The Star Eagle Adventures IVAll The Sinners, Saints Space, frontier to the unknown, These are the adventures of the starship Eagle. The time: the twenty-fourth century, The mission: To maintain peace in the galaxy, To explore strange new worlds, To seek out new life and new civilizations, And to boldly go, where no one has gone before. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome to All The Sinners, Saints, the fourth novel in the Star Eagle Adventures series. If you haven't read the previous books you can find them at StarEagleAdventures.com. To get a better background on the events and characters in this story you can also read the prequel Star Crossed if you haven't done so already. It can be found at the above site in the Short Stories section. This novel will feature characters from TheLoneRedshirt's The Tales of the USS Bluefin and DarKush's Dark Territory. Many thanks for letting me use them. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stardate: 51636 October 2374 THE PROPHECY In a thousand phases and a thousand more a dark time will grip the children of Tiaita and there will be much pain and suffering and famine and struggle and despair. The lights in the sky will seem to have dimmed but the Brothers will not have abandoned their people but the people will have abandoned the Brothers. Tia and Ait will weep in sorrow from the skies for many phases, for it will seem desperate and it will seem that the once glorious world of the Brothers will stand close to ruin. There will be great division amongst the children. There will be fires so bright they will appear to outshine the lights in the skies and the suffering will be great. But as despair will be rampant and hope dim, the children of Tiaita shall find the wisdom to escape their dreadful plight. There will be much disagreement but the Anointed One will see the reason and return the sides divided onto the righteous path. The One will not be recognized and even the One will not know the One’s destiny. The One will see the two lights which have been separated and the One will bring them together so that suffering will be no more. The One will be guided by nobody but the One will bring great rejoicing to the children of Tiaita as they will be united once more under the two lights in the sky. The children of Tiaita cannot be divided under the lights in the sky and the One will see the wisdom and the grace of uniting those who stand divided. The One must not stand alone and the One will be rewarded for brining the children of Tiaita out of the darkness. But many phases will still pass until that day and many will pass after that day and the Brothers will look from the skies for the Anointed One and they will wait with eternal grace and patience and love for all the children of Tiaita until the darkness has passed and beyond. The One will bring great change and great unity and great hope. And it will be like a new beginning and it will be like it has always been. Sing and praise to the Brothers for they will stand eternally vigilant for all the children of Tiaita and they will await the day that great desperation will grip the children and the day the bright fires will burn and the day the skies will open for those who have come from afar. And the Brothers will smile for they will know that the time of the One is at hand and with the One the time of suffering will come to a close. But choices of great difficulty will befall the One and the children of Tiaita. And many will oppose the One and much suffering will follow. There will be much pain and despair for the One on the path to destiny. The One will arrive and see the despair and the One will depart leaving despair but the One will place the seed for hope and for glory and grace and for the children to once more see the lights in sky. And when the great task has come to pass the Anointed One will become the Many as the Many will become the Anointed One. A great number of phases will come to pass and great harmony and peace and prosperity and fortune and happiness will befall the children of Tiaita once more until the end of all phases. And the Brothers will smile. ---------------------------
When a story starts off with a prophecy, that's a sure indicator that things are going to get very ugly--for the characters--but fun for the reader. An auspicious beginning. I've been looking forward to this story for a while now and I know that it's going to be good.
I d/l'ed Tempus Fugit a while back, which I still have to read. I have a long roadtrip coming up in the next couple of weeks, so I'll try and do it then.
ONE Nigel Bane was thrown roughly against the hard bulkhead but he didn’t mind. Mostly because the half-naked and beautiful Trill woman pressed her lips greedily against his not a second later and rubbed her body sensually against the young Australian. They didn’t speak – words were really not required in this instance – and after the long passionate kiss the red-head steered Bane towards her bed, pushed him onto it and straddled him almost like a snake trying to squeeze the life out of another victim. She had of course an entirely different motive and Nigel Bane never once fought her on it. Some two hours later they both lay exhausted and entangled in the sheets. Nigel Bane watched with great admiration the mesmerizing leopard like spots trailing down the sides of Tazla Star’s soft feminine curves. Her fire red hair and piercing green eyes not only enhanced her beauty but also left little doubt to her strength and resolve. He softly touched her lower right arm and she flinched noticeably and quickly drew it away. “Sorry,” he whispered, surprised by the reaction. “Don’t touch me there,” she said with sudden anger flaring in her voice. Bane had no idea what had just happened. And she took pity in his confused eyes. “I just don’t like to be touched there,” she tried to explain. “It’s a long story.” He nodded slowly. He was sure it was. No one would have doubted that Commander – formerly Captain – Tazla Star did not have a number of long stories to tell. She kept them mostly to herself however and so Bane didn’t know exactly what bothered her about her right arm. It wasn’t as if she had made any complaints before when his hands had roamed her body in much more sensitive areas. Nigel Bane didn’t know Tazla Star all that well and that was probably a good thing considering her reputation. He knew that she had been court marshaled, lost her rank and had spend some time in the Starfleet stockade. In fact he had seen first-hand the results of her betrayal to Starfleet. His ship, the border cutter Bluefin had been there when she had violated orders which subsequently had led to the near destruction of a Starfleet ship and the death of numerous crewmembers including his captains’ nephew. To say it mildly she was not popular among his crew or all of Starfleet for that matter. He had heard a few conversations filled with outrage that she had been released from the stockade so early and assigned to the Border Service after she had probably been unsuccessful in securing another assignment in the regular fleet. Tazla moved in closer to Bane and softly kissed him on the lips to make up for her earlier harshness. She stroked his blonde hair softly. “You know I like you, don’t you?” she said. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he replied with a grin. She frowned. “I’m serious, Nigel. You are the only person I can look in the eye without seeing despise hidden there.” “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” She laughed sarcastically. “Your right, it’s worse. I’m Tazla Star, the traitor, the one who sold out Starfleet for her own personal gain and led to dozens of casualties in the process. If it was up to them they would have kept me rotting in that prison for the rest of my life. Thank the heavens for the Dominion, eh?” At that Bane turned away. “You know I like you much better when you don’t talk like that.” “I’m sorry,” she said and kissed him again. “It gets to you after a while.” She stood up and headed for the washroom. “I better get ready, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.” Nigel Bane looked upwards where a window allowed him a good view of the sandy-brown planet they were orbiting. He also caught a glimpse of a number of Starfleet freighters similar to the one he was on a the moment. He felt a sting of pride when he discovered the USS Bluefin among the fleet. “Things appear to be on the upswing for you,” he said as he watched the idle convoy. “After all they decided to place you in charge of this operation. That’s something, isn’t it? Or are you still bitter about having to join us unsophisticated Border Dogs.” Bane heard her laugh from the washroom unit. This time it sounded a tad more joyful. “Trust me I take the Border Dogs over the stockade any day. But you greatly overestimate my role. I’m a glorified administrator and that’s all there’s to it. Just have a look at my schedule for the day and you’ll weep,” she said just before the gentle hum of the sonic shower replaced her voice. “My shift starts in a few minutes,” replied Bane but reached for the padd next to the bed anyway. It didn’t contain Star’s schedule. Instead he found a detailed report on Tiaita, the planet they were orbiting. He was about to leave it and search for the schedule when the first line grabbed his undivided attention. The planet Tiaita has been deeply engulfed in the throes of civil war for decades. This was complete news to Nigel Bane who admittedly did not know the full scope of their mission to this planet. What he did know was that Starfleet had recently signed a treaty with the Tiaitan after they had developed warp drive technology and joined the intergalactic community. He knew that the system was rich of resources and that Starfleet had dispatched the Border Service along with a small fleet of freighters in order to begin mining operations and construction on a starship yard in the system. The admiral in charge of the undertaking was hoping to be able to use the system as a staging platform against the Dominion and the Cardassians whose territory was just a few short light-years away. Two powerful pulsars – nicknamed the Twin Pulsars – made long range sensors ineffective and in turn making the system a perfect hidden base for Starfleet’s languished war effort. But nobody had mentioned a civil war. Bane was no idealist and he perfectly understood that the war with the Dominion which had raged on for over a year now with no end in sight would require many sacrifices by those who served in Starfleet, possibly by all the citizens of the Federation. His interested piqued he read on, soon his face twisting into a frown. According to the report the planet was decisively divided between a fundamentalist government and a rebel fraction which had turned against their religious masters and was being relentlessly persecuted for their refusal to adhere to the established religious believes. The government had started a scheme of systematic cleansing, leaving a large portion of their society’s underclass starved or even worse, executed them if they refused to convert. Bane had been so engulfed in the document he hardly noticed Star reappear from the washroom, now fully dressed. “This can’t be right,” he mumbled. Star simply watched on patiently as he read on. When Bane was done he looked at her with a blank expression on his face. “Is this true? Are we helping these people fight their civil war?” The Trill walked over to him and swiftly snatched the padd out of his hands. “You weren’t suppose to read that,” she said with a frown. Bane jumped out of bed, feeling a sudden anger boiling within. “Never mind that,” he said. “I want to know if that’s true.” She slowly turned to him. “We are here to honor our treaty with the Tiaitan and begin construction of mining facilities and a shipyard. You know that.” “I’ve read the mission brief, Taz,” he shot back. “But there was no mention of any of that. If this report is correct we should never have signed a treaty with this people in the first place. My god, are we helping them to eradicate their own people?” “Even if we were, what could we do about it?” Star asked. “This has all been decided way over our heads by desk pushers in San Francisco. We are expected to follow orders, that’s all.” But Bane shook his head. “No, I can’t believe this.” She placed the padd into a drawer and out of sight. “I think it be for the best if you pretend you never saw this,” she said. “Now, didn’t you say your shift is about to start?” The Australian glanced at the chronometer and with a ping of panic realized he was already going to be late. Star smirked when she watched him pull on his clothes in a hurry, almost stumbling while pulling up his trousers. “I want to find out more about this,” he said after he had zipped up. “I’m serious Taz, I don’t care about the orders I need to see this for myself. I can’t just sit quietly at my station knowing that I might be an accessory to genocide.” Star thought for a moment, or at least looked as if she did. “I tell you what, I’m scheduled for another supply run to the surface at 23:00 hours. Why don’t you come with me and I can show you firsthand what we are dealing with.” “I’ll be there,” he said resolutely. “Good. Now you better get out of here, Lieutenant. I refuse to take responsibility for your tardiness.” Bane nodded sharply, not catching the sarcasm in the Trill’s voice. His mind was too preoccupied. He rushed out of her quarters. Star stood there a moment longer. She felt a sickness in her stomach which to her was the equivalent of her conscience acting up. Once again her symbiont was letting her know that it did not agree with the way she was leading her life. Or more precisely of the means she was employing to accomplish her agenda. It was by no means a new sensation. But Star didn’t feel regret this time. At least not too much. Nigel Bane was a genuinely nice guy and she hadn’t lied when she had admitted she liked him a great deal. But she also needed him for reasons which weren’t quite so straight forward. She didn’t take pleasure in manipulating good people but this time perhaps it was worth it. She stroked her lower right arm which even though impossible to tell was no longer hers. The faint sensation of the alien object served as a reminder of the mistakes she had made in the past. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this could very well end up as another one. She recovered the box from under her bed, sat on the floor and self-administered the hypo spray. The drug quickly took effect and for the next hour or so her mind would not have to contemplate the questionable things that she still needed to do. * * * *
Taz is back! And she's still a junkie... Why do I have a feeling this is not going to be good for Nigel Bane and the Bluefin? You're setting up some interesting moral dilemmas here--both on the large and small scale. Maybe the events here is why Lieutenant Bane is still Lieutenant Bane in 2376/7?
Our favorite amoral Starfleet junkie is back! Can't wait to see how she makes Lieutenant! You're off to a good start with an early dilemma and an "agenda" for the "Star" of your story already hinted at. Cool!
Just love prophecies - means trouble! And to echo comments from above this one is quite cryptic indeed. Well we've met some of the sinners - but just who are the saints? Also wonder who the ONE will be - Star is an unlikely unholy possibility given what we see here but stranger things have happened. but bane is walking an ackward line too - his crew might not like his dalliance
Just a couple nitpicks, bro: 1) It's court martial (As in Martial Law) 2) It's brig. "Stockade" is some of that there Army talk. As for the main character, I don't see why people seem so happy to see her come back. Frankly, she aggravated me so much in the last story I couldn't finish it. I'm willing to give her another chapter or two worth of benefit of the doubt here, but I can't guarantee i'll stick to the end. P.S.: Who did the illustration?
As usual I appreciate your honest feedback. Star is a risky character, I'm very much aware of this. I didn't think she was so bad that it would make readers turn away though. That's regretful. Hoepfully there will be more elements here to keep your interest. As for the nit-picks: 1) I thought that court-marshalled was an alternative spelling of the word. After some research I realized that this is not the case. My bad. 2) Stockade is a reference to the Starfleet prison on Jaros II which was refered to as stockade in TNG, I believe. The cover art is mesh of different images. Tazla Star is a modified version of an image created by an online artist named Patrick Reichel. I hope you do end up sticking with this as I very much appreciate your critical insights. Thanks to everyone for their comments so far.
It's more likely now that she's reduced in rank. My biggest problem in the last story was that this utter loser was the Captain, something she had no business being, and I found I didn't care what machinations got her the job.
One of the saddest tasks had become reading the weekly casualty reports. They were always long and Michael Owens would always find a few names of people he either knew, had once known or were friends or family of people he knew. As the captain it was his duty to read the list before making it public for the rest of the crew and ever since the war had begun it had remained a task he despised. And worse, it was one that was getting more time consuming by the week. An indication of how bad the war with the Dominion was going for the Federation and its allies. Today however there was a bright spot to lighten his mood and it had nothing to do with the war for once. He set the padd containing the casualty list aside for later study – as macabre as the thought was, the dead would still be dead tomorrow – and leaned back in his chair to glance at the opposite side of the observation lounge. There, mysteriously hidden under a sheet of black velvet, sitting on an easel like stand about a meter and half in height, stood one of the most arresting objects ever created by man. How it had come to be here, on a starship many light-years from the place of its creation and bound for deep space was an entirely different story. The doors to the conference room parted and Eagle’s senior officers entered. Nora Laas, the Bajoran chief of security and Xylion, the Vulcan science officer and acting executive officer were the first to arrive and Owens assumed that they always did. He didn’t know for certain because usually the captain reserved himself the right to arrive last. Today was different. Nora stopped abruptly upon seeing him already sitting in his chair at the head of the conference table. A panic stricken expression crossed her face. “Are we late?” Owens shook his head. “Not at all. Come in, please,” he said and stood. Xylion was naturally not showing any concern but the Bajoran acted hesitantly. Michael Owens knew that this was not just because she had been surprised to find her captain already waiting for her. Nora Laas had been much more guarded and reserved for the last few months, ever since their ill-fated mission on which they had lost their first officer and Nora Laas’ lover. Owens had wanted to discuss this issue with the security chief. He had wanted her to talk to Trenira, the ship’s counselor or possibly even take some time off, get away from the ship and Starfleet. None of those options had been viable. The Dominion simply did not allow for the usual practices and for the considerations of the soul. It was war, people died everyday and there was neither time nor inclination to deal with the losses in a natural fashion. The demands of fighting a stronger enemy did not allow for anybody to be distracted by grief. Furthermore counseling was impractical. Everybody was losing friends every other day. If therapeutically sessions were to be held they would be so numerous, nobody would remain to fight the Dominion. And then there was another reason Owens couldn’t afford to let Nora Laas take shore leave. For if he did he would have to admit that he himself had taken a loss so great that sometimes he was sure he wouldn’t be able to bear it any longer. He himself would have to leave the ship in an attempt to mend those painful wounds. It was, of course, out of the question. Not a few minutes passed and the rest of the senior staff had arrived, including Cesar Wasco, the dark haired and broad-shouldered Marines commander stationed on Eagle who had become a regular attendee at the senior staff meetings. His military insights had become a useful necessity. Most showed the same surprise to see Owens already waiting for them and they whispered to each other before assembling around the captain and in front of the veiled stand, wondering what it hid. Owens smiled. “Thank you all for coming,” he said and didn’t care that it was a strange thing to say considering that senior staff meetings were mandatory. “There is something I would like to show to you before we get started with this morning’s meeting,” he added and walked behind the stand. He kept the suspense by watching his officer’s intently. He didn’t miss the anticipation in Lif Culsten, his young helmsman’s eyes or the concern in DeMara Deen’s who perhaps was worried that the loss of the love of his life had finally caught up with him. Doctor Wenera, the most inquisitive person the captain had ever met, appeared to try and look patient. She had nobody fooled. So’Dan Leva, the half-Romulan tactical officer on the other hand showed a calmness almost rivaling that of the Vulcan’s. Wasco looked almost indifferent and chief engineer Hopkins was all but ready to rip the veil away herself if she had to wait any longer. Deeming it appropriate to release his crew from the torturous suspension, Owens lifted the sheet dramatically and the eyes in the room opened wide. Even Xylion raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not having expected to see this. The captain grinned, pleased at having achieved the desired effect on the room which had fallen into a silent and admiring awe. “This is …,” Deen began but couldn’t quite find the words. She looked at Owens for some sort of answer. “Beautiful,” finished Nora Laas instead and stepped closer to the painting, her eyes seemingly transfixed. After a moment of being frozen in place Hopkins approached as well. “It looks familiar,” she said and tried to touch it but stopped short when she noticed the captain’s discouraging frown. “That is not surprising,” Xylion said. “If I am not mistaken this is one of the most significant works of art produced on your home world. Late 16th century, I believe,” he added, looking at Owens. “15th century,” the captain corrected. “Of course. The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli,” concluded the Vulcan. “Venus,” said Nora, never taking her eyes of the painting. “Is that her name?” Owens nodded. “The goddess of love and beauty. In this painting she is born from the sea and brought forth on an empty shell which is blown towards the shore by the zephyrs, the west wind. The woman on the right is one of the horae which according to ancient myth controlled the seasons,” he explained. “The color is so vivid,” said Wenera taking in the magnificent sight of the pale-skinned, naked woman at the center, her long golden hair flowing in the wind created by winged zephyrs to her left. To her right another woman had seemingly rushed to the shore to provide the goddess with a bright red robe. “This must be one of the best replicas I’ve ever seen,” she concluded. Wenera had only ever seen pictures of the stunning painting. At this Owens’ smile widened. Deen noticed. “You are not suggesting … ?“ The captain nodded. “Wait,” said Major Wasco his interested suddenly piqued and stepping forward himself. “Are you saying this is Botticelli’s original painting? That this piece of art is actually nine-hundred years old?” Owens nodded and another silence gripped the room. This one almost reverend, almost as if every single person held their breath in fear that the slightest puff of air could destroy the priceless artifact before them. The captain walked towards his chair at the head of the conference table and sat. “I thought the crew would appreciate a little piece of beauty in these ugly times.” DeMara Deen turned from the painting to look at the captain. Owens was surprised to find her frowning. “And you think that a starship fighting an uncertain war and coming within the brink of destruction every other week would be a good place for keeping it?” Owens’ smile dropped off his face. Deen’s voice was accusatory and not a little out of line for addressing her commanding officer in front of the crew. He let it slide. “Probably not.” “Sir,” the Vulcan said and sat next to the captain. “As fascinating as this artifact is, I find myself in agreement with the lieutenant’s assessment. The painting is a testament of human culture. A museum would be a much more suitable venue for its exhibition.” “No good deed,” mumbled the captain. Slowly most of the officers took their seats around the table. “If you don’t mind me asking how did you manage to bring it onto Eagle?” the doctor asked. Her voice was free of any accusation, pure curiosity was driving he inquiries. “It’s been something of a family heirloom,” Owens responded. Deen didn’t look convinced. “You can’t be serious?” But Owens nodded. “Apparently it disappeared sometime in the early 21st century. Back then Earth was a war torn place and most people were too busy trying to survive than to worry about the whereabouts of their art pieces. The story is that my great-great grandfather, I believe, discovered it being sold for next to nothing at a bazaar in Istanbul. It has been in my family ever since.” “And you never thought about giving it to a museum?” Deen pressed. Owens was about to admonish her for her tone when he remembered that she didn’t sound too different to the way he had when he had first found out about the painting a long time ago. “Technically it’s still my fathers,” he said, referring to Admiral Jonathan Owens. “He send it to me last week.” “But why?” asked the doctor. “He is on Earth isn’t he? Surely it be much safer there.” “To be honest, I don’t know what possessed him to do this exactly,” Owens said and shrugged. “Maybe it’s his way of telling me that there are no mare safe places in the Federation.” “Or maybe he is telling you something else,” said Deen. “Maybe in some strange way by sending this priceless painting to you he’s proclaiming his belief that we’ll make it through this war in once piece after all.” The captain nodded slowly. He did prefer Deen’s interpretation and he had to admit that his father did tend to abstract thinking. “In any case, we’ll keep it on board for a week and have it on display for the crew before I have it sent back to Earth. Our new mission does not appear to involve any front line duty so we needn’t fear losing a priceless piece of human history on our watch. Now this brings us to the mission briefing.” Owens noticed that Nora Laas was still standing in front of Botticelli’s painting while everyone else had taken their seats. “Laas, are you joining us?” The Bajoran didn’t respond as she continued to stare at the picture as if mesmerized. “Lieutenant,” Owens said more forcefully this time. She turned. “Huh?” The captain simply looked at her, his eyebrows raised expectantly. It took the security chief a few moments to realize that everyone was looking at her, waiting and wondering about her uncharacteristically stupor-like state. She flashed with embarrassment and swiftly took her seat next to Louise Hopkins. “Sorry,” she mumbled and tried to avoid eye contact with the captain. Michael Owens was in a forgiving mood today. “As some of you may already know we are en route to the planet Tiaitan in sector 04563. The Federation has recently signed a treaty with their government which will allow us to mine their mineral rich asteroid belt and construct a starship repair station in the system,” the captain explained. Upon pressing a control imbedded in the shiny surface of the table the wall screen behind him came to life to display a chart of sector 04563. “That’s near the Cardassian border, I believe?” asked Lieutenant Culsten. Owens nodded. “Yes. But it’s a remote enough location that makes it unlikely for the Dominion to use it as a staging platform for an invasion. The sector is also known as Twin Pulsars for … well the two pulsars it is dominated by.” That was the science officers cue. “Both pulsars are active and extremely powerful. The pulsars close proximity to each other makes half of the sector nearly impassable for starship traffic. Warp capability and sensor technology is also severely affected by this anomaly,” Xylion explained. “Then why would we be interested in building a repair station there?” asked Wenera. “While traversing the sector with starships is difficult it is not impossible. We have found evidence of a number of small corridors through which starships can travel unhindered. It is not to be ruled out that some of those corridors might lead into Cardassian space,” the science officer said. “So are we considering to invade Cardassian territory through the Twin Pulsars or are we to make sure the Dominion won’t come knocking at our back door?” asked Wasco. “Maybe neither, maybe both,” Owens replied. “The truth is we haven’t been briefed on the full extent of Starfleet’s strategy in regard to this sector. What we do know is that the brainchild behind this operation, Admiral Melvin Schwarzkopf, is considering this a high priority mission.” “I’ve heard of Schwarzkopf,” said Leva. “Was a hotshot captain with a promising career outlook until about a years ago.” Deen turned to look at the half-Romulan. “What happened a year ago?” “I don’t know all the details but from what I’ve heard he got involved into a botched mission in the Triangle,” said Leva, referring to the sector of Federation space bordering both Klingon and Romulan territory. “Rumor has it he got his ship shot out from under him and a whole lot of good people killed.” “And they made him an admiral for that?” asked Wenera with apparent surprise. The tactical officer shrugged. “I guess it was that or a dishonorable discharge. In the end he probably had too many friends in high places. Besides discharging a man with so many accomplishments under his belt never looks good. I suppose they figured to give him a safe desk job somewhere instead.” “That worked out well. Now instead of just getting his ship in danger he’ll be playing around with the fate of an entire sector. And we will be right there in the middle of things,” the doctor said with a sarcastic laugh. The Vulcan didn’t appear to like the way the conversation was going. “It is inconsequential at this point to discuss the admiral’s history,” he said with a steely voice. “Admiral Schwarzkopf possess an otherwise excellent service record and we should not make assumptions based on rumors.” Xylion’s resolute declaration had made the room fall quiet again. Owens appreciated the way he had taken charge. It was the sign of a leader. And he was required to be one. “In any case the Tiaitan are suffering from a number of afflictions including medical emergencies and a wide spread famine. Part of the treaty they signed entitles them to full Starfleet cooperation in those matters. A Border Service ship and a small fleet of freighters are already on location and have begun rudimentary supply runs as well as spec works for the mining and construction operations.” At this Deen perked up. “If the Border Service is already dealing with this how come they need us?” “I’m not sure. Maybe they want additional muscle considering the proximity to Cardassian territory, maybe Schwarzkopf wants a big starship to play around with or maybe Starfleet is squandering its already thinning resources,” said Owens in a tone that was bordering on frustration. “All I know is that Admiral Schwarzkopf has felt our presence to be essential to the outcome of the mission so that’s why we are going.” The captain was clearly not too happy about this. Sure, a break from the fighting was always welcome. But he could not shake the feeling that Eagle was getting too many assignments that were keeping them from where they were needed the most. It almost felt as if they were being kept out of the war. He glanced at the painting across the room. He quickly shook off the notion that somebody was doing this on purpose. “I will familiarize myself with Tiaitan physiology and ready my people and supplies we may need,” said the doctor. Owens nodded. “See that you do. It is likely that we will be spearheading the relief missions. I want all departments to work together on this. We might need security and the Marines to provide support for landing operations,” he said and received a sharp nod from Wasco and Nora. The Bajoran still appeared slightly unfocused however. “Louise, I want your guys to stand by in case we need to give these people any kind of engineering support.” “Of course.” “Everyone else, see how you and your department can make yourselves useful for this mission. I also want everyone to stay sharp on this one. We are but a stone’s throw away from our enemy, even if he doesn’t know it. And the cavalry is a long ways off.” Everyone nodded and began to stand. [continued]
“Mister Xylion, a moment of your time please.” The Vulcan remained calmly in his seat while the other officers began to file out of the room. Owens considered his chief science officer for a moment. A stoic man as much as any Vulcan he had ever met, Xylion had come a long way since he had come aboard. Owens wasn’t sure if he knew but Xylion had not been his first choice for science officer. He had wanted to give the position to his close friend and confidant DeMara Deen but Starfleet had ultimately decided that the then twenty year old Tenarian simply could not have the experience to lead a science department on a ship of the line. Owens had taken that as a cue and swiftly tried to recruit a man who had a well established reputation as a researcher who over the years had received multiple awards and made great achievements for the scientific community. Xylion who at the time had been a mostly planet bound scientist had sent signals that he was interested in a starship position and Owens had considered himself lucky to nab him. At seventy-seven he wasn’t particularly old for a Vulcan but he certainly helped to bring some balance and experience to his otherwise mostly young senior staff. But something had become perfectly clear over the years. Xylion was not a man with command ambitions. Instead he had been perfectly comfortable in his position as a science chief of a resource rich department where he could fulfill his personal scientific curiosity. Vulcans in general appeared to be natural researchers and Owens had come to realize that this was not just because of their sharp intellects and dedication to cold logic but possibly also because science, unlike command did not require the kind of personal touch which could help inspire admiration or loyalty among the crew. But now that Eagle’s beloved first officer was gone, killed in action as it were, somebody had to fill that post. And while Xylion had not been Owens’ ideal candidate, the war and the resulting personnel shortage hadn’t left him with much of a choice. Surprisingly Xylion had risen to the occasion. His dedication to duty and his efficiency had surprised the captain. He wasn’t Gene Edison, that much was certain, but as far as running the ship, Xylion had made it look easy. “Commander, we haven’t really had a chance to talk much about the new duties you have taken on,” the captain began. It was true. There never really had been much time for it as just shortly after the death of Edison Eagle had been drafted to frontline duty. Like fulfilling an unspoken agreement Xylion had begun to act as the first officer. And he was yet to miss a deadline for a report. “I was not aware that a discussion was required. I was third-in-command of this vessel. Without a second-in-command present, logic demands that I fill that gap,” the Vulcan replied. There was a hint of confusion somewhere in his carefully modulated voice. “Are you unsatisfied with the way I have carried out those duties?” Owens quickly shook his head to dispel any such notion. “Absolutely not, Commander. In fact your have carried out your duties exemplarily.” The captain paused for a moment. Three years ago when he had first met the Vulcan he would not have hesitated to agree with him on that point immediately. Owens smirked, thankful that he didn’t. “But one element of being a first officer is to maintain a good line of communication with your captain,” Owens said softly without any accusation in his voice. This caused a slight look of confusion in the Vulcan’s brown eyes. “We have daily meetings as mandated by Starfleet protocol and I have compiled all my reports on time and according to regulations. If you have not received them I will contact engineering to investigate a possible fault with the intra-ship data network.” “The network is fine, Commander. And so are your reports,” he said and picked up a padd in front of him which so happened to contain the last one Xylion had submitted. “They are precise, to the point and all around flawless.” Xylion gave him a short, affirmative nod as if to say: Of course they are. “I am not talking about our mandated meetings or reports. I’m talking about a relationship that goes beyond protocol. I need to be able to trust you completely, Commander. With the ship, with the crew, at times perhaps even with my thoughts.” “Have I given you any reason not to trust me, sir?” Owens sighed. “No, not really.” “Than I am not sure what you are referring to.” The captain interlaced his fingers on the desk. “I guess it’s difficult to put into words. I appreciate that working with you will be different to the way I worked with Edison. You are an entirely different person and I don’t expect you to do things the way he did. But we need to develop a closer working relationship if you are interested in filling this position permanently.” “I am not.” This surprised Owens. “I beg your pardon?” “I am not interested in filling the position permanently,” he said in his well balanced tone of voice. “My continued dedication is to science not command and I am fully intended to remain focused on pursuing my career in that field. However, I am a Starfleet officer first and I fully understand the need for flexibility during this time of prolonged crisis and therefore will continue to carry out any duty requested of me for as long as it is required.” Owens considered this. Seeing how effective the Vulcan had been as his acting first officer he had come to the erroneous assumption that Xylion would want to continue in that post even when or if the war ended. He had been ready to file the necessary papers to make the transfer permanent as soon as he had become comfortable with the idea of Xylion as his right hand man. “I understand,” he said slowly. “If you are worried about your science career there is plenty of precedent of Starfleet officers carrying out both roles. It would be more work of course but I couldn’t think of person better suited for that challenge than you.” “I have considered this but have come to the conclusion that I would not be able to be the best science officer I could be if I were to split my duties. Equally I would not be able to be the best executive officer I could be. Not only would I not be satisfied allowing for those sacrifices, I also believe that you and the crew of this ship should deserve better.” Owens nodded slowly but reluctantly. If he was to judge he would have said that Xylion serving at just half his capacity as a first officer would still make him more efficient at the position than most others he had known. Of course this was not taking into consideration that during the last few weeks there had been little use for a science officer. A trend that was unfortunately to continue, he reckoned, until this war was behind them. “Very well,” the captain said. “I can’t say that I am not a bit disappointed by this decision but I certainly understand your motivation. I trust that I can count on you to carry out the duties of a first officer until we have found a replacement?” “Absolutely.” “Good. I cannot promise you that we will find one soon.” “I do not expect that you will.” Owens nodded and gave him that subtle look to indicate that he had nothing else to say. Gene Edison would have caught the hint instantly. Xylion remained in his seat. Owens knew he would have to work on his signals all over again. “That would be all for now, Commander.” The Vulcan nodded and left his chair. He walked towards the exit but stopped short and glanced towards the ancient painting. Then he looked back at the captain. “Sir, as part of our improved working relationship, may I make a suggestion?” Owens’ lips cracked for a smile, happy that he had apparently understood some of the things he had wanted to tell him. “By all means.” “I would like to remind you to return this painting to Earth as soon as possible. It would be a tragic loss to the cultural heritage of your people if it were lost.” Owens rolled his eyes slightly. “Yes, Commander, noted. Do you mind if I let the crew appreciate it for a few days first?” “That is entirely your prerogative, sir.” “Thank you.” This time Xylion got the hint and left the observation lounge. * * * *
A weird twist with the painting-and a unique addition to your story. You handled your characters well, also, though further explanation of the Bajoran's fascination with the painting would be welcome.
Owens better take care of that painting--that thing survived Savonarola and the Bonfire of the Vanities, revolutions, wars, world wars, collapse, and a whole lot more--it better not get trashed by some Philistine Jem'Hadar, Cardassian, or Vorta! I too am interested in why this particular painting has brought about such a strong reaction in Nora Laas. It's a strikingly beautiful work of art, true, but it's almost as if Nora is having a religious experience...
I can only concur with what others have said. The painting and Laas' reaction to it, are odd, but interesting, developments.