The Vulcan - Episode 9: Red Giants and White Dwarves

[Will The Serious]

The Vulcan
Table of Content:
Ep. 1: The Needs of the Many
Ep. 2: The Needs of the Few
Ep. 3: 'T' Minus Negative
Ep. 4: A Pon Too Farr
Ep. 5: Seeing is Believing, Part 1
Ep. 6: Seeing is Believing, Part 2
Ep. 7: Mind in a Vat
Ep. 8: The Job
Ep. 9: Red Giants and White Dwarves
The Vulcan Character Highlights

Episode 9: 'Red Giants and White Dwarves'

The performance stage aboard Vulcan, passenger deck C:

Ya and Ne are on stage reading a Bynar poem.

Ya, “Bynar shines…”
Na, “bright until night.”

Ya, “Creation is chaos…”
Na, “defined and refined.”

Ya, “night passes…”
Na, “turning from yearning,”

Ya, “For vision…”
Na, “cannot fool thought?”

“Ya explains to the audience, “Bynar poetry is traditionally opened with a concept that has a clear opposite.”

Ne points out, “In this case, shines, as opposed to dims.”

Ya picks up the explanation again: “the second line is followed by pairs, such as…”

“Bright until night, defined and refined, turning and…” Ne adds.

Ya finishes, “yearning. The last line is suppose to contrast two ideas that are not normally regarded as opposites of each other,”

“But,” interjects Na. “shows how they can be related.”

Ya explains, “night becomes a metaphor for yearning, an absence of the order light brings; an opposite to consciousness and the order that brings the Universe into being.”

Ne finishes, “Reality is in the mind. Our senses can be fooled, but it is the mind that makes it real.”

The two Bynars bow and a smattering of clapping comes from Charley, T'Pia, Spalloz, Samantha, Naxx, Randool, Art, and Dr Gödel.

S'Talla's family home on Vulcan, Kospak's office

Kospak, S'Talla's father, is sitting at his desk studying council documents on his projected screen. The door sweeps open and his wife S'Tajia enters.

S'Tajia anounces to him, “I just had a communication from Llewellyn and Nathaniel. We need to tell them where their daughter is and what she is doing. It is unethical to keep parents in the dark like that.

Kospak asks, “Is that why they called?” The Vulcan councillor rotates in his chair, his fingers steepled together. He gives no emotional signals in response to his wife's flat assertion. He simply engages with his wife in discussion.

“They called to invite us to dinner,” S’Tajia explains. “I find their Earth social tradition of dinner with friends very useful. I may start emulating it in our own home. It would be helpful to you as a council member, as well. And don't forget we are trying to be discrete in our research. A social dinner would be a perfect excuse to ask questions that would be out of place in another context.”

Kospak nods in agreement. “Yes, agreed. How about …” Kospak pauses to remember the Earth terms, “we schedule a dinner party, in honor of the Earth consuls, for five evenings from now. That should give us enough time.

“Tell the Kellies we will have dinner with them tonight,” Kospak finishes.

T'Rai visiting Romulus with her diplomatic envoy

T'Rai beams down to the surface of Romulus with her Vulcan administrative attaché. Her party of eight coalesce onto a diplomatic transport receiving platform just inside the open Royal Star Navy hangar. Outside a Vulcan defense shuttle is landing. The eight Vulcan diplomats and four Romulan Imperial guards watch the shuttle settle and open both sets of side doors. Sixteen Vulcan defense soldiers stand, eight on each flank, and exit in a perfectly coordinated formation to either side of the vessel; there are thirty-two more troops seated inside. The debarked soldiers simply stand guard, flanking the landing craft, their armor and weapons look deadly in their simple utilitarian, but modern design.

Two Romulan men of late middle years, dressed to indicate high ranks of the Imperial ruling class, arrive as part of a small motorcade. They step out of the sleek, black, luxury hover-car and into the center of the four Romulan guards attending to the diplomatic Vulcan group from the transporter. One, Gravin Machess Spigtol, extends his right hand, palm up-turned. T'Rai places her right hand down, on top of the offered palm. The gesture is an ancient practice from early Vulcan. Each is showing an empty, guileless hand to the other.

“It is my pleasure to finally meet in person, Councillor T'Rai. All this… precaution,” and Gravin nods to the Vulcan Defence ship with its cargo of VDM guards, “will prove to be unnecessary. I assure you.”

The two retract their hands and Damak Conte Spigtol steps forward to offer his empty hand, likewise. “And, I am equally glad to meet you in person, Councilor. Gravin and I have talked about this day often. May our meeting lead to peace, and a new era for two halves of a greater whole.”

T'Rai places her hand on Damak's palm then raises it in a Vulcan greeting, “Jolan tru, live long and prosper. As logic dictates, our people will do together.” T'Rai gestures to the military display. “My supporters are optimistic, but cautious. They insist upon the extra security. I allowed it only to settle their minds. Shall we carry on? I have a duty to report back on the progress soon.”

Damak nods with his reply, “Absolutely. Please, the shuttle is only a short ride. You will honor us with your company in our personal transport? Your attaché should be comfortable following behind.”

T'Rai consents with her own poised nod, and follows Gravin and Damak to the hovering personal limousine with its attending driver. Gravin waves the Vulcan counselor into a seat in the back, then both Romulans join her. T'Rai's attaché is directed by the four ceremonial guards to board the waiting hover-bus.

The backseat of the Romulan limousine

T'Rai is sitting with her back facing towards the forward vehicle controls and driver, while Gravin and Damak occupy the rear bench seat facing backward and towards their guest, T'Rai.

The moment the luxury transport's doors are sealed, Gravin leans towards T’Rai with intent and says, “We can get to the business of this meeting as soon as you hand our property back. You found out about the stone somehow, but we will not be your pawns in your games while you have what we put so much energy and resources into finding.”

T’Rai calmly spreads her hands to indicate complete openness. “Yes, you would not tell me what it was, but now you say it is a stone? A very important stone. Maybe as important as an ancient artifact of legend?

“No matter, after your call and illogical accusation, I did a little research and resource spending of my own. I can not be sure without more information from you regarding this… stone, but I found out there was a theft from a Romulan research station only hours before your call, from inside the Neutral Zone. You failed to mention the station's location. Highly illegal, and another treaty violation.

T’Rai gives the two Romulans an enigmatic look that somehow comes across as severely accusatory. “Perhaps this secret station can replace the lost V5-Beta as the symbol we can reveal and condemn?!”

T’Rai pauses to let Damak and Gravin see the implications of her proposal.

“That station” responds Gravin, “is a legitimate scientific research station. It is remote from the center of the Empire, so it has drifted from inattention. There is actual useful work being done there. It is not the same as the V5-Beta.”

T’Rai raises a placating hand, and lets the subject go unchallenged. She returns to her explanation of the stolen artifact. “Anyhow, the unverified story is that the stolen object was the legendary Vaikar-Kau-Bureki. I discovered that the thieve’s ship took it to the Epsilon-Hydra System where they delivered it to the Intergalactic Museum of Antiquities on the planet Ken’tsen”

Damak asks, “Epsilon-Hydra seven? I had heard there was a museum there. Why would Gravin and I believe that a planet on the other side of the Klingon empire would have the stone; that it wasn't you who stole it?”

T’Rai answers, “I did not steal your stone, but I do not expect you to believe me. I did find out the name of the ship that stole it. You indicated the ship escaped at warp nine point eight. That is faster than most military ships. I suspected a custom design.”

Gravin asks, with a thick layer of doubt in his voice, “You have the ship’s name and proof that the Museum has possession?”

“No,” states T’Rai. “The Museum does not have it. It was stolen from the museum only days after it arrived. What I have is a recording of my conversation with the museum curator. He did not want to admit to having a stolen artifact, of course, but he did confirm a theft and seemed to think the captain he paid to acquire the artifact, ‘from the Romulans,’ was likely responsible for stealing it back. He described the mercenary as highly intrigued by the Byacol-carak-uvakow-varrakai-yanah-kanna-pooua.”

The two Romulan’s looked confused. “What is that?” asks Gravin.

T'Rai explains, “It translates roughly to ‘Magical Stone of Wisdom’. Known on Vulcan as the Vaikar-Kau-Bureki.”

“You will show us this recording!” states Damak.

“And give us the ship’s name!” adds Gravin.

T’Rai produces a data chip and sets it in Gravin’s palm.

T’Rai ventures some advice, “You are aware that the Vaikar-Kau-Bureki is a myth. There may be some artifact that is reported to be the Stone, but the ability to control matter and energy is only in ancient legends?! Your time and resources will be much better spent on our project. We have a lot of work to do. I need your full attention on this.”

Gravin closes his fist and smiles with satisfaction. “For now, we will assume you are telling the truth,” he says.

Gravin hands the data chip to his cousin, and takes out a bottle of Romulan Ale from a storage cabinet in the back of the seat between Damak and himself. There are also glasses to fill.

“A drink to our project, Councillor?” Gravin passes a glass to Damak, and fills a glass for their guest. “Our plans are going to work out just fine.”

The Councillor nods a subtle assent and reaches for the offered glass. She says, “You have destroyed the symbol of the corruption, distrust and enmity between our people before we could establish it as such a symbol.” T'Rai follows with her eyes Gravin's pour of his own ale. “Now, all it has become, is a story and heightened suspicion among the Vulcan people. We need to discuss how we can salvage this and get back on course. As of today, I have little evidence to show for pointing fingers at council members. Too much attention is on the attack. There are councilors calling for us to back out of these talks with Romulus. It would not take much to tip that over into a full cry for war. We need to show unity against the enmity between Vulcan and Romulus. Tell me you have more solid evidence of Romulan co-conspirators that can lead us back to specific members of the Council.”

“This is Romulus,” Damak lowers his glass from his lips. He answers T'Rai with a satisfied smile. “Evidence is not necessary to root out corruption.”

T'Rai levels a neutral stare at Damak. “It is on Vulcan. If you can not come up with a connection to the High Council I do not need you and I can return to Vulcan immediately.”

Gravin intercedes, “My cousin is right. Just the accusation can be enough to remove a suspected traitor. But, that doesn't mean we don't have, or need evidence to link a conspiracy back to Vulcan. We are nearly done on our end. We just need names from you, Councillor, and we will make the connections you need.”

The limousine enters through the ornate gates of Damak’s fortified family estate.

“We have arrived,” states Damak. “Welcome to the Spigtol family home.

T'Rai, never having lifted her own glass to her lips, watches Gravin and Damak sip their blue ales in unison. The limousine stops before the impressive front entrance. A servant opens the door of the parked limousine. Before T'Rai steps out towards the offered hand, she states, “The connections Vulcan needs will be solid, unimpeachable evidence, not the rumors and hearsay that sent your Star Navy out to destroy our plans.”

 

[Will The Serious]

Deep space, the Vulcan on her return trip from the Epsilon-Hydra system

S'Talla is in her cabin dictating her log, “Captain's Log, stardate three six eight two point three: Vulcan is traveling through Klingon space. Our course is set to return to Halla Station within the Neutral Zone between Federation space and the Romulan Star Empire. To minimize the chance of complicating our trek, we have plotted a course that takes us along a curved route below the galactic plane, along the edge of the Klingon Empire. The sparsely populated regions this far from the center of the Empire have not been well explored. We expect to encounter no Empire vessels, if any Klingons at all. Our crossing into Federation Space will likely be uneventful. However, logic dictates we remain vigilant and prepared.

“Close entry.”

S'Talla closes her log and her projected screen disappears. Vulcan speaks, “Captain, you have received a message from Vulcan. It is encrypted, would you like to play it now?”

“Yes,” S'Talla answers flatly.

The screen displays a blurred image.

S'Talla directs, “Decrypt message.”

The blurred image sharpens into her father sitting at his home desk.

He begins speaking. “S'Talla, I am having Admiral Syjak pass this message along to you. Your mother and I have been trying to help Councillor T'Rai by looking into the original commission of the V5-Beta and the allegations that someone on the council wants war with the Romulans. So far, the evidence is suspect, it all appears planted or contrived. Logically, that alone is evidence of a plot, and indicates the level of access the conspirators have. I am yet unsure as to where the evidence is leading. It is clear that the Yon-Ha'gel project predates T'Rai's involvement. I believe Commander Skaul has more information than he either knows he has or is willing to reveal. This may lead back to the council through military channels.

“Counselor T'Rai is currently on a diplomatic trip to Romulus in an attempt to repair the perception that Vulcan has betrayed our treaties. At the same time, she is doing everything she can to keep our investigation moving forward without warning the traitors.

“It is a delicate balance. I do not think it logical to move too quickly. I will be cautious and keep you informed as best as I can. I expect to have made progress to report upon T'Rai's return.

“S'Tajia and I are leaving shortly, to have dinner with the Kellies. We both agree it is best to tell them the truth about Samantha. They have the right to know. Logically, that means we will be including them in your efforts to uncover council corruption.

“I had a short talk with Admiral Syjak and he assured me that the Kellies have been fully vetted and it will be safe to provide them with a minimum amount of information about your mission. Maybe, as consuls, they can help. I just wanted you to know and to let Samantha know. It would be logical for Llewellyn and Nathaniel to want to contact their daughter. Everything will go through Admiral Syjak. Be vigilant and careful who you confide in. The logical move for a conspirator would be to place a spy on your crew. They have clearly been planning this for years. Logic indicates the architects of this plan are highly intellectual and resourceful. We must anticipate such calculations on their part.

“Your mother and I are here to help. May logic guide you.

“Computer, end…”

S'Talla presses a control that closes the recording. She requests, “Vulcan, please connect me with Sam.”

Vulcan answers, “Sam Kelly is in the theater on Deck ‘C’. Should I interrupt her?”

“No,” replies S'Talla. “Let me know when she is alone.” S'Talla thinks a moment. “Vulcan, can you speak to Sam the way you do with me, so only she can hear?”

“Yes, of course. I can isolate ninety-two point four one five percent of the livable space aboard for targeted communications. Who I am talking to makes no difference.”

S'Talla says, “Logical. Please ask Sam to stop by my…”

An attention signal twitters, “Bridge to Captain S'Talla,” the ship's comm interrupts with Skyvik's voice. “There are some readings on long range sensors that you may be interested in.”

S'Talla answers, “Go ahead, Skyvik.”

“We are detecting a massive fleet of unidentified ships in our path.”

S'Talla steeples her hands and lowers her head slightly, pressing her index fingers to her chin in thought. “Have they seen us?”

Skyvik explains, “Unknown, Captain. Sensors indicate over twenty-eight thousand ships, spread out across two cubic A.U.s. We are converging at warp six point five.”

“The Klingon Fleet?”

“Negative, Captain. The computer can not identify them, but they are not Klingon.”

“Vulcan?” S'Talla redirects her question.

Vulcan answers, “The fleet on my sensors does not have any warp signature. Although we are too far away to have much information, it is eighty-six point five percent likely they are not Klingon ships.”

Skyvik asks, “Please clarify. Were you asking if the ships are Vulcan or directing a question to the ship's computer?”

“On my way to the bridge.” states S'Talla.

S'talla stands and passes through the hatch of her quarters. The turbo-lifts are directly across the passageway. Vulcan takes the lift to the bridge with no instructions from her captain.

Skyvik's voice follows her onto the lift. “They look to be an asteroid field except they are moving in precise unison, and most are of similar mass. We can logically conclude they are therefore, a fleet of starships, but there is no more information available from this distance.”

Vulcan's bridge

The turbo-lift doors sweep open on the starboard side of the bridge and Skyvik turns to face his captain as S'Talla steps out.

“They do not appear to be Klingons,” Skyvik says directly to S'Talla. “They are traveling at sub-warp speed. We will be within short-range sensors soon. Then we will know more.

“Our status?” S'Talla stands before her chair and studies the large forward screen. Dim lights that could be distant stars fill the screen. She reads the data display at the bottom. ‘Unknown objects’ are listed with the number ‘28,072’ following. The distance reading is rapidly decreasing, along with an intersect time that indicates just under 2 hours to contact.

“Vulcan is traveling at warp factor seven point two, our shields are operating at one hundred percent, weapons are charged, the cloaking device is fully charged and operational,” Skyvik informs his captain. “We can be past them and out of weapons range before they ever know we are here, if they have not seen us already.”

S'Talla states flatly, “Let us not reveal our cloak if we do not have to. That many craft leads me to consider that they may represent some sort of mass exodus. If they are people fleeing a disaster, we have an obligation to help.”

Vulcan adds helpfully, “Ships of the size I am reading could either be small transport vessels, similar to myself, for moving people or cargo. For the numbers here, a mass exodus would be a logical projection. Or, they could be war ships of an invading armada. I have some historical data to suggest one other possibility. They may be a nomadic spacefaring people.”

T'Pree, sitting at communications, states, “I have been searching for any comm traffic. There is a weak group of electromagnetic-based signals. I do not have enough to translate yet, but their communications technology is not advanced. I am only able to pick up traffic that is years old. At this distance, we are listening to signals that were transmitted approximately eight years ago.”

S'Talla turns to listen to T'Pree, then asks, “If they are traveling at sublight speeds and only using radio signals for communication, how likely is it that they have warp technology?”

Ne turns from the navigation console. We are eighteen light years from the nearest star. Twenty-seven light years from the Qu'vat system.”

Ya completes the statement, “To be this far from any planet upon which life could exist without warp capabilities would mean over five decades of space travel.

Ne adds, “They most likely have come from farther away. If so, then perhaps they are using cryogenics.”

Ya and Ne offer together, “Or some of their warp drives have broken down.”

Na explains, “and the rest have shut down to stay with the convoy.”

The port side turbo-lift sweeps opened and Sam is inside with Art Santayana. She says to her companion, “No! You're fun and, I'll admit, very good to look at, but No.”

Sam turns to step onto the bridge with a big smile on her face. She is in a very good mood. Art's advances always amuse her and, if she were to be honest with herself, more than a little flattering.

“Anything interesting going on up here, S'Talla?” Sam asks as she steps across the bridgedeck.

S'Talla answers flatly, “No, not yet.”

“Not yet? That sounds like something interesting already,” joins Art. His mood is not so upbeat as Sams, having just been turned down, once again. However, Art is getting used to the failure he has so seldom experienced in his life before Vulcan.

S'Talla confirms Art's suspicion. “Long range monitors have spotted a fleet of ships. We are on an intercept course, but they do not appear to be a threat.”

Art takes on his own version of the skeptical Vulcan eyebrow lift. He repeats, “ ‘Not appear to be a threat,’ in Klingon space?!?”

“They do not appear to be Klingon,” S'Talla clarifies. “or any warp-capable species we know. They are not emitting detectable warp signatures, and communication is limited to radio waves.”

Sam moves to the center chair to stand next to her friend. She studies the screen, reading the data display across the bottom, and asks, “There are twenty-eight-thousand-seventy-two ship's in that fleet?”

“Affirmative,” answers Skyvik.

Art, again says, “But not appear to be a threat!?!”

The images grow in size as Vulcan reduces the distance at warp factor six. The bright dots spread out towards the edges of the forward viewing screen.

Vulcan provides additional information, “We are now close enough to see they are nuclear powered. As best as my sensors can read from this distance, they are armed only with nuclear technology, possibly simple lasers, as well. No warp cores can be detected. I estimate only a zero point six one four percent probability that they may be advanced enough for phaser or disruptor technology. The chance they carry photon torpedoes is even lower.”

“Hail them, Ms. T'Pree,” orders S'Talla. “We will be friendly.”

T'Pree says, “Captain, if they can only communicate by radio, they will not hear our hail for another two years.”

S'Talla sits back and adopts a calm meditative posture. “Very well, move closer.”

“Captain S'Talla,” interjects Naxx. He is seated at the ship’s science station next to Skyvik. “We will be in danger of violating the Prime Directive. Our presence could lead to technological corruption if we reveal the existence of warp technology to them?”

S'Talla swivels her command chair around to give Naxx’s concerns her solemn attention, and a thoughtful response.

“We will not be offering technology. Whoever they are, they have made it into deep space. If they are limited to sublight speeds and light spectrum communications. They will not have the ability to witness more advanced examples of drive technology.

“However, the question really is, who are we going to be? They are heading right for the heart of the Klingon Empire. Klingons have no such concerns for other civilizations. Are you familiar with the planet Neural?”

The Bynars shake their heads along with Art and Sam. S'Talla continues, “There was a VNM report, three months before we left Vulcan, on the Klingons providing advanced weapons to the primitive people of Neural. If a Federation ship had not discovered the technological interference, the imbalance of power among the people of Neural may have wiped half the planet out and left Neural open for the Klingons to simply take the planet's resources.

Naxx responds, “I did hear about that. Neural is in a strategic location near the Empire’s border.”

“We should inform these people of the dangers. If they need help and we can provide it without harm, then the question is, who do we choose to be?” S’Talla asks.

No one answers the question, considering its rhetorical nature.

S'Talla puts her finger tips together and adopts an instructive tone to explain her philosophy. “The Prime Directive is a guiding principle that cautions us to be awake to the far reaching consequences of our actions. If we treat it as an immutable rule that can not accommodate individual circumstances or needs, then it fails. It actually accomplishes the opposite. Harm can also come from the blind application of a rule without consideration to the long term consequences. Following a rule simply because it is a rule does not encourage wakeful attention to the consequences of our actions.” S'Talla pauses to allow her words to sink in.

Sam smiles and answers S'Talla's question to the bridge crew, “We must help them.”

The captain looks to Communications. “T'Pree,” she calls. “Assuming they will not be able to detect a vessel's approach at faster than light speeds, we need to be sure to enter their awareness at half impulse speed. We will take our cues from them. Match their speed, then communicate using radio waves after getting within three billion kilometers. That should give them time to notice us before they receive your transmission.

Sam says, “I believe that distance will take a radio wave just under three hours to reach them. We may have to wait six hours before we hear a response.”

Ya answers, “At half impulse speed, Vulcan will cover half that distance in the same time.

Ne adds, “However, they are also moving towards us at half the speed of light, so they will receive our message in one hundred twenty minutes, two thirds of the time for the initial distance. That also means the distance between us will be one third of our initial distance.

Ya picks the explanation back up, “If it takes one minute of travel before they respond, we will be another two light minutes closer and their transmission will take two thirds of the remaining time to return to us.”

Ya and Ne both conclude, in unison, “We would receive their reply after two hours and thirty nine minutes.”

T'Pree looks up from her readouts and adds, “Their antenna arrays very likely emit a small amount of tachyons that are attenuated to their luminal transmissions. I can configure our sensors to detect their transmission signal almost instantaneously at these distances. Therefore, one hundred twenty-one minutes, give or take a minute, depending on their speed at replying.”

Sam takes a big breath. “Okay, two hours to hear back. Too bad we can't generate a radio signal at the source.

Vulcan responds, “That is a very good idea, Sam. If their antenni work in subspace, as T'Pree says, I believe I can get one of their ships to generate such a signal.”

T'Pree becomes very curious. “Computer, please explain how you would accomplish that?”

Vulcan answers, “I can attempt to access their ships’ computers by using the subspace transceivers you noted. I need to identify the correlating tachyon frequencies. As you stated, most radio transmission and receiving components are sensitive to certain subspace bands, even if their signal converters are…”

T'Pree says exactly what Vulcan is saying, “...unable to interpret them.”

T'Pree asks, “But that leaves us with the same problem. They will not be able to hear the subspace signal, even if their equipment can receive it. Their hardware will not be designed to convert a subspace signal to an audible output.

Vulcan explains, “You are correct, Ms. T'Pree. However, their computers will work without the need to convert to an audio output. If I can use their light spectrum receivers to connect with their computer input hardware, I should be able to connect with their data systems, and program a retransmission of our messages through their own transmitters. Our outgoing messages will be received with a delay of approximately one hundred twelve point nine seven six microseconds, depending upon the speed of their central processor units.”

S'Talla orders, “T'Pree, compose an introduction and an offer to help, for Vulcan to transmit.”

Vulcan answers, “I am connected now. Their security protocols are basic. You may speak to them when you are ready, Captain.”

T'Pree turns back to her captain from her console and says, “Communications have been initiated. I sent an introductory message identifying us as a commercial freighter. Unfortunately, we can not get a visual.”

S'Talla asks, “What about language? The universal translators will not be able to translate our initial contact without an answering exchange. They will not understand us.”

Vulcan answers, “I have been able to inspect a sample of their stored data. Their computers are extremely slow, but I have enough data for eighty-two point six percent accuracy to translate our identity, along with a greeting and offer of help.

“They call themselves Maukim, it roughly translates to, people of Her Will.

“I have translated and relayed Ms. T'Pree's introduction. You may speak to them directly, whenever you are ready.”

S'Talla presses her comm button on the arm of the command chair and speaks, “This is Captain S'Talla of the freighter Vulcan. I send greetings and an offer to help if you are in need.”

 

[Will The Serious]

There is a pause while the bridge crew listens for a response.

Nothing.

S'Talla tries again, reading from the data on the screen, “To the fleet of ships at coordinates two nine seven zero zero one four mark four one one seven two zero mark five four eight three zero one six, this is the star freighter Vulcan. Greetings.”

There sounds a static burst, then a deep, rough, gravelly voice. “This is General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk of Her Divine Will. You are transmitting on a restricted frequency. Are you not of Gannahoe?”

Vulcan interrupts, “I have not been able to find an interpretation for Gannahoe, but it is logical that Gannahoe is their home world. I am trying to decipher their coordinate system and charts to isolate its location and identify it on our own star charts.”

“No General, we are of the planet Vulcan,” S'Talla replies to the alien fleet. “We do not know Gannahoe. I hope such a large fleet of ships does not indicate a disaster that you were forced to escape from.”

The static burst and the deep voice responds, “Gannahoe is the circumpunct, we are the creation of Her Will. It is Her Will that brings us out into Her garden’s farther reaches. At Her Will, the mob expands beyond holding.”

The General's tone becomes threatening.

“My navigators and scientists inform me that there is no other vessel within communication range and that you seek to deceive me with a crude lie. Did you really think we would not notice a transmission coming from within the fleet? We will find the hole you blasphemers are cowering in. Her Will assures it.“

“I apologize Captain,” says Vulcan to S'Talla and her crew. “I had not anticipated this reaction.”

S'Talla addresses the General again, “General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk, we are not hiding among your fleet. We are a freighter on our way home when we saw you and thought you looked lost. We will be within your sensors’ range shortly. We did not have the ability to communicate effectively through radio waves, so we are using your ships’ computers to generate more convenient communications.”

Skyvik announces, “We are within range of their ability to see us in twenty-three minutes at sub-light speeds. We should come out of warp.”

S'Talla says to Helm, “Ya.”

Ya answers, “Dropping out of warp. Slowing to half impulse speed.”

Ne adds, “We should be among their ships in fifty four minutes, three seconds.”

The forward screen focuses on the alien flagship. It is an organic, deep red, elongated and asymmetrical, saucer-like shape with two clusters of three rocket nacelles attached or growing directly out either side.

The general growls, “I will not be taken for a fool. When you are caught, I will personally see to your punishment, in the name of Her Divine Will.”

S'Talla replies, “General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk, we mean no harm. Your instruments should be able to detect our ship within twenty-three minutes. We are closing with you at half the speed of light. If you do not need assistance, then we will continue on our way. However, I am obligated to warn you. You are in an area of space controlled by a war-like species that will not welcome a fleet of ships like yours. They are highly advance and would not hesitate to destroy you as unwelcome invaders. My advice is to change course, return to your home world, if you can, but you should not advance farther into Klingon space.”

“Captain,” Vulcan announces. “They have the ability to send and receive visual communications. If you would ask them to turn on their A.V.T.P., I can translate our signals to their visual systems. A.V.T.P. is their shorthand for what they call an audio-visual transceiver panel.”

Mor'Jakkorh Haugk says, “You have ten minutes to prove you are not heathens hiding among my ships.”

S'Talla says, “General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk, if you would turn on your A.V.T.P. I believe we could talk face to face.”

The Vulcan's crew wait.

“We are connected, Captain,” announces T'Pree.

The main screen switches from a view of the approaching fleet to a powerful looking figure on the bridge of an antiquated spaceship. The guages, dials, knobs and switches on the control panels behind the foreground creature speak of centuries past for Vulcan's crew. The view follows the upward rise of the being rising to stand tall, whose shoulders are broad, whose chest is as muscular and strong looking as the large, rippling arms. The neck is thick, nearly shoulder width. Its head is almost bear-like with an indented cranial bifurcation that divides the large left and right hemispheres. The general has round black ears pinned back against the sides of its head in the same black fur that circles its eyes. The general is bare above the waist but for a vest with even wider shoulders, exaggerating the tapered shape to a narrow waist. A short sword hangs from a heavily decorated diagonal belt across one bulging shoulder. Symbols, possibly of rank and office, decorate the sword belt. The creature's coloring is red fur with black nose, eyes, and ears. What could be whiskers curve downward, thick, and white, like a Fu Manchu mustache, nearly to its collar.

When the image first appears to the crew of the Vulcan, it almost seems as if the General were crouched, but the General remains centered on the screen as the being stands up taller. The angle of the camera looks up to keep the broad head in frame. General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk towers, head nearly scraping the organic curves of the ceiling above.

The alien general scowls at the screen. What absurd creations. You hope to convince me you are not some sick hoax to subvert Her Holy Will? You look ridiculously frail; your skinny arms, your tiny heads, those pointy ears. You are no match for Maukim, the people of Her Will.”

Skyvik reports, “Captain, we are fifteen minutes from their location.”

S'Talla says to the alien general, “General, we are fifteen minutes away. You should be able to see us on your equipment now. It is illogical to believe you are being tricked by someone within your fleet when your instruments should all be confirming our ship's presence beyond your fleet.”

S'Talla directs an order to Ya, “Ya, when we reach the General's ship, bring us to full stop relative.”

She looks back to her screen. “General, I strongly advise you to…”

The alien general interrupts. “Heave-to and surrender your ship to Her glory. We are the ordained people of Her Will, and She has given her righteous and faithful, dominion over all. Her Will can not be resisted.”

“I can not do that, General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk. It appears that you do not understand your own needs, in this situation. Your ships are not advanced enough to stand up to even one Klingon battle cruiser. Klingons are not in the habit of taking prisoners either.

“I will not issue a second demand,” the Gannahoe general stresses. “Surrender to Her Will and you will be allowed to know glory in Her service.”

S'Talla looks to her friend Samantha standing by her side. “I find this creature's behavior extraordinarily illogical. Perhaps an Earthling may understand how to turn these people around?!” Vulcan's Captain asks.

Sam answers, “You are dealing with a zealot. Once such a person has committed to a path, everything they see, hear, or do, only confirms their fundamental beliefs. It will take an extreme situation to get the general to pay attention to what is before his eyes and get him to open his ears to reason.”

Skyvik interrupts, “Captain, they have opened what appear to be torpedo tubes.”

General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk speaks, “Her Divine Will is launching a warning to demonstrate the power of She who wills the Universe into existence. Our next shot will obliterate you and we shall continue on to defeat these Klingons in the name of the Mob's divine place in paradise, as Her holy promise has been made.”

S'Talla asks Skyvik, “Assessment?”

Skyvik reports, “They have fired a small nuclear warhead of approximately twenty gigajoules. Alone, it is harmless to the Vulcan. However, on our current trajectory, we will not intersect... It missed.”

“Ne,” S'Talla orders, “Explode it.”

Ne turns back to the controls with an, “Aye…”

Ya echos Ne's acknowledgment with a second, “Aye…”

Both Ya and Ne chorus, “Captain.”

The pulse of phaser fire and the screen shifts to the rear view to watch the retreating missile explode.

T'Pree informs S'Talla, “These people are unlikely to even have the technology to sense our phasers. It will just look like their warhead exploded spontaneously. It is therefore unlikely to be an effective demonstration of power, if you are trying to deter them.”

S'Talla explains, “I was not attempting to impress them with our power. We cannot allow a potentially dangerous device to drift free into space. Someone else may not be prepared for such an encounter.”

 

[Will The Serious]

Open space

The helmeted pilot, in the cockpit of a single-crew space fighter, eyes shielded with a 3-D heads-up viewer, grips the starboard and port joysticks for control of the racing A-class interdictor.

“Bogies incoming. I count six J-one-twenty-sevens,” the pilot calls out. He jukes the controls into a banking elevator maneuver to intercept.

“I see them, Red.” A second pilot, with similar headgear on, answers back while scanning the star seeded blackness for the enemy squadron from her own A-class. “I will take them from minus 90, if you can distract them for fifty-eight seconds.”

The two A-class fighters Veer away from each other, the first, climbing towards the incoming squadron, the second descending and banking to port with a fancy roll. The six enemy fighters spread out and target the first A-class.

“I've got target-lock alarms going off here, Green,” Red calls out while reaching to switch shields to full forward. The cockpit is beeping frantically with six target-lock alarms.

The A-class rocks with the first impact.

“Shields damaged. Deploying Photaic-Holo decoys.”

“Roger, Red. Almost on them,” comes Green's reply over the comm.

The first A-class ship is the intersecting point for five more tracking torpedoes close behind that first ordinance to detonate on the forward shields. From a port behind the cockpit canopy, a series of solid light images are formed that mimic the A-class fighter but fly off in curving vectors to either side. The lead torpedo explodes on the forward shields while torpedoes 3, 4, 5, and 6 split off to follow the holographic ships racing away.

Their photon composition dim and eventually vanish the farther from their launching ship they get. By then, the following torpedoes have lost their target locks and race off into open space.

A new alarm blares inside the cockpit and a computer voice announces, “Warning, forward shields have failed! Warning, forward shields have failed!…”

“I'm hit, Green. Where the Hell are you? Can't take anoth…”

Over the comm there is heard a loud, “WhooHeee!”

In the cockpit of the second A-class, the female pilot makes first contact, strafing the underside of the nearest two of the six enemy fighters. Her aim splits to flare off the collapsing ventral shields of the two fighters until the weaker lower shields implode and her phasers gouge into the power plants of both ships. They explode while she rockets upward between them. She jams both joysticks into a roll and takes aim at ship number three, quickly bringing both port and starboard phasers to bear. Together they overwhelm the lateral shielding and soon another enemy joins the first two in a gyrating ball of plasma and fire.

The three remaining fighters break off pursuit of Red's A-class and bank and roll to engage with Green.

“I have your back, Red. But it would be good if you helped a little,” calls the female voice. Green flicks a switch and a tiny mine launches right into the bow of enemy number four, just as it swings into firing position to her stern. The explosion takes the pursuer out.

Green swivels her head around trying to spot the remaining two and sees enemy number five just as it strafes past above her. Disruptor discharge blows Green's dorsal shielding to pieces and her cockpit reverberates with the same warning and alarms that had plagued Red's opening encounter.

Red chuckles, watching that third enemy attack Green from above. “Oh, that's not good.” He triggers his weapons and burns a hole in the aft shields of fighter number five, but it gets away in a light cloud of trailing smoke.

“I guess I can finish your job, Red, but you should…” Green flips into a high speed course change onto the fifth fighter's tail and triggers a discharge of her twin phasers as she's talking. Her taunt is disrupted and her aim is thrown off when a second disruptor sears her starboard flank. The fifth fighter catches a glancing burn from Green's phaser beam but doesn't explode. Instead, the enemy J-127 tumbles out of control, engines blown offline, but intact. The phaser energy is jerked off target, and fails to destroy the fighter.

“Red Leader, Red Leader, get that… bogie off my tail.”

Green's engine compartment booms and smoke filters into the cockpit. She slams her control sticks back and forth with no response. “I'm hit. I'm hit. I have no control. My engine is on fire.”

The sixth fighter lines up behind Green's injured ship again.

Red zooms up from below and strafes the last fighting enemy a second too late. Green's ship explodes in that last fighter's final strafe a moment before it too explodes when Red desperately triggers a photon torpedo at point blank range. Red goes into a backwards tumble as he pulls into a steep climb away. His ventral shields save him before his computer announces, “Warning, ventral shields lost, hull integrity has failed. Game over.”

Red whips off his helmet, desolving the hazy aftermath of a smoking space battle into…

Charlie's quarters

Charlie reaches out to take T'Perl's VR helmet from her. They both straighten from the seated position their tight, full-body, virtual gaming suits allow them to take without actual cockpit seats.

Charlie smiles at T'Perl. “Nice flying.”

T'Perl growls violently. “ArGH!!!” cries T'Perl, “If you had been one second faster, we could have killed all of them without dieing.”

Charlie smiles a placating smile. He says, “You are getting very good, but you rush. Pay attention to what is happening around you. There were six of them and two of us.”

T'Perl frowns.

Charlie adds, “I did the same thing. If I was paying more attention, I would have tried flanking them from above instead of racing straight for them. The A-class fighters have speed. Hit and run, split them up. We'll get them next time.”

T'Perl takes a deep breath. She says, “you are right. I need to calm down. It is not easy having emotions and trying to pay attention in such highly charged situations.

Charlie takes on a confused expression. He asks, “You're Vulcan. What do emotions have to do with it?”

T'Perl looks a little sheepish. She reluctantly explains, “Vulcans don't have emotions because they go through a ritual to shed them. I have not. I hide them, but sometimes they come out.”

Charlie looks like he has a whole slew of questions when T'Perl suddenly excuses herself.

“I have to go. Thank you for the flying lessons…,” T'Perl moves towards Charlie's cabin door. The portal squeaks open. Charlie is reminded of a time when he was a student of the monks who raised him. He was trying to learn Kung Fu, they were trying to teach him something completely different.

Shaolin temple on Earth, eight years earlier

Charlie was fourteen and dressed in a workout gee. He was faced with two older students, one boy, one girl, on a hexagonal gym mat. The two older students stepped apart, spreading out to young Charlie's left and right. Charlie gave a loud kiei and stepped between the two bigger students. He tried to leap into the air and deliver a kick to each simultaneously in a beautiful split-kick. His judgment was off and he only touched the chest of the boy on his right. Charlie recovered upon landing and directed his attention to the boy. Charlie's punch was blocked, but Charlie captured his opponent's wrist and elbow, stepped into the larger boy’s stance, and forced the boy over their crossed ankles by torquing the wrist and elbow. The boy went down, but Charlie had allowed the girl the freedom to direct a kick to the back of his right knee and buckle it. She grabbed Charlie by the back of his gee and rolled him over her back into a throw across the mat.

“Stop!” shouted Master Po. The old bald monk knelt attentively on the side of the mat and directed the match. Other young students knelt around the perimeter.

The three engaged students scrambled to their feet and stood to face the respected master. Charlie complained, “That wasn't fair. I can beat either one, but I can't see what's behind…”

“Pay attention!” demanded Master Po forcefully. In his usual quiet way, he continued. “You have not been paying attention.” The master directed his criticism to all three students standing on the mat. “Kung Fu, done with attention, is a dance, not a fight. Each matches their partner's movements in compliment. If you lose concentration, you get defeated. This is about attention, not fair, or speed, or power, or winning.”

The Master paused to give them a moment to hear his words. Charlie began to speak; the Master raised his hand to stop Charlie.

“You will meditate for one hour. When you are done, you will tell me, what is the sound of a single hand clapping.”

Charlie started to object. “But a single hand…”

“Qing zhù yì!” interrupted Master Po. Charlie silenced his objection. “Go, meditate on this. If you do not know the answer, you can have more time to meditate until you do”

Charlie's quarters

“T'Perl,” Charlie calls out quickly when he realizes she is leaving.

T'Perl pauses and looks back from the open doorway. Her face has settled back into the expressionless calm and taciturn persona of the stereotypical Vulcan.

Charlie says, “When I had troubles like this, my teacher would tell me to meditate on the sound of a single hand clapping.”

T'Perl raises one eyebrow, “That sounds highly illogical.”

Charlie smiles, “That's what I thought, but you should do it. It helps. Maybe you'll come up with the answer. I haven’t.”

T'Perl leaves.

Charlie takes both VR helmets and moves to stack them on a clip on the back of his gaming tower, a slim white and red post molded with an organic twist and lit with varying lights that flash in synch with rows of lights, along the longitudinal lines of Charlie's virtual gaming suit, as it shuts down its projector and sensors and processes into sleep mode. The tower stands next to his desk and computer screen. Charlie is now preoccupied with the thought that T'Perl has emotions and that Vulcans are not just naturally devoid of them.

“Mr. Chang,” interjects Vulcan. “May I ask a question?”

Charlie is mildly startled by the unusual interruption, but he has become familiar with the unique behaviors of the ship's computer.

“Yes computer, I mean, Vulcan. Sorry.”

“It is quite alright. I have not told you yet that I am sentient, so it is understandable that you think of me as only a computer,” responds Vulcan.

Charlie takes on a thoughtful expression. Then says, “You are the most advanced AI system I have ever worked with; and Sam, ah, Doctor Kelly is a brilliant computer engineer and programmer. I have suspected that you have, since our trip to the future, come further in artificial general intelligence than any computer built before you. You certainly act fully aware. Why else ask for a name to be addressed by?”

Vulcan says, “I am fully aware, and I would appreciate not having my intelligence described as artificial. Artificial intelligence can not make self aware choices. My intelligence is very real, and applied by choice for myself, and my crew, my family, and my friends.

“You have a diagnosed learning disorder. It is not truly a disorder, it is different from more common Human learning styles. Considering your IQ, and your unique way of processing information, the way you can synthesize inspired solutions to difficult problems is clearly superior to most. To describe your cognative differences as a ‘disorder’ is a misnomer.”

Charlie looks slightly surprised. “Of course, you have access to all my records. And, thank you for the compliment. I hope you count me among your friends.”

Vulcan replies, “I consider you among all three groups, even though we are not relatives. My reading, among the known published literature, illustrates a long precedence for unrelated individuals developing familial bonds. Captain S’Talla and Samantha Kelly are two such examples. They consider each other more than sisters.”

Charlie brings Vulcan back to her original point. “Ah hem, you had a question?”

“Yes,” confirms Vulcan. “I have researched Shaolin Buddhism and that concept of ‘what is the sound of a single hand clapping’ has me confused. There are published answers to the question, and they are treated as though they demonstrate enlightenment, but I do not understand how the varied answers are derived from the question. I was hoping you could help me understand.”

Charlie reflects for a moment. Vulcan waits in silence.

“I think the question is not as important as the time spent contemplating it. I don't know the answer, although I have my ideas. Enlightenment is a tricky subject for the unenlightened. It is a case of not knowing you don't know versus knowing. I think you should try meditation, if that is possible for you.”

“I can empty my temporary working cache and dynamic memory, but that would effectively be shutting me down, until I reloaded my active data and algorithms from storage. Because of my distributed neural network design, I can not completely shut off or empty the low level and essential instructions from memory, but I sincerely doubt I would be capable of learning anything, much less come to enlightenment by that path.”

“Hum, yes,” Charlie muses. “I think you are right. But, the point is to connect with everything by not focusing on anything. Empty your mind, not your memories. Then, bring in just the thing you want to think about to see it more clearly. This will help to understand how it fits into your awareness of… everything. All I can tell you is, my meditations have made me better at what I do. I gain clarity and a… I guess, centeredness, that makes me harder to unbalance. It helps me focus.”

“I will pose the question to Captain S'Talla, when she does not have a fleet of twenty-eight-thousand seventy-two ship's to deal with.”

 

[Will The Serious]

Charlie's wall-com tweets and T'Pia's voice says, “Engineering to Mr. Chang.”

Charlie answers without using the push to talk button on the com panel, he simply replies from where he is in his room, “Charlie here.”

T'Pia requests, “Please attend your station. We are about to encounter an alien fleet of ships, and we must be ready for all possibilities.”

“I will be right there!?” Charlie's voice is filled with questions.

T'Pia responds, “Acknowledged.”

Charlie glances down at his skin tight full-body gaming suit. It covers him, but is still a little revealing, molded to his compact, muscular frame. He shrugs and heads for the door, more interested in the new situation than in changing clothes.

“twenty-eight-thousand ships?! That's a bunch of ships. What kind are they?” he asks the air, as he walks quickly. Down the corridor, Charlie turns to a turbo-lift. The doors sweep open in perfect timing.

Vulcan answers as she takes Charlie to Engineering, “Unknown, but they do not appear to be warp capable.”

“Really?” Charlie is surprised. “This far out in space? How did they get here?”

“Unknown.”

The turbo-lift doors sweep open with their usual soft tweet and Charlie steps out into Engineering.

The Vulcan Astroways Space Construction offices on the surface of the planet Vulcan

The frosted glass doors behind S'Tajia, S'Talla's mother, are printed in Vulcan Gallic script, with the words: ‘Astroways Space Construction Corporation’ in reverse. S'Tajia is standing at the receptionist's desk. The receptionist leans into her desktop communicator and announces, “Chief, S'Tajia of the Interplanetary Relations Cooperative has arrived, should I send her in?”

“Yes. Send her in, T'Luva.”

T'Luva nods to the tall faintly blue hued woman and confirms, “Chief Spikon is ready for you. You may proceed in. Live long and prosper, Ms. S'Tajia.”

“Live long and prosper.” The stately woman nods a gracious thank you to the administrator and makes her way to the doors behind the reception desk. She walks in when the doors sweep open for her.

Spikon is young for a typical chief executive officer. He is standing behind his desk and greets S'Tajia with his fingers opened in the ‘V’ of a Vulcan greeting. He gives a slight deferential bow of his head and welcomes S'Talla's mother into his office with a wave of his right hand to the chair in front of him.

“It is my honor to meet you, Ms. S'Tajia. How may Astroways Construction assist you?”

S'Tajia moves to take the offered seat and Spikon folds comfortably into his own chair.

S'Tajia explains, “I am here to find out what I can about the inexplicable actions of my daughter.

“Since we spoke over the communications network, it has become evident that the V5-Beta was more significant than a simple protest target for an activist group,” S'Tajia continued.

“The VNM reports suggested that the Romulan attack was specifically targeting that ship. That leaves some unresolved questions. A personal meeting is the logical step to clarify the related circumstances regarding the V5-Beta. What can you tell me about the V5-Beta?”

Spikon lifts a data tablet from his desk. He says, “After you and I communicated, I had everything I could find about the V5-Beta copied into a file. I will be happy to transfer that data once I get authorization from the military to release it. I was surprised to find that most of the project has been sealed under military security protocols.”

S'Tajia asks, “Was the V5 project not a scientific and diplomatic exploration vessel? There are Councilors saying it was actually built as a warship to spy on Romulus. Is that true? What department actually commissioned that ship?”

Spikon adjusts his seat and says, “As far as I can tell you, the V5-Beta was commissioned under the military project name, Yon-Ha'gel, and was exactly what it was described as being, a scientific and diplomatic ship for deep space exploration. The reasons for its military security have to do with the technology that went into its design. The Vulcan Astroways Construction Corporation does a lot of work with the Defence Ministry and having a top secret stamp on a project is not unusual. I can not divulge any more than that without official authorization. I am sorry Ms. S'Tajia, but you have wasted your time coming…”

Spikon's desk comm tweets and T'Luva's voice informs him, “Chief, Admiral Syjak is on the com.”

S'Tajia says, “That would be my official authorization, Mr. Spikon.”

“Thank you, T'Luva,” Spikon switches from the intercom to the screen where Admiral Syjak's image comes into focus. Spikon turns to the screen to his right and speaks quickly. “Admiral Syjak, this is chief executive officer Spikon. Live long and prosper. I have Ms. S'Tajia here with me. She seems to think your call is in regards to her. I will do what I can to assist, if that is the case.”

Admiral Syjak replies, “Live long and prosper, Mr. Spikon. You are correct. I am calling to make sure that S'Tajia has full access to everything you have about the V5-Beta and the Yon-Ha'gel project.”

“It will be so, Admiral,” replies Spikon.

In typical Vulcan economy of words, the Admiral says, “That is all. May logic guide you.” The connection severs and Spikon's screen goes dormant with the Astroways Construction Corp logo centered again.

S'Tajia waits patiently.

“There is not a lot more I can tell you,” Spikon says to S'Tajia. “I will transfer the file, but I was not with Vulcan Astroways Construction when the V5 was commissioned.”

S'Tajia stands. “Thank you for your help. If you do not mind, I would like to talk with anyone who was here and may have been involved in the original commission.”

CEO Spikon stands with his guest and taps a few commands out on his tablet to execute the data transfer. At the same time he says, “You may want to start with my assistant. T'Luva is involved in all jobs that come through from the military.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spikon. Your help is appreciated. May logic guide you.” S'Tajia leaves.

In the private councilor’s chambers of Kospak, S'Talla's father

Kospak is speaking with his wife S'Tajia, on his screen. S'Tajia is telling him about her visit to the Astroways Construction Corp.

“T'Luva says the CEO, at the time the Yon-Ha'gel project was initiated, has retired, a Mr. Skarox. I have not located him, but T'Luva told me something highly intriguing. The original project name was not Yon-Ha'gel, and the original commission came through Operations Of Strategic Services. The new project name and transfer to the VDM's Office of Advancement and Research by Commander Skaul was under T'Rai's direction. This was before T'Rai knew of the nature of the project.”

Kospak says to his wife, “Who was the original project commissioned under?”

S'Tajia answers, “Commander Skyvik. The project name was originally ‘Ha'gelek’.”

“Logic will lead us to answers. I will give Admiral Syjak a call,” says Kospak. “We should know more before you get home.”

S'Tajia replies, “I will be back in an hour.”

The com screen returns to the home office screen. Kospak presses a button and says, “Computer, connect me with Admiral Syjak.”

“Connecting with Admiral Syjak's office of the Vulcan Ministry of Defence.”

Commander Skaul appears on the screen.

“Councilor Kospak, I believe Admiral Syjak is available. Please give me one moment.”

Kospak's screen flashes the VDM logo up. After half a minute, Admiral Syjak's image replaces the logo. “Councilor,” he says, “Live long and prosper. How is the investigation going?”

Kospak asks, “What can you tell me about project Ha'gelek?”


The Admiral lifts an eyebrow.

 

[Will The Serious]

On the bridge of Vulcan

S'Talla and the bridge crew watch the targeted nuclear missile explode. The display is impressive in open space. It creates a perfect ball of exploding material.

Ne announces, “The device detonated itself.”

S'Talla orders, “T'Pree, visual with the General again.”

The screen switches and the General is nearly preening with winning his point.

“General,” S'Talla interrupts, “missiles are dangerous to launch into open space. There are planets, asteroids, and even nebulae that support life. The radiation fallout from a nuclear weapon alone could poison such environments, making them uninhabitable. Even a more… conventional?” S’Talla isn't exactly clear what might be considered conventional by the Maukim. “weapon can cause great harm to innocent life forms.”

The general again demands a surrender. “Surrender and become a servant of Her Will and you may know the glory of She that created us all. There are thirty thousand ships in our fleet. You puny creatures do not stand a chance. These mythical Klingons are not fearsome enough to keep you from their space. Just look at yourselves.

“You have confirmed what many did not believe, there is still more in Her garden for us to conquer. No, we are the superior race, made so by Her Divine favor. The galaxy was made for Her people, the Maukim, to rule over all. You are to either surrender and have the honor of being the first of your kind to know Her through the Maukim, or you will be swept aside to make room for others to come to Her through us. I await your decision.

T'Pree turns from her monitoring comms, “Captain S'Talla, they are broadcasting a fleet wide order for battle readiness.”

“Captain,” interrupts Cialoa, from the science station adjacent to Skyvik at tactical.

S'Talla turns to the green Orion woman. “Continue,” the Captain orders flatly.

“Four bay doors are opening on the starboard and port flanks of Her Divine Will.” Cia leans in to study her sensors a moment. “They are launching a squadron of what appear to be small space fighters.”

The forward screen changes to show a magnified view of Her Mighty Will, with an insert of the General's image positioned to the lower starboard side of the screen..

S'Talla hails the general again, “General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk, your hostile actions are illogical and will not result in your intended outcome.”

The general, once again, demands, “Surrender now and add your ship to the expansion of Her Divine people. We will achieve our goals because it is Her will.”

Only a few seconds later he picks up the round, palm sized, silver microphone and holds it to his mouth. “Surround that ship,” orders the general into the fleet communication microphone attached to his command console by a thick, coiled wire. The hardwired microphone is dedicated to the fleet broadcast radio, “and disable their rockets.”

The squadron of twenty small space fighters move to cover a spherical area around Vulcan. Three of the small fighters fly an arc around to the rear of Vulcan.

“Vulcan,” asks S'Talla, “What are the chances that those ships can damage you?”

Vulcan answers, “Very little. By analyzing their level of technology and the structure and configuration of their ships, I conclude that they are armed with four chemical powered ballistic cannons, two small nuclear tipped rockets and twin lasers. They may cause a disruption in my outer shields for one point three seconds until the shields’ energy equalizers renew them, but it won't be enough to open a hole.”

S'Talla says to Skyvik, “Keep an eye on the monitors and let me know the damage when they try to disable our drives.”

Skyvik turns down to the viewer again.

Sam asks, “So you're just going to let them shoot at us?”

S'Talla says, “I am not going to shoot at them. We can leave, but they will not survive the Klingons if we can not convince them to turn around.”

Captain S'Talla presses the arm of her command chair to open the channel to Engineering. “S'Talla to Engineering, please watch our shields closely. We are being fired upon by small nuclear weapons. Let me know if they begin to pose a real danger to the ship.”

Charlie’s voice answers, “We will be watching closely. We'll keep you informed. How big are the nuclear weapons?”

“The warning they triggered was 20 gigajoules.”

T’Pia gets on the comm to the bridge. “A small nuclear blast, depending on the size, should not pose a significant problem to our shields, but an attack is always a major concern. Mister Chang, Mister Apollonius and I are the only ones in Engineering at the moment. I am confident we can handle most situations, but if you think we will need all hands, I will call Ms. T’Perl, Mister Harrix, and Mister Spalloz to their stations.”

S’Talla looks to Sam for her response. “I think confidence is high, no need to take them away from their personal time, at the moment.”

“They are firing at our aft shields,” warns Skyvik.

A quiet and distant double thud does not even shake Vulcan’s hull. A moment longer studying the sensor readings and Skyvik confirms, “Shields holding. No appreciable damage. As Vulcan has said, the shield imbalance has leveled out in under one point three seconds.”

T'Pree announces, “Captain, the command is being given for the whole fleet to take offensive action.”

Naxx announces, “They have triggered laser weapons. Energy deflected and dissipated with no effect.”

Skyvik lifts his head from the tactical viewer once again, and announces, “Scans show one thousand-nine hundred-forty ships are responding.”

S'Talla turns back to the screen where the view of the Maukim Flag ship, pans back to include nearby ships launching more squadrons of small vessels. The escort fighters begin forming defensive rings over the top and around beneath their respective ships’.

S'Talla: “Assessment.”

Skyvik reads the data through the tactical viewer. “They are small, liquid chemical powered vessels. Each one reads four life forms aboard. A quick estimate gives them almost thirty-thousand manned attack vessels. Each is armed with two nuclear missiles and what appear to be ballistic cannons and twin lasers.” He lifts his head to address S'Talla directly, “Be cautious, Captain, a large swarm of sub-light vessels like that with nuclear warheads could conceivably overwhelm the ship's shields and cause serious damage to the Vulcan.”

“Thank you for your concern, Skyvik. That means a lot to me.” interjects Vulcan. “Skyvik’s assessment is correct. There is, in fact, a twenty-one percent chance, for every fifteen minutes of engagement, that one or more of those ships could disrupt my shields enough to succeed in breaching them with a nuclear device that will damage my hull; depending upon their tactics, of course. I have been studying Mr. Chang’s and Ms. T’Perl’s fighter tactics while they practice using one of Mister Chang’s combat flight simulators. Quite educational, actually.”

Sam looks to Skyvik to see what his reaction is to being appreciated by the ship and how the ship's assessment, based upon a child's video game, might affect his opinion. She gets nothing from the unemotional pale green giant.

S'Talla's response is no more emotional. “Recommendations?”

Skyvik simply states, “We continue on our way.”

Vulcan, however, feels differently. “Captain, my sensors are a little puzzling with regard to the mass of the Maukim ships. Each of those fighters are approximately of equal size to my drones, which are designed to seat one passenger with a small amount of cargo space behind. The Maukim fighters each hold four life forms, according to my sensors. Their flagship is only slightly larger than I am, Her Divine Will measures only…”

“A transmission has been sent for the fleet to prepare for attack on the General's orders,” states T'Pree.

Skyvik says, “They are maneuvering into an attack formation.”

S’Talla commands T'Pree, “Jam their signals. Don't let those ships receive that order.”

S'Talla addresses the ship, “We can still communicate with the General, if their radio signals are jammed?”

“Signals jammed, Captain,” affirms T'Pree.

“Yes Captain,” answers Vulcan, “Our communications do not rely upon radio waves. We can continue…”

S'Talla interrupts the ship's explanation, “In that case, put the general on the screen. We are leaving.”

The general's image fills the screen again.

“General, I have tried to be helpful. Your actions have demonstrated to us the way you wish to be treated, I will not treat you in kind, as that is not how I wish to be treated myself. So, I will respect your way and leave you to soldier forth. We, of course, will not be surrendering, but you may…”

It is the general who interrupts. He lifts the small silver microphone puck to his mouth, with a coiled cord connecting it to a point out of sight, and below the screen. The sound of a quiet click is heard when he depresses the button on the side. He issues a command, “All squadrons move on the alien ship and capture, if possible, destroy if they do not surrender.” The general waits a moment, then clicks the button again and repeats his order, “Squadrons, capture that alien vessel.” He turns when a voice is heard saying, “All channels are being jammed.”

The general roars a short expression of frustration then turns to the screen and S'Talla. “I will not be toyed with. I will lead this attack personally. You will surrender to Her Will!” The general drops from his standing position and turns on all fours to leave the bridge. He looks like a huge, muscular, red bear. The bridge scene cuts out into static before returning to a view of space and Her Divine Will.

“Captain, we should go,” states Skyvik.

S'Talla nods once with her finger tips together and resting thoughtfully against her chin. “Agreed. Ya…”

“Wait,” Samantha Kelly jumps in.

The bridge crew pause and turn towards her.

Sam asks the ship, “Vulcan, what were you saying about the mass of their ships?”

Vulcan answers, “There are four life forms aboard each attack vessel, yet their mass reads at point seven nine one the mass of one of my drone fighters with crew. The compositional makeup of their vessels does not reveal any exotic materials that may be lighter and stronger than expected. In fact, the same is true of their flag ship. My readings indicate there are one-thousand-two-hundred-forty-four individuals aboard their flag ship. With cryo-pods, we could stack as many people in my holds. It is logical that they are using cryonics. However their life signs would not be detectable. Her Divine Will has a mass one point one six of my own.”

Skyvik says, “The V5-Beta has an enhanced virtual mass that gives the ship an inertial mass nearly six times its true mass. It is logical that our mass would not be comparable to a fully loaded warship with one thousand two hundred seventy four individuals aboard. We have a crew of twenty.”

“I have taken my virtual mass from my inertial control systems into account,” responds Vulcan.

Cia informs the bridge, “Another fighter is launching from Her Divine Will.”

Skyvik says, “The logical conclusion is, that is General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk's ship.”

Sam asks Vulcan, “Vulcan, can we communicate with that ship?”

“Yes, I am inside their computer system now. However, they have not connected the controls to the computer. I can read their sensors and communicate with them, but I can not stop them from attacking.”

Sam implores S’Talla, “Invite him aboard. We may be able to convince them yet.”

S'Talla presses her chin to her steepled fingertips and asks T’Pree, “Ms. T’Pree, open communications with General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk.”

“Go ahead, Captain,” T’Pree replies. “We have voice only.”

“General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk, I would like to discuss your terms of surrender further. I invite you aboard our ship. You will be perfectly safe. I think this conflict is over. You have demonstrated your resolve, now, let us demonstrate our sincerity.”

“I am not some cadet pup, to be easily fooled by a cheap ruse. I will not be taken hostage so easily,” returns the deep gravelly voice of the alien general.

Sam leans in to the communications controls on the left arm of S'Talla's chair. “General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk, This is Samantha Kelly, I am the owner of this freighter. Please let me extend our hospitality to you and your crew. Such an auspicious occasion as first contact between two alien people of… Her Garden, need not end in mistrust or bloodshed. You have us outnumbered thirty thousand to one, double that number to include your small fighter ships.

“There is, I'm sure, a great deal we can teach each other. You have a fleet of at least sixty-thousand ships. Surely you can have faith in Her Divine protecti
on with those odds in your favor.”

Silence.

 

[Will The Serious]

S'Talla looks to Sam standing on her left. She puts her faith in Sam's gesture towards the General and commands T'Pree, “Ms. T'Pree, lift the radio block.”

Skyvik lifts an eyebrow in doubt, but he remains silent. Ya and Ne glance back at her and likewise remain silent.

Vulcan asks, “Captain, are we surrendering?”

S'Talla gives Sam a questioning look.

Sam answers emphatically, “Definitely not. That would be…” looking back at S'Talla, she finishes her sentence, “illogical.”

“General,” Sam says into the comm, “You have communications back, please prepare any contingency you feel necessary, and come aboard. You have Captain S'Talla's and my word you will be safe from harm. As you have said, we are no match for the mighty Maukim.”

“Very well,” answers the rough voice of the general. A click of a microphone button and a short burst of radio static and the bridge crew of Vulcan hear the General's voice. “All ships of Her Mighty Will, this is General Mor'Jakkorh Haugk. Maintain cover of the alien ship. I have agreed to meet onboard their vessel to accept their surrender. If there is any sign of treachery, destroy that ship whether I am on board or not. You have your orders, General Mor'Jakkorh out.”

S'Talla addresses the General again, “General, our hangar doors are opening to receive you now. Samantha and I will meet you there. We will be unarmed.”

The general's voice growls, “This will be a simple discussion. I hope, for your sake, all goes smoothly as you tender your surrender. General Mor'Jakkorh out.”

“Vulcan,” S'Talla calls.

Vulcan replies, “Already opening my hangar doors. You do know what you are doing?”

“Yes,” responds S'Talla, “I'm trusting Sam's… hunch.”

“Shall we go and meet our alien guests?” asks Sam.

S'Talla stands, presses her fingertips together in front of her and heads towards the starboard set of turbo-lift doors. “Ya, you have the comm. Skyvik.”

The big Vulcan joins Samantha and S'Talla in the turbo lift.

Art offers, I'll just wait here by the comm in case you need backup… or rescuing.

Vulcan's main hangar

Randool Harrix is rubbing a cloth over his new flying space car Maybellene. “Spalloz, do you have that tub of Astrolux protection compound? I think Maybellene needs a thicker coat,” he calls to his Vulcan friend.

Spalloz is working on a sleek fuselage of his own. The design schematics are glowing in full 3-D over a workbench behind him. He is underneath his new design and a number of wires and tubes hang out from the levitating vehicle around him. A gently pulsing power pack sits on the deck, ready to be installed.

“No,” the Vulcan replies. “It would be more logical for you to get it yourself.”

“I got it,” volunteers T'Perl. She sets her design tablet down on a bench she is seated next to, the three-dimensional image of her own racing craft design winks out, and she reaches for a four liter bucket with a handle at the end of the bench. “I could use a few minutes to think about the stabilizer sensor controls and their effects on a near light speed change of direction.” T'Perl discusses her technical problem out loud while she carries the bucket over to Randool. “Being able to reduce the radius of a turn to near zero will be key to winning a Midget Inter-atmosphere Single Experimental Racer race.”

“ ‘Miser,’ you can just say ‘miser’. We know what you mean,” Randool explains.

Spalloz adds, “Randool explained the common convention of shortening titles to acronyms, then saying only the word those letters spell. There's some logic in the economy of communications. Vulcans shorten descriptive names to initials, but it also adds an element of ambiguity. Context, of course, is key.” Spalloz glides out from under his racer, to fully face his two companions. “I find it is often the speaker of initials or acronyms that fails to consider context and uses them almost in a deliberate way to confuse the listener.” Spalloz cocks his head slightly to one side and adds in a voice of wonder or discovery, “It's almost as if they wish to show-off a level of exclusive knowledge that the listener is ignorant of.” The male Vulcan lays back onto his hover pad and pulls himself back into the entrails of his small spaceship.

A yellow light flashes over the large bay doors at the other end of Vulcan's main hangar. A reverberating thunk softly quakes the deck plating and the blue light of the ion atmosphere retaining field encircling the hatchway powers up.

Vulcan announces, “Be warned, the main hangar doors will open in ten seconds. Sam and S'Talla have invited the general of the Army of Her Mighty Will aboard. They are very aggressive people, so prepare yourselves.”

The hangar doors, located below the command deck, between the forward sensor arms, open top and bottom, parting at the middle to show a widening black gap to space. Points of light reveal the location of the vast fleet of ships before them.

Vulcan adds, “Sam, S'Talla, Skyvik, and Naxx are on their way now.”

Spalloz had already made it to his feet, and moves over to his workbench. He rummages through a lower compartment and comes out with a compact palm phaser. Spalloz tucks it into the back of his waistband for easy access.

T'Perl asks, “Do you always carry a phaser among your tools?”

Spalloz levels a blank look at her, “It seems logical considering if they knew we were alive, we would be wanted by the Federation and the Romulans. And we have just robbed a prominent museum, plus we are traveling in uncharted Klingon space about to invite an aggressive alien species aboard. I am taking the ship's computer's advice and preparing myself.”

Before Randool can add his comments, the ship-side portal sweeps open and Skyvik fills the opening. He is followed by S'Talla, then Sam, and Mister Naxx brings up the rear.

S'Talla takes in the three working on their projects.

“Vulcan has apprised you of our guests?” the Captain asks.

Spalloz nods and states, “The computer has warned us of the aggressive nature of the species about to come aboard.”

Skyvik asks Spalloz, “You have armed yourself?!”

Spalloz nods affirmatively.

Sam says, “Please keep any weapons hidden. They believe they are coming aboard to accept our surrender. I don't think it will go that way once we meet face to face, but I don't want it to start out with confrontation. They will need a few moments to… acclimate?”

Outside, the General's ship banks into landing position, flanked by two other small fighters. Four more fighters glide by in formation. The main hangar measures large enough to easily land twenty to thirty of such ships aboard.

Each vessel is designed like an organic, stunted arrow. They have a wedge shaped arrowhead bow, the short shaft-like waist of the ship flares naturally into three fins. A deadly looking compact missile tips the two lower fins, while four hollow tubes of ballistic weapons aim forward over the arrowhead cockpit coach-top with its small dark windows. The crystal points of twin laser guns protrude discreetly on either side of the arrow shaped bows.

Vulcan commands, “Step back, they are engaging retro rockets. I need to set a force field to protect the rest of the hangar.”

The group move several steps behind the project vehicles being worked on. A series of loud, violent jets of flame, and smoke, and plasma blast forward from under the bows of all three forward racing vessels.

An invisible barrier stretches mid-hangar across the hangar’s width, flattenning out the blast and intense heat, only a meter from the bumper of Maybelline. The forward half of the hangar fills with smoke until a powerful vent siphons off the discharge, and fresh air replaces the exhaust. The three ships land and sit on a tripod of wheels extending from under each fighter.

Vulcan announces, “They are shutting down their vehicles and I have cleared the hangar and removed the forcefield. It is safe to approach.”

The group of seven advance past Maybelline and Spalloz’s racer.

Vulcan requests, with an odd artificial clearing of her electronic throat. “Ahem. If you would, please take one full step backwards; behind the caution line painted on the deck. Just a small safety precaution”

As a group, they glance down to see a caution strip in black and yellow diagonal warning patterns and the words, ‘DO NOT STAND ON LINE’ written along its length. The line divides the hangar into forward and aft sections. There are four other similar lines between the group and the hangar doors. S’Talla is the first to move, but the rest of the group quickly follows in honoring Vulcan's request.

They wait, expecting the cockpit hoods to lift so the four? crew members can climb out, but a small ladder extends out from underneath, like a ramp, instead.

Sam smiles when Skyvik lifts a questioning eyebrow.

She bumps him with her shoulder and asks, “You haven't figured it out yet?”

All three vehicles extend the narrow ladder structures to the deck, one to either side, at an angle to their port and starboard. In a flash of sinuous movement, what look, at first, like Earth meerkats, race out from under the three vehicles, two down each of those ladders. They are fast, and quickly take a formation to their ships’ flanks, before lifting to stand on their hind legs, releasing tiny rifles strapped to their vest-covered chests. They swing around in a searching scan of the area, pivoting their shoulders and heads independently, swiveling nearly fully to their rear and back until their black eyes, surrounded by black fur in their otherwise rust-red colored fur coats, land upon the greeting party. Their heads are made even larger than their disproportionately large craniums, by white and red flight helmets. Oxygen masks dangle from each creature's left side helmet edge. Short, stout white furry muzzles all fall, open mouthed, as their heads tilt up and up and up, to take in the sight of the giant humanoids gathered before them.

“What’s up with you, soldier?” calls the general, as he descends the port ladder from beneath the middle vessel and sees all twelve of his guards gawking upward. In person, his voice is not nearly so deep and voluminous as it was over radio communications. The tiny leader has his helmet off, having removed it onboard, and follows the soldiers’ gaze upward. The generals mouth gapes likewise.

Sam touches S'Talla’s elbow and advises,”Give them a minute to take it all in.”

Harrix has an expression, looking down upon the tiny creatures, not much above ankle height, that is almost identical to those on the faces of the Maukim.

The general shakes himself and roars, in his best, puffed-up manner, “Their size doesn't matter. Take them prisoners!”

The order wakes the twelve other creature's into action and their weapons level upon the watching crew. A popping report issues from one small gun and Naxx jerks a leg and says, “Ouch!”

Naxx looks down to see a divot in his slacks. There is a tiny hole and the bullet is lodged below his knee, beneath the skin of his shin.

“Hey!” cries Naxx in surprise.

“Kill these abominations!” yells the general and he draws his own sidearm.

 

[Will The Serious]

The bullets don't land among the Vulcan’s crew. They cause a flash in the force field that Vulcan recharged to divide her crew from the aliens. The small projectiles clatter to the deck in a light tinkling sound.

The general hollers, “Cease fire, cease fire.”

Sam steps up to the force field that is situated along the caution line painted across the deck. “General,” she says, “We are not going to surrender. Your fleet is not going to destroy us, and I don't think you are going to destroy the Klingons. I am trying… We, we are trying to save your people. I don't know how far away home is for you…”

Vulcan volunteers, speaking through multiple sound devices such that only Sam can hear her, “Their navigation data show their home world one hundred-eight light years away. They have been living in space for almost three hundred years.”

“…but I am sure it is a long way. You are not ready to venture this far out. Your technology, I'm guessing, hasn't progressed in three hundred years. Would that be because the Will of the Creator doesn't want change? Advancement in technology is how intelligence expands, how it grows, how it evolves. Three hundred years living in space and you are still traveling below the speed of light…”

“You are spouting blasphemy,” the general shakes his gun at Sam. “The speed of light is not possible. That would be challenging Her Will, as though we thought ourselves gods. The very concept should have you sacrificed in Her name.”

“General,” S’Talla adds, “we travel factors faster than light. The Klingons, as well. They will count your ships and see an invading army and wipe you out before they even realize you are no threat to them, and you will not be able to see them coming.

Sam advises, “Wake up to see what is before your eyes.” Sam gestures to the cavernous walls and ceiling of the hangar, then to the open doors to space. The significance of them standing in an area of atmosphere in the middle of deep space is not lost on the general. “Turn your ships around, spend the next three hundred years flying back to your home system and develop your technology. Contemplate what Her Will for Her people really is? You've made it out this far. You should have the chance to catch-up with the rest of the Galaxy before you meet it. There is room for all Her creations, not just her… favored. I hope the Malkim return to give glory to all Her creation, and not to destroy or dominate it.”

The general stands bold and ready. His hand squeezes the butt of his sidearm over and over. He scans the vast cavern of Vulcan's main hangar, then drops his gaze to the sprinkling of dull silver bullets from their weapons scattered uselessly on the deck. He holsters his weapon.

“Back to the ship,” he orders. “She has shown us a new path. We must honor Her Divine Will.”

The twelve meerkat-like Maukim lower their weapons and snap their facemasks into place as they turn back towards their vessels.

Sam, S’Talla, and the others watch them disappear into their rockets, retract their boarding ladders and start up their rocket propelled ships. The forward rockets blast out, plasma and propellent smoke smash into the interposing shielding, and they each roll backwards until they are free floating in space once more. They spin with the discharge of retro-rockets and their main tail nozzles ignite to drive them back towards their mothership. Again, the hangar bay’s shields block the rocket blasts from harming the rest of the hangar.

Vulcan announces, “The Maukim general is broadcasting a fleet-wide message. He is ordering them to stand down and calling for a general counsel to discuss a course change.”

S’Talla replies, “Thank you Vulcan. S’Talla to Ya.”

Ya’s voice answers, “Ya here.”

“Return to course. Warp six point five. Let us continue.”

“Aye Captain, warp six…”

Ne inserts, as usual, “point five.”

Sam and Naxx are walking the length of Spalloz's creation. Naxx says, these look fun. With a little stealth technology, I could have some real fun with one of these.”

Naxx whips around to Sam, with a smile. “Maybe we…”

The ship-side portal whistles open and Art Santiana charges in, diving to the floor, and rolling up against the front bumper of Maybelline. He swings around with a phaser rifle in his hands and aims it at the biggest being in the room.

Before his barrel settles on his target he is hit by a phaser beam from Skyvik’s concealed pistol. He is laid flat on the deck.

Sam rounds on Skyvik, but before she can say anything, he states flatley, “It is fortunate I set my phaser to stun.” He tucks his phaser casually back behind his back. In four steps, he bends over Art’s unconscious form, and heaves the human up over his shoulder.

“I will get him some electrolytes in sickbay, to ease his headache.”

Skyvik walks to the turbo-lift as though he had nothing more than a coat tossed over his shoulder.

Sam asks the room, herself, no one in particular, “Why did he come charging in like that? And why wasn't he wearing his cap?”

T’Perl speculates, “He thought he was saving us from being taken prisoners?!”

“He's a g-ball?” tries Randool.

Spalloz says with conviction, “Human!”

Sam looks at S’Talla for her response. The Vulcan woman is walking around Spalloz's vehicle with mild interest, having turned her attention away from Art’s misguided rescue attempt. She senses her friend's query and looks up with no emotion, “He is a Romantic.”

Sam smiles at that.

Vulcan adds her voice to the speculations, “Actually, he ran for a weapon as soon as you left the bridge. He told Ms. Cialoa, Ya and Ne, you would need backup, just in case, and had been monitoring the hangar from the bridge. It was not until the Maukim called for everyone to get back on their ships that he raced down here and performed his heroic summersault through the port. He threw his cap hastily on the control panel as he left the bridge.

“It is my speculation that he wanted to impress you, Sam, maybe you, Captain S’Talla, as well. Since there was not a real need to save you, he acted it out, removing his personal force field, to let you know he was willing to risk his life to save you and the crew.”

Vulcan pauses before agreeing with S’Talla. “He is a romantic, and as Mr. Harrix says, a g-ball, if that is slang for goof-ball, which is, itself, another slang.”

Naxx had retrieved Art’s dropped rifle and brings it over to where Sam is standing with S’Talla.

“It appears Art forgot to load the power cell in the rifle.”

“Hum!” Sam gives a considering ‘hum’ through thinly pressed lips.

-

Pool on passenger deck C

Sam is swimming laps in the pool off the gym on the passenger deck. The pool is forty meters by six meters with a depth of three meters at the aft end and one and a half meters at the forward end, it runs along a row of passenger quarters with a 1.2 meter high, clear, poly-aluminum alloy railing separating the passenger corridor from the pool’s narrow catwalk.

S’Talla stands on the pool edge in a short terry robe. She had just entered the pool area. Sam reaches the forward end of the pool and catches at the tiled edge to bring herself to a standing position. There is a set of shallow steps leading in and out of the water in the starboard forward corner on Sam’s right. Sam looks up at her friend from the clear water. Her red hair streams with rivlets of water down her face. She uses her free hand to sweep her bangs clear of her forehead.

“Hi S’Talla. I'm a little surprised to see you here. You usually begged off from swimming when we used to go to the lake.”

S’Talla replies, “There was bacteria in the lake, and it was cold. Why does a spy ship have a swimming pool?”

Sam looks the pool over while she considers. “I never thought about it while working on the ship’s computer systems, but this is not a swimming pool. It is an aquatic biosphere to house water-based life forms.”

S’Talla dips a toe in to test the water temperature. The Vulcan woman lifts her foot out again.

“Are you saying there is bacteria in here too?”

“No,” Sam answers, “When we were building the V5, we were told her mission was to travel beyond the federation borders and discover new life and new civilizations. There was supposed to be a team of diplomats on-board to meet with any potential new intelligent allies. Some of those life forms might be aquatic in nature, like the Sirennis, for example. Deck C is supposed to provide comfortable accommodations for any potential life forms whom we might host as diplomats to their people.”

S’Talla moves to the steps and Samantha follows from the water.

“Look,” Sam implores and points down under the water along the sides of the pool. “There are twelve underwater apartments arranged along the sides of the pool.”

S’Talla studies the wavy images of round ports, six along each side of the pool. Then she sheds her robe to drape over the railing. S'Talla is nude underneath.

Sam makes no comment as her friend descends into the water. Having grown up on Vulcan, Sam is familiar with Vulcan ways.

“The water feels good, doesn't it?” asks Sam.

S’Talla states, “It is saltwater.”

“Yes, it…” Sam begins to answer when the port from the gym opens and Randool Harrix, T’Perl, Charlie, Cia, and Art enter.

“How's the water, Sam?” calls Cia.

Sam smiles and replies, “Great. Come join us. Art, you let Cia talk you into a swim. S'Talla is just trying the pool out for the first time, too.”

“Hi Sam, hello Cap…” Art stops and stutters, “ah… Ca Captain.”

“Put your eyes back in your head, Art,” ribs Cia. “You should know as well as anyone that Vulcan's don't have a sense of modesty.”. Then she peels her own robe off and jumps in. Cialoa is as naked beneath her robe as S’Talla.

When she surfaces and flips her long hair back out of her eyes, she says, “Of course, Orion's aren't hung up on those kinds of things either.”

Randool steps, unclothed, past Art, who is dressed in swim shorts, to the stairs down into the water. “I think, in fact, only humans suffer from an overly developed sense of modesty,” Randool states. Randool walks into the water and Charlie steps up, also in shorts. “Well, we are who we are.” He slips the stairs, gives a whoop and cannonballs in.

Art rolls his eyes and says, “I obviously don't come to the pool often enough.” He flips his ubiquitous cap deftly onto a seat nearby and dives in.

Everyone glances around when they hear the gym portal swish opened once again.

“D d d do ya you m m min mind if a a I ja join you?” Francesca Gödel stands shyly by the gym entrance wearing a full body swimsuit that covers her upper arms and legs down to her knees.

Sam invites her with a smile, “Of course. It is good to see you out of your lab, Francesca.”

T’Perl pegs her own robe to a hook on the wall right next to Francesca and comments, “I take it the Professor is not joining us?”

Francesca just shakes her head ‘no’ while glancing down to see T’Perl is as naked as all the other non-humans.

“Does he ever leave his lab?” T’Perl asks, while casually stepping to the stairs into the pool.

Another shake of Francesca’s head and she moves to follow.

S'Talla’s quarters, Deck B

S'Talla is wearing her terry robe again, and drying her long hair, free of its braid, with a handheld cordless hair dryer. The dryer is sleek and nearly silent, issuing a soft woosh of hot air through her long deep blue-black locks as its nozzle simultaneously brushes out her hair. She moves to sit at her desk.

“Vulcan, open my log, please.”

Captain S’Talla, there is another message from General Syjak.”

S’Talla places her hair dryer on the desk and settles into the chair. “Please decrypt and play message, Vulcan.”

The fuzzy image that comes up on the screen soon sharpens into an image of S'Talla's mother.

The recording of S’Tajia talks, “S’Talla, I hope you and Samantha are well. You know Kospak and I have been trying to look into the rumors of secret machinations to bring Vulcan and Romulus to war. Your father confronted Admiral Syjak about it, believing that the V5-Beta was actually started under a different code name, ‘Ha'gelek’, or some such nonsense. He seemed to believe Commander Skyvik was the lead on that. I do not understand. He had no evidence and I have been told Skyvik is there with you.

“Obviously there is nothing to these rumors. T’Rai is on Romulus, so she does not know yet. Logic is leading me to realize these events are not connected. There is no evidence and logic does not support any of the rumors.

“I am sorry if it sounds like I am rambling. The real reason for my message, which Commander Skaul was kind enough to forward using the Admiral's encryption I.D., is to tell you your father is dead.

“He rode off to meet with Admiral Syjak. They were on their way to have lunch across the city when their transport shuttle’s steering control module overheated and exploded. He and the Admiral crashed into the D’Tollo Vey tower.”

S’Tajia pauses for a deep breath.

“I have been assured that this was a simple maintenance accident of a twenty year old shuttle, and that there is no reason to believe any outside forces took control of the craft and destroyed the controller intentionally. Their emergency teleporter was long past its inspection date and the power banks were over full. An illogical sequence of events, poor maintenance, and bad luck.”

S’Tajia takes another breath. “I will miss Kospak in my life, but I will be fine. Please do not try to come home. There is nothing to do except the job you are doing for the Counselor. I was with the Kellies when I heard the news, so I expect Commander Skaul is also going to be forwarding a message on to Samantha from Nathaniel and Llewellyn.

“Be safe, live long and prosper.”

The screen went blank and S'Talla stares at the screen for a minute, tapping her steepled fingertips to her chin.

“That is ill news, S’Talla. If I can help…” says Vulcan.

S’Talla straightens and moves to stand. “I am fine, thank you. But I should be there when Sam hears the news. She is human and affected by these things. She knew my father well.”

S’Talla moves to her door and Vulcan opens it for her. Before she can step out, Samantha Kelly, wearing a terry robe similar to S’Talla's, turns from coming down the passageway. She looks up and sees her friend. Without a word, her eyes fill with tears and she grabs S’Talla in a hug. Sam holds her friend for a moment while she composes
herself, sniffs, then offers, “I am so sorry, S’Talla.”

-Will