Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Star Trek '12: 1212 AD - Elysian Council

The collection of races was improbable at best.  Tobin himself wouldn’t discover until years later that he’d found himself among them through an act of treachery, but the fact that a human took any part in an interstellar alliance was enough of a sensation in his own mind that it never even occurred to him to question, at least at the time, how he got there.

He didn’t know what any of them were at the time, but assembled around him were representatives of the Vulcans, Klingons, Orions, Andorians, Tellarites, Gorn, Phylosians, Kzinti, and two others he never managed to identify.

As they would be for centuries afterward, the Andorians, Tellarites and Vulcans were in conflict, but that’s how they stumbled into the strange opportunity that would be codified in the secret Elysian Council.  It was the Orions who made it happen, and the Klingons who made sure that it did, and somewhere no doubt there were Romulans observing everything, waiting to see what would develop.

Tobin got to listen to many lectures from the Vulcans, but it wasn’t them who’d abducted him, but rather the Orions, looking for a new source for slaves.  They weren’t impressed with Tobin, and so they never went back to Earth for more, but it was his presence that forced everyone together.  If he’d known for a moment what the Orions had really had in store for him, he probably would have crawled into a ball, rather than accept the prodding of the Vulcans to listen, even though they scoffed at all of his suggestions as hopelessly barbaric prattle.  The Klingons forced the Vulcans to listen, though, and so Tobin did not realize how pathetic his situation really was, never realized that he was overmatched on every side.

The Gorn intimidated everyone.  Maybe that was it.  Even the Klingons didn’t press their luck.  The Kzinti and Phylosians were crafty, and Tobin had the sense that the whole point was to keep tabs on them, see if there was anything to be done with them, because as far as he could tell, everyone else pretty much knew each other, and that the Elysian Council was a giant bluff, and so there were no real government agents involved, only rogues.  Even he could tell that the Vulcans weren’t acting naturally, and he was overwhelmed by everything, barely eating because he didn’t recognize anything presented to him as food, and the one time the Klingons offered him what they called “blood wine,” he nearly died on the spot.

It helped that there were constant arguments, which the Tellarites really seemed to relish, even if it didn’t make them obviously happy, which further flummoxed Tobin.  Every now and again it did occur to him to question what was happening, but then one of the Orions would enter the room, and the chaos would coalesce into puppy love, even from the Vulcans, who kept muttering under their breathes, “Illogical!”

The Elysian Council was a success insofar as it didn’t result mutual destruction from among its members.  Tobin grew more confident insofar as he could eventually sleep again, and he breached the subject of admitting a few more humans, to the strenuous objections of every other member.  They eventually relented.  But it wasn’t easy getting more of his own people off Earth.  Quite foolishly, he was himself put in charge of the project, and being generally incompetent in every regard to any practical concern, there were many mistakes and misjudgments made, and this was a process that lasted well beyond his lifetime.

But in the end, Tobin did find peace with it all, and the Elysian Council persisted for a long time, and achieved all its mediocre goals.

(Inspired by the animated series episode "The Time Trap.")

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Star Trek '12: 1112 AD - Sphere Builders

The Sphere Builders were clever.  They began their plans long before anyone could have guessed what they were doing, and by the time it mattered, they allied themselves with the petty inhabitants who dominated the region of space they wished to claim, and set them against the only force that might be able to stop their plans.

This was the year the spheres were built.  The Sphere Builders intended to manipulate both time and space in their efforts to sustain favorable results in the Temporal Cold War.  The spheres were the product of their shrewd calculation, a perfect plan that went ignored for more than a millennium, slowly building the Delphic Expanse into a region that would allow them to operate under the same terms as their rivals.  Why did they even care about opponents they could have avoided altogether?  Why does any belligerent force thrust its will on reality?  Because it can, because it wants to, and because it never suspects for a moment that anyone with motives more pure than their own can possibly challenge them.

The Sphere Builders’ hubris was a game of chance all along.  They had the ability to examine the odds in ways other beings could only have dreamed of, the ability to not just consider the possibilities but actually see outcomes of their actions, so that they existed in a nexus of alternate timelines.  Yet they chose to ignore the one possibility that was always there by half, that regardless of their machinations all their plans and schemes could be defeated.  They were blinded by greed, the basic failing of their kind, no matter where it resides in time and space.

They considered their long-term potential only as it appeared in short-term goals.  If successful, they didn’t worry.  They judged anyone else as inferior and worth considering only as a temporary obstacle, easily thwarted, ignored.  When it seems like everything’s going your way, that’s probably a safe mood to enjoy.  Well, maybe that’s why the Romulans were always a threat and the Sphere Builders only a temporary one, because Romulans plot more than they act, while the Sphere Builders act more than they plot, anxious and yet ultimately ineffective.  No wonder that historical speculation based on the random experiences some have had in the Temporal Cold War believed one of its prime players to be a Romulan.  The Sphere Builders thought they could wipe out the threat of the Federation.  Romulans only ever engaged in one outright conflict with the Federation, and lived to plot another day, and plot many of them continued to do, even though their cousins were Vulcans, who along with humans helped to found the Federation.  What did the Sphere Builders accomplish?

That’s actually an interesting question.  In many ways, their actions backfired.  Without those spheres, the Federation might not have happened.  There has been much debate about those early years of humanity’s Starfleet, its effectiveness and struggles with Vulcan restrictions, its various stumbles.  Understandably, the Temporal Cold War intersected with its formative stages.  The Sphere Builders were unlucky enough to not realize their biggest rival had a vested interest in the founding of the Federation.  They probably never even considered that as a possibility.  Petty goals can take ambitious shape, but if they don’t take on the shape of history, then even their success will come cheaply and amount to nothing, no matter their initial impact.

Maybe that’s fine for people like the Sphere Builders, to look only at a small portion of existence and try to claim it ruthlessly, blindly, ignorantly.  Sure, their plans unfold brilliantly, spectacularly, successfully.  But they come to naught, all the same, because that’s what they really are.  They don’t mean anything.  Now, sure, you can certainly enjoy it while it lasts, and maybe that’s all anyone can ever ask for, maybe that’s what life is really all about, the fleeting moments of satisfaction.  Or maybe, just maybe, that final frontier is a little more elusive than you thought.  It’s a goal, not a reward, an ideal.  Ideals can’t ever be satisfied, only the pursuit of them.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Quagmire: A Fragment from Enigma of the Dawn

The moment the Ardor left Trevigall orbit Myrmidon dispatched his most loyal minion to track the Alliance of Five down and eliminate them.  That’s what’s generally believed.  The Vanadi dissenters, as Lord Phan suspected, weren’t going to back down very easily, and the scary part was that Myrmidon himself was only a vice-monitor.  The Ardor was headed for the world Mollwan, the second largest in the Vanadi sector, to conference with the faction’s leaders themselves, and Myrmidon’s task was to ensure they didn’t make it.  He couldn’t achieve this goal with something so crass as an explosion placed aboard the Ardor for two reasons: one, the Alliance of Five was resourceful enough to discover the devise and disable it, and two, he was still a gentleman, despite indications to the contrary.  He saw the Alliance for what it was, a noble effort to unite the void in harmony that would eventually corrupt and thusly cause more harm than good.  All that talk about elemental chaos was simply a front.

The minion’s ship was typical in Vanadi design in that it was star-shaped, but constructed of an artificial organic substance that allowed its crimson hull to pulse about as it manipulated the Pasear Field.  It appeared not unlike a squid in your oceans as it propelled across space, gaining on the Ardor with every push forward.  It was just large enough to contain one person, but Towar was able to run the ship well enough on her own.

Onboard the Ardor, Trey the Conqueror was admitting defeat.  "Our wits failed us.  Myrmidon was prepared to refute our proposition at every turn.  We reached an agreement, an understanding, but it was a hollow accord.  This does not bode well."

"Cheer up," Hayed said, seated in his familiar position at the pentagonal table in the conference room.  "Myrmidon was never the focus of this mission to begin with.  The Vanadi would call him luoh’gyin."  Humans would loosely translate that as small potatoes, by the way.  "There are brighter stars ahead."

Across from him Umecit said, "Never underestimate an opponent, no matter his station or power.  The more they need prove themselves the more ambitious they are."

"But the bigger picture remains," Trey said.  "The Alliance needed Myrmidon’s support if it’s to bring anything of real weight to the table with the Obdurate.  We have nothing."

"We have time," Lord Phan said.  "That is all we can be sure of.  That is all we need."

"Time is exactly what our Alliance needs," Trey said.  The coalition between the four races was in fact built on time.  The Tikanni gave the Omoxians two centuries worth of it, and the Omoxians more than proved valuable an acquaintance, a mass of wisdom and cunning, virtues the Tikanni thought highly of.  They proved also that other races were more than just curiosities, but a mindset all their own that had as much right as any to roam the stars and prosper, so the two spent an additional two centuries improving their mutual stock, in which time they encountered the Vitell and my own Vanadi.  In fifty years, all in Trey’s lifetime, the four races learned to cooperate, forging a coalition of collaboration they hoped would benefit all inhabitants of the void.  The whole point of the Ardor’s mission was to enact these means on a charter’s scale.
As the five discussed their state of affairs Towar’s ship grew nearer and nearer, until at last it was upon the Ardor, latching itself onto the larger vessel with a suction-like magnetic pulse.  Rejon, who was often the first to notice things, whispered, "Myrmidon’s redress is here," just before the ships joined.

"It appears Myrmidon was a little less civil than we gave him credit for.  But they didn’t come in firing so let’s assume that the gloves are still on.  Let’s go meet our guest," Trey said.  Towar’s ship had locked onto the dorsal pylon, and the Alliance of Five was there to greet her, palms open, when the door hissed open.  Lord Phan, it should be noted, actually was wearing gloves, a white ribbed pair that extended slightly past his wrists, meeting his frilled frock in the accustomed Tikanni high fashion.
Towar, an average height Vanadi female dressed in a sheer olive cloak, in striking contrast to her crimson pelt, concealing her entire body, strode out, unarmed and presenting the Vanadi greeting, saying in a calm voice, "Honored ambassadors, I come to serve you."

"Welcome aboard the Ardor," Trey greeted hesitantly but in his usual commanding manner.  "Although it can’t be said we were expecting you, I’m sure we can make the proper accommodations."

"My ship suits me well enough," she replied in return.  "Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Towar, daughter of Schanmar and Towa.  I serve Myrmidon, who seeks to make amends for the treatment he gave you on Trevigall."

"Forgive my saying, but Myrmidon didn’t seem quite so helpful in person," Ureic said.

"He is under a great deal of pressure from the Obdurate," Towar said.  "He couldn’t have helped you even if he’d intended to."

"Intended to?" Trey said.

"In a manner of speaking," Towar said.

"The shadows aren’t meant for the innocent," Phan said.  "We are anxious to hear your story."

"Myrmidon indeed sent me, but not for the purpose I have set for myself.  I intend to help you in your quest."

"Then what did he send you for?" Hayed inquired.

"To kill you," Towar said.  "But that would not have been in his best interests.  That is why I altered my mission.  I’ve come to deliver you a warning."  It is said that in every culture the pillars of wisdom can often be found in the female population.  The Vanadi are no different.  They will often have to tear and scratch and claw for the opportunity, but they will never overtly operate in this way.  They are much too demure, and cunning.

At Phan’s prodding, Trey accepted this story and brought Towar to the Measures room.  There she informed them of a plot to ensnare them at the port world of Stringfellow, in whose direction the Ardor was headed on its way to Mollwan.  "The trick is that Stringfellow is also home to an influential family among the Obdurate, one that could secure you Myrmidon’s allegiance.  He could end up on your side despite himself," Towar said.

"That’s a definite snag," Hayed said.  "But why would Myrmidon allow such an oversight?"

"Because the Obdurate is far from a perfect organization, despite what it would lead you to believe," Towar said.  The Obdurate was a collection of Vanadi nobles who had worn out their political welcome.  Barons such as Myrmidon found their clout reduced in society to the extent that if they were ever to achieve anything of significance in the future, it would have to be amongst themselves.  They found themselves in a quagmire, diluted ground that yielded under their feet, so they built up their own foundation and took control of the outer worlds, forlorn, forgotten, but still a force to be reckoned with.  They created a reputation for themselves by championing lost causes, such as the one Trey symbolized as the most powerful threat they’d encountered.

"Perfection isn’t the question here, it’s the problem," Trey said.  "Myrmidon seemed bent on an idea of imperfection that negated any possible remedy, thereby sealing himself into a cocoon of aggression.  Speaking of cocoons, you’ll understand if I am interested in touring your ship?"

"By all means, carry one out if you wish," Towar said.  Ureic and Hayed gave each other a quick glance, and Trey delivered one of his own to them.  Without a word the Vanadi and Vitell exited tranquilly from the group’s presence, and Towar gave the briefest of sighs in response.  She added, "Let us hope that we don’t seal ourselves into such a cocoon."

"That’s up to you," Trey said.  "I appreciate your forthrightness, but you’ll understand if I still don’t entirely trust you."

"Trust, however, can be balanced by a show of faith.  We are unarmed.  Won’t you be so kind," Lord Phan said in a hushed tone.

"Your eyes are sharp, Tikanni," Towar said.  "Not many others would notice a translucent firearm.  But I assure you it is ornamental in nature."

"What sort of person dresses in the morning with a veiled weapon as an amulet?" Phan said, not bothering to look at her.

"Perhaps one who has seen firearms do far worse than hang as a brooch," Towar said.  Vanadi, like yourselves, have an especially violent past, worse than your own.  There have been conflicts the likes you couldn’t imagine, where entire populations have been wiped out over simple disagreements.  How would you react to a simple editorial against a ruler’s policies concerning historic preservation?  Regent Palimin ordered a hundred thousand executions.  But that was long ago, in a far less democratic time.  Though the Obdurate was out of favor, it was tolerated as a legitimate political entity as long as it stayed within the conduct of civility.  War became less and less a means of conversation as the Vanadi spread throughout their sector.  None of which is to say that things were so rosy under the surface.

Inside Towar’s ship, Ureic and Hayed found nothing but star charts and data modules, plus a few containers they assumed were for victuals.  Aside from the navigation apparatus in the center of the craft, there wasn’t anything else, and certainly nothing that appeared  incriminating.  Hayed looked satisfied.  Ureic didn’t.

"An efficient ship, almost too efficient," Ureic said.  "She has to be hiding something."

"Perhaps she has a full stock of paranoia," Hayed said, before returning a more serious response: "Whatever it may be, I don’t trust her.  Too cooperative."

"Such efficiency usually breeds room for surprises," Ureic said, all but ignoring Hayed’s remarks.  "I want to check those rations to start with, and the contents of her databases."

"You’ll find nothing," Towar said, on another ship.  "Stringfellow is a large planet.  Some would say chaotic.  Don’t search for the Du’Lon contact.  Let him find you."

"Which leaves plenty of time for this ambush you claim is waiting for us to occur," Trey said.

"That’s why you-" Towar began before Phan cut her off.

"Become a translucent firearm."  He clasped his gloved hands behind himself as he said this, emphasizing his point.  With Tikanni, it was always important to take in the whole picture to understand what was being expressed.  Body movement was rarely wasted.

"Is that what you are in Myrmidon’s camp," Trey inquired, "a hidden factor?"

"Only hidden in the sense that it is exactly what Myrmidon wishes of me," Towar explained.  "He truly believes that elemental chaos tripe he fed you.  It’s gotten him into this situation, one he fully understood was possible, one he made sure was more than a possibility when he elected me to be his aide.  That’s how I earned his trust to begin with, by compromising it with…a show of faith.  Many of them."

"Forgive me for saying, but that doesn’t sound like a very stable relationship," Trey said.  "What it sounds like is bad business."

"The Omoxi are known for playing it safe," Towar remarked, with not a little sarcasm in her voice.

"‘Playing it safe’ is a commendable imperative when you face the unknown," Phan said.  This was, of course, the opposite of the Tikanni mindset, which is exactly what they often told outsiders to throw them off.  That was the Tikanni way, to remain aloof even in the face of prolonged exposure.  Some would say that this was an advantage, especially the Tikanni themselves, but in the long run obscurity always costs more than it gains.  They would learn this, embrace it, relish in it.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

"The Omoxi believe that stability is the goal for which to strive," Trey said.  "To know the present and understand the past is to comprehend what the future has to offer.  One cannot do this with warring elements in the way.  The topography needs to be smooth."

"I find that diversity is more interesting," Towar said coyly.

"I’m not speaking of diversity.  Diversity is an integral weave in the fabric," Trey said.  "What the Omoxi do not abide is ambiguity."

"Vanadi thrive on ambiguity," Towar said.

"Now…that is strange," Ureic noted over his shoulder, on another ship.  He was crouched against the bulkhead of Towar’s ship, using a scanning devise to aid his and Hayed’s inspection.
"What is it?  Tell me you’ve found something.  Anything," Hayed said.  Patience was not a virtue for us in those times.  We’ve improved, however.

"I can’t be sure," Ureic said.  "It’s a low-scale rhythm, registering faintly on the frequency chart.  It could mean any number of things.  She could have anything from a sponger infestation to a secret stash of sprockets."

"The ship’s too small for sprockets, no matter how she - Run a spectral analysis on the phase bands," an agitated Hayed said.

"Okay, but what good-" Ureic began.

"She is hiding something.  The question now is what," Hayed said, now looking even more concerned from his perch in the navigation apparatus, where he had been studying flight logs.

"Whatever it is, it’s big," Ureic said.  "On the ember band her ship lights up like an Omoxian at midnight."

"Dequaros ’ven nopre jacvalum," Hayed said.

"What is it?" Ureic asked, himself now looking anxious.

"Brace yourself," Hayed said.

"You have some explaining to do," Trey said to Towar on another ship.  "Such as, why have you been lying to us all this time?"

"I concur," Phan said.  "When do the troops arrive?"
"I’m sorry it had to be this way," Towar said before an explosion rocked the cabin.  The Hesslans are a race of aliens forever splintered by first contact with the Tikanni.  In the period following discovery of the Pasear Field and before a truce was reached with the Omoxians, the Tikanni ran ramshackle through the void, visiting a dozen worlds with little interest in how they impacted the indigenous peoples.  One of the most disastrous encounters was on the planet known sneeringly by its own people as Inwrought, inhabited by the relentlessly bellicose Hesslans.  Capturing as a prize an intact Tikanni vessel, the Hesslans obtained the Pasear Drive for themselves thusly, and proceeded to scour throughout known space in splintered tribes.  It was with a handful of Hesslan-Vaegans that Towar chose to work.

Hayed and Ureic had been overtaken immediately when the phase-shifted cargo hold emerged and let forth its contents, a menacing blend of flesh and weaponry of the most destructive kind.  Towar took hold of her translucent firearm and pointed it at Trey, though a genuinely pained expression gripped her face.  Lord Phan had disappeared as soon as the explosions began, but Rejon held his ground.  Phan had not abandoned them, but rather had gone to lock down the rest of the Ardor.  He was far from a coward.
In the artillery concave Phan searched for the defense regulator.  Amidst the elegant curves of the weaponry, he fit in nicely, appearing more at home than the deceptively awkward-looking Umecit ever managed to.  Despite appearances, Phan didn’t feel at home here.  He despised Omoxi design, dismissing it as too uniformly simplistic.  Within moments, he spotted the regulator; a triangular panel nestled between two venting ports, hidden in plain sight.  He reached in his garments and found the plotter sachet each of the Alliance of Five possessed, all plotters safe-guarded by a genetic tag.

But something was in the shadows.  An obsidian-colored Hesslan-Vaegan (all Hesslans were, actually) stepped out, his left arm extended with a disruptor pointed at Phan’s head.  "Don’t move," the mercenary said.

Phan offered no resistance.  He placed his arms in the air, his back facing the Hesslan-Vaegan.  But the glove on his right hand started to glow.  An amber hue emerged soon, and the mercenary started to waver.  The glow became a point, then a longer point, before finally emerging as a full blade.  Phan calmly lowered his arm until the blade met the mercenary’s disruptor.  "Care to guess again?" he said, a bemused smile cracking.  "Your weapon, get it out of my face.  Now."

The mercenary did as told.  Phan turned slowly, keeping the blade in the mercenary’s direction.  "What is your name?"

"Kaz Felrek," the mercenary replied with a suddenly defiant attitude.  "And yours?"

"You may call me Branljn," Phan said.  Taking into account Felrek’s continued awe of his blade, he added, "It’s called a psiglaive.  I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it."

"I’ve never seen one in person, is more the stumbling block," Kaz replied.  "Rumors are one thing.  Legends another.  But this…"

"Pray that this is as close as you ever get to one," Phan said.

"I have no intention of dying a fool’s death," Kaz said.

"You’re living a fool’s life," Phan said.  "Why not?"

"A fool is someone who doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into," Kaz said, adding, "such as locking down one’s ship after accounting for all contingents.  Or have I distracted you?"

"You may have distracted me, but it is only that," Phan said.  "A distraction."

"Is it?"

"I offer you this one chance to escape with your life.  I suggest you take it."
* * *

It’s not that such a tactic was unexpected, or even unprecedented, in intergalactic affairs.  It was more about disappointment than disparity.  Towar had let them down.  Behind all of the noble ideals and moral temperament lay a bitter taste, an echo of impudence that scratched and clawed and tore at all Trey had seen in her.  At the moment of stagger, the Omoxian engineer felt it all unravel before him, and his luminosity brightened sharply, a punishing symbol of the coldness that was entering his heart.  This fueled a bitter resolve to drive the Hesslans back, and thus it was ensured that the ambush would fail.  When it was at an end, things stood a little differently.

"What do you know of the Andiron Ewer?" Rejon asked Towar, who was near death.  Ureic had revived quickly, helping Trey to overcome their attackers.  Though surprised, Trey hardly missed a beat.  He drove his inner wrist claws into the first Vaegan that emerged, killing him instantly.  The second got past him, but Rejon caught him in his own deadly embrace.  The rest, about a half-dozen, fought better, fiercer, perhaps at the sight of their fallen comrades.  The skirmish had been less than either side had anticipated, but enough.  The Vaegans had the advantage of disruptors, which they exploited to the fullest, though might was never a good substitute for skill in battle.  Towar, who remained neutral for most of the fight, had placed herself in the way of a blast meant for Trey, sacrificing herself.  Redeeming herself, perhaps.

"The Straits of Perdition," she said after a moment’s time collecting her strength.
"Where?  Where are the Straits?" Rejon pleaded softly as the life drained from Towar’s eyes.

"Tell Trey…Tell Trey that I fought for him," she said before collapsing into the embrace of night.  Rejon surveyed the conference room, where the skirmish had unfolded.  Hayed sat against the bulkhead, his head bandaged.  Ureic was preparing the Hesslan-Vaegan corpses for burial in space.  Trey rested against the table, glowing less intensely but still brilliantly.  Phan was at the entrance of the corridor to the concave, looking uncomfortable.  Towar’s ship had departed, Kais aboard it, before anyone realized what had happened.  Rejon sighed.  The room was quiet for what seemed a very long time.

"The fruits of Myrmidon’s philosophy," Trey observed at last.  "But he hasn’t won, not by a long shot.  Not yet."

"One cannot win what one was not a part of," Phan said.

"You still believe that Towar was working independently?" Trey asked halfheartedly.

"Of course," Phan said, as if it was an obvious conclusion.

"Under Myrmidon’s orders or not," Ureic added, "she’s emphasized the point that Myrmidon himself cannot be trusted."

"Regardless of his credibility, Myrmidon is still an important factor in our quest," Trey observed reluctantly.

"She had a change of heart, that is all," Hayed said.  "She was and always had been Myrmidon’s puppet."

"A puppet who got tangled in its strings," Ureic said.

"But she proved one thing," Trey said.  "Myrmidon is vulnerable.  He’s built it into his philosophy and that is precisely what we will use to bring the Obdurate under control.  Du’Lon Predda is waiting for us on Stringfellow.  But is the ambush waiting for us as Towar suggested?"

"I have a better question: What happened to her ship?" Ureic asked, drawing the others’ attention to the pylon transom, which had been covered by Towar’s ship before and now offered its recurrent view of the stars.

"It is reasonable to assume that in the skirmish the ship was somehow jettisoned," Phan offered.

"One of the Vaegans did fire more than a few shots in my direction, which could have affected the stability of the ship’s hold on the pylon," Hayed said, unintentionally collaborating with Phan’s deception.  Kaz Felrek had taken a rift generator from the concave, which had concealed his dash through the conference at the moment of Towar’s sacrifice.  He had almost paused then, but managed to draw himself away and board the Vanadi transport, drifting away at Towar’s last breaths.

"Following our course to Mollwan is our only option," Phan said.  "We can handle whatever may await us there."

"I suppose that even if she wasn’t being entirely truthful with us, Towar may have been sincere about the ambush," Ureic said.

"Ambush or not, then, we’re proceeding to Stringfellow," Trey said.

"Myrmidon has proven unreliable.  Why continue to pursue him?" Phan said.

"Because we have a better chance at Mollwan with his support than without," Hayed said.  "That means going to Stringfellow."

"That means a risk we don’t need," Phan said.

"Risks are part of the game," Trey said.  "The Alliance was built on the greatest risk of all: Can you trust your neighbor as you would trust your family?  I choose to believe that you can."

Phan stopped himself from saying, That is a foolish choose.  "Towar took a risk, played off of your own game, and it destroyed her."

"If nothing else, Towar proved the opposite," Trey said.  "She beat the odds, besting Myrmidon at his own game.  I believe that this is what awaits us at Stringfellow."

"I’ll see if I can’t contact this Du’Lon Predda before we reach the planet," Hayed said.

"Don’t bother.  If there’s one thing Towar made abundantly clear, it’s that nothing will be easy from this point onward," Trey said.  He was, of course, right.  The five sent each of the Hesslan-Vaegans into space as per Hesslan custom.  For Towar they reserved a special honor, an Omoxian shroud ritual which culminated in sacred cremation.  They were determined to do things right, and do right to all they came upon along the way.  A strong foundation of virtue on which to build.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Star Trek '12: 1012 AD - Zetar

It isn’t a pleasant thought, but on every world where sentient life exists, that sentient life will one day cease to be.

Such is the case with Zetar.  This was the last year of recorded history on Zetar, for all life ceased to exist at this time.  The survivors are still unable to voice exactly how this came to be.  The fact that there are survivors seems to be a contradiction, but the survivors no longer have bodies of their own, and as such are not recognized as sentient beings as generally accepted by each other.

That’s the real trick, isn’t it?  Life exists in a variety of forms, but only tends to recognize itself in similar forms.  Even the survivors of Zetar will admit this, eventually anyway, once they can make themselves understood, which is a fairly experience, too, the need for beings of their kind to lack comprehension of sentient beings with bodies of their own, even though they once had bodies, too.  They’ve forgotten.  It’s been a long time, and that life no longer has meaning for them.  Zetar has no meaning for them.  Sometimes they want to try and remember, and they don’t have much sympathy for those who are caught up in these attempts.  Again, perfectly normal, even if no less distressing with repetition.  After all, individual experiences are the same as individual modes of living.

The survivors of Zetar are eager to remember what they’ve forgotten.  Their only failing is that the more they remember the more they want to know, and it’s an impossible desire to fully satisfy, because there now exists no one who knows as much about Zetar as they themselves once knew, and since they did not find it important enough all those years ago to make a permanent record, it’s a source of permanent frustration.  No one ever thinks ahead.  Even when they think they are, they’re warping their expectations, and thus the exercise is worthless.  Imagine if your perfect future isn’t so perfect.  Who’s to know the complications that succeed the ones you already know?

Anyway, Zetar was once like any other planet you can name, Vulcan or Andor or Earth.  It isn’t anymore.  That’s as much as can be said about that with any definitiveness.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Star Trek '12: 912 AD - Jem'Hadar

They were engineered six hundred years earlier to be warriors, addicted from conception to the drug ketracel-white.  There is no community feeling within the Jem’Hadar to account for what life was like before the Dominion.  There is not even evidence to support that there was life before the Dominion.  Perhaps like the Vorta they were forcibly evolved from lower beings.  The Founders would never bother to explain.

There were always those who looked beyond the confines of their existence, their purpose for living, the sheer brutality of their utilitarian effectiveness in battle.  In times of war and necessity, there was no reason to think of anything else but their genetic imperative, but whenever there was a lapse in military need, whenever asked to answers the basic needs of their own lives, the Jem’Hadar could conceive of questioning not just anything, but everything.

For instance, six hundred years after coming into service, there was one of many occasional lapses in the expansion of the Dominion.  In the Gamma Quadrant, there was little enough resistance to the ambitions and intentions of the Founders, enough space so that sometimes, the Jem’Hadar could be idle, merely maintaining the status quo, not even needed to clear some new colony world for the purposes of the Dominion.  Sometimes accidents happened, units were separated, and decisions would need to be made on an individual basis.  Such was the case with First Calla’Klan, who found himself marooned on an ocean world, left alone and quickly aware that his supply of the white would not last until he could be rescued.

At first, he wondered if the honorable thing would be to commit suicide, and he was very nearly on the verge of it several times, pushed to the edge of desperation, clinging to the safe log of sequart tree for hours and then days, struggling to keep his head above water as exhaustion passed over him in waves.  The water was surprisingly tranquil, yet he could not enjoy this fact.  There were few enough things that he enjoyed, but he soon realized that the calm of the waters was one of them, one of the few matters of relief available to him.

All he could do was change the vials of the white until he had worked his way through all of them.  He had already calculated how long his supply would last, a great many days ago.  He had been lucky enough to win control of the vials from his Vorta handler, many months earlier.  He found now that he was grateful, a feeling he had not known previously.

When they were all gone, he wondered if he would die instantly or if he would linger.  Pain was something he hadn’t considered previously, either.  A Jem’Hadar endures.  That wasn’t something any of them knew so much as accomplished during the span of their brief lives.  He found the withdrawal to be more painful than he’d expected, because he’d never had to consider it before.  For days he clung to his log and shivered all over, not from the temperature of the water, but from a craving he could no longer satisfy, a craving he’d never appreciated before.  In time, that too passed.

What did he need to survive?  He found new answers every moment on that world.  He found he did not like water, that he would have preferred to slither in and out of it, but he did not enjoy remaining in it, not because he did not want to drown or did not like being wet all day and night, but because it fundamentally did not agree with him.  He’d never appreciated how much he liked dry worlds.  He learned that he did, in fact, have preferences.

On the day of his rescue, he found that he would miss this, too.  He kept many thoughts private from others, something he had probably done in the past, but nothing important.  A Jem’Hadar spoke only when necessary to begin with, but now he was silent because he feared his own thoughts.  He had known fear before, fear of this very nature, fear of individuality, fear of expression, fear that he disappointed the Founders, and the meaning of his life, and the rules of a warrior’s life, but now it was all augmented so that he could no longer ignore it, even in the heat of battle.

Yes, somehow he went back to what had once been normal, but he could no longer view it that way.  He wondered how much longer his people would live this way.