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  1. Nathan Baker

    MAY/JUN "Fire on High"

    It was, for lack of a better word, Hell. At least that's what everyone else said about it. But for one Cadet, the fires on that plain of [...]ation were probably far worse. The halfway marker was coming up and Cadet Deven Zell's entire body felt like it was on fire. The skin-coating of UV protection was only a small consolation considering the task at hand. As the Trill popped his second electrolyte capsule, it began to sink in that this run would be the worst of his life. Danula II could conjure up stories of dehydration, second-degree sunburns and more than a few sprained ankles. It's a brutal planet; a desert world with almost no life to speak of. Temperatures that would sore all day and barely any relief at night. The ground would scorch any bare feet that touched it. All of that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the brutal Academy Marathon. The annual competition between cadets isn't just a race; it's a test of conditioning, strength, will and courage. Anyone with the capacity to run the 42.195 Kilometers was instantly regarded as a hero for his or her class. Most didn't make it half-way... and the others who didn't weren't any better off. Step after step needed more and more effort. Deven's ankles and calves shuddered with every footfall. Every instinct in his body urged him to stop, fall over, make an excuse, or just plain die. Of course, it would take more than that to get him to give in. It was Deven's second attempt for the marathon. He was already regarded as something of a hero when he finished the race the year before... and almost never does a Cadet go back for seconds on the Danula II's barren wasteland. "I don't have to win," the man thought to himself. "I just have to finish... again." Most people remembered the legendary running of the Freshman Cadet Jean Luc Picard. Not only did he finish the grueling competition, he won it. Deven looked at that feat and respected it... but his ego told him he could do better. He didn't have to win, just finish. That was victory enough. Because it wasn't the competition against the other cadets that fueled his spirit, Deven just loved to run. Ever since he was a kid, the now 2nd class Cadet would trudge along the shorelines of his home planet. Running was a tenant of life in his mind. It was a fire that burned deep inside that had no way of being quenched. For Deven, Danula II just provided another personal challenge. Plus, he found it to be fun. (Though he'd probably never admit for for fear of ridicule.) Anyone who had run the marathons would say that only a madman would subject himself to another round against the harsh heat and pressure-cooker conditions that the athletes go up against during that run. Deven thought about that sentiment as he began the long ascent up the final hill towards the finish line. "I guess that's it then. I'm mad." A flash of light pierced over the mountain that was ahead of him. He knew that this was the worst part of the run. Any other person, the cadet figured, would've stopped a long time ago. An emergency beam-out was all it would take and the whole ordeal would be over. It was like the Devil was taunting him with every exhaled pant and each painful step. "No! Not this time!" Deven screamed in agony as he began the ascent. Everything started getting blurry. Without hesitation, Deven popped his final pill to push himself towards finality. Cadets weren't given water to quench themselves during the run, since it wouldn't do much good anyway. Instead, each runner was given three electrolyte capsules to keep their bodily functions going during the trudge along the oven that was the marathon course. Since separating himself from the pack 9 kilometers ago, the toll being exacted on Deven's body was excruciating. All the muscles ached and tensed with every step. The Trill's breathing became nothing more than a dry heave of super-heated air. But with every breath, Deven chanted the mantra he'd come up with that kept him going. "This isn't hell... this isn't hell... This. Is. Not. Hell." Over and over again he chanted, like a metronome that only knew one thing: to keep moving. What seemed like forever finally culminated in a cross of the finish line. Deven collapsed onto the sand and several medics descended on him to begin feeding fluids intravenously. Though he only finished fifth, Deven wasn't upset. "I'll be back next year," he told a reporter a few hours later. "That wasn't hell... it was just a good run."
  2. Anthony Meeks

    MAY/JUN Fire, Giver of Live

    ((Some God Forsaken Rock in the Gamma Quadrant)) Lightning flashed, illuminating the parapet which stood above the gaping canyon. The rain fell in sheets, drenching the world around him in cold water. He shielded his eyes from the sudden flash in the darkness to lessen the sharp pain he felt from the bright light… Then it was dark again. Lieutenant Commander Michael Davis stared into the blackness, as he had for so many nights before. He couldn’t remember how long he had been there. He had lost track of the days, and he stopped counting a long time ago. The marks on the inside walls of the runabout had merged together after a while, and Michael had given up on trying to find space for more. Shaking his head, he turned away from the edge of the pit and ducked back inside the makeshift shelter. “Another day of rain.” He said as he pushed the door shut. The wrecked runabout that was his home was without power, and he had gutted the mechanisms to make it easier to operate the door by hand. The flicker of the candlelight from the single candle illuminated the interior of the cabin and provided a little warmth. Michael huddled around the flame, taking in as much heat as he could from the tiny flame. He stripped off the drenched uniform he was wearing and hung it over one of the chairs that used to be for the pilots. He returned to the rear compartment and slipped himself into a dry outfit. Collecting one of the ration packs, Michael sat down near the candle and peeled open a pouch of amber paste that would be his meal. Talking to no-one, “Mmmmm, meal number…” he held the pouch up to the light so he could read the lettering on the side, “…31. Bon Apetit.” He placed the open end of the pouch into his mouth and squeezed. He swallowed the goo without chewing it, but chewing wasn’t necessary because the paste slipped down his throat with ease. The taste of the stuff was enough to gag a man anyway, so the less time it stayed in his mouth, the better. When the pouch was flat and empty, Michael carefully folded the pouch and placed it into the drawer with the many others. He pushed open the door a few inches, and piled a stack of papers on the steel plate. He keyed the setting into his phaser and took careful aim at the base of the small pile. Pressing the trigger, the glow of the beam lit the papers ablaze. Michael quickly piled more flammable material on the fire, absorbing the warmth for as long as the stuff would burn. The life giving fire warmed him, giving him one more night of comfort. Leaning back, he pulled a blanket over himself and closed his eyes. Before long, he was asleep. The night went by, just like every other night since the crash. The dreams came to him like a video recall of the fateful day that brought him to the planet. He, and a crew of four, had left Deep Space 9 on a diplomacy mission to Chumanus, in the Gamma Quadrant. The voyage was to take three days at warp in the runabout, and everything went well for the first two days. On day three, the worst they could imagine happened. On the morning of the third day, the runabout encountered a spacial anomaly that disrupted their warp field. The runabout shot through the disturbance, which distorted their course to an unknown heading. To regain control of the ship, they dumped their antimatter and jettisoned their warp core, leaving the ship without the means to return to Federation space. What little fuel they had left brought them to the first planet they could find that would support life. Unfortunately, their fuel supply was so low, the entry into the atmosphere was a near freefall. The crash was horrendous, and two of the crew died in the impact. The other two were injured, and died days later. Michael had survived with only a broken leg and some bumps and bruises. It took him two weeks before he was able to put enough weight on his leg to allow him to drag the bodies of the crew out of the runabout so he could dispose of the bodies. He had tried to bury the first of the bodies, but the constant rain and the hard pan made digging a grave impossible, so his last recourse was to push the corpses over the edge of the canyon into the abyss below. He had stripped the bodies of anything he might be able to use, before committing them to their grave, knowing he might be there for quite a while. The power systems of the runabout had been damaged beyond repair during the crash. The fuselage had survived intact, but the nacelles were destroyed and the batteries had drained within days. Michael saved the phasers, mostly for protection, but there didn’t seem to be anything on the God forsaken rock to protect himself from. Never the less, they were there for a purpose and he wouldn’t compromise that until he absolutely had to… Michael woke the next morning to the sounds of the rain thrumming on the hull of the runabout. He yawned and stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around and saw the candle had burned out, leaving the runabout in a dull halflight, only illuminated by the gray light from outside coming through the main window. He could see the sky outside was the same as it had always been, without definition. Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to the pilot’s console and stared out at the world. “What I would give for a cup of coffee.” He said to himself, as he had every morning. He shook his head and turned away from the view. He dipped his hand into the crate of emergency rations and withdrew another silver pouch. This time he didn’t bother looking at the writing on the side. Instead, he just opened the pouch and squeezed the contents into his mouth, swallowing without tasting it. When it was empty, he folded the pouch and slid it into the drawer with the others. Taking a seat in the command chair, Michael picked up the transponder that was laying dark on the floor. He looked over the circuitry and wished he had paid better attention during the engineering classes at the academy. He poked absently at the device, hoping something would happen. He told himself it wouldn’t matter in the long run, because he was parsecs away from anywhere, and nobody knew where to even start looking. Frustration overcame curiosity and Michael tossed the device against the wall. The unit bounced against the duranium and slid under the bench. A small flash of light from the device went un-noticed. The routine continued, day after day, week after week. Every day the supply of food pouches became fewer and fewer, and the rain accumulating in the puddles grew. Michael entertained himself by humming tunes from his childhood, counting the supplies, and taking walks to the edge of the canyon. The nights were spent huddling around the candles, which were growing fewer and fewer as the nights passed. Material to burn was becoming more and more scarce, and he knew the warming fires would have to be fewer as time went on. This night, he hadn’t gone outside to get wet, so he decided to forgo the warmth of the fire for one more night. He lay his head on the pillow and tried to count the rain drops that hit the hull of the runabout. Pulling the blanket up around his head, he continued to count the drops until he fell asleep. The dreams came again, as they had every other night, except in this dream came the chime of a Federation transporter. It took some time for his mind to register the new element of the dream. His eyes fluttered open, and he caught movement in the darkness. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and he heard the delightful sound of a voice… “Just lay still, Commander, you’re safe…”
  3. Hugh Barnes

    MAY/JUN fire of the heart

    Williams walked down the corridor of Starbase 19 in a world of his own. The 29 year old human male had just come back from a date with
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