Chapter 16

Christmas had descended upon Berengaria VII but a dark cloud hung over the starbase's senior staff.

The mood had been low since the death of the giant Draco a few days earlier, along with the collapse of the underground caverns. Captain Thorpe seemed to be unfairly blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong while Supervisor Grum had vocally and repeatedly lamented the time he and his people had spent surveying the polar region, all to no avail. Guardsman Threv had spent a few days in the Infirmary recovering from a courageous - or foolish, although they were often one and the same thing - attempt to take on the Draco himself.

A silent tension also remained between Colonel Kostopoulos and Lieutenant Commander McQueen regarding festivities in the seasonally designated recreation room. Even Lieutenant Sylor had seemed more sombre than stoic lately, presumably over the loss of the ruins.

All in all, it had been an eerily quiet, gloomy Christmas Day, despite Ambassador Mamao'lani's best efforts to raise some cheer. He felt the loss of the Draco as sorely as anyone, but life must go on.

Now he sat across from North's desk at the end of the long afternoon while the grim-faced commodore recounted recent events.

"It could be years before the caverns are fully excavated and made safe," he said, staring out the window at the setting suns over the mountain range, which turned the sky a deep red. "And, even then, the damage will be extensive. It's unlikely that much survived."

"Good thing your science team took plenty of recordings," Mamao'lani said with a weak smile. "And there could be other ruins left behind elsewhere on the planet. We've solved some of the mystery surrounding Berengaria's ancient visitors, at least. 'We of the Icon...'" He spoke the name of the enigmatic visitors ominously.

"It's only led to further questions," said North. He sighed. "And it's come at a terrible cost."

"I… I informed Caeldon about… what happened. She says that she and her clan will mourn this 'Whitescale' as an unknown brother, but that she understands his fate was unavoidable."

"Was it?" North leaned back in his chair but did not turn around. "Sometimes I wonder if the Draco wouldn't be better off if we had just left their world as soon as we discovered them. Maybe we need more… clearly defined guidelines on cultural interference."

Mamao'lani felt pained to hear these words. "Oh, Commodore, you can't mean that. The Redscales certainly don't feel that way. We've enriched their lives. There was nothing we could have done for the white Draco; he was suffering long before we came across him."

"We could have healed him. Helped him integrate with the rest of his species. Made his last days more tolerable, at least."

Mamao'lani now stood and made his way around the desk, placing a hand on North's shoulder.

"There was nothing you could have done, Commodore."

North now looked up at him. "I know, Ambassador, but… I'll always carry it with me."

Mamao'lani gave him a knowing look. He, too, knew the weight of such a burden, and that there was nothing that could alleviate it.

Both men stared at each other for a while.

"Well…" Mamao'lani said at length. "We'd better get ourselves to the senior staff dinner. Don't want to be late or people might talk." He forced a smile.

North's expression remained dour but he rose. "The show must go on," he said. "Better put on a brave face for the public, eh?"

As they headed for the door, North chuckled bitterly.

"No sense in Starbase One's first Christmas being miserable for everyone."

Mamao'lani wished that North had spoken this sentiment with more sincerity, but he couldn't help feeling that it would not have changed the base's mood either way.


Grum wandered into the establishment called 'Sal's Diner' according to the irritatingly bright sign outside. He found the interior even more obnoxiously illuminated.

The restaurant was almost empty, only a few scattered aliens, and, curiously, no Humans.

He made his way over to the counter, where a Draylaxian woman was stirring something in a jug with considerable effort.

She was tall, with leonine features, bronze skin, and a mane of shaggy, golden hair. While meaty by most humanoid standards - including in the area for which the females of her species were famed - she was still too lean for Grum's tastes. A small plaque attached to her blouse identified her as the namesake of the establishment, in Terran script.

She smiled at him as he sat at the counter, ceasing her energetic stirring. "Evening! What can I get ya? Actually, on second thoughts; maybe you've had enough to eat." He pointed to his round stomach.

Now this is a woman who knows how to talk to a Tellarite, Grum thought. Perhaps there was some appeal to her after all.

"I only came in here because all the bars seem to be shut," he informed her haughtily. "I need somewhere to drown my sorrows."

"Most of the businesses are closed for Christmas, genius," said Sal. "It's a Human holiday and it's today."

"Bah! That's no excuse! Anyway, enough chatter. Get me something to drink."

Sal chuckled and shook her head. "No booze here, I'm afraid. I only stayed open to capitalise on the lack of options for culturally ignorant folks like you. But here…"

She picked up a mug and poured some of the concoction she'd been stirring into it, setting the mug down in front of him.

Grum peered inside. It was a steaming, thick, white substance.

"What is it?" he asked her. He picked up the mug and swirled it around. Its contents barely moved. "It looks revolting."

"It's a traditional Earth drink at Christmastime, apparently," she said. "It's called 'eggnog.'"

He snorted. "It even sounds revolting." He took a cautious sniff. "Smells… not bad actually. Sweet."

"Only one sensory test left," said Sal. "Unless you wanna stick your fingers in there too."

Grum ignored her but took a small sip. He immediately screwed his face up in disgust at the clumpy, ovoid taste.

"It tastes even worse!" he declared.

Sal chuckled. "Want something else?"

"No. Its effect is close enough to alcohol for my purposes." He took another swig and winced.

Sal watched him with a smirk, then leaned on the counter. "So, what's got you drowning your sorrows? Catch yourself in a mirror?"

Grum was growing to like this Draylaxian.

"Just weeks of my work being wasted," he answered her. "I came to this accursed planet months ago to help the Humans with their fusion reactors and mining efforts. And what do I have to show for my generosity? Nothing but torment!" He knocked back more nog. "I can't go squealing back to my homeworld with such failures."

"Well, sometimes the night is darkest before the dawn. And, from what I've heard, Christmas is supposed to be a time of miracles, so you never know."

Grum scoffed and finished off his mug, sliding it back to Sal empty. "More."

Sal started to pour out more eggnog for him. "Speaking of your home though, I hear the leaders of each of the Coalition races are giving speeches today, and soon." She nodded towards the large wall monitor currently displaying menu items. "I can put on the Tellarite High Councillor's speech, if you want to watch?"

"Go on then," said Grum. "I could use a laugh."


"I don't believe it!" said Chalmos, consulting a padd. "My old professor at the Andorian Science Institute wants to share my analysis of the ancient writing with colleagues at the Vulcan Science Academy and the American Continent Institute on Earth!"

Azhri laughed in joy, clapping.

"That's awesome, Chalmos," said Sherene, punching his arm playfully. "Remember; I get an exclusive interview."

Chalmos beamed at her, his antennae pointing outwards in elation. "Sure thing, sh'za."

Threv was now back in his quarters after Dr. T'Ling had ordered him to spend a few weeks off-duty recovering from his fall - after which she had made him promise to attend one of their therapy sessions to discuss his ordeal.

So he'd have to endure much more of his bondmates' unearned praise, after Chalmos had told Sherene and Azhri of his 'heroics' at the pole. Once again, he had been hoping to cover his scars of cowardice with his death.

This time though, when Chalmos had cradled his broken body in the snow afterwards, Threv had felt a small glimmer of relief that he had survived, and despair when he thought that Chalmos would die with him.

Was this an improvement? He did not know, but maybe that therapy session would be useful after all.

It still gnawed at him to be idolised, as did Azhri's disappointed looks whenever he made excuses to avoid talking about his experience, and every day that he kept his secrets, the gnawing increased.

He joined in with congratulating Threv though. At least one member of their bondgroup had earned their achievements.

"Oh!" said Azhri, noticing the wall chronometer. "The Chancellor's speech will be on soon. Everybody, get on the couch."

Threv lifted himself from the dining table with some effort, his arm still in an osteopathic sling to heal a dislocated shoulder, and joined his three partners on the couch across from the main monitor.

"Wonder what it's all about?" said Azhri.

"Ah, probably just some exaggerated political nonsense," said Sherene.

Knowing my luck, thought Threv, it could only be bad news.