PUBLISHED ON Feb 20, 2022
Chapter 7 : Brave new universe, Part 1
Korhal, Imperial Palace
0030
Once again, Valerian found himself unable to sleep, troubled by the myriad reports that had come in, first from his own people, and now the Protoss of the Daelaam. Communications between him and Artanis had been ongoing since the original incident, but now they were more than just mere formalities and a promise of further information at a nebulous future date. The new report from Commodore Brownrigg left Valerian disturbed, a nameless fear had taken hold of his heart. An attack by an unknown alien power against an independent colony would have been something that felt vaguely normal. That the colony had been assisted by a ship and crew claiming to be from Earth was the cause of his sleeplessness.
He hardly blamed Brownrigg for deciding to escort the mystery ship to Korhal after following due procedure in requesting such, and it wasn't like Valerian himself could just leave with little notice to investigate. It all still left a bitter taste in his mouth, the part of him that had grown hard and cynical despite his higher ideals and all he'd accomplished whispered to him. This had to be a trick, an advance scout of the UED, it had to be. Nothing good came from Earth. There were no heroes coming to save a colony in distress from that blighted planet. Misery and death only ever followed anything that came from the Terran homeworld.
'Yet, what if this captain, this Picard is telling the truth?' he asked himself. It wasn't an impossibility despite all knowledge and history saying otherwise. The event with the Xel'Naga artifact had clearly changed something, but if that was the case, to what Earth did this Picard owe his allegiance? If the man was being truthful, Valerian knew one thing: There was no way this captain and his crew was of the Earth that Valerian knew, the same one that had almost subjugated the sector and cast a shadow that almost rivaled his father or Amon.
He stroked his chin, ruminating and trying to ignore the fact he hadn't shaved in a while. The Xel'Naga were powerful, but one machine, even one of theirs, he doubted could accomplish what more and more Stetman claimed to be universal transition, even if the new evidence seemed more and more to indicate a grand universal change. Besides, he knew that Sarah Kerrigan was still out there somewhere; he refused to believe it happened without her knowing. So the culprit was another party, someone, or something, incredibly powerful. 'But if that is the case, then who or what was behind this change?'
A flash of light burst into being in front him, and he reflexively leapt from his chair, drawing his sabre. Chillingly, he saw that his guards at the doorway did not move, as if frozen. As the light faded, there stood a middle aged looking man, garbed in the uniform of a Dominion admiral, with what was easily the most smug and self-satisfied look he had ever since. Yet even at that first look, Valerian could tell whatever thing this was, it was not human.
"Greetings, Valerian, oh mighty emperor of the Terran Dominion" that he sounded like Alarak did little to keep the emperor from leveling his blade at the intruder, which earned him merely a quirked eyebrow. "Oh come now," the thing's tone dripped with a smothering sense of superiority, "there's no need for that. We're all civilized beings here aren't we?"
"That depends," he kept his tone level and polite. He had asked things of the Queen of Blades and stayed firm. "Who are you, what are you and what do you want?" The thing chuckled.
"I am Q, of the Q Continuum, and I'm the reason you and your people and neighbors are here. Well, part of the reason," the thing, this Q, paced before Valerian's desk, giving a frivolous wave of his hand. "I'm not really at liberty to say more at the moment. I'm compounding an already monumental risk by having this chat with you as it is. Besides, I don't want to crush your limited faculties and ability to perceive things by the sheer scale of what has happened, although I suspect you already have some idea."
Valerian narrowed his eyes and kept his blade leveled. "Then how about you simply get to the point. By the sounds of it, we're both incredibly busy individuals. There's no need to drag this out with pointless pomp and circumstance." Q chuckled again, a bit more mirth behind it this time.
"Oh but my emperor, the pomp and circumstance is half the fun!" He spread his arms wide, with that smirk never dropping. "Ah, but you're not Picard, aren't you? No, you're every bit the intellectual he is, but I can tell your patience is quite thin. Given the circumstances I suppose I can only blame you so much for that." Q snapped his fingers, another flash of light engulfed him, and this time he was garbed in a red and black uniform that Valerian did not recognize.
"It's a brave new galaxy out there, oh emperor, full of optimistic and eager sorts," another snap and flash. This time Q appeared as an oddly humanoid alien, but with wild eyes, notably sharp teeth, and ridges along the forehead. The uniform even looked somewhat armored, almost medieval. "But not everything is sunshine and rainbows, Valerian. There are plenty in this galaxy that will want to take advantage of you and yours, or worse. And war happy Klingons, conniving Romulans, or Cardassians biting off more than they can chew is nothing out of the norm for you as I understand it." Another snap and flash, and this time he was replaced by some cybernetic, corpse-like thing. Valerian had to clamp down on the instinct to back away.
"There are many horrors in the galaxy, despite those who have good intentions and wish to better it, and worst of all," the corpse Q had transfigured himself into smiled, the voice sibilant. "They don't realize that some of the monsters are in their own homes." Another flash and Q was as he had first appeared. Valerian took a breath to steady himself. After everything he had seen in his life, he wouldn't give this Q the satisfaction of unmanning him.
"So, why tell me all of this?" He lowered his blade now, with a shrug. If Q wanted him dead, Valerian doubted he could have stopped the being. "I don't even know any of the names you just listed, let alone what the point of this is. So tell me, if you're really responsible for Koprulu and who only knows what else being dragged with it to this…alternate reality or whatever it is, why me?" Q chuckled again, but this time, his smirk was different, almost deflated, and he turned away, as if trying to hide something.
"Because, for all the flaws of your people, and the Zerg and the Protoss both, for all that many, myself included, may decry you as brutes and warmongers for a time…you all weathered things that would break lesser people and civilizations. If it hadn't been for the Terrans, a being that was, in some small areas, more powerful than even the Q would have been unopposed in its plans. And more than that, for all your flaws, for all the hate and bloodshed, you're doing more to keep the peace than anyone could have guessed. But you've not grown soft, you've not grown complacent." Valerian couldn't quite read Q; the almost melancholic shift was not what he had expected.
"Picard, as much as I love to tease him and, as humans may say, drive him up a wall, is ultimately a good man. But he's only one, and he's as blind as many others. The people he and his crew represent, their Federation, you may find you all have more in common than you think if you can get over the initial hurdles. But you've not forgotten what they have, oh emperor mine. The galaxy is a bright and wondrous place, but it's just as vast and dark in turn. You can't just bumble out into it and not get your hands dirty, and sometimes…doing the right thing means there is no easy answer. Dealing with Picard has reminded me of that all too keenly." In another flash he was gone, and his guards bolted to full alert at seeing the emperor with blade drawn.
"Sir! What the hell happened?" They cast about, looking for a threat that was no longer there.
"With me," he commanded, voice firm as he made to leave. "I need a secure channel to Artanis, Zagara and the Umojans at once."
Enterprise-D, Engineering
Stardate 440103.2
1030 Shipboard time
There were few things that Geordi loved more than the hum of the warp core working at peak efficiency. It was a thing of beauty, to him at least. Not everyone shared that outlook given the inherent dangers associated with such technology. Antimatter was, after all, a fickle mistress at the best of times. Despite that, he always found the soft background hum of the system a soothing thing, especially when things were calm and he was focused on other projects.
The information that the ship's sensors was taking in from the dimension they were now in was fascinating. He and Data were doing their best to make sense of it all between their duties and the daily occurrences that came with keeping a ship like the Enterprise running, it meant progress was slow, but he knew it would be worth it. Even now La Forge could tell that once they were back in contact with Starfleet, this data would have people all over Starfleet's science and engineering branches, as well individual researchers and initiatives all over Federation space scrambling for copies. He and Data may even end up with their names on a major research paper, and that was an enticing prospect.
Until that happened though, he had his usual daily tasks to look over. None of them were particularly urgent, the usual sort of busy work that the other engineers often handled in his stead. Usually, they just needed him to sign off on repairs or part requisitions first which is how he liked it. People worked better when they weren't being micromanaged, even if the person in charge was an expert in the field. That left him time to look over the newest sensor readings, humming to the thrum of the warp core as he did so.
A knock on a nearby bulkhead made him turn around. Usually that was Riker's way of getting his attention, but instead of the commander, there stood Ensign Kershaw, nervously clutching a datapad in one hand. In the other hand, he held a burnt and damaged piece of body armor from Konnie. La Forge furrowed his brow. This was unusual, even by the standards of the Enterprise's engineering section, and that made him realize just how skewed their standards for "normal" really were. A warp core breach was less unusual than this picture, especially with how haunted Kershaw looked.
"Ensign Kershaw," he kept his tone soft and friendly, nodding at the items the ensign held. "Is there something I can do for you? And shouldn't you still be on medical leave?" Kershaw visibly swallowed, something was clearly agitating him.
"Yes, sir, uh-" he glanced about nervously for a moment, "I'm here both for myself, and for the rest of the ship's security force. A bunch of us have been talking about what happened back at the colony and people are…nervous, sir, to put it politely." La Forge set aside his assorted implements to give Kershaw his full attention, rapping his knuckles against the plate as he stepped closer. Despite the damage, it still felt sturdy, even reliable. This was more than just nerves, Kershaw's or those of others in security.
"Given what happened, I'd say it's perfectly understandable to be nervous, but you've clearly got something to, so say it, but shouldn't you be talking to Councilor Troi or Lieutenant Worf? In fact I'd heard that Doctor Crusher mandated you talk to the councilor. So, what's up? Why come all the way to engineering, and why you? I'd say you approaching me on behalf of security is pretty deliberate, wouldn't you?" He was curious just as much as he was worried. He couldn't imagine what Kershaw was going through; let alone how it had affected his closest colleagues.
Kershaw nodded and set his things down on the terminal table that dominated the central part of engineering. "I and a few of the others, we got to talking, and maybe a bit of drinking," La Forge had to fight back a smirk at that. That was how many engineering stories started. "And then we got to designing," Kershaw continued, "Benson donated this piece of armor for us to use. He uh…kept it as a souvenir; it saved his life at the coms center on the colony. But the rest of us figured, well, we don't know anything about the material composing the piece, but that doesn't mean we can't crimp ideas from it." And didn't that sound familiar to La Forge as well?
Kershaw then handed him the datapad and handed off the armor to one of the other engineers. On it were designs for a near full set of fiber-based, energy resistant armor based off of the science of existing phaser-resistant vests. The only thing it was missing was a helmet, but it had a vest and arm and leg protection. He studied the design in minute detail. There were flaws here and there, like the cod piece looking especially…uncomfortable and less than ergonomic, but for a draft that had been made in a few days, it wasn't terrible, it was inspired even. It was also perhaps a bit concerning given the circumstances, but La Forge understood the logic, or at least he thought he did.
He let out a low whistle. "Well, there are a few kinks that need working out, but this is very good work, Mister Kershaw. Although, I doubt Starfleet is going to readily approve of it without some major push from somewhere." Kershaw gave him a guilty look in response, scratching the back of his head.
"That's why the others asked me to take this to you, sir. They figured if this request should start anywhere, it's with you. People on this ship trust you; they know you listen, and being blunt, sir? The others in security are terrified of ending up like me, or worse. They want something that gives them some extra reassurance that they'll be coming back home in one piece, and not in a body bag."
Enterprise-D, Ready Room
Stardate 440103.2
1115 Shipboard time
Transit to Korhal was well underway with nothing particularly major having happened. Aside from the means of transit, things were completely normal aboard the Enterprise. It was a welcome change really, after the hectic time at the colony and the months preceding it. Picard was glad for it. There was not always enough going on as to warrant his direct attention, and so he was taking the chance to indulge his love for classical literature. A hot cup of Earl Grey tea to help set the mood almost helped him to forget about the danger of the past several days. Despite his reputation for stoicism, even he needed an escape now and then. The chime at the door was, as a result, all the more unwelcome. 'Of course, just when I'm getting to the good part,' he sighed. "Enter."
To his surprise, Councilor Troi and Commander La Forge both stepped through the doorway, the latter holding a datapad. It was plain to him they were worried about something. "Commander La Forge, Councilor Troi, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?" The look the two shared for a brief moment only piqued his curiosity further.
"Well, captain," Geordi started with a shrug and handed Picard the datapad, "there's something we think requires your attention. I wouldn't call it bad, but I thought you should know about it." Picard took the offered pad with a raised eyebrow. It only rose further when he saw the contents.
"Well, this is certainly an…interesting development. I take it this is not your work Commander La Forge?"
"No, sir," he sighed, "this comes courtesy of Ensign Kershaw and others in ship security. I checked Kershaw's file. Turns out he scored incredibly high on his aptitude tests for engineering, but he opted for security instead. But he didn't work on this alone. Like I said, he had others helping him on this, and he approached me as the representative for ship security." Picard looked up from the pad; he wasn't going to bother hiding his confusion at this.
"Captain," Troi spoke up, "I believe this is related to the injuries Ensign Kershaw sustained at the colony. More than that, it is also reflective of the shared trauma among the rest of ship security. They're afraid, Jean-Luc, perhaps more afraid then when we faced the Borg. They knew the risks fighting against the Borg, but they also knew how outmatched we were," she paused as he gave her a confused and somewhat angry look. "Please don't misunderstand me, captain. This fight against the Cardassians is different. They aren't some largely unknown hive mind of technology gone mad, they're a well-known threat, one we thought had been recently put to rest with the treaty. It would seem, judging from Ensign Kershaw's testimony, that this perception is no longer true, at least among some of them. After what happened it seems they, like Lieutenant Worf, no longer believe they are equipped for their duties, or trust in their chances of survival."
"As Kershaw put it to me, captain, they want some extra reassurances they'll be coming back alive, at least alive enough for Doctor Crusher and her people to fix them. Well, the ensign was a bit more visceral about it, but the sentiment was the same," La Forge added.
"Honestly, sir, after what happened at Konnie, I agree with them and with Worf. They need better tools. The work they've already done is phenomenal, and I know Starfleet may not fully approve of it, but this is about saving lives. I can't even begin to imagine what's going through Kershaw's head right now after everything, or that of his friends and colleagues. Though if our roles were reversed, I can't say I wouldn't be exploring new avenues like this. I would, I know that for a fact."
Picard leaned back in his chair. He'd long held to the ideal that Starfleet was not a military organization, that there were things humanity and the other members of the Federation had long left in the past. Part of him was on some level repulsed by what he'd seen at Konnie, at how militarized the Terrans had been, even knowing their history in part and seeing the necessity for it. That was part of the issue though, wasn't it? It wasn't always base cruelty that drove the innovation of things like those giant suits of armor. Sometimes, it was a matter of necessity, of practically spurred on by pain and fear. The plans on the datapad before him, he realized, were no different.
"I can see the logic behind it, commander, but that does not mean I like it. I understand, perhaps even would applaud, Kershaw and his fellows working though the trauma in their own way, so long as it is constructive. I am not sure this," he held up the pad, "is that, despite the quality of the work. In fact, I was under the impression he was supposed to be working things out with you, Deanna." Troi sighed, and shook her head sadly in response.
"Ensign Kershaw skipped our second session entirely. The first one was not particularly productive in my eyes either. He is very angry, captain, about his injury, at the Cardassians, even the Federation. I would say his views are similar to that of Worf's, but Ensign Kershaw is more ardent in his belief that something needs to be done. It's understandable, but…well, when he started ranting about 'bureaucrats sipping Andorian brandy while sunbathing on a Spanish beach' I started to grow concerned," Picard did not fail to note La Forge's slight smirk at that tidbit.
"His grievances may have grounds in reality, captain," Troi continued, "but I am worried about his anger becoming misdirected, even if his colleagues are helping him in their own way. I was thinking that, given your own prosthetic heart, you may be open to talking with him, help to assuage some of his anger at least."
Picard drummed his fingers against his desk. He remembered his own youth, the mistakes he had made, and the anger that had come from waking on an operating table to learn that Nausicaan knife had claimed his original heart. He'd been so angry then, furious even, at the Nausicaans, at himself for letting his guard down, perhaps in some way even his friends for having gotten into the situation in the first place. He didn't rightly recall how he had coped at the time, those days were long behind him, but he understood Kershaw's sentiments, at least to a degree. With a sigh he stood.
"Computer, where is Ensign Kershaw currently?" The device trilled.
"Ensign Kershaw is currently in holodeck two."
"Why I am not surprised?" He shook his head and made for the door.
Protoss Carrier, Light of Aiur, bridge
As the Light dropped out of warp, Kaldalis's eyes were greeted by the ever pitiable sight of a ship damaged near to the point of no return. It was still leaking gases and fluids, almost certainly atmosphere and perhaps some manner of fuel. This was where the distress signal had led them. This sad heap of metal floating in the void was the Kelmton.
"Are there any signs of life aboard?" There was a chance at least some of the crew had survived; they had been so close to it, closer than any other vessel at least. That the crew may die because his ship had been a scant few days away sat ill with him. This was not a death he wished on anyone, not even the Tal'darim perhaps. Death by cold and asphyxiation was a universally horrid fate. The Protoss could endure it better than the Terrans, but all that breathed that was not the Zerg needed air and heat.
"Multiple! Many are too close together for an exact count!" came the answer from one of his officers, drawing him from his morbid thoughts. "They're not Terrans, as we suspected, but there are some general similarities." Good, that meant there was still a chance. He'd had a team prepared to board before they'd arrived, and in short order they were over and back throughout several trips, bringing all they found back to the medical bay where he awaited their return. The people they brought back with them he would have confused for Terran had it not been for the scanners and the physical differences, like the ridges along the nose.
None of them were responsive at first, and although he loathed to admit it, his medical teams were not the most prepared for handling anything resembling Terran physiology. Yet another thing to eat at him and the shade that was left of his honor. Terran medical technology worked on his people, this was a known fact, the tools their field doctors and vessels carried healing warriors even as new wounds opened. Yet the Protoss could not do the same for them in turn, they still struggled to treat anything more severe than a flesh wound or a broken limb.
'What does that say of our honor, of how far we have fallen, that we cannot repay those who shed their blood alongside us as they lay dying? We can heal our own grievous injuries, even give the near dead of our people a second chance of sorts, even if it is within the hulls of dragoons and immortals. And yet innocents in need? Warriors that gave their own lives to save those of a Protoss? Why are we so often powerless to help them?'
His disgust only grew as he saw that no less than a dozen of those rescued from the ailing vessel had been children. None of those his recovery team brought back had the look of warriors to them, but he knew their state by sight alone: Refugees, vagrants, the desperate fleeing a disaster, caked in filth and clothed in rags. He felt his fists tightening, only to loosen as Rersa placed a hand on his shoulder again. When had she gotten here, he wondered?
"It would seem," her tone was soft, "that at least some may live. Take pride in that, Kaldalis. You saved some of them this day."
"Not enough…" he near-whispered, "never enough." In the end, his people had saved sixty-six from the dying ship, out of what they had claimed were likely hundreds. A small genocide, almost certainly a symptom wrought from some greater tragedy, likely at cruel hands.
He suppressed a shudder of rage. 'No, fight it down. That rage is not yours.' He could do nothing but wait, wait and hope that at least some were strong enough to survive the treatments to revive them. Perhaps then they could have some answers.
Off to his left, the door to the medical bay opened, and from it emerged a sight both unexpected and unwelcome. Terosh, a Tal'darim Ascendant, still wearing the ever distinctive red and black armor of his kind. As a ground commander he was formidable and cunning, in all other things he was often acidic and condescending, typical for a Tal'darim.
"So," he began looking over the scene with clear disapproval, "this is the new trouble you two have conjured up. If it wasn't Kel-Morian pirates or rogue Zerg it is this then is it? A pitiful display all told, and I assume Kaldalis is fretting over it with so many 'innocents' in danger, yes? I swear, in the months I have been here, it would seem you two are the most trouble-prone Protoss I have ever met." Rersa narrowed her eyes at him.
"What do you want, Tal'darim?" she spat. It was by no means a secret that she often butted heads with Terosh. He shrugged.
"To see what I can do to help. It is difficult to meditate with so many running to and fro outside my quarters. Now then, I have spent centuries studying how to take aliens apart, this is a simple matter of applying that knowledge in reverse," he said casting his gaze about as he gathered some nearby medical implements. "Get those who are not too far gone into oxygen units, they'll revive in time with some further treatment. Put the rest in stasis. They likely have internal bleeding and other damage from partial vacuum exposure. If we hurry, we can maybe save a few and make this errand and Kaldalis's worry worth it."
Protoss Carrier, Light of Aiur, medical bay
Consciousness came rushing back, first came sound, and then a fleeting moment of blinding light as he tried to open his eyes, only to clamp them back shut. "Ah…" A voice, but it wasn't Bajoran or Cardassian. "This one is awake." It sounded so much deeper, a bit echoed even? Or flanged? He wasn't sure how to describe it. His entire body hurt, like he'd gone a round with an angry Nausicaan.
"Well, for once you're not totally worthless, Terosh." A second voice, this one sounded female, but it had some qualities of the first. The name was unfamiliar to. Klingon? No, it didn't quite match, and the voice wasn't guttural enough.
Little by little, Ciselb Foyath forced his eyes to open, no matter how much the glaring light hurt. He recoiled when he saw the beings in the room with him, these gray-skinned, mouthless things with glowing eyes taller than any being he had met. Panic gripped him, and the one with green eyes raised a hand.
"Be at peace, friend. No harm will come to you here," its female voice said. It was a telepath? Were they all such? Where even was he, and what of the others for that matter? He cast about in fear, taking in the other survivors in the room; seemingly in some sort of, what he was fervently praying in his mind, was a medical facility and not a lab.
"W-who are you? What do you want?" Sweat began to stream down his brow, his pains forgotten in his panic. The one with red and black armor and baleful red eyes let out a sound akin to an annoyed groan.
"And like the Terrans, they're as prone to fits of panic. Lovely," the thing groused, earning it a glare from the green-eyed one.
"Mind your manners, Tal'darim. I doubt you would be fairing any better in his place, no matter what your ego may say!"
"Enough!" This time from a blue-eyed one in gilded looking armor. "As Rersa promised, no harm shall come to you here. I am Kaldalis, executor of the Light of Aiur. These are Rersa and Terosh." The green eyed one, Rersa, bowed her head respectively. Terosh simply crossed his arms and glared slightly.
"You can thank me for saving the lives of you and yours later, alien. You are lucky that Kaldalis is a soft sort beneath the armor and scars." Ciselb gulped down the bile he felt rising. This was surreal and horrible in equal measure. Or was it perhaps the providence of the Prophets in an unknown form? He wasn't sure, even as he struggled to find his voice.
"I am…I am Ciselb Foyath, captain of the Kelmton. You…you have my thanks for rescuing us, strangers. I had not expected rescue, to be truthful. Our jump was errant and desperate, especially once the Cardassians damaged our engines."
"We detected your distress call," the blue-eyed one, Kaldalis, spoke with a heavy tone. "On our honor, we could not ignore it. I am…sorry we could not save more of you. Many had died of oxygen deprivation when we had arrived. In total, we saved forty-nine of your people, from an initial sixty-six. I am sorry, but for some their wounds were too severe, and we were not equipped to heal Terran-like physiology. Another twenty are in stasis, until we can get them somewhere more readily able to treat their wounds."
Cisleb felt himself reeling. Only forty-nine survivors total, himself included, out of hundreds who had made it onto his ship? That was so few; this wasn't supposed to have happened. The Cardassians should have been paid off, their patrols bribed to look the other way. The reality of his situation and the strangeness of what was before him clashed violently, it made so little sense.
"Do not die of shock now," Terosh groused. "I had to clone you a new heart. Your old one was partially ruptured from mild vacuum exposure owing to your blood boiling and expanding in your veins. It would be a poor end to a long day's work." This did little for Cisleb's state of mind, that this alien, this Terosh, had been poking around inside his body. Perhaps he did owe the alien his life, but in the moment that just led to new fears forming.
"If it is of any consolation," Rersa began, "we will do whatever we can to help you and the others. We have not met your race before, but I a certain the Terrans may be inclined to help if possible. They will likely be better equipped for that matter. We Protoss do not quite share the same needs as you and they. Still it is strange you possess so many notable similarities to them."
"The Terrans?" That was a confusing moniker; he thought humans hated being called that. "I am…fairly sure that the humans of the Federation do not much like being referred to as such. Not like it matters. We don't seem much of them, the arrogant bastards…" The three looked between each other. He didn't have to be a telepath to pick up confusion, even among their alien features.
"Hm…could he be referring to their UED? No, that's unlikely," Terosh dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "From what I know, they're as arrogant as Alarak, and half as brutal at least. More likely the Terran homeworld would have just exterminated this one's race."
"It could be another group entirely then, a splinter branch perhaps?" Rersa shrugged. "This is all idle speculation. We have no real information to act upon."
"How do you know about humans but not the Federation? And just…what are you people?" Cisleb blurted, and only realized it was potentially a mistake when they all turned towards him again. They then shared a look that he couldn't quite parse for a moment.
"We are the Protoss," Rersa again. "We are the children of the world known as Aiur, our history long, full of peaks and falls, heroes and monsters. Although, I am sure your people are much the same in that regard."
"I believe we may have much to tell each other," the blue-eyed one again. "Terosh, is he fit to bring to the bridge?"
"Yes, yes. What do you take me for? I'm not a butcher, Kaldalis. When I say I will save someone's life, I either get it done or they die despite my best efforts. I do not do things in halves. Your guest is more than capable of walking under their own power, assuming their small minded perception of reality can survive whatever it is you intend to share with them." Cisleb, hearing all of this, was wondering just how he'd so offended the Prophets as to end up in this situation.
Protoss Carrier, Light of Aiur, bridge
Looking at one of the giant screens, Cisleb was, in a word, completely overwhelmed and not sure how by the Prophets he was going to process anything he had learned thus far. Strange aliens that were a race of telepaths with technology that may have eclipsed even the Federation was one thing. But the rest of it? The madness of this Koprulu sector? Terrans, humans more militarized than he thought possible, these Protoss and their apparent magic (because what else could it be when it seemed to violate basic scientific principles?) or these monstrous looking creatures called Zerg? This was insanity, pure and simple. Perhaps he was simply dead and this was just an elaborate punishment, that would make more logical sense.
"I realize this is overwhelming," Rersa, the Nerazim, that's what she was called. She had been the one explaining all of this, her demonstrations were…colorful. "But this is the truth and nothing else. Condensed it may be, but better you learn it from me like this. These two are as apt at talking to non-Protoss as the average phase smith is with any form of social interaction."
If that meant phase smiths were their form of engineers, that made some degree of sense. To Cisleb as a ship captain, there seemed to be two types of engineers overall: Those that could stare down a charging Naussican and only spoke when needed, and those that couldn't shut up even if you understood not a single word. It was almost comforting in how familiar the notion was. Of course, he could not ignore Kaldalis lolling his head or Terosh glaring due to her remark.
"I…I can perhaps appreciate the sentiment," the three looked to him, "but why? I am just a captain of a refugee ship. Why tell me all of this?"
"It is simple," Rersa terminated the data on the screen. "You are the first we know of to have come from outside what the Terrans know as Koprulu without ill intent. More than that…neither our people, the Terrans, nor even the majority of the Zerg today want to be perceived as monsters or conquerors to be. We are all tired of war. We do not wish twenty years of peace to come crashing down now, not after all we have sacrificed. If what shifts the balance is the words of a desperate captain, then so be it. The universe is strange that way, that countless lives can hinge on the actions of one soul."
He swallowed hard. By the Prophets, he was not equipped for something like this. The Bajoran people had never been experts at first contact, and he was just the captain, or rather former captain, of a refugee transport ship. This was not a path he was prepared to walk, he knew that in his core. What could he say to aliens that at once seemed so powerful and yet at Rersa's words, looked so tired? Even Terosh, for all his arrogance and snide comments, seemed to be somewhat deflated.
"I…I do not think that…" he swallowed hard again, "I do not think I can be of much help. My own people are now little more than slaves and refugees to the Cardassians. If they find you, there will be war. It is simple as that. They came to us in friendship, and in our foolishness, we did not see them taking over bit by bit until it was too late. Now…" he shook his head. "You are looking at one of the few Bajorans that can claim to be free, for how little that counts for anything."
Terosh snorted, "Typical. Their failures are never their own fault. It is the place of the conquered to serve their conquerors. Do not let your heart bleed for this one, Kaldalis. It is the most basic logic of the universe, blade against blade until one stands supreme." Foyath's face grew red; he felt hot, anger washing over him like a tide.
"Say that with your children used as slaves, starving in Cardassian mines and factories, being killed when they can no longer work, or…worse…so much worse! Say that to my face, to any Bajoran, when you have seen one of your children victimized by a Cardassian to satiate his barbaric wants!" Silence fell at his outburst. Even the consoles of the bridge seemed to have been silenced, many pairs of eyes upon him. One of Kaldalis's hands balled into a fist.
"I see…" Terosh's tone was different; Foyath could literally feel the shift. Gone was the acidic condescension from moments before. "Kaldalis, perhaps I was too hasty in my judgement. Perhaps these Cardassians are lower lifeforms than I first thought. May I recommend we find a world of theirs and that we burn it as an example to the rest?"
"So the Tal'darim does have a sense of morality, twisted as it is" Rersa spat, even as she laid a comforting hand on Kaldalis's shoulder. Terosh scoffed again, but to Foyath there seemed to be genuine pain beneath his words. Although he blanched at the fact the Protoss had so casually suggested burning a world to ash.
"Of course we do, Nerazim. We may tell our children many pretty little lies about the universe, lies about fairness and honor, lies we tell them until they are ready to face reality as it truly it is. But until that time comes, they are still children. There…there are lines one does not cross, not even in pursuit of Rakshir. Kill the warriors and take the rest of the grown ones as slaves, but to use children as slaves or worse? That is barbarism, simple as that."
"I-I apologize, that was not my place," Cisleb sputtered, "my people have suffered for decades like this, we are used to being the vagrants of the galaxy. But to have insulted your own on your bridge-" Kaldalis held up a hand.
"It is of no concern. Your anger is warranted," his own voice was heavy with anger. "I am the executor of this ship and the fleet that escorts it. Tell me where it is you fled from and-" Rersa gently squeezed his shoulder.
"No," her tone was soft, but also firm. "You know we cannot do that, Kaldalis. We are in no position for a drawn out war. Our people still need time to heal, we are still rebuilding so much. What would liberating a single world of slaves get us beyond a new enemy and countless more souls we cannot care for? If we are to help these people, a desire I feel as strongly as you, it must be a task carried out with clarity of purpose and mind both. A new war is not what we need, it is not what Koprulu needs. Perhaps it is inevitable if we now border the territory of slavers, but to rush into it blind will spell disaster. Your honor will not return by carelessly spending lives, Protoss or no, in a misguided endeavor of justice."
Cisleb found himself nodding, agreeing with her every word, even Terosh looked admonished. Yet here he stood before the three of them, and he felt lighter for it somehow. Here these aliens, who by any right should have ignored his very existence, were more than acknowledging the plight of his people. For whatever their reasons, they wanted to help, despite what their own plights may have been. That was more than he had expected from strangers in all his years of life. Had this been a test by the Prophets? Perhaps their providence in an unknown form?
Kaldalis turned to his helmsman. "Set course for Korhal. I will contact the Hierarch."
Unknown planet LV-5728, Tzenkethi Command Center
1130 Local Time
"I meant exactly as I said, human. I am Sub-Commander Narkath Pask, commander of the colonial garrison of this world. I demand to know the reason as to why one of your fighter formations acted to defend a group of Tzenkethi transports. Clearly, you are not of the Federation, but that does not explain your motivations, or those of the other humans on this world," Pask kept his eyes narrowed upon the hologram of the human commander, even as they arched an eyebrow in an attempt to hide whatever confusion they may have been feeling.
"You'll have to forgive me," the human's eyeridge arched. Their accent was odd, much like their strangely ornate outfit. "I was hardly expecting to receive a request for communication after you rebuffed our prior attempts. How are we even communicating for that matter? Terrans have never encountered your species before. Your language is a complete mystery to us."
Pask had to fight to roll his eyes, it was almost like these humans had never heard of the universal translator. Even though Tzenkethi models were somewhat inferior to their counterparts from larger powers, it was doing a fine enough job. The human was comprehensible at least.
"It does not matter over much, does it? I wish to talk, it is the path I have set myself upon, and so we talk." The human gave him a smirk.
"And how do I know you're not somehow reading my brain through the hologram system? Still, if you want to talk I won't begrudge your request. Answer my questions, and maybe I'll answer yours. Deal?"
Pask almost rolled his eyes; it would have been an absurd notion in any other context. He felt his teeth grinding involuntarily. 'What have you faced, human, that such an assumption was your innate response?' All the same, Pask nodded. "Very well. I assent to your request."
What followed was…banal, enough so that it annoyed Pask, but he refused to let that show. It was unbecoming of a Tzenkethi commander of any sort to show such, even when dealing with another species. It was almost word for word a set of standard first contact questions, not that the human seemed to be an expert in such matters. It was professional, if bumbling.
When asked if the Tzenkethi had any intention of threatening the so-called Terran nations, he gave as honest an answer as he could. "That is not mine to know. That is a matter left to the Autarch. If he orders us to war, we will follow for as long as he is deemed fit to lead. Should it come to that," he shrugged, "perhaps your people will be a better challenge than the Federation and its mercurial, pathless excuses for soldiers." The human simply nodded in response, accepting the statement of fact for what it was. There was no anger, no begging, no feeble appeal to diplomacy.
"You're welcome to try," the man smiled ever so slightly, "Just be aware, no insurance policy covers the Raiders, and we're not liable for damages." Pask almost felt himself wanting to smile in return. The human was, if nothing else, confident that his people would hold their own. Good.
That already spoke better of them in his eyes than the Federation or the Cardassians both. The former was so mercurial and casually superior it was any wonder his own people viewed them as prime targets for raids. The Cardassians were annoyances. Their domain was larger, but their politics and inherent dishonesty in all things made them lesser in the eyes of any true Tzenkethi. A knife in the back was one thing, even expected among the higher echelons of Tzenkethi politics, but one did not make allusions to friendship and camaraderie before sliding in the blade. That was not their way.
At least among the Tzenkethi, when their people came to blows, they openly declared it and set out on their path to destroy the opposition. There was a raw and brutal honesty to such things. To Pask, it had always been a matter of showing one's true self. If one could not show their true face and allegiances before their peers, especially on the field of battle, then their integrity would always be suspect. Playing games of knives and words was for other species, ordinarily at least. Already he was unsure of these Terrans. There had been no bandying of hollow or subversive words, no false proclamations of a yearning for friendship. They had exchanged fire, neither side had found the other wanting, and now they were exchanging words. It was…new. Exhilarating.
"I have answered your questions, human, now answer mine. Where is the pilot who led the defense of the transports? I wish to speak with them." Pask let out a sibilant sound, one usually meant to show some amount of professional respect for the other party. Whether or not the human knew that didn't matter, it was no excuse for poor etiquette.
"I am afraid that is impossible," was the response, and Pask's eyes narrowed. Was the human reneging on their agreement? Had this all been a meeting of hollow words? He felt his anger rise, and restrained it. It was to be expected. Or perhaps the human was still simply ignorant.
"Perhaps you do not understand, I wish to speak with the pilot so I may know why they protected the transports. I upheld my end of the bargain. I wish to know why a species as mercurial as your own, one that abandons paths with no heed for consequences, would produce one who selflessly lead a sortie to protect those not of his own kind. That is why I want to speak with them!" Pask ground through his teeth.
He'd heard stories of Federation officers conducting great acts of bravery, despite their flaws, but he had never fully believed them. To the Tzenkethi, the paths of their lives were everything, be it those assigned by a superior or one set upon by the choice of the individual. To set upon it was to give a solemn word that the deed would be done. Selflessness was not rare among his people perhaps, but in such an ordered society as their own, it was executed with great discretion. The pilot had not acted as such, he had simply acted, and his squadron followed.
A sigh from the human drew his attention back to the meeting, and the man held his gaze sternly. "I cannot assent to your request, as Lieutenant Larson, at his own discretion, led the sortie against the Kel-Morian pirates that were making an attack run on your transports. Following this, he informed his direct superiors of his decision, and made a call for reinforcements." The man paused, and he regarded Pask coldly. To his credit, he held the human's gaze, but even a child could tell an insult had been inadvertently given.
"Following a prolonged aerial battle, pilot Larson's Viking was shot down after sustaining heavy damage following his destruction of a presumed enemy ace. From there, ground combat teams managed to recover him and administer field aid. However, even the pilots of our medical transports and their tools have their limits. He is currently in a coma, having suffered third degree burns over the majority of his body, along with multiple fourth degree burns. The doctors are unsure if he will recover due to the severity of the damage."
Author's Note:
So yeah, I'm back. I apologize this chapter took several months. Back to back events consistently kept me from writing or sapped my motivation to write, on top of just generally worrying about the quality of the chapter and wondering if I was writing myself into a corner. Thankfully, I don't believe that to be the case. Still, I don't think I could have been more exasperated when I realized I'd been sitting at damn near the end of the chapter for a prolonged period of time. Writing the Tzenkethi part was the most difficult, and that's chiefly because I think getting the Tzenkethi "right" is a bit difficult given I'm using their STO interpretation as a base, if only because I find it a bit more interesting than the novel-verse culture they have, which basically just seemed to be "Romulans, but better at their jobs." To me at least.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and again I apologize for the wait and hope it was all worth it. As always, feedback and critique is more than welcome, especially since I've been out of the game for a bit here.
Special thanks to knolden , Myuu , Follower38 , Kisame12794 , TripleMRed and Kosjurake for beta reading and catching and helping to improve what they could. Oh, and credit to Knolden for finding the art below to help illustrate the general idea for the armor Kershaw and his friend came up with.