Writer's Preface: This is an edited version based on the November entry to the Fan Fiction contest. I'm probably going to do a series on what life is like in Cardassia, especially on a level of a New Cardassian Militia man who is human, and knows a thing or two about the overall situation of Starfleet in that area. Input is encouraged.
--
Two men are walking a ruined street. There are some attempts to make the city whole. The fallen structures shave been pushed aside. There is a sense of order here. There are signs everywhere denoting how clean an area is in alternating languages – Cardassian, Klingon, Romulan, and Human – all in different sizes.
The uniforms of the two do not match. They match in some degree to the people working nearby. The metal is cold, forged marriages that do not work, some of the gaping holes perhaps sent down by other ships hovering in the sky. There is one single ruin of a dead ship, half smashed into the earth, the temptation resting in the mind of putting a blue light inside, and letting that artificial insect device to fly.
There are other gruesome reminders scattered in the battered plain. The large charnel pits are scattered everywhere. The paths to allow free transport snake between these geographical challenges. The two men that walk the pathways do not wear that strange belt that their other fellow living humanoids bear. Every now and then there is a reaction against an electrical field. Those shapes continually work at the blasted soil. These two do not.
The shorter one stops for a while. He goes off at a particular note. The taller one turns to the rear in a constant checking of what is around him. He then turns around. From where the shorter one stands he can see a different city.
That city is different. Through the gaping holes of what can be defined as a gutted out structure, a new metropolis can be seen. The first is white plastic, matched with the perchance of an Imperial green design clashing with those of another entity, the spirals declaring of victory, with all three failing to be one with what they have supplanted.
It is the same with the short man and the tall man. The shorter man’s uniform is all black. The red turtle neck clashes with the gray shoulder pads. There are two strips at his cuff. There are pips at his neck.
The taller one matches in odd degrees. He has a variant of the odd mechanical devices the work parties wear on their hips. There is a strange angled eagle merged with the UFP signal underneath. He is armed as well – with the weapon fashioned in the style of an ancient pistol or revolver strapped to his side. He is wary. At brief moment he can spot actual living Cardassians.
Suddenly it is his shorter companion that walks through the ruins of a lot.
“Davis –” trails the taller one.
“Relax - I’m not doing anything” comments Davis.
“Davis –” repeats the taller one, yet again. There is no edge to the lot. It is empty. It is a void within other holes. The taller one takes a good glimpse around his surroundings. His brown eyes linger on that other work detail to the left, adorned in the newfound colors of the New Cardassian Militia.
“Jeez Pat -” replied Davis, after coming back, “There’s no-one to stop us.”
“You should really watch what you say” added Pat.
Davis snorted. “Who’s going to stop me – them?” he nodded towards the constant sound of their shovels reverberating into the graveyard silence.
“Davis – this isn’t the place”
“What is then?” openly challenged Davis, wisely keeping pace with Pat, but stopping next to a crater that could have held an entire city block, “I mean – don’t you dream of being Starfleet once more? Don’t you dream of being Captain Kirk – Captain Riker – or maybe Captain Picard – waving the flag of democracy, liberty, and freedom? Don’t you dream of exploring new worlds and boldly going where no man has gone before? This isn’t it Pat. We’re Starfleet – not the Imperial Defense Force” he added with a snarl.
“Have you even read anything of Captain Kirk?” retorted Pat.
“Of course- who hasn’t? Him and that other guy – they were all pulled down by these idiots who wanted them to be Admirals and do logistics. You don’t do that to Captain Kirk, the man who opened thirty four systems in the name of the Prime Directive. Tell you what Pat – just once I want a call from Captain Riker – saying – Ensign Davis Forrest – I want you to be with my crew on the USS Titan. We’ll go beyond the stars and we’ll be Captain Kirk. We’ll be like Admiral Janeway – beat the Borg on one leg and with one arm. We will beat them and be the greatest ideal of freedom ever. I mean – the Cardassians deserved what they got. Had they all been killed I would have been planting the flag in the Delta Quadrant by now….Pat - Are you listening to me?”
Pat did not stare at the theatrics of his younger friend. There was a woman on the edge of his vision. She might have come from the work parties. She did have those belts strapped around her. There was a constant flare from those invisible particles around. Previously she was part of that silent field of river stones scattered throughout the ruined field of that unnamed Cardassian city and the previous name of it no longer worth the memory. There was a stream going towards the local Starfleet enclave. She was part of it but now here, present, standing there.
She had followed them. Her uniform was of the same artificial hybrid pair that he had seen earlier – with the exception of that same design that Pat wore on his jacket. There was dust scattered on her knees, sweat twisting her fine black hair to something of an ideal, the smell going through her invisible force shield. Had she been wearing something light colored she would have been the ideal dame. But she wasn’t – she had green skin the color of emeralds, the facial mutation above her nasal bridge in the shape of a spoon, the entrails of the same twisting of her genetic code to outline her forehead, battered down due to the unseen marriage of those two species.
“Sir –” she said to Pat, giving him a salute, the heels crisp, “I’m sorry for interrupting your friend - but I was wondering if you – sir – could ask your friend to repeat what he just said.”
“Hello!” interrupted Davis, a grotesque smile upon his lips, moving away from the deep crater, so that he could see the woman in proper light, due to a jutting bone of a battered house blocking her actual visage from where he stood. “Pat – is this one of your fabled Orions you told me about?” he added, coming even closer to her.
The woman stood there. Her mouth was open. Then it was crisp. “Sir – excuse me – aren't you Starfleet?-”
Davis suddenly stopped at her visage, the mutations being crystal in the light. "Internal matters" he quipped, "strictly confidental and all that".
--
Two men are walking a ruined street. There are some attempts to make the city whole. The fallen structures shave been pushed aside. There is a sense of order here. There are signs everywhere denoting how clean an area is in alternating languages – Cardassian, Klingon, Romulan, and Human – all in different sizes.
The uniforms of the two do not match. They match in some degree to the people working nearby. The metal is cold, forged marriages that do not work, some of the gaping holes perhaps sent down by other ships hovering in the sky. There is one single ruin of a dead ship, half smashed into the earth, the temptation resting in the mind of putting a blue light inside, and letting that artificial insect device to fly.
There are other gruesome reminders scattered in the battered plain. The large charnel pits are scattered everywhere. The paths to allow free transport snake between these geographical challenges. The two men that walk the pathways do not wear that strange belt that their other fellow living humanoids bear. Every now and then there is a reaction against an electrical field. Those shapes continually work at the blasted soil. These two do not.
The shorter one stops for a while. He goes off at a particular note. The taller one turns to the rear in a constant checking of what is around him. He then turns around. From where the shorter one stands he can see a different city.
That city is different. Through the gaping holes of what can be defined as a gutted out structure, a new metropolis can be seen. The first is white plastic, matched with the perchance of an Imperial green design clashing with those of another entity, the spirals declaring of victory, with all three failing to be one with what they have supplanted.
It is the same with the short man and the tall man. The shorter man’s uniform is all black. The red turtle neck clashes with the gray shoulder pads. There are two strips at his cuff. There are pips at his neck.
The taller one matches in odd degrees. He has a variant of the odd mechanical devices the work parties wear on their hips. There is a strange angled eagle merged with the UFP signal underneath. He is armed as well – with the weapon fashioned in the style of an ancient pistol or revolver strapped to his side. He is wary. At brief moment he can spot actual living Cardassians.
Suddenly it is his shorter companion that walks through the ruins of a lot.
“Davis –” trails the taller one.
“Relax - I’m not doing anything” comments Davis.
“Davis –” repeats the taller one, yet again. There is no edge to the lot. It is empty. It is a void within other holes. The taller one takes a good glimpse around his surroundings. His brown eyes linger on that other work detail to the left, adorned in the newfound colors of the New Cardassian Militia.
“Jeez Pat -” replied Davis, after coming back, “There’s no-one to stop us.”
“You should really watch what you say” added Pat.
Davis snorted. “Who’s going to stop me – them?” he nodded towards the constant sound of their shovels reverberating into the graveyard silence.
“Davis – this isn’t the place”
“What is then?” openly challenged Davis, wisely keeping pace with Pat, but stopping next to a crater that could have held an entire city block, “I mean – don’t you dream of being Starfleet once more? Don’t you dream of being Captain Kirk – Captain Riker – or maybe Captain Picard – waving the flag of democracy, liberty, and freedom? Don’t you dream of exploring new worlds and boldly going where no man has gone before? This isn’t it Pat. We’re Starfleet – not the Imperial Defense Force” he added with a snarl.
“Have you even read anything of Captain Kirk?” retorted Pat.
“Of course- who hasn’t? Him and that other guy – they were all pulled down by these idiots who wanted them to be Admirals and do logistics. You don’t do that to Captain Kirk, the man who opened thirty four systems in the name of the Prime Directive. Tell you what Pat – just once I want a call from Captain Riker – saying – Ensign Davis Forrest – I want you to be with my crew on the USS Titan. We’ll go beyond the stars and we’ll be Captain Kirk. We’ll be like Admiral Janeway – beat the Borg on one leg and with one arm. We will beat them and be the greatest ideal of freedom ever. I mean – the Cardassians deserved what they got. Had they all been killed I would have been planting the flag in the Delta Quadrant by now….Pat - Are you listening to me?”
Pat did not stare at the theatrics of his younger friend. There was a woman on the edge of his vision. She might have come from the work parties. She did have those belts strapped around her. There was a constant flare from those invisible particles around. Previously she was part of that silent field of river stones scattered throughout the ruined field of that unnamed Cardassian city and the previous name of it no longer worth the memory. There was a stream going towards the local Starfleet enclave. She was part of it but now here, present, standing there.
She had followed them. Her uniform was of the same artificial hybrid pair that he had seen earlier – with the exception of that same design that Pat wore on his jacket. There was dust scattered on her knees, sweat twisting her fine black hair to something of an ideal, the smell going through her invisible force shield. Had she been wearing something light colored she would have been the ideal dame. But she wasn’t – she had green skin the color of emeralds, the facial mutation above her nasal bridge in the shape of a spoon, the entrails of the same twisting of her genetic code to outline her forehead, battered down due to the unseen marriage of those two species.
“Sir –” she said to Pat, giving him a salute, the heels crisp, “I’m sorry for interrupting your friend - but I was wondering if you – sir – could ask your friend to repeat what he just said.”
“Hello!” interrupted Davis, a grotesque smile upon his lips, moving away from the deep crater, so that he could see the woman in proper light, due to a jutting bone of a battered house blocking her actual visage from where he stood. “Pat – is this one of your fabled Orions you told me about?” he added, coming even closer to her.
The woman stood there. Her mouth was open. Then it was crisp. “Sir – excuse me – aren't you Starfleet?-”
Davis suddenly stopped at her visage, the mutations being crystal in the light. "Internal matters" he quipped, "strictly confidental and all that".
