Istaya (Elissa Skylark)

"Golden Fields"

= Istaya's Private Quarters =
= Later That Night... =

For many years, Istaya had been able to hide her emotions well. Not due to any philosophy of Surak's, but because in battle one did not have the luxury of feeling. When she entered her quarters, she drifted inside like a ghost, not taking off her boots as she would otherwise customarily do. She could feel the pounding of her heart. Nothing was hidden in her haunted face.

"Nan'ha? Is that you?"

Young Lorel'ei glided into the room with a smile, that faded as quickly as her youth had these past short years, long hair giving her the appearance of the young woman she had become. A beauty more obvious than Istaya's own, and a presence that promised Lorel'ei great prestige in the courts. She did not recognize the fear in her mother's eyes; she had never seen it before. Her mood wilted like a sun-thirsty flower trapped in the deep afternoon shade, a small frown that did not diminish her beauty.

"Nan'ha?" The word was quiet now, a question.

Istaya blinked, and forced her expression to dull. Her heart shook like thunder. "A'rhea." She smiled for her daughter. "Have you finished your day's assignments?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly is not completely. Go back to your room and finish them. I'll have dinner made soon enough."

The sense of normalcy from the words calmed Lorel'ei, who glanced at her mother's hands. She was not young any more. She knew full well what it was her mother was required to do some days. Even still, Lorel'ei took far more interest in her mother's dealing than Istaya cared for. "There is blood in your hands, Nan'ha."

"It will wash off, Lorel'ei. Return to your room."

The girl hesitated for a moment, then did as her mother asked.

= The Following Day... =

Istaya had spent the night awake and alert, wondering if there would be retribution for Nemut's murder... and how swift it might come. She was not afraid to die, but all of her life was now devoted to improving her station, and her daughter's own future. Perhaps Lorel'ei would see a time when bloodshed was not needed, when all of their people would know only peace and green hills.

She fulfilled her duties to her master, standing at his side through various dealings and meetings. No one eyed her with malice, no one even noticed her. Istaya could breathe easily, and she took the opportunity to return home early and check on Lorel'ei.

As she stepped into her room, she started to remove her boots. Then she noticed that the door had not been coded as locked. A cupboard hung ajar in the small pantry. A painting hung akew on the wall. Lorel'ei! Training prevented her from shouting her daughter's name, but she moved swiftly and pulled her blade from it's sheathe. She only prayed she was not too late as she crossed the distance to Lorel'ei's room silently.

Hushed voices surprised her, and relieved her at once. One was her daughter's. A small laugh. "You're tickling me!"

"I am kissing your neck, susse-thrai." A young man's voice. Istaya almost shoved the door open, but stopped herself.

"Terrible! That's not a nice name to call me..."

"Then why smile when I say it?"

Another laugh. "Maendren calls me pretty flower names."

"Maendren is a eunuch and a simp," the boy boasted. "And he has no chin."

Istaya smiled despite herself. He talked like Lorel'ei's father. And for a moment, there was a pang of regret that he had not lived to help raise his daughter. Istaya had often feared she could not give her daughter the support of a loving father figure, but Valen's brother was always willing to amuse the girl.

"Kiss me, Thlo e'lev."

"But I am!"

"The lips, stupid. The neck thing tickles."

"Fine."

There was a strange silence. Istaya felt the fool for standing here longer, but she was not about to interrupt her daughter's amorous moment... at least, not if she thought all they were doing was kissing. 'My love?' Her daughter was in love with a boy she'd never had her mother meet? She would have to discuss things with Lorel'ei soon enough.

Her daughter spoke again. "You have to go. Nan'ha will be home soon."

"Good idea." Istaya frowned disapprovingly. "But I must meet her soon. Why put off the inevitable?" Istaya nodded approvingly. The boy had some sense.

"Because she's scary with her swords, and I want to ease her into the idea of... you."

"Very well." He sounded resigned, and more than a bit relieved.

Istaya heard footsteps, and turned the corner quickly.

"Kaleh!" Her daughter called out, loudly this time.

A measured pause. "Yes?"

"i'Jol-au."

And another pause. "I know." Smooth. Istaya was going to have to be careful with this one. So much like Lorel'ei's father, but that wasn't necessarily a desirable thing when you were the mother, she realized.

Quickly, she went into her own room. After he left, she walked out and saw her daughter hanging in the doorway. "Lorel'ei," she said evenly.

The girl turned and faced her with red cheeks. "Ohhh... Llhrei-sian!"

Istaya smiled at her daughter, ignoring the language. "Tell me about Kaleh." The girl blinked, and then smiled widely and did all the talking that night. Her mother stood tall; scary with the swords indeed!

= Supper, the Next Day... =

Istaya had finally slept in her own warm bed, and dreamed of a new sun's light on her back, and of golden fields stretching out as far as the eye could see.

It was the first time she had been able to truly relax since that dark night in the Deep. She had not returned. The blood had washed out. And it seemed things would pass by nicely. No one truly wanted to move against the kin of Valen, or his charges. She watched her daughter eat with a certain joy. The girl wolfed down the entire plate, since apparently she had not wanted to eat in front of others at school. "I had a salad," she explained, but Istaya just shook her head.

When dessert was set before the two of them, Lorel'ei studied her mother thoughtfully. Istaya could tell instantly that her daughter wanted something, and didn't know how to ask it. "What's on your mind?" Istaya offered.

Lorel'ei set her utensil down. "Well, Kaleh..." Istaya chuckled. "Hey! It's not funny. This isn't really about him."

"It isn't?"

"No!"

Her mother shrugged. "Then please, continue."

"As I was saying," Lorel'ei continued, rolling her eyes and huffing louder than was necessary, "Kaleh is enrolling in this new class, where you learn to like, fight and use swords and things."

"That's nice for him."

"I want to enroll too."

Istaya smiled softly. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not the life for you. I work hard at what I do so you won't ever have to, a'rhea. You will not be learning how to use a sword." Istaya rested both hands on the table. "And I will not be convinced otherwise."

Lorel'ei let out a frustrated scream and pushed her chair back. Standing, she pointed her finger at the table. "You should like that I want to be like you!"

"In fact I don't, Lorel'ei. This life is dangerous and you shouldn't be a part of it."

"You're the one always saying that this ship could be dangerous, that I have to be safe. Shouldn't I learn how to defend myself?"

"You're right," Istaya admitted.

This surprised Lorel'ei. "I'm...? Yes, see? I am right."

"You're not joining that class." Istaya stood as well. "I will teach you how to defend yourself."

"But Kaleh..."

"Has his own parents, who make decisions for him as well."

Lorel'ei crossed her arms. "This is completely unfair! Everyone else is going to be doing it."

"I've heard that before. Clear the table, and I'll start teaching you tonight." Istaya removed herself from the room and went to change, leaving Lorel'ei to herself. She waited ten minutes, then came back out to the living area. The table was clear, and her daughter was standing on the carpet in the open circle.

Istaya smiled approvingly. "So you're serious about this."

Her daughter nodded. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared, nan'ha."

Istaya saw her daughter, standing so still and tall, and had to keep herself from choking up. She walked over to her and put her hands on Lorel'ei's shoulders. "Why are you scared?"

"Because you are."

Istaya paused only briefly. "But I'm not scared, a'rhea."

The girl hesitated. "You promise?"

"With all my heart, Lorel'ei." Istaya pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. It was the most important lie she would ever tell her daughter. It was the only thing that would give the girl confidence in her mother.

And in that bright future, on New Vulcan. As she held her daughter, she could almost feel the warmth from the new sun, a vision of the future, and of that fragile hope the exiles all held on to.

What Istaya fought for, her daughter would inherit. Even if it took a lifetime to stand in those golden fields.

"Nature of the Beast"

Random musing by the Mind Witch of Gol. (Alli)

The problems of Vulcan it seemed......were not as easily left behind as the planet itself.

The twin planetary system was lightyears in Talvalen's wake, and yet the violence, greed, and inequalities of the ancient caste system were keeping quick pace with the Generation ship on its long voyage through the endless night.

On the upper decks, ancient noble houses plotted and schemed, each seeking a way to gain advantage using every tool from marriage to well arranged 'accidents'.

On the middle decks, workers scraped to get by, bearing the burden of a cut-throat caste system that punished initiative, and growing too big for ones' britches.

On the lower decks....as always, the usual 'nicities' and illuisons were discarded in favor of open warfare, rape, murder, and thievery......anything to get ahead.......anything to merely get a scrap to eat.

It was old Vulcan in a microcosm, and had the Princess been so disposed towards emotional displays, she would have been inclined to jump up and down screaming "I told you so....I told you so....."

As it was she merely allowed herself a small sigh.....a huge emotional breech......as she viewed the tragedy that blossomed all around her.

For all of her ancient power and nobility, and despite having been a follower of Surak for some years now, the Mind Witch had to admit to herself.....for denying such would be illogical.......that it had been easier to make decisions back in her old emotional days.

The old Princess, would have not allowed such chaos to reign across the ship as it did. A ruthless purging of malcontents acorss all caste levels would have been the order of the day, making examples of passengers of all ranks. There was nothing as equalizing as a fat noble crucified alongside a lowly beggar.

Those were the easy days of course, and surak frowned on such measures, despite the undeniable effectiveness of them. These days the Princess had to rely on her analytical and observational skills......employing more subtle means of persuasion to bring about order in her own little corner of the world.

She had to admit....logically.... that the results were mixed at best. Her own position as mediator had been well established, and despite Lord Valens dissaproval, many flocked to her daily in the courtyard petitioning for judgement and/or mercy. it was aforum she used as best she could to dispence the merits of Surak's teaching, without explicitly coming out and beating the crowds over the head with it.

After all logic dictated that leading by example was a more effective method of conversion than prosletyzing.

Still however, while some civility reigned in the area of Talvalen that she made her own, the ship at large was tearing itself apart.

Murder? Rape?

Even in the old days, Vulcans had frowned on such vulgar acts, their pride scoffing at the barbarity.

~~~So instead we reduced nation-states to radioactive glass and clouds of atomic fallout..........civilized.~~~

For herself she remained unsure of her future amongst the Exodus.

She had forsworn violence on one hand, and yet........mere months after departure, she had been forced to defend herself from one of Lord Valen's assassination squads once her realized the mistake of taking her along.

Was it mere self defence that had forced her to melt the minds of those assassins? Was it Logic that left them dead or dying, or gibbering and drooling upon themselves like idiots?

She frowned slightly........another emotional outburst

Or was it a reversion to the old ways when she waged psychic warfare on a grand scale, blotting entire civilizations off the map?

The Other alone knew.

What if another attack came in the future?

Illogical given the spectacular failure of the first.....but then again her fellow passengers were not given to logic despite her best efforts.

Was she allowed self defence?

How many should she slay in the preservation of her own life?

Was her position here on the ship more of a detriment to society......and would people be better off without her to confuse them?

How many lives was that worth?

Then again what was the life of a murderer against that of the child he had slain.

Surely the former was less valuable than the latter?

Wasnt it?

Logic sometimes did not speak clearly on such issues......or if it did......it sometimes contrasted with the dual goal of non-violence.

Logical violence?

Was it defensible........and who was the judge to say when it applied?

Ahn'vahr (Aerv tr'Ahalaen) Tevanu Assassin
Istaya (Elissa Skylark)

"Pale Horse"

= Unknown Location =
= Lower Decks =

Ahn'vahr had never walked in this dark place, with its dim and flickering lights. He had never been touched by this particular cold. He had never inhaled this stale, stinking, compressed air. It confused him. It reminded him...that he should remember.... For even though the assassin with the white hair had never been in this location before, this moment felt familiar.... The nervous sweat of the hooded men around him was familiar. The quiet whispers of a budding conspiracy were familiar. He had seen the eyes of other men dart about like frightened, caged animals. Yes - this place was new...but this moment...Ahn'vahr knew this moment and its anguished, painful silence.

He did not know how he knew to listen for it, but in the quiet he heard the unmistakable sounds of a death being born. He had been asked here to deliver it.

His instincts told him to wait and to be still and silent. Without hesitation, he obeyed them. There was something wrong with his mind, he knew, like a thick fog over his thoughts and memories. He managed to hide it from others - but he was not the kind of man who kept secrets from himself. He knew better than to stumble in the fog when his body, the very fiber of this being, knew exactly how to react.

After a long moment, there was a voice in the darkness.

"Your punctuality sets my mind at ease, Ahn'vahr."

The assassin felt the creeping tendrils of an irritation he knew well wrap themselves around his heart. They were never brave, these men who came seeking death's birth...and they often had pretty words in which to wrap their cowardice, like a cat burying its shit in the desert. He said nothing.

"Please," the hooded man waved his hand. "Sit. I prefer that the hand knows the mind a bit better before striking."

Ahn'vahr did not move. "You have summoned Death," he snarled, his voice hoarse with forgotten memories, "But you cannot keep it. Direct it or embrace it."

"It is a short story, Ahn'vahr. You will see to that." A servant walked from the shadows bearing a tray with fine wine, and the hooded man continued. "It starts with a small woman, whose own ambition exceeded her means. A woman who clawed her way up from the unwashed masses in an attempt to elevate herself."

Ahn'vahr tilted his head to the right, he white hair sprawling onto his visage and its deep red mystical markings. His dark eyes burned with the intensity of the Vulcan desert - manic. "Direct it," he whispered, his scarred hands reaching for the twin blades at his side, "Or embrace it."

The hooded man shook his head. "This woman's name is Istaya, and she has made the mistake of sullying my good graces. You will find her in the upper decks, working for a joke of a noble. She is a trained guard; I warn you not to underestimate her abilities."

"You have chosen wisely," Ahn'vahr sneered, "As for this 'trained guard' - she will find her death upon the dawn."

"No, she will not."

Ahn'vahr's hand moved like a blot of lightning unleashed from the bosom of the Elements themselves. Then he was still. A tray clattered to the ground. A bottle of wine smashed as it fell to the floor. There was a small silence before the head of the hooded man's servant thudded to the ground. Blood was dripping from one of Ahn'vahr's blades.

"You're trying my patience."

The man seemed to consider a retort, then thought better of it. "The target is her daughter. A lesson cannot be learned posthumously. Deal with the girl, Ahn'vahr, and I will take care of the rest."

"What is the name of this girl?"

The servant's blood seeped into the shallow corner like a slowly flowing river. The hooded man smiled and leaned forward, eyes sparkling in the shadows. "Lorel'ei." He seemed to take great pleasure in naming her. Now that the assassin knew his mark by name, the girl was as good as dead.

"How...old is this Lorel'ei?"

"The girl is a mere fifteen years old," the hooded man replied. The words filled the room, with every eye on Ahn'vahr in anticipation.

"She was." Ahn'vahr answered quietly as he sheathed his sword and walked away.

"Gloom Watchers"

Surel, son of Tybor (Greg Ward)
Sitar, son of Tybor (Leonard Church)
Sketh, son of T'Met (Michael Caboose)

Five years after Launch
================

"Surel, you must understand that by pacing does not make this ship go any faster my brother." said Sitar, son of Tybor to his older brother who was pacing back and forth within one of the many cargo holds of the ship.

"I know this Sitar, I am simply trying to figure out where the rest of my soldiers are as they should've been here by now!" said Surel as he finally stopped pacing for a few seconds as Sketh, the towering member of Surel's unit from the northern polar regions of their former homeworld walked into the bay. "Sketh, where are the others?"

Sketh's face took a slightly saddened look. "Synok is currently in the ship's medical ward. He and Sanan got into an arguement over Svek of clan Tyrol and Sanan just about took Synok's right eye out with one of those damned knives of his but S'Bann helped get him back under control." Sketh explained at which point Surel started swearing in the western tounge. "Geez, such language, Surel!" Sketh said as he tried to cover his ears.

"We've got to go and check up on the bastard and hope that he'll be fine with only one eye!" Surel said in a very pissed off tone. Surel along with Sketh, Sanan, S'Bann, Synok, Tabok, Zygor and T'Pall had served in the conflict shortly before Surak had his "Awakening" that tried to force his fellows to abandon that which made them living creatures.

If there was one being in the universe that Surel hated with every fiber of his being, it was Surak. It was Surak's devotion that caused Surel his family who decided that it was better to embrace peace and logic rather than war and emotions. His father, Tybor who had taught him everything about being a soldier, had disowned him. Thus leaving Surel with the only family that he had actually come to regard as his own.

*Medical to Sub-Commander Surel*

This caused Surel to stop in mid-thought as the vulcan turned and activated the near-by intercom. "Surel here, what is it?"

*Sir, your wife is currently here and is requesting your presence...towards the angle of naming your future firstborn.*

At this, Surel's whole view suddenly and abruptly changed..

off: takes place after "Routine"

"Basic Training"

Eela (Ella Grey)
Ahn'vahr (Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen)

***

Talvalen
Red Sector

Ahn'vahr had been correct, the people that Eela had talked to nearly wet themselves when she asked about him. But at least they did tell her where to go.

Her body felt like ice as she pushed through the door - fear, not an uncommon emotion these days - but the dagger in her hand helped with that somewhat. She did not know what she had been expecting - but the room was completely barren of anything save for a wide array weapons.

There were only two pieces of furniture. The first was a floor mat where he probably slept and trained - the second a small table covered with various chemicals and equipment such as test tubes likely used to make poisons. The assassin himself, who had been standing at a space port looking at the stars, turned to look at her with surprise, probably because no one had ever dared to enter without knocking.

"Few," the man said by way of greeting, his dark voice grim, "Enter here armed and leave alive."

"Do you remember me?" Eela asked.

Ahn'vahr looked at her for a long moment before recognition dawned on his face, and his frame relaxed slightly. "Ah yes...the Princess Whore."

Eela scowled at that. "You said once you could help teach me things. I need the crash course."

He laughed. "A crash course to a life's work? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into exactly?"

"None of your business," She said. "Just teach me or I'll find someone else who will."

"Of course you will," Ahn'vahr mocked, "Since there are so many warriors sitting around this tin can waiting for pretty little things to run up to them and ask to be trained in the use of a blade." With an amused snort, he waved off the reply she was about to make, "But if I did say I would teach you then I will. How do you intend to pay me?"

Eela stiffened. "You didn't mention payment before."

"No," Ahn'vahr agreed with a grin, "I didn't. Your point?"

If only Mardek hadn't taken this assignment, she thought. Damn him. "What do you want?"

The assassin the side of his face burning with art as red as the sands of Vulcan, "I guess that depends. What can you offer a man like me, Princess Whore?"

She frowned, looking around the room and then at him. She could think of nothing, save herself and that wasn't something she was ready to part with. "I don't know."

"You sure? Volunteer something now...'cause if I have to make a demand, it'll be set in stone. And if I begin to want whatever it is my twisted mind comes up with ...I'll just take it by force."

Her grip tightened on the dagger. "I said I don't know what to offer you."

"Fine - then I will take...your first born."

Eela's eyes widened and she moved backwards. "Don't be absurd. Even if I ever had one, I would never just give my child away."

"It was a joke," Ahn'vahr replied with a roll of his eyes, though his tone remained mirthless. Then he paused, "Though if I could get my hands on a few children ... why, I could make a small army for myself. Hmm...that would be interesting...."

She raised her chin. "I have no time to waste playing your games. Go play with your drunks later. Teach me what I need to know now!"

The assassin sighed wearily, "Women," he muttered under his breath as he walked up to her. "You're sure you want this? It may sting a little."

Eela nodded. "I'm sure."

"Whatever you say, Princess," he replied with a wicked grin ... before her slapped viciously with the back of his hand, cutting open her lip and her sending her sprawling to the ground. "Aw. I'm sorry...did that hurt?"

Eela jumped back up, furious. "There's such a thing as warning when the lesson is to begin, you ass!"

"Right, right...yes, my fault, you see...." Then, again without warning, he hit the other side of her face.

She gasped but the pain was quickly overcome by the desire to kill a certain assassin. Unfortunately, Ahn'vahr eluded her attempted stabbing quite easily. Then he grabbed and twisted her wrist, wrenching the dagger from her and tossing it aside. As she stumbled passed him, the assassin actually had the time to pat her butt. "Nice and cute," he snickered, "And I would have thought all that sitting around would have worn it out, Princess."

Eela snarled something that would have made her father proud and then stamped her foot. "Stop that!"

"Make me."

So she tried to hit him again. And again. And again. It went on for some time...and by the end of it, she was on her ground, her lip bleeding, her face swollen and her slender frame covered with bruises. There were tears in her eyes now, mixed with anger and hatred, as she stared up at him. She did not attack though - it hurt too much to move now.

Ahn'vahr walked over to her and kicked her in the stomach gently, "Is that all you've got, Princess?"

Eela made a sound that was between a yelp and a moan. She wanted to be able to move, to show him that it wasn't, but her body had overcome her pride and had called for a time out.

"That was your first lesson," he instructed, circling her now, "When faced with a battle you cannot win...retreat. When faced by a foe with fighting ability vastly superior to your own...do not fight him, no matter how much you might desire it. Take your anger and use it. Find his other weaknesses - children, wives, property -and destroy those ... Or take him to your bed and stab him when he falls asleep. Beating some one up, as I just learned myself yet again, is satisfying ...but breaking them is better and sometimes you have to deny your emotions in order to fulfill their desires."

He sighed, as if made weary by that speech and hit the back of her head, "Fight with this first ...or you'll suffer. If you can't learn that, then go back home - let your daddy whore you out to someone for the rest of your life - and forget about fighting at all. You got that?"

"Got ... it," The girl groaned.

"Good. Well then...what are you sitting around for? Get up - time for your next lesson."

Eela nearly whimpered and almost begged him not to hurt anymore. But Ahn'vahr was the least likely person to take pity on her and she would not demean herself by doing so anyway so she sucked in a breath and pushed herself carefully off the floor.

She eyed him warily. "Next?"

"The basics, of course," Ahn'vahr replied, his voice frozen with cold contempt, "Let's start with stances...."

"A Not-So-Quiet Evening"

T'Pol (8-ball)

"So, tell me again," T'Pol said as she wiped green blood off of Taev's cheek. "WHY exactly did you find it necessary to bash that boy's head into the classroom wall?"

It had been a trying day. It had been a VERY trying day. In fact, trying just couldn't come close to describing it . . . fucktastic, that was the word. It had been a FUCKTASTIC day, really. And here she had come home, foolishly hoping for a quiet evening with her boys, where everyone used their inside voices, did their nightly chores, and failed to pick on their younger brothers.

A quiet evening. That was all she had wanted.

Instead, T'Pol came home to find one son bloody from a school fight, one son in trouble from GAMBLING on his brother's fight, and one son sick and throwing up on her shoes. No doubt this was the Elements' answer to her audacity for hoping. She should have known better. This was the ANTITHESIS of a quiet evening.

Taev grunted in response to her question. Taev, not a particularly communicative child by nature, had a tendency to descend into grunts and eye rolls when he was angry. Tal, on the other hand, was not bound by this non-verbal method of communication.

"You should have seen it, Mother," Tal said eagerly. Tal was sitting on the floor next to Rhion, who was already half-asleep despite the child that was practically bouncing next to him. "That Nnerhin didn't even know what hit him. If his stupid friends hadn't shown up, Taev wouldn't of got hurt at all." Tal grinned. "And even then he still kicked all their asses. It was completely totally awesome."

Taev, apparantly unimpressed with Tal's overenthusiastic pride in his kick-ass brother, glared darkly at him. T'Pol just raised an eyebrow. "So," she said, "knowing how awesome your brother is, you decided you could make some quick cash."

Tal shrugged. "Well, yeah," he said, and T'Pol had to suppress a smirk. Dammit, she was not supposed to be amused by her children's delinquent behavior, but Tal had a way about him. He was quite easily the slipperiest, charming boy she had ever met . . . and his sense of humor, far beyond his years, had a way of both getting him into trouble and saving him from true punishment.

Now Tal looked at her with what almost passed as an earnest expression on his face. "If Taev was going to do something bad anyway and there was nothing I could do to stop it . . . I should make SOMETHING good come out of it, shouldn't I?"

T'Pol laughed. She couldn't help it. She reached her hand down to Rhion's forehead, checking on his temperature, and Rhion blinked up sleepily at her. "Ma," he said.

She smiled softly at him. "How you feeling, baby?"

Rhion made a face. It was a patented 'I feel yuck' face; Rhion got sick more than either of her two children combined. T'Pol smoothed his hair back from his forehead and caught Taev glowering out of the corner of her eye.

"You still haven't told me why you did it, you know," T'Pol said to him.

Taev looked belligerently at the ground. He wasn't quite able to glare that directly at her yet, but give it a few more years and she suspected the boy's stubbornness would hit amazing new heights. "Doesn't matter," he said finally, looking at the floor as if it was it's fault. "I did it. It's done now. All there is to say."

The Elements preserve her. Could she have given birth to a MORE fatalistic boy? "Yes," she said calmly, "except for the reason why you did it."

"It doesn't matter," Taev said again.

"Does to me," T'Pol said firmly.

Taev shifted uncomfortably but refused to look up. Tal watched them for a minute, eyes going from his mother to his brother, until finally he could stand the silence no longer. At 37.5 seconds, this was quite a record for her second son. "I know why," Tal piped up loudly.

Taev quickly turned to glare at him. "You just shut up. Shut your big fat mouth."

"TAEV." Taev looked guiltily at her, closed his mouth, and then looked away. T'Pol sighed and then looked to Tal. "All right then," she said. "YOU tell me why your brother was in a fight."

"Cause of Father," Tal said, and T'Pol stopped breathing for a moment.

They didn't talk much about Aev, not since he died a year ago. Rhion didn't remember him, of course, and Taev absolutely refused to say anything about him at all. The only one who brought him up willingly was Tal, and he had a way of doing so at the most random moments when T'Pol had absolutely no way to prepare herself.

T'Pol had not been ready for this, so it took her a moment to steady herself. Unfortunately, Tal noticed. He began to look uncertain. "Mother?"

"It's okay," she told him instantly. She looked back at Taev who was watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Explain this to me," she said in a tone that did NOT brook refusal.

Taev opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it hesitatingly again. "Nnerhin, he's a boy in my class. He's a jerk. He always pushes other kids around just because he can. He knows he can get away with it. The teachers always let him get away with it."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"His Father."

~Ah~ T'Pol thought, ~one of those.~ She had known a few herself, when she had been in school. Bullies who knew that their powerful fathers could keep them out of any trouble. Bullies who threw their father's face in anyone and everyone born to less fortunate families. Aev, she knew, had suffered at the hands of such children when he was a boy in school.

Taev scowled. "He was picking on some kid and there was a teacher standing right there and she didn't do nothing. So I told him to stop and he said he didn't want to and I said I could make him. He didn't think I could because of his daddy but I don't care about his stupid Lord father. He's a jerk and it's not right. Father said-" Taev broke off immediately.

T'Pol felt herself swallow. ~Dammit, you are a mother first, remember that? Suck it up, you coward.~ "What did your Father tell you?"

"He said, he said you shouldn't pick on smaller kids. He said that it was mean, and he didn't want any of his sons to be mean."

Tal looked up from where he was sitting, playing sort of absently with some small toy. "You pick on me all the time and I'm much smaller than you!"

Taev rolled his eyes. "That's different," he said. "You're my brother. And anyway, I don't kick you like Nnerhin was kicking that kid."

"You hit me once."

"Because you BIT me! All because of that stupid toy!"

"It wasn't stupid and you shoulda shared!"

"It was MINE!"

"You still should have shared."

"You're still a dork."

"YOU'RE still-"

"Boys," T'Pol broke in before another fight could erupt. She had had enough of cleaning blood off of her children. "Why don't we get back to the matter at hand, shall we?" She looked back at Taev, who was still glaring at his brother. "What happened next?"

"I told him to meet me in the back of the school after class. We were supposed to be alone, no weapons, no back up. But course he cheated. So I told him he was a coward, hiding behind his daddy and behind his bigger friends, ane he didn't like that much." Here Taev hesitated, and T'Pol knew they'd reached the reason her son had come so close to killing this boy.

"What did he say about your father?" T'Pol asked him as softly.

Taev wouldn't look at her. "He said-at least his father was someone important, that he wouldn't die in some bathroom with, with a knife in his belly and . . . and . . .blubbering." Taev was crying now but he pushed the tears away angrily. "He said Father should never have been allowed on the upper decks, that the only reason he was was cause of you, and everyone knew it. Even though your family stayed behind, they were still-still noble. He said Father-Father was an animal and deserved what he got. And, and he hoped it happened to me and my disgusting brothers too."

Taev took a very deep breath, trying to keep from crying any more. It was the first time T'Pol had seen him cry since long before his father's death, but she was only barely conscious of that fact right then. Right then, she was wondering if it was such a bad idea to leave her three boys alone so she could beat that little child herself. Although more of her anger was directed at her dead husband.

~Dammit, Aev~ she thought for only the millionth time since he died. ~How could you do this to us? How could you do this to your son?~

T'Pol's father had not been pleased with her choice of husband, but he had believed in marrying for love, so he allowed her to marry Aev despite his lower background. T'Pol knew she kept in contact with many of his friends from the lower decks; in fact, that was why the built the restaurant where they did. It was sort of a midway ground between the middle and the lower classes, where people could eat and drink together. T'Pol knew Aev had some shady connections. . . she just never thought he was stupid enough to get killed by them.

But he had and now she was here with her bloodied and crying oldest son.

T'Pol pulled Taev close to her, and when he predictably resisted, she pulled him harder. She motioned for Tal to come closer to and Rhion, who was a little more awake now. "Let me tell you about your father," she said. "He was a very good man, and how he died-he didn't deserve that. Nobody deserves to die alone." Except for the man who killed him, but T'Pol had no idea of knowing who that was.

"Your father wasn't born to a noble family, but he did good things in his life. He worked hard and he loved his children and nothing anybody says will ever change that. So the next time anyone ever says anything like that to you . . . well, it'll be your choice how to react to it. You can beat up every boy who says something mean, but that's giving them a lot more energy than they deserve. But whether you fight them or laugh at them or just walk away, you have to promise me something. You promise me this."

"What, Mother?" Taev said.

"You promise me," she said, "that no matter what they say, you never believe them. Never believe that your dad was nothing. Never believe that YOU are nothing. Because you have no idea how special you are and how proud I am of you. The only thing that can make you trash is if YOU believe that you are."

Tal looked at her very seriously; that was a rare moment, all in its own. "I promise, Mother," he said, and she nodded and looked at Taev.

"I promise," he said and they stayed quiet for a little while as T'Pol put on the rest of his bandages.

It was Tal, naturally, who broke the silence. "So," he said. "We aren't in trouble?"

T'Pol sighed. "No, I suppose you're not. I can't entirely blame Taev for what he did . . . and if those other children were stupid enough to bet against your brother, I can't exactly blame you for having faith in him. Although, somehow, that seems entirely wrong. Maybe I should at least take your toys away for a day."

Tal didn't seem to approve of this plan. "Not ALL of them," he said, and T'Pol smirked.

"I don't know," she said. "You were pretty bad today."

"What about just this one? I don't really like it anyway."

"Well, if you don't like it, then it's not much of a punishment."

Tal grinned. "I know I'm getting punished," he said, "so that's punishment enough, right? So it doesn't really matter what the punishment actually is."

T'Pol laughed and shook her head. She couldn't win arguments against her 6 year old son. "What's that toy you're playing with anyway? Why don't you like it?"

"It's like what a doctor uses to make people better," Tal said. "But I don't want to be a doctor. That's no fun. Maybe I'll be a fighter pilot. That'd be awesome!" He looked at his baby brother who was cuddling against one of his legs. "Maybe I should give it to Rhion," he said. "If he was a doctor, maybe he wouldn't get sick all of the time."

Tal put the toy in one of Rhion's chubby hands. Rhion, delighted with this new toy, immediately began to chew on it.

Taev snorted. "At least he didn't put it up his nose."

Tal looked at T'Pol. "See, Mother? I'm good. I SHARE my toys. More than some OTHER brothers I know."

Taev rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's not sharing if you don't LIKE the toy."

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is-"

"BOYS."

Tal broke off but only for a second. "Maybe YOU should shove it up your nose."

"Maybe you should shove it up your ASS."

"Maybe you ARE an ass."

Rhion giggled. "Ass," he said and then immediately started to look green again. "Uck," he said before throwing up on his new toy.

~Yup~ T'Pol thought. ~Another quiet evening with her three boys.~

~OOC~ 'Oh! Forgive! I here am new!' But seriously, I simply could not think of a title, and left it as "witty" as I could. ~Eric

"Witty Title Here"

V'Tana (Eve)
Levek (Artim)

=========

Three months ago Levek wouldn't have believed he'd be happily married to anyone. Most especially he didn't think he'd be happily married to the person at the time that was probably the biggest geek on the ship. In fact, once he'd gotten to know V'Tana, he actually began to like her. His father was still riding him about joining the military wing but fortunately now he had to come knock on Levek's door to bug him about that. For right now he was comfortable with his new wife. Hopefully the feeling was mutual.

After a hard day of doing some of the tests needed to join the officer training program, Levek was looking forward to a quiet night with a carafe of wine and some music. Hopefully V'Tana would feel likewise.

V'tana, on the other hand, hadn't heard much from her parents ever since she moved into her new home with Levek. Her father kept in contact with a visit once every week or two, but from her mother next to nothing. Ungrateful woman, V'tana groused as she washed up from a day's work in the ship's engine section. While not the brilliant tech in the bunch, it was obvious she was one of the more naturally gifted. Being of a Noble House only helped her position there. Looking up at a clock the girl let off a curse. Levek would be home soon, fresh from the latest battery of tests being thrown his way. He had admitted on more than one occasion that he wouldn't have passed some of the exams without her help - she was his perfect counterpoint - her analyses to his impulsiveness, her mind to his heart. Her logic to his intuition. It worked out well, much better than she had ever imagined.

The sharing wasn't all one sided, Levek had rubbed off on his bride as well. She was no longer the reclusive technophile he had first been betrothed to, he had shown her the power of one's inner humanity, how to care for someone beyond their immediate usefulness. He had shown her how to truly love.

She'd also learned his habits and usual desires and as such, had something prepared for him. Soft music sounded through their abode, and a reasonably fine vintage was made ready - nothing coarse, but not too expensive as to be over luxurious. Just right for the occasion.

Levek heard the music the moment he walked into their quarters and nodded in approval even before he spoke.

"My dear I am home."

Despite his rather cheerful voice it wouldn't take a mind meld to know he was exhausted. Normally he'd make some affectionate gesture but this evening he simply walked over to his favorite chair and plopped down in it. Sweat ran down his temples like rain on a stormy night. Though he was making some effort to hide it there was a slight tear in his silvery tunic surrounded by a bright green stain. He took several deep breaths and let the soft music calm him down some.

There was no hiding anything from V'tana, he should have known this even after only three months. She had a sharp eye and green simply did not match silver. Not to mention the tear in the fabric distorted the inlaid pattern enough to make is obvious, to her at least. Any other girl would have rushed to his side, pampering him, asking him if he was alright, did it hurt, and all sorts of useless questions. V'tana did none of these. She removed herself from the main room, returning shortly with an aid kit and a bowl of warm water with a washcloth floating within. Kneeling down next to the chair, she opened Levek's tunic and began to clean the wound. It was superficial, piercing the skin but doing no real damage to the tissues underneath. "You'll have a good scar here," she commented, rinsing out the cloth and continuing her ministrations. "Might remind you to roll instead of duck, or whatever it is you did that got you this." There was no harshness in her words or tone, just a simple observation of fact.

Levek shrugged at V'Tana's words and grinned a bit, "I still won and passed the trial. And a scar is the warriors badge of honor. I should wear it proudly."

While he knew his father would be proud that he said that, he didn't buy it and V'Tana knew that. Levek didn't really enjoy this and V'Tana was really the only one he could admit it too. He'd much rather be working on his painting. When Levek finally spotted the carafe he poured himself a glass of the wine and took a big sip as he leaned back in his chair. His now exposed torso sported a couple small bruises in addition to the now bandaged cut on his pelvis.

"Nice choice my dear. I get a couple days off before the last couple tests, though they're only formalities. They'd admit a gespar slug if it was named Valnost. Still, it will give me time to rest and spend some time with you." Levek smiled at the last line, he was clearly excited by the prospect.

"And what do you have planned in that emotional mind of yours," she inquired curiously as she went about disposing of the water and other left over medical materials.

Levek chuckled at the suggestion. True he knew more then one man that would want to spend most of the next couple days making love to his new bride. However, it had been three months and they hadn't yet consummated the marriage. As much as he didn't want to rush things, well, things were as they were.

"Well, I hear they just harvested a nice new crop of Verat down in the gardens. There's a particular tasty dish that can only be made a few days after they're picked. I'll make a nice dinner tomorrow night, and, well, I got a couple other surprises in mind."

Truth be told, it was no surprise she was a virgin. Daughter of a noble house aside, she would still have maintained such a status due to her technical tendencies. Rape would have been the only possible way, but she hung around enough of the burly techs that any would-be rapists knew better than to tag her as a mark - their very life support depended upon the Technicians, so it was best not to rouse their ire.

"So, what do you think my love?" Levek inquired.

V'tana nodded, rising up to settle on his lap, her head resting on his left shoulder. He did cook some of the best dishes she'd tasted, to be sure. "What kind of surprises?" He certainly knew she enjoyed the occasional bit of mischief.

Levek smiled slightly as V'Tana settled on his lap and he continued in a soft romantic voice.

"I've been doing some interesting reading about some ancient...massage techniques. Like this one for example, I can't pronounce the name properly but its supposed to be quite...soothing."

As he spoke his hands started massaging V'tana's neck slowly and expertly as if he'd done it before. He hadn't but he was a good study.

She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips as Levek's hands began working out the kinks in her muscles. She didn't know he had never done this before, but from the way his fingers deftly sought out each knot, slowly and carefully easing her into a state of relaxed bliss, she would never be able to tell.

Levek smiled as V'tana slipped into a relaxed state. As he worked out from the neck and down to the shoulders he said softly, "I love you V'tana. I never thought I would, but I do. I wouldn't know what to do if you were gone."

"I love you too Levek," she returned, melting in his arms. V'tana had never felt like this before. Granted she'd had massages but not like this. This was from someone she was in love with, and married to, and somehow that made it that much more of a special thing.

--"Mesmerized" - Part 2

Kythus (Keldan),
Civilian Salara (NPC)

Talvalen, 25 Years After Launch

Kythus always found the quiet of his workshop settling, with the low hum of the air cooling unit the only distraction from the crackle of his welding torch. The Civic Council had already delayed the unveiling of his project once. He doubted they would be so accommodating a second time. But there would be no further delays. Their statue was nearing completion and he was certain they would not be disappointed with his efforts.

His guest had finally begun to stir. Laid out on the couch at the far end of his workshop, he'd been able to keep a close eye on her throughout the night as he worked. She would probably be angry once she realized where she was and what had happened, but then, he hadn't asked her to come nosing around.

"Who are you and why have you brought me here," she demanded, albeit somewhat groggily.

Kythus laid his polycetylene torch on a nearby bench and flipped his welding visor up. "If I were you I wouldn't worry a whole lot about who I am, exactly. It isn't really that important." He began pulling off his gloves. "And as for where you are, well, right now you are on subdeck 4, about 50 meters from where I found you…unconscious, flat on your back in the rear of the tertiary maintenance elevator. I'm not sure how you got there, but you looked pretty roughed up."

"I was chasing a couple of thieves through the commerce level. I thought I had them cornered in the elevator, but apparently they got the jump on me."

"Apparently. Judging by the white powder, I'd say you got caught in a spray of 'dream dust'. It is apparently all the rage on the lower decks these days, but some have found more applied uses for it. I imagine you were down before you knew what was happening."

"My name is Salara, by the way. Officer Salara."

Kythus pulled the visor off his head and laid it next to his torch on the workbench. "I know who you are, Officer. I've seen you around. You're with the civilian security force, and your job is to make sure that those people who live on the lower decks don't cause problems for the ones who live on top of them."

Salara rubbed her temples, trying to massage out the obvious pain. "Actually, my job is to stop criminals and keep the residential and commercial blocks as safe as I possibly can."

Kythus looked at her blankly. "Right. Well, Officer Salara, you're pretty far off from the residential and the commercial blocks now, so I advise you to watch your step when you walk through those doors. I can think of any number of people who would take great pleasure from meting out their own brand of justice on someone from the upper decks, regardless of how noble their intentions might be."

Salara stood up, stretching. Kythus found himself staring at the Officer's physique, finding it more than satisfactory. He'd seen more than enough overfed bureaucrats in his dealings with the Civic Council to suit him, so this was indeed a refreshing divergence. But he still had work to do. There would be plenty of time for daydreaming later.

Salara surveyed the workshop. "I know you. You must be Kythus, that crazy artist the Council hired."

Kythus allowed himself a smile. "I'm flattered. Although, I would say that my being crazy is a matter of some debate…and let me state for the record that I, for one, do not believe myself to be crazy. At least, not as crazy as some other members of the community would have you believe."

Salara walked over toward him and his workbench. Scattered along its surface were the notes and sketches he had done during the course of his work-in-progress. She picked up each in turn, studying them carefully. Kythus felt a twang of irritation at her boldness…the unveiling was supposed to be a surprise, after all, and only select members of the Council had seen his preliminary drafts. But her interest seemed genuine and more than simply casual. She seemed to treat each sheaf of his scribblings as if it were some holy codex. He found himself waiting in anticipation for her assessment.

Salara took several long looks at the drafts, and then at the completed sections of the sculpture, now awaiting final assembly.

"I like it. Elegant yet powerful. I think the Council will be extremely pleased with their new centerpiece for the commercial district. You know, the style is very reminiscent of klezmari…strong, bold lines."

Kythus was more than pleasantly surprised….he was stunned. "The style I have been developing is based on the klezmari, but reworked for my own purposes." He looked at her cautiously. "The klezmari is an ancient artistic style. Where, may I ask, did you learn of it?"

Salara smiled broadly. "My great-grandfather was a curator at the Museum of Fine Arts in Fel'thok City. I spent many hours gazing at the pieces in the collection, with my great-grandfather telling the history and story of each in turn. There were many klezmari pieces, but mostly small sculptures and stylized paintings. I've never seen a work as large as yours done with such a distinctive style."

"I'm glad you like it. The Council wanted a symbol of unity. I've done my best to supply them with one that will hopefully withstand the test of time aboard Talvalen."

Salara began carefully arranging the drawings, sketches and notes on the workbench. "Your father must be very proud of the honor you've been bestowed with on this project."

All sense of pride and esteem seemed to immediately evaporate to Kythus. "What do you mean, 'my father'?"

"Mesmerized" - Part 3

Kythus (Keldan),
Civilian Salara (NPC)

Talvalen, 25 Years After Launch

"Isn't Vice-Chancellor Althus your father?"

Kythus scowled at the mention of his father's name. "You know, I think I found it much more flattering when you called me 'crazy.'"

"I'm sorry," she replied, rather matter-of-fact. "I take it you and your father don't exactly see eye-to-eye."

"My father spends too much time staring at the stars to look me in the eye." He continued, "My father believes," and his tone took on that of a well-rehearsed soliloquy, "that through hard work, and loyalty, and dedicated service, that even the unwashed among us can aspire to greatness on this ship."

"And you don't?"

"What I believe is that there are three totally separate communities on this ship, Salara. One that is run by the nobles and their personal military, and one that is run by the civilians and protected by your esteemed defense forces."

"And the third?"

"Everybody else, just trying to survive."

"Is that what you're doing down here among the 'unwashed'? Surviving?"

"No, here is where I do my work. The gutter trash around here leave me alone because they know if they don't, I'll find them. And when I find them, I'll hurt them. It's a very equitable relationship. They don't bother me, and I don't hurt them."

"So you hole yourself up in this filthy place with only your work to keep you company?"

"It is preferable to putting on facades, which is what my father does best with his endless politicking. Here is where I do my best thinking. Here is where I am free to do my work, at my own pace. There is no one looking over my shoulder…and no one telling me what I can and cannot do. I am not here because of some tragic sense of loss or because being the 'reclusive artist' is somehow ennobling. I'm here because I choose to be. It is as simple as that."

"That sounds awful lonely to me."

Kythus smiled at her weakly. "It is sometimes." After an awkward silence, he picked up his welding visor and donned it, and then proceeded to pull on his work gloves. "Help yourself to food if you're hungry. Feel free to use the sonic shower, but be sure to keep your mouth shut if you've had dental work. There's a short in the sonic inducer and you'd be in for a nasty surprise."

"Thanks," she replied, "but I really need to check in." She began walking toward the doors of his workshop. "And thank you for…watching over me last night. I am indebted for your kindness." Before he had an opportunity to argue, she continued. "I'll see you at the unveiling, then? Perhaps afterward we can get together and discuss klezmari and your future projects."

"I…I'd like that."

"I look forward to it," she said, smiling as she let the door slide closed behind her.

Kythus grabbed his torch and flipped his visor down, gladdened that she couldn't see his own smile or know just how much he looked forward to it as well.

"The House of Raal"

Talvath Raal, Commanding Officer, Talvalen (Robert Mathieson)
Siena, his wife (Faylin McAlister)
Sakonna, his daughter (Tarin Iniara)

Rihannsu Colony Ship "Talvalen", House Raal Quarters
=========================================

Once again it surprised Sakonna just how much her father had aged recently. Talvath Raal's military-cut hair was now more grey than black, and he seemed to perform his duties with noticeably less vigor since the exodus from Vulcan almost five cycles ago. His shoulders bent slightly, bearing the full weight of his century's life - especially the burden of what Surak's fools were now calling the "Time of Awakening", the terrible battles were fought, and sundering that resulted. Still, his judgments remained sound and his command without weakness and the ship continued to bear its makers for a new, better homeworld.

"Jolan'tru, my daughter. Sit." Talvath gestured to one of two plush chairs before him. "There are things long overdue we must discuss concerning your future." The Captain's gruff voice was low and serious, but a slight smile at the edge of his mouth betrayed the pride and love he felt for his youngest, and now only child.

"Jolan'tru, Father," Sakonna replied, quietly slipping into one of the chairs. Folding her hands in her lap she gazed up at her father with a look that was a mixture of curiosity and complete reverence.

Sakonna's mother entered the room with the look of utter wisdom of years upon her face. Nodding gracefully to Talvath, Siena placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder and squeezed gently. Smoothing out the back of her long skirt, the woman sat in the other chair and regarded the two before speaking. "Jolan'tru, daughter....husband..." The look in her eyes for him conveyed their history together and also the utmost respect for her husband.

A long moment passed between them. Sakonna loooked to her mother, then back to her father, head unconsciously cocking to the side as she tried to puzzle out the situation. When she spoke again her voice was quiet, almost fearful. "Have I done something wrong, Father?"

"What makes you think you have?" Talvath asked, his grin widening. "Have you done something that would displease us?"

The girl shook her head slowly. "No, Father, I would not dream of such a thing," she replied. Had he found out about the time she had been spending in Engineering with Sub-Lieutenant Sepek? Sepek had been helping her with a personal project; would that have displeased her father? She didn't think so, but...one could never be certain.

Talvath's face opened to a full, warm smile. "No - you've done nothing wrong Sakonna. Quite the opposite - you've done nothing other than make us very proud. These times have been difficult, but you've borne the challenges with both grace and courage. No parent could be more pleased."

"I am honored by your words, Father," Sakonna replied, beaming.

"We have asked you here to discuss your future," Sakonna's father said as he leaned forward towards his daughter. "Time has passed quickly on the ship, but some events have not gone unnoticed. You approach the age of majority in the next few jeirn, and to prepare for that day, your mother and I have... made a favorable arrangement."

She leaned slightly back in her chair, the woman's thoughts awash with her daughter's betrothed. What the caliber of those thoughts were at this present time, remained hidden from view and benefited only herself and a few select others that were privileged to know her ominous plan. "A husband of notable character has been selected for you." Siena's voice remained overly calm as she spoke. Her focused turned to memorizing her daughter's reaction to the news. Everything was detailed, down to the last expression Siena found herself executing.

A look of surprise crossed Sakonna's face, the expression quickly changing to excitement tinged with a bit of nervousness. A betrothal was often the most monumental life event for a girl of her age, and Sakonna was no different. A million thoughts flashed through her head. He would no doubt be an honorable man, with a strong sense of duty. But would he be tall, handsome and strong? Would he cherish and love her until the end of their days?

She suddenly found that she couldn't keep the rising excitement inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, and then spoke. "Who is he? What is the name of his House?"

"He is Chulak of the House of Vardek - Sulaed's son," her father said proudly, amused by his daughter's nervousness. "A worthy family of some importance. He is of the correct age, and the elders of the Clan speak highly of him."

"Chulak..." Sakonna echoed, savoring the feel of his name on her tongue. It was a strong name, she thought.

"Well worthy of such a daughter as you are." Siena spoke, her voice dripping with kindness. Her gaze shifted once again to her husband.

"He is..." Sakonna's voice trailed off as she retreated into her thoughts, trying to remember where she had heard the name before. Had Sepek spoken of him before? Perhaps...

"He is the son of Sulaed, our Chief Engineer," she concluded after a moment. "Then he would be a engineer also?"

"Yes, specifically certain systems responsible for life support on this very ship." Siena's shoulders squared a little, her face holding more than a slight knowledge of the man she spoke of presently.

"An important position, no doubt." Sakonna looked back to her father. "Will I meet him soon?"

Talvath leaned back into the padding of his chair eyes wide. "Are you so eager to leave the company of your parents? Do we embarrass you so?" The indignation on the Captain's face would have been more convincing if he could have restrained his grin. "Is tomorrow to your liking?"

Sakonna nodded eagerly, trying in vain to keep the color from creeping into her cheeks. She hadn't meant it like that... "Tomorrow is perfect, Father," she responded with a smile. Her mind was racing now...there was so much to do to prepare!

Istaya (Elissa Skylark)

"A Cold Wind Descends"

= The Eagle's Perch =

The stirring in the air felt real, the breeze light against her face, and for the briefest of moments Istaya thought she was back home and atop a high mountain. Such were the amenities of the highest decks. She opened her eyes and glanced down at the table. Her drink was half empty, and her patience less so. It was considered highly rude to be kept waiting for even a few minutes, but this long... something was wrong. She immediately turned when the door slid open, felt a cold chill down her spine as the temperature fluctuated ever so briefly, and watched angrily as a servant walked over to her table.

"Lady Istaya?"

"Speak your business."

"I am tasked with giving you this," the servant reached into his pocket, and her hand swiftly went to her side. When he pulled out folded parchment, she let her grip ease. It was sealed with wax, but no family crest.

She stared at it. "You may leave," she muttered, and picked the letter up, studying it's corners. When the door opened and closed again, she slid her finger along the fold and broke the seal.

'Istaya -

Perhaps our initial consideration of a marriage between our two families was hastily conjured. I have decided to soundly reject the suggestion that Kaleh and your daughter are compatible, considering not only the disparity in caste but recent illicit affairs that have come to my attention. I thought it best to notify you by these means. Electronic communication would not the the wisest choice, but the least I wanted to do for you - and for your late husband - was warn you to take up your things and leave. Even now, word of a contract sealed in blood has passed into our knowledge. Consider our affairs permanently ended. Do not seek us out again. Go deep into hiding, and maybe you and your daughter will survive crossing the enemies of Valen. May the elements grant you speed and wisdom. You will need it against the one called Ahn'vahr.

- Lady Tyrande'

The sound of Istaya's chair clattering to the floor startled the rest of the restaurant's patrons. She left the peaceful facade of the Eagle's Perch, knowing she would never set foot in it again, and fled below as fast as her two feet could carry her.

= Istaya's Personal Quarters = = Minutes Later... =

"Lorel'ei!"

Her daughter ran into the living area, and Istaya took only the briefest of moments to catch her breath. She knew. She knew how close they were, and she could tell in her daughter's eyes that the girl would not be spared this fear. "I'm here, nan'ha."

"Gather a small bag. We won't be coming back." The tone in her voice was enough to get Lorel'ei moving.

The girl moved to the pantry. "What's going on?"

"I've made a terrible mistake, and they're coming for me. I can defend against them easier if you're not here."

"Who?"

"Assassins."

Lorel'ei stopped packing and walked up to her mother. "I can help."

"You will. By running." Istaya marched into her room and pulled her cloak out of the closet. Flipping it so the red was on the inside, she draped it across Lorel'ei's shoulders. She paced to her bed and threw the pillow aside, picking up a dagger resting below it. "Use this only if you must. You are better off running from threats than facing them, Lorel'ei."

The girl held the dagger firmly in her hand, but Istaya could see the subtle shake as her beautiful daughter's grip wavered. "I remember the smells, nan'ha."

"That was a long time ago. It is past."

Lorel'ei shook her head. "The smells of war... the weird place. I was lost in the temple, but it was in ruins, and there he..."

"Your father," Istaya finished. "Your father found you, and led you home."

Lorel'ei sniffed. "That's not how I remember it, nan'ha. I remember..."

"Foolish thoughts of a little girl!" Istaya snapped, and Lorel'ei's pleading wet eyes looked at her mother. She didn't hesitate, and pulled her daughter in for a fierce embrace. The girl felt so gentle and vulnerable in her arms. This world was not for her. "I'm sorry, a'rhea. Your father led you home. Hold on to that. He will lead you to safety, even in death."

"Where do I go?"

Istaya held her for a moment in silence. "Take the service tunnel in the floor of the closet. When you get to the end, there is a panel with three lights. Switch the breaker. Then keep moving, and don't stop. Go to the Temple two decks below and ask them for sanctuary. I will find you."

"What if you die?"

"I will not die, a'rhea. That is a promise." She kissed her daughter. "Now go."

Lorel'ei slid the dagger into her bag, and pulled the hood over her head. "Don't forget the breaker, Lorel'ei." The wisp of a girl nodded, and the hatch shut behind her. Istaya closed the closet door and pulled her sword from it's sheath. She walked into the main room, regulated her breathing, and waited.

They came soon enough, and in numbers. It was as she expected; a member of the elite guard was not an easy mark. The door lock was overcome, and the assassins moved in, each with blades of their own. A tall one remained hooded in secret, at the back. Ahn'vahr, she suspected. Istaya lifted her sword, and they approached carefully. She kept her eyes closed, relying on her other senses, moving just enough to give them even further pause.

"Grown accustomed to the light?" Istaya asked calmly. The tall one nodded, a smile on his face, and the room filled with darkness. Lorel'ei had reached the breaker, too far away now to hear their agonizing screams. "Good," Istaya breathed.

Cold blades glimmered in the near-dark as they began to clash.

"A Blade In The Dark"

Istaya (Elissa Skylark)

with
Ahn'vahr (Aerv Laehval tr'Ahalaen)

= Istaya's Quarters =

Before the darkness fell, she made sure the last thing they saw was the formal guardsman's stance. That was as far as the formality would go. Istaya moved, one foot in front of the other, to the side of her living area, tracking the slight changes in air and smell.

A blade descended swiftly.

Her's was already there to meet it. The sound of metal crashing against metal filled the room, and she wasted no time dropping formal style for the quick and lethal sort. It was the first thing you learned in close quarters - combat could not spare chivalry and fair play. Her foot came up into the attacker's groin, and as soon as his grip slackened, she twisted her blade and felt the soft, choppy resistance of skull as her blade found it's mark.

Pulling back, Istaya dashed across the room, using her memory of the place to leap into the pantry. Back slamming against the wall, she cut her momentum faster than the next one had planned for, and thrust her blade into his stomach, spilling his insides to the floor.

She threw her blade against the next shadow, but this one was better prepared. It sidestepped with the speed of a jungle cat, and lunged forward, cutting her sword-arm clean across, but not hitting bone. Swallowing her cry of pain, Istaya clenched her fist and swung into the attacker's jaw, using her other hand to grapple her opponent's hilt.

He didn't let go.

She didn't want him to. Pulling him with all her strength, Istaya lined the assassin up for his own mate's blade.

That left three of them. Her skill had somewhat faded all these long years in the deep of space, and Istaya felt just a twinge of fear that she would not survive this encounter.

Emergency lights kicked in well before she had hoped they would. Shielding her eyes, she backed into the corner. Only one of the assassins spotted her immediately, and moved to down his unarmed foe. Her hand grabbed behind her back, and pulled out swiftly. He was expecting another blade, and his judgment was fatal as a preserved food canister swung into his face, breaking his nose.

Istaya spun into him, locked his arm under her armpit, and bit flesh off of the hand. he dropped the sword, and she ducked low to catch it. Twisting her wrist, she backed into him full force, piercing through his torso with the blade. He slumped to the ground, and she barely had time to see the blade swinging for her neck.

The only female assassin pressed her attack, and Istaya nearly dodged the wrong way, but tripped over the spilled entrails. Going limp, she angled herself to scissor-kick the woman and trip her. The woman's head hit the ground, and she lay there stunned. Istaya grabbed her hair up, and slammed the head down onto hard metal, finishing the job.

The hooded man just smiled as he walked over calmly to her. He held his blade up.

Istaya grinned spitefully. "Think highly of yourself, do you?"

He shrugged, not a care in the world.

"You wasted a lot of your charges on me, Ahn'vahr." To this he laughed, appreciating a joke she could not comprehend. She kept talking, allowing herself time to come to her feet. "The stories of your skill are legend," Istaya cajoled. "Good for me."

"How so?" he asked quietly.

"It means you left survivors." Istaya pushed off the wall and brought her sword forward, charging. He sidestepped her, but she was prepared for it and deflected his counterattack. "There's a reason no one has heard of my prowess," she added, blade locking with his.

He shook his head and broke the lock with a fierce shove. They stood mere paces from each other, circling carefully, each gauging the enemy with a great deal of thought.

Their swords met loudly, and again, and again, creating such noise that she was sure now the entire ship could be aware of her plight. It saddened her, because she knew, regardless of how this ended, her plans were lost... her status, gone. All she had now was her daughter.

That, she decided, was more than enough.

Their blades sang with each blow, and his skill was impressive, but Istaya noticed him favoring his side, and when she had the opening, she jabbed it with her free hand. Ahn'vahr stumbled back, scowled, and fell upon her like death itself, ever the more ferocious. She feinted the next few swings, and gave ground like she was losing... which she very well could be. He sliced her wounded arm, and it fell to her side, more weight than she could bear without screaming nerves.

When his blade rose in the air in preparation for a killing blow, Istaya thrust hers up and into his arm, striking the nerve cluster there. She screamed at the pain it caused her wounded arm. His sword clattered to the ground and she spun her blade down to hamstring him.

Falling to his knees, the tall man grunted in pain. "You've failed, Anh'vahr." Istaya yanked his hood off.

The dark-haired man wore a satisfied smile. "No, he hasn't."

= Below =

Ahn'vahr tracked the girl to a silent darkness. He waited, in this unknown place, until she finally felt safe in the conviction that she was alone. He watched, barely breathing, as Lorel'ei the Daughter of Istaya calmed herself and hid. Then, when the wild heart of his prey was lulled into a quiet music, the assassin with white hair moved...and Lorel'ei died.

There was no time to recognize death. It did not announce itself. It, like its bearer, said not a word. With his artful blades, instead, Ahn'vahr painted himself a sublime picture.

= Istaya's Quarters =

As the realization of the master assassin's feint hit her, Istaya paled and stepped back. She left the assassin where he was and stumbled into the hallway, looking both ways, lost. Her heart felt as if it had stopped cold. There was an absence in her mind where a deep bond had existed even moments before.

"No."

The blade she held clattered to the deck, and she moved quickly, toward raised voices coming from the nearby. She barely noticed a young man run up to her, followed by another, who spoke in servile tones. "Master Kaleh, you should not be here."

Kaleh caught Istaya's arm, stopping her. "La... Istaya. In what dark places have you been walking?"

Her eyes raised to him, but she perceived neither his stature, nor his face. "Lorel'ei."

He shook his head. "Better if you do not see."

"Master, your father...!"

"Silence, fool, or I will cut your tongue!" Kaleh turned back to Istaya, eyes accusing and bloodshot. "I don't know whether to blame you or pity you."

She noticed the crowd of people gathered just outside the temple. The servant's voice was stern. "She brought this upon herself, young master. Now we must leave before your parents realize where you are."

Kaleh's gaze dropped to the floor, and he nodded slowly. His fist clenched tightly. Istaya grabbed him by the wrist with her good arm and held it until the fist opened and he relented. "Now go," she managed, and Kaleh left with the servant.

She pulled her heavy legs with each step, and saw what Ahn'vahr had wrought... no... what she had wrought, upon her own daughter. She could barely recognize the girl, but for the unused dagger lying in a pool of green, and the mingling of blood with her cape. Istaya fell to her knees and held her daughter in wary arms, and wept a river, paralyzed by her own sadness.

The crowd dispersed as the sound of military officers' boots approached.

She had just enough clarity of mind to know that, at best, she would face arrest and discommendation. Grabbing the cloak from her daughter's back, she kissed her a final time, and set out for the Deep, to lose herself on the bitter winds.

[Set in the first phase, within the first decade of launch.]

---

"Puppy Love"

Lirel (Madden Jayce)
Kharvre (Cutter Kara'nin)

---

The ship had developed into a city of sorts, contained within the metal hulls. And like a city, the main thoroughfare was almost always bustling. It stretched out through the center deck of the ship, from stem to stern, situated to be accessible to everyone regardless of their caste either above or below its divisionary line. The thoroughfare was decorated with shops, carts, places to eat; at one end was the public medical access, at the other was one of the many arboretums with public gardens. During the "day", members of the military security teams would patrol and while there was still some crime, it was almost always just pick-pocketing or shoplifting. During the "night" was a different story; there would still be some military patrols, but even they could be dangerous. Curfews were established a few years earlier, and it was generally believed anyone out beyond that was asking for trouble.

After her responsibilities at the Water Temple, which was situated closer to the clinic with the rest of the places of worship, Lirel liked to walk the area quietly, watching the people around her going about their business. She walked like she was taught to, her hands folded, right over left, then settled close to her body a few inches below her bust line. There was a more open area at the middle juncture, and there were several benches, tables and stools settled there. Lirel would sit on one, nestled away so as to give her a good view of everyone and she would watch for hours until the curfew began to approach and it was time for her to return to the temple for evening chores and then go on up to her quarters for meals.

"Hello, Lirel."

She turned at the familiar voice, tucking a piece of hair from her eyes as she looked at the kind face of the boy. He was about her age, though they'd never specifically spoken of it.

"Hello, Kharvre."

He climbed over the bench and sat down next to the priestess' apprentice, plopping a cloth bag down on the floor. Its contents rattled and jostled with the sound of plastic. "How are you?" he asked.

"I am well," she said, her eyes drifting down to the bag at their feet. "What is this?"

His eyes perked at the question and he smiled. "Soap," he said, pulling out a clear plastic tub. Inside were several pieces of off-white lumps, glistening moistly in the ambient light. He shook the tub slightly, and the oily matter slid and sloshed around. "Or, it will be soap."

"Really?" she murmured, leaning her face closer to the tub, looking at the lumps. She bit her lower lip, eyes narrowing before she touched one with the tip of her index finger. "What is it now?"

"It's tallow, from Silik," he said, pointing to a restaurant across the thoroughfare. They were all familiar with the place. It was one of two places that sold meat. The amount of livestock on the ship was small, and providing meat was a secondary function, at best. The livestock either produced eggs or milk, and wool. When they were slaughtered, because it was so rare, the meat usually went only to those in the higher castes, leaving those on the lower decks living off a largely vegetarian diet. "They slaughtered a goat yesterday and he's giving the fat to T'Pana," he explained, referring to a cleric in the temple system.

"She's going to teach me how to make soap. Oh!" he exclaimed and fell back into his bag. He pulled out another container. This one was full of white flowers. He opened the lid and pulled one out. "And we're scenting it with orange blossoms," he said, then looked at the flower awkwardly for a moment, as if working up the courage, before handing it to Lirel. "For you."

Her mouth pulled into a grin as she carefully took the flow, smelling it. "That's good," she said, "because just like that, it wouldn't make very good soap. Why use it if it'd just make you smell worse?" She smiled.

"Silik also gave me the used bones from the last goat," he said, flashing them to Lirel from inside the bag. Again, because the animals were so prized, all parts of them were used. The bones were saved and made into stews. These had likely lost all flavor and deemed garbage. "I'm going to carve them into something."

She couldn't help her nose wrinkling. As with most women being trained for a life devoted to the elements, she kept a diet free of any animal products. Once she took her vows, the purer would be available to her: milk and fish primarily. If it was available.

"What are you going to carve?" she asked, her fingers twisting the flower's stem gently, the smell seeping onto her skin.

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. I've never carved bone before. Only wood. Probably something easy, like Sekh," he suggested, referring to the immortal reptilian god that devoured the katras of the wicked.

She was silent, chewing on her lower lip absently as she stared out over the Middle Passage.

"I helped again with a Welcoming," she said, looking over to him. "I like it. It's nice to see that happen. There's so much dark stuff here sometimes, it's nice to see the water blessing us with new life."

"Saeyas blowing the breath of life?" the boy asked spontaneously.

She could ignore the first reference, but a second was impossible and her forehead creased as she looked at him, her eyes narrowing.

"Saeyas. Saeyas has nothing to do with it. Why do you speak of the Old Gods as though they are real?" she asked, a slight undertone of disdain carrying through her words.

"How do you know they aren't?" he asked, but not seriously. He had never taken the stories as literal truths.

"I know because I know," she stated. "They are nothing more than stories. They are not real and they have no place here, now. We've moved beyond them, we must move beyond them to reach a better understanding. To reach a better *balance*."

"The old gods weren't unbalanced. They were just... different," he defended quietly. "Anyways, I was just making a reference. I didn't mean anything by it. Or, are you upset that I implied that its air that gives life, rather than water?"

"No, I can forgive you that," she said. "Many make such mistakes. Water gives life. Air aides in sustaining it. If you'd ever seen a Welcoming you would know what I mean." She thought of the blood seeping through the water in the pools with the higher castes chose to have their children. A baby existed inside, surrounded by Mother's thick green water until it was pushed away; even the first breathes came with tears. "Everything must go together for life to exist; one element alone can not sustain us." She looked at him. "I understand this -- I am not a fanatic, Kharvre."

He nodded slightly, choosing to avoid further confrontation. Over the last couple of years, the high priests and a few of the more respected clerics had been meeting regularly. It was no secret what their intentions were. They were deciding what stories, books and gospels of the older religions and what scriptures and theses on the elements would be kept and viewed as 'truth' and which would not. They were deciding on their new religion. Such a task was not easy - they had been meeting for a few years now and would likely continue to meet and discuss for several years more. However, there were a number of things that were more or less agreed upon by all involved, forming a doctrinal outline. Lirel, he knew, more or less followed this doctrine exactly. Or, it seemed to him, at least. It was doubtful she would ever admit such a thing. Then again, they were both teenagers. What right did they have to question the philosophical truths decided by all that came before them.

She looked at him and paused a moment before bumping her shoulder against his in a careful, affectionate nudge.

"Your loot aside," she said, "how have you been fairing, my friend?"

He shrugged. "My loot aside," he began, mimicking her words, "Not much else has been going on. Same as you, I guess. Studies and chores and meditation, but probably more studies and more chores and less meditation."

She smiled softly, nodding. "They're starting to give me a greater role in the Temple itself," she said, "fewer chores and more responsibility. I'm going to be taking the vows soon; I'm becoming too old for the chores. But I think, sometimes, I miss them. They were simple, quiet, uncomplicated." She sighed, looking down at her hands folded and still in her lap. Sometimes, she wanted to break out of it all, to yell and shout and dance around wildly, but she always remained tucked inside, calm and cool like a girl of her place should be. "You'll be allowed more meditation soon, Kharvre. If you want it. I'm sure."

"I was thinking about going to the front observation deck tonight," he said looking out to the crowd, then directed his gaze towards her, "Do you, uh, would you like to go?"

She hesitated a moment, her mind whirling in a dozen different directions. She did, she really did, but she shouldn't. She had things to tend to, responsibilities, and it wasn't proper. The Priestess would be upset, would shake her finger because Kharvre was below her status: a ward rather than an apprentice. He would never be allowed any status above a monk's, and he wasn't the type she should spend time with. Even if it was innocent.

"I shouldn't..." she murmured, looking down, her cheeks blazing a deep scarlet as she stared at the blue fabrics pooling in her lap.

"Sure?" he asked.

She looked over to him, her gaze holding his a moment before she drew a deep breath. "Okay. I'll probably have to sneak away... you will meet me? Walk with me? The Priestess says I shouldn't go anywhere alone if I can help it."

"Yeah, of course," Kharvre smiled, excited. "When shall I meet you?"

"After evening requirements," she said, "I'll get out then. So... I guess a little bit after the lights begin to dim? I can meet you at that corner, half way between our temples? I'll have about 90 clicks before I have to get back from night blessings. This will be fun."

"I have to back, too. That won't be a problem."

She smiled as she stood. "I should leave... but I will see you then?"

"Yes," Kharvre smiled. "I'll see you then."

She nodded, grinning again before she began to move away from him, into the crowds, her pose struck, gliding just as she was taught. The thrill of the coming evening coasted over her, mingling with the fear of breaking the rules of her order. She would have to be careful, and she would have to trust him. She glanced back over her shoulder in a quiet pause before she turned and continued on her way to the Water Temple.

"Does Time Really Heal All Wounds?"

Lorien (Steven Jonas)

****
The Pit
50 Years AL
****

Lorien ducked as the blade swished past where his head had just been. His legs ached with a burning feeling, having spent to many minutes dodging the stronger man's attacks. His breathing was labored, and his pulse raced. Blood seeped from several cuts on his torso and arms.

As he dived into a roll to avoid yet another attack, he realized things hadn't always been this bad.

T'Lara and he had spent many years living in bliss, despite their meager surroundings and less than meager income. Having two children to raise that been a challenge with the long hours of work he had been forced to do to scrape enough money together to feed his family. He had found himself falling into the readings of Surak as a way to find faith in what he was doing. Even though T'Lara had been quite determined that he give up the nonsense.

And after her ultimatum, where he was being forced to choose between the teachings of Surak and her, he had given up his dusty tome. She was more important to him than the works of a man so far away on what was their homeworld no more. It is said that you marry for station and hope to find love along the way. And despite the fact that neither of them came from anything even remotely royal, or noble, they had found love. His love for T'Lara was such that he'd give his life in an instant to save her from feeling pain.

Something flashed above and to the right and Lorien stepped back, narrowly avoiding the thrust of the blade. A low thump could be heard, followed by another and another, in a rhythm. He knew what it was that made the sound but zoned out the noise, focusing his attention on the danger before him. He was tiring, that much was obvious. He was not yet at a point where the loss of blood was going to affect him, but he was growing tired fast, and if he wasn't careful, he'd end up a shish kabob.

Forty Five glorious years had passed since the voyage had begun and Lorien was as much in love with T'Lara as he had been the moment he laid eyes upon her in the Temple of Istyr, where they had both been involved in a production of the great bard S'prok's best known work, the Illiad. He had been a lowly peasant in the play, while she had been the female lead. But his heart had melted when he first saw her enter the Temple and he resounded to ask her out that very evening. He had no idea at the time that she had been betrothed to a warrior in the Royal Guard.

Suffice to say it was a betrothal that she was not happy about, and the same was to be said for the warrior, as he was in love with the Princess he was guarding. As if fate had deemed them perfect for each other, they began dating and eventually were married in a small private ceremony. Forty five years after the launch of the ship, Lorien was in the Fabrication offices building something for one of the lords when a commotion drew his attention. It seemed that a group of youths, and to his consternation, several of their own Apprentices, were in the middle of gang raping a young woman. Lorien had tried to step in to stop it, but was held back by two of the Apprentices. He fought them hard trying to get the youths away from the woman but had been no match for the strength of the youths.

As they all scattered to the winds, Lorien carried the young woman to the nearest medical facility. Or so he had wanted to. The nearest facility that was open was in the upper classes, and he was barred entry, despite holding the woman in his arms. He left her with an elderly care nurse whom he knew, and was friends with and returned home. The military officers he spotted nearby were told of what happened yet did nothing. Even after he gave them the names of the Apprentices and several of the youths whom he knew of, they did nothing. Infuriated, he resigned from his job. The final straw had been his seeing the Apprentices at work as if nothing had happened, with smug looks upon their faces. He had no idea how he was going to support his family, but he decided that he was not going to work

With little in the way of work openings, the family struggled to survive. At least they were only two mouths to feed and not four. Both children had grown up by now and were busy with their own lives and their own families. Slowly, with a little offering from their close friends and their two children, they found enough to survive on. Lorien, turned to the teachings of Surak again, hoping they might lead them out of their predicament.

Lorien slipped in a wet patch on the sanding flooring and slipped to his knees. He had no time to determine what the liquid was that he had slipped in as his opponent was fast upon him. He had a pretty good idea. After all, that was what The Pit was designed for. Grabbing a handful of sand, he flung it at his opponent's face, blinding him. Before he could react, Lorien kicked him in the groin and dived away, avoiding the wild stroke of the sword.

It had been a little over a year before T'Lara had found him reading Surak's teachings. He had been so careful to hide what he was doing, but she came home early one day and he was caught red handed. She was so angry that she sent him packing that very afternoon.

That had been almost three years ago, and in the intervening time, he had given up on himself, letting his facial hair grow, and falling to the bottle in the last year. He had begun training himself in any and all fighting techniques he could find, hoping to make sure he never again let anyone go through what that woman had been through. He had seen T'Lara in a market one day and moved to go talk to her, but as he neared, a well dressed individual moved next to her, kissing and hugging her. He looked to be of noble blood, though Lorien had no idea if that was really the case. T'Lara was beaming with joy and took his hand in hers. She had found someone else. Dejected, he had started drinking that very night. Several moths later, he was approached by a couple of gentlemen offering an opportunity to earn large quantities of credits. He had smelt a rat and declined their offer, and later that night he was snatched from his bed and dragged down into the cells that bordered The Pit.

And here he now was, fighting for his life. For the enjoyment of the masses whom had paid to watch two men battle to the death in a circular pit covered in soft sand.

And he was fighting, unarmed, against one of the most seasoned fighters in the Royal Guard.

And he was losing!

"Let There Be Light!"
By Maec (Kylar Curran),

** Four months before Exodus from Vulcan **

The man in black fled across the desert, and the Vulcan-child followed.

The heat of the baring sun bore down on the eleven year old, his lips parched, his body withered and sere. This was the seventh day of his kahs-wan ritual in the Forge, and he would not give up his quest. He would snare his quarry even if it killed him.

Three days previous, he'd come upon an abandoned research outpost not far from the Womb of Fire, and recognized the markings of the Te-Vikram Brotherhood upon the main gate. The mark of a blood-red ruby was emblazoned on the stone pillar that remained of the high gate that marked the main entry to the recessed encampment.

With the massive iron gates broken and burnt, lying either several meters back after having been blown off in some massive impact, or rent off their moorings at the gate and hanging limp, Maec had entered the compound near nightfall, ostensibly to find shelter before the sehlats and le-matya came out to hunt. The smell of blood still hung in the air, the te-Vikram nomadic raiders always a concern for anyone alone in the desert.

It was here where he spotted the man in black, foraging as he was for what he presumed anything of life sustenance. Maec shadowed the dark being, always wary of strangers in the Forge if they travelled alone, or as a possible scout.

It was this same man who'd he be experiencing his first witnessing of a killing.

During the night, while Maec had huddled himself in a crevasse high along the cliff that formed part of the defensive wall to the east of the compound, sustaining himself on desert scorpions and fire gnats. There will be water if the Gods will it.

When the sun rose in the sky behind him the following morning, he could see the man in black near the main gate, surrounded by four others, all wearing nondescript sandsuits and filters over their mouths. He couldn't hear their words over the morning sandstorms, but through the gestures, it was obvious they didn't know each other. Two brandished weapons, their hilts flashing ruby-red against the rays as the curved knives arced towards the man in black, but before the knives fell onto him, he was gone.

Maec rose with a start, fascinated at the speed with which the dark man moved. The two that had presumed to attack him and take his water were dead before they had even understood what had happened, one's neck twisted so sharply that the boy thought his head was to be torn off. The other had the knife sunk deep in his chest, green blood already forming around the wound as he stared at himself in surprise. The man was dead before he had hit the ground.

A third had time to counter the first strike from the man in black, but the cape he was wearing fell upon his victim, whereas the fourth had made a rush at the lone defendant even as he rolled over and off the third's back, throwing his sole blade at the Acolyte to land solidly in his throat. He too dropped to his knees, hands grasping clumsily at the wound as his lifeblood ebbed away.

The third had thrown off his blinder, arms up against the light as he was facing the blazing morning sun, trying to find the man in black. He yelled something out, but Maec couldn't hear what it was.

The dark man simply stood three meters away and watched the sole attacker. He watched him as he looked around and saw his companions were dead or dying. He watched him silently as the acolyte locked eyes with him and saw his fate at hand.

He took the ruby blade, flipping it to the underhand position, and pierced his own heart.

Maec felt nausea rise in his throat, but forced it back down. He refused to lose moisture for something so unimportant as a raiding party of te-Vikram being massacred. Four less rapists and murderers in the world. They deserved it.

** Five Years, seven months later **

The Great Ship Talvalen was one of the first ships to depart Vulcan, and therefore both well-prepared, and ill-prepared. Prepared in that it was well-stocked with supplies and components for the long journey, but ill-prepared in that the later ships in its family were more current in both technology, and in personnel, as the greatest minds and leaders departed when the need to leave was much more apparent later. Most of those on the Talvalen were those of necessity in the lower orders to fill required positions, and the middle-class. Even the technology wasn't of the prime quality that was placed on the later ships in order for the more *important* of their people to take advantage of.

This also made things far more dangerous once the Exodus began, for with the vacuum of power and nobility the other later ships exercised in standards and boarders when it became obvious the need to leave outweighed the balance of citizens and nobles, came a jockeying for power that would make even the current Rihannsu quiver.

When Maec had been the victim of one of these attempts of another lower family to rise up through eliminating heirs in the sixteen year old's clan, his curiousity as towards his older brother's loyalties to the family were finally and irrevocably sealed when Galan... no N'Galan now, turned his back on him during the fight in the schoolyard. That hesitation had been enough for Maec to suffer the knife wound in his abdomen.

Then he had that dizzying effect wash over him, and felt the air grow thin, as if he felt... elsewhere, or... when. And he found himself cleaning his wound in the family greenhouse shortly thereafter. He'd never experienced that before, not in any fight before or would since.

Now, he found himself sitting in one of his favorite perches, high above the main living sectors for his class - the agricultural sector. Vast sections were cordoned off for their respective assignments, his father having one of the middle-range sections for his primary duties as ships miller, producing wheats and flours for the ship and fleet. He'd also taken on a second job as shoemaker to earn enough funds to elevate their family into the next house ranking on the ship. Currently, their house stood at 154th out of 236. More money equaled more workers, more purchasing of plots, integration of other families into their own, and higher up the chain they went.

His father also continually challenged him to perform more for their house. He attempted to buy Maec a commission in the military, which would guarantee him citizenship and a substantial jump in house ranking, but Maec refused. This was a source of great disappointment to his father of him, and he was constantly reminded of it at evening meal, which was the only time he saw his father.

N'Galan's betrayal of the family by entering the te-Vikram Bortherhood on board was a sting in Maec's side. All he needed to know of the te-Vikram was what he saw in the desert five years ago. Of four men who brutally attempted to kill a single man just to take his water.

Their father, though, was left with nothing but slim hopes that his older son would give their family the honor they had lost upon leaving Vulcan. He wouldn't listen to Maec at all, and accused him of making up the falsehood in order to rationalize his failure to complete the kahs-wan. His lectures at evening meal were always of the son he never saw, and would reason that N'Galan was doing what was needed to be done for the family. Maec suffered many beatings from his father over arguments about how the te-Vikram were the *cause* of the wars on Vulcan in the first place, and they had learned nothing since coming on the ships. Maec warned him that N'Galan had renounced his heritage in the name of the Brotherhood, and all the tithes offered to have his older son inducted into the Brotherhood were gone to other, more violent and anti-Vulcan matters.

Maec's jaw hurt for three days after that tirade. And in return, to prove his point and his principles, he refused to enter the military, even if they'd rake him, which they wouldn't. He was far too small and defective for their liking.

So, here he sat, far up on the redstone catwalks that imitated the mountainous terrains of Vulcan, and watched his life unfold about him in one boring nightlit building after another. But so long as he was here on these class levels, so was N'Galan, and he'd see to it that his father saw his brother for what he really was - a traitor to their house.

"Hello, Maec. May I sit?"

With a start, the teenager rolled to the left, coming to his feet in a clumsy fighting stance, crouched, knees bent, hands out at differing lengths. The fingers were curled, but not closed.

He searched the darkness for the voice. "What do you want? I don't have anything of value, so be on your way."

What sounded like a low chuckle rumbled out of the void, followed by a flash of light that flared up brightly, then settled into a low flame. A mouth appeared against the flame, and a puff of smoke wisped out to curl up into the ventilation system. The flame burnt bright, wore down, up again, and down, as the puffs grew thicker, and the embers on the end of whatever was in his mouth grew brighter with each breath.

"Let there be light!" With a snap of fingers, a flame erupted between the two of them at their feet. Maec was forced to cover his eyes against the brightness, but when the attack didn't come as he expected, he let his eyes re-adjust.

There was a... fire on the ground. Burning wood. Valuable wood.

"Why are you burning that wood?? Don't you know how scarce it is on board?" Maec could do nothing but stare in disbelief, having nothing to put it out with. How could anyone be prepared for that?

"I offer you water and fire, my friend. Come, sit."

Maec refused to move. Until the man leaned forward to throw more wood on the fire, and the boy noticed he was dressed completely in black from head to toe. It was a startling mirror image of the dark man in the desert all those years ago.

"Who... who are you? And you still haven't told me what you want. I don't perform 'special services' if you get my meaning, so you can go somewhere else."

A cackle, followed by an abrupt stop. "My name is Maarten, Maec. And I've come for palaver. Sit."

"Just a Little Repair"

Eela (Ella Grey)
Chulak (Victor Krieghoff)

****

Talvalen
Accessway

She'd gotten the job done and if it was messy - well, everyone knew that Mardek had a temper, especially when his little girl was threatened. Someone would see her father tomorrow without a scratch and think that'd he just gotten a little carried away. Eela would have to stay out of sight for a few days.

If she lived, that was. Eela was shaking from both shock and blood loss, although the blood loss was a bit more worrying than the shaking. She'd bandaged herself as best she could - damn her mark for carrying a knife - but she didn't know if she could make it to Ahn'vahr's or if he'd even take her in for that matter.

One thing at a time, Eela told herself and tried to tighten the bloody bandage.

The accessway's internal lights snapped on abruptly, the stark illumination banishing every shadow to oblivion in an instant. Immediately on the heels of the light came the clang of an internal hatchway opening, and footsteps.

Eela froze and then drew her knife.

Three more steps sounded, and a man in engineer's coveralls appeared around the corner, a tool case slung over one shoulder and some sort of scanner in his hands. "...anomalous heat readings should be..." He looked up, directly at her, stared at her for several seconds without blinking. "You," he finally said with a frown, "are not an overheating 745TF circuit."

"Stay back," She said.

The engineer considered the knife. "Or what? You'll stab me with that? Don't be stupid."

Eela kept her hand steady. "I don't want to kill you."

"If you kill me," he replied in a flat, tone of absolute certainty, "then the ship will founder and die in space. You, your friends, and everyone that you know will die in frozen, atmosphere-starved agony."

She looked hard at him, the wheels in her head turning a bit slower than she would have liked, before lowering the knife. "I cannot fault your logic."

"How fortunate for everyone," he replied dryly. "Tell me, are you deliberately causing an alarm to sound, or is that an accident?"

Shit, she thought. Outloud she told him it was an accident.

"Your body heat registers in the sensors in the accessway, and makes it appear as if there's an overheating circuit here," the engineer explained. He looked down at the floor panels where her blood was starting to pool. "It would also help if you stopped bleeding in my accessway. The panels will corrode."

"So sorry," Eela snapped. "I'll make sure to avoid that in the future."

"That would be good." He studied her for a moment more, expectantly. "Well?" he finally asked, "Why haven't you stopped?"

She scowled. "Not for lack of trying."

"You haven't tried," he replied with a gesture of his scanner. "You've just stood there, bleeding more with each second."

Eela stared incredulously and then let out a humorless laugh. "I can understand how infuriating I must have been to Mardek now. Poor man. Look..."

"Chulak."

"Look Chulak, if you know a way to make the bleeding stop that doesn't involve me dying then I'll gladly get out of your crappy little accessway."

The engineer appeared to think about that for a moment, alternating glances at his scanner, the pool of blood at her feet, and her knife. Finally he said, "Very well, it seems the easiest way," and rummaged in his tool kit. "Here." He thrust a heat-sealed bundle at her.

She frowned at it. "What is it?"

"It's a sealant patch. It was designed for hydraulic lines, but it should work on you just as well."

"I'm not a hydraulic line!" Eela protested.

"It's that, or I seal the injury with a micro-welder. Your choice."

"A micro ... Elements and they say that I'm a cold bit..." Eela winced and then nodded. "All right, Chulak. Patch me up."

The engineer set his scanner in the tool case, set that down, and moved to stand next to her. "Put the knife down first. This will hurt, and people do stupid things when they're hurt. Stupider than normal, even."

She dropped the knife but made sure to keep it close.

Once the knife was stowed away, he approached, looked at the injury and shook his head. "So much mess." He drew her tunic aside, ignoring her squawk of protest, opened the patch, used some form of wipe enclosed with it to wipe blood away, and then slapped the patch on. "I assume there will be a burning sensation as the adhesive takes hold."

"Yeah," Eela hissed. She clenched her fists and considered punching the engineer in the face. "That's one way to describe it. Wha... what's the adhesive?"

Chulak frowned, apparently unconcerned at either her pain or the fact that she was partially unclothed. "Industrial Grade Pressure Sealant SD99. On a hydraulic line, it would hold for two years at normal pressure." He examined the patch, poked it with a finger, and added, "On you, I have no idea; probably permanently unless you apply the right solvent."

"Permanent? You said nothing about permanent? I... you..."

He frowned at Eela again and walked back over to his tool case. After a moment's rummaging, he returned with a small tube. "Here. If you use it before the injury heals, do it somewhere that the blood won't damage anything."

Eela grabbed the the tube and then placed it next to her knife. Both would work if she decided to hurt Chulak. "So what do you want for this?"

"For what?"

"For helping me," She grunted. "Nothing is free."

"Nothing is... fine. I want you to stop running through my accessways like they were a private road system. Just use that warren of concealed passages that the people who paid for the ship's construction made us waste valuable space by building into the ship like everyone else."

Eela raised an eyebrow. "Fine."

He stood there looking at her again, waiting. "Well? Aren't you going to... no, wait, you can't, right?" He shook his head and walked back to his tool case, rummaging in it again. "That's why you're in my accessways. You've lost your access key, haven't you? And you're afraid to tell anyone for fear you'll be punished, right?"

"I didn't lose it," Eela retorted. She hadn't lost it; its remains were in her pocket.

Chulak straightened up with a small object in his hand and walked back to thrust it at her. "Here. This works just like your key did: the green light comes on if a door is nearby, and the arrow guides you to it. Just press the button and it opens. Once you're through, it closes. A child could use it - that's why we designed them that way."

"Thanks," She looked at him curiously. "You really don't want anything but for me to leave, do you?"

The engineer looked at her and blinked once, slowly. "Should I? If I wanted sex, you'd try and kill me, even if it doomed the ship. If I wanted a favor later, you'd forget about it at the first convenient moment. If I wanted something else, you'd find a way to twist it, or make it turn out to your advantage. That's what you people do. None of that is useful to me, so I want none of those things. What I want, I have - you're not bleeding on my accessway floor, you're not going to be using the accessways like your private roadway, and you aren't an overheating 745TF circuit."

"How odd," Eela said, carefully moving to stand. "I wouldn't make it a habit if I were you."

"A habit of what?" Chulak asked as he picked his tool case up and retrieved his scanner.

"Not wanting more," Eela replied. "No one trusts a person without ambition."

She left him with that, partly because she wanted to make it to the assassin's place while she was temporarily mended but mostly because she saw that his attention had turned towards the ship.

"Kisses and Colds"

T'Pol (8-ball)

It wasn't as though her household had ever been sane, exactly, but this last week had been, in her mind, especially psychotic. It had started with Rhion's 5 th birthday and the catastrophe that was meant to be his party-only a party never quite ensued. Instead, there was a gathering of seven or so children that came to a rather abrupt end when one of them nearly set her home on fire.

T'Pol had had a very long discussion with Rhion that day about the kinds of friends he should have and how they should not include child pyromaniacs.

After the fire debacle, Tal had got suspended from school for cheating. This shocked T'Pol, not because she thought Tal was morally incapable of cheating, but because he was so intelligent that he had no need to cheat. She mentioned this to his teacher.

"Oh, Tal does his homework," the teacher had said. "He also does about twenty-five other children's as well." And then she quoted Tal's price for these papers. T'Pol had sold families whole meals for less.

After Tal's suspension came Taev's suspension. Somewhat predictably, Taev had beat up a kid who called him poor. The teacher might have spared mercy and not suspended him if she hadn't also asked Taev to apologize. Taev told her where she could stick that apology, and that had been the end of that.

Then Rhion managed to get sick for the fiftieth time this year.

Then Tal nearly broke his neck.

Then Tal succeeded in breaking her favorite lamp.

Then T'Pol considered having a nervous breakdown.

She didn't because she had a mantra (I'm a mother first, she reminded herself) and more importantly the week wasn't over yet.

Because then Taev hit puberty.

At the tender age of 13, Taev had had his first kiss with a girl two years older than him from the lower decks. T'Pol knew about it because Tal had told her.

Apparently, Tal had seen the two kissing and, predictably enough, tried to make some money out of it. Also predictably, Taev was less than amused by his brother's attempt to blackmail him. His exact words: "You tell, Mother, and I'll break your nose."

Tal, T'Pol had discovered, possessed two things: a healthy survival instinct, and a desperate need to stir things up. He was what T'Pol's mother would have affectionately called a shitstarter, and it was a quality that sometimes amused T'Pol and sometimes terribly concerned her. Tal's survival instincts were often undermined by this "shitstarter gene" and she worried that someday it would happen with the wrong person, that Tal wouldn't know when to step back.

Tal told T'Pol about the kiss, and Taev promptly broke his nose.

~Little girls~ T'Pol thought desperately. ~Why couldn't I have had little girls?~

Sometimes (maybe 80 or so times a day) T'Pol wondered how things would have been different if Aev had survived for their boys' childhood. Would the boys get into as much trouble as they did? She couldn't be sure. Taev, for instance, had always been such a serious little boy, but surely he hadn't always been so . . . angry. ("Violent," one teacher had called him. "You're son is pathologically violent.")

T'Pol had bristled at that because Taev wasn't cruel and he wasn't insane and he never beat up anyone without a reason. He just seemed to find a lot of reasons, that's all. Short temper, short fuse.

Aev had had a short fuse too. ~And we all know where he ended up~

T'Pol tried to push the thought away.

"Mommy? Can I have a cuppa juice?"

T'Pol looked down and smiled. She was sitting on her sofa in the front room and Rhion was snuggled against her lap. His latest bout of illness had left him congested, coughing, and unable to sleep. T'Pol was just thankful there was no fever; Rhion's fevers got so high sometimes.

"Sure, baby. Hold on a second." T'Pol shifted Rhion off her lap so she could get his drink. When she got back, he was sitting up, his blanket wrapped around everything but his eyes.

"Silly," she told him. "Here's your juice."

Rhion let the blankets slip enough that he could drink. He set the near empty glass on the table and looked at her. "Mommy," he said. "Why did Taev kiss that girl?"

Oh. Just. Fucking. Great.

Surely, Rhion was too young for a discussion of puberty and hormones. T'Pol PRAYED he was too young for such a discussion. "Well," she said slowly. "When you get a little older, you get . . . attracted to members of the sex."

Rhion frowned. "But girls are yucky."

T'Pol snorted. "I'm a girl, you know."

Rhion giggled. "Yeaaaaah," he said, "but you don't count."

"I don't?"

"No," Rhion said. "Cause you're my Mommy."

"Ahh. So I'm okay, but all other girls are yucky."

Rhion nodded emphatically. "Yeah!"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I wished your brothers still felt that way," she said dryly.

It was too fast, that was the problem. Everything just moved too damn fast. She hadn't seen her parents or brothers or sisters in nine years. Aev had been dead for four of them. Rhion was already five now, and Taev? 13! She remembered when Taev was still in her belly, and she and Aev had laid together, discussing names for him.

"Well," Rhion declared, "I won't EVER feel that way. Girls will always, always, always be yucky."

He sneezed, then coughed. "Except you," he added. "But other girls? BLECH!" He made excessive gagging motions.

T'Pol smiled at her youngest. Rhion was still so innocent. Taev had lost that sometime ago, maybe when his father died, maybe before. And Tal . . . well, she couldn't be sure that Tal had EVER really been innocent.

But Rhion . . . he was still so sweet.

~Please~ T'Pol prayed to the elements. "~Please please don't take that too.~

"Of Darkness and a Daughter"

Siena/T'Mara/Faylin McAlister

53 years after launch

Delicately, ever so, the forearm of the being in the shadows reached out slowly. It's index finger curling upwards, grabbing the attention of the eighteen year old woman with a haunting yet morbid interest. Like a spell, the finger still motioned, steadily and unwavering as the young woman advanced into the darkness of the room. The inner workings of her brain screamed at her with danger. 'GET AWAY!!! GET OUT!!!' Yet, she did not listen.

Her large green eyes attentive, enraptured at the sight of the lovely purple colored cloak that shrouded the being. Something, somewhere reached out and grabbed her. Was it a hand, a weapon? The woman couldn't tell. In an instant, she felt that certain spread of fingers that she was told was the beginning of a new adventure and the potential ending of a physical body. Her voice wanted so despiratly to call out for assistance. A ship this size, with the turbulence of recent times, no one would come to her aid. They would come.................

Siena stepped from the shadow, leaving the younger woman in a heap on the floor. She would come around soon, have potentially a rather ominous headache, and have to deal with playing host to Siena's Katra. The woman felt lighter, dizzy to a point as another person advanced. Stopping in mid stride, Siena smiled rather darkly. It was a quick end to a means that was meant to live on. However, recent events spiraled downwards the way they were not meant to originally. Such was destiny. Siena's was sealed as the phaser raised and vaporized her with a crisp sound of death.

The vocal cords of the woman vibrated, resulting in a low guttural groan as she rolled onto her side. Taking a mental stock of herself, she felt initially okay. That, would change within a matter of time................

As she stood, she leaned against the wall that felt overly cool to the touch. It was, in all likely hood due to her body temperature feeling warmer than usual. T'Mara closed her dark eyes for a moment, until she heard a small voice call out.

"Mommy? Mom...where are you?"

T'Mara appeared from the shadows, blinking once before sweetly smiling at the child she knew as her daughter.

"I'm here....safe and sound."

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