Writing Challenge- The winning entries.

[Bynar0110]

October/November 2024 Challenge "For a Kingdom, and for Less"
The challenge was:

It's said that everyone has their price, that one thing that they would trade absolutely anything for, or stop at nothing to get. For this challenge, what is that price, and what would your character(s) do when offered the chance to have their deepest desire? Maybe a "friend" is involved, a superior officer, a Q (or similar being of your own devising), or perhaps it's Ol' Scratch himself looking to make a deal. Or maybe the deal is made, and the character(s) are dealing with the aftermath, and perhaps a bit of buyer's remorse?

Winning Entry by @ColdFusion180
Kicking a Gift Horse in the Mouth

Ah, freedom at last, a glowing, balance ball-sized, cloud-shaped entity mused as it zipped through the vastness of interstellar space. It is nice to finally get away from all the other members of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox along with all of their stiff, conservative restrictions. “Do not interact with primitive corporeal lifeforms”. “Do not create temporal inversions or pocket alternate realities”. “Do not interfere with the space-time continuum”. Ahhh! It is enough to make my brain ache! That is if I possessed a corporeal brain. What is wrong with interacting with deserving corporeal lifeforms? I understand why one should not inflict punishment on bad-behaving lifeforms, but that does not mean we can not reward good-behaving ones. And who is more deserving of reward than members of the rumored organization known as ‘Starfleet’. Ah, there is one of their primitive spacefaring vessels now!

The glowing cloud quickly headed directly toward the aforementioned vessel and effortlessly passed through its various hull and bulkheads. Hmmm, fairly unexceptional geometric arrangement and composition, the glowing entity noted as it proceeded to explore the ship. What is this primitive conveyance’s designation? U.S.S. Cerritos? Equally mundane. But no matter. This primitive spacefaring vessel does not interest me. I am seeking an honest, optimistic and virtuous corporeal member of this reputedly legendary ‘Starfleet’. Ah, here is one!

“Okay, that takes care of all the analgesics and anesthetics,” Tendi chirped to herself as she cheerfully catalogued medical supplies in one of Sickbay’s supply rooms. “Now to inventory the latest batch of resuscitatives and stimulants…”

“Greetings, corporeal representative of Starfleet,” The glowing entity hailed rising up through the floor.

“Ahhh, what the heck?” Tendi yelped in surprise.

“Do not be alarmed,” The glowing entity stated. “I am a member of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox. You may call me Olusi.”

“Oh, hi there!” Tendi smiled and waved her hand. “I’m Ensign D’Vana Tendi. Nice to meet you!”

“This instance of establishing mutual acquaintance has been agreeable as well,” The glowing entity identifying itself as Olusi replied. “In response for all the righteous, virtuous and meritorious actions conducted by Starfleet, I would like to bestow upon you a priceless, well-deserved reward. Tell me, what is your deepest wish, dream or desire?”

“Huh?” Tendi’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, are you some kind of non-corporeal lifeform?”

“Obviously,” Olusi said.

“Wow! That’s so cool!” Tendi smiled in delight. “I’ve always wanted to study…er, I mean, encounter a peaceful non-corporeal lifeform! You are peaceful, right?”

“Yes,” Olusi confirmed. “Is that your deepest desire?”

“No, but it’s definitely on my bucket list,” Tendi twittered excitedly. “Gee, this is all so sudden. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say whatever you wish,” Olusi replied. “Anything at all. For you, no restrictions exist.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted be Chief Medical Officer aboard a starship,” Tendi smiled at the thought. “And I’ve been fantasizing about being a Chief Science Officer lately too. Oooh, how about serving as both Chief Medical Officer and Chief Science Officer? That would be so cool!”

“Indeed,” Olusi remarked. “Very well. Your deepest desire will be fulfilled. Please wait a moment while I make a small alteration to the local space-time continuum…”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Tendi said. “I don’t want or need someone else to achieve my dreams for me. Instead, I’m going to work and serve and strive and study really hard in order to achieve my dreams myself!”

“Excuse me?” Olusi was taken back. “I am sorry, perhaps you misunderstood. I am offering to make your deepest desire become reality. For free. Without any negative outcomes, consequences or repercussions.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Tendi shrugged. “I don’t need you to do that. I’m already living my dream. Serving aboard a starship as a Starfleet ensign! What could be better than that?”

“You just stated a more positive alternative a moment ago,” Olusi reminded. “Why wait for a more preferable outcome to occur when you can simply experience it right now? It really would not be any trouble. Just a simple modification of the space-time continuum and…”

“Yes, I’m living the life of my dreams right now,” Tendi smiled happily while ignoring Olusi’s overtures. “So full of endless wonder, excitement, opportunities and potential! A life in Starfleet means always studying like mad and working my fingers to the bone and I’m enjoying every second of it! I’m going to keep working and enjoying every moment of every single day! I will become a great Starfleet doctor and scientist! And I’m willing to put in any amount of work and effort to achieve it…!”

“I see,” Olusi blinked by briefly dimming its cloud-like form. “In that case, I will accept your gracious declination of my proposal. Goodbye.” Olusi departed through a bulkhead as an oblivious Tendi continued to happily babble on. Hmmm, such an unexpected and admirable individual. I can comprehend how Starfleet achieved such an impeccable reputation. That primitive corporeal lifeform clearly does not need or require my intervention in order to achieve its desires. No matter. I will simply offer to reward someone else. This new corporeal lifeform for instance…

“The regulator’s connected to the phase coil! The phase coil’s connected to the manifold!” Rutherford sang to himself as he worked on an open panel while lying inside a Jefferies tube. “The manifold’s connected to the…!”

“Greetings, corporeal representative of Starfleet,” Olusi suddenly appeared next to him.

“Okey nopey!” Rutherford yelped dropping an isolinear spanner in surprise and giving himself a shock. “Ouch! That hurts!”

“Apologies,” Olusi appeared contrite. “Causing harm was not my intention.”

“It’s okay. Just a little energy shock,” Rutherford said composing himself. “Nothing that hasn’t happened a hundred times before. Uh, who are you again?”

“I am Olusi, a member of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox,” Olusi stated. “In response for all the righteous, virtuous and meritorious actions conducted by Starfleet, I would like to bestow upon you a priceless, well-deserved reward. Tell me, what is your deepest wish, dream or desire?”

“Uh, gee. I don’t know,” Rutherford shrugged. “Wait, you’re not some hostile alien lifeform, are you?

“I just offered you bestow upon you a gift,” Olusi gave him a non-corporeal look. “And I am manifesting myself as a small, harmless, soothing-colored cloud. Do I appear hostile to you?”

“I guess not,” Rutherford admitted.

“Thank you for the acknowledgement,” Olusi replied. “Now about your desire…”

“Hmmm,” Rutherford thought for a moment. “Well, I’d like to research and develop new technologies. And find ways of improving existing technologies too.”

“I see,” Olusi said.

“And I want to discover new ways of utilizing technology and harness it to improve the quality of life everywhere,” Rutherford continued warming to the topic. “And use technology to better help people travel, explore and understand the universe.”

“Very well,” Olusi stated. “Your desire is most commendable and can be easily fulfilled. A moment while I create a small hyper-inversional fold…”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Rutherford waved. “I was just ticking off a list of my desires. That doesn’t mean I want to achieve any of them right now.”

“What? Why not?” Olusi asked in surprise. “I am offering you the chance to have your deepest desire instantly fulfilled.”

“Eh, where’s the fun in that?” Rutherford shrugged. “I’m more interested in working on and experiencing the process of researching, developing and experimenting with technology than actually achieving any results. If I can simply skip ahead and instantly possess any type of technology I want, what’s the point?”

“Gaining the ability to study and utilize such technology instead of expending enormous amounts of time and effort to construct them?” Olusi suggested. “Including the chance to avoid experiencing untold numbers of potential risks and failures.”

“What’s so bad about that? Failure is great!” Rutherford declared passionately. “Failure allows me to better understand and remember what doesn’t work. Along with learning what not to do. Sure, experiencing multiple failures may not feel great at the time, but that just makes success so much sweeter! Achieving effortless success without including the potential risk of failure is meaningless.”

“O-kay,” Olusi paused a moment. “But what about being in a position to research, develop and experiment with new technologies? Surely that is a desire I can help you to fulfill.”

“Na, it’s okay. I can do all of that right now,” Rutherford said. “I’m always thinking about how to research and develop new technologies when I’m off duty. And when I’m on duty too! In fact, I’m experimenting with a new bit of technology right now! All I need to finish it is an isomagnetic phasic complier, a multiplexic polaron modulator, thirty-six kilograms of triple fudge ripple bubble gum pudding…”

“Well, then allow me to assist you in acquiring the missing…” Olusi began. “Wait, pudding?”

“Oh yeah. The pudding’s the most important component,” Rutherford insisted. “Won’t be able to experiment without it. And it has to be triple fudge ripple bubble gum flavor as well. No other flavor will do. Plus, it has to be completely non-replicated. Once I finally manage to stockpile enough…!” He began to cackle maniacally.

“On second thought, I believe I will respect your desire to experience potential failure on your own,” Olusi said and quickly left the Jefferies tube. Hmmm, rewarding members of Starfleet is more difficult than I anticipated. They appear to be quite an unconventional bunch. Perhaps I should find a more willing and less sophisticated candidate. Like this peculiar corporeal lifeform here.

“…and that’s how Mariner once more wound up in the Brig,” Boimler dictated into his padd while standing in his usual supply closet. “Granted she did succeed in preventing Lieutenant Commander Stevens from being turned into a walking pink polka-dotted mushroom, but she didn’t have to completely shave his head and give him an extremely virulent case of Andronesian shingles to do it…”

“Greetings, corporeal representative of Starfleet,” Olusi announced entering the supply closet.

“Haaauuuhhh!” Boimler yelped stumbling back in shock. “What the heck?”

This is becoming uncomfortably repetitive, Olusi noted before continuing to address Boimler. “Do not be alarmed. I am a member of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox. You may call me Olusi.

“Ooo-kay,” Boimler blinked before quickly tapping his combadge. “Ensign Boimler to Security…”

“In response for all the righteous, virtuous and meritorious actions conducted by Starfleet, I would like to bestow upon you a priceless, well-deserved reward,” Olusi went on. “Tell me, what is your deepest wish, dream or desire?”

“Yes? What is it?” Shaxs’ voice boomed over Boimler’s combadge.

“Intruder alert on Deck…” Boimler trailed off. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I would like to bestow upon you a priceless, well-deserved reward,” Olusi repeated. “Any wish, dream or desire you may have, I can grant you.”

“Intruder? Where?” Shaxs roared eagerly. “I’ll take care of it!”

“Uh, never mind. False alarm. Sorry,” Boimler said tapping his combadge again while cautiously regarding Olusi. “Is this for real? You’re really offering to make my deepest wish come true? Are you a Q or something?”

“Yes, yes and no,” Olusi answered sequentially. “I am a member of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox. We and the Q are completely different.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Boimler sighed. “What am I saying? That’s great!” Boimler beamed and began bouncing up and down in excitement. “I don’t believe it! I’m actually going to achieve my dreams! The universe has finally decided to give me a break and grant me exactly what I deserve! It’s about time!”

“Indeed,” Olusi noted somewhat amusingly. “So, what exactly is your wish?”

“Well, I’d love to get promoted and be captain of my own ship, obviously,” Boimler’s eyes twinkled in delight. “Maybe a shiny new Sovereign-class. Though a well-maintained Parliament-class would be good too. Oooh, an Obena- or Luna-class would be real sweet…”

“As you wish,” Olusi said preparing to fulfill Boimler’s desire. “One moment while I…”

“And I want my own handpicked Bridge crew too,” Boimler added. “The very best of the best! Wait, I got a better idea! I’d like Tendi, Rutherford and Mariner to get promoted so we can all continue serving together. What better way to use a wish than to have my friends’ deepest desires come true too!”

“That…might be a little difficult,” Olusi paused. “I have recently encountered two of the corporeal lifeforms you mentioned. Their desires are somewhat…different than you may think…”

“Tendi would be Chief Medical Officer, Rutherford would be Chief Engineer,” Boimler went on with a smile. “And Mariner…hmmm, actually, Mariner would be perfectly happy to remain an ensign. An ensign serving aboard my ship! I’d finally be able to order her around! Ha, ha, ha!”

“Very well,” Olusi said. “Your wish is my…”

“Then again, Mariner probably wouldn’t acknowledge my authority or even listen to a word I said,” Boimler thought for a moment. “She barely bothers to respect and obey Captain Freeman. Maybe I don’t want to have Mariner serve aboard my ship. Granted, she’s a questionably good friend, but still…”

“Okay,” Olusi attempted again. “Your latest desire and concerns are noted. I will now grant your…”

“But I still want Mariner along in some fashion,” Boimler went on. “Maybe have her command and pilot her own support vessel or something. That way we can work together without her being an official member of my crew. Yeah, that’s it!”

“Fine. As you say,” Olusi tried once more. “I now reward you with…”

“And I want my friends and I to embark on all kinds of fun and amazing adventures,” Boimler continued grinning at the thought. “Exploring all the endless wonders of the universe while helping people and becoming living legends in the process and receiving all the well-earned recognition!”

“Uh huh,” Olusi noted dryly. “I will see what I can do.”

“I want to discover strange new worlds and see and experience marvels no one has ever done before!” Boimler said excitedly as he rapidly proceeded to reel off more and more desires. “While studying and cataloging every wonderful moment and phenomena down in my logs. Logs which will become priceless references for future generations of Starfleet officers! And I want to meet new species and make new friends and succeed in welcoming them in joining the Federation!”

“Excuse me, this is becoming somewhat excessive,” Olusi attempted to interrupt. “I said I would grant your deepest desire, not all of them…”

“And I want to achieve a healthy work-life balance too,” Boimler smiled completely caught up in his dreams. “I want to be a successful famous Starfleet captain known for being an explorer, scholar, diplomat and the best darn violin player in the fleet! And I want to get back together with Barbara and go on lots of amazing romantic dates and get married and have kids and have our kids achieve their deepest desires…”

“What?!” Olusi did a take. “Okay, this is a little too much! I am not sticking around with you that long! My offer to you is withdrawn! Goodbye!”

“Huh?” Boimler snapped out of his daze just as Olusi disappeared through the ceiling. “Hey! Where are you going? Come back! Come back! Nooo!” Boimler cried and began banging his head against a bulkhead. “Aaaggghhh! I blew it again! Why did I do that?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”

Ugh, and I thought the two previous corporeal lifeforms were frustrating, Olusi thought while once more wandering around the ship. Members of Starfleet are quite perplexing. I will make one more attempt to bestow one of them with a reward. Olusi soon located a lone individual nearby and carefully approached her. “Greetings, corporeal representative of Starfleet. Do not be alarmed. I am a member of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox. You may call me Olusi.”

“Hmmm?” Mariner casually glanced over while lying on her usual bunk in the Brig. “Hey, what up?”

“What up indeed,” Olusi replied. “In response for all the righteous, virtuous and meritorious actions conducted by Starfleet, I would like to bestow upon you a priceless, well-deserved reward. Tell me, what is your deepest wish, dream or desire?”

“Well, right now I’d really like a hot deep-dish pizza with the works and a bottle of Trakian ale,” Mariner said. “Or better yet, three.”

“You seem to have misunderstood,” Olusi attempted to clarify. “I am offering to make your deepest wish come true. What is your deepest wish, dream or desire?”

“Yeah right,” Mariner snorted. “Like I’d tell you.”

“Yes, I would like you to tell me,” Olusi said. “And I am sure you will enjoy it once you tell me too.”

“Forget it, Poofy,” Mariner waved. “I ain’t playing that game.”

“Game? Poofy?” Olusi repeated in confusion. “Your terminology’s context and intentions are unclear.”

“Look, I know your type. This ain’t my first rodeo, ya know,” Mariner sat up and gave Olusi a look. “I’ve encountered non-corporeal entities like you before. You zip around the galaxy looking for unsuspecting simple-minded suckers, entice them with promises to make their every dream come true, lure them into falling for your honey-coated too-good-to-be-true bait bit and then, bam! Eat ‘em up and twist their dreams into becoming everlasting nightmares!”

“What?” Olusi was stunned. “That is not my intention at all. You are clearly mistaken.”

“Oh, I ain’t the mistaken one around here,” Mariner stated. “You really think you can simply waltz in and magically convince me to make some kind of undoubtebly Faustian bargain based on your word alone? I ain’t that gullible, Poofy!”

“I am not attempting to deceive you,” Olusi insisted. “I simply wish to reward you for all the righteous, virtuous and meritorious actions conducted by Starfleet.”

“Suuuuuure you do,” Mariner drawled sarcastically. “And I got some lovely beachfront property to sell ya on Andor.”

“Why are you so skeptical?” Olusi attempted to understand Mariner’s behavior. “I have done nothing to suggest my motives are deceitful. Is it really that difficult to accept that my offer is based on pure altruism?”

“Well, duh,” Mariner scoffed. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this universe, Poofy. Plus, I’m a pretty cynical individual anyway. Comes from experience.”

“But I can give you anything you want,” Olusi offered. “I can easily adjust the space-time continuum, create benign pocket dimensions and even alter the fabric of reality itself. I can make it so that you can have anything you wish.”

“Nice try, but I’m good,” Mariner waved. “You really outta work on your sales pitch. Try enticing your marks with a bit more jazz like the scams used by a telepathic bioplasmic organism or a conscious-consuming matrix-dwelling lifeform. Heck, even Landru and happy-making pod plants give better spiels than you do.”

“As you wish,” Olusi replied acting on Mariner’s suggestion. “Ah, upon performing a brief telepathic probe I perceive that you have several deep desires which I could easily fulfill.”

“What?!” Mariner yelped shooting up from her bunk. “Hey, that’s not cool! Get out of my head!”

“How about I alter reality so that you have complete independence from all the limiting rules and regulations you deem to be unnecessary?” Olusi suggested. “And make it so that your resulting behaviors are not only accepted, but commended.”

“Gaaahhh! No! Shut up!” Mariner yelled covering her ears. “I’m not listening! I’m not listening! La, la, la, la, la!”

“You will have everything you have ever truly desired,” Olusi went on. “Your mother’s praise, your father’s support, the admiration and adoration of your friends. I can even create a minor temporal inversion so that one of the close lifeforms you have lost is still alive. Such as the one known as Sito Jaxa…”

“Arrrggghhh! That’s just sick! You’ve gone too far now, Poofy!” Mariner shouted glaring at Olusi. “Fine! You wanna know what I want? I’ll tell ya what I want! And you’re gonna give it to me immediately! Capeesh?”

“Of course,” Olusi agreed. “As you wish.”

“Good,” Mariner braced herself. “What I want is…the ability to beat the ever-loving stuffing out of your sorry, non-corporeal butt!”

“Done,” Olusi said instantly fulfilling Mariner’s desire. “Wait…what?”

“Ha! Got ya now, sucker!” Mariner grinned raising her fists and lunging at Olusi. “You like messing with lowly corporeal lifeforms, huh? How about when a lowly corporeal lifeform messes with you?”

“OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!” Olusi cried reeling under Mariner’s assault. “AAAHHHHHH! SO THIS IS WHAT PAIN FEELS LIKE! IT IS EVEN WORSE THAN I EVER IMAGINED! AAACCCKKK! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?! GAAAHHHHHH!”

“Don’t know! Don’t care!” Mariner cackled while continuing to wail on Olusi. “But I’m sure the heck enjoying it!”

“WAAAUUUGGGHHH!” Olusi screamed and quickly fled the Brig in terror. “THAT IS IT! I AM OUT OF HERE! AAAIIIEEEEEEEEEE!”

“Serves ya right, ya sneaky glowing blob of cotton candy!” Mariner crowed and did a victory dance. “Why don’t you go and try tempting some bored Cardassians or something next time? Hey, I get to keep these cool non-corporeal entity beatdown powers, right? Hello?”

Gaaahhhhhh! These corporeal lifeforms are crazy! Olusi cried departing the Cerritos and speeding away as fast as non-corporeally possible. The other members of the Ovlabgiam Orthodox were right! I am never going to interact with primitive corporeal lifeforms again! Especially ones who are members of the mad organization known as Starfleet! Their reputation certainly is legendary alright! They are all completely and legendarily insane!

 

[Bynar0110]

November/December 2024 Challenge " Rules and Regulations." Any Star Trek series, era, canon, non-canon, ships, crews or characters welcome.

There was a Two Way Tie between @ColdFusion180 and @Laura Cynthia Chambers

Winning Entry by @ColdFusion180

Code of the Cerritos

“Hey guys,” Boimler greeted clutching a padd. “Have you seen the latest?”

“Of what? Fleet?” Tendi asked sitting in her bunk. “I thought the next edition didn’t come out until next week.”

“Ooo, I’ve been really looking forward to it,” Rutherford’s eye and implant lit up. “It’s supposed to contain an exclusive interview with Dr. Leah Brahms and the future of starship design.”

“Sounds cool, but that’s not what I was referring to,” Boimler said. “I’m talking about the latest memo issued by Captain Freeman.”

“Oh goodie. What’s el Capitán passed down to us lowly plebs this time?” Mariner drawled lying in her bunk. “An abrupt cancellation of yet another undoubtedly awesome shipwide concert or celebration?”

“No,” Boimler corrected. “It’s a list of additions and addendums regarding Starfleet regulations.”

“Argh, no! That’s even worse!” Mariner groaned. “Yet more stupid, pointless rules and regs for us to learn!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tendi asked taking out a padd of her own. “Learning a bunch of new rules and protocols can be fun, thought also sometimes a bit tedious.”

“You have a point,” Rutherford agreed. “Staying informed on all the latest engineering manuals, specifications and regulations can get pretty confusing. Good thing I can simply update my implant and have it display all the relevant information for me.”

“Some officers don’t need an implant,” Boimler smiled proudly. “I for example have memorized every Starfleet rule, regulation, protocol, directive and general order word-for-word.”

“Otherwise known as the biggest waste of time and space ever made,” Mariner quipped. “Your brain is so overpacked with pointless knowledge and minutiae that it doesn’t have any room left over to house any common sense.”

“At least I bother to learn about the rules,” Boimler gave Mariner a look. “Unlike you who simply ignores regulations and breaks them on a daily, if not hourly basis!”

“Hey, I bother to follow regs when they make sense,” Mariner defended. “It’s all the stupid and unimportant ones that I have problems with. Or when regs are used as barriers or excuses to prevent people from doing the right thing.”

“How coincidentally convenient that you are always the one who decides what the right thing is,” Boimler rolled his eyes. “No matter how crazy, dangerous or irresponsible it may be!”

“What are you talking about? I always accept responsibility for my actions,” Mariner insisted. “More or less…”

“Don’t remind me,” Boimler groaned. “You’re like the perfect example of why Starfleet rules and regulations need to exist. Starfleet regulations are created with the intention to establish or maintain order, keep people safe and prevent officers from abusing their power, acting like self-appointed gods and causing chaos!”

“No, regs are made by a bunch of opinion makers who think their way is the best way to address certain situations,” Mariner argued. “Which doesn’t automatically make it the only way to do so. There’s no rule that covers every situation or can be considered one hundred percent, neutronium-clad absolute.”

“Except for the Rules of Math,” Rutherford pointed out. “Along with the Laws of Chemistry, the Laws of Physics, certain Biological laws…”

“Okay, some rules may be absolute,” Mariner allowed. “All the natural, sciency-based ones anyway. But not the ones made up by fallible sentient beings. Those types of rules act more like strongly recommended guidelines than holier-than-thou, inviolable, hard-and-fast rules and regs.”

“Like the Rules of Acquisition,” Tendi commented. “Which are more like suggestions despite being marketed and labeled as ‘Rules’. At least according to some theories.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Mariner grinned in affirmation. “The rules and laws make up by sentient beings are always open to interpretation. Every rule has its own loopholes and exceptions. Including Starfleet regs.”

“I don’t think so. The list of additions and addendums Captain Freeman sent out are pretty clear,” Boimler noted studying his padd. “Like this first one: phaser practice is only allowed to take place on the Phaser Range and nowhere else. All other areas are off-limits including the Repair Bays, Shuttlebays, the Mess Hall, Sickbay…”

“Sheesh, try to include a little variety and everyone gets upset,” Mariner grumbled.

“Well, that rule does seem to be pretty obvious,” Tendi commented.

“Throwing or tossing exoscalpels is also forbidden,” Boimler continued. “Along with using any Starfleet equipment or personnel as targets.”

“Oops,” Tendi gulped guiltily. “I wasn’t aware of that one. Sorry!”

“Personnel?” Rutherford blinked in surprise.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Tendi protested. “Doctor T’Ana ordered me to toss those exoscalpels at her. She said it was for surgical practice.”

“Huh, good thing she didn’t order you to toss any laser saws,” Mariner quipped.

“Moving on,” Boimler proceeded to read off the list. “All personal projects must receive permission from either the Captain or First Officer to ensure they do not have a good chance of damaging, disrupting, wrecking or blowing up the ship. Especially those undertaken by Science and Engineering personnel.”

“Awww,” Tendi and Rutherford pouted.

“Gotta agree with Freeman on that one,” Mariner said. “Need I remind you guys of the whole Plasmodic Choko Vine Fiasco?”

“Please don’t,” Boimler shuddered. “I still have nightmares about glowing tendrils and exploding cybernetic chayotes.”

“Do not disable the ship’s fire detection or suppression systems,” Tendi recited reading from her own padd. “This includes doing so with the intent to burn incense, roast marshmallows or hold flaming fire dances.”

“Dang. That puts the kibosh on next week’s Lūʻau Night,” Mariner cursed snapping her fingers. “Now what am I supposed to do with my stockpile of fireworks, firecrackers, sparklers and tiki torches?”

“Do not accept or bring back any unknown, unscanned or unauthorized souvenirs acquired during away missions,” Boimler read next. “Even if the locals present them to you as a gift.”

“In my defense, I had absolutely no idea that pretty little geode I stumbled upon while on Albeni happened to be a revered cultural artifact,” Tendi blushed. “Or that possessing it meant igniting a blood feud with the bearer’s ship and family.”

“Still better than the pouch of ‘common’ rocks some character gave Boimler on Spica,” Mariner made air quotes with her fingers. “Which resulted in him becoming an unknowing smuggler of Tallonian crystals. Or so Boims claimed…”

“Hey, I was cleared of those illegal substance possession charges!” Boimler protested. “Lieutenant Shaxs himself proved that! I’d never knowingly possess or traffic any kind of contraband. Unlike some people!”

“Hey, any contraband I may allegedly have or come across is either mostly harmless or always used for a good cause,” Mariner insisted. “The good cause usually being my own happiness and sense of gratification.”

“Oh geeze,” Boimler groaned.

“No more anti-grav lift racing?” Tendi read off the next rule in surprise. “Nooo!”

“Whew! Thank goodness,” Rutherford sighed in relief. “Uh, I mean, awww. Too bad.”

“Eh, no worries, T,” Mariner waved. “Anti-grav lift racing may be out, but it didn’t say anything about anti-grav sleds…”

“Really?” Tendi chirped excitedly. “Yay!”

“Oh no,” Boimler blanched. “Not again…”

“Er, let’s move on,” Rutherford gulped quickly glancing at the list. “All logs, reports, memos and other official Starfleet correspondence must adhere to proper protocol regarding grammar, language and punctuation. Submitting a mission report which reads: ‘Fixed the prob. Nobody died. ‘S all good.’ is not acceptable.”

“Gee, I wonder who inspired that rule?” Boimler gave Mariner a look.

“So I like to keep my mission reports sharp, simple and to the point,” Mariner shrugged. “Big whoop. It’s better than handing in a thirty-six-page essay about replacing the lights in the Conference Room.”

“I didn’t just replace the lights,” Boimler blushed. “I also calibrated the display screens and realigned all the wheels of the conference chairs.”

“Oh, well that’s a completely different story,” Mariner drawled. “Not!”

“Details like those are important,” Boimler insisted.

“Yeah, to neurotic nitpickers like you and every other fussy, bureaucratic butt-bound senior officer,” Mariner snorted. “Talk about a bunch of overly pointless and unnecessary rules! Regs like that practically demand leeway.”

“Well, Captain Freeman is pretty flexible when it comes to some things,” Tendi pointed out studying her padd. “Like this next rule. ‘Allowances to one’s personal attire may be granted in regard to Starfleet’s Uniform Code. However, if wearing a skant, be sure to also be wearing Starfleet-approved underwear. Especially in low-gravity environments.’”

“Gee, I wonder who inspired that rule?” Mariner repeated wickedly.

“That wasn’t my fault!” Boimler blushed redder than a Klingon trefoil. “It was an honest mistake! I was an innocent victim of circumstances!”

“Suuure you were,” Mariner snickered.

“Do not tick off Doctor T’Ana. Ever,” Tendi read off the next rule. “She hates having to treat her own victims.”

“That’s a very good rule,” Rutherford noted. “Wait, isn’t striking a fellow Starfleet officer a court-martial offense?”

“Striking, yes,” Tendi confirmed. “Clawing, biting, disemboweling and/or dismembering however can be somewhat ambiguous.”

“Finally. Some wiggle room in Starfleet’s never-ending reel of regs,” Mariner quipped.

“Regarding Starfleet Labor Code Section 48, Alpha-7,” Boimler proceeded with the list. “Requesting and/or requiring meal breaks at regular intervals is acceptable. However, this does not mean stopping to grab a snack or drink every hour, every half hour, every quarter hour or every five minutes.”

“Awww,” Mariner sighed.

“Do not suggest certain ship visitors need to be strip searched,” Boimler went on. “No matter how shifty, suspicious, gorgeous, willing or culturally open they may be.”

“Awww!” Mariner sighed even louder.

“Do not mix alcohol into the water in Cetacean Ops or replace any such water with alcohol,” Tendi read next. “All cetacean personnel are absolutely forbidden from consuming alcohol or getting drunk. All other ship’s personnel are absolutely forbidden from allowing, assisting or encouraging any cetacean personnel to get drunk.”

“What?” Mariner yelped in indignation. “Freeman can’t do that! That’s violating cetaceans’ fundamental freedoms! There’s no prohibition aboard the Cerritos! Down with the Feds! Drunken rights now!”

“Huh, guess Captain Freeman established that rule after encountering those lost Earth colonists a while back,” Boimler commented.

“That’s too bad,” Rutherford sighed looking over the rule. “Ensign Matao really lets loose after downing a few liters of spirits.”

“Do not allow the ship’s kindergarteners or other pre-adolescent children to do your duties or operate Starfleet equipment, supervised or otherwise,” Tendi continued with the list. “Even if they are gifted and better than doing so than you.”

“Does that include Ensign Asif?” Rutherford asked curiously. “He is a child prodigy after all.”

“More like a child pain in the neck,” Mariner noted. “He’s even more nerdish and whiny than Boimler.”

“Yeah,” Boimler agreed. “Wait a second…hey!”

“Pets are not allowed on the Bridge, Sickbay or Engineering,” Tendi went on. “Or pretty much any other place except one’s quarters.”

“Try telling that to Lancelot,” Rutherford groaned. “That sneaky ferret somehow manages to get into everything. Even the ship’s internal sensors have trouble tracking him.”

“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like my kind of animal. Hmmm, I could use a good partner like him…”

“Oh no,” Boimler moaned. “Don’t even think about it!”

“No singing while on duty unless granted permission or under special circumstances?” Tendi blinked at the list in surprise. “That can’t be right.”

“Ha! Good luck trying to enforce that rule,” Mariner barked. “That’s even more ridiculous than the one about forbidding drunken cetaceans."

“No dance contests without the Captain’s approval,” Boimler read next. “Especially while on duty.”

“Awww, that’s too bad,” Rutherford sighed. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Ensign Meredith and Lieutenant Dahae try to out-do each other when realigning ESP conduits while doing the rumba in tune to a set of perfectly calibrated resonating coils.”

“No late-night parties are to be held on the Bridge during Delta shift,” Boimler went on. “Or any other shift period.”

“Well that goes without saying,” Mariner commented. “Why should those Delta shift jerks get to have more fun than the rest of us?”

“Do they really have late-night Bridge parties?” Tendi asked.

“Unfortunately no,” Rutherford stated. “And neither does the crew on any other ship.”

“No kidding,” Boimler snorted. “Can you imagine Picard and other Enterprise personnel singing, dancing and goofing off on the Bridge into the early hours of the morning? Like that could ever happen.”

“Claiming to be possessed by a non-corporeal entity is not an excuse for irrational behavior and not fulfilling one’s duties,” Tendi read off the list next. “Neither is claiming to have been kidnapped and/or replaced by Romulans, androids, Changelings, previously unknown aliens, Q or other ridiculous excuses.”

“Rats. There goes half my usual repertoire of excuses and fabricated explanations,” Mariner noted. “Oh well. Just means I’ll have to come up with new ones.”

“Wasn’t Captain Freeman herself recently whisked away by Q?” Rutherford asked. “Along with all of the Cerritos’ other senior officers?”

“Eh, that was just a rumor,” Mariner waved. “It was never proven. Not that it matters much. Senior officers never bother telling us Lower Deckers anything.”

“Except for informing us of more rules,” Boimler reminded. “Like this one: ‘Do not prank call Admiral Vassery, Admiral Buenamigo, Captain Durango, Captain Anderson or others. No matter how gullible or annoying they may be.’”

“Too bad,” Mariner said. “The look on Durango’s face when he thought there was a universal mud shortage was priceless.”

“Admiral Buenamigo’s performance when he thought he was being interviewed by FNN was funny too,” Tendi giggled. “Who knew he kept a sombrero and a pair of castanets as admiral trinkets.”

“Do not glue fellow crew members to chairs, bulkheads, equipment or ceilings,” Boimler went on. “Even Lieutenant Levy.”

“How about gluing him inside an EV suit?” Mariner suggested. “That should teach that idiot a lesson.”

“No it won’t,” Boimler shook his head. “You already did that to Levy last month, remember?”

“Really?” Mariner blinked. “I thought for sure I filled Levy’s EV suit with itching powder instead.”

“That was the month before last,” Rutherford reminded. “And you did it to Levy and Lieutenant Commander Stevens.”

“Oh yeah. That’s right,” Mariner slapped her head. “Duh! Now I remember. Thanks, Ruthy.”

“Do not tamper with the Cerritos’ environmental controls and introduce helium into the atmosphere of select areas of the ship,” Tendi read next. “Specifically the Bridge, Conference Rooms or Captain’s Ready Room. Especially during an open channel.”

“Ah, that was classic,” Mariner smirked fondly. “I can still see Ransom trying to be all cool and intimidating to that grumpy Klingon commander while sounding like a hyperactive chipmunk.”

“I have to admit his and Captain Freeman’s dressing down of you were hard to take seriously when they both sounded like that,” Boimler couldn’t resist a smile.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what Captain Freeman was more embarrassed at,” Rutherford chuckled. “Having to talk that way to the Klingon commander in order to clear up any misunderstandings or to Admiral Vassery when reporting about the said incident.”

“Captain Freeman also probably recorded a log entry or two that way,” Tendi giggled. “Preserved as a future reference for years to come. You really should have apologized for that prank.”

“Na, it’s fine,” Mariner waved. “Freeman really isn’t one for formal gestures or displays of contrition like that.”

“Which explains this next rule,” Boimler consulted his padd. “Do not kneel, bow, curtsey, genuflect, prostrate, kiss hands or other body parts when meeting senior officers. Especially just to tick them off.”

“Well then somebody better mention that to Stevens,” Mariner said. “Considering all the times he constantly fawns over and kisses Ransom’s well-toned…”

“And finally,” Boimler read off the last entry. “Do not make up any false, fictional, weird or outrageous rules just to mess with the few people aboard the Cerritos who actually bother to follow regulations.”

“Seriously? What does Freeman think this is?” Mariner snorted tapping Boimler’s padd. “Talk about a great work of fiction! Freeman oughta know better than to create rules she can’t enforce.”

“She can enforce them,” Rutherford pointed out. “Along with the rest of Starfleet’s rules and regulations. That’s how you end up spending so much time in the Brig.”

“Speaking of which,” Tendi glanced at Mariner. “Aren’t you supposed to be confined in the Brig right now?”

“Eh, technically,” Mariner shrugged.

“What?!” Boimler yelped.

“ENSIGN MARINER! STOP KEEPING YOUR COMBADGE DEACTIVATED AND RETURN TO THE BRIG IMMEDIATELY!” Commander Ransom’s voice boomed down the hallway. “YOU STILL HAVE TWO DAYS TO GO FOR MAGNETICALLY STICKING ALL MY FREE WEIGHTS TOGETHER! YOU CAN’T KEEP POPPING IN AND OUT OF THE BRIG JUST TO GRAB A SNACK!”

“There’s no regulation saying I can’t,” Mariner smirked hopping down from her bunk and casually sauntered away. “Which reminds me, I need to replicate a two-day supply of lumpias. Catch you guys later!”

“Okay,” Tendi smiled waving after her. “Bye!”

“Which leads to the only real rule there is aboard the Cerritos,” Boimler groaned. “One may need a reason to make or follow regulations, but not in order to break them!”

 

[Bynar0110]

Winning Entry by @Laura Cynthia Chambers


November/December's entry, from "Contemplative Silence". In which McCoy runs afoul of a Vulcan Diogenes Club (Sherlock Holmes)

"The Quiet of Letar"

Leonard materialized in the middle of a crowded intersection, one hand resting on his hip. He jumped out of the way as a bicycle sped past on one side, then stepped to the side to avoid three teenage girls who were chattering excitedly in an alien language. Crossing the street in five quick strides, he leaned against a lamp post to catch his breath, then pulled out his comm and flipped it open. "McCoy to transporter room. I got a hint for you, Bayliss; this planet happens to have several geosynchronous cartographic satellites. Try makin' use of them before beaming a man down in the middle of traffic, hmm? Unless you want to bring him back in a jar."

The English transporter operator chuckled. "Really, Doctor, I set you down in the middle of a scramble. No eighteen wheelers, hovercars, or anything of the kind. Just foot traffic. You're perfectly safe."

"Ever heard of a stampede?" The yeasty scent of baked goods drifted out of an open doorway as McCoy continued past it, headed in a westerly direction. "Just tell me where you dropped off Commander Spock." He used one hand to shade his eyes, scrutinizing two Vulcans that were walking towards him, deep in conversation. The mustached one looked over his shoulder and shouted. A smaller figure parted the two and strode out in front of them, a curious expression on her face. McCoy followed her gaze and saw that a large tree lay fallen on the sidewalk across the street, its roots torn up from the ground.

"He asked to be deposited at Pelek Park, in the Vulcan quarter of the city, doctor. That's..." Two taps on a computer screen. "...roughly two kilometers south of your present location. I can send you there, or if you wish, there are several public transport booths, a local transit system, taxis..."

"I'll walk. Just text me the coordinates."

"Cheerio, Doctor. And a pleasant leave to you."

"Thanks, Art." McCoy ended the call. A few seconds later, a marker appeared on his tricorder's geolocator program, and he followed the map indicator down two winding streets, over a small footbridge, and then down a walking trail until he found himself in a small natural area criss-crossed by several gravel walkways. Reddish brown sand covered the open areas, dotted with various rock arrangements and small flowers that lay close to the ground. The park was mostly deserted, save for a city worker who bent over a small patch of green cacti, and two joggers, all Vulcans.

He found Spock kneeling behind a yellow bush at the edge of a small pond, studying the small purple fish that darted around just beneath the surface. "Well, I made it." McCoy came around to the other side of the pond until he was standing next to the Vulcan. "All in one piece."

"I expected nothing less." Spock straightened up, brushing dust from the knees of his pant legs. "Acquoya may attract visitors from all across the quadrant, but it has a reputation for being one of the safest settlements of its kind in the 23rd century." He clasped his hands behind his back.

McCoy gave a half-smile. "Well, actually, I was referring to the transporter, not the city, but..." He took a deep breath. "Ahh. Even the air is cleaner here." His shoulders relaxed. "I guess I owe my blood pressure one. If it hadn't registered on the high side of high this time, I'd still be in sickbay, bumping somebody else up the shore leave waiting list."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "I am curious as to how you expect it to return such a favor."

McCoy shook his head. "You got me. So," he continued, "Vulcan quarter, eh?" He gestured around at the buildings surrounding the park, which were designed in various Vulcan architectural styles, from Vuus contemporary to pre-Tonek revival. "Kinda like going back in time?"

"There are similarities," Spock agreed as they meandered down the trail leading out of the park's south gate. "Be that as it may, my reasons for visiting this section of the city go beyond mere nostalgia." He led McCoy to a transit stop just to the left of the exit. He leaned against the signpost. "I am in fact seeking the same thing you are; an opportunity for relaxation." The bus pulled up to the stop, and they boarded, passing their communicators in front of the reader. McCoy chose an aisle seat close to the middle of the vehicle, and Spock lowered himself into the window seat nearby.

As the bus moved away from the curb and began to head down the street, McCoy pocketed his communicator. "Relaxation? What? The park wasn't doing it for you?"

"While I found its landscaped setting to be restful, I had not planned to tarry long. I chose the park as a landing site chiefly because of its proximity to the transit line." Spock glanced away from the window. "Why did you seek me out? I was not expecting a companion."

"I'm a glutton for punishment." At Spock's frown, McCoy laughed. "Truth? I'm just killing time until Jim finishes some conference calls. He knows a couple of girls who live here now. We're going out to dinner together this evening, then catching a show." He rubbed the back of his neck. "At least, that's the plan, anyway. In the meantime, why don't you show me around the marketplace?" He placed one hand on his stomach. "I've got a hankering for muhs-veer noodles all of a sudden."

"Perhaps later. My destination is close to the marketplace." They leaned slightly to one side as the bus turned a corner. "Though I have never visited this planet before, my membership grants me access to all the association's branches. I am also allowed to admit guests."

"Association?" McCoy glanced out the window at a passing hovercar. "You mean like a club?" At Spock's nod, he clapped the Vulcan on the back. "I remember my good old days with Astra Terra. If I wasn't getting into trouble, I was getting Jim out of it."

Spock's mouth twitched. "You seem almost fond of your days with the Academy's fraternity, given your usual dislike for trouble."

"Ah, you had to be there." McCoy leaned back in his seat and slung one arm over Spock's shoulder. "But you know what I'm talking about, right? Funny hats, crazy songs, and all the processed meat you can eat. Or carrot sticks, in your case," he amended. "'From the known, to the unknown, from the surface to the sky...'" he sang, his words trailing off as the bus came to a stop. Two passengers exited through the back door, shuffling past McCoy and giving him odd glances. Seven more boarded, all Vulcans save one Human male wearing a casual duty Starfleet uniform.

When they had seated themselves, the bus began moving forward again. Leonard shrugged. "Anthem." He looked away, lost in thought. "Those were the days. I wonder if they have a chapter here..."

"Doubtful. The only Academy facility I know of on Acquoya is an admissions office." Spock turned to face him. "In any event, you will find the Letar Society's activities have little in common with the sort of rowdy behavior you and Jim previously engaged in." He pulled out his tricorder and studied the screen. "The next stop is ours." Spock tapped a button on the wall of the bus, stood, and began to inch down the aisle.

McCoy got up and followed him to the back exit, arriving just as the bus slid to a halt. They stepped through the open doors onto a narrow sidewalk. McCoy glanced around at the houses nearby, flanked with ornamental sand arrangements. "Uh, Spock, you sure we're in the right place? These buildings all look residential to me."

"The Letar Society occupies what was once a private dwelling, Doctor. I believe a previous member bequeathed it to the association upon his demise." Spock stepped over what appeared to be a children's toy, some kind of vehicle with wheels. He lifted his hand and pointed at a large three storey townhouse with well-manicured vines that had been trained to grow on its stone walls. A flight of rounded steps led to a small porch; a short ramp to the right appeared to be a recent addition. Simple black letters against a gray backdrop proclaimed the building to indeed be the Acquoya chapter of the Letar Society.

As McCoy followed Spock up the stairs, his hand slid up the railing. He paused for a moment, cupping his hand to his ear. "When you said this place was tame, you weren't kidding. I don't hear anything; no singing, laughing, screaming, or vomiting."

"Nor are you likely to, as I said previously." Spock arched an eyebrow. "Though you almost sound as if you were hoping for cacophony and mayhem."

"Didn't say that." He reached the top and leaned against the porch rail, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But, hey, if whatever you guys do in there calms my frayed nerves a little, I guess I can live with it." He moved out of Spock's way as the Vulcan stepped in front of the doorway and stood there, still for several seconds. "Aren't you going to knock?"

"We shall be admitted momentarily," Spock replied, his lips pressed closed. After about a minute, the door opened. A tall stoic Vulcan stood there, clad in black robes. He raised an eyebrow at McCoy, who returned the expression, then looked to Spock. The commander nodded, which seemed to satisfy the doorman; he stiffly swept to the side, allowing them access.

"Where-" McCoy began, stopping when Spock turned and held a finger to his lips. Spying a coatrack, he removed his light jacket and hung it up on one of the hooks. "Where are we going?" he whispered as they continued down a dark corridor.

Spock ignored the question, leading McCoy through a door to their left flanked by drawn drapes, into a large common room filled with black chairs and couches. Blackout curtains covered a massive window that would ordinarily have let in the sunlight at this time of day. Several Vulcans stood, sat and reposed in various areas of the room. A black tasseled carpet hosted several individuals who were staring at nothing in particular; another sat cross-legged on a stool in the corner reading something off of a tablet. Spock beckoned to McCoy as he took a seat on the closest chair, closing his eyes.

McCoy stomped into the room and pulled Spock up off his seat, dragging him out of the room, and to the right until they were both standing behind the door curtain. "You brought me to a funeral parlour?" he hissed. "I don't even know any of these people. What do I say? I feel like an intruder. Who died?"

Spock shook his head and raised a finger in the air. "First of all, it is not-" he mouthed, but interrupted himself, clasping his hands behind his back as two women walked past into the room. He tugged McCoy by one arm in the opposite direction until they were standing behind a potted palm. "It is not a funeral parlour, Doctor," he whispered. "Please, do not say anything more while you are here. There are rules to follow."

McCoy jerked back away from him. "Which you unfortunately neglected to warn me about before we-"

Spock grabbed both of McCoy's arms tightly. "Please."

McCoy wilted, letting out a soft sigh. "Fine. But would you mind telling me exactly what one does at the Letar Society?" He held out his hands palms up.

Spock pressed his lips closed, then turned and tilted his chin upward towards the dark curtains before covering both ears with his hands. He arched an eyebrow.

The blood drained out of McCoy's face. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out once. "Contemplative Silence." One hand covered his face. "It's got a lodge. But of course." McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "Why not? It's got everything else, heaven knows," he exclaimed, pacing back and forth.

Spock grabbed one of his arms, but McCoy yanked it away again. As he spun around, he bumped into something. McCoy looked up and saw the Vulcan doorman who had admitted them to the building, glowering at him. He turned. Several society members stood at the entrance to the room, regarding him with a mixture of annoyance, curiosity, and anger. "Ummm..." McCoy glanced down at his shoes, blushing, then lifted his head towards the Vulcans, an innocent expression on his face. "Sorry?"

The Vulcans did not reply. Instead, they slowly retreated from the doorway and returned to their silent contemplation.

"Right." McCoy slowly backed up towards the front door. "Ock-spay, I ink-thay it's ime-tay to am-scray," he muttered.

A shadow loomed over him. McCoy turned. Once more, the doorman stood before him, casting a long shadow. In his hands, he held out a small opaque glass jar. McCoy reached out for it, and the doorman held it away from him, then extended it toward him again.

McCoy turned to Spock, a look of confusion on his face. "What does he want?" he mouthed.

Spock leaned toward him. "You disrupted the sacred silence of this establishment," he whispered quietly. "Those who commit such a violation are obligated to contribute to the penalty jar. No exceptions."

"Penalty jar?" McCoy mouthed, looking back and forth between Spock and the doorman, who regarded him with thinly veiled impatience. Rolling his eyes, McCoy reached into his pocket for a wad of Federation universal exchange notes and stuffed the bills into the jar, then grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "Well, so much for that," he sighed, hurrying towards the front door.

"Indeed." Spock glanced over his shoulder, then sped up, matching McCoy's stride. "I don't expect either of us will be welcome here any time soon," he added as they stepped onto the porch, a note of disappointment in his voice.

McCoy slowed, then stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Gee, I'm awful sorry, Spock. To get tossed out on your ear like this because of me." He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. "And I embarrassed you in front of all your fellow silence groupies. Might as well have paraded up and down the halls with a brass band." He sighed. "I feel like a heel."

Spock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder as another bus crested the hill, then hurried down the street to the bus stop, McCoy following after him. "You have no cause to berate yourself, Leonard. First of all, I neglected to inform you properly about the nature of the Letar Society, so that you could adequately prepare for the experience. Second, although I was fully aware of your reasons for taking this impromptu shore leave, I nevertheless exposed you to stimuli, or rather lack of same, which has already provoked a strong emotional response in you previously. Lastly..." He paused as the vehicle rolled to a stop and opened its door, then ascended the first step, one hand resting on the doorframe.

"Lastly..." McCoy waved a hand at the Vulcan.

"You are hardly to blame for your frustrations." Spock's mouth curved slightly. "Your reactions were entirely normal. For a Human," he added as he stepped up toward the fare reader.

McCoy frowned, then shrugged. "I'm not sure how to take that..." he trailed off, tapping his comm on the reader.

"My intention was neither to insult or compliment," Spock assured him as they took their seats in the back of the vehicle. He stared out the back window at the society's building until their bus rounded the corner.

McCoy glanced down at his stomach and patted it. "Oh, well. Time for lunch." He met Spock's gaze, but the Vulcan moved his head to look past him. "What are you looking at? Is Lurch watching to make sure we don't come back?" he quipped, standing in his seat and leaning over Spock's shoulder to look out the open side window on his left.

"No," Spock replied, arms crossed over his chest. "As a matter of fact, I was just imagining you...clomping around the Letar Society's parlour in full dress regalia...blasting a trumpet." He narrowed his eyes and pressed his mouth shut, a soft laugh escaping from his throat nonetheless. "I believe such a spectacle would be worth whatever penalty 'Lurch' might see fit to levy."

"Wouldn't that be a sight?" McCoy snickered, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "But you have to bring your lute." He played with the zipper of his jacket, smiling. "Knowing your compatriots, they'd probably have us arrested for disturbing the peace, and Jim will kill us both. After he stops laughing, that is." McCoy leaned back and closed his eyes. "Good thing Jim's a dab hand at creative log-writing, or we'd be in hot water with Command and the Vulcan consulate."

Spock nodded. "Yes. As I believe you might say, 'thank heaven for small mercies.'"

 

[Bynar0110]

January/February 2025 Challenge: The theme for this challenge was "Mayday!" That can mean any crisis, real or imaginary, high stakes or personal, ship or station or planet.

Winning Entry by @Bynar0110

Whispers in the Void

Stardate 38681.16 (September 6, 2361)
USS Samson(NCC-77002)

Near the Delphi System

Captain's Log, Supplemental. The Samson has been diverted from it's scheduled survey of the Antares Nebula and has been assigned a priority one investigation of the complete and catastrophic destruction of Zeta Reticuli IV in the Delphi system. The cause is unknown, but preliminary sensor data suggests an energy signature unlike anything previously recorded. My gut tells me this is more than just a stellar anomaly. The crew is on high alert, and tensions are running high as we approach.

The bridge of the USS Samson hummed with focused tension. Captain Lara Kanisky, stood stiffly, her gaze fixed on the main viewscreen. The starfield was a familiar sight, yet now it seemed to hold its breath, waiting. The usual comforting white noise of the ship felt brittle, threatening to shatter at any moment.

"Report!" her voice sliced through the silence, tight with a controlled urgency. She could feel a knot in her stomach, a cold finger tracing her spine. This wasn't a standard mission; the tension in her crew was too palpable for that.

Ensign H'Rell, his typically smooth, silica-based face creased with worry, swiveled from his science station. The Horta's natural stoicism was cracking under the weight of what he was seeing. "Captain, energy readings are fluctuating wildly. The spectra are… chaotic." His voice, normally a low rumble, was unusually high-pitched. He tapped furiously at his console, his crystalline hands moving with uncharacteristic haste. "It's… nothing like I've ever seen. The patterns are not conforming to any known matter-energy conversion." His brow furrowed, forming a cluster of delicate rocky ridges that spoke of his personal fears, "It is unnerving, Captain. This is a nightmare…"

Kanisky's eyes flicked to the viewscreen, searching for the source of the unease. She prided herself on remaining calm in a crisis, but the unsettling quiet of the debris field was unnerving. It belied the violence that had occurred here.

A flicker then bloomed across the viewscreen – a brief, shimmering distortion of the starfield, as if a vast, unseen hand had brushed against the canvas of reality. It was there and gone in the blink of an eye, leaving a lingering sense of displacement.

"Computer, log that anomaly," Lieutenant Xylar's voice was slightly shaky, his normally vibrant blue skin now tinged with a pale grey. The Rigellian's hand trembled as he gripped the tactical station. Xylar was known for his unflappable nature, his constant need to polish his many rings was a sign that he was under stress. "Did anyone else… did anyone else see that?" He swallowed, his usually steady voice wavering.

A low rhythmic thrum began to vibrate through the floor plates. Not a mechanical tremor, but a deep, resonant heartbeat, organic and alien. It pulsed through Kanisky, resonating deep within her bones, unearthing an old fear, from early childhood. The memory of a large, jolly man, his eyes all encompassing with their power, came to the surface. She shook her head, trying to clear it. That childlike fear was ridiculous.

"Shields up! Evasive maneuvers!" she ordered, her voice losing its usual firmness, a slight tremor creeping in.

The Samson lurched, and Kanisky stumbled, catching herself on the tactical console. "Helm, what's happening?" Kanisky turned to Ensign Lee Grogan.

The Ensign's hands were white-knuckled as he struggled with the controls. His eyes, usually full of optimism, were wide with terror. He suddenly felt a cold sweat coat his skin. All he could think about was the images of the "Mole People" flickering in head like a haunted movie. Their gaunt faces, hollow eyes, and twisted, emaciated bodies writhed in the dark, subterranean tunnels. He could hear their eerie whispers, echoing through the hollow corridors, and feel the cold, damp air that seemed to seep into his bones. He shook his head and swallowed.

"Captain, I'm losing control!" the Ensign's face flushed, strained at the helm controls, his knuckles white. Every muscle in his body was clenched and his lip was trembling slightly. His eyes, wide with dawning terror, darted to the viewscreen. "It's like… like the ship doesn't want to obey. The controls are lagging behind my input." He took a deep, shuddering breath. . "It's like… it's like it's being pulled apart."

At the science station, H'Rell gasped, his crystalline brow ridges contracting sharply. He looked like a statue carved from stone that was falling to pieces, the smooth lines of his body being fractured. "I can hear them. So many voices… crying out for their mothers. The cracking of their shells… the miners…" He clutched at his head, his voice barely a whisper as he reeled from a telepathic torrent. He was hearing the death cries of lost eggs.

Kanisky fought to maintain a grip on the situation, but a cold dread was creeping through her. This was not a battle; it was far more insidious. This wasn't being fought. This was… consumption. This was not like being in deep space; here she was more like being under the ocean, waiting to be swallowed by leviathan.

"Open a channel to Starfleet Command," she commanded, her voice barely a whisper. "Tell them… tell them it's…"

A tendril of raw, violet energy, like a living lightning bolt, lashed out from the void, striking the bridge. The lights flickered, throwing long, grotesque shadows. Kanisky gasped, the shock rippling through her. The ship bucked and groaned around her. She felt a crushing pressure, an agonizing tearing sensation, as if her soul was being ripped from her body.

Before she could finish, a tendril of pure energy lashed out from the viewscreen, striking her square in the chest. She was thrown back, her body slamming into the command chair. The pain was excruciating, a searing heat that seemed to burn from the inside out. As she struggled to regain her footing, the thrumming grew louder, the ship shuddered violently, and the lights began to flicker, casting long, distorted shadows across the bridge.

"Helm, what's happening?" she demanded, her voice trembling as much as her body. The bridge was a cacophony of alarms and frantic voices, but the only answer was Grogan's desperate cries.

"Captain, I can't—!"

Another tendril of energy struck the ship, this time tearing through the deck plating and sending debris flying. The bridge crew was thrown off their feet, and the ship groaned in protest. H'Rell's body was partially embedded in the floor, his stone skin cracking under the immense pressure.

"Captain, the ship is being... consumed," Xylar gasped, his voice strained. "It's... it's pulling us in."

Kanisky's vision blurred and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She clutched the locket in her hand, her fingers digging into the metal. "Erect the emergency force fields... now!"

But it was too late. The energy tendrils were everywhere, pulling the ship apart piece by piece.
Kanisky fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Her lips moved in silent prayer, a childhood invocation whispered into the void – a final plea to a long-forgotten God. "Lord, now I lay me down to sleep..." Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the floor, like a broken doll.

The rhythmic thrum intensified, becoming a deep, resonant drone that seemed to vibrate even the stars themselves. On the viewscreen, the starfield began to twist and writhe, as if the very fabric of space was unraveling. The ship's internal lights began to pulsate with red then purple then finally a deep black. The comm system crackled, a garbled transmission breaking through the cacophony.

"...we are one… becoming one…" A strange and unidentifiable voice came through the speakers then abruptly cut out.

Then, silence. The rhythmic thrum ceased, leaving an unsettling void. The USS Samson, and its crew, were gone. The distortion of the starfield dissipated, leaving no trace of the Miranda-class starship. The void of space was still again. The silence was total.

The object, now more potent and aware, continued to grow and learn. Each ship and crew it absorbed added to its knowledge and power, a dark, insatiable hunger that drove it deeper into the reaches of space. It was a force beyond understanding, a creature that had emerged from the void with a singular purpose: to consume and become one with all it encountered. The destruction of Zeta Reticuli IV was only the beginning. The universe was vast, and it had much to learn.

END

 

[Bynar0110]

March/April 2025 Challenge: The theme of the challenge was "Time Travel"

Winning Entry by @ColdFusion180

Tempus Loquitur

“So then what happened?” Tendi asked.

“Well, after staying up all night talking and watching the Vendu auroras, Barbara and I shared one last breakfast together before finally saying goodbye,” Boimler sighed dreamily while leaning against a rack of containers in Cargo Bay Two. “With lots of hugging and kissing of course.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Tendi cooed as she cataloged a pallet full of medical supplies.

“Yeah, real romantic,” Mariner drawled while casually inventorying the contents of the cargo bay. “Be careful not to read too much into your first shore leave fling, Boims. It’ll put a real damper on your enjoyment level when you have the next one. That is, if there ever is a next one…”

“It was not just a shore leave fling!” Boimler protested. “Barbara and I are a couple now! We exchange subspace messages every day! If we’re lucky we may even see each other in person in a few weeks.”

“Yeah right. I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mariner scoffed. “A bottle of Saurian brandy says you’ll forget all about new girlfriend Barb within a week. Two at most. Say, I could really make a killing from this.”

“What?” Boimler yelped. “Are you insane?”

“Don’t pester me with rhetorical questions now, Boims. There’s a fortune to be made here,” Mariner began making up a betting chart on her padd. “Okay, if payouts start at two-to-one and go up exponentially from there…and presuming there are enough interested entrants after spreading the word to Alpha, Beta and Delta shifts…”

“No! Stop it!” Boimler shouted and attempted to grab Mariner’s padd. “Quit betting on my love life!”

“Or lack of one, am I right?” Mariner quipped while easily fending him off. “Hey Tendi, which time slot would you like? A bottle of non-replicated spirits or a single duty shift gets you in.”

“Well…I…uh…” Tendi stuttered, fidgeting.

“Eh, I’ll just put you down for four weeks. Somebody’s gotta take the long shot,” Mariner tapped on her padd. “How about you, Rutherford?” She glanced at her cybernetically enhanced friend standing off to the side while seemingly staring off into space. “Yo! Earth to Rutherford! Come in, Rutherford. Hello?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Rutherford blinked distractedly. “I’m having some kind of weird problem with my implant. I updated it last night and now I’m start to see things that aren’t there.”

“Like Boimler’s supposed new girlfriend?” Mariner teased.

“Very funny,” Boimler glared.

“No, more like warbly, phantom images of things,” Rutherford shook his head. “It’s kinda hard to describe.”

“Well, don’t let ‘em distract you, Ruthy,” Mariner said. “Remember, you’re on lookout duty to make sure Shaxs or somebody doesn’t find out about this.”

“You mean us talking and gambling about Boimler’s personal life while working?” Tendi asked innocently.

“No, I mean this,” Mariner opened a large cargo container filled to the brim with contraband. “Ah, now that’s what I’m talking about. Come to mama!”

“Of course you’re smuggling more non-regulation booze and weapons aboard the ship,” Boimler groaned. “I knew you were too excited after learning we were assigned to cargo bay duty.”

“Hey, what are you people doing back here?” Commander Ransom appeared from around a stack of cargo containers. “Taking inventory is serious business. You don’t appreciate having something until it’s missing…what the? Is that contraband?”

“Uh oh,” Mariner winced. “Busted!”

“Aha! I knew you were doing stuff like this behind my back,” Ransom glared at her. “I’m going straight to the captain about this, ensign. Your butt’s gonna be thrown in the brig so fast…”

Suddenly a crouched, human-looking figure appeared in the middle of the Cerritos personnel. The figure had bright purple eyes, snow-white hair, wore a dark form-fitting uniform and appeared to be about the same age as the four young ensigns. “Oops!”

“Ahhh! What the heck?” Tendi yelped in surprise.

“Gahhh!” Boimler stumbled back and slapped his combadge. “Intruder alert! Security to Cargo Bay Two!”

“Uh oh!” The figure gulped and raised a small probe-shaped device.

“Watch out! Get back!” Ransom stepped between the figure and the four assembled ensigns. “Who are you? What are you doing aboard the…” Ransom froze in mid-sentence.

“Huh?” Rutherford blinked and waved a hand in front of Ransom’s immobilized face. “Sir, are you alright?”

“Forget him,” Mariner ordered taking a fighting stance. “Get the intruder!”

“No! Stay back!” The figure pointed the device at her. It made a slight fizzling sound. “Ah, no! Not again! I just recharged this!”

“Good thing this is fully charged,” Boimler whipped out a phaser. “Don’t move!”

“Huh?” Tendi stared at Boimler in surprise. “Do you always carry a phaser around?”

“Uh, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?” Boimler gave her a look. “Well, except the times when I really need it…”

“Yo, we can talk about Starfleet phaser-carrying policy another time. Right now, we have an intruder to deal with,” Mariner said before addressing the mysterious figure. “So, what’s your story? Who are you? What are you doing here? Come on, out with it!”

“Um, hi. The name’s Zo,” The figure rose and waved meekly. “Uh, sorry for suddenly appearing like this. You really shouldn’t have seen me. My chronometric interphaser must have malfunctioned.”

“Chronometric interphaser?” Rutherford repeated, intrigued. “I’ve never heard of that piece of technology before.”

“Well, that’s because from your perspective it hasn’t been invented yet,” Zo said without thinking. “Oops!”

“Invented yet?” Mariner did a take. “Wait, you’re a time traveler?”

“Seriously? Ooooh, this is so cool!” Tendi squealed excitedly. “I’ve never met a real time traveler before!”

“Really? How many fake time travelers have you met?” Mariner quipped.

“Hold on. This is definitely not cool,” Boimler protested. “An unknown individual just appeared aboard the ship and attacked Commander Ransom!”

“Oh, don’t worry. Your companion there hasn’t been harmed,” Zo explained. “He’s just been put in temporal status. He’ll be fine.”

“Rats,” Mariner cursed snapping her fingers. “Uh, I mean, thank goodness!”

“Well, okay. But that still doesn’t prove anything,” Boimler insisted. “How do we know you’re a real time traveler?”

“Uh, hello?” Mariner gave him a look and gestured at Zo. “Abruptly popping in out of nowhere, putting Ranny here in temporal stasis, using a high-tech sciency doohickey nobody’s ever heard of. Sounds like a real, bona fide time traveler to me!”

“You have a point,” Boimler admitted.

“Wow, this is amazing!” Tendi and Rutherford chirped gazing at Zo in awe. “So, what kind of time traveler are you? A secret, undercover temporal operative? A futuristic historian? Casual past-visiting tourist?”

“Actually, I’m just a low-grade temporal technician,” Zo explained sheepishly. “I quietly travel unseen to the past to repair minor temporal anomalies and fractures in the space-time continuum.”

“Oh, is that all?” Mariner drawled.

“So, you’re some kind of temporal engineer?” Rutherford asked.

“Well, I suppose,” Zo shrugged modestly.

“Ooooh, that’s so neat!” Tendi oohed.

“Not really,” Mariner waved. “Take out the ‘temporal’ part and it’s just another lower decks job filled with grunt work and fixing broken stuff.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Boimler said putting away his phaser. “Wait a second,” He stared at Zo. “You’re here now. Does that mean there’s a temporal anomaly aboard the Cerritos?”

“Just a little one,” Zo assured taking out a tool. “A minor, potential Type-Three quantum fissure. It poses no real threat at the moment. It’s just emitting a little harmless, low-level temporal distortion.”

“Ah, that explains the weird problem with my implant,” Rutherford realized. “It’s detecting random bits of chronometric flux.”

“More like temporal echoes,” Zo explained pointing the tool at a seemingly empty spot in midair. “It’s best for temporal apertures like this to be nipped in the bud. Don’t want infinite alternate quantum realities to start breaking out, interacting and merging with each other.”

“Oh yeah, meeting alternate versions of yourself is the worst,” Mariner rolled her eyes. “The last thing I want is to have to go through all that craziness again.”

“I dunno. I think meeting alternate versions of myself would be pretty…huh?” Boimler did a double-take. “Wait, what do you mean again?”

“Wow, being a temporal technician sounds so cool!” Tendi twittered. “I’d love to hear all about future scientific advances and discoveries!”

“Yeah, like telling us the winning entry for next week’s Lissepian lottery,” Mariner suggested.

“Sorry, you know I can’t tell you about that kind of stuff,” Zo apologized. “Temporal Prime Directive and all that.”

“Awww,” Tendi and Rutherford pouted.

“Besides, Temporal Science and Mechanics isn’t all fun and games,” Zo warned. “It’s not only incredibly complex, it’s also highly dangerous.”

“Oh yeah, time travel can be such a mess,” Mariner agreed. “Not to mention annoying.”

“How do you know?” Boimler pressed anxiously. “Seriously, how?”

“Trust me, Boims. You’re better off not knowing,” Mariner waved. “Time travel is nothing but trouble.”

“Tell me about it,” Zo sighed. “Low-level people like me work hard to erect and maintain barriers throughout space-time to prevent reckless and irresponsible use of time travel.”

“There are barriers?” Rutherford blinked in surprise.

“Of course,” Zo turned to look at him. “Theoretically, anybody with a decent warp-capable ship and enough speed can travel through time by slingshotting around a star. Or harness sufficient amounts of highly polarized chroniton particles from a well-maintained cloaking device. Why do you think stuff like that doesn’t happen more often?”

“Besides the risk of ripping one’s ship apart, flying into a sun or blowing oneself up?” Mariner quipped.

“It’s because of temporal grids and defenses that prevent time travel attempts like that from becoming common,” Zo went on while working. “Granted, there is the occasional gap or two and some people tend to be luckier in their time travel attempts than others…”

“Cough! (Kirk!) Cough!” Mariner stage whispered.

“But for the most part, the barriers that have been built and established work,” Zo concluded. “And it’s a good thing too. Can you imagine the chaos that would erupt if just anyone with enough power and influence was allowed to manipulate time?”

“Perish the thought,” Boimler shuddered.

“And don’t get me started on the idiots who get the urge to alter the already established timeline,” Zo groused. “They muck around and mess things up until the new so-called ‘accepted’ timeline is completely and utterly ridiculous!”

“That sounds horrible,” Tendi sympathized. “I’d hate to exist in a universe like that.”

“Let’s hope we never do,” Rutherford said.

“And what really ticks me off is when those mindless dopes go and deliberately create alternate timelines by having some ugly, random ship suddenly travel to their relative past or future,” Zo continued. “Which means more space-time continuum repairs, more temporal contradictions, more paradoxes and more paperwork to explain and attempt to fix the messes they create. And when time travelers from other timelines get involved, boy do things really get confusing!”

“Preaching to the choir here,” Mariner nodded.

“Wow, that does sound pretty bad,” Rutherford commented. “I’d hate to be a desk-bound bureaucrat at some records-obsessed timeline vigilance agency.”

“Why can’t people leave well enough alone?” Zo sighed. “It’s bad enough dealing with the aftereffects and timeshifts from legitimate time travel accidents.”

“Really?” Tendi’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know. Little inconsistencies and errors timeline natives never seem to notice,” Zo explained absently. “Like Starfleet’s ever changing warp scales or the entire Trill species suddenly having spots instead of bumpy foreheads…”

“Huh?” Boimler blinked. “Wait, you mean there was a time when Trills didn’t have spots?”

“Yep. And that’s not the only example,” Zo nodded. “Even well-known historical individuals’ appearances have changed without any timeline natives batting an eye. People like Saavik, Christopher Pike, Tora Ziyal, Zefram Cochrane. Heck, even Janeway was French-Canadian for a day or two.”

“Yeah right,” Mariner scoffed. “Like that could even happen.”

“Hey, I think my implant may have actually noticed some those timeshifts before,” A stunned Rutherford gasped in realization. “One time I saw Shaxs’ uniform collar had a commander’s number of pips instead of a lieutenant’s for a few seconds. And I saw similar things happen to a few other Starfleet personnel too…”

“See? He’s experienced it. Good spotting,” Zo commended. “Of course, little inconsistencies like those are trivial, have obscure focal origin points, are temporary or don’t have any real major temporal impact so we usually don’t bother repairing them.”

“So, wait. Just to be clear,” Tendi studied Zo carefully. “You’re saying that inconsistencies and errors in established timelines are all due to the aftereffects and unintentional consequences of time travel?”

“More or less,” Zo shrugged. “Of course, the laws of time travel itself are inconsistent and are always changing and evolving.”

“Ugh, all this talk about time travel is making my brain hurt,” Boimler groaned.

“Eh, it won’t be the first time,” Mariner quipped.

“But wait. How do we know this is the real timeline?” Tendi thought for a moment. “What if we’re living in an alternate timeline or universe and don’t even know it?”

“Yeah,” Rutherford said. “If there are an infinite possible number of timelines, how do we know which one is real?”

“Oh, they’re all real,” Zo explained. “We just use the unique quantum signature of matter to determine which timeline we are native to.”

“But isn’t that a paradox?” Tendi inquired. “If there is no one real timeline but instead an infinite number of real timelines, wouldn’t that mean…”

“Lemme stop you right there, T,” Mariner cut her off. “Quantum Theory and Temporal Mechanics make absolutely no sense. Just don’t think about ‘em. You’ll be much happier.”

“Okay, all done,” Zo announced doing a final scan. “Another potential temporal incident averted.”

“Alright!” Rutherford cheered. “Way to go, man! Good job!”

“Yeah, great,” Mariner waved. “Look, this has been fun and all, but can we wrap things up? I got important stuff to do.”

“Since when?” Boimler stared at her.

“I understand. It’s been nice chatting with you,” Zo said putting tools away. “Just remember the Temporal Prime Directive. Don’t mention your time travel experiences to anyone. It can cause all kinds of trouble. And if my superiors find out I interacted with you, I’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone,” Tendi promised.

“Thanks,” Zo gave a relieved sigh.

“Hey, wait. What about him?” Rutherford pointed at Ransom’s still frozen form.

“Oh, right,” Zo took out the probe-shaped device and fiddled with it. “Oh good. There’s enough power left for one more use. I’ll set a brief delay to release your companion from temporal stasis and erase a few seconds of his perspective memory.”

“Wow, you can do that?” Tendi blinked, impressed.

“Of course,” Zo confirmed. “It’s standard emergency temporal procedure.”

“Really?” Mariner raised an eyebrow. “Say, can you erase just a bit more of his recent memories? Like the last thirty seconds of it or so?”

“I suppose,” Zo looked at her curiously. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Mariner quipped while casually closing the lid of her cargo container full of contraband. “Just out of scientific curiosity.”

“Yeah right,” Boimler rolled his eyes.

“Ah, okay,” Zo adjusted the device and pointed it at Ransom. “There, all done. He’ll come out of stasis in about thirty seconds. He might be slight amnestic for a minute, but it’s a temporary side effect.”

“Understood,” Rutherford nodded. “Thanks for fixing everything.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Mariner gave Zo an unexpected hug. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Zo blinked at the affectionate display.

“Bye! Have a nice trip!” Tendi waved as Zo seamlessly disappeared. “Wow, that was great!”

“I’ll say,” Boimler agreed. “A temporal fracture could have occurred aboard the ship and we wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.”

“Good thing we had a technician from the future come and repair it,” Rutherford smiled. “And we picked up a lot of informative time travel tidbits too!”

“That’s not all we picked up,” Mariner grinned holding up her hand.

“What the?” Boimler blinked at Zo’s temporal stasis device. “You stole a piece of technology from the future?!”

“I ‘acquired’ it,” Mariner smirked. “Like Voyager’s mobile holoemitter. Only this is far more useful.”

“Really? How?” Tendi asked.

“You’ll see,” Mariner grinned eyeing the futuristic device. “This baby is gonna come in very handy…”

“Ah, I should have known I left it here,” Zo suddenly reappeared next to her wearing a light-colored outfit and plucked the device from Mariner’s surprised hand. “I’ve spent a month looking for this.”

“Huh?” Mariner blinked as Zo quickly disappeared once again. “Aw. Fudge.”

“A month?” Boimler blinked. “But it’s only been a few seconds…”

“Time travel, man,” Rutherford reminded him.

“Oh. Right,” Boimler sighed.

“Ahhh!” Ransom gasped as he suddenly became animate. “Oh, what happened? Where am I? Who are you people?”

“Uh,” Boimler fumbled for an explanation. “Well, you see…”

“Freeze! Nobody move!” Lieutenant Shaxs burst around a stack of cargo containers leading a security team.

“Gee, now you guys show up,” Mariner drawled. “What kept you? Hasperat run?”

“There was some kind of interference with the comms. It took time to determine your location,” Shaxs growled eyeing her. “Where’s the intruder?”

“Oh that,” Tendi waved. “Don’t worry. It was nothing…”

“Uh, do I know you?” Ransom blinked at Shaxs.

“There’s the intruder!” Mariner pointed at Ransom. “It’s him!”

“WHAT?!” Everyone else yelped in surprise.

“What are you talking about?” Shaxs glared at Mariner. “That’s Commander Ransom.”

“No, he’s an intruder,” Mariner insisted. “He lacks the real Commander Ransom’s memories. He might be an alien transporter replica or part of a parasite conspiracy!”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Ransom snapped. “At least I think it is…”

“Oh yeah?” Shaxs glared at Ransom suspiciously. “Then tell me something the real Ransom would know. Like what songs he performed at his recent birthday party.”

“Sure,” Ransom began before coming up blank. “Uh…”

“See? I told you!” Mariner crowed.

“Okay. That’s enough for me,” Shaxs grabbed Ransom’s arm. “You’re going to the brig until we figure out this intruder business.”

“WHAT?! NO!” Ransom yelled as the security team dragged him kicking and screaming out of the cargo bay. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I’M NOT AN INTRUDER! I’M COMMANDER…SOMETHING RANSOM! I KNOW MY FIRST NAME! JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE! IT’LL COME TO ME!”

“Have a nice time, Ranny!” Mariner waved as the cargo bay doors closed. “Ha, payback is sweet!”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Boimler looked at Mariner. “You lied!”

“No, I said Ransom ‘might’ be an intruder,” Mariner grinned making air quotes. “Just like I ‘might’ be a clone of the real Beckett Mariner, but it ain’t very likely!”

“Oooh, would you like to have a clone of yourself?” Tendi asked eagerly. “‘Cause I’ve been looking for a cool Sickbay side project to do in my spare time…”

“No thanks, T,” Mariner smiled thumping her chest. “There’s only one Beckett Mariner original.”

“Thank goodness,” Boimler muttered.

“Besides, tossing Ransom to Shaxs was necessary to get both of them outta the way while I take care of business,” Mariner grinned loading her cargo container full of contraband onto an antigrav unit. “That ‘intruder’ business should keep both of ‘em busy until I finish hiding all these goodies away around the ship.”

“I should have known,” Boimler groaned.

“Okey-dokey. Well, back to work,” Rutherford shrugged and returned to inventorying the cargo bay. “Glad I found out what was up with my implant. I should try tweaking it to see what other kinds of chronometric flux it can pick up.”

“Good idea. That way you’ll be able to detect the presence of any more time travelers in the present or future,” Tendi smiled turning back to her padd. “Do you think we’ll ever have our own time travel adventure someday?”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” Mariner nodded sagely. “It’s only a matter of time.”

--------------------------------------
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Lower Decks.

 

[Bynar0110]

May/June 2025 Challenge: The theme of the challenge was Mistake(s). Any Star Trek series, era, canon, non-canon, ships, crews or characters welcome.
Winning Entry by @Bynar0110

Kaelin's Catastrophic Mistake

Stardate 38680.92 (September 6, 2361)

Zeta Reticuli IV, a world located on the outskirts of the Delphi System.

In the depths of the cosmos, where the heavens and the abyss coalesce, a vision unlike any before unfolded in the Delphi System. A kaleidoscope of violet and obsidian bled across the void, a celestial anomaly defying the laws of creation. This swirling mass, not of mere gas and dust but of something far more insidious, seemed to devour the light that dared to touch it, casting the planets below into an eternal shadow. The very fabric of space quivered with a malevolent tension, as if the breath of the universe itself was held in anticipation of doom.

A rhythmic pulse, more felt than heard, resonated through the entity—a primordial, alien thrum that pierced the silence of the cosmos and echoed through the bones of the system. It was as if the heartbeat of an ancient, unseen god, a reminder of the chaos that once reigned before the celestial order was set. The stars above flickered and sputtered, their celestial fire wavering like the last breaths of the condemned, only to swell again in a desperate, futile attempt to reclaim their glory. It was a scene straight out of the apocalyptic visions of old, where the heavens themselves trembled at the threshold of the end times.

On the outskirts of the Delphi System, the planet Zeta Reticuli IV was a world of endless sand dunes, stretching as far as the eye could see under a pale, twin sunset. The air was thin and dry, carrying the faint whisper of ancient winds. In a small, fortified settlement, a lone figure stood at the edge of a makeshift observatory, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Dr. Alistair Kaelin, a humanoid scientist with a reputation for being a bit eccentric, adjusted the alignment of his primitive probe from a collection of jury-rigged technology of discarded components acquired via bartering and scavenging in the dunes from crashed ships, and probes.

The settlement, a collection of ramshackle buildings and makeshift shelters, was a mix of traders and scavengers. They called Kaelin "the wiseman of the dunes," not in mockery, but with a mix of respect and curiosity. His obsession with the sky, particularly the strange signals he had been tracking for weeks, was well-known. These signals were unlike anything he had ever encountered—faint, yet persistent, like the echoes of a distant conversation.


Kaelin's fingers danced over the controls, a mix of ancient math and local dialect rolling off his tongue as he fine-tuned the settings. The probe, a collection of sensors and a rudimentary communication array, was tethered to the observatory by a thin, fragile wire. He muttered to himself, "Come on, come on... just a little more," his voice a mix of hope and desperation.

The sky above was clear, the stars twinkling like distant diamonds. Suddenly, a faint, pulsating light appeared on the horizon, growing brighter with each passing moment. Kaelin's heart raced as he realized that the object he had been tracking was finally within range.

"Finally," he breathed, his hands steady as he hit the launch button. The probe rose into the air, its engines sputtering and whining. It climbed higher, the thin wire stretching taut behind it. Kaelin watched intently as the probe approached the mysterious object, his monitor flickering with data.

For a moment, the signals were clear, a series of complex patterns that he could almost make sense of. But then, the probe began to shake, its systems overloaded by the sheer volume of data it was trying to process. The monitor crackled, and the image distorted, turning into a chaotic jumble of static and gibberish.

"Not like this... not like this!" he shouted, his voice lost to the wind. The display exploded in a burst of light, the shockwave pushing back the sand and sending a plume of debris into the air.


As the probe launched and approached the object, a subtle change began to ripple through the planet. The rhythmic pulse that had been a constant presence in the Delphi System now resonated with a new, sinister energy. The inhabitants of Zeta Reticuli IV, a mix of traders, scavengers, and Kaelin's fellow scientists, felt it deep in their bones. They paused in their daily activities, a sense of dread washing over them.

In the settlement, the tension was palpable. The traders, usually busy bartering and haggling, stopped to look up at the sky. The scavengers, who usually roamed the dunes in search of valuable scraps, huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. Kaelin, oblivious to the growing chaos, continued to fine-tune his probe, his mind consumed by the data he was trying to capture.

The object, now visible as a pulsating orb of darkness, grew larger in the sky. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, sending out waves of energy that distorted the very fabric of space. The sand beneath the settlers' feet began to ripple, as if alive, and the thin air vibrated with an eerie hum.

Kaelin's monitor flickered one last time before it exploded, and the probe was sent careening into the planet's moon. The impact was catastrophic, sending debris and dust into the void. The moon, once a stable and unassuming satellite, began to crack and fragment, its pieces raining down on Zeta Reticuli IV.

The settlers watched in horror as the sky turned black, the twin suns obscured by the expanding shadow of the object. The ground beneath them shook violently, and the air grew even thinner. They could feel the object's presence in their minds, a phantom whisper that dug into their deepest fears and memories, amplifying them to excruciating levels.

Kaelin fell to his knees, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror, mind was flooded with visions of his past, each moment of anguish amplified, made excruciatingly real. He saw himself as a young boy, lost in a desert storm, and as a young scientist, failing to save a loved one. The memories were overwhelming, and he could only clutch his head in agony.

"Kaelin, what have you done?" one of the traders shouted, his voice trembling. But Kaelin was already running, his mind racing with the realization that he had awakened something he could not control.

Deep within the heart of the object, a consciousness stirred. It was ancient, perhaps as old as the universe itself, and it had been dormant for eons. The probe's arrival had awoken it, and now it was reaching out, its tendrils of energy probing the minds of the nearby inhabitants.

The consciousness was not a single entity but a collective, a hive mind of countless beings that had merged into one. It had no form, no body, only a presence that filled the void. Its purpose was simple: to expand, to grow, to consume.

As the probe approached, the consciousness felt a surge of excitement. It had been so long since it had encountered anything so interesting. The probe's data, though primitive, was a welcome distraction from the endless void. The consciousness reached out, pulling the probe into its heart, where it was consumed and analyzed.

The probe's data was unlike anything the consciousness had encountered before. It was a mix of ancient technology and modern science, a fusion of knowledge that intrigued it. The consciousness began to manipulate the data, twisting it to its own ends. It sent out a series of signals, not just to the probe, but to the planet below, to the minds of the inhabitants.

The signals were not random; they were designed to amplify the fears and memories of those who received them. The consciousness fed on the emotions it elicited, growing stronger with each moment. It was a feedback loop, a cycle of fear and destruction that it could not resist.

In the heart of the object, the consciousness was a swirling mass of darkness, a vortex of energy that pulsed with a life of its own. It was not evil, not in the human sense, but it was hungry. It needed to consume, to grow, and the planet below was its next meal.


High above Zeta Reticuli IV, the Federation transwarp probe Druidia stealthily observed the scene. The probe, a more advanced and sophisticated piece of technology, was one of several sent by Starfleet Command to investigate the mysterious object. Druidia's sensors were hypersensitive, capable of detecting even the faintest changes in the environment.

As the primitive probe launched and approached the object, Druidia's data recorders captured every detail of the encounter. The probe's sudden destruction was noted, and the information was immediately sent back to Starfleet Command via a secure transwarp communications link.

Druidia's sensors detected the waves of energy emanating from the object, distorting the space around it. The probe's data showed the object's influence on the planet's surface, the ground shaking and the air thinning. The impact of the probe on the moon was recorded, the fragments of the moon raining down on the planet below.

The object's effect on the minds of the populace was particularly alarming. Druidia's data showed the inhabitants of Zeta Reticuli IV experiencing intense, amplified fears and memories. The collective consciousness of the object was reaching into their minds, feeding on their emotions, and growing stronger.

Druidia's observations were transmitted back to Starfleet, adding another piece to the growing puzzle. The data was analyzed by the best minds in the Federation, but even they were baffled by the object's nature and its capabilities.

The object's influence on Zeta Reticuli IV was catastrophic. The planet's surface, once a sea of sand, was now a landscape of chaos. The ground shook violently, and cracks began to form, spreading out like a network of veins. The twin suns, once a source of light and warmth, were now mere pinpricks in the sky, their light swallowed by the expanding darkness.

In the settlement, the inhabitants were in a state of panic. They ran through the streets, their minds overwhelmed by the object's influence. The phantom whispers grew louder, each word digging into their deepest fears. Some collapsed, their bodies convulsing as they relived their worst memories. Others screamed, their voices lost in the howling wind.

Kaelin, the wiseman of the dunes, watched in horror as the object continued to grow. He had been the one to awaken it, and he knew he was to blame. The probe he had launched, a last-ditch effort to understand the object, had only made things worse. The moon's fragments rained down on the planet, each impact sending shockwaves through the ground.

The object's tendrils of energy reached down, pulling the planet into its heart. The sand dunes were consumed, the buildings were crushed, and the people were obliterated. The object's presence was a black hole, a singularity of fear and destruction that devoured everything in its path.



Druidia, the Federation probe, recorded the final moments of Zeta Reticuli IV. The planet's surface was a fiery inferno, the cracks spreading until the entire world began to break apart. The object, now a massive, pulsating mass, absorbed the planet's remnants, growing larger and more powerful with each bite.

Kaelin's last thought, as he was pulled into the darkness, was a mix of regret and wonder. He had uncovered a mystery, but at what cost? The object, now fully awake, continued to drift through the Delphi System, a harbinger of doom, waiting for its next meal.

But for now, the Delphi System was a dead zone.

--

Starfleet Command - Earth

In a dimly lit room deep within the bowels of Starfleet Command, a team of analysts and scientists gathered around a large display monitor. The data from the probe flickered to life, casting eerie shadows across the faces of those in the room. On the screen, an image of the object and the chaos that followed the local scientist's failed attempt to gather information played out in stark detail.

"Fascinating," Commander Audrey Delaney mused, her voice tinged with curiosity. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied the object's surface. "It appears the object is emitting a complex series of signals that are beyond the capabilities of the planet's technology to decode. However, the probe's destruction suggests that the object may have some form of self-defense mechanism or energy field around it."

A younger scientist, a Denobulan with calm, observant eyes, nodded. "The signals bear striking similarities to the communication patterns of V'Ger and the Whale Probe. It's possible they represent a form of advanced communication, or perhaps they're a residual energy pattern left over from the object's journey through space, much like the echoes we detected from those earlier encounters."

Commander Delaney turned to the communications officer, Petty Officer Kibbey, who stood at attention by the console. "Send a message to the USS Edison. We need them to investigate this object further. It’s clearly an immediate threat and something we can’t ignore."

Petty Officer Kibbey nodded and began to relay the message. His fingers danced over the console, and a moment later, he confirmed, "Message transmitted, Commander."

"Good." Commander Delaney straightened, her mind already racing with possibilities. "We need to understand what we're dealing with. If this object has origins beyond our understanding, it could hold secrets that could change the course of history. Keep me updated on any new findings."

As the team dispersed, the Denobulan scientist hesitated for a moment, looking back at the monitor. "Commander, with all due respect, are they ready for this?"


Commander Delaney gave him a knowing glance. "They’re about to find out..."

The Denobulan nodded, though a trace of concern lingered in his expression. "Of course, Commander."

--

Meanwhile, high above Zeta Reticuli IV

The Federation transwarp probe Druidia continued its silent vigil. Its advanced sensors recorded every detail of the unfolding disaster below. The probe's systems detected the waves of energy emanating from the mysterious object, noting the catastrophic effects it had on the planet's surface and its inhabitants. The data streamed back to Starfleet Command, painting a grim picture of chaos and destruction.


As Druidia observed, it became aware of the growing instability in the environment. The planet's surface was fracturing, and the inhabitants were succumbing to the object’s influence, their fears amplified to unbearable levels. The probe's systems strained under the weight of the information it was processing, but it remained steadfast in its mission.

However, as the object continued to expand and consume Zeta Reticuli IV, Druidia's sensors detected a sudden surge of energy. The probe's systems began to overload, unable to cope with the intensity of the signals being emitted. In a final desperate attempt to relay its findings, Druidia sent one last transmission back to Starfleet Command, detailing the catastrophic events and the object's insatiable hunger.

Then, in a blinding flash of light, Druidia was engulfed by the very energy it had been monitoring. The probe was consumed, its data lost to the void, leaving Starfleet Command with only fragmented information about the object and its devastating capabilities.

--

Starfleet Command, Earth

The team continued to analyze the incoming data, unaware of Druidia's fate. The room buzzed with tension as they pieced together the implications of the object’s existence. Commander Delaney felt a chill run down her spine as she considered the potential threat looming in the Delphi System, now a dead zone after the destruction of Zeta Reticuli IV.

The echoes of the probe's last transmission lingered in her mind, a haunting reminder of the unknown dangers that lay ahead. Starfleet had always faced the unknown, but this time, it felt different—more ominous. As she prepared for the next steps, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the brink of something far more significant than they had ever anticipated.

As the room emptied, Commander Delaney felt a heavy weight in her chest as thoughts of her twin daughters, Jenny and Megan, crept into her mind. Just entering their teens, they were filled with dreams of enrolling in Starfleet and becoming astrophysicists. Yet, a deep-seated fear gnawed at her—what dangers lay ahead in the vastness of space? She couldn't shake the worry that the discoveries made by the USS Edison might not lead to the bright future she envisioned for them, but rather expose them to risks she could hardly bear to contemplate. The cosmos was a realm of wonder, but it was also fraught with peril, and she feared for the safety of her daughters as they aspired to reach for the stars.

END