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  1. I'll never forget the way her dress felt in my hands that day. Or any day. Granted, It wasn’t just my hands. You hug with more than just hands, obviously. She was such a beautiful person. She had the most beautiful handwriting, but was the most horrible artist, and when we first met she wanted to kill me. Kind of. She was a new XB. Scared. So very scared. And we went through the standard alphabet and linked each letter to a number. "Seven of Eighteen, Primary Adjunct of Trimatrix 5" became Grace. Oh she was such a sweetheart. We'd meet after school at the station, and this one time we walked the tracks till it got dark and had to have a shuttle come after us. We'd just been walking, talking, holding hands. Her hand was always cold. The other one was fine but this one had had stuff done to it. Cold and smooth. I never gave her shoulder hugs. She was too tall. We opted for side hugs around the waist. Those were really close too. And there was the time she decided to do art over the other graffiti at the station. "Beccy + Grace" enclosed in a lopsided heart and was like "Beccy Beccy look! I can do art!" She's always called me Beccy. I don't really know why. It happened one day, made me smike uncontrollably, and it stuck. And the time I snuck her in the one time my mother was out and we had the night of our lives for our 5th anniversary of dating. The exact things that happened that night I'd forgotten about the next morning. Too busy with a massive headache. Someone'd swapped out the synthesol. But I do remember having really annoyed siblings for a week too. And she was also kinda annoyed about the massive bite on her cheek… Oops. And the time I was admitted to medical after trying to protect her and lying on a biobed next to her and we just started laughing about the whole situation we were in. And when I ran away from home with her once, and then we got stuck in the rain that night and we ended up sleeping at our train station. And the time I had to carry her to her alcove because she was too tired to get there herself. She had such beautiful eyes. One was green, and one was the cyan color of starfleet regulation implants, and we would always joke that she could see my "extra beauty" with that one. And her hair, her hair was black and frizzy, but I learnt to plat it really well and then she'd wear braids all the time. I remember exactly how that felt too. How poofy it looked and how much hair was actually there. And the little round borg implant around her left eye that I would always trace with my hand, always followed by a kiss. And the time we went to this traditional earth ball thing and she wore the most beautiful black dress and beautiful eyeshadow and makeup which I had no idea she could even do while I showed up in a black leather jacket and black jeans with a white tee. But my favourite moments were when we'd be sitting at the train station and I'd rest my head on her shoulder, or she'd rest her head on mine and we'd watch the sun set and one of us would posdibly fall asleep. And the time we had the biggest hug, and I snuggled my head into her neck. And then I went to leave but I came back and held her hands, one cold, one warm and we just stood there for ages not wanting to let go. And I missed my ride to the academy and had to take the next one which would come the next day. That was the last time I saw her. She said she'd be going off to the Borg Reclamation Project. Helping people like I helped her. Sometimes I dream that she comes all the way out here just to sit with me. What if Fuzzy braided hair and an eye implant to be rested on my shoulder again… I loved her so much And I love her still. Except I don't know how to reach her or how to even tell her. I miss you Grace
  2. The low, ever-present strum of the engines was as familiar to Nurrac as the whistling of his childhood home. Strong winds would batter the desert house and made the windows whistle a steady low tone throughout. A tone that the Vulcan appreciated as a senseless comfort when he was young and just grasping the meditation techniques that would follow him into adulthood. Even now, several decades older, the lulling purr of traveling at a steady Warp 3 served as suitable accompaniment to his nightly routine. Kneeling on the floor of his quarters in the traditional leshriq position, the low humming was easily felt beneath the metal sheet plating. Pinkies and thumbs formed interlocking rings while the rest of his fingers touched their mirrored counterpart at the tips. Resting back on his heels, Nurrac breathed in the sweet and earthy aroma of the incense lit nearby. A scent from home that he’s been told resembles that of an Earth forest. In a senseless moment of nostalgia, he allowed himself to reminisce on his most recent journey home. The sun beating down on Lake Yuron during uzhaya wak-krus welcomed the cadets and senior officers on vacation. The rampant crowd of sightseers unaccustomed to the high heat and strong winds. All of them ill-equipped for the blowing sands, human sunglasses doing little to shield their delicate eyes. “Sorry,” his fellow crewman, Ensign Balaskas he recalled, had said after getting shoved into Nurrac. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so busy.” “No apology necessary, Ensign” Nurrac had replied, instinctively steadying Balaskas with his off hand, placing it at the small of the other man’s back. “You said you grew up near here, right?” He had asked as Nurrac guided them through the throngs of tourists, craning his neck to look up at the taller man. “How about you be my guide?” “I had not made any plans…” Breaking away from the crowd, Nurrac retracted his hand and returned it to his side. “Were there any attractions you were particularly interested in?” “Let’s start with some local cuisine,” the Ensign suggested, looking around with wide eyes, completely engrossed in the allure of the bustling shopping district. “It’ll be my treat since I’m taking up all your shore leave.” “As the saying goes, that ‘sounds like a plan,’ Ensign Balaskas.” “Just call me Adrian.” Thinking back on that day, Nurrac could recall every detail. The hiking trail they’d taken from the shopping district to the edges of Eridani Beach, the fascination Adrian had shown at the immaculately cared for ruins of T’rinsha temple, even the small freckles that had appeared on the Ensign’s pale features after a day spent in the sun. Though he has no recollection of doing it consciously, his hand returned to the small of Adrian’s back several times during their excursion. So much so that the texture of his shirt was ingrained in Nurrac’s mind. “I’ll never forget the way it felt in my hand that day.” He thought to himself as he opened his eyes. Adjusting to the low candle light of his quarters, he looked to the bed where a familiar form was sleeping. Even in sleep humans miraculously managed to be loud, he noted. Soft, rhythmic snoring filled the cabin alongside the thrum of the engine. “Far superior to the winds of Vulcan,” he mused before considering the absurdity of such a thought. Perhaps he had let his mind wander too much for the evening.
  3. The Before. Stardate: 239507.19. Quentin Collins didn’t even need to see the postman coming up the drive to know what he carried. It was as if he…sensed it. Was drawing it closer with his excitement. In return, the parcel seemed to pulse. With a clean bluish light, even through the canvas rolling cart and thin morning fog of the harbor below. Quentin watched the bored looking, but sure footed postman trudging up the drive and he willing him silently on from the foyer window where he had kept his diligent watch over the last few days (and scattering of nights). He kept plodding and plodding up the drive. Quentin started to bounce slightly on the balls of his feet. How could a single human being move THIS slowly? If only they could have transported the parcel directly to the entryway chamber, like every other sane person did. But oh, no, oh, sunny, not in Professor Bouchard-Collins’ house. A house that must always stay clear and tidy and free of wild energies and photonic spectrums that would harm The Professor’s precious “auras” and “ sensory channels”. It was painfully stupid to Quentin when he had first heard it and it was double the amount now. But none of that did little to settle the buzz in Quentin’s heart and brains as he all but screamed the postman onward from his bedroom window. He distracted himself by sneaking another look at the PADD, itself also clandestinely ferreted into Quentin’s hands by a timely summons to the town Post Office in Collinsport below. A summons he obfuscated as a trip to the local library to his Mother. It was his Starfleet Academy acceptance letter and Call to Orders. Even as Quentin held it in his trembling hands, he couldn’t believe it was finally real. And now the second piece of that acceptance into something greater than himself approached. A higher, truer existence than the doldrive and arcane life he would have stayed here. Quentin whipped his head back to the window. The postman was almost out of sight now. That meant he was almost at the door. Quentin moved so quickly he didn’t even remember crossing the length of his bedroom, didn’t remember throwing open his door with a resounding, sonically shot thump. His footfalls outran their own noise. It was HERE. RIGHT in front of him. All he had to do was get to it. He passed a face rounding the hall. Another bounding down the Foyer steps, three at a time. Those were problems and questions for another time. After, much after. He was too focused now. And going too fast. The marble of the Foyer started to glide the heels of Quentin’s loafers. His direction was set, but his speed was now completely out of his hands. And feet, apparently. Only interruption could halt him now. Which he found. In the form of his right hip pranging deeply across the side of the walnut finished oval table that had been freshened and placed in the middle of the chamber. By some unspoken whim of Mother. Even the pain didn’t dull his excitement. He grasped both of the cast-iron handles of the ancient and too-large double-doors. And flung them open to the waning sunlight. Just as the bewildered postman was about to knock. Moving like a badly timed wind-up toy, he started to reach for his own large-font PADD, muttering something about needing a signature for the package. Which Quentin provided almost gleefully, divesting the postman from his charge with uncanny haste. Turning and closing both doors, seemingly with one motion, Quentin turned back into the Foyer. Transfixed on the medium-sized box he now couldn’t take his eyes from. He all but floated back to the table, setting the box reverently down on the walnut. He ran his hand carefully across the gilded embossment of the textured Blue box. The United Federation of Planets, Starfleet Academy. He started to unclasp the box, but stopped himself momentarily…As if he questioned his own worth now. He had taken his entry exam. He had passed his physical and psychological questionnaire. They had accepted him. They wouldn’t have sent this if they hadn’t. But still part of him wondered if he had what it took to open this box. To put on what it contained. To carry those colors. Like the man said, there was only really one way to find out. And that started with opening the bloody box. He ran his thumbs up under the careful seal of the package, carefully separating the flaps of the box. Carefully folded in a square, was his Cadet uniform. Patterned dark maroon with Blue inlays about the collar and shoulders. A gleaming, freshly shined Cadet pip and matching rank-appropriate Starfleet badge set neatly beside. Quentin didn’t hesitate this time. He folded his hand softly into the fabric of the uniform. Running his opposite thumb over the smooth brass of the badge and single pip. Now it was VERY real. More real than ever before. Literally, the entire cosmos now stood at his fingertips. His mind and heart reeled with the possibility. One of those faces from before appeared at the top of the stairs. Father. He caught his eye from across the hall and rose the badge up into the light of the dawning night. They shared a silent, but powerful smile across the quiet. Father knew how much it meant to Quentin. But the other face, now coming into focus. Mother. Didn’t. Or wouldn’t, more likely. Her cold, and solidly focused eyes took in the scene. Her derision broke the silence. Sending it as shards across the sparkling table and flooring. “Colors of his new colonial masters, I see…,” Her voice shot daggers through Quentin’s calm. What followed was not their first argument. Nor was it their last. But it was one that would hang like a grim guidepost of their relationship forever. Quentin’s newly arrived window to everything that wasn’t his Mother bearing silent witness to it all. Staying clutched in Quentin’s hand through it all, acting a ghoulish prop for his exultations until they halted some time later. The Now. Stardate: 239901.19. Quentin Collins pushed the heavy, heady memories away and focused on the bright ones. The light that was clear and strong then pulsed just as strongly now. As he wore a brand new uniform and ran a reverently loving thumb down the lapels of his Cadet uniform. Hanging securely in the closet of his Arrow quarters. Quentin couldn’t actually recall the exact last moment he last wore it, but the feeling it produced within him would never fade from his memory. The feeling that it was all ahead of him now. That discovery and connection were now limitless. And how the answers he so craved about reality’s biggest questions were just to the right of the farthest star and straight on till morning. That feeling and expectation, that excitement…it simply multiplied. Grew. Cascaded warmly across his life and experiences. It was important to him to remember that from time to time. To remind himself. To ground himself with totems important only to him. That first uniform…it had started a whole new phase of his life. It was only right that he should honor it from time to time. In his own way. Behind him, a chime called him back to his work. Back to the galaxy he had made home, literal worlds away from his actual home. Something he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for that uniform. “Not bad for a little swatch of Blue cloth, huh?”, he thought happily.
  4. She could feel them — the alien thoughts worming their way into her mind. Every passing second felt like an eternity whizzing by, and gradually, she could feel her sense of self drifting. Being torn apart and worn down into nothing but concepts and ideas, and then eventually it was like there was little more than a vacuum to fill the space. An image flashed and then vanished from sight. It was checkered flannel. She could feel it in her hand, the soft fibres brushing and then gliding against her skin. The gentle weave massaged the gaps between her fingers as she could feel her hand balling up the fabric. But everything else felt numb. The touch was so familiar to her, and her mind gravitated towards it. Until a muddy image filled her vision. He was staring back at her. She recognized that form, pale skin, a long neck, but everything else seemed… strangely out of focus, but his mouth was moving, he was wearing that same checkered flannel. Ragged and torn, holes and missing buttons ran across the garment. Red and black tones overlapped and behind him, everything else melted together. Colours, images and sounds all bled into one another, ever so slowly forming the whole picture. Neon lights contrasted the dim backdrops, empty tables scattered around the pair as some kind of music seemed to practically suffocate the two. The bass thrummed deeply into the woman’s chest as if it were thunder and her eyes darted around the seemingly empty room just to make sense of it all. ‘This wasn’t where I was a second ago…’ She watched as he mouthed the word “Mirrin” repeatedly. Even the woman’s own voice seemed alien to her. But that wasn’t simply a word, the meaning it carried, the ease of which she resonated with the phrase seemed almost otherworldly. ‘Is that my name?’ But everything about this memory seemed so painfully familiar, as Mirrin read the man’s lips. It was like she could understand everything that was being said. But there was an itching feeling— that she knew this wasn’t real. And there it was— that influence Mirrin could feel, taking root deeply into this thought, this moment and these feelings. There was a deep discomfort, like ice-cold water dripping down your shirt. The image began to shift and distort, blurs and blank spots formed like little tears and imperfections in the image. Colours began to seep out of the world, and the echoes of the heavy bass grew softer and softer until there was nothing left. Suddenly, it all went dark— there was nothing but a void, nothing more than an absolute vacuum. Mirrin’s eyes cracked open, wincing at the artificial light filling this chamber made from stone. A hand pulled away from her face, she felt a release of pressure most notably around her nose and temple. A form with pointed ears and a slightly unkempt bowl cut unveiled itself as her eyes adjusted to the sudden intense lighting. The floor beneath her suddenly felt solid, and cold sensations on her bare legs, mixed with the warmth of heavy cloth was relieving. “Are you all right?” The man spoke. His voice was monotonous The wave of exhaustion washed over Mirrin and her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She didn't know where she was or who was in front of her. Words passed in one ear and out the other, nothing seemed to make sense.
  5. Scotty dragged himself through the ship's corridor, sloshing his feet around. His hand was covering his right side of his hip. As he rounded the corner of the deck, he got to his apartment. He dragged himself into his room, and instantly went to the shower to rinse off. All of sudden he passed out from exhaustion. As his eyes opened, he noticed that he was now in the med bay. He tried to look around, but his eyes had not adjusted to the lighting in the room. As soon as that happened, he felt a sharp pain radiate from his hip that he was clinching earlier on. After a few more moments his eyes finally adjusted to the med bay. Near the edge of the room he saw a medical officer. He shouted “What happened?” The doctor responded with “You were injured on an away mission, and you collapsed in your room, and we got alerted by the computer. You also got some severe injuries near your hip”. Scotty did not remember any of this happening. Did he pass out? Or was his injuries far more worse then what the doctor had told him. As the medical officer came around again, he was walking next to the XO Commander Chira. “Do you know what happened son?” said Chira “We were on a survey mission, scouting a “Class M” planet”, said Scotty. As he finished his sentence, he drew a blank in his mind. He was thinking that some of the details were starting to come back. Most likely a little brain fog. “I have some details, I remember now!” said Scotty. “Go on, proceed, we are all ears” said the XO. OK, I remember that we had beamed down to the surface of this planet to do some light recon, I remember the weather being really good. Warm and clear skies. For the most part everything was doing good. The only problem that we had was the small issue with the locals that were causing some issues with Starfleet. We told them that we were going to cause no harm to them, but they insisted that we were interfering with their planet. Anyways we kept moving on as we rounded the corner, they started chasing us with their phasers. This was the moment where I totally lost track of what was happening. My adrenaline just went into full go go go mode. Once we had gotten a good distance from them, a phaser shot grazed my hip. I felt like the shot had missed me, but as we can see now, I was totally wrong. Luckily, we were able to get a comm signal back up to the ship, and they were able to lock onto our signal. I remember that my leg was now really bad, and I was struggling to walk. I finally was able to hold onto Lt. Polak’s shirt and he made sure that he dragged me to safety. We then beamed back up to the ship. I will never forget that day.
  6. The eleventh-graders towered over Lazarus like a trio of obelisks as he found himself on the ground, pushed over in the cold mud after a late September rain in Pennsylvania. “You get those ears sanded down, Davis?” said one. “Even his blood is red,” laughed another. Was he bleeding? Lazarus looked up at their faces, only to find they had no discernable features. He tried to stand up, but his arms and legs could barely move. “Nothing? No reaction?” mused the third, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “Pfft. A half-Vulcan that lost the genetic lottery. Just an emotionless freak.” It was unclear to Lazarus which one of them said that. Somewhere a chime sounded. It was pleasant, unassuming, but repeating and getting louder. “This is a dream,” thought Lazarus as the sound got louder still as he opened his eyes. He turned off the alarm with his right hand, and then reached across his body with his left hand to grab the sheets to throw them off. He slid his right leg off the side of the bed, and placed his right foot on the ground as he used his right arm to push upright and swing his hips around to get both feet on the ground. Once his feet were firmly planted and he was sitting upright, he stood up and walked the four short steps to the edge of the bed, turned ninety degrees to the left, and walked eight steps to the dresser. And from there continued his morning routine. He didn’t think about it, it just was. The routine was the optimal way to get up in the morning. Once established, there was no need to change it. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, the dream he awoke from echoed in his mind. That wasn’t a recurring dream by any means. He hadn’t thought about that interaction in years, even. The sound of the coffee sloshing in the mug as he poured it sounded surprisingly loud today, and the ting-ting-ting of the spoon as he stirred in the creamer almost felt sharp somehow. A belch of steam hissed out of the coffee pot, and he nearly jumped out of his chair. Soon enough, he was on his way to the park to read; such is the life of a graduate student. Lazarus ran his fingers over the familiar contours of “his” PADD. The slight indent on the back from accidently dropping a large book on it was particularly pleasant. Patently unpleasant, however, was the high relative humidity. Unlike the dream, it was midsummer now and the rain from the night before was rapidly drying in the sun. It felt like the air was closing in on him, and the multiple conversations going on around him as people walked in groups of twos, threes, or more were rattling his ability to think clearly. “Just a little further to the bench,” he quietly said to himself. He’d found the bench earlier that week. While the park was busy, the bench and the area around it was not. All of the amenities were on the other side of the pond, keeping most people over there so that he could enjoy a bench under the sycamore growing on the banks of the stream that feeds the pond. It was shady, quiet, and cool. The gentle burble of the stream obfuscated the voices that carried across the water. Lazarus pulled up the dry, academic text on his PADD. “Eminence Front: a longitudinal analysis of the dissolution of caste systems following admission into the Federation.” It was important to read outside of your narrowly-defined field of research, and this paper had generated some buzz–mostly based around its broad interpretations of what constitutes a “caste system.” By the definition presented in this paper, any society with institutionalized differences in treatment of people based on socially-defined categories such as class, phenotype, or genotype was a caste system. The region he grew up in was, for a brief time in history, known as the “United States.” According to the paper, it was a society with a caste system, even if their propaganda said otherwise. The faint whirr of an electric motor and the sound of wheels on the paved path grabbed his attention and he looked up. Rolling along the path was what Lazarus could only conceptualize as an equally handsome and gorgeous Vulcan in a wheelchair. Not in an androgynous way, but in the sense that they transcended those categories. Their eyes briefly made contact, and Lazarus swore he saw a look of intrigue from the Vulcan before looking back down at his PADD. He could feel the warmth in his ears as the whirring sound crescendoed and diminished as the Vulcan passed. The better part of a week passed, and that day he sat on the same bench as before, reading another boring academic text. It was a lovely day, with people enjoying the food vendors. A young couple were tossing bits of bread to the geese in the pond. Lazarus again heard the whirring and rolling sounds. He looked up, almost by reflex. The Vulcan was looking at him and their eyes locked. The Vulcan nodded to him, and he nodded and smiled back. Much to his surprise, the Vulcan approached him on the bench. “Hello. I am Kovar. May I sit next to you?” they intoned. “Er, yes of course,” Lazarus replied. Kovar rolled closer, and stopped to the side of Lazarus. “Would you please make room for me?” Kovar inquired, nodding toward the bag and PADD next to Lazarus on the bench. “Oh! Of course.” Lazarus had presumed that Kovar would simply park next to the bench, but swiftly moved his things. Kovar stopped their chair, pressed a button to engage the wheel lock, and stood up, turned, and sat down on the bench next to Lazarus. “You look confused,” Kovar observed. “I understand. Most chair users are partial chair users.” “I didn’t know that,” Lazarus admitted. Kovar simply nodded and sat back on the bench, looking out across the water. The shade from the sycamore overhead was refreshing, and the light peeking through the leaves glimmered in the gentle breeze. “What is your name?” Kovar asked after a moment. “Oh! Lazarus. Sorry, I thought I–” “I am pleased to meet you, Lazarus. Why are you here by yourself? There are lots of people on the other side of the pond.” Kovar’s tone was inquisitive, not invasive. “I guess I like the quiet. It’s hard to concentrate with too many people around.” Lazarus took a moment to turn his PADD off and set it down. Noticing this, Kovar asked, “I hope I am not bothering you?” Lazarus felt his ears get red hot. “No, not at all. It’s… nice to have company. Is this a favorite spot of yours, too?” “I have never sat on this bench. I stopped because you are here, and I wanted to meet you.” Kovar inclined an eyebrow slightly and inspected Lazarus’ face briefly. “I find you attractive and judging by your physiological responses, you find me attractive as well?” This sent Lazarus sputtering for appropriate words before they were both interrupted by a cacophony of angry geese honking and flapping. Both Kovar and Lazarus’ attention was drawn to the sound. The geese had begun to fight over a hunk of bread floating in the water, and the conflict was escalating. Lazarus winced and shrunk back at the sound. Time slowed as the cacophony increased, but in truth it was over in a few seconds, and Lazarus relaxed. “Well that was unexpected,” Lazarus remarked. All that Kovar had to say was, “Indeed.” They sat quietly for a moment before continuing. “Perhaps I was too direct. I will take my leave, but if you are amenable I would like to sit with you again next time our paths cross.” “...I would like that, Kovar.” That much Lazarus could say for sure. Kovar grasped the arm of the bench, and pushed themself upright, pivoted, and sat in their chair. “Until next time, Lazarus.” And with that, they reengaged the chair controls and rolled away. Lazarus sat quietly with his thoughts. Kovar was compelling, to put it mildly, but also created a sense of confusion with him. Lazarus knew he wasn’t narrow, but he understood himself as attracted to women. Nothing about Kovar’s presentation suggested “woman,” let alone feminine. But Kovar was not wrong to assert that Lazarus found them attractive. After a few minutes of pondering, he returned to his reading and later headed home. Meeting Kovar again happened sooner than later: Lazarus made it a point to go to the same bench at the same time of day when his schedule allowed. They saw each other twice the following week, and then nearly daily on the third week. Every time they met, it got easier. Kovar’s unwavering clear-minded communication was welcoming to Lazarus, and easy to reciprocate. He felt understood by Kovar in a way he hadn’t known before. On a particularly warm day, Kovar approached the bench with a small bag slung over the back of their chair. “Hello, Lazarus. I bought a blanket. Do you care to sit under the sycamore with me?” “Yes! That sounds lovely. Thank you, Kovar,” Lazarus said as he set his PADD down and stood up to greet Kovar. Kovar pointed over their shoulder. “Do you mind retrieving the bag? It has the blanket in it. I also brought snacks. You mentioned an interest in Vulcan cuisine last week. I bought some items you might not have tried before.” “Oo! I can’t wait to try them. You’re very thoughtful,” Lazarus said with a smile. “I am Vulcan,” Kovar said dryly but with a glimmer in their eye. As the two sat on the blanket, chatting and snacking, there was a brief lull in the conversation. “Lazarus?” Lazarus finished chewing and swallowed the bit of–what was it? He forgot the name. “Yes, Kovar?” “I would like to make our time together more comfortable for you. What are your sensory sensitivities?” The puzzlement was clear on Lazarus’ face. “I’m not sure what you mean, Kovar?” “Perhaps it was another assumption on my part,” Kovar replied mildly, and picked up a cracker to nibble on. “Maybe, but I genuinely don’t know what you’re asking me.” “Oh? I have noticed when we spend time together, you seem sensitized to the environment in ways that most humans are not. You yourself mention it sometimes - do you recall last week talking about the sensation of touching ‘flat paint’?” Kovar inquired. Lazarus contemplated for a moment before replying. “I guess so? I thought everyone had those experiences.” “Perhaps,” Kovar leaned back and looked across the pond for a moment before speaking again. “Lazarus, would you like to go out to dinner tonight?” “Yes, I would like that,” he replied. Lazarus surprised himself at how easy it was to say that, given his reaction to Kovar’s direct question about attraction in the weeks prior. Kovar suggested a place, and the two made plans before parting ways for the time being. The restaurant-slash-club that Kovar suggested was one Lazarus had never been to before. It was a queer venue in practice, though of course all were welcome. Once inside, Lazarus was surprised to find that less than a quarter of the people there were human. There was a sign next to the host’s station that read: “This is an inclusive space by design. If you need any accommodations, inform our staff.” Behind the host’s station was the dance floor, with music playing at a surprisingly low volume. Most of the people on the dance floor were wearing headphones or other types of localized audio reproduction systems. And they were all having a great time. “Lazarus.” Upon hearing his name, he turned around to see that Kovar had just entered. They were breathtakingly gorgeous and fantastically queer. “Table for two?” inquired the host. “Yes, thank you,” Lazarus replied to the host before turning back to Kovar. “You look amazing.” “Thank you. You look,” Kovar paused while searching for a word. “Handsome.” After being seated, Kovar offered an upturned palm across the table to Lazarus; an invitation to hold hands. Lazarus placed his hand in Kovar’s, and felt a rush of sensation running up his arm and throughout his body. It was euphoric. “You have soft hands,” remarked Kovar. “It’s from the hard life of an academic,” mused Lazarus. “I bought you something,” Kovar stated as they produced a data device and handed it to Lazarus. “It is a book about neurodivergence. I thought you might enjoy reading it.” “Thank you, Kovar! I… I didn’t think to bring you anything,” he said sheepishly. He wasn’t totally sure it was a date, per se. Or at least he tried to not think about it too much. “What is neurodivergence?” “You are familiar with my people’s concept of ‘IDIC.’ It is that same concept, applied to cognition and neurotype. As a burgeoning experimental psychologist, I thought you might find it compelling. And, to be frank, you might find it interesting to think about given your own experiences.” Kovar’s words were direct, but the tone was warm and compassionate. “I’ll start reading it as soon as I finish my readings for class,” said Lazarus. He had learned to trust Kovar - they always said what they meant. It was refreshing. Dinner was lovely, as was the conversation. Afterwards, Kovar invited Lazarus to dance, which he hesitatingly agreed to. Not out of lack of interest in Kovar, but dancing was an activity that always eluded him and caused him some degree of shame. Dancing seemed to come naturally to everyone else, but he had to actively think about how to do it. He absent-mindedly fiddled with the data device Kovar gave him in his pocket as they approached the dance floor. “I will not want to dance for too long. May I lean on you as we dance?” Kovar asked, plainly. “Of course you may,” said Lazarus, offering a hand to Kovar as they stood up. The two stepped onto the dance floor, and an attendant came by with an assortment of headphones and such. They each grabbed a pair, put them on, and swayed to the music. At first, Kovar merely used Lazarus for stability support, but their eyes met and Kovar motioned closer to Lazarus, wordlessly asking if it was alright. Lazarus smiled and nodded. They swayed slowly in a gentle embrace. He had never enjoyed dancing more, between the company and the chance to do it without the sound system rattling his brain or fighting through thongs of people shouting at each other over the music. After two songs, Kovar pulled their headphones off and announced they needed to sit back down. “But first, may I kiss you?” Lazarus flushed red, and Kovar had an unmistakable twinge of green. “I’d like that,” Lazarus responded. They both leaned in close, and their lips met. Lazarus found himself swelling with emotion, and embraced Kovar fully, his hands around their back and against the smooth, light fabric on Kovar’s shirt. “...That all was years ago, though,” said Lieutenant Lazarus Davis, Chief Science Officer aboard the USS Constitution, as he reclined back into the couch while taking the final swig of his glass of wine. “And where is Kovar now?” the Linarian woman, Queen, inquired from the couch in their shared quarters. “We went out a second time, and after that I got a message from Kovar that they had to immediately return to Vulcan to attend to a family matter. They told me they would contact me once it was resolved, but who knows,” Lazarus said, as he set his empty glass down on the table. He looked over to Queen to find her studying him from behind her darkened goggles. “I appreciate you sharing that with me. You can be… private, at times, Lazarus,” she stated plainly. He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “I don’t mean to be, I just never know what to share,” he said, smiling and wrapping his hand in hers. “We can share everything as bonded mates,” she said again with her flat affect. Between reminiscing about Kovar and staying up late talking over a bottle of wine, he realized that she had many of the qualities that he admired about Kovar. In particular, she said what she meant. “If you had to encapsulate that story into one moment, what would it be?” He thought for a moment before responding, “The texture of their shirt. I'll never forget the way it felt in my hand that day.” There was a wistfulness in his voice.. She squeezed his hand as he spoke, and he squeezed back. The pressure felt reassuring. “Thank you for listening to my story.” “Of course. And I will share some of mine, but not now. It is late and this ‘malbec’ is making me tired. Is it supposed to do that?” she asked. “Not by design, but it does makes people sleepy without fail. Yes, let’s go to bed,” he responded. “What about the book Kovar gave you?” she asked as they walked to the bedroom. That was a point of contention, he thought. “I never read it. After they left, any time I picked it up to read, it made me sad. I still have it, though.” The door to the bedroom slid open, and he stepped through. “Maybe you should read it. It sounds like Kovar gave it to you for a reason.” “Maybe I should…” ((Note: Queen, PNPC of Jalana Rajel, portrayed with permission))
  7. Kammus took a drink of whiskey, staring off into the black through the window in his quarters. The rounded edge was warmed by his breath has he slowly ran the rim past the little dip in his upper lip. He was totally lost in thought. Garrard set opposite him, awkwardly leaning on the edge of the softa. “Its today isn’t it”, whispered Garrard. Kammus slowly nodded, still holding the glass to his lips. He took a long, slow breath in through his nose. The room was still, but the hum of the environmental systems permeated the silence. “You never told me the story”, Garrard said, as he stood to pour himself another drink. “You always say fourteen cadets, but I’ve known you 10 years. Ever year, we play this sad drinking game of remembering their names, but are you ever going to tell the whole thing?”. Garrard wasn’t annoyed, and as long as he had known Kammus, they had been friends. Kammus wiggled his glass back and forth with the twist of his wrist in the direction of Garrard, who got the hint. He grabbed the decanter, and moved to fill Kammus’ glass. The faithful ice cubes began to give up their life in the exploration of deeper flavor. Kammus watched the water radiate outwards, mixing with the alcohol. Taking one last sip, he placed the glass on the side table, wiping his hand on the pant leg of his uniform to clear the condensation. “You never really forget a thing like that,” Kammus spoke softly. Garrard slowly shifted his eyes, wondering if the whole story was going to come out now. He moved softly around the room to resume his seat. “We were nearing completion of the USS Robin, a prototype experimental vessel. Cadets from Farpoint academy had been assigned to engineering as a culminating learning experience to get field training. I was overseeing the initial startup of the warp core, everything was going smoothly. Suddenly, without warning, engineering exploded into chaos. Everything went black, and we were all thrown against the bulkhead”, said Kammus, standing. He started to pace around the room, whiskey glass in hand. “When I opened my eyes, the emergency lighting painted a pretty grim picture. A coolant leak was filling the compartment from above with toxic vapor, a plasma fire was burning out of control, and the emergency blast door had been jammed half open by the explosion. The warp core was offline, but that didn’t stop the matter injectors from sticking open. Raw deuterium was spilling out of the hole where the reaction control chamber used to be. I started grabbing anyone I could find to drag them out of engineering. Alex, Joans, Kaidan, Max, Miles, Quinn, Alura, T’ren, Q’pok, Clara, Burton, Drids, Elix, Colrin” he continued as he motioned with his arms, dragging in the air. “One by one, I tried to get them all out. All except one. Alex was closest to the core when it exploded. He was still conscious when I got to him. The plasma fire ignited the slush deuterium and a wall of fire burst into my face. My hands were in so much pain from dragging those kids out.”. “You were just a kid too, don’t forget”, interjected Garrard, now sitting wide eyed at the details of the story. “The heat was so intense; the texture of their shirt… I’ll never forget the way it felt in my hand that day,” Kammus finished, running his empty hand over the front of his own uniform. “So you saved 13 lives. That’s kind of a big deal.” Replied Garrard. He stood still for a moment, remembering the pain, the texture of burnt fabric. Kammus shrugged quietly, shaking his head, and turning the corners of his lips down as he tried so very hard to hold back a tear. “Accidents happen.” He raised his glass and nodded his head towards Garrard, “To the fourteen.”. “The fourteen”, answered Garrard, taking a deep and final draft from his glass.
  8. It’s funny how the mind just holds on to some of the smallest details. I’m no psychologist or psychiatrist – far from it, actually – but I think that there are times when the mind just gets so overwhelmed that all it can do is cling to the little things. And that’s what I think happened to me over the course of three days in 2397. It was during our first trip to Tibro, during their celebration of Val Tesai. So much happened on that trip and all of it would change my life forever. My team had crashed in a remote forest on the planet and had been forced to run for our lives. When we’d finally be rescued, it was then that I first learned that my husband had been murdered by a victim of the heavy metal poisoning that was ravaging the populace. I was so stricken with grief that all I could remember was that morning, when we’d first woken up. I was still heavy with child at the time and Stevok was ever the supportive and loving husband. Of course, since he was mostly Vulcan, few but I would have noticed it. But as I lay in my biobed in the ship’s infirmary, all I could think of was the feel of his tunic that I had taken out for him to wear that morning. It had been so soft, and the coloration suited him so nicely, that it was my favorite tunic to see him in. How I longed to be able to hold that tunic again. My mind raced back to the last conversation he and I would ever have. “So, your first away mission. Are you excited?” I asked as I ran my hands over that wonderful tunic he was now wearing. It was cut perfectly for him, and allowed me to feel the muscles underneath. If I was going to give it an adjective, I think dashing would be it. “Excitement is an emotion, my wife. However, I will admit to a certain amount of anticipation.” I just smiled at him. Anticipation was just a synonym for excitement, but I wasn’t about to argue semantics with him. Not that day, anyway. I knew from the bond between us that he was also eager to make a good impression with the Captain and the other officers. If all went well, he was hoping to be invited on other away missions in the future. I gave him a quick kiss and left to attend to my own duties. If only I had known that would be the last time I would kiss him. My mind came back from that memory to look at the little bundle of joy in my arms. She had been born the very next day. How was it that her blanket could feel so very much like her father’s shirt? Was it just my mind, or a happy coincidence? I can still remember the feel of that blanket just as clearly as I do Stevok’s tunic. And the smell. What a marvelous thing the smell of a newborn baby is. Of course, that might just be a proud mother talking, and she was definitely the most beautiful little girl. But the blanket they had wrapped her in, the feel of it – again, soft and smooth – had been burned indelibly into my mind. It felt so very similar to that tunic of her father’s that I cried. Oh, the tears were tears of joy, but somewhere in there was sadness at knowing her father would never be able to hold his little girl the way I was getting to hold her. Now, if only that was the end of it, but naturally, that was not to be. Two days later, as I laid in the sickbay, my father walked in. My father who had been dead thirty years. I still remember the last day I had spoken to him. Starfleet was sending him on another undercover assignment somewhere and we would have no idea where he was or when he would return. I had loved my father very much in those days and I was very sad to see him go. I remember that I had jumped into his arms and hugged his neck so tightly for so long. I could feel the Starfleet tunic and the black collar under the skin of my arms. I am pleased to say that our uniforms have become a bit more comfortable since then. Six months later, I would find myself in bed one night, clinging to my dad’s uniform as I cried myself to sleep. He was gone and I would never see him again. But there he was. Older and gray, but very much alive. I felt the fire in my veins rise up and the anger at the deception flowed through my veins. So there you have it. Three major events in my life, all in the span of the same number of days. A death, a birth, and a resurrection. And all indelibly tied to the feel of fabric. A tunic, a blanket and a uniform. As I said, it’s strange what the mind holds on to. The touch, the feel, the cotton, the fabric of our lives.
  9. Lael sat staring at the holophoto of her and Chythar on their wedding day, a nostalgic smile turning up the corners of her lips. Moisture formed at the corners of her eyes. Bittersweet tears. They’d had a shorter time together than she would have liked and yet, they had been the best years of her life. Her fingers touched the brown hair of the woman in the photo, the woman’s eyes shining with pure joy and happiness. Filled with hope of a long future ahead. She reached up to finger the thinning strands, the deep luxurious brown replaced by gray that would soon be tempered by white. Crow’s feet had since formed at the corners of her eyes. Chythar had always corrected her, calling them laugh lines from his prodigious sense of humor. He always had made her laugh. Her life had seen more laughter with him in it than in any of the days before or after. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to fully feel his absence from her mind. On the nights when she forgot to take her sedative or her body became immune to the current dosage, she would experience the deafening silence as though it was the loudest scream. An ache would develop in her chest and sobs would tear from her throat as though someone was physically torturing her. Though she was no stranger to pain and heartbreak, she longed for something that she couldn’t have. At least not this side of heaven. And she had to believe that there was a God and heaven. For her sanity, she had to believe that she would see the man she loved again someday, his features untouched by time, reverted to the youthful man she’d married. They would instantly recognize one another and embrace as though not a moment had gone by. She would feel the texture of his shirt in her hands as she had the first time he’d held her, long before they’d started dating. Even as friends, they’d seemed to break the rules of what friends should be. Her attraction to him in spite of his indirect role in one of the most painful times of her life had been absolute. What had started as an intangible curiosity about the man had grown into a fondness for his quirks and affection for the candid way he saw the world. He had always been different from everyone else, a fact that her heart caught onto long before her mind did. The familiar chime that signaled someone was waiting outside the door to her office echoed in the small space, causing her to look up. “Enter,” she called. As the doors parted, she set the photo down in its original place of honor before turning to greet her visitor. For a moment, she forgot to breathe as she often did when he entered a room. The man before her was a spitting image of his father, with the exception of the slight point to his ears and the subtle glow of his green eyes, all marks of his Al-Leyan heritage. The man’s face fell as he saw her expression. “Mom,” Kaidan murmured as he made his way into the office. Without asking, he seemed to know what she needed, enveloping her in a tight hug. For long moments, they remained like that, the tears streaming down her cheeks. He’d caught her in an unexpectedly vulnerable moment and she didn’t have the emotional strength to force the mask back into place just now. Her hands clenched at the material of his Starfleet uniform, reminding her of the way Chythar’s had often felt. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to feel, though she was careful not to project too much of it to her son. After what seemed like an eternity, Kaidan pulled back wearing that smile that reminded her so much of Chythar when he was feeling particularly affectionate. “Never underestimate the healing power of hugs,” he murmured. She laughed through her tears, remembering how Chythar would say that when things seemed hopeless. And she’d loved him all the more for it. Laying her hand on Kaidan’s cheek, her watery smile widened. “Your father would be so proud of you.”
  10. How many times in my life have I ruined the moment simply by opening my mouth? Too many to count. This time, things will be different. I walk up quietly as she stands there staring out the window deep in thought. Gently I place my hands upon her shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze. I pull myself in closer so my face just touches her hair and I breathe in. That scent. The one only a woman’s hair produces. As I firmly wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her in close, her hands move to mine. I squeeze as I nuzzle up to her ear and breathe out gently. Though I can’t see her face, I can feel her smile. It’s clear in my mind, you could never mistake it for anything else as her face shines when it appears. We sway in unison as if our song is playing. Time no longer exists at this moment. I feel in my chest, her silent laugh. Is she recalling a similar time? Maybe even one where I spoke too soon. She turns to face me and wraps her arms behind my neck, my hands at the small of her back. I lean my forehead against hers. My fingers spread and then close, the folds of her shirt filling them. I savor the moment as I know it can’t last forever. I open my eyes as I lean back, still pulling her hips close to mine. “Are you ready?” she asked me. Why stop here? I wonder to myself. I tell her, “No.” “Well, that’s just too damn bad.” She placed her hands on my chest, separating us by just a step. Is it anticipation? Something builds inside me. Her smile transforms into a grin, sly and devious. Her arms cross as she grips the hem of her shirt and begins to lift. Time is moving slowly. My fingers feel what hers feel. She lifts, her hair falls gently in slow motion. Her hand reaches out towards me. “Thanks for doing the laundry.” “Yeah, sure. No problem.”
  11. Ulasso sat on his bed in his quarters for the first time in over a week. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. The last mission had taken them to hell and back again, and now that he wasn't running on pure adrenaline, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He felt like he should still be on the bridge, that the danger wasn't over and he would be needed any second. He had been ordered to get some rest, and boy was he tired, however he found his mind wandering. He reached under his bed and pulled out a small wooden box. Ulasso ran his hand over the smooth, sanded wood of the cover. It was Rowan wood, a pale yellow brown, with spots of deeper brown from where the heartwood had been used in the crafting of the box. He had been given the box upon his graduation from Starfleet Academy by his only friend there, V'Len Kel. V'Len had been assigned to the U.S.S Thor and had given Ulasso the box as a parting gift. Kel had wanted him to try and obtain a posting on the Thor as well. He had informed Ulasso that the box was made of Rowan wood, and that in ancient Human Greek mythology, it was a Rowan tree that had saved the life of the god, Thor. Thor had grabbed ahold of a Rowan tree while being swept away in a river to the Underworld. V'Len had told him he thought it would bring him luck if we were to join the Thor. The box only contained a few items. He reached past a photo of himself and V'Len at graduation and a pressed Fire Flower from his home world, Lyaksti'kton, recognized as Alpha Sauria IV by the Federation. His hand grasped the next item, a small pint of Saurian Brandy. He took the bottle out and held it in his hands for a couple minutes, rolling it back and forth, fighting an internal battle within his mind. He finally took the lid off and took a swig. He felt the liquid run down his throat, and he felt warmth within his chest that seemed to blossom out like a flower of fire. It relaxed him slightly, and gave him the courage to reach for the last item in the Rowan box. Ulasso's hand moved cautiously towards the small piece of torn yellow cloth, as if the item might become sentient, grow teeth, and take a bite out of his finger. Honestly, he would welcome that physical pain over the mental anguish that came with this particular article of clothing. "The pain never goes away, you just learn to live with it," V'Len had told him once when they were deep in their cups. The cloth was faded yellow, with a floral design of the Fire Flowers from his own planet. He raised it to his nostrils and took in the smell that still lingered there, that seemed to hang onto the clothing no matter how much time had passed. The scent flooded his six nasal cavities. The olfactory signals activated his limbic system and he was taken to a moment from his past. A moment that was captured in his mind like a holodeck simulation, and he remembered almost every detail, all anchored by this piece of cloth. "The texture of their shirt...I'll never forget the way if felt in my hand that day." He thought to himself. He had grabbed at her shirt to try and stop her from going over the cliff's edge. The shirt was homemade, and the cloth was thin and soft. She had made it herself, and had been wearing it as a means of silent protest to the Warrior Caste she had been born into. The Warrior Caste demanded clothing that wasn't made for comfort, but rather durability, and yellow was not an approved color. He often wondered if she had been wearing her training uniform, maybe the cloth wouldn't have torn, and he could have saved her. They had been raised together in the Saurian warrior caste, and while Ulasso had taken to it with no problem, she had never seemed to believe in the extremely rigid doctrine that they were demanded to follow. She believed in free thinking, and that no one person or group's philosophy should ever be followed without question. The elders had tried over and over to put her in line, and Ulasso had pleaded with her repeatedly to stop, as he knew deviation from order resulted in swift, and sometimes brutal punishment. It was after the latest of these horrible punishments that Ulasso had found her standing on the edge of the cliff, with a sea of Fire Flowers behind her. The spot they used to come and play as children. He had been informed by their father that she was to be ostracized. Ulasso's four hearts had dropped at the news. Community was everything to a Saurian, and without it they were lost. The few Saurians he had heard of receive this punishment had chose death as preference to a life in solitude. He ran to her as fast as he could, the field of Fire Flowers giving the illusion of burning flames as their petals took in the full red light of the class M star the planet orbited and were illuminated. He ran across the sea of fire, towards he silhouetted form at the cliffs edge with her back to him, the red light of the star directly behind her. He screamed her name over and over, and she turned and gave him a look that broke his heart. He lunged to grab her as she stepped forward and caught the back of her shirt. Time seemed to stand still for a second, and then the shirt tore and she fell into the darkness. No Rowan tree saved her like it had Thor in the story V'Len had told him. It was because of her he had joined Starfleet. She may have passed away physically, however he could keep her alive by living her ideals and dream. His younger sister, Ulaini, his Fire Flower. He had nicknamed her that because she was small for a Saurian, more delicate that others due to some physical birth defects, but see had a passion for free-thinking that couldn't be extinguished, like an uncontrollable fire that had threatened to consume her. Ulasso had turned inward after the event, once loving community and gatherings, but the loss of his sister had turned him stoic, with a face like flint. Ulasso clutched the cloth to his face, laid down on his bed and looked out the stars. In the seemingly infinite cosmos, we wondered how many others had lost someone. How many others would die for a dream, or live to keep one alive. He got up and went into the lavatory. He looked at himself in the mirror, his yellow eyes staring back at him. Ulaini had always told him to be proud of his yellow eyes, and that she thought they were beautiful. It was a recessive gene, and seen as undesirable within his town. A town of warriors who thought yellow eyes looked weak compared to the imposing black eyes that they mostly had. He looked at himself and wondered who he would have been if she was still alive. Here he was, living for her dreams, but what were his own? Who was he without his pain and loss? He knew he was competitive, when Ulaini and himself would play games he would do everything possible to win. She always said he should relax more and just enjoy playing the game. She had always wanted to creatively bend the rules which would nearly drive Ulasso to insanity. He believed in rules and structure, and he liked to win. That was part of who he was at his core. Ulaini's beliefs were those that all opinions should be considered, that a strict religious doctrine left little room for growth. Star Fleet fit both of these philosophies. No matter who he may have been, this is who he was now, a Starfleet officer. "She would be proud of who you have become" Ulasso said the words to his reflection, left the lavatory and went to the Rowan box beside his bed. He placed the other items in the box, and this time placed the piece of cloth on top. As he slid the box back underneath his bed. He walked over to the statues of Mellitt and Antidis, the brother and sister founders of the Saurian race, and said a silent prayer. As he finished, his communicator badge chirped. =/\= Ensign Ulasso, report to the bridge. =/\= =/\= On my way, sir. =/\= It would seem rest still eluded Ulasso, but for now he may have finally found some peace. Ensign Ulasso, (HCO) Officer USS Thor T239902U11
  12. After over 20 years, Stephen had finally caved and attended one of the PTSD support groups that his children and grandchildren had begged him to go to. He hesitantly wheeled himself into the circle created by chairs in the center of the room, moving one of the aside to accommodate his wheel chair. He idly stared at the floor as the rest of the group filed in and took their seats, only looking up when someone finally spoke. “Greetings to you all.” A tall, slender human woman stood in the middle of the circle. She wore the telltale Starfleet Science Blue Uniform. “I am Dr. Hargrove. I understand you all have come here from very different walks of life, but have gathered for one common reason.” She looked around at everyone before continuing, “Healing.” Psycho mumbo jumbo. Stephen thought to himself. He knew why he was there. He knew why he needed to be there. He just didn’t want any of it. “I would like to go around the room and have you all introduce yourselves. Let’s start with you, sir.” She motioned towards Stephen, who met her gaze and scowled. “Pass.” He said, gruffly. Dr. Hargrove gave him a warm smile, “I know this can be hard. That’s why we are starting with something easy.” She sat down in an empty chair across the room, “Please.” Stephen sighed, “My name is Stephen Davis.” He didn’t bother looking around at anyone as they all said hello, almost in unison. What is this? A GD Alcoholics Anonymous meeting? “Could you tell us a little more about yourself?” Hargrove chimed in again, “Maybe a little bit about why you’re here?” “I’ll catch that on the next go around.” Stephen huffed, leaning back in his chair. Dr. Hargrove simply nodded in response, continuing around the room in counter-clockwise order. Each person stepping forward, stating their name and giving a brief description about why they were there. Space battles, Colony disputes and the like. Stephen just sat there listening until it was his turn again. “Alright, Stephen. Are you ready to tell us more?” Hargrove smiled warmly again as asked the question. Nathan looked into her deep blue eyes for a moment, feeling them almost burrow into his soul. But not in a bad way. He pushed himself forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Stardate 50983.5. You might recognize that date.” He looked around the room. Some understanding, while others simply looked on looking for an explanation. “The Battle of Sector 001.” He paused, letting the words sink in. They all seemed to understand now. “I was aboard one of the first ships to make contact with the Cube as it entered the system. The order was given to stop them using whatever means necessary. It was over before I really knew what was going on.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, resting on his thighs. His eyes quickly looking down at what remained of his right leg. “Fire everywhere. People screaming. The ship was disabled almost immediately. That’s when they began to board and...” He trailed off, memories flooding back and flashing before his eyes. His vision began to blur as tears filled his eyes. “So many dead. So many more assimilated. I remember holding my Commanding Officer as she looked up at me, taking her final breath. I just held her lifeless body, not knowing what to do in the chaos that surrounded me. The texture of her Uniform, soaked in her blood. I can still fell it in my hands.” He wiped away the tears and looked up towards the group, finding them gone. He was no longer in the room that he had once been. Instead, he was sitting on the back deck of his childhood home. He looked out at the rolling pastures that sat behind the house. What in the... He reached down to find the wheels of his chair, but they weren’t there. He looked down and found that he was simply sitting in one of the three deck chairs that always sat on that deck. With sudden urgency, he stood up and moved towards the back door of the house. He had his hand on the handle before he realized. He had stood up and walked. Looking down at his two legs, he let out a sob as the tears returned and ran down his cheeks. This isn’t real. A faint whisper caught his attention from behind him. He turned to find no one there, just the grass and trees blowing in the wind. But the whisper was still there. It was faint, but growing closer. He stepped out into the grass, trying to follow and find the source. He came to a stop in the very center of the field as the whisper suddenly stopped. That’s when he felt the sharp pain in the nape of his neck, snapping him back to reality. Sitting next to the lifeless body of his Commanding Officer on the burning bridge. He body felt numb and went limp. He heard the whisper again. This time it sounded much closer. He recognized it as Dr. Hargroves, along with a litany of other voices speaking in unison in the background. He remembered the words, holding onto them as his vision darkened. As he felt all of his willpower to survive drain away. As his body and mind gave in to what was happening to him. We are the Borg. Resistance...Is Futile. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ensign Nathan Richards Engineering Officer Amity Outpost A239905NR1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  13. Personal Log of Doctor Zazi sh’Viakrik, stardate 2399.0214 This log has nothing to do with the previous mission, or at least, not in an official capacity. The takeover by rogue members of a Vulcan clan who designated themselves as ‘vampires’ have been arrested and are being put to justice, the ship itself is healing and the people who were injured have been well and truly tended to. This is about the after. I was in my office, cup of Katheka on the side, hardly touched. I had just finished an emergency surgery and was filling in requisition forms. Gods above we need as much supplies as the USS Tripp can carry right now. My door opened, and I wanted to snap at whoever it was. This was my time, the hour I had left to myself before being dragged into the fray, or being forced to be alone with my thoughts. It was Jenny. She looked pristine as if this were any other shift on the rotation. Today she had on a beautifully tailored set of black pants, flat shoes, and a scrub top that could easily be shucked off in case of blood spillage. We had a lot of those recently. I was pretty sure this was not the scrub top she had come on shift clothed in, but better than my own doctor’s coat that, on the edges, wore a spattering of green and red blood. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed in a bun, and she smiled at me, holding a platter with two cups of what I knew to be tea, a bowl of sugar cookies next to them. “Doctor,” she said, and I sunk lower in my seat, prepared for the gentle admonishing. “You’ve been up for nearly two days now.” “Yes, and nearly half the ship’s been unconscious for the same amount of time,” I snarked back, despite knowing it was not her fault. I feel embarrassed about it even now, that in the face of gentle friendship, I snapped at the hand offering it. Still, she never wavered, stepping inside and setting the tray down on the desk, heedless of anything I was doing. She took a seat across from me, and picked up the cup, placing it in front of me near the PADD I had some files pulled up on. “Just means our CMO shouldn’t run herself into an early grave.” Those words had been spoken so many times. I was known for taking on multiple shifts, using the fact that I could sleep for only a few hours before jumping into the fray again to my benefit. It didn’t mean my coworkers didn’t worry, and I was sure that they had goaded Jenny into being the one to come and see about me. She was better at tampering my blood pressure. I stared down at the cup as she took up her own, sliding the tray away after settling the set of cookies before us. Her hands, slender and pale, cupped the tea with a middle finger looping into the handle. She picked her cup up, settling it against her lips, the tendrils of steam rising every second. Exhaustion seeped into my very joints then, as if her entering and providing me with tea had sent a signal to my brain. ‘It’s time to rest now.’ My brain was a liar. I watched her take a sip before settling the cup back down onto its small saucer, gifting me another easy smile, the blue of her eyes sparkling in the light of the office. “Doctor. Your tea.” “Right,” I mumbled, and I cupped my hand around the tea, finger looping in the handle before bringing it to my lips. My eyes shut out of instinct, the srjula hitting my lips and giving a shiver down my spine. I lowered it, smacking my lips as I opened my eyes. “Srjula. You never fail to remember.” “Three years together, sir,” she had said, a hand reaching out for a cookie, breaking a piece off to dip in her tea. “You act, every single time, as if it is our first day together, and that it is something of a torture to know you.” Just as she knows me, I know her. I know the tea in her cup is more milk than tea, that she will dip the sugar cookie in it three times, tap it against the edge of the cup, then flick it as if trying to get the drops off. Only then will she attempt a bite of the cookie, and she will smile and compliment the cookie as if it were the first cookie she had received in her entire life. My dark blue hand reaches out to one cookie, and I drag it to me as if the weight of it made it seemingly impossible. I’ve never liked sugar cookies. But I like Jenny. We eat in silence, Jenny’s nimble hands plucking up pieces and dipping them, while I tiredly watch it as if it were a private entertainment show, a jester putting on tricks to make me laugh. I feel as if someone were cupping my cheeks, dragging their fingers across my eyes and downwards, as if trying to force myself to sleep. Jenny put her now empty cup down, letting out a long sigh that usually accompanied her finishing any drink sent her way. “A little quiet helps the soul.” “So you say,” I grumbled, a barb neither meant for her nor anyone really. I’ve been told my bedside manner could use some work. She nodded, brushing a hand across her forehead, bits of stray hair following her hand and pressed into place. “I daresay our counselor will have his hands full.” Oh noble Syron, he who uses logic above feelings. If I was quite honest, and I usually am, he’s been good for the crew. He is stalwart, unbending to anyone’s anger or pleading, and quite honestly a breath of fresh air. I hadn’t gone to see him, but after this last…hoorah, well, it may be in my hand of cards this time. “Syron’s good at his duties,” I had answered, and she smothered a laugh. “What?” “Normally you have something quite prickly to say about folks. Has Syron gained a little recognition from the mission before?” Of course he had. The darned man had put himself in danger just to try and save me from a falling rock. He was foolish and hard-headed and I gave him a piece of my mind only to get laughed at in my face. I admire people who think they can do that. I admire it more when they’ve saved my life. Still does not save him from me calling him many, many things under my breath. Jenny just had that knowing smile on her face, and I grimaced, looking away from her for a moment before my attention slowly wavered back to her again. “He’s…okay.” “So he’s wonderful then, in Zazi speak.” I sometimes wondered was it really the fact we had been working three years together that we knew each other so well? Or had it been something else? Her smile shifted to a frown in my silence, her head tilting, allowing her bangs to slide forth once more across her forehead. “Zazi.” There it was. That tone. That tone that had came forth in our last year of Academy, that tone that popped up so many times aboard the USS Tripp. It was one that I knew by rote. ‘Zazi, when have you last slept? Zazi, four days ago and for three hours is not healthy. Zazi, as a professional, you of all people should know the dangers of burnout.’ I felt my shoulders climb up to my ears, my face darkening from a rush of blood to my face. “I know,” I mumbled back at her, hoping this conversation would not be had. “I get it, but I have to get this all done, no one else is going to be able to do it.” My antenna quivered in the air, twitching and shrinking down lower as well. I heard her sigh, and didn’t know when my eyes had started to drift down. I looked back up at her, and her face softened. “Being CMO is hard, and I know you’ve only been for the last year. Have you…considered…taking a break?” Laughable, and she knows it. The last time I ever took a break was our first year here, when the ship had been assaulted by a memory-eating nebula, our minds adrift and unknowing. I had felt…a lot that day, and had taken a week off to destress. As did many, many people, for many other reasons. “Breaks are for others. We’re low in this department until a new influx of Ensigns, and it’s only us and the other four nurses.” “It’s not fair to leave it all on you, Zazi. You have just as much importance as anyone on this ship.” “My duties,” I had said, my hand curling into a fist and shaking under the desk out of…adrenaline or anger or something, “are never-ending. I won’t put them off on someone else, I am not…that way, and you know that.” “I do,” she had said, looking at me as if she could physically peel away the layers and see what made me up. What triumphs and failures I had experienced, what life had put me through. “But it’s no harm in asking for help.” “I don’t need help!” I had shouted, and now, hours later, I feel just as horrible for doing so. Jenny had not done a thing to me, and yet here I was, shouting at her, standing up from my desk and motioning wildly, almost knocking my tea over that she had brought me. “I don’t need help, I just need to get this done! Once it’s done, I’ll-I’ll just have more to do, more notes to put together, things to send to Syron or my opinions on those who need to go to work and those who shouldn’t, th-the replacement hand for Traxxon…” The list was never-ending. There was always one more thing to do. Syron needed updates for the mental wellbeing, Traxxon’s hand that had been necessary to amputate, Kyra’s fear of inheriting her mother’s heart condition. One more thing, one more thing on top of another, and I was drowning- I hadn’t realized when she had side-stepped my desk, nor when her arms wrapped around me. My own hands came up, grabbing at her shoulders as if to push her away, but they didn’t cooperate. They just kept her closer. She smelled of antiseptic and flowers. Her hands were grounding in a way better than any meditation I had attempted. The texture of her shirt, how it appeared to be flowers but felt slick and smooth at the same time, how it bunched under my fingers. I’ll never forget the way it felt in my hand that day. Our relationship was never more than cordial, than professional. …today I learned two things, both of them just as terrifying as the next. One: I may be in love with Jenny. Two: I needed lighter duties, or to step down as CMO. Temporarily, at least. The work is killing me, literally. My blood pressure has yet to really recover. I know that the USS Tripp is the last on the list to get new recruits, but I’m going to force Starfleet’s hand. CMO will have to wait until I can handle it again, when and if that happens. And when it does, I hope Jenny’s by my side when it happens. …she’s a great nurse, an even greater friend…I’ll just…not think about anything else but that. That’s the appropriate way of handling this, yes? What am I doing. I’m talking to a PADD as if it can answer me. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Syron. We’ll…we’ll discuss this. First about me stepping down as CMO, or at least taking on much lighter duties than I had been, and…then about the…about Jenny. For now, I’m going to rest, as I promised I would do. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. Log, end.
  14. Post your questions, comments, and other discussion here!
  15. As our winner of last year’s challenge, Commander @Geoffrey Teller has come up with the prompt for our community this time around. A throwback to flashbacks for everyone, this calls to mind themes of the little things which can affect characters in those huge ways. Maybe your character will venture on a voyage on discovery about themselves, or explore themes of finality and endings, retribution and redemption, even a bit of mortality thrown in? Star Trek has consistently shown us these small, focused moments can be at the very heart of the human (and alien!) experience. You could go anywhere with this one! "I always loved the wind… ...until that mission on Telstrus 3." How would your character react to this situation? What's going through their mind? What scene immediately pops into your head? Is there a word-fire kindling? Does it transport you somewhere? If so, bust out the virtual pen and paper, brew that Earl Grey and get cracking! One judge will be chosen from each ship to help select the winner. Rules & Guidelines: Word count should be a minimum of 300 and a maximum of 3000. Members are welcome to submit solo stories, or team up with a buddy to submit a collaborative epic, but only one story per person, please! Your submission should be in the format of a short story. Prose, not sim formatting. (See here for examples.) All members are welcome to submit entries for the community to read, but only those from active simmers will be reviewed by the judging panel for the final winner selection. Submissions are, by default, non-canon – if you find a way to shoehorn this into your own backstory, you're free to use it if you wish, but certainly not a requirement. You can create whatever characters make sense for the story. You don't have to use or reference any of your current characters. Rank is not an issue here – write as an Ensign or a Captain, civilian, whatever makes sense for your story! And you're free to use characters you've already written for in sim, but please don't include anyone else's. Submit your story directly into the first post of a new thread. Use the following format for the thread title: [Primary Character Name(s) of author(s)]: "My Story's Interesting Title" Tristan Wolf: "Five Ways to End Your Starfleet Career" If you want to submit a story but don't want to enter it into the challenge, prefix the forum post with "showcase" and let us read your good stuff! All stories must be submitted by Sunday, May 23 at 11:59pm Pacific Time. Good luck!
  16. Book of Devon, Vol One. Xandria, Defender of Starfleet. Names have their meaning. It is given by our parents and their parents before them. There is a code we live by but it doesn’t always mean we have to live by them. Your name has meaning, Devon. Multiple meanings. My name has one singular meaning. We were born with the same destiny to join Starfleet. Our fate, no my fate is set. I- we don’t get to choose them no matter how much we want to avoid it. If you are listening to this. Then that means- Devon closed the recorder. Sniffing softly, she wiped a tear that threatened to fall from her duct. Finding herself in a dimly lit attic, she thumbed the old Starfleet device in her hand and turned it over. Dust drifted among the old relics scattered all over the top part of her old house. Shuttered cupboards blocked the outside giving the room a dark feeling. The candle lights glowed as it filled the room with light. Somewhere below the room, the clock struck several times. Devon looked straight across from the desk. Getting up, she moved her braided hair to the side and approached the closed window. Opening it, she looked outside into the clouds. It appeared to be midday. Surrounding her cottage was the sea by the rocky cliffs. People came and gathered on her yard. While some dressed in dark civilian clothing, others dressed in their Starfleet uniform dress in respect. Devon wore the dark tunic of a Starfleet Ensign of the tactical department. A combadge beeped in her shirt. She ignored it for several moments and allowed it to beep. Exhaling a sigh, she tapped it as her father spoke, “Devon. Are you ready?” Devon didn’t speak for a few moments as she let the silence linger. Finally, she replied with her Irish accent, “No.” Biting her lips, she placed her arms around her knees and held herself closer as she leaned against the window. Her father replied, “We can’t start without you.” Devon shook her head. Closing her sea-green eyes, she replied, “She’s not dead. She’s still alive.” “Dev,” her father began before Devon shut the communication device off. Mouthing softly, she whimpered, “She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. Her body-.” Closing her eyes, her half Betazoid side caused her to remember as she flashed back the month before the mission. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Her body wasn’t found. That means she’s still out there. Missing! Devon rushed toward the doorway as she ran after him. Gripping the side of the doorway, she shouted into the office as her Irish accept rebounded in the room, “Davis!” The man in a red shouldered Starfleet uniform turned to face her and placed his arms behind his back. Opening his mouth, he replied sternly, “Ensign Caden, watch your tone!” Devon exhaled sharply and closed her eyes. Controlling her temper, she recollected herself and opened her eyes. Walking through the doorway, she replied, “Forgive me, Captain. There has got to be-” Davis looked at her with a hardened stare. Beneath the hardened stare was a cool, softer captain. He raised his hand to interrupt her and offered her a chair, “Have a seat, Ensign.” Taking her seat, Devon nodded, “Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” Davis took his seat behind his desk. On it was an assortment of PADDS, his computer and the nameplate that stated his name clearly, Captain Leland P. Davis. He spoke, “We tried. Everything. We searched for survivors along the Cardassian border, but we found no others.” The orange red haired ensign exhaled, “But, you didn’t find her tags. You didn’t even find her body. That means-” Leland offered his hand again and replied, “She’s gone. Don’t even try to look. We need to account for the losses. You need to accept it and move on.” “Move-” Devon whimpered softly and averted her eyes. Holding back her tears, she fought to control her emotions. Leland watched the ensign. He could understand what she was going through. Exhaling a sigh, he picked up the PADD on his desk and stood from his chair. Walking toward the ensign, he held it out for her. Devon sniffed and looked up. Accepting the PADD, she looked over it as he knelt to her eye level and spoke, “You need time. I have granted you leave from Starfleet. Take however long you need it to be. Your rank and position are still open for you if you are ready to come back.” “I-” Devon gulped and wiped her eyes. Looking at him, she looked over the PADD and nodded, “Thank you, sir.” _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Devon walked through the doorway of her old cottage near the sea. Her father stood waiting by the porch. He looked at her with a sad smile. Devon bit her lips to hold back her emotions. Her Betazoid side continued to flare up causing her migraines. Opening her mouth, her voice cracked as her Irish accent came through, “Dad-” Aric nodded with a wave of his hand, “I know. Your brother is waiting for us. Come here.” Devon sniffed and nodded as she walked over to give him a hug. They embraced for a few seconds. Looping her arm into his arm, they walked down the steps and along the path toward the flowered terrace. Several people crowded in their own spaces. They held glasses and spoke in undertones. Before the casket stood an older boy of her age. Recognizing him, Devon spoke, “Xander!” Cedric turned toward her with dark eyes and a smile, “Hey sis.” They embraced for a few seconds as Aric watched them both. He replied, “Cedric. Devon. If only your mother was here. She was always better at this than I. Your sister. May she rest.” Cedric grew serious and nodded, “Amen, father.” Devon huffed silently and looked away. Crossing her arms, she held herself and walked away. Cedric started forward, but Aric placed a hand on his shoulder. Shaking his head, he replied, “Give her time. Her death affected her more than ours.” Cedric sniffed and shook his head. Turning, he faced him and replied, “It affected me too.” Aric nodded, “I know, but there is a bond between them that goes beyond human. I may not understand it because I am Human, but your mother was Betazoid. She gave a part of her to you three. However, the bond she shared with your sister goes beyond limits. With her gone, your sister could withdraw into her shell. Give her space and time.” Cedric sighed and turned to look for his sister. Devon had disappeared. Shrugging his father’s arm off, he ran after her. Not far from the terrace, Devon walked down the stone steps and toward the column. Leaning against the stone, she stared out over the cliff. The winds from the waves below her brushed against her orange red hair. Behind her, Cedric approached softly. Sensing her brother, she smiled softly and replied, “You can come close, Xander. It’s okay.” “Okay,” Cedric walked alongside her and looked out into the horizon. He nodded, “Sorry.” Crossing her arms while leaning against the stone column, Devon turned to him and raised her eyebrow, “For what?” Cedric looked at her and shrugged. Devon exhaled and shook her head. Offering a smile, she touched his head and ruffled his dark hair with a playful tousle, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just-” “Hard?” he replied while moving closer. Devon bit her lips and exhaled with a nod, “Yeah. I know she’s not dead. She’s still out there. I can feel her. I ca-” she stopped and shook her head. Cedric approached her and moved to her front. Shaking his head, he looked into her sea-green eyes and spoke, “This isn’t like what happened to mom. She didn’t die. She disappeared. Vanished. She-” He stopped and backed slightly from her while turning away suddenly. Devon stared at him and processed. With a sigh, she uncrossed her arms and placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her as she replied, “I know and Starfleet gave up on trying to find her. She’s still out there too.” Cedric closed his eyes and shook his head. Opening them, he replied, “But Xandria is dead. We need to move on.” “No!” Devon yelled causing him to bite back his tongue. He averted her glare. She growled before controlling herself, “No. I can’t. Not yet.” Covering her mouth, she sobbed quietly and turned away from him. Cedric walked a few steps forward and watched her disappear along the path into the docks below the cliff. Exhaling sadly, he placed his hands into his pockets and returned to the upper terrace. Thirty minutes had passed. It was after the service that Devon disappeared into the house. Entering through the open doors, she closed it tight and locked it. Looking around the dimly lit empty room with the lines, she spoke, “Computer. Run program. Telstrus 3” “Working,” the computer beeped. The empty room transformed into the rust like atmosphere of the moon. Devon found herself standing on the edge of a cliff. She wore her Starfleet issued dark uniform with the gold stripes. She looked around the strangely colored atmosphere that smelled like rust even through her mask. The mountains appeared bare with several dead trees. Someone approached from behind her and spoke. “Hey Dev.” Devon turned to face her half Betazoid counterpart with long dark hair and dark eyes. She appeared of the same form as her with the same uniform. She smiled, “Xandria.” Xandria smiled back with a twinkle in her eyes, “Something in your mind?” Devon shook her head and turned away. Taking out her recorder, she fiddled with the casing and tried to keep back her emotions. Xandria approached from behind and sat down before the cliff. Inhaling the oxygen from her mask, she exhaled, “It’s always nice to take a break from a mission.” Looking up, she smiled and patted the empty spot next to her, “Come. Sit!” Hearing her speak made it hard for Devon to respond. Gasping softly, she sat down to join her. Xandria wrapped her arm around her shoulder. Hugging her close, she exhaled as the wind picked up around her. A gentle wind blew by them as Xandria replied, “I always like this. Before each and every mission as the winds blow, they tell us messages. They whisper to us. Do you know what they whisper?” Closing her eyes, Devon gasped softly as tears started to fall from her duct. She inquired, “What?” Xandria pulled her close and whispered into her ear, “They tell us to never be afraid. They tell us. They say move forward. Move on.” Devon shook her head and looked at her. She replied, “I can’t.” Her sister looked at her saddened features and inquired with concern, “Why not?” “Because,” Devon sniffed and gasped softly, “You left a hole within me. When you disappeared in that mission near Telstrus. When you last spoke to me. You always said you liked the winds, but I can’t. I can’t move on. I won’t, because you can’t be dead.” Xandria looked at her and [...]ed her head with concern. She nodded and stroked her chin, “It’s okay, Dev. Really. If you need time, you got time. What else is there?” “I-” Devon sighed and turned away. Studying the recorder she held in her head, she replayed the last message. -my fate is set. I- we don’t get to choose them no matter how much we want to avoid it. If you are listening to this. Then that means I am dead. Please, Devon. Move on. I know it’s hard, but you can do it. I love you. I will always love you. The recorder clicked off as Devon covered her face and cried. Xandria watched her. Before she could speak, Devon spoke, “Computer, freeze program.” Wiping her eyes, Devon looked at the frozen image of her sister. Biting her lips, she shook her head, “I can’t give up on you. I will not give up on you. I know you’re out there. Somewhere. Like our mother. But I can’t do it while I’m Starfleet. So, I’m resigning my commission to Starfleet to become an engineer. As a civilian, I have free reign to do whatever I want to do. I’m sorry, but I can’t let go. The winds change in my favor as I move forward but along a new path.” Taking a few seconds to pause, she finished, “Computer. Delete program Telstrus 3” Slowly as everything froze, Xandria’s image vanished as if her spirit floated away in the animated winds. Devon sadly watched her sister vanish.
  17. Not for the first time, Alieth requested that the computer erase the log she had been recording to that moment. The Vulcan's slanted brows furrowed slightly and there, in the secluded room of Research Facility 8 of Telstrus III, she allowed herself (even!) bit her lower lip. She knew that she had to send the report as soon as possible, before the planet's rotation took them out of range of the system's communication relay. It would be two weeks before she would be able to send a message again, and she was well aware that a second communications failure would only lead the Captain to send a team to investigate what had happened to them. And that, no doubt, would result in LOTS of paddwork. Just the thought made her shudder. Yet, she also knew that the content of what she was going to transmit would have... consequences. Certainly unpleasant consequences, but possibly less so than the alternative. In the long run, at least. In the short term, the consequences would undoubtedly be catastrophic. That was something she was 87.75959594% certain of. Once more, the Vulcan's expression distorted moderately in the minimal sketch of a pout. But at the end, she took two short steps towards the circular window that stretched across much of one of the labs' walls and take a look. On the outside, the wind kept blowing fiercely, stirring up wisps of snow from the slope of the ridge. Further out, almost imperceptible in the distance, loomed the dark shape of several winged creatures. As they had been doing for the last few days, from dawn until late at night. The petite Vulcan let out a minute sigh and then turned her back to the window, heading back, once again, to the computer alcove. She had always cherished wind, but after this mission, perhaps she should re-examine her inclinations. “Officer Alieth's Log, on mission on Telstrus 3. Security Clearance for Command Ranks only. Personal note: if anyone dares to divulge this to Geoff or Meidra, they will be in serious trouble. End of personal note. Start of Report number 47: It all started on the morning of the seventy-second day of the mission, when I woke up....” It all started when she woke up in a nest. That’s it. It wasn't the first time Alieth had woken up in unusual places, but it was certainly the first time he had woken up in a nest. She lifted her head fractionally, more confused than she wanted to admit even to herself, as she tried to understand how she had gone from researching the planet's atmospheric peculiarities with civil engineer Hersh to waking up in an animal-made bed. The second query that popped into her mind was, of course, with regard to her cantankerous colleague. Fortunately, this one was easily answered when she discovered the grizzled Tellarite snoring a few metres away, ostensibly happy and oblivious to his surroundings. Her third inner question concerned what kind of creature lighted eggs over three metres in height, like the ones that shared their “bed”. The fourth enquiry was a more iffy one, as it involved finding out who had determined that the planet itself wasn't inhabited by any larger animal of a dog. Not even a large dog, such as Cheesecake, but rather one of those dogs that tended to yap insistently and nap on the laps of their owners, which Alieth felt a strange mixture of fascination and animosity towards. Regardless, Alieth was going to send a particularly stern reprimand letter on the matter to that officer. (Computer note, letter attached as file VR A01-3456). Finally, she wondered if the creatures that were about to emerge from the shell might actually feed on Vulcans. She was sure that Hersh would soon be considered unfit for use as food, being, as he was, exceptionally sour. At least if he was awake when the creatures hatched and could open that obnoxious snout of his... Her concluding uncertainty became her main concern when she witnessed the top of one of the eggs cracking. With more speed than grace, she crawled on hands and knees to where the engineer lay and shook him awake. The Tellarite protested throughout the process and Alieth needed a good deal of her wit and mime coercive skills to coax the engineer to shut up, stay silent and glance around. As soon as he did, she could see the parade of questions that she herself had posed flashing through the face of her partner in misfortune. Albeit perhaps nuanced with how bland Vulcan were. And how that played against him. And so, after only a few minutes and without the giant creature having managed to hatch from the egg, the two of them started to work. A quick survey of the surroundings revealed that they were at one of the highest points of an unknown mountain range, that climbing upwards would only lead to a point where their blood would freeze in their veins and that the descent down the vertical walls that occupied three of the four sides of their location would probably involve a very long fall with extremely scenic views leading to a sudden and very likely excruciatingly painful slam against the ground. Soon they decided that none of them were too fond of such prospects, so they moved on to the next step of their plan. After some intense foraging, three extremely lengthy discussions on the virtues of organising and judging materials, and ten minutes of silence when the egg about to hatch tipped to one side revealing a reptilian eye surrounded by feathers, they finally established what they had to work with to get out of that place. Fourteen large feathers, varying in width from forty-five centimetres to one metre, with a minimum height of one and a half metres and a maximum height of five metres. About a hundred metres of fibres of various kinds that had been quickly braided together to create rope. Insufficient to reach the ground, but useful for other purposes. Virtually an endless supply of branches, wood and bark of diverse dimensions, as well as a worrying amount of bones, including the skull of what on most planets would be considered an apex predator, but which looked as if it had been a snack for the nest's owner. And snow. Plenty of snow. Mostly of the yellow or brown kind. It wasn't much to work with but in an example to be remembered for posterity of Starfleet's lessons in teamwork and the virtues of interspecies collaboration, they were quickly able to spend a good portion of their resources on building a hang glider. Primitive, sure, but sturdy enough to bear the weight of both of them and carry them safely to... well... Far away from there. Unfortunately, what the lightweight craft could not withstand was the weight of the large animal that landed on top of it. A creature of such size and weight should not be able to fly, and yet they both watched as the gargantuan feathered creature flapped hurricane-force wings and shrieked angrily at the presence of two creatures in its nest. All their detailed planning and meticulous analysis of their possibilities was flushed down the sink and both Hersh and Alieth scurried around the nest in the best rendition of "run for your life" that the planet had ever seen. It was all a blur for a few moments until a gust of wind told them their only way out. Jump. Alieth shouted to his companion and grabbed a feather, which the engineer followed shortly after. They both paused for a second at the edge of the chasm, grasping their feathers at both ends. They glanced at each other and, as a gale of wind stirred their clothes and.... they jumped….. “... While this settles the historical dispute about that Vulcans are undeniably more aerodynamic than Tellarites, engineer Hersh’s rescue from the native life form he now designates as "Mom" raises the problem of his recovery and return to Starfleet facilities. While I have made use of the feathers and have studied the thrust, flapping and wind force required to reach the nest again, I strongly suggest that the intervention of a starship transporter as the most advisable procedure. However, based on my observations, I can assure you that the engineer is well-fed and protected from the elements, so this is therefore a rescue of priority level two. Personal note: Add a ban on reading this file to Mister Greaves. Add to the prohibitions listed previously. Notify command of these exceptions to access. End of personal note. End log.”
  18. “Gather around and listen well. I've got a story I'd like to tell. Do not make the same mistake as me. Do not go to Telstrus three. We ask you to beware. We say don't go there! We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. We detected a signal from planetside. I got coordinates to be our guide. Our bird of prey went and took flight. We went searching for this site. The wind caught our ship. Our necks did whip. We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. The breeze on Telstus Three. Was a lot stronger than we thought it’d be. It brought us down with a crash. Through the land, we caused a gash. We weren’t sure who was alive or dead. I was just glad to have my head! We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. We blamed each other for being curious. Our captain was entirely furious. We were young fools who brought dishonour. Before we could go on any longer, We thought we heard strange voices. At the moment we questioned our choices! We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. The locals weren’t friendly. But Klingons are deadly. We fought with honour and we fought with pride. Death was not for them to decide. We took them down with our bat’leth. We fought to the death. We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. We thought our little war was won. But it had actually just begun. The locals weren’t our only problem. We had one more hurdle to overcome. The wildlife wasn’t friendly. They were out just to end me. But…. We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. You should have seen this beast! It approached us from the east! It had fangs as long as my arm! And claws like knives to do us harm! It was the largest creature I’ve ever seen! Who knew something so big could be so mean? We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. We fought bravely as a crew of eight. Honour will come! It’s not too late! Eight became three, And three became me. They were sent to Sto'Vo'Kor. They weren’t with me anymore. We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. I was dishonourable and ran away. Maybe we’d fight another day. Stayed on this planet for a hundred nights. Then one day to my delight, Help would come and pull me off this rock. To me it came as a shock! We were fools who followed the wind. We were fools who followed the wind. The Federation coming was unexpected. Our lives have become intersected. Now that I’m here, please listen well. Dear Fleeter, this is my story to tell! You make think it tall! You may think it untrue! But this is the warning I still must give you…. Only fools follow the wind Only fools follow the wind.” Lieutenant Ikaia Wong gave this young roughed up Klingon warrior a curious head tilt as he looked him over. He honestly never expected to be serenaded in his own sickbay and yet that just happened. Maybe this man had been stranded on Telstrus 3 for a lot longer than he thought? He took a few moments to gather his thoughts. “I think you’re really talented, Mister Kork'ek. But can you repeat all that without the rhyme next time?”
  19. Snow dust rushed down from the mountain, scraping the undulating, frozen landscape clean and eroding any boulders too big to move. The only light was otherworldly yellows, greens, and purples of a massive aurora. The bright streaks snaked and danced in the sky, casting shadows in the shapes of creatures both kind and cruel. Massive mountains topped by rocky spires towered on one side in the bleak night. They loomed overhead like an unimpressed council of elders, bearded with snow, deciding the fate of the trespassers in the wide valley below. Exactly why Maria was out here, along with an Andorian Lieutenant named Laris, wasn’t the clearest when the briefing officer laid out the risks. Exposed skin would be frostbit in seconds. Cravasses could swallow you whole. Most of all, there was wind. Wind that would throw you off a ridge. Wind that would send you skidding vast distances across open ice. Wind that would suck the air out of your lungs if one of the unpredictable storms kicked up. For now, the wind gods of Telstrus 3 had been kind. The skies were clear, other than the occasional microscopic razors of ice being flung in their faces. “How’s that door coming?” Maria asked over the rush of the wind. Standing in front of the habitat-turned-lab, she idly stabbed the crampons on her feet into the slick, wind-polished ice. Little more than a metal shed, the engineers had the bright idea to bury it in ice and snow to insulate and reinforce the meagre structure. At least that’s what the brief said. “Not good,” Laris replied. He’d tried all sorts of electronic trickery to get the door open, all to no avail. “Here, let me try.” Maria signalled for the Andorian to stand aside. She took the ice pick clipped to her side, and swung. Wedged between the doors, it made for an effective crowbar. Maria pried the doors apart, and motioned for Laris to enter as if she were the butler at a fancy gala. “Elegant to the last, aren’t we?” He couldn’t help a wry smile. He switched on a light and proceeded in. “Just don’t be expecting a warm reception.” Laris groaned. “Very clever.” He closed the main hatch behind Maria. “Let’s get inside. This is cold even for me.” The inner door opened far more easily. “What, not interested in running the first annual Telstrus 3 polar plunge?” Maria cracked open a flare, and threw it into the room. “I’d rather not freeze my antennae off…” A plume of flickering red light filled the small lab and habitat, reflecting off iridescent particles of ice hanging in the air and casting shadows behind benches, chairs, and laboratory equipment. A handful of little icicles clung to the ceiling. Even inside, the whistling wind wove a melody as it beat against the structure’s skin, testing the foundations with strong gusts. The cots at the back were empty. “Looks like no one’s home,” Maria commented bleakly. “There’s residual heat from the generator,” Laris replied, not looking up from his tricorder, “At least we can get a little more comfortable.” He pulled off his hood, mask and gloves. Maria followed suit. The moisture from her breath filled the frozen, dry room with a plume, swirling upwards before disappearing. “Still, too bad these folks had to follow starfleet tradition. Just once it would be nice to show up to a check-in and see smiling faces and hot lasagna...” Laris shot a disapproving glare before changing the subject. “I’ll see what I can do about power, you take a look at the logs.” “Sure thing, boss.” She wandered across to the most likely terminal and dusted the frost from it. Without power, she used the tricorder to get a downlink. Miraculously, it worked on the first try. She crooned her success. “What do you have?” Laris was already kneeled over an open panel with instruments arrayed on the floor. “Just transcripts, right now. Let’s see…” She trailed off as she plucked out a log to start reading. She adjusted the flashlight to get a better look at the words on the small screen. “Personal log, Toma Unther, stardate yadda-yadda…” She skimmed for a moment. “Here… She started reading, “Two days after the wind blew our transmitter away, the storm let up. It was unlike anything we’d ever seen. Hiquala left to look for our transmitter with better weather. Reeta, Ben, and I are putting the pieces back together at the base. We had to divert all our power just to keep warm, even with the engineer’s idea of insulation. We still have many chores and much cleaning to do... “Thirty hours have passed since we’ve seen Hiquala. The rover has a temporary shelter packed, so maybe she decided to stay out. Reeta and Ben have gone looking for tracks anyway. I begged them not to. If another storm comes, well… we all saw the briefs.” Maria stopped reading. Her face was scrawled with prescient anxiety. “This goes nowhere good, L-T....” “I’ve almost got power. We need to know what happened. Keep reading,” Laris instructed. Maria sighed heavily. “Alright… “This wind is maddening. It’s been thirty-six hours since Hiquala left. Now I’m alone, the wind’s whispers are the only voice keeping me company. It’s like a beast clawing at the habitat, threatening to blow our house down. Maybe it's all in my head, but I can’t seem to replicate enough tea to stay warm right now. “The nomads tell a story about this valley. They say a girl walks the winds, beckoning to the lost. She lures them away, then steals their soul and takes them off to dance in the sky with her. Poetic, but I can see where it comes from. The wind seems to sing outside this habitat. They say she weaves a soft song with sinister lyrics. Backup power flicked on, and bright lights with it. Laris crowed his success, “Ha!” Maria spooked. “Dammit, Laris!” She playfully chucked a dusting of frost at him. “Gotta warn me before you turn the lights on.” “What, you’re not scared of a local ghost story are you?” He dusted off his coat with a grin as the panels blinked back to life. “No!” She accused him with a glare that gave away a different truth. “Sure,” the Andorian snorted, unbelieving. “Just play the rest of the logs while I download the data for us to take back to the ship.” “Aye aye.” Maria switched on the screen, finally getting an image of the man whose logs she was reading. He was stocky: the kind of hardy, bearded pioneer she pictured. She couldn’t quite match the fractal facial ridges or purple blotches with a species through the noisy static and poor lighting in the video. She pressed play. “Forty-eight hours, and no sign of Hiquala, Reeta, or Ben returning. Sensors on the far side of the mountains show a heavy cold mass developing. A storm is coming. “Another storm passed - shorter, but more intense. A large rock carried by the wind struck the habitat, and now main power is dying. Still no sign of the rest of my team. I’m forced to assume the worst. There should be a nomad ship setting down in the neighboring valley in a couple days. With dwindling power, I have little choice but to hike the pass in the mountains and look for them.” Maria sighed. “That’s the last log. We can reach out to the nomads and see if they…” She was cut off. A console on the far side of the room flashed red, and beeped urgently. “What is it?” Laris asked. Maria moved to the panel, and read through the readout. “I think it’s a remote weather station on the other side of the mountains. Some kind of equipment failure?” Laris joined her, hovering just behind her shoulder. He pointed. “Those aren’t air pressure readings, are they?” Maria stared for a second. “That can’t be right, wind speed readings are…” She cycled the instrument link buffers, then the gear itself. It came back the same. “I’m no meteorologist, but that looks like a great-grandaddy of a storm. If the last one took out power…” She trailed off. “Time to go,” the engineer instantly moved into action. He clearly understood what was at stake: they wouldn’t likely survive sticking around. He packed his gear and grabbed the data stick. Maybe something good could still come of this ill-fated expedition. He pressed his combadge. “Laris to Transporter room, two to beam up!” Nothing. Maria could feel her stomach spin in the silence. “There’s dead zones all over this valley.” Laris nodded. “Let’s head back out, and make for the beam-in site. We won’t have much time though…” He hastily donned his gear again. A length of rope and clipped to him on one side, and the other to Maria. It would be the only lifeline if one of them lost footing in the wind and slick ice. Back outside, a strong gust immediately threatened to take Maria away. Laris’ strong arms stopped her from tipping until she gained balance and braced against the onslaught. She nodded gratefully, and they set out back up towards higher ground. A dark mass crowned the spindly pinnacles now. The heavy mass of super-cold air pressed against the ridge, searching for a way forward into the valley below. It would stampede towards them at any moment. The once-friendly streaks of colorful aurora now hung low; sickly wisps snaking just out of reach, taunting the officers with their freedom in the sky. Even in the storm’s prelude, the wind was almost deafening, turning progress to the beam-out site into a crawl on all fours with picks and ropes. The air turned cryogenic as the terrain became more exposed. Even in the layers-on-layers of thermal gear, Maria could feel fingers and toes losing feeling. At least they were close. A crack, then a deep moan sounded overhead. Maria looked up to witness a finger-like mass of dark snow and air hurtling down the steep slope towards her. She had mere moments to embed her pick and crampons into the ice before it was upon her. The winds ripped at her body, searching for a way to lift her up and take her away. Her grip strained on the handle, she braced with her head tucked away. She couldn’t see anything. There was a hard jolt on the rope at her waist, the force pulling her with it until the pick stopped the slide. The new weight pulled and pulled until the rush finally slowed. She picked herself up, surprised she was uninjured. She looked up again. The main force of the peaktop menace was still building, swirling in place. Behind her, Laris wasn’t moving. She tried her combadge, “Alvarez to transporter room, come in!” Still nothing. She squatted beside the lieutenant - at least he was still breathing. Just as she was checking his vitals, there was a giggle in the wind. Maria stood and whirled about. She could have sworn she heard something. The lights in the sky twisted around even closer, like they were teasing her. She moved back to the lieutenant, tossing any extra gear. She tied the rope around his waist, and started pulling him across the ice like a sled. Each step was a labor, pushing against the wind and gravity both. Every blast of wind trying to knock her over was a reminder of how little time was left. She trudged and trudged, until she could finally make out the shape of a rocky high spot where they beamed in. Her triumph was cut short by a gust that threw her to the ground. --- “Maria?” a sing-song voice called her out of the black. Maria groaned, a strange feeling of warm hugging her. She opened her eyes. Snow and wind and colorful lights were all around her. Thoughts of the scientist’s ghost story crowded in her mind. “Who’s there?” Another giggle - Maria was certain this time. It drifted overhead with a strand of yellow aurora she swore looked like a girl’s pigtails. “Come with us, Maria!” Thoughts of the nomads’ story gripped her with fear colder than the wind. Maria’s legs strained to push herself back upright, the throbbing in her head threatening to put her back on the ground. “Who’s there?!” She shouted into nothing. “Come dance, Maria!” A different girl’s voice whispered with the wind. A sick feeling of adrenaline pulsed through Maria’s chest into her stomach. She struggled along, pulling her crewmate along with her. Only a little further. “Won’t you dance with us, Maria?” Another high, crystalline voice asked. “I don’t know the steps,” she answered for some reason. “Sure you do, Maria!” The voice giggled again. A beam of aurora came down and swam through the ice. It looked almost like prismatic fireworks in the glossy, translucent white. Maria smiled at its beauty despite everything. For a moment, she forgot all about the wind. It looked so peaceful. She did know the steps, didn’t she? More iridescent lights joined, and she was enveloped by an otherworldly display, scintillating and lustrous. She reached out, dropping the rope to the oh-so-heavy Andorian. That was better, wasn’t it? So much lighter. So much freer. Like the lights. She stumbled forward, transfixed by the lights and the lyrics. “Come dance with us, Maria!” The girl’s voice repeated her refrain. “Yes, come dance!” Another high voice echoed. Voices clamoured over each other, beckoning to her. Maria could hear their music. The sound of the gales became a symphony and choir, weaving miraculous tones together. The gusts were friends showing her how to move her feet, how to array her arms and curve her fingers. She could feel the simple freedom of a snowflake twirling about, untethered, embodying the will of the wind. Wind that held her in a close embrace. Euphoria washed over her as the lights taught her the dance, steadily closing in on her. “Yes, Maria! Come dance…” The voice manifested into a radiant girl in front of her, swaying to the music. Maria felt the lights’ buoyant ecstasy of movement. The wind supported her limbs aloft, forgetting the weight of the gear tethering her to the ground. She closed her eyes, the feeling of synchronicity, flow, and melody washing away her troubles. No more worries about logs or power. No more worries about wind. No more worries about the ship or crew - just dance. She laughed as it all floated away. “Come dance with us, Maria. Dance with us…” The chorus crescendoed. “Dance with us…” The multitude pitched deeper. “Dance with us forever…” Dark laughter of a thousand voices boomed across the valley as the lights retreated to the sky. Maria’s eyes opened. The storm broke over the mountains, and a calamitous din was upon her. Drums heralded the coming whirlwind in the symphony of wind. She stood alone against the storm, watching as fate rolled down. It was upon her when a familiar blue-gold light took hold, and she felt herself collapse with the embrace of the wind gone. --- Maria woke with a start, dread filling her body at what nearly happened. “Easy, Maria!” The kind voice of the doctor welcomed her back to ship and sickbay. She relaxed back onto the bed, then groaned realizing how bad her head hurt. Then, she looked around wildly in realization. “Laris?” She asked. “He’s fine,” the doctor answered. “You on the other hand… You had us worried.” “Yeah,” Maria muttered, still lost in her thoughts. Had she imagined it? “Well, I’m safe now.”
  20. "I always loved the wind… ...until that mission on Telstrus 3." Telstrus 3. A little known planet, in a little known, but strategically valuable part of the quadrant. It was a perfect staging ground for Dominion forces trying to push back against the Federation and Klingons. Kincaid looked at his lovely daughter sitting in front of him, the teen always curious to learn more about her dad's life before he retired from the Corps. "Spent about eight weeks in that little backwater durin' tha War," he said with a somber smile. His teenaged daughter, the lovely Human-Orion hybrid sat enraptured as she usually did when he told her stories. "You said you were all by yerself right, Paw?" She asked inquisitively. He gave her a nod and adjusted his Stetson on his brow a bit, pushing it up with one knuckle. "Yup. It were just me, ma phaser rifle and as much explosive as I could carry within reason. Had ta do what I could ta keep tha ghosts from gettin' ta some of our allies." Kincaid explained. He recalled to her, standing on a ridgeline, looking down at a valley below all covered with thick jungle like vegetation. A perfect place for invisible hunters to hide and wage guerilla warfare on the nearby Romulans. "Lots of wind in that valley, despite tha trees. Calmin' in a way." He reminisced. Elias looked to Tylana, gesturing with his only hand. "Ya see, tha Romulans had a base nearby, and they were musterin' fer a push back against tha Dominion on the planet. I was sent ta mine their backsides as it were ta make sure the Jemmies didn't get through." It had taken days of him moving carefully along the treeline, making sure to bury the explosives well enough so they would be hard to detect, but still be deadly. Each day he was greeted at the crest of the valley with the winds whipping about him. “I’d set up some traps in the jungle, just little thangs that would sound like sparrows. An old huntin’ trick. Since there weren’t no sparrows on Telstrus 3.” His daughter smirked at her father’s cleverness and listened to him as he continued regaling her with the tale she’d asked him to tell her. “And it would come in handy too, and much sooner than I’d have thought. I’d only been at it fer about three hours that day and I heard a sparrow from in tha jungle. Then another one.” “Was it animals?” She asked curiously. Elais shook his head, “I’d made sure ma alarms were only set ta go off if’n they picked up a lot of movement. Those cloakin’ fields the Jem’Hadar used couldn’t trip ‘em, but you get enough of them movin’ through the brush, making the leaves move and it’ll work just as well.” He recalled looking up frantically each time an alarm went off, getting louder and closer. While he buried another charge. It was too soon. The Jem’Hadar were supposed to be busy elsewhere, fighting the Romulans, not here sneaking into their backyard. “I didn’t have much of a choice, once I realized they were gettin’ closer. I’d already put tha last charge in tha ground, but I heard a sparrow about a yard or two off. I knew I didn’t have time ta get clear, so I knew I’d have ta blow the charges right then and there.” "Didja do it, paw?" She asked expectantly. A little worry showed on her face. Elias gave a slow nod and fell silent for a moment. "I did, and they were getting mighty close. I’d barely grabbed the detonator out of ma pack when I saw the leaves moving right in front of me. Got ta see one of the Jemmies up close and personal when he came through tha brush right for me.” It was a terrifying thing, seeing the faint distorted shimmer of a Jem’Hadar soldier as his cloaking disengaged and he rushed you to get close and personal for the kill. Elais hadn’t been able to reach his rifle before the ghost was on top of him. “Feller had be good, couldn’t get ta my phaser and I had ta grab him ta keep the blade from hittin’ me. Aint nothin’ ta do when I saw more bushes movin’ but ta set off the detonator.” Elias pushed the Jem’Hadar on him closer to the nearest charge and hit the detonator. The entire treeline erupted in a near simultaneous eruption that shook the ground, felled trees and sent unseen enemies flying all over. The sound was deafening and the pain was unbearable. Though his opponent had taken the full brunt of the nearest charge it wasn’t enough to spare him fully. He felt his arm and leg being tugged at before the pain became too much and his body forced him to stop feeling it for a moment. As the dust settled, carried on the breeze that blew down over the ridgeline, he stared up at the sky. "As I was lyin' there, missin' my arm and leg, the breeze caught up a bit. Since then, the wind just ain't felt right no more." The retired Marine shifted his old cybernetic leg a bit, the sound of hydraulics muffled by his denim jeans. He looked at his daughter who, silently, just reached out and hugged him. “It’s okay Paw. Don’t matter how much of ya there is, I love ya all tha same.” Elias reciprocated her embrace with his one arm and smiled, letting the tears that had been welling up from his memory of that day, flow freely.
  21. The Last Job The very tail end of the Dominion War "Looks like we lost ‘em, boss." Every muscle in my body ached. I leaned back in the pilot's seat of our cramped, rusty Ferengi ship, my antenna sagging with relief. The nervousness, the fear, fled my system, leaving my blue skin chilled and goose-fleshed. At least, I was pretty sure we had lost them. “Well done, Mikki,” said DaiMon Xhard, the loathsome Ferengi in charge of us. He leaned forward in his throne-seat like he was about to fall off, mouth parting to reveal a row of jagged, perfectly sharp teeth. “Now that the Federation dogs have lost the scent… resume previous course. We have a very special pick-up to make today, and I don’t want to be late. Got a hot tip.” Special? Our pickups were far from special. If anything, Ketracel-White smuggling was a remarkably simple job. Go to where the White was stored, take it to the Dominion forces in the Alpha quadrant, go to another pickup for more. Don’t get caught. That was the job. Had been ever since I left Andoria. Andoria. The cold winds that whipped around its surface would burn the skins of most Federation citizens, but we Andorians were blessed with tolerances far exceeding most (except the Breen). For me an average day on my home moon was bikini weather. How I missed the pleasant, cool air on my blue skin. Almost as though remembering the cold, my fingers trembled against the helm console. Quick as I could, I clasped my left hand within my right, eyes darting furtively from side to side. If the crew saw that momentary display of weakness, it would come back and bite me. I had to dose, but I couldn’t while I was flying Soon, though. Soon I’d have relief. Andorians had an old saying: don’t get addicted to drugs while dealing drugs, but I had learned that lesson a little too late. Andorians had another saying, too, that was more appropriate for my circumstances: Oops. My bad. “Resuming previous course,” I said, hoping my confidence would cover up the momentary display of weakness. I tapped out the commands on the console, guiding our useless rust bucket of a ship toward our pickup location, the only moon of some nameless planet that started with T. --- The “3” in the world’s name suggested whateverworld was the third blasted rock from its sun. Normally those kinds of worlds in the “Goldilocks zone” were teaming with hosts of andorianoid life, and sometimes their moons too, but not this one; our ship’s puny sensors showed that the moon was a dry, barren, sandy planetoid with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, large numbers of vast subterranean lakes with algae (that produced the aforementioned atmosphere), and a scattering of large, probably dangerous life forms on the surface. Okay. I plotted a landing vector, taking the ship in low and slow. We didn’t know what damage the ship might have taken in the chase with our Federation pursuers, and I didn’t want to tax the old boy any more than I had to. Fortunately, though, we didn’t skip off the atmosphere and fly off into space, nor did we plunge toward the surface and burn up. Instead, thanks to some careful flying on my part, our rust bucket made a perfect re-entry and we touched down on the southern hemisphere, just a few short kilometres from the pickup zone. The crew assembled in the main cargo hold and I was given the dubious honour of opening the door. Taking in a deep breath of recycled air, tinged with the scent of metal and grease, I thumped my fist on the switch to lower the loading ramp. The hull cracked open with a hiss, the rusty loading ramp shuddering as it descended, dropping down to the sandy, desert floor and settling, groaning like an old man settling into a chair. Fresh air rushed in, blowing through my hair, my antenna perking up as they sensed the change in pressure and temperature. This air was not the cold, refreshing Andorian wind of my home moon. This moon’s air was a dry and hot blast like opening an oven, the heat and sand-choked gusts sucking the moisture out of my skin. My lips cracked almost instantly and I held my hands up to protect my face. “Ugh, blech! Sand!” “You’ll get used to it,” cackled Damon Xhard, moving up beside me, the Ferengi laying a hand on my head and rubbing between my antenna. An affectionate gesture from most, but one I despised from him. The heat of his hands glowing like lamps in the 'eyes' of my twitching sensors. I had told him, repeatedly and using the wonderful library of Ferengi obscenities that I picked up living on the Geesh-class ship for as long as I had, that if he ever actually touched my antenna, I would slice off whatever skin met mine. Yet he always managed to avoid actually making contact by a few millimetres. Dexterous when he wanted to be, knowing his fingers were on the line. “Don’t touch me,” I reiterated for the tenth time, brushing his hand away. “You’ll get used to it,” he said again. --- The distance to the pickup was close but the terrain was treacherous. We walked for what seemed like hours over hilly, rocky terrain covered in sand. I dosed myself about half way, and the shaking in my hands stopped. Almost all the crew (mostly Ferengi excluding myself and a few others) were not overly well suited for the journey. Everyone else was complaining by the time my tricorder finally said that we were close, but with fresh powdered White in my lungs and the prospect of more on the horizon, my spirits were high and my energy boundless. Perhaps it was the heightened sense of alertness the drug brought, but I seemed to be the only one concerned about the ominous signs we were seeing on the way. A large rock with a dark scorch mark on it. A piece of starship debris carrying the insignia of the Starfleet Marine Corps. A discarded plasma pistol of a make and configuration I did not recognise, but one Remi said was Jem’Hadar. She was usually right about these things. Had the Federation found the stash before we arrived? I worried on my lower lip as we walked (a not-uncommon symptom of being high, or so I justified it). Anxiety spiked and my heart thumped a staccato beat in my chest, the wind blowing sand into our clothes and ears and eyes, DaiMon Xhard’s voice echoed in my mind. A very special pickup… I hoped it was worth it. As we crested the last dune, one dotted with sharp rocks and shifting sand, a strange smell drifted to my nose carried on the hot, whipping wind. Rich, pungent like spoiled meat, mixed in with other strange scents I struggled to identify; some kind of burning plastic, scorched electronics, a whiff of discharged plasma. The normal setup for a Ketracel pickup was a set of hidden crates containing vials of White, hidden under bushes or water, sometimes broken up in to individual vials and stashed in cracks or buried. Hidden in a variety of ways, all trying to avoid Federation sensors. This particular pickup wasn’t anything like that. It was a war zone. Or rather... it had been, months ago. Bodies lay everywhere, Jem’Hadar and Starfleet Marines alike, some practically linked together as though they had fallen in the midst of hand-to-hand combat; some laying in improvised fox-holes, some spread out in the open. All dead. Half a Type 9 shuttle jutted out of the sand, its hull blown open and inside exposed, full of sand and slowly succumbing to rust. My antenna swung from left to right, taking in whatever information they could. The only mercy to my nose was that the dry heat had preserved the bodies. The odour wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. “Where’s the pickup?” I gasped, my hand pinched over my nostrils, trying in vain to keep the stink out. “You’re looking at it,” grunted Xhard, his face uncharacteristically grim, dark eyes scanning over the battle site. “The Jem’Hadar bodies will have plenty of White on them. Have the crew collect as much as they can carry.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “And strip the Federation dead too. Weapons. Personal effects. Anything valuable. There’ll be a bonus for everyone out of that half of the haul.” A bonus. That’s what the dignity of the dead was worth. Just a pocketful of latinum. “You can’t be serious,” I whispered, my antenna drooping. “You want us to desecrate the dead? Starfleet dead?” “What does it matter?” Xhard picked at a crooked tooth. “They’re dead. They have top-of-the-line weapons, tricorders and sensors, and enough rations to feed our crew for months. Make sure you strip the shuttle, too, who knows what treasures might be still working there.” No. This was wrong and I knew it. Despite the heat, my blood ran colder than the deepest glacier on Andoria. “Stealing from dead Jem’Hadar is one thing, but Starfleet too? You want us to defile the bodies of those who are fighting to stop the Dominion from taking the whole quadrant?” “I want you to do your job,” said Xhard, making a dismissive, shooing, ‘go forth’ gesture. “All of you. So do it. Your pay comes out of the Starfleet half, and you do want to refill your inhaler next month, don’t you?” Every part of me wanted to protest, to fight and struggle and kick and bite and scream at the injustice of it, but the fading dose in my lungs made a compelling argument. If I didn’t get more, within a month what I had would be out. And then withdrawal. The coughing. Running nose and eyes, like the galaxy’s worst flu. Shaking. Puking. Crying. I’d tried to get clean once. It had nearly killed me. Never again. I had no choice. Dejectedly, I adjusted my backpack and got to work. --- Six hours. It took six hours to loot everything we could get our grubby hands on. We stripped the power cells and atmosphere processor out of the shuttle (we were running on backups, so this would be a welcome addition), and each of the crew had an armful of rifles and pistols to carry back. Along with almost a thousand vials of White between us, each plucked from the mummified Jem’Hadar bodies. And... stuff. A Vulcan children’s toy. A Tellerite prayer charm. A Human gold watch. A Benzite breathing apparatus. Several strips of latinum. Stuff that didn’t belong to us. Stuff we had looted. The sun was starting to go down, and we couldn’t do our vulture’s work in the dark. Everyone started to get ready to camp for the night in preparation for heading back tomorrow morning. We had gotten the most valuable stuff and didn’t know who else would be showing up here, angry and spoiling for a fight. But I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I didn’t even set up my tent, just marched around our desert camp muttering to myself, until I finally did something very stupid indeed. I double checked my disruptor pistol was charged and marched into Xhard’s expansive, expensive, luxurious tent and pointed it straight at him as he was settling in to his giant puffy bed. Xhard barely looked up as I came in, casually pulling the blankets up against his chest. “Well, well, well,” he said, casually clicking his tongue. “My Mikki has decided to pay me a visit right as I’m getting into bed. This really is a very special pickup.” The weapon twitched in my hand. Almost to draw attention to it, just so he could see. “In your bloated pathetic dreams,” I spat. “I’m here because I am not okay with what happened today.” “You’re not okay with seeing your pocket full of latinum and your lungs full of product?” Xhard smiled disarmingly (for a Ferengi). “Well, then, you’re right. Let’s put everything back just like it was. We’ll go back to the ship, lift off, and you can just go ahead and explain to the Dominion why we failed to meet their quota this month. I’m sure they’ll be very understanding.” His voice took on a sinister edge. “Maybe you can point that little thing at them when they complain too. I’m sure they’ll be terrified.” My upper lip curled back. Xhard, as terrible as he was, had a point. We had thrown in our lot with the Dominion (for now), but we all knew they had no love for us. They would just as soon shoot us all if we failed them. “The stuff stays,” I said. “The dead aren’t using it anymore. But we are going to bury those bodies before we leave tomorrow.” “Bury them?” Xhard narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Do you think they’ll turn into zombies, Mikki?” Xhard knew I was afraid of the dark, but it wasn’t that. “No,” I said. “But I want them buried regardless. The Dominion soldiers and the Starfleet personnel both. Decent graves. Got it?” “Why? It won’t make them any less dead.” “It’s what they deserve.” The corner of Xhard’s mouth turned up in amusement. “Even the Jem’Hadar?” I waved the disruptor around like a lunatic. “Both of them!” I shouted. “Starfleet! Dominion! It doesn’t matter to me; nobody deserves to just rot out in the open like that, no matter what side they’re on! We’re profiting from this war, the least we could do is show the victims of it a little common decency!” Xhard locked eyes with me, and I sensed a battle of wills happening at this very moment. He was testing me. Would I actually shoot? “Very well,” he said, stifling a broad yawn and nestling down into his overly comfortable bed. “First thing tomorrow morning.” He ever-so-casually patted the side of his bed. “Want to be warmer tonight?” I sheathed my disruptor in disgust and marched out. --- I stayed up all night, tossing and turning. No sleep. In the morning, everyone dug in the blazing sun for a full day making graves. Then we had a service. Even Xhard attended, something I genuinely did not expect. As the moon’s sun dipped below the dunes and cast its light on the bodies for the last time, we lowered each down into its impromptu grave we’d dug. Each grave had a headstone, a rock with the symbol of Starfleet or the Dominion as appropriate. At the foot of the graveyard I planted a stone onto which I burned a small inscription with my disruptor. STARFLEET MARINES AND JEM’HADAR SOLDIERS FELL HERE THERE WAS NO WINNER Some of us said words. Not much. We were drug smugglers, not poets, but we did our best. Then we packed up our tents and equipment and marched back to the ship. And that was that. --- I took the rust bucket out of the moon’s atmosphere, the ship shuddering briefly as it crossed the threshold into space, our cargo hold full of our ill-gotten gains. We were free and clear. When I was certain the ship’s autopilot was engaged and my job was done, I turned about in my helmsman’s chair. “DaiMon,” I asked, “may I see you in private?” Xhard merely nodded, and together we stepped into his Parlor, the equivalent of his Ready Room. It resembled the inside of his tent; pink clothes everywhere and a luxurious, fluffy bed, with only a curtain separating it from the bridge. So much for ‘in private’. A moment of silence hung between us, neither of us knowing what to say, until finally I spoke up with dry, cracked lips scoured by the wind. “I'm done with this, boss. I won't do it anymore. Shipping drugs is one thing, picking from the dead is another. This was my last job. Let me off at our next stop in Federation territory.” “You'll forfeit that bonus you worked so hard for,” he said, like it had even the slightest chance in Greth’or of convincing me. “And ten percent of your signing bonus, plus a handling fee on top of the breaking-contract fee, plus relevant dues and deductions.” He raised his voice and spoke over his shoulder to the rest of the crew. “Read your contracts, folks. It's all there.” “I don't care. Take whatever you want.” An eager grin spread over his face. “I’ll need that in writing,” he said. “That last bit. About me having whatever—” I reached down for my disruptor and he, wisely, didn’t complete that sentence. “Fly the ship to delivery,” he said. “And when we get to Bajor I’ll consider your request.” Consider? No. “You will drop me off at Bajor.” “Should have read the fine print, Mikki,” said Xhard, condescendingly. “It’s not that simple.” “Make it simple,” I said. “Leave me on Bajor.” Xhard put his hands on his hips. “I’ll consider it. Now get back to your post.” We wandered back out to the bridge. I once again sat at the helmsman’s console, staring out the main viewer of the Geesh-class ship that had been my home for the last five years, absently tapping at my console. Was there a better life out there for me? There had to be. Anything was better than this. What would I do? I’d have to get clean and stay clean this time. Really try, no matter how sick I got. And I’d need to find somewhere to live. Hopefully somewhere where the wind was nice and cold and gusting at fifty kilometres an hour, and where every day was -3°C or lower. Bikini weather would be a fitting holiday after my last job, but as the ship drifted through the stars, I reconsidered. Maybe somewhere quieter. Peaceful. Somewhere without a breath of wind. fin
  22. After Action Report Search and Rescue, Planetary Evacuation Telstrus III Lieutenant JG Piravao sh’Qynallahr Starfleet Rangers I always loved the wind. Howling across the frozen plains of my homeland, bringing with it eerie songs and bitter cold. I felt safe in the clan keep, with its imposing stone walls, hundreds of years old, breaking the wind, defiant against the forces of nature. I would watch from my window as it carried the snow across the world, warm and safe. Filled with childhood wonder. Telstrus III sat on the Federation border. A thriving colony on a lush Class M world, orbiting a white Type A star. Or rather, it was thriving, it was lush, it was Class M. For several months the inhabitants of Telstrus had observed changes in their star, spectral changes slowly shifting it from white to yellow, a shift which grew faster by the day. The USS Amundsen was already in orbit when our team arrived. The spectral changes in the Telstrus star were the result of rapid cooling, which had in turn thrust the colony on Telstrus III into a rapid Ice Age. In the space of three days, the Amundsen had observed a rapid surface temperature drop, and the freezing of much of the planet’s surface. It was now officially a Class P world, the same as Andoria.. The Commanding Officer of the Amundsen, Captain Alexis Widmer, briefed us upon arrival. The Amundsen was an aged Excelsior class, retrofitted for stellar observation and scientific research. They had no experience in Search and Rescue operations, and were not equipped for an evacuation. Transport ships had been diverted from nearby cargo routes, and were arriving day by day to help with the evacuation. Due magnetic interference from the cooling star, transporting the nearly 50,000 colonists off the surface wasn’t possible. With night time surface temperatures at the equator already reaching freezing temperature, there wasn’t much time left before the inhabitants would freeze to death. Our team, consisting of Commander Styvark along with Lieutenants R’Nara and Fessler and myself, took a shuttle to a mountain top observatory on the surface of Telstrus III where we joined three teams of security officers from the Amundsen. I was the junior officer on the team, and the only one with any proper cold weather experience. I will confess to nervousness, while the Commander and Lieutenants knew the theory, as they had received cold weather training, they were all from much warmer worlds than my own. They would be relying on my experience. The plan was simple enough, and had already been communicated to the inhabitants. The observatory sat at the top of a long valley near the equator. The rapid cooling on the surface had created gale force winds that swept across the planet, running North and South as the ice raced down from the poles. The valley faced East, causing the mountains to give it a modicum of shelter from the wind, allowing shuttles to fly up and down it with relative safety. The colonists were to make their way from the settlement to the observatory where a shuttle evacuation point had been set up. By day our team would trek out of the valley and guide any colonists we found back to the observatory for evacuation to a waiting transport. By night, we hunkered down in the observatory and watched as the world froze around us. By the end of our second day on the surface, ice had reached the valley. Only half of the colonists had been evacuated so far. On the morning of day three, when we reached the mouth of the valley, we were greeted by a wall of icy wind. Visibility was reduced to almost nothing, and interference from the star rendered our tricorders useless beyond a couple of meters. Yet still we searched, unwilling to give up on those still making for safety. We found them. In ones and twos, turning blue as the cold took its toll, small families, wrapped in clothes that did little to protect them from the harsh wind. I think that by the end of that day we all knew the truth. There were still thousands of colonists out there, many of whom would never reach the observatory. At the end of the fourth day the wind shifted, blowing up the valley, carrying with it the faint sounds of voices. None of us slept that night. We stood vigil as we listened to the colonists freeze. When dawn broke, the wind shifted South again, leaving us free to walk the trail back to the mouth of the valley. It was a somber journey. The first body was barely a hundred meters from the observatory, a young man, frozen solid with his hand outstretched, as though reaching for a rescuer that would never come. All along the valley we found more of the same. Yet not all was lost, we found a family, huddling together in a small hollow under a fallen tree. They were almost as blue as I am, but they were alive, and they had hope. At the mouth of the valley we entered the wind wall, hoping, praying to all the gods who might listen that we might still find survivors on that frozen, howling plain. Day to night wind shifts were regular now. Every night we struggled to sleep as cries for help were swept up the valley, carried on the mournful song of the wind. It was a haunting melody, one that I will not soon forget. Every day we found less survivors than the last, and more bodies. After a week on the surface, we were ordered to evacuate, lest we too join the dead marking the path to the observatory. On our last day we had found only one survivor in the valley. A baby crying out, swaddled in his mothers coat, buried under her stiff body. She had sacrificed her life to act as a shelter for her son. One last gift, and the hope that he might be found. I always loved the wind. Howling up the valley, bringing with it haunting songs and deadly cold. I knew I was safe in the observatory, with its thick glass and solid steel, the height of federation technology, breaking the wind, defiant against the forces of nature. I watched from the window as it carried the snow across the world, warm and safe. Filled with sorrow that we could not save them all. I always loved the wind... ...until that mission on Telstrus III.
  23. "The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails." — William Arthur Ward > CONNECTING... > CONNECTING... > CONNECTING... > ERROR 503522: CONNECTION TIMED OUT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN OR CONTACT YOUR LOCAL SUBSPACE NETWORK ADMINISTRATOR IF THE ERROR CONTINUES. "Come on!" Nnenna thwapped the side of the display screen and threw her hands up in the air, sinking down into her seat with an exaggerated pout. The outcome was the same as it had been for weeks, as she knew it would be, yet at the end of each shift she made the attempt. To what end, she wasn't sure. "I don't know why you keep trying." Bex said. "It's not as if—" "I'm not having this conversion again." Her reply was a whip crack through the quiet of her office. Nnenna looked away from her reflection, frowning back at her from the depths of the gloss black console, to see her Denobulan friend leaning against the doorframe. Where she was gangling limbs and sharp edges, Bex was all curves and softness, from her figure to the spun gold curls of her hair. "You always have to have the last word. Stubbornness isn't a virtue, you know." "I thought you were a meteorologist, not a counsellor." The Denobulan shrugged off the grumble with a smile and sip from the mug she carried, blue like the tunic of her uniform, emblazoned with Starfleet's emblem. The petrichor scent of umoya tea drifted on the recycled air, and for one blissful moment, Nnenna was back home. Standing by the river in New Oslo, bundled up like an arctic explorer, watching the aurora haunt the rain clouds. Then it was back to reality, to the glare of technology and the stark walls of their insulated underground bunker. "Heliophysicist. If the weather's not in space, I'm not interested." Uncurling a finger from her mug, she pointed across the room toward Nnenna. "Speaking of which, it's another night of strong winds, so we're going up top to watch the lights. You coming?" "I'll think about it." "Come on, it's your favourite thing. Plus Caedan's going to be there." She wiggled her flared eyebrows, and there was no attempt to disguise the impishness in her smile. "He likes you." Nnenna rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm married, Bex." "Sure, sure. Whatever you say." The blonde chuckled, her blue eyes sparkling with a joke she wasn't sharing. "I'll see you there." * * * * * The door closed, and the thud of the magnetic clamps rang out across the valley. A cool night drew goosebumps across Nnenna's skin, instantly calling her toward the bonfire burning nearby, where laughter played between the snap and crackle of burning wood. She took a deep breath and filled her lungs with fresh air, the scent of smoke mixing with the crisp, sweet smell of alien conifers, their fine leaves whispering secrets in the breeze. "Hey, you made it." Caedan accompanied his greeting with a cheeky, boyish smile, and a gentle bump of his shoulder to hers. Trying to ignore the sudden crash of her heart against her ribs, Nnenna smiled back, and the evening chill vanished in a rush of warmth across her skin. "It's the one good thing about being stuck in this place." She held his gaze until it felt as though her heart would beat itself clear of her chest, and then pointed up at the sky. "The storm puts on a good show." He looked up. Above them, the aurora folded through the sky, ribbons of ethereal light dancing between the stars. Usually, the lights were brilliant shades of ruby and emerald, but tonight they danced in amethyst and sapphire. Perhaps later she'd ask Bex why that was, and do her best to follow the physicist's animated explanations of excited elements, molecular transitions and atmospheric composition. Right then, Nnenna was far more interested in the rosy-cheeked Rodulan, and the way the auroral flare reflected in the depths of his featureless midnight eyes. Metallic pings and plinks echoed through the valley, and Nnenna looked toward the creaking hulk that was the Tanaka Maru, cooling after a long day in the sun. The freighter's stubby nose was buried in a mound of rich, dark soil, the roots of broken trees erupting from the dirt like witch's claws. Behind the ship, a deep furrow scored across nearly a kilometre of earth, damage that would take nature years to repair. "Not exactly what you signed up for, is it?" she said. Her question invited his gaze to join hers, and the colour fled from his skin, smile faltering. She could guess why; it was a wonder any of them had survived the abrupt plunge from orbit, their ship left for dead by a sudden lash of solar winds. The terror they must have felt in those few minutes was unimaginable. But as quickly as his expression had wobbled, it settled. Back to his amiable smile and generous cheer, as if he hadn't a care in the world and everything was as it should be. "Are you kidding?" He chuckled. "It was right there in the brochure. Become a Merchant Marine: see the galaxy, meet interesting people and crash land on their outposts." "How are the repairs going?" "It's hard to say. Half the time the tools won't power on with all the geomagnetic interference, and we don't dare try to bring any systems online in case we fry them worse than they were before." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug and grinned. "Afraid you're stuck with us for a while longer." As if she'd heard the conversation—and Nnenna suspected the Denobulan had, the nosy little minx—Bex made a suggestive gesture from across the fire and then pointed toward them both, finishing with an obvious thumbs up and a beaming, wide-eyed smile. Caedan bit down on his lip, trying to keep a straight face and failing cheerfully. "She's not subtle, is she?" "It is not a word in her dictionary." Bex had three husbands, no expectation of exclusivity, no hesitation in pursuing anyone she wanted, and a distinct sense of confusion over why anyone would do things differently. Life was too short, said the ridiculously long-lived Denobulan, the galaxy too big to limit yourself to just one person. Why waste love when you found it? Perhaps she was on to something. Her heart thrumming, Nnenna brushed the back of her hand against his. Lightning charged across her skin, arcing up her arm and into her chest, crackling through her veins. For a single moment, she was conscious of how naked her ring finger felt, of the gold band hidden at the bottom of her trinket box, and then it was forgotten when she slid her fingers through his. His smile blazed into brilliance, even more beautiful than the aurora dancing among the stars. * * * * * He'd laughed at her the first time she lit candles, asking why she didn't just ask the computer to dim the lights and shouldn't a Starfleet officer know naked flames were a fire hazard. She'd retaliated with an upholstery missile, throwing a cushion in his face, and declared romance dead. It had, of course, only made him laugh more. But over the weeks and months as the star continued to rage in the sky, the candles had become a part of their ritual, lighting them together before falling into bed. That night, like so many others, they laid there in a tangle of limbs and sheets, basking in a cocoon of gentle light and soft caresses. A world away from research outposts and broken freighters, from solar storms and absent husbands. Usually. That night, she couldn't get them out of her mind. They were a growing shadow, casting a veil across the small parcel of happiness she'd found in Caedan's arms. "I'm married," she said. He froze. Leaned back. His eyes locked on hers, and she shrunk under the dark weight of his gaze, unable to look away. Goosebumps shivered on her neck where his lips had been a moment ago. She remained silent, wishing she'd said nothing at all, knowing it had been unfair to say nothing for so long. "What does that mean?" he asked quietly. "You don't know?" "No." His hand dropped to her waist, a perfect fit for the slight flare of her hips, and he shook his head. "I know it's important for some, but my people don't marry. I don't really understand it." Nnenna laughed and immediately felt cruel, but he answered it with a small smile and a tilt of his head. The advantage of sleeping with a telepath; she rarely had to explain herself. He knew when a retort came from anger and when it came from insecurity, he could tell a self-deprecating laugh from a mocking one. No one had ever understood her so intuitively before. "For what it's worth, I don't understand it either." "Fair enough." He nodded, his smile giving away nothing, and she felt a brief flare of frustration that the intuition didn't flow both ways. "Why are you telling me now?" "Bex said the storm's subsiding." She reached for him, brushing the backs of her fingers across his cheek, and he dipped his chin to press a kiss to the heel of her hand. "We'll be able to get comms again soon, and you..." "I'll be leaving." He paused. "I don't have to." Her heart thudded deep inside her chest, and Nnenna couldn't deny she'd hoped he would answer that way. But what they had was a fiction, a storybook that lasted only as long as the solar winds barricading them from the rest of the universe. Her mind was made up, her course set. "I owe it to my husband to try again." "You don't love him." "You don't know that." He drew in the air to answer, then exhaled it with a resigned smile and a shake of his head. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself, and instead slipped his arm under her shoulders, drawing her against his chest. Nnenna curled into him, breathing in the earthen scent of his skin, trying to chase away the small seeds of doubt his embrace sowed. "You've got me for a little while longer," his voice was a low rumble, pouring shivers down her spine, "should you change your mind." * * * * * > CONNECTING... > CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. > HAILING USS RAMANUJAN. > HAIL ACKNOWLEDGED. ROUTING TO: LIEUTENANT MAKANI KAHELE. > CHANNEL OPEN. "Oh. Nnenna." Two words. Two benign little words, but they screamed their meaning across the stars. It was there in his face. In the clench of his smooth jaw. In the bob of his Adam's apple. In the way he leaned back in his chair. "Hello Makani." She took a breath, words jostling on her tongue. I still love you, but I'm not in love with you. It's not you, it's me. I've had an affair. It's over. Nnenna swallowed them down. That wasn't what she wanted to say, it wasn't why she'd called. She forced a smile to her lips, but instead of a smile, her reflection wore a rictus grin, taut and hollow-eyed. Makani flinched upon seeing it. "How are you?" she asked, starting with the safe and banal. "Yeah. I'm... Good." "Good. That's good. Me too." He hadn't asked, she realised. Indeed, he barely seemed to know what to say at all, and that wasn't like him. Her next question fell from her lips on reflex, though the answer was obvious. "Is everything all right?" "It's been months, Nnenna. I haven't heard from you in months." "That's not my fault. Telstrus was at solar maximum and the storms cut us off." "I know." He shifted in his seat; a schoolboy sat in front of head teacher. She knew the look. He'd worn it the time he'd dropped and broken her grandfather's Agbogho Mmuo mask. When he'd volunteered them to look after his delinquent nephew for a year. When they'd booked a holiday on Deluvia, and at the last minute he cancelled his leave to fly the captain to a conference. She'd gone on her own. Instead of hating every minute, she'd never felt so free. "But," he continued softly, "it's been a lot of time to think. About us, about what I want, and... I'm sorry, Nnenna, I don't want this." "What?" It was barely a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again with an unsteady voice. "Can we talk about this?" "No. No, I don't think so. I'm..." He shook his head, looking at her with hangdog eyes. "I'm done." Nnenna's pulse beat a tattoo in her ears. This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. It was not how she'd rehearsed it. Not the outcome she had prepared for. Heat rose under the piped collar of her uniform, eyes narrowed, muscles grew rigid and dense, and blood thundered through her veins. How dare he. "Out of sight, out of mind, is that the way it is?" A frown chased away the apologetic guilt on his face, and she noticed that he'd taken down her favourite Rewa portrait and replaced it with the Roth piece she hated. Too bright and too cartoonish, too Makani, it looked all wrong in their living room. How long had he waited before removing all signs of her from their quarters? Had he been living as a singleton all this time? "You were the one who said you needed space. It's why you accepted the assignment on Telstrus. Don't come at me because you got what you asked for." "I asked for some time. I didn't ask you to decide we're over before I had a chance to—" "Come on, Nnenna. We both know it's over. You're only sore I said it first." "Don't be ridiculous." "Why do you always have to be so stubborn? We hadn't been happy for a long time, that's why you left." He shook his head, and his braids swung across his shoulders. "What's the problem here? It seems like you're only mad because I figured out the same thing you did." He stopped. Stared at her. And laughed. Much as Caedan could intuit her inner workings, she knew what was behind Makani's sudden mirth. A flush laid siege to her cheeks, heat stabbed behind her eyes, and as he continued, she clamped her jaw shut to keep her bottom lip from wobbling. "That's it, isn't it? You expected to clear out for a year, have your me time in the arse-end of the galaxy, and come back to your dolt of a husband who'd been so lonely he'd fall over himself to change all those things you don't like about him." He snorted. "I hate to break it to you, but you're the one who ran off. No one blew the chance to fix our marriage but you." "You're an ass, Makani!" "It takes one to—" He vanished at the slap of hand, the smack of her palm against the controls not nearly as satisfying as it would have been against his cheek. * * * * * A tiny flash of light in the sky, barely more than a pinprick spark, and the Tanaka Maru disappeared into warp. Nnenna stared helplessly at the dark spot between the stars, then her gaze dropped to the scar in the earth where the freighter had sat for so many months. Grass already seeded in the disturbed earth, wildflowers sprouting in all the colours of the aurora she'd spent so many months watching. With him. "It's not too late. You could call him." For once, there was no tease or mischief in Bex's voice, but the quiet concern of a loyal friend. She stopped beside Nnenna, offering a gentle squeeze of support to her arm, and peered up at her. Unable to tear her gaze away from the space where Caedan's freighter had languished for months, Nnenna shook her head. "And say what? 'Hey, so it turns out my husband doesn't want me after all. How would you like to be my consolation prize'?" "Well, maybe something a little more—" "This is your fault." With no warning or preamble, Nnenna snarled the accusation in a fierce whisper, snatching her arm away as she rounded on her friend. Bex took a step back and stared in return, jaw slack, curls bouncing with the dumbfounded shake of her head. "Come again?" the Denobulan finally spluttered. "You didn't spot the gigantic solar storm that made the Tanaka Maru crash—" "That's not—" "—then you didn't warn me it as going to trap us here for months—" "I couldn't—" "—then you pushed me to chase Caedan when I'm married—" "You were—" "—and if you'd spent half the time doing your job properly instead of being an interfering busybody, I wouldn't be in this mess!" A Telstrun owl hooted in the silence that fell between them, gliding otherwise silently on its nocturnal hunt. "It must be so hard being you. All those terrible decisions people force you to make." Bex glared, red-faced, tiny fists rigid at her side. Her voice strung as tight as piano wire, the small woman vibrated just like one. "Get over yourself, Nnenna. It's no one's mess but yours." Her hand came up, finger stabbing with more to say, and then she thought better of it. Bex turned on her heel and stalked back toward the bunker, vanishing into its depths. Nnenna clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a sob, and looked back up at the sky. There, the solar winds once again ignited the sky, arcs and rays of garnet in tsavorite and pyrope, reminding her of what she'd lost. Of what she'd thrown away. Of how much she hated herself. And she watched them. Alone.
  24. Smoke punctuated the air. Its pungent, acrid scent infused his nostrils and filled his lungs, sent his body shuddering with explosions of hacking coughs in an attempt to clear them of the invading substance. That was what awoke him, the choking fog that tried desperately to vacuum all the air in order to dominate and establish its dominion. Garrett resisted, his eyes opening to a world of chaos, his brain finally cognizant enough to register the blare of alarms and to recognise the blaze of orange that had ignited and began to consume the remnants of the capsule in which he had at one point found refuge. Now it would be his tomb if he could not spur himself to action. As he set his arms and legs into motion, they rebelled, complaining against the pain that flared as he tried to move. Forcing them into submission, Garrett pounded against the clear dome that rose over him, supposedly a protector, it had now become his captor. His fists raged at the barrier between him and freedom, the heat of the flames seeping through. Sweat trickled over his brow, down his neck and salt stung his tongue. Finally, it popped up, but the heat only seemed to slap him in the face as he struggled from the bowels of the capsule only to tumble down off the side and into a mound of sand. Behind him, he could hear the groan of metal and the crackle of the fire as it continued to rage. The small capsule that had rescued him from the fiery hell in space was now consumed with its own raging fire. Almost as soon as he had vacated, tongues of flames licked over the seat he had just abandoned, greedily devouring everything it could, the metal shrieking and twisting under its assault. Stumbling back, the world blurred, then cleared, only to blur again, going in and out of focus as he ordered his legs to move, putting distance between him and the vehicle that had given its life to save his. When the explosion finally came, it was still close enough to feel the blast of hair and heat, the sudden clash of noise in his ears drowning everything else out, then fading away only to be replaced by a high pitched ringing. Debris flew everywhere, flung at him as the dying module raged in anger at his desertion. Falling face first into the sand, he curled up, hands over his heads in desperate hope that none of the makeshift missiles would strike true. A moment later, he cautiously unfurled and attempted to bring into focus the world around him. His breath came in gasps, his chest painfully heaving, but he pushed himself up to a sitting position, hands digging easily into the shifting ground beneath him. His eyes found the same thing around him. Sand. Miles of it. Rolling hills and dunes of pale orange that stretched out as far as he could see. The only break was the burning rubble, a blackened scar on the landscape and the consequences of its dying fury. The ringing faded, and in its place, the whistle of a stark, dry wind that clutched at his throat and slapped at his cheeks taunted him. From above, the sun beat down, and even that rough breeze did little to ease its stifling heat. Eyes turned back to what had been his salvation only to bring him to his doom. Klaxon alarms sounded in his head and his hands clapped at his ears, but they did no good. Closing his eyes only brought into sight chaos. Fear. Shouts and screams as the ship rattled with explosions, bodies writhing as everyone clamored for the escape pods, arms outstretched, hands clutching, tugging, fear driving the mass forward. He had been among the last, his intent to help everyone off the ship before he himself went. The captain...her dark eyes had set upon him. He had insisted she go. Instead, she had used her superior strength to physically place him in a pod and launch it before he had the chance to breathe a protest. Then it had exploded, just like his pod had just done, the force of it sending the few capsules still nearby spinning out of control. Another violent tremor, another scream of alarms, and then...darkness. Darkness and into light, but it was an unwelcome sight, and now that pod was gone. All of them should have landed in the same place. He should be with the others, those who had managed to escape, but the ship’s destruction had only set him off course, and now he was alone. Alone with the sand. His body shuddered with another deep breath, and he once more tried to clear his head. To think. To assess. Strangely enough, he was hardly injured. Bruises, a few cuts, a blow to the head, but nothing terminal. Yet. Lifting his hands, he felt himself all over, but his uniform, torn and bedraggled, had no supplies. All of those would have been in the pod, the one now lost to him. Panic gripped him and his hands began to search through the remains of his uniform, unsnapped the red and black overshirt of his uniform and jerked it open. The sight of a small, rectangular piece of thick, glossy paper remained and immediately he breathed a sigh of relief. A relic, one he’d been teased about, nonetheless he kept it and kept it close. It was there. If it was there, then all was not lost. Leaving the overshirt unbuttoned, Garrett forced himself to his knees, then once more to his feet. Turning around, he tried in vain to ascertain his position, to get a sense of where he was, of where he could go, where he might find others or, if nothing else, water. All that lay before him was the silent, endless view of the dunes. One way, then another, it didn’t matter. It was all the same. Finally, unable to make any accurate assessment of direction, Garrett simply set his eyes forward, his dying chariot at his back, and began to walk. Beneath him, the sand shifted, impeding his progress, forcing his body to exert more energy as he slipped and slid with every step, sometimes stumbling forward as the ground beneath him gave way. The sand seemed to laugh at his fumbling efforts to make progress, opening its mouth to catch hold, tugg him downward, then repeat as he pressed onward. Above him, the sun arched, rose and fell, then finally passed below the horizon, easing the painful heat that stung at his skin, turning it crimson within even only an hour under its purview. What time of day was it? He had hoped it would be toward evening, that the great orb which hovered low in the sky was on its descent into slumber, giving up its heat and allowing the wind to be cool rather than cruel . He was disappointed. Rather than lose sky, it gained, driving its way upward. Had there been a place to seek shade, to take rest, whether under the long armed, stoic sentinel of the giant cacti that could be found in certain areas of his home or in the sheltering shadows of cliffs that jutted up from the earth. With either of them, water might have been found. Those spiked arms Held life-giving water within, salvation to a man dying of thirst. Cliffs often had vegetation, and while it was no substitute for water itself, it could help stave off the worst of dehydration, even if only for a little while. Neither were present, however, just the endless sweep of sand, of dunes rising to bask in the unrelenting hammer of heat from the sun. His mouth was almost as dry as that which stretched before him, the constant rise and fall of hills, dune after dune, wave after wave, never changing, constant and stark, devoid of life save for his own as he struggled onward. The heat burned at his body and he had already removed his overshirt, removing the treasure from within, sweat staining the paper and stretching across one of the faces it contained. That shirt became something of a shield, for all the good it did. The fiery laugh of the sun was no match for his puny attempts at finding some sort of shade. Little was gained, the barest hint of shelter in a shelterless world. Over the crest of one and down the slope he turned his eyes back to the horizon, seeking, searching, hoping. A shimmer of golden silver glimmered across his sight and he paused, startled by its appearance. A flatness and sparkle indicated something more than just the miles of mindless grains that formed in heaps and piles of a wasteland. His tongue ran over his lips, but after the hours beneath that burning sphere, there was no moisture left. His mouth and throat constricted, desperate to retain moisture, finding none. A gasp of breath escaped and energy surged through him, spurring him forward. Sweat had ceased by that point. How long had it been? He’d forgotten? The fathomless distance he’d crossed, the stretch of hours where the circle of light seemed to barely crawl across the sky held no true sense of time, no indication of how long he’d truly been - only that hours had passed, though he could not gain any more concrete of an answer. Hours beneath the burning hands, under the torment of that laughing, parched wind that only seemed to make things worse rather than provide any sort of relief. It pushed back against him, pressing him away from that shimmer, from the gloriousness of that oasis that surely lay ahead, that surely waited for him if he could just press onward, persevere through, force himself to pass the last distance between himself and its edge. Still it laughs, that shifting breeze. It whipped his face and cackled in his ears, tormenting, slapping grains of sand that stung his skin and drew streaks across them, welts rising in their wake. Still, he pushed on, ducking his head in an effort to cut through the worst of that assault, glancing up to ascertain his direction, striving onward, striving forward. Yet it never drew closer, that distance never grew smaller. The sheen of distant moisture remained just that - distant. Time passed, the heat of the day sweltered and the man dwelt beneath, his steps slowing, his pace unsteady. The wind had changed course, shifting to press from behind, whispering promises into his ears, promises that remained far ahead, enticing, calling, but unreachable. The whistling laughter echoed as he sank to his knees, hovering a moment before another push from that incessant companion set him toppling. He didn't know when, but at some point, he had taken his treasure in hand. His grasp had remained constant, clutching it without any hint of easing, desperate to hold on to that which had spurred him forward, helping him dare to try to cross the vast space that lay ahead. It was a thing of times passed, an item rarely used, but one he had been determined to acquire. Stiff lines and sharp corners of the digital variety were ill suited for carrying upon his person, and he longed to keep it with him, pinned over his heart, until he’d set out on that terrible journey that inspired him to keep it there, clasped in his hand, its presence the only reminder that he was not alone, that he was loved, that he had a reason to live, a reason to hope. That hoped dwindled, and where it once dwelt, sorrow replaced it. Pain had long ago ceased to plague him. Now he was merely numb, the lashing of the sand by that ineradicable gale. All that remained were the dying embers of a man, cooked beneath an uncaring sun. Slowly, he drew his hands upward, trembling fingers attempting to smooth out the glossy paper. The sweat had dried, leaving only the stains behind, crossing over the face of a woman, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders in a cascade of undulating waves. Darker eyes sparkled with the smile that lit her face, and in her arms she cradled a child, the bundle of cloth only parting enough to reveal the round, wide-eyed gaze with similar dark eyes, and a soft, downy head covered in wispy curls. One sand crusted finger traces the lines of that smile, then of the sweet innocence of the other. The pain that ravaged him then was not of the tormented body that had suffered under the abuse of the elements, but that of a heart, clenching and writhing within, twisting and finally bursting in grief as he could bear no more. The hand that held the picture dropped as his body went slack. The desert wasted no time, utilizing the rush of the gusts, closing in over him. For a few moments, the photographs remained, pinched between his fingertips, but in the end, the wind took hold and wrenched it free, the piece of paper fluttering helplessly away as the sands consumed their victim.
  25. Telstrus 3 had been home. It had also been hell, a prison, a betrayal. What it was now, Zill Tomox wondered, was an unknown. Her azure skin glowed as the sun sank lower in the sky, bathing the vast grass plains of Telstrus in golden light. Zill followed the old path, the steps familiar even after all this time, as it wound up the hill. Zill had been just twenty years old when she’d left Bolus in order to become a colonist. The thought of expanding the borders of the Federation, building a new world from the ground up, sowing the first seeds of something that would one day, far in the future long after she was gone, be a planet of billions taking its place in the UFoP – it was exciting. And they’d done so much. The planet had been home for ten years. The work had been hard but fulfilling. And when war had broken out between the Federation and Cardassion Union they’d not been important enough to be worried about it. But when the war ended the peace that followed destroyed everything. Zill reached the hilltop and sat on the bare rock, finding her old comfortable spot and gazing out at the view. The plains stretched for as far as she could see in every direction. She knew it went on for hundreds of miles, an unchanging sea of grass, gently undulating in the ever-present breeze. Waves forming, flowing, breaking. That constantly moving air was a feature of Telstrus 3, more so than on any other planet she’d visited. It was so prevalent, blowing across the vast open plains, it factored into every aspect of daily life here. The colonists had used it to help with their terraforming work and harnessed it for both power and play. But it had always seemed to have a mind of its own – usually playful, often stubborn, sometimes malevolent. She gave a little shiver and pulled her jacket a little tighter at that though. The wind. The traitor. “Why did you do it, Zill?” The voice came from behind her and she gave a sad smile, speaking without turning. “Aaron. I knew you’d be here. Nothing ever happened in this place without your knowledge. And I did it because I had to, you know that.” “Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” Zill sighed and nodded. Behind her there was the scrape of metal and the sound of a spark. A moment later and the familiar floral scent of Aaron’s cigarette drifted past her on the breeze. She could imagine the wind tousling his untidy blond hair and she smiled. “You see out there?” Zill pointed at some brightly-coloured specks in the distance. “Sail carts. Remember racing them?” “I remember you nearly killing us both.” His deep voice carried a sense of mirth. “Me?!” Zill laughed. “That was your fault and you know it. You’re the one who turned in front of me, there was no way I could avoid you!” “It wasn’t my fault, Zill, there was a sudden gust. You know what’s it’s like out there, how quickly the wind can change.” Zill nodded silently. Ah yes, the wind. Always the wind. She watched the sail carts for a while, watching them tacking across the plains for all the worlds like sailboats on a sea. And those winds! Sometimes they would play along, filling you with joy, almost taking your breath away with the intense speed, racing across the open, grassy oceans until all she could do was laugh at the sheer exhilaration. And other times the wind was sullen, needing to be coaxed to help, but that was better than the times it turned on you suddenly, that sudden burst of adrenaline as you had to fight it. Still, racing those sail carts had been part of Zill’s life here and she’d loved it as much as she’d loved Aaron. Sometimes the wind that filled their sails had left her as breathless as he had done on many a night. “I missed the wind, you know.” She was speaking to herself now. “It was one of the things that brought me back here, why I joined the Marquis. When the Cardassians came and took our colony, our homes, it was the wind that I missed the most. It has always made this place feel so free, yet they took it from us and the Federation let them.” Aaron remained silent as she continued. “So when you came to me and said we could fight to take it back, you knew I would never say no. I just didn’t realise how long it would take.” “The Marquis needed us to do other things first, Zill. There were a lot more places more important than Telstrus, more strategic targets, and they needed to use everyone they had.” “I know, I know.” The Bolian sighed. “And I expected it to take time, but three years? That was a long wait…” Again, silence fell over the hilltop as the wind rippled the grass around them. The sail carts were out of sight now, vanishing in the direction of the buildings of the new colony. “Three years was long enough to make this planet a home for the Cardassians that came after us. Time enough for them to make families here.” Zill paused. “I wonder if they raced the wind like we did?” “Doubtful.” Aaron’s voice was darker now, angry. “And this was our home, not theirs. Everything they built was on top of our foundations.” “That didn’t mean they should die!” “They weren’t supposed to die, Zill! Nobody was. They were just supposed to… leave.” There was a deep sigh. It could have been regret, or it could have just been a gust over the exposed stones. “It was an accident, you know that as well as I do. The fire was only supposed to destroy their crops and with the Marquis disrupting supplies, they would have been forced to leave the planet. And then we could just come home.” “I know what the plan was, Aaron. I know what was supposed to happen. But we didn’t account for the wind, did we? Ten years living here we should have known.” She gestured to the air around them. “It has always been capricious, and it turned on us that night. It betrayed us.” She didn’t have to explain further, they both knew what had happened then. The Marquis team, all former Telstrus colonists, had landed in the middle of the night with a mission to raze the fields and burn the food stores in order to force the Cardassian interlopers out. They’d planted incendiary explosives and set them off, the flames spreading across the fields and everything was going as planned. But then the wind changed. It was if the planet had decided to get involved - a sudden strong wave front came up from the south, completely unexpected, and had fanned the flames straight into the colony. The high winds created a firestorm that had lit up the place like daylight in hell. Zill, Aaron and the others had watched helplessly from this very hill as the place burned. They watched some Cardassians try to fight the fire, others try to flee from it. They watched them all die as their cries fluttered across the landscape. Zill had refused to move after that. Aaron had tried to convince her, of course, pleading for over an hour until the sky started to glow with the dawn light and it was too dangerous for them to remain. They could have stunned her or overpowered her but Aaron had seen the look in her eyes and knew. And so he had led the others back to the shuttle and Zill had stayed here, watching the smoke drift over the plains in the morning sun. The Cardassian military patrol found her a day later when they arrived. She was arrested immediately and imprisoned in one of the burnt-out buildings, having to endure the scent of the smoke and feel the wind blow through the ruined walls, as if it was mocking her. She told the Cardassians everything, then. They didn’t even have to threaten her, she volunteered it all, everything she knew about the Marquis and about their mission. Anything that could prevent something like this from happening again. She betrayed her friends just as the wind of Telstrus 3 had betrayed them. “I’m not proud of it Aaron. I wasn’t praised, or treated as a hero, if that’s what you thought. They still found me responsible for the deaths and they kept me imprisoned here. In fact they added a cell just for me when they rebuilt the place so I could serve my time here, on this planet, looking out on these plains and remembering everything I saw that night.” She gave a bitter laugh. “There was no glass on the window, only bars, so the wind was always there, always present. Always reminding me.” Zill ran a blue hand over her bare scalp before continuing. “And I served my sentence the same as everyone else in this prison that was once home.” There was another sound from behind her then, one she knew well. Aaron’s phaser was a battered old Federation type-2, the sort of Starfleet surplus that always made its way to colonists, and it made a distinctive sound as he drew it from his holster. “You know what has to happen now, Zill. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Zill nodded sadly and closed her eyes. But of course he didn’t shoot her. He couldn’t. Aaron Duncan had died when Cardassian soldiers had raided the hideout of his Marquis cell, acting on information Zill had given them. She’d heard that they were taken by surprise, nobody even had a chance to draw a weapon let alone use it. So they’d surrendered. And then the Cardassians had executed Aaron as an example, a disruptor to the back while he was on his knees. She often wondered if he’d known how they’d been discovered – likely he had, not much escaped his attention. The sun was down past the horizon now and it was getting darker. The wind blowing across the hilltop had taken on a distinct chill. Zill sighed as she reached into her coat pocket and wrapped her hand around the cold metal object within, pulling it out and holding it up in the last light of dusk. It was an old phaser, Aaron’s phaser. Getting hold of it had not been easy, in fact it had taken her all the time since she’d been released from prison just to track it down. But she knew what had to happen now. Darkness fell on the colony of Telstrus 3. Darkness that was briefly lit by the flare of an energy weapon. And then there was nothing but the wind.
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