Captain's log stardate 12345.6
We have not been in the Delta Quadrant for some time now without having a week that is lacking in some kind of life-threatening situation. The crew's morale has been sinking steadily. It doesn't help that today we have had some issues with the warp core, putting our journey back some weeks while we are making repairs. We are currently passing through a system with only one planet capable of sustaining life. Initial scans show it to be fairly primitive in culture; no indications of any form of industry or planet-wide travel. Further scans are being performed as I speak. As may be expected, many crewmembers are showing excitement and I am considering whether I should take an away team to the surface.
Captain Kathryn Janeway sighed as she stood up in her ready room in response to a beeping at her door.
"Come in," she said.
Seven of Nine, a rehabilitated Borg drone, strode into the room. The captain assumed it was because the scans had been finished. She stood, facing Janeway, and clasped her hands behind her back in preparation of giving her report.
"I have completed the more in depth scans of the planet. They show that it is a -"
"Thank you, Seven," Janeway cut her off. Already she was planning the away team. She'd leave Chakotay, her first officer, in charge of her ship and take Tuvok, her security officer as well as Tom Paris. The rest of the team could be made up later. "Are there any possible threats to Voyager or to any away teams that may be sent down?" she inquired.
"None that I could locate, Captain, and scans have informed me that the atmosphere is similar in make-up to that of Earth."
"Thank you. On your way out, would you inform Chakotay that I would like to see him?" the ex-drone nodded and walked purposefully out.
The siege of Feinster was, at long last, over. Eragon Shadeslayer, the last free Rider in Alagaesia, meandered through the Varden's camp, mourning the loss of his and his dragon's teacher Oromis. The state of Oromis' dragon, named Glaedr, was increasing his despair for, although his body had been slain over Gil'ead, his mind lived on in his Eldunari. Eragon closed his eyes, tears escaping through the lids as he recalled the sense of loss and the anguish that Glaedr had felt and that he had shared through the dragon's heart of hearts. Alone, and in the dark. The golden dragon had spent his entire life as part of another being. To have that link broken, to have half of your being ripped away… Eragon turned the thought away, for the first time taking note of his surroundings. He was still in the Varden's encampment, but he had somehow managed to reach the now-abandoned practice grounds from his tent on the furthest side of the camp. He looked around, wondering how he could have walked all that way without noticing and then walked across to the edge and sat down on a log, closing his eyes.
Little one. It was the partner of his heart and soul, Saphira, her voice full of sympathy. How could he bear it if she were torn away from him? How could he continue to live? To be? He fully opened his mind to her, merging their beings, thankful for every second he had with her. Their grief bounced between them, each taking comfort in the fact that the other was near and still there, consoling each other with mere presence, for each knew that their other half cared about nothing more than the happiness and well-being of their partner.
Drawn out of his sorrow by his dragon's presence, he thanked her for preventing him from wallowing in grief for the loss of their teachers. Reducing the contact to a thin thread, he opened his eyes again, straightened up from his hunched over position and began to slowly make his way back to his tent, and to his dragon.
All of a sudden, there was a bright flash that seemed slightly blue and a group of seven people were stood a little over three hundred feet away. Eragon reinforced his strength from the flawless diamonds in the belt of Beloth the Wise and loped over towards them with elvish grace and silence, his bow held ready and an arrow nocked and prepared himself to call on his magic if needed.
He flicked his mind over to the group, starting with the woman who so resembled Katrina, the love of his cousin. She knew nothing of shielding and he flipped through her memories quickly. He repeated the process with the rest of the group, pausing at the minds of a dark haired woman with an odd ridged pattern on her forehead, full of anger at the universe, a tall blond human woman, who noticed his presence in her head, but did not realise what it was. Her mind was like nothing Eragon had ever seen before. It was cold, logical and there were many memories of a hunger so vast it could never be filled. The cold hive mind of these Borg sent shivers down his back. The closest thing he had felt to that before was in the mind of Durza, a Shade he had – barely – defeated at the famed battle of Farthen Dur. The last mind he touched was that of a dark-skinned male. Even at this distance Eragon, with his enhanced vision, could see the pointed ears and slanted facial features that marked an elf. He slammed into fairly good barriers, but they were not as solid as the weakest of elven minds' protections. He got through them easily, never moving a pace closer to the group until he had established as to whether they were a threat either to him, or to his liege lord Nasuada, leader of the Varden.
He sensed that the dark-skinned Vulcan – no elf, then – was about to warn his Captain, the red-haired woman he had 'interrogated' first, and immobilised him with a flick of his will. Although this Tuvok attempted to fight, the young Rider's strength was far greater.
He made his way over to the group, sending mental alerts to Saphira, Arya and the twelve elven spellcasters sent by Islanzadi to protect both him and Saphira. They were facing away from him and Eragon ensured that they would not turn by gently dissuading them whenever a member thought of it. He ensured the group's suspicions would not be raised by having the dark-skinned Vulcan reply to the questions as he normally would.
Hurry, and be silent as you approach. Bring your bows. Saphira, you only come near when I give the signal. He terminated contact with the approaching backup and re-applied his attention to the group ahead of him, now holding out metallic boxes with flashing lights that they were sweeping the area in front of them with. They were noisily conversing, his finely tuned hearing picking up the accent of the western Empire from around Tierm, the first city he had ever seen. The topic of conversation was the surrounding area, an unremarkable stretch of plain and untended farmland.
The spellcasters, accompanied by Arya, arrived. He opened his mind to them and filled them in on the situation.
I have informed Nasuada, Arya told him, She has prepared the Nighthawks to assist us should we need it. She also wishes to speak with their leader, she concluded.
Eragon released the Vulcan who immediately turned to his captain and began to speak in an unemotional tone, undoubtedly warning her of the threat. They drew their weapons, but it was too late. Arrows nocked and bows at full draw, the elves closed in on the Voyager crew members.
"Drop your weapons!" Eragon ordered them. They immediately complied and all of the phasers hit the packed earth of the practice grounds. He motioned to one of the spellcasters to collect them. "Keep your hands where I can see them and follow us. Do not make any attempt to contact your ship. Do not run, for we are faster than you could ever be and you will only get hurt. Comply with all instructions and you may be released." The time spent in the blonde woman's mind had affected him. He would not have phrased his orders like that had he been fully himself. Arya noticed the variation of his words and shot a questioning glance at him. He shook his head, mouthing 'I'm fine' at her. He would explain more fully later on.
They reached Nasuada's crimson pavilion, where they waited to be announced to the formidable leader. They entered, pushing the seven strangers through the flap.