Character #WritingContest
Thanks for your entry, Lars! Good luck!
Character #WritingContest
Voleron
Character #WritingContest
I've posted my #WritingContest entry here. It's not strictly about my character in STO, but I figured I'd give writing it a shot.
Voleron
Voleron
Character #WritingContest
Looking for a chance to win more Stonewall Credits for use in the Stonewall Credit Store or during the next #SWCsale? Enter the Character Writing Contest for your chance to win!
See the first post in this thread for contest directions and the entry deadline!
See the first post in this thread for contest directions and the entry deadline!
Niko
Character #WritingContest
M'Freya beginning
(I am not all that great at writing, I hope it is at least enjoyable.)
"Four ships approuching from port, secondary power relay on deck 2 is gone, we have hull breaches, warp drive is down. Civillian craft is making for the incoming raiders, their weapons are offline, shields seem to be rerouted to only foward arc. Husband they are going to ram them." M'Freya looked from from her mother standing at tactical to the view screen, a ship roughly the size of a bird of prey streaked past them arcing towards the four oncoming raider ships. Pulses of emerald disruptor fire hammered into the ships forward shields. They buckled after a second, cutting swaths into her hull. The civillian defence ship that had looked to be made of a pod with wings branching off in every direction tore through the hull of the first raider. The ships central section erupting in flame before exploading sending her wings and sections of the raiders ship crashing into the other three. Two of them becoming their own blazing balls of fire, the third just drifted lifelessly past the Wotan. There was silence on the bridge before shouting began again, with a section of wall exploding showering the bridge crew in sparks and smoke. The Wotan shaking hard from weapons fire. P'valla shouted from tactical that ventral plating was gone. The last of the raiders ships was looming before them, and old Orion slaver ship. Her hull breached and burning in places.
The hum of transporters started filling the air. J'prurr jumped from the captains chair, an old type 2 phaser in hand. The first of the raiders materialized his weapon moving up to aim. A streak of blue light pierced his chest throwing the alien back. Pivoting on his feet J'prurr fired off two more times crumpling an Orion and wounding another. A beam of scarlet shot over his shoulder hitting a klingon in the chest behind her father. The towering man stumbled, hefting his weapon to swing it down at M'Freya. She closed her eye hearing a muffled grunt and the feeling of something wet hitting her face.
Her eyes opened seeing her fathers body blocking her from the Klingon, his bladed weapon lodged into her fathers chest with one of the piercing ends protruding through his back. The last of his strength was spent pushing the phaser to the Klingons chest, a blue streak ripping from his back and pounding into the bulkhead behind him. Both slumped to the floor. She was frozen there as silence fell for her, turning M'Freya saw rage, blind rage in her mothers eyes. Scarlet beams ripped out into three more raiders one dropping near her without a head. Her mother had disruptor burns on her arm and chest. With the one good uninjured arm she shook M'Freya.
"Helm, man the helm get us away from them." She nodded weakly turning and fumbling over the controls till her eyes locked onto the view screen. "They have a tractor beam on us." Her mothers voice was shallow, fingers moved over controls. The Vulcan womans features fell her face turned towards her daughter. "Save the ship, save who you can.... I love you Daughter." Her mothers fist slammed into the control panel. Turning her head quickly to the screen as streaks of tealish plasma beam ripped into the breached sections of the Orion ships hull. The tractor beam vanished, M'Freyas relfexes moving the ship away with all the power she had left as the other ships began to tear itself apart. She never saw the explosion of the tactical console or her mothers body hitting the bulkhead behind her station. She heard it, and in her mind later formed the image to fit the sound. The young woman turned in her seat looking blankly at the spot where her mother had been standing. A scream started to rip from her throat.
M’Freya woke with a start, another nightmare; the same nightmare. She peered at the console, weary of life and the months of warp travel returning to Earth. The old Oberth class starship S.S. Wotan sailed silently threw the stars, her decks void of life save for the young girl of Caitian and Vulcan heritage, that rested slumped over the helm. The ship rigged for steady autonomous operation for the duration of the trip. The ship was M’Freyas home, the place of her birth and the death of the caitians parents. Both scientists, her mother a Vulcan observer from the federation and her father the owner of the starship a civilian deep space exploration leader.
The Wotan was crewed sparsely; her mission set for twenty years in five year increments based from the federations furthest most colonies in the Beta Quadrant. Over the duration of the mission the crew had become a close knit family everyone contributing to some of M'Freya's upbringing. Assigned to a devoloping deepspace station giving a federation presence in the middle of the Wotan's mission. In the seventeenth year of the mission tragedy befell the ship with an attack from colony raiders. The Wotan joined three other ships to battle the raiders, the older ship giving enough fight to make even the most confident of captains worry. She was joined by two civillian defence ships that had been purchased by the colony from Ferengi merchants.
In the years spanning the mission; the Wotan had received several updates purchased by her captain to better suit the region of space. Her old type six phasers replaced with Xindi made plasma arrays, her torpedo compliment exhausted years prior; now fitted with clusters of missiles purchased from Ferangi traders. She was fighting well, but well could last only so long with the numbers they faced. By the battles end her crew was a third less. M’Freyas parents among those that lost their lives in the fray. The Wotan and other defending starships won the day; though at a high cost of lives.
It was a year before she would be ready to leave for Earth with the aid of her parents Star Fleet contact who sponsered her entrance into the fleet; passing her entrance exam with aid from both the remaining crew and colony who continued to house her and fund repairs to the Wotan for the service it had provided. As the ships owner and now Captain she refused to leave the sector till a Star Fleet replacement vessle arrived. The voyage would be long with the remainder of the ship’s crew departing slowly along the tip till the final member left a few weeks prior to arriving at Earth. The ship was a ghost of her former inviting self, the moments of laughter from the young M’Freya followed by the eventual puzzled scowl of her mother; before her father would chuckle softly from the captain’s chair. Moments like those flashed in her memory, drawing smiles and tears from the young caitian.
The computers voice broke her from the string of memories, her voice filling the void of the bridge.
“Approaching the Terran system.”
M’Freya shifted sitting upright at the helm, her slender fingers moving over the old ships controls dropping her down to warp one. Transferring helm and most other bridge controls to the captain’s chair, she hesitated for a long moment before finally taking the seat. Since the day she lost her family she had gone to great lengths to avoid that chair. Now it was time for her past, her family and the ghost of that day to remain behind her in space. The Wotan was her ship, she was the Captain by all rights and soon she would be an officer in Starfleet. Her hand moved over a set of controls in the chairs armrest a soft chirp from the system acknowledging her.
“Starfleet control this is the S.S. Wotan civilian Science and Exploration vessel. I am requesting permission to dock.” Silence lingered for a moment before a youthful man’s voice came over the com.
“Wotan you are cleared for approach vector 005 civilian docking bay two of Starbase 1… Welcome back.” The channel closed and within the hour the Wotan was safely moored in the massive starbase.
M’Freya departed the ship her single bag of possessions slung over a shoulder, and a second bag of data pads clutched at her side. She stood outside the docking doors for her ship, setting one bag down she patched herself into the ships computer giving the order to power down all systems. Unsure she would be returning to the ship, or if this was goodbye M’Freya looked behind her once before entering the lift leaving the docking bay. The lift shot her quickly stopping as needed for personnel to come and go, eventually she arrived at the cluster of command decks. Navigating the maze of corridors and offices she found Captain Millians office.
Millian was the contact officer assigned to the Wotan, over the years he had befriended her family and over that last year spent a great deal of time working with the young Caitian. He had been waiting to hear word of the ships arrival, waiting to meet M'Freya in person finally. He was on the man that sponsored M’Freya’s entrance into Starfleet, and help the young woman build a new life. She strolled into the office standing still for a long moment before the bemused human stood coming around his desk and embraced the young Caitian.
“My dear, it’s good to finally meet you in person mi girl. I was starting to think something happened along the way here.” Stepping back from her gauging the surprised and then neutral face of M’Freya, resting his hands on the front of his desk.
“And you sir, I just finished docking the Wotan in the lower docking bays, and I have brought you all of her reports, logs, and final mission assessment. I am looking forward to starting fresh on Earth sir.” He studied her for a moment before taking the hefty bag of data pads; he could already see the kind of officer she may become in the future. Weighing things in his mind for a moment before asking, “Have you chosen a course of study and which path you plan to take at the academy?” Her response was quick with no hint of heavy emotion just determination “Command sir no other particular fields of study interest me.” He nodded before retaking his seat behind the desk.
Taking a moment to organize the bag of Data pads before reaching for one he had tucked away at the corner of his desk. Giving a thumb print to it before leaning forward to offer it to M’Freya, her body moving forward enough before reaching out and taking the pad. Her eyes scanning over it before looking up to meet Captain Millians own.
“Thank you sir, I won’t disappoint you.” Her body language was a little more at ease now, with her long tail flicking behind her. Millian watched amused silently, his cheerful voice filling the space between them.
“I am sure you will cadet, Take that pad to the warren officer on deck 10 and she will get you set up right, and as to that personal request from you I have cleared it with the academy. You are going to stand out M’Freya, the only cadet to have captain a starship, and own her own to boot. This may not make you many friends to begin and some false ones if you are not careful. Hold onto that sentimental side of yourself as well, it will serve you well. Dismissed and good luck.” M’Freya gave a crisp “Sir” starting to turn and leave before stopping with her shoulders slumping. She didn't turn to face him fully wanting to keep a stream of tears from being seen. “Thank you Captain, my parents thought highly and you and... and you have been a good friend to me sir. I wont let you down.” She left before a reply could be given.
The hum of the transporter faded away with the last few sparkles of the matter beam, depositing M’Freya in one of the Academies transporter rooms, her uniform clung a little tighter than she thought it would, the Caitian opted to remain barefoot feeling that the issued boots tripped her up a little too much. Her bag slung back over a shoulder now with a holster and an old type II phaser resting in it. Something that had to be argued for, and made as a personal request, the old phaser having been her fathers and the weapon he held when saving her life the day she lost him. She had promised herself to never let it go. Nodding to the transporter operator before leaving the room and finding herself a little lost the adventure awaiting her now just beginning.
( #SWCsale and to just add this here as well.)
(I am not all that great at writing, I hope it is at least enjoyable.)
"Four ships approuching from port, secondary power relay on deck 2 is gone, we have hull breaches, warp drive is down. Civillian craft is making for the incoming raiders, their weapons are offline, shields seem to be rerouted to only foward arc. Husband they are going to ram them." M'Freya looked from from her mother standing at tactical to the view screen, a ship roughly the size of a bird of prey streaked past them arcing towards the four oncoming raider ships. Pulses of emerald disruptor fire hammered into the ships forward shields. They buckled after a second, cutting swaths into her hull. The civillian defence ship that had looked to be made of a pod with wings branching off in every direction tore through the hull of the first raider. The ships central section erupting in flame before exploading sending her wings and sections of the raiders ship crashing into the other three. Two of them becoming their own blazing balls of fire, the third just drifted lifelessly past the Wotan. There was silence on the bridge before shouting began again, with a section of wall exploding showering the bridge crew in sparks and smoke. The Wotan shaking hard from weapons fire. P'valla shouted from tactical that ventral plating was gone. The last of the raiders ships was looming before them, and old Orion slaver ship. Her hull breached and burning in places.
The hum of transporters started filling the air. J'prurr jumped from the captains chair, an old type 2 phaser in hand. The first of the raiders materialized his weapon moving up to aim. A streak of blue light pierced his chest throwing the alien back. Pivoting on his feet J'prurr fired off two more times crumpling an Orion and wounding another. A beam of scarlet shot over his shoulder hitting a klingon in the chest behind her father. The towering man stumbled, hefting his weapon to swing it down at M'Freya. She closed her eye hearing a muffled grunt and the feeling of something wet hitting her face.
Her eyes opened seeing her fathers body blocking her from the Klingon, his bladed weapon lodged into her fathers chest with one of the piercing ends protruding through his back. The last of his strength was spent pushing the phaser to the Klingons chest, a blue streak ripping from his back and pounding into the bulkhead behind him. Both slumped to the floor. She was frozen there as silence fell for her, turning M'Freya saw rage, blind rage in her mothers eyes. Scarlet beams ripped out into three more raiders one dropping near her without a head. Her mother had disruptor burns on her arm and chest. With the one good uninjured arm she shook M'Freya.
"Helm, man the helm get us away from them." She nodded weakly turning and fumbling over the controls till her eyes locked onto the view screen. "They have a tractor beam on us." Her mothers voice was shallow, fingers moved over controls. The Vulcan womans features fell her face turned towards her daughter. "Save the ship, save who you can.... I love you Daughter." Her mothers fist slammed into the control panel. Turning her head quickly to the screen as streaks of tealish plasma beam ripped into the breached sections of the Orion ships hull. The tractor beam vanished, M'Freyas relfexes moving the ship away with all the power she had left as the other ships began to tear itself apart. She never saw the explosion of the tactical console or her mothers body hitting the bulkhead behind her station. She heard it, and in her mind later formed the image to fit the sound. The young woman turned in her seat looking blankly at the spot where her mother had been standing. A scream started to rip from her throat.
M’Freya woke with a start, another nightmare; the same nightmare. She peered at the console, weary of life and the months of warp travel returning to Earth. The old Oberth class starship S.S. Wotan sailed silently threw the stars, her decks void of life save for the young girl of Caitian and Vulcan heritage, that rested slumped over the helm. The ship rigged for steady autonomous operation for the duration of the trip. The ship was M’Freyas home, the place of her birth and the death of the caitians parents. Both scientists, her mother a Vulcan observer from the federation and her father the owner of the starship a civilian deep space exploration leader.
The Wotan was crewed sparsely; her mission set for twenty years in five year increments based from the federations furthest most colonies in the Beta Quadrant. Over the duration of the mission the crew had become a close knit family everyone contributing to some of M'Freya's upbringing. Assigned to a devoloping deepspace station giving a federation presence in the middle of the Wotan's mission. In the seventeenth year of the mission tragedy befell the ship with an attack from colony raiders. The Wotan joined three other ships to battle the raiders, the older ship giving enough fight to make even the most confident of captains worry. She was joined by two civillian defence ships that had been purchased by the colony from Ferengi merchants.
In the years spanning the mission; the Wotan had received several updates purchased by her captain to better suit the region of space. Her old type six phasers replaced with Xindi made plasma arrays, her torpedo compliment exhausted years prior; now fitted with clusters of missiles purchased from Ferangi traders. She was fighting well, but well could last only so long with the numbers they faced. By the battles end her crew was a third less. M’Freyas parents among those that lost their lives in the fray. The Wotan and other defending starships won the day; though at a high cost of lives.
It was a year before she would be ready to leave for Earth with the aid of her parents Star Fleet contact who sponsered her entrance into the fleet; passing her entrance exam with aid from both the remaining crew and colony who continued to house her and fund repairs to the Wotan for the service it had provided. As the ships owner and now Captain she refused to leave the sector till a Star Fleet replacement vessle arrived. The voyage would be long with the remainder of the ship’s crew departing slowly along the tip till the final member left a few weeks prior to arriving at Earth. The ship was a ghost of her former inviting self, the moments of laughter from the young M’Freya followed by the eventual puzzled scowl of her mother; before her father would chuckle softly from the captain’s chair. Moments like those flashed in her memory, drawing smiles and tears from the young caitian.
The computers voice broke her from the string of memories, her voice filling the void of the bridge.
“Approaching the Terran system.”
M’Freya shifted sitting upright at the helm, her slender fingers moving over the old ships controls dropping her down to warp one. Transferring helm and most other bridge controls to the captain’s chair, she hesitated for a long moment before finally taking the seat. Since the day she lost her family she had gone to great lengths to avoid that chair. Now it was time for her past, her family and the ghost of that day to remain behind her in space. The Wotan was her ship, she was the Captain by all rights and soon she would be an officer in Starfleet. Her hand moved over a set of controls in the chairs armrest a soft chirp from the system acknowledging her.
“Starfleet control this is the S.S. Wotan civilian Science and Exploration vessel. I am requesting permission to dock.” Silence lingered for a moment before a youthful man’s voice came over the com.
“Wotan you are cleared for approach vector 005 civilian docking bay two of Starbase 1… Welcome back.” The channel closed and within the hour the Wotan was safely moored in the massive starbase.
M’Freya departed the ship her single bag of possessions slung over a shoulder, and a second bag of data pads clutched at her side. She stood outside the docking doors for her ship, setting one bag down she patched herself into the ships computer giving the order to power down all systems. Unsure she would be returning to the ship, or if this was goodbye M’Freya looked behind her once before entering the lift leaving the docking bay. The lift shot her quickly stopping as needed for personnel to come and go, eventually she arrived at the cluster of command decks. Navigating the maze of corridors and offices she found Captain Millians office.
Millian was the contact officer assigned to the Wotan, over the years he had befriended her family and over that last year spent a great deal of time working with the young Caitian. He had been waiting to hear word of the ships arrival, waiting to meet M'Freya in person finally. He was on the man that sponsored M’Freya’s entrance into Starfleet, and help the young woman build a new life. She strolled into the office standing still for a long moment before the bemused human stood coming around his desk and embraced the young Caitian.
“My dear, it’s good to finally meet you in person mi girl. I was starting to think something happened along the way here.” Stepping back from her gauging the surprised and then neutral face of M’Freya, resting his hands on the front of his desk.
“And you sir, I just finished docking the Wotan in the lower docking bays, and I have brought you all of her reports, logs, and final mission assessment. I am looking forward to starting fresh on Earth sir.” He studied her for a moment before taking the hefty bag of data pads; he could already see the kind of officer she may become in the future. Weighing things in his mind for a moment before asking, “Have you chosen a course of study and which path you plan to take at the academy?” Her response was quick with no hint of heavy emotion just determination “Command sir no other particular fields of study interest me.” He nodded before retaking his seat behind the desk.
Taking a moment to organize the bag of Data pads before reaching for one he had tucked away at the corner of his desk. Giving a thumb print to it before leaning forward to offer it to M’Freya, her body moving forward enough before reaching out and taking the pad. Her eyes scanning over it before looking up to meet Captain Millians own.
“Thank you sir, I won’t disappoint you.” Her body language was a little more at ease now, with her long tail flicking behind her. Millian watched amused silently, his cheerful voice filling the space between them.
“I am sure you will cadet, Take that pad to the warren officer on deck 10 and she will get you set up right, and as to that personal request from you I have cleared it with the academy. You are going to stand out M’Freya, the only cadet to have captain a starship, and own her own to boot. This may not make you many friends to begin and some false ones if you are not careful. Hold onto that sentimental side of yourself as well, it will serve you well. Dismissed and good luck.” M’Freya gave a crisp “Sir” starting to turn and leave before stopping with her shoulders slumping. She didn't turn to face him fully wanting to keep a stream of tears from being seen. “Thank you Captain, my parents thought highly and you and... and you have been a good friend to me sir. I wont let you down.” She left before a reply could be given.
The hum of the transporter faded away with the last few sparkles of the matter beam, depositing M’Freya in one of the Academies transporter rooms, her uniform clung a little tighter than she thought it would, the Caitian opted to remain barefoot feeling that the issued boots tripped her up a little too much. Her bag slung back over a shoulder now with a holster and an old type II phaser resting in it. Something that had to be argued for, and made as a personal request, the old phaser having been her fathers and the weapon he held when saving her life the day she lost him. She had promised herself to never let it go. Nodding to the transporter operator before leaving the room and finding herself a little lost the adventure awaiting her now just beginning.
( #SWCsale and to just add this here as well.)
Voleron
GXV3
Character #WritingContest
(This is my first ever written story, since school, but I wanted to give it a go, forgive my grammar. it was kinda fun thinking it up though)
The Joining Of life
The doors to the meeting room slid open as 3 senior federation admirals stepped through, each carrying a bundle of padds under there arms.
The room was bigger than what the Joined Trill Captain was used to, the luxury was more different in earth space dock than it was aboard a starship... Standing to attention Capt.Gareth Zaahn watched as the admirals made their way around the large oval table to meet with their chairs.
"As you were", one of the admirals said as he nodded toward Gareth, The captain knew full well that this wasn't going to be an easy meeting. The conflicts in the Dyson sphere between the aligned federation and Klingon defense forces had been marching toward a never ending war it seemed.. with the U.S.S. Pendragon called back to ESD for this very meeting, that will involve a top secret mission.
It wasnt a normal meeting of admirals.. this time it was direct and to the point, the stone faced admirals outlining mission details and Strike plans on the enemy wand what was expected of the Pendragon and her crew.
Gareth was handed padd after padd of target structures, no doubt some poor soul was responsible for getting these blueprints that showed the enemy's base of operations.. if crippled it would give the federation the extreme upper hand in this war..another padd was slid in front of him... the two hand selected officers who were the main Strike team responsible to infiltrating the Target building, and destroying it.
The Two Specially trained offers appeared on the screen of the padd infront of him, The Admiral gave a run down of what he was seeing on screen, a young female Bajoran.. a master at infiltration. and a male Trill an advanced demolition expert.. The Pendragon was to ferry these experts to the target area and let them do their thing. it was extremely risky, maybe some broken bones and bulkheads along the way.. Though the two man strike force will be in a worse situation, Through his many life times as a joined Trill.. Gareth knew what sacrifices had to be made, he had almost become numb to it. This would more than likely be a one way trip for the two Volunteers he sees in front of him.
The Admirals continued to talk, as Gareth glaces over the Bios once more, he looked deeper at the images of the two officers, The admirals voices were blanketed out and became mear mumbles as Gareth transfixed on the Male trills picture, "I know him".. The captain thought to himself, It cant be?
He looked down toward the officers name, Lt. N'rall the Bajoran female.. and The Trill Male Caleb, eyes darted over the letters that caused the feeling of severe familiarity and a unconscious inhale of breath.
"Oh my Gods.. its him, it is.. him, oh please no" The panic stricken words ran through Gareth's head until he was interrupted by one of the Admirals calling the meeting to a close, Everything was in place, the plan was a simple one.. the two Experts were already briefed and aboard the Pendragon waiting to set off toward the Target.
As the Admirals got up from their seats, a somber good luck was exchanged, and they promptly left.
Gareth reached down to his glass of water.. looking down at the Male demolition expert on the padd once more.
"No Gareth, let it go, let it drop", he ordered to himself.
U.S.S Pendragon: On route to the Contested Zone: ETA of target 2 hours
Gareth had made the decision not to meet with the two strike force officers Caleb and N'all during the journey to the Dyson sphere, instead letting his 1st officer handle all their needs and go over plans of action. His first officer hadn't said anything but this was an out of character move on behalf a Captain that always likes to go over every single detail with all involved. But there was enough trust between Gareth and his crew that it wasn't brought up.
The Pendragon as always was ready to deal with anything, the crew was exceptional, and the Nebula Class Starship had seen more battles and came out of them more times than he could count.
The voice of his navigation's officer chimed through to Him as he sat in his ready room, "One hour until we reach our destination sir", Gareth acknowledged, and his eyes darted over to The padd that held the young Trill males bio, all throughout the journey he had forced himself not to look at it. But a sudden urge came over him to look at the young mans face once again, Feelings grew inside of him as he looked at the mans face, a small smile crept up on the corners of his mouth as a rush of warm feelings of familiarity washed over his body.
"No"! Gareth blurted out, "I cant", with that he put the padd back on his desk.. stood up and straightened his uniform, filling his mind with the where he needs to get the ship in order for the strike team of two can breach the Target building. it wont be easy, the ship needs to be in and out before anyone can even blink. The Calculations and timing alone would be enough to occupy every bridge officer mind. A warp in with a split second transport and warp out isnt an easy thing to pull off, So concentrations must be focused on that.
The time was near, The Pendragon was ready to warp into the target area, "Lieutenant!, standby to break out of warp", Gareth noted toward helm, Tapping his comm badge, "Transporter room three, are you ready from Transport"?
A voice other than the Transporter operator answered The captains request, "Yes Captain, we are ready to beam down, Good luck to you and your crew" .. it was The Trill male, Caleb.. Gareth inhaled at the unexpected response, he bit on his lip slowly as another blanket of emotions tried to cover the Captain. He paused, and replied. "Good luck to you.. .. to you both".
Knowing full well this was a definite one way trip for the two officers, there was no time for the Pendragon or any other ship to hang around to wait for them to do what they had to do, by all accounts the detonation would envelop a large area around the target.
It was war, wars need sacrifices to see an ending, Gareth kept telling himself.
Things went smoothly, The Nebula class Pendragon Dropped out of warp at the exact location that was planned, beamed the officers down, a second later warped out as fast as it could, This probably left the voth Confused at what had just happened, hopefully giving the Strike team the distraction they needed.
Two hours had past since the drop off, the Pendragon was now in a safe zone, they had come out of this mission unscratched thankfully, however no word on the sensors of a large scale explosion, had they managed to infiltrate the prime target?, to cripple the Voth to buy the Federation enough time to grow a stronger foot hold in the sphere. The voice of the Trill Caleb kept repeating in Gareth's head, The feelings of guilt, the need to hear him one more time, He should have met up with him before they beamed down.. he should have spoken to him more. The voices of "should haves" wouldn't pass despite Gareth's best efforts to silence them.
Suddenly a voice came over the Con, it was his first officer informing him that sensors picked up a massive explosion, and the mission was successful.
Gareth Slowly sat back in his chair, and stared out at the small view port of his ready room window.
He remembered when Caleb was born, He was his first child, he was not prepared for fatherhood, even though he had been a mother twice before, the surprise of love that came with this new bundle of joy, the feeling of protection that needed to be put into place for his son, the change of life all for the good was amazing.
Seeing him learn how to walk, how it took so long to get teach him to ride a bike, give or take a few medical packs being opened to patch Caleb up. Life was perfect, Perfect job at the Trill Science council, perfect wife and now a Son who loves and looks up to his father and wants to follow him everywhere.
Things changed when Caleb was 7 years old, his father was no longer in his life, Caleb's father Bren'k Zaahn had died.
His Symbiot now belonged to another young Trill.. Gareth Zaahn.
#WritingContest
The Joining Of life
The doors to the meeting room slid open as 3 senior federation admirals stepped through, each carrying a bundle of padds under there arms.
The room was bigger than what the Joined Trill Captain was used to, the luxury was more different in earth space dock than it was aboard a starship... Standing to attention Capt.Gareth Zaahn watched as the admirals made their way around the large oval table to meet with their chairs.
"As you were", one of the admirals said as he nodded toward Gareth, The captain knew full well that this wasn't going to be an easy meeting. The conflicts in the Dyson sphere between the aligned federation and Klingon defense forces had been marching toward a never ending war it seemed.. with the U.S.S. Pendragon called back to ESD for this very meeting, that will involve a top secret mission.
It wasnt a normal meeting of admirals.. this time it was direct and to the point, the stone faced admirals outlining mission details and Strike plans on the enemy wand what was expected of the Pendragon and her crew.
Gareth was handed padd after padd of target structures, no doubt some poor soul was responsible for getting these blueprints that showed the enemy's base of operations.. if crippled it would give the federation the extreme upper hand in this war..another padd was slid in front of him... the two hand selected officers who were the main Strike team responsible to infiltrating the Target building, and destroying it.
The Two Specially trained offers appeared on the screen of the padd infront of him, The Admiral gave a run down of what he was seeing on screen, a young female Bajoran.. a master at infiltration. and a male Trill an advanced demolition expert.. The Pendragon was to ferry these experts to the target area and let them do their thing. it was extremely risky, maybe some broken bones and bulkheads along the way.. Though the two man strike force will be in a worse situation, Through his many life times as a joined Trill.. Gareth knew what sacrifices had to be made, he had almost become numb to it. This would more than likely be a one way trip for the two Volunteers he sees in front of him.
The Admirals continued to talk, as Gareth glaces over the Bios once more, he looked deeper at the images of the two officers, The admirals voices were blanketed out and became mear mumbles as Gareth transfixed on the Male trills picture, "I know him".. The captain thought to himself, It cant be?
He looked down toward the officers name, Lt. N'rall the Bajoran female.. and The Trill Male Caleb, eyes darted over the letters that caused the feeling of severe familiarity and a unconscious inhale of breath.
"Oh my Gods.. its him, it is.. him, oh please no" The panic stricken words ran through Gareth's head until he was interrupted by one of the Admirals calling the meeting to a close, Everything was in place, the plan was a simple one.. the two Experts were already briefed and aboard the Pendragon waiting to set off toward the Target.
As the Admirals got up from their seats, a somber good luck was exchanged, and they promptly left.
Gareth reached down to his glass of water.. looking down at the Male demolition expert on the padd once more.
"No Gareth, let it go, let it drop", he ordered to himself.
U.S.S Pendragon: On route to the Contested Zone: ETA of target 2 hours
Gareth had made the decision not to meet with the two strike force officers Caleb and N'all during the journey to the Dyson sphere, instead letting his 1st officer handle all their needs and go over plans of action. His first officer hadn't said anything but this was an out of character move on behalf a Captain that always likes to go over every single detail with all involved. But there was enough trust between Gareth and his crew that it wasn't brought up.
The Pendragon as always was ready to deal with anything, the crew was exceptional, and the Nebula Class Starship had seen more battles and came out of them more times than he could count.
The voice of his navigation's officer chimed through to Him as he sat in his ready room, "One hour until we reach our destination sir", Gareth acknowledged, and his eyes darted over to The padd that held the young Trill males bio, all throughout the journey he had forced himself not to look at it. But a sudden urge came over him to look at the young mans face once again, Feelings grew inside of him as he looked at the mans face, a small smile crept up on the corners of his mouth as a rush of warm feelings of familiarity washed over his body.
"No"! Gareth blurted out, "I cant", with that he put the padd back on his desk.. stood up and straightened his uniform, filling his mind with the where he needs to get the ship in order for the strike team of two can breach the Target building. it wont be easy, the ship needs to be in and out before anyone can even blink. The Calculations and timing alone would be enough to occupy every bridge officer mind. A warp in with a split second transport and warp out isnt an easy thing to pull off, So concentrations must be focused on that.
The time was near, The Pendragon was ready to warp into the target area, "Lieutenant!, standby to break out of warp", Gareth noted toward helm, Tapping his comm badge, "Transporter room three, are you ready from Transport"?
A voice other than the Transporter operator answered The captains request, "Yes Captain, we are ready to beam down, Good luck to you and your crew" .. it was The Trill male, Caleb.. Gareth inhaled at the unexpected response, he bit on his lip slowly as another blanket of emotions tried to cover the Captain. He paused, and replied. "Good luck to you.. .. to you both".
Knowing full well this was a definite one way trip for the two officers, there was no time for the Pendragon or any other ship to hang around to wait for them to do what they had to do, by all accounts the detonation would envelop a large area around the target.
It was war, wars need sacrifices to see an ending, Gareth kept telling himself.
Things went smoothly, The Nebula class Pendragon Dropped out of warp at the exact location that was planned, beamed the officers down, a second later warped out as fast as it could, This probably left the voth Confused at what had just happened, hopefully giving the Strike team the distraction they needed.
Two hours had past since the drop off, the Pendragon was now in a safe zone, they had come out of this mission unscratched thankfully, however no word on the sensors of a large scale explosion, had they managed to infiltrate the prime target?, to cripple the Voth to buy the Federation enough time to grow a stronger foot hold in the sphere. The voice of the Trill Caleb kept repeating in Gareth's head, The feelings of guilt, the need to hear him one more time, He should have met up with him before they beamed down.. he should have spoken to him more. The voices of "should haves" wouldn't pass despite Gareth's best efforts to silence them.
Suddenly a voice came over the Con, it was his first officer informing him that sensors picked up a massive explosion, and the mission was successful.
Gareth Slowly sat back in his chair, and stared out at the small view port of his ready room window.
He remembered when Caleb was born, He was his first child, he was not prepared for fatherhood, even though he had been a mother twice before, the surprise of love that came with this new bundle of joy, the feeling of protection that needed to be put into place for his son, the change of life all for the good was amazing.
Seeing him learn how to walk, how it took so long to get teach him to ride a bike, give or take a few medical packs being opened to patch Caleb up. Life was perfect, Perfect job at the Trill Science council, perfect wife and now a Son who loves and looks up to his father and wants to follow him everywhere.
Things changed when Caleb was 7 years old, his father was no longer in his life, Caleb's father Bren'k Zaahn had died.
His Symbiot now belonged to another young Trill.. Gareth Zaahn.
#WritingContest
Voleron
TLara
Character #WritingContest
[This is our entry for the writing contest. It's about our Deep Space Stonewall character "Five of Five", a liberated borg. He was the second character we've designed in STO, and he was our first engineer. Please note that we are not native english speaking, so please forgive any mistakes we've made :)]
It was cold. Very cold and very empty. There is a lot of space in space. I know it, believe me. I learnt it the hard way. It took me about 39 years. That was the time I was floating in that vast empty space. It all took place at a location called Wolf 359. But let's start at the beginning.
My name was Walther Schmidt, born in New Berlin on Earth's moon. As there was not much to do on the moon I took my chance to get off that rock as soon as I could, thus joining Starfleet. My career as a redshirt was nothing special, but I've managed to become a Lt. Commander, serving as a tactical security under the command of Commander Ted Hembach. Commander Hembach was head of security assigned to Planitia Utppia, so one of my jobs there was joining the crew of ships that were refitted at the shipyard to secure a correct security procedure.
My last assignment was on the U.S.S. Chekov, NCC-57302, a Springfield-class starship. The ship was on a deep space test-flight because of it's refit with a secondary hull. Just as the hull stress-test began the code red message from starfleet headquarters came through, rerouting the ship to react to an emergency call of the U.S.S. Saratoga. The Saratoga was engaging a borg cube heading for earth. There was not much we could do, only staffed with a skeleton crew, but every helping hand was needed to ensure a victorious fight against the borg cube.
As we arrived at the battle scene everyone was giving their very best. I tried some special tactical maneuvers to lure the cube away from the Saratoga, but I failed. The Saratoga was destroyed right in front of us. The luck was on our side, as the Chekov was ignored by the borg for a while. Our odds changed dramatically, when they started to invade our ship. We gave them a hell of a fight but there were too many of them. Nearly every second the borg beamed a new away team on our ship, and soon we were fighting against about 20 of those creatures on the bridge.
I was the last man standing. Equipped with a phaser in each hand I fired till they reached me. Then one of the borg touched me with a bite of a vampire, ejecting something into my throat. Everything turned green in my sight, and in a moment of despair I blew off the emergency hatch of the bridge. In a second everything and everybody was sucked into space. My last thought was that I've managed to die while on active duty, giving my life a reason. But the thought never ended, and I was not dead.
Something that borg had injected into my body kept me alive. I didn't need to breath nor did I feel any hunger. But I felt the cold out there, and it is cold, really. For a while I heard voices in my head, many voices, but they disappeared after a while. And than there was only loneliness, vast space, and the cold.
My body was found 39 years later. It was the U.S.S. Boudicca under command of captain Tara Mareil that retrieved me. They were able to deactivate one of my implants and after that I was able to remember. My borg designation was Five of Five. My last order from the collective was still in my memory core. It states that I should assist in the assimilation of the crew of the U.S.S. Chekov.
As we know, that never happened. After I was revived by the Boudicca, I rejoined Starfleet. As I am still partly a machine myself, I decided to become an engineer. My first command was the U.S.S. Thermopylia, today I am in command of the U.S.S. Kobane. Why do I mention this, you may ask. Let me tell you: I want to honor the crew of U.S.S. Chekov. These brave men and women gave their life to protect humanity itself. So do I, and because I was the only survivor of the Chekov, I decided to name my ships in the tradition of great battles that were lost against tyrannous attackers while the defenders put up a great fight we remember for centuries. Keep those names alive, as we do it today at Wolf 359!
[Thanks for reading. We hope you enjoyed it!]
It was cold. Very cold and very empty. There is a lot of space in space. I know it, believe me. I learnt it the hard way. It took me about 39 years. That was the time I was floating in that vast empty space. It all took place at a location called Wolf 359. But let's start at the beginning.
My name was Walther Schmidt, born in New Berlin on Earth's moon. As there was not much to do on the moon I took my chance to get off that rock as soon as I could, thus joining Starfleet. My career as a redshirt was nothing special, but I've managed to become a Lt. Commander, serving as a tactical security under the command of Commander Ted Hembach. Commander Hembach was head of security assigned to Planitia Utppia, so one of my jobs there was joining the crew of ships that were refitted at the shipyard to secure a correct security procedure.
My last assignment was on the U.S.S. Chekov, NCC-57302, a Springfield-class starship. The ship was on a deep space test-flight because of it's refit with a secondary hull. Just as the hull stress-test began the code red message from starfleet headquarters came through, rerouting the ship to react to an emergency call of the U.S.S. Saratoga. The Saratoga was engaging a borg cube heading for earth. There was not much we could do, only staffed with a skeleton crew, but every helping hand was needed to ensure a victorious fight against the borg cube.
As we arrived at the battle scene everyone was giving their very best. I tried some special tactical maneuvers to lure the cube away from the Saratoga, but I failed. The Saratoga was destroyed right in front of us. The luck was on our side, as the Chekov was ignored by the borg for a while. Our odds changed dramatically, when they started to invade our ship. We gave them a hell of a fight but there were too many of them. Nearly every second the borg beamed a new away team on our ship, and soon we were fighting against about 20 of those creatures on the bridge.
I was the last man standing. Equipped with a phaser in each hand I fired till they reached me. Then one of the borg touched me with a bite of a vampire, ejecting something into my throat. Everything turned green in my sight, and in a moment of despair I blew off the emergency hatch of the bridge. In a second everything and everybody was sucked into space. My last thought was that I've managed to die while on active duty, giving my life a reason. But the thought never ended, and I was not dead.
Something that borg had injected into my body kept me alive. I didn't need to breath nor did I feel any hunger. But I felt the cold out there, and it is cold, really. For a while I heard voices in my head, many voices, but they disappeared after a while. And than there was only loneliness, vast space, and the cold.
My body was found 39 years later. It was the U.S.S. Boudicca under command of captain Tara Mareil that retrieved me. They were able to deactivate one of my implants and after that I was able to remember. My borg designation was Five of Five. My last order from the collective was still in my memory core. It states that I should assist in the assimilation of the crew of the U.S.S. Chekov.
As we know, that never happened. After I was revived by the Boudicca, I rejoined Starfleet. As I am still partly a machine myself, I decided to become an engineer. My first command was the U.S.S. Thermopylia, today I am in command of the U.S.S. Kobane. Why do I mention this, you may ask. Let me tell you: I want to honor the crew of U.S.S. Chekov. These brave men and women gave their life to protect humanity itself. So do I, and because I was the only survivor of the Chekov, I decided to name my ships in the tradition of great battles that were lost against tyrannous attackers while the defenders put up a great fight we remember for centuries. Keep those names alive, as we do it today at Wolf 359!
[Thanks for reading. We hope you enjoyed it!]
Unknown Person
Character #WritingContest
Angel of Vengeance
Stardate 8130.4, Mutara Sector
The ship listed amid the deep violet vapors and cerulean discharges of the nebula, its once pristine hull scorched and broken in a dozen places. Angry black gashes marked the dorsal and ventral sides of the saucer while the primary weapons and impulse arrays were a fiery ruin. The port warp pylon ended in a jagged stump, venting warp plasma into the void. In the distance, its erstwhile opponent was doing its best to beat a hasty retreat but its own very noticeable battle wounds were greatly hindering its progress.
The bridge of the starship fared little better than the rest of the vessel. There were no hull breaches, thankfully, but the air was filled with acrid smoke from several burning stations and the smell of charred flesh. “Is it my own flesh I smell,” mused the burned man, “or is it the flesh of my brothers and sisters?”
He had just barely regained consciousness after activating the weapon and hurling one final curse at the ship, the crew and the man who had bested him yet again for what seemed, the final time. The burned man took comfort in the fact that his hated nemesis would not escape the blast radius before the weapon reached the end of its countdown sequence and wiped them all from existence with the fires of creation itself.
Despite the excruciating pain, he managed to drag his burned and broken body back into the central command chair. He would meet his fate with a dignity worthy of his name, worthy of a Khan. From here he could see the digits on the display of the Genesis console inexorably counting down to their doom, a doom he would face proudly.
Pride, after all, was his greatest strength; this unwavering belief in his innate superiorty had seen him survive the Eugenics wars and years of exile on a hellish planet, it had brought him within a hairsbreadth of regaining not only complete victory over the hated James T. Kirk, but on the cusp of Godhood itself.
But was it not also pride that had doomed him? That same belief in his own intrinsic superiority had allowed him to underestimate Kirk for the second time, third if he counted the debacle with the command codes the previous day.
A strange stillness seemed to settle upon the bridge, muffling the multiple alerts issuing from every remaining undamaged console. Time itself was stretching out, yawning like a languid beast woken from its linear slumber. Everything from the image of the retreating USS Enterprise to the countdown on the Genesis console slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl. “Is this how death comes for me?” He asked the corpses around him. “Does he mock me by drawing out my final moments of anguish while robbing me of the chance to witness the moment of my final victory before he takes me on his dark wings?”
As if in answer, the shadows deepened, taking on form and substance, shaping itself into figures. They stood all around the bridge, their baleful blood-red eyes and pale grey skin, demonic visages the stuff of old horror movies.
“Is it Mephistopheles who sends his demons to collect me then?” he asked the silent assemblage.
Paying him little attention, they began moving about the bridge, scanning consoles and bodies alike, murmuring to one another and checking readouts on their handheld devices. A number of them converged on the on the genesis console, its 20 second countdown somehow reduced to a mere trickle. They attached a device to the Genesis console as well as several other stations. They spoke in a strange guttural language full of hisses and ululations and judging by their tone and demeanor, they were becoming increasingly agitated.
He chuckled then, blood burbling from the corner of his mouth, “you can’t shut it down, you know,” he said to them. All eyes turned to regard him as if truly noticing him for the first time. Two of their number, a male and what he assumed was a female stepped toward him.
“And why is that?” Asked the female.
“I deleted all shutdown command subroutines, I didn’t want anyone beaming over and disabling the countdown.”
The two aliens exchanged a look and the male began hurriedly issuing commands into a wrist communicator.
“You won’t be able to shut down the device itself manually either.” He said, referring to the actual Genesis device down in transporter room one. “I engineered several failsafe measures into both the hardware and the software; it will detonate at the barest hint of tampering.”
The female hissed in frustration and issued commands to several of the aliens attempting to access what was left of the functioning computer displays.
“If you’re looking for the plans in the ship database, also I deleted them, only one copy of the design remains.” Speaking was beginning to become a concerted effort, as was maintaining consciousness.
The female took his chin in her clawed hand, fixing him with a baleful gaze; “And just where is this copy?” she demanded in her harsh, raspy voice.
With considerable difficulty he lifted his gloved hand to his temple and whispered, “Up here,” as the darkness threatened to take him.
The female pressed something to his neck, a moment later he felt a cool tingling sensation spread form that point throughout his entire body. His vision returned as the excruciating pain he had been in began to subside. The female’s face was directly in front of him fuming with barely contained rage, “TELL ME!” She bellowed, “or I’ll leave you here to die!”
“Silly girl,” mocked Khan, “Do you think I am afraid of death?”
“I am no mere girl, human, I am Vreth of the-“
“I know what you are Nah’khul!” snapped, Khan, his strength finally returning. “Your kind has been known to me since the Eugenics Wars. One of your kind served me after I rescued him from a prison in Kirgizstan, they thought he was one of my augments. He told me much about your war against the Federation. You want revenge for what they did to your people, yes?”
“Yes, I want revenge,” she the growled.
“But what do you want?” asked Vreth.
“Why the very same as you, my dear,” replied Khan. “Revenge! Revenge against James Tiberius Kirk, and I shall have it!”
“Oh my dear Khan,” said Vreth condescendingly. “Kirk survives, fool! His pet Vuclan sacrifices his life to restore warp power to the Enterprise.”
“Then help me destroy Kirk,” he beseeched Vreth. “Give me my revenge and I shall give you Genesis.”
“Don’t you think we’ve tried?” she replied. “Agents of the Temporal accords guard him at all times, he’s not due to die for another century at least.”
“No!” bellowed Khan, “This cannot happen, I am superior!” Khan slumped back in his command chair, a burned and broken man in both body and spirit.
“Go,” he croaked, “leave me here to die. Let cruel fate have me.”
Vreth studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “The Great Khan,” she sneered, “Most cunning and mightiest of the Augments. What a sorry excuse for a genetically enhanced human you turned out to be.”
“I survived it all,” he retorted, outlived the petty governments that exiled me into the blackness of space, survived the hell that was Ceti Alpha Five, - I”
“-but you’ve decided to give up now, haven’t you? The lowly human that bloodied your nose a couple of times has taken the would-be Emperor of all humankind and turned him into this despondent wretch that sits before me.”
Vreth knelt in front of Khan, placing her clawed hands on his knees and leaning close to him almost tenderly. “Wouldn’t the best revenge be to destroy that which he devoted his entire life to protecting?” she asked softly.
“Come with me Khan, help us destroy the Federation and you shall have your revenge against Kirk and all the humans who rejected your rule!”
Khan considered her words, rolling them over in his mind. He saw the countdown timer on the Genesis device had reached 2, their time-manipulation technology was certainly beyond anything in this time period. It dawned on him that Kirk was simply a convenient target he projected all his bitterness and frustration at the human race for rejecting his benevolent rule. If they hadn’t rebelled there would never have been a third world war and their civilization would not have almost annihilated itself. Under his benign rule they would have reached the stars far before the Vulcans ever found them, creating an Empire, no, a Khanate that would have conquered all in their path.
Kirk had been a distraction from his own personal sense of failure but it was time he took ownership of his mistakes and learned from them. “You will take me with you, but I have certain conditions we must discuss before I reveal anything to you of Genesis, my dear.” Said Khan.
“Very well,” replied Vreth. “Gorsh, prepare for transport back to the ship and take Lord Khan directly to the medical bay to see to his injuries. Prepare for temporal shunt to our last coordinates. This works out better anyway,” she said to her second in command. “Reliant explodes and the Genesis planet is created and no one will be the wiser that we possess the Genesis technology until it is too late.”
“You don’t possess it yet,” said Khan, “but if you will be my angel of vengeance then I shall be yours and we will both get what we want.”
The countdown timer reached zero as the Nah’Khul and their new compatriot dissolved in the green light of a transporter beam.
Jacien Mandrake awoke from his nightmare drenched in sweat. He didn’t jerk upright in bed as there was a warm, fur-covered mass on his chest that could easily dig very sharp claws into him if displeased. Bast regarded him that unique combination apathy and intensity only feline species seemed to be able to muster. Her ice blue eyes met his dark brown ones and he knew what he had seen had been real and that the Aegis had sent him this ‘vision’ because they believed he could do something about it. But those events happened over a century ago, and as he knew, the Aegis only ever liked to act from ‘the present’ when attempting to preserve the timeline so that meant that Khan Noonien Singh was here, in this time period and was most likely ready to take his revenge at long last.
As if sensing his thoughts, Bast, who was so much more than she appeared, jumped nimbly from his chest and landed on the ledge by the viewport and promptly began to groom herself. Jacien walked from the bedroom to his workstation in his living quarters and began pulling up data on fleet movements, intelligence reports and long-range sensor data. If Khan had truly returned, he feared he the worse for the Federation and their Klingon and Romulan allies. The Nah’khul’s gambit had paid off and now they had a weapon of cataclysmic power at their disposal and a genius mad man to wield it.
Stardate 8130.4, Mutara Sector
The ship listed amid the deep violet vapors and cerulean discharges of the nebula, its once pristine hull scorched and broken in a dozen places. Angry black gashes marked the dorsal and ventral sides of the saucer while the primary weapons and impulse arrays were a fiery ruin. The port warp pylon ended in a jagged stump, venting warp plasma into the void. In the distance, its erstwhile opponent was doing its best to beat a hasty retreat but its own very noticeable battle wounds were greatly hindering its progress.
The bridge of the starship fared little better than the rest of the vessel. There were no hull breaches, thankfully, but the air was filled with acrid smoke from several burning stations and the smell of charred flesh. “Is it my own flesh I smell,” mused the burned man, “or is it the flesh of my brothers and sisters?”
He had just barely regained consciousness after activating the weapon and hurling one final curse at the ship, the crew and the man who had bested him yet again for what seemed, the final time. The burned man took comfort in the fact that his hated nemesis would not escape the blast radius before the weapon reached the end of its countdown sequence and wiped them all from existence with the fires of creation itself.
Despite the excruciating pain, he managed to drag his burned and broken body back into the central command chair. He would meet his fate with a dignity worthy of his name, worthy of a Khan. From here he could see the digits on the display of the Genesis console inexorably counting down to their doom, a doom he would face proudly.
Pride, after all, was his greatest strength; this unwavering belief in his innate superiorty had seen him survive the Eugenics wars and years of exile on a hellish planet, it had brought him within a hairsbreadth of regaining not only complete victory over the hated James T. Kirk, but on the cusp of Godhood itself.
But was it not also pride that had doomed him? That same belief in his own intrinsic superiority had allowed him to underestimate Kirk for the second time, third if he counted the debacle with the command codes the previous day.
A strange stillness seemed to settle upon the bridge, muffling the multiple alerts issuing from every remaining undamaged console. Time itself was stretching out, yawning like a languid beast woken from its linear slumber. Everything from the image of the retreating USS Enterprise to the countdown on the Genesis console slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl. “Is this how death comes for me?” He asked the corpses around him. “Does he mock me by drawing out my final moments of anguish while robbing me of the chance to witness the moment of my final victory before he takes me on his dark wings?”
As if in answer, the shadows deepened, taking on form and substance, shaping itself into figures. They stood all around the bridge, their baleful blood-red eyes and pale grey skin, demonic visages the stuff of old horror movies.
“Is it Mephistopheles who sends his demons to collect me then?” he asked the silent assemblage.
Paying him little attention, they began moving about the bridge, scanning consoles and bodies alike, murmuring to one another and checking readouts on their handheld devices. A number of them converged on the on the genesis console, its 20 second countdown somehow reduced to a mere trickle. They attached a device to the Genesis console as well as several other stations. They spoke in a strange guttural language full of hisses and ululations and judging by their tone and demeanor, they were becoming increasingly agitated.
He chuckled then, blood burbling from the corner of his mouth, “you can’t shut it down, you know,” he said to them. All eyes turned to regard him as if truly noticing him for the first time. Two of their number, a male and what he assumed was a female stepped toward him.
“And why is that?” Asked the female.
“I deleted all shutdown command subroutines, I didn’t want anyone beaming over and disabling the countdown.”
The two aliens exchanged a look and the male began hurriedly issuing commands into a wrist communicator.
“You won’t be able to shut down the device itself manually either.” He said, referring to the actual Genesis device down in transporter room one. “I engineered several failsafe measures into both the hardware and the software; it will detonate at the barest hint of tampering.”
The female hissed in frustration and issued commands to several of the aliens attempting to access what was left of the functioning computer displays.
“If you’re looking for the plans in the ship database, also I deleted them, only one copy of the design remains.” Speaking was beginning to become a concerted effort, as was maintaining consciousness.
The female took his chin in her clawed hand, fixing him with a baleful gaze; “And just where is this copy?” she demanded in her harsh, raspy voice.
With considerable difficulty he lifted his gloved hand to his temple and whispered, “Up here,” as the darkness threatened to take him.
The female pressed something to his neck, a moment later he felt a cool tingling sensation spread form that point throughout his entire body. His vision returned as the excruciating pain he had been in began to subside. The female’s face was directly in front of him fuming with barely contained rage, “TELL ME!” She bellowed, “or I’ll leave you here to die!”
“Silly girl,” mocked Khan, “Do you think I am afraid of death?”
“I am no mere girl, human, I am Vreth of the-“
“I know what you are Nah’khul!” snapped, Khan, his strength finally returning. “Your kind has been known to me since the Eugenics Wars. One of your kind served me after I rescued him from a prison in Kirgizstan, they thought he was one of my augments. He told me much about your war against the Federation. You want revenge for what they did to your people, yes?”
“Yes, I want revenge,” she the growled.
“But what do you want?” asked Vreth.
“Why the very same as you, my dear,” replied Khan. “Revenge! Revenge against James Tiberius Kirk, and I shall have it!”
“Oh my dear Khan,” said Vreth condescendingly. “Kirk survives, fool! His pet Vuclan sacrifices his life to restore warp power to the Enterprise.”
“Then help me destroy Kirk,” he beseeched Vreth. “Give me my revenge and I shall give you Genesis.”
“Don’t you think we’ve tried?” she replied. “Agents of the Temporal accords guard him at all times, he’s not due to die for another century at least.”
“No!” bellowed Khan, “This cannot happen, I am superior!” Khan slumped back in his command chair, a burned and broken man in both body and spirit.
“Go,” he croaked, “leave me here to die. Let cruel fate have me.”
Vreth studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “The Great Khan,” she sneered, “Most cunning and mightiest of the Augments. What a sorry excuse for a genetically enhanced human you turned out to be.”
“I survived it all,” he retorted, outlived the petty governments that exiled me into the blackness of space, survived the hell that was Ceti Alpha Five, - I”
“-but you’ve decided to give up now, haven’t you? The lowly human that bloodied your nose a couple of times has taken the would-be Emperor of all humankind and turned him into this despondent wretch that sits before me.”
Vreth knelt in front of Khan, placing her clawed hands on his knees and leaning close to him almost tenderly. “Wouldn’t the best revenge be to destroy that which he devoted his entire life to protecting?” she asked softly.
“Come with me Khan, help us destroy the Federation and you shall have your revenge against Kirk and all the humans who rejected your rule!”
Khan considered her words, rolling them over in his mind. He saw the countdown timer on the Genesis device had reached 2, their time-manipulation technology was certainly beyond anything in this time period. It dawned on him that Kirk was simply a convenient target he projected all his bitterness and frustration at the human race for rejecting his benevolent rule. If they hadn’t rebelled there would never have been a third world war and their civilization would not have almost annihilated itself. Under his benign rule they would have reached the stars far before the Vulcans ever found them, creating an Empire, no, a Khanate that would have conquered all in their path.
Kirk had been a distraction from his own personal sense of failure but it was time he took ownership of his mistakes and learned from them. “You will take me with you, but I have certain conditions we must discuss before I reveal anything to you of Genesis, my dear.” Said Khan.
“Very well,” replied Vreth. “Gorsh, prepare for transport back to the ship and take Lord Khan directly to the medical bay to see to his injuries. Prepare for temporal shunt to our last coordinates. This works out better anyway,” she said to her second in command. “Reliant explodes and the Genesis planet is created and no one will be the wiser that we possess the Genesis technology until it is too late.”
“You don’t possess it yet,” said Khan, “but if you will be my angel of vengeance then I shall be yours and we will both get what we want.”
The countdown timer reached zero as the Nah’Khul and their new compatriot dissolved in the green light of a transporter beam.
Jacien Mandrake awoke from his nightmare drenched in sweat. He didn’t jerk upright in bed as there was a warm, fur-covered mass on his chest that could easily dig very sharp claws into him if displeased. Bast regarded him that unique combination apathy and intensity only feline species seemed to be able to muster. Her ice blue eyes met his dark brown ones and he knew what he had seen had been real and that the Aegis had sent him this ‘vision’ because they believed he could do something about it. But those events happened over a century ago, and as he knew, the Aegis only ever liked to act from ‘the present’ when attempting to preserve the timeline so that meant that Khan Noonien Singh was here, in this time period and was most likely ready to take his revenge at long last.
As if sensing his thoughts, Bast, who was so much more than she appeared, jumped nimbly from his chest and landed on the ledge by the viewport and promptly began to groom herself. Jacien walked from the bedroom to his workstation in his living quarters and began pulling up data on fleet movements, intelligence reports and long-range sensor data. If Khan had truly returned, he feared he the worse for the Federation and their Klingon and Romulan allies. The Nah’khul’s gambit had paid off and now they had a weapon of cataclysmic power at their disposal and a genius mad man to wield it.
Voleron
Iconoclastix
Character #WritingContest
Unfortunately my wife and I own/operate a small business and I just don't have the free time to write a full story this month. However I did want to participate in some small way so I'm entering the bio of Ross Well, one of my alt characters. The above stories are great and my entry is simply not in their league, however since Ross (and his wife, Rose) are both very short, perhaps it's fitting that my entry be short as well...
Imagine, if you will, an alternate reality where life evolved on Sol's 4th planet instead of the third. You and your spouse work in a secret government department, Management of Inter-dimensional Barriers (M.I.B.). You attend the company picnics, the year's end party, dress casually on casual day and of course, when it's "Bring Your Kids to Work Week", you bring your children to work.
Now imagine during one such week, a clumsy co-worker, a glass of liquid, and a spill at just the right time onto just the wrong junction panel. A shower of sparks, a power surge to the hypertachyon containment field, and three children sitting too close to the omni-directional viewing portal when the resulting implosion manifests into an uncontrolled trans-dimensional chronometric-spacial anomoly.
As the young ones are sucked into who knows where/when, you and your spouse leap in after them. Fortunately you arrive in the proper dimension (this one), however due to vortexes in the timestream the kids land in a different era. Now you're a stranger in a strange land, with the impossible task of rescuing three lost ones who have been ripped through time and space. You have entered... ...the Twilight Zone!
So we've learned how to survive in this dimension. We made friends, notably Philip Cray who told us of the many reports of "flying saucers" in the mid-20th century North America. A description which bears an uncanny resemblance to Starfleet spacecraft.
With a sympathetic heart he also speaks of rumours of government capture and cover-up, secret interrogations, experimentation and vivisection in hidden laboratories far underground or deep within mountainsides. Facilities guarded by heavily armed soldiers. We want to believe that they're out there. Because even if we have to join Starfleet to gain access to your temporal technology, by Barsoom's watery canals, we swear we'll rescue our children and return them safely home! You grok?!
Imagine, if you will, an alternate reality where life evolved on Sol's 4th planet instead of the third. You and your spouse work in a secret government department, Management of Inter-dimensional Barriers (M.I.B.). You attend the company picnics, the year's end party, dress casually on casual day and of course, when it's "Bring Your Kids to Work Week", you bring your children to work.
Now imagine during one such week, a clumsy co-worker, a glass of liquid, and a spill at just the right time onto just the wrong junction panel. A shower of sparks, a power surge to the hypertachyon containment field, and three children sitting too close to the omni-directional viewing portal when the resulting implosion manifests into an uncontrolled trans-dimensional chronometric-spacial anomoly.
As the young ones are sucked into who knows where/when, you and your spouse leap in after them. Fortunately you arrive in the proper dimension (this one), however due to vortexes in the timestream the kids land in a different era. Now you're a stranger in a strange land, with the impossible task of rescuing three lost ones who have been ripped through time and space. You have entered... ...the Twilight Zone!
So we've learned how to survive in this dimension. We made friends, notably Philip Cray who told us of the many reports of "flying saucers" in the mid-20th century North America. A description which bears an uncanny resemblance to Starfleet spacecraft.
With a sympathetic heart he also speaks of rumours of government capture and cover-up, secret interrogations, experimentation and vivisection in hidden laboratories far underground or deep within mountainsides. Facilities guarded by heavily armed soldiers. We want to believe that they're out there. Because even if we have to join Starfleet to gain access to your temporal technology, by Barsoom's watery canals, we swear we'll rescue our children and return them safely home! You grok?!
Duriansol
Character #WritingContest
Sometime last week...
Durian stood up, this was his third attempt at reconfiguring the holodeck. The modifications that Voyager had brought back shouldn't have been that difficult to implement. Whatever the Hirogen had done was subtle, but expanding the holoemitters across the entire ship was causing a significant power drain from the auxilary systems.
Out of frustration he chided himself, "Sol, we're not engineers! Why am I doing this task?" He then pulled his phaser, aimed it at the interface and fired. The panel exploded with a small shockwave.
Durian hit his combadge, "Captain to Engineering, we've had a power coupling explode in panel 254-A. Please send a repair crew." Durian left the hallway and returned to his quarters. "Sometimes the best offense is an engineering project."
The End
Durian stood up, this was his third attempt at reconfiguring the holodeck. The modifications that Voyager had brought back shouldn't have been that difficult to implement. Whatever the Hirogen had done was subtle, but expanding the holoemitters across the entire ship was causing a significant power drain from the auxilary systems.
Out of frustration he chided himself, "Sol, we're not engineers! Why am I doing this task?" He then pulled his phaser, aimed it at the interface and fired. The panel exploded with a small shockwave.
Durian hit his combadge, "Captain to Engineering, we've had a power coupling explode in panel 254-A. Please send a repair crew." Durian left the hallway and returned to his quarters. "Sometimes the best offense is an engineering project."
The End
Unknown Person
Character #WritingContest
This isn’t really a story as such, think of it like the “cold open” scene before an episode’s starting credits. It’s basically the prelude or prologue to a mission or adventure, setting the scene for whatever story comes after the show’s opening credits run.
~~~~~
“A little to the left,” Emil murmured, moving his head slightly to make his lobes easier to reach. Just then, the ship’s alarm klaxons cut through the angular yet strangely relaxing Rigelian jazz. “Unidentified vessel approaching at high warp on an intercept course, DaiMon to the bridge!” came Balingi’s nervous voice over the comm, rising to a panicked shriek with his last phrase.
With an exasperated sigh, Emil looked into the nearly nude Deltan’s opalescent eyes and grumbled, “Computer, freeze program and open a channel to the bridge.” The expensively-programmed holographic fingers stopped their massaging, and upon hearing the almost imperceptible change in audio as the microphone opened, Emil didn’t wait for the computer to announce the channel’s readiness. Rising from the couch, he barked “All right you idiots, what is it this time? You know my 223rd Rule breaks are never to be disturbed! This program cost me more latinum than your combined net worth, but I’ll never get any value out of it if you keep interrupting me! And turn off that infernal racket!”
The alarm went mercifully silent as a crisp female voice broke in, “Sorry for the interruption sir, Gon here. The ship’s transponder codes don’t match anyone we’ve dealt with before and they’re not responding to our hails. They could be either new customers or raiders, but whatever they want they’re in a really big hurry to get here. Your orders?” Eardrums still ringing from the deafening alarm, Emil looked wistfully at the softly-illuminated Deltan’s smooth, chiseled body and sighed, “Computer, end program.”
His surroundings brightened and resolved back into his private holosuite’s familiar grid as he started toward the door for his quarters, saying “Gon, send the standard inventory advertising hail. Just make sure everything mentioned in the ad is actually in stock and ready for delivery, include the 1st Rule disclaimer and remember that all pricing offers must be pre-approved by me. Keep shields down for now but be ready to initiate full tactical status if they’re hostile. Raise shields and take evasive action if they lock weapons after they drop out of warp, return fire if they start shooting. Oh and Balingi, why are you even up there? Get back to main engineering where you belong! I’m on my way, DaiMon out.”
As he passed through his quarters on his way to the turbolift, the light reflected by the latinum bindings on his collector’s copy of the Rules of Acquisition (Golden Knowledge Ed., inside cover stamped with the Grand Nagus’ administrative assistant’s clerk’s certification seal) caught his eye. ‘That reminds me, I really need to have a ship-wide seminar on the Rules,’ he considered as the turbolift slowed, ‘I know I recruited them right out of the Academy, but it’s absolutely scandalous that so many of these lobelings know the Prime Directive better than their own Rules of Acquisition.’ Walking toward the DaiMon’s chair as the lift doors closed behind him, he demanded, “Status report!”
“They’ve dropped out of warp and come to a full stop just at the edge of our visual range now, sir. Scan results are inconclusive and there is still no response to our hails. Switching main viewscreen from tactical to external.” Emil nodded his approval and turned to the viewscreen, knowing that Gon needed little direction from him. She had been his most expensive recruit, commanding almost triple the signing percentage of the others; Starfleet indoctrination hadn’t dulled her profit motive by a slip’s worth. Then again, he had known ahead of time that any Ferengi’s verifiable Starfleet credentials wouldn’t come cheap. Her cum laude tactical status had fetched quite the premium, but she was turning out to be worth almost every bar.
“What is that thing? Maximum magnification.” The screen filled with an indistinct, shifting, distorted mass, barely distinguishable from the surrounding space and constant only in its size. “What’s wrong with my ship? Why can’t I see it and why are the scan results inconclusive?” Emil was unable to focus his eyes upon any detail of the ship, yet the stars onscreen with it were perfectly visible.
“I can explain that, DaiMon,” Glupara replied while turning from the science station, “they appear to be using a ship holo-emitter configured to project that visual camouflage effect instead of a static disguise. The problem is that they’re also masking their energy signature so the sensors can’t get a fix on them any better than our eyes can. We know roughly where they are but we have no idea who they are. It’s not quite a cloaking device, but it’s close enough.”
Emil stepped closer to the viewscreen. “Broadcast on all system-range frequencies, full translation.” Hearing the control’s faint beep, he began, “Welcome, friendly customers!” Gon rolled her eyes and kept her hand by the shield controls. Emil continued, “Like many of my customers, it’s clear that you value discretion in your business transactions. Allow me to assure you…” he trailed off as a buzzing noise began, then rapidly multiplied in volume and pitch. Hands raised to his ears, he shouted at his bridge crew, “Cut the channel, you idiots!” The sound’s pressure on his eardrums was agonizing as he turned and saw them already slumped unconscious at their stations. He started to black out, forcing out the words “Computer, lock out all command functions, authorization Emil letra deemo mirra…” while collapsing to the deck.
~~~~~
~~~~~
“A little to the left,” Emil murmured, moving his head slightly to make his lobes easier to reach. Just then, the ship’s alarm klaxons cut through the angular yet strangely relaxing Rigelian jazz. “Unidentified vessel approaching at high warp on an intercept course, DaiMon to the bridge!” came Balingi’s nervous voice over the comm, rising to a panicked shriek with his last phrase.
With an exasperated sigh, Emil looked into the nearly nude Deltan’s opalescent eyes and grumbled, “Computer, freeze program and open a channel to the bridge.” The expensively-programmed holographic fingers stopped their massaging, and upon hearing the almost imperceptible change in audio as the microphone opened, Emil didn’t wait for the computer to announce the channel’s readiness. Rising from the couch, he barked “All right you idiots, what is it this time? You know my 223rd Rule breaks are never to be disturbed! This program cost me more latinum than your combined net worth, but I’ll never get any value out of it if you keep interrupting me! And turn off that infernal racket!”
The alarm went mercifully silent as a crisp female voice broke in, “Sorry for the interruption sir, Gon here. The ship’s transponder codes don’t match anyone we’ve dealt with before and they’re not responding to our hails. They could be either new customers or raiders, but whatever they want they’re in a really big hurry to get here. Your orders?” Eardrums still ringing from the deafening alarm, Emil looked wistfully at the softly-illuminated Deltan’s smooth, chiseled body and sighed, “Computer, end program.”
His surroundings brightened and resolved back into his private holosuite’s familiar grid as he started toward the door for his quarters, saying “Gon, send the standard inventory advertising hail. Just make sure everything mentioned in the ad is actually in stock and ready for delivery, include the 1st Rule disclaimer and remember that all pricing offers must be pre-approved by me. Keep shields down for now but be ready to initiate full tactical status if they’re hostile. Raise shields and take evasive action if they lock weapons after they drop out of warp, return fire if they start shooting. Oh and Balingi, why are you even up there? Get back to main engineering where you belong! I’m on my way, DaiMon out.”
As he passed through his quarters on his way to the turbolift, the light reflected by the latinum bindings on his collector’s copy of the Rules of Acquisition (Golden Knowledge Ed., inside cover stamped with the Grand Nagus’ administrative assistant’s clerk’s certification seal) caught his eye. ‘That reminds me, I really need to have a ship-wide seminar on the Rules,’ he considered as the turbolift slowed, ‘I know I recruited them right out of the Academy, but it’s absolutely scandalous that so many of these lobelings know the Prime Directive better than their own Rules of Acquisition.’ Walking toward the DaiMon’s chair as the lift doors closed behind him, he demanded, “Status report!”
“They’ve dropped out of warp and come to a full stop just at the edge of our visual range now, sir. Scan results are inconclusive and there is still no response to our hails. Switching main viewscreen from tactical to external.” Emil nodded his approval and turned to the viewscreen, knowing that Gon needed little direction from him. She had been his most expensive recruit, commanding almost triple the signing percentage of the others; Starfleet indoctrination hadn’t dulled her profit motive by a slip’s worth. Then again, he had known ahead of time that any Ferengi’s verifiable Starfleet credentials wouldn’t come cheap. Her cum laude tactical status had fetched quite the premium, but she was turning out to be worth almost every bar.
“What is that thing? Maximum magnification.” The screen filled with an indistinct, shifting, distorted mass, barely distinguishable from the surrounding space and constant only in its size. “What’s wrong with my ship? Why can’t I see it and why are the scan results inconclusive?” Emil was unable to focus his eyes upon any detail of the ship, yet the stars onscreen with it were perfectly visible.
“I can explain that, DaiMon,” Glupara replied while turning from the science station, “they appear to be using a ship holo-emitter configured to project that visual camouflage effect instead of a static disguise. The problem is that they’re also masking their energy signature so the sensors can’t get a fix on them any better than our eyes can. We know roughly where they are but we have no idea who they are. It’s not quite a cloaking device, but it’s close enough.”
Emil stepped closer to the viewscreen. “Broadcast on all system-range frequencies, full translation.” Hearing the control’s faint beep, he began, “Welcome, friendly customers!” Gon rolled her eyes and kept her hand by the shield controls. Emil continued, “Like many of my customers, it’s clear that you value discretion in your business transactions. Allow me to assure you…” he trailed off as a buzzing noise began, then rapidly multiplied in volume and pitch. Hands raised to his ears, he shouted at his bridge crew, “Cut the channel, you idiots!” The sound’s pressure on his eardrums was agonizing as he turned and saw them already slumped unconscious at their stations. He started to black out, forcing out the words “Computer, lock out all command functions, authorization Emil letra deemo mirra…” while collapsing to the deck.
~~~~~
Voleron
Character #WritingContest
Thanks @Teknomancer, @Duriansol, and @Iconoclastix for your #WritingContest submissions! Can't wait to read them! Good luck!!
Unknown Person
Character #WritingContest
Just wrote this on a morning coffee buzz. I'm on a rather different time zone, so I hope i've made the deadline and not screwed up somehow..
*
He had heard that the Cardassians said that the Romulan heart was as grey as their planet. But as Aegnor remembered Romulus, grand old Romulus, he remembered only colour. Perhaps not the vivid gold of Cardassia or the blues of Earth that he had seen on holograms. But it was an elegantly, discreetly hued planet as befitted a planet with an Empress.
The Republic Flotilla Command of course immediately saw through the Republican veneer that Aegnor put up. One does not create a whole new space power overnight without seeing who your friends and enemies were. At his heart he was an Imperialist. Who in the right mind would get rid of a perfectly good Empress? Exchanging the power of one mind, one voice, for the clatter and dissonance of the many. Perhaps the Borg had a point. Wasn’t it bad enough that the Senate had absorbed power over the centuries and diluted the voice of the Crown? The ruin that came to Romulus was no doubt because of that partisan bickering – a bickering that rewarded the vainglorious and that would be multiplied many times over with a Republic, and the ruin that would surely again follow.
Aegnor stood at the tall, cold, windows of D’Tan’s flagship and regarded his new command with feelings so mixed it felt numb. The Republic had found use for his capable command and his inadequate loyalties. The Merothrax was his reward. An aging D’Deridex warbird. A 24th Century ship for his 24th Century loyalties. Outdated, but to his eyes, a vast and grand starship still unequalled in beauty by the new Republic designs. Just like his sentiments for what he had heard a Human describe as ‘Pax Imperia’ – the peace of the Empire. But the Republic would keep its Federation friends close, and those like him closer still.
Even his command staff were like mirrors of the pieces of his soul. No doubt the Cardassians would call his soul a grey soul. At this moment he felt inclined to agree. His First Officer, a capable man but seemingly obsessed with his vanished sister. Three tactical officers formerly from the Tal Shiar. Their dossiers indicated that they had been top-tier operatives specialising in locating the vulnerabilities of their foes, but as with all things Tal Shiar Aegnor wasn’t quite sure if they were locating vulnerabilities within or without the ship. A science officer whose only interest appeared to be the study of the disintegration of molecular structures. An engineering office who was mainly concerned with the explosive nature of things. It seemed the Merothrax would be an antimatter keg adrift in space.
He sourly fingered the new uniform and the data crystal in his hand that carried his new orders. His mission sounded just as doggedly desperate as the name of his uniform. The staff of the Flotilla referred with pride to the uniform as the Survivor’s uniform as though it reminded them of a battle hard-won. It rang poorly in his ears, sounding only like the bleats of immigrants scattered through the stars with no birthright, no proper place in the galaxy.
Still his orders held some hope. Assigned to the lowly patrol of the distant corners of the new Republic, perhaps some opportunity could be made of being forgotten. After all, obsolete or not, the D’Deridex was still a formidable power compared to the lesser species of the quadrant. As he looked on at the Merothrax, its running lights and windows glowed on as the engineering team powered up the starship for flight and the edges of the ship glowed green where the shield energies curved around its wings and crenellations. The sight filled him with some sense of purpose, and for a moment the numbness left him. Where the Merothrax went, a piece of the Empire would follow. And there was some satisfaction to be had in that.
*
He had heard that the Cardassians said that the Romulan heart was as grey as their planet. But as Aegnor remembered Romulus, grand old Romulus, he remembered only colour. Perhaps not the vivid gold of Cardassia or the blues of Earth that he had seen on holograms. But it was an elegantly, discreetly hued planet as befitted a planet with an Empress.
The Republic Flotilla Command of course immediately saw through the Republican veneer that Aegnor put up. One does not create a whole new space power overnight without seeing who your friends and enemies were. At his heart he was an Imperialist. Who in the right mind would get rid of a perfectly good Empress? Exchanging the power of one mind, one voice, for the clatter and dissonance of the many. Perhaps the Borg had a point. Wasn’t it bad enough that the Senate had absorbed power over the centuries and diluted the voice of the Crown? The ruin that came to Romulus was no doubt because of that partisan bickering – a bickering that rewarded the vainglorious and that would be multiplied many times over with a Republic, and the ruin that would surely again follow.
Aegnor stood at the tall, cold, windows of D’Tan’s flagship and regarded his new command with feelings so mixed it felt numb. The Republic had found use for his capable command and his inadequate loyalties. The Merothrax was his reward. An aging D’Deridex warbird. A 24th Century ship for his 24th Century loyalties. Outdated, but to his eyes, a vast and grand starship still unequalled in beauty by the new Republic designs. Just like his sentiments for what he had heard a Human describe as ‘Pax Imperia’ – the peace of the Empire. But the Republic would keep its Federation friends close, and those like him closer still.
Even his command staff were like mirrors of the pieces of his soul. No doubt the Cardassians would call his soul a grey soul. At this moment he felt inclined to agree. His First Officer, a capable man but seemingly obsessed with his vanished sister. Three tactical officers formerly from the Tal Shiar. Their dossiers indicated that they had been top-tier operatives specialising in locating the vulnerabilities of their foes, but as with all things Tal Shiar Aegnor wasn’t quite sure if they were locating vulnerabilities within or without the ship. A science officer whose only interest appeared to be the study of the disintegration of molecular structures. An engineering office who was mainly concerned with the explosive nature of things. It seemed the Merothrax would be an antimatter keg adrift in space.
He sourly fingered the new uniform and the data crystal in his hand that carried his new orders. His mission sounded just as doggedly desperate as the name of his uniform. The staff of the Flotilla referred with pride to the uniform as the Survivor’s uniform as though it reminded them of a battle hard-won. It rang poorly in his ears, sounding only like the bleats of immigrants scattered through the stars with no birthright, no proper place in the galaxy.
Still his orders held some hope. Assigned to the lowly patrol of the distant corners of the new Republic, perhaps some opportunity could be made of being forgotten. After all, obsolete or not, the D’Deridex was still a formidable power compared to the lesser species of the quadrant. As he looked on at the Merothrax, its running lights and windows glowed on as the engineering team powered up the starship for flight and the edges of the ship glowed green where the shield energies curved around its wings and crenellations. The sight filled him with some sense of purpose, and for a moment the numbness left him. Where the Merothrax went, a piece of the Empire would follow. And there was some satisfaction to be had in that.
Voleron
Character #WritingContest
Thank you @Rayne and @skyggen957 for your #WritingContest entries! And with those entries, our Writing Contest is now closed! We'll be reading everyone's amazing entries throughout the week and will announce the winners by next Monday (December 12th!) Good luck to everyone!
Voleron
Character #WritingContest
CHARACTER #WRITINGCONTEST UPDATE
For those of you waiting on the results of Stonewall's Character Writing Contest, I wanted to provide a quick update: at this time, we're continuing to read through all of your amazing entries and the winners to the contest will be announced here, in the event thread, on Sunday, December 18th, 2016!
Thanks for your continued patience!
Lars_Zandor
Character #WritingContest
So, how is the reading going?
*totally not impatient and curious about the result of the competition* :p
*totally not impatient and curious about the result of the competition* :p