The Ansha Tales: The Elements Sing of Failure
Ansha walked down the concourse of the Mumbai Spaceport, with a hovering suitcase floating behind her. She then saw her family at the new arrivals area, Doctor Vakmar Singh, his wife, Veema Talle Singh, her younger brother Nawahir in his newly earned full turban, and the youngest sister, Bhani. Then her younger sister Doopar stepped out from behind everyone else, smiling and dressed in her Starfleet uniform.
Mama Veema was the first to break ranks and run, with her saree fluttering behind her, to Ansha grabbing her and giving her a tearful hug to end all hugs. The others followed suit and soon Ansha was buried in her Earth family.
After exchanging their greetings and making their way to the Sikhistani bound shuttle, they boarded a limited bound for many stops, one of which was the little village of Dirba, their home.
“So, what was it like, getting blown up and stuff?” Nawahir asked, excited to hear the details of space battles. He sat across from Ansha and was ready to explode with curiosity. “Did you fight the Hirogens?” Ansha, who was lost in a gaze through the window at the land below, was startled back to reality.
“Uhm,” Ansha stammered, “I … I am sorry, Nawa. What did you ask?” Ansha painted on a strained smile as she looked at Nawahir.
“Nawa!” Doopar, who was sitting next to Ansha. “We had a talk about this. Leave her alone. She has been through much.”
“It is… it is alright, Doo,” Ansha replied. “I suppose with all the action holovids he watches this is exciting stuff.” She turned her attention to the curious teenage boy and smiled. “I did not face them, Nawahir. I stayed on the bridge, as was my watch station as commander. They did not make it that far.”
“Oh, well, if they had, would you have used those Andorian ice axes? I bet you would have taken out many of them, Ahnnie!” Nawahir exclaimed.
Ansha looked down, not sure what to say. The look on her face was enough to tell Doopar that she should once again intervene. Doopar took hold of Ansha’s hand.
Nawahir looked at Ansha with concern. “What is wrong, Ahnnie ? Did I say something wrong? I mean, I just think that you…”
“Nawa, she is hurting,” Bhani said, popping her older brother in the arm. “You need to leave Ahnnie alone. She could have died. I would not like that.”
Ansha smiled at Doopar, then Nawahir, then Bhani with tears rolling down her face. “It is fine,” she said quietly. “I am fine.”
“You are crying, Ahnnie,” Nawahir asked. “What is wrong?”
“Nawa!” Doopar said sternly. “People died. Do you not understand that? What she is going through? It is not some Bollywood tale of daring do. It is serious! She has been through a lot. Now… we need to discuss happy things and give her time and peace.”
She nodded and sighed, then patted Doopar’s hand. Ansha took a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed the green tears from her face. “Nawa, there are holovids, then, there is reality. It is never what we think it will be. War is horrible.” Ansha dabbed her eyes. “I can assure you of that.”
Nawahir paused. His mouth hung open for a moment. “I am sorry, Ahnnie,” Nawahir replied slowly. “Maybe… maybe it would make you happy if we talk about Jalandhar United Cricket Club. They are in the championship tests next week.”
Ansha smiled. “I have missed the last few tests while I was in recovery, so, yes. I would love to hear what happened, Nawa.”
Doopar smiled at Ansha as they rode onward Northeast, Ansha’s green hand in Doopar’s brown hand.
Two Romulans walk the dimly lit passageway bathed in the green light, neither smiling and neither talking. The centurion and the lieutenant pause by a door. They both look at each other then to the door.
“You stay here, Lieutenant,” the centurion said. “I will handle this.”
“Are you sure, sir? I can provide…” the female romulan in Star Empire uniform said.
“Stay here, that is an order,” he said calmly, with a reassuring smile. “I will handle it.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She gave a quick salute which was returned.
The centurion signed then waved his hand over a panel and spoke. “Centurion h’Tallik, reporting as ordered.”
“Enter, Centurion,” a voice said, dripping with venom.
The centurion grinned cheekily at the lieutenant and marched to the door as it slid open.
There at a desk sat a rather angry looking Romulan female, in the uniform of a sub-commander. Her arms were crossed on her chest. She glared at the Centurion as he entered the room, who casually walked to the center of the room, stood at attention and then gave a salute.
“Glory to the Empire,” the centurion said.
“Glory to the Empire,” the angry sub-commander replied through gritted teeth. She barely waited a beat before speaking. “Hirogens, Centurion?,” the sub-commander spat. “That was your idea? You used Hirogens.”
“Yes, I did, Sub-Commander,” the centurion replied flippantly.
“Unpredictable, braggards, unreliable, distractable, and… and… you gave them our technology, and then they got killed, leaving behind wreckage, or should I say evidence?”
“Yes, fortunately, as far as them getting killed,” the centurion replied, “but the Federation ship did explode as desired.”
“There were not supposed to be Federation survivors, Centurion.”
“Yes,” the centurion sighed. “An unfortunate thing, that.”
“If the Federation finds any evidence that links the Hirogens you sent to us, we could be facing political fallout that would put us right back into open conflict. We lack the strength to do anything about it right now. The Praetor is not pleased. ”
“How will they link us, Sub-Commander? I watched the attack from a vantage point. I witnessed the blast. We then surveyed wreckage, and materially speaking there isn’t anything left there to link them to us. Nothing that hasn’t been reduced to its base elements is left. Even the advanced cloaking system we gave the Hirogens is unrecognizable. Its self-destruct mechanism did as it was supposed to. Also, any knowledge of information we gave the Hirogens conveniently died when they did. Federation survivors or not, it is still a wonderful outcome.”
“Oh, still a wonderful outcome?” the sub-commander asked. “The Praetor and I do not share your optimism. What about the datacores, Centurion? Have they been located?”
“No, Sub-Commander. They have not.”
“And that doesn’t bother you, Centurion?”
“No, it doesn’t. Why should it? They will not be located. When that warp core went, that resultant blast was strong enough to change the properties of any matter that was within a 5 kilometer range. My analysts assured me they would have been reduced to nothing but chunks of metal.”
“And if they weren’t, Centurion?”
“They were, Sub-Commander,” the Centurion replied. “As a precaution, we looked.” He began moving around the desk behind the Sub-Commander who was now visibility taken back by his lack of decorum.
“Oh, Hezat,” the centurion continued, “This isn’t about the datacores, is it? It’s about the fact that my plan accomplished what your overly complicated schemes could not, with your stolen Klingon ships, spies, sabotage, and conscripted crews.”
“NOW SEE HERE!” the sub-commander yelled, attempting to rise, only to be forced back into the chair by Centurion h’Tallik. He produced a double-bladed knife that smelled of poison.
“The Praetor and I, you see, we already had a little talk about this… victory of mine. He shares my optimism, I assure you. No, his disappointment is not with us, Sub-Commander. No, it lies solely with you.”
“Centurion, know your place.”
“Oh,” Centurion h’Tallik replied, “I know my place.” He shoved the blade into the sub-commander’s chest. She grasped in pain and grabbed his arm as she slumped to the ground. He gently guided her to the floor as she died.
“Rest now, Hezat. May the Elements take you, my dear.” He then pressed a button on the hilt of the knife and the knife and body dissolved leaving nothing, not even a bloodstain behind.
He brought a communicator to his lips and said, “It is done, Praetor, as you have ordered.”
“Very good, Sub-Commander h’Tallik. Glory to the Empire!”
“Glory to the Empire, Praetor,” he replied, returning the communicator to his belt.
He stood and smiled then walked back to the door, opening it with a wave of his hand.
The dutiful lieutenant, who was standing as though on watch, turned quickly when the door opened. h’Tallik quickly looked back with a smile and nod as though a living being was still in the room then quickly closed the door.
“Well, Centurion?” the lieutenant queried. “Is everything alright? She can be so vindictive when upstaged.”
h’Tallik smiled and shook his head. “Oh, Lieutenant. Nothing to worry about. In fact I have now been promoted to Sub-Commander.”
The lieutenant’s eyes grew wide. “That is wonderful, sir! But what of Sub-Commander Nec’Chal?”
“She is taking a… a new position. I wished her all the best. I’m sure she’ll do well, Centurion.”
The lieutenant, now a centurion, looked at h’Tallik. “Centurion? Me? Oh, thank you Sub-Commander! I will be diligent in my duties, sir!”
“You have been, and I’m sure you always will be. Now, we must make haste. We have much more to do. This was only the first step. Glory to the Empire.”
“Glory to the Empire!” the Centurion exclaimed in excitement.