Supermax: “Lost in Translation”
(Note: this isn’t really a rewrite of an episode; rather, it’s a rewrite of the entire series, to take account of the different circumstances in the Mirror Universe. I won’t object if it gets disqualified.
)
New Palestine. Unity Square, City of New Jerusalem.
Yeoman Daren held out a cup and saucer. “Your tea, Captain,” she said nervously. “Earl Grey. Hot.”
Captain Picard accepted the tea. He lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, and considered. Then he nodded.
Relieved, Daren bowed and scuttled away, her agonizer still safely clipped to her belt--this time. The Captain was very particular about his tea.
Once his yeoman was out of sight, the Captain blew softly on the rim of his teacup: just a little too hot, he decided. He made a mental note to have Daren put in the agony booth for incompetence.
Taking another sip, the captain of the battleship ISS Enterprise looked around, and smiled. Not even a poorly-made cup of tea could spoil his good mood. The New Palestine uprising had been crushed. The square was littered with corpses, and most of the surrounding buildings had been reduced to rubble.
Half the city was burning, blackening the sky with smoke. The quiet was broken only by periodic volleys of phaser fire, as firing squads executed captured Maquis not far away. Ibn Ibrahim’s tomb had been broken open, and the religious leader’s remains had been dumped in a landfill, along with his followers. His skull was being fashioned into a drinking cup--a present for the Emperor.
Not a bad day’s work, Picard thought.
“Captain!”
Picard looked back over his shoulder. “Yes? What is it, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Yar marched up and saluted smartly, bringing her fist up to her chest, then extending her arm, palm downward. “Captain, I have a prisoner here I think you’ll want to see for yourself.”
The Captain took another sip. “Oh?”
“Yes, sir.” Yar snapped her fingers and stood aside. Her security team dragged a young man forward. He was shackled, and bleeding, but his head was held high, and his eyes blazed with defiance.
“Explain,” said the Captain.
“This man’s a deserter, sir,” said Yar. “Counsellor Troi has probed his mind, and identified him as Lieutenant Dawud Jaffar, Starfleet. Imperial Intelligence sent him here to infiltrate the Maquis, but he went native and deserted, three months ago.”
“Really,” said the Captain, intrigued. He put his cup back on its saucer and held it out. One of his personal guards took them both from the Captain’s hand. Picard tugged on his uniform jacket and stepped forward, examining the prisoner more closely. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Jaffar?”
The prisoner said nothing. Behind him, Yar’s eyes flashed with anger, and she stepped up, raising her phaser rifle for a butt stroke to the back of Jaffar’s head. “You Maquis scum--”
The Captain raised his hand. “Lieutenant,” he said. Yar stopped. “That won’t be necessary.”
Yar stepped back and lowered her weapon. “Yes, Captain.”
Picard drew his phaser and waved it at Jaffar’s guards, motioning them aside. They stepped back and away. Once they were clear, the Captain pressed the muzzle of his phaser against the side of Jaffar’s head and fired. The prisoner collapsed to the ground like a rag doll and lay still.
Satisfied, Picard holstered his phaser and held out his hands once more for his tea. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said. “You may resume your duties.”
Yar smiled crookedly and saluted again. “Yes sir,” she said, and led her team away.
Picard was raising his cup to his lips once more when his First Officer called out. “Captain,” he said. “Mr. Worf reports that all Maquis captured in arms have been shot, but that we still have several thousand noncombatants in custody--women, children, the elderly…” He paused. “Shall I order him to proceed with the executions?”
Picard considered briefly, then took another sip. “Of course, Commander,” he said mildly.
“Make it so.”
THE END
(Note: this isn’t really a rewrite of an episode; rather, it’s a rewrite of the entire series, to take account of the different circumstances in the Mirror Universe. I won’t object if it gets disqualified.
)New Palestine. Unity Square, City of New Jerusalem.
Yeoman Daren held out a cup and saucer. “Your tea, Captain,” she said nervously. “Earl Grey. Hot.”
Captain Picard accepted the tea. He lifted the cup to his lips, took a sip, and considered. Then he nodded.
Relieved, Daren bowed and scuttled away, her agonizer still safely clipped to her belt--this time. The Captain was very particular about his tea.
Once his yeoman was out of sight, the Captain blew softly on the rim of his teacup: just a little too hot, he decided. He made a mental note to have Daren put in the agony booth for incompetence.
Taking another sip, the captain of the battleship ISS Enterprise looked around, and smiled. Not even a poorly-made cup of tea could spoil his good mood. The New Palestine uprising had been crushed. The square was littered with corpses, and most of the surrounding buildings had been reduced to rubble.
Half the city was burning, blackening the sky with smoke. The quiet was broken only by periodic volleys of phaser fire, as firing squads executed captured Maquis not far away. Ibn Ibrahim’s tomb had been broken open, and the religious leader’s remains had been dumped in a landfill, along with his followers. His skull was being fashioned into a drinking cup--a present for the Emperor.
Not a bad day’s work, Picard thought.
“Captain!”
Picard looked back over his shoulder. “Yes? What is it, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Yar marched up and saluted smartly, bringing her fist up to her chest, then extending her arm, palm downward. “Captain, I have a prisoner here I think you’ll want to see for yourself.”
The Captain took another sip. “Oh?”
“Yes, sir.” Yar snapped her fingers and stood aside. Her security team dragged a young man forward. He was shackled, and bleeding, but his head was held high, and his eyes blazed with defiance.
“Explain,” said the Captain.
“This man’s a deserter, sir,” said Yar. “Counsellor Troi has probed his mind, and identified him as Lieutenant Dawud Jaffar, Starfleet. Imperial Intelligence sent him here to infiltrate the Maquis, but he went native and deserted, three months ago.”
“Really,” said the Captain, intrigued. He put his cup back on its saucer and held it out. One of his personal guards took them both from the Captain’s hand. Picard tugged on his uniform jacket and stepped forward, examining the prisoner more closely. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Jaffar?”
The prisoner said nothing. Behind him, Yar’s eyes flashed with anger, and she stepped up, raising her phaser rifle for a butt stroke to the back of Jaffar’s head. “You Maquis scum--”
The Captain raised his hand. “Lieutenant,” he said. Yar stopped. “That won’t be necessary.”
Yar stepped back and lowered her weapon. “Yes, Captain.”
Picard drew his phaser and waved it at Jaffar’s guards, motioning them aside. They stepped back and away. Once they were clear, the Captain pressed the muzzle of his phaser against the side of Jaffar’s head and fired. The prisoner collapsed to the ground like a rag doll and lay still.
Satisfied, Picard holstered his phaser and held out his hands once more for his tea. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said. “You may resume your duties.”
Yar smiled crookedly and saluted again. “Yes sir,” she said, and led her team away.
Picard was raising his cup to his lips once more when his First Officer called out. “Captain,” he said. “Mr. Worf reports that all Maquis captured in arms have been shot, but that we still have several thousand noncombatants in custody--women, children, the elderly…” He paused. “Shall I order him to proceed with the executions?”
Picard considered briefly, then took another sip. “Of course, Commander,” he said mildly.
“Make it so.”
THE END
