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((Federation Research Outpost "Flagg's Hope"- Shuttle Landing Pad - Elanus 9)) :: A single shuttle broke through the thin green clouds that made up the atmosphere of Elanus 9. Slowly, deliberately it descended towards a small group of people, the last remnants of one man's now broken dreams.:: ::His mission had been a total failure, his objectives utterly incomplete. The entire population of his outpost, some 350 scientists and technicians had already been transported to the ship in orbit above. Doctor Flagg glanced back at the facility behind him as the shuttle settled on the tarmac in front of him.:: ::With a defeated look playing across his face he recalled his proposal, how excited he was to begin his research. Elanus 9 was the only planet in the Federation with an atmosphere sufficient to synthesize the new element. One that he postulated to have the potential to make conventional warp technology look antiquated. But after 5 years and countless failures the Federation had decided to cancel the project. And that is why USS Exodus circled above, in high orbit, why it's shuttle The Archos was here now.:: ::Doctor Flagg and his family, his wife Rebekka and young son Daxon, were to accompany the last of the equipment on the shuttle. The equipment had been purpose built and calibrated to such an extreme degree that the use of the Exodus' transporter would have damaged it beyond repair. In the end it had been Daxon's begging that had found them taking the shuttle.:: ::The group approached the small craft carting the equipment on repulsor sled as the rear cargo door opened. A tall man in a uniform stepped out and down the ramp, his footfalls clanging with every step. Three full pips shined on his collar.:: The Commander: Good afternoon Doctor Flagg, are you all ready to go here? ::With a deep sigh the middle-aged scientist responded.:: Dr. Flagg: I don't suppose we have any reason to stay. ::With a curt nod, the officer responded matter-of-factly, in the way that he did most things.:: The Commander: Alright, we'll get this equipment secured and be on our way shortly. My name is Commander T- ::But he was cut off by the nervous voice of Rebekka Flagg.:: Rebekka: Where is Daxon? ::She looked around frantically and pointed to spot nearby.:: He was just here! ((Not Too Far Away - Elanus 9)) ::A young boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, pursued a small creature. He whistled and called out to the pitiful little thing but it didn't seem to have any effect.:: Daxon: Nibbles! Nibbles come here, I'll give you a treat! ::A small black and white rabbit, hopped along at a steady clip. If it noticed the boy's pleas, it gave no indication.:: ::The boy followed the rabbit over a ridge, the desperation in his voice becoming more apparent. He was getting too far away now.:: Daxon: Nibbles come on! They're gonna leave without us! ::Again, the rabbit paid the no attention to his owner's desperate cries. As it reached the bottom of the ridge it found something of interest. An object, something un-natural. Something worth sniffing.:: ::It hopped over to the long cylindrical thing with curiosity and took it in cautiously. Not really caring if the boy caught it now, because it had found something new to care about.:: ::The boy descended the other side of ridge and spotted his now stationary pet near a piece of old junk. He smiled as he quickly closed the distance between them.:: Daxon: What'd you find boy? Are you eating trash again? ::Finally, he caught up to the fugitive bunny and scooped it up into his arms.:: Daxon: Not cool, Nibbles. Not cool. ::He glanced down at container, it was roughly the size of the photon torpedo casings he'd seen his "Ships of The Line" schoolbook. The object was obviously old and in poor condition, it had likely been here for some time and it had corroded through in some places, leaking the oily black substance from within.:: ::Wrinkling his nose, the boy spoke to his furry companion.:: Daxon: You're gross. I'm gonna have to give you two baths. ::The sound of his Mother's worried voice carried over the ridge and caught his attention. He raised his eyebrows, knowing that he would be in big trouble later, he held the rabbit much tighter this time as he quickly made his way back to the shuttle pad.:: ::Neither animal or child could have known what they had found, though it would've hardly mattered if they did. The Tarellian Biological Agent Containment Unit, an artifact of hatred from distant wars long past, had already done it's work.:: ((Shuttlecraft Archos - Upper Atmosphere - Elanus 9)) ::The Commander carefully guided the shuttle up and away from the now abandoned outpost. He could have selected a junior officer for this mission but had instead opted to oversee it personally, much to the relief of his fellow officers who saw the quick trip to pick up a cranky scientist and has family as a frustratingly mundane task. He didn't mind though, he'd been in Starfleet for years but it still hadn't gotten old. Never routine. He loved the stars and as the tiny grey ship left the atmosphere he relished the beauty of the galaxy. He was in good spirits.:: ::The sentiment would be short lived.:: The Commander: Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking ::He placed his hand over his mouth to simulate the sound of an archaic intercom system.:: The Commander: If you look out the Starboard viewport you will see Elanus 9's only moon, Raimi. ::With his back to them he couldn't see the elder Flagg shaking his head in annoyance or the boy smiling gleefully.:: Directly ahead you'll see the USS Exodus in all of her glory. She's a - ::He trailed off as a flashing red indicator caught his attention. It was a little early to be getting in contact with Flight Ops. He guessed some nervous new officer was behind it.:: ::Opening the channel, The Commander spoke.:: The Commander: This is the Archos, what's the problem? ::As he suspected a tense, young voice came through the comm system.:: Voice: Archos, this Ensign Jaksonn, Exodus flight ops. We're getting some, uh, anomalous biological readings from your ship Commander. I think the Archos' sensors may be faulty. ::The Commander's brow furrowed. Still, he wasn't about to be frazzled by a minor sensor fault. Entering a few commands into the console, he spoke again.:: The Commander: Alright Exodus, we've disabled our internal sensors and lowered our shields. You should be able to scan us better with your sensors. ::A pause:: What kind of anomaly are we talking about here Mister Jaksonn? ::He glanced down at the various displays on the helm console. All systems showed status Green. He glanced back at the trio strapped in on the crew seats. The two elder Flaggs had heard the conversation and wore their concern plainly on their faces but the boy seemed oblivious as he calmly stroked the pet rabbit sitting on his lap . He offered them a reassuring smile as the comm chattered again.:: Jaksonn: It’s a biological contaminant sir, and I’m no longer sure it’s an anomaly. We’re getting the same results here. ::The tension in the man’s voice was palpable.:: Commander, Sir, I need to ask you to hold to at 10km. Just…I Uhh…. Just a moment. :: Finally, the Commander began to feel the first creeping, spindly tendrils of fear tugging at his well developed composure. They probed for weakness but found none. Not yet.:: ::A few minutes passed in tense silence before he turned to his passengers.:: The Commander: Doctor, there’s nothing in this equipment that would cause this kind of problem. Right? ::The now frail seeming scientist shifted in his jump seat nervously and shook his head.:: Flagg: N-N-no. They’re just controllers for the the elerium collider system. There’s nothing biological to them. :: An ominous silence fell over the shuttle and it’s occupants. The Commander did not like the gut feeling he now had that something might be very wrong. Then he heard a voice that confirmed his suspicions:: ::A confident, too calm tone filled the tight confines of the shuttlecraft.:: Voice: Archos, this is Captain Dornak. Do you read me Commander? ::The Commander managed to maintain his composure for the moment, but his calm demeanor was rapidly deteriorating now. Captain wouldn’t have been involved so urgently for a minor problem, and he wouldn’t be handling this exchange personally for even a moderate complication. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.:: The Commander: I hear you, Sir. What’s the problem? Dornak: Commander, I’m sorry. ::A stressful silence stretched out the seconds that passed. The Commander felt his face get hot.:: Dornak: We don’t know how, but you are all infected with Tarellian Hemorrhagic Fever. I...I’m afraid we can’t allow you to board the Exodus. We’ve initiated a quarantine of the planet surface and we’re carefully monitoring the scientists we brought aboard, but it seems that only the four of you are infected. Please understand Commander, my hands are tied on this. ::His head was spinning, it felt as though reality was a rug that had been pulled out from under him. The Tarellian plague was as legendary as it was deadly, even as he frantically grasped for a solution he knew there was little hope. Starfleet had clearly stated protocols in dealing with this sort of thing.:: The Commander: Captain, could there be a mistake? ::He glanced back at his passengers:: We’re all… ::What he saw sent a shiver down his spine. The terrified Flagg family had left their seats and huddled together on the floor of the cargo area. The mother held the boy in her arms, comforting him as they listened to the grim news. That’s when he noticed the red fluid seeping from the boy’s eyes.:: The Commander: Fine…here... ::It was no mistake.:: ::Rebekka Flagg began to sob audibly as the Captain of The Exodus spoke again.:: Dornak: No, Commander I don’t think so. ::He paused:: We don’t have the facilities to help you and the nearest medical ship is at least two weeks away. Just sit tight and we will see if we can get this all sorted out. ::The Commander leaned forward in his chair and rested his forehead in his open palm. He knew that they didn’t have weeks, they had at best hours from the time of exposure and he couldn’t be sure how long ago that was.:: ::He knew that the Captain was acting appropriately, that bringing them aboard would risk the safety of the entire ship of nearly a thousand people, but he still felt abandoned. Alone.:: ::Unbuckling his safety belts he rose from his seat and tentatively approached Doctor Flagg, who was sitting near but separate from his wife and son. He saw that woman’s tears now ran red as well, a sure sign of the incurable infection. The older scientist appeared understandably stressed, a look in his eyes told the Commander he was near his breaking point.:: The Commander: It’ll be alright. ::He lied:: The Exodus has a fine medical staff, they’ll get it all sorted out. ::He echoed his Captain’s lie:: In the mean time I suggest we just remain calm and wait this out. ::He noticed the boy’s rabbit sitting in silence near where the now unconscious boy lay in his mother’s lap. Unaffected by the blight it had unknowingly brought to it’s owner and his family.:: ::Doctor Flagg’s face twitched slightly, and he suddenly appeared inappropriately calm. The Commander had seen this before, it was shock.:: Flagg: We’re fine. ::His face twisted into smile that made the Commander uncomfortable.:: Flagg: When we’re aboard the Exodus I’ll need to access a science terminal to catalog my research. ::The Commander nodded at the placid faced man sitting only feet from his mortally afflicted wife and child. The poor man had slipped out of touch with reality. He felt another shiver as he turned to head back to the helm.:: ::Things began to happen rapidly at that point.:: ::The tall thin scientist rose quickly, snatched a heavy chemical flame extinguisher from it’s cradle on a bulkhead and struck the Commander brutally on the back of the head. He stumbled forward into darkness and fell hard to the metal deck plate..:: ::Doctor Flagg quickly set his desperate plan into motion:: ((A While Later - Shuttlecraft Archos - Above Elanus 9)) ::Groggily, The Commander tried to open his eyes. He couldn’t immediately remember where he was or what had happened. He heard a repetitive, annoying, noise but couldn’t quite make it out. He felt something brush against his face, it was soft, furry. His bleary eyes came into focus on the rabbit. It’s nose wiggled inquisitively as it investigated the downed officer.:: ::His head was pounding and the dizziness was all consuming as he struggled to his feet. There was something he had to do. But what? He suddenly deciphered the sound he’d been hearing for a while now.:: Computer: PROXIMITY ALERT! ::A klaxon sounded:: PROXIMITY ALERT! ::The memories of his dire situation came crashing down on him like a tsunami as he sprang into action. The now motionless bodies of Daxon and Rebekka Flagg told him that he’d been out for quite a while.:: Computer: PROXIMITY ALERT! ::He wheeled around to see form of Doctor Flagg at the helm, beyond him the USS Exodus grew larger and larger in the view screen as the Archos accelerated directly towards it. With precious few seconds to spare, the Commander sprinted towards the helm, prepared to wrestle the controls away from the man who’d commandeered his vessel, but he too had succumbed to the infection and and lay slumped over the controls:: Computer: PROXIMITY ALERT! ::The Archos was now meters from impacting the Saucer Section of the Galaxy Class ship at full acceleration. He didn’t have time to wonder why the Exodus hadn’t shot them out of the sky, he couldn’t know that the same nervous Ensign had waited just a second too late. The Commander shoved Flagg’s body aside and jerked hard on the controls, the force was too much for the inertial dampeners and it nearly threw officer to the floor again. In less than a second he had changed direction and fired all of the emergency maneuvering thrusters, but it was too late. The shuttlecraft careened into and through the warp nacelle with a horrific metal rending vibration and out the other side, hopelessly damaged but somehow without hull-breach. The shuttle was sent spinning off into space.:: ::The most violent explosion The Commander had ever witnessed made no sound. The death throes of the Exodus were felt not heard. A broken man slumped against the bulkhead of the shuttle, a tear ran down his face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, and sighed when it came away red.:: ((Epilogue)) ((Space - Above Elanus 9) ::A Ferengi Merchant ship en route to Starbase 118 slowed as it approached a large debris field. The ship had a tight schedule to keep, but it had detected and opportunity for profit on it’s long range sensors too rich to pass up. Quickly it began to beam aboard fragments of debris, anything that appeared valuable. The ship’s sensors detected only one survivor of the disaster, inside a damaged and battered shuttlecraft. A decision was made and the transporter activated.:: ::A small, black and white rabbit appeared on the Ferengi transporter pad, glancing inquisitively at it’s new surroundings.:: ======//////======> Cdt. Tyler Kelly (Lt. Colt Daniels) Currently In Training Unassigned

(( OOC: As you can see the story is inspired a lot by Alice in Wonderland, but completely written by myself and adding my own spin on it with turning the Apollo into the strange new land. Hope you enjoy )) --- ((MedLab, Apollo)) ::Oh no. This could not be. Alice stared with wide eyes to the red glistening fluid on the ground. Her pale face lost every drop of pigmentation. This was disastrous. It was not a secret that the CMO had been working on this experiment for weeks, and now every bit of it was spread on the floor and unusable for anything but wiping it away. Alice felt her stomach sink and join the mess on the smooth surface.:: ::Quickly she grabbed a piece of cloth and removed the signs of the mishap and then peeked outside, making sure that nobody saw her. Then she legged it and ran out of Sick Bay. Maybe nobody would notice and she could sleep over it. Tomorrow hopefully it would turn out to have been a dream and everything would be alright.:: ((Quarters)) ::Alice dropped her lab coat on the floor, kicked the shoes away and dropped exhausted onto the couch. She had no idea how to make this better. Tonight she could not do anything anyway, but in the morning she would have to confess. Her boss would kill her.:: ::With a deep sigh she sunk into the couch and closed her eyes. Trying to relax she did not notice her mind drifting, further and further away ...:: Voice: Oh my! ::Alice jumped up on the couch and looked around. Where did that voice come from? Was someone in her quarters?:: Voice: I am too late, too late, too late! ::Alice's head jerked around and there she saw it coming out of her bedroom: a huge white rabbit in a Starfleet uniform and an old fashioned watch on a chain dangling from its communicator. She laughed, that sight was ridiculous. The white rabbit came to an halt and looked at her, its nose wiggling.:: Rabbit: There is nothing funny about tardiness. I'm too late! Alice: Too late for what? Rabbit: No time! Too late, way too late! ::With that the Rabbit hopped out of the quarters and vanished from her sight. What a curious thing. What could a rabbit be late for? With the nagging pull of curiosity she raised from the couch and followed. Just as she looked outside she saw the rabbit vanish in the hatch of a jeffrey's tube. That little voice on her right shoulder told her to follow, to find out what the rabbit was up to. If the other side said something she did not hear it. She quickly stepped to the hatch and climbed inside, following the distant bunny tail that almost seemed floating as the black uniform pants merged with the tube's lack of light.:: ((Somewhere)) ::As soon as Alice was in the tube, the hatch behind her shut with a loud noise echoing in her head, and the whole place tilted. She tried to hold onto any edge or latch she could find but the tube was smooth as if made of glass and she began to slide, first slow then rapidly until she hit the ground with her behind and the pain of impact jolted through her body.:: Voice: ::sleepy voice:: Looky there, a strange new face. Ever wonder why you ::yawn:: race? ::Rubbing her backside Alice looked around. A yellow collared officer was lying on a hoverpad, floating through a moving and billowing sea of blue goo, that stuff that bio-neural gel packs were filled with. She knew she'd seen that man before, if her memory was right his name was Johnson, and he just floated out of view in this blue glowing river. Curious where it would lead too she got to her feet and jumped on another hoverpad that just passed by, following the one with the tired Helmsman.:: ::The walls were overgrown with exotic plants in all the colours Alice could imagine, flowers emitting bedazzling scents, making her wish to never leave this magical place. Colours began to dance in front of her eyes, soft voices were carried into her ears. As she looked at the flowers, faces grew out of them, faces she had seen before all over the ship. There was the engineer Eileen. Another came closer, Alice's nose touching the flower's as the young woman recognized the new Romulan Intel Officer. The gentle voice sang in a language Alice did not understand. Then her eyes started glowing and the flowers began to giggle before the gentle splashing stream suddenly accelerated and Alice fell almost off her make-shift raft.:: ::Rapidly the stream lead through hallway after hallway, all covered by flowers and plants, showing faces of the crew she had seen on hallways or in her workplace, giggling and singing.:: Flowers: Row row row your boat... ::Alice clung to the hoverpad as good as she could, though her fingers slipped over the wet metal. The edge of the raft got caught in the frame of a door that opened that very moment, jerking her off and into the room where she crashed on the ground. Immediately the door closed again and the scent of sweet smoke embraced her.:: ::As Alice looked up a really tall Andorian sat cross-legged on the terminal that stood in the middle of the room. He had a long strange looking sword on his lap, holding it with one hand, while the other slowly lead a stone along the blade to sharpen it. It was a smooth movement, steady and repeating, almost hypnotizing.:: Alice: Excuse me, Sir but did you see a rabbit come by? ::The tall Andorian kept sharpening without looking up. In the corner of his mouth rested a small metal tube that was connected to a longer flexible one ending in a big bottle with a bubbling liquid. His mouth opened sometimes and circles of smoke danced out into freedom and around his head as if following a path. As the man finally answered his dark deep voice sent chills down Alice's spine.:: Andorian: Who are you? Alice: ::pushing her hands into her hips:: Did nobody tell you that it is rude to answer a question with another question? Andorian: What is rude for one is normalcy for others. Alice: Well if you ask me... ::Before she could finish the sentence the giant of a man suddenly jumped onto the floor and was so close that Alice stumbled backwards against a wall, roots and stems of plants embracing her limps as she felt the cool metal of his sword on the skin of her neck. His cold deep eyes stared directly into her soul while colourful circles of smoke framed her face. He pushed the words out one by one.:: Andorian: Ask - you? Who - are - you? ::Alice's eyes grew and her heart began to pound heavily in her chest. Quickly she dropped and slipped away running past him and the terminal to a door she had just noticed.:: Andorian: Hey! You should know something! ::His voice startled her, and she thought about running, but curiosity won. She stopped and turned around. Her heart jumped as she saw him closer to face than she had anticipated and leaned in, blowing smoke into her face.:: Andorian: Watch - your - head! ::Coughing up the smoke she had inhaled she stumbled backwards again, noticing that the way she ran into was too small for Big Blue and he could not follow. Relieved she kept running, roots that had no place on a space ship and flowers with faces and leaves as hands tried to grab her, hold her and slow her down - who planted those things anyway? Every turn looked the same, every corner had three possible ways to go. Alice was not sure where she was any more and after a felt eternity she fell to her knees, sobbing because she felt lost like never before.:: ::Suddenly a soft humming filled the air, the plant-work squeaked under steps and as it was a few steps close to Alice they stopped.:: Voice: Lost something? ::Alice recognized the voice and looked up. In front of her stood the former ACMO, Sundassa Faranster, who had just recently been promoted to First Officer. The vibrant lilac hair was not something that could be forgotten, neither her eyes of equal colour. Instead of the usual red collared uniform the woman wore a lavender coloured dress with dark purple markings that reminded Alice of a tiger or a house cat. Alice wiped away her tears and spoke with meagre voice.:: Alice: My way, where do I go? ::Sundassa's face almost split in half as she grinned widely, her arms spread to both sides in a welcoming open gesture.:: Faranster: Depends. Where you want to go? Alice: Doesn't really matter. ::The catlike dressed woman laughed and leaned against the plantwork.:: Faranster: Then you can go any way. ::She paused and a moment later stepped forward, bending down to face Alice with a wide grin.:: But if you want to know ... he went this way. ::Pointing left:: Alice: ::sniffing:: Who? Faranster: ::tilting her head:: Who what? Alice: ::confused:: Who went this way? Faranster: The bunny, silly! ::Sun laughed and began to hum again, prancing into one of the other overgrown hallway. Alice watched the lilac hair bounce and make snake like movements as if it had a life of its own, before it actually waved at her and the First Officer suddenly poofed into thin air.:: ::Alice blinked, wondering if she had fallen too hard on her head - oh wait that was her butt not her head - or if that woman really just disappeared. Shaking her head slightly she got up onto her feet and looked into the direction Faranster had pointed, before heading into the overgrown mess, hoping to find the rabbit and finally learn what it was too late for.:: ::She walked for a felt eternity until she finally heard something that grabbed her attention.:: Voices: ::singing:: We all live in the little maaad house, little maaaad house, little maaad house... ::Curious about who was singing there in those abominable off-key notes she looked for another exit somewhere and found a was wide open door, leading into a colourful wonderfully scented garden. If she had to guess she'd say that she was in the Arboretum now, just because it would not make any sense anywhere else. But on the other hand, nothing of this really did. The voices became louder as she approached and finally she saw a table covered with cake and cups, filled with steamy beverage, the scent mixing with the flowers' fragrance.:: Voices: ::singing:: In the town where I was born, lived an old man who was crazyyyy, he was caught and brought right here, where he lives now... next to meeee. Alice: What are you doing? ::Just then two heads popped up from behind the high backrests of the chairs surrounding the table. Alice blinked in surprise as she looked into the black eyes of Captain Jaxx, the other she thought she had seen him in Engineering before, the one who looked like a human but was none. Before she could think about it further the Captain raised his cup.:: Jaxx: Celebrating our craziness of course! ::Alice stared at them both and shook her head vigorously.:: Alice: I am NOT crazy. I am perfectly normal! Torv: If you are not crazy you cannot stay! Jaxx: Pah! Of course she is crazy, or she would not be here! Alice: But I am NOT. Jaxx:::giggling::You are out of luck, deary. We are all nutters here. Come and celebrate, grab a cup of vreeca! ::He grabbed a pot and poured a cup for her in a sloppy way that half of the hot beverage covered the cake now. Splatters of it hit someone else and the end of the table, jumping up from his seat.:: Johnson: Hot Hot Hooooooot! ::After dancing around to shake it off he simply dropped in the chair again and fell asleep once more, his body slumping over so that his face got buried in the cake standing in front of him. Nobody seemed to care about the lack of oxygen he might have with that method of sleep. Alice felt a hand pulling her abruptly to the table, the cup slammed down in front of her while the men began to sing again.:: Jaxx & Torv: We all live in the little maaad house, little maaaad house, little maaad house... ::Alice had no idea what she had gotten into and with the way those guys swung the kettle and pots, the cups falling over as Jaxx jumped onto the table to show his best crazy dance, she did not think that she'd get anywhere really. But she had to try.:: Alice: Pardon me but, did a rabbit pass here? Jaxx & Torv: Of course, he went this way. ::Torv showed left, while Jaxx showed right. That moment she heard a giggle right behind her and turned around in the chair. There she stood again, the First Officer with her wide grin. The slender fingers wiggled a playful wave while her hair got its own life again and pushed in between the ranks and roots and pulled up as if it weighted nothing. That made a hole into the 'hedge' and Alice did not hesitate for a second. She jumped off her chair and slipped through the - hopefully - right way, accompanied by the off-key song behind her.:: ::There he was. The rabbit just hopped around a corner and Alice quickly followed him, trying not to lose him again. She walked for a while, seeing him here and there, but then she heard the sound of beeping and glass touching something else. As she turned another way she saw huge vials with light blue liquid stood around everywhere as if they grew in the room. Teal coloured uniformed people walked around between them, climbed up ladders and then poured something into the opening, turning the liquid into a bright red.:: ::Alice recognized that colour right away, it was the same as in the experiment she had shattered earlier. Shaking her head slightly she then realized that the officers began to sing. A few she even recognized. There was Jamison the Counselor, Kaliantha the new medical officer and Carrigan a nurse, not to forget the blue haired man over there was Shelter the brother of the First Officer.:: Officers: ::singing:: We're dying the liquids red, there is no time for bed, she sees them blue and right on cue she'll be the worst you ever met. We are fond of our head, so we dye the liquids red. ::Who was she? And what did they mean that she would be the worst they ever met? What would happen to the heads, if those liquids were not red? She went closer to one of them.:: Alice: Why are you changing the colour of the liquids? Jamison: Because the Queen likes them red. Carrigan: If they are not, she punishes us all! Alice: Who? Who would punish you? Rabbit: I'm late. I'm late. ::Quickly he hopped past them all and to a terminal that stood at the end of the garden and he pressed a button.:: Just on time, phew. ::The sound of the transporter beam had them fall silent. Then in a hectic chaos they quickly tried to hide the colour pots and the ladders before arranging themselves in one row, standing attention. Shelter grabbed Alice's arm and pulled her close. She mimicked their posture, thought peeked around them to see who was coming.:: ::Her heart almost stopped when she saw the bright red hair of her very own CMO Jalana Laxyn. But the ice cold gaze, wandering around the strange garden and the officers was new and sent chills down Alice's spine. Nobody dared to speak or even move an inch. Alice snapped back into attention and waited nervously.:: Laxyn: WHAT IS THAT? ::The sudden explosion of the usual soft voice made everyone jump and turn around. With terror they saw red splatters all over the floor.:: Kaliantha: We... we had to...::stammering:: Laxyn: HAD TO WHAT? LIE TO ME? ::Alice knew why she was so afraid to tell Laxyn what had happened, but this was worse than she had expected. Silence fell again, from everyone but Laxyn.:: Laxyn: WHO DYED MY LIQUIDS? ::There was an eerie silence, something that made Alice look up and what she saw let her blood freeze. Everyone but pointing at her. With wide eyes she stared from one to the other and shook her head.:: Alice: I have not... ::Laxyn's face changed to a furious red and slowly her arm raised to point at Alice, before the loud voice bellowed through the garden, almost shattering the vials.:: Laxyn: CHOOOOOOOP OFF HER HEAD! ::Terror shook Alice and she did the only thing that came to her mind right now. She ran in the opposite direction. Hearing the heavy steps running after her, trying to get her to follow the CMO's command. She ran and ran and her lungs hurt as a familiar voice floated into her ears.:: Voice: Alice! Hey Alice, come on... it's time. Alice! (( Quarters )) ::Alice's lids jumped up and the first thing she saw was her room mate hovering over her. Blinking she tried to shake off the strange dream she had. What had been in her coffee that she had thought this could be real for even a second?:: Alice: What...? Hannah: You slept the whole night on the couch. It's time for work. And I think you have to confess something,eh? ::Alice grimaced as she peeled herself from the couch. There was no time left to get into a new uniform and she sighed, following her room mate outside where they parted ways. Alice headed the right way to Sick Bay and just for a split second she could have sworn to see the white fluffy tail of a bunny vanishing around the corner ... --- LtCmdr Jalana Laxyn CMO / 2nd Officer USS Apollo

Thank you to everyone who entered this special image-inspired Writing Challenge! I want to especially thank our first- and second-time entrants; it's always fantastic to have new writers in the Challenge, and in this case, it really paid off! I'm pleased and honored to announce that the winner of our first image-inspired Writing Challenge is Sal Taybrim, with his story "Conspiracy Theories"! We have a tie for runner-up: Ceilidh Riverview, with "New Beginnings," and Kieran Waddell, with "Back-up Plan." My congratulations to all three of you, and please join me in congratulating these talented writers in this thread! My special thanks to my fellow judges for this round, the writers behind Fleet Captain Toni Turner and Lieutenant Commander Velana!

Greetings, everyone! Please enjoy this full compilation of the January & February Writing Challenge, available for the first time with all the entrants' stories and judges' comments. This is a PDF document with interior hyperlinks to each story for your ease of navigation, so do please read at your leisure. Let me know if you enjoyed this easy way to read! Get yours here!

Welcome back, everyone, and I hope you're excited for the first Writing Challenge of 2014! We're going to be doing something quite new for this Challenge: Instead of presenting you with a theme or an idea, we'll be giving you a piece of Trek conceptual art -- in this case, this piece of art chosen by our November & December 2013 winner, Sarah: http://www.coronacomingattractions.com/sites/default/files/news/trek_into_darkness_pods_0.jpg Writes Sarah: "The image holds an incredible sense of anxious foreboding for me." What about for you? Regardless of whether you know what this image may represent, how can it inform or inspire your own story? You may take this Challenge in any direction you would like so long as it's inspired by the art prompt. As always, feel free to ask questions in this thread if you'd like to talk more! As of today, Thursday, January 2nd, this Challenge is open! All entries must be received by Friday, February 21st in order to be considered for this Challenge. As always, please remember: *Your work must be completely original. *You must be the sole author of the work. *Your story must take place in the Star Trek universe, but may not center upon canon characters. *Sign your final draft as you would a post on your ship. *Your story must be between 300 and 3000 words. For any questions you might have, remember that you can always post questions to this thread or visit the Writing Challenge website. Good luck!

Conspiracy Theories ~*~*~ “I cannot call to mind a single instance where I have ever been irreverent, except toward the things which were sacred to other people.” ~Mark Twain~ ~*~*~ James T. Lyle quivered with anticipation. From the moment he heard that the San Dimas earthquake had unearthed a sub level in the Chapel Library building he knew he wanted in on the dig. When he found out that Dr. Martin Hanniver was leading it, he was sure he needed to be there. Hanniver was one of the most important Earth artifact archeologists in the Federation – the very mention of his name set entire crowds of studious archeology geeks into stunned silence. Hanniver was the sort who had a vast reference stash of artifacts, information and Starfleet contacts at his fingertips and yet he didn’t do anything with this treasure trove beyond write stuffy articles for stuffy academic journals. Lyle thought that was quite a shame. There was so much one could do with that information, so much he believed was covered up by the shadows of Starfleet and its oh so secret organizations. In his mind there would always be academics that gathered information and who would need to be led by visionaries who could wield that information like a shining silver sword against the ignorance of the masses. James T. Lyle believed he was exactly one such visionary. Sure, everyone else might just see some gangly youth, barely old enough to be a force in the world. He was still young enough that his limbs seemed too long for his body, with sandy hair and a wide smile; he wasn’t a bad looking kid. Most people seemed to like him, or at least gravitate towards his radiant self-confidence. And why wouldn’t he be self confident? The line of Lyle had proudly enlisted into Starfleet for seven generations, but James was different. He was the one who broke the mold – went to college and had the brains to succeed. It was no co-incidence his father named him after the greatest Starfleet captain to have ever lived. Make no mistake, James Lyle was a man set out to do great things. He would be the first of his family to graduate a Starfleet officer and blaze a path of truth across the cosmos. He was sure of it. Certainly that was why, out of seventy-three archaeology students, he was the one picked to accompany Hanniver down into the wreckage. Lyle knew he had to make this opportunity count. He spent weeks preparing for it and planning for the best way to impress. And yet in person the man was not what Lyle expected. He was thinking Hanniver was a weedy academic – not the broad shouldered, strapping man who stood before him with long black hair, dark skin and a genial Martian drawl. Still, Lyle knew first impressions were everything and he had to make this one count. Hanniver could be the greatest launching pad of his career, if he could properly impress him. He needed this reference to get a foot into the door of Starfleet. “All right, as I am sure you are all already aware; we are standing outside the Chapel Medical Library of Starfleet Academy.” Dr. Hanniver opened to the gathered crowd of students and scientists. “This building was constructed 150 years ago, on top of the foundations of the old Starfleet Admiral’s Club after that facility was decommissioned and moved to Luna Capitol. The recent earthquake opened a fissure in the foundation which revealed an extensive sub-basement, used for records and storage. Our job is to carefully catalogue and remove all of the artifacts in this area. T’Pahl and Julani will be leading team one – you will be removing all of the isolinear rods from the storage area. Rodriguez and Ah’Krza will be leading team two – you will be tagging all personal items. Smith and Wesson will be leading team three in carefully checking the armory – if you run into any problems, call a security officer to assist.” He paused and fixed his eyes on the gangly student lingering in the back. “And Mr. Lyle – you are with me. We’re going to see if the sinkhole behind the fissure leads to anything. You will follow my lead, am I clear?” “Yes, sir!” Lyle called back. He double-checked his harness and gear before shouldering a portable generator and a case of checkpoint lanterns; brimming with excitement at the chance to venture into a place that hadn’t been explored for centuries. As the teams dispersed, Hanniver walked up, offering over a helmet and a pair of goggles. “They tell me you like a good adventure, Lyle. That you’re aiming for Starfleet Academy. I hope your rappelling skills are up to snuff.” Hanniver grinned, checking his own harness. Lyle gave an eager nod. “Oh yes, they’re good, sir!” He followed the older man into the crack in the earth, clipping his carabineer onto the safety cable as they eased their way down a steep incline. “What do you think we’re going to find down here?” Hanniver shrugged as he adjusted his light. The bright midday sun faded as they started traveling under the cracked precipice of the old foundation. “I hope to find some new information on the foundations of the Federation. I try not to expect anything.” He paused, grabbing onto a parallel cable and switching his harness clips. “Be careful, it’s slippery here. The two men descended down past the rubble left when the original building was destroyed, and past layers of older architectural remnants – brick and stonework from centuries past. The drop was surprisingly short, only a single story. It landed them in an unimpressive poured concrete box that had most of its identifying decoration stripped from the walls long ago. “Huh.” Lyle murmured. “Pretty bare.” It wasn’t what he thought it would be. Hanniver chuckled, handing Lyle a laser ruler and pulling out a tricorder. “Standard deconstruction job. This looks like late twenty first style construction – probably a storage area or possibly an underground garage.” “Why hide a storage area down here?” “Not so much ‘hide’ back then as it was ‘fit.’ Space was at a premium, the Lunar and Martian colonies were just infant ideas, cities were crowded. They needed to build up and down rather than side to side to make it all fit.” Hanniver replied, face down into his readings. He waved a hand towards his young companion. “This way.” Lyle gasped as Hanniver pushed a busted door open. The flashlight cut a beam down a long featureless hallway. “I have seen this before…” Lyle murmured. Hanniver perked a brow. “You have?” He turned towards his companion, watching the kid for several long seconds. Lyle’s eyes grew wide in anticipation. “I have! I know this book by heart! This is exactly how Colonel Abrahms describes the secret storage facility for Starfleet’s greatest temporal secrets in his book “Into Darkness: A Theory of Federation Development in an Alternative Timeline.” The older man turned to face his student. “Really?” The tone held less curiosity in it, and more belated disbelief. “That’s a hack pop-science book written by someone who would have been better off writing action-adventure holonovels.” Jaw dropping, James Lyle did his level best to not look as crestfallen as he felt. “Colonel Abrahms spent his whole life working on his body of work. It’s brilliant, if you take the time to read everything. And there’s plenty of support for his ideas.” Sighing, Hanniver pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated getting into arguments like this with students. “Lyle… I know it’s a compelling read – but that’s it. Entertainment. There’s no real science behind Abrahms’ theories. He doesn’t respect historical facts. All he does is build off other people’s theories and take them on a drunken romp through the annals of Federation history.” Lyle grit his teeth as they moved down the hallway. He had been studying this theory his entire life. He knew it better than anyone else, and the proof for this theory might be standing right in front of them. Ever since he was a small child Lyle believed there was a massive temporal cover up in Starfleet and he was going to be the man who would break it wide open and save the course of history. He had to make Hanniver see the truth. “There’s plenty of historical fact in Into Darkness. It builds from the very foundation of Federation records and into the real way history played out. We’re just too blind to see how much the Temporal Affairs Office has been altering our perceptions so we can’t see history correctly!” he argued as they came to a hole in the foundation. Fanning the flashlight around the dusty cavern of crushed concrete, Hanniver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Colonel Abrahms was a nutjob conspiracy theorist. Why do you think he was given a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corps?” “The history books are wrong.” Lyle folded his arms across his chest in muted defiance. “Colonel Abrahms was a visionary who unfolded a time centered plot that had – still has – the potential to unravel the very foundations of our Federation!” “Oh yes, I read all about it. The Romulan plot to travel back in time and destroy Vulcan.” Hanniver sighed. “Look, I know the destruction of the Hobus star took a lot of people by surprise, even shook them up pretty badly. The colonel was one of them. But it’s been fifty three years, and the non aggression pact with the Romulans has stood for over two decades. You think if they were going to try some insane time travel plot to ‘get revenge’ at the Federation, they would have done it already.” The student leaned forward, conviction tinting his voice with a passionate edge. “You don’t understand the flow of time travel. This whole cataclysm is just waiting for the right domino to be pushed over. We might be stumbling on the very proof that what the colonel predicted is absolutely true.” Hanniver paused, letting his shoulders slump as he fixed Lyle with an unimpressed stare. “The Abrahms theory may be the most popular conspiracy theory of the past fifty years.” He paused for effect. “But seriously, if a ship full of Romulans did have the ability to time travel wouldn’t they warn their planet of its impending doom and therefore save the vast majority of their species rather than going off on some ill-conceived revenge mission?” Lyle stalled in his vehement argument. The gears in his brain turned, remembering the fascinating passages he had spent years reading under his covers and in darkened back rooms of dusty libraries. “They were driven insane by grief.” He asserted. “Romulans are crazy… but they’re not that crazy.” Hanniver replied, making a light sound of disgust as he continued forward. Lyle felt his cheeks burn. He followed Hanniver through a busted door and into a cleaned out storage area. Running his finger along the thick layer of dust accumulated on the tops of the steel shelving, he tried to recoup his argument. “There was interference by Admiral Marcus. He was in on the time conspiracy because he wanted to purge all non-human influence from the Federation. The Romulan attack on Vulcan would be a fundamental building block for his xenophobic platform. He steered them towards Vulcan.” “That’s ridiculous.” Hanniver called back, setting down the portable generator and messing with the controls until it hummed to life. The beacons he had been placing on their way down powered up with a deep amber glow. “It isn’t. Even in this time stream, historians were able to point out over a dozen pivotal decisions Admiral Marcus made that perfectly set up the time-warp destruction of the Vulcan homeworld. It’s a good thing he was stopped by Khan before he got the chance to implement his plans.” Hanniver sighed. “Admiral Marcus died at home from rheumatic fever, surrounded by his family at the age of ninety-three. He never fought a genetically engineered superman, he never built a death dealing stealth battleship, and the biggest scandal he was involved in was that Federation News Service story about how he used his Starfleet rank to give him in edge in bartering flower samples after he retired.” He fixed Lyle with a flat look. “Yes, they accused him of having an unfair advantage in a garden show competition.” He punctuated the gravity of this statement with a low ‘oooooh.’ “It’s a Federation cover up. They don’t want you to know how deeply the Temporal Affairs Department in entrenched in every walk of life in the United Federation of Planets. And Starfleet. Especially Starfleet.” Lyle wasn’t about to give up, he knew this story all too well, and he usually won this argument. Most people simply conceded that his knowledge was superior. “Yep.” Hanniver tossed back. “I have tea with temporal agents every other Wednesday.” “Are you being sarcastic?” “Are you being serious?” “You don’t seem to understand the gravity of this situation!” “Look, Mr. Lyle…” Hanniver sighed, changing tactics. “What do you really think you’re going to find down here?” “I don’t know!” Lyle threw his hands up in the air, his eyes wide. “That’s the brilliant beauty of it all, isn’t it? There could be any number of things that could tear a massive hole into the cover ups that Starfleet heaps on us.” He paused and added with a smile, “I like keeping my mind open to the possibilities.” “Possibilities?” Hanniver snorted. “Right.” He shook his head, working on unlocking the far door in the room. It gave a whine as the rusty old fashioned hinges creaked and the seal around the door cracked open. A rush of cold air hit them both, and even Hanniver felt his curiosity pique. It was like a freezer in here. “Oh my God… I was right…” Lyle breathed as the fog from the coolant cleared. Hanniver picked up a beacon and let the light penetrate the frigid blackness. Storage containers. Row after row after row of perfectly preserved storage containers. “We don’t know what’s in them until we open one.” Hanniver replied, keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want to admit this discovery rattled him just a little. He crouched down, trying to find any identification on the container. “It says botanical samples.” He started the unlock code, vaguely surprised how easily the locking mechanism jumped to life. “Of course they would say plant samples. No one labels horrific bioweapons or cryogenically frozen soldiers as what they really are.” “I’m not getting any dangerous readings.” Hanniver countered, his tricorder at the ready as the lock sequenced. “Shielding.” Lyle muttered. “I’m sure it has shielding.” Hanniver felt a surge of adrenaline as the locking device on the container hummed compliantly and the lights on the control panel turned green. Maybe Lyle’s wild theories were infectious, but he felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine as he opened the case. The fog of cryogenic cooling agents hissed as they hit the warmth of the outside and rolled across his chest. “Oh my God…” the words dribbled from his mouth as his jaw dropped. “I was right, wasn’t I?” Lyle tossed back, his eyes wide as saucers. “This proves the whole theory!” “No…” Hanniver’s expression was like a tiny child seeing a Christmas tree glittering with lights and tinsel for the very first time. He grabbed a sample tongs and pulled out a small cylindrical case. “This is a Romulan snow orchid…” He gasped, taking out another case, “Romulan three leaf basil… and mountain poppies…” A chuckle of realization bubbled from his chest. “Admiral Marcus was smuggling illegal plant samples from the neutral zone for his garden…” “Plants.” Lyle’s expression looked like it has been smashed with a wrecking ball. “Just plants?” “Not just plants.” Hanniver grabbed his tricorder and started to take readings from inside the case. “This is a botanical treasure trove! Over half of these species have been extinct since the Hobus star exploded… and they’re still biologically viable. We could cultivate them!” The excitement in Hanniver’s voice was growing to a fevered pitch. “Think of the diplomatic inroads the Federation could make to the Romulans by offering them seedlings of these plants… this is amazing, Lyle! Simply amazing!” “Just plants.” The young man repeated, his shock fading to disappointment and anger. “We did all this digging for a bunch of stupid plants?!” Hanniver stood, letting the excitement of his find bleed away from his expression as he settled his gaze on Lyle. If the kid couldn’t realize the importance of a discovery like this one… “Reality check, kid. I don’t think you’re cut out for Starfleet. In fact, I’m going to recommend that after you finish your degree you should apply for a job at Forsythe Historical Holonovel Productions. They’re always hiring archaeologists and historians. Help them give that realistic ‘edge’ to their programming. Pays well, good benefits, Arconis V is a beautiful planet to work on and you can indulge your sense of pulp fiction fantasy on a daily basis.” He offered Lyle a sympathetic smile. “Heck, I’ll even give you a good reference for the job.” Lyle’s mouth fell open in disappointment. Entertainment? Holonovels? He thought he would be on the cutting edge of the unknown, not programming trite historical romantic adventures. “Are you serious?” “Dead serious kid.” Hanniver gathered his tools. “Come on, we need to get a science team down here.” Lyle lingered back, holding back a disenchanted cry. As Hanniver disappeared into the side room he kicked the floor and turned back at the rows of storage pods. “Stupid plants.” He cursed again, hanging his head and following the professor. ~*~ Lieutenant JG Sal Taybrim Science Officer USS Excalibur-A

((USS Excalibur – Personal Quarters of En. Riveriew)) ::Sipping her white peppermint hotchocolate, Ceilidh took PADD in hand and moved over to her couch to do some light reading. It was an old personal log that she had come across while trying to find out some more information about a fellow crew mate on board. Sitting down, she grabbed the blanket and draped it over her legs and balanced her drink on her knees as she began to read.:: ((Personal Log, 222102.20 - Utopia Plentia)) ::Looking out first to her left, and then to her right, Felicity felt the tears begin to flow freely from her eyes and streak down onto her warm cheeks. She had originally agreed to participate in Dr. Turner’s research methods regarding human and AI interactions, even trying to combine the two together. It sounded mad at the beginning the media had said. It went against everything that we as a race stood for. Humans and machine could benefit each, even depend on each other, but never truly be ‘one with each other’ as he had so wanted and envisioned. He argued against all their arguments, saying that together they could explore the universe for greater lengths of time and further than had been possible in the past, and even the present. The people, the media, and now even the powers that be were against what he was proposing to do, all the hopes of helping our people reach their full potential. Starships - that was what everyone said would be how we moved about across the universe, meeting new life forms and discovering new planets. We would learn all we could, while remaining true to who we were. We were unique in our evolution, having accomplished so much in such a short period of time, compared to other beings we had just come to discover existed besides ourselves. We had only ventured outside our own solar system less than a year ago, and already we were eager to learn as much as possible. But with our youth, came our inability to wait. We wanted it all now, and Dr. Turner had originally been the man to promise a faster way to discover it all. Artificial intelligence was something our people had toyed with for the last several decades, but only arrived at recently to a point where it was becoming more and more difficult to tell the difference between man and machine. As ships were being built to travel in space, he was building beings who would also travel in space, who would help their human counterparts with the long voyages that space travel would bring. Time began to pass from months into years, and questions began to take root in his thoughts. What if man and machine could be combined? Could it be done without losing what makes us who we are, retaining our uniqueness? War was always something that took place, no matter what your planet, and ours was no different. Soldiers died on the fields, or came home damaged, whether mentally, physically, or both. It was at the end of the last war that the dark side in the doctor began to surface under the false guise of wanting to help returning soldiers. Individuals who had lost limbs or had damaged them beyond traditional repair methods were taken in by his newly established medical foundation. It was here that he practiced his new form of medicine, combining parts of A.I. technology in replacement limbs with injured vets. In the beginning, success rates were high, with individuals being given a second chance at a normal life. Yet soon enough, the flaws of this new found hope became apparent. The individual would want to do one thing, while the replacement appendage would want to do something different. Other cases were that those who had received these technological aids were experiencing episodes of memory loss, but were obviously participating in society, as if the artificial limb had taken control over their thought process, leaving them unable to remember what they had done. It was when 90% of those individuals who had received treatment from Dr. Turner, complained about increased memory loss, and authorities brought forth allegations of increased crimes being committed by said individuals that Dr. Turners’ funding was cut and his medical facility was shut down. Star ships were launched into space, with a human and A.I. crew manifest, ready to explore what was out there, if only able to do it for short periods of time. Humans back on earth began to remove their artificial limbs that had been provided by Dr. Turner, in the hopes of gaining back control over their personal lives. In the years that followed, Dr. Turner went quietly into the far reaches of the media and continued on his work of combining humans and artificial intelligence together in the hopes of one day creating a human that would be better prepared and able to survive out in deep space for longer periods of time. A being that would be able to take the time to learn all it needed to and wanted to, without the restraints of age getting in the way. There were still those that believed in what he was trying to achieve, and those that were desperate enough for help due to injuries they had sustained one way or another. That’s where I come in. I had been coming home from university last summer and was injured in a motor vehicle incident. A neighbour had thought it a good idea at the time to take out her parents old car and drive it around, just to see what it had been like to drive the antique. We had the radio turned up and the group of us were laughing and telling stories. Perhaps we should have paid more attention to where we were going, but technology in modern vehicles informed the passengers of oncoming danger. Older cars, like what we were in didn’t. It was too late for the evening commuter train to stop, or even slow down. It hit us so hard that we were all thrown from the car in different directions. Two over the edge of the high road, down to their death 640 meters below; my neighbour had been thrown into oncoming traffic with no hope for survival; and myself thrown in the direction of the quarry pit on the side I had been sitting on. I don’t remember much after that, except waking up in the hospital. I wasn’t able to feel anything, and I figured that was a good thing. But as time went on, I came to learn that I would never feel anything from my neck down ever again. Depression took over my life for the next 5 years as I learned a new way of living. During one of my low periods, I came across an add by Dr. Turner, offering medical help to those that still wanted it, with the promise of complete restoral to previous lifes’ activities before all injuries. I got a hold of him and he agreed to meet me at my place. Our first meeting, as the door opened, I wondered if all that he had promised in his add would even be possible for me. As we talked and he examined me, a twinkle danced in his eyes. I can help you, but you have to understand, my methods are frowned upon by the larger society. I didn’t care I told him. I just wanted to walk again, even be able to use my hands and legs again. He agreed. One week later I had left everything and everyone I knew behind me and moved into his facility. It was an old warehouse that had been converted to serve his needs. My surgery began the next day. He said that in order to restore my health, he would first have to remove all the damaged parts. Dr. Turner assured me that replacements for anything he had to remove were readably available and not to worry. I would once again be able to move and live life independently. It took him 3 days to ‘fix’ me. Over the next 4 days I was closely monitored for signs of infection, rejection, and healing. On the 10th day he rolled the bed I had been on the entire time outside into the small court yard and over to a large rectangular building. The late afternoon sun was still warm on my face and I laughed when I felt the wind rush over my head, and then felt it as it blew over my shoulders. I hadn’t felt anything lower than the middle of my neck for so long, that at first I wasn’t sure I had felt anything at all. Be he assured me that I had indeed felt something. When I asked how, he explained that during my surgery he had used artificial intelligent limbs and technology in replacing any damaged parts I had, whether from the initial accident, or from afterwards from lack of use. As I continued to heal, I would begin to feel more and more. For now though, I needed rest, and was going to put me into a cryo-tube that would be able to help my body heal quicker and give me the rest I needed. As I looked at all the tubes that were lying in the room, I wondered out loud how many times he had performed this type of surgery. Dr. Turner said that the others who were healing from their injuries were less damaged than me, that for them he had either simply replaced damaged or missing limbs with new limbs, or technology, but as for me? I was a medical miracle. When I asked how, he told me that I would learn that answer once I was inside the tube and safe. I was nervous at the idea of being confined to such a small space at first, but the idea that I would be sleeping and not awake to deal with the idea of claustrophobia helped relax me a bit. The tubes had originally been used in the previous war to hold massive explosives to cause as much damage as possible. With the ending of the war, said weapons were no longer needed. Their contents disposed up, but the hulls still useful. Dr. Turner had purchased several hundred of them under a business name and had them delivered to this warehouse. As far as the governments were concerned, they had their money, and didn’t care what the tubes were used for, as long as it wasn’t for building weapons. As his assistant and him lifted my body to be placed into the tube, I caught a glimpse of the others in the surrounding tubes and noticed the work that each had gone through. I also noticed my own body in the reflection of the tube beside me. Is that me? Yes But I look so different Your outside appearance is different yes, but you are still you. It’s what inside that counts. As I was lowered into the tube, he explained the process of putting me to sleep and how long I would be in this state for. Perhaps, he said, one day you will even go into space! Think of all the possibilities that now lay before you! I thanked him for all he had done. Even as I laid there in the small tube, I was beginning to feel things again. A pinkie toe on my left foot, my right thumb. As the tube was closed and locked, he peered in one more time and smiled. Walking away, I began to relax, wondering at what I would do first when I woke up. It was then that a small display screen activated directly in front of my eyes. Trying to see the control panel for it, it dawned on me, that there wasn’t an actual display panel inside the tube. Instead, it was inside my mind. And the first image that I took hold of, what I looked like before my surgery and how I looked now. Gone was the broken body that didn’t even look like it had before the accident. In its place was a fresh, sleek new body, made of materials that gave me a strong shape, yet displayed my femininity. It explained that because of all the damage, the only parts that had remained were my spinal cord and from my shoulders up. Any damage to the spinal column had been repaired, with several discs being replaced. As more and more feeling began to register in my mind, the more and more I began to dream about all the possibilities I could do once I was healed. The idea of going into outer space and seeing and learning about all the universe had to offer fascinated me. I wanted to learn as much as possible and add that knowledge to my own, in the hopes of bettering myself. As I drifted to sleep, my mind kept displaying information about what Dr. Turner had been able to accomplish on me, but also on those who were in the tubes surrounding me. In his message he stated that we were the first to have the surgeries we had endured, all to varying degrees. Eventually we would all be able to talk to each other and help each other moving forwards. His one wish for us was to live life to the fullest, to learn all we could and remember that knowledge and share it with others, and to support each other collectively going forward. He promised us all that one day, we would see the stars up close and go where no one had gone before. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but they weren’t tears of sadness, but at joy. I was still alive. I was going to have a future. Anything was possible now. My name is Eve. I am one of a kind. You could say, I am one of one. ((END OF LOG)) ::Ceilidh felt a cold shiver run down her spine and placed the PADD down on the couch and gripped her slightly cooled off mug with both hands. Her only thought was, what eventually had happened to Eve? En. Riverview Counselor USS Excalibur

It was dark, it was cold, and he could not move. No, that wasn't exactly right. He could feel a tight and constricting presence, some sort of binding. However, there was a slight give to it, he could indeed move about, just not very far. His panic subsided as this fact sunk in. It had all but abated when his memories of what had happened to him began to come back. Slowly, piece by garbled piece, the events leading up to his being stuck in the ice became clear. His name was Richard, he was a science officer, part of Starfleet, and he was- Wait, was that really ice covering him on all sides? No, it was glass and cold steel; he was in something metallic and very small. A glass window above him, which had fogged up during his panic attack, didn't provide much of a view. Why was he in this thing? This cold and cramped space that he couldn't imagine he would ever voluntarily subject himself to. Right, it wasn't voluntary. Richard tried wiping away the condensation obscuring his view of the outside. It didn't help. Wherever they had put him, please god not underground, it was too dark to see. Diadem, the people of Diadem, whom the Vigilant had been meeting with on a first contract mission, had been nothing but kind and courteous. That should have tipped them off that all wasn't right in the world they had stumbled upon. The senior officers had been wined and dined; some of them even partaking in other delights. Richard had been doing just that -coaura- a game involving manipulating light patterns and memory testing. He'd been playing and winning against a dignitary when he'd. Richard winced at the memory; the sharp pain from the blow to the head was a dull ache now, only bothering him when he moved his head to the left. It explained why he was having a time recalling things. He probably had a concussion, because after the explosion of pain, things got fuzzy. He'd put up a fight, that he was sure of, but they had hit him with something other than just their fists, a drug that really did a number on his senses. Because Richard could not shake the memory of staggering to the floor, dropping on hands and knees, slowly lowering himself to the ground, and then looking up into the face of his assailant. It had been his face (he'd recognize it anywhere) that had been grinning down at him. He rapped his knuckles against the glass. It was cold to the touch, while not bad enough to give him a chill; it was cold enough to make him a little uncomfortable. Wherever he was, there was no source of heat out there. "I'm trapped," Richard said. "And I'm talking to myself." Deciding that oxygen was too precious to spare, Richard decided against stating anymore of the obvious. It would be silly to lay there talking to himself, narrating what was happening to him as if someone could hear his tale of woe. After all, it wasn't like he had . . . his come badge! Richard shifted around franticly, the tight constricting clothing he wore gave just enough for him to lift up his arm. But where a badge should have been pinned, Richard found nothing. In frustration, he punched the glass above him. The smacking sound of his fist against the glass reverberated around him. All he had to show for his troubles were bruised knuckles. The little effort it took to make the swing left him spent. He lay there a moment trying to calm his breathing as darkness encroached on his vision. "Awake?" The crackling startled him. The voice that followed the static, that scarred him. It was his voice. But not. "Don't be like that Richard," not his voice said. "I just wanted to let you know how your friends where doing. I figured I owed you that much." "What are you?" He heard himself chuckling over the speaker. God but he had an annoying laugh. No wonder it got on Grant's nerves. "Come on Richard, you're smarter than that. For my sake, I hope that you are. We do share the same DNA after all." "A clone then," Richard frowned. When could the Diadems have gotten a DNA sample from him? For that matter, just how had they grown a fully developed clone of him, and in under eight hours? "That's not possible." "Improbable, but not impossible, I am Lt. Jg. Richard Matthews, a science officer aboard the USS Vigilant." The thing was mocking him. The thing was mocking him and it was using his own voice to do so. Richard would have none of that. "Stop that! I don't care what you say you are. You're not me! You hear me?" His voice was still chuckling at him. "Hear you loud and clear Richard. Maybe you should quiet down a little; there isn't much air where they've stuck you." "And where did they stick me?" "It's basically a freezer, where they keep the bodies until they dispose of them." There was that cold feeling again. This time though, it wasn't from pressing against the glass window in front of him. "I'm in a morgue." "Yes." "And this is the part where you tell me what your evil plan is, right? Brag about how you're going to; to whatever it is you think you're going to do." "So that you could possibly get a warning out to your friends, Richard, I'm not stupid. I am you remember? I know you're already working out how to activate the com system on your end. While wondering why a casket even has one to begin with." "The thought had crossed my mind." Richard admitted while his hands traced along the sides of his 'casket.' Finding nothing, no panel or switch, he slowly rolled over as much as he could in the small space he was in, continuing his search for a set of controls or something to work with. "It won't work you know. Who is going to believe the message of a raving lunatic, claiming that a high-ranking Starfleet officer is a clone? No one in their right mind would." There was a pause and Richard could have sworn he heard the scratching of pen on paper. "I need to speak with Dueld." "Best to keep to yourself if you want to fool people," Richard snapped, even though the other couldn't see him, he made a rude gesture as he growled out his warning/threat. "My friends can tell the difference between me and a fake. You might sound like me and look like me. However, you are a quickly thrown together copy. You won't full anyone." "I've been doing well enough so far. Seems all I have to do is make a not so funny joke here or there. No one is the wiser. Really Richard it's not like they expect much from you." "You must though, why else would you be calling me?" He had found what he was looking for. A small panel that popped open to reveal wires and buttons, there was a little speaker off to the side, and a small screen right below it. "I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. You've been out for a while you know. Air must be awful thin in there by now." "It's a little stuffy, but other than that, fine." Richard had to stop three times as he fiddled with the wiring of his mini prison. It wouldn't do to cut off the transmission by accident, but as anyone who knew him well enough would say if asked, Richard just was not a hands on kind of guy when it came to electronics. The software he could handle, having fancied himself a bit of a hacker back in the day. The hardware, not so much, and his time at the academy hadn't helped with that. He could recall one class that might have assisted him about now but- 'Cadet, why are you not listening?' Richard, who had been chatting up the cute security officer on his team, smiled at the ranking officer running their class. 'Well this isn't really my department. Yusueh and Patolos are the operations officers.' He chuckled, at the annoyed look the instructor was shooting him. Was it his fault that he'd never actually need to know how to wire up a radio? 'Who are you cadet?' 'I'm the doctor.' 'Dr. Who?' 'Dr. Rich-' 'I don't care,' she cut him off, 'and neither well anyone out there, do you think this is a game? Because I have no time for cadets who can't take their classes seriously. This could save your life someday. But if you think you already know everything that you need to know. You can leave this exercise and go straight to the testing. My office after your last class cadet, dismissed. Looking back, Richard rather wished he'd practiced better study habits right now. Actually listening in class for one. "I just wanted to-" the audible click of another channel being open disrupted the not Richard's little speech. But he went on as if he hadn't noticed the little blip. "And say thank you for being so pathetic. It's been laughably easy to play the fool. No one notices a thing, not the giant buffoon who claims to be in charge of security around here. Not that lazy Captain of yours who has his legs up more often than an Orion slave girl does. Not even your chief medical officer and she did a physical." Richard winced, he would have some explaining to do once back aboard the Vigilant. Clone or not. You just didn't get away with saying things like that about superior officers. "It's because I'm a perfect clone. Yes, of course there's a way to tell what I am. If the CMO or any medical officer did the right tests, they'd see that my cellular structure is akin to that of a small child's. After all I'm only 20 hours old." This was good, without any real prompting, the monster wearing his face was spilling all its secrets. The trick was to keep it talking without asking too many questions. Questions derailed the flow of the other chap telling you something; they just weren't part of a normal chat. "The Vigilant just broke orbit around Diadem. In a few short minutes, you will be out of range and I won't get the chance to talk to you ever again. You have, if I'm guessing right, twenty minutes left." Maybe less than that, Richard was actively taking slower shallower breaths now. Lightheaded was never a good thing to be. Lightheaded inside a casket wasn't even an option. "The people of Diadem haven't been ignorant of your federation for some time. The alliance between their world and the others in this solar system, you remember hearing about that right?" The alliance between Diadem and the three other inhabitable planets that shared its solar system had been a real selling point for the Federation. Four planets for the price of one in a region of space where they didn't have many allies to begin with? The admiralty had been all but drooling when they had sent their orders to the Vigilant to make first contact. When it realised that Richard wasn't going to answer, the voice that was not his own continued. "It's not so much an alliance as an empire ruled over by the people of Diadem." Richard laughed. "Four planets does not an empire make, tell them to get back to us when they're on par with the Klingons or Romulans. Now those are empires." "It's not much of an empire now. But once they gain access to the United Alliance of Planets, and the fire power of the Federation, their empire will trump both the Klingons and what is left of the Romulans' Star empires." "You cloned me so you can clone others too. God, it's like a twisted version of the body snatchers." Frowning, Richard asked. "You do know this has been tried before right? Little alien parasites, humans used as puppets, hostile alien take over. Really you should be sued for plagiarism." "The process of creating me included a data dump, it could be called. While I don't know something as trivial as what was on the breakfast menu yesterday. The scientists in charge of my mental development were able to give me the big things." "You have my memories then?" That's how the Diadems planned on doing it. Not just by replacing officers, but by stealing their memories. The perfect infiltration units supplied with all the necessary information. "I'm already tagging officers aboard the ship to be taken during the next visit. The chief of science was a trial run. The important officers, like the Captain, First Officer, or Chief Medical Officer, are the ones we want. You can get closer to the admiralty through a Captain after all." Hearing enough, Richard directed his next question to the person listening in on his little conversation whit himself. At least he hoped that he was talking to someone else. He wasn't exactly sure if his call had been answered by friend or foe. He didn't even know if it had been answered. "Did you get all that?" One beat, then two, Richard was starting to sweat in his little icebox. "Nothing to say Richard? You've been awfully quite while I've chatted away here." Panicked, Richard began fooling with the wires again. "What do you mean quiet?" No answer, just quiet, Richard didn't know if he'd cut off his connection with his tampering or not. Apparently he'd done something to not be able to transmit. "You couldn't have passed out already Richard, surely we're made from tougher stuff then that? Come on say- what?" The startled exclamation caught Richard's attention. Breath healed to hear his other self over the speaker and to conserve as much air as possible. He strained to hear what was going on. The clone was talking to someone, he could just make it out, the clone said something and then he swore he heard the sounds of a scuffle. "Who was he talking to? Hanson, trace the source of the signal now." Was that the captain? Richard sucked in a quick breath. They were talking again. "Sir there is an open channel to the planet's surface, where it's being received and broadcasted, but I can't tell the transmitters location. I can only narrow it down to a fifty mile radius." "Bridge start scanning the area Ensign Hanson has given us. That thing was talking to someone and I want to know who." "Me," Richard gasped, the effort it took to speak was frightening, but he did it anyway. "Sir I'm in a morgue, probably the basement of that hospital you visited." "Sir, what about Matthews?" There was a pause, when the captain spoke he sounded as tired as Richard was feeling. "I can't see the Diadems keeping him around, not if they wanted to keep up pretences, they'd have disposed of the evidence." Richard shuddered. The captain went on. "I just can't believe I didn't notice something earlier. I told Richard that I had gotten my hands on the recipe for those cookies everyone liked at the party. He just looked at me like I had two heads before saying 'that's nice sir.'" "Sir, bridge reports they've got something." Hanson's clipped and dry tone, while usually a source of annoyance for Richard, made his spirits soar now. "Let's go see what it is Ensign." Quiet, save for the shallow gasping breaths he took, which were loud and deafening to his own ears. There were no voices coming over the speaker now. Richard didn't even know if the channel was still open. If the Vigilant had found him, would they even need it open to lock on to him, no they wouldn't. Any second now, because it would only take a moment for them to lock on to him and beam him aboard, he'd be breathing that wonderful recycled air and a hot nurse or doctor would be fussing over him. His Captain would simultaneously commend him for his efforts, berate him for getting into trouble, and threaten him never to do it again. Any second now, because his chest was getting tighter. His silly crewmates did have the flair for dramatics; a down to the last minute save was something they would do. Any second now. The world was going white; finally, they were beaming him up. The world would go completely blank for a moment, two three minutes tops, and he'd be home again. It would only be like a second for him though, a blink of the eye and he'd be home and safe. Richard smiled as he closed his eyes. He was going home. Lt. Jg. Richard Matthews MD Acting CSO USS Vigilant NCC-75515

(Cargo Bay - USS Marauder) ::Captain Jackson stood and watched as the last “tray” of pods was moved into place. His ship now boasted fifteen of these “trays” in the modified cargo bays and holds. Each tray held three rows of seven pods. Each pod held one “member” of his crew. Over three hundred people. :: oO Why did I sign up for such a mission? It’s a near suicide run. But its still a rescue mission, so if we pull it off, we will be heroes. Oo ::The heavily modified starship had started life as an Achilles class heavy cruiser, which was designed for long-range endurance missions. For this mission, modifications had been made, removing various useless crew comforts and replacing areas with cargo bays and holds. Two large industrial replicators from the larger Mulciber class ships were installed as well. :: oO Not like we really are going to need the lounge or other such comforts. Oo ::Because of the length of this long-range mission, the majority of the crew had to be put into stasis. :: oO Still can’t believe I agreed to this. Putting people into modified torpedo tubes for stasis pods. Of all things….. John, you just better be worth it. Oo ::The tray locked into place and the anti-grav lifters withdrew. A tech team quickly attached the leads securing the pod to the ship’s power.:: oO I wonder who had the bright idea to bring the crew aboard already in stasis. Makes things easier for getting under way I guess. Oo ::He watched and waited for the techs to finish and leave the room.:: oO Even with slipstream, its still going to take us a century to reach our destination. Oo JACKSON: Mara, loading is complete. Take us out. COMPUTER AI (MARA): Yes captain. Beginning undocking procedures. ::Then with a heavy sigh, he turned and followed the last tech out, and hit the button to seal the doors behind them. The doors slid closed and sealed with a thud, followed by the hiss of pressurization.:: oO So the journey begins…Oo ::Each of the rooms holding pods was designed to maintain its own pressure, just in case a part of the ship took damage and was exposed to space. The bays and the tubes would also help keep the crew protected from any radiation they came across. After all, this was truly a voyage to the unknown.:: oO I just hope it’s worth the cost. Oo ::He made his way up to the bridge and settled into his chair. Around him, a minimum bridge crew worked, with another small team down in main engineering. Once they were safely on course, they would all enter stasis, leaving the ship to Mara, the ship’s AI. She would keep the ship on course and rotate the crew in and out stasis, every so many years in a cycle. That would keep everyone from aging during the trip. Thus six trays each contained a full bridge and engineering crew under one senior officer. The remaining trays contained various specialist who would be awaken when their service was required, including a short platoon of Marines. One tray remained for the currently awake crew. :: oO By the time we reach them, they will have been lost for over a century. Our hope is that they found a planet to survive on out there, and maybe we find their descendants. Oo JACKSON: Mara, how long? MARA: Time to galactic edge, 31 days at current velocity Captain. JACKSON: Verify we are on the last course of the Monitor? MARA: Yes captain. Analysis has computed the last known position of the USS Monitor and calculated the course we are now following. JACKSON: Very well. (Four weeks later…) MARA: It is time Captain. JACKSON: Very well. Time people. ::The bridge crew and he made their way down to the cargo bay and their tray. One after another each climbed into a pod. As senior officer, Captain Jackson went last. He climbed into the pod and settled inside, before pressing the switch. His pod slid closed and he heard the pressure seal activate. It got very cold and he nodded off to sleep.:: oO USS Monitor, here we come…Oo Captain Jackson Commanding Officer USS Marauder

OOC: My first entry - be gentle! Leanna hadn’t been certain of this mission from the get go. She had been reactivated rather suddenly, but then she supposed that was how the Intelligence service worked. They had required someone with her ‘particular skill set’ for a matter of ‘Federation security’, like she had never heard that brand of codswallop before. It had been over a decade since they had used it on her though, and she had been quite enjoying her career back in the mainstream. It had somewhat surprised Captain Hollis when his Chief Medical Officer had requested an urgent leave of absence for an indefinite period. And so now the Trill found herself clad head to foot in the usual form-fitting black with absolutely no markings or indentifying characteristics. The tight hood was pressing her long dark hair oppressively to her scalp and it itched like hell. It was coming back to the middle-aged woman why as a younger operative she had always kept her hair chin-length or above. She pushed the thought aside as she glanced at the civilian hand-held scanner, it was much too late to do anything about that. She doubted very much Starfleet Intelligence would accept that one of its agents got captured whilst shearing locks of hair off inside a hostile base. Her breath was beginning to get more laboured as she jogged down a metal-walled hallway. She was getting too old for this malarkey, she really would have to have a word with someone in Intelligence that they should find some younger, fitter models for this work. She suspected that they wouldn’t listen. Her thoughts were interrupted by urgent bleating from her scanner and she rapidly cursed, silenced it with a jab and wondered when she had gotten to sloppy about keeping her equipment in discreet mode. There were two lifesigns approaching the next corner quickly. Leanna did a quick visual scan of her surroundings and it was blatantly obvious there was nowhere to hide and retreat was not an option. If she had been detected that meant that she now had even less time to complete her mission and more hostiles would be converging on her current position. To fight it was then, Leanna made the only choice she felt she had and was glad that her chest hit the floor as two Romulans came around the corner firing at a level that would’ve caught her square in her torso a moment earlier. She didn’t let the two men time to process their confusion or realize their mistake as she let two rapid-fire shots off of her small disruptor that until she had hit the deck had been secreted in her left sleeve. She was glad that Lt. Commander Semal on the Paladin had kept her well trained as a marksman as each shot hit its target and the grey-tuniced men crumpled to the floor. Despite her breathlessness, Leanna was back on her feet and at a full run almost as soon as her opponents hit the deck. Obviously aware that they had lost the element of surprise what she could only assume was an intruder alert alarm began to blare all around her and the lights dimmed. They should’ve sent tactical support, hell they should’ve sent a tactical officer! Second room on the left…one…two! Leanna fired at the group that was coming towards her from the other end of the corridor as she jumped into the doorway, he shoulder jarring against the duranium door. Locked, there’s a surprise. Shots flew past and hit the wall only centimeters down the corridor and she made the call. The Trill fired a trio of shots towards her attackers and a fourth and the panel in the wall beside her, the doors began to open then stalled. It was a tight fit but Leanna squeezed through the gap and gained access to her target. She had little doubt her breast tissue would be objecting in the morning… if she saw morning. Her scanner had told her that there were Tellarite lifesigns in this room. Starfleet Intelligence had intercepted information of a plot by the Romulans to replace the Tellarite representative on the Federation council with that of a double and had activated an agent with expertise in both cloning and genetic manipulation – Leanna Beq - to investigate and if possible terminate the operation. They had underestimated its extent. The room was filled wall to wall in stasis pods, 5 per row and 10 rows. The temperature in the room was significantly cooler than it had been through the rest of the complex, or was that just a psychological reaction from the doctor-[...]-operative? The room was lit only by dim bars of deep green light from each of the four walls. And unless Beq’s eyes were playing tricks on her there was a light mist in the air. It was almost like an ancient crypt than a state of the art medical facility. Each pod contained one lifesign. Leanna ignored the hubbub as the Romulans came closer to the broken door. Her scanner was picking up a different racial profile from each pod and if her civilian scanning device was functioning correctly at least a few of the lifesigns were close if not identical to Federation Councillors. Her plan on being discovered and pinned down in this room had been to go to the backup plan of abandoning intelligence gathering and scuttling the operation even if that meant assassinating the double. That option had just become more complex. There was no way she was going to be shoot out all the stasis pods before the Romulans arrived and she wouldn’t be able to beam them all out in her narrowed but intensified emergency portable transporter device tucked into her waistband. “I knew I should never have come.” The last device Leanna had on her person was one she often managed to put out of her mind, but this time it wasn’t an option. She fired off a few shots at a Romulan trying to prise the doors further open and he slumped against the doorway before disruptor fire tore his body apart and forced Leanna to roll behind one of the pods. She sighed deeply as she reached into her boot. She heard the doors begin to buckle, and attempted to dump the data her scanner had held in a burst transmission to the stealth shuttle on the other side of the asteroid the Romulan facility occupied. It failed. “Federation agent, you are surrounded. Surrender yourself or prepare to die.” Leanna sighed again, time was up. She dropped all her equipment other than the small device that fit between her thumb and forefinger. Standing, the Trill pulled back her hood and raised her hands. Her long dark hair flowed free and her scalp thanked her as the itch subsided. She wanted them to be able to see who had caused so much trouble. “I’m afraid I may have oversold your options, Federation, now that you’ve seen this we cannot allow you to leave.” The Romulan sub-commander began to raise his disruptor. “Screw you.” Leanna pressed the device in her hand. The stealth shuttle jumped to warp as the automated systems detected the termination of Trill lifesigns on the asteroid. The asteroid exploded outward in a brilliant white light and the shuttle found itself racing a shockwave out of the area. Starfleet Intelligence Endgame explosives might have been compact but they packed a punch. Leanna Beq officially had a shuttle accident on her way back to Trill. Starfleet Intelligence never learned what had caused her to use such a drastic measure. The Romulans had lost their clones. At least the ones on that base… Commander Leanna Beq (RIP) Former Chief Medical Officer USS Paladin Starfleet Intelligence Operative

An enormous thank you to all the writers who entered this end-of-the-year Challenge, and a special shout-out to the newest members and Challenge participants, Suvi Ila and Sal Taybrim; we always appreciate having new entrants and your stories were a pleasure to read! Without further ado, I'm pleased to announce the winners of the "Treason & Plot" Writing Challenge! "Sins of the Mother," courtesy of Sarah, the writer behind Saveron, mightily impressed the judges for this round and is our winner, while "Pray for Favour," from Ed, writer of Diego Herrera, is our runner-up. All my congratulations to you both, and please join in congratulating these authors and all our participants in this thread! My special thanks to this round's judges, the writers behind Fleet Captain Kali Nicholotti, Fleet Captain Toni Turner, and last round's winner, Lieutenant Sinda Essen. Please do leave your congratulations below!

Greetings, everyone! Please enjoy this full compilation of the November & December Writing Challenge, available for the first time with all the entrants' stories and judges' comments. This is a PDF document with interior hyperlinks to each story for your ease of navigation, so do please read at your leisure. Let me know if you enjoyed this easy way to read! Get yours right here!

Welcome, all, to the final competition of 2013! For this Challenge, consider this old rhyme: Remember, remember! The fifth of November, The Gunpowder treason and plot; I know of no reason Why the Gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot! Chris, aka Sinda Essen and the winner of the previous round, would like you to think about "Treason & Plot" for your entry in this final contest. He writes: "I was thinking of going all historical and Anglophile with Bonfire Night coming up - possibly the only annual celebration over an act of (attempted) terrorism in the world..." How will you interpret this theme? What justified and positive reasons might exist in Trek for treason or terrorism? It's a topic dealt with in a few of the serialized series' episodes, but usually they went the standard route of having terrorists as the bad guys. What else can you do in your story? As of today, Saturday, November 2nd, this Challenge is open! All entries must be received by Friday, December 27th in order to be considered for this Challenge. As always, please remember:*Your work must be completely original.*You must be the sole author of the work.*Your story must take place in the Star Trek universe, but may not center upon canon characters. *Sign your final draft as you would a post on your ship.*Your story must be between 300 and 3000 words. For any questions you might have, remember that you can always post questions to this thread or visit the Writing Challenge website. Good luck!

The phrase ‘dead of night’ certainly seemed apt. Were it not for the fact that Kellan’s young eyes had adjusted to the dark, he felt he could have been sneaking around a crypt. There was a presence in the atmosphere of Valo II that was reminiscent of the underworld somehow, a heavy, oppressive quality to the air that threatened to crush you with every passing minute. There was no hope here. No light. The young Bajoran scrambled over crumbling walls. The familiar tickle of brick-dust on his lungs brought with it the threat of a telltale cough that could wake one of the tumbledown ruin’s inhabitants. This part of the city was nothing more than a slum, filled with people like him. Food was scarce and money even more so. This wasn’t his first time sneaking food from here; the ruin’s inhabitants were thrifty and resourceful, a gang of street thugs with just enough influence that they were able to gather food as a tithe in addition to whatever else they were able to scavenge or pilfer from forays further into the city. They were known to Kellan, and he was known to them. In fact, their relationship to one another was well defined. They provided him food and, on the frequent occasions when they realised that, they also provided him pain. It was worth it, though. The clandestine operation always brought with it a chance of success. The truth was, Kellan’s hopes lay far from here and he wasn’t stealing for himself. The sixteen year-old thief had found someone he cared about in the slums. He had been led to him not by the Prophets, but by his own two feet, and when he’d encountered the old, gaunt beggar and offered him part of the food he had managed to gather during the day, he had suddenly felt and understood the meaning of kindness. In return, the man who he had come to know as Heril had given him quite the unique gift. During the hours they spent together, he taught him incredible things about the stars, about space and about the rules by which the world worked. It wasn’t much of a world, but to suddenly find himself beginning to understand it made Kellan hungry for knowledge. He’d had a basic education in the refugee camps but, once they had been broken up, he’d learned little else other than what was necessary to survive on the streets of this excuse for a slum. And so the never ending quest to sate two kinds of hunger had begun. The camps didn’t exist any more. They had been dispersed after the liberation of Bajor. Many of the Bajora had taken their chance to travel home but for some, such things were not possible. Kellan had no family to whom he could return. During his early years in the camps, he could remember being taken care of by a number of different families but inevitably the same thing would always happen and he would be passed along like an unwanted disease thanks to the amount of food a growing boy needed to consume. He was as thin as a rake now, all arms and legs as he had shot upwards but not outwards. His frame was ideal for nights like this, sneaking through exposed segments of foundations, into and out of cavities in walls, or in the narrow spaces between ceilings and floors. Heril’s concerns about his health usually fell on deaf ears, not because Kellan wasn’t worried himself, but because he couldn’t afford to think about it. Fortunately, it was easy to get the old man talking about what lay beyond the bitter world that they lived in. During those times, such things were easily forgotten. A floorboard creaked. He’d allowed himself to become too distracted and deviated a few inches from his normal path. He knew it was going to cost him and his suspicions were confirmed moments later when his sharp ears picked up three words that made his heart sink: “I’ll go check.” Immediately, he had to make a decision about whether or not to listen to his instincts, which were all telling him to run, or his stomach, which was telling him he had to stay. Heril had to be hungry, too. It was two days now since Kellan had managed to find anything for them. No-one else would look after the old man; without Kellan he might starve. His feet carried him quickly to a darkened recess despite their will to carry him to the nearest window. With great dread, he realised that there were two sets of footsteps coming towards him and not one. “It’s that whelp again. I’m telling you, he comes here every night.” The room’s metal door was unceremoniously heaved to one side by two pairs of hands. Kellan never used it, there were other ways in and out, but none that he could access now without being seen. He held his breath for fear that even that might give him away. To his own ears, it sounded like the men would be able to locate him by the drum beat of his heart. No matter how many times he was caught by them, he could never be quite sure what form their justice would take. Lately they had been getting more and more inventive. When he saw them start to check recesses where the wall had collapsed, he knew that he was going to have the chance to find out. At times like this, he could feel parts of his mind starting to shut down. It was a protective response, he realised, one that helped him to cope with the fact that this happened so regularly and that let him maintain his will to keep coming back to the most reliable source of food in the whole area. Rather than cowering until the inevitable moment where he would be caught, he was taken with the overwhelming desire to just get this over with. He stood, and walked out of the shadows where they could see him. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you it would be that brat?” The man closed the distance between them in seconds; Kellan took a step back towards the wall and did his best not to flinch. He just had to be brave now, he told himself, although he felt the painful tug of a fist closing tightly around his hair and the unpleasant moisture of spit on his face before he’d fully finished the thought. “You steal from your own people! You betray the fact you are a Bajoran! You’re no better than a Cardassian!” Kellan could pick up from his captor’s tone that a ‘Cardassian’ was something undesirable but the significance was lost on him. He was sure he had been born here; this was the only world he knew. He’d only ever known other Bajorans and some humans, a gaudy looking race of people with smooth noses and brightly coloured uniforms. He was speaking before he’d even realised it; his mind had been trained to fill gaps in his knowledge. “What’s one of them?” Apparently he’d said the wrong thing. The fist tightened around his hair, causing him to cry out briefly before he was silenced by a backhand across the face that was hard enough to make him taste blood. “You’re an insult to your people! You don’t know what it means to be a Bajoran!” There was a heat in his words like nothing Kellan had ever heard. Somehow, he had drawn a primal rage from this man like none he had ever seen before. All concerns of food and knowledge were abandoned and his mental defenses crumbled: he was terrified for his life! The other man drew alongside him and grabbed his face, rough fingers squeezing Kellan’s jaw as he forced his head sideways. “He doesn’t even wear an earring. He probably doesn’t know about the Prophets, either.” “Do you?” The weak nod he gave them was honest, but not so much so as the whimper that accompanied it. He knew enough about the Prophets to know that they didn’t care about him. There was no path they wanted him to walk. They had doomed him to this desolate existence to live with barren guts and absent hope. Heril spoke fondly of them, but Kellan could not bring himself to believe in deities that would make such arbitrary condemnations. “Then pray they will look favourably on you tonight.” The boy’s answer was despondent. He knew that his spirit, as well as his body, would take a long time to recover from this night. “They won’t. They never do.” ::He was immediately grabbed and dragged through the door. They manhandled him over to the edge of a table, and forced his face down onto it. One of them grabbed his hand and stretched it out over the table’s filthy surface, pinning it into place with strength far superior than his. He shook with terror as he caught sight of something metallic and cylindrical as it was raised into the air. Before his sentence was delivered, a voice hissed into his ear, the heat of Bajoran breath making his skin crawl.:: “Then perhaps they will see fit to teach you the lesson that treason against your own people is something we will not tolerate. It will be a long time before you think about stealing from us again.” He screwed his eyes closed as the heavy metal bar sped down towards his fingers... Fleet Captain Diego Herrera Commanding Officer USS Vigilant NCC-75515 Deputy Commandant: UFOP: SB118 Academy

It was cold. A simple saying, but perhaps cold was an understatement. On a planet where the miners had fifteen different words to describe the precise kind of cold the current weather was displaying, and another seventy-three to cover the specifics of icy precipitation, being able to single out one instance as cold enough to mention lent an air of significance to a simple saying. The Bakalen were used to cold. The heavy, bipedal bovine creatures adapted well to it, and had been better bred to withstand it for seven generations. Now they stood, stamping their hooves in the frozen ground, refusing to move. When it was cold enough to make them pause, the dilithium mine workers of Seandrus VII knew it was time to call it quits. “Get them into the barn, and everyone else into the shelters, there’s a good one brewin!’” Kleos Tal, the Rigellian foreman called out. The miners took up their tools with an air of relief, herding the animals into their shelters before running for warmth. It was only when the majority of workers and animals alike had been safely stowed that Tal noticed movement on the edge of the mine. “Starfleet, get your [...] back here!” “McEnroe and Daling are still out there!” The young Terran suited up in insulated Starfleet scientific blues called back. “They might need someone to flare them in!” “I told them not to go. If those fools wanted to go spelunking for ancient artifacts, they should have picked a clear day when all the scanners were fully operational.” Tal shook his head. “Not that you stuffed shirt Starfleet types ever listen…” he added under his breath. “You’d be better off watching for them on the perimeter scan. I ain’t makin’ the call to Starfleet explaining why your body’s coming back in a freezerbag.” Lieutenant Michael Evans took a breath in through his teeth. He had been part of the original team to scout the dilithium deposits in this area three years ago; he knew the terrain and the weather as well as Tal knew them, and yet the foreman took every chance possible to make him feel like a chastised child. “Fine, I want control of the camera.” “All yours.” Kleos Tal smirked, waving the officer towards the cabin. “Hurry up, before your eyeballs freeze.” ~*~ Evans was pacing. It was either pacing or screaming, but as the minutes dragged by and the sky went from hazy grey towards black, he could feel his panic rising. “Where are they?” he asked into his hand as he bit down on the knuckles. “Don’t get your panties into a bundle.” Tal remarked, looking up from his coffee. “They probably saw the storm coming and made camp.” “Which means they could get snowed in.” Evans countered, taking a break from his pacing to stare at the blank feed. Tal shrugged. “So what if they do? Tomorrow’s the fifteenth. Supply ship’s a comin’ and if we need to, we can scan for ‘em and have ‘em beamed out.” Evans folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t like it, but Tal had a point. Sinking into the chair facing the camera feed he watched the steam drain off his cup of raktajino. He didn’t know how much energy he had wasted in worrying, but he had almost dozed off in the chair when the communications system crackled to life. [[Daling to Evans… storm getting wo… coming ... bringing in an injured… following…]] Evans’ head snapped up, hitting the communications panel. “Ensign Daling? You’re breaking up! Boost your signal.” There was a burst of static, followed by a high pitched whine, before Daling’s raspy voice came through. [[Can you hear me, Sir? We’re coming into the complex now. We have one of those cow-beasts they use in the mines; burned real badly from the microwave radiation we used to clear the snow from the cave walls. McEnroe told me to bring it back, she thinks she can help it.]] Daling’s tone clearly hinted that he would have put it out of its misery mercifully in order to be back on time. Evans allowed a small smile to play across his features. Lilly McEnroe was the sort of person who hated to see anyone or anything suffer, from a beast of burden to a fellow crewmate. “You said you were following something?” He queried, leaning forward as if getting closer to the communication panel would help him be heard. [[i think we’re being followed. Something has been after us ever since we left the dig site.]] “Do you know the identity of what’s following you?” Dailing drew in a breath [[No, Sir. It’s moving tactically. And not on a vehicle. Maybe riding an animal? Hard to tell. McEnroe tried to get a scan, but the weather conditions are interfering.]] “I have you on the camera feed, and I’m getting partial sensor readings. Looks like whatever was following you has backed off… If I can get a better scan, I will.” Evans paused, looking back at the camera. “Where are you headed?” [McEnroe wants to head to the barn first, to drop off our passenger. Then we’re heading in. I’m freezing.] “Be careful.” Evans murmured trying to push away the ill feeling in his gut. [When am I not careful, boss?] Dailing chuckled. Evans forced a smile into his voice. “I know, but…” he never had a chance to finish the thought. As the vehicle pulled up towards the barn, a choked cry came over the line, and it lapsed into static. “Daling?” Nothing. “McEnroe? Daling?!” A shadow flickered across the screen, heading directly for the snowmobile. “I need to know what that is, now!” Evans shouted at Tal, trying to move the camera in for a closer view. “Get me that audio feed back…” There was a crackle of static and the terrified scream of Daling’s voice pierced the line. Terror turned to anguish, and anguish turned to pain. The voice was suddenly cut short. “You said you know every animal on these plains… what was that?” Evans demanded, thrusting a finger towards the viewscreen. Kleos Tal perked a brow; reaching for the disruptor rifle he kept by his parka. “I have no clue. But I’m gonna find out.” ~*~ Outside the snow was falling so fast it looked like the whole planet was in the middle of a giant snow globe that was being shaken continuously, never giving anything time to settle. Add to that the fact that with every breath, a haze of fog clung to Evans’ facemask and goggles, the young officer felt like he was blundering around in the dark. Kleos Tal fanned out with several of his friends – trigger happy mine junkies who didn’t seem to care that one wrong step might get them killed. They were hunting monsters. Evans’ scoffed - he was looking for his teammates. His hands tightened on his phaser as they spread out to search. Daling was outside the barn, face up in the snow, surrounded by a growing puddle of dark blue. The Bolian’s cracked helmet lay several feet beside him. Evans felt his heart leap up into his throat and he rushed to the fallen man’s side. He was still warm. Evans gently prodded Daling’s shoulder, prompting an anguished groan from the smaller man. “We should have never taken that cow-beast.” his voice was whisper thin and broken. “They came back. They got Lilly.” “Shh. Steady.” Evans counseled, gently fumbling in a desperate attempt to provide first aid. “We’ll get you inside.” Daling shook his head fractionally. “This is revenge. We fried two of the little beasts on accident, they got scared when they saw us and ran into the cave where we were using microwaves. Crisped them before we could shut it off. The last one lived. I was going to put it out of its misery, but Lilly said we could save it… and now they’re gonna kill her for it.” His voice was raspy and gurgling. Evans clenched his teeth, watching the man’s chest flutter and collapse. “Shut up, Ensign, I’m gonna get you out of here.” He felt tears form and freeze at the sides of his face. The pool of blood was still spreading, turning to slick blue ice at the edges as Daling’s eyes glazed over. Evans scooped the Bolian into his arms, trying to ignore the man’s groan of agony. “I’m done, Sir. Leave me.” Daling pleaded, his voice failing. “Save Lilly… please…” His eyes closed, and the snow flakes stopped melting as they hit his lips. Evans closed his eyes, feeling cold seep into the young officers’ body. For several long seconds his brain screamed in denial, and he started to pick Daling up as the man sank as dead weight into his arms. “Keep breathing, Daling, come on!” He clung to the corpse, as if he could order the man to live. In the end he was shaken from his frozen reverie by a high pitched screech. Whirling around, he saw what Dailing was speaking of. One of the Bakalen stamped the snow with a murderous focus on the snowmobile. On Lilly McEnroe. Murmuring an apology Evans lay the dead man down and sprinted towards the sled, firing his phaser into the creature’s side. His jaw dropped, watching as the weapon didn’t even slow it down. The Bakalen gave a high pitched scream of fury and turned to intercept Evans, ramming its head into his chest. Evans hit the frozen ground hard enough that his vision blurred into bright white spots, and he rolled onto his stomach underneath the ore platform. McEnroe stirred with just enough awareness to jump from the snowmobile before the second attack came. The hammering of hooves crushed the body of the vehicle like a tin can. “Lilly!” Evans croaked. “Get under the platform!” He waved a hand towards her, but she lay still as the Bakalen kicked the sled out of its way and advanced. He crawled towards the opposite side of the platform, praying under his breath. “No… please no…” There was no way he could make it to McEnroe first, and even if he did, it was only giving the Bakalen a choice of two victims instead of one. A bitter feeling rose in his throat as he heard the thing roar. A flash of light pierced his vision, and he heard Kleos Tal’s crass laughter. A second line of disruptor fire followed and a third, cutting a dark line of blood down the beast’s chest. It issued one last guttural growl before it collapsed in a ruined heap. “That was pretty good, huh?” Tal crowed. Evans felt his adrenaline spike as he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring Tal’s commentary. His eyes were on one goal: Lilly. He ran to her, checking quickly to make sure he could move her. As he looked up, he saw movement around Tal’s position and the Rigelian started to panic, firing into the darkness. “What got into these crazy beasts? Get back in your pens!” Evans stood, picking McEnroe up with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tal down one of the Bakalen as two more converged on him. There was a sickening crack of bones, punctuated by a low growl of revenge. Mercifully, Tal’s screams were drowned out by the hammering of Evans’ heart echoing through his head. With McEnroe’s bloody form draped across one shoulder, he held his phaser up with his other hand, biting back a laugh at how ineffective the hand weapon seemed against looming monsters. The snow drifted down in a light powdery dust, fading to nothingness as the temperature dropped. They needed shelter and they needed it now. With the Bakalen between them and the main shelter, it seemed like slim pickings. Evans squinted into the darkness. The barn was enticingly close. Close, and where the Bakalen lived. It was a double edged sword and he never was much of a gambler. He was about ready to circle back when McEnroe groaned. “Lilly?” He murmured, trying to shift her so he could see her face. “Cold… Mike. I’m so cold…” she breathed, her eyes still closed. Evans’ felt his heart race. “I’ll find shelter, Lilly, don’t worry.” “Mike… remember Janus 6?” She stammered through a body-wrenching shiver. “Shh, Lilly… Don’t speak.” He consoled, quickening his pace. “No, Mike… listen. Remember Janus 6… please!” She implored, her last words fading into incoherency. Evans furrowed his brow, wondering how long she had if she was hallucinating. He had been to many planets with Lilly McEnroe before, but never Janus 6. It was a geological oddity half a sector away. Why bring it up now? The Bakalen had disappeared, and his muscles ached from the cold. Swallowing the bile in the back of his throat he kicked the barn door open and slipped inside. Almost immediately he wished he hadn’t. He could smell the burned flesh of the calf Daling talked about, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the baleful eyes of an adult cow boring into him. Evans brought his phaser to bear, wavering between the calf and the adult. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he offered in a soothing tone. It paused and looked at him stamping its hoof and making the signal the miners used deep in the mines to tell an operator to stop the cart when you couldn’t hear them. Stop. He stopped, staring as the creature stood down, edging around him to stand by the injured calf. Looking at him as if it had something to say. That’s when it hit him like a brick to the head. Janus 6. The Horta. A seemingly murderous beast was actually sentient. “I can help…” he offered with a thread of hope that it might understand It canted its head like he had seen then do in the mines. He had never thought about what it meant before. Like it was trying to speak. Trying… or perhaps actually speaking… Evans held his hands up in a non threatening manner, fumbling with his tricorder. Scanning for something… anything he could use to communicate. That’s when he caught it, in the frequencies beyond what most humanoids could hear. A trilling, perhaps a language. “Keep speaking…” he implored. He struggled to hook his own communicator up into the matrix, letting the devices chug through the input, until a simple message flashed back to him on the screen: [How can murderer help?] “Murderer?” He swallowed, remembering what Daling said about the dead calves. “We did not know…” [Never murder innocent, no.] He shook his head sorrowfully. “We were not innocent, but we did not want to hurt you. She brought that one back to help.” He gestured between Lilly and the calf. “You need help.” Evans’ reasoned, catching the mother’s gaze and locking it with his own. “I have medicine. In her pack. You can have it if you let me help.” Dragging a hoof across the stable floor she canted her head, and the message flashed across the screen: [You give, we give.] Barely daring to breathe, Evans dug in McEnroe’s pack, drawing out her med kit and opening it up. “Can you use it?” [You help son, I warm woman.] It was a plain offer, but one Evans was willing to accept. He knelt down by the bleating calf, applying burn salve and regenerative bandages under the hawk-eye gaze of its mother. When he was finally done he turned back, giving a silent prayer of thanks to see Lilly’s chest rise and fall evenly in sleep. The Bakalen’s expression was ponderous, sorrowful. [We did not think you would help. We thought you were all murderers. We did not need to freeze so much blood.] He offered a slow nod of assent, watching as the mother mirrored it. “I can tell my people to leave you alone.” She settled back on her haunches and for many long minutes no message came over the PADD. Finally she leaned forward and words flashed up. [We need voice. You are voice. Forget this not.] Evans nodded his head, mutely, letting his eyes meet hers. He had no words to express the amount of apology he wanted to bestow to the Bakalen for this misunderstanding; no way of saying how furious he was – not at them in specific, but that years of ignorant silence between the two species had pushed one to act out in the most vicious and base way possible against the other simply to be heard. And the only thing that would prevent it from happening again was giving them voice. His voice. “I am your voice.” They were the only words that slipped out as he stared off into the horizon, waiting for the call from the supply ship to come through. ~*~ The Bakalen were silent as the morning dawned and the call came through from the supply ship. Evans ordered two for transport; he would tell the Captain what had happened once he was warm enough to form the words. The breath that rattled through his teeth was tainted by the stab of sorrow wrenching his gut. Academically he could trace everything back to where things went wrong. But face to face with the death masques of people he had shared dinner with last night; now decorated with their own frozen entrails as the remains of the shelter smoldered in the tenuous light of dawn, it made Evans feel numb. How many years had the Bakalen tried to tell them they were more than stupid pack animals, for a peaceful species to be finally driven to this kind of murder? He dropped to his knees in the snow still holding McEnroe in his arms. Surrounded by the carnage of misunderstanding, he closed his eyes and waited for the transporter beam to take him away from this nightmare. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Ensign Sal Taybrim Counselor USS Excalibur-A

((Space Station Deep Space Nine, at the close of the Dominion War)) Hannibal Parker was tired. Two years of almost constant war with the Jem’ Haddar and their Breen allies had wreaked havoc on the quadrant. Billions were dead, planets wrecked, and hundreds of ships lost. Earth had been attacked by the Breen, shattering the idyllic myth of Earth. They too had been singed by the flames of war. The fighting on the surface of Cardassia before the surrender had been brutal, hampered by the fact that fifty percent of their troop transports had been shot down…but still, his unit fought on, buoyed by the Klingon detachment his unit had been fighting with almost since the war began. With peace now won, and several barrels of blood wine consumed by his unit and the victorious Klingons (despite “suggestions” from Starfleet brass that they should not be participating in such ceremonious drunkenness and revelry), Hannibal, now in command of his own platoon, ignored it. His battle- hardened Marines, having fought alongside the Klingons, were deemed more than worthy to share in their celebration, and there was no way he was going to stand in their way. So…while Admirals, Captains, and Heads Of State were somberly signing surrender orders and giving interviews to the Federation News Service, his troops were drinking, singing, and seeking companionship, whether it be Klingon, Human, Bajoran, or any of a number of races sexually compatible with humans, and Hannibal was no exception. With three weeks’ leave coming to his platoon and currently berthed in the Habitat Ring, he was perfectly happy to let the ringing hangover he was currently suffering from subside long enough to further enjoy the Orion woman currently sharing his bed. Feeling her stir next to him, he did what a good soldier does….his duty…. One week into his leave, Hannibal discovered peace was not all it was cracked up to be. He found it strange to sleep through the night, and it was perfectly normal for him to sleep with either his Bowie knife or phaser within reach. Starfleet had Counselors available, but they were backed up on appointments from seeing Starfleet personnel...most of whom had seen no ground fighting. Starship duty had its horrors, but none compared to staring a drug-crazed Jem’ Haddar in the face and blowing it off, or sliding your blade through his body. He determined he would have nothing to do with the “couch mice” who were currently infesting the station, and Starbase 375, places where beings went off to war, and some never came back, and others who should not have. There was also a repeated undercurrent…one which was playing out through the Marines and Starfleet personnel…a current of unfinished business. There were those who were ecstatic that Cardassia was little more than smoking ash, and more than a little animosity directed towards the Breen…who had managed to escape their murderous alliance with the Dominion with it seemed little more than a finger- wagging, in the face of the fact that the Breen had attacked Earth, namely Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. Thousands were killed, Starfleet was crippled, and there seemed to no desire for the Federation, or Starfleet, to demand the proper penance for the Breen to pay. Nursing a whiskey in Quarks’ bar, Hannibal was alone, contemplating his plans for the evening. He had begun working out again, and his body welcomed the slight soreness he was feeling. Dressed in civilian clothing, black cargo pants with matching black tee shirt, his considerable muscle bulging from rolled up sleeves, his freshly shaved head and shined, laced up black boots clearly identified him as a soldier, even when not in uniform. Hannibal barely looked up as another gentleman walked in. Hannibal immediately recognized him as a soldier, although he was smaller, than but almost as tall as the six foot four Hannibal. He was older, with greying hair at his temples, and steel gray eyes. Hannibal knew exactly who he was, and he thought it strange that a man of his stature would enter the likes of an establishment like Quarks’. Generals in the Starfleet Marines just did not do such things…unless they had a reason…and as he closed on Hannibal’s’ table, he had to wonder what his reasoning would be to come to see him, here, on leave…As the human approached, he began to smile, but his eyes held firm, locked on his. “Hannibal Parker I presume?” Hannibal took another swig of his whiskey, hearing the ice tinkle in the glass. He had paid good money for the whiskey, and gave and upward glace at the man who stood before him… “Depends on who is asking. And you are?” “May I sit down? I would like to keep our conversation away from prying ears as much as possible.” Quarks’ was known as the place where everything was up for grabs, and for sale…that included information, and as Hannibal looked around the room, the lack of obvious Starfleet personnel and the abundance of disreputable aliens and humanoids made his choice easy, to limit suspicion. Nodding to the empty chair across from him, he beckoned the General to have a seat… “I know who you are, General Murphy. You led the assault to take back Betazed, secure AR-558…and took down a Breen warship which had attacked Earth. Your reputation precedes you.” The General sat down. And smiled. He was pleased Hannibal knew who he was, but now it was his turn to express to Hannibal that he knew him as well… “Captain Hannibal Tiberious Parker. Member of the 27th Marine Expeditionary Unit, combined with the 282nd Unit of the Klingon Defense Forces. Took down two planets during the First Battle Of Chin’toka, captured a weapons platform, first on the ground on Cardassia, plus early on your combined unit was winning engagement after engagement with the Jem’ Haddar and the Cardassians while everyone else was getting the snot beat out of them. You guys were making us proud, Captain….and I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I am sure they died with honor…” Hannibal had been around long enough to tell the difference between genuine concern and garbage when he heard it, and out of respect, he nodded as the General had paid his respects. Looking back towards him, he took another swig of his drink, pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket, and lit it with his fathers’ ancient Zippo lighter… “General…I appreciate your condolences, but I know that is not why you came here to speak to me. What is it you really want?” The General sat back in his chair and regarded the massive, young Marine. He had seen more combat in two years than the General had seen in twenty, and the younger Marines’ rather flippant attitude was something he had been warned about, but Hannibal had earned a reputation for being ruthless in battle, so much so that even the Klingons respected and honored him. It was that kind of grit and toughness the general needed for what he had in mind. Leaning over to make sure only Hannibal could hear him in the crowded bar, Murphy began...” The war may be over, but things are far from settled. Some races did not truly pay for their transgressions against Federation citizens. Against Earth. Against San Francisco.” Before Hannibal could speak, the Generals’ wording was clear…he was talking about attacking the Breen. Spoken resentment was now breeding actions, and the General was recruiting others who had voiced the same opinion. Hannibal maintained his poker face, belying none of his true feelings as the general continued to speak… “There is a meeting tonight. Docking Port Three, upper pylon. Tell the sentry I sent you, that is if you want to make a difference instead of getting drunk, kicking [...] or chasing whores…Consider my offer, Mister Parker. We begin at 1800.” Leaning in closer to Hannibal, the General added one last thing, perhaps the most important thing he could say… “This conversation never happened.” With mutual discrete nods exchanged, the General stood up, and Hannibal watched the officer leave. Pulling a drag off his cigar, and motioning the dabo girl who had been serving him to bring him another drink. He had about three hours to consider the Generals’ offer, one he would give considerable thought to. There was no doubt in his mind what he had in mind, but in Hannibal’s’ mind, it would be worse than treason. As much as he would love to leave the Breen homeworld a smoking cinder in space, the war was over. Although it was costly in men and treasure, victory was theirs. During the war, he would have happily scorched every Breen ship or planet in his sights, but that time was past. The words of his now-dead father rang in his ears…” There is no honor in battle once the enemy has surrendered.” To Hannibal, to even say the word “Breen” left a bad taste in his mouth… Two hours later, particularly well lubricated by copious amounts of real bloodwine and whiskey, Hannibal had to make a decision…well actually, two. The first was whether to tell anyone of the generals’ plans, and the second…who to tell? What if he said nothing and the general did carry out his attack on the Breen? They would be at war again, this time the Federation, and Starfleet, would be the aggressors…and he would once again be the tip of the spear. He figured that the general would count on the “code of silence” which would keep his plans secret, even though he decided not to participate. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He had a sister on Earth who was now his only living relative, and what if his actions indirectly caused her death? Hannibal didn’t want that…this war had deprived them of their parents in a just cause, but this…revenge on a planetary scale? Hannibal then thought about the general, how clean he was. He may have commanded Marines, but he did not have the mark of a man who had seen combat, but saw no difficulty in ordering others to die to further the mission. There were few brass who had ever fought such a grueling campaign they had just finished, and men like that were reluctant to throw men into the fray while they stood back and orchestrated the outcome. Hannibal had been a pawn long enough to men like that. First was Chancellor Gowron, who threw Klingon warriors into the teeth of the Jem’Haddar to further his political aims. More than once it was only timing and dumb luck which had saved their combined unit from disaster from those orders, and Hannibal was not going to do that again, to follow the orders of a madman to further his ego. The first decision…not to go along with the general, was relatively easy. The second question was more daunting. Hannibal knew that he had to tell someone what was being planned, but there were few he could trust with the explosive claims...and that was all they were…with nothing to support it. He had no evidence, no documentation, nothing. He was a grunt going against a Starfleet general, accusing him of treason. He also had no idea how high up the food chain it went, possibly clear up to Admiral Ross. He now had forty-five minutes left to figure out what to do. He looked around the crowded bar, and looked for faces that had been there as long as he had. He was looking for Starfleet personnel who had been there as long as he had. It was relatively early, as the ships currently docked would have most of their crews on liberty, but most did not visit Quark’s until later in the evening…also, if there were those who favored the generals’ views, they would be watching him, checking his next move. He knew who to look for, and in fact, the place had turned over its crowd to such an extent that determining if he was being watched was difficult. At 1745, it was time to make a move. Closing out his tab, Hannibal left Quark’s, and headed out onto the Promenade. Being familiar the layout of Deep Space Nine, instead of making his way to the lift which would take him to the location of the meeting, he headed for the nearest empty corridor and made his way into the access trunks which ran the height and breadth of the massive station. If he was being followed, they would have to come this way, and he waited a perilously long three minutes before he started his climb up the trunk to just outside Ops. It was only two decks, but he knew where he needed to be and come out unseen. His destination: The office of Archer Greene, Starfleet Intelligence. Hannibal popped out of the access trunk, a bit dirty and a little dizzy… the liquor was catching up to him, but after making sure he would not be observed, he popped the hatch on the access trunk, replaced it, and made his way to Greene’s office. Hannibal didn’t like the man much, but he had been invaluable on board the Charleston to his unit when they deployed. He was a snug little snit, but he knew his job and could extrapolate with the best of them. Making sure he was not observed, Hannibal went down the hallway where the mans’ office was now located, in a space not much bigger than a broom closet…in fact, it was a broom closet, with not even a sign on the door denoting its use, the only thing giving it away was the security lock on the door. Feverishly trying the lock, Hannibal worked every conceivable combination he could think of, when the door opened… Greene was sitting at his desk, decorated solely by a computer terminal and a stack of PADDS. He was a shorter man, about five foot eight, mid- thirties, with a shock of gray mixed in with brown hair. He was thin, and his skin was pale from being too long on board a space station or a starship, his clear blue eyes taking in the mountain of young Marine with a slight [...] of his head. He wasn’t quite sure why the Marine didn’t just knock, and he was in no position to fight him. Greene had seen his handiwork in person, and he knew he was no match for him. His best bet was to do what he was good at…extrapolating information from what he saw and heard, and he surmised the Marine has something very important he needed to tell him. In a calm voice, he called out to the man who was now less than ten feet away from him and staring him down the way a predator would eye his next meal… “Mister Parker...you could have knocked”, he said. “What seems to be the trouble?” Hannibal was now standing before the intelligence officer…it was now five minutes before the meeting was to begin. Standing before Greene’s’ desk, Hannibal knew it was now or never. He told him of meeting the general, what he had planned, where the meeting was to take place, and that he had been invited to attend. The intelligence officer listened intently, then leaned back in his office chair...which was scant inches from the bulkhead behind him, and Hannibal wondered if he had made a mistake, and Greene was part of the plot. His mind raced in the silence which had permeated the room since Hannibal had finished his explanation, and Hannibal had begun to think of scenarios on how to escape Deep Space Nine before he himself was caught. If he was wrong in his assessment, his sister would still lose him…not to war, but to becoming a fugitive. Finally, with the meeting time approaching, the intelligence officer spoke… “That’s quite a story, Mister Parker”, he said. “You are aware that those are serious charges you are levelling against a decorated Starfleet officer, a man many would consider a hero?” “It may be one hell of a story, but it’s the truth”, Hannibal said. “Why the frak would I have been trying to pick the lock on your office door to lie to you? I have no evidence other than a conversation I had three hours ago. Either you believe me or you don’t. General Murphy wants to start a war, so what the hell are you going to do?” Greene looked at Hannibal, a man whom he would now test the trust between them. Working with Hannibal on board the Charleston, Greene knew he was a man of honor, and the PADD which held details of the meeting Hannibal had just confirmed lay concealed on his desk under his hands. That PADD held names, dates, places…even the targets in Breen space. Hannibal had only scratched the surface on how big the plot really was, but sharing that information was something he could not do with him. Looking up at the Marine, who now seemed to be taking up the entire office, he made a note on a PADD, then he looked up at the brooding killing machine which was Hannibal Parker… “Hannibal,” he said, choosing his words carefully,” There is a transport leaving for Risa in fifteen minutes. Be on it. Speak to no one. Burn the rest of your leave time there. Leave the way you came. Report back to your unit on time. Is that clear?” Hannibal looked deeply in his eyes. There was no deception there, and the unspoken message was clear…Nodding his head in understanding, Hannibal spoke: “Risa is nice this time of year. Thank you…and good luck.” Leaving Greene’s’ office, Hannibal did as he was instructed and went to Risa. Returning from leave, news broke about a Dominion War hero being arrested. The hero…General Simon Murphy. Major Hannibal Tiberious Parker Marine Commander USS Thunder-A/Duronis II Embassy

((Sulu Auditorium, Starfleet Academy, San Francisco)) It was an impressive space, he had to admit it. Even if it was familiar and familiarity bred contempt, the design of the auditorium was sweeping and majestic, capable of housing hundred in its seats and with the kind of carefully arranged acoustics that rendered the PA system and microphone all but unnecessary. That didn’t mean that Admiral Adrian West was particularly looking forward to having to spend the next hour or so sitting in it. At least these days he got a front seat, and with a nod to his colleagues he lowered himself into a seat between Admiral John Matthew Everington II and Admiral Tolira sh’Hail. He gave the Andorian tactician a polite gesture of acknowledgement as he parked himself with the kind of noises his father used to make getting in and out of his armchair of an evening, and yawned behind his hand. “First one to fall asleep buys the first round.” Everington leaned over and murmured. “Push off Jack, those odds are rigged.” West snorted in amusement. Everington grinned and ran a hand through his snow-white hair. “I seem to recall you giving one of these debates, many moons ago. With Admiral Saito presiding.” He pointed out. “Mmm hmm.” West grunted. “And I’m sure she slept through the whole fething thing.” “Ladies, Gentlemen and other genders not otherwise covered, welcome to the 123rd Annual Graduands Debate, where two of our best performing final-year cadets debate a controversial topic of our times.” Just incase anyone didn’t read the instructions. Standing on a box at the central podium Admiral Heraan glowered from under his bushy brows at the assembled cadets and officers, pausing for a moment to glare at two old codgers in Rear Admiral’s pips in the front row who were chuckling at something. “As most of you know I like a good argument,” the Tellarite stated the obvious, “but they foolishly won’t let me participate in these things any more! So instead I give you our top ranking final year cadets. From the Command stream, Cadet First Class William Bourke, and from the Tactical stream, Cadet Vanyeris.” The two cadets took to the stage to polite applause. Will Bourke was a tall, muscular Terran man with rough good looks, sandy hair and an easy smile which he flashed at his classmates in the audience. Vanyeris was a petite Vulcan female with waist-length black hair that she wore held back with a metal headband, and bright green eyes. She carried herself with the dignity of Vulcan reserve as the two took their seats. “An argument’s no good without something worthwhile to argue over,” said Heraan, “and the topic of today’s debate is ‘We Should Come In Peace’.” There was a polite murmur of anticipation from the audience. “Cadet Bourke will take the Affirmative.” Heraan ceded the podium and a first year Cadet moved his standing box so that Will Bourke could take his place at the podium. “Sirs, ma’ams, fellow cadets and citizens of the Federation.:: Bourke began, flashing his smile and leaning in to the microphone. “The United Federation of Planets is built on the premise of peace. Cooperation between her member species is what makes the Federation not only strong, but a bastion of liberty, sentient rights and equality in the Galaxy. When the first five founded the Federation it was built on these principles, and it is our duty to uphold them and to carry them to other species; potential new member nations.” “The dream is strong in this one.” Admiral Everington murmured laconically, watching Bourke expound on the virtues of Federation with hope in his voice and stars in his eyes. “Mmm hmm.” West grunted, watching the proceedings with a somewhat dubious expression. “With any luck that dream won’t be dashed too quickly.” Everington gave him a dry look. “I’m sure we were like that once.” “Pfft.” West snorted. “We were never that young.” “Peace allows cooperation, peace brings growth and prosperity and a better life for all who partake in it. If we uphold the rights of all sentients to live free from fear and hardship, to grow to their full potential, then we must reach out to our brethren with the olive branch, not the sabre. With every new member planet the Federation grows in potential, which is why in every new First Contact situation, we must ensure that we come in peace. To do otherwise is to rob ourselves of our future brothers. Thank you.” Bourke sat down and Heraan nodded to Cadet Vanyeris who made her way sedately to the podium and paused to scan her audience before beginning. “Admirals, Ambassadors, Officers, fellow cadets; citizens of the Federation.” She began. “‘We must come in peace’.” She let the words hang there for a moment. “As my honoured fellow cadet has so eloquently expressed, the ideal of peaceful cooperation and prosperity for all is the basis on which the Federation was formed; but it is just that, an ideal. And it is not an ideal which all species share.” Green eyes scanned the crowd. “Whilst it would be preferable to always welcome new species with welcome arms, we would then leave ourselves open in turn. Consider the Borg, consider the Dominion. Not all species will come to us in peace and so we must be cautious. Peace is always to be held in preference, but we must be prepared to defend it from those who do not respect it, lest we leave our own peace open to exploitation. And so I say, we must proceed with caution; we cannot always afford to come in peace.” As the Vulcan woman spoke Admiral West leaned slightly towards Admiral Everington and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I have to admit I wondered how she was going to tackle that one.” Everington nodded slightly. “Difficult. Vulcans are some of the biggest proponents of peace in the Federation.” He agreed. “They’re also the Universe’s best Devil’s Advocates.” West observed dryly. His comment was rewarded with a chuckle. "Yes, we should retain peace as the ideal, for without our ideals and principles the Federation has no basis. But we must be cautious of those who would not treat us as we would treat them. Whilst it would be preferable to come in peace, ultimately we should proceed with caution." The audience started to murmur as Vanyeris left the podium but died down as Cadet Bourke returned. His smile this time was less bright and somewhat more condescending. “The Borg, the Dominion.” He paused. “My fellow cadet resorts to scare-mongering. Yes there are aggressive species out there, governments who might seek to do us harm, but we cannot colour the multitude of new alien civilisations with the one applicator. The Federation is comprised of one hundred and fifty member governments, across thousands of stars, all living in harmony. How different would the map look today, if we had not approached those new peoples in peace?” He shot a look at Vanyeris. “Don’t get personal.” Admiral West muttered under his breath. “Surely not.” Everington commented. “This is supposed to be entertaining.” “These two don’t get along very well.” West said. “Why? They’re not even in the same stream.” “History.” And even when Everington gave him a pointed look,West declined to elaborate. “One hundred and fifty member governments, ladies and gentlemen.Yes other species have approached us aggressively, and at times we have had to defend ourselves. But I invite my fellow Cadet to provide us with an example of when, in the history of the Federation, it has proven a mistake for us to approach others in peace.” With a confident glance at the Vulcan woman now rising from her seat, Bourke resumed his own. Vanyeris took the podium, her stereotypically neutral expression betrayed nothing. She didn’t look in Bourke’s direction but rather at the audience in front of her, and spoke a single word with perfect diction. “Khitomer.” A murmur rose again from the audience. “What is she getting at?” Everington hissed. “Shh!” West snapped. “The Khitomer Accords.” She said again. “An example where the offering of peace was a mistake.” She might have been reading a computing manual for all the inflection in her voice, but her careful diction carried. “The Klingons and the Federation had been at war for generations until the Klingon moon of Praxis exploded, crippling the Klingon energy supply and endangering life on Qo’no’S. For the Federation it was a reprieve, but that was all. As Cadet Bourke so strongly advocates, when the Klingons solicited an olive branch, we extended it. We acted on the assumption that, at the end, their values were our values and they would honour the peace as we would. History has shown us our forefathers’ mistake. Even now the Klingons worry our borders. That is our reward for the fact that we came in peace.” As Vanyeris sat down the murmur in the audience grew until Admiral Heraan had to call for silence from a side microphone. “Thank you everyone! Controversial topics are chosen for a reason, it makes for a livelier debate! And it is just a debate. Cadet Bourke your closing comments please.” “You're sure she’s not a Romulan?” The comment earned Admiral Everington a dubious look from Admiral West. “I mean that’s not exactly a party line, and shouldn’t she be called ‘T’Pren’ or something?” “She’s following orders.” West shrugged. “And she’s some ethnic minority from Han-Shir, there’s a few of them in the Fleet.” Though by all accounts they weren’t always easy to work with. “Still…” “What?” There was a long silence from West, but Everington kept looking at him. Eventually he spoke. “Does the name Bourke mean anything to you?” “It’s pretty common Westy.” Everington protested. “How about Yeoman Bourke? From the Enterprise-A? Bells starting to ring?” He growled. “You mean he’s...?” “Grandson.” West confirmed. “But surely she’s not...” West just nodded. He was watching with a sour expression as Heraan shout down the noisiest in the audience so that Bourke could reply. Everington forced a more jovial tone into his voice. “Still, you can’t punish the son for the sins of the father.” “It’s not the father I’m worried about.” Cadet Bourke took the podium for the final time, and his charismatic smile was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to take a moment to collect himself before finally offering a smile that West thought looked about as geniune as his great-grandmother’s teeth. “I hadn’t known that Vulcans had learned how to joke.” He began. “I asked for a mistake and my fellow cadet gives me our crowning glory. When else has so unlikely a peace been achieved against such great odds, and to such great mutual advantage? The Federation border secured by an alliance with an old enemy, an end to attacks on Starfleet ships, stations and colonies? Because of the Khitomer Accords we have been able to focus our attention on progress and growth rather than an arms race. The Klingons fought at our side against the Dominion. We have hosted officer exchanges and gained new insight into each other’s cultures, which can only bolster understanding. How can any of this have been a mistake? I tell you that Khitomer was a success. We must come in peace, because that is the only way forward. Our forefathers were willing to forget the past and deal with the Klingons as they wanted them to deal with us; and because of their foresight and open-mindedness, we have enjoyed a lifetime of peace.” Bourke sat down with a sense of finality and to a smattering of applause which died away as Vanyeris rose to her feet. She returned to the podium with the same dignity with which she’d approached the whole proceedings. “A life-time of peace.” She echoed in the same calm tones. “A Terran lifetime, perhaps. An Andorian lifetime, or a Tellarite one. But not a Vulcan one. Not a Romulan one. Certainly not an El-Aurian one. It is all too easy to view the future in short terms, to forget our children's children and drown out those who urge caution and a long-term view, to our detriment. For, as Terran’s say, the leopard does not change it’s spots.” Those green eyes scanned the audience again. They were listening, though few seemed to be finding the experience entertaining. “Peace with the Klingons gave both sides time to focus on other things.” She acknowledged Bourke’s point. “The Federation focused on growth, on development, on research, on exploration. The Klingons focused on rebuilding their world and then, their military fleet. And with their military capabilities rebuilt, they were in the perfect position to take advantage of the misfortune of others.” There was an edge to her voice. “Where the Klingons in their plight were offered the olive branch, following the Hobus Supernova they have offered the Romulans only the predator’s teeth. The Federation's own borders have not been spared; every opportunity they have to bite the very hand that fed them they take. Yes, the Khitomer Accords have been proven a mistake; the Klingons are not to be trusted." The words echoed through the silence, and through the years. “That’s not true!” The perfect accoustics of the Sulu Auditorium carried Cadet Bourke’s voice without the need for any amplification. The murmuring audience was stunned into silence as, it seemed, was Cadet Vanyeris. “You cannot believe that!” Bourke insisted, advancing on the podium. His face was red. “It’s people like you who would sabotage the peace that we live in. People like you who undermine all that we strive for, and damage countless lives in the process. Do you even hear what you’re saying, or did you learn to parrot it all on your mother’s knee?” The mutter of the crowd was rising as Bourke broke protocol. Vanyeris raised one cool eyebrow at him. “Did she even think, when she acted? Did she even care how many deaths would be on her hands? How close she came to sabotaging the peace process?” Bourke demanded. “Did she spare one single thought for the boy left orphaned when she shot his father? I never knew my grandfather!” Suddenly he seemed to realise where he was, pointing an accusatory finger in the Vulcan woman’s face with everyone in the audience as witness. Rather than back down he turned and raised his hands to appeal to those there. “Did the traiterous Valeris even comprehend how everything she did went against everything we stood for, how she could have destroyed the soul of the Federation?” The audience stared in stunned silence, all except Admiral West who got to his feet and, sighting on the tech up in the gallery, made furious throat-cutting motions. Shut it all down, now! On the stage Bourke seemed to realise that everyone was just staring at him, and his hands started to lower. The PA system went dead, but the Auditorium didn’t need it, the acoustics were too good. Unperturbed, vanyeris clasped her hands behind her back and addressed Bourke directly, her flawless diction carrying over the stunned crowd. “Following the Hobus Supernova The Klingons invade Romulan space in the Romulan’s moment of need.” She said, every word distinct. She started to walk a slow circle around Bourke. “They prey upon them like animals. ‘No hand that does not hold a blade’.” She took another step. “They invade our allies and possible future Federation members on Duronis II.” Another step. “They attack the USS Drake at Gateway Station, and attempted to mine the USS Avandar.” Another step. “Finally, they occupy Thracian space, requiring the intervention of Starfleet to prevent the subjugation of millions of sentient beings.” She stopped walking. “Are these the actions of a people who seek peace?” She asked Bourke, whose face had gone from red to white. It was a rhetorical question. A moment later and she spun on one heel to face the stunned audience. “My mother knew exactly what she was doing, she simply had more foresight than most. 'Klingons cannot be trusted'. In light of these most recent events, I ask you to ask yourselves an honest question.” “Was she wrong?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lieutenant Commander Saveron Chief Medical Officer USS Mercury

((Admiral Kyle Colt’s Office; Starbase 285 – Earth Year 2380)) “Fools… All of them, fools…” He tossed his PADD angrily back to his desk, the neatly organized stack of PADDs knocked asunder, then stood and walked over to the office’s viewport. His blue eyes flicked to the walls of his office as his hand came up to scratch his neatly groomed white goatee. His office contained the usual knick knacks that one acquired over a lengthy Starfleet career; models and paintings of his previous commands, decorative trinkets from a dozen worlds, and an odd Tarkelian beaver statue that had been inexplicably placed in his quarters back when he was an Ensign that he could never quite bring himself to get rid of. None of those familiar objects, and not even the expanse of stars and brilliant nebula beyond, could return calm to his mind. Five years… It had been five long years since the end of the Dominion War, and the start of the pacification of Starfleet. No. This was not a comment against Starfleet’s mission to explore the galaxy and learn all that could be learned. Peaceful exploration and pacification were two entirely different things. He knew what needed to be done. The question was, if he made this leap, would anyone one follow? There was a chime at his office door. Without looking, the admiral spoke. “Enter.” Another human, with four gold pips on his collar, stepped through the door. His brown eyes were sharp, and he was young enough to still have color in his hair. Quickly, his eyes turned to the admiral. “Admiral Colt. You wanted to see me, sir?” “Yes, Captain, I did.” The admiral finally turned. Much as he wanted to, he could not manage even a small smile for his long time colleague. The topic of the day was far too grave. “Grab a chair, Dan. You’ll want to sit after hearing this.” Captain Daniel Rainsford approached, taking a seat at Admiral Colt’s desk as the admiral sat in his own chair. Admiral Colt grabbed the newest offending PADD from where it had landed and held it to the captain. “Read this.” The captain did, his eyes flicking quickly across its screen. The further we went, the more his eyebrows furrowed. “They can’t be serious…” Admiral Colt’s head gave a rueful nod. “They are, Dan. They are.” The admiral sighed, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Starfleet’s analyzed Voyager’s mission report and sensor data from their Fury incident.” The Furies: a conglomeration of extremely powerful races which had once ruled the Alpha Quadrant. They had been cast out millennia ago, though had long wished to return to retake their positions of power. During the mid twenty-third century, they had made their first attempt by sending one ship through an artificial wormhole, only to be stopped by an unlikely temporary alliance between the Klingon Empire and Captain James T. Kirk. Their second attempt came over a hundred years later, back in 2371, with a much larger fleet and more stable artificial wormhole technology. A five ship combined Federation-Klingon fleet led by the Enterprise-D managed to stop them. Voyager had encountered them during their long voyage home, in the Delta Quadrant. The Furies intent was to send an entire planet with billions of their people and an armada of ships through a massive artificial wormhole to launch their final invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. Voyager’s crew managed to deflect their wormhole, halting this last attempt. Admiral Colt continued. “The science folks at Starfleet Command have concluded that the Furies were, in fact, sent into the Small Magellanic Cloud galaxy. Almost 200,000 lightyears away. Thus, they conclude that the Furies are no longer a threat to the Alpha Quadrant. Therefore, Starfleet Command will no longer train any new cadet as to the existence of the Furies.” Captain Rainsford’s head shook slightly. “Why, sir? Are they afraid they’ll make the kids wet their pants unnecessarily, or something?” The admiral also shook his head. “No… No, it’s not that. It’s a continuation of the trend which started five years ago.” He reached up to his face, scratching at his goatee once again. “Starfleet Command does not want to even consider the possibility of another war.” “Can you really blame them, though?” Captain Rainsford leaned forward, elbows against his legs. “I mean… We took major losses against the Dominion. Earth itself got hit.” “I know,” the admiral said. “I was there.” “So far, the Dominion has been abiding by the peace treaty. The Furies…” He paused in thought for a moment before he continued. “200,000 lightyears is pretty blasted far.” Admiral Colt nodded. “It is, Dan. Yet…” He gestured to the now disorganized pile of PADDs between them, “I’ve never seen any verification that the Dominion abide by the treaty. No reconnaissance missions, barely any visits to the Gamma Quadrant. For all we know, they’ve been rebuilding their forces on the other side of the Bajoran wormhole and will strike us next week. Every time I hear of anyone suggesting we get a ship or two over there on a permanent basis, to continue our mission of exploration, of course, is shot down. ‘We don’t want to offend the Dominion’ they say.” The captain sighed, his eyes dropping. Admiral Colt knew that Captain Rainsford agreed with him. His old friend was also an optimist. That made him a pretty solid devil’s advocate to the admiral’s pessimism. “What of Constable Odo, though? The reports I read indicated he’d rejoined the… what was it called? The Great Link? If all the Founders are connected, then I doubt they’d be able to plan anything like this without him knowing.” “Who says he wouldn’t know?” the admiral asked. “Him against an entire planet of his people. Now, I didn’t know him, personally, and I only have respect for him based on what I’ve read, but I don’t know of anyone who could stand up to that kind of peer pressure.” Captain Rainsford considered for a moment, before sighing and shaking his head yet again. “And when it comes to the Furies,” Admiral Colt said, “200,000 lightyears is nothing to people who have working artificial wormhole technology. A wormhole took them to… where ever they landed. A wormhole could easily bring them back.” The admiral leaned forward once again. “Starfleet has forgotten why a strong defense is required. If not for the Dominion, if not for the Furies, then for whoever the next force is that will try to strip the people of the Federation of their way of life. Eternal vigilance, Dan. THAT is the price of liberty.” The captain’s face started to turn red. It was clear that he was growing steadily more uncomfortable with the conversation. He shook his head once more. “That’s… That’s not how Starfleet is seeing this. Our vigilance is in our patrols, our long-range sensors, our ability to see what’s coming and prepare for the hit.” Admiral Colt’s voice calmed, trying to sooth his old friend’s nerves. “It’s making sure that we’re strong enough that no one dares hit us.” The captain’s head shook almost constantly. “That’s not what the Federation stands for. It’s not what the people want!” “I know it’s not, Dan,” the admiral said, his voice still calm but now firm. “That’s where we come in. When our leaders are no longer willing to make the tough calls for the benefit of the Federation, it’s our responsibility to find leaders who will.” There was absolute silence in the admiral’s office as both men considered the implications of that statement. It was Captain Rainsford who spoke first, his voice quiet but his tone direct. “You’re talking about a mutiny.” Admiral Colt shook his head. “No. I’m talking about a coup.” The words had been uttered. There was no going back. “Admiral… It can’t be as serious as that, can it? There must be another way.” “There isn’t,” the admiral replied. “I’ve tried to get my point across over every official channel, and all the unofficial ones I have. Even those who agree with me refuse to act, or to even speak on my behalf. I see no other way to convince the Federation of the truth.” Captain Rainsford was silent for several long moments as he considered all that had been said over the past minutes. “You’re asking me if I agree with you? And if I’ll join you?” Admiral Colt nodded. “That is correct.” “You realize that we can’t do this alone.” Another nod. “That is also correct. And I don’t fool myself into thinking our fleet’s captains will be easy to convince… though I do believe they will come around.” “And if we fail, we’ll be considered traitors of the Federation.” The admiral actually gave a quiet chuckle at that. “Dan, I am fairly certain that we’ll be considered traitors even if we succeed. What matters is the future of the Federation, and its survival, even if we're not there to see it.” Captain Rainsford gave one last sigh… and a very slow nod. “Well, then, Admiral… Where do to start?”

The lush forest was ripe with the acrid smells of vegetation. Sweet honeysuckle, fragrant lilacs, and pungent mosses filled the oxygen controlled and filtered air in the habitat ring. The chirping and singing of whippoorwills and sparrows provided a musical back drop as rich as a symphony. The ambient light, at 50 percent of daylight, back dropped by the dark of the planet's surface outside the transparent aluminum enclosure lent an ethereal quality perfect for a romantic escape. Johnna Watson, a tall, blonde haired beauty with porcelain skin and eyes that sparkled like a Cerulean Ocean under the bright noon day sun, sat under the out stretched arms of the Risan Goolkos tree, letting the warm, artificial sunlight bathe her in its glow. Her eyes traced the outline of her shadow on the ground to the point where the fingers interlocked with a taller, huskier shadow cast by a most handsome man. A single tear ran down her cheek. It sparkled like a jewel. It was a tear of joy, not sadness. The moment she had hoped for was finally here. Hesitantly, with a tremolo in his voice that adumbrated his angst, Thomas was broaching the question she had longed to hear. He spoke of their weeks together. He regaled her with his dreams of a wondrous future for them and for their people. He spoke of undying love and intertwined fates. "Johnna Watson, will you join me and become Mrs. Thomas Poston?" he asked as he gently held her demure hands in his. She felt the strength and security his hands offered, and the promise of a future filled with love and companionship. It was all she had wanted since shortly after they had met. Never before had she met someone who had filled her mind so intensely and completely so quickly. "Yes" she said softly as he kissed the back of her hand. Her single tear became a stream. His kiss followed her slender arm to the curve of her shoulder, lingering briefly before reaching for her lips. Their lips met softly, with a kiss that held both the joy of relief and the anticipation of a future of countless wonders. The rest of the evening was a haze. They went back to her parents home and shared their plans for the future. They told Mr. and Mrs. Watson of the grand-children in their future, and the days spent making each other happy. They spoke of deep, abiding love. The joy of a kiss. The anticipation of separation. They told her parents of a sudden and all-consuming love. Johnathan Watson gave the two his blessing. He told them of a fathers' gratitude that his daughter had found such a wonderful young man who made her happy. He wished them a happy future with large numbers of children and a household filled with the sounds of little feet, and laughing, and joy and love. No one noticed the suddenly vacant look in Johnnas' eyes, or the puzzled look that slowly spread across her face. Later that night, as she lay looking through the curved, transparent wall of her bedroom, she stared into the indigo abyss above. Her gaze remained focused on a solitary bright star, but her mind was not there. Bizarre thoughts ran through her head. It was hard to know where reality ended and nightmare began. Another habitat ring filled her mind. Barely past dawn, she was in a field on her knees. She was pulling Venetian radishes from the ground. She pulled radishes until the large basket beside her was filled to the brim. There would be no end to the work. When one basket was full, a drone swooped in and hoisted it away as another swooped in behind, leaving an empty basket in its place. And the cycle continued. On and on and on until an omnipresent siren interrupted the silence. "Prepare for nourishment" monotoned a mechanical voice, devoid of humanity. She turned and sat, waiting for the drone to deliver the gray paste that contained all the nutrition she would need to survive. She was young. She couldnt have been more than thirteen years old at the time. She was one of the older girls out in the fields. She looked around her and wondered what happened to the children as they reached her age. Suddenly, someone who worked in the next row would be gone. There would be no explanation. There was never an explanation. There was never conversation. There was never any recreation. There was the work. There were the drones. There was the paste. There were the radishes, never to be eaten, but merely harvested. There were fields. There were many fields. They all seemed different, but there was really no way to tell, for a child of one field could not venture to the next. There was heat, and sweat, and dirt, and smell and stench, and sleep. But even the sleep lacked rest, for the sleep was in the field where the workday ended. When sleep was over, work began again. Somehow, she knew these thoughts, like a distant dream, were somehow real. She knew that the girls name was Leialla. She knew Leialla had worked in the fields since she had been able to walk, and would continue to do so for only a short time. Until the day she awoke on the MedBed. She was clean. For the first time in her life, she was not black with the rancid soil and mud that she worked in from dawn until dusk. The room was clean, sterile, and bright. There were The Others in white who hovered over her, but she could not move. Something held her in place. She was bound by the arms and the legs. Her head she could not move. The Others spoke in words she could not understand. This had been her first memory implant. That had been the first time she knew language, and order, and fear. But, it had not been her last implant. That implant had not succeeded and she had slowly lost the ability to retain the memories they had given her. She had lost the ability to reason. The loss had not been complete, however, when they had returned her to the lab for re-implantation. She had retained enough language skills to overhear their conversations. She learned of the children working the fields to harvest crops until adolescence. She learned of abduction and memory implants with memories of false families and assigned loved ones. She learned of genetic manipulation to improve the species. Implanted maternal instincts would ensure the survival of the species. But, her implants were failing.again. She couldnt let anyone know. She had to retain her false memories. She had to retain them for a time. Long enough to find others like her. Long enough to start something. Was it treason... .or revolution?

That's right! Beginning with the September and October Writing Challenge, we have available for you a downloadable PDF that contains all of the entries from the Writing Challenge round. Winners will get a special write-up on the first page. Now you can add the stories to your computer or mobile device and read them at your leisure! Our first compilation is available right here!

Thanks to our great writers who entered this September and October Challenge! Just in time for Halloween, I'm pleased to bring you the judges' decision and our feedback. I was incredibly happy to see the diversity of stories here, from a character-action piece to a second-person mythos narrative to some alternate history via time travel to the story of a tribble fancier. Well done, all! The judges were unanimous, however, in deciding that "Yesterday's Tomorrow," courtesy of Chris, the writer behind Sinda Essen and Jhen Thelev, should win this contest. The Challenge's runner-up, then, is "Diplomatic Impunity (or 'The Tribble with Troubles')," courtesy of Sarah, the writer behind Saveron. All my congratulations to both of you, and please watch the Community News around mid-November and -December for more about these authors and their stories! My special thanks to my fellow judges for this round -- the writers behind Fleet Captain Toni Turner and our special guest, last Challenge's winner, Lieutenant Ben Livingston. Writers and all interested parties will find individual feedback posted below this message. Please feel free to use this thread to offer your congratulations to the winning writers!

Greetings, everyone, and welcome to our second-to-last Writing Challenge of 2013! I'm glad you could stop by, and I hope you'll give this Challenge a read and then decide to enter your story for consideration. For this Challenge, Will -- the writer behind Lieutenant Ben Livingston and the winner of the July & August "Under My Skin" Challenge -- would like you to consider the topic "What Will Come." The Challenge dares you to consider the implications of action -- or perhaps of inaction -- upon the future, if you prefer, but remember that in Trek, what will come is not necessarily always in the future. Certainly, with the developments in 118 fleet in the past year or so, including the Small War with the Klingons in last year's blockbusters, the resurfacing of the Iconian gateways in this year's, and the recent addition of slipstream travel to many ships in the fleet, "what will come" has never been muddier. However, that's up to you to determine, and the judges look forward to receiving your entries! The deadline for this Challenge is Friday, October 25th, and as of today, Monday, September 2nd, this Challenge is open! As always, please remember:*Your work must be completely original.*You must be the sole author of the work.*Your story must take place in the Star Trek universe, but may not center upon canon characters. *Sign your final draft as you would a post on your ship.*Your story must be between 300 and 3000 words. For any questions you might have, remember that you can always post questions to this thread or visit the Writing Challenge website. Good luck!

Yesterday's Tomorrow “Our people have never had it so good.” Harold Macmillan, 1957 Charles Warrington couldn’t help but smile as he opened the curtains and gazed upon the new day. A bright yellow summer sun was already shining in the clear blue sky making the River Thames positively sparkle.Only a decade on from the end of the war and London was rebuilt bigger, brighter and more beautiful than she had ever been before the blitz. Charles smiled again, relishing his not-insignificant part in that restoration.But there would be time for such happy thoughts later - right now Charles had to prepare for a busy day. The offices of the Federated Industries Company loomed over their surroundings. The rapid growth of the building over the last seven years or so echoing the fortunes of the company itself. The post-war years had seen a massive appetite for new products and new technology and FICo had been the ones to provide both. And now their designs were everywhere. Quite literally.Charles smoothed the creases from his all-in-one pinstripe UniFit as he stepped out of the tube station and gazed up at the building. A quick check of the time on his PIDD showed he was running exactly ten minutes early. Perfect. Today was a big day, a board meeting to discuss the development of their latest invention, one which Charles was especially proud of. It was no exaggeration to say that FICo had already changed the world, but this was the big one. After this, things would never be the same again. * * * “This, gentlemen, this is the big one!” Charles took the opportunity to share a smile with the assembled board members. “It gives me great pleasure to present to you…” he paused for effect. “The InstaReplimaker!” He gestured to his assistant and she unveiled the poster with a practiced flourish. The image of a large, bulky, complicated piece of machinery sat in the centre, surrounded by smiling families as a queue of happy people lined up to receive items from a hatch in its side - a toy plane, a new pipe, a steaming casserole.The board members sat around the table applauded appreciatively as Charles gave a slight bow and beamed. “Well I must say the chaps in advertising have done a sterling job once again.” This was Masterson, from accounting, a reliable old stooge. “And I for one am very keen to know exactly what it does.” “Of course, Mr Masterson. Simply put, the InstaReplimaker is capable of producing anything you wish for, instantly!” Charles held up his hands to bring quiet to the sudden eruption of excited voices. “Now, I know that sounds far-fetched, but didn’t people say the same about the Teleconferencer? Or the Translator-tron? And look at them now! Haven’t we always excelled at providing tomorrow’s technology today?” Sir Bainbridge was the next to speak up, of course. The head of the company had been knighted three years ago after the success of the Translator-tron in re-establishing the League of Nations. “Alright, Warrington, you’ve certainly got our attention. Now, this device, does it just create things out of thin air?” “No Sir, that would indeed be a little far-fetched. No, the InstaReplimaker simply transforms matter, any matter really, into new shapes. But the possibilities are quite dazzling. Imagine if the toy stores have run out of the one present little Billy truly wants for Christmas, why simply replimake your own! Or perhaps you have unexpected house guests for Sunday lunch and your wife doesn’t have time to pick up another roast, then why not replimake some extra dinner?” “Really? This thing can make food, too?” Chapman, head of HR. “Oh yes,” Charles nodded. “I myself had a cup of tea from the prototype this morning. What’s more, as it transforms matter, it will also revolutionize the waste disposal industry. No more landfills, just put your rubbish into the InstaReplimaker and turn it into something useful instead.” “Well, that is quite remarkable.” Chapman frowned. “Hold on, though, if this machine can do all these things won’t that put people out of work? Farmers, shopkeepers, factory workers. My word! Won’t this change the whole economy?” “I imagine so, Mr Chapman. And Federated Industries will be at the forefront of those changes. But I’ll leave such matters to you, gentlemen. Rather out of my league, I fear.” Sir Bainbridge cleared his throat. “How soon will your boys be able to produce these, Warrington?” “Some time yet, Sir. We’re having difficulty with the size and the power source. It uses quite a phenomenal amount of energy. I’ll be speaking to Dr Hope this afternoon. But we hope to have some factory models ready by the end of the year.” “Very good. I’ll be expecting regular updates. Thank you, Warrington, you may go. Masterson, do you have the growth figures for the second quarter?” Charles was still smiling happily as he watched his assistant gather together the presentation items. * * * The scientific research centre formed the central core of FICo’s building. Charles wound his way up the stairs to the top floor development laboratory, or the ideas room as they liked to call it, pausing to exchange brief pleasantries with the security guards along the way.The room was the usual quiet hum of activity, lit as always by the bright white glow emanating from behind the partition at the far end. Dr Hope himself was already there, flicking through something on a clipboard, and gave a warm smile when Charles entered. “Ah, Charles! Tell me, how was the meeting? Did the board like the design?” “How could they not, Doctor?” Charles replied. “Sir Bainbridge is keen to be kept informed. Have you made any progress on the power problem at all?” “Not so far.” Hope shook his head. “It’s causing some problems, but now we have the prototype running I have a few ideas for items which might help.” “You never cease to amaze me, Doctor.” Charles marvelled. “You have such a knack for getting these things to work. Speaking of which, have we received anything new today?” The pair of them turned to look down the room towards the light. Dr Hope drew a large collection of keys from his pocket and started forward. “Let’s see, shall we?” It took some time to navigate the locks before they opened the door and stepped behind the partition. The light here was almost blinding, pouring from the object which floated in mid-air in front of them. It always made Charles uncomfortable to look at it directly, it was like a large funnel much wider at one end and shrinking to a point at the other. It undulated slowly, constantly moving, a waterspout of pure energy disappearing eternally down a giant plug hole, although there was certainly no plug to be seen or any indication of what might be on the other side of the portal.But items would appear out of it from time to time, items of such fantastic technology they had the power to change the world. FICo’s main job was trying to adapt that technology for public consumption. “Nothing new yet, Charles. Although I must admit I’m rather glad. I have enough on my plate as it is!” Charles merely nodded absently. Nobody asked where the objects came from anymore, that simply wasn’t the done thing, and speculation tended to make Dr Hope rather upset. But everyone wondered, of course. Charles had formed his own opinion some time ago but for some reason today, staring into the portal, he felt particularly ill at ease, his previously cheery disposition seeming to evaporate in the white light. “Doctor, do you ever wonder if there’s someone on the other side there deliberately sending us these things, or is it merely chance?” “Not only do I not wonder, Charles, neither do I care.” He gestured towards the glowing portal. “I cannot begin to explain the science behind this thing, but I hardly think there is a person at the other end popping these things in! No, it is merely some sort of cosmic chance and a very fortuitous one at that.” He fixed Charles with a penetrating look. “I regard it as a gift, and so should you, Charles. If we didn’t make use of it I’m sure somebody else would have done. And it’s unlike you to be questioning this providence, is there something on your mind?” “I’m sorry, perhaps it’s just the excitement of the new Replimaker. It just started me thinking of what the future holds. For the company, I mean.” He hurriedly added. “Of course, dear boy, of course.” Hope placed a friendly arm around Charles’s shoulder and guided him back towards the door. “We’re all interested in the company’s fortunes, of course. But don’t you worry, I’ll sort out this power problem in no time, you’ll see, and we’ll soon get back to our good work.” “In no time… Yes, yes of course Doctor Hope. Thank you for you time, I’ll be sure to let Sir Bainbridge know how you’re getting on.” Charles glanced over his shoulder at the portal once more before Dr Hope pulled the door closed with a resounding clang. He seemed eager for Charles to be leaving and Charles, for his part, was eager to distance himself from that thing. Something had felt different about it today and Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps there was some significance in that, as if he was missing something important.Shaking his head he put the thought to the back of his mind and hurried down the stairs. He still had plenty of work to be done to prepare the world for the InstaReplimaker, after all. * * * Charles’s smile had been replaced by a thoughtful frown that evening as he made his way home, the train travelling to the very outskirts of the city. The station tended to be deserted at this hour, but tonight there was someone stood on the platform, waiting. As Charles stepped off the train the figure spoke. “Mr Warrington?” “Yes?” Charles frowned. The figure was a woman, quite short and with a peculiar accent. As the train pulled away the carriage lights flashed across her revealing the UniFit she was wearing. Charles noted the design; black with teal-coloured shoulders and three curious brass buttons on the collar. Some cheap version from overseas he surmised, only made more obvious by the triangular knock-off Translator-tron broach pinned to the front of her clothing. “Do I know you, miss?” “No yet, but I do know you and I know what you’ll do.” “What I’ll do?” Charles asked, confused. “I’m sorry but I have no intentions other than getting home, having a cup of tea and running a hot bath.” “I’m not talking about tonight, Mr Warrington. I’m talking about the future.” She took a step closer, the light falling across her short blond hair. “My name is Charlotte Carr and I’m from a planet in the Alpha Centauri system.” “An alien?” Charles scoffed “I trust you are not being serious!” “No, not an alien, I’m as human as you. I’m a time traveller.” The woman narrowed her eyes as Charles hesitated. “You find that easier to believe, don’t you, Mr Warrington? Because you know such a thing is possible.” Charles somehow found his voice again. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was curt. “Now I really must bid you good night, miss.” “I know about the replimaker.” She smiled slightly as Charles stopped in his tracks. “Although where I come from we call it a replicator. Semantics, I suppose, it still does the same thing, turning one form of matter into another.” “How did you find out about that?” Charles tried to make his voice angry to hide his fear. “I told you, I’m a time traveller. Replicators have been common place since the twenty-third century but that’s the reason why I’m here, really. They don’t belong in the middle of the twentieth century. You’ve been cheating, Mr Warrington, you and Sir Bainbridge and all the people at your Federated Industries.” Guilt crept over Charles’s face as he chewed his lip. He’d seen so many wonders since the end of the world war, things he would never have even dreamed possible, so a strange woman claiming to be from the future seemed far from incredible. “Very well, I suppose there can’t be denying things from someone who knows my future. But why are you here? “You’re not ready for this technology yet, you’ve not earned it.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Maybe it’s not all about the money. Maybe you have lofty goals. After all, ridding the world of hunger and drought is a pretty big thing. But it doesn’t work like that, the world needs to be prepared first otherwise there will be consequences that you cannot even begin to fathom.” “But why now? If you’re from the future I assume you could have picked any time to return. Why not when we invented the Universal Outfit? Or the Personal Information Data Device? Or the Translator-tron? They were pretty disruptive, weren‘t they? Changing the way we communicate with each other.” “Oh yes,” Charlotte agreed. “But your replimaker will be the one that really tips the scales. What happens when everyone suddenly has everything they ever wanted, without restraint? Well, give it a few years and you’ll find out. You never developed these things so you don’t understand their dangers, you just want to put them out there and make a sale while claiming that you’re ‘doing good’. That makes you very naïve or very greedy, or both. But actually it’s not the technology which brought me here, now. It’s you.” “Me? What difference do I make?” “All the difference in the world, Mr Warrington. This is the exact day you started having doubts, isn’t it? Questioning the source of all these technological marvels?” “How could you possibly know that?!” Charles blanched. “Oh Lord, are you some sort of physic mind reader?” “Not quite.” Charlotte smiled slightly. “I’ve just read your biography.” “Ah, really? I write a book? Well now that is…” “Never mind.” Charlotte cut him off. “I’m here because your actions are changing the future. Your future that is, my past. And the changes are not for the better, believe me. You say you want to change the world? Well, believe me, you succeed on that front. You’re an educated man, Mr Warrington, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that every action has a reaction.” “I see. But what about the things we have already invented?” “For starters, you didn’t invent them, you stole them. Secondly, if all goes to plan they won’t matter. If you reverse the damage then time will heal itself and you’ll have never got your hands on those things in the first place.” “But we’ve already sold millions of them. How can…” Charlotte held up a hand to stop him. “Just trust me on this. Temporal affairs tend to be very complicated and it’ll only give you a headache.” Charles sighed and nodded. “Alright, let us say I believe you. What can I do to put it right?” “In your offices there’s a portal, right? The source of all this technology? What you have there is an artificial wormhole. It was created in the future by someone who wanted to interfere with your recent war. Maybe that worked, maybe it didn’t, but now it’s being used for this personal gain and causing a lot of damage.” “I’ve seen it, today in fact.” Charles said. “Dr Hope is…” Charlotte interrupted. “Dr Hope? Is that what he’s calling himself now? That has a certain irony, I suppose.” “You.. you know him?” Charles was bewildered, just when he thought he was getting to grips with the conversation. “You could say we’re old friends. I’ve known your doctor for longer than you’ve been alive.” She paused. “Longer than I’ve been alive, too, come to think of it. But that’s not your problem, I need you to deal with the wormhole. Simply closing it won’t undo the problem, we need to get creative, prevent it from ever having existed in the first place. Luckily, that sort of thing isn’t so hard when you’re already dealing with fractured time.” “And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?” Charles folded his arms. “I’m no scientist, let alone a time traveller. Why don’t you do it?” “Because you can get into the building, tonight, and I’ll guide you through it. Don’t worry about Dr Hope, I’ll take care of that.” “What?” Charles forced a laugh, trying to inject some humour into a world which seemed to be rapidly going mad. “I suppose you’re going to shoot him with your ray gun?” “Yes.” Charlotte gave him a flat look. “Oh.” “Now come along, Mr Warrington, we have a lot to do and only all the time in the world in which to do it.” Charlotte turned smartly on her heel and vanished into the dark street beyond the platform. Charles hesitated, considering the implications of everything she’d said. After a moment he straightened his back and smoothed the creases out of his Universal Outfit once again before striding resolutely after her.

The white, ephemeral mist spiralled around your arms like tendrils. Each finger reached out to tug at your loose-fitting, lily robe, living only long enough to make a connection before vanishing from sight. The feeling was as good as you remembered it; this was the place where you always found solace. In this hall, you would wind yourself into the strands of myriad realities and watch as they birthed and died, taking comfort in your own eternity. And then you saw it. Long ago, your people took great pains to ensure their continued survival. Their tenure of multiple dimensions was assured by the deployment of spheres, each designed to transform local space into an area habitable by your species. When networked, these spheres could alter vast regions, their domain surrounded by a thermobaric cloud that protected it from sight and from incursion. To the explorer's eye, it would appear to be a spatial anomaly. It was intended also as a deterrent, as the area influenced by the spheres was as harmful to monodimensional beings as their space was to you. For aeons it worked; none but the bravest of explorers dared venture within the confines of the cloud. That was until your people became greedy. Talk of racial supremacy began as a whisper and built into a roar. It was difficult to turn a deaf ear to it as it swept through to permeate every molecule of the essence of your culture. Opinions changed from day to day; at first the idea of a regime based on superiority was opposed but, eventually, more and more began to march to the beat of its power hungry drum. Traditions of science, history, observation and documentation were abandoned as multigalactic conquest became your society's driving force. All fell to the temptation of a realm ruled by the 'sphere builders', as you had come to be known, the beacon of hope for your race's very existence now a symbol of your intent to crush reality itself beneath your heel. Amongst the mounting insanity, only a few of you remembered the old ways, clinging to them like the vapours from the Chambers of Observation linger on a scryer's robe. You were one of them. It was difficult at first not to bow to the unstoppable tide but, having seen from the cultures whom you had observed that the lust for power resulted only in destruction, your resolve held strong. Your race's progression to be able to manipulate multidimensional space to observe myriad potential timelines had been regarded initially as an educational boon. With some sadness, you realised that the knowledge that had been drawn from it had been squandered. And then, as more and more spheres were built, as more and more territory was conquered, something pierced the arrogance of your people's veil of assured supremacy. Panic. This time, there was no gradual gathering of momentum. No, hysteria spread like a cancer, fuelling your people's jingoistic cause with new perceptions of a battle against extinction. You were to meet opposition, they said. Monodimensional life forms who lacked in technological development but were determined enough to band together to destroy the spheres once and for all. This would not just happen in one reality. It would happen in all of them. That notion seemed ridiculous at first. The spheres were a symbol of hope! You refused to believe that the foundations on which your society was built could fall so easily. How could monodimensional life survive under their influence? That they might find a way seemed unlikely but you could not ignore it as a possibility. After all, had your own people not ascended to their multidimensional existence as the conclusion of their own evolution? The more you thought along these lines, the more they seemed plausible, even logical. Was not the survival instinct strong in all species, including animals? Was it not the reason behind evolution itself? As an accomplished scryer, there was an easy way to find out, to see with your own eyes whether or not rumours of opposition and annihiliation were true. The key to the secrets of the web of reality itself lay in your grasp but you did not dare use it. Until today. How could a feeling so familiar suddenly be so terrifying? How could the mesmeric reverse echo of each breath now carry with it the weight of crushing fate? The sensation of becoming one with the mist, usually a panacea, was now an intolerable irritant. Where you had succumbed to the embrace of the conflux of time and possibility, you now recoiled from it. It was as though you knew the answer already but you would not allow your eyes to see it; if the multiverse had once been a trusted ally, it had now become a hated enemy. Because there it was, right before your eyes, playing out in infinite stereo, in innumerable permutations. There was no escaping what was to come. Fleet Captain Diego Herrera Commanding Officer USS Vigilant NCC-75515 Deputy Commandant: UFOP: SB118 Academy

Diplomatic Impunity or The Tribble with Troubles The battered, over-full leather satchel hit the floor with a thud as the door slid shut behind him and Ramsey heaved a great sigh of relief at finally coming home. The problem with being Professor Ramsey Bakewell, Xenosociologist extroirdinaire – he mused as he kicked his shoes off and shuffled into a pair of well-worn slippers – was that he was always being asked to speak, mediate, advise and intervene at all manner of conferences, peace talks, negotiations and so on. Which was all very flattering and of course the opportunity to assist in preventing inter-stellar war and such like was never something he was going to refuse, but it took up so much blasted time. The lights activating as he moved through the apartment, Ramsey headed over to the replicator for a mug of coffee to help him think. He had a new nutrient formulation to try that might just be the answer to the particular problem that he’d pondered for so long, turning it over in his mind on the trip back rather than worrying about whether the Bajoran Kai found his tie with the dancing Orionese slave girl on it to be in poor taste. There were far more important things in life, and this little problem was one of them. If a Tellarite diplomat offended the Arkonian Ambassador, it was probably because the Ambassador was looking to be offended, not because Tellarites were particularly argumentative. One of the reasons that he went to conferences such as this most recent one was to get that particular point across to the Federation's diplomats. It was one thing to be the Ambassador to a particular species, to learn their culture and fit in almost like a native, but it wasn’t practical for members of the Federtion as a whole, across hundreds of species and thousands of cultures, to learn them all. What was practical was to take a pragmatic view to inter-species relations, which was where his three Golden Rules had come from. Pulling a micro-PADD from his pocket, he checked the hastily scribbled formulation that had been vouchsafed to him by the Andorian Ambassador's sub-Secretary, and cross-checked it with his own fastidious notes on his personal computer. He absently set the mug down upon a haphazard stack of e-books, the top volume being the latest Mills and Boon. It made interesting reading; the culture of his own species was weird enough, never mind anyone else’s. ‘Be polite, be well behaved, be prepared to give the benefit of the doubt.’ That was how they taught his Rules in Federation Schools, and in Starfleet. That was of course the sanitised version, approved as being politically correct by the establishment, which just showed that they had missed the point entirely. Apparently ‘don’t be rude, don’t be a [...], don’t go looking for trouble’ had not been found acceptable. But that was the core of the issue; if someone wanted to be offended, they would find a way. If someone really wanted to start a war, they would find a way to do that too. And if you had to walk on egg shells around others the whole time then eventually something was going to go 'crunch'. No, the way forward was to establish a robust and tolerant relationship, where you didn’t get upset with someone over using their fingers to eat their dinner, just because your people didn’t. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations as the Vulcans liked to say. Splendid people, if they’d only develop a sense of humour. Sighing, Ramsey took a meditative swig of his coffee and regarded the now modified formulation. Would it have the desired effect? The problem was, there really was only one way to find out. Just as, when you sat down to the negotiating table with no real knowledge of the intentions of one’s alien companions, one simply had to make one’s best effort, one’s best guess and be prepared to stand by one’s convictions; what ultimately came of it was beyond one’s control. So, in the end, was this. Once one accepted that one was a mote in the universe’s eye, everyone had their own agenda and Murphy was a prat, it was much easier to take a relaxed attitude to existence. One focused on the differences that one could make, and didn’t sweat the big stuff. And wore loud ties because one could. The small stuff now, that was where one could make a difference. Forgetting his precariously balanced coffee, Bakewell uploaded the new formula to his pocket PADD and shuffled back to the replicator. Feeding the formulation in he keyed the appliance's operation and watched as a dish with two pale brown pellets appears in the machine’s output. Would they be the answer that he was seeking? Only time would tell. Picking up the dish he wandered to one of the back rooms where a faint cooing rose suddenly in volume as the lights went on. Here they were, his pride and joy. Never mind sycophantic diplomats and arrogant Ambassadors, this was where things got serious. Balls of short fluff, long fluff, spots and stripes milled in cages and sang their brain-melting song. Tribble hybridisers became immune to the effect, or they stopped. Or their brains dribbled out of their ears. Ramsey didn't really hear it any more. The thing about Tribbles was that, unlike alien species, one had to be very precise when dealing with them. Too much food and they cloned themselves exponentially; too little and they went dormant. But just enough and the right kinds and they would hybridise with each other. The nature of native flora of their homeworld was the subject of great conjecture, as people like Bakewell studied and theorised and strove to find the right formulation to accelerate their hybridisation efforts. Such formulations were often jealously guarded and carefully traded. His was good, but he hoped this might be better. It might just be the key. There, in a cage near the back, nestled two tribbles that might just hold the answer. The long sought after Angora White, a long-haired pure white tribble. One was long-haired and predominantly white with a few black spots, the other was medium length and pure in it's lack of colour. The difficulty was combining the traits in the right combination. Highly inter-hybridised, these strains weren’t the enthusiastic breeders that their wild-type cousins could be, and this pair wouldn't breed at all. The Angora Pied with the minimum spotting had never bred, and if he could persuade it he might just crack the Angora White for good. Reaching in, Ramsey dropped one pellet in front of each tribble, watched as each seemed to wake and undulate forward to take its food which disappeared underneath the fur to be consumed. The offering was at least appreciated, as each sang contentedly. Now was the worst part, of course. Now there was nothing that he could do but wait and see what happened. See whether he might, in a few months time, have something worth taking to the next Combined Tribble Fanciers Association Annual Show. He supposed he might as well read that treatise from the Cardassian Senate Committee for Federation Relations in the meantime. Written by Lieutenant Commander Saveron Chief Medical Officer USS Mercury