Star Trek: Sigils and Unions--The Thirteenth Order

[Mistral]

A well-handled argument with a logical development of the commanding figures to boot. And thank you for the plug (blushes), I almost pulled the whole bit about the runaway UT situation. I was actually staring at it as I prepared to post that sequence, trying to decide if the usually kind but steely-eyed critics around here would shred me for it. Glad you think it worked-and I think your take on the UT is sensible, at least for the purposes of story-telling. It has a sort of elegance Mr. Spock would admire.

[Nerys Ghemor]

DavidFalkayn wrote:

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Nice. This will not be easy--what we saw here was just a lover's spat in comparison to what will probably lay ahead--you do not bury years of anger, bitterness, and hate overnight. My enemy's enemy' is my enemy's enemy--nothing more...nothing less.

It's definitely going to be interesting. I think we're going to have to see what effect the subsequent chain of events has on perspectives amongst the entire group.

Mistral wrote:

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A well-handled argument with a logical development of the commanding figures to boot. And thank you for the plug (blushes), I almost pulled the whole bit about the runaway UT situation. I was actually staring at it as I prepared to post that sequence, trying to decide if the usually kind but steely-eyed critics around here would shred me for it. Glad you think it worked-and I think your take on the UT is sensible, at least for the purposes of story-telling. It has a sort of elegance Mr. Spock would admire.

"To boot"...what an apt expression considering what Mike was doing at the time!

I'm glad to know their reactions came off as credible.

And you're welcome--you deserved it. There's no reason there can't be multiple UT theories, all well-crafted.

In the Sigils and Unions universe, there's probably also an age one has to reach before being allowed to get a UT implant in order to ensure that you are well set in your native language first. I'm not yet sure what that age is (could go all the way from 13 to 18, depending on what the science behind language acquisition is), but I kind of think there is one.

In this case, though, it means that as soon as Spirodopoulos actually started making an effort to learn any Cardăsda, the UT is now aiding him in that endeavor; he's almost bound to pick it up now. It's going to be interesting to watch that happen.

[Nerys Ghemor]

Allllll righty, guys--long section alert! Expect two weeks or so until the next one.

========

“I cannot believe you held out on us like this,” Glinn Va’Kust glowered as he loomed from not even a meter away over the senior Lessek shipyard officer present at the resistance camp. “Ten entire cases of Hăzăkda kănar—and you don’t bother to bring it out until we have to share it with four times the people at a go! Unbelievable, Riyăk Iymender.”

Poor Iymender practically wilted under Va’Kust’s scrutiny. “But…but Glinn,” he stammered, “I didn’t have a chance at convincing the requisitions computer to release the stuff until we got four Gălor-class warships parked in orbit to help me cover my tracks…”

“I know, I know…I just couldn’t help myself!” Va’Kust clapped Iymender on the back and grinned wickedly. The lanky young Cardassian let out an awkward chortle of relief—or was that half the wind being knocked out of his lungs? “You did good work securing it for us at all. Let’s hope you prove as deft at overriding base defenses as you did at sweet-talking the requisitions computer.”

Iymender promptly snapped to. “You have my best, Glinn.”

Spirodopoulos shook his head at the scene and Macet, who had approached the Starfleet officer unannounced, voiced the human’s thoughts in a most disconcerting manner. “Familiar, isn’t it?”

“It is, Gul.” That scene, but for a twist of fate, could easily have played out aboard the Petraeus whenever Chief Aaberg managed to finagle one of famous Romulan ale shipments from God only knew where and someone caught wind of it before Aaberg managed to stash away the best for himself.

The base mess hall itself had transformed though the décor had not…for a base it now was, no longer a prison. Cardassians who until now had stood in the periphery with rifles slung over their shoulders to ward off an uprising now mixed in cautious groups of two or three with the men and women they had once called prisoners—soldiers who thanks to the armor…and sidearms now…for the most part mirrored them in all but planet of origin. And none of those weapons have managed to work their ways out of their holsters...yet, thanks be to God.

The obsidian- and charcoal-feathered Aurelian Ngaer, who wore only a wristcomm and a silver baldric improvised from a gun belt, threw back her head and released a cawing cackle at something Prashek had said. The young Cardassian’s gestures sketched out a roaring fireball and Ensign Rashad shook a mocking index finger in their direction.

Spirodopoulos glanced at the work rotation that still hung on the wall and noted that DeMarcus Rashad had been part of the same oft-maligned KP squad as Prashek and Ngaer. Funny how bearing the displeasure of the entire base made a team out of them, he thought. Mike considered his own experiences. His name had never made it to the top of the kitchen rotation, but on his unfortunate encounter with latrine duty, he had been utterly flummoxed by the appearance of Glinn Va’Kust himself.

Once they had reached their position outside the camp gates Va’Kust had shoveled out a disposal hole of his own, tossing Spirodopoulos a number of anecdotes in the process about his home in the Nevot region of Cardassia Prime. Va’Kust came from a family of farmers, which Spirodopoulos would have expected to indicate low socioeconomic status, but quite the reverse—ever since the devastating climate shift that had destroyed so much of the world’s agricultural capacity centuries ago, the owners of what precious arable farmland remained were quite well off indeed. Va’Kust, however, seemed to value his ability to coax life from Cardassia’s thin soil more than he did his family’s wealth.

Spirodopoulos had pointedly ignored Va’Kust’s reminisces during that backbreaking outing, but now, in light of the newborn alliance, they resurfaced and brought with them a sense of familiarity, even if not quite good will yet, towards the man. “It wasn’t an accident,” Spirodopoulos concluded, “the way Va’Kust placed his own people in the rotation with the same teams every time. That’s the outcome he had in mind,” he said with a nod towards Ngaer, Rashad, and Prashek.

“Va’Kust did quite well at converting potential disaster into opportunity,” Macet acknowledged. “He is an adept student of social dynamics and I should think Rebek is as pleased with him as I am. We ought to turn to strategy tomorrow—but my fellow commanders and I believe tonight is not the time to touch such matters.”

Spirodopoulos nodded. “Agreed. They need a night to let it all sink in,” he said, subconsciously gesturing to his own chest…how strange this layered Cardassian regalia still felt! Probably a lot more than one, but something tells me we haven’t got that kind of time.

“Come with me,” Macet said, gesturing towards the center table that since the establishment of the base had traditionally been claimed by the ranking Starfleet officer—starting with Ensign Wilkes and eventually falling to the lieutenant commander from the Petraeus. “The senior officers are gathering and we’d best be sure there are seats enough for some of your people as well.”

After Spirodopoulos named a group of officers and the ranking NCO, Senior Chief Alexandru Librescu of the Shran, to join the senior Cardassians, he said, “One question before we sit.” His eyes roamed back and forth and he leaned closer to the tall Cardassian.

Macet replied with similar discretion and they drifted back to the periphery of the hall. “Go ahead.”

“The other guls…I couldn’t exactly tell how well this sits with them. The oldest one especially,” he said, referencing the man’s age with far less circumspection than he might have with humans or some other species. To Cardassians, one’s years were a badge of honor to be worn with the pride of a legate’s sigil and to single out a man by maturity was a mark of respect—one Spirodopoulos especially desired as he called attention to Gul Speros’ less-than-amicable demeanor.

Macet gave a closemouthed chortle. “Gul Speros…yes, there is much to be said about the man. I had the privilege of serving as executive officer on the Ghiletz before I made gul. His experience is a thing of legend as is the discipline of his crew—but so too is his rather…shall we say, frank manner, which all, including Speros himself, agree has barred him from ever taking the legate’s sigil that skills and age should have afforded him.

“Of course, I mustn’t leave you with the impression that there’s nothing to him but an old curmudgeon. To have the privilege of calling upon his expertise in this matter, to have him respond, however recalcitrantly it may seem at times, to one of my own proposals…it is a great honor. To Speros the glinns who serve under him are very much protégés. It is said of him that he creates guls much as a carver brings grace to a rough old bone…in fact, he has even made a legate or two. His whittling blade is sharp, though. Under Speros’ command I was tried in ways I could never have imagined on any other vessel upon which I had served prior to then, and I learned much about how to lead. For that I owe him. Still…though I will never breathe a word of it to him,” Macet wryly added, “I also learned much from him about how I did not want to command.”

“I know the type,” Spirodopoulos remarked as he recalled a certain tactical officer under whom he had served on the Petraeus before promotion had removed him from the scene—thankfully before he’d reached his breaking point with the woman.

“Some things are universals,” Macet observed with a lengthened gaze. “Now from the others, you have less to be concerned about. They are of another generation…one that has had less time in their lives, proportionally speaking, to know a Cardassia that was not a servant of its own folly. For some like them, it lends them a certain elasticity of mind, the sort that that is essential to our success—”

“Attention!” Glinn Va’Kust boomed like a tuba in a Munich beer-hall, adopting a bench as his platform much as Spirodopoulos had that morning. Not that he actually needs it! The base commander’s dark eyes flitted to the side for a moment. “I don’t know yet what to call this combined force, but I speak to everyone gathered here.” Macet and Spirodopoulos quickly wound side-by-side through the leftmost of the two main aisles and found seats reserved for them on the other side of the table opposite Va’Kust, Rebek, and the two senior officers from the Sherouk.

They just barely managed to sit before Va’Kust continued. “There’s a tradition in the Cardassian Guard for graduates of initiatory training when they receive their first armor—one that Riyăk Iymender and I have gone to great lengths to ensure on short notice can be properly carried out tonight.” The glinn swept his arm at the kitchen as six of the younger Cardassians emerged from the kitchen with a collection of what reminded Spirodopoulos of whiskey glasses each full to the brim with a blue substance not unlike Aaberg’s Romulan ale…but noticeably slow to slosh about in the glass. Spirodopoulos reflected upon that exchange between Iymender and Va’Kust with a mental groan: Uh-oh…he really meant it.

At the end of the table behind Spirodopoulos, the quadrupedal Mathenite Petty Officer Te-Mae-Do loudly whispered, “Why is it blue?” Her kănar had arrived in a stew dish, the closest the Cardassians could approximate the vessel from which her people usually drank.

Her shipmate, Mehmet Burakgazi, a human colonist native to the planet of Nivoch near the Cardassian border, whispered, “Call it ‘pale ale’ back home, we do. Comes from a different plant than the brown stuff, but it’s still kănar. Believe you me, this is the good stuff.” Burakgazi’s speech bore a distinctive form of border-colony syntax—the oddly common verb-first construction an influence most of them would rather die than acknowledge as Cardăsda in origin.

“I have made a command decision,” Va’Kust announced over the crewmen’s chatter, “that we’ll go easy on you given the unfamiliarity of most of you with kănar—and, I am not ashamed to admit, a strong desire to preserve as much as possible of our limited supply for those of us who are used to it.” Hushed laughter worked its way through the room. “Only one glass…but according to the tradition, we ask that all of you whose races are physically capable of consuming kănar drink to this occasion. ‘Serhokt’oçekse sot’oçeks bizad oste ghengu’ulouç nou,’” Va’Kust declared, and for that syntactic nightmare Spirodopoulos was grateful for his subcutaneous translator: ‘Let the unit that shares a drink together band together.’

“We’ll begin the toast as soon as everyone is ready. Cardassian tradition is that the commanding officers lead with the toast and in finishing the first drink.”

Va’Kust leaped down from the bench with more finesse than one might have expected from an individual of his size. “Needless to say,” he quietly explained to Spirodopoulos, “the junior crew have no wish to wait for their kănar, so expect them to make you very aware of every second you take!” At that moment, Ador arrived with a tray and began to pass the glasses down the line. The Cardassians thanked him with grateful smiles, most of the Federation soldiers with the polite nod he recognized from a cultural exchange dinner with the Klingons during his Academy days.

Then Spirodopoulos noticed something—it looked as though Ador had miscounted. His row was short one glass. Va’Kust’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he reached under the table and pulled out another glass, this one twice the height of everyone else’s, albeit slightly thinner. It had yet to be filled. The glinn reached across the table towards Ensign Folani, who sat two down from Spirodopoulos’ on the right. “Since you arrived out of uniform,” he deadpanned as he proffered the glass with a flourish, “this one is yours, to make up for it.”

Oh, Lord, Va’Kust…! Spirodopoulos held his breath. Clearly the Romac XO intended it to be humorous, but he was taking one hell of a risk considering the incident for which he’d been present just that morning. Come on, Jederia—remember what I said, read the situation, take it in stride…! Folani glowered at first. Then she met Va’Kust’s eyes with a thin, predatory smile. “Think I won’t finish? This isn’t my first kănar. You’re on.”

The Greek officer let out a sigh of relief. Well, Va’Kust didn’t get his nose shoved into his sinus cavities…I guess that’s progress.

Va’Kust laughed heartily as he reached behind him with his right hand. On cue, Ador supplied a half-full bottle. “Maybe so,” he replied as he personally poured the Bajoran’s drink, “but…this will be sufficient.” He tipped the bottle up just as Folani’s glass reached the halfway mark. “After all,” he explained with a lopsided grin, “I trust yours won’t end up sprayed across the table the moment it touches your tongue.”

“It won’t.”

He nodded and moved back to his place next to Gul Rebek. The man had been walking a narrow tightrope, that was for sure, and thankfully he had let it drop at exactly the right moment. Hopefully Folani recognized it as Va’Kust’s way of showing his willingness to have her in their resistance, but he would have to continue to scrutinize their interactions to be sure.

[Nerys Ghemor]

Gul Speros stood then, and the other three guls immediately followed suit. Macet’s hand wrapped around Spirodopoulos’ upper arm, drawing him to his feet with them, a maneuver he felt through his outer sleeve all the way into the semi-rigid cuirass. For the first time since they had met, the oldest Cardassian spoke at length. “Officers and crew of the Cardassian Guard—our world might as well be dying in this Dominion chokehold. This is not Cardassia, but a sordid mockery of it. Only for this do we topple the pillar of order that has held up our society for so long: for the sake of setting it upright once more. Never forget that what we do, we do not for our glory, but for that of Cardassia.” He lifted his glass with a saluting gesture familiar to almost every bar where humanoids dominated. No one drank, however.

Macet added, “To everyone gathered here…extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures, and today we have indeed accomplished something worthy of the word. We conceived of this joining of forces as a matter of mere pragmatism—how to mount a substantial resistance force without endangering ourselves or any other personnel we diverted to the effort.

“But from the first moment I looked any of you in the eye,” he said, meeting Spirodopoulos’ gaze, Ensign Wilkes, and that of several other Federation crew members in turn, “I quickly recalled an old lesson from my early years on the Trager: the impossibility of attempting something like this without becoming personally invested—not just in the success of our operations, but in what it means for each of us as individuals and perhaps for the fates of Cardassia and the Federation after the last shots dissipate into the void. We have created something new tonight, a thirteenth Order, if you will, and though we will surely go our separate ways in the end, return to our own ships and units—this you will never forget. This is for more than the present crisis…this is for the galaxy in which our children and grandchildren will live.”

The gul of the Trager nodded to Spirodopoulos as the hall saluted his words. Mike had given his share of toasts at promotion parties within the security department, sure…but this was a whole different playing field. This was history—maybe not the sort the Federation News Service broadcast for the whole quadrant to see, but for each and every Starfleet and Cardassian Guard soldier present this night was the chapter header for an entirely new segment of their lives. What could he say that was equal to that?

The Greek officer swallowed. “Ladies and gentlemen…” Ouch! Welcome to the circus! his inner commentator sniped like a sportscaster over the slow-motion playback of a fumble. Too late—no reverse thrusters for this! “To the best of my knowledge, this is the first time Federation and Cardassian units have come together on this scale for a single cause and for every single one of us, it’s new territory. I’m sure all the Starfleet types in here have heard it until it ran out your ears—that our primary mission is exploration, and that it’s not just outer space we’re called on to explore. Every single graduation, every ship commissioning, every change of command…it gets really old after awhile.

“But you know what? This time, where I’m standing…I believe it. I haven’t forgotten the magnitude of the situation the Federation is in…my homeworld has been attacked, Starfleet’s out of the fight—and don’t forget, another people’s freedom is at stake. Now I haven’t forgotten where our governments stand towards each other and the risks we all take as a result of that. Our peoples have spent a long time slinging torpedoes at each other, and insults when the guns aren’t firing—but I am ready to stake everything on the belief that wherever the cause of liberty is advanced, that’s where we belong. To freedom!” he called, lifting his glass.

“To freedom!” thundered the Starfleet contingent, raising their glasses high.

Spirodopoulos’ next words emerged without a single thought—if there was any, it was so fleeting it barely registered on internal sensors.

“To the Thirteenth Order!”

“To the Thirteenth Order!” shouted the entire hall in unison.

Did I just say that?

The guls raised their glasses to their lips and a fraction of a second late, Spirodopoulos did the same. He threw back his head and sipped hard at the viscous blue liquid.

The Cardassians started to chant the seconds: “Çec—bret—dovay—kreth!”

His eyes bulged as taste buds made first contact with Cardassian liquor. Good God! He’d let the blue color lull him into complacency. He almost choked. Guinness meets maple syrup!

“Ghăt—thet—rhakam—ekou!”

Speros and Macet had already finished; the other two Cardassians weren’t far behind. Keep going—keep going—keep going! Spirodopoulos exhorted himself as hostilities between the drink’s bitter burn and viscosity erupted into outright war.

“Riloç—căz—”

Spirodopoulos triumphantly slammed an empty glass down onto the metal table. A wild roar of jubilation erupted as he braced himself with the palms of both hands on the table, fighting to catch his breath. The gul of the Sherouk…whose name he still hadn’t managed to catch, much to his embarrassment, smiled warmly and congratulated him with a genial, “Well done!”

“Thanks—I guess I didn’t do too badly for coming in dead last,” he said as he sat. Damn, that is one hell of an aftertaste! He longed for a glass of water, but none was in sight.

“I don’t just mean that,” the young gul countered from across the table. “Picking up on Macet’s ‘Thirteenth Order’ line—that was perfect.”

Spirodopoulos laughed awkwardly; the buzz was just now starting to hit him, and he wondered vaguely just how much of it actually had to do with the kănar. “Thank Macet,” he demurred. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more inept in my life.”

“You didn’t look it.” Spirodopoulos studied the Cardassian. Relative age was often difficult to determine between humanoid species with significant physical differences as humans and Cardassians, and he found himself wondering just how the man compared to his own forty years.

Glinn Yejain, the XO of the Sherouk, tapped his younger commander on the shoulder and leaned closer, proffering a bottle. “Some more, Gul?”

“Please…I’d appreciate it.” The glinn reached over and refilled the glass, then motioned towards the rest with a raised eye ridge. Speros and Macet lifted their glasses with a nod—Macet with a gracious smile, Speros with a faint hint of a sidelong sneer at the Sherouk officers. Yejain obligingly rose from his seat, giving no sign he had registered the senior gul’s expression.

Spirodopoulos watched as the gul of the Sherouk reached with a slow, deliberate motion for the refilled kănar glass and lifted it towards his lips. At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but the blue liquid betrayed some sort of tremor—subtle, but impossible for the observant eye to miss. And there was something about Yejain’s behavior…Spirodopoulos’ brow furrowed. Is the alcohol getting to him that fast? Not a good sign…

The other man began to fold his hands in his lap after he set down his glass—then changed his mind as he looked up and met Spirodopoulos’ eyes with a steady, appraising gaze. The former security officer observed not the slightest hint of the nystagmus he well recognized as a telltale of drunkenness, nor any other sign he knew from a dozen species of drunk-and-disorderly. No…whatever was happening, this young Cardassian was very much aware and in command of himself. “Commander Spirodopoulos…will you walk with me?”

========

Three end notes: this is your last chance to figure out who Tayben, gul of the Sherouk, is before I tell you. Remember, he's from a pre-relaunch DS9 novel.

And there's a song that kind of inspired how I wrote the toast scene, called "Firebreather" by Thrice. I really hope I nailed this kind of feeling!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8SXKrXu23E

And finally--a species design for the Mathenites, with Te-Mae-Do pictured here: http://trekbbs.com/showthread.php?t=71547

[Mistral]

That was damn fine work. The depth of your story is startling at times. I really got the feeling of a cooperative spirit without any hackneyed conventions being used. Very well done!

[TheLoneRedshirt]

I like how these chapters imbued a sense of optimism about this erstwhile alliance. Though there's still plenty of suspicion and outright animosity below the surface, there is also genuine hope that this rag-tag group of Starfleeters and rebel Cardassians might be able to fight side-by-side.

The drinking ceremony at the end was a nice touch - very well done!

[Nerys Ghemor]

Mistral wrote:

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That was damn fine work. The depth of your story is startling at times. I really got the feeling of a cooperative spirit without any hackneyed conventions being used. Very well done!

Thanks! That was something I was very worried about, actually--that this scene would come across as cliched. (And I think I put that self-consciousness right into Spirodopoulos. ) I'm very relieved to know that wasn't the case.

TheLoneRedshirt wrote:

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I like how these chapters imbued a sense of optimism about this erstwhile alliance. Though there's still plenty of suspicion and outright animosity below the surface, there is also genuine hope that this rag-tag group of Starfleeters and rebel Cardassians might be able to fight side-by-side.

The drinking ceremony at the end was a nice touch - very well done!

Glad you liked it! I thought that without some seminal moment like this, they wouldn't even get through their first trial intact, let alone the war. And THAT remains to be seen...

As it stands, I would say there are certain groups that get along with each other. Spirodopoulos is getting a pretty good rapport with at least some of the senior Cardassian officers (though Speros is definitely a problem), and there are certain groups of junior officers that get along with each other (like Prashek, Ngaer, and Rashad). But the entire unit still needs to be forged into a strong chain.

Of course, the four guls have their own issues to deal with, with each other. Notice that little silent tiff between the oldest and youngest guls...

[TimmyWl]

It's realistic and appealing.

Good stuff!

[DavidFalkayn]

Very well done--internal conflicts amongst the Cardassians to match the divisions amongst the Starfleet contingent. This is a most fragile coalition. Maybe they'll coalesce even more...maybe not...

As for who Tayben is...I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a pass as I'm not really up on my novels...

[Nerys Ghemor]

TimmyWl wrote:

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It's realistic and appealing.

Good stuff!

DavidFalkayn wrote:

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Very well done--internal conflicts amongst the Cardassians to match the divisions amongst the Starfleet contingent. This is a most fragile coalition. Maybe they'll coalesce even more...maybe not...

Thanks!

I had to figure that given the fact that this is kind of a hodgepodge operation, and that you take who you can get safely and (relatively) easily in such things...balancing the task force isn't exactly something you can consider.

As for who Tayben is...I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a pass as I'm not really up on my novels...

No problem...there might be a few in the room who are.

[SLWatson]

Wow, the first three parts you have posted are just made of win. I love how you work your way through Macet's mind, showing him to be a flesh-and-blood being with a very distinct personality all his own. That's just awesome stuff; he's not some typical villain, but a fully-drawn being. I also love his responses to Arawil. I was rooting for him big-time, even before I'd finished the first part.

The second part, with the battle scene, was intense. I felt for Mike, but also for the Cardassian that Folani did in. I think you probably meant that subtle 'which side is really right here?' question to be asked there, and you did a brilliant job with it.

Finally, the third scene with Macet and Mike was also just... yeah. I can say great a bunch more times, but probably not say it enough.

I love your style, too; it's not only technically unassailable, but there's this really good dry humor where appropriate and an eye for the flow of the line and rhythm of the words. I'm glad that I did some research and started reading this!

[Nerys Ghemor]

Thank you very much for reading.

I would say that I am not a relativist--that is, there IS definitely a clear right and wrong once you get down to it in the end. It's just that the lines don't always fall where they might seem to at first glance.

And I'm glad you found there to be some humor in there...I don't really consider myself a good "funny" person, so that makes me feel good to hear it. I really admire people who can write true comedy, as it's a talent I don't really have.

[SLWatson]

Nerys Dukat wrote:

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OK...in this section, a character with the first name of "Tayben" makes an appearance that if you've read the older DS9 novels, you might recognize.

Caught up this far. Absolutely loved the ruse to switch Arawil out with someone loyal; great cloak-and-dagger stuff. The intrigue is just so much fun in this story, and the sheer amount of personality you pull out of Macet and, really, everyone is a pleasure to read. I don't recognize any of them, really, but still find them to be credible and likable both, which speaks well of you as a writer.

The notion of them ready to try to free their culture from these people Dukat let in, a small force to preserve their way of life, is very poignant. Great work.

[Nerys Ghemor]

Really the only person so far that has ever been in official canon is Macet. You'll see Daro later, and I already mentioned what happened to Telle after he got busted spying on the Enterprise. The rest of the Trager crew is all my creation.

As for the Sherouk, their gul has not appeared on the show, but was created for one pre-relaunch DS9 novel. I did notice, though, that I made a minor screwup in his timeline: that previous appearance of his probably should have been in the first season of DS9. (This novel details the incident where he got shot the first time, the one he doesn't talk about for several reasons that those who read the novel will probably understand once I show who he is!) The incident that got him shot for the second time occurred sometime after the Maquis really got into it, meaning probably season 3. This being season 7, he's had command of the Sherouk for longer than I thought now...about four years.

[SLWatson]

Nerys Dukat wrote:

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2375—The Dominion War—Aftermath of the attack on Rondac III
CUW Trager

Wow. Several stunning chapters. Macet becomes more and more likable; I think I'll have a very hard time forgiving you if it turns out that he's anything like Dukat in the end. Or on that level of bad. I really love how evocative your language is -- you pull out these very primal concepts of loyalty and freedom and what kind of person it takes to leads a small group into battle against an overwhelming force.

This last chapter I've read so far took my breath away. Beautiful work.