So I figured this would be a cool little activity while the servers are down. The idea is that anyone who wants to participate writes a short story or log about what your character was doing 20 years into the past.
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That's fun! I'm so gonna get on that.
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((I was about to write something about when Alina was 9 years old but I nearly forgot she has a 13 year gap, lol.. this gives me an interesting opportunity though))
Near the Romulan Neutral Zone, U.S.S. Europa, 2395
The warbird hung in the viewscreen frame, it was an older variation of the T'varo, one of the more ubiquitous models. It was easy to find junked or unused Imperial Warbirds these days on the aftermarket since Hobus occured, but harder to get the best repair services. This one had evidence of being patched up rather sloppily, and the pattern of where previous damage had been was telling.
Leaning over the tactical console, Commander John McHale, a Trill of about 30 years old looked over at Lt. Prohm, the Bajorian tactical officer, "It's the same ship he used to priss the Monte Carlo 3 years ago... but even with the patch job be ready with anything... M'ret is too smart to underestimate, even if he is crazy." John said to Prohm, who nodded. Striding over more center of the small room, it was clear tension was a bit high. It was a bad time to get caught by surprise by a Romulan enemy, much less one with a personal grudge against John. However now was especially bad. Captain Jeffery Parks was away from the ship on leave, and John was in command at the time. It made for an uncertain situation.
He moved over to the left side of the small bridge where Ensign Alina Mandra sat. John barely knew this girl, she only just started bridge shifts at the science station a month ago, and the Chief Science Officer was also the second officer and thus now acting first officer, otherwise they would have relieved the young Trill officer when the call to go to alert status came. Alina was just unfortunate to have been on the current shift. Still, as the Europa's first officer, it was John's job to know about his crew, and he knew that Alina had already made a name for herself as a computer genius, including getting published at Academy. He knelt near the science console.
"You think you can get me any kind of computer advantage here? A peek at his systems, something to affect defenses?" John asked silently, he knew from her file Alina was a bit nervous under pressure sometimes.
"I have almost no experience with Romulan data systems... the language is hard enough... but computer code defies language... I did notice a familiar pattern when he did his transmission earlier. While he was going on about changing fates and his alleged time machine I did a isolinear analysis. See to communicate via subspace all ships regardless of affiliation need to quickly do a data burst on a wide frequency range in order to match up standards. Any Comm officer can tell you this.. but what they wouldn't know is that ships with an outdated encryption suite create a backdoor in their security mainframe when they do it." She replied, a slight quiver at first but the more she said the more confident it sounded. John grinned.
"They said you were a computer genius."
"Who?"
"So will his ship do that again or does it remember the frequency?" he asked, ignoring her question.
"No.. not unless it is a standard type used, and I asked LtCmdr. Sivak already, he says the Star Empire has never favored switching to any frequencies matching Starfleet communications." she noted.
"Yeah sounds like the kind of trivia he'd know... So if we bait him into another communication, in the time he connects.. what can you do?"
"What do you need me to do?" she said with a wry smile, John was getting to like this girl... she might be in for a better shift position soon.
"Perhaps get a command into his computer that will allow the shields a lapse that I can use to transport over? I'll get with Christine about setting that bit up." he said, she looked at him a bit curious.
"She is going to quote regs at you sir.... you are acting Captain and all.." she said, knowing LtCmdr. April was stingy, especially when it came to McHale. The two were old friends from their previous assignment on the Monte Carlo. April has followed him here to keep him out of trouble. Alina found Christine's work attitude to be annoying, but she was too new to really judge.
"I'll handle her... when it comes to M'ret... this is a personal matter. I can't risk anyone of the crew over it. I'll go over there and we'll have a talk... I just need you to make some magic happen, k?" he explained.
"Is magic what you call any form of technical stuff you don't understand?" she wondered out loud.
"I'm an Engineer.. I understand everything, heheh.. But I don't know data information theory like you do." he smirked and stood up to go tell Sivak the details of his plan.
He later would convince Christine, and then as a safeguard in case M'ret reacted badly he made sure to get all of the crew except the few he needed beamed down to the planet the two shifts were orbiting so they were out of harm's way. Like he said, he wouldn't endanger anyone else over a personal matter. He needed Prohm for tactical, Alina for her computer wizardry and science station work, Christine for Engineering, and Sivak to take over until he got back though. So they stayed. No one would have guessed that by the end of that day John would have damaged the mysterious temporal device M'ret somehow acquired and caused a reaction that catapulted the two ships 13 years into the future.
The end of Alina's first year in Starfleet post-Academy ended up being 14 years since graduation that day.
Near the Romulan Neutral Zone, U.S.S. Europa, 2395
The warbird hung in the viewscreen frame, it was an older variation of the T'varo, one of the more ubiquitous models. It was easy to find junked or unused Imperial Warbirds these days on the aftermarket since Hobus occured, but harder to get the best repair services. This one had evidence of being patched up rather sloppily, and the pattern of where previous damage had been was telling.
Leaning over the tactical console, Commander John McHale, a Trill of about 30 years old looked over at Lt. Prohm, the Bajorian tactical officer, "It's the same ship he used to priss the Monte Carlo 3 years ago... but even with the patch job be ready with anything... M'ret is too smart to underestimate, even if he is crazy." John said to Prohm, who nodded. Striding over more center of the small room, it was clear tension was a bit high. It was a bad time to get caught by surprise by a Romulan enemy, much less one with a personal grudge against John. However now was especially bad. Captain Jeffery Parks was away from the ship on leave, and John was in command at the time. It made for an uncertain situation.
He moved over to the left side of the small bridge where Ensign Alina Mandra sat. John barely knew this girl, she only just started bridge shifts at the science station a month ago, and the Chief Science Officer was also the second officer and thus now acting first officer, otherwise they would have relieved the young Trill officer when the call to go to alert status came. Alina was just unfortunate to have been on the current shift. Still, as the Europa's first officer, it was John's job to know about his crew, and he knew that Alina had already made a name for herself as a computer genius, including getting published at Academy. He knelt near the science console.
"You think you can get me any kind of computer advantage here? A peek at his systems, something to affect defenses?" John asked silently, he knew from her file Alina was a bit nervous under pressure sometimes.
"I have almost no experience with Romulan data systems... the language is hard enough... but computer code defies language... I did notice a familiar pattern when he did his transmission earlier. While he was going on about changing fates and his alleged time machine I did a isolinear analysis. See to communicate via subspace all ships regardless of affiliation need to quickly do a data burst on a wide frequency range in order to match up standards. Any Comm officer can tell you this.. but what they wouldn't know is that ships with an outdated encryption suite create a backdoor in their security mainframe when they do it." She replied, a slight quiver at first but the more she said the more confident it sounded. John grinned.
"They said you were a computer genius."
"Who?"
"So will his ship do that again or does it remember the frequency?" he asked, ignoring her question.
"No.. not unless it is a standard type used, and I asked LtCmdr. Sivak already, he says the Star Empire has never favored switching to any frequencies matching Starfleet communications." she noted.
"Yeah sounds like the kind of trivia he'd know... So if we bait him into another communication, in the time he connects.. what can you do?"
"What do you need me to do?" she said with a wry smile, John was getting to like this girl... she might be in for a better shift position soon.
"Perhaps get a command into his computer that will allow the shields a lapse that I can use to transport over? I'll get with Christine about setting that bit up." he said, she looked at him a bit curious.
"She is going to quote regs at you sir.... you are acting Captain and all.." she said, knowing LtCmdr. April was stingy, especially when it came to McHale. The two were old friends from their previous assignment on the Monte Carlo. April has followed him here to keep him out of trouble. Alina found Christine's work attitude to be annoying, but she was too new to really judge.
"I'll handle her... when it comes to M'ret... this is a personal matter. I can't risk anyone of the crew over it. I'll go over there and we'll have a talk... I just need you to make some magic happen, k?" he explained.
"Is magic what you call any form of technical stuff you don't understand?" she wondered out loud.
"I'm an Engineer.. I understand everything, heheh.. But I don't know data information theory like you do." he smirked and stood up to go tell Sivak the details of his plan.
He later would convince Christine, and then as a safeguard in case M'ret reacted badly he made sure to get all of the crew except the few he needed beamed down to the planet the two shifts were orbiting so they were out of harm's way. Like he said, he wouldn't endanger anyone else over a personal matter. He needed Prohm for tactical, Alina for her computer wizardry and science station work, Christine for Engineering, and Sivak to take over until he got back though. So they stayed. No one would have guessed that by the end of that day John would have damaged the mysterious temporal device M'ret somehow acquired and caused a reaction that catapulted the two ships 13 years into the future.
The end of Alina's first year in Starfleet post-Academy ended up being 14 years since graduation that day.
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A small medical officer stood at the far-side of the mess hall, near a replicator. Her eyes darted around the room, in case she need to quickly walk off before someone approached her. The officer had short, slicked back hair, violet eyes, and vented ears. There was no mistaking her, everyone on the ship knew her as Keth, the one Vorta lieutenant that somehow got into Starfleet.
Keth tapped at the replicator, and as soon as her bowl of kava nuts and rippleberries was done materializing, she grabbed them and started to scamper off toward her corridors. She didn't like talking to people, and she was afraid of their opinion of her since only twenty years ago she had been fighting against Starfleet. So, she ate in her quarters so that people wouldn't approach her with questions, interrogations, or accusations as they had in the past.
Before she could get far though a fellow medical officer came up to her. This Lieutenant Commander had been working with Keth on treating a particular patient. Despite coming from the Dominion, the medical staff trusted her after seeing just how successful she could be as a doctor.
"Hello there Keth. The patient seems to be reacting well to the treatments, I was wondering if we could converse about what would be best for his post-treatment options."
Keth smiled and nodded. "Yes, of course." She didn't talk much, experience told her that if you just smile and don't let your mouth run people can't accuse you of much. This was how she was up until the Iconian War. Just smile and be quite. Twenty years from now, however, the Iconian War would happen, and the Dominion would help the Allied forces fight over Sol. This was when she decided it was alright for her to start talking more. That was when she joined Deep Space 13.
A flamboyant and extravagant doctor stood in front of a group of True Way officers. She smiled wide and stared at each of them with her violet eyes, ensuring that everyone knew she was watching them. The doctor had a long, white jacket, a cunning smile, and vented ears. There was no mistaking her, every one of the officers knew her as Keth, the Vorta geneticist with no concept of morality.
Keth bowed towards the officers, arms wide. She straighted up and flatted out her jacket as she prepared her speech on why she should get funded more. Talking to people was the highlight of her day, watching them squirm at her unorthodox methods and unethical research brought her much joy. Despite this she did need to bring up valid arguments in this situation. If she told her associates of her true goal, they would think of her as insane and quit funding her.
"Hello my beloved associates. I believe it is time we had a talk. You see, I'm afraid that while your support has been much appreciated, I need a bit more funding. It is perfectly understandable if you do not wish to do so, but I implore you, listen to my reasoning."
Keth grinned and clasped her hands together. She ran her mouth off and still got what she wanted, simply because nobody dared to refuse her. This is how she garnered so much support for her experiments. That and she would provide them with soldiers and bioweapons. Twenty years from now, however, she would go toe-to-toe with Starfleet, and find that not everybody would be so willing to help her. This was fine though, it was just a game to her, and what a fun game it was.
Keth tapped at the replicator, and as soon as her bowl of kava nuts and rippleberries was done materializing, she grabbed them and started to scamper off toward her corridors. She didn't like talking to people, and she was afraid of their opinion of her since only twenty years ago she had been fighting against Starfleet. So, she ate in her quarters so that people wouldn't approach her with questions, interrogations, or accusations as they had in the past.
Before she could get far though a fellow medical officer came up to her. This Lieutenant Commander had been working with Keth on treating a particular patient. Despite coming from the Dominion, the medical staff trusted her after seeing just how successful she could be as a doctor.
"Hello there Keth. The patient seems to be reacting well to the treatments, I was wondering if we could converse about what would be best for his post-treatment options."
Keth smiled and nodded. "Yes, of course." She didn't talk much, experience told her that if you just smile and don't let your mouth run people can't accuse you of much. This was how she was up until the Iconian War. Just smile and be quite. Twenty years from now, however, the Iconian War would happen, and the Dominion would help the Allied forces fight over Sol. This was when she decided it was alright for her to start talking more. That was when she joined Deep Space 13.
A flamboyant and extravagant doctor stood in front of a group of True Way officers. She smiled wide and stared at each of them with her violet eyes, ensuring that everyone knew she was watching them. The doctor had a long, white jacket, a cunning smile, and vented ears. There was no mistaking her, every one of the officers knew her as Keth, the Vorta geneticist with no concept of morality.
Keth bowed towards the officers, arms wide. She straighted up and flatted out her jacket as she prepared her speech on why she should get funded more. Talking to people was the highlight of her day, watching them squirm at her unorthodox methods and unethical research brought her much joy. Despite this she did need to bring up valid arguments in this situation. If she told her associates of her true goal, they would think of her as insane and quit funding her.
"Hello my beloved associates. I believe it is time we had a talk. You see, I'm afraid that while your support has been much appreciated, I need a bit more funding. It is perfectly understandable if you do not wish to do so, but I implore you, listen to my reasoning."
Keth grinned and clasped her hands together. She ran her mouth off and still got what she wanted, simply because nobody dared to refuse her. This is how she garnered so much support for her experiments. That and she would provide them with soldiers and bioweapons. Twenty years from now, however, she would go toe-to-toe with Starfleet, and find that not everybody would be so willing to help her. This was fine though, it was just a game to her, and what a fun game it was.
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PG-13ish - Squishy medical imagery/moral questionability! It's not graphic but the moral ambiguity might bring someone down so fair warning
//Late year, 2395 – I.R.W. Vigilant – Special Medical Projects Laboratory//
>>Medical examiner’s log, start for Subject two-oh-six.
Two-oh-six shows signs of soft tissue necrosis. The subject was presenting symptoms consistent with acute radiation exposure before termination.
Also picking up high residual traces of gamma band radiation despite decontamination procedures taken by decon team. Check procedural efficacy of the decon team lead and discipline as necessary.
I’m going to need to pass through decontamination. The subject’s results are inconclusive as to the structural integrity of shields on subject number two-oh-six because Lieutenant t’Harrol is an asshole. End log.
“Medical examiner’s log, start for Subject two-oh-six. Two-oh-six shows signs of soft tissue necrosis”
The Romulan, her chestnut hair clasped behind her in a tight bun, leaned over the pale body on the table as she spoke. The Romulan laboratory was dark beyond the bright lights of the exam table. Thue was the sole living creature in the room, though stretching into the darkness beyond her was table after table of waxen Reman corpses, their gaunt vampiric faces shining faintly in the light’s distant reflection in a way that would make those unfamiliar with this room’s purpose start. Burned flesh gave way under Thue’s fingers as she tested the dark spots on the reman’s skin.
“The subject was presenting symptoms consistent with acute radiation exposure before termination.” The diagnostic scanner on her wrist beeped quietly to catch her attention. Her hands roved over the creature’s mottled, scorched and puffy face. “Also picking up high residual traces of gamma band radiation despite decontamination procedures taken by decon team. Check procedural efficacy of the decon team lead and discipline as necessary.”
Irritated at this new discovery the scientist snapped off her gloves and pulled away from the body. After passing her hands under the anti-microbial sanitizer the slender Romulan removed her medical mask.
“I’m going to need to pass through decontamination. The subject’s results are inconclusive as to the structural integrity of shields on subject number two-oh-six because Lieutenant t’Harrol is an asshole.” Absolute vitriol escaped her on the final word. Thue yanked the scanner off her wrist and slammed it onto the metal table with a reverberating CLANG. Several hypos were pulled off the table and pushed into the pouches of her uniform as she headed for the decontamination exit.
“End log.”
She hated the decon process. Now she was back in the quarters. The bunks of the small ships sleeping room were stacked two high. She shared this space with five others, but Imperial officers never really had free time as it was. Your bunk was for sleeping and only for sleeping. Sublieutenant Thue didn't bother to remove her uniform before falling back onto her bed.
The Reman project was awful.
On the D'gann she hadn't had nearly this degree of an issue. Playing around with the genetic code of the Remans was fun and interesting. In the end the result was the same, of course, because testing genetic resistance to Thalaron radiation could end only one way. Thalaron radiation was quick when it did act though. It wasn't the same as the lesser radiation deaths.
But when Commander T’kelhan was arrested by the Tal'Shiar for reasons she was not permitted to know, she had been transferred to the Vigilant. Thue hated the Vigilant.
The tests, at their core, were to develop more efficient radiation shielding for Reman soldiers. To allow for more potent radiation warfare against the Klingons while letting Remans commandeer the ships. Remans were logically needed for testing. Thue hadn't dealt with the bodies of the living irradiated before, Thalaron didn't allow for corpses.
It had taken only two days for her to beseech her superiors for a faster death for the Remans. Her superiors had taken two months to approve it. In those two months Thue had been present over the agonizing deaths of dozens of Reman miners. Sloughing flesh and rotting faces, the gurgling for breath while the miners' organs quite literally turned to a mass of liquid within their frames, it haunted her.
She pulled in a long breath and exhaled, closing her eyes to chase off the memories. The creatures were pitiable and without value to command. Now at the very least their suffering was brief. There was a time she had once only worked on biological agents, and that was a time that Thue dearly missed. The woman turned on her side and settled her cheek into the rough fabric of her pillow.
A numbness had protected her since she escaped ch'Rihan before its destruction. Like a cloud this numbness swallowed up her fears of execution and imprisonment and her anger and despair for her patients. She must do what she was told and do so without question. When officers like Sublieutenant t'Harrol made even a small mistake it was needed to be reported to command. When that niggling question of "Should I be doing this?" crept into her mind, it had to be quashed.
There was simply no other way. The Rihannsu must survive and if that meant she must do what she found to be distasteful, she would do it in a heartbeat. For Romulus.
//Late year, 2395 – I.R.W. Vigilant – Special Medical Projects Laboratory//
>>Medical examiner’s log, start for Subject two-oh-six.
Two-oh-six shows signs of soft tissue necrosis. The subject was presenting symptoms consistent with acute radiation exposure before termination.
Also picking up high residual traces of gamma band radiation despite decontamination procedures taken by decon team. Check procedural efficacy of the decon team lead and discipline as necessary.
I’m going to need to pass through decontamination. The subject’s results are inconclusive as to the structural integrity of shields on subject number two-oh-six because Lieutenant t’Harrol is an asshole. End log.
“Medical examiner’s log, start for Subject two-oh-six. Two-oh-six shows signs of soft tissue necrosis”
The Romulan, her chestnut hair clasped behind her in a tight bun, leaned over the pale body on the table as she spoke. The Romulan laboratory was dark beyond the bright lights of the exam table. Thue was the sole living creature in the room, though stretching into the darkness beyond her was table after table of waxen Reman corpses, their gaunt vampiric faces shining faintly in the light’s distant reflection in a way that would make those unfamiliar with this room’s purpose start. Burned flesh gave way under Thue’s fingers as she tested the dark spots on the reman’s skin.
“The subject was presenting symptoms consistent with acute radiation exposure before termination.” The diagnostic scanner on her wrist beeped quietly to catch her attention. Her hands roved over the creature’s mottled, scorched and puffy face. “Also picking up high residual traces of gamma band radiation despite decontamination procedures taken by decon team. Check procedural efficacy of the decon team lead and discipline as necessary.”
Irritated at this new discovery the scientist snapped off her gloves and pulled away from the body. After passing her hands under the anti-microbial sanitizer the slender Romulan removed her medical mask.
“I’m going to need to pass through decontamination. The subject’s results are inconclusive as to the structural integrity of shields on subject number two-oh-six because Lieutenant t’Harrol is an asshole.” Absolute vitriol escaped her on the final word. Thue yanked the scanner off her wrist and slammed it onto the metal table with a reverberating CLANG. Several hypos were pulled off the table and pushed into the pouches of her uniform as she headed for the decontamination exit.
“End log.”
She hated the decon process. Now she was back in the quarters. The bunks of the small ships sleeping room were stacked two high. She shared this space with five others, but Imperial officers never really had free time as it was. Your bunk was for sleeping and only for sleeping. Sublieutenant Thue didn't bother to remove her uniform before falling back onto her bed.
The Reman project was awful.
On the D'gann she hadn't had nearly this degree of an issue. Playing around with the genetic code of the Remans was fun and interesting. In the end the result was the same, of course, because testing genetic resistance to Thalaron radiation could end only one way. Thalaron radiation was quick when it did act though. It wasn't the same as the lesser radiation deaths.
But when Commander T’kelhan was arrested by the Tal'Shiar for reasons she was not permitted to know, she had been transferred to the Vigilant. Thue hated the Vigilant.
The tests, at their core, were to develop more efficient radiation shielding for Reman soldiers. To allow for more potent radiation warfare against the Klingons while letting Remans commandeer the ships. Remans were logically needed for testing. Thue hadn't dealt with the bodies of the living irradiated before, Thalaron didn't allow for corpses.
It had taken only two days for her to beseech her superiors for a faster death for the Remans. Her superiors had taken two months to approve it. In those two months Thue had been present over the agonizing deaths of dozens of Reman miners. Sloughing flesh and rotting faces, the gurgling for breath while the miners' organs quite literally turned to a mass of liquid within their frames, it haunted her.
She pulled in a long breath and exhaled, closing her eyes to chase off the memories. The creatures were pitiable and without value to command. Now at the very least their suffering was brief. There was a time she had once only worked on biological agents, and that was a time that Thue dearly missed. The woman turned on her side and settled her cheek into the rough fabric of her pillow.
A numbness had protected her since she escaped ch'Rihan before its destruction. Like a cloud this numbness swallowed up her fears of execution and imprisonment and her anger and despair for her patients. She must do what she was told and do so without question. When officers like Sublieutenant t'Harrol made even a small mistake it was needed to be reported to command. When that niggling question of "Should I be doing this?" crept into her mind, it had to be quashed.
There was simply no other way. The Rihannsu must survive and if that meant she must do what she found to be distasteful, she would do it in a heartbeat. For Romulus.
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SIVATH CAME IN from the cold, stamping and batting snow from his outerwear. He shed several layers of insulation with ritual efficiency, stowing his gear in a locker where it would be warmed and cleaned. He tried to flex warmth back into his fingers as he descended the stairs into the underground bunker of Whiskey Station.
The command center was empty, as usual; Gateway liked to build for Future Growth. Dropping into a seat at the communications console, Sivath keyed in the code for the colonial HQ in Lhiet Lhao. He waited, breathing into his cupped hands and wishing the company had stocked some of the station’s namesake.
“T’sek,” answered the Vulcan woman who appeared on the screen.
“It happened again,” Sivath reported without preamble. “The couplings cracked.”
“So replace them,” T’sek ordered. She was looking off-screen, her eye movements giving away that she was reading something while she multi-tasked this call. Sivath did not have her attention.
“This is the third breakdown this month,” he reminded her, rather more forcefully than was necessary. Sivath didn’t like being multi-tasked. “The materials we are using can not handle the stress of heating and cooling so rapidly. It is just as I warned you last year. We are operating outside of acceptable tolerances in this climate. We must be willing to adapt the design of the grid to the environment it serves.”
Well, now he had her attention. T’sek stopped reading and faced the screen. “Mister Sivath, you have expressed your concerns on this matter at length and in great detail. But the scope changes you have proposed represent a cost increase the client is unable to cover. You will have to make do with what you have.”
“What I have are systems operating in an environment they were never designed to support.”
“And that is why we hired a very qualified ex-Starfleet engineer to solve the problems that arise,” T’sek said flatly. She laced her fingers and leaned a little closer to the screen. “Mister Sivath, the Lhiet Lhao colony is a crucial component of Gateway Interstellar’s plans to build a brighter future for beleaugered Romulan refugees. Itaeru is not the most hospitable world, I will grant; but the decision to colonize it was their choice, not ours. We must make this world home, and we cannot do so without power. So kindly bring that famous Starfleet innovation to bear on this problem and fix it.” She held a finger poised over the button to end the call. "On time and under budget, of course.”
The command center was empty, as usual; Gateway liked to build for Future Growth. Dropping into a seat at the communications console, Sivath keyed in the code for the colonial HQ in Lhiet Lhao. He waited, breathing into his cupped hands and wishing the company had stocked some of the station’s namesake.
“T’sek,” answered the Vulcan woman who appeared on the screen.
“It happened again,” Sivath reported without preamble. “The couplings cracked.”
“So replace them,” T’sek ordered. She was looking off-screen, her eye movements giving away that she was reading something while she multi-tasked this call. Sivath did not have her attention.
“This is the third breakdown this month,” he reminded her, rather more forcefully than was necessary. Sivath didn’t like being multi-tasked. “The materials we are using can not handle the stress of heating and cooling so rapidly. It is just as I warned you last year. We are operating outside of acceptable tolerances in this climate. We must be willing to adapt the design of the grid to the environment it serves.”
Well, now he had her attention. T’sek stopped reading and faced the screen. “Mister Sivath, you have expressed your concerns on this matter at length and in great detail. But the scope changes you have proposed represent a cost increase the client is unable to cover. You will have to make do with what you have.”
“What I have are systems operating in an environment they were never designed to support.”
“And that is why we hired a very qualified ex-Starfleet engineer to solve the problems that arise,” T’sek said flatly. She laced her fingers and leaned a little closer to the screen. “Mister Sivath, the Lhiet Lhao colony is a crucial component of Gateway Interstellar’s plans to build a brighter future for beleaugered Romulan refugees. Itaeru is not the most hospitable world, I will grant; but the decision to colonize it was their choice, not ours. We must make this world home, and we cannot do so without power. So kindly bring that famous Starfleet innovation to bear on this problem and fix it.” She held a finger poised over the button to end the call. "On time and under budget, of course.”
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The night was dark. The night was loud. The night was full of death, and the night was alive.
Shouts and screams from the alleyways sounded alongside laughter and ecstasy from the bar. Music drowned out the noise of the shot which rang through the streets, neon lights blinded the bolt which reduced a girl to nothingness. No one cared about death. Not in this city. This was Paradise.
Earlier, when the night was young, the darkness had concealed the three when they stood atop the ruggedly patched rooftop, looking out at their target.
“Great. They sealed up the hole. I told you we should have done this earlier!”
Rhue was always the more cunning of the street kids. She was good at figuring things out, and it was often joked that she was actually Vulcan, not Romulan. But that was not what she was remembered for, at least not to Ann.
“We can still pull it off.”
Jag was about the same age as Rhue, somewhere around sixteen to seventeen Earth years, fairly young for both their species. This, combined with his lack of training, meant that his telepathy was far from developed. Yet like all Remans, he still possessed some rudimentary abilities.
“We’ll grab some supplies from Zaza’s store, that place is barely locked down,” Rhue suggested.
“We can do it,” Jag insisted. “Ventilation duct on the roof. Leads straight inside.”
Rhue shook her head, “You won’t fit.”
“She will.”
Jag waves his hand rather casually towards Ann’s direction. She was the youngest of them, only around seven or eight years of age, and thus quite small. She had tagged along out of respect of the others, and despite her youth sought to assist them in whatever way possible.
“No way. You’re not sending her in there. You have any idea what the Klingons’ll do if they catch her?”
Jag shrugged, “Eat her?”
“We’re supposed to watch out for each other. There’s no way we’re getting her to do this.”
“I won’t get caught,” Ann stepped forward. “So I won’t get eaten.”
“No,” Rhue moved closer to her, kneeling down to face her. “It’s way too dangerous.”
“I can handle myself!” Ann argued.
“This isn’t like stealing from Rax. You can die if this goes wrong.”
“I can do it.”
Rhue couldn’t argue with both Ann’s eagerness and Jag’s determination. After a few minutes, she reluctantly agreed.
Getting into the ventilation shaft was rather simple. Ann was quiet and nimble and easily climbed onto the roof using the pipes along its side. Once inside, the space was tight, even for her. She made more noise than she would have liked, but fortunately, the Klingons had too much bloodwine to notice. After a short climb, she hopped down into a small storeroom of some sort.
“Remember, one of the red boxes with the Romulan markings,” Jag’s voice suddenly echoed in her head, startling her.
“I know what I’m looking for!” Ann muttered angrily. “I don’t need you in my head.”
“I’m not. I’m just talking to you.”
Jag stayed quiet as Ann searched the room. After a few minutes, she located the box, which was almost half her height.
“This is heavier than I thought it would be…” she grunted as she lifted the goods with some difficulty.
She half dragged the box towards the shaft, trying but failing to be particularly quiet. Once she reached the duct, she lifted the box again, struggling to keep it as the right height as she pushed it into the shaft. To her dismay, it didn’t fit.
“Uhh…Jag?” she whispered quietly. “Are you there?”
“I’m listening.”
“The box is too big to fit.”
“Throw it out the window,” Jag responded.
“They’ll hear me.”
“Run.”
Ann dragged the box towards the rough wooden window. She undid the lock and swung it open. The cool evening breeze drifted in.
“Rhue won’t like this…” she muttered.
She spotted Jag waiting in an alleyway at the other side of the street. Gathering all her strength, she lifted the box again and hefted it outside. Jag darted towards it, and she too began running. She squeezed into the shaft across the room and climbed as fast as she could manage.
The throwing of the box roused the Klingons. She heard them scrambling; they sure made plenty of noise. There was yelling, clanking and banging all over the building. It scared her, but she kept going; there wasn’t much of a choice.
She finally reached the roof and spied a Klingon patrolling the outside of the building. She waited for him to pass by before climbing back down the pipes and darting across the street. But just when she thought she was safe, she felt something clamp on to her arm and tug her backwards.
Ann found herself staring right at a big, angry Klingon. He growled, sharp yellow teeth showing between his bushy beard. She tried to break away, but he was much too strong. The Klingon threw his head back, perhaps to shout to his comrades or to hit her with his ridges. She never got a chance to know, as a metal pipe smacked straight into the Klingon’s face, knocking him back.
He shook his head, dazed, and his grip on Ann was broken. Someone else grabbed her arm and dragged her along. A brief glimpse was enough to tell her that it was Rhue.
Everything else happened too quickly for Ann to remember in any detail. The Klingon that had grabbed her barked something. The others gave chase. They ran through the alley. One of them drew a disruptor pistol. Rhue pushed Ann aside. There was a flash of light. Then she was gone.
Jag got there just in time. He lifted Ann and kept going. They eventually lost the Klingons. Or maybe the Klingons gave up.
When things slowed down, Ann did recall asking Jag why he didn’t help Rhue.
“There’s nothing I could do,” he responded bitterly.
“But you cared about her!” Ann exclaimed. “Didn’t you?”
“We all did. But people die all the time. That’s how it is.”
Ann shook her head in disbelief. “There has to be something we can do about it, there has to be!”
“There is,” he stared blankly, away from the rising sun. “We fight to stay alive.”
Shouts and screams from the alleyways sounded alongside laughter and ecstasy from the bar. Music drowned out the noise of the shot which rang through the streets, neon lights blinded the bolt which reduced a girl to nothingness. No one cared about death. Not in this city. This was Paradise.
Earlier, when the night was young, the darkness had concealed the three when they stood atop the ruggedly patched rooftop, looking out at their target.
“Great. They sealed up the hole. I told you we should have done this earlier!”
Rhue was always the more cunning of the street kids. She was good at figuring things out, and it was often joked that she was actually Vulcan, not Romulan. But that was not what she was remembered for, at least not to Ann.
“We can still pull it off.”
Jag was about the same age as Rhue, somewhere around sixteen to seventeen Earth years, fairly young for both their species. This, combined with his lack of training, meant that his telepathy was far from developed. Yet like all Remans, he still possessed some rudimentary abilities.
“We’ll grab some supplies from Zaza’s store, that place is barely locked down,” Rhue suggested.
“We can do it,” Jag insisted. “Ventilation duct on the roof. Leads straight inside.”
Rhue shook her head, “You won’t fit.”
“She will.”
Jag waves his hand rather casually towards Ann’s direction. She was the youngest of them, only around seven or eight years of age, and thus quite small. She had tagged along out of respect of the others, and despite her youth sought to assist them in whatever way possible.
“No way. You’re not sending her in there. You have any idea what the Klingons’ll do if they catch her?”
Jag shrugged, “Eat her?”
“We’re supposed to watch out for each other. There’s no way we’re getting her to do this.”
“I won’t get caught,” Ann stepped forward. “So I won’t get eaten.”
“No,” Rhue moved closer to her, kneeling down to face her. “It’s way too dangerous.”
“I can handle myself!” Ann argued.
“This isn’t like stealing from Rax. You can die if this goes wrong.”
“I can do it.”
Rhue couldn’t argue with both Ann’s eagerness and Jag’s determination. After a few minutes, she reluctantly agreed.
Getting into the ventilation shaft was rather simple. Ann was quiet and nimble and easily climbed onto the roof using the pipes along its side. Once inside, the space was tight, even for her. She made more noise than she would have liked, but fortunately, the Klingons had too much bloodwine to notice. After a short climb, she hopped down into a small storeroom of some sort.
“Remember, one of the red boxes with the Romulan markings,” Jag’s voice suddenly echoed in her head, startling her.
“I know what I’m looking for!” Ann muttered angrily. “I don’t need you in my head.”
“I’m not. I’m just talking to you.”
Jag stayed quiet as Ann searched the room. After a few minutes, she located the box, which was almost half her height.
“This is heavier than I thought it would be…” she grunted as she lifted the goods with some difficulty.
She half dragged the box towards the shaft, trying but failing to be particularly quiet. Once she reached the duct, she lifted the box again, struggling to keep it as the right height as she pushed it into the shaft. To her dismay, it didn’t fit.
“Uhh…Jag?” she whispered quietly. “Are you there?”
“I’m listening.”
“The box is too big to fit.”
“Throw it out the window,” Jag responded.
“They’ll hear me.”
“Run.”
Ann dragged the box towards the rough wooden window. She undid the lock and swung it open. The cool evening breeze drifted in.
“Rhue won’t like this…” she muttered.
She spotted Jag waiting in an alleyway at the other side of the street. Gathering all her strength, she lifted the box again and hefted it outside. Jag darted towards it, and she too began running. She squeezed into the shaft across the room and climbed as fast as she could manage.
The throwing of the box roused the Klingons. She heard them scrambling; they sure made plenty of noise. There was yelling, clanking and banging all over the building. It scared her, but she kept going; there wasn’t much of a choice.
She finally reached the roof and spied a Klingon patrolling the outside of the building. She waited for him to pass by before climbing back down the pipes and darting across the street. But just when she thought she was safe, she felt something clamp on to her arm and tug her backwards.
Ann found herself staring right at a big, angry Klingon. He growled, sharp yellow teeth showing between his bushy beard. She tried to break away, but he was much too strong. The Klingon threw his head back, perhaps to shout to his comrades or to hit her with his ridges. She never got a chance to know, as a metal pipe smacked straight into the Klingon’s face, knocking him back.
He shook his head, dazed, and his grip on Ann was broken. Someone else grabbed her arm and dragged her along. A brief glimpse was enough to tell her that it was Rhue.
Everything else happened too quickly for Ann to remember in any detail. The Klingon that had grabbed her barked something. The others gave chase. They ran through the alley. One of them drew a disruptor pistol. Rhue pushed Ann aside. There was a flash of light. Then she was gone.
Jag got there just in time. He lifted Ann and kept going. They eventually lost the Klingons. Or maybe the Klingons gave up.
When things slowed down, Ann did recall asking Jag why he didn’t help Rhue.
“There’s nothing I could do,” he responded bitterly.
“But you cared about her!” Ann exclaimed. “Didn’t you?”
“We all did. But people die all the time. That’s how it is.”
Ann shook her head in disbelief. “There has to be something we can do about it, there has to be!”
“There is,” he stared blankly, away from the rising sun. “We fight to stay alive.”
6 Likes
(2395)
Voh completed the last of the inventory and shut the medical cabinet with a sense of satisfaction. Even if the next shipment of necessities was delayed, they had a comfortable six month margin.
“Are you still here?” asked a voice reprovingly.
Voh turned toward the doorway and smiled at the woman standing there. Subcommander N’ven had been a formidable tactical officer. Now she was a formidable administrator of the Pehai colony’s power plant, and an even more formidable mother. In her arms she held her latest subordinate, an infant just old enough to pull her mother’s hair without being rebuked.
“The Takar sent a message to say they might be running late,” Voh explained, locking the cabinet and setting her datapad on the desk. “I just wanted to be sure we had the essentials covered. Is everything alright?” N’ven’s children were numerous and intrepid, frequent visitors to the colony clinic.
“So far. But today they stand for academic assessment, so it may not last,” predicted N’ven.
Voh snickered and walked N’ven out through the clinic entrance. They paused outside as Voh locked the door. Sundown was turning the delicate lavender sky a deep, rich purple, and the cool air carried the scent of night flowers. It would rain.
“Come eat with us,” ordered N’ven. “Have some stew. Scare the children. You spend too much time by yourself.”
Voh fell into step beside the younger woman. “I like to be sure things are provided for,” she explained with a small smile, clasping the baby’s chubby hand between thumb and forefinger and tugging it gently free of N’ven’s hair.
It was full dark by the time they reached the house where N’ven and her husband lived. Natural scents gave way to the delicious aromas of the evening meal, and as Voh followed her friend inside she marvelled at the strangeness of life. Romulus was gone, and countless lives with it, but somehow, Voh had stumbled into her destined place, and happiness.
Voh completed the last of the inventory and shut the medical cabinet with a sense of satisfaction. Even if the next shipment of necessities was delayed, they had a comfortable six month margin.
“Are you still here?” asked a voice reprovingly.
Voh turned toward the doorway and smiled at the woman standing there. Subcommander N’ven had been a formidable tactical officer. Now she was a formidable administrator of the Pehai colony’s power plant, and an even more formidable mother. In her arms she held her latest subordinate, an infant just old enough to pull her mother’s hair without being rebuked.
“The Takar sent a message to say they might be running late,” Voh explained, locking the cabinet and setting her datapad on the desk. “I just wanted to be sure we had the essentials covered. Is everything alright?” N’ven’s children were numerous and intrepid, frequent visitors to the colony clinic.
“So far. But today they stand for academic assessment, so it may not last,” predicted N’ven.
Voh snickered and walked N’ven out through the clinic entrance. They paused outside as Voh locked the door. Sundown was turning the delicate lavender sky a deep, rich purple, and the cool air carried the scent of night flowers. It would rain.
“Come eat with us,” ordered N’ven. “Have some stew. Scare the children. You spend too much time by yourself.”
Voh fell into step beside the younger woman. “I like to be sure things are provided for,” she explained with a small smile, clasping the baby’s chubby hand between thumb and forefinger and tugging it gently free of N’ven’s hair.
It was full dark by the time they reached the house where N’ven and her husband lived. Natural scents gave way to the delicious aromas of the evening meal, and as Voh followed her friend inside she marvelled at the strangeness of life. Romulus was gone, and countless lives with it, but somehow, Voh had stumbled into her destined place, and happiness.
10 Likes
The day was cloudless and warm as the human and the Vulcan walked side by side down the cemetery path, away from the gravesite and the milling groups of people sharing quiet words.
“I’m here if you want to talk, Chris,” said the Vulcan. He put on a somber face and reached for Chris’ shoulder, but Chris shrugged it away.
“There’s not much to talk about, Vorir. He was here, and now he’s dead.” He looked around over the grassy hills, the sky, the ground; anywhere but at Vorir.
“I know, and I’m sorry. But you’re my best friend. I just want to be here for you.”
“No, you’re a Vulcan, you don’t want anything. You’re not even sad.”
“Well… that’s true, I can’t experience sadness. But you’re important to me, and your father was imp—“ he stopped in his tracks as Chris shot him a glare.
“If you’re not sad, then stop trying, stop pretending. You can act like a human all you want and you might even fool people, even me. But just because you’re my friend doesn’t mean we’re the same.”
Vorir looked pained, but they both knew it was out of habit. “I’m not trying to fool anyone by acting human. That’s just all I know. I’ve never known other Vulcans my age.”
Chris’ anger relaxed into sadness, and he said, “Yeah, I know, it’s not your fault. But that’s on me for picking a Vulcan best friend. Sometimes I just wish I could look at you and know that what you’re saying and what you’re doing reflects what’s actually going on inside. Today especially, it just seems… fake.”
They walked in silence for a bit before Chris spoke again.
“I don’t know, especially after you beat the shit out of Ar’mit last year. He’s still not out of the hospital. No one said anything at the time because it was self-defense, but if you were truly human that would have been understandable because, hey, maybe you were in a rage and couldn’t stop. But to know that you did that and you weren’t even angry inside? It’s just cold, is all.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t angry. I did it because I had to make sure he was beyond capacity to attack me again, because I knew he would if given the chance.”
“Well, there’s your Vulcan logic for you. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, everyone knows that. Everyone sees how human you act but they know that underneath, there’s nothing. No wonder no one feels comfortable around you.”
Vorir looked back towards the group of funeral-goers; some of them were watching the two boys. “I suspected that, but I guess it’s good to hear it confirmed.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot easier to talk to you than a full-on Vulcan who uses contractions and points out everything, but once people realize you’re all logic under the hood, they can’t help but feel like you’re pulling one on them, like you’re playing to their sympathies and exploiting them.”
“And I take it you feel that way?”
“I didn’t really, not until recently. It just hit me when you showed up to my dad’s funeral and put on a sad face.”
Vorir nodded. “Then I take it you also no longer wish to be my friend?”
“I can’t say I do.” Chris stopped walking and stared off into a patch of trees.
Vorir frowned, then reached out one last time for Chris’ shoulder. Chris didn’t move this time. “Then goodbye.”
Chris sighed, then turned around. “And you live long and prosper, I guess.”
They parted ways, Chris walking back towards the group, and Vorir towards the cemetery exit. He scowled and kicked a rock off the path, and he supposed he would be feeling angry, upset, sad, if here were human. But Chris’ feelings were justified, and logically, it made sense for the friendship to end. Vorir continued to feel nothing.
“I’m here if you want to talk, Chris,” said the Vulcan. He put on a somber face and reached for Chris’ shoulder, but Chris shrugged it away.
“There’s not much to talk about, Vorir. He was here, and now he’s dead.” He looked around over the grassy hills, the sky, the ground; anywhere but at Vorir.
“I know, and I’m sorry. But you’re my best friend. I just want to be here for you.”
“No, you’re a Vulcan, you don’t want anything. You’re not even sad.”
“Well… that’s true, I can’t experience sadness. But you’re important to me, and your father was imp—“ he stopped in his tracks as Chris shot him a glare.
“If you’re not sad, then stop trying, stop pretending. You can act like a human all you want and you might even fool people, even me. But just because you’re my friend doesn’t mean we’re the same.”
Vorir looked pained, but they both knew it was out of habit. “I’m not trying to fool anyone by acting human. That’s just all I know. I’ve never known other Vulcans my age.”
Chris’ anger relaxed into sadness, and he said, “Yeah, I know, it’s not your fault. But that’s on me for picking a Vulcan best friend. Sometimes I just wish I could look at you and know that what you’re saying and what you’re doing reflects what’s actually going on inside. Today especially, it just seems… fake.”
They walked in silence for a bit before Chris spoke again.
“I don’t know, especially after you beat the shit out of Ar’mit last year. He’s still not out of the hospital. No one said anything at the time because it was self-defense, but if you were truly human that would have been understandable because, hey, maybe you were in a rage and couldn’t stop. But to know that you did that and you weren’t even angry inside? It’s just cold, is all.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t angry. I did it because I had to make sure he was beyond capacity to attack me again, because I knew he would if given the chance.”
“Well, there’s your Vulcan logic for you. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, everyone knows that. Everyone sees how human you act but they know that underneath, there’s nothing. No wonder no one feels comfortable around you.”
Vorir looked back towards the group of funeral-goers; some of them were watching the two boys. “I suspected that, but I guess it’s good to hear it confirmed.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lot easier to talk to you than a full-on Vulcan who uses contractions and points out everything, but once people realize you’re all logic under the hood, they can’t help but feel like you’re pulling one on them, like you’re playing to their sympathies and exploiting them.”
“And I take it you feel that way?”
“I didn’t really, not until recently. It just hit me when you showed up to my dad’s funeral and put on a sad face.”
Vorir nodded. “Then I take it you also no longer wish to be my friend?”
“I can’t say I do.” Chris stopped walking and stared off into a patch of trees.
Vorir frowned, then reached out one last time for Chris’ shoulder. Chris didn’t move this time. “Then goodbye.”
Chris sighed, then turned around. “And you live long and prosper, I guess.”
They parted ways, Chris walking back towards the group, and Vorir towards the cemetery exit. He scowled and kicked a rock off the path, and he supposed he would be feeling angry, upset, sad, if here were human. But Chris’ feelings were justified, and logically, it made sense for the friendship to end. Vorir continued to feel nothing.
4 Likes
Dark Times, Short-Lived Memories
Fall 2395 - Earth Spacedock - Sickbay
Dallas stood at one of the windows of the waiting room for the medical ward. He twisted his wedding ring in thought, would she be okay. Time flowed faster as his worries grew, and he was taken from his trance by a voice, "Mr. Burns, would you like to meet your daughter?" He turned around to see a nurse holding a medical PADD and raising her hand in the direction of the hallway. His mind wandered less and less the closer he got to her room. He turned at walked into the hold of the door, his eyes swelling with tears of joy.
"Dallas, meet Mary-Anne Burns." He wife piped up, her own voice weakened from crying of her own. The small 5'4" brunette woman lay on a hospital bed cradling a small infant with a slight tuft of dark brown hair on her head. Dallas walked over to the bedside and sat down next to his wife. He smiled and brushed a tear from his eye, "She's beautiful, Josie." He looked into her stark blue eyes with pure joy. He was a father now.
This joy was short lived, nearly one year later Dallas would be reassigned back into service. Josie would divorce him after an argument over whether Dallas should retire. Mary-Anne Burns became Mary-Anne Kearson when Josie remarried 5 years later.
Fall 2395 - Earth Spacedock - Sickbay
Dallas stood at one of the windows of the waiting room for the medical ward. He twisted his wedding ring in thought, would she be okay. Time flowed faster as his worries grew, and he was taken from his trance by a voice, "Mr. Burns, would you like to meet your daughter?" He turned around to see a nurse holding a medical PADD and raising her hand in the direction of the hallway. His mind wandered less and less the closer he got to her room. He turned at walked into the hold of the door, his eyes swelling with tears of joy.
"Dallas, meet Mary-Anne Burns." He wife piped up, her own voice weakened from crying of her own. The small 5'4" brunette woman lay on a hospital bed cradling a small infant with a slight tuft of dark brown hair on her head. Dallas walked over to the bedside and sat down next to his wife. He smiled and brushed a tear from his eye, "She's beautiful, Josie." He looked into her stark blue eyes with pure joy. He was a father now.
This joy was short lived, nearly one year later Dallas would be reassigned back into service. Josie would divorce him after an argument over whether Dallas should retire. Mary-Anne Burns became Mary-Anne Kearson when Josie remarried 5 years later.
Spoiler: Show
Sorry for the depression. Have a cat picture: 
6 Likes
2395; USS Santa Monica
Lieutenant Commander T'Pia Se'Lai has just completed her first duty shift since reposting to the Santa Monica and is headed back to her quarters to finish unpacking and catch up with the days events for her troubled teenaged daughter, T'Keel.
The moment T'Pia enter's her quarters, her instincts tell her something is off. She had expected to see young T'Keel sitting at the table doing homework, or at a stretch helping to unpack. Instead she was welcomed by a darkened room.
"Computer; what is the present location of T'Keel Se'Lai?" she calls out
"T'Keel Se'Lai is in her quarters; deck 7, section 15" The computers indifferent response draws a quirked brow from T'Pia
"Computer; lights" she again calls out, squinting ever so slightly as the room brightens up
Glancing around the now illuminated main room, T'Pia can clearly see that Keelah is not there, the logical assumption being then that she is in her bedroom. However she had no logical reason to be in there at this hour, and this was cause for concern. She approached the sealed door and respectfully hit the chime, though she had no cause to pause like this within her own quarters, she tried her best to respect her daughter's privacy.
//chirp//
"Leave me alone!" Comes the muffled voice of young T'Keel, carrying a distincly distressed tone with it.
//chirp//
"Eugh" T'Keel sighed loud enough her mother could hear it on the far side of the door, "It's open, you know!"
Taking that as permission to enter, as she had come to learn when dealing with her daughter, T'Pia entered the room and again had to call for the lights to switch on. Upon doing so her gravest suspicions were realised as she gazed down at the teenaged girl laying face down on the bed, her face buried in the pillow. T'Pia drew a calming breath to focus her mind and approached, sitting herself on the edge of the bed and reaching over to brush T'Keel's long dark hair back from her face - and reveal the red watery eyes beneath.
"What happened, my daughter?"
"Stupid Vulcans!" T'Keel sniped, her voice trembling as she continued to cry
T'Pia let out a soft sigh as she continued to brush T'Keel's hair straight with her fingertips, "What was it this time?" she asks calmly, driving T'Keel to turn sharply up to face her.
"The same thing as always! I hate it, i hate THEM!" she blurts out, throwing her arms around her mother's shoulders as she buries her face against her shoulder, crying heavily. T'Pia simply holds her daughter and awaits the emotional outburst to subside, knowing after 14 years of being a single parent that she is ill equipped to effectively support her emotional daughter in any other way.
"I assume T'Keel, that you are again finding conflict with the children in your classes?"
T'Keel can but nod into her mother's shoulder in response. As T'Pia sat there holding her distraught daughter in what had become something of a ritual every time she moved to a new ship, she wanted nothing more than to give her daughter the answers. However she knew all too well what the most logical solution was, and T'Keel would not like it.
"T'Keel, if thi-"
"Keelah!" she corrects, sitting back some and wiping her eyes to look squarely at her mother who responds simply with a quirked brow.
"I... I don't want to use that name any more." she sniffs, "It's a Vulcan name, and it's not me."
"T'Keel, you are Vulcan. Your statement is not logical"
"Keelah! And /I'm/ not logical, am I? When will you accept the truth? I am v'tosh ka'tur whether you or I like or not, this is not my choosing; it's who I am; I am not T'Keel, I am Keelah" her lip quivers slightly, but T'Pia can see that gritted determination in her daughter's face which told her all she needed to know.
"Very well... Keelah, how do you /feel/ you should handle this now, then?"
Keelah continues wiping her eyes and looks away sheepishly a moment before returning to her mother's gaze, "I see now that our people with never accept me for who I am. They think I'm broken and unstable. The only... logical solution, is for me to hide my true nature. Mother; will you teach me to supress my emotions? I know it will never hold, but maybe you can show me enough that I can restrain myself when around others!"
T'Pia considers her daughter carefully, somewhat surprised by her mature reasoning, "Very well my daughter. This is for the best" as she speaks, she takes young Keelah by the hand and guides her a kneeling position at the bedside as they begin to meditate. T'Keel the emotionally unstable Vulcan girl would be gone forever, in her place would be Keelah, a normal logical Vulcan... or so they thought...
Lieutenant Commander T'Pia Se'Lai has just completed her first duty shift since reposting to the Santa Monica and is headed back to her quarters to finish unpacking and catch up with the days events for her troubled teenaged daughter, T'Keel.
The moment T'Pia enter's her quarters, her instincts tell her something is off. She had expected to see young T'Keel sitting at the table doing homework, or at a stretch helping to unpack. Instead she was welcomed by a darkened room.
"Computer; what is the present location of T'Keel Se'Lai?" she calls out
"T'Keel Se'Lai is in her quarters; deck 7, section 15" The computers indifferent response draws a quirked brow from T'Pia
"Computer; lights" she again calls out, squinting ever so slightly as the room brightens up
Glancing around the now illuminated main room, T'Pia can clearly see that Keelah is not there, the logical assumption being then that she is in her bedroom. However she had no logical reason to be in there at this hour, and this was cause for concern. She approached the sealed door and respectfully hit the chime, though she had no cause to pause like this within her own quarters, she tried her best to respect her daughter's privacy.
//chirp//
"Leave me alone!" Comes the muffled voice of young T'Keel, carrying a distincly distressed tone with it.
//chirp//
"Eugh" T'Keel sighed loud enough her mother could hear it on the far side of the door, "It's open, you know!"
Taking that as permission to enter, as she had come to learn when dealing with her daughter, T'Pia entered the room and again had to call for the lights to switch on. Upon doing so her gravest suspicions were realised as she gazed down at the teenaged girl laying face down on the bed, her face buried in the pillow. T'Pia drew a calming breath to focus her mind and approached, sitting herself on the edge of the bed and reaching over to brush T'Keel's long dark hair back from her face - and reveal the red watery eyes beneath.
"What happened, my daughter?"
"Stupid Vulcans!" T'Keel sniped, her voice trembling as she continued to cry
T'Pia let out a soft sigh as she continued to brush T'Keel's hair straight with her fingertips, "What was it this time?" she asks calmly, driving T'Keel to turn sharply up to face her.
"The same thing as always! I hate it, i hate THEM!" she blurts out, throwing her arms around her mother's shoulders as she buries her face against her shoulder, crying heavily. T'Pia simply holds her daughter and awaits the emotional outburst to subside, knowing after 14 years of being a single parent that she is ill equipped to effectively support her emotional daughter in any other way.
"I assume T'Keel, that you are again finding conflict with the children in your classes?"
T'Keel can but nod into her mother's shoulder in response. As T'Pia sat there holding her distraught daughter in what had become something of a ritual every time she moved to a new ship, she wanted nothing more than to give her daughter the answers. However she knew all too well what the most logical solution was, and T'Keel would not like it.
"T'Keel, if thi-"
"Keelah!" she corrects, sitting back some and wiping her eyes to look squarely at her mother who responds simply with a quirked brow.
"I... I don't want to use that name any more." she sniffs, "It's a Vulcan name, and it's not me."
"T'Keel, you are Vulcan. Your statement is not logical"
"Keelah! And /I'm/ not logical, am I? When will you accept the truth? I am v'tosh ka'tur whether you or I like or not, this is not my choosing; it's who I am; I am not T'Keel, I am Keelah" her lip quivers slightly, but T'Pia can see that gritted determination in her daughter's face which told her all she needed to know.
"Very well... Keelah, how do you /feel/ you should handle this now, then?"
Keelah continues wiping her eyes and looks away sheepishly a moment before returning to her mother's gaze, "I see now that our people with never accept me for who I am. They think I'm broken and unstable. The only... logical solution, is for me to hide my true nature. Mother; will you teach me to supress my emotions? I know it will never hold, but maybe you can show me enough that I can restrain myself when around others!"
T'Pia considers her daughter carefully, somewhat surprised by her mature reasoning, "Very well my daughter. This is for the best" as she speaks, she takes young Keelah by the hand and guides her a kneeling position at the bedside as they begin to meditate. T'Keel the emotionally unstable Vulcan girl would be gone forever, in her place would be Keelah, a normal logical Vulcan... or so they thought...
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“What are you reading, Sii’Yasha?”
Bound parchment fell away, and where it had been was Papa’s smiling face, all fangs and icy blue fur. Sii’Yasha threw her arms around the man, and when he rose he took her with him. “Papa! I didn't hear you come in!”
“Ahh, but I can walk through shadows. Or did you forget, mm?” Sii’Yasha giggled, watching as Papa knelt down to pluck her book from the deck plate. “What is this?”
“‘The Odyssey’, Papa.”
The big blue cat turned the book curiously, first one way and then the other. “And you can read these scratches?”
Sii’Yasha reached out to nudge the book upright, though her Papa seemed no less confounded. “Yes, Papa. It's an old Earth book, in a language called Greek.”
Papa scratched his chin. “Hmm… Well I can't read Greek, Sii’Yasha.” Slowly Papa turned to sit, taking the girl in his arms with him. “Why don't you tell me what is happening here?” A sharp claw tapped the open page.
“Oh! Odysseus just met an evil witch, and she turned all of his sailors into pigs!”
Papa scratched his chin again. “Hm. What is a pig?”
“I had to look it up. I think it's like a targ, but they look a lot cuter, all pudgy and pink.”
A grin came over the bigger cat. “So then Ossydeus should be happy his men are pigs, shouldn't he?”
“Nooo! Now they can't sail his ship back home, and he can't save his kingdom!”
“A ship captain and a king, eh?” Papa made a show of tracing a claw across the printed page, tapping at the funny shapes in the ink. “I think maybe this Ossydeus is a lucky man.”
Sii’Yasha giggled once more. “No Papa! He just had to fight a war, and on his way home he angered a water god named Poseidon and was cursed, so now he won't see his home or his wife ever again!”
Papa pondered that a moment, tapping a claw to his chin. “Mmm… Maybe he is not so lucky, then. I wouldn't want to be stuck away from my home, or my wife… or you, my little Sii'Yasha.” And with that the big cat trapped the littler cats head on his hand, and in spite of her yowls and struggles he planted a cartoonist, exaggerated kiss on Sii’Yasha's forehead. And as if that weren't enough, he gave her no time to fix her fur before rising, keeping her tight in his arms.
“I think we should let your mother know I'm home, hmm? I think she’ll be glad to see me back from my trading, and you back from your gods and witches.” Sii'Yasha did her best to pout, but Papa’s grin was too infectious. In a flourish of movement he brought them both out the door and into the corridor.
“Make way,” Papa bellowed in his raspy baritone. “Make way for Teekal and Sii’Yasha Yira, King and Princess of the freighter!” The royal pair giggled all the way to the bridge.
“What are you reading, Sii’Yasha?”
Bound parchment fell away, and where it had been was Papa’s smiling face, all fangs and icy blue fur. Sii’Yasha threw her arms around the man, and when he rose he took her with him. “Papa! I didn't hear you come in!”
“Ahh, but I can walk through shadows. Or did you forget, mm?” Sii’Yasha giggled, watching as Papa knelt down to pluck her book from the deck plate. “What is this?”
“‘The Odyssey’, Papa.”
The big blue cat turned the book curiously, first one way and then the other. “And you can read these scratches?”
Sii’Yasha reached out to nudge the book upright, though her Papa seemed no less confounded. “Yes, Papa. It's an old Earth book, in a language called Greek.”
Papa scratched his chin. “Hmm… Well I can't read Greek, Sii’Yasha.” Slowly Papa turned to sit, taking the girl in his arms with him. “Why don't you tell me what is happening here?” A sharp claw tapped the open page.
“Oh! Odysseus just met an evil witch, and she turned all of his sailors into pigs!”
Papa scratched his chin again. “Hm. What is a pig?”
“I had to look it up. I think it's like a targ, but they look a lot cuter, all pudgy and pink.”
A grin came over the bigger cat. “So then Ossydeus should be happy his men are pigs, shouldn't he?”
“Nooo! Now they can't sail his ship back home, and he can't save his kingdom!”
“A ship captain and a king, eh?” Papa made a show of tracing a claw across the printed page, tapping at the funny shapes in the ink. “I think maybe this Ossydeus is a lucky man.”
Sii’Yasha giggled once more. “No Papa! He just had to fight a war, and on his way home he angered a water god named Poseidon and was cursed, so now he won't see his home or his wife ever again!”
Papa pondered that a moment, tapping a claw to his chin. “Mmm… Maybe he is not so lucky, then. I wouldn't want to be stuck away from my home, or my wife… or you, my little Sii'Yasha.” And with that the big cat trapped the littler cats head on his hand, and in spite of her yowls and struggles he planted a cartoonist, exaggerated kiss on Sii’Yasha's forehead. And as if that weren't enough, he gave her no time to fix her fur before rising, keeping her tight in his arms.
“I think we should let your mother know I'm home, hmm? I think she’ll be glad to see me back from my trading, and you back from your gods and witches.” Sii'Yasha did her best to pout, but Papa’s grin was too infectious. In a flourish of movement he brought them both out the door and into the corridor.
“Make way,” Papa bellowed in his raspy baritone. “Make way for Teekal and Sii’Yasha Yira, King and Princess of the freighter!” The royal pair giggled all the way to the bridge.
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(( bumping for the newer folks. I know one or two people who might find interest in this! __
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"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
~ Pablo Neruda
in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
~ Pablo Neruda
Sam awoke, his head hammering. Where the hell was he?
The answer came rather quickly, as he lifted himself up on the bed. Light was streaming in from the shuttered window. The crunch of people walking and nattering on the snow outside, the smell of fresh hot chocolate and coffee. His eyes drifted to his discarded clothes on the floor. And a red dress. That was not his... at least he didn't think.
The body next to him untangled herself from his, and two blue eyes opened, hazed over. It took a minute for them to refocus. She got up, looking around, her hand resting on her red hair. "Where am I?"
Sam eyed Tasha, and blinked. "What... happened last night?" The two of them locked eyes and realised. Sam grinned. "Well..."
Tasha huffed and punched him lightly on the shoulder, before resting her head on it. "God I hate you so much, Bishop,"
Sam chuckled. "It showed last night..." he pushed her onto the bed and rolled on top of her, kissing her. Tasha resisted playfully at first, before giving in, her hands running into his hair. "You don't really hate me," he whispered.
"I do... you are a despicable man," she said, kissing him again.
"Girls are attracted to bad boys," Sam smirked. It was Tasha's turn to push him over and roll on top of him. She was interrupted, however, by the opening of a door and a voice.
"Hey honey. How was the Christmas ball last night?" the voice called.
"Oh sh.." Sam pushed Tasha off him and lept out of bed, struggling into some trousers. "Quick!" he hissed at Tasha. "Go!"
Tasha watched, gobsmacked before the reality dawned upon her.
"You really are a bastard," she hissed back, angrily, rolling out of the bed.
"Whatever, Larson," he snapped, before running his hand through his hair and stepping out of the door, shirtless. "Jenny my love!" Tasha heard Sam's voice, and catching sight of his lips locking onto Jenny's before the door closed. Tasha pulled her dress on from last night, grabbing one of Sam's jackets, before picking up her shoes. She paused, hearing the faint sounds of Sam and Jenny talking. She felt the urge to stick it to the man she hated, and walk through the doors, but she couldn't. She could not do that to the woman she had once loved. That she still loved. She slid the window open and stepped out onto the cold snow. Tiptoeing barefooted around, she looked through the next window, watching as Jenny presented Sam a Christmas gift. She could make out a golden glint in the wrappings. It was a pocket watch. Sam's face broke into a smile, and embraced Jenny tight.
Tasha hated the man. But she also loved him. Shaking her head, she walked back to her room.
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Kela - 2397 - Jo'kala, Bajor
Full disclosure; I stole this out of a previous story series I was doing. However, it's within the 20 year timeline so why not let people see it here? Click here to see more ;)
The city of Jo’Kala was bustling around the fourteen-year-old girl. Kelani raised her head to meet the breeze. For Jo’Kala the air was warm and the wind carried the sweet scent of Bajoran lilacs. For the half-Cardassian, though, the the wind carried a chill. Her grip on the tuwaly tightened as she shivered. She dropped the now-bruised fruit into her basket to round out her purchase and handed over payment to the woman working the fruit stand.
She tried to ignore the all-too-familiar look on the elderly woman’s face, the awareness of rheumy eyes boring into her with distaste as she concluded her transaction and walked away. Kelani’s steps were hurried as she moved down the paved street.
Long, modest and colorful skirts rustled loudly as the young woman walked with the basket now clutched between her hands. The decision to not notice anyone else as she mechanically took the route back to the apartment was deliberate. It didn't happen all too often, but it still happened. It was the sidelong glances, the murmured slurs, the silent hatred that she couldn't stand. Some tough calling her a spoonhead to impress his friends never really upset Kelani. He looked like an idiot if he did that, at least to her. Almost never was it thought easy, though, and that was something she had to learn to live with.
A crowded temple to her left was letting out of services. The lithe half-breed dodged a man whose path she had stepped in, muttering her apology in clumsy Bajoran. He didn't seem to notice as the thin female in a colorful splash of clothing nudged past him. She preferred it that way. It was always easier when they didn't notice her. In the background - in the crowd - she could pass for a Bajoran if someone wasn't paying attention directly to her.
Wasn't that how it always was though? Wasn't that how she liked it? She rounded the corner and ran up the stairs at a rapid pace with her head held low. It was easier to hide in the crowds on Bajor than on Cardassia Prime. During her time here she had even glimpsed, now and again, a Cardassian in the crowd. Aunt Bosal had mentioned that the Cardassians left orphans behind during the war. Kelani had meant to seek them out, but...it seemed so meaningless, in the end.
After all, she had decided she didn't much care for Cardassians either. Prime had taught her that. A smile drawing on her painted lips, the girl pulled open an ornate wooden door and stepped in to the apartment.
The knife in Kela's hands slipped through the skin of the tuwaly fruit like through butter. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, huddled over the cutting board.
"Yes, like that." The aging Bajoran woman said loudly from across the kitchen. "As thin as you can make them."
Kelani put the knife down and picked up one of the paper-thin slices of fruit, holding it in the air. The mid-day sun was shining brightly through the window and through the fruit itself.
"It's...I can see through it."
The chestnut-haired Bajoran let the pastry dough in her hands land on the counter in a cloud of flour, hands wiped on her apron as she walked up behind Kelani. Lines at the corner of her mouth and eyes showed her age as her mouth pulled downward in a friend. She reaches out to take the slice of fruit from Kelani and holds it higher, motioning with her other dough-encrusted finger.
"Here. You want it to be like this. When we make the pie they get layered. Thin layers merge together, which gives it density."
"I see."
The Bajoran arched an eyebrow at girl as if not sure she actually did see, but crossed the room and resumed working on the crust. Kelani's eyes were drawn to the window across from her after setting the slice of fruit back down. The reflection there was not the same girl who had come here less than two years ago. She had been slow to mature beside her Cardassian cousins, but since arriving on Bajor that was no longer the case. Her rounded, child-like face was now the angular and thin face of young woman, her body thin and stretched - almost as if she had grown too quickly to keep up.
It has only made her loneliness more pronounced. Her dark brown eyes lowered to the fruit as she diligently began to slice once more.
"Aunt Bosal, I've been thinking."
The woman sounded irritated. "You know I don't like when you prompt me."
Kelani could feel her cheeks flush. "I was thinking about going back to Cardassia."
There was a silence over the room before her aunt asked again, calmly, "...are you certain?"
"Well, no. I was just thinking about it. Uncle Gilan sent me some lek last time we spoke, and he said if I ever wanted to come back I could." She tilted her head to allow some hair to fall in front of her face, shielding her from her Aunt's probing looks. "It might be a good change."
The sound of a sneer could be found in the Bajoran's words as she said, "Cardassia is never a good anything."
"Well neither is Bajor." Her anger rose sharply. She kept her eyes on the tuwaly fruit, though, still slicing. "Not for me. Sometimes I think you forget I'm not like you."
"Don't think I could forget for a minute, dear."
Silence stretched between them, the methodical sound of slicing and chopping on a wooden block the only thing filling Kelani's senses for a long time. Tuwaly after tuwaly she remained quiet and considering. When at last the fruits had been properly peeled, cut and set into their bowl, she walked over to her Aunt and set the bowl in front of her.
"I think...I'm going to go back to Cardassia."
The Bajoran set the pie mold down and turned to her niece, brushing her floury hands off. The look on her face was hard and neutral.
"If you think it's best."
"I don't know what's best," Kelani conceded with a meek shrug, "all I know is that I'm not happy here either. I've tried, Aunt, I have."
"Have I treated you badly?"
"No! No, not at all. Really. We ... fight a lot, but you've treated me well."
A smile crossed the older woman's face. It surprised Kelani more than it probably should have. She stared in silent confusion, then offered a reluctant smile back.
"Kelani, I wish my idiot brother was here for you. We're doing our best. Please don't forget that."
Her head shook quickly. "I haven't. I won't." She pulled her apron off and hung it on a nearby hook, looking to her Aunt with apprehension. "I'm going to go clean up and look at the shuttle schedule. I was thinking of leaving tomorrow, if you'd allow it."
"Tomorrow?" The Bajoran's lips pursed. "If that's what you want, I suppose we can manage it."
Kelani left the room with a wide smile.
"Thank you, Auntie!"
She had been lying to Bosal.
Kelani looked over the promenade from the second floor of the station. She hadn't been telling the truth when she said Galin had given her enough lek to get home. She had none to her name, and no intention to ever return to Cardassia. The young woman's eyes were roving over the crowd with restrained desperation. For days now she had been trying to pick out the captains of docked merchant vessels.
Someone had told her that sometimes people left freighters. Sometimes freighters needed replacement crew. Would she fit in on a freighter? They might not even hire someone as young as she. Before leaving she had abandoned her skirts and blouses for a pair of tight trousers and a workshirt. If she looked older - if she looked the part - maybe they'd let her in with no questions asked.
Her breath hitched. She had her eye on several people, people she had learned to be captains - here came one now, stepping out of the docking ring with several of his crew. The Andorian was tall and lean, with clothes that were as plain as his crew's. It was worth a try.
Kelani took off like a shot into Quark's and down the spiral staircase, sidestepping most people and bumping into a few as she darted out onto the promenade. A Ferengi made a noise of annoyance as she passed the bar and stumbled out onto the main floor. She looked to the right, scanning the crowd. Was he still here?
In the distance she could see a pair of bobbing antennae. Perfect. Kelani stood and caught her breath, adjusting her shirt and her mussed hair. As the Andorian and his friends approached she walked in their direction. Previous indirect approaches to other Captains hadn't worked. For this one, she was going to be assertive. With a confidence she hadn't been able to muster most of her life, Kelani approached the three through the crowd.
The Andorian was laughing and slapped a human male on the chest. They looked like they were sharing in some story. To the right the third party, a female Bolian, was laughing along with them. After ensuring her universal translator was active, Kelani stepped in front of them and asked loudly, "Captain? Can I have a word with you?"
Their laughter halted immediately. The Andorian captain waves his friends off and stepped forward to look at the girl patronizingly. His antennae dipped. "Sorry?"
Kelani could feel the heat on her face. She cleared her throat and defiantly raised her chin to stare up at him. "I would like to speak with you." The fourteen-year-old spoke in her most authoritative voice. It's efficacy was obvious when her words elicited an even more patronizing, amused smile from him.
"This must be important!" He glanced back to his friends. "Go on, I'll meet you. Whatever this is shouldn't take long." The human and the Bolian looked at one another with mirrored shrugs and walked past. Suddenly, the Andorian's hand was on her arm and dragging her toward the wall. Kelani tried not to panic and followed him. When they were out of the crowd the man let her go and leaned against the wall.
The expression on his blue face had gone from amused to impatient. "What is it." It was a statement, not a question.
She swallowed. Her heart racing, Kelani took a deep breath before starting once more. "I need a job. I'll work hard, I promise, but-" she stopped when he began to laugh again. "What? Why-"
"Why?" His laughter rose to a belly laugh. "Kid, what do you know about shipping? What do you know about living on ships?"
She worked her mouth silently, trying to figure out why she was so offended by this. "I...not...much. I want to learn, though, I do!" Her voice warbled on the last few words and she could feel tears stinging at her eyes. Embarrassment wouldn't help her get a job, but she felt it welling up inside her.
"Hey, kid." The Andorian was off of the wall now and leaned forward to meet her on a level field, his hands pressed to his knees. "Okay. Hold on. You really need a place, don't you?"
Unwilling to let her shame and sadness be heard, she bobbed her head in a nod.
"Okay." His antennae dipped and whirled independently as he looked her over. "What's your name?"
She hesitated, cleared her throat, and managed, "...Kela. My name's Kela."
"Well, Kela." The Andorian reached a hand out to press his thumb and forefinger to her chin. He straightened her face toward him with a familiarity that sent her stomach into a drop and brought a nervous smile to her face. "Captain Thon th'Zarath. We're on our way back toward Betazed right now. You want a place? I'll find you something on Khirsha."
Her heart fluttered. "...you mean it Captain? Really?"
He stood back to full height with a surprising swiftness, grinning ear to ear. "I don't lie, kid. C'mon, we're going to the Klingon place. Why don't you join us? My treat."
"I-...I. Yes!" She adjusted her shirt and stood straight. The Captain grinned and nodded in the direction of the restaurant, crooking a finger. She followed obediently behind him. As she sat down to dinner with his senior crew, Kela realized that no matter what happened now, she was starting on a new path.
A new, exciting path.
Full disclosure; I stole this out of a previous story series I was doing. However, it's within the 20 year timeline so why not let people see it here? Click here to see more ;)
The city of Jo’Kala was bustling around the fourteen-year-old girl. Kelani raised her head to meet the breeze. For Jo’Kala the air was warm and the wind carried the sweet scent of Bajoran lilacs. For the half-Cardassian, though, the the wind carried a chill. Her grip on the tuwaly tightened as she shivered. She dropped the now-bruised fruit into her basket to round out her purchase and handed over payment to the woman working the fruit stand.
She tried to ignore the all-too-familiar look on the elderly woman’s face, the awareness of rheumy eyes boring into her with distaste as she concluded her transaction and walked away. Kelani’s steps were hurried as she moved down the paved street.
Long, modest and colorful skirts rustled loudly as the young woman walked with the basket now clutched between her hands. The decision to not notice anyone else as she mechanically took the route back to the apartment was deliberate. It didn't happen all too often, but it still happened. It was the sidelong glances, the murmured slurs, the silent hatred that she couldn't stand. Some tough calling her a spoonhead to impress his friends never really upset Kelani. He looked like an idiot if he did that, at least to her. Almost never was it thought easy, though, and that was something she had to learn to live with.
A crowded temple to her left was letting out of services. The lithe half-breed dodged a man whose path she had stepped in, muttering her apology in clumsy Bajoran. He didn't seem to notice as the thin female in a colorful splash of clothing nudged past him. She preferred it that way. It was always easier when they didn't notice her. In the background - in the crowd - she could pass for a Bajoran if someone wasn't paying attention directly to her.
Wasn't that how it always was though? Wasn't that how she liked it? She rounded the corner and ran up the stairs at a rapid pace with her head held low. It was easier to hide in the crowds on Bajor than on Cardassia Prime. During her time here she had even glimpsed, now and again, a Cardassian in the crowd. Aunt Bosal had mentioned that the Cardassians left orphans behind during the war. Kelani had meant to seek them out, but...it seemed so meaningless, in the end.
After all, she had decided she didn't much care for Cardassians either. Prime had taught her that. A smile drawing on her painted lips, the girl pulled open an ornate wooden door and stepped in to the apartment.
The knife in Kela's hands slipped through the skin of the tuwaly fruit like through butter. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, huddled over the cutting board.
"Yes, like that." The aging Bajoran woman said loudly from across the kitchen. "As thin as you can make them."
Kelani put the knife down and picked up one of the paper-thin slices of fruit, holding it in the air. The mid-day sun was shining brightly through the window and through the fruit itself.
"It's...I can see through it."
The chestnut-haired Bajoran let the pastry dough in her hands land on the counter in a cloud of flour, hands wiped on her apron as she walked up behind Kelani. Lines at the corner of her mouth and eyes showed her age as her mouth pulled downward in a friend. She reaches out to take the slice of fruit from Kelani and holds it higher, motioning with her other dough-encrusted finger.
"Here. You want it to be like this. When we make the pie they get layered. Thin layers merge together, which gives it density."
"I see."
The Bajoran arched an eyebrow at girl as if not sure she actually did see, but crossed the room and resumed working on the crust. Kelani's eyes were drawn to the window across from her after setting the slice of fruit back down. The reflection there was not the same girl who had come here less than two years ago. She had been slow to mature beside her Cardassian cousins, but since arriving on Bajor that was no longer the case. Her rounded, child-like face was now the angular and thin face of young woman, her body thin and stretched - almost as if she had grown too quickly to keep up.
It has only made her loneliness more pronounced. Her dark brown eyes lowered to the fruit as she diligently began to slice once more.
"Aunt Bosal, I've been thinking."
The woman sounded irritated. "You know I don't like when you prompt me."
Kelani could feel her cheeks flush. "I was thinking about going back to Cardassia."
There was a silence over the room before her aunt asked again, calmly, "...are you certain?"
"Well, no. I was just thinking about it. Uncle Gilan sent me some lek last time we spoke, and he said if I ever wanted to come back I could." She tilted her head to allow some hair to fall in front of her face, shielding her from her Aunt's probing looks. "It might be a good change."
The sound of a sneer could be found in the Bajoran's words as she said, "Cardassia is never a good anything."
"Well neither is Bajor." Her anger rose sharply. She kept her eyes on the tuwaly fruit, though, still slicing. "Not for me. Sometimes I think you forget I'm not like you."
"Don't think I could forget for a minute, dear."
Silence stretched between them, the methodical sound of slicing and chopping on a wooden block the only thing filling Kelani's senses for a long time. Tuwaly after tuwaly she remained quiet and considering. When at last the fruits had been properly peeled, cut and set into their bowl, she walked over to her Aunt and set the bowl in front of her.
"I think...I'm going to go back to Cardassia."
The Bajoran set the pie mold down and turned to her niece, brushing her floury hands off. The look on her face was hard and neutral.
"If you think it's best."
"I don't know what's best," Kelani conceded with a meek shrug, "all I know is that I'm not happy here either. I've tried, Aunt, I have."
"Have I treated you badly?"
"No! No, not at all. Really. We ... fight a lot, but you've treated me well."
A smile crossed the older woman's face. It surprised Kelani more than it probably should have. She stared in silent confusion, then offered a reluctant smile back.
"Kelani, I wish my idiot brother was here for you. We're doing our best. Please don't forget that."
Her head shook quickly. "I haven't. I won't." She pulled her apron off and hung it on a nearby hook, looking to her Aunt with apprehension. "I'm going to go clean up and look at the shuttle schedule. I was thinking of leaving tomorrow, if you'd allow it."
"Tomorrow?" The Bajoran's lips pursed. "If that's what you want, I suppose we can manage it."
Kelani left the room with a wide smile.
"Thank you, Auntie!"
She had been lying to Bosal.
Kelani looked over the promenade from the second floor of the station. She hadn't been telling the truth when she said Galin had given her enough lek to get home. She had none to her name, and no intention to ever return to Cardassia. The young woman's eyes were roving over the crowd with restrained desperation. For days now she had been trying to pick out the captains of docked merchant vessels.
Someone had told her that sometimes people left freighters. Sometimes freighters needed replacement crew. Would she fit in on a freighter? They might not even hire someone as young as she. Before leaving she had abandoned her skirts and blouses for a pair of tight trousers and a workshirt. If she looked older - if she looked the part - maybe they'd let her in with no questions asked.
Her breath hitched. She had her eye on several people, people she had learned to be captains - here came one now, stepping out of the docking ring with several of his crew. The Andorian was tall and lean, with clothes that were as plain as his crew's. It was worth a try.
Kelani took off like a shot into Quark's and down the spiral staircase, sidestepping most people and bumping into a few as she darted out onto the promenade. A Ferengi made a noise of annoyance as she passed the bar and stumbled out onto the main floor. She looked to the right, scanning the crowd. Was he still here?
In the distance she could see a pair of bobbing antennae. Perfect. Kelani stood and caught her breath, adjusting her shirt and her mussed hair. As the Andorian and his friends approached she walked in their direction. Previous indirect approaches to other Captains hadn't worked. For this one, she was going to be assertive. With a confidence she hadn't been able to muster most of her life, Kelani approached the three through the crowd.
The Andorian was laughing and slapped a human male on the chest. They looked like they were sharing in some story. To the right the third party, a female Bolian, was laughing along with them. After ensuring her universal translator was active, Kelani stepped in front of them and asked loudly, "Captain? Can I have a word with you?"
Their laughter halted immediately. The Andorian captain waves his friends off and stepped forward to look at the girl patronizingly. His antennae dipped. "Sorry?"
Kelani could feel the heat on her face. She cleared her throat and defiantly raised her chin to stare up at him. "I would like to speak with you." The fourteen-year-old spoke in her most authoritative voice. It's efficacy was obvious when her words elicited an even more patronizing, amused smile from him.
"This must be important!" He glanced back to his friends. "Go on, I'll meet you. Whatever this is shouldn't take long." The human and the Bolian looked at one another with mirrored shrugs and walked past. Suddenly, the Andorian's hand was on her arm and dragging her toward the wall. Kelani tried not to panic and followed him. When they were out of the crowd the man let her go and leaned against the wall.
The expression on his blue face had gone from amused to impatient. "What is it." It was a statement, not a question.
She swallowed. Her heart racing, Kelani took a deep breath before starting once more. "I need a job. I'll work hard, I promise, but-" she stopped when he began to laugh again. "What? Why-"
"Why?" His laughter rose to a belly laugh. "Kid, what do you know about shipping? What do you know about living on ships?"
She worked her mouth silently, trying to figure out why she was so offended by this. "I...not...much. I want to learn, though, I do!" Her voice warbled on the last few words and she could feel tears stinging at her eyes. Embarrassment wouldn't help her get a job, but she felt it welling up inside her.
"Hey, kid." The Andorian was off of the wall now and leaned forward to meet her on a level field, his hands pressed to his knees. "Okay. Hold on. You really need a place, don't you?"
Unwilling to let her shame and sadness be heard, she bobbed her head in a nod.
"Okay." His antennae dipped and whirled independently as he looked her over. "What's your name?"
She hesitated, cleared her throat, and managed, "...Kela. My name's Kela."
"Well, Kela." The Andorian reached a hand out to press his thumb and forefinger to her chin. He straightened her face toward him with a familiarity that sent her stomach into a drop and brought a nervous smile to her face. "Captain Thon th'Zarath. We're on our way back toward Betazed right now. You want a place? I'll find you something on Khirsha."
Her heart fluttered. "...you mean it Captain? Really?"
He stood back to full height with a surprising swiftness, grinning ear to ear. "I don't lie, kid. C'mon, we're going to the Klingon place. Why don't you join us? My treat."
"I-...I. Yes!" She adjusted her shirt and stood straight. The Captain grinned and nodded in the direction of the restaurant, crooking a finger. She followed obediently behind him. As she sat down to dinner with his senior crew, Kela realized that no matter what happened now, she was starting on a new path.
A new, exciting path.
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I wrote this quite a while ago but never got around to posting it, didn't like how it came out - just edited a few things and thought I'd post it here
Space dock was filled with a bustle of crewmen, all hurrying around its circular hallways no doubt trying to get to the otherside. While by no means at all a new station, it was a completely fresh sight for two recent graduates of the academy. Awaiting their assignment, they'd passed through the commerce quad and made their way straight towards administration.
Coby and his Andorian companion had found themselves on a bench awaiting to be called into the administration office. Next to the two fresh Ensigns sat a Cadet, her skin a very pale complexion and her eyes a scarlet red almost matching her tied back hair. The Cadet's eyes focused straight ahead on the windowed bulkhead some good 10 meters ahead of the bench. She'd been ignoring the hyper Andorian's Scottish parlances for the past three quarters of an hour, but as she watched the digital chronometer displayed above, she caved.
"Will you kindly tell your friend to Shut. Up." she spurted out, her face now taking a redder hue to it as her eyes pierced straight into the back of Coby's soul.
"I- well, actually... I mean... Cadet, that's no way to talk to an... officer." The human Ensign spoke softly, his brow furrowed but held about as much confidence talking down to the Cadet as he did in the fact he'd be able to even make the Andorian companion silent.
"Oh please, I'm a Doctor. I can- will just sedate her." the Cadet replied, then her voice grew almost evil "... and I will be able to make the paperwork look real good, Ensign."
Coby's Andorian partner couldn't believe what she'd heard, and began spouting something vulgar or other in a few different - and rather inventive - ways. The human Ensign raised his hand, and to even his own surprise, the Andorian stopped and took to a stand.
"Ah'm goin' fer a walk." is all she said, before tanking herself out of the administration quad.
"Thank heavens." the Cadet murmured, and instantly resumed her stare at the windowed bulkhead of Earth Space Dock.
Coby, who was half contemplating following the Andorian, hesitated for a moment before his voice grew some gravel. "Look, all you had to do was ask. Nicely. Don't you have some ear-pods, or something? ... I know it doesn't seem like it, but you don't know her... she's usually well-behaved. She's just nervous. I'm nervous. I get chatty when I'm nervous." he paused, but quickly resumed after a breath.
"We get our assignments today. Might not be the same place." The Cadet showed about as much interest in Coby as the administration staff over the past 45 minutes had. That didn't seem to bother him, and he continued. "... I just hope it'll be a good one, y'know? Like maybe not a big ship to start with. But then again, maybe a big ship! Have you seen what they've been working on? Plans for this massive cruiser... bigger than a Galaxy class... gosh, would love to be on one of them some day. Fleet Admiral Morton, hero of the universe. Though at this rate I'll be 60 and still sat on this bench."
"Let’s hope for my sake you won't be." she replied, coldly.
"That's the spirit. What're you waiting on? I can't... oh, oh you're a... Nice. Graduating this year then, huh? Well, good luck to you. Hey, when you do get out, you'll instantly out rank me! Congrats! Well... Eight years training... gosh, that's a long time to be at the academy. I got bored after one. Had myself shipped off into a field annex for my last term. Great laugh that was, met so many new people. Annoyed so many people, too!" he paused to laugh, tapping the pale-skinned Cadet on her bicep "... though not the same people, mind you. Atleast... well you know how it is, I'm sure there's some bleed over there somewhere."
"I'm sure." she replied, similarly.
"I'm Coby, by the way! Or... my new title! Ensign Morton, junior officer of Starfleet and the Federation! Sounds fancy, doesn't it. This'll be you, next year!" the human had quickly offered his hand towards her, but was overly expecting much.
The Cadet replied, "I sincerely hope not." - but her eyes glanced at the Ensigns hand. "... Morton, huh."
"Morton! Coby Morton. I get told not to use my first name by Athini- oh, sorry, that was my friend. She's a good lass, often got my back. But she tells me, now I'm an officer, I've got to keep fraternization down to a minimum." he pauses, leaning in for a mock-whisper "But we don't have to tell anyone, so Coby's fine."
"... Morton, huh." is her final response before the administrative assistant called out her name, in which the pale skinned Cadet arose from the bench and headed into the office without another word to him. It was called out over her own words, and Coby didn’t manage to catch it himself. Frowning.
"... Lan? Lind… oh nevermind.." he said to himself, though suddenly forced a wide, awkward smile on his face as the receptionist gave him an odd look.
Spoiler: STARDATE: 74611.4Show
Space dock was filled with a bustle of crewmen, all hurrying around its circular hallways no doubt trying to get to the otherside. While by no means at all a new station, it was a completely fresh sight for two recent graduates of the academy. Awaiting their assignment, they'd passed through the commerce quad and made their way straight towards administration.
Coby and his Andorian companion had found themselves on a bench awaiting to be called into the administration office. Next to the two fresh Ensigns sat a Cadet, her skin a very pale complexion and her eyes a scarlet red almost matching her tied back hair. The Cadet's eyes focused straight ahead on the windowed bulkhead some good 10 meters ahead of the bench. She'd been ignoring the hyper Andorian's Scottish parlances for the past three quarters of an hour, but as she watched the digital chronometer displayed above, she caved.
"Will you kindly tell your friend to Shut. Up." she spurted out, her face now taking a redder hue to it as her eyes pierced straight into the back of Coby's soul.
"I- well, actually... I mean... Cadet, that's no way to talk to an... officer." The human Ensign spoke softly, his brow furrowed but held about as much confidence talking down to the Cadet as he did in the fact he'd be able to even make the Andorian companion silent.
"Oh please, I'm a Doctor. I can- will just sedate her." the Cadet replied, then her voice grew almost evil "... and I will be able to make the paperwork look real good, Ensign."
Coby's Andorian partner couldn't believe what she'd heard, and began spouting something vulgar or other in a few different - and rather inventive - ways. The human Ensign raised his hand, and to even his own surprise, the Andorian stopped and took to a stand.
"Ah'm goin' fer a walk." is all she said, before tanking herself out of the administration quad.
"Thank heavens." the Cadet murmured, and instantly resumed her stare at the windowed bulkhead of Earth Space Dock.
Coby, who was half contemplating following the Andorian, hesitated for a moment before his voice grew some gravel. "Look, all you had to do was ask. Nicely. Don't you have some ear-pods, or something? ... I know it doesn't seem like it, but you don't know her... she's usually well-behaved. She's just nervous. I'm nervous. I get chatty when I'm nervous." he paused, but quickly resumed after a breath.
"We get our assignments today. Might not be the same place." The Cadet showed about as much interest in Coby as the administration staff over the past 45 minutes had. That didn't seem to bother him, and he continued. "... I just hope it'll be a good one, y'know? Like maybe not a big ship to start with. But then again, maybe a big ship! Have you seen what they've been working on? Plans for this massive cruiser... bigger than a Galaxy class... gosh, would love to be on one of them some day. Fleet Admiral Morton, hero of the universe. Though at this rate I'll be 60 and still sat on this bench."
"Let’s hope for my sake you won't be." she replied, coldly.
"That's the spirit. What're you waiting on? I can't... oh, oh you're a... Nice. Graduating this year then, huh? Well, good luck to you. Hey, when you do get out, you'll instantly out rank me! Congrats! Well... Eight years training... gosh, that's a long time to be at the academy. I got bored after one. Had myself shipped off into a field annex for my last term. Great laugh that was, met so many new people. Annoyed so many people, too!" he paused to laugh, tapping the pale-skinned Cadet on her bicep "... though not the same people, mind you. Atleast... well you know how it is, I'm sure there's some bleed over there somewhere."
"I'm sure." she replied, similarly.
"I'm Coby, by the way! Or... my new title! Ensign Morton, junior officer of Starfleet and the Federation! Sounds fancy, doesn't it. This'll be you, next year!" the human had quickly offered his hand towards her, but was overly expecting much.
The Cadet replied, "I sincerely hope not." - but her eyes glanced at the Ensigns hand. "... Morton, huh."
"Morton! Coby Morton. I get told not to use my first name by Athini- oh, sorry, that was my friend. She's a good lass, often got my back. But she tells me, now I'm an officer, I've got to keep fraternization down to a minimum." he pauses, leaning in for a mock-whisper "But we don't have to tell anyone, so Coby's fine."
"... Morton, huh." is her final response before the administrative assistant called out her name, in which the pale skinned Cadet arose from the bench and headed into the office without another word to him. It was called out over her own words, and Coby didn’t manage to catch it himself. Frowning.
"... Lan? Lind… oh nevermind.." he said to himself, though suddenly forced a wide, awkward smile on his face as the receptionist gave him an odd look.
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Summer of 2397: Earth: North America, Nebraska Territory
A red-haired young woman was sitting against a stack of alfalfa bales, as some of the evening moonlight was shining in. "You have GOT to be kidding me. You're really going to California to be a Lawyer?"
"Well....I mean its a good career, and I've gotta have something I can say was my own before taking over for dad ya know?" Was a much younger Quint's reply. He was laying back on the stack just next to her.
"But why a Lawyer....and...Out there? Doesn't New Omaha have some good firms?" She asked, taking her ponytail out and playing with the holder between her fingers.
"They do, but I need a degree and to be certified. Takes time and experience. Plus, I've always wanted to see the ocean, I bet it's amazing." He replied looking up at the roof of the barn.
"And all those bikini wearing girls during the summer time?" She looked over at him grinning. "Gonna replace you girlfriend in a week for some bimbo in a two piece?"
Quint stopped looking up and turned so he could see his companion. "AS if!" he grinned, reaching up and tickling her. The both laughed as she squirmed and shoved him back and onto the flooring. He landed with a thud but was still laughing. This brought the attention of a hired hand, the barn keeper. "Mr Quint?" he asked up the ladder from the floor. Quint rolled and still laughing walked over to the hayloft door, "Hey Fresk. I'm ok. You about done for the night?"
The Denobulan looked up and nodded. Then grinned as Quint's companion poked her head into view, "Oh, hello Hollie! I didn't notice you stopped by. Stargazing are you?" Both teens turned three shades of red, making the man laugh harder. "I'm just about to head out. You two behave!" and with that he headed off, dimming the lights and saying goodbye to the last few horses in the stalls.
"So," Hollie started as Fresk walked off, "not gonna run off and join Starfleet are ya? Like everyone else?"
He looked at her and shook his head "No way. Not the place for me."
"Ya, and honestly I don't wanna raise our kids on a Starbase or Starship...Or some planet so far from home we never get to introduce them to their family." Hollie added with a smirk.
"You've got this all planned don't ya?"
She nods smiling as they walk back to the open loft door. "Oh of course! Didnt you know that was a girls favorite pastime?"
They both climb up to a higher part of the stack of bales, where there is a blanket, a telescope pointed out the large door to the sky, and a picnic meal. As they both settle in, Hollie starts to adjust the telescope so she can see something better. There is silence for a long time till she cant take it "Tell ya the truth....The whole idea scares me."
Quint steps over and hugs her from behind, resting his chin on the shoulder as he tries to peer at what she might be looking at. "What does?"
She leaned back into him smiling. "Long distance dating. We've..Been off and on all through school Emery, and that's living in the same area. What are we gonna do with you so busy and on the edge of the continent?"
"We'll make it work," he started. "I wont say it'll be easy but...What is?"
"Fate wouldn't do that to us would it?"
"If it does? I wouldn't give up a day."
A red-haired young woman was sitting against a stack of alfalfa bales, as some of the evening moonlight was shining in. "You have GOT to be kidding me. You're really going to California to be a Lawyer?"
"Well....I mean its a good career, and I've gotta have something I can say was my own before taking over for dad ya know?" Was a much younger Quint's reply. He was laying back on the stack just next to her.
"But why a Lawyer....and...Out there? Doesn't New Omaha have some good firms?" She asked, taking her ponytail out and playing with the holder between her fingers.
"They do, but I need a degree and to be certified. Takes time and experience. Plus, I've always wanted to see the ocean, I bet it's amazing." He replied looking up at the roof of the barn.
"And all those bikini wearing girls during the summer time?" She looked over at him grinning. "Gonna replace you girlfriend in a week for some bimbo in a two piece?"
Quint stopped looking up and turned so he could see his companion. "AS if!" he grinned, reaching up and tickling her. The both laughed as she squirmed and shoved him back and onto the flooring. He landed with a thud but was still laughing. This brought the attention of a hired hand, the barn keeper. "Mr Quint?" he asked up the ladder from the floor. Quint rolled and still laughing walked over to the hayloft door, "Hey Fresk. I'm ok. You about done for the night?"
The Denobulan looked up and nodded. Then grinned as Quint's companion poked her head into view, "Oh, hello Hollie! I didn't notice you stopped by. Stargazing are you?" Both teens turned three shades of red, making the man laugh harder. "I'm just about to head out. You two behave!" and with that he headed off, dimming the lights and saying goodbye to the last few horses in the stalls.
"So," Hollie started as Fresk walked off, "not gonna run off and join Starfleet are ya? Like everyone else?"
He looked at her and shook his head "No way. Not the place for me."
"Ya, and honestly I don't wanna raise our kids on a Starbase or Starship...Or some planet so far from home we never get to introduce them to their family." Hollie added with a smirk.
"You've got this all planned don't ya?"
She nods smiling as they walk back to the open loft door. "Oh of course! Didnt you know that was a girls favorite pastime?"
They both climb up to a higher part of the stack of bales, where there is a blanket, a telescope pointed out the large door to the sky, and a picnic meal. As they both settle in, Hollie starts to adjust the telescope so she can see something better. There is silence for a long time till she cant take it "Tell ya the truth....The whole idea scares me."
Quint steps over and hugs her from behind, resting his chin on the shoulder as he tries to peer at what she might be looking at. "What does?"
She leaned back into him smiling. "Long distance dating. We've..Been off and on all through school Emery, and that's living in the same area. What are we gonna do with you so busy and on the edge of the continent?"
"We'll make it work," he started. "I wont say it'll be easy but...What is?"
"Fate wouldn't do that to us would it?"
"If it does? I wouldn't give up a day."
6 Likes
2397
Everything hurt. Lieutenant Junior Grade Alistair Nimitz let out a loud groan in pain as he awoke, trying to assess his surroundings. It took him several minutes to realize he could only see out of his right eye. He glanced around the white hospital room, taking note of the view of the old Human Capital City of Washington D.C. from the window. It wasn't much longer until the door slid open, a nurse and a man dressed in Starfleet Gold Shirt, with Commander Pips on the right breast of his uniform shirt.
"Lieutenant Nimitz, you are a lucky man, not many people survive going hand to hand with a Gorn inside such a confined area."
Nimitz let out a slight groan as he lifted himself up right. "I wish I could say I've had worst, but.. nothing comes to mind."
The Commander did his best not to let out a soft laugh, but failed. He was quick to recompose himself "Well, let's get the official business out of the way, first, the Director has authorized me to inform you that effective immediately you are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Senior Grade for your quick thinking that allowed us to finally put Azamar in prison for a very long time.. secondly, also effective immediately, you are on six months leave."
"Sir?"
The Commander quickly threw his hands up in surrender "It's not up to me, the orders came from the Director.. however, it was hinted that you should spend it on the Tian An Men."
Nimitz arched a suspicious eyebrow "Captain McLaren? His Tac.."
"Yes I know, Commander Foraker has been trying to get you to accept a posting as their replacement Chief of Security."
Nimitz eyed the vase of flowers sitting on the side table with a signed note on it. "Yes.. she has."
The Commander looked out the window for a moment "I'm not telling you how to spend your next six months, but wouldn't spending it on a ship watching the stars be better then sitting alone in the woods?"
"I'm not changing my mind.."
"Of course not Alistair." The Commander took a seat next to the bed. "But ask yourself, where do you see yourself in the future? I know you have ambitions, even if you try to hide them, the eyes don't lie."
Nimitz shook his head "I mean.. of course I do. But my ambitions are not flying around the galaxy.. I didn't join Starfleet to become a Captain of a ship or explore new things and all that stuff."
The Commander shook his head "Look Alistair.. It's not my job to tell you what your ambitions should be.. it is my job though to get your full potential to use for the betterment of yourself and Starfleet." The Commander stood up and started towards the door "You are three years out of the Academy, and you've been working for my team since.. I just don't want you to think back in thirty or forty years and wish you weren't chained to a desk on Earth, I recommend you take the six months, spend it with Mishke and maybe see a few new things."
Nimitz watched with his eye as the commander exited the room, the nurse then loaded a hypo. The sound of her voice was droned out by the pain in his leg as the painkiller wore off. The nurse quickly pressed the hypo to Nimitz's neck, calming down the pain and allowed him to drift off back to sleep.
Everything hurt. Lieutenant Junior Grade Alistair Nimitz let out a loud groan in pain as he awoke, trying to assess his surroundings. It took him several minutes to realize he could only see out of his right eye. He glanced around the white hospital room, taking note of the view of the old Human Capital City of Washington D.C. from the window. It wasn't much longer until the door slid open, a nurse and a man dressed in Starfleet Gold Shirt, with Commander Pips on the right breast of his uniform shirt.
"Lieutenant Nimitz, you are a lucky man, not many people survive going hand to hand with a Gorn inside such a confined area."
Nimitz let out a slight groan as he lifted himself up right. "I wish I could say I've had worst, but.. nothing comes to mind."
The Commander did his best not to let out a soft laugh, but failed. He was quick to recompose himself "Well, let's get the official business out of the way, first, the Director has authorized me to inform you that effective immediately you are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Senior Grade for your quick thinking that allowed us to finally put Azamar in prison for a very long time.. secondly, also effective immediately, you are on six months leave."
"Sir?"
The Commander quickly threw his hands up in surrender "It's not up to me, the orders came from the Director.. however, it was hinted that you should spend it on the Tian An Men."
Nimitz arched a suspicious eyebrow "Captain McLaren? His Tac.."
"Yes I know, Commander Foraker has been trying to get you to accept a posting as their replacement Chief of Security."
Nimitz eyed the vase of flowers sitting on the side table with a signed note on it. "Yes.. she has."
The Commander looked out the window for a moment "I'm not telling you how to spend your next six months, but wouldn't spending it on a ship watching the stars be better then sitting alone in the woods?"
"I'm not changing my mind.."
"Of course not Alistair." The Commander took a seat next to the bed. "But ask yourself, where do you see yourself in the future? I know you have ambitions, even if you try to hide them, the eyes don't lie."
Nimitz shook his head "I mean.. of course I do. But my ambitions are not flying around the galaxy.. I didn't join Starfleet to become a Captain of a ship or explore new things and all that stuff."
The Commander shook his head "Look Alistair.. It's not my job to tell you what your ambitions should be.. it is my job though to get your full potential to use for the betterment of yourself and Starfleet." The Commander stood up and started towards the door "You are three years out of the Academy, and you've been working for my team since.. I just don't want you to think back in thirty or forty years and wish you weren't chained to a desk on Earth, I recommend you take the six months, spend it with Mishke and maybe see a few new things."
Nimitz watched with his eye as the commander exited the room, the nurse then loaded a hypo. The sound of her voice was droned out by the pain in his leg as the painkiller wore off. The nurse quickly pressed the hypo to Nimitz's neck, calming down the pain and allowed him to drift off back to sleep.
5 Likes
2161 -> 2400
Reality slowed and stuttered around her, like a holodeck under heavy load, as a single step carried her across centuries. One moment she was backstage at the auditorium where the Federation Charter was about to be signed; the next, she was falling to her knees on grey sand, in the ruins of an ancient city. A cold, mournful wind blew through the empty streets and plazas, plucking at her long blonde hair, which had come loose from its usual ponytail.
Lying in the dust around her were bodies. Some, now stripped of their holographic disguises, were unfamiliar aliens with goblin faces and eyes as scarlet as their uniforms. Others wore Starfleet red and blue and gold. She crawled through the grit to the nearest of the latter, fighting back sobs from her grief and the pain of her own injuries, and turned the corpse over.
Lt. Commander Alva stared up at the eternal stars. He'd rallied the away team after Vesta was destroyed, led them into the past in pursuit of the aliens who'd breached the security perimeter of a system so classified it wasn't even on most charts. He'd thrown himself in front of a phaser blast meant for Ambassador Soval. He'd been dead over two hundred years, yet his body was still warm.
He'd saved her. Saved the Federation, saved history, saved everything.
And I only am escaped alone to tell thee, whispered a memory from one of Draz's past lives.
A voice boomed from the ... portal? artifact? being? at her back, its outer surface seemingly rough-hewn from a substance that resembled but was definitely not stone. TIME HAS RESUMED ITS SHAPE. ALL IS AS IT WAS BEFORE.
A thousand questions bubbled up inside her (some, she imagined, from where the symbiote roiled and twisted in her gut) - about the success of her desperate mission, the identities of the would-be assassins who'd sought to undo the Federation before it began, the Guardian's origins and capabilities, and rising over them all, an anguished howl of Why? - but before she could ask any of them, the world blurred again and she was whisked away.
"Sanara! Sanara, are you okay?"
"What happened to her uniform?"
"Hey, she's hurt! Medic! We need a medic here!"
Over the days and weeks and debriefings-slash-interrogations that followed, as the details of her altered life filled in around her, Sanara Lucel Draz would have many occasions to bitterly curse the Guardian's somewhat loose definition of "all".
Reality slowed and stuttered around her, like a holodeck under heavy load, as a single step carried her across centuries. One moment she was backstage at the auditorium where the Federation Charter was about to be signed; the next, she was falling to her knees on grey sand, in the ruins of an ancient city. A cold, mournful wind blew through the empty streets and plazas, plucking at her long blonde hair, which had come loose from its usual ponytail.
Lying in the dust around her were bodies. Some, now stripped of their holographic disguises, were unfamiliar aliens with goblin faces and eyes as scarlet as their uniforms. Others wore Starfleet red and blue and gold. She crawled through the grit to the nearest of the latter, fighting back sobs from her grief and the pain of her own injuries, and turned the corpse over.
Lt. Commander Alva stared up at the eternal stars. He'd rallied the away team after Vesta was destroyed, led them into the past in pursuit of the aliens who'd breached the security perimeter of a system so classified it wasn't even on most charts. He'd thrown himself in front of a phaser blast meant for Ambassador Soval. He'd been dead over two hundred years, yet his body was still warm.
He'd saved her. Saved the Federation, saved history, saved everything.
And I only am escaped alone to tell thee, whispered a memory from one of Draz's past lives.
A voice boomed from the ... portal? artifact? being? at her back, its outer surface seemingly rough-hewn from a substance that resembled but was definitely not stone. TIME HAS RESUMED ITS SHAPE. ALL IS AS IT WAS BEFORE.
A thousand questions bubbled up inside her (some, she imagined, from where the symbiote roiled and twisted in her gut) - about the success of her desperate mission, the identities of the would-be assassins who'd sought to undo the Federation before it began, the Guardian's origins and capabilities, and rising over them all, an anguished howl of Why? - but before she could ask any of them, the world blurred again and she was whisked away.
"Sanara! Sanara, are you okay?"
"What happened to her uniform?"
"Hey, she's hurt! Medic! We need a medic here!"
Over the days and weeks and debriefings-slash-interrogations that followed, as the details of her altered life filled in around her, Sanara Lucel Draz would have many occasions to bitterly curse the Guardian's somewhat loose definition of "all".
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