"Stare Unblinkingly into the Flame"

Llaiirus (Dr. Leronem Risdanach)

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Sickbay, USS Galaxy
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Leronem silently cursed his luck. Having spent most of his career as a combat medic, there were very few medical procedures that could make him feel remotely uncomfortable. He had been up to his elbows in all manner of blood and guts in his time, and yet for some reason in this most common of events he still felt completely out of his element. As a medical professional, he could cope, but he had thought that assignment on a large starship with a large medical complement would have meant that he would be off the hook. Yet here he was, acting as midwife to Crewman Sorothrix, a young Denobulan who was giving birth to a child with a Bolian father.

Her OBGYN, knowing the complications that were inherent in this unlikely genetic match was of course thrilled to find upon searching the Starfleet medical database that of only seven recorded Bolian-Denobulan births on record, the incoming physician had overseen the last one that had involved a Denobulan mother. Never mind that it had been four decades ago, that he had only been a fresh hospital corpsman at the time, that he had only been involved because the ship was being attacked and he was the only person with any medical training that could be spared, that his most soothing comfort to the mother had been that he was sure the pain would be over soon because they would be vaporized in an antimatter explosion at any moment. None of that mattered, Crewman Sorothrix would be very comforted to know that the doctor delivering her baby had successfully delivered a similar one before. And besides, she had already been told he was coming, so if he refused it would only heighten her anxiety level.

So, there he was, crouched at the very expectant mother's feet in a small puddle of browish blue amniotic fluid staring down the unusually shaped head that was beginning to crown. He wasn't expected to coach her and wasn't in charge of monitoring the continuous scans that were being made; he was basically there just to catch. He was grateful to be out of arms reach of the crewman, who was occasionally flailing violently in pain. At least until in a particularly dolorous spasm, one of her feet slipped out of the stirrup and she kicked him soundly in the jaw. Not that he blamed her, he recognized that he had no comprehension whatsoever of the pain involved in childbirth, particularly given that this particular baby was half again as large as a typical Denobulan baby and maintaining the peculiar balance in blood chemistry between mother and child required the birth to take place without any anesthetic. Compared to that, he was sure that the pain in his jaw was inconsequential and he was glad to know that while he might not enjoy midwifing, it was comforting to know that he would never feel the pain of childbirth himself.

Suddenly everything began to dim. The last thought that was his own was just that if he was going to faint, he desperately hoped he would fall backward.

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Talvalen, 5 years after launch
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The temple of Water was dark and quite cool by Vulcan standards. The birth had been in progress for many hours; too many, the midwife thought. "Not much longer now, my dear," said the old woman to the young one on the birthing table, hoping that her voice carried only confidence and encouragement, betraying none of the worry that she felt. She had always taken her profession extremely seriously, but she was even more so now. The stakes had been raised since they had left there home planet what felt like a lifetime ago. She would almost certainly not live to see a new home for her people; but if they were to have any future at all, it would depend on the generation born on these ships. For these children, the new world would be the only one they would know. They would shape it and the future of her people without the taint of the schism on Vulcan, without the horrible divide that the heretics had brought, without the horrible memories of the death and destruction brought about by the cold, unfeeling, remorseless sword of the followers of Surak. She would play her part in the salvation of her people, she would put her whole soul into her most noble of callings: ushering true, pure Vulcan life into the Universe. "Stay strong, my dear," she encouraged, "Your son will see Vulcan reborn. But first you and I must see him born. Push!"

But the soon-to-be-mother's Universe was now one of such overwhelming pain and emotion that no words could reach her. She cursed and loved and mourned and hated her husband. How could he have survived all of the horrors they had experienced on their homeworld for all those years, and escaped into space with their kinsmen only to die five years later? After all that they had been through together, how could it be that she was here now, feeling so alone in the emptiness of space as she tried to give life to their son? She didn't feel like she could do it, but she must try. Her husband must not have died in vain; she would have this child and he would bear his father's name. Then she would have another Aev, and she would not be so alone. She took a gasp of air and bore down against all the pain. Not just against the blinding pain of childbirth, but against all the pain she had ever felt. She pushed, knowing that on the other side of that pain was her child, her love, her little Aev. Screaming and crying with the pain after the effort subsided, she knew that she was weakening. She had lost track of how many times she had been sure that she could only handle one more push, but this time she was even more certain it was true. She gathered all the strength she had and then strained with all her might to finish delivering her son. And she succeeded; she heard the first cry of her newborn saw him in the arms of the midwife. Exhausted, but supremely contented she smiled and closed her eyes to rest; just for a moment.

The midwife gingerly held the newborn boy, all wrinkled and green as he took his first awkward breaths and cried. She cried too; for joy that the child was alive and appeared well, and for sorrow. The baby's mother had lost too much blood; the floor was covered with it. She had managed to hold onto life just long enough; but now the child was parentless. He had calmed now, and as she looked into his eyes, the midwife sensed something unusual. Moving the child so he was held in only one arm, she removed a small flashlight from her bag and shined it in his eyes. They showed no response. She adjusted the light to its maximum intensity, but there was still no response. Turning to a priest she said quietly, "This child cannot see."

Intrigued, the priest took the infant into his arms and watched closely as the midwife again shined the bright light into his unresponsive eyes. Taken aback, he said reverently "Here is one who can stare unblinkingly into the Flame." He paused briefly before continuing, "He shall be called Llaiirus and he shall be raised in the priesthood of Fire." Tenderly, he passed the baby to a young apprentice Water priestess, who welcomed him gingerly into her arms. "Cleanse him well and carefully," instructed the priest. "This is a portentous child."

Lawfully given, lawfully bound"

With
V'tana Solvena (Eve)
Levik Valnost (Artim)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere within the noble sectors of theTalvalen a young girl strode defiantly down a specific corridor, followed closely by her parents. V'tana wanted nothing to do with this particular arranged marraige, specifically because it included Levik. However, as with many things in life, this was a nonnegotiable situation. As was her garb for this occasion. V'tana had once described her current clothing as little more than carefully draped sheets. Robes of a sort, really, and thigh boots; black with red and silver trim: the colors of the Solvena household.

Levik knew it wouldn't be long until the person he was being forced to spend the rest of his life with would be arriving any moment. Geshar had just helped him finish getting his boots on, tall black ones with a gold trim, fitting for a soldier. The rest of the outfit did as well, a shimmering blue and silver tunic and black pants. A blue satin cape draped over his shoulders finished the "uniform".

"It's all right lad. She's not as bad as ya think. Actually quite nice, when she's not reading.", The somewhat wizened older servant said as he finished polishing the boods.

"Good, then it will be a month before one of us goes insane, probably me." Levik replied as he straightened his cape.

Geshar shrugged knowing he nor Levik had any way to change anything. He opened the door to Levik's room and ushered the teenager out into the main room where his parents were waiting. His father merely grunted at his appearance whereas his mother was much more comforting.

"You look handsome dear. You will make our house proud."

A moment later the door chimed...it must be her...

V'tana, followed by her parents, stepped into the main compartment of the Valnost domicile. To say that it was lavishly apointed would have been a grave understatement. Large, spacious, it was decorated with taste, and for this evenings 'festivities' it was lit with a selection of candles. Standing front and center were the Valnosts themselves. Levik, despite his handsome uniform, still looked like a pansy. Though it didn't show on her face, someone who understood well enough could see the distaste in her eyes.

So, the V'tana girl wasn't actually so bad once she got cleaned up. Still though, she wasn't what Levik had in mind for his lifemate. Still, since running away was rather hard on this ship, there really wasn't any choice. As the party entered the room, V'Tana's father gave a deep bow to Solok and said, "Greetings Commander Solok of the House Valnost I've come to offer my daughter to your son. May you find her acceptable."

Solok merely nodded and replied, "I find her most acceptable Verek and I'm sure she will be a fine life mate for my son. Our servant has prepared a fine meal for them so they may get aquainted. I suggest we retire to the parlor so they may get to know each other in peace."

"Indeed" , V'tana's father replied as the adults started making their way into the next room leaving Levik, V'tana, and a lovely looking dining table in the room.

"So...hi..." Levik said once the adults had left

~This isn't happening,~ V'tana thought. ~This isn't happening. This. Is Not. Happening!~ Dinner? With Pansy Boy? He didn't even look the part of a high and noble warrior. "At least my parents have the good graces not to dress me up as something I'm not," she said sharply, heading for the table.

Levik sighed slightly as he sat down. She was right. "One more thing I don't have any control over. To be honest it doesn't feel right on me, but since when did that matter."

Aparently it didn't matter to V'tana much either. By the time he was seated she had whipped out a small data reader, previously cleverly concealed within one of the folds of her robes, and had begun to peruse the contents.

Ok, this was offensive. She'd barely sat down and she was already disrepsecting him by reading when they were supposed to be getting to know each other. Being who he was his first instinct was to let it slide but that simply wasn't going to work. She saw him as weak and he had to say something.

"You know V'Tana, its rather rude to read at the dinner table. Geshar and I worked hard on this and I think you owe us both enough courtesy to behave properly."

V'tana looked up from the reader, a touch surprised and more than a little embarassed. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to these sorts of things," she said quetly, concealing the device back within her clothing. "I'm more at home in the guts of the Ship than ... this."

"It is forgiven. I'm sure this is as akward for you as it is for me. Still, its something we'll have to get used to. Ah, here comes the first course." , Levek stopped for a moment as Geshar emerged from the kitchen with two plates of slightly cooked vegtables with a rich herby sauce on them. This was one of Levek's culinary creations. As Geshar poured some wine into two silver goblets Levek grinned slightly and said,

"While you are more at home in the bowels of the ship I for one am more at home in the kitchen I think. Most of this meal I at least helped prepare, much to my father's ire."

"Well, at least one of us can," V'tana commented as she sampled the dish before her, nodding in aproval. "I CAN cook, but this is beyond me. So, at least we know we'll be eating palatable food."

Levek chuckled a bit, "Its a gift my father wishes I didn't have. I've lost count of the number of lectures I've gotten of it not being a fit use of a Valnost boy's time. I consider it relaxing. Is it the same way with yours and machines?"

V'tana shruged. "My father is a bit cross at times, yes" she said as she continued to eat. "But at least he understands. Back .. before .. our family lands included several manufactories, a few of which were rather important, or so my father says. Tinkering has always been in the blood. My mother, on the other hand, has no clue. My desire to meddle with mechanicals is as alien to her as the teachings of Surak."

Levek took a bite of his food as V'tana gave her reply noting instantly that he'd have to tinker with the seasonings a bit the next time he made it as it was a bit too salty. When she finished he nodded and replied,

"Well, though I'm not sure I'd admit it in public I think its a fine interest to have no matter what class one belongs to. Especially now that we're all on this ship together, those with the skills to fix things are as useful if not more so then warriors and politicians. Further you seem to enjoy it."

"Exactly my point," she said. "It's not like we've the population of an entire world to draw from. There's barely 80,000 of us amongst the combined fleet, and who knows what numbers we'll have when we make it to wherever we end up."

"And it wouldn't take much going wrong on one of the ships for a great many to die. Far more likely for something like that to happen than for us to be attacked or otherwise have need for warriors. I guess too many want to try and hold on to the old ways not realising things are going to have to change.", Levek didn't get this sort of philosphical tone going very often, buit he couldn't help himself.

"That's the whole point," V'tanna nearly hissed! "So we could keep our ways and let Surak have his. I don't think many people outside of S'Task himself understand that even the old ways will have to change, especailly for this trip."

"Well, at least we agree on some things. I suppose that's a start towards a healthy relationship," Levek replied

She smiled, a small shy smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all ....

"Surak's Way "

by Mek and Chris

Eela (Ella)
Mind Witch (Alli)

***

Talvalen "Common Gardens"

She was sitting in what was nicknamed the "common gardens," although more often than not the so-called common people where nowhere to be seen. If she'd had her preference, Eela would have gone to the lower levels of the ship but her father was expecting her for lunch today and there was no way to travel AND wash the stench of the alley off in time.

Eela sighed and suddenly she was overcome with an emotion she couldn't identify but it overcame her as they all did these days so she closed her eyes and tried to wait it out as best she could.

"Breath slower." The words, soft and emotionless stabbed deep into Eela's consciousness forcing her eyes to snap open in surprise.

"You....."

Suddenly standing before her, robes fluttering slightly in the recycled airflow was the one person aboard Talvalen that Eela longed to see.....and also longed to avoid at the same time.

The Mind Witch of Gol was an enigma aboard Talvalen, ostensibly a prisoner of Lord Valen, the young telepath had proven to be more of a liability than an asset to the clan leadership. A definite thorn in the side that had proved most difficult thorn to pull.

The Princess, as the Witch was properly called, was young....a mere girl Eela realized, perhaps younger than herself, with smooth green tinged skin of the type that poets wrote sonnets about. Clear black marbled eyes studied the young girl carefully, piercing her to her soul with an unblinking gaze.

However this girl was not to be trifled with if the stories were true. The Mind Witches of Gol were an ancient sect of death-telepaths that had carefully guarded their genetic abilities from the dawn of Vulcan civilization. This youngster had ruled half of Vulcan with an iron grip, merciless and cold.............

That is, until Surak came.

The rumors were confused....indeed everything about the chaotic days before the Exodus were confused, but some said the Princess gave up her kingdom.......renounced her powers and embraced the New Teachings.

It was this, they said that earned her the enmity of Lord Valen.

Perhaps that was true, but none aboard Talvalen risked crossing her. Conversion or no.....there were some vipers that one did not go poking at with sticks.

Was it true what they said about her? Eela shuddered. Was it true the Princess could snag your thoughts from the very air and turn them into weapons against you? Withering under that glare she believed it.

"You are attempting to combat your emotions" The Princess spoke again, her voice calm and quick, ignoring Eela's shocked expression "You are attempting by brute force to control that which is uncontrollable. Attempting to deny that which is undeniable. That is error young daughter of Mardek."

"How else am I to stop it?" Eela demanded. In the back of her mind a little voice shrieked that maybe this was one person she really shouldn't mouth off to - if the rumors were true - but she couldn't seem to help herself.

The Princess raised an eyebrow, an expression Eela once used as her own. "It is illogical to deny that which exists. If we Vulcans did not possess emotions in all their deadly strength, then of what purpose would be the teachings of Surak?"

"Control," Eela said instantly.

"One does not 'control' one's anger, does not restrain one's happiness. The way lies in accepting and letting the natural instincts of our ancestors flow over and out of you, passing without a whisper an dissolving again into the nothingness from whence they came."

Steady black eyes held Eela immobile. "The first step young daughter of Mardek lies with you however."

The Princess inclined her head slightly, "The ways of Surak are many things......but they cannot be inconsistent......you have choices to make."

"And how do I do that," Eela asked angrily, deciding to take her frustration out on the blades of grass.

"You do it......or you do not do it." was the simple reply. "The way of Surak is not a parlor trick, nor is it a skill to be mastered. The teacher himself was a mere private citizen who discovered the basic truth about the Vulcan soul. Do not see yourself as lesser than he. "

The Princess stood taller, her eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge. "Where he was once the least of men.........where I was once the greatest of women........Through logic we are become equals, Vulcans in Infinite Diversity......Vulcans in Infinite Combinations."

"Do or do not......there is no other way."

"You speak as if it is so simple," Eela began bitterly. "Not all of us ..." She trailed off realizing the Princess had walked away. Eela was annoyed at first but then decided that it was probably for the best. The longer the Princess had stayed, the shorter Eela's temper would have become, and she couldn't decide her future if she were dead.

"Mesmerized" - Part 1

Ensign Keldan,
Operations Officer, USS Galaxy

* * * * *

Keldan materialized on the transporter pad, and immediately realized that something about the Galaxy was not right. There was, of course, the excitement of their brush with the unknown entity on the planet's surface, so maybe that was what was causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end.

But the sensation didn't subside after he left the transporter room on the way to his duty station. In fact, it seemed to just get worse. He headed for the turbolift to take him to Operations, passing several individuals moving in the opposite direction with equal haste. But then he passed an engineering ensign who appeared to be having a rather poignant conversation with...himself. He was gesturing rather purposefully; more so than he would have been had he merely been conversing with someone over the comm system. But Keldan couldn't worry about that at the moment. Continuing on, the next few individuals Kel came upon were moving in, what seemed increasingly odd to him, a rather leisurely route through the corridors, in an almost drunken like manner. A little further down the corridor he came across two ensigns and a lieutenant who weren't moving at all.

Keldan finally reached the turbolift but had to wait several moments before the doors opened. All the while he continued to feel the increasing sensation of urgency...of energy...building in the back of his mind, and he realized he was having difficulty concentrating. But then the doors to the turbolift swished open and his attention was brought back into focus.

A Vulcan woman stood in the doorway of the turbolift. It took a moment, but Kel recognized her as being Salara, a member of ship's security. He waited a moment for her to exit, but she didn't move.

He did a quick count of the pips on her collar. "Lieutenant?" Kel expected her to startle, but she didn't...she just continued to stare blankly ahead. "Lieutenant, can you hear me?" He waved a hand in front of her face, but didn't get even the slightest reaction, not even a blink from the Vulcan woman.

Trying to move her aside proved futile, and Keldan wound up laying her gently on the turbolift floor. "Deck 14," he called out to the computer. Wait, where was he supposed to be going again? "Keldan to Sickbay, please send a medical team to Turbolift 4. Lt. Salara is....ill." After a few moments of silence, he inquired, "Do you copy, Sickbay?" but silence again was his only reply. "Keldan to Dr. Burton. Keldan to Jamson. Keldan to Iniara." Well, the gods were certainly smiling down on him today.

The turbolift doors swished open again, indicating it had reached its destination. As he gazed out he tried to focus his mind, but the corridors only confused and confounded his senses. He blinked hard and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision, and for a moment, things seemed better. He thought a moment before moving on. He could not leave Salara there alone. There was no telling what might happen to her. He easily scooped her up in his arms. His domicile was nearby. It would be safe there until he could figure out what was going on.

Power on this deck seemed to be fluctuating again. The lights kept flickering and the steady hum of the power conduits was occasionally broken with the crackle of a high-energy discharge. He would have to put in a request to maintenance again to get the problems fixed, though he doubt any fix would be permanent. He'd probably have more luck fixing the systems himself, like he had the last time. But Ship Operations had come down hard on him, and he couldn't afford not to be in their good graces. "Nothing but more problems," he mumbled as he continued on through the half-darkness.

Finding his personal lock had not been tampered with, he pushed open the door to his quarters to find it just as he had left it. A mess. But that's the way he liked it. His workshop was not pretty to look at, but on a ship of 6000 souls adrift among the stars, it was the only place he had that was his and his alone.

"The Keeper of Souls"

Terex, the Aaerven'katra [The Keeper of Souls] (Corran Rex)

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The Ship
Five Years after launch
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What happens to a man's soul when he dies?

We think we know. The elements take the soul into the world beyond, to it's eternal reward. Eternal glory or damnation, whatever is most deserved.

But what of those whose knowledge, whose skills are too great, too valuable to loose? This voyage will be a long one, and we risk forgetting who we were in the journey to who we will become. Or those who are too fearful of the coming dark, and cannot bear the idea of potential oblivion?

For this purpose, I exist.

For this purpose, I have sacrificed my own life, my own personality, my own sense of self. Ironic perhaps, that I am a living ideal of one of Surak's own mantras - The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. For the good of the Ship, I will take those that must be preserved into myself.

But at what cost to my own soul? I do not know. I do not know that, any more than I know what will become of all of us.

We are Vulcan no longer. We have left that world behind, it's red sands forever shifting without or souls. We have taken the name Rihannsu - the Declared.

But declared for what?

That is a question we will have to answer with time. And I - I will be there to help provide those answers.

The name of my birth is Terex. But here, aboard the ship, I am simply called the Aaerven'katra.

I am the Keeper of Souls. Through me, the past is preserved. The old ways are remembered.

It will be up to the future to decide of they are to be changed.

I will see to that, though my own voice... is now merely a note in the chorus.

"Wishful Thinking"

Ariennye (John Davidson)

****
Outside the Temple of the Water Priestess
5 Years AL
****

Ariennye slouched against the pillar, watching the mindless peons enter and vacate the temple. No longer were they Vulcan, nor were they fully something else. Though, to Ariennye's drunken mind, they were just cattle, ready to be slaughtered for meat. Mindless, cattle!

Understanding, freedom, protection, vindication, absolution... They all came her for a reason. They all entered hoping to make their lives better.

What a load of crap!

They would get nothing. No salvation, no mind clearing visions; they'd get nothing but the false hope that there was something omnipotent out there. It was all a lie. There was nothing left in the universe worth a damn. Nothing mattered any more. Not life; not freedom; not even the notion of starting a new life. There was a vast hole in his chest, where once rested his beating heart. A heart which he had dedicated to the one person in all of Vulcan who actually gave a damn about him.

And now he was all alone. Destined to walk alone into the darkness that was the abyss of space. Walking among the stars, trudging along towards a home he was likely not to see in his lifetime. It wasn't like the leaders of the ships actually knew where they were going. They had no doubt just pointed themselves in a direction and set out. Blind if you will. Unsure of what lay before them.

A fat noble waddled his way up the multitude of steps, huffing and puffing as he neared the halfway point in the steps. Ariennye could tell he was a noble. For no commoner would have that much jewelry or the layer upon layer of fancy clothes. Well, they might, but somehow he doubted that they'd wear it all at one time. Of course, given that the poorer people scattered before him like he was S'Task himself, it was clear that he was a noble of some sort.

Ariennye thought for a moment about going over and begging for some food, but thought better of it. The man's large bulk led him to believe that he likely hoarded everything, never giving anything away. Besides, there were enough beggars on the steps of the temple and he wasn't about to add himself to the throng that now mobbed the fat freak.

No, staying away from the public eye was better for someone such as himself. Being seen by the security forces that served aboard the ship was something he would prefer not to have occur. They would see him eventually, but for now he hoped that he could stay in the shadows, biding his time.

Given that he now sported Seventeen time pieces, taken from various shoppers at the market, getting caught before he could offload them was not on the top of his priority list. He knew what the punishment would be if he was caught: The Pit!

And by the Elements will, he didn't want to go there, to fight other bums and lowlife scum, often to the death. No, keeping out of the vision of the Security forces was high on his list.

For now he would stay away from the temple, and the hot Water priestess he had heard resided within. Though he was eager to talk about the Elements with her, as well as take her to his bed, now wasn't the time.

He shook his head at the wishful thinking. For now he'd have to be content with heading to the slums, offloading his stolen merchandise and finding a young woman to bed.

"Shift Change"

SCPO. Renora Loret

"I don't care what your excuse is, Crewman!" Renora spat. "You cannot afford to do sloppy work when you're repairing key tactical systems!"

"Sorry Chief." The young Human said as his eyes shifted towards the floor.

It wasn't exactly his fault, Renora knew that, these guys had been turned loose straight from basic and didn't appreciate that the classroom and a fully, mainly, operational starship were two very different things. She had to make sure that these things didn't happen. Her first duty was to the ship and the crew and that meant that when you tried to fire a torpedo it didn't explode while it was still in the launcher.

"Look..." She said. "...get a repair crew to help you out. I'm not trying to be overbearing here but I can't let anything endanger this vessel if I'm in a position to prevent it I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe. I have a duty to these people...you do too. Okay?" She laid a hand on the mans shoulder she wasn't above a little kindness every now and then. "Now, off you go."

"Yes Chief. Thank you Chief." The Crewman disappeared off into the corridor to try and begin to make amends for his mistake

Sitting back down at her console she started to input more of the data from the PADDs that Rex had given her. Looking for new sites for the tactical suite and making sure the ship was up to the mark, tactically speaking, was taking it's time. She'd been at it for almost nine hours with out a break and she could feel her eyes getting sore. Still, it was almost the end of her shift.

She rubbed them and pinched the bridge of her nose. The holographic image of the Galaxy was...well...bluring. She tapped a few buttons on the console and shut it down. She watched almost in slow motion as the picture retreated into the table top. Her gaze was held by the black, glassy material until a voice roused her from her thoughts.

"Vir'Dinia, are you listening to me?" The voice questioned, slightly drowned out by the sounds of a dozen other conversations in the recreation area.

"I'm sorry, Brother. What was it you asked of me? I feel I was too deep in my own contemplation."

The male, whom she knew as Torin, repeated himself. "My Question, dearest Sister, is that do you believe as I do, that we must be ever vigilante against the wordings and teachings of Surak, lest it endangers our journey to find sanctuary in these times of change?"

Vir'Dinia thought for a second, raising her fingers to her lips, the sleeves of her robes sliding down her arms as she did so, and then answered. "The clan is all, Brother....and I shall defend it however I am able."

"Fair Trade"

Sotha (Lieutenant Saul Bental)
Eela (Lieutenant Ella Grey)

***

Talvalen
Tevazar Alley

"Tevazar Alley" was more infamous than her father and concievably as dangerous. The deck was often low lit (since the priority of repair never seemed to extend to the lower decks) and packed with the people who weren't deemed fit for decent society.

Eela always made sure the tattoo on her neck was visible here. Even the illiterate knew not to mess with someone under the protection of the Guild, no matter how desperate they might be.

She stopped at her favorite crate, made sure no one or nothing was, in or around it and then settled down behind it, listening to the sounds of the Alley and wondering yet again what to do with herself.

She was still deep in thoughts when she heard two voices on the other side of the crates. The two sounded young, about her age if she had to guess.

"... so the blue priest in the say: 'Logical, yes, but I'm not drinking with THAT!!' "

The other person laughed. "Oh, you totally ruined it Sotha."

"Yea, I'm not good with these." The voice of the joke teller suddenlly changed, revealing sadness poorly hidden behind jokes. "Listen, I'll catch you later near Tovtov's shack. There's this shop owner who's moving his shop. I was thinking we'll go 'have a look'."

The other person chuckled. "We'll help him 'clean up'. See you there. You sure you're all right?"

The two fell silent, and then Eela heard steps going away. The person which remained - Sotha, she assumed - rested his back against the crate.

"How does the first part of the joke go?" Eela asked suddenly.

She heard him push off the crate, and his sandals hitting the ground. Something hit the top of the crate, and then all of the sudden a big object landed right next to her.

She found herself looking at two wild hazel eyes. The wild stare resembled more that of an animal or a berserk warrior than a person that makes jokes about blue-robbed priests.

The teen was about her age, as she guessed. Relatively short, and quite gaunt - probably because he was underfed. His torn, ragged cloths smelled as though they demanded a bath. He held a piece of metal in his hand that was definetly sharp.

He assessed her, then the improvised blade slid back into his sleeve.

"It starts with the blue priest and the green priest going to the brothel." He said. "Do you really want to know the rest?"

Eela shrugged. "Why not? I haven't laughed in awhile."

Sotha told her. The joke revolved around the logical way of drinking wine poured on the hips of a prostitute. It could be considered a sharp satire on Surak's teachings and the religious institiutes, if it wasn't the anti-thesis of good taste.

The girl tilted her head. "It's not very funny."

Sotha shrugged. "I am not here to amuse you."

"Whatever," Eela replied. She looked at the other child with a frown. "Are you a theif?"

"Everyone on this deck are."

"Then you should steal yourself more food."

Sotha gave her a crooked glare. "Do you think it's funny, up-deck girl? Yeah, you probably think we're all here for your own amusement."

His hand was thrusted forward. Before she even realized it was there, he shifted her hair slightly, revealing the tatoo. "This must be SO exciting. Speaking with one of the dangerous poor thieves. What, I could rob you or rape you right now! How thrilling! You're really edgy."

Eela rolled her eyes. "Piss off, little thief."

"Piss off yourself. You're on MY turf, little whore."

Her eyes flashed and her emotions overrode again. When it cleared, she had apparently knocked the boy to the ground with her fist and was now straddling him. His nose was bleeding and he looked up at her with widened eyes. She shook her head slightly, taking a minute to notice the sharp pain in her arm - his makeshift knife.

"You ... bastard," Eela gasped.

When Sotha spoke up his voice was amazingly calm, as if he was a disciple of Surak. "You have three seconds to get off me and take two steps back. Or else your life ends here."

She did as he said because she wasn't *that* stupid. Eela put enough distance between them so that she could check her wound and move away should he choose to strike.

The improvised blade sled back into his sleeve.

"This is the first time you try to strike someone from these decks." It was not a question.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Eela retorted. She wasn't really sorry she had though.

"Down here, when you attack someone who has more strength, you always aim to kill. Otherwise they'll get you back eventually and do twice the damage. Only the particularly strong or protected have the privilege to attack others without fear of payback."

Obviously, both of them were still standing, pretty much alive. Sotha was just bruised and Eela's wound was merely superficial, a cut rather than a stab wound.

"Your turn," said Sotha.

"My turn what?" The girl asked, checking her pockets for something to bind the cut with. Oddly, she felt calm now although she knew better to trust herself that much.

"I told you one thing about how things go down here. Now you tell me something I don't know about how things go up there." The orphan smirked, revealing two rows of poorly tended teeth. "Fair trade."

Eela considered. "Rank is very important. It's not enough to know who is better off than you but to know their title or position. That way they can be reminded of how important they think they are."

Sotha scratched his chin. It wasn't something he couldn't deduct on his own, but it made sense. He decided to keep record of the precise ranks and positions of the people he knew from afar.

"I'm going to be late now," She said with a glare at her torn shirt. "So I'll take my leave."

Sotha bowed with a smile, took a few steps back without turning his back on her, and vanished into the alley.

"Sitting in Judgement"
Mind Witch (Alli)

The Courtyard was that in name only. A simple clearing between bulkheads, adorned with a scattering of decorative vegetation, and lined with banners and tapestries of the ancient houses of Vulcan.

The Courtyard had initially been designed as a meeting hall of sorts, an assembly area aboard Talvalen that allowed the Elders to meet and discuss the day to day governing of the passengers on their centuries long journey to the stars.

That is until the Princess appropriated the Courtyard for herself.

Though in reality a prisoner, the lone follower of Surak amidst the throngs of his detractors, the woman once known as the Mind Witch of Gol benefitted from thousands of years of bad press concerning she and her bretheren.

The Mind Witches were legends in their own right, indomitable icons of the power and passion that had slowly bled an entire planet to death for centuries.

Perhaps the rumors were true that the Princess.....that last in that ancient line....... had renounced violence in favor of Suraks new way.

Perhaps the woman who once held half of Vulcan in her unyielding grip had indeed relinqueshed it in the days before the Exodus.

Perhaps......

However, those within the courtyard that looked upon that thin childlike face, set with stone-shiseled features, and raw power burning in her eyes, they did not risk the possibility that the rumors may be in error.

For good or for bad....the Princess was not to be trifled with.

So it was that here......lost in the ocean of darkness that was space.....the last Mind Witch of Gol held Court over her flock much as her forebears had done for thousands of years before.

She did not call the others to her. She merely seated herself atop the tiny dais and allowed to people to come to her with their petitions.

If Lord Valen would not listen.......maybe his nemesis would.

"F...f....forgive me Mi'Lady, " The peasant stumbled over the words, bowing low before the makeshift throne, "B..b....but the agreement was for two bushels of gespars from ships hydroponics.....all in return for the tools that I fashioned."

"A lie," another plantiff denied with a sneer, "No family needs two bushels......and besides the tools were of improper calibration.....worthless."

Eyes half lidded in contemplation, the Princess was like unto a statue, perched upon her throne. Though not moving a muscle, and seeming oblivios to the arguments placed before her, all present felt as though they were being watched carefully. Studied by some great predator bird, poised to strike at a moments notice.

At length, a soft voice, barely above a whisper, and yet backed by ancient power drifted across the courtyard.

"The tools are necessary for the proper functioning of the hydroponics bay?" The crewman shifted uncomfortably, "Aye mi'Lady.....its a growth regulator, it helps with the proper allocation of nutrients."

"Then you would say that this tool.......it is vital for the proper functioning of the ship? It is vital for the feeding and provisioning of 6000 passenger and crew?" "Aye." The man perked up seeming a bit more confident that this arguement was going to go his way.

"Indeed." The Princess shifted her gaze toward the other Plantiff. "You are A Machinist then......a fashiner of tools and devices?"

"Ah...y....yes mi'Lady....I m....make diagnostic equipment and.....such." "Would you characterize these tools as necessary to the functioning of the ship and its equipment?"

The man thought about that for amoment. "Well.....yes....yes Lady. Without proper diagnostics and maitenance, this ship isnt going to last 10 years....let alone the hundreds we are planning.

"Indeed." she said again.

Silence......if there were birds aboard ship, one could hear their chirping.

Turning to the machinist she said. "Give unto this man a tool you deem worthy for the man who grows the very food you eat......for his fate is your own."

Shifting her gaze to address the botanist she said, "Give unto this man what nourishment you deem necessary to sustain the man who maintains the ship in which you and your family reside.......for his fate is your own.."

Addressing the awed crowd as a whole the Princess raised her voice, "You reject the ways of Surak, but truth is truth.......the spear in anothers heart is the spear in your own....you are he." END....

OOC: The final quote is attributed to Surak as per Diane Duane's novels

OOC - Backpost to before the shift. Sorry about that.

"Real Estate"
Lt. Commander Corran Rex, Chief Tactical Officer
SCPO. Renora Loret, Tactical Analyst

Renora, having finished her impromptu lunch meeting with the Master Chief, was now sitting down in the tactical suite looking over various bits of data collected from the Galaxy's last mission. What an absolute disaster, she still had trouble getting her head around it all. So engrossed was she in her work that she didn't hear the characteristic hiss of the door.

Corran was tapping a PADD slightly in his hand as he looked over the small Tactical suite. He hadn't been down here yet in the weeks since taking over, since up until a few days ago he'd still been pulling double-duty as CAG, and had left much of the day-to-day up to the junior officers and Chiefs.

"Commander." She said, standing and pulling her tunic straight and adding, by way of introduction "Senior Chief Renora Loret." It felt quite strange to be meeting Corran in the flesh, with fighter cockpits not being the largest she thought he'd be...well...shorter.

"I remember, Senior Chief." he acknowledged, extending a hand to shake the Chief's own. "I helped in that training sim for Kol and Bental that one time."

Ah...now she remembered. Kol...undoubtedly the worst commander she had ever served under. A brilliant combatant to be sure but he had the traditional Klingon knack of rubbing people up the wrong way. Or maybe it was just her, she could concede the point would be valid. "Ah yes, I didn't recognize you without your flight suit...Sir."

"So, Chief, let me ask you something," he said, looking around at the small, but fairly well established tactical suite. A holotable was in the center of the crowded room, which was sparsely staffed right now. "Do you think this is really adequate tactical analysis facilities for a ship like the Galaxy?"

"Well I..." Renoras voice was cut off as the holotable spluttered and the image flickered several times. She banged her hand on the side of the bench and the image returned to normal. "No Sir." She concluded.

"Yeah, me either. Let's go check out some real estate, shall we?"

"Let's." Well this was something she thought, quite a pleasant and welcoming introduction, if she'd been watching she might not have recognized herself.

"The Permanent Dark"

Terex, the Aaerven'katra (The Keeper of Souls), (Corran Rex)
The Mindwitch of Gol (Allison)

She did not so much walk, as glide her way through the crowd of gawkers that stopped to stare as she went by.

The normal everyday hustle and bustle of life aboard Talvalen seemed to dissipate into reverent silence as she passed, quieting to the point where the faint swish of her ancient robes could be heard above their baited breaths.

The people and crew aboard may not have shared the new found beliefs of the fabled mind Witch of Gol........but that did not necessarily mean one got in her way during her comings and goings.

For herself, the Princess paid no heed to the hushed whispers and pointing as she went by. With her thin chin held high, and unblinking eyes set on the path before her, she turned neither to the left, nor to the right until she stood before her destination.

The Temple of the Aaerven'katra......the keeper of souls. the one place aboard ship that everyone visited one way or the other.

Reaching out to touch the chime, she waited for the little light to glow and said, "Gol."

It would be readily apparent to anyone on the other end of the line, that there was only one person who could be identified by the name of that ancient province.

"Enter." was all that came through, in the strange, multi-tonal voice of the Keeper.

With a soft click of the lock, amid the faint rustle of her robes, the Princess entered into the sacred chambers.

Those chambers were surprisingly austere - but then, the Keeper had little need for items of physical comfort. So much of his life was the life of the mind, what need did he have for trinkets and baubles? He was seated on the floor in a meditative position, candles and sharp, tangy incense burning around him. Curtains masked the bare steel of the quarters walls, but there was no decoration beyond that, other than the symbols of the elements, one on each wall.

The Princess had not actually come into the Aaerven'katra's presence before, and what she found surprised her.

He was young. Very much so, though still older than her. But his features had a youthfully serene quality to them.. until he opened his eyes.

The eyes were the window to the soul, after all, and the eyes of the man born with the name 'Terex' were very old indeed.

A small, clear pitcher sat in front of the Keeper, it's water glistening with reflective candlelight. A small stack of glasses sat next to it. Silently, he poured a glass for his visitor, and then offered it to her with a simple greeting. "Welcome, Princess." There was that multi-tonal quality to his voice again - as though many voices were speaking at once. Then again, perhaps they were.

The Princess accepted the offered water without comment. It was one of the most ancient of Vulcan's tradition and to refuse would have been inexcusably rude.

Setting the glass aside, she examined the Keeper through half-lidded eyes. "I wish to make arrangement is regards to the final disposition of my katra when the time comes." she said without preamble, getting straight to the point.

He eyed her speculatively. "You are very young yet, Princess, with a great many years ahead of you before the Elements stake their claim. Why concern yourself with these thoughts now?"

"I am young, yes," she agreed, "Left to my own devices I do not anticipate a need for your services prior to the ending of this voyage.....however," he eyes flashed knowingly, "...we both know that my presence aboard has been an error in judgement on Lord Valen's part. He is not the sort of man to long leave an error unresolved."

"That would be... unwise." the Keeper observed with the wisdom of his own acquired lifetimes. "You enjoy much support amongst the people of the ship. Enigma though you may be, however you joined us, respect and fear commend many to listen to your words."

"Perhaps." she allowed, "However if logical decisions were the hallmark of our people up to now.....perhaps we would not find ourselves here." It was a joke, or at least the only sort that the Princess allowed herself anymore.

"What then, is your wish?"

"In short Keeper," the Princess explained, "my final request is to refuse your services." she paused, "My katra must NOT be preserved."

It was not often the Keeper was taken by surprise. Given that, he was not particularly adept at hiding such a reaction. His breath whisked in quickly before he spoke. "We.. have not heard such a request before. Particularly from someone of your.. shall we say, notoriety, Princess."

Was there a small smile hidden there in the impassive mask of the Witches face? "I am a telepath of some talent Keeper. In the past my actions were of the sort that nearly destroyed Vulcans as a race. be as it may that you have rejected the ways of Logic.......you will still recognize the fact that our world was teetering on the edge of self destruction."

A sigh, "In this I....and my abilities......played no small part."

"What you say is true, Child." the Keeper said, with the fond tones of someone's elderly grandfather. (Someone offset by the inherent echo of his voice, however.) "And shows that you have, at least learned a lesson many of we "Rihannsu" have not. Surak's way offered a solution to our bloodshed, but to many of us, the price was to high. What are we without our ruling passions, after all?"

He shook his head ruefully for a moment. "But this does not mean we must give them all up. You show wisdom for your years with the realization of this. Why allow the guilt of your past to condemn your own eternal future?"

Her eyes widened slightly as if insulted, "Nay Keeper. my request is not based on any emotion such as guilt. Denying myself the afterlife. No, I ask this for logic's sake. My katra.....my abilities.....they must not be allowed to be preserved." her voice lowered menacingly, "Psi-Eugenics is a skill our people are too skilled at for our own good. I have no wish to be a pawn in some future power struggle. I would have the skills and memories of the Gol Witches die with me."

The Keeper's eyes narrowed, but not in menace or judgement, but consideration. "You would make this choice, for the good all of the Rihanssu?"

"It has not been unheard of for the katra of powerful telepaths to be violated for the secrets to their power. Indeed part of the secrets of Gol's power has been in the passing down of talents from generation to generation........as a keeper of ancient katras yourself, surely you recognize the potential for abuse."

"Ever such is the way of our people." the Keeper confirmed quietly. "But.. oblivion is a rather permanent solution, Princess."

Standing suddenly, the Princess glided over to a small wall carving and made as if examining it while she gathered her thoughts.

"This is not a decision I make lightly. The concept of oblivion holds no appeal for me and yet......Suraks way dictates that there are always possibilities. Perhaps even possibilities between your people and mine in the far future. However, I must believe that if such a future can succeed, then the weapons of the mind must be laid to rest......and me with them."

"There is yet wisdom in your words." the Keeper noted. "Do not believe, Princess, that just because those of us who have declared themselves the Rihannsu beleive we should retain our passions, does not necessarily mean we must devote ourselves to the violent brutality of war, murder and blood."

She turned to the Keeper, more comfortable with him than she had felt with anyone these last five years aboard Talvalen. He was a kindred spirit of sort.

"It is ironic." she said, "You have chosen a life of passion, and all the danger and violence that goes with it......and yet your mental powers are devoted to preservation."

"On the other hand I have chosen the way of peace and logic, and yet my skills are devoted to destruction and death.......The universe it seems is not without a sense of humor."

A strange sigh escaped through the Keeper's lips. "The irony had not escaped us, Princess." A pause passed before the Keeper's echoed tones filled the quiet space once more. "If you wish to consign yourself to the permanent dark, Princess, we will honor that request."

"Thank you." she replied simply, sadly.

"The Sensible Way"

Principal Characters
Sulaed Vardek, Ship's Prime Engineer (NPC)
Chulak Vardek, Assistant Prime Engineer (Victor Krieghoff)

****

Colony Ship Talvalen
Level 35
Vardek Family Reception Hall
Early Evening

Birthday celebrations, like wars, were pointless spectacles as far as Chulak was concerned. What were either of them good for?

He'd seen fewer wars than birthdays, true, but there had been more than enough of both to convince him of the fact that the answer to that question was simple: absolutely nothing.

Chulak tugged at his formal tunic's collar and frowned out at the room full of people he didn't know and had little reason to consider wanting to know. His father had first made noises about the celebration weeks ago, but Chulak had ignored them, as he ignored most things his father said, reasoning that if he just informed his father that he desired to attend no such event as he had the last five years, then that would be the end of it.

Sadly, it hadn't worked that way.

Even if the gathering was meaningless to the one it was meant to honor, his father had replied when Chulak had done so, that didn't make it meaningless to others. There would be a gathering, Chulak would attend, and there would be no further discussion on the matter.

Whether or not Chulak paid attention to many things his father said, he knew to pay attention when Sulaed spoke in the tone he'd used. It was the voice of the leader of their House, the voice of the head of the family, and the voice that would brook no objections or discussions to its words. In short, it was the voice of doom.

In this case, that doom meant that Chulak was trapped here, unable to leave, and forced to nod and smile at the congratulations of a seemingly endless stream of people that seemed to think the occasion of the thirty-fifth anniversary of his birth actually meant something other than another day ticked off the line of days that he had been allotted by biology. There were a few faces that he recognized - friends of his father, relatives, those few of his agemates that he'd bothered to learn the names of due to frequent contact or, more rarely, a glimmer of hope that they might provide more than an instant's conversation on a topic of interest to him - and a great many that he didn't recognize, whose purpose here was apparently to babble about nothing, eat the food laid out for the guests, and take up oxygen that would be put to better - or at least more honest - use by a pack of desert rats.

One thing that was different this year than the last one of these celebrations his father had insisted on - aside from the fact that Chulak was attending - was the number of young women attending. Every family seemed to have found one or two to bring and introduce to him, and there were some, he was sure, that had come on their own, without family escort. There were tall ones, short ones, pretty ones, plain ones, even a few with the blonde hair that was so rare among his people, and one that appeared to have hair of a natural red that was virtually unheard of without cosmetic assistance. Their clothing ranged from elegant and plain to fashionable and daring, and at least three of them seemed in danger of being disrobed by any movement of air stronger than that created by a sigh.

He supposed that they were bored with the lack of social events aboard ship and had seized upon the reception as an excuse to attend and do the things that seemed to interest girls so much: talk to one another in gossiping giggles and whispers, wear fancy clothing and pose like songbirds on a branch to be admired, nibble at expensive foods that came in servings the size of a single silicon molecule, and force passing men to dance with them in whatever the latest dance developed by someone with no real occupation was. If that weren't the reason, then he didn't know why any of them were here - and didn't care in either case. There were any number of more important things to consider than that.

Like, for instance, why there was an unexplained minor power drain in the circuits that supplied energy to the artificial suns on the agro-decks. Or whether or not the power couplings at Junction D785 were failing and would have to be replaced. Or whether or not the ramscoop field generators would need to be taken off-line in three months for their regularly scheduled maintenance, or if they would have to wait for another cycle to pass for it. Or why his father had suddenly appeared next to him and was talking to him.

That last wasn't as deserving of the same concentration as the others, true, but since this didn't appear to follow any of the established rhythms of the lectures he'd come to know by heart since his mother had died so many years before, it deserved at least enough attention to discern if his father had decided to add a new one to the list that would now need to be memorized. Chulak hoped that wasn't the case, since new lectures were always so tedious until he learned them.

"...that you found interesting?" Sulaed was saying as Chulak turned his attention outward.

It wasn't a lecture, then - or, more accurately, didn't appear to be one at the moment. It also didn't make much sense. "Interesting?" he replied, since actually asking his father what he'd said was a guaranteed invitation to lecture #14 "Paying Attention When Spoken To" which Chulak had memorized twenty years earlier and hadn't noticed a variation to since.

"Yes, interesting," his father agreed. "Or if not that, then at least someone you find attractive?"

Girls, Chulak realized; this was about girls. Did that mean his father had been serious about that marriage thing he'd mentioned a few months before? Was that why all these simpering females were here? "There are certainly several that seem to have spent a great deal of time trying to appear so," he observed in the hopes that the conversation would end there.

His father stared at him for a moment, and then laughed, as though Chulak's words had been uproariously funny. "...great deal of time..." Sulaed chuckled after a moment. "You seem to have inherited your mother's sense of humor after all, son."

Despite the fact that genetics and the other biological sciences were not where his interests lay, Chulak was certain that out of all the genetic material that he'd received from his mother, there had been no such thing coded onto a chromosome for him to have received. Telling his father that, though... no, that was a waste of time. In fact, talking to him about anything having to do with his mother was a waste of time. She was dead, had been dead since he was five, and that was that. Nothing else mattered. "If you say so, Father."

"I do," Sulaed nodded. His smile faded somewhat. "I know you don't recall her well, but she had that same dry, offhanded way of delivering a joke." He looked around the room. "Things are starting to wind down, but I'll want to see you later and talk about the girls that you found interesting - or attractive." He clapped Chulak on the shoulder and walked off to speak to his brother, Vanyel, shaking his head and chuckling, "...great deal of time...."

Chulak watched him go, and, when it became apparent that his father wasn't going to return, retreated back into the uncluttered halls of his thoughts. He'd just have to explain to his father that he wasn't interested in marriage, girls, or any of that. There was no room for them in his thoughts amidst the vastly more interesting and fascinating designs for circuits, musings on power cores and how to improve their outputs, and speculations on what was causing that power drain on the agro-decks that stretched out as far as his mind's eye could see.

****

Colony Ship
Talvalen Level 35
Vardek Family Exercise Room
Late Evening

Being the family that provided the ship's Prime Engineer - and that would provide his replacement - had ensured that the Vardek family received quarters that were appropriate not only to their wealth, but to their stature with regards to the success of the journey. Aside from the reception hall where his forced birthday celebration had been held, there were individual suites of apartments for his father and Uncle Vanyel, large enough to hold them and their families and servants, a small indoor garden that possessed a rare viewing port to the stars outside, and a shared exercise hall.

Chulak lived in one of the rooms associated with his father's suite, his quarters tended to by the same servants that had accompanied his father; an elderly couple named Narek and Filian who'd been with his father for years, and their much younger daughter, Lirien, a quiet girl who had rarely left the family's property on Vulcan, and never did so now that they were in space. Like all successful servants, they were experienced in the art of appearing invisible as they went about their tasks, giving the impression that rooms suddenly became clean when one looked away and then back, or that food appeared and dishes vanished as if prepared, served, and then whisked away by some sort of molecular transport beam out of a fictional novel or video program.

The garden was simply that - a garden. Lirien grew herbs there, and tended a selection of plants that had been culled from the family's gardens back on Vulcan. Some were decorative, some edible, and a few dangerous, but all were primarily there - at least in so far as Chulak was concerned - to provide extra oxygen-generation for the ship. The exercise room was used for simple physical conditioning, as well as more specific training in martial skills, so that the moves and maneuvers specific to the family's styles could be learned and mastered away from prying eyes that might develop counters specific to them.

Chulak cared little for the family's martial traditions, but he did believe that his body, like any machine, needed to be kept in proper condition to maximize functionality, and so made use of the space provided for that purpose regularly. His father felt the same way - one of the few things that Chulak agreed unhesitatingly with him about - but also made use of the area to practice daily with weapons and combative forms that Chulak considered dangerously archaic and outdated at best, and suicidal at worst.

Sulaed was in the midst of one such endeavor when Chulak arrived for the talk he'd been warned was coming at the reception earlier in the evening. The guests had finally gone, and the servants were working their magic to make the remains of the food vanish into the refuse chutes to be recycled, or sent down to the lower levels in parcels as part of some charity program to feed the poor and destitute that his mother had begin years before he was born.

He paused inside the doors, glad to be free from the dysfunctional and uncomfortable formal clothing he'd had to wear at the reception, and watched in silence as his father worked his way through the twisting, turning moves associated with the family's form for the use of the ahn-woon. Of all the weapons that his father might have chosen to master, this one made the least sense to Chulak now, as it had when his father had offered to teach it to him years before.

A sword at least made some sort of sense if you were going to have to fight and weren't in a position where you could simply shoot your opponent. Swords weren't made for hunting and adapted to killing like spears, or made as a tool and adapted for killing like an axe or knife - a sword was designed to do nothing but kill. Even if he saw little need to master any style of using one, Chulak could appreciate the simplicity of form and skill of engineering that had gone into making it what it was.

If one were to have to fight - and Chulak conceded that there would be times when that might be necessary, no matter how distasteful the idea was to him - then one should simply kill one's opponent and move on. A sword, at least, was designed for that purpose. A spear, axe, or knife was adaptable to that need. Even a wrench would serve in extremis to take a life so that one's own might continue. But the ahn-woon? A leather belt? That was the very height of absurdity.

Were he to find himself in the position of having to fight to preserve his own life, Chulak doubted that any opponent he would face might find the prospect of being spanked with a belt to be a deterrent. One was simply not attacked by homicidal children that often.

Having already performed his own exercises for the day, Chulak simply stood and waited for his father to finish, concentrating on the designs and mechanisms that spun through his thoughts until the sound of his father's voice penetrated past them and forced him to turn his attentions outwards again.

"...be glad to teach you the family's style, if you wish it?" Sulaed asked, his expression betraying none of the faint hope that he could not keep from his words.

It was the ahn-woon offer again; there was nothing else that his father would be discussing in such a place and manner. "Perhaps another time, Father," Chulak answered as he always did, even though they both knew that when next the question was asked, the answer would invariably be the same. "You asked to see me earlier tonight?"

"Yes," Sulaed sighed, letting the matter drop. He began to towel off as he spoke. "Did you see anyone that interested you tonight?"

"Interested me in what way, Father?"

"Don't be stupid, son - no one that knows you will believe it. You know what I meant. Was there anyone that you wanted me to approach about marriage?"

"No." Perhaps this would be easier than he'd thought. There might not even be any screaming.

His father threw up his hands in frustration. "Did you even try talking to anyone? Or did you just stand there and nod the way you do when we're talking and you're not interested in anything I'm saying?"

"Father, there are, to my knowledge, only six people aboard this ship that I find any point in talking to intellectually. Only two of them have the capacity to make me actually think about things that matter. And only one of them is enough my superior in anything that truly matters to challenge me and hold my attention fully." Chulak paused, and then added, "Unless, of course, you're talking about things like this, Father."

Sulaed stopped and stared for a moment, as if the words were bricks that his son had hurled at his head, stunning him, rather than something that he'd said. After a moment, he sighed again, his frustration gone. "You must marry, son. I am too old to marry again and raise another child, and your Uncle Vanyel has nothing but daughters. There must be someone to carry on the family name after you're gone." He held up a hand. "I know; this isn't a topic that interests you. I wish it did, but I can't change who you are. If your mother had lived, perhaps things would be different... but she didn't, and wishing will not change the fact that she's gone. We must live in the world that is."

There were, Chulak reflected, moments that his father made perfect sense even when he wasn't talking about machines. Not many, but moments, none the less.

"So," Sulaed continued, "since you are not interested in the process, I will take care of it for you. I will find someone, make the arrangements, and you will be married for the good of the House. No discussion. No arguments. That is the world that is, and you must live in it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Chulak was, oddly, relieved. If only his father had done this before, then this issue would have been dealt with long ago - it was so much easier to deal with him when he acted like a Prime Engineer.

"Good." Sulaed took a breath and let it out while staring at his son. "As you know, there is another suite of apartments attached to our quarters. I will instruct the servants open them prepare them for your belongings to be moved in within the week. A newly-married couple should have their privacy. As you do not have servants of your own, I will assign Lirien to you. She will clean and care for your quarters, and do the things your bride will require a woman for. Until you are married you will dine with me, as always. Afterwards, we will make other arrangements. Your wife may have servants of her own, but if not, some will be found for you. Is this understood?"

Chulak nodded. "Yes, Father." Really, this was so much more sensible a way to handle things than all of the talking and questions. Why didn't his father see that?

"Very well, then." His father looked at him once more, as if trying to see something that was writing inside his skull, and nodded slowly. "We will practice the forms and phrasing you will need for the engagement and marriage ceremonies later."

That too was sensible; the language used on such occasions was stilted, formal, and archaic, and not something that was used in the world that is outside those moments. Chulak nodded in agreement. "Good, I do not wish to make a mistake."

His father looked at him again, as if trying to decide what those words had meant, and then shook his head and waved a hand. "Go, I know you have things to read and study before you sleep. We will begin practice tomorrow, after the evening meal."

Chulak nodded and walked away silently, his thoughts already turning inward again, the hum of the circuits he was designing there drowning out his father's words as Sulaed added softly, "Perhaps your bride can reach the parts of you that were lost with your mother, son."

"Test of Faith"

Kharvre (Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin, Chief Astrophysicist)
Sotha (Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief of Intelligence)

Kharvre sighed and shifted the weight of the heavy satchel from one shoulder to the other. In his hand, he held another bag and its weight dug into his skin. He flexed his fingers, sliding the fabric handles across his skin, giving one small area relief and shifting the tourniquet like pinch to another part of his fingers.

The waste and recycling areas proved bountiful this week. He was able to collect these two bags full of thrown away cloth. Some of the shirts only needed patching, and then they could be reused for another few years, and one pair of pants was similarly fortunate. The rest was too tattered to be salvaged as clothes, but it would be useful in making new blankets, undergarments or baby clothes.

He had to regularly collect old cloth for the cleric T'Nieth, the order's seamstress. But this week, one of the old nobles had shattered a chair. During the move onto the ship, only the most privledged citizens were allowed to bring items as big and extravagant as wooden furniture aboard. All other items were made from metal, since metal was much more permanent and more easily recycled. One of these wooden pieces, a very elegant backless stool, had broken somehow - one of its three legs had cracked in two, near the seat, and probably as a result of the ensuing fall, the cross supports gave out and had split as well. So, it had been tossed.

In the past year, Kharvre had developed an interest in sculpting. He had admired the temple idols so much for so long, he had to learn how to make some himself. Unfortunately, there was no clay aboard the ship. But, there were trees. They were very few in number, and they all grew food. When one did die or its limbs had to be trimmed, the wood was allocated to a single craftsman, and the nobles had first pickings of his products (which meant the luxury of wooden goods was theirs alone). Not all of the wood could be used for furniture, and quite often Kharvre was able to obtain scraps from the artisan - small branches that were perhaps an inch or so in diameter, and perhaps one hand long. With these scraps, he had learned how to sculpt wood into small figures - little statues of the gods he heard stories about, or little toys.

From the broken stool, he was able to take all three legs - two square rods three inches wide and three feet long, and one that was broken. The stool had been made of a dark, tropical hardwood, and its grain was quite beautiful. He was very excited, and as he adjusted the parcel under his left arm, he thought about what he would make.

But, his thoughts were interrupted. "Hey! Hey! Give that back!!" a young voice cried out, followed by equally youthful laughter, chittering down the crossing hall as they fled with their prize, their footfalls clapping heavily, but quickly, against the decking. Two children, a boy and a girl, approximately Kharvre's age, emerged from the hall and split up, dashing around him and down the way from which he came.

He turned to watch them, curious about what they stole. He didn't notice their pursuer until it was too late. The boy jumped out from corridor as quick as the two children he was chasing, but with slightly less agility. He collided with Kharvre and they both tumbled to the floor, clothes spilling out onto the deck and Kharvre's prized wood bouncing and clattering across metal plating.

"Oww," Kharvre moaned as he pushed himself up. He looked at who had ran into him. "Sotha?"

"Ahhhhh!!!! You idiot!!!!"

Sotha stood up first, frustrated. He straighted his wrinkled cloths, not offering a helping hand to the other teen. Instead, his eyes fell on the wooden pieces on the floor. He quickly put his feet on one.

"Kharvre." He said. He haven't seen the other orphan for a long time. Moreover, it was the first time he saw him in clergy robes, and that is why he did not recognize him immediately. Sotha's foot remained firmly pressed on the wooden piece. "You just cost me dinner, Kharvre."

"Actually, I believe they cost you your dinner. They took it, not me," the boy said calmly as he sat up. He looked at the mess on the floor and sighed slightly, and began to gather the clothing back into the bags.

"The girl, T'Rod, had the algee. I'm faster than her. If you hadn't popped up, I'd catch her for sure. From where did you steal these robes?"

"Well, you ran into me. I was not even moving at the time," he said pulling one of the nicer shirts off the floor and quickly folding it before stuffing it into the backpack. "These aren't robes and I didn't steal them. They're from the recycling center."

Sotha pointed at Kharvre's cloths.

"I didn't steal these either," Kharve said, not making any effort to prevent Sotha's hand from grabbing at the cloth. "The monastery took me in, you know that. That's why I left the orphanage."

Sotha kept his silence. He heard the rumor, of course, but did not believe it. Many things were said about those who left the orphanage. Usually, the truth was that they either died or were taken to be servants. In Sotha's minds, what happened to Kharve was no different. Perhaps worse.

Once he had finished regathering the clothing, Kharvre looked for his pieces of wood. He reached for the one resting under Sotha's foot, but the other boy was pressing it hard against the floor. "Can I have that back please?"

Sotha shook his head. "Don't you know the rules down here? If you don't hold it it's not yours. That's what happened to my meal. Now, usually I'd give it back for old times, but I'm famished. I can get a great price for a piece of real wood. How about we share it fifty-fifty?"

"Who exactly are you planning to sell it to? Its the leg of a broken stool. The only person who might use for it is Hefvastas and he's not going to buy it from you. He'll think you stole it."

"If that's so then there's nothing to worry about. Hmmm... but... maybe he'll think I found it in the garbage?"

Kharvre rolled his eyes, realizing that the kid was going to be jerk about it. "What do you want for it?"

Sotha contemplated the offer. Kharvre was perhaps cleaner and looked more dignified, but if he was doing scavenging work for his masters then he probably didn't have anything that Sotha might want. Food crossed his mind, but Sotha preferred to sleep on empty stomach than eat the priests' charity meals.

"An explanation." Sotha finally said. "Why did you sale your soul to the cleric? Why did you allow them to brainwash you? Does it really worth a fair meal, a place to sleep and clean cloths?"

"They didn't brainwash me," Kharvre said, slightly hurt. "I like it. I like hearing and reading stories about the old gods."

Sotha gave him a look. "Yes, they taught me how to read," Kharvre said. "And I like the work they make me do. Or some of it. Like this," he said holding up the sack of clothes, "figuring out new ways to use old things. Its interesting, it gives me a unique perspective on things. And I like not having to worry about my food or sleep. It lets me concentrate on other things, like wood sculpting."

"But that's how they operate." Sotha insisted, his tone getting more and more passionate. "What does providing living conditions or teaching you to read and recycle have to do with folk tales? They give you a candy in exchange for making you believe in lies!"

The orphan clenched his fists. "Tell me that you still have some sense, that you don't believe the 'old gods' actually exist, and the wood piece is yours. I'll help you carry the cloths, too."

"Actually, a few of the clerics are not pleased with my fascination with the old mythology. They find it archaic. Simple," Kharvre explained. "Its not that I believe in the old mythology. The idea that the world was created with a word or hatched from an egg or that man was fashioned from clay or were fingers cut from the hand of a god are silly. There's no basis in truth there, I can see that. But, have you ever looked at the old myths, Sotha? I mean, really looked at them?"

Sotha looked at him silently and offered a subtle shake of his head and a shrug. He didn't read anything for the past five years, ever since they left home.

"They're all amazingly similar. Not overtly so, of course. You have to really look. But almost every ancient religion has a fire theft myth, or a myth about the power of speech. The gods always live in the sky and man always has dominion over all other species. I believe there are fundamental truths there, hidden in our natural psychology that reveal themselves indirectly in our stories. Truths about the universe and our place in it," Kharvre explained, then paused and thought a moment before adding, "Or, maybe it means the gods are real, and they used to roam the earth, performing the same actions and living through the same stories, under different names. You never know."

Sotha agreed. "As long as you can't go back in time and ask the ancient people whether they saw a fire chariot roaming around."

"It doesn't matter," Kharvre shook his head solemnly. "Whether they're real or not, we've left them behind. There are no gods, there are no elements out here. We're on our own."

With a swift move of his foot, Sotha lifted the wooden piece, grabbed it, and offered it to Kharvre. The other orphan perhaps did not renounce the stupid 'faith' like Sotha wanted him, but his answer was satisfactory. He did not take the stories and believes for granted, and for that he won his precious piece of wood back.

"Give me half of that." Sotha gestured at the sacks. "I'll help you carry."

Kharvre smiled. "Thank you," he said, handing Sotha the smaller sack of cloth. He slung the other bag back over his shoulder, and stuck his free hand into his pocket, fingering the wooden object that lay inside. After a moment of contemplation, he pulled out the figurine and held it out to Sotha. "Here," he said.

Sotha took the object and measured it. "What's this?"

"It's Sirus," Kharvre said, "the Lone Star. I made it. You might be able to sell that more easily than the raw wood."

"Nice." Replied Sotha. The figurine made its way into Sotha cloths. He considered Kharvre's proposal- but who would want to buy a sculpture made by some unfamiliar apprentice? No. He'll just keep it. Perhaps as a memento, or a reminder. For what, he did not know yet.

Sotha lifted the sack of clothes accross - it felt like fur, oddly enough - and the two former friends walked silently down the corridor, together.

off: I'm advancing the time line a bit

"Routine"

Eela, age 25 (Ella Grey)
Mardek

****

Talvalen
Eela and Mardek's quarters
Ten years after leaving Vulcan

****

Over the years they had settled into a comfortable routine - Mardek would go to work and pretend he didn't know where she went during the day and Eela would fix his dinner every night and ignore that he had to wash blood from under his nails.

She would have nightmares about three or four times a week and he would try his best to comfort her; he would read the words of S'task out loud and she would try her best not to point out all of the logical fallacies.

Neither of them would comment on her decision not to follow the ways of Surak.

They would often have heated arguments or just plain scream at each other and she would sometimes throw things and then proclaim her hatred. Sometimes she would stop speaking to him because she felt her katra might explode out of spite if she did. But Eela would eventually start talking again and then they would fall back into their routine once more.

And then one day her father dropped his glass.

The next day it was his fork and the day after that it was a plate.

"What's wrong?" Eela had asked on the fourth day when another glass had nearly slipped from his grasp.

"Nothing." But he wouldn't meet her eyes and she knew that it was bad. Her father had never been one to shy away from anything - that happened when you tortured and killed people for a living.

"Don't lie to me," Eela snapped at him, for once not out of anger, and he sighed. It was actually *worse* than she had feared and it took a few minutes for Eela to find her voice.

"Incurable?"

Mardek didn't answer. He really didn't have to.

Eela pushed away her plate. "What are we going to do?"

****

"We need to get you married," He said a few nights later at dinner.

Eela snorted. "Everyone knows I'm spoiled. No one will take me."

Not for marriage anyway, they both knew. The Guild would protect her as long as Mardek was feared (and alive) but without a husband, they both knew where she'd end up.

The assassin said I'd make a good whore if that's any consolation, Eela thought bitterly.

"They'll take you," Mardek said darkly.

Despite her father's threat, Eela knew that no one in their right mind would choose a used (and potentially barren) bride. Because that had been the idea when Eela had lied to him about certain events of that night- perhaps an error in hindsight.

She said neither to her father though.

It was a week later when Eela thought of the mind meld. She wasn't crazy about it -especially if she had to explain herself to him - but she was less than enthusiastic about ending up a permanent fixture of the lower decks.

They found, however, that her father's brief access to even some of her memories tended to make his hands shake and not because of the disease.

"How many times have you said to let go of the past?" She reminded him gently.

But he could only see Loras' burning body and hear his daughter's screams; she knew that she'd have to come up with some other solution.

****

The idea came to her over dessert next evening.

Eela mulled it over as she poured herself a large glass of their most potent alcohol. She didn't like the idea - she really didn't like it - but it was logical and that thought made her nearly laugh out loud.

The next day she brought Mardek his lunch and demanded to be let into the room, claiming that her father wished for her to see what he did for a living. The guards at the door didn't argue.

The room was small and empty except for two men - the man in the chair who was blindfolded, and crying, and her father who was standing in a corner, looking at the tool in his shaking hand.

Eela crossed the room, took the tool from him, and raised an eyebrow. He started and then nodded, pointing and gesturing at the man until she understood what he wanted her to do.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself that it was either invading someone or having them invade her, and then moved to the man in the chair.

****

Talvalen
Eela and Mardek's quarters
Eleven years after leaving Vulcan

Over a year they had settled into a comfortable routine - Mardek would go to work and Eela would stop by with some excuse and then assist him. She would pretend that she didn't hear the screams she was the cause of and he would ignore that she had to wash blood from under her nails before dinner.

And then one day Mardek announced that he had to kill someone outside of work.

It was something he did from to time - when Valen needed a person eliminated (but unofficially) the Guild would rotate through its members and this time it was her father's turn.

"But you can't!" Eela exclaimed. Mardek had to work hard at not letting his entire body shake these days. There was no way he could take out a hit on somebody.

"I have no choice," Mardek said tiredly and then went to bed. If he was going to do this, he told her, he needed a few days rest.

Eela sighed and then scooped some more vegetables on her plate. Sticking things into people and taking things out - that was easy. Killing a person who wasn't tied to a chair would be a bit trickier.

She wondered if Ahn'vahr would remember his offer after all these years.

"Keeping Tradition"

Rh'dan, Third Seider, Talvalen Clan (Miquelan Dar'ce)
Rh'mev and Rh'dan'el, Sons of Rh'dan
V'kara, Wife of Rh'dan

Five Years After Launch

The ceremony had taken over three hours, the way traditional marriages usually did. Rh'mev's marriage to T'ren, daughter of Soval, had united Rh'dan's newly minted house to the rather large noble family of Sovix, Soval's second forefather. It had taken less than a year to convince Soval that T'ren and Rh'mev would make a fine pair, but it had taken four years to make all the connections with various noble houses to make such a marriage enough of an occasion for Valen himself to attend.

After Valen had agreed that a new Crest was needed within the clan because of all the families that had decided to stay behind on Vulcan, Rh'dan's name had been the first to come up. He was from a long line of nobility within the Tal'Valen clan, and his father had been quite respected within the hierarchy of Vulcan society. He had been on the Continuing Committee within the Senate for ten years before the war. During the war he had left public office to deal with the invasion of Surak's philosophies into his family. When he had died, he had received a state funeral with all the trimmings.

Valen never forgot his service to the True Way, and bestowing this honor upon his son was his way of showing respect.

Rh'dan would not squander this opportunity.

Rh'mev's wedding was to be the first step. He had taken to T'Ren like a fish to water, and their courtship had taken much less time than expected. Their new quarters had been constructed in the empty spaces next to Rh'dan's own. The Nobility levels had been left 35% empty upon launch for just such occasions.

Rh'dan'el, the second son, was a different matter. His marriage would take more time, for he was less interested in women than in his weapons. He had received a commission in the military, and would graduate his training in tactical in less than a year. He was almost guaranteed a rotation on the bridge. That being said, it would be nice if he would find the daughter of a reputable officer within the ship's hierarchy. Knowing he wouldn't, Rh'dan would have to take it upon himself to find the young lady.

But his plans didn't stop there. He and V'kara had given birth to a daughter themselves four years prior. They had arranged a marriage between her and the new son of the Tamalek family. It would still be twelve years before they wed, but the young man was to produce progeny for Rh'dan's house, not his own. That had been part of the agreement, a long-standing practice in new houses. In that way, the house would begin to flourish within three generations.

V'kara was expecting twins in six months, a boy and a girl, which would each have their marriages arranged before they were born, most likely. Rh'dan hesitated to use the word logical, as it had become a byword in recent years, but using logic was not something that only Surak's people did. (They had just perverted it into a religion all its own.) But, it was logical to make bonds with other houses within the clan, making it much easier for them to assert dominion once the ships found a new home.

Rh'mev and his bride had made their way into the reception hall to be greeted as a married couple for the first time. Today, it was time to honor them. Tomorrow, Rh'dan would begin anew his ambitions for his house.

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