DISCLAIMER: Star Trek and all its various components are owned in full by Paramount.

CLAIMER: The ship was my design. Xia is my design... mostly. About half the senior staff is mine.

DISCLAIMER: The actual crew of the ship was thunk up by Kenn Sprinkle. However, not without *MY* help.

Dishonorable Heroes

Part Two

Brian Burke

The_

A man stares out a grand window into the vastness of space. He can identify almost every star he sees. At the same time, it is unimportant to him. He stands with his hands behind his back while deep in thought. He wears a Starfleet unfiorm of the red variety. His pointed ears perk up a bit as he hears something odd. But, he doesn't respond to it. Strangely, he does not have the 'bowl-cut' hairstyle that his race is known for. He has hair down to his shoulders which is tied off at the end.

He is a Vulcan, one of the most respected races in the United Federation of Planets. They were the First Contact for Humans. For many years after, the Vulcans would watch over the Humans like a parent teaching its child to walk. Quite annoying, yet quite helpful in the long run.

Vulcans are well known for their logical attitudes. They are also known for looking down on the rest of the 'illogical' universe. They are also dedicated vegetarians, deviating only in the most extreme situations.

Yet, from one of his pockets, this one removes and bites off a piece of beef jerky. "Good stuff. They don't know what they're missing."

A starship passes by. "Nebula Class," he remarks. "USS Cambridge." He watches as the ship pulls into the starbase's main hatch. "Here to pick up replacement crew. Been in spacedock for two weeks doing repairs."

"Join us!" A man early in his career looks at the Vulcan with a rather optimistic appearance.

The Vulcan has been staring out the window, never changing from his position. He looks at this man, Mel Carstairs with a little speculation. He promptly slides his feet a few inches further away from him. The Captain walks forward, and he responds by sliding away again.

"You are Sepik, right?"

"I am. What of it?"

"I've seen your file. I know that you will be a great help to us. Logically-"

"Shut it with the 'logic' crap. Gives me hayfever."

"Seriously?"

"And you're a Captain? What are you? The next Kirk?"

"I am younger than most captains, but I've been put in command of the Nebula Class Starship USS Cambridge. I have the freedom of choosing my own crew. I want you on my roster!"

~ST~~EP~ Miraculously, Sepik finds himself a fair distance from the young Captain. All with a single sidestep. His hands remain behind his back. His view out the window. The Captain persists and pursues, yet Sepik keeps sliding away as such.

"You are awaiting assignment aren't you? Because nobody else wants you?"

~Step Step~ "I just haven't found the right one."

"Why? Going back to Vulcan?"

"Shut it, Junior. Or I'll mail you there third class."

"Do you like this station that much?"

There is a long silence, but no shuffling of feet. It is true that Sepik wants to get off the station and rejoin Starfleet. But...

"No, but not on your ship."

A week later...

"What the hell am I doing on this ship?" As soon as he asks, a panel explodes somewhere behind him. The ship rocks and rumbles as it is shot to pieces by enemy ships.

As the bridge slowly crumbles, Sepik frantically presses buttons to hold the ship together where he can. He relies on other crew to do the same. "Rerouting power to shields!"

Meanwhile, the Captain has collapsed in his chair. "We lost... again..."

The Cambridge retreats from battle while it still can. The enemy ships, realizing that it is leaving, fire a few extra shots at it. The paper-thin shields barely slow any of them down as they collide with the hull.

"What the hell am I doing here?" Sepic groans.

"What a flake..." Sepik grumbles as he thinks about his Captain.

The Cambridge was sent to the frontline to fight. Normally, the ship is used for exploration and science. While it can defend itself in a fight, it is not meant for war like some of the other classes.

In his quarters, he lies back on his bed while he considers the mess he's gotten himself into. "Captain's a joke," he grumbles. "Fell apart pretty quickly. Constant losses have shattered him."

Sepik is a Vulcan by genetics. But his emotional, illogical frame of mind is very unlike his kind. Normally, Vulcans are in complete control of their emotions and show little to nothing. To be honest, Vulcans have raging, violent emotions. Through meditation and focus, you get what you often see.

Sepik is, by all accounts, an outsider to his race.

Ten Years ago...

Sepik was a very different child. His parents thought him to be difficult while growing up. Sepik meditated like any other Vulcan child. He went to the same schools as any other Vulcan child. And yet, he acted very strangely.

While other children were always very calm and collect, Sepik would be more laid back. He still tried his best to fit in, though. He meditated dilligently to control his emotions like the others.

But, some unique spark in him would not deny his emotional state. He needed to have that grin on his face whereever he went. His parents thought nothing of it until he was older. At some point in a Vulcan's life, they will usually conform to the standards that Vulcan has for them.

And yet, he never did.

One day, his father walked with him to seek the root of his 'problem'. "My son," he said in his quiet, logical-to-a-fault tone. "Your behavior concerns me. No Vulcan has lived for so long without suppressing their emotions. Why do you not?"

"I don't want to! I have this burning desire to be free!"

"But your behavior is illogical. You will never fit into society as you are now. Your instructors tell me that you are not cooperating with your fellow students."

"If fitting in means being just another drone to send off like torpedoes, then I'd rather not. I see a sea of black bowl-cuts shuffling down the streets. I like the idea of one of them being different. Like a fine canvas of conformity and order... One orange dot will merit quite a bit of attention."

For a long moment, Sepik's father dreads that his son may dye his hair bright orange to express his point more clearly. "Illogical. That is not the way of our people. Our traditions, our values, our status... You cannot just throw all that away."

"It's not suicide."

"Sepik, why do you feel the need to do so? Logic and reason are all that you truly need. Emotion will cloud your judgement. Your potential will be limited. You will be a lesser man because of it. What would happen if your emotion turned to anger? Would you still take joy in destruction?"

"No, Father," he says. "But at the same time, I cannot rely solely on logic. I feel like a robot. A machine. Gives me a rash and hayfever!"

"Rash? You are physically ailed due to logic? Impossible."

"I was speaking metephorically."

"Evidence that your ways are difficult to comprehend. While you make humor of even our discussion, I cannot understand what you are thinking. We cannot communicate this way. Is that what you prefer?"

"No, Father."

"Son, there is a trial that I will send you on. When you have completed it, your decision will be official."

"What if I fail?" Sepik asks.

"There is no failing this trial. It is to cement your decision to live as you are, or embrace your true Vulcan heritage."

"And if I find that this is my true self?"

"As your father, I will have to accept your decision."

And now...

"I spent a week on the Vulcan Forge. I brought only what I could carry. And then..."

Sepik had returned to his parents after many days on the Forge. He was dirty, bloodied, parched, and bruised. He approached his parents and looked them in the eyes. He was 14 at the time. His parents were strict about logic, but he knew they loved him. He was difficult, but they never abandoned him.

His father is an instructor at the local academy. He had garnered respect in teaching his students both academics and discipline. Sepik would soon be of the age to be his student as well as his father. Yet, he learned much from him already.

His mother works as a medical technician. She treats the wounded and ill at the medical facility. She is respected as well for being quick witted with medicine as well as using a gentle touch to administer it.

Sepik returned to them and held out his hand. In it, a strip of jerky flapped around in the wind. "You should try this. It's delicious!"

"Sepik," his father says, "it is illogical for a Vulcan to eat meat. Only under extreme circumstances-"

"Like being out in the middle of nowhere for a week?"

His father sighs a bit. "Agreed. But, there is no further need for it. You are home."

"Think I'll keep it. Got a bunch more in my sack."

His parents welcome him in and note that Sepik has a new robe and sack that he did not have when he left. "What manner of creature did you sacrifice?"

"I don't know," Sepik replies. "It attacked me, and then I defended myself. One thing tumbled into another and I ended up with what you see. But, it was pretty big!"

"A Lamotcha?" his mother inquires concernedly. "Was that what attacked you?"

"I guess. It was a vicious beast! We actually tracked each other around for three days before I finally finished it off!"

"Son," his father says, "I am glad to see you safe. Even though we sent you to this trial, we were deeply concerned about you."

"Yeah. I know."

"We are still worried," his mother remarks. "Your actions are illogical."

"But," Sepik says, "this is who I am. I proved that."

Present day...

And that is how Sepik became an outcast from his race and his family. When the time was right, he left to join Starfleet. It was the only option he could think about. It got him off Vulcan and gave him the freedom to be himself.

His unique 'spark' lead his life in a equally unique direction.

"What am I doing on THIS ship? Do I have a death sentence? Am I a masochist?"

Last week

"Join us!"

While Sepik was side-stepping his way up and down the observation deck, the 'next Captain Kirk' was pursuing him with offers of comission. He had no wish to be a part of the perpetually crumbling USS Cambridge.

But...

While Sepik's view was glued to the stars and the passing ships... While his attention was focused on escaping 'Junior,' he did not expect something else to happen. There was little warning as something hard hit the back of his head. He stood in shock as his thoughts were rattled.

He looked down at his feet and finds a Starfleet boot sitting on its side. A female boot, in fact. His gaze inches up and finds a young woman with only one boot on her feet. The other foot slightly hangs at the height difference. His gaze continues to slide up and he finds the woman has a paternity uniform and a bit of a protruding belly. His gaze finally meets hers and a pair of crossed arms. Her forehead has some ridges, but she looks human otherwise.

"Sepik."

"B't'ra..." he says with a nervous chuckle. "Long time no see? Three months?"

"That's what the doctor says," she growls.

Sepik turns towards the Junior Captain of the Cambridge. "When do we leave? Now's good!"

-End Two