Her feet ate the deck.

With a deft grace the woman weaved between the pedestrian flow, her arms pumping and her muscles protesting.

The trick was to look ahead, distance your mind from the here and now. Just be here, let your mind be 12 steps up ahead – half-conscious for obstructions whilst your body flowed into the gaps and around the logjams of the teeming crowds from a kaleidoscope of different races that crowded the Promenade deck.

Only when she ran, was she able to escape from the concerns that anchored her to the here and now; moving inexorably towards her future, the lithe young woman found it easier to distance herself from the past.

Strange the things that insinuated themselves, unbidden, into her subconsciousness. Sometimes it seemed that there was no distance extant, no exertion sufficient, no distraction compelling enough to separate Samantha Hyland from the unwelcome complications of her memories.

“Make a hole!” Sam warned urgently, between sharp intakes of breath, as a portly Bolian trader suddenly shifted into her path and jerked as he began to become aware of their divergent paths coming together.

————————————————————————————

And, in that instant, Lieutenant Sam Hyland was 6 years old again, giggling and roiling along the corridors of the Galaxy – class starship that had been her childhood home, tears of laughter in her eyes as a crewman echoed “Make a Hole! “as he hurried past the knot of Terran and alien children & her friend Nok wondered aloud.

“This hole she speaks of?” Nok’s Ferengi mind already starting to evaluate the receding rating, “What do you think people would pay if we could make another one?”

Young Sam snorted so hard, that a little snot bubbled out of her nose, and she busied herself with her sleeve, leaving Yeq’ra to playfully cuff one of Nok’s lobes with his blue hand and laugh.

 “It’s just a turn of phrase you idiot! No one’s going to pay you to get out of their way!”

“Ow! Cut that out!” Nok slapped the Bolian child’s hand away huffily. “Besides, you should always keep your ears open,” He nodded archly “that’s the…..”

“SEVENTH RULE of AQUISTION” Sam and Yeq’ra caught each other in each other’s arms and chorused in good natured – unison. “We KNOW!!!” They giggled and rolled their eyes theatrically.

“Well…” Nok pretended offence and then grinned wolfishly, “It’s a GOOD one and it’s one of my favorites!”

All three laughing children tore off towards the Holodecks, garnering a brace of semi-tolerant stares as they went.

————————————————————————————

Sam smiled at the memory even as her attention returned to the present & she broke her pace, putting out her outstretched hands to ward off the imminent collision with the unfortunate merchant.

Who turned into the transaction and a broad smile broke out on his broad, ridged cobalt – blue face.

“Ensign Hyland!” he beamed, dissipating the residual energy from their bodies into an unexpected and encompassing hug. “I thought that you had already LEFT us!” The Bolian boomed jovially. “My Ja’Lha, she will be OVERJOYED that you are still with us!”

Momentarily taken aback, Sam’s sweat-sheen brow wrinkled in recognition, and she laughed (her nose also crinkling prettily). “Mr. Aralis!” the young blonde woman laughed – Braq’ta Aralias was as familiar to her as the steaming bowls of Bolian Tomato Soup that she habitually had been ordering from his eatery for the last 5 years of her duty aboard Starbase 72.

“No, still here right now as you can see?” Sam extricated herself from Braq’ta’s embrace smiling awkwardly (not wishing to get his clothes sweaty) “And it’s Lieutenant now Mr. Aralias – has been for a while now remember?”

Braq’ta Aralias mimed slapping his own forehead in mock admonishment and continued “So it has Samantha! So-it-HAS! Splendid! SPLENDID”, he laughed good-naturedly.

Ever – oblivious to the fact that other people might actually have things to do in their day, the shopkeeper made to take Samantha’s elbow and enthused, “You have been my best customer you know? Most humans lack the gastronomical good – sense to enjoy the food of my people! But not you Lieutenant, eh? HAH! And now you are leaving us.” Braq’ta said with finality & looked genuinely sad – Sam decided that she would miss him.

“Well duty calls Mr. Aralias.” Sam shrugged and gently regained her elbow as the Bolian pontificated and nodded to the viewport and the voided vista of the internal spacedock beyond.

“Well yes, yes of COURSE!” He beamed “and which of those noble vessels will be taking our best customer so far away from us?”

Samanthan Hyland made a show of looking out across the chasm of internal space to the sleek shapes at repose or moving slowly at low impulse. She spied the familiar shape of her new posting and reached out a slim arm to point it out.

“It’s that one there.” She smiled as Mr. Aralias’ gaze followed her digit and he whistled, impressed.

“What a MAGNIFICENT vessel Lieutenant.” Braq’ta nodded, “I’m sure you will be transported to glorious adventures aboard such a beautiful ship.” He clapped her on the shoulder happily and Sam laughed out loud, despite herself and corrected.

“Oh, gods no Mr. Aralias!” Sam chuckled into her hand and pointed again “That’s the USS Hyperion, that’s a Sovereign Class Exploratory Cruiser!”

“This is not your ship?” the Bolian’s warm features faltered, he looked genuinely puzzled.

“A girl can dream!” Sam flashed a megawatt smile and helped Mr. Aralias pick out the scuffed & doughty hull of the USS Sacramento. “No, that’s my ship there, that one towing the big one into her berth.”

“Stand up straight Lieutenant and straighten your uniform collar.” Lt Commander Vodrova snapped in her thick Slavic accent, mildly irritated that their guests were late.

Commander Allen had an almost obsessive compulsion with ensuring that the USS Sacramento operated exactly to schedule and Aleksandra winced inwardly at the thought of having to explain to her (relatively new) CO that the duty she had been assigned to be the root-cause of any delay.

If Samantha Hyland thought anything of the Executive Officer’s tirade, her smooth features betrayed no outward sign. Despite being turned out in a crisp uniform and standing so straight that an actual ramrod would be put to shame, Sam endeavored to draw her stance even straighter and made a show of adjusting an already perfectly aligned tunic collar.

“Aye aye Ma’am.” Sam nodded as Vodrova gave a curt ghost of a nod and turned once more to confer with the duty Transporter Chief (for what seemed to Sam the hundredth time in the last half hour) to garner an updated ETA on the first contingent of delegates from the Primarion Gerontocracy – the ruling B’Queth.

Sam hazarded a brief glance down at the datapad silently scrolling in her own hands, distracted but checking once more the particulars of today’s incoming passenger manifest and cast her mind back to the Senior Officer’s briefing earlier that day – acutely aware that, for these particular set of incoming matter-exchange transports, timing was everything.

USS Sacramento

Main Briefing Room

Stardate: 2401.6.05

11:06 Hrs. (Station Time)

Commander Nathan Allen placed his hands on the table.

They were strong hands, assured by countless hours of crabbing and gripping the unforgiving mountain rock that Nate so loved to scale in his off – duty hours.

They were the hands at the tiller of this, his first real solo command (although Ensign O’Mara’s capable hands were more often than not at the actual helm) and the Captain of the USS Sacramento noted how all of the senior officers, his new Communications Chief included, followed those hands down as they rested on the table, as if waiting for them to signal the next revelation.

“So….” Nate paused, waiting for the attention of his senior officers to gravitate back to his care worn face. “In summation, the mission that Command has seen fit to assign us comprises of three parts.” Commander Allen always liked to round off the briefing with a summary and then let his officer’s give any feedback they thought necessary. It was a command – style he had adopted on his previous tour during his brief time as XO of the USS Saroga, and Nate Allen was not a man to ‘fix a wheel if it wasn’t broken’.

He raised a hand from the table and isolated a single digit.

“Our primary mission is to return the delegates of the Primarion Gerontocracy & their appellants, from the recent diplomatic summit, back to their home – system.” He paused, “I’m sure that all of you have read the briefing on the Gerontocracy extensively,” Nate stressed that last word in case anyone had missed that directive, “But I understand that the conference did not conclude well so it’s probably prudent to gain a more learned insight into our guests on this voyage. Lieutenant Duval? If you will please?”

Nate indicated to the Sac’s Chief Science Officer and those seated swiveled their chairs (where required) to receive the briefing from Lt (Jg) Cerine Duval.

“Oui – c’est ainsi” Cerine nodded, slipping into her native French for a moment and keyed the holo-emitter in the center of the table. A miniature, glittering astrolabe sprung into being and the slow balletic sweep of planetary perigee and apogee began to animate.

“The Primarion Gerontocracy are the ruling governmental structure prevalent in the Primar – Majoris system.” Cerine intoned in that, distinctly gallic, languid way of hers. “First Contact with the Gerontocracy occurred in 2984 and since then the Federation has been engaged in the establishment of formal relations with the Gerontocracy, which is divided into two distinctly separate races, that nevertheless share a near-unique symbiosis through a shared genetical heritage, that has actively shaped their history and development.”

Cerine gestured to the handsome African man sat to her left, “Doctor Eboneke can give you a brief breakdown of the implication of Primarion physiology to this evolution, far better than I.” Cerine smiled demurely, ceding the floor to the CMO.

Lt Abaywe Eboneke nodded in mute thanks and keyed the Holo-emitter to display an anatomical representation of two sets of similar – looking alien beings, a single figure and a pair – arrayed in the time-honored configuration first adopted by Michealangelo.

“Thank you Cerine.” Abay returned in his smooth, sonorous voice. “As my colleague has correctly stated, the Primarion race is what is sometimes referred to by lay-persons as a ‘Binary Race.’ Whilst both the B’Queth and the Va’Saal undoubtably have many superficial similarities in physiognomy, skin pigmentation & so on and can undeniably trace their base DNA sequences back to a common morphology, there are striking dichotomies between the two races, that are key to understanding their development both physically, historically, and politically.”

Dr Eboneke paused, to make sure all at the table were still with him and satisfied, continued.

The single figure on the (relative) left of the holo enlarged, whilst the right-hand pair diminished, and Abay continued.

“It is first interesting to note that neither of the two sentient races actually evolved naturally within the Primar – Majoris system.”

“The most popular school of thought postulated that both races were introduced to the system by a benevolent race Primarion records obliquely refer to as ‘The Providers’.” Duval interjected, for context’s sake.

“Probably one of the Ancient involved species that have now Sublimed from what we understand as the prime material plane of the Galaxy to do gods-only-know-what in wherever it is those cryptic ancients tend to opt for at a sufficiently advanced juncture of their evolution.” The French woman shrugged dismissively, “We come across this from time to time. The Gods quit the Galaxy and leave behind their bewildered playthings. C’est comme ça.” Cerine made a vague What can you do?” gesture.

“Just so.” Dr Eboneke smiled and resumed. “The Primarion are unique in that they have three complementary gender – types. The B’Queth are the dominant asexual or ‘Apex’ entity of the two races – enjoying a lifespan of some 150 years by conservative estimates.”

Abay keyed the Holo again and the former figure diminished as a similar looking, but different hued pair of alien specimens came to the fore.

“The Va’Saal are nearly identical to the B’Queth in every way apart from one key distinction – their lifespan is much, much shorter – the longest lived Va’Saal on record living to an equivalent age of only 6 years.”

This last fact piqued the interest of many faces around the table, but Dr Eboneke pressed on.

“This imbalance alone could explain the fact that the B’Queth have evolved to rule over the Va’Saal – effectively as a subjugated lower-class.” Abay explained “However it is their reproductive relationship that has evolved to cement this hegemony. The Va’Saal have the normal male and female reproductive organs and relationship – with the female Va’Saal bearing the fetus to term after insemination by a Va’Saal male.”

The holo pivoted to bring both sets of figures back in equal alignment within the data representation.

“But the B’Queth themselves ovulate, but can can carry no young and have evolved to be able to impregnate the Va’Saal female with their own self-inseminated ovum – effectively producing another Apex child by the surrogate Va’Saal mother.”

This did set the table amurmer and Dr Eboneke’s husband Jan (the Chief Security Officer) protested.

“But surely that’s tantamount to sexual – slavery!” the young South – African remonstrated with a frown.

“Now Ensign,” Cerine cautioned “we are not here to pass judgement on the morality implied by the genetical development of a sentient species, nor can we draw immediate correlation between their sociologic development based upon their evolutionary attributes alone.” The scientist warned.

Jan De-Vries, the urge to protect those unable to do so themselves so core to his makeup, said nothing but nodded assent. His husband smiled warmly at him and gently squeezed Jan’s hand under the table to reassure him.

“Indeed, whilst the relationship between the B’Queth and the Va’Saal may seem injudicious to us.” Cerine spread her hands wide “It is a relationship that has developed by assent by both parties for millennia, well, until First Contact that is. Both races maintain that the balance of primacy was handed to the B’Queth by the Providers before they sublimed and until the Federation happened along – the status quo was unquestioned by either side.”

She looked pointedly at Ensign Jan De-Vries “The Prime Directive is very clear in terms of our mandate not to pre-judge or interfere with the societal development of any sentient, warp capable race – no matter how at odds their value systems may be from our own.”

It was at this juncture that Commander Allen nodded to Sam who, at this stage, was quite convinced that the CO had forgotten that she was there – so entranced was she by the relative implications of the briefing.

“Lieutenant Hyland?” Nate smiled as Sam sat a little straighter in her seat.

“Sir?” Sam smiled uncertainly.

“Firstly, welcome aboard and to your first briefing.” Commander Allen nodded to those assembled. “I can assure you that our meetings are seldom ever this enlivening – so you have joined us at an opportune time.”

“Aye sir” Samantha agreed, wondering what the CO was leading up to.

“I see from your Service – jacket that you have spent the last 5 years in Command Liaison on ‘72?” Nate came to his point “Can you shed any light on the nature and outcome of the diplomatic efforts relating to our imminent guests that may help us? Ballpark will do if you have nothing specific? Best swing if you don’t have that.” The CO nodded.

Keenly aware that the focus of attention in the briefing room had now squarely turned to shine on her, Sam cleared her throat and fervently hoped she wouldn’t make a jackass of herself.

As it was, the Skipper’s allusion to 20th Century sporting vernacular had Sam a little flustered, but Ensign De-Vries (a sports obsessive) caught her eye, mouthed “Baseball” and winked reassuringly at her.

“Well Commander,” Sam began uncertainly “I did have a lot of interaction with the Diplomatic Corps during my tour and what I am certain of is that the recent diplomatic effort centers around a schism within Primarion society, or the Primacy as it is also known – one that the B’Queth marginally hold the Federation responsible for instigating by merit of First Contact.”

This earned a raised eyebrow from Commander Allen. “Interesting Lieutenant, go on?”

“Well sir,” Sam suddenly wished that she was lightyears away – anywhere other than being on the spot now at least “The B’Queth rule via the faction known as the Gerontocracy – using the advantage of their cumulative age & comparatively longer lives as the base of influence over the Va’Saal. The Va’Saal have little choice but to act as the servile class and broodmares to the B’Queth. Many still continue to do so.”

Sam stole a glance at Cerine to see if the scientist thought that Sam was really screwing this up. Her roommate nodded her assent with a cavalier incline of her head. Sam was relieved.

“Most, but not all?” Commander Allen prompted.

Gaining a small measure of confidence Sam nodded briskly. “No Sir not all. Since the Federation made First Contact, the Va’Saal have had a protracted opportunity to inwardly digest the apparent social freedoms enjoyed as an unalienable right by other species in the Federation.”

“And now they want in?” Nate smiled. He wasn’t averse to putting a new junior officer through her paces and see how they rose to meet the challenge. His new Comms officer lacked confidence maybe, but once she hit her pace, she seemed capable. He could work with that clay.

Samantha smiled knowingly. “A separatist faction has arisen amongst the Va’Saal, that much is true Commander. They call themselves the Primarion Cessation and whilst they have no political mandate – the very fact that the subjugate race of the Gerontocracy could even consider ceding, let alone demanding to be considered for temporary status as a “Protected Client Species” by the UFP, has sent shockwaves reverberating through the B’Queth.”

Nate set both hands back down on the surface of the table once more and nodded to Dr Eboneke to turn the holoprojector off. As the images faded, gauzily, back to nothingness and the lights slowly rose from dimmed, the Commander sighed.

“No, I can’t see the UFP agreeing to that demand, no matter how plaintive its intent. Thank you everyone for your insight.” Commander Allen took on a more serious air. “It seems we are about to ship out with a compliment of complications.” He turned to the Executive Officer.

“Aleksa, I want you to head up the welcome – wagon with our friends from Primarion.” Nate commanded.

“Da Captain.” Lt Commander Vodrova nodded.

“From the sounds of things, you’re going to have your work cut out for you just ensuring that you keep them apart long enough for us to deliver them home all in one piece.” Commander Allen half-joked and nodded to Samantha.

“Sam here will accompany you and provide any support you may need – she seems to have the inside leg on what’s eating at them both. Agreed?” Nate raised an eyebrow. This was an order, but if the XO had any objections – he wanted all of his senior officers to hear it. Nate Allen did not do closed doors.

“Agreed Captain.” Vodrova replied carefully and afforded Sam a brief glance and small, curt nod.

“Good!” Nate clapped his hands down on the desk again.

“Ensign De-Vries, you’ll provide overwatch on both the Gerontocracy and the Cessation delegates, if anyone gets out of hand – slap that hand, but gently. Inform the XO asap if the issue looks to be getting out of control and let’s try to avoid the situation developing into a full-blown diplomatic incident. That is one headache I do-not-need. Are we clear Ensign?”

“Crystal Captain.” Jan nodded seriously.

“Which leaves us our Scientists and their gear. The schedule says that they are our first stop when we reach our destination. The archaeological team and their field equipment are to be transported down to the ruins on the surface of Primar – Majoris#7 when we make system. Shuttlecraft to be tasked as sufficient to make the transfer as expedient as practicable. Mr. Sorvak – that’s your ball.”

For the first time in the entire meeting, the near-cadaverous Vulcan Chief Operations Officer stirred and stated simply. “The logistical outlay, timeline, resourcing, flight plans and efficiency projections are already appended to my report Captain.” Sorvak intoned somberly, as if it could be any other way.

Nate grinned despite himself. Sorvak was the only officer that had served aboard the USS Sacramento for almost the entirety of the ship’s lifespan and all of her commanding officers. The Vulcan was as almost as much part of the ships systems as he was its crew.

“Wouldn’t expect any less, thank you Lieutenant.” Nate smiled and turned his gaze to Cerine Duval.

“Cerine – you’ll play host to the Science team. They’re mostly Starfleet, so they shouldn’t hold you up. Get them anything they need, then get them on their way.”

“Ce sera comme vous le dites Capitaine.” Duvall purred.

“Taking that one as a yes.” The Commander winked good-naturedly.

“Lastly, Lieutenant Ryu?”

The Chief Engineer sat bolt upright in his seat as if a charge had been passed through him. Jai-Hui was of a famously nervous disposition, but Nate knew him as one of the more talented Engineers he had ever served with and was prepared to cut the young Korean a break.

“Predicably, you get to play with the bells and whistles of the Sub-space array currently jamming up my cargo bays and whip them into some semblance of deployability once we make orbit around the Primarion Homeworld.”

“Primarion Prime.” Lieutenant Sorvak corrected sagely.

Nate paused and turned to the Vulcan. “Really?!” he frowned.

“Indeed.” The Vulcan shrugged & deadpanned back.

“Minus several million for originality I guess.” The Commander rolled his eyes & shrugged and completed his order.

“Jai – I don’t need to impress upon you how important that it is to the Federation diplomatic effort that we assist the Primarion people in setting up this comms network? Work with Sorak and req whoever you need, whenever you need them. I’ll even roll up my sleeves and get stuck in if needs be. You hear me?”

“Aye Captain.” The slim engineer beamed, being handed a difficult engineering problem was music to his ears. Hand him an impossible one and Lieutenant Ryu Jai-Hui might just marry you.

The Captain of the USS Sacramento sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through the greying hair on his temples.

“Okay people. You know the schedule. Get to it and make it happen.” Commander Nathan Allen prompted his crew. “Any issues – take them to the XO, who will bring them to me. Dismissed!”

As the senior officers departed the briefing room, Nate called out to Lt Sorvak. “Lt Sorvak, please locate the Chief of the Boat and let Hojas know what she needs to know to get the NCOs and other ranks up to speed if you will.”

Sorvak nodded briefly – he was already on his way to do so.

Finally, alone, Nate sat back and rubbed his face, returning his attention to his datapad and its never-ending demands on his time.

“Primarion Prime…. Jesus!” He shook his head, laughed to himself and then continued to work.

USS Sacramento

Transporter Room #2

Stardate: 2401.6.05

18:15 Hrs. (Station Time)

“Dockside reports that it’s the delegation from the Gerontocracy Commander.” The duty Transporter Chief apologized to a glowering Lt Commander Aleksandra Vodrova. “The Cessation delegates were slated for the first round of transports aboard, apparently the B’Queth have taken great and voluble offence to his and are demanding that they be beamed aboard first. Something about a ‘great dishonor’, it could have been ‘great offence’ – not really sure Ma’am – things sounded quite heated down there over the comm.”

“Боги моих предков дают мне силы!!” Aleksandra swore vehemently under her breath. “Well then Chief, move them to the front of the line and then…” She began to frame a compromise.

“Begging the Commander’s pardon.” The Transporter Chief winced. “That option was put forward by the departures operator – which sent the Cessation delegates into a similar tizzy.”

“Of course, it did.” Vodrova replied icily. “Tell me Chief, is the Science team standing by and ready for transport?”

“Aye Ma’am, that they are.” The Chief smiled with relief – the XO would sort this mess out and he could go off duty soon for a sorely – needed drink.

“Then bump them up and beam them aboard. That should get the diplomats wondering who will be last.” She nodded.

“Making it so Commander.” The Chief nodded gratefully and signaled for the Transport to begin.

Lt Commander Vodrova nodded to the Chief Science Officer, who had been lounging casually in the background – talking with a subordinate. “Lieutenant Duval, make ready, you guests are about to join us.”

Vodrova turned to Samantha and shrugged “Your guests have exactly 4 minutes to decide which is going to join us. After that, then I’m ordering helm to lay-in a course out of spacedock.” Aleksandra’s smile was winter in Siberia.

The transporter room began to be bathed in a swirling expression of complex energies as the forms of the Federation Science Team began to arrive aboard on the first leg to explore the ruins on Primar – Majoris#7.

Sam was about to respond to her XO, when a familiar voice stopped her dead.

“Sammie? Is that you?”

Lieutenant Samantha Hyland turned, stunned, and disbelieving to gawp at the newly re-incorporated figure that stepped down into Transporter room #2.

“Daddy?”

The datapad she had been holding clattered from her numb fingers to hit and bounce along the floor.

The Waterbuck was captured against the verdant expanse of the veld. The proud head gracing its slender tawny neck, so mantled with the crowning glory of its twin ridge of curving horns, turning as the relentless sun began to dip behind far-distant mountains – ground & sky just beginning to merge gently into a shimmering vermillion as evening came to that distant part of the Kenyan Grasslands.

“You’ve got the markings wrong Abay.” Jan De Vries mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste as he passed behind, his impressive physique clad only in a small towel.

Dr Abaywe Eboneke closed his eyes and sighed, paint brush poised a fraction above the canvas – the spell broken. He put the brush down on the small ledge of the easel that was set up in the tiny living room both officers shared (a significant concession when one of them was an Ensign who – by rights – should be berthed in the shared hall accommodations below decks) and carefully cleaned the oil paint residue from his graceful fingers with a cloth.

“I have not.” Abay smiled. The sight of his husband retreating back into the even more cramped bathroom they shared – fresh from the shower – was balm enough to temper his annoyance at being so interrupted from his painting.

Abay keyed the Holo of the Kobus ellipsiprymnus, a representation of the Common Waterbuck shimmered into the air beside the easel and the Chief Medical Officer peered at it offhandedly.

“Have so.” Jan replied as the sound of water ran and the hectoring sound of toothpaste being spat into a basin corresponded with the exact moment Abay winced. “The black ridge is thicker at the hind quarters – yours is uniform between the haunches.” Jan stuck his head around the corner of the bathroom and began to floss…”Shee?”

Dr Eboneke peered at the reference and then back to his canvass. His husband was right.

“Damn!” He swore with a quiet chuckle.

Jan emerged from the bathroom, similarly, dressed in a robe and kissed Abay on his tightly curled head.

“One of the perils of being to being married to a brilliant criminal investigator with the mind of a god!” The young South African man smiled and gently squeezed his partner’s shoulders.

“Well, yes, lucky me.” Abay smiled ironically and took Jan’s hand as he came to sit lightly on the arm of the chair and Abay leant his head against Jan’s strong shoulder.

“And of course, most devastatingly, crushingly handsome and modest I may add!” Jan beamed and stood to cross to the unit under the viewport, where lay a set of glasses and a decanter. He poured two glasses of a warming spirit and waggled one at Abay.

“A little early in the evening, isn’t it?” The Doctor joshed gently.

Jan made a show of producing a pantomime sad-face pout.

Abaywe laughed as he moved to the couch & gestured his Husband to bring the glass. When Jan had curled up next to him and they had clinked glasses and drank, Abay turned to Jan.

“Hard day I take it then?”

The Sacramento’s young Chief of Security let out a long sigh. “My darling, you have NO idea.”

“Well, I am sorry for your trials.” Abay took Jan’s face in his hand and kissed him. “As your Doctor, I advise you to tell me all about it.” He looked into Jan’s cool blue eyes and a warm smile creased his dark face.

Jan De Vries laughed and took another drink.

“Well, you don’t have to be a great detective to realize that the mood of the ship has shifted since the B’Queth and Va’Saal delegates have come aboard.” He reflected.

“My own little Hercules Parrot.” Abay jibed.

“Its Hercule Poir…..oh never mind!” Jan laughed (Abay did not share Jan’s love of classic detective fictions – even though he seemed to think that painting with noxious chemicals, instead of making Holo-art like most people, escaped that distinction of archaic and twee!).

“Sorry – bad joke – go on.” Abaywe prompted, rising to fill Jan’s glass again. His husband did not generally drink very often. If he was doing so at this early stage of the evening, he must really have had a bad day.

“Well, the B’Queth, the Gerontocracy faction, they really are a pompous bag of asses.” Jan rubbed his neck tiredly. “The weren’t too happy when the arrived onboard and were greeted by the XO instead of Commander Allen. You can tell they are a bunch that are not really used to not being in charge of everyone and everything – always.” Jan shook his head and took the refreshed drink gratefully.

“I’ve heard as much from Scuttlebutt.” The Doctor murmured and began to gently massage Jan’s neck, unbidden. The tension in the muscles was palpable.

“The Va’Saal – not the ones that act as servants to the B’Queth – those ones are as placid as milking-cows, but the ones from the Cessation.” Jan closed his eyes “They are troublemakers if ever I saw any. Argumentative, provocative, radical even – but they generally keep this under a civil veneer. My people have had to intervene at several junctures to stop things turning sour in some of the shared social spaces and corridors over the last two days.”

“It’s the anger and the blind hatred between both peoples, just there under the surface, that’s so confronting.” Jan reflected sadly. “The way the B’Queth treat the Va’Saal, it’s like an echo of the apartheid of the Afrikaans from my own people’s history.”

“Oh, my love I’m so sorry.” Dr Eboneke stopped his massage and rose to his feet. “I proscribe another drink. I will make you a wonderful dinner and then plenty of bed rest.” He smiled warmly, not wishing to see Jan like this.

“As long as it’s replicated.” Jan stretched out further into the warm space vacated on the couch. “Your cooking is anything but therapeutic Abay.” He grinned cheekily and nearly dodged a throw cushion, lobbed tastefully, from the armchair Abay was passing.

“Monster!” Abay laughed as he made his way to the replicator and began to consider a menu. “In my considerably considered medical opinion, I shall put that outburst down to delirium and a lack of essential nutrients for now.” His eyes flashed with mirth.

“But seriously – I think the negative mood is reflecting on the crew and morale is begging to suffer from it.” Jan removed the pillow and set it aside.

“How so?”

Jan finished his drink and placed it on the small coffee table before him, running a hand through his short, damp hair.

“Well, take Lieutenant Hyland for example?” Jan wondered.

“Samantha?”

Jan nodded, “Yes Sam.” He turned to Abay. “Her father comes aboard. The pair have not seen each other in years apparently – so you’d think that should be cause for celebration. The happy coincidence of father and daughter being so unexpectedly reunited.”

“So, one would think.”

“So-one-would-THINK!” Jan punctuated each word with a gentle stab of a finger. “Instead, Sam seems to be taking on extra duty on the bridge, has been running comm – array checks with her team – under the pretense that these will be vital when the Subspace Array is deployed and seems to being taking every opportunity to actively avoid her father. Does that sound normal to you?”

“Families can be complicated, but, well, no, I would say it does not.” Dr Eboneke agreed (his husband just could not stop deducting – his bright & inquisitive mind was one of the reasons that Abay loved him so) as the replicator shimmered to life and the mouth – watering smells of Bobotie filled the room, the spiced rice with extra sultanas – just the way his husband preferred it. “But can you really equate that to the presence of the Primarion onboard – as disruptive as they may be?”

He crossed the room and lay both plates on the table and Jan joined him and started shoveling rice hungrily into his mouth.

“Who knows?” Jan Dr Vries paused and punctuated with his fork like a conductor’s baton “Something is brewing, and it won’t taste good. Let me tell you this, this dinner that the Captain has invited them all to attend this evening is going to be one hell of an interesting gathering if you ask me.”

Abay spooned the excellent egg – drenched spiced mince and rice into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“The CO is duty bound to try and strike accord with all parties in the interest of maintaining peace aboard ship Jan and food is an excellent unifier in most cases.” Abay reasoned.

“Humph.” Jan chewed, “I’d just hate to be a fly on the wall for that particular soiree is all…..”

USS Sacramento

Captain’s Quarters

Stardate: 2401.6.07

20:32 Hrs. (Shipboard Time)

“Will you take some more wine Gentarch Oramed?”

“My thanks Captain.” The B’Queth nodded affably enough, his colorful neck fronds creasing against the collar of his sumptuous robes.

The dinner was progressing reasonably enough, given the situation, with a formal but distinctly awkward patter of small – talk that Commander Allen was doing his best to steer away from shoals of potentially scuppering subject – matter.

Such was a Captain’s lot to smooth the passage of those under his charge to a less turbulent channel.

Chief Hojas filled the Gerontocracy delegation leader’s glass. The compact, serious – looking Chief of the Boat had volunteered to play maître – de for Nate’s little soirée. The Commander had not been surprised by this – Aileen had served with him for many years and the two had formed an instinctive bond of support & trust over that time. Try keeping the Chief at bay at your peril.

“It’s an Earth vintage from the Shiraz region of a country called Iran, itself once part of an ancient empire called Persia that was a famed center of civilization and innovation.” Lieutenant Duval offered from her seat next to the Va’Saal representative Ge’nan. “Next to my own people, the French, of course.” The CSO allowed with a little ironic shrug.

“My own people know much of the art of making of wine.” The grey skinned Ge’nan demurred politely. Sat across the table from his pink – hued counterpart, by contrast the Va’Saal was quiet- spoken and understated in simple garb, where the B’Queth was garrulous, domineering and bedecked in ostentatious finery.

As a cultural anthropologist, Dr Duval was in her element, but remembered Nate’s instruction and did not let her natural curiosity obscure the directive to ensure that neither party strayed too far into the troubled waters of argument. The intent of this gathering was to placate and dilute some of the tensions that had been simmering aboard over the last few days.

The Gentarch waved a dismissive clutch of plump many-ringed fingers airily and nodded to Nate. “Of course, the B’Queth have always ensured that the necessary knowledge is carefully handed down to our charges in each of their brief generations – essential to ensure the quality of the vintages are consistently maintained.” The B’Queth enthused confidently. “The Va’Saal are as a moment of joy – short-lived and vibrant. Sadly, many that gather the harvest seldom endure to enjoy the first vintage.”

No one at the table was sufficiently impressed with the depth of the Gentarch’s triteness – save himself.

Representative Ge’nan pursed his lips – refusing to rise to the Gentarch’s barb. He nodded to Cerine, “Tell me Dr Duval – this Empire of the Persia that was so mighty, how did it become this Iran?”

He pointedly refused a refill on this own glass when Chief Hojas passed his seat. Nate noticed that the Va’Saal was far less ostentatious and domineering than the Gentarch in his manner but was more comfortable framing his reposts from a careful position of passive aggression. For a race that had evolved primarily into a ‘Master & Servant’ dynamic – the Commander supposed that this was to be expected.

“Well,” Cerine smiled and drank a sip of wine from her own glass, “The Persian Empire began to decline under the reign of the ruler Darius’s son, Xerxes. Xerxes depleted the royal treasury with an unsuccessful campaign to invade a neighboring empire called Greece and continued with irresponsible spending upon returning home. Persia was eventually conquered by in 334 B.C.E.”

“I see.” Representative Ge’nan remarked pointedly as he turned his gaze toward the Gentarch and continued. “So, their leaders grew complacent and were bested by an inevitable outside force?” He smiled thinly at the B’Queth across the table from him.

“Pah!” The Gentarch fluttered his fingers at Chief Hojas imperiously to re-fill his own glass and pouted theatrically. “I am sure that the good Dr Duval has simplified the more complicated elements of her story for the benefit of all gathered Ge’nan.”

The Chief refilled the Gentarch’s glass, her face unreadable.

“Like so many things Captain.” Oramed spoke pointedly to Commander Allen, rather than directly to the Va’Saal, “One has to simplify and abridge much of what is related to our Va’Saal compatriots for the sake of brevity. As short lived as their time is amongst us, it becomes essential, a kindness even, not to belabor them with erroneous details.” The generously – proportioned creature purred obsequiously.

Frowning Cerine Duval began to lazily trace a finger around the rim of her own glass, creating a sonorous – but distracting – tone. She replied.

“Well Gentarch, a man called Alexander the Great, finally toppled the Persian dynasty and assimilated it into his own growing Empire. After a series of ill-planned invasions of Greece that had failed and numerous rebellions by frustrated nations within the Empire, the Persians were weakened.” The suave Frenchwoman hoped that the pompous Genocrat could appreciate the abject lesson apparent in this tale.

Unperturbed, Gentarch Oramed clapped his hands together and rejoined silkily “And here we find the disturbing pattern of behavior common to your people it would seem, H’mmm?”

Without wanting or waiting for anyone to form a response, Oramed smoothly pressed his point – most evidently pleased by the turn of conversation and the opportunity to confirm his primacy over it.

“Like your Starfleet seeks to assimilate our own glorious culture and traditions into its own and that we reach the point where we effectively cease to be as a people, separate and distinct. Why else would you be stoking the fires of discontent to even consider this ridiculous Va’Saal request for cessation – if not to achieve this end?” Oramed’s final tone was dark with implication.

“That supposition is both illogical and misrepresentative on many levels Gentarch.” Sorvak intoned levelly, as he picked over his salad. The Vulcan Second Officer had not spoken all evening beyond opening greetings, content to listen thus far, but now he weighed in without emotion.

“Firstly.” Sorvak turned his bald – head to the B’Queth, but to also make clear he was also addressing the Va’Saal seated at the table equally.

“It is the United Federation of Planets that has been at the forefront of the diplomatic efforts to entreat with both your peoples, as is required when a civilization reaches the relative technological development necessary to develop Warp-capability and thus be considered for inclusion with their involved ‘at-play’ Galactic contemporaries. Starfleet, in this context was and is merely the instrument of First Contact and continued outreach between our peoples.”

“So you say, So you say…” The Gentarch pushed some food around his plate, pretending good natured acceptance of the Vulcan’s diatribe, but inwardly annoyed that his limelight was being obscured.

“Secondly Gentarch.” Sorvak continued, equally unperturbed (as he was essentially imperturbable) “The United Federation of Planets is a collective of numerous interested planetary sovereignties sharing a common mandate of exploration and defense. It has not been a purely human endeavor since the dissolution of the United Earth Space Probe Agency in 2161 and its ‘assimilation’ into the earth polity as a founding member of the UFP that we know today.”

“HAH! See? That word again – ‘Assimilation’.” Oramed interjected smugly, “Strange how it seems to recur whenever we touch upon your Federation and its dealings. One may wonder how this makes you people any different from these ‘Borg’ that you keep on trying to frighten us with.”

 The Gentarch was aware that he was losing his grip on the conversation and was resorting to bluster – a typical B’Queth fallback.

Sorvak frowned and spoke to the Gentarch as if explaining an evident to a small child.

“I fail to equate your reasoning Gentarch.” The Vulcan raised a critical eyebrow. The most animated his face had been all night. “The Federation seek to support and assist the development of any species willing to interact in the furtherment of peace and relative freedoms.”

Sorvak looked pointedly from the Gentarch to the Representative when he pronounced ‘relative’.

“Whereas the Borg are an entity that exists only to extend its hegemony, the Federation would only seek to enrich itself by the encapsulation of the Primarion cultural diversity into its own culture as a distinct and active participant. The Borg know no such distinction and would seek to subsume your people into the Collective – effectively eradicating your culture in favour of their own. I myself have encountered the Borg during my career and can assure you that it is only by the merit of the values of the UFP and the bravery of Starfleet that I am able to relate this distinction to you today.”

A pallor of awkwardness hung over the dining table. Someone cleared their throat nervously and the only sound was of cutlery moving against crockery.

Commander Allen launched a conversational countermeasure that he had been holding in reserve.

“Our people are certainly excited to learn more about Primarion culture and its genesis.” Nate nodded as desert was served. “The Federation appreciates the goodwill of the Gerontocracy and the support of all Primarion people in permitting our science team to visit the site on Primar – Majoris#7. I am sure it will serve to bring our peoples together – just as it has with Lt Hyland and her father here?”

At this, Sam glanced at her father – the Xenoarchaeology Professor Jonas Hyland. The expression was unreadable, and Nate began to experience a sensation of misgiving. The CO had been pre-occupied during the first few days of the voyage and had hoped that introducing the Hylands to the guest-list would interject a much – needed opportunity for lively debate & conciliation. It seemed however that this may have been overambitious, as something was evidently awry between father and daughter.

Nate made a mental note to follow this up with Lieutenant Hyland at a later date, but the erudite Professor Jonas Hyland came to his rescue.

“The Reliquary of Ost is indeed a captivating site, both in terms of antiquity, architectural refinement and – speaking with the inevitable self-interest of a scientist – a singular opportunity to appreciate the manifold wonders and mystery of the influence of the Providers.” Jonas Hyland possessed such an infectious intellectual curiosity that, when he spoke, you easily could see how the gifted academic could hold entire lecture theatres of his peers in such thrall.

“Thank the Providers.” Gentarch Oramed intoned respectfully.

“Thank the Providers.” Representative Ge’nan echoed quietly.

Jonas Hyland removed his antique spectacles and made a show of polishing the lenses until they gleamed like his clever green eyes. “Just IMAGINE what secrets and wonders, what things that they still have to say to us through the wisdom of what they have left behind?” The Professor enthused genuinely – so much that even his daughter allowed herself a small smile.

Both opposing Primarion at the table nodded their assent to this guileful appeal to their shared (if uneven) cultural base and the conversation was gently guided down the imagined vaulted stone archways and plaza of the fantastical ruins of Reliquary in the Great Ost Desert and away from the clashing echoes of past and present conflict.

Commander Nathan Allen raised a forkful of dessert to his face to mask a small, wry smile of hope – thinking that he might just get his guests to coffee and petit – fours unscathed after all………

Long tendrils of vertiginous smoke, a riot of vibrant hued-color and headily gouting incense, described a euphoric haze as it issued from the pot-bellied censures that were thrust into the scorching, shifting sands – teased by the intermittent winds. The smoke remained the only active thing moving below the slow transcribed arc of the Night Sister as she chased her sibling incestuously across the morning.

Save for the fragile van of the black – clad Plaintiff’s as their thin line expressed their exodus of veneration across the shifting dunes of the desert sands.

His head felt light from a combination of all-pervading heat, thirst and the heady tendrils of incense made his stomach uneasy. His vision constricted at the bleaching glare and his head drifted with the breeze.

The more dominant, leading binary star know to the ancient Primarion as “The Day Brother”, led its blazing twin a teasingly (but never to be requited) slow chase across the burning azure sky.

Both announced the early morning and already the punishing heat bore unrelenting down on the faithful as they made their solemn pilgrimage toward where the blessed Providers had spoken their first wisdoms to the fathers of the Primarion and so was founded the Reliquary of Ost.

The confounding brisance of desert heat defeated Jonas Hyland’s eyes, making the great temple seem so far away via the heartless, shimmering subterfuge of mirage, but in his heart, Jonas knew that their tribulation was nearing an end and that the purgatory they had suffered through the punishing desert to attain, was nearly at hand at this blessed sacristy nestled in the great desert.

The terrible, enduring Bass – clarion of The Callers filled every fiber of his being as the red – hooded figures spaced upon the dune – tops incanted their song, so much so that Jonas was aware of fine particles of sand beginning to vibrate and shift under his sandaled feet.

In loops and waves the pervading sound of their chorus grew in intensity as the pilgrims neared the sanctuary of the Reliquary, Psalms of ritual devotion issuing in thanks from the cracked lips of his fellow travelers were first suborned, then subsumed by the concentric waves of sound – amplified by the structure of the sacred – place until Jonas began to feel his very bones vibrate.

The Reliquary now loomed above the pilgrims, the structure omniscient and pervading, the sound now so perfectly acoustically attuned that Jonas, stepping into the epiphany of coolness afforded by the shadow of its ancient walls, breathed a prayer in antiquated VA’s aalii…

Wait? What! – Jonas’s mind started.

“We stand within the Shadows of the Gods.” He breathed, lifting a grateful forearm to wipe the swift-cooling sweat from his stinging brow and saw that the arm was slim, with only three long grey – skinned fingers.

Just like those of the other worshipers disrobing their dusty desert – garb around him and rubbing the desert from their sun-bleached hair.

“Those that come with minds wide open, are ever the more like to see.”

Curator Kese’an spoke and instantly Professor Hyland experienced a whirling, discontinuous wrench of consciousness back to the here and now as the beautiful Va’ Saal Archaeologist (his contemporary and equal in all essential ways – bar one) caught the stumbling Federation scientist before he collapsed through the sheer weight of the experience.

“What?” Jonas blathered, momentarily in two worlds but strangely at one in the echo – chamber of his own mind.

“It’s…nighttime?” He wondered aloud, suddenly feeling foolish and out-of-place.

The harsh, pervading heat of the burning sands had instantly been replaced with the cool, soothing breeze of the desert night it seemed to Jonas – although the structure of the Reliquary loomed in the darkness above him – where (subjective?) seconds ago (Centuries ago?) it had been early morning in the Great Desert.

 Curator Kese’an guided Jonas Hyland to be seated gently on a small pile of receiving pillows, strewn over a gorgeous and elaborate weaved rug – a low, gauzy canopy above ruffled in the night – breeze. She gently placed a simple earthenware cup into his trembling hands – filled with an aromatic and gently steaming tea.

“It is this way for all that hear the voice of the Providers and feel their presence for the first time.” The Curator assured the Archaeologist, as the rational centers of his brain sought to extricate his mind from the memories that had been imposed upon it by the resounding Psionic resonances that the Reliquary of Ost were justly famous for.

Jonas managed to take a tentative sip and touched his lips with Caucasian hands, his lips were not sun-parched and cracked as they had been seconds ago. His hands were the Terran hands that he had known his entire life. He had no vertiginous neck-fronds that radiated the desert heat away to cool him.

“I was there…” Jonas shook his head; the warming suffusion of the الشاي Tea beginning to level and center his thoughts. “The Desert…” His hands tried to describe the sensation but were unequal. He slowly sipped again.

He looked plaintively to Kese’an, even as more Federation personnel began to coalesce into being as the bright energies of the Transporter Beam receded, leaving the newly arrived to separately experience the mesmerizing psychic flashback that Professor Hyland had just emerged from.

“The Desert is as it always is.” Curator smiled, not unkindly. “The Reliquary shows us echoes of the past, so that we may trust in the Providers and be assured our future.” The Va’Saal made sure that the Human was comfortable – the visions effected different people in different ways.

Jonas Hyland began to feel more like himself and managed to sit a little more upright as those that had beamed down now stood, as if statues, with a Va’Saal attendant close by, ready to steady and comfort the traveler when they returned from whatever journey the Reliquary chose to embark them upon.

“I had read about the effect…the…Journey.” Jonas admitted with a nervous laugh, his hand reaching habitually for a Datapad and Stylus – so he could begin to document the experience in detail before the memory faded. “But the Trieste’s, really, they don’t even begin to encompass the….”

He laughed and rubbed his receding hairline.

“I’m so sorry Curator.” Jonas gathered himself and remembered his tenure. “You must think me exceedingly weak minded and frivolous to carry on so. You must have guided many travelers through the Journey before.”

Curator Kese’an made a gesture with her long hand that was both dismissive and casual (Jonas made a mental note to return to this gesture for Dr Duval).

“It is both my honor and my purpose.” Kese’an demurred as she stoked the fire under the small cauldron of tea. “You will have need for rest and more الشاي tea. It is aways so.” She nodded sagely.

Jonas Hyland decided to acquiesce to the Alien’s obvious wisdom in this and settled back into the slightly grainy pillows and wondered at the starscape – so brilliantly arrayed above the dark hemisphere of desert sky.

A distinct blink of light announced another shuttle departing the USS Sacramento, bound planeside with equipment too sensitive to be beamed down to the surface. The realization of where he was and where his daughter orbited high above him – suddenly making the man ruminate on the gulf that had grown between them.

Jonas’s mind was idly bidden to compare the connotations of “Sacristy” as it applied to both the name of the starship and the purpose of the awesome ruins, in whose shadow he rested.

He smiled ruefully and wondered how (if ever) he could heal the rift with Sammie – a rift that seemed to have opened first after he chose to leave Starfleet when his wife died and when his headstrong daughter had elected to join the same organization when her mother was lost to them both. The gulf had seemed to have widened between them whilst he and she had been busy with their respective callings.

Rome wasn’t built in a day – Jonas reflected evenly, hoping to hope – But even Romulus was destroyed in an instant.

“Your right, of course Curator.” Jonas yawned “Tomorrow is another day, and I cannot wait for a chance to share in your peoples’ yesterdays.”

The Human scientist wistfully considered the broad, sweeping arc of broken Sandstone that described the once – perfect perimeter of the great amphitheater bowl that dominated the central space of the Reliquary -proper.

Now it was ruled by slow decay and stubborn desert weeds were the only new life tenacious enough to cling to the leaned stones over the march of centuries.

“Sadly, Professor Hyland,” Curator Kese’an bobbed her head in deference and regret, “that will never come to pass.”

This made Jonas stir in his blankets and peer at the slim Alien as she busied herself in that customary, unhurried way all of her people did.

“Whatever do you mean?” Jonas asked, incredulous. “You’re the Chief Archaeologist for this site. The leading authority on these ruins. Your work – from what little I have read – it’s peerless, insightful, beautiful even.”

Kese’an smiled apologetically as she prepared her own bedroll.

“That is kind of you to say Professor – it really is.” The Curator lay down and turned her back to the fire, so better to sleep.

“But…”

“But I am Va’Saal. I cannot be permitted into the inner – sanctity of the Reliquary. That is forbidden to my people. That honor is only afforded to the B’Queth, through the will & providence of the Providers. So it is written. Thank the Providers.” Kese’an stated simply and was silent.

Professor Jonas Hyland, exhausted as he was by his journeys (both the instantaneous transfer from orbit and the seemingly weeks-long memory of pilgrimage, borrowed from a millennium – dead Va’Saal), considered the stars for some time longer before he asked quietly.

“Kese’an?”

“Yes Professor?”

“The Journey that I experienced when I arrived, do all of your people experience it when they come to this place?”

“So it is said Professor.” The curator replied sleepily.

He paused, considering the implications of his next question as the stars slowly wheeled above.

“Do the B’Queth also experience the Journey in the same way?”

A silence endured some long seconds between them as the embers glowed and cracked, held mute under the panoply of stars and the undulating winds of the Great Ost calling its endless, unknowable song of shifting sands.

Then…  whispered so quietly that Jonas fancied he might have imaged it on the breeze.

“They will not say Professor…..”

“Oh C’marn yer Marn.” The diminutive helmsman slurred prettily as the narrow; raucous bar reverberated between the opposing mirrors (themselves sporting fantastical typography telegraphing the names of entrepreneurial spirits – long gone – in faded gold – gilt paint) to the infectious, ribald brogue of The Dubliners.

“You know you’ll be wanting another J’hvohuk…..”

Ensign Maya O’Mara’s short, red fringe cowlicked over her eye. “Oh, the Saint’s! I’ve gone and gone bloody blind, so I have?” she wondered aloud to herself alone.

She attempted to bat the errant lock away with a woozy hand that seemed to be following some other, abstract, frame of reference for the time being, and actually managed to burp and hiccup *J’hvohuk* in a wet uncertain way and suddenly cover her mouth with the back of her hand, that convinced the Klingon that his compatriot was about to vomit on the bar top.

“I do not want another drink, Ensign.” The Half – Klingon rumbled disapprovingly. He placed a powerful protective hand his own tall glass of glossy ebony Stout that sat, barely touched on the bar as Maya failed to signal at the portly barkeep.

“And you should not either.” J’hvohuk warned “Even though there are restoratives available that will ensure you will be able to perform your duties when we go on-shift, you are presenting a poor example to the Midshipman.” He reproached his friend and nodded to the young woman Maya had dragged along to participate in this dubious historical re-enactment.

The elongated mirrors, the type that had graced traditional Irish bars throughout history, just as sure as there was a horseshoe nailed the right way up above the door and a Bratach na hÉireann displayed proudly in the front window – served to make the already crowded slot of bar look both more spacious and more crammed at the same time.

(It also made it harder for someone’s brother or Da’ to sneak up behind you and crown you with a bottle if, say, you’d done their sister/daughter a grievous dishonor. But that’s a tale from Doonan’s for another day…..)

 The salt & pepper Proprietor of the establishment, Big Jimmy Doonan, shrugged indifferently at the drunk Starfleet Officer (he’d seen it all before) and kept his vigil over the similar line-up of drinks standing by  the gleaming brass tap – waiting for each to develop their own creamy off -white head in their own time, before ages of experience and tradition permitted him to deem each glass fit to ‘top-off’ and distribute to his patrons in his own damn good time.

A stout shillelagh, clipped below the bar, had several notches in its head that bore testament to when some soul had troubled himself to try to jump that line.

Maya seemed to waver on the event horizon between insobriety and oblivion and then rallied magnificently as the band began to play the first lyrical strains of “Tibby Dunbar.”

“OHMAHBLOODYJESUSGHAD.” O’Mara raised her own pint to the cigarette – stained rafter and slung around on her bar – stool.” I blood LOVE this’n so I do!” She enthused with wild delight and began to sing along – very loudly and out of tune.

“O willt thou go wi’ me sweet Tibby Dunbar?

O willt thou go wi’ me sweet Tibby Dunbar?

Wether ride on a horse or been drawn in a cart,

Or walk by my side sweet Tibby Dunbaaaar?”

The entire assembled clientele of Doonan’s Bar took up the refrain slowly, but surely – until the crowded bar fairly hummed with voice and the unified stomp of gladdened feet.

“I care not thy daddy, his land or his money,

Thy pal and Thy kin say high and say lowly,

But say That thou’re with me for better or worse,

And come in your poetry sweet Tibby Dunbar.”

Ensign J’hvohuk put slowly his head in his hands, his banded dreadlocks hiding his face. His experience of this particular Holo-simulation had shown him that, when Maya got the Bar singing along – the prospects of a sensible retreat Bedwards (and the end to this excruciating culture torture his friend loved so much) was diminishingly remote for some hours now.

“Ghay’cha!’ J’hvohuk groaned plaintively and glared at Midshipman Carter as she politely sipped her lemonade through a cardboard straw that was slowly becoming sodden and not helping the exchange. Nola’s pretty young features crinkled into a mask of glee and the young Starfleet cadet clapped her hands joyously.

“Oh, this is Marvelous J’hvohuk!” She shouted to the Half – Klingon over the bawdy din “Are all Bars like this?”

The Crowd sang on, and Maya began to thump the bar in poorly kept time.

“O will to be known as a poor beggar’s lady?

And sleep in the heather rolled up in my pladie,

The sky for a roof and each candle a star?

My love for a fire sweet Tibby Dunbar!!!”

J’hvohuk winced to himself and took an oversized fist full of nuts from the bowl before him and crammed them into his mouth, so he didn’t have to reply to Nola.

 Unfortunately, they were pistachio nuts with the shells still on, so J’hvohuk ended up nearly choking and had to reach desperately for his pint of stout and take a great, whooping, gulp whilst coughing up a fury.

“SEE!” Ensign Maya O’Mara crowed victoriously – as she downed what remained of her pint and signaled a rollicking cheer from Doonan’s regulars “Yer DID want a ‘nuther SO Yer DID !” She laughed and promptly tripped over her own feet and disappeared from view, down onto Doonan’s infamously sticky carpet.

“OOH! That’s not good…” Midshipman Nola Carter winced and began to look around for a bar-towel.

“Have I done the world good, or have I added a menace?”  Commander Nathan Allen mused gently to himself as the viewscreen on the bridge showed the rearward-facing view of the USS Sacramento as the ovoid bulk of the main Subspace transceiver hub began to slowly emerge from Shuttlebay-1, guided by a flurry of tiny yellow Worker Bees and attendant Shuttlecraft, as they tentatively teased its bulk safely from the bay.

“I’m sorry Captain?” Ensign J’hvohuk rumbled with an enquiring look, as the young Klingon-hybrid Officer busied himself about his board, readying the ‘Sac’s immensely – powerful main tractor – beam emitters to acquire the massive satellite array in its sure grasp. The California – class Utility Cruiser may have had some light-years on her clock – but it the role of Galactic Tow – Truck, the aging vessel had no compeer.

“Those are some of the final words of the noted 20th Century Terran Inventor Guglielmo Giovanni Maria Marconi.” Lt Sorvak intoned knowingly, as the cadaverous Vulcan’s bald – pate remained fixed on the readouts of the operations main – console.

“Just so, Mr. Sorvak.” Nate Allen nodded. Sometimes he wondered who had the most immediate capacity for data – recall, the veteran Operations Chief or the Ship’s Computer.

“Marconi was speaking to the principal of the University of St Andrews, upon being made rector and was reflecting on whether the positive societal changes introduced by his invention of radio transmission was enough to balance out the wrongs it had enabled Ensign – specifically in the context of what was called the First World War…or “Great War” as it was euphemistically known.” Sorvak explained to the Tactical Officer, with a dry note of judgement stressed on this last fact.

J’hvohuk nodded and possibly missed that stressor. To a young Klingon, all War was great – in that it presented the opportunity to earn the Warrior glory in honorable battle. Sorvak shook his head and returned to his diligence.

With the launch of the first (and most essential) element of the Subspace relay that would soon join the Primarion – system to that of the Federation and their associated member worlds – the event was akin to a birthing in some ways.

Will this do good? – Nate could not help thinking, at the transceiver cleared the circumference of the main saucer and slowly continued aft.

Whilst the Gerontocracy delegation were not allowed on the bridge (nor the opposing Cessationist delegates either –  the B’Queth would not have tolerated such an egregious breach of protocol as being in the same room as their vassals – quietly at any rate) and watched from the comfort of the ship’s lounge – the mood on the bridge was still charged with the knowledge that what they were doing today was of some small historical import for the Primarion.

The Commander may have harbored misgivings about the biased – hierarchical relation between the B’Queth and Va’Saal peoples, but if he did – Nate kept those thoughts to his private moments. He was the Commanding Officer of this starship, and his mission was clear. He pushed melancholy thoughts of morality aside and ordered.

“Okay people – heads in the game, eyes on the ball.” The Commander straightened in the command – seat. “Tactical – status on the Tractor?”

“Beam – attenuation is optimized to the payload profile. UPS foldback dampners are primed and in the green.” J’hvohuk confirmed as confidently as if he were locking on to a hostile Romulan Warbird, “Targeting Sensors verify acquisition pattern Gamma Nine-Eight. Target is locked and Tractor – beam is ready to engage on your command Captain.”

“Very good Ensign – stand by for my mark.” Commander Allen nodded in satisfaction.

“Aye Captain.”

“Ops – Report.” The CO prompted.

“The array will achieve periapsis in 11.3 Seconds Captain.” Lieutenant Sorvak confirmed, “Steering – party standing by for the order to disengage and let the Tractor beam acquire the body for final apoapsis to general orbit.”

“Tell the XO and her flight to stand by for separation and return to Shuttlebay-2 on my command.” Nate nodded confidently and keyed open a channel to Lieutenant Ryu in Engineering. Such was Nate’s confidence in his Ops – Chief’s competency, that he sought no confirmation from the Vulcan. Experience had taught him that none was needed.

“Bridge – Engineering.” The Commander hailed.

“Engineering – Go ahead Captain.” Came the voice of Jai-Hui over the comm.

“Chief – confirm power status of the array?” Nate enquired as, on – screen, the mass of the Subspace Array was shown to be hoving to a stop – relative to the USS Sacramento. Behind and far below – the perfect swirling vermillion and lavender – hued orb of Primar – Majoris #7 lay like a vast, pearlescent jewel rotating in the night.

“We are reading all systems as nominal Captain.” The Chief Engineer confirmed. “Onboard UPS/PSU transfer systems at standby – ready for activation when the Subspace Net is completed.”

“Acknowledged Engineering, Bridge out.” Nate closed the channel and turned to his Communication Officer.

“Comms – Sitrep on Telemetry.” Nathan nodded as the slim Samantha Hyland swiveled at her station to address her CO and report.

“We have handshake with the array Captain.” Sam held a finger up to the earpiece that fed her a steady tone of information, in addition to the displays of relative wavelength undulating across her MSD. “Some electromagnetic bleed from the planet’s Mesosphere, but within tolerable ranges – adjusting pattern buffers on the array to compensate.”

Sam smiled smoothly. “Subspace – amplifiers responding to the differential-pulse test-package broadcast from our secondary deflector. She’s ready to sing when the show begins Sir.”

Commander Allen smiled and nodded. Despite his earlier misgivings, his new Comms Chief was assuredly proving her capability now and Nate was well – satisfied.

“Mr Sorvak. Tell the steering-party to disengage and RTB.” Nate ordered and noted the Smallcraft disengage the smaller web of tractor – beams and manipulators that had been used to help the satellite clear the ship.

“Disengaging Captain.” Sorvak demurred, “Lt Commander Vodrova reports her team is clear and en-route for retrieval.”

Commander Nathan Allen sat a little straighter and wondered (not for the last time) whether linking the Primarion to the Federation, through the unity of the Subspace array was a step that would prove to be for the betterment of that race as a whole or was premature and would threaten to widen the gulf between the B’Queth and the Va’Saal. Again, he shook such pontification away.

Heavy hangs the crown – Nate thought and turned back to J’hvohuk.

“Tactical – engage the Tractor Beam on my Mark.”

“Aye Sir – standing by.” J’hvohuk sat ready.

Nate Allen addressed his crew with some thought to posterity.

“Well people, let’s make a little history shall we?” Nate smiled, despite his misgivings and threw his finger.

“Tactical – Mark!”

Grindelwald disappeared from view as a thick tendril of cloud seemed to wipe the yawning Bernese Oberland from the plane of existence.

Sam Hyland did not see this happen as her eyes were screwed shut and she was busy praying.

The Commander called from just above her just as a sharp, tearing gust of wind rendered his words largely unintelligible.

“You are doing fi…….” Nate encouraged as he traversed the cold grey outcropping that loomed from the Limestone escarpment above her. The Commander unhooked another “Cows-tail” from his belt and rigged the short – draw with a practiced, deft hand and re-established a better foothold with his crampons into the unforgiving glacial ice.

“Just keep your eyes on the face in front of you, relax and don’t….” Nate encouraged the young Lieutenant before the persistent wind tore the remainder of his advice away again.

If he said, “don’t look down”, I think I will cut his damn rope. – Sam remonstrated bitterly to herself and wondered at what strange confluence of happenchance had transpired, so that she had foolishly agreed to join the Captain of the USS Sacramento on an ascent up the Mittellegi.

Commander Nathan Allen smiled a broad smile as he tested his weight and looked down to where Samantha was crabbed to the rock below as if her very life depended on it. Although this was just a holoprojection of the real Eiger and the traversal had been adjusted from its actual difficulty in order for the CO to take a relatively-untrained climber like his Comms – Officer along for the ride – it presented an assuredly disconcerting facsimile of the real thing – even with the safety protocols engaged.

“I SAID, you’re doing GREAT Sam!” Nate hollered down to her, his voice now carrying easily as the wind shifted treacherously once again and a pocket of relative calm fell about them (although the air temperature remained significantly chilly) “Just relax and let the line take your weight – I have you belayed – just reach out sideways and follow the line to the next crampon – you’re a natural at this!” he laughed confidently.

The leap in difficulty from the Hornli route on the Matterhorn to the Mittellegi on the Eiger is not just one of technicality but also commitment. Many climbers start the Matterhorn and turn around for a variety of reasons. Nate Allen liked to take his new officers for a climb together as a way of feeling out their capabilities and character – you could tell volumes about a person about how they approached an ascent.

For example, Samantha Hyland did not like heights (although her service – jacket confirmed that she had completed some basic mountaineering as part of her Starfleet Academy survival training and fared tolerably well), but the svelte young woman was determined to mask and master her fear – rather than let her superior form a negative appraisal of her through her performance.

Yessir. Mountain never – lies – Nate thought to himself and hauled himself up onto an impossibly thin outcrop, that only the most – charitable might identify as a ledge and guided the Lieutenant up to his position.

“Thank you, Sir.” Sam gasped as she grasped Nate’s callused hand and pressed herself (exhausted but grateful for the respite) against the wall, trying to hide her uneasiness. Her skin was flushed, and she felt the sweat cool rapidly on her brow.

“Enjoying yourself Lieutenant?” Nate inclined his head, as comfortable as if he was lolling on a rocker on a porch on a summer’s day.”

“You do this…” Sam grimaced as the wind picked up again “….for fun?” She smiled a thin terse, smile.

“Well, I drive a Starship during the day.” Nate winked and rubbed his thighs to work out the lactic acid that had slowly gathered in his muscles “So, yeah, I guess this qualifies as restful by comparison.” He took out a small flask and offered Samantha a drink of water.

Samantha took a grateful swig, her own protesting muscles glad for the hydration and she dared to look down. The shroud of grey mist had parted again and far below (exactly 1778 feet below, as the Ships Computer whispered into her ear – possibly thinking it was being helpful) the breathtaking alpine vista of the emerald green valley, flanked by the sentinel – bulk of the Eiger, Jungfrau and Monch peaks, was transformed by a rippling flare of gold as the sunlight permeated the cloud base that hung directly over their heads.

“It’s beautiful.” Sam breathed, her aching limbs and pervading, gnawing fear momentarily forgotten as the majesty of the landscape captivated her, transporting her utterly.

“Yeah, ain’t it just?” Nate Allen smiled and stowed the flask away securely in his small pack. Sam was an interesting woman, to be sure. Nathan had been perplexed by the distance between her and her father before Professor Hyland had departed for the Requilary of Ost. Whilst father and daughter had been perfunctorily civil with each other, there was definitely something amiss.

Nathan Allen had not commanded for as long as he had without knowing that the personal lives of his officers should remain private, but if there was an issue persistent that would interfere with their ability to perform their jobs to the best of their abilities, then a good Commander did what they could to support that person.

“Is this why you climb?” Samantha straightened her climbing helmet, brushing an errant golden lock of her short hair back behind the chinstrap.

Well…” Nate smiled easily, “The view certainly is always something special, but like most climbers, I do it for the Mountain.”

“The mountain?” Sam peered upwards and around, uncertain if the CO was being serious.

“Well, there’s many ways to explain it I guess?”, Nate sucked in a breath and nodded, “But a far better climber than me, called Kevin Krein, put it in a way that sits with me the best I guess.”

Samantha raised a perfect eyebrow and prompted, “Well go on, it’s not like I’m going anywhere…at least I hope not suddenly.” She smiled nervously.

“Freedom in climbing is about knowing oneself and knowing one’s environment well enough that one desires to do exactly what one can…” Nate Allen quoted, digging deep and finding a calm that suffused him at times like this, “…freedom does not result from having many options; instead, it is a result of desiring precisely those things the mountain allows.”

Samantha smiled, absorbing the intent of this wisdom gradually.

Nate looked up, there was at least another 3 hours of the ascent to complete if the weather permitted. He began to prepare to resume, practiced hands checking and rechecking their gear as he continued.

“Command is very much like that Sam.” Nathan Allen nodded sagely “You look forward to the ‘Big-Chair’ on your way up to it, as you think it affords a certain freedom – and it does.”

Samantha listened intently as she readied herself to resume their climb.

“But when you finally get your chair, and you will one day Lieutenant – I’m sure; well then you tend to find that the extent of that freedom is limited to what the Ship permits or requires.”

“I hear that Sir.” Sam nodded and rose to her feet carefully, assuming her position below as Nate hauled himself upwards, deftly guiding the way.

“Anyone who survived through the Kobayashi Maru at the Academy should know that of course.” Nate winked again as he reached for a crampon and, suddenly, Sam was back in The Chair…..

__________________________________________________________________________________

Cadet Samatha Hyland

Starfleet Academy Tactical Training Simulator / Kobayashi Maru Test

San Franciso/Earth

Stardate: 2396.5

The ship was slowly coming apart and all that Sam could think of was her mother and the unwinnable situation that Freya, herself, had faced before her own imminent death.

“Captain, two more Birds of Prey are decloaking off the Port bow” a tense voice urged (it’s owner clearly beginning to lose the desperate struggle against despair) dragging Samantha Hyland from her reverie and back into the rapidly deteriorating here and now as the action – stations claxon warbled its high frenetic lament, and a violent shudder ran through the bridge.

The USS Sowards slowly started to come apart at the seams under the relentless barrage of disruptor fire.

“What?” Sam muttered distantly – trying to shake the haunting images of Ensign Freya Hyland’s all-too real demise as the hull of her shuttlecraft was slowly crushed by the leviathan forces exerted by a Gas-Giant’s crushing atmosphere. For some reason (unhelpfully) the thought had intruded into her current reality and was impeding her immersion into the (all too real) simulation.

“I said, that…” Cadet Ewles, the Tactical Officer (who had just intruded into her waking nightmare) repeated.

“I heard you TAC.’ Sam retorted, gripping the arms of the Command chair with tense, white knuckled fingers as acrid smoke stung her eyes and a cavorting, sparking confusion of cables – that had recently erupted from an overhead maintenance cover like the innards of a disemboweled beast in its death throes – blocked her view of the cracked and malfunctioning view-screen.

“Target the new contacts, fire at will.” Sam advised.

“Targeting sensors are offline.” Ewles spat back, as if this should have been self-evident to the young CO – who was rapidly losing control of the situation and she knew it.

“Then disengage the tractor beam from the Kobayashi Maru and lock on to one of those ships, see if you can displace and distract its companion.” Sam snapped – her view fixed on the representation of the two (original) Klingon war – vessels that had originally engaged the Federation ship as it had come to the aid of the stricken civilian ship, as it drifted further into the contested neutral zone.

“Aye Captain.” Cadet Ewles nodded, thankful to accept one of the few orders Sam had issued in recent seconds that did not actively seem to be intended to hasten their imminent demise.

“Captain, we have lost hull integrity on Decks 5, 6,7 and nine. Complete loss of life support.” Another voice clamored for Sam’s attention. The situation was growing more fraught by the second and Sam Hyland (normally so adroit at thinking on her feet) was rapidly running out of desperate gambits that, at best, could only prolong the inevitable for so long.

“Dammit.” Sam coughed, several small fires had broken out from various control consoles across the shattered bridge and impact after impact of malevolent energies slowly peeled the hull of the USS Sowards apart like a ripe Na’ran fruit. A greasy haze of smoke complicated the scene.

“Isolate the main UPS feeds from the junction manifold on deck 4/Frame 12 and route residual power to the secondary defector array.” Sam instructed the OPS Officer who wiped away a trickle of blood from a nasty gash on her head and nodded as in a daze. “We need to shore up the shield enclosure and retain atmosphere on the decks where we do have anyone left.” She reasoned hopelessly.

To do what? Her unhelpful hindbrain mocked.

Unbidden, Samantha could not help thinking about how her mother might have faced her own end (obviously no record survived of this macabre end); shuttlecraft controls disabled by the same Ion – storm that isolated her comms from the distant USS Venture and effectively sealing her fate as she sunk lower and lower into the gas – giants embrace.

“Not helping.” Sam shook her head and muttered. This action causing the medic treating the unconscious Cadet T’ak, to pause in his treatment and place his hand on Sam’s Knee.

“Captain? Are you alright?”

Sam was poised to answer that overt question, whilst she wondered was she, in fact alright? She didn’t think so. She reached deep to find something reassuring to say – to find some platitude that might reassure a crew that (like her) could plainly see their end rapidly hastening to its logical conclusion.

Then the bridge actually lurched to starboard, and all the lights went out. A rolling explosion felt vibrating through the deck plates, rather than actually heard.

“Engineering!” Sam barked “Report!”

“We’ve lost the Warp Core Captain.” The Chief Engineer sounded more sad that terrified “We’re not going anywhere now.”

Sam steepled her forehead and squeezed the bridge of her nose with her fingers until her eyes watered and tried to think.

The chaos that embroiled her crew was so sudden, so absolute that the violence of it had taken her breath away. One minute the bridge of her command was humming away in a simulacrum of order and efficiency. The USS Sowards had received a garbled, urgent plea for assistance from the commercial Vessel Kobayashi Maru as she drifted into the Neutral Zone.

Now this.

Heated discussion had been invited by the Captain (her) amongst her officers, as to whether to breach the neutrality of the Organian Neutral Zone (in itself a pointed breach of the Treaty between the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire) – risking all to fulfill their legal and moral obligation to render assistance to any vessel in distress; or to leave the crew of the Kobayashi Maru to her fate and sure destruction by the Klingons.

In the end it was her decision, the Captain’s call.

Sam was quite sure by now that she had made the wrong one.

Looking around the remains of the bridge, the soot – streaked faces of her fellow classmates grim with the hopelessness of their predicament. The superstructure beginning to resound with an ominous, low, protracted groan – shuddering as the hull began to fail – the math of metallurgy versus high-output energy discharge reaching its penultimate equation.

This was all her fault.

“Will someone turn that BLOODY alarm OFF!” Sam roared, surprising even herself as the surviving crew visibly winced at the sudden ferocity of her outburst.

“It’s not helping anyway.” Samantha breathed dejectedly as the infernal claxon was silenced, leaving the bridge near-silent but for the pleading of damage control alerts (that were now too numerous to convey anything constructive), the sporadic impacts of sustained weapons – fire and the mournful tones of the ship breathing her last.

“Goddamit.” Sam shook her head and stood as best she could on the tilting deck – straightening her torn uniform tunic.

She was about to address the XO, when she caught herself – the XO was dead. That really hit her hard. Hallah had been her best friend at the Academy. She reached over and keyed the comm – channel herself, opening up a ship-wide open channel to whatever remained of her ill-fated command.

“All Hands, this is the Captain. Make your way to the nearest escape pod and abandon ship. I repeat, all hands abandon ship.” She closed the channel, a sickening feeling of defeat washing over her.

Every surviving face aboard the bridge turned to her as one.

“I mean it. CLEAR THE BRIDGE!” She shouted, her last vestiges of self – control breaking down. The situation was hopeless now.

“But Captain.” A voice whined pitifully. A matter of minutes ago, Sam could have easy identified the speaker but now she was confused and beyond that point. “If we abandon ship now, the Klingons will pick us off, one – by – one!” The speaker protested.

A half smile creased Ensign Samantha Hyland’s smooth Nordic features, “Better to take your chances out there than in here don’t you think?” Sam reasoned as she ushered the shaken Helmsman out of his seat, taking his place and interrogating what control functions still remained.

 “And that was an order, not a suggestion Cadet. Abandon ship.” She nodded tiredly over her shoulder as she worked out how to get a semblance of impulse speed teased out of the wrecked emitters.

“Aye Ma’am” the cadet swallowed and began to depart the bridge with the others. She paused at the Turbolift “Captain?”

“H’mmm?” Sam was engrossed in her task and was no longer really listening.

“What are YOU going to do Ma’am?” The Cadet asked plaintively as the USS Sowards began to gather relative speed – limping purposefully toward the lead pair of Klingon warships as their compatriots showered the sides of the ship with murderous fire.

“Oh,” Sam smiled sadly – as if now strangely far removed from the finality of her plight “I’m going to ram this ship right down the throats of those Klingon baktag and try to buy you a fighting chance to get away. Now get out of here!”

The Cadet nodded fearfully and bolted, leaving Sam alone on the remains of the bridge.

Samantha nodded with finality and pushed what remained of the Impulse engines as high as they could go – into the redline.

If the ship-to-ship comm-unit had not been slagged, Sam would have like to have thought that she would have opened a channel to the Klingon Commander and delivered this last herself. As it was she had to content herself of being the sole audience to her last, desperate act of defiance.

“Y’nt yalagochukof – you sons of bitches !!!” she spat.

And all of the emergency lights suddenly snapped on and powerful extractors hummed into motion – instantly clearing the bridge of cloying smoke. As if by magic the small fires went out, one-by-one about the bridge and a Lazarian miracle unfolded as the stricken and the dead began to rise to their feet and strike up small – talk.

Sam put her head briefly in her hands and the entire wall incorporating the ruined viewscreen band to slide away to one side with more bright light streaming into the Tactical Training Simulator (that resettled the floor to a zero – beam) and Lt Commander Sarak strode into the midst of the ruins of Sam’s evaluation.

“I see that you have not quite lost your flair for the dramatic Cadet Hyland?” The taciturn Vulcan instructor remarked dryly as she came to stand before Sam. “A kamikaze charge was your final solution.” A measured pause, then” How colorful.”

“That wasn’t a fair test of my abilities.” Sam said tiredly from behind her hands. After what she has just been through, she had little patience for Sarak’s acidic barbs right now.

Sarak continued to walk around Sam at the Helm-console, hands clasped behind her back, as she intoned neutrally. “Life is not fair Cadet Hyland.” Sarak cautioned archly. “A fact that you, of all people, should be intimately acquainted with.”

An image of her mother, alone, helpless, facing her own unwinnable scenario – her own death – flashed behind Sam’s eyes light a bolt of lightning and a fury boiled into her mind.

Sam sprang suddenly to her feet.

“What the HELL, is THAT supposed to mean?” Sam screamed at Lt Cmdr. Sarak, her own face a mask of fury and her fists bunched, white-knuckled, rigidly at her sides.

The implacable Vulcan just hoisted an eyebrow and stared at the young Cadet as if she had just remarked about what a particularly fine day it was today, wasn’t it?

“I would have thought that the meaning of my words was clear and unambiguous Cadet.” Sarak continued smoothly, undeterred. “During the evaluation, it was evident that your mind was elsewhere. Obvious paralinguistic, body language and non-verbal clues aside, your monitored BPI and ECG readings were consistent with a state of intense neural confliction and your decision making during the penultimate proceedings of the simulation were, quite frankly, ill-advised &unprofessional. You were distracted.”

Sam stood, trembling with barely controlled ire, as the instructor critiqued her. She was so angry she could not now bring herself to speak.

“In short,” Sarak concluded without emotion or rancor “you were likely thinking of your mother.” She inclined her head.

“You – have – no – right…” Sam hissed dangerously from behind clenched teeth.

“On the contrary Cadet.” Sarak admonished placidly. “As your instructor, I have every right to critique your performance in this simulation. The purpose of which is to force the learner to confront the inevitable possibility that, in all likelihood, they will encounter a situation of which there is no logical conclusion to be reached, no positive outcome to be afforded. In essence, a “No-Win” situation as the euphemism quaintly goes.”

“But…” Sam began, before Sarak cut her off with a slim, raised finger.

“The fact that I raised the subject of your mother is appropriate to both your own performance here today during the Kobayashi Maru test and the fact that Ensign Freya Hyland also faced such a situation in real life – one that ultimately resulted in her death. I do not raise this comparison to suggest dichotomy Cadet, or to cause you distress.” 

Sarak nodded as she began to depart the simulator (her point evidently made) “I raise it to illustrate the fact that for all intents, both Mother and Daughter together faced the same challenge here in simulation at different times, however when faced with the same fate in actuality – your how your mother chose to meet it is known only to her and her alone.”

Sarak nodded, not unkindly,” You may wish to reflect on that distinction? Good day Cadet.”

Sam just stood there, adrift, her mouth wide open.

“Let’s reset and take it from the top. Next class in.” Sarak called out to the technicians as she departed.

__________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

(En-route to Primarion – Prime)

Holosuite 1,

Stardate: 2401.6.12

08.:12 Hrs. (Shipboard Time)

“You still with us Lieutenant?”

Sam was roused from her reverie and instantly reflected that two – thousand plus feet up the side of one of History’s most challenging mountain ascents was probably not the best venue to indulge in instant reflections.

“Aye Sir.” Sam peered up and smiled bravely, pushing aside the unhelpful past and focusing very much on the here and now.”

“Good.” Nate nodded and began, “Now the next traverse is a bit more challenging, I’ll admit but….”

At that juncture, the voice of Lieutenant Commander Vodrova broke the spell and carried clearly and present in the mountain air.

“XO to Captain Allen.” Aleksandra hailed the captain via the ships comm.

“Allen here, go ahead.” Nate’s tone took on different focus, something in the Executive Officer’s voice stirring caution.

“Commander, your presence is required in Sickbay immediately.” Vodrova sent tersely, something was definitely amiss.

“Is there a medical emergency XO?” Nate stopped climbing now.

“You could say that, Commander.” Lieutenant Aleksandra Vodrova replied dryly, her voice suggesting that Nate’s enquiry was somewhat of an understatement. “There has been an incident between a member of the Va’Saal delegation and a representative from the B’Queth Sir.”

“Spit it and Spell it, Aleksandra.” Nate frowned, his concern now finding a foothold of its own.

“The B’Queth delegate was assaulted during an altercation Commander, he is currently in Sickbay in a critical condition Sir – Dr Eboneke is prepping for surgery as we speak. Ensign De Vries has the assailant secured in the Brig Commander – but the Gerontocracy are calling for Security to hand him over to their custody and calling for his death sir.” Vodrova relayed professionally and levelly.

“I’m on my way, Allen out.” Nate’s response was clipped and equally focused “Computer – suspend program, give me a portal.”

“Complying. Simulation paused.” the ship’s computer demurred smoothly and in an instant the mirage of mountain and alpine valley was replaced with a utilitarian space dominated by a softly glowing grid – as perturbances that had simulated the physical interaction with the Holo-entertainment slid smoothly back into the surface of the floor and the emitters that had conjured a story of wind, temperature and convincing odor powered down with an almost – imperceptible hum.

“Lieutenant, get in uniform and take your position on the Bridge” Commander Allen commanded without turning around, stripping his own costume and equipment off as he exited the Holosuite via the newly rezzed portal.

“Aye Captain.” Sam was also beginning to move.

“Something tells me that you’re going to be very busy over the next few hours……”

“Two more Gerontocracy Cruisers jumping-in on the Starboard ventral quadrant Captain – they are actively targeting us. Permission to go to Red Alert and lock-in a firing solution?”

Ensign J’hvohuk reported tersely as the deck of the USS Sacramento pitched noticeably as Ensign O’Mara slewed the venerable old California – Class utility cruiser into a steep turn to avoid collision with the pair of Primarion warcraft blocking their forward progress.

Commander Nathan Allen gripped the edges of his Command Chair and considered his options – which were dwindling fast – the Primarion Prime Home – fleet seemingly intent on goading the Federation interloper into conflict.

“Belay that TAC.” The CO shook his head, “Ship to remain at Yellow Alert, Sheilds to full harmonics.”

I think we’ve caused enough damage for one day – Nate reflected sourly.

The sense of tension was palpable across the faces of the bridge crew as the viewscreen showed the verdant hazed pearl of the Primarion Homeworld and its sprawling, vast oceans far below – the view (and the Sac’s pedestrian mission of diplomacy) somewhat marred by the proliferation of warcraft converging to blockade the vessel.

Aware that he had to take some affirmative action to reassure his crew, Nate added “TAC – Give me a full Tac/ Eval of the opposing Primarion vessels’ capabilities. Let me know what we are dealing with here.”

“Aye Sir.” J’hvohuk, thankful of something to do.

“Lieutenant Hyland, hail the lead ship in the formation.” Nate turned to face Samantha.

“Aye Captain…” Sam attempted to open a channel of communication with the largest ship in the Primarion blockade. “No reply Captain.” Sam confirmed regretfully.

Dammit! – Nate reflected – how had it come to this?

What had started as a relatively routine mission to ferry the opposing Primarion factions from the peace – summit back to their Homeworld had steadily unraveled and now was threatening to transform into a full-blown diplomatic disaster – possibly even a prelude to armed hostilities.

That the secondary objectives to deliver the science team to the Reliquary of Ost on Primar – Majoris #7 and to complete the deployment of the Subspace Communication Network throughout the Primarion system had been achieved, provided scant assurance for the beleaguered Starfleet Commander. Somehow Nate doubted that the planned activation of the network – with all of the pomp and celebration that had been planned – would now go ahead.

The delegation from the Gerontocracy had departed the USS Sacramento as soon as they had made orbit, Gentarch Oramed incandescent that Nate had refused to surrender his prisoner to face summary judgement for the assault on his diplomat (who had recovered sufficiently from his assault for Dr Eboneke to clear him for transport to the first of the converging Genotracracy Naval vessels to arrive and form part of the blockade now hemming in the ‘Sac) and Representative Ge’nan demanding that he and the remainder of the Va’Saal be granted political asylum aboard the USS Sacramento on the grounds of persecution & a well-founded fear of future persecution.

It looked, Nate reflected darkly, that the first message carried by the Subspace array from the Primarion to the Federation might well be a declaration of war.

“Captain?” Ensign J’hvohuk broke Nathan’s reverie with his assessment of the opposing vessels threat potential.

“The majority of the vessels are Antia – Class Primarion Interdiction Frigates, Tech – equivalent Warp – 4 capable, Main armament two – Photon Torpedo Tubes Fore, One Aft, Four Phaser Arrays on Dorsal and Ventral beams – roughly equivalent to type IV, Standard Shielding / Non-phasic. In short – they present little threat on their own.” The young Hybrid Klingon noted with satisfaction – obviously relishing the potential for that conflict, if only in his mind’s eye.

“And in these numbers?” The CO considered the screen of 8 x Frigates that surrounded his command.

J’hvohuk stroked his short beard absently as he totted up the odds.

“If we acted with aggression and deliberate action Captain, I estimate that we could neutralize all enemy vessels by focused fire on their shields and then point – fire with our forward phasers targeting their engine nacelles. Total engagement time – three point seven minutes, minimal casualties – zero structural damage to ourselves – our shields can sustain their massed fire.”

“Except they are not the enemy Ensign.” Nate had a warning tone as he faced his tactical officer. The present situation hung on a knife’s edge, one mistake now and Commander Nathan Allen may very well earn the distinction of presiding over a brand-new war with a race he had been sent to befriend.

“Not yet at least.” The Commander muttered to himself, the net grew tighter, and the 11th hour counted down.

What he needed now, were options.

USS Sacramento

 (Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Captain’s Ready Room,

Stardate: 2401.6.12

21:02 Hrs. (Shipboard Time)

“Options people.” Nathan Allen put his hands on his desk, his dark – brows knotted in consternation as he surveyed his senior officers, summoned here for their council. “I need options and I need them yesterday.”

Ensign De Vries cleared his throat. The young Security Chief had previously met Nate outside the Ship’s Brig as soon as he had been summoned from the Holosuite – to find a near riotous mob of Gerontocrats and Separatists crowding the narrow hall, their belligerent loud altercation having roused a number of crew from their hallway – bunks to peer blearily out past their privacy curtains and wonder what the hell what going on?

“Well Captain,” Jan began with a frown of his own creasing his fine, strong features. “In terms of criminality, it’s a clear case of assault with intent.” Jan sighed, this case (as with so many others) was anything but clear – cut when motivations of aggressor and victim were taking into account. “Representative Fur’an admits to assaulting Secretary Quissel in the Starboard Lounge on Deck C at the close of the social reception. Secretary Quissel was struck from behind by Fur’an by a decorative Onyx Statuette with some deliberate force. The security footage is unequivocable.” The young South African concluded regretfully.

“And what is Secretary Quissel’s current condition Doctor?” Commander Allen asked Dr Eboneke, who was following the briefing session from Sickbay.

“Stable Captain.” Abey confirmed from the screen on the Ready room wall, the backdrop the CMO’s Office framing the Doctor as he made his report. Jan noted a particularly garish watercolor that was his husbands first attempt at the Cardassian Early Pre – Unionism Expressionist school. That was why Jan had insisted that it not hang in their shared quarters.

“The Secretary suffered a traumatic intracranial injury to his brain as a result of the impact, “Dr Eboneke explained, “The trauma caused a primary brain injury resulting in hematoma and fragmentation of the inner skull – lining, with several micro-shards penetrating the Postcentral Gyrus causing further Intracerebral hemorrhage.”

“That sounds serious.” Nate offered, not really following the Doctors evaluation.

“Relatively easy to stabilize.” Dr Eboneke waved a hand dismissively, “Of larger concern was the release of neurotransmitters (the chemicals used by brain cells to communicate) that cause secondary injury. Imbalances in some neurotransmitters can lead to excitotoxicity, damage to brain cells that results from overactivation of biochemical receptors for excitatory neurotransmitters but I….” Abey paused suddenly and sighed as he surveyed the confounded faces on his screen.

“He’s stable Captain, with continued treatment he should pull through with relatively little, long – term complication.”

“Thank you, Doctor, that will be all.” Nate keyed the channel closed and nodded.

“So we have a clear-cut case of assault.” The Commander summarized, thus far “And it looks like the victim will pull through.” He turned back to the Security Chief. “Ensign De-Vries, you have had the opportunity to interrogate Representative Fur’an. What did he have to say for himself?”

Jan De Vries puffed his cheeks out and replied “Representative Fur’an openly admits to the assault Captain.” Jan explained with a slightly pained expression on his face “He even expresses some degree of regret that it occurred.”

“Did he share with you exactly why he took it upon himself to try to remodel the back of the Secretary’s head with an ornamental bust of Doctor Noonien Soong? What on earth would motivate such an attack?” Nathan Allen asked with tired rhetoric.

“Well Captain.” Jan winced and shifted uncomfortably in his seat “Representative Fur’an’s wife, Alba’d is a Traditionalist (the majority Va’Saal faction contrary to that of her Separatist husband) and is in the employ of Secretary Quissel’s Family – an arrangement spanning several subjective generations for both parties apparently.”

“So?” Nate snapped irritably, failing to follow Jan’s point of reasoning. “Fur’an’s wife does not share his Separatist worldview and is in the employ of his political nemesis, I hardly find that as a reasonable excuse for attempted murder?” The CO frowned.

There was a long pause.

“It’s not that Sir…” Jan winced.

“Then WHAT Jan?” Nathan Allen rubbed his eyes tiredly “What IS it then?”

“Representative Fur’an’s wife is pregnant Captain.” De Vries looked thoroughly wretched.

“Well congratulations to her but I still…..” Nate managed to say before the Security Chief cut him off.

“Alba’d is pregnant with the child of Secretary Quissel.”

That shut Nathan up.

USS Sacramento

(Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Conference Room One,

Stardate: 2401.6.12

21:42 Hrs. (Shipboard Time)

“You misunderstand Commander Allen.” Gentarch Oramed sighed expansively, taking the tone that one might adopt when speaking to a small child who did not understand the circumstance of his own ignorance. “For a Va’Saal female to consent to bear the child of a B’Queth is considered a great honor in our society.” He spread his chubby, generously bejeweled hands expansively wide, as if to punctuate this truth through gesticulation.

For not the first time that day, Captain Nathan Allen considered in his mind eye, grabbing the obsequiously patronizing Gentarch by his generous throat and dragging him bodily to the airlock – but he forced this unhelpful image from his thoughts.

“So Alba’d has consented to this…arrangement?” The Captain confirmed in a level voice.

Nathan had asked the leader of the Gerontocracy delegation to this closed meeting in an attempt to stave off the inevitable conflict and save a man’s life if he could.

The Gentarch looked genuinely shocked and disquieted by this line of questioning.

“Of COURSE she consented!” Oramed fumed “It is a central precept to our entire society; it is key to our culture. The Va’Saal female consents to carry our seed and gestate the next generation of B’Queth. In return she and her entire family line are assured status, protection and financial security for that act and in perpetuity – to suggest it could be otherwise or be FORCED upon another is, is…. it’s abhorrent Captain!”

“You don’t think that this constitutes a mitigating circumstance for Representative Fur’an’s attack on Secretary Quissel?”

Gentarch Oramed stared at Commander Allen as if he had just sprung an extra head and had begun to sing a Klingon Opera in the medium of Binary Machine – code.

“MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCE ?!” Oramed shrieked, a wave of fury riding his jowls and making his neck – fronds twitch spasmodically.

Nate made a calming motion with his hands, patting the air and gently trying to gesture the incandescent B’Queth diplomat back into the negotiating chair.

“Droit du seigneur.” Lieutenant Cerine Duval commented shortly from the other end of the table, causing both Human and B’Queth to stop suddenly, mid – tirade and stare at her.

Nate found himself wondering why his taciturn Chief Science Officer had not chosen to interject until now, when the negotiation was rapidly evolving from “heated” to “conflagratory”?

“What…?” Oramed spluttered, his ire unhorsed in that instance.

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?” Nate raised a terse eyebrow toward the Frenchwoman, and she waved her hand dismissively and finished her sip of tea.

Setting down her cup in a show of unconcern, Cerine continued ““Droit du seigneur – in the Latin ‘jus primae noctis’, more commonly known to the lay-person as Prima Nocta.” Cerine smiled as if this cryptic lesson in classicism was not as gnomic as it was un-sought.

Nate did have to admit, it had stopped Gentarch Oramed in mid – rant, which was no mean feat in and of itself.

“Would you care to elaborate Lieutenant?” Nate prompted, barely mastering his irritation.

“Donc, C’est – ca.” Dr Cerine Duval nodded and flicked her blonde hair from her forehead with typical gallic flair. “The right of the Lord.” She smiled “The right of the First Night?”

“Commander is this strictly necessary?” Oramed protested, gathering for a fresh tirade.

“Prima Nocta, was a supposed legal right in medieval Europe of ancient Earth Gentarch Oramed” The Scientist continued unperturbed, “allowing feudal lords to have sexual relations with any female subject, particularly on her wedding night.”

“How fascinating, but I still fail to see how this…. whatever this is..applies to the here and now?” The Gentarch snapped.

Cerine Duval was not a woman to be daunted and she proceeded, quite undeterred.

“While there are many references to the custom throughout the centuries, scholars since the 1800s have questioned whether such a law ever truly existed or was practiced, with many believing it was simply a trope used to make rulers seem more barbaric. Over the centuries, it became commonly portrayed in European literature as a practice that had occurred in earlier times and/or outside Europe. In practice, it may have been the feudal lords using their power and influence over serfs to sexually exploit the women free of consequences, as opposed to a legitimate legal right.” Cerine smiled.

“I find myself in the strange and uncomfortable position of having to agree with the Gentarch, Cerine.” Nate frowned “How is this relevant.”

“Oh!” Dr Duval smiled a megawatt smile and made a “Laissez – Tombe” gesture “is it not obvious Captain? We view the Primarion custom of Binary reproduction as abhorrent, something to be suffered – because our sociological development had evolved tropes that tell us that such an act must surely be an act of subjugation of the will – ergo it is wrong.”

“Ah! Now the female is making sense!” Gentarch Oramed crowed, beginning to realize that this abject lesson seemed to be favoring his viewpoint.

“Il est ci.” Cerine nodded, “It is true that we fail to appreciate the Weltanschauung – the ‘World View., typical to both Primarion races, both B’Queth and Va’Saal.”

Nate looked even more confounded, whilst the B’Queth diplomat looked more and more pleased with himself.

“However!” Cerine raised a finger and brought Oramed to a stop like an owner calling its dog to heel.

“Consider the meaning of Weltanschauung – Literally “”to take a good look at.” Primarily it means a way a person looks at the phenomenon of life as a whole.”

Cerine leant forward, causing the Gentarch to flinch visibly and sit back in his seat.

“Some people (particularly those who have not lived very long) have not formed any broad (inclusive, even “sophisticated”) view of life. In the case of the Va’Saal – they have spent the last 20 years considering a different way of life through First Contact with the Federation – to whit – their Weltanschauung is changing. Enshrined now by five generations of their short lives now. What they were prepared to accept before, they are less inclined to suffer now Gentarch.”

“As I have said on COUNTLESS occasions Captain Allen.” Gentarch Oramed expounded, unaware that he stood on the precipice of Cerines point of logic, his own position precarious.

“The corruption visited upon our once peaceful society by the invasive, perverse concepts of Human – so – called – culture! This type of attack would have been unthinkable before your people infected the gentle Va’Saal with your alien concepts! As such we must punish this crime as an abject lesson, less other Va’Saal feel so emboldened to repeat this outrage. A sentence of death is the only recourse.”

The prick even managed to make that sound magnanimous! – Nate rankled privately.

“Maybe that is so Gentarch Oramed.” Cerine Duval smiled acidly and sat back down and took another sip of her tea. “History has so many abject lessons for those willing to open their minds to its teachings.” The Frenchwoman nodded and set her cup down. “In the history of my own people, Les Français – Par exemple, we had a particularly elucidating chapter of our own history that illustrates what is inevitable when the Ancien Régime failed to read the tide of history and take into consideration the frustrations of those under them.”

Somehow, something in the female’s easy smile unsettled the contents of the Gentarch’s three stomachs, then she shrugged and sat back in her chair and looked around the room – the very picture of unconcerned diffidence.

“Vive la révolution.” Cerine sipped her tea innocently and smiled brightly at Commander Allen over the rim of her cup, “Excusez-moi, ma capitaine, do we have any Petite Madeleine?”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

(Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.12

23:55 Hrs. (Shipboard Time)

Commander Nathan Allen had run out of options, that much was abundantly clear to him now.

That he was faced with the threat of a large number of militarily – inferior opponents were of little actual consequence in practical terms. The apparent technology gap between the encircling blockade of Primarion vessels and the venerable old tug that was the Federation vessel was so vast as to be infinitesimal – the USS Sacramento could easily disable its aggressors and hardly even register a blip on its power output.

Commander Nate Allen’s predicament was one of Diplomacy, one that had faced leaders in similar situations throughout known history – how to subdue an enemy without recourse to violence, even when he was the one holding the Big Stick? Whilst the USS Sacramento was only a Utility Cruiser, she was a Utility Cruiser attached to duty with Task Force 72 and diplomacy was their business – whatever the provocation.

Outside the menace of the Gerontocracy Naval Blockade presented a singular threat, seemingly unwilling to negotiate with weapons charged and at the ready.

“If you need something from somebody, always give that person a way to hand it to you.” Nate mused, recalling something he had once read in an old novel that he had quite liked* and turned to his Comms Officer. “Lieutenant Hyland?”

“Aye Sir?” Sam sat alert at her station, ready and alert to attend to her duty.

“I’m sick of dealing with the Monkeys,” Nate smiled with grim resolve, garnering a surprised look from Lt Commander Vodrova at his side, “Time to talk to the Organ – Grinder. Lieutenant, record this message and transmit to the Office of the High Gentarch of the Planetary Gerontocracy in the Capital.”

“Aye Sir.” Sam smiled and began to key in the comms – handshake protocols, “What shall I indicate the intent of the message to be Sir?”

“Inform the Grand Gentarch that we have considered the position of the Gerontocracy in regard to the Va’Saal Separatist delegation claiming asylum aboard this vessel. Tell them that, whilst the United Federation of Planets recognizes that the Va’Saal do not qualify for the same rights and protections as a member state of the UFP, I have considered the validity of their case for asylum and am willing to grant that protection on the merit that this vessel is considered sovereign territory of the United Federation of Planets and as the Captain of a United Federation Starfleet Vessel I am both willing and able to ensure that protection.”

Sam smiled a wide smile as she keyed the Commanders official response with a hearty “Aye, Aye Sir!”

Nate held up a cautioning finger and continued.

“Furthermore, in the case of the assault on the person of Secretary Quissel of the Gerontocracy delegation aboard this vessel by Representative Fur’an of the Separatist Tendency of the Va’Saal, I conclude that a crime did occur aboard this ship – contrary to Federation Law and the legislature of the Primarion. Accordingly, I am willing to surrender Representative Fur’an to the custody of the Gerontocracy…”

“No Captain! You cannot! They’ll kill him!” Ensign De Vries stood bolt upright at his station, his face a mask of horror.

“Ensign De Vries, you forget yourself! “Lt Commander Vodrova was out of her chair and had crossed the bridge to the Security Chief in an instant. “You are relieved and confined to quarters until further notice. Crewman Hask, take his station.” The terse Russian XO commanded with absolute authority.

Commander Allen regarded this development dispassionately and turn back to the shocked Comms Officer and continued.

“As I was saying,” Nate prompted, “ I am willing to surrender Representative Fur’an to the custody of the Gerontocracy…on the strict proviso that he is afforded the right of due process through the proceeding of a trial of his peers without period of delay and that he will be accompanied by a Federation Officer from my crew – whose purpose is to see to his protection during his incarceration and to ensure that Fur’an receives fair and objective defense representation during his trial. Message ends – Send it Lieutenant.” Commander Nathan Allen nodded with finality.

“Aye Sir…. Sending.” Sam’s face was pale as she sent the Commander’s demands.

Nate turned to his rear where the glacial Lieutenant Sorvak was regarding his CO with a look of interest and a habitually cocked – eyebrow.

“Dust off your briefs Lieutenant Sorvak,” Nate ordered his Vulcan Ops Chief, “You’re going to Court.”

“Just so Captain.” Sorvak nodded as if all of this was perfectly within the realms of reasonability and then he too handed his station to a subordinate and left the bridge.

(*Quote from ‘The Secret Life of Bee’s’ – by Sue Monk Kidd – 2001)

“I have come to the place where science and reason coalesce – indivisible from myth and fantasy.” Jonas Highland muttered between heat parched lips as the Night – Sister rose and once – more banished the desert heat.

~ How many days has it been now? ~ Some distracted part of the Xeno – Archaeologist’s mind railed as he attempted for the third time that day to record his Chief Expedition Leader’s Log – his fingers numb on the reactive screen of the Data – Pad – but somehow also seemed to feel every grain of sand scouring its abraded surface.

Even as the blessed evening respite of dusk hooded the twinned suns of  Primar – Majoris #7 behind the shimmering horizon, the oppressive heat that had been absorbed by the shifting desert sands beyond and suffused the worn stones of the parapet on which he sat, radiated a truth that had come to permeate the thoughts of Jonas over the past few days of the dig – making the scene below him seem all the more real and immediate.

Within the vast circumference, described into the worn sand-stone edifice of the confounding Reliquary of Ost, a scene of ritual sacrifice was being replayed from antiquity in the amphitheater below – that the actual even had taken place eons ago was scant comfort to the scientist.

Ost was a literal living codex for the Primarion civilizations. Where the ancients of Earth chronicled their histories in tryptic, rune and hieroglyph – the Reliquary played out vivid scenes of Primarion culture and past events in the form of psychic emanations.

Extensive multi-phasic scans from Dr Prideaux, the expeditions Geophysicist had confirmed that the unique design of the Reliquary itself was key to these phenomena. The sandstone itself was a comparatively later addition to the site (only some 400,000 years old), it was what lay beneath the (admittedly) impressive edifice that lay before him that enabled this unique form of tableau.

The Reliquary of Ost sat upon a vast lodestone of unique Basalt-Quartz Crystal substrate that served to act as an immensely powerful Psionic Resonator – somehow acting as a repository for the shared memories of the Primarion – although what energetic process enabled this extraordinary feat remained a mystery to the Federation team’s finest scientific minds.

~For now.~ Jonas thought objectively as he gazed down into the amphitheater that was tens of hundreds of feet across, his gaze drawn by the smaller circular structure – a sort of parabolic depression that dominated the center of the ancient structure – its own purpose as mystifyingly obscure.

This was a place where the past and present were in constant flow. An Archaeologist’s dream on all ostensible levels – an actual camera-obscuras into a species shared evolution – but the experience maddened his eyes with the symptoms of a severe visual – migraine, his voyeur’s privilege of the future wracked with an excruciating ticket – price.

Jonas paused his log recording and vomited empty air into the earthenware vessel left by Curator Kese’an (the Va’ Saal Archaeologist being forbidden by protocol of remaining within the Reliquary to assist him as the kaleidoscope of history played within his mind’s eye). The effect of exposure to the Psionic – effect had a number of unsettling effects on the human body and Jonas had learned not to eat before entering the reliquary as the Psionic mirages seemed to initiate and cease with no discernible pattern or warning.

That last phenomena making establishing a coherent chronological order to the snippets of history they were exposed to, like an audience at an improvised avant-garde performance, was causing Professor Kellian particular frustrations.

~ The hand of the B’Queth is everywhere herein and the V’Saal - almost nowhere, ~ Jonas pontificated ~ and where the maddingly obscure influence of the Sublimed Ancient Aliens known as “The Providers” truly interjects is even more oblique. ~ The Archaeologist reflected with some irritation.

“Computer pause recording, delete last.” Jonas wiped his dry eyes as the long, inevitable shadow of the real day drew over the empty circle of the Reliquary. His headache grew worse as the shadows lengthened and the tableau below continued in the memory of a harsh mid-day sun.

“Re-commence recording.” Jonas blinked his dry eyes and took a grateful draft of tepid – water from his flask and attempted to regain his objectivity in the face of the fractious psionic emanations that haunted this ancient place.

“Unique within the field of Xeno-Archaeology, Pan – Special Adaptive Sociology and just about every scientific discipline of Historical Analogue is the Artifact that the Primarion Peoples call the Reliquary of Ost.” The Scientist recorded with dry humor.

“That the edifice is a site of antiquity is undeniable.” Jonas screwed his eyes shut and when he opened them – the scene below him had vanished.

The vast arena below him was as empty as it had been just 40 minutes below, right about when the mirage of the Ceremonial – Transit of High – Altern Verspidian IV (known to the worshippers of  that epoch as “Verspidian the Stubborn”) was ritually eviscerated and succeed by High – Altern Verspidian V (thus ironically called “Verspidian the Wary”) – as a bloody Trieste of B’Qeuth secular pageantry as ever there was – albeit some three thousand years previously.

“That the influence of Psionic resonance that the Reliquary is thusly famous for, is also singular from the scientific, theological, sociological and Xeno – archaeological perspective is an experience beyond compare and equally undeniable as a lure to the educated mind.” Dr Hyland reflected as movement below – actual movement this time of a person in the here and now.

The Arch-Dyspneal Vilem. Sweating and non-doubt rehearsing some ingratiation as he made his way to the ruins of the upper Triennial – gallery.

“But when presented with the epithelial – chance to enjoy an almost God – like ring seat to the history of an entire culture…” Jonas frowned at the sight of the corpulent B’Queth curator of the Reliquary of Ost, struggling up the curving course of rough – hewn stones to invade his reflections.

 “…One cannot but question that the almost-exclusive bias of memories that showcase and favour the achievements of the B’Queth cultural experience, rather than that of the V’Saal (who’s stories are as scattered and dissonant as children’s tales by dint of representation in the archives) does not speak, at least in part, to the presence of some unreliable – narrator.”

“My Esteemed – colleague Doctor Hyland!” Arch-Dyspneal wheezed and wiped the sweat from his brow with pudgy fingers – the B’Queth’s vertiginous neck fronts pulsing hard to dissipate his body heat. “What heights we do climb to gain the lofty perspective of the elevated eh?” Vilem panted and steadied himself on the remainder of stonework describing the former stairway concourse.

Somehow Jonas doubted that the Arch-Dyspneal ever deigned to scale many heights in the archaeological wonder that was his remit. In the three formal – engagements that Vilem had hosted for the Federation Science – team in short time they had been on – planet, Dr Hyland & his team largely suspected that Vilem’s actual role fell somewhere between tour guide and distractor-in-chief of the Gerontocracy, for all that he seemed to know about the actual Reliquary and its import.

Not for the last time, Jonas found himself missing the quietus of Curator Kese’an and missing the V’Saal academic’s thoughtful and measured insights. The studied idiocy of denying such a cultured mind from entering the inner – sanctum of the Reliquary – that she surely understood far more intimately than anyone here – on point of protocol, was to Jonas the ultimate inanity on behalf of the capricious B’Queth.

He sighed and paused his log – recording again.

“Arch-Dyspneal, good evening. “Jonas greeted tiredly but cordially enough, mindful of his responsibility to the science and opportunity to be able to document this remarkable place. “I did not expect to see you at this hour.”

~ The desert is ever full of irritants after all ~ He mused sourly, as he shook off the dust blanket from his head and waved the persistent sand-flies from his face as he stood. ~ How long have I been at this? ~ His knees protested as he rose and crossed the narrow parapet to the B’Queth dignitary.

Vilem nodded gratefully as he accepted Jonas’s proffered flask and drank deeply as he caught his breath and smiled a weak smile.

“I trust your studies are continuing with verisimilitude Dr Hyland?” The Arch-Dyspneal inclined his head, the vastness of the desert to his back.

“This is certainly the most real – unreal experience it has been my honor to be party to in the name of science, Arch-Dyspneal. “ Jonas remarked dryly, trying to exorcise the mental image of the ancient Verspidian the Stubborn, stubbornly refusing to give up his liver to the ritual knife.

“Quite so Professor, quite so!” Arch-Dyspneal Vilem proceeded, making Jonas only half – sure that the B’Queth as only half – listening to him and pursuing some other agenda as always. “And the rest of your team – are they equally as inspired by the wealth of our cultural ethos?”

Jonas nodded and turned to gaze inwards over the great circle of the reliquary, aware that in this moment he had to be both scientist and diplomat – no matter how comfortable he was with one truth and uncomfortable with the disingenuity of the other.

“Dr Anas is particularly taken with the iconography and provenance of the statutory and the progression of industry relative to its progeny that is for certain.” Jonas nodded. Show Bireme Anas a statue and the enthusiastic Antiquarian would hold an army at bay with wide – eyed fervor and a crippling knowledge of his field.

“Ah! The edifice of Khorasan the Maleficent is one of the finer examples of Post – Recalcitrancy stone – craft in the outer-systems world, it is true.” Vilem nodded sagely.

Dr Hyland knew for a fact that this same description was easily plagiarized from open-source scientific publications but kept his annoyance and own council mute in light of his statement.

“However, Dr Anas is still struggling to decipher how that dating of that particular statue, indeed most of the iconography from the Desite – era aligns with some of the other finds on the site?” Jonas offered disarmingly.

The problem facing the Federation Science Mission (at least the most pressing one) was trying to draw a line between the more recent Millennium – scale era of architecture – obvious the product of Primarion industry – with the Eons – old Crystaline structure that permeated the more recent structure. In between was a gulf of unanswered questions. Fortunate that this type of dichotomy represented exactly the kind of enigma that the academics and scientists under Dr Jonas Hyland’s charge – lived to engage with.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow Professor?” Vilem muttered airily and made a show of consulting his own data – pad.

“Well, when the team performed tachyon – dating of the Hieroglyphica (He used the correct term of the vast curving tryptic wall of hieroglyphs that spanned the inner – half of the great inner circle of the Reliquary), the readings returned confirmed that the dating between that and the statutory are, actually, in the span of epoch rather than eons?”

“I’m not sure what that means really Professor!” Arch-Dyspneal demurred gratefully as a black – clad B’Queth equerry made his way up the concourse of steps towards them (no doubt at Vilem’s summons).

Dr Jonas Hyland sighed, tiring of the hypocrisy so assiduously enforced to occlude reason in this place of wonders.

“Speaking as a layman Arch-Dyspneal, I think my team is wondering why an archaeological wonder such as this is being passed off as a sandstone edifice of a millennial scale, utilizing combined logographic, syllabic, phonetic and alphabetic elements; when the science intimates that the entire site is sited on a Rosetta – stone  of Basalt-Quartz substrate that acts as a Psionic Resonator of almost unparalleled scope to hold the shared memories of an entire race?” Jonas postulated testily.

“You’re tired of course Professor!” the Arch-Dyspneal as he retreated down the steps, intent on more seemingly important things to attend to. “You must of course come to this evening’s reception and gather your thoughts with a restorative and tell me more about your fascination insights! Hah! Well…. Good – Evening Professor!”

Dr Jonas Hyland stared after the Arch-Dyspneal as he descended the stairs, but his mind was elsewhere – awash with the familiar and beguiling fission of enquiry that drove the man.

~Who really built this place? ~ was the most obvious and rhetorical.

~What do the visions mean and why is there no structure or order to how they play out? ~, inescapable such as the intrusive psychic - medium of the Reliquary recall and lore – keeping was.

~ Why are the present B’Queth so intent on the obscuration its historical past? ~

Which lead his thoughts and eye down to the sweeping arc of the great story – wall that ran around the central circle of the Reliquary (which some obviously dry - whit on his team had ironically dubbed “The Pool”) and (in – particular) to the 20 – odd foot of Glyphs that had been damaged by an undocumented event sometime in the site’s storied history and for now remained indecipherable.

 ~ And what secrets were contained there and what does its destruction intimate? ~

At that point the omnipresent, enduring Bass – clarion of The Callers began to well up and suffuse the circle of the Reliquary of Ost with their evening song – effectively blotting out the chance of further thought. The upswell of voices carrying on the warm night breeze and resonating around the circle of the Arena, making the surface sands vibrate perceptibly.

Dr Jonas Hyland let the all – encompassing tonal song wash over him, grateful for its ability to permeate his physical core, feeling his muscles relax to the vibration and thankfully letting his mind give itself over the choral assault of the singers.

The parallel between choral resonance carrying tradition through The Callers layered voices and the resonance of history held within the ancient stones would continue to worry his mind well into the sleepless, starlight night.

“At the end of the day Commander Allen,” Grand Gentarch Verlan spread his age – spotted hands across the expanse of his desk and a small, regretful smile creased his careworn face (but did not quite meet his eyes) as the holder of the Office of the Grand Gentarch of the Planetary Gerontocracy reflected evenly, “it’s all a matter of optics I’m afraid.”

Nate Allen considered the shriveled but avuncular B’Queth leader, who was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the room. Everything in the Primarion planetary capital seemed to be of a vastly exaggerated architectural scale, encapsulating a broader dialogue between architecture and its sociocultural context, reflecting and shaping the way visitors interacted with and experienced the environment.

In short – like the B’Queth – it was built to dominate.

The Captain of the USS Sacramento shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waved a hand to politely refuse the refreshment, diffidently offered by a demure V’Saal functionary clad in non-descript formal garb and he frowned briefly.

“Optics?” Nate conjectured “I’m not sure that I follow Grand Gentarch?”

In any other setting, Grand Gentarch Verlan might have seemed like someone’s conception of a kindly uncle. Unmistakably geriatric even for a race whose average lifespan was of a Centralian – scale, with quick bright eyes that looked incongruous behind the rheumy folds of his lined eyelids and bushy white eyebrows.

Nate had to remind himself that this particular ‘kindly uncle’ represented a vastly influential hegemonistic charismatic dictatorship and held the fate of millions between his gnarled fingers.

Something that the Starfleet Captain was keenly aware of, as his command was currently in orbit, effectively blockaded by an encircling fleet of Gerontocracy Naval vessels and Nate himself was on the very precipice of a potentially disastrous diplomatic crises that (at best) could portend a damaging breakdown of years of carefully wrought diplomacy between the United Federation of Planets and the Primarion Gerontocracy and (at worst) precipitate a small, but equally disastrous armed conflict.

Bright sunshine framed the Grand Gentarch in a blinding halo of diffuse light streaming from the vast curve of window behind him, causing Nate to squint uncomfortably. This too a careful contrivance of the design of an office built to carefully articulate dominance.

Verlan sighed expansively, as if explaining the current status quo to the Federation Officer somehow pained him beyond his advancing years.

“This…situation we find ourselves faced with, regrettable as it assuredly is Captain Allen, is one of Optics.” The Grand Gentarch expounded, motioning to the functionary to dim the polarization of the window and the glare in the room rescinded to a bearable level as long streams of air – vehicles threaded their orderly way between the vast, gleaming spires of the capital.

“So you said.” Nate nodded carefully.

“We did not compel this, this….” Verlan was at a momentary loss as the V’Saal functionary bent at the waist and quietly whispered in his ear.

“…This Representative Fur’an. Yes, quite.” The Grand Gentarch continued, “We did not compel this Fur’an to viciously attack a member of our Diplomatic Mission Captain Allen, nor are we responsible for the schism that has grown in the breast of our nation, an insidiousness that is poisoning the wound in our body politic and estranging the harmony that has existed for eons between the two races of the Primarion peoples.”

Verlan’s gaze turned pointedly to Nate and the Gentarch’s tone quickly went from avuncular to pointedly chilly as he settled back in his impressive chair.

“No Captain Allen,” Verlan put weight behind each word, “That particular malady began to infect our V’Saal subjects contiguously when your Federation and it’s egalitarian propaganda spread amongst the most impressionable and now here, we are dealing with its unfortunate aftermath.”

“Grand Gentarch, with all respect, the mission of the United Federation of Planets is primarily and assuredly one of non – interference with the natural development of alien civilizations.” Commander Allen began reasonably.

Verlan leaned forward and fixed Nate with a wry smile.

“There you have it, Captain, that word “Alien”.” The Grand Gentarch took a sip of his own refreshment and nodded as if they were a pair of old friends conducting an academic discourse over matters of hypothetical import. “Your precious Prime Directive is purported to prevent cultural contamination. But in your hubris, your Federation ARE the aliens as far as we are concerned, and your alien concepts are as poison to our people. A people that has co-existed in harmony for all of our recorded history, until your people came along.”

It was Nate’s turn to sigh, in essence what the Primarion premier said was at least partially true and one of the more dichotomous pitfalls of First Contact philosophy – no matter how diligently the United Federation of planets might apply the tenets of First Contact, there was always a degree of cognitive dissonance that would be produced by the interaction of two races, alien in most aspects, that would bleed- through from one culture to the next, often with unintended results.

Command Allen pursed his lips, deciding that remaining silent was to be the most prudent course of diplomacy and attempted to steer the meeting back on track to the actual matter of hand – the life of the aforementioned Representative Fur’an.

“Grand Gentarch, whilst I don’t doubt what you say from an intellectual standpoint, I’m just a Starship Captain and I prefer to stay in my lane. Now, about the matter of the Trial?”

At this Verlan levered his decrepit frame to a semblance of a standing position, the façade of good-natured bonhomie creeping back into his voice, despite being the man – holding all the cards in this particular game.

“Optics Captain.” Verlan nodded sagely. “We will indulge your whimsey to stage this trial that you insist this Fur’an must have – a process in pointless brinkmanship as, even if our own laws were not as so very clear as they are – regardless any attack on a B’Queth personage is a capital offence.”

“Grand Gentarch, there are clearly mitigating circumstances…” Nate began before the B’Queth statesman cut him off.

“We will have this rudderless and sanctimonious trial Captain Allen.” Verlan continued and considered the vista outside “We will do so to show how accommodating the Gerontocracy is of our Federation friends – misguided as they may be – we will do so in the full view of the entire system, both B’Queth & V’Saal.” The Gentarch turned back to Nate and there was ice in his words once more.

“We will do so, despite the certainty that a guilty verdict is all but inevitable and the sentence, as ever, shall be death…”

“You promised that a fair – trial will be convened…” Nate protested, not liking the direction this diatribe was heading in.

Grand Gentarch Verlan raised a hand and pointed a finger at the Starfleet Captain, as if Nate had hit upon the very heart of the matter.

“And so, we shall Captain Allen!” There was steel in his voice now, any semblance of joviality melted away “We shall hold a trial and we shall honor your request to do so with impartiality and in deference to your own twisted alien ideals of “what – is – fair” but know this one thing Captain….”

Nate sat back in his seat.

“The Federation will be on trial Captain Allen.” Verlan warned dangerously, “The impact and extent of your interference and the irreparable damage it has done to our peace, through the actions of the malcontents that call themselves the Separatist Tendency will be on trial Captain.” The Grand Gentarch warned acidly.

Commander Allen frowned massively but kept his own council.

“And when Representative Fur’an is found guilty, your own guilt will be manifest to all Primarion and on that day Captain Allen, your United Federation of Planets will have to reap the bounty of the discord that it has so assiduously sown.”

Nate was momentarily speechless at the force of ire expressed by the Grand Gentarch and keenly aware that the old man was merely acting as an echo – chamber to the wider prejudices and discontent of the entire B’Queth Gerontocracy.

He was also keenly aware that the rulers of Primarion, were the dominant minority and spoke on behalf of a subjugated majority that had no voice, so thus he resolved to find his own.

“I thank you for your accommodation of our request to see due process served Grand Gentarch.” Nate swallowed his anger, reminding himself that as an Officer serving with Taskforce 72, the path to diplomacy was often fraught with challenges such as this. “The United Federation of Planets remains committed to the furtherance of positive relations between our peoples and I am sure that we can find some accommodation in this matter that is in the mutual benefit to all of our peoples.” Nate stressed that last qualifier with some emphasis.

The Grand Gentarch considered Nate for a long time with an inscrutable eye and then nodded his assent.

“Quite so Captain Allen, quite so.” Verlan allowed, admonished now that the Starfleet Officer had not so easily reacted to his baited diatribe as was expected.

“We will conclude this sorry state of affairs in short order and whilst we do, the ceremony to commemorate the activation of the Sub – space communications network shall proceed as planned.” Verlan confirmed testily. “The contrivance of the Separatist Tendency will rescind into the past as the hollow echo it is, and the Gerontocracy shall join its great voice in unison with your Federation to reverberate throughout history and establish our culture throughout the stars.”

Commander Nathan Allen, taking this grandstanding display as the signal that this unfortunate meeting was concluded, stood from his chair and straightened his uniform tunic.

“Well thank you for your time Grand Gentarch Verlan.” Nate nodded, “I have full faith that Lieutenant Commander Sorvak will do his utmost to provide Representative Fur’an with an effective and impartial defense.” Nate crossed the luxurious pile of carpet and added “I will, of course, see you at commissioning ceremony Grand Gentarch, Good – day.”

Verlan inclined his head and (not for the first time that day) Nate was struck with the incongruous impression that a kindly old man and a vociferous predator inhabited the same place within the age – wrinkled skin under those stately robes.

“Good day, Captain Allen, I trust our little talk has left you with a number of realities to ponder?’ Verlan smiled thinly.

Diplomacy won out once more as Nate opened a Comm – channel to the USS Sacramento and commanded “Allen to Sacramento – one to beam up – engage.”

In the resulting myriad Brownian – swirl of complex energies that enfolded him and left in his place a pointed silence, Commander Allen was glad that he had held his tongue.

Inquisitor P’Aath was asleep again.

~ Man’s a bloody disgrace. ~ Inquisitor V’Ruun reflected testily with an inward sigh, as the veteran Judicar pretended to study the screen before him that detailed the particulars of the case before the Circle today – this in itself purely a show put on for the hovering media – drones that had been permitted into the venerable Circle of Judgement (much to V’Ruun’s chagrin) for the purposes of illuminating the pointless vagaries of their Federation guests.

Pointless, the Inquisitor allowed, as there was only one penalty enshrined in the legal codex of the Primarion in the instance of an act of violence meted upon a B’Queth by their V’Saal subject and that was the penalty of death.

That the court was having to play a part in this pathetic pantomime of due process, was one that personally disgusted V’Ruun, but the Inquisitor had not attained such a lofty position within the Primarion Gerontocracy and clung to his perch with such rapturous determination – without learning to be pliant to the Body – Politic and its occasionally whimsy.

With an irritated glance to the chronometer, V’Ruun frowned his massively bushy brows at the empty seat that should contain the third and final Inquisitor – J’ilesh. A seat pointedly as empty as the vacuous head of the youngest of the three Judicar (at a mere 183 years old) that the Grand Gentarch Verlan had assembled to publicly skewer the United Federation of Planets and take them down a peg or two for so presumptuously meddling in Primarion affairs.

No doubt J’ilesh would be tarrying outside in the vestibule that led to The Circle proper – pandering to the media outlets, thus adding cachet to his own profile and self-aggrandizement. This being an election year after all.

Inquisitor P’Aath let out a loud, wet – sounding outburst of flatulence, that served to interrupt his slumber only momentarily, his rheumy eyes half – opening in brief confusion – before descending back to the depths of sleep and his steady snoring once again punctuated the vast, domed chamber with its sopheric rhythm.

~ Maker give me strength. ~ V’Ruun winced, but was distracted by the entrance of Inquisitor J’ilesh, who strode carelessly into the Circle of Judgement, pointedly ignored V’Ruun (smirked at the slumbering P’Aath) and took his seat at the encircling dais – tangential to that of his fellow Inquisitors.

With a scowl that further – crenelated the lines of his age – spotted forehead and an irritated shiver that ran through his vertiginous neck – fronds, Inquisitor V’Ruun raised the solid bulk of the ceremonial Gavel – stone between his clawed fingers and brought the artifact of authority solidly down onto its crucible base so hard that a shower of sparks issued forth and a booming concussion of sound reverberated impressively around the convex surfaces of the chamber.

Inquisitor P’Aath awoke with a start and stared groggily around The Circle – obviously momentarily confused as to who he was, where he was and why he found himself suddenly awake. The geriatric Judicar rubbed something unpleasant- tasting from the corner of his mouth and attempted a thin pretense of dignity.

“The Circle is in Session.” V’Ruun intoned severely – his voice much amplified by the impressive acoustic qualities of the space. “The Primarion People will hear the truth of the matter of the assault most grievous upon the personage of Secretary Quissel of the Diplomatic Corps by the accused Fur’an. Justice will be done.”

Inquisitor V’Ruun motioned to the somberly – robed V’Saal Clerk of the Court, “Have the accused brought up.”

A spotlight blazed into life as a platform arose to slowly reveal the manacled form of Representative Fur’an, shackled and solitary as he rose into the midst of the recessed bowl of the circular courtroom, blinking and shielding his eyes against the sudden glare.

Like most institutions enshrined by the Primarion Gerontocracy, the design of the Circle of Judgement encapsulated a broader dialogue between architecture and its sociocultural context of dominion.

The accused was captive & encapsulated within in the circle, surrounded by his accusers high above, forced to crane their head upwards to respond to the accusations that had brought them to this place of judgement. The architecture was designed to disorientate and diminish, the accused having to constantly turn to focus on a different Judicar as their accusations were levelled in turn or en-masse – keeping the prisoner constantly off – balance and ill-prepared to respond in their own defence.

~ Or would do if bloody P’Aath could stay awake long enough to last through the opening statements ~ Inquisitor V’Ruun thought sourly and addressed the Circle and (through the swarm of media – drones), every sentient being within Primarion Space, reflecting that the sooner this bloody farce commenced, the sooner he could put this sorry affair to rest and he idly wondered what was being served for lunch in the Member’s – chamber later today?

“Fur’an, representative of the so – called Separatist Tendency,” the Inquisitor pronounced with obvious distaste, “You stand accused of the willful & unprovoked assault on the person of a member of House Quissel – whilst travelling aboard the United Federation Starship USS Sacramento, a crime witnessed by multiple citizens of the Primarion Gerontocracy. A crime that is punishable by death. How do you plead?”

“If it pleases the Circle?” Came a sure and confident voice, as Lieutenant Sorvak stepped out from the shadows to join Representative Fur’an on the accused dais, “I am empowered to speak on behalf of Representative Fur’an and shall do so in these proceedings.”

A short laugh escaped the lips of Inquisitor J’ilesh as he lounged over the shoulder of the Vulcan, who did not turn to acknowledge the outburst “Ah! Yes! “ J’ilesh mocked “The Alien – how very droll!”

Inquisitor V’Ruun glared briefly at his colleague and looked like he was seriously weighting the heavy Obsidian Gavel – stone in his hand, calculating if he could hit J’ilesh with it from this distance. No matter how frivolous V’Ruun considered these proceedings, the dignity of the Court (and by extension the Gerontocracy) was on show here today, as much as the folly of the meddling Federation was. J’ilesh (as always) was not helping at all, trying to paint himself as the aloof rebel, in the vain hope of ascending to V’Ruun’s own seat.

Pushing this annoyance aside (for now- at least, dealing with J’ilesh could wait for another day), V’Ruun glared down at Sorvak.

“You are Lieutenant Sorvak of the United Federation Starfleet I take it?” V’Ruun asked with rhetorical acidity.

“I am Inquisitor.” The perfunctory Vulcan inclined his bald head in a respectful nod and intoned levelly.

“And you understand Lieutenant, that this is not a Federation Court of Law?” V’Ruun continued with mild annoyance.

“I do Inquisitor V’Ruun.” Sorvak nodded neutrally again.

“Then it is incumbent upon that understanding that this is not a proceeding of due process Lieutenant, there is no Jury of peers to cast judgement, there is no process of appeals. We three Judicar, assembled here, will hear the particulars of this case and then we will pass absolute judgement.”

“So I understand.” Sorvak replied, raising an eyebrow without emotion or rancor.

“And you are aware that, despite of anything that you may say or do, under our laws – the crime that this person is accused of traditionally carries with it a sentence of death?” V’Ruun was beginning to dislike this implacable alien already.

“ I am aware, yes.” Sorvak nodded, his hands clasped contemplatively behind his back.

“And yet you stand here before us, prepared to defend the indefensible?” Inquisitor P’Aath had found his bearings and was ready to prove exactly why he had long held the dubious accolade as the most enduring bully within the planetary Judiciary.

Sorvak remained facing Inquisitor V’Ruun, effectively defeating the intended effect of the architecture as it was predicated on the weaponization of emotion to subjugate and thus – dominate. Sorvak – effectively – was immune to this effect (as Commander Allen had rightly intended) and he replied.

“On the contrary Inquisitor P’Aath”, Sorvak replied but kept on looking at Inquisitor V’Ruun with an unsettling calmness “It would be illogical to do so, as Representative Fur’an is quite obviously guilty of the crime of which he is accused.”

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

(Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

13:15 Hrs. (Planetary Time)

“Well, that is novel defence.” Lieutenant Commander Vodrova remarked dryly from the Captain’s chair on the Bridge of the USS Sacramento.

With the blockade of Primarion Defense Force vessels effectively annexing the doughty old California – class ship (which was not going anywhere soon anyway) and a fragile state of détente in place forged between Commander Allen and the Grand Gentarch Verlan, the normally austere Executive Officer had permitted the Trial Proceedings to be broadcast to all personnel throughout the ship.

Aleksandra Aloyna Vodrova might be relatively new to the role of XO, but she was an intuitive officer when it came to managing people and was keenly aware of the disquiet that the events of recent days had fomented amongst  the crew as they gossiped in the common areas, turbolifts and their bunks and knew that such an allowance could only have a positive impact on morale if the crew felt more informed about & connected to the events that may be shaping their fate.

Aleks took particular note of Ensign De Vries, as the young Security Chief filled in at the OPS duty post – normally manned by the absent Lieutenant Sorvak. If the handsome young South African officer was impacted by the current position being exercised by the defence for Representative Fur’an – he did a good job of keeping it far from his fine features as he worked.

After this emotive outbreak at Commander Allen’s decision to hand the V’Saal diplomat over to the custody of the ruling Gerontocracy, some days previously on this same bridge, Lieutenant Commander Vodrova had introduced the idealistic young Ensign to the twin realities of the responsibilities under Chain of Command and their respective places within it, with her as its enforcer. Aleksandra would be very surprised in Jan De Vries took it upon himself to openly question a command – decision made in the presence of his fellow officers ever again.

Still, as entertaining an indication of how engaging the trial promised to be, if Lieutenant Sorvak’s opening statement was anything to go by, there was always work to be done and in Aleks’ experience, the work never did itself.

“OPS” The XO straighten herself in the Big – Chair “Status on the Captain?”

“Commander Allen has beamed out of Transporter Room One with the Honour-Guard and has arrived at the Opening Ceremony.” Ensign De Vries confirmed.

“Very good OPS.” Aleksandra nodded and cast her gaze towards where Lieutenant Hyland busied herself at the Communications Centre, along with two ratings. “COMMS – I think we can kill the feed, I would be very surprised to learn that Lieutenant Sorvak does not have matters in hand. Give me a view of the Array.”

“Aye Commander” Samantha Allen responded and the vista on the main – viewscreen shifted from the view of the Trial proceedings on the planet – below and was instead replaced with a relative view of the Primarion Capital End – Hub of the Subspace Communications Array that the crew of the USS Sacramento had been tasked in diligently seeding through the Primarion System – a technological gesture of goodwill by the Federation designed to bring the capricious Primarion Gerontocracy closer to the galactic fold of more democratically – minded races.

High above the atmosphere – hazed pearl of Primarion Prime, the ovoid mass of the satellite – array lay in geo-synchronous orbit above the Planetary Capital – primed and ready to receive the activation – code handshake signal from the commissioning ceremony due to commence in a matter of minutes.

Aleksandra was keenly aware that, in addition to the furtherance of diplomatic relations between the UFP and Gerontocracy, the more immediate fate of her own crew hung in the balance and was dependent on the commissioning ceremony proceeding smoothly and to plan.

“Bridge – Engineering?” The XO opened up an internal channel to Lieutenant Ryu.

“Engineering here – go ahead?” Came Jai – Hui’s voice, tense with excitement.

Aleksandra allowed herself a small smile of indulgence, Jai-Hui had hardly slept in the past few days, so consumed in the minutiae and detail of the set-up of the system – wide Subspace Communications Array, so-much-so that it was hardly required to confirm if the Engineer was in total control of the complicated process. But protocol was protocol, so she asked anyway.

“Chief, give me a Sit-rep of the status of the Array.” Lieutenant Commander Vodrova murmured, even though she could see the telemetry on her own screen and the metrics looked good.

“Green across the Board Commander.” Lieutenant Ryu confirmed, “Handshake protocol active between main Subspace Transceiver Hub, in – system amplifier relays and the Capital End-hub. All in-system assets show ready for signal reception and broadcast and the Primarion-system Subspace net is ready to be connected to the Federation network – proper, ma’am.”

“Very good Chief.” The XO returned, “My compliments to yourself and your team – outstanding work.”

“Thank you, Commander, Engineering out.” Jin-Hui closed the channel. Aleksandra thought she detected a smile in his voice.

“Lieutenant Hyland? Kindly contact Commander Allen and inform the Captain that the Subspace Array is ready to activate upon his command and then standby for the order.” Aleksandra commanded, well – satisfied by the professionalism & efficiency of her crew.

“Aye-aye Ma’am.” Samantha confirmed with a ready smile. The activation of the subspace array spoke to her own passion for communication, the potential to bring disparate peoples together in harmony was at the core to the peaceful ideals of the UFP and to the mission of Starfleet. It was why Sam had chosen to specialize as a Comms Officer and to have the means to actually realize this ideal – quite literally under her fingers – was as thrilling a prospect as there was possible for the young officer to be a part of.

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Circle of Judgement

Primarion – Prime Equatorial Zone

Stardate: 2401.6.14

13.21 Hrs. (Planetary Local – Time)

 “Eh?” Inquisitor P’Aath craned forward. After nearly 300 years of life, the aged Inquisitor was used to never quite trusting his ears. “What did he say?” He demanded.

Again, refusing to turn directly to address P’Aath, Lieutenant Sorvak addressed his response towards Inquisitor V’Ruun (by refusing to engage in the harassing premise of The Circle – the Vulcan had effectively negated its advantage by simply refusing to play along) and held his hands out to the sides in a gesture of openness.

“I said that it is illogical to attempt to argue a case that Representative Fur’an is innocent of the charge levelled at him, Inquisitor, as there is extensive evidence, eye-witness testimony and even the confession of Fur’an himself that all point towards his culpability and intent to commit the aforementioned assault on the person of Secretary Quinnel.” Sorvak agreed levelly – which caused a spike of suspicion in the animalistic hindbrain of the experienced B’Queth Justicar.

~ What – in – the – Maker did the Alien think he was doing?! ~ Inquisitor V’Ruun worried.

Of course, he fully intended to find the loathsome V’Saal guilty and condemn him to death – that outcome had never been in question – doing so would send a clear & unequivocable message to the Separatist Tendency that their foolish crusade towards libertarian anarchy was doomed to failure. But it was also necessary to paint the Federation’s do – gooder meddling as the root – cause of this civil & societal – unrest and thus weaken their influence on the V’Saal and place the Gerontocracy in a more dominant position during future diplomatic exchanges.

Confoundingly, these ambitions would be effectively diluted if the bloody Vulcan actually agreed with the decision of the court – as he was now doing.

“You agree that the accused is guilty as charged?” Inquisitor J’ilesh blurted incredulously.

Again, Lieutenant Sorvak did not turn to cede his advantage to the Inquisitor over his other shoulder, but commented dryly as he stared Inquisitor V’Ruun squarely in the eye.

“Even Representative Fur’an agrees that Representative Fur’an is Guilty, Inquisitor J’ilesh.” Sorvak explained as if the Primarion Judicar was, indeed, some sort of decrepit dotard with muddy faculties.

Inquisitor V’Ruun would have readily agreed with such a characterization – for all of his deftness with the manipulation of the media, the man was a hapless egotist and V’Ruun had long contended that J’ilesh’s legal acumen has about as sharp as a days – ripe Qu’wan – fruit.

V’Ruun had had enough of this farcical undertaking, and he slammed the Gavel – stone down hard in an attempt to restore some semblance of order and fast – fading decorum in the sanctity of The Circle.

“Then let is bring this tragedy to its pitiful and inevitable outcome without delay!” Inquisitor V’Ruun spat with annoyance. “It is the Judgement of this Circle that the accused, Fur’an of the Separatist Tendency, be taken forthwith to a place of execution where the….”

“Excuse me Inquisitors?” Lieutenant Sorvak’s effortlessly placid voice broke through the B’Queth’s wrathful pronouncement of sentence. “You appear to be acting in haste, without considering the proportionality of jurisdiction.”

The silence that descended in the great dome of the circle was only amplified by the dying echoes of Inquisitor V’Ruun’s diminishing proclamation.

“What did you say?” Inquisitor V’ Ruun’s voice was glacial and dangerous, his hand clawed at the Gavel – stone with white – knuckles and his neck fronds pulsed a deep purple with an enraged engorgement of blood.

Sorvak stared calmly at the confounded and enraged Justicar and tilted his head just – so, as he continued.

“It is irrefutable that an assault upon the person of Secretary Quissel took place aboard the USS Sacramento and that the assailant is indeed the man you see before you today.” Sorvak gestured to the manacled Fur’an – who (it had to be said) looked just as confused as the trio of B’Queth lawmakers in the chamber.

“Thus, a sentence of death is….” Inquisitor P’Aath began to protest from behind the Vulcan but was cut short by Lieutenant Sorvak continuing over his outburst – unfazed.

“What the court has failed to take into account is the issue of Proportional Jurisdiction.” Sorvak re-emphasized, only now finally turning and rounding his gaze fixedly upon each of the accusers, slowly circling around on the spot & reversing the psychological intent by the designers of The Circle- turning the scrutiny of the space back upon the Inquisitors.

Who were beginning to look increasingly confused and uncomfortable – not enjoying their elevated position quite so much anymore.

“The heinous attack took place in Primarion Space!” Inquisitor J’ilesh crowed smugly, content to put this presumptuous alien back in his rightful place.

Sorvak shrugged diffidently, conceding the point…up to a point.

“Unquestionably so Inquisitor, but also ultimately inconsequential.” Lieutenant Sorvak turned back to rest his gaze upon the glowering Inquisitor V’Ruun.

“By what twisted rubric of logic do you suppose this fantasy, Lieutenant?’ V’Ruun asked, his every word a threat now.

“Logic and fantasy are antipodean and irrelevant in this case Inquisitor.” Sorvak replied blankly “The assault indeed took place in Primarion – space, however it took place aboard the Starfleet – vessel USS Sacramento, which is in – effect considered Sovereign – Territory of the United Federation of Planets by assent and charter and thus subject to Federation Law.”

The only sound in the Circle of Judgement was that of multiple media – drones as they jostled & whirred to relay the entire proceedings, unedited, to the entirety of Primarion space – just as the Grand Gentarch had intended – but to very different ends.

“Therefore, as the Starfleet Officer assigned by my Commanding Officer to the Prosecution of this case under Federation Law, I hereby take Representative Fur’an into my protective custody for immediate incarceration at the nearest available Federation holding – facility, pending trial for his crimes.”

Lieutenant Sorvak nodded politely and went to stand next to the astonished Representative Furan and said to the court.

“It is gratifying to see Justice served is it not?” and tapped his Commbadge.

“Sorvak to Ensign De Vries – Two to Beam up!”

In the resulting chaos that accompanied the swirl of energies as the transporter beam plucked the Vulcan and V’Saal from the Circle, frantic instructions were issued to the Clerk of the Court to summon an emergency medical response team.

Apparently, one of Inquisitor P’Aath’s hearts had given out during all of the excitement.

 _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Palace of the Grand Gentarch

Primarion – Prime Equatorial Zone

Stardate: 2401.6.14

13.55 Hrs. (Planetary Local – Time)

On the Concourse-Triumphant, bedecked with finery and strewn with descending flower – petals loosed from overflying drones, censures wafting pleasantly perfumed colored incense-smoke and to the martial pomp and swell of a massed military band marching past, the face of Grand Gentarch Verlan (who had, thus far, been smugly following the proceedings unfolding in the Circle of Judgement via an earpiece terminal) went white with apoplectic shock as he turned accusingly to Commander Nathan Allen – stood side by side with him on the podium – at the grandiose Commissioning Ceremony for the new Subspace Array.

“You…You promised…” Veran managed to choke out – caught between his building rage at being politically outmaneuvered and the impossibility of maintaining the façade of all-knowing – control, at the public – relations spectacle that he himself had engineered to serve his own vanity.

“I promised to deliver Representative Fur’an to your people to face Judgement – which is exactly what I did. “Nate’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I also assigned Lieutenant Sorvak to represent Fur’an objectively and without prejudice during those proceedings – which is exactly what he did. Now Fur’an will be remanded to my custody aboard the Sacramento to answer for his crimes. Justice will be done – which is the most important thing at the end of the day really isn’t it?”

In front of the massed cheering crowds, Nate turned from the stupefied Gentarch and himself kept waving cheerily to the crowds and media -drones, a broad smile in his face as he shouted above the cheering.

“As you so eruditely put it yourself Grand Gentarch.” The Captain of the USS Sacramento nodded to the lectern as he took the dumfounded leader of the Gerontocracy’s hand, clasped it in his own and raised them both above their heads in a show of unity and bonhomie.

Together they approached the ludicrously telegenic control panel that would signal Lieutenant Hyand to activate the Subspace Array and forever bring their peoples closer together.

“At the end of the day, it’s all a matter of Optics really, isn’t it?”

In the close, the downfall of the Primarion Gerontocracy began innocuously enough, as these things so often do, with a vain and ambitious man pressing a button.

That this was done with considerable pomp and fanfare in front of the entire population of the Primarion civilization was ultimately inconsequential. Had it been done in secret, in a darken – room with malice and intent meant nothing – the outcome would have been justifiably the same – as the seeds that would herald the end of the centuries – long dominion of the B’Queth overlords over their more numerous, short lived V’Saal subjects had been laid so very, very long ago.

Although, in retrospect, it could be argued that – albeit being unwitting heralds of their own apocalypse, the Gerontocracy did hold some small degree of culpability for the events that would shortly spiral out of their control to end millennia of hegemony and subjugation.

These facts would, ultimately, be born out at the antipathies of this unfortunate chapter of Galactic History. Of course, by this time, it would ultimately cease to matter.

The Universe can be funny like that.

Postured – magnificently upon the Concourse Triumphant, grinning a terse grin at the massed crowds that stretched out before him, the Grand Gentarch Verlan spared a withering glance at the obsequious Starfleet Commander that had so deftly outmaneuvered him and spared the V’Saal Separatist, Representative Fur’an, from the carefully arranged show – trial.

~Touché Commander~ Verlan allowed.

Verlan had not clawed himself to the top of the precariously internecine back – biting heap of self – interest, that was assuredly the Gerontocracy proper, without learning to evolve with the narrative.

 As the venerable B’Queth Head of State frowned down at the Auto – prompt screen he reflected that Commander Nathan Allen and his meddlesome – Federation – was a problem that he would deal with & with finality, in the very near future.

~ Optics Indeed! ~ The Grand Gentarch inwardly fumed, even as he mugged a broad smile and nodded graciously to the Starfleet Officer in a magnificence of bonhomie. ~ I’ll soon wipe that self – satisfied smile from your smug, stupid face Commander and then you and your Separatist proxies will soon come to understand the weight of resolve at the business end of the massed Primarion Home Fleet!! ~

Holding his withered, age – spotted hands aloft to signal the beginning of official proceedings, the accompanying martial music that for hours had suffused the great square suddenly swelled to a crescendo and then with a deft movement accompanying his gesture – he snapped his hands dramatically down and the square fell to silence and his reedy voice was suddenly amplified a hundred – fold by the floating circlet of media – drones as it carried across the crowds.

 “Children of the Great Primarion Gerontocracy!!!” Grand Gentarch Verlan addressed the masses as they cheered, “Today we gather together under familiar skies to witness the ascension of our great cause, our steadfast peoples to the onward & inevitable auspices of Galactic – history !!!”

Commander Allen, standing just behind Verlan on the lofty podium, smiling for the media – drones, had to admit, for a controlling, unashamedly – totalitarian old bastard, Verlan was a remarkably good public – orator.

Then again – being the meat of their trade, so many Dictators so often were.

The Grand Gentarch once again raised his steady hands and the crowd quietened accordingly as he nodded – stentorily towards Commander Allen.

“For ten years now, our great nation had hosted emissaries from the United Federation of Planets. For ten years now, we have shown our forbearance and steady judgement as the Gerontocracy has represented the Primarion system and all of its peoples on the Galactic Stage!”

“For ten years – our patience has ruled supreme!”

Nate’s face betrayed nothing of his inner feelings on the veracity of these statements – Diplomacy was the prime mission of Task Fleet 72 after all.

“FOR TEN YEARS!” The Grand Gentarch pumped his fist and the media drones focused on the rapt faces of the crowd, as they chanted back.”

“TEN YEARS!!!”

“AND TEN YEARS MORE!” Verlan pivoted patriotism into shamefaced jingoism.

“TEN YEARS!” The Grand Gentarch clamored, whipping the crowd to a frenzy.

‘AND TEN YEARS MORE!” Verlan Verland near screamed at the microphone and punched the air between him and the well – prepared masses.

“And on this day, the quality of our resolve, the purity of our culture and the strength of the Primarion will be joined to that of the wider Galaxy as, today, we bring online the Subspace Communication Network and join all of our peoples together in a new Golden Age of peace and understanding !!!”

To this the crowd went wild, their cheers a cacophony of ecstasy as the Old B’Queth mounted the dais with great solemnity and reached down to press the button.

Commander Nathan Allen discretely tapped his comm-badge and opened up a channel to the USS Sacramento, as the California – class Starship orbited overhead, lost in the haze of azure – sky.

“Allen to USS Sacramento.” He murmured.

“Sacramento – actual – here Captain. Go Ahead.” Came the steady voice of Lt Commander Vodrova in his ear.

Nate smiled as he waved to the crowds and commanded.

“Aleks, tell Lieutenant Hyland that it’s time to reach out and touch someone.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

(Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

14:13 Hrs. (Planetary Time)

“Aleks, Tell Lieutenant Hyland that it’s time to reach out and touch someone.”

Commander Allen’s voice came over the bridge audio feed and Lieutenant Commander Aleksandra Mariana Masolvaya Vodrova swiveled in the command – chair and motioned to Lieutenant Samantha Hyland, as the ever – efficient Communications Officer sat poised with an expectant look worn on her fine Scandinavian features.

“COMMs.” The Executive Officer of the USS Sacramento ordered with a nod. “Bring the Subspace Communications Network online.”

“Aye Ma’am.” Sam nodded as she swiveled her chair back to face her Communications – board. She could see that all readouts were optimal, Jai – Hui’s Engineering team really had done a great job in threading the Primarion system throughout with the network of Subspace emitters and relays – to link the system with the Federation.

She keyed the controls expertly and brought the vast, distributed lace of technology to life.

“Subspace Array is online. All telemetry showing active attenuation and optimal signal – traffic.”

Samantha turned to the XO with a wide smile on her face and the feeling of a job well done.

“The Primarion system is now live and connected to the Federation Net Ma’am!” she announced proudly.

__________________________________________________________________________________

 The Reliquary of Ost

Great Ost Desert

Primar – Majoris #7

Stardate: 2401.6.14

14:15 Hrs. (System Time)

 Almost imperceptibly, the sand around Professor Jonas Hyland’s feet began to thrum with a gentle oscillation of a deep vibration.

Myriad golden particles of strata glittering in the unrelenting glare of the hard twin suns as they cascaded gently over each other – a tsunami of tiny movements lost in the vastness of the great circle of the Reliquary’s main arena, as the stones of Reliquary itself were dwarfed by the vast expanse of the Great Ost Desert, burning under a scorching sky.

Had anyone cared to look down (and who really has the prescience of mind to do so at the moment when everything changes?), a particularly astute observer might have noticed that, over time, the sand forming beneath their feet began to coalesce into intricate shifting geometric patterns – actually dancing a secret dance to a strain of silent orchestra in resonation.

Nodal lines formed and endlessly dissolving, the grains of sand whispering a complex song of tessellation describing the writhing mathematics of a forgotten alien equation.

That this phenomenon went unnoticed, undocumented and unremarked upon was one of those tiny ironies in the endeavor of scientific discovery.

 The majority of the Federation science – team that had been dispatched some four days past, were taking respite from the Mid – day suns and were following the Federation News Network’s coverage of the activation of the Primarion Subspace Communications Network – the penultimate relay of which hung some 12 Kilometers above their heads in Geo-synchronous orbit.

It had been a very popular gathering with drinks and a welcome distraction from the confounding constraints put upon the team, by their B’Queth ‘hosts’ during their short tenure in this singular place.

For his part, for the longest time, Professor Jonas Hyland did not notice the suddenly motile sands of the floor of the Reliquary acting like a gigantic Chladni plate experiment beneath his feet – so absorbed was he on matters that he considered of greater import.

The Universally – feted Xenoarchaeologist was deeply entranced with his studies and suppositions regarding the (obviously) damaged section of the Hieroglyphica – wall – with several sensors and other instruments running a series of complex scans and experiments, all designed to satisfy a theory that had been forming in Jonas’s mind of late – to the exception of all other thoughts.

That the damage to the section of wall was (so obviously) not the product of a natural meteorological weathering event, collapse of the surrounding stone form-work or other such random happenchance was obvious even to the most distracted scientist.

The Tricorder beeped in his hand and Jonas stared down at the screen, sheltering his eyes from the desert glare and adjusting the cloth head-dress he had come to adopt (an affectation of the ancient V’Saal desert – dwellers).

He considered what the instrument was asserting.

The stone and the Basalt-Quartz substrate beneath the accepted architectural – bounds of the great arena obviously evidenced signs of decaying electrons on the sub-micron level.

The tell – tell signs of exposure to the stimulated emission of photons on a narrow-focused wavelength.

“A laser…..” Jonas breathed as he interpreted the results and absorbed the impactions of the data. “They used a laser…”

Sometime long ago, probably some Millennia – past, someone had taken an industrial-grade cutting laser to this particular section of the Hieroglyphica and deliberately erasing the hieroglyphs etched into the sandstone and damaging the crystalline structure below – presumably also subverting or destroying the substrates’ ability to store and transmit the particular set of memories stored within – through the Reliquary’s unique method of Psionic abduction.

A technology so hopelessly archaic that it was useful to narrow down the period of time when such an invention had probably seemed “cutting – edge” to the Primarion.

“But who would do such a thing to such a singular monument and to what end?” The Professor breathed and licked his sun – cracked lips in consternation.

“Ah! Professor Hyland? “Interrupted the Arch-Dyspneal Vilem, as the plump B’Queth custodian of the Great Reliquary of Ost approached from behind – an unwelcome presence as ever. “THERE you are Professor!” The Arch-Dyspneal enthused, “Not joining the others to celebrate the triumphant unity of our peoples across the void h’mm?”

 Vilem’s voice could scarcely disguise his veiled contempt at this prospect.

Jonas shook his head tiredly and wiped the sweat from his brow. Tired at the strain of remaining civil. Tired of the obscuration that Vilem represented to the pursuit of the truth.

“I’m afraid my interests lay more in the past than the here and now Arch-Dyspneal.” Federation scientist muttered absently as he bent down to adjust a sensor embedded at the foot of the wall and frowned as he thought he saw a pattern movement in the sand at the shadow of his feet. He permitted himself the fancy of exhaustion – but the movement persisted again.

“Well, quite so Professor Hyland, quite so but I ………” Vilem began and then his voice tailed off…..

Jonas stared at the sand.

He could not believe his tired eyes.

The sand was moving.

Not only was it definitely moving, obviously made motile by dint some energetic force but the sand appeared to form into complex geometric shapes, merging and disappearing – one shape being subsumed and birthing another.

 The scientist in Jonas took action even as he gazed wondering at the phenomena – grabbing his Tricorder and slipping out a probe- he began to scan the sand with great interest.

“Vibration……It’s vibration.” He stated.

 “A Displacement variable measuring beyond the total excursion at plus 17,000 Microhertz per second. Triaxial measurements are by confirmed by accelerometer, velocity sensor, Radial – displacement curve – all the same. That can’t be – No seismology in the greater strata. There’s no supporting data suggesting a seismological shift in this region – the Geology just doesn’t support it. It doesn’t make sense?”

A growing pressure, beginning as an uncomfortable sensation in his nasal cavity, began to build in Jonas’s head.

It made his ears pop uncomfortably, and a dull headache began to persist at the base of his cranium.

He reasoned that he was most probably dehydrated and reached for his canteen but the slim – vacuum flask was dancing small circles across the top of the nearby equipment case and suddenly teetered off the edge – drenching the sand below in a dark circle of wasted water.

Jonas frowned cloudily and reached out to the stone surface of the Hieroglyphica to lever himself up to standing – the pulse in his head worsening, the uncomfortable sensation of pressure now pressing on the back of his eyeballs.

The sandstone surface was warm to his touch (as to be expected), but Jonas was also dimly aware that the steady vibration was now also permeating through the stone itself – translating down the lengths of his arm and suggesting itself deep into his muscle & bones.

“Arch-Dyspneal do you…?” Jonas Hyland began, turning to the B’Queth when he realized that something was wrong with Vilem.

Something very wrong indeed.

Arch-Dyspneal stood rooted to the spot, the vertiginous neck – fronds that typified both the B’Queth and the V’Saal races stood starkly out from his neck, throbbing and darkly suffused with blood.

Jonas looked up with sudden concern to look at Vilem’s face – a face which was convulsing – his neck jerking sporadically, bloated and taking on a darkly purple hue – a thin trickle of blood began to seep in thin rivulets from his terrified bulging eyes as they flooded red with oxygenated blood breaking from the capillaries– grisley evidence of the sudden force of excruciating pressure exerted upon his circulatory system.

Blood – red eyes that were fixed in horror and confusion at what was occurring to his feet.

Inexorably, terrifyingly, the pulsation of vibrating sand – ever forming disturbing and fractious patterns and shapes – was creeping up the B’Queth’s lower legs – like watching a macabre sandcastle building itself, falling apart, the re-building itself as it crept ever up Vilem’s lower – body like something insidious and determined.

Jonas moved to aid the Arch-Dyspneal – that base instinct for one animal to help another animal in need – but he found that could not. 

Professor Hyland frowned at a jerking pressure that tore at the skin of his palm, turning back to where his hand rested on the stones of the damaged section of the Hieroglyphica.

He could not move his hand.

That animal instinct quickly gave way to a pervasive panic. Jonas’s mind struggled with the growing pressure in his brain, and he frantically tried to remove the hand led flat on the now – noticeably vibrating stone wall – with his other free hand.

It was like the hand was fused to the stone at a cellular level.

Jonas’s mind was effectively paralyzed by an awful trifecta of blind panic, the growing sense of pressure he could not stop physically building in his skull and a kaleidoscope of Psychic images, emotions and flashes that began to assault and invade his consciousness at random – the Psionic effect of the Reliquary seemed to come unbidden in a hectic flood & react to the local phenomena unfolding around him.

Try as he might, he rallied but felt his mind begin to buckle & fragment under the combined sensory assault.

He was dimly aware of a terrible keening noise that seemed to be emanating from the Arch-Dyspneal, who seemed to be physically vibrating himself now. An awful, haunting clarion claxon of pain and terror – sounding as if it was being squeezed out of his neck under too much pressure – like that from the neck of a child’s party – balloon.

But Jonas Hyland’s attention was firmly fixed on his hand – with mounting horror and incomprehension.

The sandstone was now vibrating to the extent that it was actually slowly turning to sand itself. Its reassuring state of solidity giving way to a motile dust – causing his hand to sink deeper into the stone itself. The exquisite hieroglyphs, triptychs and iconography of the adjacent undamaged sections of the Hieroglyphica beginning to erase themselves in a blur of motion and run slowly down the wall to join with the mass of the desert.

More screaming now – Dr Auguste Prideaux, the expedition’s Geophysicist (a warm, gregarious man – great singing voice, can’t remember lyrics) stumbled into the harsh glare of the twinned suns from the pressure – tent where his fellow Federation Scientists had just been witnessing the activation of the Subspace Array. Auguste writhing in evident agony & desperately clutching his head as he ploughed face – first into the sand and moved no longer – his life blood staining the turbulent sand a hue of dark muted crimson – brown.

Jonas didn’t even notice when Arch-Dyspneal Vilem, his well – dressed corpulent bulk vibrating so fast now, that his bones began to break internally. Ribs fracturing awfully, one – by – one with a sickening wet detonation of violent separation. Vilem began to rise into the air – seemingly born aloft by the rising sands that had reached all the way up to his lower chest, embracing, compressing and squeezing the life out of the B’Queth with the certainty of an awful mechanical compression.

Jonas didn’t even register the copper, slaughterhouse stench of blood & wet throw of viscera that festooned down upon his back as the Arch-Dyspneal’s head exploded from the tremendous pressure that had built up in his body – his cranium coming apart like the hideous detonation of a cork suddenly being released from the caged pressure of a champagne bottle.

His own face was awash with a dim glow of blue light that seemed to be emanating from the decaying stone (his hand sinking still further inwards some part of him noted with distraction), a gradually brightening glare that seemed to match the intensity invading his mind and thoughts – exposing the ancient structure below that – transfixing him entirely in the mental and physical realm – made of him something entirely other.

Jonas felt something reaching out, something infinitesimally old and utterly compelling – taking the shell of his consciousness in its crushing embrace and forcibly melding its own impossible intellect with his own in a breathtaking violation.

Jonas tipped back his own head back, desperate to scream, to assert some desperate flare of his own humanity as he felt his mind and the terrible, nightmarish Psionic Visions flow together with a frightening intensity.

His mouth worked autonomously – just like Arch-Dyspneal Vilem’s had, but he could make no intelligible sound.

All throughout the wide amphitheater of the Inner Reliquary, that was tens of hundreds of feet across, the sand shifted, cavorted and danced with the whorls of geometric and geodesic patterns – rising now like horrific waves and then running flat – suggesting morbid movement below. The irresistible flow capturing some of the remaining Federation Scientists – caught up in the literal tsunami of sand and sound now – clawing helplessly as they sunk – compelled to beneath its terrible turmoil – eyes wild with uncomprehending fear – drowning a dry death.

Somehow, spared this fate by the irresistible force that had taken him over, all Professor Jonas Hyland could manage was an uncomprehending gaze, as if like a latter-day Prometheus chained to the rock (and the violently – resonating crystal substrate underneath) his bulging eyes drawn to the smaller circular structure at the very heart of the arena – the sort of parabolic depression that described the center of the ancient structure.

As Jonas Hyland slowly felt everything that made him human coming apart, he finally let out a penetrating scream that resonated around the circle of crumbling stone.

From the parabolic depression in the middle of the Reliquary – tens of meters across –stabbed a screaming, massive, ragged shaft of awful, blindingly intense blue energy that seemingly spat from the very earth below the Reliquary and pierced the sky above, boiling off the cloud – base as it went howling heavenward and slamming into the Subspace Relay satellite that flew high above.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Somewhere, deep beyond the Gamma Quadrant.

Stardate: 2401.6.14

14:19 Hrs. (Universal Time)

 It was considered old even when the stars themselves were young.

It’s vast, ancient comet – streaked flanks reflected the cold, dead light of systems that had died trillions of lights – years past – places that it had visited long – ago during its infinity – spanning wanderings.

Places that it no longer had any reasonable memory of. With countless time compressed into its existence – who would waste subjective time thinking about such things?

It moved at sub-light speeds, its ponderous bulk describing a trajectory of travel that could not readily be described as empires and stars came and went with such frightening regularity to its venerable perspective – such things would seem to be comparable the blink of an eye – had it possessed such organs to speak of – which it did not.

Mostly, its own long-thoughts often took Millenia to form as it plodded its way inexorably through the cold cosmos (with an effort it could shift to thought processes and relativistic speeds but had not had to do so since that last time when it had had to deal with its mistake with the creation of a race that would eventually come to be known to the Gamma Quadrant as “The Founders”).

Its dreams spanned the very history of the Galactic Diaspora, and the echoes of its memories were writ large in the crushing depths of collapsing gravity wells and the screaming energies of tachyon – embrace of Black Hole event horizons that its kind had once been birthed in, before they gradually faded from the memories and realms of the involved species and effectively sublimed to another realm of being – leaving it as a lonely oddity and singular traveler of the void.

Alien in all ways that there was to be, in ways that made sense only to itself, it’s phenomenal mass and eternal span of being meaning that it had no predators, natural or otherwise. To all extents – it was omnipotent, it was enduring, it was pervading and more than anything else it was infinitely, but occasionally curious.

Currently, it was lonely.

For reasons that it had entirely forgotten – it had the not-often-indulged-in capacity for retrospection. 

Sometimes it would leave a seed – a shard of itself calved off and left in its wake – as it progressed onward with its epoch – spanning exodus amongst the unforgiving stars.

Whilst not possessing what any sentient race would recognize as comparable intellect or cognizance, these discarded shards of itself would act independently and as they saw fit. Sometimes shaping (or reshaping) whole ecospheres, sometimes altering the trajectories of comets or other celestial bodies – merely to conjecture the impact of such a change on the balance of probability.

 Sometimes it liked to experiment with the creation of life itself – just to see what would happen and to introduce a little chaos into the picture.

Eventually, predictably, some of its shards would eventually return (tens of centuries or millennia later, after all – all was relative in the end) or sometimes not.

It cared little for these shards and often forgot that it had even created such progeny. Taking the long – view it held that these things mattered very little in the overall scheme of the Universe. This one – at least.

When such rare reunions were warranted, it would rotate its leviathan bulk to welcome them home – subsuming their fragmented crystal structure back into its own, joining again, like a parent greeting a child and hearing from them all that they had gathered during their long exile.

Now it became dimly aware of a very distant clamoring from one such shard, one that it had quite forgotten about so very, very long ago – calling distantly to it through the ephemeral realm of Subspace.

Normally, it would not even register such an entreaty – shards cleaved, left, were lost, evolved to become some contiguous but separate being in their own right, sometimes returning, most times not – ultimately just carried on.

Every being craved distractions in an infinite Universe.

Truthfully though, in the last recent 400,000 years or so it had been aware that it may be verging on a state approaching boredom and when it so rarely did – it found itself in the uncharacteristic mood to break its endless solitude. Thus, when one such Shard reached out to call to it, it gathered the phenomenal locum of energies, kilometers deep within its deep, cold crystal core and instigated a signal back to it’s distant source– with a corresponding beam of blindingly intense blue energy.

So, the ancient Gigalethine Crystal Entity sent out the responding clarion – call through the skein of Subspace & began the fond process of bidding its errant child homewards, for once mildly eager to consume & share in all the revelations that the Shard had learned during its Eons’ long sojourn………

Sam’s head snapped back from her monitor, a sudden – urgent tone of panic rising in her voice as she turned to address Lieutenant Commander Vodrova in the Command Chair.

“Commander!” the Comms Officer warned, “There’s something wrong with the array!”

Aleksandra Mariana Mikelovaya Vodrova sat forward in her seat and frowned, “Can you be a little more specific COMMS?”

Sam shook her head. Normally so efficient, so confident – the readings before her made no sense.

Unbidden, an image of her father – bathed in an eerie blue light suddenly came to her mind – then was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Sam felt a strange feeling of apprehension, deep in her gut, but she pushed it aside and tried to focus on what her instruments were telling her.

“I…. the Array…. this data doesn’t make sense…..the signal attenuation is of the scale Ma’am.” Sam desperately tried to make sense of the data as her practiced hands flowed over the controls. “A massive spike of data……originating from…” Samantha tried to untangle the chaos and track the point of origin for the erroneous data.

Her instrument panel was a tableau of screaming chaotic energies.

“A massive exponential energetic flux is being amplified throughout the Primarion system via the array ma’am…. Reading somewhere in excess of above 100 billions of billion Giga Electron – Volts (1020> GeV) …..The Federation relay failsafe was engaged by the hub at .7000 Picoseconds, so the effect is localized to in-system……..Point of origin… Primar – Majoris #7……”

Lieutenant Samantha Hyland’s thoughts went immediately again to her father, bathed in a blue – light.

A visceral sensation of fear that was not her own filled her emotions and again was gone in an instant, leaving one terrible conclusion from the data.

Sam swiveled her chair to face the XO – her face pale.

“It’s coming from the Reliquary of Ost Commander.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Palace of the Grand Gentarch

Primarion – Prime Equatorial Zone

Stardate: 2401.6.14

14.20 Hrs. (Planetary Local – Time)

 From the perspective of Commander Nathan Allen, what transpired seemed to happen both instantaneously and also become a moment teased out & compressed in time – each second seeming to draw out infinitely.

A terrible pressure began to insinuate behind his eyes.

The Grand Gentarch Verlan standing, triumphant, on the podium before him – his arms raised to the adulation of the massed crowds that filled the near – horizon of the Great Concourse. Verlan was turning to regard the Starfleet Officer with an unpleasant expression on his withered face, then – frowning as he put his hand to his nose and looked perplexed as that hand came away purple with B’Queth Blood.

The sonorous acclamations of the massed crowds slowly shifting in pitch and tenor, glad exhortations and cheers slowly changing into a wavering, terrible suffusion of screams and terror.

The assembled media drones that had been circling the dais, relaying the images to a system-wide audience, suddenly falling to smash on the flagstones below – robbed of their power, empty and useless.

Nate grabbed his head, the pain slowly building to an unbearable degree – his mind’s eye splintering – half registering the scene unfolding before him and half torn to recognize a similar scene of terror unfolding simultaneously at the distant edifice of the Reliquary of Ost – light years away on distant Primar – Majoris #7.

A hand reaching out to a faceted crystal surface, a gentle blue glow – rising slowly in intensity to painful brightness. An accompanying feeling of being trapped, of wanting to flee – but at the same time an irresistible, morbid curiosity as to what secret lay at the crystal – heart.

Commander Allen wiped at his own face, slick crimson blood on his fingertips as he rubbed at the corner of his eye…. his training took over as he keyed his Comm-badge and tried to focus his mind away from the persistent visions of destruction& the crumbling Reliquary that flashed across his subconsciousness like a broiling lightning – storm of unwanted memories.

“Allen to Sacramento…” Nate managed to gasp – the pressure in his head pure agony now….” REPORT!”

The Grand Gentarch staggered back from the dais, stumbling down the short flight of stairs as the thousands amassed behind him writhed in agony, clutching at their heads – their screaming had become a truly terrifying wave of nausea crashing upon blind animal panic – echoing from the surrounding architecture – the sound of a civilization in its death throes.

“YOU!” Screamed the leader of the Primarion Gerontocracy, his face livid and his vertiginous neck-fronts quivering with rage. His bony finger stabbing out at Nathan as he accused “It is a WEAPON! We are deceived!” The ancient statesman screamed; one hysterical voice buoyed upon a rogue wave of thousands of souls in like torment. He rounded on his ceremonial guard, sturdy V’Saal soldiers that also seemed to falter under the crushing Psionic assault. “KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!!!”

Nate watched in horror as the barrels of the guard’s weapons slowly raised, pointing straight at Commander Allen and the small honor – guard contingent that had accompanied him to attend the grandiose commissioning ceremony for the sub-space communications array.

Seasoned Starfleet Security personnel stood to either side of him, already reacting to the sudden threat and reaching for their own hand-phaser sidearms.

“NO!” Nate though he might have screamed, powerless to intercede into the rapidly deteriorating situation around him. Before the USS Sacramento could respond, Nate desperately ordered over the open Comm-channel.

“Emergency Transport! Allen Ceta-One-Alpha!”

Nate closed his eyes as the Federation team were surrounded by a glowing swirl of complex energies and the burnt – ozone crackle of energy weapons being discharged filled the surrounding air………

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

(Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Transporter Room #1,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

14:22 Hrs. (Planetary Time)

 A thunderous denotation of sound filled Transporter room as a bolt of plasma slammed into the back of the emitter, resulting in a shower of sparks and a terrible smell of burnt polymer and circuitry.

And something far worse.

Crewman Lawrence stared down at her chest. A dark ragged hole had punched through her Gold-uniform tunic and left the back smoldering.

“Commander?” Alina Lawrence managed, her face a mask of confusion and shock as her phaser fell from her numb – fingers and clattered across the emitter pad.

Nathan Allen came to his senses and caught the stricken member of his crew as she crumpled to the deck, his hand behind her head as he looked around to the startled Transporter – Chief.

“MEDIC! NOW!!” Commander Allen barked as another member of the rescued honor – guard sprang into action and grabbed an emergency Med-kit from its bracket on the transporter wall.

Shocked, but still able to focus – Nate noticed absently that the terrible pressure that had dominated his senses was still present, but the effect was far lessened than when he had been imperiled in the Great Concourse seconds earlier.

“Medics are on their way Alina, Hang in there…..” Nathan reassured Crewman Lawrence as others took over her care and worked to stabilize her condition.

“I’ve got to get to the bridge.” Nate stated grimly as he left the Transporter Room and headed for the Turbolifts.

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 USS Sacramento

(Primarion – Prime Orbit)

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

14:24 Hrs. (Planetary Time)

 “The Lead Primarion vessel has target lock on us Commander”. Ensign J’hvohuk reported seriously. “She’s opening fire!”

The bridge of the USS Sacramento shuddered physically as the shield – matrix absorbed the impact of hostile fire from the encroaching blockade that had been surrounding the California – Class Utility Cruiser, since its arrival around Primarion Prime.

“Sheilds holding at 87% Commander.” He added as an imperceptible whine for the EPS conduits could be discerned as the Sheild Generator distributed the energy from the assault throughout its matrix.

J’hvohuk frowned mightily, his bushy Klingon brows drawing a bridge across his ridged brow as – he too – struggled to clear his mind from the invasive effect that seemingly was assaulting all sentient beings within the Primarion System.

A B’Queth male, terrified, rising into the air – the sensation of rushing sand, a feeling of terrible crushing terror and encompassing pressure….

“Permission to return fire Ma’am?” The KilingonTAC officer shook the image away & growled irritably.

Lieutenant Commander Vodrova shook her own head tersely, “Negative TAC – right now our shields can take it. CONN – evasive pattern Vodrova Theta – Nine. Engage!” The XO ordered.

“Aye Ma’am, Vodrova Theta – Nine. Engaging now!” Ensign O’Mara responded efficiently as she keyed in the Helm – command and the view of the Starfield and attacking Primarion Naval – blockade slewed uncomfortably – even though the ship’s inertial dampeners compensations with a minimum of sensation.

Aleksandra saw a great wave of sand rise up from the desert floor, impossibly – swallowing people whole as they tried to flee its inevitable progress across the Reliquary floor…..

“Engineering!” Alexsandra, set her jaw against the unwanted image as she opened a comm- channel to the Chief Engineer.

“Engineering here, go ahead.” Came the voice of Lt Ryu, tense and carrying the burden of evident stress. 

“Lieutenant – we need to shut down the Subspace Array and we need to do it now!” The Executive Officer winced as the ship was struck by more detonations that made the hull ring and the superstructure groan, as the venerable old ship contorted through its cage of antagonists.

“We can’t Commander…” The Chief Engineer’s voice seemed to be verging on a precipice of panic. “The energy surge emanating from Primar – Majoris #7 has caused catastrophic damage to the infrastructure of the array – I’m astounded that it’s still operating quite frankly; the ancillary relays are burnt out Ma’am…. we can transmit the code but there’s no way the Hub can receive shut-down protocols….”

Alexsandra’s mind raced for alternatives, seeking to find a solution to a rapidly deteriorating situation when a familiar voice called out from behind her.

“Thank your Number One, you are relieved.” Commander Nathan Allen strode from the Turbolift with grim purpose and made for the command chair.

“I am relieved, in more ways than one.” Lt Commander Vodrova nodded truthfully and vacated the Big – Chair, taking up her customary position in the seat adjacent – already scrutinizing a raft of pertinent data coming in from the duty – stations around the ship.

 “The Bridge is yours Captain”

“Thank you Aleks.” Nathan Allen nodded tersely as he settled into the chair.

“TAC.” Nathan nodded to Ensign J’hvohuk,  “We need some space to think.”

“Aye Captain?” the Half – Klingon Officer looked expectantly over his shoulder.

“Target the Impulse Drives of any Primarion Naval vessel that confirms its hostility by active fire, take out their legs Ensign. Off the Leash – Fire at Will” Commander Allen ordered with finality, it was time to regain control of this farce and Nathan was in no mood to mess around.

“Aye – AYE Captain.” Ensign J’hvohuk grinned broadly even as his fingers began to lay in a series of firing solutions that would disable the engines of the screen of hostile Primarion Cruisers surrounding them.

Commander Allen turned to the COMMS station, all business.

“Sam, mind telling me what the hell is going on with my array? I though these things were still under warranty?” Nate smiled wryly. His tendency to resort to nervous humor under pressure beginning to show from under his resolve.

Lt Commander Hyland nodded, now composed as ever – despite the terrible implication of events that were unfolding at the Reliquary of Ost – fragments of which kept strobing through her mind and those of nearly everyone onboard.

“A massive discharge of energy emanated from the Reliquary of Ost Primar – Majoris #7, at 14:13 Hrs. relative planetary time. The same moment that the Subspace Array was brought online on Primarion Prime at the ceremony Captain. Source – unknown.” Samantha reported – interpreting the data with an edge of fear in her voice.

“Can we shut it down?” Nate pondered aloud.

“Negative Captain.” Sam concluded, “The energy surge has destroyed the infrastructure necessary to send the handshake protocol for shutdown.”

Commander Allen nodded grimly and swiveled in his chair to address the Chief Science Officer at her station behind him.

“Dr Duval – is this energetic effect linked to the physical and psychologic effect we have all been experiencing?”

“Mais Oui, absolument – Captain. “Lt (Jg) Duval nodded, “Readings indicate that the energy surge is synergistic & contemporary to the Psionic effect that typifies the unique properties of the Ost Reliquary. From what we can tell from the few sensor – pallets that were not overloaded by the surge, the Phenomenon appears to be using subspace as a carrier wave to carry the effect, transmitting and amplifying this through the Subspace Array – where it intersects with the technology.”

“Can we isolate the carrier signal? Shut it down?” Nate reasoned.

“You misunderstand me, Captain.” Cerine shook her head, “It is not using a particular wavelength of Subspace – it has flooded all of Subspace itself and made of it a captive carrier for its signal. It is not possible to signal outside the system whilst this effect endures.”

“We can’t signal Starfleet for assistance.” Nate looked at Aleksandra and both Senior Command Officers shared the same sober conclusion.

The implications of what has just transpired sank into Nate’s mind. What his Chief Science Officer had just described was, or should be, impossible. Only one course of action remained, and the clock was running out for the Primarion people and his crew.

“Acknowledged, thank you Dr Duval”. Commander Allen was resolved to action.

“Tactical!” He addressed Ensign J’hvohuk.

“Aye Captain?” J’hvohuk spoke, even as the USS Sacramento’s phasers crippled another encroaching Primarion vessel, which fell spiraling slowly away on his sensors – bleeding inertia.

“Ensign, Load the Forward Torpedo Tubes.” Nate confirmed grimly and without relish. That it had come to this filled him with regret and sadness. “Helm, bring us about.”

“Aye Captain, coming around 180 degrees, negative plane.” Ensign O’Mara responded deftly.

Aye Captain, all Forward Photon Torpedo Tubes loaded and ready.” The Tactical Officer responded, “Target allocation?”

Commander Nathan Allen let out a deep breath and confirmed the target.

“Target the Terminal Emitter of the Subspace Array in orbit around Primarion Prime. Full spread – don’t stop firing until the Emitter is totally destroyed.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 GNV Patrol Cruiser “Varshana”

At-Warp – Primarion In-System

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

15:21 Hrs. (System Time)

 Captain F’Raal shifted uncomfortably in his command chair as the enraged face of the Grand Gentarch Verlan filled his viewscreen. The smoke had been cleared from the bridge by the struggling life-support system and the fires had mostly been extinguished, but the cracked and pixilated image on the screen spoke of the wounds that the Primarion Naval vessel had recently suffered at the hands of the Federation Starship they so doggedly pursued.

“I don’t want excuses Captain!” Verlan veritably screamed at him. “I want that ship destroyed! They cannot be allowed to escape Primarion Space!! Do you hear me? I want them turned to DUST!”

F’Raal nodded apologetically and attempted to placate the powerful B’Queth head of state.

“And we are doing everything within our power to realize the success of that mission, Grand Gentarch, I assure you,” The V’Saal Officer explained, “But over half of the Home-Fleet is disabled, the remaining three serviceable vessels – including my own – sustained considerable damage which we strive to repair, but we are maintaining our pursuit. The enemy vessel is making better headway than us, but their course is still Primar – Majoris #7. We will catch up with them when they drop out of warp.”

“And in the meantime – they continue to destroy the evidence of their crimes?” Verland glowered, his voice all scorn and acid.

“Confirmed Sir – the Starfleet vessel has been dropping from Warp, just long enough to destroy each Subspace – relay satellite in orbit, before jumping away again.” Captain F’Raal confirmed although, as a military man, he was wholly perplexed why an enemy would go to all of the considerable effort to implant a secret Psych – Ops weapon system throughout Primarion Space, only to begin to destroy that weapon when it had been unleased on its targets.

Somewhat mollified, but no less angry, the Grand Gentarch snapped “Destroy them, Captain. The consequences of failure will be manifold!!!! Verlan Out. ” The screen – feed went dead – flickering and stuttering back into life as it switched channels tried to display tactical data.

“The ways of Aliens are Alien indeed”, F’Raal reasoned to himself unhappily, as he continued the pursuit.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

 USS Sacramento

En – route to Primar – Majoris #7

Briefing Room,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

16:03 Hrs. (Planetary Time)

 A hologram of the Great Reliquary of Ost hung over the Briefing – room table. It’s ancient stone circumference and vaulted cloisters rendered in total, perfect miniature.

“From what our sensors can confirm, the point of origin for the emanation of the energetic – effect is this structure here.” Lt (Jg) Cerine Duval keyed a control and the perspective on the shimmering hologram seemed to shift and wheel – zooming in on the concave declivity that lay at the very center of the vast amphitheater of ruins that made up the Reliquary deep in the Great Ost desert.

“But what can be causing it?” Lt Ryu, interjected. A worried frown creasing the Korean’ smooth features. “The magnitude of emission is so way in excess of the threshold of our Sensor – pallets that its near impossible to calculate its strength. Initial scans of the planet indicated nothing that could explain the generation of power on this scale?” The Chief Engineer pointed out.

Dr Duval pursed her lips.

“As much as I hate to resort to intuitive hypothesis Jai – it is reasonable to assume that the Basalt-Quartz Crystal substrate that underlies the geology of the Architecture of the ruins is acting as some form of resonator. Subspace wave – forms generating some kind of supe-excited agitation of electrons perhaps.”

 Cerine manipulated the holo again and a great crystalline mass was highlighted – filling the area directly below the Reliquary and penetrating the strata of the planet some kilometers deep below the arena.

It is established that the crystal substrate on which the architectural edifice is responsible for the storage and distribution of the Psychic resonance– that this effect stimulates a causal link between the Parietal and Temporal lobes of the brain – in effect playing back the collected memories of the ancient Primarion. From the extensive multi-phasic scans that were conducted and catalogued by Dr Prideaux, from the Federation Science Team, such an energetic phenomenon seems to be at least theoretically viable.”

The holo generated a simulated line of energy that emanated from the disc in the middle of the tiny arena and travelled spacewards, intersecting with the first Satellite that the USS Sacramento’s crew had place in orbit high above and branching from the contiguously – linked Subspace arrays, that the same vessel was now so determinedly dedicated to destroying and they made their desperate dash towards to the source of the Phenomena on the surface of Primar – Majoris #7.

“We do know that the effect was initiated at the same time that the subspace array was activated – so it’s safe to posit a direct link between both occurrences. As to what is controlling that effect – we just can’t begin to postulate.” Cerine shrugged. “At this point we are beyond the bounds and established science and entering into realms of the Theoretical.”

“What about the Science Team themselves?” Sam’s voice sounded small and worried, despite her best attempts to remain composed and professional.

In her mind’s eye, warm blue light now suffused everyone and everywhere – a sensation of, not peace, but somehow weary resignation flooded her mind.

Everyone turned to regard her, that her father was chief amongst that team – whose fate remained uncertain – did not escape anyone at the table.

“Our scans are inconclusive.” Ensign Jan De Vries attempted to sound reassuring, even as he delivered his news. “Given the extent of the phenomena, it’s hard to get an accurate reading for Life-forms at this distance and we have lost telemetry with every warp-capable probe that we have launched ahead of us.”

Sam nodded numbly and Jan continued as gently as he could.

“We should know more when we make orbit. What we do know now is that – with each hub of the Subspace array that we destroy – the infringing Psionic Effect on the crew is lessened in intensity. Ostensibly, we are beating it back to its source.”

Sam tried to take solace in that but found it increasingly hard to focus on the positives.

Blue light everywhere, calm now….so calm.

Commander Allen saw his Comms – Officer’s obvious dismay and was sure that everyone around the table was joined in these disturbing and frequent visions. He and was about to bring me meeting back to a more productive track when he was interrupted by the ever-phlegmatic Lieutenant Sorvak.

“Given the physiologic reactions observed on the populus of Primarion Prime against the relative locus of the Energistic & Psionic effect applied by the phenomenon, extrapolated against what we know of the quantum of energies at the source of origin – it is not logical to assume a high – level of survival for those exposed at “Ground – Zero”, Lieutenant. It is reasonable to assume that those exposed to its effect at the Reliquary likely perished.” Sorak stated evenly.

All around the table stared at the Vulan in shock. Sam more than all others.

“However!” The taciturn Vulcan held up a slim finger in riposte “That we have all been sharing fragments of Psionic visions as a result of the Phenomena and that those images almost exclusively seem to encompass the worldview of Dr Jonas Hyland – might also indicate that Dr Hyland may have survived. From a certain Weltanschauung, this may be perceived as some form of communication.”

Nate looked like he might throttle his OPS Chief, but frowned and steered the briefing back to its original agenda.

“Thank you Sorvak.” Nathan said acidly and the Vulcan, noting his tone, just raised an emotionless eyebrow.

“So, when we make orbit – we should have a short window of opportunity to achieve the following mission – critical objectives, before we are joined by the remainder of our Primarion pursuers.” The Command briefed his crew.

“Firstly, Ensign J’hvohuk – it is paramount that we destroy the last remaining hub of the Subspace Array. With that out of the way, we should be safe enough to operate without undue hinderance of from the Psionic Effect.”

“Aye Captain.” J’hvohuk rumbled.

“Secondly we stand up the Hazard Team and perform an insertion into the Reliquary…”

“Excusez – Moi Captain, that will not be possible I am afraid” Dr Duval countered, “The Energistic effect is of a magnitude at the point of origin such that we cannot guarantee an accurate or contiguous Transporter lock.  A beam down to the surface is therefore out of the question.”

Nata nodded, “Then we perform an orbital insertion – Ensign De Vries, stand your team up and get a Class – 9 shuttle prepped for departure as soon as we drop out of Warp. We’ll do this the old – fashioned way I guess.”

Jan was about to respond in the affirmative, when Lt Sorvak again broke the Commander’s chain of thought.

“With respect Captain – I think that course of action will have little probability of success.” The Vulcan intoned somberly.

Hiding his annoyance, Nathan smiled thinly, “Out with-it Mr. Sorvak.”

“I mere interject that a Tactical Response in this instance is not the logical course of action. The incident unfolding within the reliquary is demonstrably Psionic in effect. I alone possess the requisite training to weather the detrimental effects such an effect. It is possible that I could shield another through the application of a mind-meld, but even that is difficult and give the ferocity of the Psionic effect measured at Ground Zero – there is no guarantee of success even then. I apologize Captain, but – if deployed in such a manner – the Hazard Team would soon succumb to the effects of Reliquary and be rendered inoperable in short order.”

“So we send you alone?” Nate shook his head, “I’m afraid I can’t do that Sorvak – I can’t risk the fate of an entire civilization on a single officer – no matter how accomplished or well suited you may be to the task.”

Sovak shook his head levelly and continued in his droning monotone.

“I will not be alone Captain.” The Vulcan brought up the Holo of the Reliquary once more. “Assuming that the Energistic Effect is centered at this point here in the reliquary and knowing that the phenomena seem to include the conscious mind of Dr Jonas Hyland himself in some way that is currently oblique to us – it seems both logical and essential that I take the one person aboard who knows Dr Jonas Hyland better than any other.”

Sorak turned to a startled Samantha and intoned levelly, “I propose that Lt Commander Hyland make the insertion to the planetary surface with me and attempt to forge a link with her father, should he still be alive.”

Sam looked up sharply, her eyes widening in alarm…

“I’m sorry…. What did he just say?!”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

The deck rose to meet her as the shuttlecraft began to buffet from the first turbulent effects of contact with the atmosphere.

“That would be a most inadvisable action to initiate whilst wearing the suit, Lieutenant Commander.” Sorvak’s phlegmatic voice carried over the comm channel, sounding slightly compressed, even as Samantha felt trapped & compressed within the intimate confines of the EVA Suit.

“Might I suggest that you allow the suit to administer a mild antiemetic.” The Vulcan added (somehow Sorvak seemed to be immune to the negative effects of the growing atmospheric turbulence as the shuttle screamed through the exosphere above the desert – planet and its fields began to bite into the thermosphere) “That should settle your stomach, whilst still maintaining the necessary focus to prepare for insertion.”

Sam’s gloved hand gripped the striped grab-handle affixed to the overhead of the bucking cabin, her knuckles whitening – even as her sweat was wicked away by the smart-lining and the suit’s environmental systems un-fogged her closed faceplate. A Heads – Up – Display projected key information on the inner-surface, but Sam’s eyes were screwed tightly shut.

This close – above the planetary surface, the powerful local – psionic effect was unsettling in the extreme, whether her eyes were open and closed – a kaleidoscope of nightmarish images flowing unbidden across her minds – eye.

Samantha Hyland focused on keeping the contents of her last meal, where she had last left them.

“Sorry about that, hey?” Came the confident voice of Ensign Jan De – Vries.

Whilst the USS Sacramento’s Security Chief was not able to join the Away Team, Jan had insisted on flying the shuttlecraft to ensure that the team got to their jump – point safely. Nothing seemed to deter the man from protecting his people.

“Adjusting inertial dampeners to compensate.” The young South – African muttered as his hands flowed over the shuttle’s controls. “There’s significant ionic interference in the upper atmosphere – even from this altitude, the ride’s only going to get bumpier from here on in folks.”

Jan looked up from his instruments briefly enough to nod towards the gathering storms in their path.

“That’s probably not helping much either.” He remarked dryly, as he struggled to keep the “Maidu” level and on course.

Outside in the cold expanse of orbital space, a howling – line of blinding blue energy intersected from the surface of Primar – Majoris #7, stabbing through the churning cloud base left in its wake and bathing the remaining Subspace communications hub in a corona of impossible energies.

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

Bridge

Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:44 Hrs (Planetary Local Time)

“Shuttlecraft “Maidu” has departed Shuttlebay -2 and has begun its descent to the upper – atmosphere of the planet Captain.” Lt Commander Vodrova reported crisply from the Operations Board, as she covered the role left vacant by Lieutenant Sorvak.

“Very good Number One.” Commander Nathan Allen nodded and turned his attention to the strange tableau unfolding on the viewscreen in space ahead.

Tens of meters across, a vast column of searing blue energy flowed in a constant stream from the planet below into the heavens. Even when viewed through a digitized processor and reconstituted onscreen – the intensity of the energetic discharge was such that Nate had to fight down the urge to shield his eyes from the glare.

A flash of hooded figures, undeniably Primarion by their stature, hems of their robes whipping in the desert winds, standing within the great circle of the Reliquary, the stonework looking somehow younger – bathed in a gentle blue light……..

Nate shook his head in irritation – these psychic flashes a persistent and unwelcome distraction.

“Science – report.” Nate turned to where Dr Duval’s attention was wrapped around her instrumentation.

“The energetic effect is remaining constant Captain.” The Science Officer reported, her voice calm and businesslike. “The energy-yield is stable at 100 billions of billion Giga Electron – Volts (1020> GeV) across all wavelengths – flooding subspace with its signal. Point of origin confirmed as the central arena of the Reliquary of Ost, in the Equatorial desert zone.”

“And it’s still focused on the Array?” Nathan sat forward in the captain’s chair, his fist steepling his broad – chin as he attempted to fathom the depths of the outlandish event unfolding in space before his ship.

“To the extent that the hub is the Line – of – Site of the beam’s apogee, Captain.” A note of interest in Cerine’s voice now, “but the computer extrapolates that the trajectory of the beam follows a linear plane that carries beyond the planet and out of the local system sir.”

That was significant.

“It’s terminator?” Nate enquired.

“Difficult to confirm with any degree of certainty given the parameters we have to work with currently, but the signal terminus is most likely somewhere beyond the Gamma Quadrant.”

Nathan Allen turned his chair to face the Chief Science Officer.

“Seriously?” His face incredulous.

“Oui D’accord – sérieusement.” Cerine confirmed.

“That’s one hell of a long – distance call.” Commander Allen turned back to the screen.

“Helm – plot an orbital intercept course for the final – hub.” Nate straightened his tunic. Somewhere along the way, his mission of “Give some aliens a lift home, land a Federation Science team on the planet below and unify the Primarion and Federation with the simple installation of a Sub-space communication net”, had descended into total disarray.

“Aye Sir. Plotting course to intercept. ETA, two minutes.” Ensign O’Mara confirmed, her eyes intent on her board, but they too darting up to glance nervously at the howling anomaly before them.

The Primarion Gerontocracy seemed to be on the verge of open warfare by seeking the destruction of the USS Sacramento, all contact with the Federation Science team led by Dr Jonas Hyland had been lost (with no conclusive life-signs possible to confirm due to the atmospheric interference) and now Nate was poised to destroy the symbol of peace and friendship embodied in the last physical remnant of the Subspace Communications Array – that was supposed to bring their peoples together.

With a heavy heart, Nate ordered.

“TAC – plot a firing solution on the Orbital Array, all phasers and maximum torpedo spread – once we destroy the Hub, that should remove the danger of the anomaly being broadcast further endangering any more of the Primarion people.”

“Aye Captain.” J’hvohuk confirmed and began to bring the weapons – systems online.

“CAPTAIN!” The XO’s voice came urgently, “Sensors confirm three vessels coming out of warp on our rear starboard beam. Confirmation – Two Antia – Class Primarion Interdiction Frigates supporting a Gonath – Class Patrol Cruiser, Captain. All show signs of recent battle damage – they are most likely remnants of the Blockade that we engaged around Primarion Prime.”

Commander Nathan Allen swore inwardly but retained an outer veneer of calm command.

~ We have to give the Away Team more time. ~ Nate thought urgently.

“COMMS.”  Nate turned to the rating that sat at the position that Sam normally occupied, “Open a channel to the lead ship of the Primarion……”

“They’re opening fire Captain!” Lt Commander Vodrova’s voice sang out in warning.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

GNV Patrol Cruiser “Varshana”

Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:48 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

Captain F’Raal frowned at his tactical display, which was still functioning only intermittently – despite the best efforts of his crew to restore the Varshana to a state approaching “Fighting – Fit.” Irritated, the V’Saal Officer banged the unit with his fist. As with all repairs to precision equipment attempted with blunt – trauma, the unit in his armrest went blank and ceased working.

“SCAN, REPORT!” F’Raal barked – his temper already frayed by his recent terse exchange with the Grand Gentarch and receiving orders that were tantamount to a suicide mission.

Not enough that he had to go up against an alien vessel with a far superior technological parity, but that he had to do so with only a handful of ships, all battle – damaged and in various states of repair and space unworthiness – seemed, to the Captain, to heap insult onto considerable injury.

“We have the Starfleet Vessel on scope Captain.” Sub-Altern J’suun reported. Despite her injuries, it gave Captain F’Raal great pride to see his young Sensor – Officer act with such purpose and dedication to her duties. “It is on an intercept course for the satellite array Sir.”

~Destroying the last evidence of their crimes ~ F’Raal recalled the Grand Gentarch Verlan accusing.

“Steersman. Lay in an intercept course, best speed possible.” Whilst F’Raal had his doubts about his current assignment, the men and women of his own family had all served in the Gerontocracy Navy for their short – lives, going back centuries – he was damned if he would be the first of his line to shirk his duty and disobey a direct order.

No matter how pointless the sacrifice may seem.

As the stricken ship came around (with an obvious shudder that could be felt through the deck plates of the bridge), Sub-Altern J’suun reported again.

“Captain, it appears that the Alien vessel has launched a Smallcraft.” J’suun grimaced as she adjusted a field dressing that covered her forehead and one eye. “It appears to be making planetfall – destination most likely within the equatorial zone.” The Sub-Altern confirmed.

“Rat’s leaving the sinking ship.” Captain F’Raal glowered, “Operations Officer dispatch the Frigate Orta to intercept and destroy that shuttle – with prejudice. Tell the “Dzanan” to remain with us and target the Main Ship.”

No reply came from Altern R’uhul – who seemed to be distracted. At first Captain F’Raal worried that the officer was suffering from concussion, but then he himself was hit by a powerful, but brief Psychic vision of ….

…The Callers, standing on a dune – line, under the scorching twin suns. Their powerful Bass – clarion song reverberating, filling his ears – he could feel the burning sands, rough against his skin…….

Captain F’Raal shook the vision away.

“Belay that last, Operations.” F’Raal growled, “I’ll send it myself.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Type-9 Shuttlecraft – “Maidu”

Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:49 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

“Sorvak, I’m not sure I can do this.” Sam worried over the comm – channel as her gloved hands checked the seals on the Vulcan’s suit. Satisfied all was in order, she slapped his shoulder and turned so that the Vulcan OPS Chief could perform the same pre-jump safety checks.

“Suit’s good.” She added.

“It is imperative that we make the insertion, in order to ascertain if there are any survivor and confirm to the USS Sacramento an accurate reconnaissance of conditions at ground – zero, if our mission is to stand any chance of success Lieutenant Commander.” Sorvak droned in her ear as his practiced hands checked her seals. “Any trepidation that you may be feeling, with the consideration that your father is…”

Sam shook her helmeted head sharply and replied with a growing sense of panic growing in the pit of her stomach.

“No, I mean THIS!” Sam raised her suited arms frantically, as if in explanation.

“Your suit is secure. Your service jacket indicates that you completed the requisite Extra Vehicular Activity training module at the Academy, Commander.” Sorvak sent.

Samantha Hyland (who HATED heights at the best of times) turned to face the taciturn Vulcan Officer, her eyes wide behind the layers supra-annealed synthetic diamond- leaf, as HUD data scrolled across the faceplate.

“Were coming up on the insertion point, one minute to drop.” Jan’s voice reported as a force-field shimmered into life between the cockpit and the Away Team, and the life support system began to void the rearward space of the Type-9 Shuttlecraft of breathable atmosphere and pressure.

“I did a basic EVA course sure!” Sam’s voice had a waiver of hysteria present, “But nothing to prepare me for this …. this…insane secret squirrel SHIT!” She laughed nervously, trying desperately to quell her panic about what they were about to do.

Sorvak pursed his lips behind his own faceplate and raised a quizzical eyebrow in thought.

“There was not time available to indoctrinate you in HAZARD Team training Commander.” Sorak reasoned, obviously aware of Sam’s distress, but 100 percent mission focused. “Fortunately, this eventuality has been accounted for. I, myself, have conducted several High – Level Orbital Insertion Jumps during the Dominion War and have undergone extensive HAZARD team – training. For the duration of our descent, your suit will be “Waldo’d” to my own – I will pilot your suit as well as my own.”

“Whal – Whatnow?” Sam sent.

Lieutenant Sorvak keyed a function on his own HUD with an eye motion and raised his arm and flexed his armored fingers.

With a subtle whine of internal servos, Samantha Hyland felt her mirror arm rise without her own volition and her own fingers wave back, the suit’s movements mimicking that of Sorvak’s own.

“That’s……actually quite cool.” Sam smiled nervously, distracted by the novelty of the effect.

“Quite so…” Sorvak Nodded calmly as he keyed the hatch and the great ochre – brown expanse of Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit stretched out below the hatchway and Sam felt like vomiting all over again – despite the drugs the suit’s AutoMed unit was feeding her bloodstream.

“If you like, you can key the faceplate to opaque and request that the suit plays you something soothing on the way down. That may lessen the distress associated with your vertigo.”  Sorvak replied with inevitable logic and dispassion.

Sam was about to do just that and was walking in slow, marionette tandem with Sorvak toward the Hatchway, when the “Maidu” was suddenly & violently rocked by scorching weapons – fire.

__________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

Bridge

Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:50 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

 One of the escorting Gerontocracy vessels has fired upon the shuttlecraft “Maidu” Captain.” Aleksandra reported with concern as the USS Sacramento itself shuddered from the combined fire of the pursuing Primarion ships “Varshana” and “Dzanan”.

Nate’s heart skipped a beat. His people, at risk. His orders. It never got easier.

“Status of the “Maidu” Number one?” Nate’s voice did not betray his inner turmoil.

“She’s taken substantial damage to her impulse drive Captain and is struggling to maintain orbit.” The XO reported. “The Away Team has exited the Shuttlecraft and are in free-fall.”

Nate thanked the gods of small mercies and commanded.

“Tell Jan he’s out of the fight. He’s ordered to land on the surface a safe distance from the effects of the Reliquary and await extraction along with the Away Team.”

“Sending now Captain.” The XO confirmed confidently.

Commander Allen nodded. Some part of him unsure that that there would be an extraction at this rate – the odds were decidedly not stacked in their favour and there was no knowing what Sorvak and Samantha would encounter- if they survived long enough to make a landing at the Reliquary of Ost.

The odds were narrowing by the moment.

“Captain, permission to engage the pursuing Primarion vessels and return fire.” Ensign J’hvohuk requested, evidently eager to level the playing field once more.

“Negative TAC.” Nate shook his head, “Our primary target has to be the array – if we don’t take it offline – the amplified effect from the anomaly still has the potential to kill millions. We’ll deal with our pursuers, if and when we take that emitter down for good.”

“Engineering.” Nate opened a channel “Lieutenant Ryu – I don’t care where you find it, but you have to give me more power to the shields…..”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 Away Team

Primar – Majoris #7 – Orbital Interface

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:51 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

 Like sycamore seeds spiraling in a wild autumn – breeze, two tiny figures fell spinning through the climactic clash of roiling clouds – punctuated by lethal stabs of sheet lightning, continents – wide, that briefly lit up the confusion of cloud in bright, staccato suggestions.

These images were seared in Samantha Hyland’s eyelids as she plummeted through the storm.

Encapsulated and cosseted in the relatively – safe confines of her Starfleet EVA suit, Sam tried to focus on the Heads – Up – Display and not the terrifying hurtling vista of cloud rushing by immediately outside. She had had no time to key in the commands that Sorvak had suggested, had no time to register that the Type-9 Shuttle had been hit by hostile fire, before the “Maidu” suddenly became a wheeling pinprick disappearing rapidly above her – venting warp -plasma from a damaged nacelle – gone in an instant.

Samantha Hyland tried to remember her training, steadying her breathing and focused on the most immediate problems.

A small blue icon on her faceplate was Sorvak, some 900 meters below and to the starboard of her position (marked in an orange icon). Glowing – green telemetry curves and data feeds scrolling to chart their passage from orbit to planetary surface, at speeds in excess of terminal – velocity, that Sam tried desperately to ignore.

A great congregation, massed in concentric rings around a great blue edifice, kneeling as supplicants – a feeling of devotion, of veneration, of awe….

The nauseating magnitude of the visions now – their visceral tug upon her consciousness into times long passed, to feel and witness events involving persons long dead – was becoming more irresistible the closer the pair fell toward the distant Reliquary below.

Sam wondered if Sorvak, who was (literally) steering both of their fates, truly was as immune to the effect as she was obviously susceptible.

If that was the case, it would be a hard landing indeed.

Suddenly, a quickly as they had entered, Sam was suddenly clear of the storm clouds. Thin rivulets of condensation quickly running off her faceplate as they were born away by the slipstream of air they rode.

Another whine of servos, as Sorak activated trim – vanes on the exterior of their suits. Control surfaces extending and adding a finer degree of aerodynamic control as their headlong plummet towards the distance desert – floor curving kilometers below, began to transition into a steep (but gradually shallowing) glide path.

Samantha Hyland could make out Sorvak as a tiny black speck, picked out by the HUD with vector lines linking them both and describing the glide – path with curving isometric lines.

Leading them towards the distant monument nestled deep in the Great Ost Desert.

“Oh my God.” Sam whispered, as the suit automatically magnified the forward view of their approaching destination.

“Sorvak, are you seeing this?”

The ancient Reliquary of Ost, sacred site of the Primarion people, place where the collective memories of an entire race were stored, the place where legends say the Primarion once communed with The Provider, the beautiful architectural edifice of stone and dreams that had stood against the fury of the desert and the ravages of time itself – was gone.

In its place, an impossible maelstrom of swirling sands, broken masonry and detritus – swirling kilometers high in a tornado of perfect destruction. At its core the vast – howling beam of blue energy lancing towards the very sky.

Sam’s mind raced and her heart sank as they approached the fury in the heart of the desert.

There was no way that her father, that anyone or anything could have survived the violent energies now focused on the former site of the reliquary.

It was like the Hand of God had reached down and wiped the desert clean.

“Affirmative Commander.” Sorak replied, shaking Sam out of her reverie.

“It appears the energetic effect has effectively destroyed the Reliquary proper – however, I have pinpointed a fluctuation of energy exactly 11.03 meters from the epicenter of the effect and what I believe to be a faint lifeform reading. I propose to make our landing at this point as it indicates the best chance of success for our mission…..if not our own survival.” Came Sorvak’s voice, as calm and unperturbed as ever.

“Are you INSANE?” Sam quavered, even as she felt her suit respond to Sorvak’s directions and change direction. “There are winds in there that must be at least in excess of 425 km/h at 49 m above ground level – that’s the equivalent of jumping into an F-5 Tornado – let alone one that has chunks of masonry and debris flying around in it, some the size of a Type-15 Shuttle! We’ll be torn to pieces!”

“The question of sanity is erroneous Commander.” Sorvak assured her as their suits suddenly banked sharply upwards as they approached the whirling wall of destruction and slowed dramatically, teetering on the edge of atmospheric stall.

“The eye of the storm is travelling significantly slower than that of the perimeter circumference.” Sorvak intoned as if he was delivering a lecture on meteorology to a class at the Academy. “I have calculated the optimum trajectory to take us down between that and the outer effects of the energy beam being transmitted by the anomaly.”

Samantha Hyland’s eyes widened in horror. The pair had slowed to a near stop at the very summit of the great tornado of debris, the howling blue column of energy so close now that the suit visor had darkened on that side to near – black – and still the glare was akin to looking directly into the light of the Sun.

“You cannot be serious.” Sam whispered in shock as her stomach roiled, momentarily weightlessness for the peak second before gravity took its toll.

“Commander Hyland.” Came Sorvak’s level reply “When have you ever known me to be otherwise?”

They fell into the heart of the storm.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

USS Sacramento

Bridge

Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:53 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

“The Subspace Array is destroyed Captain.” J’hvohuk reported – the satisfaction evident in the voice of the young Klingon – hybrid Officer’s voice, even as Commander Nathan Allen watched the destruction of the last vestige of their efforts to unify the United Federation of Planets and the Primarion Gerontocracy together in open discourse and understanding.

To Ensign J’hvohuk it was a target destroyed. The imperative of the Warrior was met. A job well done.

To Commander Allen it was a flame of diplomacy being snuffed out in the darkness. Mute testament to the failure of peace and understanding.

“Very good Ensign.” Nate commented sadly, “HELM, bring us about to present our less damaged Aft Starboard Beam to hostile fire. TAC – rotate our shield harmonics to cover that quadrant. We’ve got to buy the Away Team as long as we can to…..”

Commander Nathan Allen realized he had no idea what the Away Team would encounter and what they could realistically be expected to achieve when they reached what was left of the Reliquary – but at least the intense Psychic visions seemed to have been negated with the destruction of the Subspace Array hub in orbit – the device no longer amplifying the terrible Psionic effect through populated space.

“Commander!” Cerine’s voice sounded from her station. “The Anomaly has ceased!!!”

Commander Allen turned to the viewscreen – where the vast blue pillar of energy had dominated the view ahead, there was suddenly nothing. All of that terrifying discharge of energy – just gone. The cloud base below, no longer being agitated by the unnatural quantum of energy, was starting to recede – revealing the desert planet below once more.

Nathan stared in awe and wonder – so many things in this Galaxy their science could unlock – yet so many mysteries – so akin to magic- that they might never be understood.

He was shaken violently from this preponderance as the bridge rang out with vicious detonations and the damage alert claxon began to sound.

“OPS! REPORT!” Allen barked.

“Torpedo’s Commander.” Lieutenant Vodrova reported tersely, “Came at us where our port sensors are blind sir. We have hull breaches on decks 7 through 9. Damage reported to the Engineering section. Lieutenant Ryu has evacuated the main engineering section – multiple casualties reported.”

The XO looked serious as she confirmed.

“The third vessel, the Frigate that engaged the “Maidu” has stolen a march on us.”

“DAMMIT!” Command Allen roared and slammed an impotent fist on the armrest of the Command Chair. “HELM! Evasive maneuvers, Allen – Ceta – Seven – One. ENGAGE! NOW!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Away Team

The ruins of the Reliquary of Ost

Primar – Majoris #7

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:55 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

Lieutenant Command Samantha Hyland was resigned to the inevitability of her imminent death.

Some part of Sam’s mind that was not paralyzed in terror, grieved this fact – but found solace that she would be dying in the same place that her father had. Another part dimly registered the similarities of this passing, with that of her mother – so many long years ago.

Hopeless courage, defiant in the face of a no – win situation.

Her very own Kobayashi- Maru.

Fleeting impressions of chaos and movement. Sand obscuring and scouring her faceplate – blasting the diamond – hard surface opaque with a swarm of ablation – so intense that even the suit’s Lidar was defeated. A sickening, lurching feeling as something truly massive tore past her in the darkness of the screaming storm, her suit jinking automatically to avoid her being reduced instantly to paste. Everywhere the dust storm back-lit a ghostly blue by the screaming column of blue energy – obscured at the center of its fury.

Then her boots touched down – hard, servos screaming throughout the suit and damage warnings warbling urgently in her eyes.

Sam closed her eyes – sure this was the moment of her death.

Then a hand was shaking her.

Utter quiet abounded – where seconds before there was only cacophony.

Sam opened her eyes – the view from her helmet milky & total obscured – sandblasted opaque by the scouring desert sands.

Tentative fingers unlocked the suit’s neck seals and she drew off the damaged helmet.

Hot desert sun hit her face, instantly drying the sweat and the face of Lt Sorvak looked down upon her.

“Commander – are you injured?” Sorvak, had removed his own helmet (similarly damaged) and his bald – headed, narrow face was peering down at her, with the twin suns of Primar – Majoris #7 – the Night – Sister and the Day – Brother – filling the clear sky above him.

“I’m…..alive?” Sam managed.

“Clearly.” Sorvak rose and flipped open his tricorder. “The energetic effect from the phenomena seems to have abated.” The Vulcan observed. “One may hypothesize a causal link between the cessation of the effect and the destruction of the Subspace Hub. It appears that the USS Sacramento has succeeded in executing its portion of the Mission – objectives.”

Samantha Allen looked around herself, slowly rising to her feet.

“Well – let’s see if we can’t do our part then?” Sam assured herself, her legs still uncertain.

Every trace of the Reliquary of Ost was gone.

 It was if the desert itself had risen up and scoured the great architectural edifice from existence (not quite – great chunks of masonry – now free from the powerful winds of the tornado – could be seen falling to the desert floor in exploding patterns of impacting sand – thrown up some kilometers in the distance.) leaving in it’s place a vast, glowing, crystalline structure protruding from the sands – tens of meters across.

A warm blue glow seemed to pulse from the crenelated crystal surface from which they stood. Sam removed her suit gloves, breaking the seals and discarding them as she crouched down and touched the surface with her bare hands.

“It’s cold.” She wondered aloud – this revelation incongruous, despite the burning desert heat.

“Commander Hyland?” Came Sorvak’s calm voice from behind. The Vulcan had his back to her and had detached the probe from the side of his Tricorder and was running it over something she couldn’t quite see from where she stood. “Will you please join me? I appear to have found your father.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

GNV Patrol Cruiser “Varshana”

Primar – Majoris #7 Orbit

Bridge,

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:57 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

“Captain.” Sub-Altern J’suun reported as the GNV – Varshana focused her fire on the Starfleet Vessel, along with that of the GNV – Orta and GNV – Dzanan. “The enemy vessel’s shields are failing.” The Primarion Scan – Officer reported smoothly, “The last salvo from the Orta appears to have disabled their Warp Core – they are going nowhere Sir.”

Captain F’Raal smiled grimly.

Whilst he took no personal pleasure in the destruction of the alien – craft, he was immensely proud of the professionalism that his crew and that which the escorts had demonstrated in the short engagement and took a certain professional pride in the successful execution of his orders.

Orders were orders, after all, at the end of the day.

“Weapons.” F’Raal commanded, “Instruct the Orta and Dzanan to hold fire and maintain position. Tell our own ordinance crews to load an alpha – strike. Full torpedo spread – hold and prepare to fire on my mark.”

“Yes Captain.”

“COMMS – open me a secure channel to the High Command.” He nodded to his communications officer.

Soon, the Grand Gentarch’s wizened features filled the damaged main – viewer and Verlan greeted, “Captain F’Raal – I take it that you have good news for me?” The Autocrat smiled thinly.

Captain F’Raal nodded perfunctorily and straightened his uniform tunic reflexively.

“Affirmative, Grand Gentarch.” The V’Saal Naval Officer nodded somberly. “Whilst the Federation Vessel managed to destroy the remaining component of their weapon, we have crippled the USS Sacramento, and it only remains to land the killing blow – I thought that you may wish to issue that order?”

Verlan looked positively overjoyed at this prospect.

“Quite so Captain, quite so. “The duplicitous Grand Gentarch crowed smugly. “I must say that, after some initial doubts concerning your earlier performance, this final outcome is most exemplary Captain. My commendations to both you and to your crews.”

F’Raal switched the viewer to a forward view, so that Verlan could enjoy his ghoulish coup – de – grace.

There in space, limping along on impulse – the scarred hull of the heavily -damaged California – Class Starfleet vessel – was an obvious and defenseless target.

“Destroy them.” The Grand Gentarch ordered simply and dismissively.

Captain Ferland nodded to his Weapons Officer, who confirmed “All Torpedo’s away.”

The cruiser juddered as the torpedo’s left their launch tubes and began accelerating towards their prey.

Suddenly a white blur filled the viewscreen as the shuttlecraft “Maidu” tore across the path of the Torpedo’s as they issued forth from the Varshana.

Ensign Jan De- Vries’ triumphant South – African voice echoed stridently out of the bridge speakers – the Zulu War-cry “IZULU LELAMADODA*!!!!” (*The Sky of the Men) as the warheads slammed into the Type-9 and detonated prematurely – catching the Primarion Cruiser square in the reflected effect of their massed detonation – all but tearing the front off the Primarion craft with furious force.

Of the shuttle there was no trace left.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Away Team

The ruins of the Reliquary of Ost

Primar – Majoris #7

Stardate: 2401.6.14

17:59 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

“Oh Daddy, please no….” Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland whimpered in a small, lost voice – as her hand caressed the thinning hair on the back of her father’s head.

That it was Jonas Hyland, there was no doubt – Sorvak’s scans had confirmed that much.

It was also obvious that her father was beyond saving – only his shoulders and the back of his head were visible – the remainder of his body seemed to have merged with the gently growing blue crystal – or rather the crystal substrate had accreted around him (and as Sorvak had confirmed neutrally – grown through him) – the living crystal penetrating and melding with the famous Xeno – Archaeologist at a cellular level.

The man that she had known and loved as her father was now forever merged with the source of the Anomaly.

Of course, she had raged desperately and reasoned futilely – could they try to cut him out with hand phasers?

Not without killing him.

Could a transporter lock free him from entombment?

The pattern enhancers could not tell where Jonas began and the Crystal Entity ended.

That was what Sorvak postulated the artifact actually was – his Tricorder readings seemed to indicate alpha wave emissions emanating between both the crystal substrate and what remained of the man who raised her after her mother had died.

Readings contiguous with the flow and transfer of neuronic energy – conscious thought.

Sam felt numb.

All she could do was stoke his hair and cry.

She felt Sorvak’s hand on her shoulder and the Vulcan said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

“Commander, it is time…..Are you ready?”

Samantha’s fingers lingered on her father’s scalp and he nodded.

Lieutenant Sorvak reached down and placed his hands on her face just so, intoning:

“My mind to Your mind, My thoughts to Your thoughts…”

__________________________________________________________________________________

The Emissary.

Sam opened her eyes and looked at her hands.

They were small and (Inevitably) covered in blue poster – paint.

The smell of grilled cheese filled her nose and part of her wanted to cry.

Outside the small, oblong lozenge of window, a ray – trace of stars streamed past as the Galaxy – class USS Venture made her way purposefully to her next adventure.

“Sammie !” Called her father’s voice jovially, from the tiny kitchen that served their quarters, “Wash up now Hon! Dinner’s nearly ready!!”

Samantha closed her eyes and tears ran down her face – a deep shard of loss and sorrow aching deep in her heart.

Jonas Hyland entered the small, but cozy living room, drying his hands and smiled warmly as he looked down at his 8 – year old daughter.

“Well, what passes for dinner when the replicators are down at any rate.” Jonas shrugged and looked down at the picture she had been painting in broad, enthusiastic strokes.

“That’s a lot of Blue, even for a Bolian.” Her father observed with mock seriousness, “Although I’m not 100% sure it goes well with the rug.” He winked and a small servo – cleaner robot issued forth from its hiding place beneath the sideboard and commenced an attempt to remove the errant paint splats from the carpet.

Her eyes still tightly closed. Sam said simply.

“Stop.”

“Beg pardon?” Jonas cocked his head to one side, just like he usually did when he was confused.

Her voice, sounding small and distant – repeated.

“Please – just stop this.” Her small shoulders shook as she suppressed a sob.

When Sam looked up – the starfield beyond the USS Venture’s viewport had frozen, she looked down and found herself to be her normal adult self.

She looked up to her father. Jonas stood there, just as before – but where his eyes should be were twin pools of glowing blue crystal.

“Apologies Samantha.” Jonas spoke softly, his voice still the same. “It senses your distress and seeks to comfort you with something it thinks you would find familiar.” Her father sounded apologetic at this, almost abashed.

Sam wiped away her tears and stood to face him – her mind reeling with a thousand questions – but one most prevalent in her mind.

“Daddy?” She tried to steady her voice. “Are you dead?”

The thing that was Jonas Hyland now (and the furthest thing from the man he had been) looked puzzled for a moment – as if he was pondering a great mystery or listening to another voice repeat an answer.

“That is….difficult to answer.” Jonas said regretfully. “In some ways, you could say that I have….become or am becoming.” He shrugged as if that was answer enough.

“What is this thing?” She demanded, angry at the way her father’s image was being used in this manner.

“Ah!” Her father clapped his hands together (just like he did when teaching class and a student joined him in epiphany) “On that subject we are on firmer ground.”

The cabin of the USS Venture melted away – seeming to come apart like wax under a blowtorch – decks and superstructure flowing away to be lost in the cold vacuum of space.

Samantha found herself standing with her father on what seemed to be a vast, dark crystal landscape, pock – marked with craters from eons of numerous comet strikes – a vivid cold corona of frozen ejecta venting eternally off into space in its wake – telling her that she stood on the back of something impossibly vast as it transcribed its way through the empty places between stars.

Sam caught her breath at the suddenness of the transition – the sheer….Alienness…. of the experience.

Jonas stood before her, spreading his arms wide in welcome and smiled a small, sad smile.

“This is The Traveller.” His voice sounded hollow against the vacuum of space. “It has been since the beginning of the Universe, making its inevitable way from Galaxy to Galaxy since the very birth of the cosmos on its endless trek through the stars. It will continue on its travels long after the Galaxies drift so far apart – that their light will not be seen again.”

Samantha Hyland looked around her in amazement. To experience such a thing was beyond revelation  – the very dream of discovery that had set her upon her path to Starfleet, eclipsed in a moment.

“But this thing is……massive?” Sam looked down at the vast, frozen crystal landscape that stretched out from dark horizon to dark horizon.

“This isn’t….can’t be the same thing that is on Primar – Majoris #7 ?” She reasoned.

As if in answer, the very surface beneath her feet shuddered massively and far in the distance, a massive shard broke away from the surface of The Traveller and began to move slowly away on a tangential course – a deep glow emanating from its core that soon went dark as it drifted away.

Her father crossed his arms – his strange crystal eyes seeming to look straight through her.

“As from the mouths of babes…” He nodded, “Always were a quick study, weren’t you Sammie?” The thing that looked like Jonas Hyland gestured downwards to the surface – where a corresponding warm glow seemed to suffuse – kilometres deep beneath their feet.

“Life as a Gigalethine Crystal Entity ain’t all it’s cracked up to be….” Jonas smiled, but Samantha was evidently in no mood for bad Dad – Jokes from Eons – old aliens, so he pressed on. “To be short – it can be bloody boring as hell to be honest –  so sometimes it likes to make…..well….I guess you could call them “Children”, for want of a better word.”

And with that, they were both standing on the departing shard instead and she felt time itself compress and the Galaxy around them seemed to flow past at breakneck speed.

“Like most kids, these little rascals roam as they will, doing as their whims dictate – playing with the great chemistry set of life for millennia at a time, sometimes with the predictable outcomes that one might expect when placing such power in the hands of what is, ostensibly, an immense child with near – god like powers.”

Jonas shrugged apologetically again as if to say “Kids…What can you do?”

And with that they were both stood on a rising dune, buffeted by scorching desert winds.

“We’re back on Primar – Majoris #7 !!!” Sam exclaimed with a start.

“In reality we never really left.” Jonas dismissed her airily with a shake of his hand.. “But pay attention Sammie  – the next bit’s really  important and it doesn’t want you to miss a thing.”

They stood in the Great Ost desert. It was unmistakable and the sensation was so visceral – so REAL.

Samantha recognised the familiar strata of the mesa that surrounded the Reliquary of Ost – but could see from the lack of weathering & erosion in the stratigraphy, that they were witnessing an event that had occurred far in the planet’s past.

Where the Reliquary would one day stand, the vast crystal entity hung like an upside – down frozen tear drop, suspended massively over the desert floor, towering over thousands of tiny figures eclipsed in the shadow of its bulk.

“Are those the…..”she began as she walked down the dune towards them, rivers of sand flowing where her footsteps marred the perfect sail of sands.

“The Primarion yes.” Jonas confirmed knowingly as he followed her down.

She turned to The Emissary, the realisation growing within her.

“The Entity is the being that the Primarion worship as “The Provider”.” Samantha Hyland breathed in sudden revelation.

“Flowery terms for a novel experiment in developmental evolution, but technically accurate I suppose – it did create both races – making them similar in most ways – but different in one crucial other. A duality designed with the specific intent to make one dependant upon the other – with both races tied to a shared fate but destined to experience them from a totally different worldview.”

Samantha could see the distinctive pink and grey hued skin tones of beings that would one day become the B’Queth and V’Saal.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Jonas allowed diffidently.

She stopped and turned angrily to confront the being that masqueraded as her father.

“But you…It… consigned one race to the oppression, exploitation and subjugation of the other!” Sam shouted angrily, her eyes flaring at the injustice of it all.

 “The B’Queth took their longevity and ensured that the brief life of the V’Saal would know no freedom without dominion. What kind of being does that for FUN!” She screamed and punched her father in the chest, hard.

Jonas looked at his daughter with gimlet eyes and said simply.

“Well, we all make mistakes.”

“MISTAKES!” Sam screamed and launched herself at Jonas again, but suddenly found she could not move.

The thing that was speaking through her father sighed tiredly and turned her to face the supplicant worshipers once again.

“Let me explain.” He said tiredly and before her very eyes, time seemed to accelerate – the twin suns wheeling faster and faster through the sky above, as the passage of centuries flowed by.

As Sam watched, the Reliquary of Ost began to be birthed.

The great crystal entity sank gradually beneath the sands. At first a tent city of worshipers grew around its bulk, becoming a shanty town as supplicants braved the arduous journey across the burning sands to ask their questions of their living god.

As the centuries wore on and the desert flowed like a granular sea, the entity was swallowed beneath the sands and the structure that Sam was more familiar with as the Reliquary proper began to be built by successive generations – The Provider no longer communing directly with its people, but speaking to them through visions – becoming deified, then idolised, then forgotten to superstition and time.

“We created those that you call the B’Queth to be the Shepherds of the Quick.” Jonas spoke dreamily as time marched exorably onward, in fast – forward, before them – the strobing twin suns now a smooth arc – a blur in the sky.

“I don’t understand.” Sam managed.

Jonas looked sadly at her and spoke.

“Our…..your own people are very much like the quick, like those you call the V’Saal. So brightly do you burn in the short time allotted to you. Such innovation you bring to the great song of creation, even for the single note that you sing.” Jonas looked genuinely affectionate, but sad now.

Samantha’s brows knotted as she struggled with the implications.

“You’re saying that you…. The Entity…Provider…. whatever.” Sam shook her head, “Created the V’Saal to be the primary race, to be looked over by the B’Queth as their…what….Custodians?”

Jonas smiled sadly and spread his hands wide in answer – but said nothing.

“Wait!” Sam cocked her head (just like her father used to) and pondered aloud. “Something obviously went wrong, somewhere in their history – the B’Queth subverted this plan and used their longevity to create the foundations of a Gerontocracy – using the extended lifespan you afforded them as conservators and twisted it into an endless dictatorship.”

She looked at the Entity/Emissary.

“But how did the V’Saal let this happen?”

The passage of time slowed and stopped – Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland was surprised to recognize the vast curving tryptic wall of hieroglyphs that spanned the inner – half of the great inner circle of the Reliquary – the ancient story wall that Jonas had been so intently studying when this all began a few short days ago.

“The ancestors of those you call the B’Queth attempted to subvert their role in history by raising a false edifice of stone above where we slumbered.” Jonas – not – Jonas gestured to the carved stone glyphs and stone statues around them. “They sought to idolatrize the truth through such means – but the truth that came from the visions all shared – my dreams are a song that cannot be changed.”

As Jonas spoke – a group of B’Queth busied themselves around an ancient – looking, but obviously effective, industrial laser and Sam watched in horror as the beam cut deeply into the crystal below the stones, blackening and marring the substrate – before bricking the damage up with masonry.

She turned to Jonas – realization clear in her eyes now.

“The B’Queth sabotaged that memory, your memory. That’s why the Psionic visions at the Reliquary are so fragmented, so chaotic. They covered up the truth by leaving it in plain sight and by banning entry to the V’Saal ensured that their crime would pass from living memory in just a few of the V’Saal’s short generations – The Shepards became the Wolves.”

Jonas looked pleased and nodded sagely .

“So now you understand.”

Sam nodded sadly, it all made perfect sense – but the sheer horror of it all confounded her. The implication that one race would go to such lengths to take a gift so beautiful – a responsibility so solemn and then perform such a base – betrayal, all to ensure generations of genetic hegemony and suffering.

To her 24th century sensibilities – it was beyond barbaric.

“And when the Subspace Communications Array was activated….”

“It awoke me from my long slumber.” Jonas smiled. “Now it is time for me to return home to MY parent and tell it of all that I have learned.”

“No! Wait !’ Sam grabbed his arm. “ You can’t leave!” She implored.

“I must, as you can see I have righted my wrongs. The balance is redressed” Jonas’s crystal eyes betrayed no emotion. “The Gigalethine Crystal Entity is so very far away now – it will take many of your lifetimes for me to return home.”

“But no one will believe me!” Samantha protested, “I’m not even sure that I would believe me! You need to stay; you need to share this truth and help free the V’Saal people!”

Jonas turned to her, his voice sounding more like she remembered it now.

“But we have Sammie.” He took her hand and she felt every moment of her time together with him rush through her in an impossible rush of sadness and joy.

A lifetime lived and loved in a frozen moment.

“The dream we have just shared together has been shared with every living being in the Primarion System as we dreamed it together Sammie, B’Queth and V’Saal alike.” Jonas nodded and took his hand from hers gently.

“That is my final parting gift to my children and now it’s time to go……”

“But you can’t go Daddy….” Samantha felt a deep mourning in her soul. “I’m your child too. You can’t leave me all alone – you’ll be alone yourself…..please….”

Jonas took her face in her hands, despite his strange crystal eyes, she could tell that this was the man that had loved her with all he had, when they had lost her mother, the man who had watched her grow and then grow apart as she left to join Starfleet and explore the Galaxy – the man that was leaving on a journey of his own now.

“You’re not alone Sammie, none of us truly are.” The Entity spoke kindly. “You have Starfleet, they raised us both in our own ways and they will always be there for you.”

He wiped tears from her face and stroked her hair lovingly, just like he used to when she was little and afraid of the dark.

“I’ve lived a good long-life Sammie, and something tells me that it’s about to get a whole lot more interesting – the scientist in me is quite excited if I’m being honest. Just think, All Tomorrow’s Yesterdays are mine to have now, from now until the end of time.” Jonas Hyland winked.

Sam laughed, despite her grief – that familiar turn of phrase from her childhood – taking on a whole new dimension of meaning and import – suddenly she was glad for him.

“I love you, Daddy.” Sam smiled a small smile.

Jonas squeezed her hand, one last time and spoke.

“I will love you for eternity. Now, it’s time to wake from the dream Sammie – things are about to get a whole lot more interesting from here on in and it’s best that we were both on our way.”

 __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Away Team

Surface of the Entity

Primar – Majoris #7 (Near Orbit)

Stardate: 2401.6.14

18:00 Hrs. (Planetary Local Time)

“Wake up Commander.” Sorvak’s voice seemed to come from a great distance and Samantha wanted nothing better than to ignore it, she didn’t want to leave.

Lieutenant Sorvak jammed the Hypospray into Samantha Hyland’s exposed neck, above the collar of her EVA suit and Sam pivoted violently upright as a significant dose of Adrenaline coursed through her system.

She tried to take a deep, whooping breath but found she could not. She clung desperately to Sorvak.

They were still on the upper surface of the Crystaline Entity, riding the shard as it ascended through the rapidly thinning tissue of atmosphere, the curvature of Primar – Majoris #7 easily discernible as the planet receded slowly below them.

It was bitterly, impossibly cold.

“Welcome back Lieutenant Commander Hyland.” Sorvak intoned with some difficulty. “I apologize, but I had to resort to some more conventional measures to bring you out of the mind – meld – the nature of the link was quite…intense.” The bald – headed Vulcan permitted.

“The Entity!” Sam gasped urgently as they both rose into space on the back of a God.

“I saw what you saw Samantha – as I believe did many others, but this is hardly the time or place to discuss such matters.” Sorvak managed to wheeze with customary understatement and opened a comm – channel.

“Sorvak to the USS Sacramento – Two to beam directly to sickbay.”