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Fleet Captain TPen

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Posts posted by Fleet Captain TPen

  1. Reviews by Captain T'Pen - CO U.S.S. CHALLENGER

    Golden Rays... Golden Path - CMDR Assanti-Stone

    Most of the time, I like to see new and creative use of the written word that isn't directly associated with our current characters. And though I've entered a couple of stories myself, I always fall back on using my main character of T'Pen as a source of inspiration. In this case, I don't think the story would have quite the same appeal of Commander Assanti-Stone had used a newly developed character's point of view. The interplay between story telling style and script style breaks up the flow of the peace but in a positive way, rather than negative. Overall the story was well developed, I just wish there wasn't a restriction on the amount of writing a person can submit. I hope that you will this story in an upcoming post for your ship/crew. It's well worth holding on to.

    Manabai’wok - Lt. Delinda Sharee

    The overall concept of the piece was very creative. The downfall comes from punctuation, grammar and flow. I spent more time going back and re-reading a sentence because of the hick-ups and stumbles than anything else. I encourage Lt. Sharee to read and re-read your stories. Make sure that words like their and there are addressed before the final submission time. Please don't quite writing. You have an eye for the creative and I don't want this to keep you for submitting more. I can't wait to read your next entry.

    In Service to the Fleet,

    DOC

  2. One Final Secret

    By Jonathan Bockhorst (AKA: Robert Falcon)

    Reviewed by Captain T'Pen

    What a story...

    What a story...

    I really felt like I was sitting in the pub as the story unfolded. Breathing in the stale smoking air, smooth wood of the warn bar, smelling the foamy beer drawn from a tap. Gosh, I could use a cold one right now.

    The descriptions are tremendous. The story riviting.

    Bravo!

    WHAT A STORY.

    Doc

  3. The Prime Directive: A Bedtime Story

    The Secret of Where the Ferengi Really Got the 'Rules of Acquisition'

    by Jackford B. Kolk

    Reviewed by Captain T'Pen

    This rounds submissions, as has been stated by the other judges, were very very good. I applaud Mr. Kolk for his entry.

    Parent/child story telling is very difficult. Especially when trying to express the gestures and features of children. The best writting is one where the description of the child, sitting with rapt attention, overshadows all else.

    Mr. Kolks piece is very well written, but change in present to past tenses, then springboarded back, made me stumble in reading.

    The ideas were strong and well thought out. Good luck in the next challenge.

    DOC

  4. Waste deep mud. Muck, silt and scattered bones strew across a battle field so bogged down from constant rain and flash pack explosions from above it looked like the pockmarked skin of an adolessant. Driving, acidic rain pelted the line of soldiers, the sky lit by flashes of lightening and artillery explosions. No one moved a muscle. Some slept, some whispered to each other, all were miserable and loved every moment.

    A fist darted out from the collection of leather and metal armor, briefly hitting a raw recruit along his chest plate. When he looked up, it was through rain soaked hair and tiny wisps of youngling beard. “Wipe the blood off and hand me that Bat’leth.” The gruff voice of a Sergeant-at-arms whispered the apparent owner of the jutting fist.

    The only portion of the recruit that moved at the Sergeant’s order were his eyes. They moved, blinking away the rain, till they fell upon the upturned blade of the Bat’leth, imbedded in the decomposing body of a Jem’Hadar warrior. It was unfortunate that the arm and hand of the Klingon soldier who’d been the owner of the double edged weapon was still equally attached to the handle.

    An explosion of fireworks played above their heads, lighting up the trench and field they lay in. The light exposed them briefly to the enemy, but quickly dissipated into darkness once again. It was a very good thing that these warriors were wearing their battle armor, for it blended well with the mud and muck, making them almost un-seeable in the gloomy, dank night.

    The recruit moved his hand towards the Bat’leth, but was stopped in mid grasp by a more delicate, but firm grip. When he looked up at the Klingon sitting next to him, his eyes went wide. The Klingon next to him wasn’t Klingon for there was no typical Klingon forehead. Another flash of lightening or artillery, it was hard to tell now, outlined the pixie-like pointed ear of a Vulcan female.

    The cobalt blue eyes of the Vulcan blinked suddenly and looked directly at the Klingon recruit. Over the cacophony of noise that the rain, thunder and artillery were making, he heard her said, “If you want to live till tomorrow, I suggest you leave that be.”

    ---

    It was 2374. The Klingon Defense Force’s forward Infantry units held a stretch of battlefield that expanded several hundred miles to the left and right of Central Command’s HQ. They called this entrenched spot, the Destrus Line and the Klingons had been holding the line for over two months.

    Constant attacks by shrouded Jem’Hadar had whittled down capable command officers. Somehow the Dominion was able to move right through the Klingon line and assassinate each and every officer. Many times the officer was killed while witnesses stood helpless. The Klingon lines were stretched so thin and command was decimated to the point that a mere Lieutenant now stood as the leader of the Infantry. And there was little hope of relief on the horizon.

    “Dig in. Protect Command. Attack when ordered. Remain alive till Sto-Vo-Kor. Today is a good day to die!” Those had been the orders from the Klingon High Council. Every unit was given the same instructions over and over again. But that had been a phrase uttered since the beginning of the Dominion conflict. Now it was just an overture for destruction and an early grave.

    ---

    The Klingon Bird-of-Prey, K’al’ak, orbited motionlessly over the remains of the Vulcanis sector. Even from this distance, the smoldering heap of dry scorched land was completely visible to the naked eye. What remained was slowly burning what little vegetation remained. Federation, Klingon, and Vulcan aid vessels orbited the planet in such a way that the K’al’ak’s helmsman had to be constantly vigilant in order to maneuver the ship as to miss hitting other ships as they awaited word from the surface.

    “I grow restless!” The barrel voice of K’Mog, ship’s Captain, echoed throughout the bridge. “We should be fighting, not sitting.”

    The entire crew nodded and grunted their agreement with his frustration. What had transpired on the planet’s surface was not honorable. The Dominion had already tried to take 40 Eridani VI once, had lost, and at a costly price for both sides. Starfleet, along with Klingon Defense Forces, had all but lost their entire forward fleets to the Dominion. In the end, the Dominion was only pushed back two light years. This time, they had come back stronger than ever. The planet below had felt the brunt of their onslaught, but again Starfleet proved too much. The Dominion had retreated like a targ with its tail between its cowardly legs.

    The K’al’AK orbited the dieing planet, dodging other vessels as it moved. This was not to K’Mog’s liking. He disliked the Dominion. He hated the Cardassian Empire for joining leagues with the Dominion. His heart beat with constant rage that only a dual to the death with a Jem’Hadar warrior could quench.

    Slamming his hand upon the chair’s metal arm, K’Mog arose, chest seething, and ran his rock hard fist into the stomach of his first officer, To’PeCH. The FO grunted lightly, flailing to grip the corner of a consol or perch of some sort, before his heavily Klingon frame hit the metal decking.

    K’Mog spun around the bridge, his long salt and pepper hair flinging with his movements. “Find me something to kill.” When no one moved, K’Mog thrust his foot into To’PeCH’s stomach, who in turn spat blood onto the decking as he rose to his feet. That got the attention of the rest of the crew who began grunting, reporting their station’s readiness.

    “Sir! Message from High Council. They have need of commanders in the Destrus Belt. Massive build up of Dominion Forces suspected.” The Communications officer all but jumped to his feet as he made the announcement.

    K’Mog wasted no time. He stomped to his seat, sat down heavily and looked at the Helmsman. “Go. Now!”

    There were no messages to and from the ship as it broke orbit and streaked out of the system. There wasn’t a need. They were going to answer the call of the Council. Besides, K’Mog knew that he would finally be able to kill someone or something. “It has been too long.” He muttered under his breath.

    K’Mog wanted to kill his First Officer, To’PeCH, just because the man infuriated him, but now was not the time. They had never been friends, it was a known fact.

    To’PeCH had never voiced opposition to K’Mog’s decisions, save one. K’Mog had married a non-Klingon. T’Pen, a Vulcan-Klingon half breed, had been K’Mog’s mate for a number of years and she was, in To’PeCH’s eyes, an abomination. Yes, she was a strong fighter. She could more than hold her own in a fight, but she wasn’t pure blood and that turned To’PeCH’s insides every time he glanced at her. She served as K’Mog’s Science Officer, so her presence was always felt on the bridge.

    To’PeCH spat on the floor again as he walked across the bridge to his station near K’Mog. “Fool.” He thought as he keyed in his code to the consol. “Going to get us killed.” He had no love for any of the members of this ship’s crew. He was an addition, an unwanted variable which K’Mog was over looking every single minute of the day. In the end it would be his eventual downfall. To’PeCH was making plans. There were Klingons like him that wanted more than to just serve the Empire. They were the Brotherhood and they wanted power, influence, money, and women. Humans had a term, Pirate, which To’PeCH had read up on. It fit him perfectly. When the time came, he would make his move and no-one, not K’Mog or T’Pen would stand in his way.

    ---

    Two days later, the Klingon warship passed into the area known as the Destrus Belt. As they sailed in, the Tactical Officer was forced to raise the ship’s shields. Thrown out before them, like a game of jacks, lay pieces of starships. Not large chunks or half-hulls, but minute particles, shards and shreds of what had once been many vessels.

    K’Mog slammed his open fist onto the arm of his chair. “What has happened here?” His hair waved around as he twisted his head in T’Pen’s direction. “Speak.”

    T’Pen looked at her consol, tapped keys and looked back to the view screen. “An entire fleet has been destroyed here.” She looked back at her consol then turned to the screen again, which showed the present course of all the STARFLEET and Klingon Defense Force movements. The 10th Fleet was a total loss after the Battle for Batezed. The 14th fleet was on its way to Alpha Centauri; the 2nd and 3rd Fleets were still licking their wounds and reestablishing their defense line around the Bajoran Wormhole. A movement on the screen captured their collective attention. A blip that should not have been there. “Breen?” She said with a sideways glance and [...] of her eyebrow.

    The general consensus was that the Breen had intercepted communications from the Klingon High Council and the fleet. As the fleet arrived, the Breen attacked and took out every last ship in the Belt.

    “So where are they now?” To’PeCH grunted, as he scanned the area in hopes of finding some survivors. Seconds went by, the questions still hanging in the musty air, until the scans picked up a lone blip on the third planet. “There is a survivor.” The view screen changed to show the blip.

    T’Pen looked up from her readings to confirm To’PeCH’s assessment. “The planet is called Destrus, part of the planetary body that makes up the Destrus Belt. Rock and Rain are its constants.”

    K’Mog didn’t think for more than a second, for to do so would show himself weak in thought. “Take us into orbit and we’ll beam down. Whether they are Klingon or Breen, we shall see for ourselves.”

    ---

    When K’Mog, To’PeCH, T’Pen and several others from the ship beamed down to the planets surface, they were inundated with pelting rain, constant thunder and lightening and gale force winds. Finding survivors was going to be a struggle, not only for the survivor him/herself, but also for the rescue team. Mud pits sucked at their boots, deceiving puddles of water that could pull a man under in a matter of seconds. All equally treacherous and killing off the Klingon rescuers as they trekked along.

    After a time, they found the remains of ten Klingons, the shuttle they’d used to escape the battle, and what appeared to be the remains of Jem’Hadar and Breen. From the look of the bodies, they’d been there several days; the elements having taken their toll. As T’Pen bent down to examine the bodies closer, a phaser blast dropped G’eKt, one of the security personnel who’d followed them down and managed to survive the pits and holes. He fell heavily to the ground; blood splattering the ground; a clap of thunder and lightening lighting up the field.

    Everyone fell, disruptors and knives flashing out as quickly as the lightening overhead. No one new where the shot had come from, but there was no use trying to get G’eKt back to the ship. He was already entering the gates to Sto-Vo-Kor before his body thudded to the muddy surface. Another shot announced the Jem’Hadar’s close proximity, which both relieved the Klingons but also made them wary of just how close their enemy really was.

    K’Mog grabbed his communicator and called the ship for re-enforcements. Whether someone up above had the bright idea or not, as re-enforcements beamed down from K’Mog’s ship to help in the fight that seemed to be coming, an automatic beacon messaged the Klingon High Council, who immediately flooded the Destrus Belt with even more ship.

    The crew of the K’al’AK took up a defensive posture, firing their disruptors when the opportunity presented itself. But as time went by, they seemed to become more and more dug in, rather than ready to go on the offensive.

    It took two days for fleet re-enforcements to finally arrive. When they arrived, so did the Jem’Hadar, the Vorta and the Changelings. With each passing hour, the Klingons became even more entrenched, bloodied and worn around the edges. Their ships were being destroyed in space, drop ships and shuttles streaked the skies as they battled each other for supremacy over the air. Infantries advanced, retreated, advanced again and again till the ground was littered with bodies of all involved.

    ---

    T’Pen looked at the recruit, thinking “he can’t be more than two and ten.” She blinked again, trying to dislodge the image of dead and dieing boys, much like this youngling, from her mind. It didn’t work very well.

    From across the trench, the Sergeant-at-arms grunted his disapproval of having his order countermanded. “Give it now,” he said as he began to move, his fist coming directly at T’Pen’s face. In that split second, the recruit could have chosen one of two paths. He could have chosen to follow T’Pen’s order and not pick up the Bat’leth, OR he could have picked it up and given it to the Sergeant-at-arms.

    As it happened, the recruit grabbed the Bat’leth and thrust it into the hands of the Sergeant-at-arms, who brought the full weight of the weapon down on the recruits head, killing him instantly. The Sergeant rose from his position and, weapon in hand, began swinging the Bat’Leth left to right, slaughtering the Klingons, who sat motionlessly in shock. Some tried to rise to their feet. They were cut down by the blade. Others were cut down by Jem’Hadar snipers, watching for this sudden move by a loan Klingon.

    There was no stopping the Sergeant. He seemed possessed. From behind T’Pen, she first heard foot steps; then saw the de-shrouding Jem’Hadar move out of the blackness across the battlefield. Phasers, disruptors, phase grenades, and mass artillery accompanied their progress across, then into the trench line. Shuttles streaked through, dropping more bombs, which exploded upon impact. Klingon and Jem’Hadar alike fell under the onslaught. T’Pen, along with K’Mog, To’PeCH and several others, rose to their feet, full of hatred for the dishonorable monsters.

    T’Pen felt her leg give way under her; a solid, firm grip holding tight to her knee. She tugged with all her might, trying to free herself, but the hand held tight. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the madman eyes of the Sergeant-at-arms looking back. Spittle had formed on his lips and he was shaking like he was trying to dislodge something. T’Pen moved her disruptor from above her head to point down into the face of this man who’d only moments ago, exposed the entire line to the onslaught of the Jem’Hadar. What she saw made her scream involuntarily. The Klingon’s face began to literally melt away until a smooth, non-descript form, with a hint of a nose, two eyes and a mouth, appeared below her.

    “CHANGELING!” T’Pen cried out. In a blind move, she brought down the disruptor and aimed it at the thing holding fast to her. Before she could pull the trigger, the Changeling morphed, slinking up T’Pen’s legs, waste, chest and face, till it appeared as a blanket tightly holding her.

    T’Pen watched and heard the remainder of the battle, her eyes the only part of her body that was not engulfed in the Changeling’s grasp. All the while, the Changeling talked into her ear, telling her that she’d failed. She couldn’t tell what day it was. Days, weeks, possibly even years rolled past. It was all a blur, as the Changeling continued its hold upon her. “The Klingon Empire has fallen.” It told her, “Your husband is dead, your ship is destroyed.” Then there was silence for a time. Finally, it gently whispered, “The Federation has fallen, everyone is gone. Life as you know it will never be the same.”

    T’Pen tried not to believe it; tried not to let the psychological effects of being completely cut off from everyone and everything she knew take its hold. But her Vulcan logic could not outweigh her Klingon rage. She fell asleep, dreaming horrible images of being smothered.

    When she awoke, the Changeling was gone, but she wasn’t alone. She was sitting among several hundred other beings. A chain had been attached to her leg. She examined it closely, surmising that there was no way to get it off. Jem’Hadar walked up and down the rows of tightly packed prisoners, their “white” gurgling through its tube into their robotic bodies. Occasionally a Vorta would enter, walk the lines, and take a prisoner away. That prisoner never returned.

    Time passed slowly; too slowly for T’Pen to count. She slept, ate, slept again in the same spot on the floor. There was not movement. There was no exercise. She watched when the doors would open and a Vorta enter. Covering her eyes with her hands against the harsh light, T’Pen almost missed the Vorta, as he stood before her. Nothing was said. No one cried out.

    T’Pen wanted so badly to fight back. She wanted to kill the Vorta. Snap his neck. When he stood before her, all she could do was attempt to stand. T’Pen realized, with a little wimper, that her legs had atrophied. Hands lifted her from the floor, but she fell immediately. Trying to turn over, she saw and felt a sharp kick to her mid-section. Nothing more was said.

    After a time, she convinced herself that this was all a dream. T’Pen heard the “white” gurgle, the sound of a Jem’Hadar’s blade and sheath, then a cutting noise as he ran his blade into her back, severing her spinal column and piercing her hearts.

  5. Destined for Failure?

    By Captain T’Pen

    Georgia lay flat on her back, her breathing raspy and heavy. The warning lights and miniature klaxon of her EVA suit drowned out any sound of the avalanching rock and dust that fell all around her prone body. A gentle hiss of escaping air from the perforation in her suit’s leg, echoed through the cavern like an overly zealous snake ready to strike.

    Grunting with effort, Georgia attempted to sit up, but her gloved hands slid over the plethora of tiny pebbles and sand, causing her shoulder and helmeted head to violently fall and impact against the ledge she was precariously lying on.

    Three hours earlier, Ensign Georgia O’bin-okē, an un-liked, snotty American Indian Terran, along with a crack team of scientists from the U.S.S. POPE, prepared to beam down to the surface of a desolate commit, whose streaking path crossed the POPE’s pre-directed course along the Romulan Neutral Zone.

    Captain Bla’aten, a emaciated Bolian male, had many concerns, chief of which was that the team stay together and not disrupt anything on the comet’s surface. “Take readings, take measurements, take a couple of moon rocks if you must. But don’t do anything more.” Bla’aten said, as he smiled his rather disarming smile at the team. His smile tended to give younger officers the willies. Today, as he spoke from the transporter console, his smiled sent a shudder down the spine of more than one officer on the transporter platform. His white teeth were a stark contrast to his sea-blue skin tone. “Just be careful.”

    Shortly after the team arrived and each was given their orders, Georgia all on her own this trip, decided to traverse the rocky surface near one of the fissures in the craggy soil. It took her more than an hour to set up the repelling equipment. When no one had even bothered to check in on her, she just assumed that they were not interested in her input. “Just the way I liked it.” She repeated the phrase over and over as she set up the equipment.

    The repel harness lowered her down the shaft at intervals of 5 or so feet at a time. Her tri-corder wasn’t reading anything too out of the ordinary. Thinking that she could show up the rest of the team by bringing back a true find, she lowered herself further down, descending deeper and deeper into the commits’ interior. The only light reflected off the walls came from her helmet lamps and the blinking lights from her tri-corder.

    She looked down into the black pit and wondered where the hole ended. As if on cue, the harness line stopped in mid-run. With all her might, Georgia tried to un-snag the line by jerking her body, clicking the leaver control and yelling profanities into the blackness. Her grunts and groans, as she dangled in mid-air with nothing but blackness and cold void of air, dulled the thrill of adventure.

    “Come on.” She yelled and then felt the line free it-self. But more than free it-self; it freed her from any kind of secure line to the surface. She plummeted down into the dark, her screams swallowed in her helmet.

    She bounced off the craggy wall several times, before finally seeing and then feeling the ledge she came to rest on. As she lay flat on her back, the un-tethered rope whooshed past the forward view of her helmet. It was followed shortly after by the white angular form of the climber’s control equipment. Little ripples of dusty, rocky air clouded her visor’s forward view. When it finally cleared, Georgia was able to make out a coiled length of rope, whose end appeared to be severed. It wasn’t ragged like a rock had rubbed it till it broke. She’d checked the line herself before coiling it and getting it ready for the trip down.

    Her tri-corder lay open face down over an exposed craggy rock. The lights on it’s surface blinked a bit dimmer than normal. The casing had cracked where it landed in the commotion. Knobby, electronic innards were visible through a sliver of plastic that had been broken away.

    Looking at the tiny half lit screen, she saw the scans of minute traces of metal along the edges of the severed rope. She slowly closed up the tri-corder to preserve its battery life, and realized that someone had purposely cut her rope and tossed it and the climber into the cavern with her. She pondered this for several seconds before realizing that her suit was talking to her.

    “Danger. Emergency decompression in 10 seconds,” the computer voice announced. Georgia thought how contradictory the voice sounded. Even in the midst of a major crisis, the computer voice was annoying calm.

    “Not much time.” She said to herself. Grabbing the length of rope that lay coiled on the ground, she wrapped the tight cord around her leg just above the cut. “I’ll probably loose my leg for this, but at least I’ll see someone fry for trying to kill me.”

    Finally managing to lift herself up, Georgia tried to catch her breath. The emergency klaxon finally stopped and she breathed normally; a twinge of nervousness wrapped around each easier breath. Taking out her tri-corder again, she scanned her surroundings. There wasn’t much here but small mineral deposits, craggy sharp rocks and plenty of darkness. From the estimate on the tri-corder, she’d fallen close to 10 stories. Without someone missing her, there was no way they were going to find her down here.

    Looking over her EVA suit, Georgia assessed that it was still in fairly good condition. “Now there’s the matter of climbing out.” Though the coiled up cord was now tied around her leg, it was also attached to the climber. She knew that she just had to try and get back up. Even if it meant she’d get left behind. “I’ll be dammed if I’ll die in the dark.”

    Georgia spent several long minutes trying to get the rope coil off of the climbing equipment, but the line was snagged in several spots. Looking through her kit, the knife that was usually supplied, was no where to be seen. “Sabotage!?! They wanted me to fail. Fine, I like a challenge.” With nothing more than her will to live and justice on her side, she began to climb the rocky wall. It wasn’t going to be easy.

    She stopped often to rest, keeping her fingers tightly gripped into the wall’s surface. She slipped a couple of times, but not so often that she was discouraged to continue. After a while, she felt the tug of the climber below her, dangling loosely on the cord tied around her leg. It wasn’t so much a heavy burden, as an annoying tug. With all her might, Georgia soldiered on.

    Light, but not sunlight or even starlight, hung down over her head. Georgia saw flickers and stars above her. It had taken more than four hours and every last bit of strength to make it to the top. She was almost to the craggy lip’s edge, when an EVA suited hand jutted out, the fingers flexing to grab hold of her. She brushed it away, her pride taking over. “Show no fear.” She grumbled inwardly, as she crawled up over the lip and began to pull the cord holding the climber.

    “What the Hell happened to you Ensign?” came a voice from just in front of her. “We’d almost given up on you.” Georgia pulled the last of the cord up and the climber with it. Looking over at the others on the team, she saw the look of disbelief, shock and amazement etched in each face. She’d beaten the odds and climbed out of the pit.

    “Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice.” She smiled smugly at the group. “Till someone tries to kill me.” She stood defiantly, one hand outstretched with the cord, the other going swiftly to her combadge. “Away Team to POPE. Transport us up and make sure the Captain’s there when we arrive. O’bin-okē out.” The rest of the team continued to look shocked, as they transported away.

  6. "An Ocean of Tears"

    by h92o

    A review by Captain T'Pen

    U.S.S. CHALLENGER, Commanding

    This is, overall, an interesting piece to read. I rather enjoyed the imagery. But, I stumbled constantly over grammatical errors, missing punctuation, random chains of thought, etc.

    The idea of writing a themed piece such as this is exploration of a character and/or idea and digging deep within ones soul to find the balance of all the parts. But the flow of words must still interact with the ideas behind the theme in which the writer is trying to convey his/her message.

    In the future, I suggest spending as much time on grammar and punctuation, as you do on the overall thematic presentation of the work. You may write the most profound piece of poetry, but a missing mark or unintended shift of word play will cause the piece to fall flat.

    Keep exploring your ideas. You’re well on your way to being a fine writer.

    I remain,

    Doc

  7. Corrected Version

    “Acid Green”

    A Captain’s Table Story

    by Captain T’Pen

    Captain T’Pen quietly reflected at her desk, having just returned, after reunification talks among the Kubazzak tribes on Ver’ydet V. “Six thousand years of bitter war among the tribal nations,” she thought. “This war? The byproduct of years of aggression, agitation and speculation.”

    T’Pen sighed deeply. Had she done enough? Her FO, Frazier, would say that they had done their duty and that was all they could do. They could have done more. She sighed again and rested her head on her steeple fingers.

    “Peace talks.” She wondered if they were serving the entire civilization or just a portion. She almost moaned. However, her Vulcan discipline would not let her. Instead, she chose to get a drink. Yeoman Adn’Ama Abernathy stood up from her desk walked over to T’Pen.

    “Is there something I can get you, Captain?” she said in her songbird-like voice. Adn’Ama was sweet, her blond hair caught in ringlets across her forehead, complimenting her Trill spots.

    “No. That will be all for this evening. I’m going to “Mission Control” and a couple of hours of rest.” The Yeoman smiled. “I expect you’ll be doing the same.”

    Adn’Ama looked at her, “Not really tired yet, Ma’am. The schedule for tomorrow still needs to be coordinated with Major deMarc. He wants to send an armed escort to the surface with you.”

    “Always looking out for me,” T’Pen shook her head a bit; the salt-n-pepper strands of her hair, flipping around her shoulders. It had been deMarc’s suggestion that she do away with the twin braid look. Though she did not like the strands getting in her face during a battle or wrestling match with deMarc, she had considered his suggestion and now wore it down.

    “He loves you Captain. And I believe you love him.” Adn’Ama smiled and playfully grabbed a PADD off T’Pen’s desk before the Captain could use it as a projectile. “I’m only saying that he wants the best for you.”

    “I know,” T’Pen nodded, turned on her heal towards the door. “Just get some rest.” With that, the door closed and she was on the bridge.

    The night sounds of the bridge calmed T’Pen. She had a strong desire to remain on the bridge, but knew that she needed to take a break. “Even if it was only for a couple of hours,” she whispered to herself.

    T’Pen looked up to the overhead computer in the turbolift and said, “Mission Control”. Moments later, she was deposited in front of the ship’s primary lounge, known as “Mission Control”.

    Named after the NASA control center on Earth; its walls held replica memorabilia from the 20th Century. A time when space exploration was so new, you could almost taste the excitement in the air. Usually when crewmembers went into the lounge; in fact even before entering the lounge, a cacophony of noise and hard music vibrated from within. However, as T’Pen went towards the door, there was no fractious noise. T’Pen [...]ed an eyebrow.

    The doors swooshed open and T’Pen walked in but as she blinked, there was a thud behind her. She spun, to see a large wooden door where the transparasteel doors should have been. Sniffing the air, the smell of tobacco and heavy smoke wafted around her.

    Spinning, T’Pen tapped her combadge, but the chirp did not sound. “T’Pen to Bridge.” “Doc to Frazier.” “Doc to deMarc.”

    “Doesn’t work in here, Captain,” A robust older fellow in faded brown shirt, balding head and white apron said as he cleaned out a glass behind a wooden tavern bar. “Can’t call em. They aren’t around.”

    T’Pen moved through the smell of musk and tobacco. It filled her nostrils making her Klingon half want to howl. It felt good to be here, yet she did not know where or when she was.

    “You’re in my bar, Captain. Well it isn’t mine, but it’s as much mine as it is his, hers or yours.” He pointed around the bar. She looked around, seeing the people he indicated. One looked like a Roman Centurion, his hair graying. A woman of about fifteen wore chain-mail armor and a sword, a bob of black hair outlining her youth.

    “Who are these people?” T’Pen said, her hands coming to rest on the bar’s surface. Was she was hallucinating, dreaming? “If this is a dream, wake up quickly. If it is a hallucination, waking up would be a marvelous idea as well!”

    “You aren’t dreaming, Captain. Moreover, you are not hallucinating. You are real. They’re real and this place is real.” He blew into a cup, wiped it clean with the edge of his apron and smacked the glass against the worn wood. ”So Blood wine with a whiskey chaser, Right?”

    “Yes, but how…?” How he had known that? Given the circumstances, she was not sure she wanted to know. “I don’t have any currency.”

    “Does not matter. No need. The first round is on the house. The second round… well that’s a different matter.” He poured the blood red wine from a flask, into the glass mug, then dropped a shot glass of amber liquid next to mug.

    T’Pen [...]ed an eyebrow. Shrugging her shoulders, she tipped the mug to the barkeep. “Well, any port in a storm.” She guzzled the wine down, slammed the mug on the wooded bar surface then proceeded to grab the whiskey glass and down it in one gulp. With a burning in her stomach, throat and mouth, she howled into the smoky air.

    “Now that’s what I call a mouthful.” The barkeep looked at her in amazement, blinked for and grabbed her glass. “Another round, Captain?”

    Nodding. “What’s this condition about the second round?” She felt a bit light headed, but shook it off quick enough. When the next round arrived, she started to grab the mug, but the barkeep’s hand appeared not letting the mug move an inch. “You’ve gotta tell a story.”

    “A story? Is this a joke?.” She huffed, trying to take the glass, a bit of the alcohol slurring her voice. “Come now!”

    “Nope, a story is the payment for this round.” He kept his hand on the glass, his other hand gently wiping the counter.

    “All right.” T’Pen sat. She looked over her shoulder as several of the motley bunch took up stools around her. An Andorian sat, his drink half-full of a blue bubbling liquid. The young Terran woman with chain-mail sat as well; her intense brown eyes looking up at T’Pen.

    “I wasn’t a Captain when this happened. I was fresh from the Academy, serving on the U.S.S. Tri-Star. Her Captain was Karan Treadmore-Greets. I was serving as Medical Officer and had been called to the Captain’s ready room after joining the crew.”

    * * * * * * * *

    “Starfleet has ordered us to Avalon Station. A conference is being held to discuss the inclusion of the Hec-Torat Sect within the Federation.” The rotund form of Captain Treadmore-Greets, lumbered around her desk and sat upon the edge, as her beady eyes bore into Ensign T’Pen. “Dr. T’ok recommended you for the away team.”

    “I’m honored, Captain. Mission Objective?” T’Pen folded her hands across her PADD.

    “You’ll be acting as a member of this ship, representing the Federation and Starfleet during the talks. Nevertheless, you will also be watching for anything that may be amiss with the representatives of the Hec-Torat Sect. They aren’t the most wonderful beings to be around.”

    “With all do respect, Captain. The Hec-Torat are gelatinous being, whose love for eating vegetables is widely known. They have been known to eat their entire weight of fresh fruits and vegetables in one sitting. They can be rude and rather crude. Not to mention that they take more than they give – at least from the Ferengi’s point of view.” T’Pen recited the information that came across her PADD, then committed the information to memory for further reflection should she need it.

    “They are a species the Federation isn’t very familiar with. It will be your secondary job to take as many readings on them as you can.” Captain Treadmore-Greets stood up and motioned to the door. T’Pen took the cue and stood. “I’ll expect a full report on your findings. We will arrive at Avalon Station shortly.

    T’Pen bowed slightly saying, “Aye Aye Captain.” She made her way out the door and to the nearest turbo lift, realizing this was the first away mission she had been assigned to and hoping it would not be her last.

    The Away team beamed to the station’s mid section terminal several hours later.

    Their team leader, Commander Kos’Rass Dek took the five-member team to the Operations Control Room. T’Pen began her scans of the station and the various creatures that were walking the station’s corridors as the team moved through the station.. Many of the creatures she recognized from her time at the Academy. Others were very new to her. Her tricorder started to fill up with information on the various inhabitants of this great station.

    The team was shown to their living quarters, though Commander Dek quickly made it clear that the majority of the away team would be beaming back and forth to the Tri-Star during their time on the station. This was rather unacceptable to the Station’s Command Officer, Gril’up Coarat, and a rather nasty looking Tellarite.

    “Commander Dek, you may find that your team will need to be here all the time, rather than wasting my transporter’s power supply.” He poked his piggish fingers into Dek’s shoulder.

    “We understand that and will beam out using our ship’s transporter system and our combadge, Sir.” A look of pure anger crossed the Commander’s face for a brief second, but then faded away into an almost forced smile. ”Now, if you’ll take us to the conference room, I’d like for my team to being their scans.”

    “Yes, of course. Right this way.” The Tellarite motioned to his left and the team followed closely behind.

    Once they arrived and were well underway with the systems checks and room check, the delegation from the Federation began to arrive. The banquet was scheduled for that evening in the conference room. Once the delegation from the Hec-Torat Sect arrived the conference would be begin.

    The brawny shape of the Tri-Stars security chief, Lt. Pok, a Bolian with barrel chest and smooth pate, lumbered across the room to stand next to T’Pen and Commander Dek. “Sir, the room is secure. Starfleet and the Federation have already taken extensive measures to security this facility. I’m at a loss for what more we can do.”

    “Thank you Lt. We’ll stand our ground and if needed will be here to assist.” Dek wiped his brow with the sleeve of his uniform. T’Pen held up her tricorder and scanned him.

    He did not appear to look well, but other than elevated heart rate, his vitals were fine.

    Dek noticed her scanning him. “Thanks Ensign. However, I am fine. I am just a little nervous. It’s not everyday that the Federation members meet so far away from Earth.” He smiled at her. “I just want things to go smoothly.”

    “As do I, Commander.” She blinked at him and returned to her tricorder readings.

    When the chamber room filled and everyone seated, a small man about the height of a Terran seven year old hobbled into the room on short legs, followed by four similar beings, each carrying what appeared to be a hammock set upon four legs intertwined together. The hammock was made of a green and silver material that glistened under the lights of the room. Once the hammocks were situated around the table, T’Pen noticed the first little man pull out a wooden stick, which held four long silver rods, each, tied with bits of blue string to the rod. He bent his head to the rods and hit them with his rather long pointed nose. The sound that traveled out into the room was like nothing T’Pen had ever heard before.

    In moments, the doors to the chamber opened and four gelatinous blue creatures sloshed their way into the room. Lifted into the four hammocks, by the four hammock wielders, the Hec-Torat opened blue/white eyes upon the upper portion of their heads. A small box sat before one of the Hec-Torat members.

    “We have not kept you waiting?” the strange mechanical voice emanated from the small box. The eyes on the head of the Hec-Torat blinked and focused on the other end of the table.

    A Terran Male stood, his robes of office flowing around him. His sharp pointed beard, made his face look as if it were pointing at the ground. “Of course not, your Excellency. We have been but moments.” He waved his hands at those around the table.

    T’Pen pulled her tricorder out slowly and keyed a series of buttons, which would allow the tricorder to scan the entire room, including the Hec-Torat Sect Delegation, without disrupting anyone. She continued to watch and listen.

    “Very well Ambassador Cain. We are glad you chose to meet us,” the being blinked several times as it talked.

    “Yes indeed. We are honored, as well. We have a splendid meal prepared.”

    “Ah. Good. Please do not be put off by the way we consume our food.“ The being moved to show a small opening on the underside, a row of pointed teeth, gleaming.

    “No. Not at all,” Delegate Cain stood, “We have a variety of fresh vegetables and fruits. And a special surprise from Earth.” In his hands, he held red box. One of the small men, with the nose and chimes, walked up and took the box, bowed and opened it. Inside was a Green Apple. Similar boxes were placed before each person.

    “These are Granny Smith Apples from Earth. They are a gift from our people to yours,” Cain said, then sat back down. In moments, everyone bit hungrily into the green orbs.

    Though revolted, T’Pen watched the Hec-Torat chew into the apple. The hard crunching filled the room.

    “That was a wonderful surprise Cain. We thank you. Ahhhhhggggg.” The Hec-Torat’s eyes bulged wide as its gelatinous form turned from blue to white. There was commotion from both sides of the table. Shocked looks of the Federation as they saw their talks falling apart, and the anger and accusations from the members of the Hec-Torat filled the room.

    “You’ve killed him,” said one. “You’ll pay Federation,” said another.

    T’Pen heard Commander Dek frantically call for the room to be sealed off, Lt. Pok try to keep the various members from killing each other, as she pulled her tricorder out and looked at the readings. Seeing the problem, she moved in among the hands flying body parts, right next to the Hec-Torat.

    “My name is Ensign T’Pen. I am a doctor. You’ve swallowed poisonous apple seed.” She took a hypospray out of her pocket, programmed it and administered it. As the hypo took effect, the delegates shading returned to normal.

    “Peace. Peace. Let us have peace.” The Hec-Torat cleared it throat and a black seed came out onto the conference table.

    T’Pen stood up, watching the crowed begin to regain their composure. “The Hec-Torat are not used to Earth food Ambassador. What you rather innocently gave the Hec-Torat as a gift, was actually a possible death sentence.”

    The Ambassador wrung his hands as he tried to find the words. “I am deeply sorry Hec-Torat for this. My most humble apologies.” He began to move around the table, but one of the little men who accompanied the Hec-Torat Sect blocked his path.

    Through an obviously gritted voice, “It is not necessary to apologies Ambassador. Your gift was in good faith.” It waved a tactical. “I am Indebted to your Star Fleet for having someone available.”

    T’Pen just blinked and slightly bowed to the Hec-Torat delegate.

    “Now, let us proceed.”

    * * * * *

    “The conference went on for several days.” T’Pen shrugged her shoulders. “It was just routine.”

    The woman to her right gasped. “You saved this creatures life, No?” Her accent was thick and T’Pen could almost put her finger on it. Shaking her head, as much in embarrassment of her duty as to her lack of remembering who this child/woman was, T’Pen felt she knew the girl.

    The Roman Centurion, standing behind her, cleared his throat and put his hand on T’Pen’s shoulder. “I’ve had many meals with enemies and friends. If someone choked, the food was poisoned. We just let it take its course. It seems you caught Snow White before she took too big a bite out of the apple, Captain. I applaud you.” He clapped, as did several others.

    “I really can’t say that I did anything out of the ordinary, Sir. I just did my job.” She took another pull on her wine, then downed the whiskey chaser. Placing the empty glass in the hand of the barkeep, she said, “Thanks, I needed that.”

    “Any time, Captain. Just remember that the drinks are only free the first time. A story per drink, from then on,.” The barkeep wiped down the counter, winking as he did so.

    T’Pen made her way to the doors and exited the tavern. Blinking, she realized who the young woman and the Centurion were. She spun around almost too quickly and saw that the door to the room she had just exited was not made of hard wood but of transparasteel. The doors whooshed open as her foot met the sensor and the sound of laughter and music played within. She looked inside, seeing a Bolian bar tender wiping down a couple of tables.

    “Maybe I need more sleep than I figured,” she said as she made her way down the hallway towards her quarters. She tapped her combadge as she entered her bedroom. “Doc to Commander Frazier. Have I got a story for you.”

    THE END.

  8. “Acid Green”

    A Captain’s Table Story

    by Captain T’Pen

    Captain T’Pen quietly reflected at her desk, having just returned, after reunification talks among the Kubazzak tribes on Ver’ydet V. “Six thousand years of bitter war among the tribal nations,” she thought. “This war? The byproduct of years of aggression, agitation and speculation.”

    T’Pen sighed deeply. Had she done enough? Her FO, Frazier, would say that they had done their duty and that was all they could do. They could have done more. She sighed again and rested her head on her steeple fingers.

    “Peace talks.” She wondered if they were serving the entire civilization or just a portion. She almost moaned. However, her Vulcan discipline would not let her. Instead, she chose to get a drink. Yeoman Adn’Ama Abernathy stood up from her desk walked over to T’Pen.

    “Is there something I can get you, Captain?” she said in her songbird-like voice. Adn’Ama was sweet, her blond hair caught in ringlets across her forehead, complimenting her Trill spots.

    “No. That will be all for this evening. I’m going to “Mission Control” and a couple of hours of rest.” The Yeoman smiled. “I expect you’ll be doing the same.”

    Adn’Ama looked at her, “Not really tired yet, Ma’am. The schedule for tomorrow still needs to be coordinated with Major deMarc. He wants to send an armed escort to the surface with you.”

    “Always looking out for me,” T’Pen shook her head a bit; the salt-n-pepper strands of her hair, flipping around her shoulders. It had been deMarc’s suggestion that she do away with the twin braid look. Though she did not like the strands getting in her face during a battle or wrestling match with deMarc, she had considered his suggestion and now wore it down.

    “He loves you Captain. And I believe you love him.” Adn’Ama smiled and playfully grabbed a PADD off T’Pen’s desk before the Captain could use it as a projectile. “I’m only saying that he wants the best for you.”

    “I know,” T’Pen nodded, turned on her heal towards the door. “Just get some rest.” With that, the door closed and she was on the bridge.

    The night sounds of the bridge calmed T’Pen. She had a strong desire to remain on the bridge, but knew that she needed to take a break. “Even if it was only for a couple of hours,” she whispered to herself.

    T’Pen looked up to the overhead computer in the turbolift and said, “Mission Control”. Moments later, she was deposited in front of the ship’s primary lounge, known as “Mission Control”.

    Named after the NASA control center on Earth; its walls held replica memorabilia from the 20th Century. A time when space exploration was so new, you could almost taste the excitement in the air. Usually when crewmembers went into the lounge; in fact even before entering the lounge, a cacophony of noise and hard music vibrated from within. However, as T’Pen went towards the door, there was no fractious noise. T’Pen [...]ed an eyebrow.

    The doors swooshed open and T’Pen walked in but as she blinked, there was a thud behind her. She spun, to see a large wooden door where the transparasteel doors should have been. Sniffing the air, the smell of tobacco and heavy smoke wafted around her.

    Spinning, T’Pen tapped her combadge, but the chirp did not sound. “T’Pen to Bridge.” “Doc to Frazier.” “Doc to deMarc.”

    “Doesn’t work in here, Captain,” A robust older fellow in faded brown shirt, balding head and white apron said as he cleaned out a glass behind a wooden tavern bar. “Can’t call em. They aren’t around.”

    T’Pen moved through the smell of musk and tobacco. It filled her nostrils making her Klingon half want to howl. It felt good to be here, yet she did not know where or when she was.

    “You’re in my bar, Captain. Well it isn’t mine, but it’s as much mine as it is his, hers or yours.” He pointed around the bar. She looked around, seeing the people he indicated. One looked like a Roman Centurion, his hair graying. A woman of about fifteen wore chain-mail armor and a sword, a bob of black hair outlining her youth.

    “Who are these people?” T’Pen said, her hands coming to rest on the bar’s surface. Was she was hallucinating, dreaming? “If this is a dream, wake up quickly. If it is a hallucination, waking up would be a marvelous idea as well!”

    “You aren’t dreaming, Captain. Moreover, you are not hallucinating. You are real. They’re real and this place is real.” He blew into a cup, wiped it clean with the edge of his apron and smacked the glass against the worn wood. ”So Blood wine with a whiskey chaser, Right?”

    “Yes, but how…?” How he had known that? Given the circumstances, she was not sure she wanted to know. “I don’t have any currency.”

    “Does not matter. No need. The first round is on the house. The second round… well that’s a different matter.” He poured the blood red wine from a flask, into the glass mug, then dropped a shot glass of amber liquid next to mug.

    T’Pen [...]ed an eyebrow. Shrugging her shoulders, she tipped the mug to the barkeep. “Well, any port in a storm.” She guzzled the wine down, slammed the mug on the wooded bar surface then proceeded to grab the whiskey glass and down it in one gulp. With a burning in her stomach, throat and mouth, she howled into the smoky air.

    “Now that’s what I call a mouthful.” The barkeep looked at her in amazement, blinked for and grabbed her glass. “Another round, Captain?”

    Nodding. “What’s this condition about the second round?” She felt a bit light headed, but shook it off quick enough. When the next round arrived, she started to grab the mug, but the barkeep’s hand appeared not letting the mug move an inch. “You’ve gotta tell a story.”

    “A story? Is this a joke?.” She huffed, trying to take the glass, a bit of the alcohol slurring her voice. “Come now!”

    “Nope, a story is the payment for this round.” He kept his hand on the glass, his other hand gently wiping the counter.

    “All right.” T’Pen sat. She looked over her shoulder as several of the motley bunch took up stools around her. An Andorian sat, his drink half-full of a blue bubbling liquid. The young Terran woman with chain-mail sat as well; her intense brown eyes looking up at T’Pen.

    “I wasn’t a Captain when this happened. I was fresh from the Academy, serving on the U.S.S. Tri-Star. Her Captain was Karan Treadmore-Greets. I was serving as Medical Officer and had been called to the Captain’s ready room after joining the crew.”

    * * * * * * * *

    “Starfleet has ordered us to Avalon Station. A conference is being held to discuss the inclusion of the Hec-Torat Sect within the Federation.” The rotund form of Captain Treadmore-Greets, lumbered around her desk and sat upon the edge, as her beady eyes bore into Ensign T’Pen. “Dr. T’ok recommended you for the away team.”

    “I’m honored, Captain. Mission Objective?” T’Pen folded her hands across her PADD.

    “You’ll be acting as a member of this ship, representing the Federation and Starfleet during the talks. Nevertheless, you will also be watching for anything that may be amiss with the representatives of the Hec-Torat Sect. They aren’t the most wonderful beings to be around.”

    “With all do respect, Captain. The Hec-Torat are gelatinous being, whose love for eating vegetables is widely known. They have been known to eat their entire weight of fresh fruits and vegetables in one sitting. They can be rude and rather crude. Not to mention that they take more than they give – at least from the Ferengi’s point of view.” T’Pen recited the information that came across her PADD, then committed the information to memory for further reflection should she need it.

    “They are a species the Federation isn’t very familiar with. It will be your secondary job to take as many readings on them as you can.” Captain Treadmore-Greets stood up and motioned to the door. T’Pen took the cue and stood. “I’ll expect a full report on your findings. We will arrive at Avalon Station shortly.

    T’Pen bowed slightly saying, “Aye Aye Captain.” She made her way out the door and to the nearest turbo lift, realizing this was the first away mission she had been assigned to and hoping it would not be her last.

    The Away team beamed to the station’s mid section terminal several hours later. Their team leader, Commander Kos’Rass Dek took the five-member team to the Operations Control Room. T’Pen began her scans of the station and the various creatures that were walking the station’s corridors as the team moved through the station.. Many of the creatures she recognized from her time at the Academy. Others were very new to her. Her tricorder started to fill up with information on the various inhabitants of this great station.

    The team was shown to their living quarters, though Commander Dek quickly made it clear that the majority of the away team would be beaming back and forth to the Tri-Star during their time on the station. This was rather unacceptable to the Station’s Command Officer, Gril’up Coarat, and a rather nasty looking Tellarite.

    “Commander Dek, you may find that your team will need to be here all the time, rather than wasting my transporter’s power supply.” He poked his piggish fingers into Dek’s shoulder.

    “We understand that and will beam out using our ship’s transporter system and our combadge, Sir.” A look of pure anger crossed the Commander’s face for a brief second, but then faded away into an almost forced smile. ”Now, if you’ll take us to the conference room, I’d like for my team to being their scans.”

    “Yes, of course. Right this way.” The Tellarite motioned to his left and the team followed closely behind.

    Once they arrived and were well underway with the systems checks and room check, the delegation from the Federation began to arrive. The banquet was scheduled for that evening in the conference room. Once the delegation from the Hec-Torat Sect arrived the conference would be begin.

    The brawny shape of the Tri-Stars security chief, Lt. Pok, a Bolian with barrel chest and smooth pate, lumbered across the room to stand next to T’Pen and Commander Dek. “Sir, the room is secure. Starfleet and the Federation have already taken extensive measures to security this facility. I’m at a loss for what more we can do.”

    “Thank you Lt. We’ll stand our ground and if needed will be here to assist.” Dek wiped his brow with the sleeve of his uniform. T’Pen held up her tricorder and scanned him. He did not appear to look well, but other than elevated heart rate, his vitals were fine.

    Dek noticed her scanning him. “Thanks Ensign. However, I am fine. I am just a little nervous. It’s not everyday that the Federation members meet so far away from Earth.” He smiled at her. “I just want things to go smoothly.”

    “As do I, Commander.” She blinked at him and returned to her tricorder readings.

    When the chamber room filled and everyone seated, a small man about the height of a Terran seven year old hobbled into the room on short legs, followed by four similar beings, each carrying what appeared to be a hammock set upon four legs intertwined together. The hammock was made of a green and silver material that glistened under the lights of the room. Once the hammocks were situated around the table, T’Pen noticed the first little man pull out a wooden stick, which held four long silver rods, each, tied with bits of blue string to the rod. He bent his head to the rods and hit them with his rather long pointed nose. The sound that traveled out into the room was like nothing T’Pen had ever heard before.

    In moments, the doors to the chamber opened and four gelatinous blue creatures sloshed their way into the room. Lifted into the four hammocks, by the four hammock wielders, the Hec-Torat opened blue/white eyes upon the upper portion of their heads. A small box sat before one of the Hec-Torat members.

    “We have not kept you waiting?” the strange mechanical voice emanated from the small box. The eyes on the head of the Hec-Torat blinked and focused on the other end of the table.

    A Terran Male stood, his robes of office flowing around him. His sharp pointed beard, made his face look as if it were pointing at the ground. “Of course not, your Excellency. We have been but moments.” He waved his hands at those around the table.

    T’Pen pulled her tricorder out slowly and keyed a series of buttons, which would allow the tricorder to scan the entire room, including the Hec-Torat Sect Delegation, without disrupting anyone. She continued to watch and listen.

    “Very well Ambassador Cain. We are glad you chose to meet us,” the being blinked several times as it talked.

    “Yes indeed. We are honored, as well. We have a splendid meal prepared.”

    “Ah. Good. Please do not be put off by the way we consume our food.“ The being moved to show a small opening on the underside, a row of pointed teeth, gleaming.

    “No. Not at all,” Delegate Cain stood, “We have a variety of fresh vegetables and fruits. And a special surprise from Earth.” In his hands, he held red box. One of the small men, with the nose and chimes, walked up and took the box, bowed and opened it. Inside was a Green Apple. Similar boxes were placed before each person.

    “These are Granny Smith Apples from Earth. They are a gift from our people to yours,” Cain said, then sat back down. In moments, everyone bit hungrily into the green orbs.

    Though revolted, T’Pen watched the Hec-Torat chew into the apple. The hard crunching filled the room.

    “That was a wonderful surprise Cain. We thank you. Ahhhhhggggg.” The Hec-Torat’s eyes bulged wide as its gelatinous form turned from blue to white. There was commotion from both sides of the table. Shocked looks of the Federation as they saw their talks falling apart, and the anger and accusations from the members of the Hec-Torat filled the room.

    “You’ve killed him,” said one. “You’ll pay Federation,” said another.

    T’Pen heard Commander Dek frantically call for the room to be sealed off, Lt. Pok try to keep the various members from killing each other, as she pulled her tricorder out and looked at the readings. Seeing the problem, she moved in among the hands flying body parts, right next to the Hec-Torat.

    “My name is Ensign T’Pen. I am a doctor. You’ve swallowed poisonous apple seed.” She took a hypospray out of her pocket, programmed it and administered it. As the hypo took effect, the delegates shading returned to normal.

    “Peace. Peace. Let us have peace.” The Hec-Torat cleared it throat and a black seed came out onto the conference table.

    T’Pen stood up, watching the crowed begin to regain their composure. “The Hec-Torat are not used to Earth food Ambassador. What you rather innocently gave the Hec-Torat as a gift, was actually a possible death sentence.”

    The Ambassador wrung his hands as he tried to find the words. “I am deeply sorry Hec-Torat for this. My most humble apologies.” He began to move around the table, but one of the little men who accompanied the Hec-Torat Sect blocked his path.

    Through an obviously gritted voice, “It is not necessary to apologies Ambassador. Your gift was in good faith.” It waved a tactical. “I am Indebted to your Star Fleet for having someone available.”

    T’Pen just blinked and slightly bowed to the Hec-Torat delegate.

    “Now, let us proceed.”

    * * * * *

    “The conference went on for several days.” T’Pen shrugged her shoulders. “It was just routine.”

    The woman to her right gasped. “You saved this creatures life, No?” Her accent was thick and T’Pen could almost put her finger on it. Shaking her head, as much in embarrassment of her duty as to her lack of remembering who this child/woman was, T’Pen felt she knew the girl.

    The Roman Centurion, standing behind her, cleared his throat and put his hand on T’Pen’s shoulder. “I’ve had many meals with enemies and friends. If someone choked, the food was poisoned. We just let it take its course. It seems you caught Snow White before she took too big a bite out of the apple, Captain. I applaud you.” He clapped, as did several others.

    “I really can’t say that I did anything out of the ordinary, Sir. I just did my job.” She took another pull on her wine, then downed the whiskey chaser. Placing the empty glass in the hand of the barkeep, she said, “Thanks, I needed that.”

    “Any time, Captain. Just remember that the drinks are only free the first time. A story per drink, from then on,.” The barkeep wiped down the counter, winking as he did so.

    T’Pen made her way to the doors and exited the tavern. Blinking, she realized who the young woman and the Centurion were. She spun around almost too quickly and saw that the door to the room she had just exited was not made of hard wood but of transparasteel. The doors whooshed open as her foot met the sensor and the sound of laughter and music played within. She looked inside, seeing a Bolian bar tender wiping down a couple of tables.

    “Maybe I need more sleep than I figured,” she said as she made her way down the hallway towards her quarters. She tapped her combadge as she entered her bedroom. “Doc to Commander Frazier. Have I got a story for you.”

    THE END.

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