stopped. It was followed by the distinctive, frightening whirring of the ablative armour retracting. The sight of the first drone breaking through the laboratory walls was thankfully clouded by the cool light of the transporters engaging.
They materialized in a cargo bay that clearly did not belong to the Mutabor, surrounded by security and medical personnel. The ship swerved as if riding a shockwave, making everyone hold onto each other, then stabilized. The captain's tense voice came in over the comm:
"Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Holloway. We burnt out our transwarp drive getting here in time and just had to chuck our core at the Borg cube. It took out the station as well, so it better not have been for nothing. Roslyn, you can start cleaning up this mess by towing us home."
x
Epilogue - three weeks later
"Hey mama."
"Hello, love. How are you?"
"Alright, I guess. Bit bored, really. Has Im told you what happened?"
"Yes, although she didn't seem very impressed with your punishment."
"We're stuck in the Khazan cluster with planetary surveys for the next two months!"
"You're lucky, you know that. It's a miracle you didn't lose your rank and ship."
"... I know. Admiral Quinn called me a 'well-intentioned idiot', and the rest of the board couldn't really decide whether they wanted to be happy that we got so many people out or angry that we lost mum's research... whatever it was."
"Judging by how cross Im is with you, it must've been very important."
"Yeah, yeah... I just... compared to how disappointed she is in me, justifying my actions in front of the board was a picnic!"
"Be grateful they were so lenient with you. You can't have everything."
"They're not done yet, though. There's going to be an investigation and another hearing to which Corspa, Commander Taallir and Doctor Siluur have been summoned. Something about neglecting their duties with regard to, and I quote, 'an obvious and worrying abuse of power and trust by the commanding officer in a situation requiring objective and careful action' and so on and so forth. I'm surprised they've even got time for this, what with the war and everything."
"Especially with the war going on, Starfleet Command needs to know that they can rely on their captains and crews! Just... try not to make it worse, darling, promise me that."
"I'll try, mama. Let me know when mum looks like she'll talk to me again."
"Will do. Good night, Jonna."
"Night."
x
fin.
"Jolan Tru, Admiral"
The perfunctory greeting came from a rather innocuous man, small and slight for his age, sitting behind a gigantic desk that seemed far too big for him. He motioned to the free chair in front of his desk, and Admiral Ly'nia did her best to suppress a grin. The ex-General had a flair for the unusual, and she really didn't know where he had managed to obtain a command chair from one of the old D7 class ships.
Ly'nia sank into it, savouring the sharp edges of its Klingon ancestry, as well as the smooth roundness of the distinctly Romulan design. As always, the mere thought brought the pain forward again.
"I need to know it. I need to hear it from you, Velal. Is it true?"
The man nodded slowly, aware of what the gesture truly meant.
"Romulus, and Remus with it. Gone to the folly of the Tal Shiar."
"Do we know that?" Ly'nia asked painfully. The very thought that Romulans could turn against their own in such a hideous fashion was - revolting would never fully describe it.
"Whom else could it be? The Federation is too weak-willed to undertake something of this scale, and they would never sacrifice their precious Ambassador Spock. Not that it did him much good in the end. The Klingons are barbarians. They have neither the technology nor the ability to carry off such an attack. I admit the Tholian presence growing in the Tau Dewa sector is concerning, but no, this is not their way either."
General Velal pushed explosively out of his chair and began pacing, clearly agitated.
"Breen? Too weakened, despite the facile similarity to their attack on Sol. Cardassia? Still reeling from the Dominion occupation. They could never capitalize on it. No. This attack involved subspace weapons of exactly the sort that the Fleet 'lost' to a Tal Shiar operation."
"Could it have been the reunificationists?"
"They want Romulus re-united, not in ashes" came the dismissive rejoinder.
Velal sat heavily back into his chair.
"No. It was the Tal Shiar, but we can at least take comfort from the efficacy of our purges. Very few who actually were involved have gotten out. Although, that said, the surviving rank and file will remain a problem for some time to come. Unfortunate.
The Federation may be an annoyance, but their Intelligence was good in this case?.too good. I doubt we have found all the spies - from both sides. Anyhow, agonizing over the past and possible motives is not a productive use of our limited time. Onto the reason for this meeting. Your Report, Admiral?"
"Certainly. General" Admiral Ly'nia settled comfortably and began speaking.
"The I.R.W Vellius departed the Rator shipyards on 64538.36, and began a long term assignment. We successfully monitored the Celes system patrols for a six Federation months. It was about that time we began hearing the rumors about?about Romulus.
The crew wanted to turn back, to go home. But if it was a Federation ploy? A despicable trick? What if they suspected our presence and were simply trying to flush us out? And if it was true that Hobus had gone nova, then the Homeworld would have had years of time, not mere days. We judged the transmissions a concerted Federation deception.
The Vellius then departed for the system called Memory Alpha. Some of the intercepted transmissions proved most?enlightening about Federation technology, although the story about the Hobus event continued. It culminated on 65088.81 when Subcommander Vena was confined to her quarters for attempting to access the communication array without authorization."
"You believe the subcommander was attempting to betray your location?"
"It seemed reasonable at first, until I learnt that the subcommander was from the slums of Romulus. I believe her loyalty to her family temporarily outweighed her loyalty to the Romulan Star Empire."
"So her actions were forgiven?"
"Not at all. Subcommander Vena was charged with treason to the service on 65116.13. As we were on a deep space covert assignment, we were not equipped or manned for prisoner interrogation. Under Regulation 14, I found her guilty of treason and executed her."
Velal looked up, one eyebrow raised in an almost-vulcan fashion. "I see. Proceed"
"On 65780.06, the Vellius continued to Resupply Depot 92 along the Neutral Zone."
"And you received the orders to return home?"
"We did, General, but they lacked your authorization. They commanded us to come home in the name of Empress Sela. That is how we knew it was a trap. There was no Empress, far less one called Sela. The station was obviously compromised. We dumped the supplies into the star and proceeded to a covert depot inside the Arucanis Arm.
After resupplying, we moved onto our final patrol station. Sol itself. The heart of the Federation. We spent seven of their local days creeping along under cloak at sublight speeds to the observation point in the debris ring surrounding the Federation system."
"And you did not find it suspicious that the Loval was missing? That they had left before you arrived, without handover?"
"We were a few days late, and procedure for the Sol station is quite rigid. Any deviation might betray our presence. The Loval had obviously left precisely when it was supposed to. So we proceeded in and remained under cloak."
"But Sol procedure dictates that you should still be on station, does it not?"
"Regulation 53 covers unusual events. When we saw the Federation Task Force under their Admiral Janeway depart, and transmissions indicated they were heading for Romulus itself, I judged the danger to Homeworld was sufficient to authorize an early departure."
"And you made excellent time. Sol to the Neutral Zone well ahead of Janeway and her fleet. Your ship is commended for its speed."
"Thank you General. As you know, we took station near Agrama and decloaked as the fleet crossed the border. Clearly they were in violation of Romulan territory. We targeted the lead ship - U.S.S Voyager and opened fire."
"Yes, yes, and only ceased once the I.R.W Shaenha and I.R.W Valerius arrived, with my authorization codes. A commendable report and my compliments to the Vellius and its crew for an excellent job. But now our attention must turn to the present. To this 'Empress' and her plans for the Romulan Star Empire."
"I understand General. When will we be departing to Rator III?"
"Departing? What? No. We will be ignoring that upstart."
"We - we will not support her? But Sela is the empress! The successor to the Praetor and Senate!"
"Sela is a fool!" Velal snapped. "Her Government in Rator III will never survive. Her alliance with these Hirogen scum strikes at the heart of what it means to be Romulan!
We do not ask for aid! We do not invite our enemies into our realms unless we have a dagger at their back! No! We have had too many fools for Praetors, but we cannot let ourselves think that replacing the Senate with an Empress will be any better!
Neral was a fool, but he was an honest fool. When the Dominion attacked Senator Vreetak, he had no choice but to act. But there were other?.options we could have exploited. Open war is too messy a business. Hiren was better, but always too lax with security. I oft thought him addled in the head with Federations notions of fairness and openness. And so Tal?aura exploited that and walked right into the Senate with a thalaron device of all things.
Shinzon was an utter disaster. I think that's where it all went wrong. Federation ships in Romulan space without an escort. Remans in positions of power with no understanding of the subtleties of command."
Velal paused and snorted, a harsh, unamused sound.
"Did you know the fool Shinzon placed in charge of Fleet Intelligence once walked into this very office and demanded I appoint Reman captains to all D'deridex-class warbirds, and in the same breath to decommission the new D'driathu class as they were 'Ugly to the eyes'. If looks were the basis for command decisions, I should have shot him then and there!"
"And then! And then I had to order Donatra to pursue. Order her to do what is Right, What was Romulan! I gave her specific orders. Destroy the Scimitar and then destroy the Enterprise. Simple. I even gave her both Valdore-class ships! When she failed at the Bassen Rift, that's when I knew it. The Empire had become weak. Soft.
And then, then came our final folly. We trusted the Vulcan, I do not know why I recommended we follow his course. Were we so weak that we needed the Federation to save us once again? I despaired, Admiral, I admit it. I thought that, should Spock succeed, we would deserve to fade and be absorbed, and should he fail, well, it would be for the best for the Romulan people to die with a knife to the galaxy?s throat.
Spock's death? An ample downpayment for the harm the Federation has wreaked on our peoples. I only regret Nero?s death along with him. I always suspected he was too much of a loose cannon, but at least he was not Tal Shiar. But I could not see a way forward, Admiral. I could not see the path back to a reborn Empire, once again strong and powerful. Nothing, until -"
Ly'nia spoke. "Until the Vellius limped back into Romulan space. You want to use a broken ship and a shattered crew to save the Empire."
Velal stared at her, at the desperate weariness in her voice. "What? No! Don't be ridiculous. The Empire is gone, and good riddance to its decaying carcass. We need a new Empire. A new structure. A new Fleet. A new leader. A clean break from the past."
"You, Velal? Forgive me, but I cannot see you in Praetorial robes, being adulated by a worshipful crowd"
"No, no, not me. And not you either. Wipe that relief off your face, it Ill-suits you. No. I have a man in mind. And odd choice, I'm sure you will agree - a re-unificationist of all things. Come, Admiral, and see the files I have compiled on this 'D'Tan'. We will need to be careful. Circumspect. Quiet. But I think this D'Tan is the best hope for a new Empire. We may not know its form, but so long as we are there, we can sway its course."
Velal poured a bright blue liquid into two glasses on the table, and set the bottle down. He took the furtherest glass, in accordance with tradition and began the first line of the ancient Fleet toast. It was said it had been spoken on Romulan ships since the Sundering. It was the Fleet. It was Romulan.
"We are cloaked in shadow"
Ly?nia took the second glass and recited the rejoining Fleet line.
"We are blades in the night"
Velal continued in with the next words and raised his glass, intensely controlled face looking at Ly'nia's , who stared back at him with a matching impassivity.
"We are careful and watchful"
Both Velal and Ly'nia spoke the last lines of the ancient Romulan toast, hope and determination blazing in their eyes, cracking the facade for a single instant.
"And the Fleet is Homeworld's might!"
Grimworm and Karry walked along one of the corridors, stepping over debris. The Hulkanian rubbed his belly as it growled. He held up a ration bar and bit a corner of the rectangular food.
"It's been a week on these things. They're far too small."
Karry looked up at her friend.
"Take it easy. We're still on emergency power. Those things are all we've got left."
"Unless Luawra's idea is right, and the Captain has a garden of veg in his quarters."
"Ha! Do you think they will even be enough?"
"There may not be much, but it's something. We're out in deep space, we don't know where we are or when people will find us."
Grimworm finished his ration bar and dropped the wrapper to the floor. He quietly munched it until they reached the door. It was ripped off its hinges, the entire corridor covered in matching blasting patterns.
"Captain wasn't in here, was he?"
Karry shook her head.
"No. He was on the Bridge."
"Ah. Then they didn't come in here looking for him."
Grimworm gripped the door and bent it off the hinges. Dropping the doors, he followed Karry in.
"I don't see a garden."
"I don't think we're going to find anything. The place is a wreck."
Karry moved into the bedroom.
"Ah. Found it."
Karry came out holding a little window box. Grim worm blinked at the tiny thing.
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"That's.... what, three potatoes? Come on, let's go do something useful."
Karry put the box down on the bed and stepped outside the quarters, smiling as Grimworm's stomach rumbled again. She pulled out one of her ration bars and opened it, snapping it in half. Handing half over, she bit a corner off her half. Grimworm looked at the offered food.
"You sure?"
"You need it more Grimmy."
"Thanks."
Taking the bar, he started munching when the lights went out.
Emony stood carefully on the spot, still waiting for artificial gravity to be restored to the Bridge. As far as she knew, power was out throughout the ship. Ttorkkinn could be heard in the dark issuing orders, but no one could see or move without floating off. A couple of people had managed to work their way towards some consoles where they were trying to reroute power from somewhere. Eventually power came back and Emony felt her insides drop down back to normal. Before she could say anything, Ttorkkinn strode across the Bridge.
"Diagnostic teams, get us a damage report. Wurz, where are we?"
The young ensign was already checking her sensors.
"It looks like we dropped out of Slipstream near the Klingon border. We are in a solar system, three planets, no signs of space travel."
Emony frowned.
"Even in Slipstream, we shouldn't have travelled that far so quickly."
Ttorkkinn let out a huff.
"I told you not to trust that Traveller. I bet he did it."
"Wurz, are we holding position?"
"The momentum from coming out of Slipstream has us drifting, but it's minor. We're in no danger."
Emony nodded as she took it in, Wurz continuing her report.
"At least we're near a planet, and have a better chance of being spotted. I'm detecting population centres around the continents, but no evidence of warp capability."
"Hopefully we won't be spotted by Klingons."
Ttorkkin nodded in agreement.
"That's a chance we'll have to take. Until power is restored fully, we have to ration ourselves. Xui Li, start distributing ration-"
"ENGINEERING TO BRIDGE! WE'RE FIFTY SECONDS TO A CORE BREACH!"
"What?"
"CORE'S GOING CRITICAL! I'm EJECTING IT!"
"Get us away from it!"
"Engines are not responding quickly. We're not going to clear the blast area!"
The red alert klaxon sounded as Emony ordered all hands to brace for impact.
The ship slowly drifted through the darkness of space. The scarred and battered hull casting an ugly yet elegant form in the light of the nearby star. A thin sliver burst forth from the entity, casting out the poison before it killed those whom it had once provided for, a giver of life now mere moments from taking it all. As much as the entity tried, it could not escape the fiery grip that followed the flash of its heart tearing itself asunder. Pushing outwards, it gripped the entity and pushed it outwards, tearing at the skin to crawl back inside where it was once safe. Taking it fully on its belly, the entity gave more of itself than it could hope to, leaving behind pieces of its skin, its soul in a desperate attempt to safeguard those who called it home. As the heat and passion faded to a distant memory, the entity burned through space, towards what could only be hoped to be salvation.
Emony pulled herself up by the arm of a chair.
"Report."
Xui Li was the first to respond.
"All power is, ah, offline. The underside of the ship took the full brunt of the, ah, explosion and has suffered catastrophic structural failure."
The lights flickered as the ship switched to emergency generators. Slowly power was restored to the key systems, but kept at a minimum to preserve them as long as possible. Ttorkkinn slapped his commbadge.
"Engineering. What happened?!"
The worried voice of Gweevle was almost drowned out by static.
"Micro fractures in the warp core casing were amplified by the stress of the Slipstream malfunction. When we tried to restart the core, it shattered the casing and caused a breakdown of the antimatter seals in the reaction chamber. We're lucky Bosip was able to jettison the core so quickly."
Bosip cut in over the comm.
"We've got enough power to keep us running at the lowest levels for a day or two, but after that, we're completely dead in space."
Wurz interjected.
"I don't think that will be a problem. The impact of the core explosion has pushed us towards the planet. We'll enter the atmosphere in ten minutes."
Emony's eyes widened.
"Ten minutes? Gweevle, can we get the engines back online?"
"With what? The Impulse fusion reactors are all the power we have left and they're barely hanging on with the damage sustained. Beside which, the Impulse engines are destroyed. They would need to be rebuilt from scratch."
"Are you telling me we don't have any kind of movement?"
"I can get you the reaction control thrusters, but that's it."
"They'll never be able to slow our descent. Not with only a few working."
Emony looked at Ttorkkinn.
"There must be something we can do."
The Saurian slowly shook his head.
"The ship is dead. We need to abandon her before it's too late."
"We can't just give up on her. She's more than a home, she's a member of the crew."
"We've lost a lot of people this week. Sentinel will be the latest. But at least she won't die in vain. Emony..... you have to call it."
She looked over the wrecked Bridge. It felt like she was looking at a close friend on life support, being asked to end her suffering. She nodded.
"Then abandon ship. All hands..... abandon ship."
As the evacuation alarms started sounding, Emony moved over to the helm. Ttorkkinn followed her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to make sure she doesn't hit any populated areas on the planet."
"With what?"
"RCS still work. I might be able to nudge her on her descent."
"You won't be able to do that by yourself. I'll stay and man the sensors-"
"NO! I need you to lead the survivors. Ttorkkinn, despite what The Traveller said, I'm not command material. You are. Get the crew back to Federation space. That's an order."
Ttorkkinn nodded, then stood at attention and saluted.
"It's been an honour. Sir."
Emony returned the salute.
"Until we meet again."
Ttorkkinn turned and left. Emony watched the injured survivors shut down the ship systems and make their way to the turbolifts and Jeffrey's Tubes, heading for the escape pods and shuttle bays. With only two minutes before hitting the atmosphere, Emony watched as the crew fled into space, holding position to watch the Sentinel go down. She returned the view to forward, seeing the atmosphere rushing towards her. She took in a deep breath as the ship started rumbling. From this altitude, it was impossible to see if they were heading for any populated areas. Hearing someone stumble onto the Bridge, Emony quickly turned. Karry and Grimworm had crawled out of a Jeffrey's Tube.
"What are you two doing here?"
Karry brushed some soot off her shoulder.
"There wasn't enough escape pods. After the injured got loaded, the few remaining ones were too badly damaged to use. And don't forget, the Gorn took a few. So we figured the best thing to do was to head here."
"Ok. Get on sensors, tell me if we're going to hit anything. Grimworm, best take a seat."
The ship was shaking badly now, the leading edge of the saucer glowing fiery orange. Karry grimaced and looked up.
"We're too steep an angle. We need to pull up."
"I'm trying, but the thrusters just aren't powerful enough!"
"Then when we hit the ground....."
"I know, I know. The ships reactors will explode, taking us and anything around us with it. That's why we HAVE to get her flying level!"
The ship continued her death fall, plummeting towards the ground. Karry held onto the edge of the console as the vibrating only increased.
"Sir, looks like we're heading straight for a city. A large one, over three miles wide, surrounded by a thick jungle."
"We've got to pull up!"
Emony worked the console, firing the underside thrusters, but although there was a very slight shift in the attitude, it was obviously not enough to dodge the city.
"Ideas?"
Grimworm blinked, deep in thought. Suddenly he let out a cry.
"Shockwaves! If we use a shockwave to push us away-"
"Like the core breach. But we have nothing to do that."
"Torpedoes."
"Are the launchers online?"
Karry checked.
"Yes. But Quantum's won't have the explosive force to push us off target."
Grimworm smiled.
"No, but the Harg'pengs do."
Emony's eyes went wide.
"That'll spread radiation all over the city!"
""At this altitude, it should disperse into the atmosphere. But we'll get a full hit. The torpedo will have to detonate less than 2 kilometres under our front bow to work."
Emony quickly thought through the options. Radiate themselves, and possibly the city, or crash into it and kill potentially thousands. There really wasn't a choice, was there?
"DO IT!"
The blue weapon lurched from its launcher, detonating almost instantly. The blast wave slammed the ship, knocking the three remaining crew members to the floor and tearing open the underside of the saucer. As hull plating, EPS conduits and pieces of the Captain's Yacht rained down over the city, Emony forced herself back into the seat. The ground was closer, close enough to see the buildings. The architecture suggested a mid industrial revolution society.
"Forty Seven seconds to impact! Have we altered our course enough Karry?"
"We've raised our trajectory. We should hit near the outskirts of the city. But we'll still hit it."
"Fire another!"
"Can't! Weapons are destroyed. We've got nothing left!"
Emony set her jaw, determined they would not take out this society with them. Firing all remaining thrusters, she tried to angle the ship to the side, hoping it would arc their trajectory enough. Close enough now they could see the people on the cobblestone streets start running for their lives. The deck slowly pitched upwards on the right at a sixty degree angle, Sentinel finally starting to turn away from the city.
Grimworm started swearing, holding onto his chair as they came towards a series of small buildings with a tower in the centre. Hoping against hope, he closed his eyes and clenched.
The starship dropped down, trailing smoke from the nacelles, falling towards the city. It angled to the right, starting to arc it's turn. Birds squawked and flew out of the tower as the ship thundered past, mere feet from colliding. Angled as it was, the ship started levelling out its course, the edge of the saucer inching ever closer to the ground, slipping between the houses. They had been lucky so far. But the street came to an end, with a factory looking building at the intersection. There was no way to avoid it; the edge of the saucer clipped the roof, splintering the building. As bricks, mortar and tiles showered over the few small buildings behind, Sentinel dropped into the ground, kicking up a mountain of dirt. The saucer started digging in, building up a mound, causing the rest of the hull to drop. The starboard nacelle hit with an impact that shattered fracture marks up the entire pylon, ripping apart the outer casing. Fortunately, the ship slid out of the city as it started to lose the angle, the starboard nacelle lifting up into the air. A large, thick tree, one that had been standing for a millenia and larger than the ship itself found itself in the path of the nacelle pylon. Metal hit bark, but with the entwined trunk firmly embedded in the ground, bark won. The pylon tore off, casting the nacelle free. The rear end hit the ground first, smashing the front end down into a rocky outcropping, breaking open the Bussard Ramscoop and flipping the nacelle end over end, high up in the air. It spiralled over the forest, impacting harshly in the trees, breaking itself into thousands of parts, each one kicking up more dirt and trees, spinning away into the forest.
The main hull of the ship was jerked sharply to the right, keeping the secondary hull from impacting the ground. The ship was losing a lot of momentum now, almost ready to stop. But nature had one last cruel trick to play. The ground fell away, leaving Sentinel airborne over a cliff. As the trees and soil dropped away from the ship, it turned through the air, spinning itself around towards the ocean below. With nothing to stop it, and no momentum to make a safe water landing, the Starfleet ship slammed backwards into the water, breaking apart the rear of the remaining nacelle. As surges of water crashed out in all directions, the saucer dropped into the waves, flooding itself through the missing lower decks. The ship started sinking without pause, the salt water rushing in through all the holes, filling any gaps it could find. The water level reached up to the top of the ship's neck before it hit the sea bed, coming to a rest angled with the front of the saucer completely submerged, the rear of the ship sitting up in the air.
Finally.....
Finally it was over.
The blackness slowly started fading to a haze. Shapes started forming as Emony slowly regained consciousness. Coughing up blood, she started to get up, screaming as pain shot through her entire leg. Putting a hand on it, she felt something sharp and jagged. Fearfully, she looked down. Her leg was at an unnatural angle with the broken end of her thigh bone puncturing the skin. Panting to try and clear away both the pain and grogginess, she looked around the Bridge. The entire command centre of the once great ship was beyond salvage. Chairs and consoles had broken loose, destroying the viewscreen. Nothing was left working. The deck was angled slightly towards the front. The ship was obviously resting on ground. She wasn't sure at what point after the initial impact she had blacked out, or what had hit her leg, but she was glad to have survived mostly intact. Spitting globs of blood on the deck, she wiped her mouth with the back of her glove.
"Karry? Grimworm. You alive?"
There was mutterings of a stirring from a pile of wreckage on the far side of the Bridge. Slowly it shifted, revealing Grimworm. He was battered, bruised, and bleeding from a couple of spots but he was at least mobile.
"That was some landing."
"At least it's over. Can you see Karry?"
Grimworm moved around the Bridge, looking for his friend. Shifting some chairs aside, he frowned as he failed to see her. Rubbing the back of his head, he moved to the front of the Bridge and started picking through everything there. After a few minutes, he stopped and knelt down.
"Karry?"
He reached out, gently brushing the back of his giant green hand against her soft, blood soaked cheek. Emony pushed herself onto an elbow, wincing at the pain in her ribs.
"Is she....?"
Grimworm didn't answer as he shifted the rest of the wreckage off her. Gently sliding his hands underneath, he picked her up, carrying her to an empty spot and putting her down. Resting his head against her chest, he paused.
"She's breathing. It's shallow, but it's there."
Emony let out a sigh of relief. At least they had all survived.
"You're the only one who can move. Can you see where we are? What we've landed on?"
Grimworm took another look at Karry, then nodded and stood up, making his way to the Captain's Ready Room. The window in there would be the quickest way of seeing out. He stood in the doorway, peering out.
"It looks like we're in water, near a beach with a cliffside running along it. It looks..... it looks like the front of the Saucer is underwater."
"That makes sense, given the shape of the ship. Grimworm, first thing we need to do is secure ourselves. We don't know how long we are going to be here. Can you search for any medical supplies or food and bring it up here?"
"Sure. Just give me some time."
He turned, pausing as he only now noticed the bone protruding from Emony's leg.
"Ouch! You ok? That looks painful."
"The pain's sort of numb. I don't look like I'm bleeding out. But if you could find a medkit with some pain relief, it would be much appreciated."
Grimworm nodded.
"On it Captain."
Emony lay on her back. Her leg was wrapped in a splint, bandages covering the wound. It was two days since the crash. Karry had yet to wake up, giving Grimworm great concern. She was alive, but for all they knew, she had slipped into a coma. The indigenous life forms had set up some kind of ship blockade around the Sentinel, but they had yet to attempt to board. Their ships were apparently quite primitive looking. It seems the Prime Directive had been well and truly broken on whatever world this was. Grimworm was below decks somewhere. Emony was in a morphine induced state, as she had been for quite a number of hours now. She slowly looked around at the remains of the Bridge. Ghosts of yesteryear swept around. Xui Li showing off one of her tribbles. They had probably all perished sometime over the past week. Young Jenna Jones, not long out of the Academy, manning the helm, her fingers dancing over the throttle controls and thrusters, somehow making this great ship pull off impossible turns to outmanoeuvre enemies. Roderick over at Tactical, using his Maquis upbringing to their advantage in creating insane strategies. Talaina sitting on one of the chairs in the centre, intense passion burning in her eyes as she carried out the running of the ship. And in the centre, Captain Stunshock. A calm amongst the swirling storm. He never got angry. Never raised his voice. Gave the crew certain leeways in standard ship protocols. A father figure to many. And the life in the consoles, the hum of the engines, as Sentinel herself sailed into the unknown, facing down enemies tougher than she was, or pushing through unknown nebula and storms, always trying her best to get her crew safely home.
The ghosts whispered away. Most of the consoles were gone. The life was dark. Empty. Sentinel would never fly again. She had given her ultimate sacrifice to keep them safe. Emony sadly patted the deck plate beside her.
"Goodbye, old friend. Thank you for everything."
There was a bang from near the Turbolift shaft. Emony looked that way, trying to see Grimworm returning. But the person who crawled up onto the Bridge was blue, not green. An Andorian! And better yet, she wore a Starfleet uniform!
"Hello?"
The Andorian was followed by a human female wearing a Doctor's outfit.
"Commander Bearlo? Good to see you're alive."
Emony blinked, not sure if she was seeing a hallucination.
"Woa..... what? Who?"
The Andorian knelt down beside Emony while the doctor started checking Karry.
"Commander Ylzanov, U.S.S. Magpie. Captain Ellen Hare sends her regards. We picked up the distress call from your crew's escape pods and runabouts. The Magpie's in orbit. Starfleet wants us to help clear up the mess with the locals."
The doctor mentioned something about brain swelling. Emony closed her eyes as she heard the Andorian calling the Magpie for a beamout. As the familiar tingling took over her body, she smiled, relief in the knowledge the ordeal was finally over. For now.
A Romulan Strike Team, Missing Farmers and an ancient base on a Klingon Border world. But what connects them? Find out in my First Foundary mission: 'The Jeroan Farmer Escapade'
The ground stretched far to the horizon, a flat plane broken only by the particles of ice whipped up by the swift winds blowing across it. Far to the east, mountains climbed to the sky, their own surface as white as the rest of the landscape. High in the deeply blued sky, a sun blazed with the slight tint of a young star and the small, irregular ovoid that was this world's only moon hung motionless above the landscape.
The two figures tightly bundled in survival jackets and resperators stood out in stark contrast, their darkened goggles examining the track of frozen plain. One knelt and was digging into the ground with a gloved hand, the beeping of the tricorder in the other barely able to be heard over the whistling wind that caused any loose straps or flaps of clothing to snap around them like banners. Frost had crept around the edges of the display on the device, but the integral clearing systems kept it mostly legible and functioning. With a hand signal to the other person, the kneeling figure stood up and backed away as that one brought up the plasma rifle it cradled to its shoulder and fired.
In seconds, the continuous beam had melted a small crater in the ground, and a metallic object glistened in the sunlight at its center. The first figure again knelt by it, and passed the tricorder over the reflective material, nodding when the device gave a double whine to indicate it had completed its function with positive results.
With a visible sigh, the person shoved the tricorder deep into a pocket and stood, turning slowly back to stare at the massive crater that lay not more than half a kilometer behind them, its walls glassy with frozen water. From various points around the pit, a series of crumpled towers lay fallen away from it, as though pushed over by the tremendous forces unleashed when the ground was pushed back. Each had been a defense emplacement rated to withstand a ship's battery for several minutes, but now were little more than twisted wreckage.
Motioning the other person to their side, the figure opened a flap on their sleve and touched the control located there. Moments later, the shimmering of a transporter beam enveloped both, flaring for a few seconds before fading, leaving only the empty landscape and blowing wind behind.
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"There is no doubt. The trace signature on the casing matches one of the fragmentation torpedoes used in Tal'shiar hybrid ships." Science Officer Tosik said as he handed the report to Commander Rycho. "And the specific fragment we found has an energy composition matching Cube One."
Rycho looked at the other man as he finished scanning the PADD, his eyes hard. "And there can be no doubt? Could not conditions on the surface have caused an error, or given the fragment a similar signature?"
"Impossible. Cube One was an unmodified Borg Cube. For a hybrid torpedo to also have this signature, it would have had to be in direct contact with the power systems of that ship at the time it was armed." Tosik's face was set in a mask of detachment that did not reveal his own emotions. "The only conclusion that fits possibilities and probabilities is that the torpedo was fired from that ship, most likely after having been transferred from one of the other rogue Borg ships."
Commander Rycho glanced at the tactical display shown on the main viewer, noting the position of the Nor'Vesa high above the site where the attack had occurred. The unusual energy spikes of the attack had been received by a passing probe less than three hours ago, and the ship had responded as quickly as her warp drive would carry her. Yet it hadn't been even remotely close to quickly enough.
"J'Mesik was a typical colony project. Full deflector and sentry weapons, with enough shielding to hold off a single ship for an extended time." Rycho looked back at Tosik "But it held nothing of value. Even the mining facilities were not yet operational. It makes no sense for such an attack, especially given the crater you recorded. That was not a detonation point, was it?"
The Science Officer shook his head. "No. The sides did show evidence of great energy exposure, and the defense towers were apparently the targets of the torpedoes fired at the colony. However, there's no debris from the actual habitation areas. The entire area where they were located is simply not there."
Rycho fingered his chin as he narrowed his eyes and stared back at the main screen. For almost a minute, he did not say anything. Then his jaw clenched as he said "There is only one thing the colony had that the renegade Borg would need."
Tosik's face lost a little of its normal color as he realized the aweful truth as well. "People."
Rycho nodded. "When they escaped Quanuyr, the Borg ships were in the process of being fitted out. They would not have had full crews...perhaps none at all. I recall being surprised when I watched the recordings of the battle afterwards that many of the Borg ships did not do more than simply travel in a straight line through the Tal'shiar fleet. While it is obvious they succeeded using that tactic, it cost the Borg two Cubes and avoidable damage to at least eight others.
"It seems clear now that many of those ships were being operated remotely from the other Cubes, and lacked the number of Borg to operate them independently. If they are now seeking to correct that flaw, it would explain this and the other attacks we have been seeing."
The Science Officer stood for a moment staring at the main screen as well before he spoke. "Then they are....harvesting anyplace they can find for...new crews."
Commander Rycho nodded as he sat back down in his judgement seat. "And that gives us a possible clue where they will strike next."
Tapping a series of commands into his chair, Rycho pointed to the Main Screen as a map of the Tau Dewa Sector appeared, with the Nimbus Subsector highlighted in gold. Several blinking red spots were visible, one at the same location as the icon representing the Nor'Vesa. "They have continued to move away from Quanuyr, but at a speed that would be consistent with engines incapable of better than warp three. If it were not for their ability to remain undetected from long range, we would have found them by now."
Tosik stepped to the screen and traced a path along the blinking lights, then onwards in the same direction. When his fingers came close to another system highlighted with the symbol for an inhabited world, he raised an eyebrow and looked back at the Commander. "Mol'Dirsan?"
Rycho nodded grimly as he swiveled his chair to face the Duty Communications Officer. "Relay our findings to High Command, and that we are proceeding to Mol'Dirsan. Request any available assistance be directed to that system, and then check with the T'Vonn to see if they have found anything."
With a quick "At once, Commander", the officer turned to carry out his orders, and Rycho returned his attention to the rest of the Bridge.
"Helm, plot a course to Mol'Dirsan that won't intersect with the projected course of the Cube. Execute when you have the course, best speed." Commander Rycho stood and walked towards the doors at the side of the Bridge. "You have the conn, Subcommander Tosik. I will be in my Ready Room."
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When Tosik walked into the Ready Room without signaling first, he almost braced himself for a stiff tongue lashing from....her. But then he saw Commander Rycho sitting in the chair behind the desk, and the moment passed before he had a chance to break his stride.
After the doors had closed behind him, he reported "Underway to Mol'Dirsan. Estimated arrival time is one hour, six minutes."
Commander Rycho nodded absently as he continued to stare at the PADD in his hands. Tosik noted the man was not actually entering any commands into the device, but seemed to be only vaguely aware he even held it. Walking up to the opposite end of the desk, he looked down at the Human he had spent so much time in contempt of, and wondered at the fate that had placed them as odd allies.
Rycho's features seemed chissled in stone, a mask of unemotion the Science Officer was certain would have found admiration among Vulcans, had any been aboard the ship. From the closer position he was now in, Tosik could also see the hands that gripped the PADD were causing the outer casing to bend slightly from the pressure on it, and he began to wonder if he had overstepped the new latitude Rycho had seemed to be granting him since they had embarked on this pursuit mission alongside the warbird T'Vonn.
Then Rycho spoke in a voice of controlled anger. "When I heard the accusations against the Commander at my debriefing, I could not believe what was being said. But this was her Cube, and only she could have known about J'Mesik. It was not even on our military charts yet. If the R'uhuv had not been assigned to patrol this subsector two months ago, we would not have even known to check near that system.
"Now, I must accept that the Commander I admired, that I accepted as my leader, has become the monster so many have claimed."
Tosik did not know what to say to this unprecedented openess from the Augment, and decided to wait. A moment later, Rycho looked up at him "And I swear, by the families that pleaded with us to keep their colony secret, by the children that perished because I did not remember them in time, that I will stop her.
"I will stop her!"
The PADD in the Commander's hand shattered suddenly, and Rycho gave a startled snarl as he threw the pieces across the room. Tosik remained silent as he watched the other man clench the hand that was now cut and bleeding, bringing it up to hold in a fist. Then the Science Officer said "When I was lost, and had nothing, she was the one who dared to believe I could still be the officer I once was. Even though every outer sign was that I had long since abandoned that person, that I was something disgusting to behold. She believed in me."
He leaned over the desk, his hands bracing himself as he looked Rycho directly in the eyes "I will not do any less for her."
Glaring up at Tosik, the Commander shook his head. "Believe that if you wish, but do not presume that choice is yours to make. Subcommander. This is my ship, and we will do what I determine is the course we will set. And I will not have another colony lost because I continued to hold onto what I wanted to see instead of what is right before our eyes! The Commander we knew is dead! She died the moment she took command of the Borg."
Standing abruptly, Rycho moved to the single viewport in the compartment and looked out at the tachyon streaks of warp travel while Tosik stuggled to find words that would not end up throwing away the very career he owed to the one he was determined to save.
Before he could, the Commander said "Do not mistake my determination to stop this as blindness, Subcommander. We are one ship, not a fleet. If we can retreive what remains of our Commander from the Borg, we will do so. However, I will not risk the loss of another world, or this ship. When we find Cube One, we will summon the Fleet and make the attempt. If that task proves beyond us, we will do what our duty requires us to do to end this. Is that understood?"
With no other response possible, Tosik controlled his voice as he said "Understood, Commander."
Rycho nodded without turning from the viewport. "You are dismissed. Inform me when we are ten minutes out from Mol'Dirsan. Do not disturb me until then."
It was not until, with military percision, the Science Officer had saluted and withdrawn from the suddenly oppressive room that Rycho, Subcommander in the Republic Flotilla, genetically engineered Augment and Commander of the ship, finally let a tear run down his cheek.
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Sovereign-class Explorer
First Contact Incident with a Transdimensional Civilization and Saint's Cradle Event
Stardate: 84369.752
Written by: Captain Robin T. Harlain 0236-098 Commanding Officer of the U.S.S. Gotterdammerung NCC-94592 (Subsequent Captain's Logs will be attached)
This is a detailed report on the following incursion to Starfleet Command, New Romulus Command, and the Klingon Imperial High Command regarding the events that transpired within both the Azure Nebula and our travel to another Dimension. The purpose of this report is to help investigate whether the Prime Directive or any other Starfleet Rules and Regulations were violated.
I understand in our Home Dimension it was only a month we were considered MIA before returning home. However, it was a year for us and the three vessels cast with the U.S.S. Gotterdammerung. We believe the reason for this was being sent back in time to the point that we entered the other Dimension into.
The other three vessels were the I.K.S. D'ngtak, a Norgh-class Bird of Prey Raider under the command of Captain Rakok (Yes, THE Captain Rakok who led the attack on Utopia Planitia Shipyards). The Romulan Republic Mogai-class Warbird R.R.W. L'Tar, under the command of Commander Nottra Nalar. The other ship was the Nova-class U.S.S. Equinox(Rhode Island Refit).
The Gotterdammerung had been assigned as escort (and to provide an extra Sensor platform) as well as the L'Tar for the Equinox due to the Tholian presence in the sectors in and around our location. The Dng'pak was apparently chasing the same thing we were, a possible Temporal Anomaly in the Azure Nebula; as well as following leads on criminals from the Klingon Empire (name House of Torg remnants).
The Equinox lost all but a surviving forty two out of the ninety-five crew she started with. This unfortunate loss was for three reasons. First was due to the damage done by the use of a Tholian Ultra-High Yield Tricobalt Devices. Second was during the subsequent illegal possesion and keeping of the crew prisoner (many were executed to prove a point). Her recovery was only due to certain criminal elements being unable to catch the Acting First Officer while stealing the Federation technology onboard and using it for criminal activities during our stay before we found out about her and where they kept her. The third was the battles we ended up engaged in.
The former First Officer; a Commander Yital, was executed and command responsibilities for the crew so far not either dead from battle or execution fell to Lieutenant Hoguma Tanaka. (Field Promotion from Ensign given due to her actions of valor, courage, and leadership under extreme circumstances and duress. See Commendation report filed by myself as well as the reccomendation for a further promotion jump to Captain and assignment as Commanding Officer for the Equinox. Her actions are testament to her training and stand for and exceed the highest expected actions Starfleet could of had for any crew in a similar situation) .
We were rendered unconcious during the transit event, many systems disabled or put into standby mode. When we came too and saw where we were, we found that we were also being greeted by the local governmental power. To state, this Bureau oversees Transdimensional incidents and is in possession of a level of ship building capacity far ahead of the Federation, and maybe even The Borg. The warships themselves are nearly as large as a Vo'quv-class vessel and pack firepower equal to or greater than what a Scimitar-class starship carries if the specifications we were able to see are any indication.
Even in light of the level of firepower they possess; this group has a mission profile similar to that of Starfleet's own. It's main duties are Humanitarian Aid/Disaster Relief, Diplomatic, and Law Enforcement/Peacekeeping. They are more relaxed then Starfleet is as far as protocol and regulations however. They enjoy an alliance with and backing from a local religious power who also maintains a standing militia that can be activated to work in concert with the other group.
Our unintentional one year stay here was; to put it mildly, eventful. We were put under the guard and watch of a newly created and deployed military unit designed for fast-pace deployment similar in function to the M.A.C.O. and Klingon Honor Guard. Furthermore, this unit was under the command of people Starfleet would still have in the Academy and the frontline was handled by teenagers and pre-adolescents. While this may sound unreasonable and dangerous, these youths handled themselves with a level of valor and dedication to their duty that would of made them the cream of the crop at the Academy, with constant training and drills between deployments on a regular schedule. Their superiors are very stalwart and kind while maintaining an air of discipline when neccesary. Also, it seems training in how to use the powers and technology demonstrated by this society starts young and recruits are taken from the brighest at any age. Admiral Chrono Harlaown himself was recruited in at the age of seven from the local Magic School and trained to the point he gained an Enforcer status by the age of eleven. The trio that are known as "The Three Aces" by the locals all started their careers at the age of nine.
The Unit Commander (reference Personality Profile Report from our Ship's Counselor regarding Colonel Commandant Hayate Yagami that is now under review by both Starfleet Intelligence and Diplomatic Corps) is herself a kind and stalwart commander. She is also very focused on her assignment and tends to work hard to shield her juniors from harm when she can.
This unit was created in response to both a possible threat to this world (as foreseen via a Prophecy, see Cultural Anthropology Report on nature of 'Rare Skills' as seen within the church entity of this civilization) and the inability of(and later learned corruption within) the Ground Forces of the agency in charge of safety and peacekeeping. Much of this aimed at the control of what they classify as hazardous materials that we would think nothing of and study carefully.
It should be mentioned that this society is wary of to out right afraid of a pure science approach to the Universe. This was evident in the first contact when they learned our engine cores were Matter/Antimatter Reactors and the Romulans use of Artificially-created Quantum Singularities.
The reason for this fear is from having a long and sad history with Science as we understand it. They switched to a new method of running their society and have embraced something far more esoteric in nature while using it to take command of(or generate as a by product) Exotic Particles. (Reference Cultural Anthropology Analysis of the Historical Texts that stretch back at least one Earth Millenium.) While this may invoke Clarke's Third Law of Prediction, our scans indicate this is a real and genuine facet of the large Multiversal Field Laws and should be looked into for possible future applications. To quote the Vulcan understatement, 'Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.' This axiom of Vulcan philosophy never held more true then with this civilization. They were even able to after a week of time launch their own first Warp-capable craft able to break the Light Barrier. Three months to master Warp Capability up to Warp 7.5 and as can be seen when we returned, six months later they were able to field their own craft capable of matching Warp 9.97 with room to fit a Transwarp Coil once they develop it (estimated from their Research and Development indicates two year maximum to field this). This was do to their realization of the dynamics needed for Warp Travel and how to modify their already existing technology to compensate and generate the neccesary effects. Granted, their Transdimensional Engines are faster but take a while to charge when they enter out of the layer of space they travel through. Nottra has likened the ability to that of the Elachi vessels and Iconian Gateways and this local power is interested in an up close study of the ruins on Iconia and any other Gateways.
We became involved in their local eventss when scans and frontline involvement revealed they were up against a level of technology equal to our own(in the least with some functions far more advanced) and functioning in similar ways. One key difference though was the negating of the powers of our allies. They had ways to overcome these problems but it was found the Drone-craft being employed to fight them were powerless to Phasers, Disruptors, and Romulan Plasma-Disruptor weapons at the start of the engagements. The drones come in a small close-combat walker, a spherical Command Drone (according to my Operations Officers Six of Nine), a flight capable drone, and finally a base version that looks like a short and stubby pill. Nearly all were armed with a basic laser and could employ missile technology that could prove dangerous to the unprotected. However, as noted above; neither their Dampening Fields nor materials are resistant to Weapons of known species in the Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Quadrants. As a matter of fact, Polaron-based weapons seem to cause the most damage to circuitry while Tetryon-based pulses disrupt the dampening fields generated. Disruptors affect the Armor and Phasers seem to cause disruption in the weapons systems and neural networks of the Onboard AIs. Plasma is however most effective as it punches through the smaller units, and can cause the drone to explode if it hits the energy supply. (Further details and technical schematics of the individual drones are in the Technology Analysis reports done by the Engineering staff of all three vessels).
Our involvement further deepened after the first engagement (which we deployed on with them with permission of the Unit Commander). We helped to train the forward teams (two of which; see Tactical Analysis and Personnel Profile Collections titled 'STARS' and 'LIGHTNING') in field tactics as well as providing Starfleet regulation Cadet Level cross-training in First-aid and other facets of their job that had similarities to ours (with permission of their Main instructor, a Captain[Ground/Aerial Forces Rank] Nanoha Takamachi) so as to increase their effectiveness. (This also included supplementing their skills with knowledge of how to use Starfleet Weapons and Close-Quarters Combat from all three ship groups.) The Klingons and Romulans also took part by providing themselves as target fodder or (for the Klingons) as sparring partners for the close-quarters combatants. These themselves were limited to a pair of Cyborg sisters(one of which was part of the STARS team), one of the Forwards (from LIGHTNING), three of the Unit Commander's family (Two of which are Vice-Captains for STARS & LIGHTNING while the other is one of her personal guardians), and a Nun from the local Religious power. Nottra herself proved to be an excellent tactician and strategist and had taken the Ranged Combat Specialist under her wing as had my Head of Security, Lt. Vetal. (It should be noted that Corporal Lancaster is a very viable threat due to her skills and talents.)
The crew of the Gotterdammerung herself was tasked with not only just providing combat, logistical, and command support but also to reverse-engineer and counteract the use of the special Dampening Fields of the Drone units. Also, the Security officers of the Gotterdammerung, the assault teams of the L'Tar, and Marauding & Raid Squads of the Dng'pak worked closely with this group in the field.
This teamwork proved valuable when we learned of the seizure and taking of the Equinox and her crew as prisoners and hostage by a criminal element connected to and working behind the scenes of the events currently in motion at this time. The rescue was pulled off without a hitch though very little data on their captors survived due to a data purge that had been initiated once the attack began and none of the captured knew very much. The ship was freed and brought up to full readiness thanks to both her own crew and the Gotterdammerung providing assistance. She was returned to orbit thanks to the use of the T.S.A.B. flagship Claudia.
The full spectrum in these events of what was happening came to light when a massive incident took place that had all of our forces scrambling. This event was an all out assault that was actually just a distraction to take possession of a material that was dangerous as far as the local powers went, as well as three kidnapping attempts. One of which was successful, another was turned into a working attempt to backstab one party, the third was a failure due to events moving faster then could be adapted too as well as what kicked off the night of bloodshed. (Reference Incident Report from both T.S.A.B. as well as the three Ship Captains regarding the Attack on Ground Forces HQ/Long Arch).
The Kidnapping attempt that was succesful was the one upon my Operations Officer Lt. Commander Six of Nine. She was taken against her will when we came under fire from a Tal Shiar Warbird similar in construction to the Narada with it's own Nanite-made Shrapnel Torpedoes. Meanwhile, the Dimensional Headquarters and Shipyard for the Naval Branch of this organization was attacked by two Elachi warships. Ground reports from the local forces as well as Starfleet Security, Klingon, and Romulan Tactical personnel trained in Security and Assault reported a combined force of Drones modified with our technology (as well as Borg and Elachi) and paired with Elachi Drones.
A number of the injuries and deaths from the Drone attacks was due to Tal Shiar modifications to some of the Gadget Drones to deploy Thalaron Radiation Bursts.
Also, a Hirogen Hunter Pack loyal to the Tal Shiar, as well as Klingons from the House of Torg and Romulan Tal Shiar forces worked in concert during the attack.
Things seemed to go (as the saying is used) 'pear-shaped' when the Combat Cyborgs known as 'Numbers' saw the bloodbath their allies in the other enemy forces were making the whole battle (orders apparently from their creator and commander were to minimize casualties) and attempted to stop the massacre taking place at both locations. This seemd to start after one group of the Cyborgs fell under attack by Hirogen when they (The Hirogen) refused to take one of the targets; a Ginga Nakajima (older sister to Subaru of the STARS team), alive and wanted her as a trophy. Also, the headquarters of the Unit we worked with came under fire by what was the largest ever seen Elachi Drone documented by the Romulan Republic to date with support from two of their shuttle craft using legs to walk and able to unleash a barrage of spatial charge warhead missiles, as well as other Drones. All attacking Drones, the Walker, and the Shuttlecraft were thankfully destroyed by a member of the Unit's LIGHTNING team via her abilities to 'summon' support attackers. (Watch video labeled 'VOLTAIRE' for reference. Firepower equal to three Type X Phaser Emitters is the current estimate we have arrived it with sensor scans.) She then proceeded to sanatize the local air space of both areas under assault using the Summon she generated.
This event though also showed that the cyborg technology present was very far ahead of what Starfleet and even The Borg currently have and can field. If there was a battle between the two forces (the fourteen known Combat Cyborgs versus The Borg)...I would have to lay the winning odds on the smaller group of fourteen of this society's active Cyborgs (with more being brought online to act as a supplement to the Ground Forces, Church Militia, and Naval Marine forces). They are far more mobile, faster, and their powers are varied enough and able to adapt quickly enough as to be an efficient strike force against any ground force in our universe. However, the Type One variety suffered from issues fighting in Hirogen Dampening Fields on sight while the Type Zero variety had little issue. Further study indicates this is due to a slight variation in their construction as well as the application of a 'Berserk Mode' within the Type Zero Combat Cyborg Models that allows them to generate far more power then they normally use (this is possibly due to limiters released on their systems to fight targets far tougher then normal systems usage and power levels can handle) and an Inversed Dampening Field that nullifies the Hirogen (and possibly others) Dampening Field. The one known as Subaru Nakajima was only taken down by concentrated fire from the Alpha and his pack when they saw her special ability could break and destroy their armor, as well as themselves (They lost at least 6 of a 24-strong pack to her alone, another 2 were taken down only by the three Numbers at the scene).
The Unit we are working with has taken both their Creator and his Combta Cyborgs under their watch and is considering offering this group of Cyborg's as an assist to the ongoing battles with the Borg Collective, the Undine, and the Elachi. Also,they were part of the criminal element that attacked us originally. However, after this battle; they started working with both the Local powers and us while a portion of the Local powers (after trying to take the Gotterdammerung into custody and frame us all as helping in the events) was found to be corrupt and had taken control of a newly developed defense system. This defense system was very much part of the final events that led to (What is being put in the textbooks now along side studies of the Battle of the Mutara Nebula and the battle between Picard and Shinzon) the "Battle of Midchilda" between the U.S.S. Gotterdammerung and U.S.S. Equinox versus the Saint's Cradle both in Midchildan orbit and the subsequent battle in a nearby In-Solar System nebula titled "The Graveyard". Data from the ship sensors is already being given to the S.C.E. Command Staff, The Daystrom Institute, and Memory Alpha for further study and applications for fighting The Borg, Undine, and Elachi (and if Nottra's Intel is correct; Iconian) threats as well as possible uses against further Borg technology modified ships of the Tal Shiar that the Romulans on the L'Tar have titled "The Children of The Narada". This includes the development of possible Transdimensional Weaponry and Transdimensional Engine Technology for Starfleet application. (Project is being considered for the possibility of being a cooperative project with the Tholian Assembly which has shown extreme interest in the technology.)
However, to say the Gotterdammerung or Equinox did anything alone in any of these event of this battle is to make lightly the contributions of everyone. Indeed, the T.S.A.B. lost a quarter of the one-hundred ships they sent into the battle and those men and women deserve even Starfleet's thanks and graditude. The most beneficial help we recieved in this was from Vivio Takamachi and The Numbers. Vivio; after her subsequent hostage status, bounced back and helped us fight the Cradle by slipping inside with help from all four ships and the Inter-Dimensional Naval Task Force created for the battle by focusing the attention of the Cradle on all of us. She and and the Combat Cyborgs boarded the ship and proceeded to fight their way through it all. Vivio herself religated the power supply of this ship no longer operational (due to the damage she inflicted upon it and it's user after co-opting it from him via a loophole in the system's security which she then opened up for the 'Numbers' known as Uno and Quattro to hack into and disable as much of it as possible.). She and the Combat Cyborgs were able to do this thanks to the help of the L'Tar and the Dng'pak ability to cloak and remain undetected till they delivered their packages and then promptly joined the battle.
Also instrumental was Dr. Scalliegti's and Ship Councilor's Voreros Psychological Assessment of both the Sainkt Kaiser Hun Bismarck's clone named Terran; and the ancient Al Hazardian known as Ryleh being the type to want vengeance when put into a situation they no longer control via defeat and being outsmarted. It was in this instance that they could be likened to the infamous Khan because they were going to focus all their attention on the ones who made fools of them...the Gotterdammerung, Equinox, their crews, and the Riot Force 6 forces. This personality defect allowed us to drag them into the final parts of the 'Battle of Midchilda' within 'The Graveyard'. It was their lack of knowledge on basic Space Starship-to-Starship combat tactics and lack of adaption and forethought would prove to be their downfall as while The Saint's Cradle carried significant levels of firepower beyond even the T.S.A.B. capabilities and ablative armor with regenerative ability, it lacked shields and they fought in a standard T.S.A.B. method...which is to sit there and blast the opponent or fight like old naval seaships did on Earth during the naval battles that would dot the time period from when cannons were developed to the end of the Third World War. The two-dimensional nature of this style and their sheer focus and in ability to adjust to the Nebula as a battlefield allowed for a strategy that even the famous James T. Kirk would have approved of.
I will also add that the crews of the Gotterdammerung and Equinox; and the ships themselves, performed well and beyond anything Starfleet could of asked of both during this whole engagement. Never since the first appearances of The Borg and the Dominion Wars has a Starfleet (or any) vessel been so outgunned and fought a foe with technology so far ahead of current Starfleet and Alpha/Beta Quadrant Technology as 'The Saint's Cradle'. Indeed, this entire battle goes to show that there is truly no such thing as a 'No-Win Scenario' and should also be referenced by the Romulan Republic Training and Klingon Academy on Q'onos for study as well in their Starship Combat Training courses. (The proffesionalism and courage of the crew of the Equinox; as well as her Commanding Officer's Leadership skills in this fight are also reasons why I have given my reccomendations to the Flag Officers for 1st Lt. Tanaka's further promotion jump to the rank of Captain as well as further rank advancements for her staff and crew. She and her crew has cleared the stain to this name brought on by the last ship to bear the name of Equinox through actions of valor in the face of a superior foe. Hence also why I again stress she should be named it's Commanding Officer and the crew kept together despite regulations on these matters. They have ascended from being a crew to truly being a family and the Equniox is their home and guardian angel.) [Addendum: The Rhode Island-class as it is now is very much a hallmark class for the sheer level of damage it took during it's transit and in this battle; and bouncing back from. Indeed, as we exited the nebula; I am given to understand that the Equinox seemed to illicit the image from those who were watching of a war-weary wounded soldier stepping off the battlefield looking exhausted but like she fought well and hard to earn her part in the victory. Gotterdammerung herself illicted the image of a Battle-scared Warrior Queen bearing her scars proudly like they were a sign of her hard-fought victory.]
Losses though did happen and out of a crew compliment of 830, the Gotterdammerung lost 213 throughout this whole incident with 65% of the casualties coming from the attack on the ship itself and the remaining 35% of happening during the battle with 'The Cradle' we engaged in. The Equinox lost another twelve of her crew, bringing her down to the aforementioned total. Both the L'Tar and Dng'pak suffered a casualty rate by our return that was somewhere between 23-37% of their total crew compliments.
However; I truly believe the advancements made, what was learned, and the allies that were made do not invalidate those deaths and instead raise everyone who did not make it back to the same level of expectations Starfleet has for all personnel. Indeed; 'Duty, Valor, and Sacrifice' being our watchwords was never more true then what we endured here towards the end.
In any event, I will now go into a day-by-day detail over our stay on the more important events with Officer Log entries given for varying points of view. This all starts with our entry into and subsequent meeting with the small portion of this society that greeted us.
Five months of slowly limping home, five months five months with no warp power or communications beyond shortwave. Needless to say with a ship this badly damaged, the long trip home was less than a pleasure cruise. The U.S.S. Geist had taken one one hell of a beating in the seizure and destruction of an illegal genetics research lab, but about one month into an already arduous journey we were attacked by a two ships from the Breen Confederacy, which put another nail into the tire, so to speak. What was only supposed to be a supply raid turned into their last flight, but as their last course of action, they decided to do as much damage as possible.
This kicker is, that with a Prometheus class ships, we have a total of six nacelles and three warp cores, all of which were rendered useless with the destruction of the two port nacelles missing and enough exterior hull damage to fuse the three sections together. Even if I could have ordered the separation, I wouldn't be able to pick and choose who went home and who had to guide the other two segments back. It's almost ironic that one of the fastest ships in the fleet has to travel home so slowly. After the the tragic loss of the U.S.S. Denning though, I can honestly say I'm just glad to be bringing my people home at all.
A task made all the more difficult given how many ships systems we'd lost during both attacks. The ship wide holo emitters were out including the two holodecks, most of the hanger bay had taken out with only a single type nine shuttle, the brig, three separate labs and a few of the quarters in crew deck (luckily unoccupied at the time). Even the replicators have been taken off line, and frankly crew moral hasn't been lower. The crew knows that we'll make it home, that pretty much certain, but it's passing the time that has become the difficult issue. For this I assigned a moral officer: Nurse Pruz. Fizi is a bubbly young lady, as well as a Betazoid and well received amongst the crew, so she was the perfect choice. I'm sure it would be a nice break from her most recent duty of babysitting one of our newest guests, a genetically created being titled merely Rre Desha, The Wraith.
Initially she tried setting up various activities in the gym, different exercise regiments, sports, even bringing out various games and such from the crew's personal effects, but all that did was raise spirits so far before raising tempers, so it was suggested to institute an ancient tradition known as "movie night". With no way to replicate parts to make a view screen my Chief Fine was able retrofit a single holo emitter to projects against the bulk head. It's not much more than a two dimensional image, but the crew seems to be enjoying digging through the computer for anything that fits that format. It seems to have put moral back into a manageable order for the time being. Tonight's movie is the first entry from a series of documentaries from the early days of interspecies relations, I think 'Alien' is what Keating called it.
As for the food situation, that's proved a little more difficult. With all of the replicator equipment blown out, I initially assigned a team to try and convert a transporter into a functional replicator, but the technologies, albeit similar principals, their just different enough that it didn't work. While we could replicate certain things, they were never quite right. Foods tasted terrible, materials didn't have the right structural properties and the power usage was far to great for what little gain we were getting. Devon was, however, able to salvage enough to get a single food replicator working, which we set up in one of the labs, which we converted to a galley of sorts. We were fortunate to pass a few traders here and there as well as plenty of planets with vegetation we could harvest.
One of the bigger issues I found myself dealing with was the boy. At first, we weren't really sure what to do with him. The brig had been destroyed, and even if it hadn't, he had done nothing to warrant holding him there. Most of the crew were doubling up since a majority of the quarters had been breached along with the attached hull. At first it seemed reasonable to keep him confined to sick bay under guard, but even then, he soon began to get restless. Short, escorted visits at first, but after E'Saul and Pruz gave me the all clear, in terms of possible threat to the crew or hidden programing of the sort. I'm sure E'Saul could use the reprieve as well, especially after a slight incident where in I had to explain to him the importance of clothes and modest, after using the de-con chamber as a shower.
It would seem that our guest is having quite the effect on the crew as well. Apparently while Mr. Sabin is fitting in well and making himself useful, Wraith (for lack of a better name) has been the start of a rumor mill. On the one hand, he looks like he's a walking corpse, reminiscent of assimilation victims. On the other, he's clearly Vulcan, but the eyebrows and emotions are just so unexpected with the pointed ears. For the most part, people seem to be avoiding him, though those ears of his can hear everything they're saying about him.
As a means of getting the crew used to him, as well as helping him feel useful around the ship, I've allowed him to start assisting Chief Fine around engineering, mind you under close supervision as well as no where near certain vital or sensitive areas of the ship. He seems to be more than willing to lend a hand as well as any heavy lifting, both figurative and literal. My lead tactical officer, Dave Keating, seems to be very mistrusting of him. Dave has lost numerous family to the Borg, giving him a reasonable amount of dislike for the way he looks. While I've also lost my wife and son, I can't help but feel like I can do something here. Almost as if I can help him become more than the sum of his purpose.
It was only two weeks ago I allowed him to start walking the ship without a security escort. To get around the problem of not being able to track him, he was issued an old work suit circa 22nd century and a comm badge. The comm badge houses a surprise if he does decide to turn on us, but the uniform is simple so I don't get any more complaints from the medical staff. It seems that since I've made that decision, there have been more crew complaints as well. I'm sure having the boy walking free is only a small fraction of the stress that the crew has been under since the genetics lab. There are too many little things going wrong, causing too many fractures in an already tense atmosphere.
Within the next week or so, there is an M-class planet a few days off course. It's a small but tropical place, so I've already had the proper course modifications. I feel a little time on a beach would do a lot of good. It shouldn't be much longer after that and we'll be home. Frankly this old girl could use a lot of love when we get back to space dock. She's well over due for an overhaul on all of her systems, not to mention a completely new emergency medical hologram. Each test run we made of the default model it kept trying to inject itself with any and all hypos it could find. There were also issues with its vocal subroutines which caused it to say some outlandish and often inappropriate things. I had Devon all but delete it after it got fresh with one of the female ensigns. Just one of the many curses of flying an old Prometheus class ship I suppose.
I'd like to propose accommodations for both my crew as well as the entire crew of the U.S.S. Denning, as well as ask to have Mr. Sabin promoted and reassigned to be the new science officer aboard the Geist. He's been hard working and knowledgeable, making him a great asset to this crew in the future. As for the boy, I'm not really sure what I can say for him. He's done nothing wrong, so a penal colony is out of the question, and keeping him in a lab seems inhuman, despite him being... well.. inhuman. Hopefully the egg heads at Starfleet can at least come up with a better name for him. It seems slightly ridiculous to keep referring to him as something that was written on the tank we found him in.
Dr. E'Saul seems to think that taking him off the ship might not be as easy as I expect. It seems he's managed to imprint himself on me as part of his innate programming. She thinks its a method of control, like the Jem'Hadar's dependence on Ketrocel White. I suppose it makes sense though. It seems the boy is willing to do what ever I ask without question. Unquestionable loyalty and a fierce instinct to protect those deemed as "family". It's a powerful instinct, a who knows what a creation like this could do, under the right conditions. That however, will be Admiral Aviess' problem. There are a number of things that need to be done before the ship is ready to sail again, giving the crew plenty of time for personal leave. I know there are those looking forward to seeing their families, others have friends, a few like myself who really have nothing but their work...
It will be good to be back at Earth though, this has been a long hard journey on all of us, with too many losses to really ever call it a win.
__Trail_Mix_______
Nicci was thrilled to be getting a Starfleet commission from Captain Erred, himself only just commissioned, following his successful evacuation of wounded countrymen from her home planet, Moab III, and the rescue of two Starfleet hospital ships from Fek'Ihri invaders. Before the battle Nicci helped Erred find a new crew, after his Ankari crew abandoned him upon arrival from the distant Delta Quadrant. In return Erred rewarded Nicci with a bridge posting in time for the space battle, which was now commuting to Ensign status. Now came the hard part - Starfleet personnel forms. "Nicci. N-I-C-C-I," she spelled.
"No surname?" asked assisting nurse Ha Siobhan.
Nicci once had a surname, but unlike the many Trans, Phams, Hoangs and Nguyens of Moab III, hers was unique to herself and her brother Peter. It belonged to her mother's memory, too painful to recall when she entered the orphanage six years ago, and too painful to recall now. "Just Nicci, thanks auntie," addressing her elder as she would back on Moab III.
The computer repeated the name, and the nurse acknowledged it. "Next question. Age?", asked Nurse Ha. "That is, your experiential age. Include REM, NREM and hibernation sleep, coma, Trill host years, hyper-acceleration, local time spent on tachyon core planets and double time spent by reabsorbed future selves. Subtract cryo and temporal stasis. Do not adjust for absolute stardate, progeria, segmental progerias, chroniton particle damage, Barclay's Protomorphosis, adsorbed Collective experience, reverse universe de-aging or reboot."
"Um, what?"
"How old are you?"
"Thirteen!" Finally, an easy question.
"Okay then! That's pretty young to be a Starfleet ensign. Good work! Next question-" The nurse frowned at her screen. "That's odd. I've never seen that before. It looks like we have some new questions."
Nicci's anxious heart beat faster as she leaned over to look at the console. The extra questions were listed under the title, 'Wesley Protocol'. She sighed. "Okay auntie."
"Aside from youth, does the candidate possess unique talents?" Nurse Ha studied Nicci. "I don't know what that would be."
Nicci figured that had to refer to her surname. "I do. But I don't want to say."
"That's okay, it appears to be a 'yes' or 'no' question. Let's put 'yes'. That gives us another question: Has the candidate made contact with The Traveller?" Nurse Ha frowned.
That had to mean Captain Erred. "Yes I did!"
The nurse was no longer reading from the screen. "What kind of contact was this?" Nurse Ha's looked extremely concerned.
"No, silly, they mean Captain Erred!"
Nurse Ha breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Okay, on we go. 'Where does The Traveller come from?'"
Nicci couldn't remember exactly. Erred was Telsian, from a planet called something like 'Telsian One'. "Can you just put 'Delta Quadrant'?"
Nurse Ha nodded. "That worked. Next question: Has the Traveller demonstrated his metaphysical powers?"
Nicci and Nurse Ha both scratched their heads. The nurse pulled up a quick definition of 'metaphysical'. "Metaphysics", she read, "what is ultimately there? What is it like?" Nicci could almost feel ligaments snap in her head trying to get her mind around that. But then she remembered the encounter between Erred and the Fek'Ihri hordeling in the Moab III refugee infirmary. Erred had tried to befriend the vicious horror before a Klingon officer blew it away with a disruptor rifle. It almost seemed to work, albeit briefly. "Yes, yes! Erred tried to 'like' a hordeling." In fact, Erred was friendly to everyone, which made Nicci a little envious. Still, Erred definitely liked her too.
The nurse did not seem convinced, but after throwing her hands in the air she answered the question in the affirmative. She was about to read out the next question when Lawrence the transporter operator's voice came across the comms.
"The transporter has just shut down. I have no idea why yet," the exasperation clear in his voice. "It will delay the repair efforts on our ship."
Nurse Ha noticed something appear on the console in front of her, and read it out. "Confine the candidate to quarters. Do not let the candidate- Oh woops. I guess I didn't say that." The nurse shook her head. "I guess we're done for now, we'll just have to wait."
Nicci could see Nurse Ha was as frustrated with the process as she was. "I'll go see how Lawrence is doing with the transporter problem."
"Sure. As soon as the personnel form is working again I'll let you know."
"Thank you auntie." Nicci climbed off her chair. "But if it's this hard to join Starfleet, how will Erred's Lethean prisoner-pilot ever make it through?"
Nurse Ha gave Nicci a conspiratorial look. "Maybe we should just register him as an uncatalogued alien?"
The transporter room led on to a brightly lit hexagonal alcove filled with teleporter pads, whence people came and went at times when the machine was working. Right now Nicci found Lawrence bent over beneath the transporter console, muttering. "There's nothing actually wrong with you! You're just saying that!"
"Lawrence?"
"Is that you Nicci?" Lawrence's voice echoed in the void inside the console. "You know you nearly made me bang my head, but this officer can't be pegged so easily."
"Sorry, Lawrence." Nicci walked over to look at the transporter console. She had started learning about consoles already, ultimately to train as a Communications Officer. Apparently speaking Klingon and the local patois of Moab III was useful in space. Nicci had meanwhile been taught the simple controls of the tractor beam to give her something to do on the bridge. The Starfleet training officer had told her that communications was harder, more than just 'push to talk'. No doubt it was very complex, as Nicci had never seen a male Communications Officer. Lawrence's transporter console was colored like every other Federation console Nicci had seen, although this one had a red stripe rendered digitally across it.
"Someone has locked me out," explained Lawrence. "Don't panic. I think I can restore my access if I can just reverse the polarity of the monogamer." Nicci wondered how Lawrence could possibly expect a thirteen year old refugee to understand him, but at least it did sound like he was on to something. Nicci was still watching the display under the red stripe when a message appeared: Target Acquired. The teleporter began to make noise, before a loud thump under the console. "Ow!" cried Lawrence.
"Are you okay?" asked Nicci, focussing on the teleporter console messages. The red stripe was still there, but she could see the target momentarily identified as a holo-emitter. The display then went blank, before displaying: 'Drake Franklin, Vice Admiral, Starfleet Admissions'."
Lawrence climbed to his feet, rubbing his head. He looked down at the display. "Ahh, top brass. Just like them to prioritize your enrolment over the devastation of a whole planet." A Starfleet officer in a dark sea grey-green uniform appeared on the teleporter pads. He stepped quickly towards Nicci and Lawrence.
"Hello sir," saluted Lawrence, "I am Commander Lawrence Moore, transporter officer."
"And I am Drake Franklin." He checked the console. "As you already know." He proceeded to draw a tricorder and pointed it at Nicci. "Hello, Nicci Shwe. Or should I say, 'min ga la ba'? What are you doing in the transporter room? Where is Nurse Ha?"
How could he possibly know her mother's surname, and the greeting she had used? "I don't know you. But 'Ch`ao m`u'ng ban' to you too." A proper greeting on Moab III was far more appropriate than baby talk. Nicci's grandmother died of the same seizures as her mother, at a similar age. Those few words that had survived the generations were too sacred for just anyone to use. "Nurse Ha is fixing her console. I was just seeing if Lawrence needed some help fixing his."
"Apologies for confusing your genetic and cultural heritage." Drake Franklin spoke with very little intonation, and even less sincerity. "Moab III is a complicated case, perhaps unnecessarily so." Drake shrugged. "So you are Starfleet's latest 'Wesley'?"
Nicci looked up at Lawrence. Lawrence looked just as confused as she was, but he spoke up. "Nicci is an Ensign-elect. Youngest I've ever seen, in fact." Lawrence did not sound especially happy about that. He'd also complained earlier when Nicci was on the bridge, during the fight with the Fek'Ihri. She hoped Lawrence wouldn't stop her from being an Ensign. Joining Starfleet brought her one step closer to finding Starfleet officer Jesu, who had saved her from the orphanage during the original invasion. It was the whole reason she had found her way onto this ship, bringing her injured little brother with her. There was no way she would let Lawrence TRIBBLE it all up.
"Yes, I'm training to be a Communications Officer", ventured Nicci.
"On some strange, yet working facsimile of a hospital ship piloted by an alien from the Delta Quadrant who is younger than Nicci!" Lawrence couldn't hold back. There was something clearly rankling the middle-aged Starfleet officer.
"Interesting," said Drake Franklin. "This captain - is he The Traveller?"
"Yes!" cried Nicci. Captain Erred wanted her to be an Ensign. If Drake Franklin could meet Erred then he'd vouch for her. Surely.
"Does he travel alone?"
Lawrence snorted. "He sure does. Came all the way from the Delta Quadrant and arrived without a crew. He's lucky I found him a crew."
Nicci looked aghast at Lawrence. "You're lucky I introduced you to him first, to help with transporter-ing! You just brought them here!" Nicci turned to Drake. "Nurse Ha found most of the crew." Drake Franklin almost smirked. It was as close to an expression as he had come since his arrival. Nicci was not sure what it meant, but it did remind her of her manners. "Lawrence did a really good job bringing everyone on board."
The interrogation continued. "Did this Captain Erred start out with a whole crew of Travellers?"
Nicci nodded. The Ankari crew had built Erred's ship, loosely based on Olympic class ship blueprints, and brought Erred most of the way here before leaving. Maybe this happened all the time out in space. At least Drake Franklin was nodding.
"The Delta Quadrant is a very long way. Say, do you have any Betazoids on board?"
Lawrence shook his head. "There's none on board. The crew and medical staff are mostly from Moab III. We didn't see many Betazoids even before the invasion. I don't know if there would be any at all left on the surface."
"That's a pity. It would be a useful test. Nevermind. May I speak with this Captain Erred?" A crewman strolled past, throwing his hand to his head in a frantic salute when he recognized Drake's rank. "Somewhere private perhaps?"
Lawrence rubbed his chin. "Most working parts of the ship are jammed with wounded refugees, but we could try the captain's ready room."
Nicci recalled the room where her injured brother was convalescing was called the ready room. It would be good to see him again, regardless of the distraction it might cause to her enrolment processes. "Yes, let's all meet in the ready room. Lawrence can fix the transporter." Nicci spotted Lawrence's angry glare. "Nicci... Ensign Nicci to Captain Erred, please report to the ready room." She threw a smarmy smile over her shoulder at Lawrence as she walked out the door with Drake Franklin.
Captain Erred arrived at the ready room slightly later than Nicci and Drake Franklin, which gave Nicci a chance to check on her brother. He was sedated again, lying on a stretcher, but looking better. The color had returned to his skin with the help of blood transfusions. The Fek'Ihri bites were still covered by bandages. Nicci kissed him on the forehead as Erred arrived.
"Hello Captain Erred," said Drake, unconvinced. "No need to apologize for the mess of course. Let's be seated." They sat at one end of the ready room table by the feet of two patients who lay upon it.
"This is Drake Franklin, from Starfleet admissions," emphasized Nicci. She knew Erred was prone to say the wrong thing sometimes. Hopefully this would not be one of those times. Erred sat with a simple smile.
"You can call me Drake. So you are the Traveller?"
"I guess I am," said Erred.
"Traveller, your skin is as grey as I had expected. But you do not otherwise appear as you appeared before."
"I changed my appearance to be more approachable," explained Erred. Nicci thought that was a crazy idea when Erred explained his plastic surgery earlier. She did not have as strong a desire to make people like her.
"Interesting. Should I call you Wesley?"
"I am not Wesley. I am Erred."
"Oh." Drake looked confused. "Traveller Erred then. So you came from the Delta Quadrant in this starship?"
"Yes, the Ankari built it for me."
Nicci noticed Drake surreptitiously using his tricorder. "But you're not Ankari. Did you by any chance provide the propulsion for this 'little' trip?"
"No, I just provided an auxiliary battery." Nicci knew about the battery. The device left by the USS Voyager crew had provided sufficient information about an Olympic Class vessel for the Ankari to build a mock one. It somehow was enough to get from the Delta Quadrant to here.
"I see. Euphemisms. Euphemisms, entendres and goodness knows what else. I expect we have a long way to go before we might fully comprehend you."
Erred and Nicci looked at each other. Drake was either talking in riddles or mocking them. But Erred was too polite, and Nicci didn't want to jeopardise her entry into Starfleet. There was an awkward silence.
Drake moved on to a new line of questioning. "So you have come for Nicci? Is she another Wesley?"
"My mission? Oh, I have come for much more than that." Nicci suddenly felt despondent, but Erred smiled warmly at her. "Of course, Nicci too. But she is just one person. I have come for World Peace."
Nicci was stunned. She hadn't thought to ask Erred why he'd come to the Alpha Quadrant. She thought he just wanted to pilot a hospital ship, something he'd seen on the side of an auxiliary battery box. World Peace did not make much sense. Especially since Erred had come a little too late to save Moab III. Drake probably reached the same conclusion when he asked, "Which world did you plan to change, exactly?"
"Any of them."
Drake leaned towards Erred. "And you would do this with the power of thought?"
"Metaphysics," chimed in Nicci. She was adamant she would ascend this steep learning curve, and was glad when Drake nodded. It was that warm 'got a test question right' feeling.
Erred gave Nicci a weird look, like someone had no idea what they were talking about. "Yes, with the power of thought. And feelings."
Drake stiffened. "Your emotions can change things?"
"Everyones' emotions. We just need to give peace a chance."
Drake scratched his head. "So this power to change everyone's emotions - it can be countered, somehow?" He did not appear to believe the words he was saying.
"And give war a chance? I guess that's possible. I haven't thought about that yet."
Drake sighed audibly. "Thank you. Please don't think about that."
Nicci had no clue what they were talking about. She fidgeted.
"I guess we have no choice then," said Drake. "What do our worlds need to do to convince you not to mess with them?"
Erred laughed. It did not seem like a terrible thing, but Drake recoiled, a look of horror on his face. Erred noticed, and stopped laughing. "Well, I guess if everyone just got along, I'd have to find something else to do."
Drake nodded slowly. "I do have considerable influence in this quadrant, as you perhaps already know. Would my word be sufficient for you to give us time to sort things out?"
"Trust is important. If you say it, you should do it." Erred was clearly a good person, but from Nicci's experience the world did not always work like that.
Drake nodded. "I know trust is difficult, heck, I know it better than... but anyway. I can sign a blood oath, or whatever it takes. On behalf of the worlds of the Federation."
Nicci raised her hand.
"Uh, yes Nicci?" asked Erred.
"Holograms don't have blood," she pointed out.
Drake's eyes narrowed at Nicci. "You're not very smart for a prodigy, Nicci. Whatever deception you think you have uncovered, that is not it." He patted his torso with his hands, before remembering the knife in an ankle holster. He pulled it out and drew it across his hand. "By my blood, I-"
"Am not bleeding," interjected Nicci.
Drake held up his hand to show Nicci and Erred the blood. Erred looked surprised. "There's no blood."
Drake spun his hand around. "No blood?!" He stabbed his hand. Again and again. No blood. Not even a wound.
"But it's not fair!" cried Drake. "I'm a clone, not a hologram!"
"Then you're a hologram of a clone," pointed out Nicci.
Erred frowned pointedly at Nicci.
"But how could I not know?" Drake cried.
"Actually, it's not all bad," Erred smiled helpfully. "This way you can be in many places at once."
"Or none," cried Drake.
"If you are in many places, then you're a duplicate of a hologram of a-"
"Shut up, Nicci," said Erred, shaking his head less than subtly towards the distraught Drake hologram. "Still, that is messed up.? Nicci wondered why Erred was allowed to state the obvious, and not her.
"No kidding!" cried Drake, looking at his palms. "Do I even exist?"
Erred had heard of this question recently. He scanned his eyes across the books on a shelf, before spotting Completing Your Sentiences by Ira Graves. The book had been provided to Erred by transporter officer Lawrence when he was concerned about Erred?s mental development. Erred gave a huge grin. "You predicate therefore you are."
"Oh! My goodness." Drake gave a proper, human-looking smile for the first time since coming on board. "That's extremely well put, actually. I'd never thought of it that way."
"See? Thought!" Erred tapped his skull. "Powerful, no?"
"Indeed it is. This turn of events has changed everything. In the context of a hologram, my internal urges are starting to make sense to me. I no longer feel the need to stall you, observe you, or steal you back to my ship. In fact, I feel I must return to my ship."
Nicci scratched her head. "But you're a hologram. Surely your ship doesn't actually need you."
Drake nodded. "That is logical. But still, I feel compelled! I guess I am programmed."
Captain Erred jumped to his feet. "Now is the time to prove your sentience! Resist your programming!" He then noticed the sleeping patients on stretchers and put his hand over his mouth.
Drake nodded very forcefully. He whispered, "You're right. I must think beyond my programming. Outside the box."
"Be a real man," whispered Erred.
"Traveller, your metaphysics is truly more powerful than I could ever conceive. No doubt due to the nature of my conception." Drake sighed. "If only I were a real human."
"No Erred is human," pointed out Nicci.
"To forget is divine," added Erred, smiling at Nicci and waving his arms in a wide embrace meant for everyone in the room.
"You have given my existence meaning, for which I am so grateful." Drake struck his most shakespearean pose, waving the back of his hand at an imaginary sky. "We are philosophising, therefore we are. Take that, cruel world."
Erred and Drake then sat back in their chairs with arms crossed, looking smugly at each other. Nicci was not quite sure what had just happened, but it had to bode well for her Starfleet commission. Then suddenly Drake flickered and de-rezzed into a holoemitter that appeared on Drake's chair. A single red light pulsed weakly on the side.
"Oh dear. Maybe he shouldn't have stayed," observed Erred.
"He seemed happy. I hope it means I can still be an Ensign."
Erred shrugged. "I don't think a powerless holo-emitter can have an opinion either way."
"No. I guess he won't be predicating any more either." Nicci looked towards the book that had inspired Erred earlier. "What does predicating mean, anyway?"
"I don't know, I haven't gotten to that chapter. It sounds kind of nasty."
IKS Nighthawk, Eta Eridani sector
There were some things that one did not expect to run into in space. Fourteen frozen Ferengi floating freely was definitely not what Captain B'oDgok ever thought he'd see out here. there was no ships near by, though there was signs of battle, and this technically was Alliance territory, though close to the border with the Empire. "Sensors, what do you have?" he asked, as the Ki'tang Bird of Prey came to a stop.
"All channels clear Sir, I'm picking up two warp trails, one a Ferengi D'Kora..th other..looks Terran, possibly Miranda." Thag replied. There were some in the fleet that looked down on the neanderthal clone for being too close to human-but far enough away from human not to be a slave.
Unlike his first officer-but then she technically was human-though the crew had learned not to call her one to her face. Her people wanted nothing more than to be left alone, living on a backwater planet on the edge of the galaxy. The Klingons had found them close to a hundred years ago by a ship fleeing Imperial tyranny, and had been taken in by the genetically enhanced humans-only to find themselves having to flee twenty years past, when the ISS Aventine discovered the planet.
It had been a nice place too-B'o was born there but now...it was a radioactive ice ball, destroyed in retaliation by the Emperor for the loss of the Aventine. There were over sixty million people on the planet..The eight hundred thousand survivors had been relocated to Rura Penthe, where they mined and built for the Alliance which had given them sanctuary. They were considered slaves at first, though with Martok's ascension to Regent, and their service to the Alliance, they had been granted emancipation. Many still wore collars voluntarily though, as a reminder to the debt their people owed to the Alliance-like his first officer. But then, he'd bought her the one she was wearing, made of blue targ leather that matched her eyes, and she'd worn it since the day he married her.
Melissa leaned over Thag's shoulder, looking at the readout. She wasn't wearing much more than that collar now, having borrowed something from one of the Orion medics, her large fennec like ears splayed wide due to the heat on the bridge. One of these days they'd have to make time to have the environmental controls replaced again, not that he minded the view. "definitely a modified Miranda "she said, a predatory gleam in her eye "I wonder if it might be our old friends on the Gabirel Bell.."
"While I for one would love to be the ones that sent those p'tahks to Gre'thor" he replied "We have a mission we must see to first."
"I know, just wishing" she said with a feral grin "we still should probably retrieve the bodies-returning them to their families might help move the Ferengi more towards our side."
B'o just snorted "ha, they won't do a thing if there's not profit."
"true, but every bit of evidence we can get that the Empire is killing their traders helps. Can't make latinum when you're dead." she said.
"bring them aboard then-if the Empire killed them, then they will be added to the list for avenging."
She nodded and headed for the lift. It was cooler below decks thankfully, heading towards the medlab. The bodies were being set out on tables for examinations by Dr Ilssa, the female Gorn chief medic looking down at them sadly "why did they bring them here Missy?" she asked the XO as she walked in "this is a place for saving life, I can not do anything for them"
Melissa looked comicaly small next to the huge Gorn, in another ten years or so Ilssa would probably have to leave the service for shore duty, warship corridors just aren't that big. "we just need to find out how they died and who killed them."
"Fah. How is easy, they went out the airlock in their underwear. Except this one..." she leaned down over one, looking at her scanner "this one was dead before he touched the black.." delicately, with tools that looked too small for her claws, the medic scanned something just barely poking out from the Ferengi's eye "stylus, rammed into the ocular cavity and into the brain-at least he died faster than his comrades."
"Wait what?" Her ears perked up...she'd heard of that before, the so called 'magic trick.' She leaned down, sniffing at the body, then growled.
"Tran. That ***** hasn't died yet."
"Tran of the Black Fleet?"
"that's the one. I'd have thought her disease would have killed her by now." Melissa said , still growling a bit. "just as well, means I still have a chance to gut her like a targ."
The gorn let out a rumbling laugh "I think you may need to..what is the saying? 'Pick a number and stand in line'. Just about everyone wants her dead."
"heh, true. but no one would be too upset if I got to her first." she grinned. "Sadly, their course and ours aren't going the same way. But never know, we might get lucky."
"good" Ilssa said "Not that I do not want to see her dead..but our mission this day is about preserving life. Can always kill Tran later. I just hope that if we do run into her..that some fool does not completely atomize her."
"why is that?"
Ilssa smiled "Because I would like for myself the simple pleasure of jumping up and down on her body."
"I'll see what I can do" Melissa laughed, as she headed back towards the bridge. "guess who's not dead yet?" she asked as she dropped into her seat at the helm."as tempting as it is to go after her, we'll hurt them in the long run more by continuing on" she said as she prepared to resume their previous course.
Three days later, Nova Hanoi, New Vegas system
Landing a Ki'tang Bird of Prey cloaked without making any disruption to the atmosphere that could be detected required a good pilot, and Melissa was very good. They had set down in a deep valley, where the only thing they had to worry about was an hourly pass by a picket ship in orbit. Their contacts were waiting for them. She didn't have to go, the air outside even hotter than it was on the bridge, though while grounded the engineer was going to swap out the environmental controller again. But she felt she had to go, she could stand it for a while.
The human waiting for them didn't use his name, just his title. Shepperd. Not for security, but because once taking the vows of their order, they gave up their names. "good to see you again" the older dark skinned man said with a genuine smile.
Melissa for a long time had hated un modified humans, many did. yet the more time they spent with the shepherd, the more her hate lessened. They were in fact just as much victims as her people, hell as half the galaxy, dumped on these poisoned worlds by the Empire. "good to see you too Shepherd" she said, "we've got the last of the medical replicators you need to get full production up and running, as well as weapons for when the liberation comes."
The Shepherd just nodded, taking one of the pistols from the crate and sliding it into a holster. "I thought your holy book prohibited the taking of life." Bo'dgok asked curiously as they headed into the underground warren of tunnels.
"Killing yes, it's a bit fuzzier on the subject of kneecaps."
She laughed as they came into one of the main caverns, their cargo for the return trip was there waiting for them. She looked over the crowd of children, her ears drooping a bit "do they all have it?" she said quietly.
"they do, as well as other ailments that will leave them dead or worse in a short time" Shepherd replied softly. She felt something tug on her, looking down it was a small girl, about seven or so.
"why do you have such big ears?" she asked. Melissa just crouched down and smiled "the better to hear you with."
The girl just giggled "you're pretty, am I gonna be pretty like you when I wake up?"
"I think you'll be prettier than I could ever be " Melissa replied, getting a hug from the girl before she scampered back to the others. She sighed softly "only 80 percent are going to survive the augmentation..." she whispered sadly.
"that is still better than the 100 percent that would be dead in a year or less...and with the changes, they won't have to go through what their parents did in twenty years." B'o rested his hand on Melissas shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.
"Exactly." The Shepherd winced a bit as another pain hit, getting close to stage two himself before much longer. "you're giving these kids a chance at life they never would have had..and a chance to liberate others from Earth's tyranny." He patted the holster "Tell the Regent, when the time comes, we will be ready. The empire will fall."
Melissa just nodded "amen to that Shepherd." She then started leading the children back to the Nighthawk, and a chance at life.
"he's as dangerous as a ferret with a chainsaw."
The Battle of Trill
Bryan stared at the strategic display of the quadrant in the Athena's Stategic Command Center, looking at the gradually fluxuating front line of the Klingon war. Just as he was about to leave the room, however, a brief spot of red caught his eye deep in Federation space.
"Athena," Bryan called, "What sector is that?"
"That is the Trill system," She replied. "I'm recieving reports indicating that there are several Klingon fleets in orbit, proably attempting to invade the planet."
Suddenly, Ibalei burst into the room, tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Bryan," she said, her voice shaky, "Trill was just attacked by the Klingons. They're-"
"Invading, I know," Bryan replied, turning to face his first officer. "Athena, signal the rest of the fleet. We're going to launch a counter attack while we still can."
Bryan looked around the room at the senior officers of the First Assault Fleet. "By now, you all know the situation at Trill. At 1946 hours, a Klingon armada warped into the system, breached the orbital defenses, and began landing soldiers on the planet. Intial reports indicate that they could likely take the planet within about twelve days if they continue unhindered. The Fourth and Ninth fleets have already gathered to prepare for a counter-attack, and we will be joining them."
"What is the approxomate capabilities of the Klingon fleet?" Vice Admiral Kreeg, one of the fleet's most experienced officers, asked.
"About four fleets worth of combat vessels, each with a full compliment of Klingon warriors, supported by four regiments of Klingon Honor Guard." Bryan replied, pulling up a view of Trill itself on the strategic display.
"Sir, the Fourth and Ninth fleets are both reporting that they are ready to set a course for Trill when you are." Athena said, her holographic form shimmering in next to Bryan
"Very good," Bryan replied. "Battle plan will be as follows: The First Assault fleet will serve as the vanguard force, and engage first. We will hit the Klingon ships that are orbiting at the equator. Once my fleet has the Klingons tied up, the Fourth and Ninth will join the fight from the north and south poles, respectively. When I give the order, the fleet will send security officers down to the planet, focused on the capital city as well as the caves of Mak'ala, the two most key areas of the planet. The goal of our ground forces will be to push the Klingons off the planet. Any questions?"
"Why the caves of Mak'ala, sir?" one of the other officers asked.
"Do you know anything about Trill culutre?" Bryan retorted angrily. "The caves of Mak'ala are where the Trill Symbionts live. To lose them would be to lose hundreds of years of accumulaed Trill knowlege and culture. Any morequestions?"
The room was silent other than the gentle hum of of the ship's systems.
"Very good. Everyone, get back to your ships. We depart in one hour."
Bryan sat in the central chair of the bridge, now illuminated by a harsh red light from the alert signals.
"Sir, we arrive in less than a minute," Athena called.
"Good," Bryan replied. "Everyone, get ready."
The Athena dropped out of warp with the entirety of the fleet right on top of the Klingon formation. Orange phaser blasts lanced out from the ships, tearing into the Klingon fleet, followed shortly by a massive salvo of quantum torpedoes. Many of the torpedoes struck home, tearing apart several smaller Klingon ships, and damaging many others. The remaining Klingon maneuvered to engage the Starfleet ships, and the deadly dance of battle began in earnest. Ships exploded left and right, green and orange energy blasts lit the sky with a harsh light, and torpedoes siled back and forth, slamming into the hulls and shields of ships on both sides of the conflict. Sunndely, just as it seemed the Federation ships would be overrun, hundreds more warped in at the northern and southern ends of the planet, and proceeded to join the battle as well.
"Sir, the Klingons are beginning to fall back to the other side of the planet," Athena said over the cacophany of transmissions and other sounds of battle.
"Very good, standby to transport the officers to the surface."
"Can't get a transporter lock, sir," Lieutenant McKenzie Lennis, the ship's Operations chief, called.
"Why not?" Bryan said.
"Unsure, they may have transport inhibitors in place on the planet, though."
Bryan nodded. "Ibalei, you have the conn. Justin, tell the people you're bringing down to meet in the shuttle bay. We're going down the old fashioned way."
"Wait, Bryan, you can't go down there," Ibalei said.
Bryan turned toward his first officer. "I have to. What kind of leader would I be if I were'nt willing to follow the men and women under my command into battle?"
"Well, if you're going down," she replied, a fire in her stormy grey eyes, "then I'm going down there too."
"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?" Bryan sighed.
Ibalei continued to glare at him.
Bryan sighed. "Fine. Six, you have the conn. Treat her well."
"Always do, sir," The Athena's resident Liberated Borg and chief engineer replied.
Bryan elaned on the shuttle pilot's chair as the small craft entered the atmosphere of the planet, watching as the clouds sailed past the front window.
"Touchdown in 30 seconds, sir," the pilot said.
Bryan nodded and turned face the read of the shuttle.
"Alright, everyone, this is it," he called, "Remeber, our goal is to secure the Caves of Mak'ala and surrounding areas. Check your targets, watch your backs, and keep an eye on the sky. I've been hearing reports of periodic air raids by Klingon fighter squadrons, so if you see them approach, find cover ASAP. Everyone ready?"
They all nodded. Bryan looked around the shuttle once more, knowing that many of the people inside would likely not be comeing home.
"Alright, let's do this," he yelled as he slid his helmet over his head. The back door opened, and the entire squad of M.A.C.O. officers fanned out, spraying phaser fire into the advancing Klingon lines. The Federation officers charged out and found cover quickly, cobncealing themselves behind boulders, trees and hills, while trading fire with the Klingons. Bryan looked out around the battlefield, looking at the targets painted on the heads-up-display in his helmet. He gripped his sniper rifle as he sighted down a Klingon officer. Breathing in gently, he centered the crosshairs on the Klingon, and fired. There was a brief, faint hiss as the pulse sped away from the tip of the rifle. COntinuing to stare down the scope, he wwatched as the Klingon officer fell. He sighted down another target, but just as he did so, the proximity sensor in his HUD went off, and he looked around to see a Klingon standing there behind him, Bat'Leth raised. Insticively, Bryan ducked out of the way, hearing a faint wistle as the blade cut through the air were his head was not even a second ago. The Klingon raised his weapon again, and swung it down with all his might. Bryan parried the blow with his rifle, then proceeded to smash the Klingon in the stomach with the stock, before lashing out with his foot and kicking the Klingon squarely in the neck. Turning swiftly around again to prepare to rejoin the firefight, he noticed that the Klingons were beginning to retreat.
Bryan looked around, and saw Ibalei and Justin fighting together. He rushed over, cutting loose with a barrage of fire from his rifle. THe rounds struck several of the Klingon officers that had been fighting them, giving them some much needed room to breath.
"Good to see you two alive," he shouted above the cacophany of battle.
"Yeah, you too, sir," Justin, the Athena's chief of security and leader of the M.A.C.O. personnel, replied.
"Looks like they're starting to fall back," Ibalei said.
"Yeah, I noticed," he replied, before activating his communicator.
"They're retreating," He called, "Push them back!"
The Starfleet officers surged out, pursuing the Klingons. Bryan lead the charge, Ibalei and Justin at his back. The entire force of Starfleet personnel cut loose with a massive barrage of fire, cutting into the Klingon lines. Suddenly, a roar overhead made Bryan instincively look up.
"Klingon fighters!" one of the Starfleet officers yelled.
"Everyone, fall back to-" Bryan started, before he was cut off by a torpedo blast just behind him.
Picking himself up off the ground, Bryan looked back at where the torpedo impacted. He notcied Justin had been caught in the blast, but as he ran back to help, Justin got up and waved him off. He then noticed Ibalei lying a little ways away, and sprinted over to her. He picked her up, draped one of her arms around his shoulder, and helped her back behind cover. He crouched down and helped Ibalei get her helmet off. Looking over her, he saw that her face had been badly cut up, and that her armor had been pierced in several places, with blood trickling lightly out of her injuries.
"Are you alright?" He shouted above the cacophany of the Klingon air raid.
The Trill winced as she tried to get back up. "I'll be fine," she replied.
"Athena, come in," Bryan said into his helmet's communicator.
"Here, sir," Lieutenant Commander Six of Nine replied, "What do you need?"
Bryan looked down at Ibalei, "The First Officer is down, can you get a shuttle dow here to pick her up?"
There was several long, tnse moments of silence. Finally, Six repsponded, "Shuttle thirteen will be there momentarily, supported by the Vampires flying off the Bremen."
"Thank you, Six," Bryan replied.
Bryan took off his own helmet and looked into Ibalei's eyes. "Don't worry," he said, "You'll be fine."
As soon as he finished saying that, a series of explosions overhead made Bryan look to the sky once more. A small squadron of Peregrine fighters had just flown in and attacked the Klingon fighter squadron. Bryan immediately knew who the pilots were, judging by their skill. Just then, a shuttle landed behind them and opened its rear door.
"Come on," Bryan said, wrapping Ibalei's arm around his shoulders once more.
He staggered to the shuttle.
"Here, take her," he said, taking her arm and giving it to Justin, who had gotten to the shuttle just ahead of them.
"Bryan?" Ibalei asked, wincing with pain. "What are you doing?"
Bryan looked back at the fierce battle that raged between the Starfleet forces and the Klingons. "Someone's got to lead these men and women," he replied solemnly, "and, since I'm the one who ordered them here, it might as well be me."
"But you could be killed," Iablei shouted.
Now it was Bryan's turn to wince slightly. "We all knew that was a possibility when we sighned up."
"Bryan, please..." She begged, tears beginning to form in her grey eyes.
He brushed her hair gently out of her face. "I love you Ibalei," He said, kissing her gently.
He stepped off the hatch, waving the shuttle away.
"Bryan!" Ibalei shrieked, just as the hatch began to close. Bryan turned away and put his helmet back on, desperate to hid the pain in his eyes.
Ibalei slumped against the shuttle wall as her armor's painkillers finally began to kick in. She rested her head in the palms of her hands as tears began to slide gently down her face.
Ibalei, Zizania, her symbiont, whispered in her mind, are you alright?
No, she thought in reply, I'm really not.
He'll be fine, the Symbiont said.
I hope you're right, because I feel like something bad will happen. she thought, just as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Bryan sat by the edge of the biobed, looking at Ibalei's unconscious form. Most of her injuries had been healed, so only a few cuts and scratches remained to mar her face. Bryan watched as her eyes fluttered gently open.
"Welcome back," He said, smiling slightly.
"Bryan!" She shouted, leaping up and hugging him tightly.
"Glad too see you too," He replied, returning the hug.
"I thought you were going to die down there."
"You're not going be able to get rid of me that easily," he laughed.
"That's not funny," she said, despite laughing a little herself.
"So," Ibalei said nervously, as she sat back down on the biobed, "did we win?"
Bryan nodded. "Yeah, but at quite a cost," he replied quietly, "We lost close to one officer on the ground for every four Klingons that fell, and three-fourths of the ships we sent were either destroyed or damaged."
"What else?" Ibalei said, sensing something more personal from Bryan.
"Kerry Avalrez was killed by a Klingon torpedo that impacted near the bridge after we went planetside."
They were both silent for a long time. Lieutenant Commander Kerry Avalrez had served as Bryan's tactical officer ever since he had been promoted to Captain, and transferred from commanding the Dakota U.S.S. Omega to the Celestial class U.S.S. Vega. She was one of, if not the most dedicated officers on the Athena, and had a reputation for finding her work more relaxing than anything else.
"So, I guess that means we'll need a new Tactical officer," Ibalei said.
"Yeah," Bryan replied, his voice still very quiet. "I was thinking that maybe-"
"I'd like to volunteer for the post," Ibalei interrupted.
Bryan was taken aback for a moment. "But, you enlisted as a Science officer," he said finally.
"No, Ibalei Zera enlisted as a science officer," the Joined Trill said, "When I was joined with Zizania...I'm not sure how to explain it, but I just feel my skills would be better utilized as a tactical officer."
"Well, who'll replace you as the chief science officer then?" Bryan asked.
"I was thinking Ensign Merzi," She replied, talking about the Orion defector who also served as the ship's communications officer. "I've been tutoring her for some time now, and I firmly believe that she would do well as chief Science officer."
"Well, Syiseda might not-" Bryan started.
"I don't mind," the Betazoid doctor replied from her office.
"Well, I guess that settles it then," Bryan said. "I guess we'll just have to find a new comms officer while the ship is being repaired. "Get some rest Ibalei."
She smiled. "You won't regret this, Bryan," She said, as she fell asleep once more.
Bryan smiled, and turned to leave the room. I know I won't, he thought, glancing back to Ibalei. You're the most capable person I know. With a slight nod, he left the room.
Commanding officer: Odyssey class U.S.S. Athena
Admiral of the 1st Assault Fleet
Join date: Some time in Closed Beta
LC #6(?): Not THAT Guy
Co-authored by ambassadormollari and gulberat
Caveat lector: (Reader beware...) The following story covers what for some may be sensitive philosophical and spiritual ground for some. While both characters illuminate their pasts and their perspectives, the point of the story is not to advocate for the rightness or wrongness of either character's basic beliefs. This story is about the effects of prejudice, stereotypes, and what should be the proper conduct of a Starfleet officer.
Readers who may be uncomfortable with a discussion of these topics, however, may wish to find other reading material more to their liking.
With a sound like a fly caught in a spinning top, the EPS rerouter of the booster modulator overloaded, sending actinic blue flashes of electricity playing out in all directions. Raw, unbridled power snaked over the insulated glove and sleeves of Arkos' insulation suit, before finally going dead with an anticlimactic spasm. Underneath the suit, Arkos' skin itched at the brief sensation of the electric current, and he let out an exasperated breath. Right now, he couldn't decide what he hated more: the fact that he had botched the conversion realignment for the third time in a row, that he couldn't scratch himself with this bulky suit on, or that he had been at this for nearly an hour without anything to show for it.
Leaning back on his knees, Ensign Arkos Nair, newly-promoted Engineering officer of the U.S.S. Avandar gave a deep, aggravated sigh. As annoying as this task was, he took comfort in the knowledge that it at least wasn't entirely his fault. A large task like re-aligning the EPS conduits for one of the main deflector's components was usually a two-person job, with one person there to keep the conduits aligned while the other tried to keep the power flow stable. This would have been going a lot more smoothly, he thought bitterly, if Ensign Gerstein, his shift partner, had been here to help him out.
But no. Today of all days, when Chief Smith had everyone working double shifts to prep the Avandar for a warp jump into the Betreka Nebula, Gerstein had taken the time off for a holiday and left all the realignment to him. Arkos would have understood, or even appreciated, if Gerstein had been attending some sort of important cultural tradition-- a day commemorating national or planetary independence, perhaps, or some Human equivalent to Day of Tides back on Nar-Etulis. But no, apparently Gerstein had gone off to attend a religious function. Because, after all, bending down in worship to some invisible sky-god was apparently more important than keeping the Avandar functioning properly!
Wrenching the electro-plasma coupler free from the grid, Arkos took a few deep breaths to calm himself. With Engineering as busy as it was today, no one could be spared to give Arkos a hand, and he had been left to this task all on his own. He had been angry enough with Gerstein to lodge a formal complaint about him to Chief Smith. If all hands were needed in Engineering, he had argued, then why was Gerstein getting special treatment? The needs of the ship should have taken priority over whatever superstitious inanity Gerstein wanted to indulge in. To her credit, Chief Smith had made it clear that she understood Arkos' frustration-- EPS alignment, she had agreed, was frustrating enough when handling it as part of a team, let alone when someone had to do it on their own. But while she admitted that she personally wished that 'Yom Kippur' was happening on some other day, she also explained that she was obligated to honor Gerstein's request for religious exemption. "Those are the rules, Nair," she had said. "I mean, what sort of precedent would I be setting if I refused Gerstein's request?"
A sensible one, Arkos had thought, though he had kept this thought to himself. With an exasperated sigh, he wiped the moisture of his forehead with an insulated sleeve and began scrounging in his tool belt for an isolinear scrambler. He had been living as a landed citizen in the Federation for almost two years now, and even after all that time, the Federation still managed to baffle him occasionally. When the Hadfield had first brought him and his fellow refugees to Earth, Arkos had been awestruck by the glimmering, land-based metropolises, the vehicles flying across a bright blue sky, the glimmer of kilometer-high holographic screens, and the thousands of different faces in thousands of different colors and shapes mingling together in harmony. The Federation, seen up close and personal, had been a dream come to life-- a paradise of technological and scientific exploration, with a tolerant society encompassing thousands of different species, all joined together under a common banner of progress, discovery and rationalism. It was the Apologist ideal brought to brilliant reality, and Arkos' first few days on Earth had seemed wondrous and surreal.
And yet, for all of its advancement, the Federation fell short of the Apologist ideal in one crucial way: instead of being consigned to the dustbin of history where they belonged, religion and spiritual belief persisted. Even in the face of rapid scientific and technological progress, and even in the face of a million and a half solid facts proving them wrong, the myriad races of the Federation all clung stubbornly to an irrational belief in the spiritual and the supernatural. The Humans, the Bajorans, the Tellarites, and even the ultra-logical Vulcans all had their own respective religions and continued to practice them, despite the fact that their collective histories were also replete with bloody chapters of violence and intolerance that these religions had facilitated. And in many instances, important scientific and technological developments-- embryonic tissue regeneration, solar particle seeding, and even probe insertions into the Bajoran Wormhole-- continued to be stifled, and even blocked, by religious objections. By now, any sane organization would have realized how counter-productive, backwards and potentially harmful organized religion was, and yet the Federation continued to foster the spiritual beliefs of its member races. It was a contradiction that continued to baffle Arkos, even after he had long acclimatized himself to the Federation's mosaic culture.
He was brought back to reality when he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Chief Smith approaching from the upper gantry, holding a PADD in one hand as she talked with Ensign Dell. Upon seeing Arkos, Smith stopped and lowered the PADD. "How are you holding up, Nair?" she asked.
Arkos responded with an erstwhile shrug. "Well, I just burned out the rerouter for the third time in a row, ma'am," he sighed. "I'm going to try to limit the power output with an isolinear scrambler to see if that helps."
The Chief nodded. Janice Smith was a walking example just how varied, genetically and culturally, Humans were. Her skin was a light brown that set her apart from the lighter pink Arkos had seen on other Humans, and she spoke with a noticeable accent. If Arkos remembered correctly, she was from a dry region of Earth called 'Australia.'
"Take a break for now," she said. "You need it."
Arkos blinked in surprise. "Chief, with all due respect, the EPS rerouter--"
"--will still be here later," Smith cut in. "Besides which, I've got another job for you. Remember that work you did with the Science Department last week when you helped them outfit astrometric probes?"
Arkos nodded, and then frowned. "There hasn't been a problem, has there? I did a thorough QA test on each probe, and they shouldn't be having any problems unless--"
Smith gave a good-natured laugh. "You're such a pessimist, you know that Nair?" she said. "There hasn't been any problem. In fact, I think you impressed the boys and girls in Science, because Commander Strannik wants to talk to you in person."
The news left Arkos relieved and confused at the same time. It was uncommon for a high-ranking officer like Commander Strannik to personally summon a lowly Ensign like him...not unless the aforementioned Ensign had gotten himself into deep trouble, or had done something particularly outstanding. As far as Arkos was aware, he had done neither. "What does he want to talk to me about?" he asked warily.
Smith's response was heralded with an erstwhile shrug. "You won't know unless you go there in person and find out, will you?" she responded. "Get changed and get going, Nair."
With a quick nod, Arkos stood up. "Aye, ma'am," he said, picking up his tools and heading to the main personnel area of Engineering. As soon as Arkos left, Ensign Dell turned to Smith and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Commander Strannik is going to give Nair the talk, isn't he?" the Bolian asked.
Smith simply chuckled. "Better Strannik than Captain Teeglar," she replied. "Now back on topic, about those frequency resonators..."
****
The first officer and chief science officer of the U.S.S. Avandar released a quiet sigh of exasperation from between slightly parted lips as he finished with a second reading of Ensign Arkos Nair's service record. From a scientific and engineering background almost as primitive as the unremembered beginnings of Strannik's period of stasis on Earth, Nair had rapidly not just acclimated to the modern world, but mastered its foundational engineering and scientific principles sufficiently to specialize in them. Unfortunately, Ensign Nair's impressive potential was countered by a track record of...verbal indiscretions, if one wanted to phrase it generously.
Bigotry, if one did not want to put it delicately.
And that was something Commander Alexei Ivanovich Strannik could not abide by aboard this ship. As the lone Devidian in Starfleet, and quite possibly the only member of his species, anywhere, to live peacefully with those who by biological design 'should' have been his prey, Strannik had come directly face to face with bigotry from some who knew what he was--those who would always disregard his personal attitudes and achievements and regard him as something like the proverbial scorpion who someday must sting, for it was in his nature. While increases in responsibility in his various postings came, from the commanding officers who knew him and had had time to observe him in action, promotions had not: he and his former CO's had had to fight tooth and nail to get each one past the board.
And if he were to someday be recommended for promotion to captain--to command a ship with no immediate supervision...that was a battle that, if he chose to engage in it, Strannik wasn't even sure the formidable Captain Teeglar could win.
Indeed: the various '-isms' were still alive and well in the Federation. 'Tolerance' was the watchword around Starfleet and the Federation--but some beings still were more equal than others, be it for racial, cultural...or religious reasons.
Alexei Ivanovich hadn't experienced so much of the latter himself. And sadly, he reflected, that might very well be because some of the higher-ups regarded his Orthodox Christianity as a control mechanism that kept an otherwise uncontrollable appetite for sentient neural energy in check. Not something that he himself had sought out as that awful memory from his second week of life replayed--'recapitulated,' had been the scientific term chosen for it--as his cognitive capacity increased. Unlike a human child, who forgot what had gone by in infancy, the Devidian had reprocessed the information as his understanding grew, and the memory, rather than fading, had grown more and more significant...
Katya's final moment. The last gasp--the terror, the grief...dimming eyes, fading heart...
And then an instant when some strange echo from that dying soul had surged into Alyosha so strongly that even today energy rippled across his skin as he remembered.
There had been more. The reality of his mind. Of others' minds as he sensed them. And other things--deeper mysteries of the Church that had resonated with him in unexpected and heartrendingly beautiful ways as he searched for answers as to why.
He had to admit it: this was personal to him. It angered him, deep down, to read the officious complaint that Ensign Nair had filed. He would have to watch that.
He reminded himself why he had called this meeting. Captain Teeglar was every bit his match when it came to disdain for intolerance--perhaps for different reasons, for the Roylan loathed any deviation from order and strict fairness across the board. But the difference with Teeglar was that he did not believe in warning shots. A summons to his ready room meant consequences. Teeglar and Strannik had an understanding, though: at his discretion, the XO could intervene to determine if there might be some opportunity to change the course of an officer not performing to standards. But the reprieve would only last so long: if the turnaround wasn't swift in coming, Teeglar would act.
One of the reasons Teeglar allowed Strannik this liberty was the fact that, to a limited extent with non-telepaths, the Devidian officer could read emotions and sometimes thoughts as long as he placed an active focus on the individual. Without that sustained, active focus, he was almost as blind to others' thoughts as any other--he did not 'accidentally' overhear feelings from non-telepaths except in extreme circumstances. Strannik curtailed the depth of his telepathic scans with those who didn't know of his capabilities--but for critical interactions like this, where the trajectory of someone's career might be on the line, he wanted the extra insight it afforded him.
The door chime sounded.
Strannik set down the padd and glanced over at what would appear to be a half-empty cup of tea on his desk. He couldn't smell it, much less taste or drink it--but then it wasn't there for the purpose he led others...including his newest visitor...to believe. No...it was plant food. But it was mainly there to keep others from suspecting he wasn't human.
"Enter," Commander Strannik called.
The tall Korda engineering ensign entered the office, back straight and head held high, inquisitive eyes surveying his surroundings. His youthful, confident cerulean features were crowned by an ornate series of ridges that reminded Strannik of an elegant ceremonial warrior's helmet in hues of bronze and copper.
He focused on Nair's mind as he stood--not deeply, not with the level of focus it would require to actually hear what the ensign was thinking or see the images in his mind, but enough to gauge his overall mood. Beneath the cool, collected exterior was...a bit of trepidation, yes, but mixed with a more pleasant sort of anticipation as well.
Oh, Janice, what exactly did you do? Strannik thought to himself. He had the distinct suspicion that the chief of engineering hadn't informed Ensign Nair as to the purpose of this summons. It wouldn't surprise him if true; Smith could be a bit prankish at times, especially if she thought someone deserved a good comeuppance. How she had set Nair up, Strannik wasn't sure. But this didn't seem like the emotional profile of someone who knew he was in hot water. Which suggested something else: that Nair considered his actions beyond reproach.
Commander Strannik gestured at the chair before his desk. He wore a serious but nonthreatening demeanor. "Please be seated, Ensign."
Glancing briefly at the offered chair, Nair wasted little time in taking a seat. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked as he straightened up. The anticipation was still there, though the trepidation rose ever so slightly: like any Ensign in his position, Nair seemed a little nervous about having to talk to a commanding officer in his own office.
Strannik nodded. "Yes, Ensign." The first officer resumed his own seat. "You have demonstrated a great deal of potential," he informed Ensign Nair. "Your academic achievements and technical skills make that clear. That is why you and I are having this meeting today." He paused to allow that to sink in for a second. "And not Captain Teeglar."
There. There was the first flash of understanding across the Korda engineer's face that this was not the summons he had hoped for. Or that, perhaps Smith had set him up to expect. He wasn't sure that Ensign Nair understood yet what the problem was, so he set a hand on the padd he'd been reading. "I've become aware of a complaint that you filed against your colleague, Ensign Gerstein, due to his request off for the Yom Kippur holiday. I see that the request was made and entered onto the departmental schedule in the requisite time frame."
In other words, Strannik thought to himself, the off day was on public display for two weeks, minimum, just like anyone else's would be. You knew he followed procedure. The current circumstances, while inconvenient, haven't risen to the level of an emergency. Yet you still raised a complaint. He understood what the workload had become in Engineering due to the unforeseen need to enter the Betreka Nebula, but he wanted to see exactly how Ensign Nair would attempt to explain himself.
As Strannik watched, Nair's face seemed to turn a paler shade of grey, and his lower jaw gave a barely perceptible twitch. The trepidation doubled now, roiling off with waves of panic and frustration now that Nair realized that Strannik didn't approve. The flow stifled, though, as an artificial dam of self-imposed calm blocked it off.
"Sir," Nair said steadily, "with all due respect...Chief Smith had made it abundantly clear that all hands were needed in Engineering, and had further made it clear that this was Captain Teeglar's order. We had been given a small timeframe to give the Avandar's deflector grid a complete overhaul to compensate for the methogenic particles in the Betraka dust-cloud, and even with all available hands, we were finding ourselves short-staffed." He took a short, controlled intake of breath. "Given the situation, I did not feel it right or fair that Ensign Gerstein's...personal requirements...should take precedence over mandatory starship operations, whether he had filed his request in advance or not."
There were still palpable emotions roiling behind that screen of calm. Fear. Anxiety. And anger...at Gerstein, perhaps?
Not good, Alexei Ivanovich thought to himself. If this was what he believed it to be, this wasn't just disdain for a concept...which was bad enough even impersonally: one had to at least respect that others held different beliefs, for even impersonal disrespect led to the implicit ranking of some individuals as better or worse than others, in a way that had nothing to do with their service records. At the least, resentment had developed towards Gerstein as an individual because his beliefs had happened to inconvenience Nair. At the worst...Gerstein was now bearing the brunt of a deeper fury.
"Captain Teeglar did not place the ship on alert," Strannik pointed out in a mild enough voice that it could either lull Nair into complacency that, logic laid out, the topic would soon be left to rest--or warn the Korda to be on his toes for what would be coming soon. "As you know, shore leave and all other non-duty-related off-ship excursions are suspended on yellow alert. Unless otherwise ordered under the specific conditions of the alert, those on scheduled off days remain off. Red alert needs no explanation." That, of course, was general quarters: the point where one dropped everything and reported regardless of schedule or what one happened to be doing at the time.
Strannik doubted very much that Ensign Nair wanted to argue that Captain Teeglar himself had been wrong not to declare an alert. But he had no intention of pressing that point very far. Rather, his next comment was a probe of sorts--one where he was looking and scanning for the reaction to two very specific words. "No current order by the senior staff of this vessel has mandated the suspension of any crew member's religious observances."
Nair stiffened. It was obvious, even to him, that he couldn't argue in the face of the command decisions of the ship's senior officers. To presume that a lowly Ensign like himself knew better than the senior staff was the quickest way to get booted out of Starfleet, after all.
"I apologize, then, if my complaint was...contrary to the decisions of the ship's command staff." He was choosing his words carefully now that he knew he was treading on thin ice, and backtracking a little from his earlier defence. "I did not presume to contradict Captain Teeglar's orders, and I had no wish to subvert the authority of the Captain or yourself in any way. " He swallowed, an act which unconsciously broadcast his nervousness. "If you and the Captain feel that Gerstein's...religious observances...are completely acceptable, then I withdraw my complaint."
It was clear by this point that Nair was doing his best to back out of this meeting. He knew that he had aroused Strannik's displeasure, and now he was quickly admitting his faults in the hopes that the Commander would let him off easy.
The trouble was, even without Strannik's telepathic sense, the disdain with which Arkos Nair had said 'religious observances,' as though he and Captain Teeglar ought not find it acceptable, was clear, as was the almost overly ornate way of apologizing. It reminded Strannik of the sort of apology known to politicians on Earth since time immemorial: I am sorry that YOU were offended. Not sorry for doing it in the first place. That said--the fact that there was some nervousness there suggested that there was still an opportunity for reaching him, unlike with a hardened politician.
"I see," Strannik replied.
Nair twitched, about to rise from his seat, but promptly froze, realizing that he had not been dismissed.
"There is something else I wished to ask you," the commander continued, his tone still serious--but a bit...just a bit more conversational. "I know you have worked with the science department on certain projects. How would you describe the performance of the science department? Its competence, commitment to the scientific method, and intellectual honesty?"
Nair frowned as he slid back down to his seat, confusion and wariness now evident in equal measure on his face. It was evident that he had not expected that question at all, and was uncertain as to why Strannik had asked it.
"You want me to...rate the Science Department, sir?" he asked, not hiding the fact that he was puzzled.
As Strannik watched, Nair shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Well," the Ensign began, unsteadily "...please bear in mind, sir, that...Science is not officially my field, and that when I was in the main lab, my attention was focused on outfitting the Mark VII astrometric probes, as Chief Smith had ordered." Beneath the table, Strannik was aware of Nair's fingers drumming against one another. "But...from what I did see, sir, the Science department as a whole seemed capable, competent, and knowledgeable. The facilities were well-designed and followed rigorous safety procedures, and the equipment was practically state-of-the-art. I was particularly impressed by the tachyon phase converter that had been set up on the second floor."
As Nair spoke, his voice began to lose its tension and unsteadiness as he seemed to relax a little. "And as for the staff...the officers assisting me, Lieutenant Gupta and Ensign T'Vel, were both extremely helpful, and both demonstrated a broad knowledge and professional dedication to their fields. I actually learned quite a bit about stellar cloud formation from a conversation with Ensign T'Vel."
Alexei Ivanovich allowed a small smile at Ensign Nair's favorable words towards the two officers. "It's always good to hear about officers taking the time to share with their colleagues, and I'll certainly note that." Now he began to move a bit closer to the objective, as Nair hadn't quite addressed all of the questions that Commander Strannik had asked him. Understandable, perhaps, given how unexpected this line of questioning had been. "I would also like to know your thoughts about the scientific rigor of the department's operations--the objectivity of its inquiries and conclusions. Freedom from bias and ideology...either from within or from above."
"It is always important to remember the strengths...and limitations...of the scientific method," Strannik partially concurred--for there were those in the scientific community, and it sounded like Arkos was one of them, who extended the scientific method to questions that by definition could not be answered by such means. "I have one final question. What is your level of confidence in the leadership of the science department? To include my own."
Strannik awaited the ensign's reply: then he would know if he could proceed as planned.
Nair's face quickly sank into a frown as he comprehended the question. Evidently, he hadn't expected the Commander to ask to be evaluated, and felt understandably apprehensive about having to rate his senior officer to his face.
"Well..." he began slowly, "...um...bear in mind, sir, that I've had only minimal exposure to your department, and I don't consider myself the best judge of leadership qualities." For the second time during the meeting, Nair let out a quiet exhalation from his nostrils as he unwound some of his inner tension. "But at the risk of sounding like a sycophant, sir, I'd have to say that I have a high level of confidence in the leadership of the Science Department. From what I saw during my assignment, the senior staff were directing operations without any visible fault, and seemed to know how to use their specialists and resources effectively. Above all else, sir, the command staff of the Science Department have always struck me as being dedicated, intelligent and rational people...yourself included, sir."
Even though the roiling mass of uncertainty was still there in the undercurrent of Nair's emotions, there was no agitation, no spike of nervous tension, none of the tell-tale signs of someone telling a lie. Even if he was unsure of the reason behind Strannik's line of questioning, Nair was answering honestly.
"We have brought together people from many worlds and backgrounds to be a part of our department. And this ship's crew as a whole. I'm proud of that." Commander Strannik drew a breath of his own through a shapeshifted nose that felt especially inadequate to the task in moments like this. He had Nair backed into a corner that he didn't even recognize yet, and how the next few minutes went would be crucial to determining the course of action Strannik--and potentially Captain Teeglar--took from here.
"But I have taken some time to look over your service record, and I have seen that the intolerance towards others' beliefs demonstrated by your complaint against Ensign Gerstein is not an isolated incident." The impact of this sudden return to the subject after the apparently unrelated digression was swift--and unmistakable no matter how Nair struggled to hide it. It wasn't just the torrent of emotion, but the Korda's neurological energy itself quickening in a way that gave Strannik the uneasy feeling that the rest of his species would regard it as the mark of prey.
"The way that you have judged others as inadequate to your standards because of their religious practices has an impact. And the rigidity of your stereotypes has blinded you to what is right before your eyes. Your behavior has far more of an impact than you would ever know by simply making assumptions about people." He locked eyes with the ensign. "Did it ever occur to you that, whatever you may think about the intellectual capacity, the commitment, the character, or whatever else you have decided that religious believers represent to you, that there might be others aboard the Avandar who practice a faith? Even in hard disciplines like engineering. And science."
Commander Strannik could almost swear that Ensign Nair had forgotten to breathe. "That even includes the science department commander."
Nair's face went from a livid blue-grey to an almost ghostly white. As Strannik watched, the Korda went as stiff as a statue, staring at the Commander in shock. Even though the ensign was outwardly silent, however, his emotional state was loud and discordant to Strannik's senses: what was once a roiling undercurrent had suddenly turned into a chaotic maelstrom, with baffled disbelief, outrage, and even terrified panic buffeting against one another like competing winds.
After what seemed like an eternity, Nair slowly managed to choke out some words. "You, sir?" he managed to ask. "You mean to say that...you're..." His words died out at that point, leaving him unable to finish his sentence.
"Yes." The chief science officer of the Avandar held still, speaking in a low voice now. "I am a Christian; that's a member of a religion from Earth." He kept quiet for a few seconds. What was Ensign Nair expecting? A homily? "A minute ago, you evaluated the science department as competent and working according to sound intellectual and scientific principles, and being led as such. Do you feel the need, now that you know this, to revise your opinion?"
"I...I don't...I wasn't..." Nair was stammering now, as his words slipped on his tongue. "You said...I didn't..." His skin seemed to look unhealthy and clammy--Strannik was no xenobiologist, but he guessed that this was the Korda equivalent of breaking into a sweat. Swallowing, the Ensign made a visible effort to compose himself, but it was clear that he had been rattled well beyond his comfort zone.
"Sir...with...all due respect ...why?" He gave Strannik an incredulous gesture. "Surely, sir, on some level, you must realize that there is no hard evidence...no factual or rational basis, no conclusive logical argument...supporting the existence of a god or gods. I have no doubt about your qualifications as a scientist, sir, but I fail to see how you can believe in something so...contradictory to scientific principle as well!"
"I don't deceive myself," the commander made clear. "I recognize that theological questions are inherently unsuited to scientific investigation. Empirical methods are limited in their toolsets.
"To take a different example...music." That prompted a ghost of a smile from Alexei Ivanovich. "I can codify the notes and tonal qualities; I can observe the neural impulses that result from listening." Ensign Nair, of course, would have no idea that Strannik perceived it in some form without instruments. "I can also undertake statistical modeling that may give me some insight into the incidence of certain preferences. In modern times, contacted worlds even have an additional tool: empaths and telepaths can enter the actual experiences of others and produce descriptions of the same events, from the same vantage point, in a way that wasn't available to non-telepathic species until they made contact with others. Even then, the experience still isn't quite the same: except where the telepathic intrusion is so severe as to result in a victim's engram-death, there's a disjoint caused by the distinct 'selfness' of two separate beings. Either separate-selfness is preserved, or there is engram-death. There is still no way to subject the entirety of the experience to scientific scrutiny. Even the Vulcans make no claims of doing that.
"I don't think it makes sense for me to conduct a scientific inquiry as to whether I should prefer Reich or Glass...two Earth composers. I should try both of their works, of course--I don't see any sense in an unthinking decision--but I don't look at my neural impulses on a medical tricorder to tell me which one I like more. Which one carries greater significance to me.
"I recognize that theological questions are far more sweeping and have a greater impact on the way you live your life than musical preferences. But I see the application of the scientific method as inappropriate for theology itself. I don't want to manipulate science, and I don't want to manipulate theology. I believe an approach like that allows me to carry out my duties as a scientist and Starfleet officer in a responsible way, and I believe in peer review as a scientist to keep me from going astray. If I weren't confident in that, I wouldn't be here.
"I think that we have common ground in how we view our performance of our duties, yes?" Barely--just barely--Ensign Nair nodded. Strannik still saw hesitation, but without probing further than basic emotions, he wasn't sure whether that owed to the shock Nair was still experiencing, or skepticism on the ensign's part that Strannik was speaking, or was capable of recognizing the truth. "I don't expect you to believe what I do, what Ensign Gerstein does, or what anybody else does. But don't you think that a greater respect for others' beliefs is in order?"
For a moment, Nair was quiet. His face had been stony and impassive ever since Strannik had begun his explanation, and it wasn't changing now that he had finished. Finally, however, the Korda gave a slow nod. It was, Strannik noticed, a very rigid nod, one that looked forced and uncomfortable.
"Yes, sir," Nair muttered, "I...suppose I do." It was the voice of a man being forced to concede defeat, being made to accept a very bitter truth. There was still a lingering bitterness in his voice, though--despite Strannik's explanation, there was still something deep inside that Nair was angry about. The Korda ensign brought his hands up on the table and folded them, his hands twitching uncomfortably as they interlocked. "For...the record, sir...I don't hate Ensign Gerstein, regardless of his...beliefs."
And yet, Nair obviously hated something. Strannik could feel it, prickling at the edge of his surface thoughts like the spines of some subterranean monster.
"If it isn't personal animus...then what is your reason for taking actions towards him--and, as I see from your Academy record, towards classmates whose beliefs you disagreed with--that can do little else but antagonize? Why? What in the world is that supposed to accomplish?"
Nair broke his stare at that point, his gaze turning downwards towards his fidgeting hands. "I..." He gritted his teeth a little. "It's not them, sir. It was never them, but what they believe in, sir. What they believe in, and their unthinking, unquestioning devotion to it."
He took a deep breath, and leaned back in his seat. "You speak of respect for others' beliefs, sir, as though that were something that should happen automatically...something that should last. If I may ask you a question, sir...you've seen my record. What do you know of my homeworld?"
"I know that the Federation and the Dominion both tried to gain your favor during the war," Commander Strannik recalled. "There was a lot of respect for Korda technology. Then something happened: a tectonic shift or ecological disaster...or maybe it was even deliberate--some sort of literal scorched-earth attack by the Dominion to keep your technology out of our hands--and we lost contact. I know we were resource-strapped during the war, but I don't understand why the Federation didn't help. That doesn't seem right, especially since the Federation was apparently interested enough to ask you to do something for us. I don't see how the Prime Directive could possibly apply. After the disaster...we lost contact. We know almost nothing about Nar-Etulis now."
Nair nodded. "When I was in the Academy, I was curious about that myself," he said. "So I went to one of the diplomatic databases and looked it up. Apparently, after the Federation finally finished rebuilding everything that the Dominion had destroyed, they did remember the Korda, and did contact Nar-Etulis with offers of aid." His expression soured. "But the...ruling majority of our planet, the Chastised, refused. They felt that what had happened to us was...divine retribution for our race's hubris, that we had to suffer, and live in squalor, as penance. They were perfectly happy to keep their own people starving, sick, and groveling in the dark, because they felt that that was the only way to save our souls." The last word was spoken with an angry mixture of contempt and disgust.
The Korda took a deep breath before continuing. "I was born just after the Calamity flooded our world, sir," he went on, "and I grew up as part of an enclave that advocated science and reason over superstition...a community that wanted a return to the advanced society of our forefathers. For most of my life, we got along decently with the Chastised--we had our ideological disagreements, but we were still neighbors." His face seemed to become more rigid. "And that lasted for a while...until they started looting our homes and vandalizing our property. And then they started beating and killing us, and ganging up on us and forcing us to convert or die. It got to the point where my aunt, cousin, and a family friend and I were forced to flee our own world, to find somewhere else to live, because the Chastised couldn't accept that nonbelievers like us existed."
He unfolded his hands and leaned back in his seat. "You talk about respect for others' beliefs, Commander, and about tolerance. Well, I can tell you from experience that tolerance only lasts so long."
Strannik shook his head in sorrowed disbelief. "If the Federation hadn't waited...had made some kind of contact right when it happened..." He returned to the present. "I'm sorry you went through that. I really am. You should never have had to fear for your life. And...I can only speak from my own faith, but to knowingly allow plagues and starvation is something I can't even begin to wrap my mind around. We have monks and ascetics--but they took an oath. They knew the risks. But to make people suffer, who made no such choice...there is something seriously wrong with people who do that to others. To take others' free will--like the Founders did to the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar--it's an atrocity even worse than murder. Fear and fanaticism are a horrible combination.
"There have been abuses on Earth, too," Alexei Ivanovich admitted. "Pogroms, crusades, and jihad." Ensign Nair leaned forward. He'd caught on that phrase. Perhaps he was going to ask if that was what had caused Earth to 'grow up.'
Strannik did not allow a pause for Nair to speak. "But there's one thing I've seen in my world's history, and throughout the known galaxy. If there's one thing sentient beings are good at, it's grabbing hold of whatever excuse they can...the more unassailable they think it is, the 'better'...and using it to bludgeon others into submission. At least how I believe--I can think of no worse form of blasphemy than to lash out at someone and say it was in God's name.
"But in my studies and experience--I know that the hands of nonbelievers aren't clean, either. Centuries ago, it happened in Russia. My church suffered through seventy years of persecution when religion was outlawed. We recovered somewhat...but things were never the same again. What the Cardassians did over a period of five hundred years to the Oralians, and other believers, in the name of progress and loyalty to the state--the current government now acknowledges that it meets the criteria under interstellar law for a genocide."
Strannik lowered his voice--a pained near-whisper. "Is that progress?"
Nair's rigid expression seemed to melt in an instant. He looked deeply disturbed, uncertain, and even apprehensive, as though Strannik were personally leveling an accusation at him.
"No, sir, of...of course not!" he stammered. It was clear that whatever idea he had had about nonbelievers-- whatever pedestal he had placed himself and like-minded people upon-- had just been shaken to its core.
Strannik accepted this. "That's the foundation that Starfleet's code of conduct rests on: that all beings are entitled to be respected in belief or nonbelief. That no one should harass or belittle anyone else on religious or philosophical grounds, and that it should be responded to by the chain of command the same regardless of who did what to whom. Without that, we cannot perform our duties to their fullest. I think that maybe you're in a better position than most to understand how crucial that basic sense of security really is.
"That we have had this conversation has been documented, but there will be no sanctions against you as a result of today. I wish I could say what will happen moving forward with Ensign Gerstein. Since he could not be disturbed today, I don't know yet how public the complaint was and if he or others besides Smith knew, and how, if so, he will feel that he needs to approach the matter. Should he ask, he will be told that the matter has been addressed by the senior officers. No more will be said, so it will remain to be seen what the response to that is." In other words, Strannik thought to himself, I don't know whether it's already too late for you as far as he is concerned. It was entirely possible Gerstein could have become uncomfortable enough at the open criticism of his observances that shift reassignments could be necessary. Or maybe he would be amenable to a calm discussion with Nair, and some mutual accord might be reached...perhaps even a bond strengthened by the light of greater understanding.
"I can say that I expect him, and the rest of my officers, to uphold the same Starfleet standards of professionalism in his conduct as I do you. That means that should you ever genuinely experience any sort of discrimination or harassment, I want you to make sure you let Chief Smith know about it, or myself."
Nair gave a shaky nod. "Of...of course sir," he said. "I will."
"Good," Commander Strannik replied as he stood. "I mean that. Now for your part...as long as we don't have another incident along these lines, then this matter will be considered closed." He nodded at Ensign Nair. "That will be all...dismissed."
Without a further word, Nair stood up. "Thank you sir," he said with a humble nod, before turning and exiting Strannik's office.
*****
A few minutes later, Nair walked back into Engineering, looking a little grim. Chief Smith was there, giving orders to a trio of ensigns carrying out a maintenance check on the warp core, when she turned and saw the Korda enter. Nodding off to the ensigns, she turned walked up towards Nair, an expectant look on her face.
"So," she said, "how did your meeting with Commander Strannik go?" By her expression, it was abundantly clear that she knew the real reason behind the meeting.
"It was..." Arkos paused as his words momentarily failed him. It took him a few seconds to find the most appropriate word. "...illuminating."
Smith gave a satisfied nod. "I hope it was," she replied. There stern undercurrent to her voice, though, that sent a clear, unspoken message: It had better have been, or you're out the door, Mister. "So, are you still feeling up to rerouting that booster modulator?"
Nair's expression brightened, and he gave a hasty nod. "Of course, Chief," he replied. "Um...I was wondering, though...will Ensign Gerstein be on shift tomorrow?"
The question caused Smith to raise an eyebrow. "Yes, he will," she replied. "Why? Is that going to be a problem for you at all, Nair?"
The Korda shook his head. "Not at all, ma'am. I just have a few things I'd like to talk with him about, that's all."
The answer seemed to satisfy Smith, as she gave him a slight smile. "I see." She glanced down at the PADD she was holding. "Right, you'd better get back to work then, Nair. We still have a timetable to meet."
"Aye, ma'am," Nair said with a curt nod of his own. Without a further word, he turned and headed back to the small changing room where he'd left his insulation suit, leaving Smith to continue overseeing the warp core sweep.
He had a lot to think on, he knew, and a lot that he had to get used to. Much of what Strannik had said had opened the door to some very uncomfortable questions that he couldn't ignore. Were nonbelievers like him really capable of the same levels of atrocity that the Chastised had committed? Was it really possible to be a person of science and reason, and still maintain a spiritual belief, as Strannik professed to do? Almost everything that the Commander had said contradicted the things Nair had been taught by his elders in the murky depths of Deepwell Seven, and yet Strannik had said them with a compelling sincerity that Arkos couldn't ignore.
Could Uncle Syrkhu and all the others have been wrong?
He opened the locker and pulled the insulation suit out. The meeting, if he was honest with himself, had left him feeling shaky and confused, as though the firm ground under his feet had been violently uprooted. So for now, he told himself, he would focus on other things- like fixing the booster modulator--and save the important, existential questions for later. And, if he could, he was going to see about apologizing to Gerstein, assuming the Human was still on speaking terms with him after this.
Quietly, he slid the insulation suit on. In his first year in the Federation, he thought to himself, he had learned about places, peoples and things that he'd never even dreamed existed. In his second year, he had learned how to use, fix, and build machines that had once defied his imagination. Now, almost at the end of this second year, he had just learned things that had shaken his fundamental beliefs down to their very core.
If these were the first two years of the rest of his life, then he was excited to see what would happen next.
Christian Gaming Community Fleets--Faith, Fun, and Fellowship! See the website and PM for more. :-)
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All I am is a man
I want this world right in my hands
I hate the beach, but I stand
In California with my toes in the sand
Use the sleeves on my sweater
Let's have an adventure
Head's in the clouds but my gravity centered
Touch my neck and I'll touch yours
You in those little high waisted shorts
She knows what I think about
And what I think about
One love, two mouths
One love, one house
No shirt, no blouse
Just us, you find out
Nothin' I really wanna tell you about, no
'Cuz it's too cold
For you here right now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes
And again if I may just take your breath away
I don't mind if there's not much to say
Sometimes the silence guides your mind
So move to a place so far away
The goosebumps start race
The minute that my left hand meets your waist
And then I watch your face
Put my finger on your tongue 'cuz you love the taste
These hearts adore
Everyone the other beats hardest for
Inside this place is warm
Outside it starts to pour
Coming down
One love, two mouths
One love, one house
No shirt, no blouse
Just us, you find out
Nothin' I really wanna tell you 'bout
Oh no...
'Cuz it's too cold
For you here and now
So let me hold
Both your hands in the holes of my sweater...
Jesse Rutherford, Zachary Abels, and Jeremy Freedman of The Neighbourhood - "Sweater Weather"
C O M I N G . D O W N
Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth - Stardate 88445.85 (06.11.2411, 1736 hours PST)
Rusty walked slowly around the gardens of the Starfleet Academy campus. He hadn't been here since his graduation eighteen years ago. Not much had changed. Boothby's rhododendrons smelled the same. The cold fog off the bay felt the same. Cadets and professors still started at him, same as before...
He hated this place. He hated the overwhelming floral stench. He hated the weather. He hated the gawking people... He tucked himself deeper into his hooded sweatshirt and wished he was a million miles away.
"Commandah!"
Rusty turned, smiling. Just hearing her exuberant voice made being here again worthwhile. "Georgia! How did it go?"
Georgia Nguyen approached, proudly showing off her shiny gold pip. "You be lookin' at Stahfleet's newest officah."
"I knew you'd pass."
"Thanks t' you, and Mr. Barrister." She shivered.
"Here." Rusty pulled off his hoodie and handed it off to her.
"Naw, ah'll be arright-"
"Take it," Rusty insisted. "I grew up on this world, but its thirty degrees colder than what you're used to."
She accepted the sweatshirt. "Thank ya, suh."
"Ensign, your first official order is drop the 'Sir' and 'Commander' business until we return to the ship. We're on shore leave until Jesu's done with the Council, and my name's Rusty."
"Right su- Rusty."
The Deinon smiled at her. "Now then, Georgia, what do you want to do? See the sights of the city, or head somewhere warmer?"
"Warmah would be bettah," she mumbled. "D'you have some place in mind?"
"We can transport to anywhere in the world," Rusty told her. "But I have a good place in mind..."
La Paz, Baja California
Ens. Nguyen gasped at the breathtaking vista that greeted her as she stepped off the transporter pad. From the hill overlooking the city, she could see the emerald water of the Bahia de La Paz blending into the sapphire Sea of Cortez. The city itself glistened beneath the setting sun like a bed of pearls, with its whitewashed adobe walls, refractive glass windows and glinting solar panels. "Bee-ootiful!" she exclaimed. "What is this place?"
"This is where Jesu and I call home whenever we're in port," Rusty told her.
"You mean you live here?"
"Used to. Dad still does. Jesu and I think of the Tiburon as home now, but..." Rusty inhaled the fish-scented salt air. "...this place will always be special."
"Can we go down there?" Georgia pointed to the bay.
"Sure! Let's, um, rent you a bike, or a hoverboard or something..."
"What about you?"
"Don't worry," Rusty told her. "I'll keep up."
* * *
They watched the stars come out over the bay as the sun set behind them over the Baja Peninsula.
"The stahs all look so different heah," she whispered.
"Well, we are about two thousand light years from your world." Rusty stood a short distance behind her, leaning back on his tail, with his arms loose at his sides and his toes wiggling in the sand. "You can't even see the Moab binary from here without a telescope."
"Hmm. That's okay. I like this place bettah." She leaned back against him, and he let her. "Can we stay here?"
"Well, to be honest with you, I hate the ocean," Rusty told her. "I had a bad experience on a surfboard once... But as long as you don't try to drag me into the water, sure. We can stay here."
"Good." She reached back for his hands and pulled them into pocket-holes in the sweatshirt she was still wearing.
Rusty just stood there like nothing was happening. "Also, if you'd like, I can take you to the Moab Wilderness Area in Utah, so you can see how your planet got its name."
"Ah think ah'd lahk that." She craned her head back to face his. "Actually, ah'd like anythin' that means spendin' tahm with you.
Rusty tongued the inside of his teeth. "Ensign-"
"Georgia," she said. "We's on shore leave, 'member?"
Rusty shifted his hands so they were holding hers. "Georgia..."
"Wut?"
"Nuthin'..."
Two hours later
Georgia was tired and Rusty was hungry, so they went to Carlos LaRoca's bungalow up the coast. "This is where your dad lives?"
"Yeah," Rusty told her as he let them in. "Doesn't look like he's around now though. He's probably got his boat halfway up the Gulf. Big tuna season just started..." He checked the food stasis unit in the kitchen. "We're in luck - he remembered we were coming and stocked up. Do you want tuna or yellowtail?"
"What's 'tuna'?"
"A fish. Very meaty." He held out a filet.
"Kashrut?" she asked.
"Dunno about kosher, but it's really good."
Georgia shrugged. "Ah'll trah it."
"Okay." Rusty moved through the kitchen in a reddish blur as he sliced vegetables, flash-steamed rice and seared the tuna steaks on a grill pan. He loaded up a couple of plates and said "Oh, drinks!"
Georgia followed his eyes to Senor LaRoca's well-stocked bar, and she investigated. "What's tequila?"
Three hours later...
She'd taken of Rusty's sweatshirt and draped it over them as they lay on the couch together. They'd spent the last few hours not saying much. She snuggled her shoulders into the crook of his arm and sighed contentedly. He brushed her hair away from her face, and she caught his pinky finger in her mouth. "Mmm. You taste good."
"Hey, I've seen some of the things your people eat," he laughed.
She giggled back. "Ah think ah'm in love with you, Rusty."
"I noticed."
"Do you... Ah mean, would you be my boyfriend?"
"I can be whatever you need me to be," he told her after a moment. "And right now, you need someone who can be more than just a friend to you. You lost your home, and your family. You need someone to show you love. I can do that."
"Youh so wonderful," she whispered as she rolled closer to him. "Th' Adm'ral's so lucky to have you for a brothuh."
"Uh-huh."
She reached under his shirt, feeling the pebbly yet soft skin of his belly. "How far can we take this?"
"How do you mean?"
"Ya know, like, sex and stuff."
"I don't know," he said slowly. "I've never actually been... physically intimate with anyone before. I'm not sure how - or if - we could take this relationship all the way..."
She started to take off her blouse. "I guess we'll hafta find out."
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
As always, even though I will unstick this as I prep to post #51, feel free to still contribute if you'd like to and have not yet.
Cheers,
Brandon =/\=
The officers filed into the room and sat in their usual chairs. Each person held a PADD in their hands and quietly placed them on the table and patiently waited. Several seconds later, another officer, the Captain, entered the room and sat at the head of the table. She looked to each of the command staff assembled in turn, then said, "Let's get started".
The Andorian officer to the Captain's left stood. First Officer Anthi Ythysi tapped her PADD on the table and the viewscreen at the other end of the room activated. The staff turned their heads to see the data pull-up on the screen.
"Bur'ar. Klingon. Terran age, 34. Homeworld, Ahza IV in the Aldaberan Sector. Security track."
Anthi walked toward the video display with her PADD in hand. "While Solaris was docked at ESD he was assigned to Lieutenant Commander Karl Melango. Both were to oversee the Gorn prisoner transfer to Starfleet Security Corps. During the walk from the brig, one of the prisoners became agitated -",
Anthi tapped the PADD and the personnel data changed to a video presentation showing two large Gorn shackled and walking in file. In front of the pair was a human Starfllet officer with a Klingon at the rear. The scene shows the rear Gorn turn his head. The Klingon stopped and pointed forward. The Gorn turned and launched himself at the Klingon, alerting the other two in the scene. A swirling melee ensues with all four participants. After several seconds the Klingon is subduing the attacking Gorn, then relieves the human of his combatant with a few strikes.
Turning to the assembled officers, Anthi could see they were impressed. "Cadet Bur'ar showed restraint and applied appropriate ... pressure, so to speak, to subdue the prisoners. Collateral damage was extremely minimal and Karl, obviously, has recovered from any wounds." The officers looked at Karl who still had a slight bruise above his right eye. He blushed at the attention. Anthi continued, "He maintained accurate reports and performed routine duties with exemplary attention to detail." Anthi closed the presentation and sat back down.
Chief Engineer Thel Ythysi stood and mimicked his sisters actions to prepare for his presentation. He smiled briefly as he turned to his fellow officers. Kathryn's eyebrows raised from surprise as she thought that was the first time he had seen Thel smile.
"S'Rel. Vulcan. Terran age, 30. Homeworld, Vulcan in the Vulcan Sector. Technical fabrication track.
As we were completing a refit of the Aegis Hyper-Impulse Engines, S'Rel was assigned diagnostic duty. She noticed a fracture in the Export D-52C coupling to the active tachyon grid overhead manifold at junction K-44J." As Thel spoke, he raised a schematic of the Excelsior-class ship. At each word the image enlarged, rotated and moved with various sections highlighting the show the audience where he meant to direct their attention. For Kathryn, she was privately thankful for the visual images.
"After running a level two diagnostic, S'Rel correctly determined a tritanium duraplast patch would be sufficient to prevent further damage. This was standard functional procedure. This was also the most efficient path in terms of repair time and resources." He turned from the screen and paused for effect.
"However, S'Rel notified her site superior, Lieutenant Ian McKinnon of an alternative." He returned to the image and it moved several 'meters' by the schematic legend. "Coincidentally, S'Rel's father was one of the engineers that developed the prototype Aegis engines. She has a intimate knowledge of the entire project from its inception. She used the prototype schematics toward her suggestion." Looking back to the officers, Thel said sternly, "the prototype set, as we should all know, was superior to the mass production version. Utopia Planetia, in their prudence, developed various shortcuts which, ultimately, caused the fracture to the coupling." He turned back to the schematic, "S'Rel's alternative involved fabricating a trianium-infused polycarbon lattice frame to the junction network here ... here ... and here. The structural integrity of the affected coupling doubled to better-than-prototype specification."
Thel turned to Kathryn. "Based on this event, not only was our stay at ESD extended five days, I also submitted a proposal to Starfleet Corps of Engineers to modify existing Aegis Engine components back to prototype standards. S'Rel's cadet record should be noted that the proposal was based on her work." Thel closed his presentation and sat into his chair, a slight smirk tugged at one corner of his lips.
After a few seconds of silence, Captain Beringer spoke. "Well done. So, based on these report, shall I presume you are recommending a transfer to Solaris?
Both siblings looked to each other and nodded.
"Consider it done. Unless there is anything further to add, then return to your duty stations. Our next stop is Nukara Prime."
"Captain." Kathryn Beringer turns her command chair toward her Science Chief's station. The Trill's eyes reflect the data scrolling on her screen and she is hunched over the console table extension. "Sensors report a large asteroid is within the Sathir System, 33 parsecs from our position. It's on a collision course with Sathir III, an M-class planet." Omazei's voice is tinged with concern.
Kathryn's curiosity pulled her toward the Science station. First Officer Anthi Ythysi approached as well, the Andorian's professional demeanor could be heard as she walked across the bridge. All three officers reviewed the data as it crawled across three separate monitors.
Kathryn stood straight and crossed her arms. "The asteroid is large enough to do significant damage. What is known about Sathir III?"
Omazei looked up, "records show there is a pre-flight culture established. The USS Misericorde catalogued the system in 2405. I ran a deep space scan and the planet does not have any artificial satellites in orbit. They may be aware of the asteroid though."
Anthi looked away from the console to Kathryn. "Captain, we are expected at Corinth IV and our schedule is already tight. Naturally the Prime Directive prevents us from helping."
"I know. I hate to say it, but we can only hope they don't know what going to hit them. We will have to resume our course and notify Starfleet to conduct a follow-up mission to update records."
A beeping sound chirped from the Science console capturing the officer's attention. Omazei tapped a few keys before looking back to Kathryn. "Captain, new telemetry suggests the asteroid in emitting an energy signature."
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual. Any further details?"
Omazei turned to the station and tapped even more keys. "Unusual is right. It's a nuclear energy source, fission-type and faint but detectable. It's leaving a trail."
"Can we determine where the trail leads?"
Omazei shrugged. "Not yet. More time is needed to evaluate."
Kathryn stood in thought for a few seconds before turning to the Helmsman. "Mister McKinnon, if we accelerated to Warp nine and included a Transwarp jump, how much sooner would we arrive at Corinth IV?"
Ian McKinnon used his console to recalculate travel times. "Three hours, sir."
Anthi stepped closer to Kathryn. "Based on protocols that’s still close, Captain."
She returned Anthi’s stare. "I agree, but an asteroid emitting nuclear fission is not natural. I don't perceive the Prime Directive protects us anymore." Looking back to Ian, Kathryn raised her voice. "Mister McKinnon, change course to heading six-three-seven mark two, warp seven. Omazei, continue scanning that asteroid, I need to know why it's leaking nuclear fission as soon as possible."
+++
"Captain, telemetry indicates the nuclear energy is emanating from a metallic structure embedded on the surface." Omazei sounded incredulous. "Analysis shows the nuclear particles are only a few hundred years old."
"“What about the source?" Kathryn’s mind was reeling from the possibilities. The Solaris was on an intercept course and the further he moved away from their expected course the more likely the treaty negotiations with the Kromrif were going to be difficult, at best.
After a few seconds Omazei reported, "details are sketchy but it's a power source on an artificial satellite. I can presume it crashed on the asteroid."
Kathryn's brow furrowed and she looked to Anthi, who only shook her head slightly. "Can we determine who constructed the satellite?"
"If these readings are correct … it originated from ... Earth."
Everyone on the bridge looked to Omazei. Kathryn said what they were all thinking. "What?!"
"The closer we get, the more detailed the information becomes, but I"m reading this was one of the Fesenkov series."
Kathryn raised a hand to her mouth as if trying to avoid saying something. "Omazei, given the relative sizes of the Fesenkov satellite and the asteroid is it possible the asteroid trajectory could have been affected by the impact?"
"Yes, Captain."
"So, technically," Kathryn looked to Anthi. "We're responsible for what's going to happen to Sathir III if we don’t act."
Anthi nodded a few times in thought before responding. "Agreed."
Looking around the bridge Kathryn could see everyone concurred. "Then it is settled. Mister McKinnon, increase speed to warp eight and recalculate for a second Transwarp jump to Corinth IV. Captain to Engineering."
"This is Engineering," replied Chief Engineer Thel Ythysi.
"Thel, I know we are pushing Solaris for this mission, but I am going to need extended maximum warp to get back to Corinth IV with two T-jumps as well."
"It can be done, but I may need to conduct a few repairs at Corinth after this, as well as a promise not to do it again ... ever."
So, without further ado, my LC 38 redux: "We'll always have that really awful thing in New York." This is one of Three's earliest adventures in the Trek universe.
Captain's log, no clue when; it's probably in the 21st century, though. You know me and my ship. Also, Frankie? Next time your mooks mess with the computers, stay out of the files marked "Janeway Array configuration".
Which reminds me. Frankie, I'm going to kill you when I get back.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. The George Takei is at the bottom of the Atlantic, near New York. Fortunately, the structural integrity is stable.
Unfortunately, the warp core is offline, the parts we need are on the surface, and there is a runabout impaled on the Statue of Liberty. And it is all because some idiot deleted the configuration programs for the Janeway Array to make way for some spyware, which resulted in my ship falling through a spatiotemporal continuum lapse.
So Frankie? If I get back, I'm going to kill you.
Three hours before. Korvat III, 25th century.
"And Qapla' yourself, thlIngan! See you guys around, and thanks for the help. It was my quv and balth to fight by your side."
I wave to Gamat'Elon at the tactical console, and he cuts the hail. We've just finished with some cooperative hunting with a couple of Klingon ships; there was a nasty incident involving an escaped augment, who is currently cooling his broken heels (and ribs. And arms. And jaw) in my brig.
I know that my orders were to take him whole, but he shot my first officer in the arm. He's lucky I didn't dice him on the spot. And no, that is not a euphemism.
"Alright. Gamat'Elon, set a course for Earth, warp 6. Power up the Janeway Array; we haven't had anything really freaky happen for about a week."
"Sir, do we really need that?"
"D'vek, when was the last time you bet against my genre savvy?"
He has the decency to look embarrassed. "Two weeks ago. When Commander Shran was using the holodeck alone a lot."
"And what did I bet?"
"That she was having holo-dates in a 20th or 21st century novel."
"And what was she doing?"
"She was having an affair with a hologram of you in a reskinned Brandon Sanderson program."
"And how much latinum did you lose?"
"Twenty bars, sir."
"Correct. Power up the Janeway Array."
I call the array of quantum disturbance sensors and cruise control programs the Janeway Array because of the Janeway Factor, the likelihood of an individual to experience weird space-time stuff. Mine is over five Kirk units, which is a LOT. Most of my crew is a few dozen Archers, but Azip and D'vek are just over a Kirk.
Fortunately, none of us have even a tenth of a Janeway (a Janeway is a hundred Kirks, a Kirk is a hundred Archers, and an Archer is a hundred Siskos. Most people in Starfleet are one Sisko; the galactic average is around half a Sisko. The related Picard scale is used for people who have interactions with the Q continuum), or else we'd be erased by DTI for being a gross threat to the timeline. I settle back into my specially-made oversized Captain's chair.
"Ok, people. Let's hope for smooth saili--"
Predictably, there is an explosion and the red alert sirens start to blare. I find myself airborne.
Wow. Gamat'Elon looks really strange from this angle.
Then my head punches through a console, and I'm too busy shaking and rolling on the ground trying to put out the flames in my hair to think of anything else.
"I am losing engine power and we are stuck in a gravity well! We are going down!" screams Gamat'Elon from the helm. I give up and rip my burning hair right out of my scalp.
"What gravity well? Was there a negative space wedgie? What about the array?"
D'vek swears--something about ch'Rihan bees mulching Section 31 to make their hives.
"Sir! Someone stripped the array's programming and replaced it with what looks like spyware!"
"When I get my hands on Franklin Drake...right. Gamat'Elon, let the gravity well take us, that's not enough pull for a star; we're close to a planet. Get the viewscreen online!"
"Done!" yells D'vek.
I recognize the planet. I grew up there, after all. Earth.
"Well, looks like we're home. Engineering! How's the warp core?"
"Warp core is offline, sir!" yells Belkrab over the intercom. "We've got a plasma fire--no, that hose! Not the water, the liquid nitrogen! Yeah, go, go! We've got a plasma fire and the redshirt protection barriers haven't activated. We need to find a nice soft place to land!"
"Got it. Helm, take us down to the planet, full thrusters."
We hit the atmosphere, and I just manage to grab a rail before I go flying. Autorestraint harnesses. I need those. Must upgrade the ship next time we're in spacedock.
There is a lot of screaming, computerized warnings about re-entry, shields offline, and atmospheric friction, but it only lasts about a minute. Then we hit the water.
I lose my grip and crash through the floor. It takes me a minute to get back to my feet, shake the dizziness--indicative of minor but repairable brain damage--out of my head, and climb back up. By this time, we are sinking slowly.
"Report!"
"Shields are down, Vor-Captain, but hull integrity is stable. We are running on emergency power. Thrusters are slowing us, but we will hit the bottom."
"That's fine. Did we loose anything when we hit?"
"The shuttlebay doors were lost on descent, and a runabout was thrown free before the forcefield came online."
"Right. Commander Shran should be ready by now; land the ship, then come with her and me to see what's up out there. Commander D'vek, you have the big chair. Ensign, get down to engineering and get me a list of supplies that we need to make repairs."
And without further ado I drop back through the Three-shaped hole in the floor and head for Sickbay.
Three hours later
When I borrowed this shuttle from the Rommies, I never thought it would be so useful.
Luckily for us, it is night-time, and the shuttle's cloak works. We managed to get a mobile cloak module (new tech that I "borrowed" from some Section 31 guys who tried to infiltrate the George Takei) onto the runabout before the news helicopters and military types showed up, but now the Statue of Liberty appears to be missing the top of her head.
Whoops.
We (me, Azip Shran, and Gamat'Elon) are currently double-checking our computer systems to make sure that our plan to use a tractor beam to move the runabout Brandon Felczer off of the Statue's head will work.
"Looks like we're clear, sir."
"Good. Gamat'Elon, signal the William Shatner."
Ten seconds later, the sleek white shape of a type-10 shuttlecraft bursts from the waves and heads for New York City, launching low-powered phaser blasts at the assembled tanks and reporters. Not enough to actually hurt anyone (assuming they don't do anything stupid like running directly into the blasts), but enough to cause some nice, distracting flashes and bangs.
It's a good thing that the TPD was already shot to hell. Otherwise I would've been in huge trouble for this with DTI.
The media and military guys pursue the shuttle in their helicopters. Those who can't get to the helicopters in time race for the Coast Guard boats down at the shores of the island.
Baseline Humans are so predictable.
We wait a minute. Our only witnesses are two soldiers with AR-15s.
"Alright. Do it now. Keep the shields up."
"Yes, sir."
"No need for formalities, call me Three."
Andorians turn purple when they blush. Interesting.
"Activating tractor beam," says Gamat'Elon. "Cloak is deactivated."
"It's OK if they see us. This period had plenty of UFO sightings. Now lever the runabout off, easy does it. Eeeeasy.....don't break it!"
"I've got it, sir--I mean, Three."
"Good...Gamat'Elon, make sure the shields are still up, those Marines are shooting at us."
"Shields are holding. Minimal damage."
"Good."
The top of the Statue of Liberty's head slowly reappears as the Brandon Felczer, cloak module and all, rises haltingly in the tractor beam.
"OK, we've cleared the crown. Now let's get it back down to the ship. Call the William Shatner and tell them to circle around and come back underwater. Activate the sensor disruption field, too; I don't want to get caught by subs and mined by a battleship."
The Marines look on open-mouthed as we slide gently beneath the waves with the invisible runabout in tow.
"Right," I say. "Let's get the runabout back, and then go shopping."
16 hours later.
Repairs are finally done (don't ask where we got the superconductors, you don't want to know), the George Takei is almost ready to lift off and slingshot around the Sun to head back home (we hope), and the crew is all happy and safe. There's an alien fad going around, but there isn't much we can do about that. Hopefully this is an alternate timeline or something.
The President--Obama, the one before the one before the one my Original dated before she became my Original (they were in college; long story)--made some kind of speech about the United States's response to the "alien attack". He's got a nice voice--then again, most successful politicians do.
The press is going wild with blurry pictures of the William Shatner. They got a reasonably clear one of its side, complete with name and serial number, so of course they're going wild with that and badgering William Shatner, who is currently having a great time on CNN.
There's only one more thing for me to do.
"Commander, can you get some plastiskin and put on this hat? I'd like to take you for a walk in the city."
Azip blushes and mutters "Sure" at the edge of my hearing.
I nod to D'vek and Gamat'Elon. They and Belkrab have a betting pool going. D'vek is betting his life savings on a kiss.
We beam up to a nice, concealed spot in Central Park. A short stroll down past the reservoir (we're disguised as birdwatchers of the British style, binoculars and floppy tan hats and all) results in some pleasant light exercise and leaves us by the American Museum of Natural History.
We head straight up to the fourth floor. Hall of Saurischian dinosaurs; very busy, lots of school groups. Perfect for a little chat that I don't want to be overheard. We end up sitting on a bench, looking at a skull of a Tyrannosaurus rex.
"So this is 65 million years old?"
"Yup. I killed it after I got my metal. My Original took unit designation One and me on a safari. Unit designation Two was on Contract at the time. Anyway, that rex was unlucky enough to stumble across us, and I killed it. We left a time probe with the body, left it for preservation, and stopped back a week before it was discovered to pick up the locator. Lots of fun. Damn hassle to make sure we weren't discovered, but it was a damn good time."
She puts her arm around my shoulders. Yeah. Definitely infatuated. I tend to attract a certain kind of person--and Azip is that kind of person.
"Captain--I mean, Three--I'm getting kind of bored with these bones. Maybe the xenoarchaeology team would enjoy this place, but I'm kind of hungry. What say we head back to the ship and get some dinner in the mess hall?"
"Just one more stop. I guarantee you'll love it, and you'll forget about the mess hall by the time we're done."
"All right..." she says with a bit of a laugh. "But it'd better REALLY be worth it!"
She's grinning as I grab her hand. She really does like me a lot. Well, the Original did say that we needed to see how intimate relationships would affect Loyalty. Might as well let myself get attached to someone fun, pretty, and good at surviving firefights.
The "one more stop" is a little vegan restaurant a few blocks down from the Museum called Blossom. I'm glad that it's here in this timeline; it's one of my Original's favorite places, and hence one of mine. I'd hate to have to settle for the pizza joint down the street (nothing wrong with pizza, just not right for a first date).
We order food, and I ask for one of the restaurant's special vegan Orange Dreamsicle smoothies (which really taste just like orange creamsicles) with two straws. The waitress "aawww"s as Azip ducks her head (plastiskin; among its other functions is blocking out blushes, something that she is likely quite happy about).
Azip is silent through most of dinner as I share stories of dumb things that my Original's acquaintances from my universe have done. She finally speaks up as the waitress is getting the receipt.
"So...Three...thanks a lot for dinner."
"No problem."
"Um...I don't know how to say this...do you like me?"
"Outside of my loyalty? Yes. I can tell that you like me; if you want to start something, I'm fine. If you want to wait, I'm always here for you."
She ducks her head again, no doubt blushing furiously under her disguise.
"I...well, I'd love to, but there's fraternization regulations..."
"Let me worry about that. I don't mind being court-martialed again, and anyway I can pass it off as relapses of alien mind control. That happens enough in Star Trek; advanced aliens performing dumbass experiments on humanoids. It should be enough."
"I...oh, damn it." She lunges halfway across the small table, grabs me by the head (almost tearing off the red wig I'm using until my hair grows back), and kisses me passionately.
The staff go "Aaaaawwwww!"
I let her slip her tongue into my mouth as I wrap my arms around her. It is...different, in some way, from the thousand of one-night stands and casual relationships I've had. I shall need to keep a journal.
My communicator (disguised as a cell phone) buzzes from my pocket. I curse (muffled by the kiss), and pull it out with my right arm. There is a text message from D'vek saying that we're ready to go.
I break the kiss and close the communicator as the waitress puts the receipt on the table with a little smile and a wink. I seem to have been given a 50% deduction for being part of a cute couple.
"Alright, sweetie. We'd better head back." I pull a hundred out of my shirt pocket and drop it on top of the receipt. "Keep the change."
Azip and I throw on our jackets and head out hand in hand.
I'm still going to get Frankie for this. But I think I'll just prank him instead of killing him. After all, nobody died, no major injuries, and I got a nice date.