Commander Karrod Niac - A Chorus of Fools

[Alieth]

And impressive return. Welcome back @Karrod Niac 

 

((Prologue - Horvu))

When the Awakening came it hadn’t been what he’d expected but, on the list of things that Horvu Niac hadn’t expected, it was oddly low on the list.  Higher up were material things like the Cardassian invasion.  That had been quite the eye opener but even that was comparatively banal.  The battle, a personal first, hadn’t played out quite like the holodramas he’d so embraced as a child.  The clash was ferocious and violent and fast in a way that left no time for proud speeches and heroic sacrifices, no window for nobility and no opportunity for clever last minute solutions.  He’d thought about working on one of those, he realized, when he died.  His ship had been one among nearly three dozen, yet Death had singled them out for near annihilation shortly after the Captain had called the crew to battlestations.  He had no final thoughts, no last words, no ever so tragic fading of light from his eyes while he was held by those closest to him.  He’d simply died, as thousands of others had died, and his story should have ended there.  It hadn’t.  

That realization was a long time in coming, although time had lost the meaning it once had for him.  Days or decades could’ve passed in the period it took for him to examine the reality of his new situation but that itself was immaterial...since he was dead.  Or, not dead.  Well, he was dead.  A large chunk of bulkhead moving at several times the speed of sound had taken care of that.  But somehow the universe, in its vast and comical indifference, had granted him an iota of pity.  The symbiote had survived.  Now, he wasn’t...well, Ensign Horvu Niac wasn’t.  Not anymore.  But if the Awakening had come, that meant Niac was with someone new.  Horvu hoped they had slightly better luck than he’d had.  Forty seven days as a joined Trill hardly seemed fair, but they’d warned him, quietly and when they thought no one important was listening, that the Niac symbiote was bad luck.  Others had whispered harsher things, and the elders muttered the word ‘cursed’ more than once.  Horvu, or the essence of what had been Horvu, realized he was about to get the chance to find out.  At least, he thought to what he thought of as himself, the next poor sap couldn’t be as luckless as he’d been, right?  

TBC

((Prologue - Karrod Morrahn, Cmdr.))

It had been two years since Karrod Morrahn had set foot on the bridge of a starship and, as far as he was concerned, it could be another two hundred before he did again.  His career in Starfleet had been what some had called miraculous.  He’d survived, inexplicably and repeatedly, when the ships, stations, bases and shuttles he had served on hadn’t.  He had survived being trapped in a temporal inversion for nearly two years, only to escape and discover less than twenty minutes had passed in the outside universe.  His away team had been inadvertently miniaturized and spent six months dodging gargantuan insects and careless footsteps, but he survived.  He’d been back in time, forward in time and even once sideways in time, which he claimed left him with a semi-permanent case of deja-vu on Tuesdays, but he had always managed to survive.  His innately stubborn nature didn’t let him admit it for a while, but when he eventually took a desk job at Starfleet Command and his life stopped being a series of near fatal misses, the genuine peace and relaxation were downright euphoric.  

He spent his days quite casually compared to what had come before, never once finding an errant subspace anomaly on the way to his favorite café or bisecting his comfortable armchair.  His romantic liaisons didn’t once end with the shocking revelation of a changeling infiltrator or Suliban chameleon and nothing had tried to lay its eggs in his orifices, at least not again.  He felt, for lack of a better word, lucky.  Incredibly so.  He knew there were others in Starfleet, superstitious men and women he had served with at one point or another, who thought of him as some sort of ill totem.  An especially literate officer had once called him an ‘albatross,’ which had seemed like an insult at the time, but Karrod didn’t think of himself as cursed.  Not anymore.

That was, he realized with the agonizing clarity of hindsight, his grand mistake.  Complacency.  It was a reasonable one, he thought to himself as he looked at the ceiling of the surgical bay, because really, what were the odds that his first trip back to the Trill homeworld in nearly twenty years would land him here?  In the medical wing of the Symbiosis Commission.  Doing something he’d sworn, often and loudly to anybody that would listen, to never ever do.  Becoming one of the Joined.  Allow one of those disgusting slugs to timeshare his abdomen and brain for its own perverse kicks.  

He knew there were tens of thousands of Trill who would’ve literally climbed over their own mothers in combat boots to be where he was, giddy to become somehow more than themselves while at the same time sublimating their own desires to mesh with that of the pathetic creature now flailing in a bucket nearby.  He had explained that very fact to anybody who would listen, but they insisted, wheedled, badgered and outright begged him.  The symbiote was dying, they had told him.  It would only accept implantation in a member of Starfleet, the Guardians insisted. The rumors the symbiote was cursed were complete fabrications, they nervously said to themselves as much as to him.  

Eventually the coordinated assault wore him down.  He had a duty to his people and he’d always been, first and foremost, a man of duty.  It had kept him in Starfleet for decades.  This was as great an honor as anyone on the planet could receive, and he had the unique distinction of being miserable about it. He wondered, as the horrible looking thing was pressed against his gut, where his luck had gone.  Then the slug found a comfy spot and Karrod’s brain was suddenly very very crowded.  

Days later, after the tests and the mandatory counseling and more tests and assurances that there wasn’t the slightest sign of rejection, the new being that was Cmdr. Karrod Niac left the Symbiosis Commission and got on the first transport back to Starfleet Command.  When the transport hit a subspace eddy and sheared off a nacelle before even leaving the system, Karrod poked the hateful thing in his guts with a thumb as hard as he could.  He found it strangely cathartic.  

TBC

((Main Shuttlebay, USS Excalibur, Three Months Later))

Since being Joined, Karrod had discovered many new and scintillating annoyances associated with the symbiosis that he didn't recall ever hearing mentioned by the fine and learn'ed idiots at the Symbiosis Commission.  They had spent substantial time telling him how honored he should feel and how grateful they were the Niac symbiote was settling in well, even if they couldn't account for the occasional mild bruising it seemed to pick up.  For his part, Karrod kept the details of his self-therapy to himself...as much as there was a himself to keep it to any longer.  The list of irritations was long and varied; odd food cravings, a sudden need to hum while he worked, occasionally being right handed for a few days at a time.  But, alone or combined, none could hold a torchlight to the incandescence that was the never ending nagging of four voices who simply wouldn't shut up.  

He'd tried to resume his duties at Starfleet Command as if nothing had happened.  He'd ignored Rostil's boredom at his duties and Armo's sullenness at working indoors, although the softer part of him had added enough plants to his apartment to turn it into a small and uncomfortably humid terrarium.  Even Sencha's insistence that he pursue more intellectually challenging work was rebuffed with minimal force of will, although that had come at the cost of attending two particle physics lectures that he didn't remotely understand but which delighted the slug to no end.  

No, it had been Horvu.  Eager, enthusiastic, passionate and completely naive Horvu that had finally driven him up a proverbial wall before literally driving him up the gravity well and back out into deep space.  Karrod knew on some level he was being manipulated by someone who could push his buttons from the inside but another part of him, the part that was still firmly and solely Karrod, felt sorry for the kid that was.  Horvu had been at the very start of his career, full of promise and potential, when an indifferent universe had summarily snuffed him out.  Something about that had gotten under Karrod's skin until, eventually and somewhat forlornly, he found himself requesting duty aboard a starship once again.  It had made the slug distractingly jubilant on the entire trip out, which had taken twice as long as planned due to a bizarre string of equipment malfunctions and minor spatial anomalies in their path.  Karrod would be at best relieved when he was back in something larger than a shuttle, although anything smaller than a planet now seemed inadequate to his actual safety.  

Mercifully, the shuttle touched down in the cavernous bay and Karrod soon found himself on the deck, two large duffles over either shoulder.  He called over a nearby NCO and offered one of the bags to him.  

Niac:  There's two bottles of damn good terran whiskey in that bag, son.  Stash one of them in the gear locker aboard escape pod Alpha-011 for me and ::Karrod winked conspiratorially:: you can keep the second one for yourself.  Deal?

The NCO's eyes went wide at the request but upon discovering that the bag was indeed full of the promised treasure, the young man nodded and trotted off at high speed, clutching the bag tightly to his torso.  Someone had once said that 'Fortune Favors The Prepared' and it was an axiom that had served Karrod well across the long years of his service.  Horvu was mortified, Sencha and Armo both wished he had different taste in beverages and Rostil was annoyed he hadn't packed anything more potent.  He jammed a thumb into his midsection with a huff before reshouldering his bag and moving towards the heavy shuttlebay doors and turbolifts somewhere beyond.  As he did, the deck rocked below his feet and the ships lighting snapped over to an all too familiar red.  Karrod grumbled and rolled his eyes but his pace quickened.  

((A short time later, Bridge))

Karrod had made his way to the Bridge and had intended to deliver his orders to the Commodore immediately but it seemed like the woman had more immediate concerns.  The ship was at full alert and the dark haired woman in the center seat was snapping orders off with practiced ease.  Karrod stayed clear of the rapidly moving crewmembers until a small break in the action allowed him to introduce himself without disrupting the rhythm of a crew working in sync.  

Nicholotti: And get that specialist up here. Thornton I believe her name was? She'll find this very interesting.

Yalu: Response?

Silveira/Tiberius/Any: Responses?

Niac:  Commander Karrod Niac, reporting for duty.  

Nicholotti:  Response

Niac:  Thank you Commodore, I'm happy to save the formal introductions all things considered.  Where do you need me?  

Nicholotti:  Response

Niac: Aye aye...::Karrod dumped his bag out of the way and moved to the Ops station.:: I'm not sure what hit us but there are blown plasma relays on four decks and the lateral grid is having trouble re-routing.  Attempting to compensate...

Nicholotti:  Response

 

A young woman dashed out of the turbolift he'd just been in and joined the fracas on the bridge as Karrod poured over a torrent of diagnostic data.  

 

Silveira / Tiberius / Yalu: Response.

Thornton: ::she nodded.:: Yes ma’am, I was monitoring from Astrometrics. ::beat:: I can’t be too sure but whatever it was seemed to be taking up a course that bring it into Cytarix IV’s gravity well- likely for a slingshot maneuver.

Nicholotti: Response.

Silveira / Tiberius / Yalu: Response.

Thornton: How can I help?

Nicholotti: Response.

Silveira / Tiberius / Yalu: Response.

Tags/TBC

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Commander Karrod Niac
USS Excalibur - NCC-41903-A
Commodore Kali Nicholotti, Commanding
V239509GT0