"Reluctant Aid(e)"

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

***

Eela leaned into the door, her hand lightly slapping against the rusting metal.

She didn't know what to expect but knew that the assassin found her somewhat amusing, why else would he try to teach her anything? Hopefully he'd let her stay long enough for her wounds to heal and to remove the patch that Chulak had lent her.

The door finally opened and she fell forward at his feet.

The assassin looked down at her for a moment, quite expressionless. Then a wry smile formed on his face. "I don't mind people bowing before me...but women I prefer on their knees."

Eela wanted to say something clever, maybe joke about offering up her first born for a place to stay for a few days - even though it was a horrible thing to joke about but she was a professional killer now, bad humor was almost a given, right? She must have blacked out, however, because the next thing she knew she was lying on a bathroom floor, looking up at a stain covered ceiling.

Someone - Ahn'vahr, without doubt - had stripped her, applied bandages and without doubt given her something to numb the pain, before wrapping her in a reasonably clean bed sheet. Before any of that could really register, however, Eela heard the assassin's voice, its casual brutality softened something by his mocking tone.

"If you keep this up, Princess, you'll still make a perfectly good whore, but you won't be a very successful one," Ahn'vahr declared as he walked into the bathroom holding a simple drinking bowl. He offered it to her in the awkward manner of a man who had never given anything to anyone before.

Eela eyed it and then raised an eyebrow at him.

"Poison," Ahn'vahr snapped, "What else?"

"It's not unreasonable to ask," Eela snapped right back. The act of sitting up and coordinating her arms to move, her hand to reach for the bowl, seemed to take a lifetime. By the time that she had the hang of it, he had set it down beside her. She sipped it carefully but still managed to start coughing. "Thank you."

Ahn'vahr said nothing for an uncertain moment. Then he turned and walked back into his room proper.

About ten minutes later, Eela shuffled into the room. The bed sheet was still secure but she held the ends tightly just in case. "I need a place to stay for a few days. I want to stay here."

He scowled, "No. If you can walk, you can leave."

"I can't walk well," She argued. "And I can't go back like this. Come on, I'll sleep on the floor."

"I sleep on the floor," Ahn'vahr snapped, reminding her of the complete lack of furniture in the room.

Eela ignored him and looked for the cleanest spot on the floor. "Does this deck have a vermin problem?"

"It does now. Look, I'm not sure what part of this has you confused - me," he said, pointing to himself, "Scary assassin. You...annoying, tiny pest. You do what I say or you die."

Eela gave him a tired look. "Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't have helped me, bandaged me if you didn't want me to live. Throwing me out now is counter -productive."

"Yes...but still amusing...."

"I don't suppose you have an extra pillow."

"This is why I never talk to women," Ahn'vahr growled, "You talk to a pretty girl in a bar. Then you meet her again and you beat her up a little. Not serious, you know -just two crazy kids having some fun. Only she's not as pretty anymore. Before you know it, she's going around getting beaten up by strangers, and she's all bloody and bruised and then...she's living with you. Story of my life."

"Please, Ahv'vahr," Eela said. "I promise to be gone in two days."

The man sighed, "Fine. There is food outside the door."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

"People leave it there," the assassin replied, sounding - if possible - even more resigned, "Just, you know, make sure not to eat anything that looks like poison."

"Why would ..." She started.

"Why? Because they're stupid. What do you want from me, woman? They think that if they feed me, I'll protect them. I did it once for this old man and...there's food outside the door."

Eela eased herself down to the floor and was proud of herself for not wincing or cursing. "I see."

"Don't take that tone with me. I'm not a nice person. I kill people. I'm evil. None of this means I'm a good guy."

She would have rolled her eyes if they weren't already closed. "It wasn't a judgement, Ahn'vahr. Don't be tetchy."

"Evil, I tell you. Evil and scary."

"Maybe when whatever drug you gave me wears off," Eela muttered.

"They have a cursed guestbook out there. They leave their food and sign the damn thing. I tear it up and they put another one there. They're making me crazy. I should find them and kill them all."

She yawned. "Or you could just protect someone now and then."

"Yeah. That's going to happen. I'm going to find everyone who knows about this and silence them all."

"I imagine you'll have to kill people to do so," Eela continued, drawing herself into as much of a fetal position as her body would allow. "Every job has its perks."

Ahn'vahr growled, "I help one person for the sake of Mehen and Saya'he and all of a sudden I'm a pink, cuddly bunny rabbit that everyone wants to feed."

She opened her eyes. "Not if you send the right message. It's hard to come off as warm and friendly when you're holding someone's spinal cord in your hand."

"Yeah well...I'm done talking now."

"Anyway, I think people won't mistake you for a rabbit," Eela said, closing her eyes again. "And who knows? Maybe someone will pay you with a mattress."

"Checking In"

Eela (Ella Grey)

***

Talvalen
12 years after launch

In the end it wasn't disease that killed her father but a disruptor shot to the head.

Most days Eela didn't know whether to thank the nameless hitman that her father had contracted or seek revenge upon him, although she both understood Mardek's desire to die on his own terms and an assassin having to commit to his contract.

Eela had waited until after his burial in space and then had gone to their quarters and packed a bag - a change of clothes, a bedroll, a few mementos, knives - and then had left her old life behind forever.

****

Talvalen
50 years after launch

On the whole, Eela liked living from day to day.

After some (much) badgering, she had convinced Ahn'vahr to train with her weekly -something they had continued even after she had become a professional killer for hire. It was a good work, as far as job security went, and even if the season was slow there was always free food from the alters that people left outside Ahn'vahr's door.

She stayed at his place every other month (and then only two days at a time), not out of any need but to irritate the assassin. The rest of the time she slept wherever she could find a place that was relatively clean and dry - no easy feat on the lower decks - and sometimes after a particularly good assignment she would stay in one of the few sensor-free zones on Talvalen.

It had taken her several weeks to discover all the secrets that Chulak's access key held - like locking doors and controlling elevators - but the hidden parts of the ship had been found only after torturing a man who had been eying Chulak's job with a little too much enthusiasm. The zones made for good hiding places and were great for storing weapons; Eela made a point to check in on the engineer every now and then (usually eliminating whoever was a threat to him) as a thank you. As was the case today.

She nudged the body with the toe of her shoe and then knelt beside it. A quick check of the dead man's pockets revealed an access card and near his hand was a wicked looking knife, although not as sharp, Eela decided, as her own. The man didn't have a Guild tattoo so apparently the people who wanted Chulak dead didn't want him dead all that badly. Yet.

Eela took both the knife and card since anything was for sale on the lower decks and she hadn't eaten since yesterday. And if memory served correctly there was a bar mid-ship that didn't ask questions and served appetizers half-off at happy hour.

She'd have to come back tomorrow to check on the engineer though - in case the reason that his enemies hadn't hired an expensive assassin was because they'd hired several cheap ones instead.

"Snacks"

T'Pol (8-ball)

She was down at the cafeteria holding a small bag of processed snack food, and it was exactly the kind of thing Rhion would eat if he wasn't busy dying a few floors above her. But he was busy so she stared numbly at the package, thought, ~This kind of crap is bad for Rhion~ and immediately started to cry.

T'Pol sobbed for a few minutes before trying to compose herself, but that didn't work as well as one might have hoped. Instead, composing herself simply meant crying just a little more quietly, so she had just enough air to breathe and weep at the same time. By the time she had managed this delicate balance of oxygen and air, she had crumpled the package of snack food into sugary dust within one hand.

Ashes to ashes. Snacks to dust.

She let the package fall to the ground and thought about years of lectures to the boys. "Don't litter," she would say. "You're just making your own environment more ugly." And Rhion would nod with big eyes, and there she was, crying again.

She had to get ahold of herself. She had to make herself ready. The chances of Rhion recovering from this illness . . . there was almost no chance at all. She had to be there for her other boys. She had to be a mother.

~You are a mother. And your son is dying.~

And T'Pol couldn't breathe.

***

Fifteen minutes later, she was making her way back to the waiting room when she heared her boys' voices quietly down the hallway. She stopped before she rounded the corner and hesitated, listening to them talk.

~You're such a coward~ she told herself, but it wasn't enough to make her move.

"What time is it?" That was Tal, sounding young and sleepy and achingly innocent, in a way that he hadn't since he was a very young boy. "Taev? What's the time?"

"It's late."

To anybody else, Taev sounded calm, firm, just like everything was normal and his younger brother wasn't on the brink of death, but T'Pol knew her eldest and could hear the strain in his voice, how hard he was fighting to sound strong for Tal. "Go back to sleep," Taev said quietly.

There was a shuffling sound that meant Tal was not complying. "Where's Mother?" he asked.

"Snacks."

"How's she doing?"

There was no response. T'Pol didn't think Taev would answer, but apparantly Tal outwaited him. ~Sign of the apocalypse~ T'Pol thought, and then ~You're son is dying. What bigger sign could you need?~

"She's scared," Taev finally admitted, and T'Pol could hear the fear in his own voice.

There was a soft snort. "I know the feeling," Tal said and then there was another long silence. T'Pol waited but this time her children outwaited her and she couldn't just listen to them. She peeked around the corner.

Tal and Taev were sitting next to each other, Tal slumped to his right and leaning is head on Taev's chest. Taev's arm was around his brother's shoulders, holding on to the 12 year old protectively. The sight of it made T'Pol's breath hitch again. ~They're being so strong. So strong for each other.~

"Go back to sleep," Taev murmured and Tal's eyes closed. He shifted against his brother's chest.

"Do you think Rhion will be okay?" Tal whispered.

"Shhh."

"Do you? Taev? Do you think he'll be okay?"

Taev was silent for a minute. Tal's eyes opened sleepily, and Taev smiled softly at his brother. Tal closed his eyes again.

"Yes," Taev said. "I think he'll be okay."

And if T'Pol hadn't been looking at him, she wouldn't have known her oldest son was lying.

Tal shifted again, eyes still closed. "I hope so," he said, and then he was out.

Taev looked directly at her.

T'Pol smiled tightly and walked over. ~Coward~ she thought to herself again. ~Caught unawares by your 16 year old son.~ She kneeled by her boys but Tal never stirred.

"Hi," she whispered to Taev.

"Snacks."

"What?"

"Snacks." Taev looked at her. "You went to get snacks."

"Oh." Yeah. Right. Snacks. "I changed my mind," she said."

"Right."

Taev looked down at his sleeping younger brother. "You should get some rest, Mother," he said, and T'Pol cursed herself. Her son was trying to be the protector, to play the role that Aev should have played, but Aev was gone, and her son was still a boy. This was HER job, dammit.

~You will not fail your sons~ she thought. ~No matter how many of them you have left.~

"You shouldn't worry about that," T'Pol said. "I'm meant to take care of you, not the other way around."

Taev bristled, but not with a whole lot of energy. "I'm not a child anymore," he said.

"You are MY child," T'Pol said. "And that's all that matters." She kissed him on the forehead and Taev looked away. "I'm sorry I haven't been strong enough for you. But I'll do better. I swear."

"You've been fine, Mother."

"Liar." T'Pol took his chin in her hand and made him look at her. "It's going to be okay, baby. I promise it will be okay."

Something in Taev's face shifted, and his eyes glittered suddenly with unshed tears. "Don't promise me that, Mother. Don't promise me that Rhion will be okay."

"I'm not," T'Pol said, because she wasn't. God, she wanted to promise him that; she wanted to lie and say everything would be fine, but she couldn't, she couldn't, not even to herself.

Taev had lied to Tal, out of love for his brother. T'Pol would do the same, but Taev would never hear it. So she couldn't promise that, because Rhion probably would never be okay. Even if a miracle happened and he somehow lived through this, there would be probably be . . . defects. He might never be the same. And that was a best case scenario, the miracle scenario.

"I wish I could promise you he'd be okay, baby. I wish I could, but I can't. But I can promise you that things will be okay. No matter what happens, no matter how things . . .turn out. . .for Rhion, I will take care of you. I will make things okay."

Taev swallowed twice and T'Pol thought that he might let himself cry, but he pushed back the tears, never letting them fall. "You promise?" he whispered hoarsely to her, sounding as young as Tal had.

"I do. I promise. I promise you, Taev."

Taev nodded and closed his eyes. "I'm scared, Mother," he admitted.

And T'Pol let her own tears fall, knowing there was just too many to swallow.

"I know, baby," she said. "I am too."

~Oh, I am too.~

OOC: Dedicated to Maec...or at least to his writer.

"The Girl in the Window"

Sakonna Raal (Tarin Iniara)

Time: about 30 years after launch (sorry for the backpost)

****

"By the Elements, it's beautiful."

The youngish engineer smiled, a green flush creeping into his cheeks as she examined his work. "May its sound please you even more, my lady," he replied.

The lady smiled enigmatically, the oversized cap which she wore casting most of her face in shadow. "We shall see, craftsman," she replied as she closed the wide, flat case, its padded interior muffling the expected clack of metal on metal. Setting the case gently on the ground she brought forth a smaller cloth bag, its faded and tattered exterior clearly indicating its advanced age. Something inside the bag clanged together as she held it out towards him. "The remainder of your compensation."

Once the bag was in his hands, the craftsman quickly opened it and examined its contents. Several sealed food containers, assorted bits of scrap metal, three irregularly shaped blocks of dark wood, and a small black bag whose metallic clinking sound meant only one thing: coins, and a good deal of them.

"Thank you, my lady," he replied. But by the time he had looked up, she was gone. He shrugged as the door to the small room slid shut automatically, then opened the bag once more. At least now he could eat.

****

Careful to keep her head down, Sakonna made her way quickly through the crowd. As she did on every trip into the working class levels of the ship, she had deliberately dressed in faded men's clothes that were at least two sizes too big, and had hidden her hair inside a floppy-brimmed hat that also concealed a good portion of her face. Whenever she entered public areas she was careful to slouch forward and walk with an irregular shuffle, never meeting the eyes of anyone she encountered. She looked the part of a lower-class woman of little means, and if one got close enough, she probably smelled the part too.

Her heart was racing as she slid into a side hallway, holding her oversized parcel close to her body. Every time she came down to these levels she risked being identified, possibly even attacked, mugged, or worse. But it was a risk she was willing to take to be able to deal with the most skilled metalworker on the ship, and to do it without her friends or family knowing.

A lift presented itself and she took it, descending further into the bowels of the ship, into an area that housed mostly waste recycling systems. Very few people lived in this particular area, and for good reason. The hallways and access hatches were laid out just as logically as in other areas of the ship, but they were much more dangerous if you didn't know your way around. She'd heard the occasional stories of children being lost or killed down here, and reacted to them with all the sadness and pity that a woman of her station should show. But deep in her heart she felt little more than irritation towards them. In her mind, any parent who let their young children wander unsupervised deserved to lose them, and any child who entered such a dangerous area deserved to have their bloodline end with them. Such mistakes showed weakness, and weakness had no place in their new society.

Threading through a cluster of large pipes Sakonna hopped down to the catwalk below. The air down here was thick with steam and had an organic smell to it. Doing her best to breathe as little of the fetid air as possible she made her way quickly down the catwalk, then slipped under a low overhang and through an access hatch into a small alcove.

Setting the metal case on the floor she quickly took stock of the tiny room. It was exactly as she left it, even down to the pair of silvery hairpins she had left behind last time, jammed into the seam between two dull grey wall panels. The room was little more than two meters by two meters in size, with a ceiling that almost brushed her head if she stood up straight, and had no source of light or power in sight. It was illuminated solely by a narrow shaft of light streaming in from a single window in the center of the wall opposite the access hatch. The light was weak, but Sakonna had been coming here long enough to know every detail of this place as well as she knew her own face.

Kneeling and peering out the tiny window, Sakonna curiously watched the throngs of people passing through the promenade below. It was one of the largest open spaces in the lower areas of the ship, and served as a sort of market and meeting place for the people that lived nearby. Her alcove sat at one end of the promenade, the window giving her a good view of about three-quarters of the place. She still couldn't figure out why the window had been placed here, and why this alcove had been built around it. Perhaps it had been intended as a hidden surveillance perch? She could see other windows dotting the arched ceiling of the promenade area; maybe there were similar alcoves all around this level. There obviously hadn't been much thought put into it though, as the room was very difficult to get to, and served no obvious purpose other than voyeurism.

As she watched the people and their families moving around, Sakonna's thoughts once again turned to her own family. This had been a sanctuary for her since she had been old enough to learn to sneak around the ship, and still neither her parents nor her betrothed knew about it. She often wondered what they would say or do if they found out. Here she was, daughter of the House of Raal, a member of the nobility, sneaking down to the working class areas of the ship just for some privacy. True privacy, not the privacy that came with being a noble lady always surrounded by bodyguards and servants.

Would they see it as that? Or would they think she had a secret lover she was meeting down here? Would they find out about Sub-Lieutenant Sepek, the talented metalworker she had been meeting with for years? She had been careful to never give her name or show her face to him, but that did not always offer complete protection from the truly resourceful. Nothing had ever passed between them save for the case and his payment for its contents, but emotional parents and husbands did not always see it so logically.

Sakonna sighed and turned away from the window and shook her head, her thoughts quickly returning to the real reason she had come here. Kneeling before her case she unhooked the latches that held it closed, then pushed it open. A chill ran down her spine once more as she beheld the instrument. No, *her* instrument.

She reached for the lyre, feeling the weight of it in her hands for the first time. It was light, much lighter than she expected, especially considering that it was a solid piece of metal. The surface was covered with a swirling pattern that was clearly meant to resemble flame. Near the base of the instrument the swirls had been tinted black, but as they progressed up the wide body they turned to a deep crimson, then a bright red, and finally orange and yellow on the neck. The seven strings were black. Sakonna plucked a few, the bold sound they made confirming her suspicions: they too were metallic in nature.

Shifting into a cross-legged position on the floor she leaned the lyre against her body. The metal felt cool on her leg and shoulder, even through her many layers of clothing. On the opposite wall, streaks of red and gold light danced across the grey surface as she moved; it seemed as if the thing was absorbing and amplifying the weak light filtering in from the window, filling the room with its own fire.

Shortly after her birth, the priestesses of Raal had read her horoscope. Far too much water, they had told her parents. Sakonna was ruled by earth; too much water would weaken and erode her soul. Surround her with fire, they had said, for fire will make her strong. And from that day forth, her parents had surrounded her with all the things ruled by fire. Brilliant gemstones, certain metal alloys, crimson fabrics... And now she had this.

Nearly bewitched by the beauty of the flames caressing the body of the seven-stringed lyre, Sakonna briefly wondered if she had taken the priestesses' advice a bit too far.

The thought passed quickly however, and she set to work tuning the instrument. Laying it flat across her legs she began with the strings closest to her, methodically plucking each one and adjusting its corresponding knob. Many of the strings were reasonably close to their intended pitch; apparently Sepek had tried to tune it before her arrival. He had done a decent job, she realized...for a non-musician. Thanks to his work it took her barely over two minutes to finish the task.

Returning the lyre to its upright position she paused, one hand hovering expectantly close to the barely quivering strings. The christening of a new instrument was a momentous occasion, and her choice of music would have to reflect that. But what should she play?

A wicked grin replaced her normally serene expression as the answer suddenly came to her. It was so obvious; she wondered why it had taken her that long to figure it out.

"This song...is dedicated to all you poor fools down there," she whispered, chuckling slightly. "I hope it's loud enough for you."

And when her fingers hit the strings, music touched by fire poured into the air.

["Smoooooke on the waaaater. Fire in the sky!"]

"Twice the Fun, Twice the Shock"

V'Tana (Eve)
Levek (Artim)

==================

=Time period - to be determined=

V'tana had been sick lately. She couldn't remember a time when she had felt so miserable, and yet at the same time there was something that felt ... just right. She didn't need Levek to tell her to be seen by a doctor, which is where she was coming home from today. She'd just been run through a battery of tests, and the results were quite conclusive. Stepping into their home, she looked around. Levek was supposed to be home today. "Levek?"

Levek had just finished working up a nice pot of soup for his wife. He knew she'd been feeling ill and it something he enjoyed doing anyway, even on one of his rare days off these days. Levek looked up when he saw V'Tana return and said in a curious tone,

"Yes my dear?"

She crossed over to the couch and sat down, pullng her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. "I'm gonna have a baby," She said finaly.

Levek suspected this might happen. Well, he knew it was inevitable and the way she'd been feeling was generally indicitive of early pregnancy. However, despite the fact that he'd figured that she might be pregnant, a surprised look came across Levek's face when he heard the news. After taking a deep breath, Levek replied softly. "Wow....that's great news...really great."

V'tana nodded, a small smile gracing her face. She had been surprised when the doctor told her the knews. Normally this would have been cause for a veritable celebration, but V'tana could not bring herself to feel happy about all of this.

"What's wrong? We've wanted a child for so long but you seem, I don't know, displeased.", Levek tried to sound comforting as he went over to stand next to his wife. He wasn't particularly good at this sort of thing but he knew he had to be strong right now.

"I know," she replied with a little sigh. "I wasn't expecting one so soon I admit." She uncurled herself, and reaching up, she pulled him down to sit next to her. "Much less two."

When V'Tana mentioned that she was having twins Levek's breathing stopped dead in its tracks for a moment. It was like he'd been hit square in the stomach with a Lirpa the wind left him so quickly. He slumped back in the couch and after a moment he said still gasping for breath,

"T.....twi.....twns? You...have twins?"

V'tana nodded. "Yeah, which explains why I've been so sick lately. Twice the fun," she said, rolling her eyes. "And this is someting we can expect again, aparently my family is notorious for multiple conceptions. I was an exception, aparently."

Still breathing deeply, Levek continued, "Well, lets just worry about making it through this one and then we'll worry about more children later." And then came a silence. It was clear Levek wanted to say something, something he knew in his better judgement he shouldn't say right now but the temptation was still there. For somone in his not-exactly-chosen profession of a military officer, things quite often happened that could ruin families. Still, this wasn't the time to think about that.

"You must be hungry...with three to feed instead of one. Come, I made some of your favorite soup."

"What's wrong Levek?" Even with babies on the mind, she could still read him so very easily. While waiting for him to find his words, she did move with him to the dining room, and the delicious smelling soup he had prepared.

"Nothing you need worry about dear. Just got my new assignment that's all." , Levek replied without mentioning that he'd been given command of the security forces in one of the more dangerous sections of the ship. The last two commanders had ended up with knives in their sides, one dead, the other resigned. Still, that was something that was for another time. Levek ladled out a couple of bowls of soup and sat them down on the table. "Nothing you need worry about at all."

"Allison's new Epic Adventure"

The Talvalen ship was big.

Kinda like the big ship in Space Balls, but without the bumper sticker.....and it didnt turn into a maid.

Inside were a lot of Romulans.....Only they didnt call themselves Romulans. If you were cool you called then Rihannsu like in the Diane Duane books which totally rocked, but were non-canon.

Anyway there were a lot of guys with pointed ears.

Allison was a Romulan.

Only it wasnt like really her, it was like an implanted memory like the TNG episode when Picard learned to play the flute.

Anyway Allison was a Romulan, only she was really a Vulcan instead.....because I thought it would be cool to be different than everybody else.

Kinda like being a Goth and wearing mascara just to be different.....even though all your friends are doing the same thing.

Kinda like that.

Anyway Allison he Romulan/Vulcan didnt have a name, again because I thought it waould be cool to just call her Princess.

Kinda like how Sting doesnt have real name.......but his name is totally cooler than anything I could come up with.

Anyhow......Allison the Romulan with no name (who was really a Vulcan) walked around the ship and saw a lot of things.

She saw other Romulans.

She saw big engines and lots of computer equipment and big gardens like in that 70's movie Silent Running.......only she didnt play poker with robots.

.....and she didnt nuke the ships.

Because she was a Vulcan and she didnt beleive in that kinda thing.

Kinda like Spock didnt beleive in nuking gardens because he was like totally cool.

Anyway she had alot of mental powers...kinda like Professor Xavier, but she didnt found a school for training young Vulcan s to use those powers........

.....although now that I think of it thats like a cool idea.......so scratch that......Allison the Princess founded the Mind Witch's school for gifted Romulans.

But like the govenment hates her, like if she was a mutant or something.......only they cant do anything about it.

.....because she's got like this super secret shuttlecraft underneath a basketball court.

.......Which can go Warp 10....even though thats like not invented yet, but hello.....she's like got a secret school and they can do stuff like that.

Ok....remember the episodes in TNG where Spock tries to get the Romulans to turn into Vulcans again?

Okay well she does that too.

She says "Hey....you gotta be Vulcans."

And they say "No way."

And she says "Oh yeah?"

And lots of them agree because she's real persuasive like Spock was.

So they promote her to Commander on the holodeck when they get back.

And they say...."you will be promoted form Crewman recruit to Commander and you are now the Executive Officer."

And she says. "Ok...."

And then she jumps real high like Worf and grabs the hat.

Then she goes to ten forward and plays poker like in the TNG episode, and they cant tell if she's bluffing because she studied how to have a poker face from Data.

And she eats chocolate like Deanna Troi does.

Then Allsion goes to bed happy that she had a big day.......being a Romulan and teaching people to fly secret shuttles and all.

OOC: yes this is a joke.......although it was pure stream of consciouness writing.....lots of fun.

"Fading Landscapes and Portraits"

Talvath Raal (Robert Mathieson)

The colors weren't working.

Too much red in the setting sun bled into the white of the thin clouds giving the evening sky an unpleasant mottled appearance, and the green highlights of an extinct verdant forest stood out too harshly against the ochre earth that once nurtured them. Looking down at his pallet, Talvath Raal prodded the pigments brush with too few bristles and wondered if the problem lay with the paints or the artist.

Fifty years in space in a colony ship once thought to be more than equal to the task it was designed for made the mind focus on other things than the world they came from. Daily challenges in keeping the peace, enforcing the law, weighing the ship's needs against the wants of the people she bore created a mental fatigue that made the memory less than perfect.

The pure, unspoiled smell of un-recycled air.

The soft feel of a new leaf between thumb and forefinger.

The morning dew of a clear, cold day in early spring.

Water, cold crisp and pure from a mountain stream.

The intense warmth of a bright, autumn sun on the skin.

Talvath's memory of Vulcan, like that of many others, was beginning to fade.

The things long denied of both the flesh and the spirit fueled a thirst for them, fanned by the sweetness of a sentimental memory. Talvath was certain he never took the time to breathe in the gentle winds of Kharath and was too busy with career and duty to traipse idly in the nearby woods and streams, but now that those things were forever denied him he hungered for their touch, their sight and feel. ~We were not meant to see only the colors we can manufacture~, he mused. ~Nature's pallet had more fire, more variety… and a graceful subtleness memory can't reproduce.~ Another look at the painting in progress brought a bitter, critical laugh from the old soldier. Individually the colors were correct, but together the effect was artificial. Childish. Synthetic. Wrong.

A closer look at the brush showed too few bristles. It too was showing its age from too many landscapes, still-lifes, studies and portraits. It was the last of this size from the homeworld - when it was gone, he would have to test a new medium, but it too served as a subtle reminder of what was lost. No d'jera boars exist to fashion new bristles from, and the only thing Talvath could think of on this cold, grey ship he was beginning to loathe was his own thinning hair. Even the pigments he was now using were made from the thin scrapings of colony-ship leftovers. Rendered vegetable oils formed a soluble base, ground ferrous rust as reddish pigment, algae from tainted water supplies for green, spoiled foodstuffs for blue. The Captain had to offer a bitter laugh that the decay and waste of the massive ship provided was the only source of pigment for a painter.

It was, however, no laughing matter. The strikes and flaring tempers proved that living things weren't meant to be penned in such a manner for such a long period of time. Talvath could see a growing rift between civilian and the military authorities, and his Centurion's could feel the mounting frustration as they patrolled the lower decks. Assaults were becoming more common as tempers flared, and he tried to be as lenient and understanding as possible - but murders had begun, and the Captain could feel the pressure of violence building on his ship.

Standing and stretching his spine, Talvath took a final penetrating look at the landscape - the city of Kharath of his childhood, her white walls clear and red-tiled roofs gleaming under a summer's sun. He knew his hands and eyes could not do his memory justice of the place, and with heavy heart he removed the canvass and placed it behind a score of others leaning against the steel-gray walls of his workroom. For an instant he paused as another painting, this time a portrait, caught his eye. From the darkest corner of the small room the image of a child of sixteen smiled happily and proudly at her father.

Sakonna.

Talvath resisted the urge to come closer to the painting to better look into those innocent, care-free eyes, and see the freely given smile that had bought so much pride not so many years ago. Seeing the face brought memory of the feel of a small hand in his, clutching strongly during a long walk in the hills of flowing, golden grass. The laughter of a child echoed in his hears, as well as the distant memory of his own smile on a day long forgotten.

Yet, like so many things, these too had faded as time continued its merciless, unending cycle.

"The Joy of Childbirth!"

With Proconsol R'aven, leader of the Sienae (blade) Guild and his beautiful wife the Lady L'Eeo, holder of the sacred chalice of Femininity, one of the six pillars of Serenity and heiress of...well... of nothing since they left their home world behind!

Time: 5 years after the departure. (Phase 1. Yeah, I know I'm a bit behind, but I'll catch up fast.)

Previously: After dispatching a rival guild representative in combat, R'aven is told that his beautiful wife is going into labor. The Proconsol rushes to be by her side to bask in the sweet moment....

"YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!! YOU......... AND YOUR PENIS!!!" L'Eeo screeched, nearly rising up completely off the bed. She growled and gasped in the grip of yet another contraction, her fists gripping the headboard so fiercely that it threatened to shatter, showering them in hundreds of tiny splinters

"Now honey, please try to calm down. I love you. My penis loves you. Our child will...." Raven started before he had to duck as the multicolored crystal vase flew past his head and crashed against the bulkhead behind him. He turned his wide eyed gaze to his wife.

"You...Your mother gave that to us on our wedding day. It's irreplaceable" he said.

"EVERYTHING WE HAVE IS IRREPLACABLE YOU IDIOT!!!! WE'RE NO LONGER ON ROMULUS!!! OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT WHILE YOU HAD MY LEGS AROUND YOUR EARS?!?!

The Vulcan midwife that had returned holding a pan of warm water shot a disgusted look down her narrow, beaklike nose at the Proconsol and exhaled sharply.

"Making love with your face. Disgraceful." she said, setting the pan down to the left of the bed. (OOC: Opinions expressed by the midwife are hers and hers alone and are not necessarily reflective of her author. Wheeee!)

"I....I don't know what ...just...please. Can't you give her anything for the pain?" Raven asked, blushing deeply."She's clearly delirious."

Leeo's face grew dangerously red as she felt the waves of contractions begin again. "ILL SHOW YOU DELERIOUS" she bellowed flinging a ceramic rose that her husband sidestepped easily. "SEE IF I EVER LET YOU USE THE BASKET AND PULLY AGAIN!"

The midwife once again leered at R'aven.

"She...ah...we just....you know." he stammered, then stopped as he saw the look upon his wife's face.

L'Eeo was glaring at him sinisterly with thinly veiled contempt. "YOU WANT TO SLEEP WITH HER DONT YOU?"

'What?!?!" R'aven asked.

"IM JUST A BIG FAT COW AND YOU WANT TO FEEL HER JUICES DRIPPING DOWN YOUR CHEST. YOU HATE MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!" she wailed.

"No honey. I love your belly and I love your juices dripping down my chest." He assured her, much to the chagrin of the midwife.

"If you can manage to keep your perverted impulses under control, the sooner that I deliver your baby, Proconsol the sooner you two can go back to pleasuring yourselves with chair legs, weevil rats or whatever arcane blasphemy you wish to conjure up."she hissed, flipping up the sheet that covered Leeo's legs and then announced: "She's ready. I need you to hold her down."

"DONT TOUCH ME!!! DONT YOU EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN OR I WILL GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT WITH MY TOENAILS!!! GO TOUCH YOURSELF!!!"

The midwife opened the bureau and picked up a thick fluffy towel. Then she paled and reached in and pulled out a long, slended phallic apparatus. She held it higher to examine it but suddenly the phallus snapped to life and began oscillating and vibrating. She dropped it to the floor and kicked it with her foot sending the green tool sliding under the dresser.

"That's hers. I dont know where she even got it from." R'aven said.

"I'm gonna have to beg the Mind Witch of Gol to get this whole evening out of my head." spat the midwife.

"YOU BOUGHT IT FROM MEEEEEEEEE UUUUURRRRRGGGRRRRR!!!!!!!"

"I got it in the mail by mistake really, I...OH MY GOD!!! WHAT IS THAT!!!!" he said pointing to the pulsing bulge hanging from his wife's groin.

"That's your child's head crowning amidst a sinful shave job. Hold her down now and help her breathe." the midwife ordered placing L'Eeo's legs against her shoulders. The woman began flailing and the graying midwife looked around the L'Eeo's leg and let out a yelp.

"What in the name of Remus are you doing?" she asked watching Raven blowing into L'Eeo's nose. She gasped as her husband moved his lips from her nostrils.

"MORON....TRYING TO....KILL ME!!!!"

"I said help her breathe. Practice with her dont breath for her."

"Right! Right! Breathe honey. Breathe."

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU IF YOU SPEAK AGAIN!!!"

"I can see the head..."

"She can see the head, honey"

"I HEARD HER YOU NERF HEARDER!! SHE'S RIGHT THERE BETWEEN MY LEGS!"

"She needs to push harder."

"You need to push harder, honey."

"I'M PUSHING!!!"

"You need to push harder honey..."

"I'M GONNA PUSH YOU THROUIGH AN AIRLOCK!!"

"She's doing the best she can." R'aven said.

It was at that moment that the small cry of a newborn cut the tension in the room. The woman gasped and fell backwards in a sweaty heap as the midwife towled off the child and handed it to the beaming father.

"Honey, I love you...but...I never want to go through that again..." L'Eeo gasped looking at her perfectly healthy newborn.

"I'm sorry to hear that." the midwife said as she squatted down and once again placed the feet on her shoulders.

"What do you mean?" The Proconsol said, a look of concern suddenly washing over his face.

"She's having twins." announced the midwife.

***********Later ***************

L'Eeo slept quietly, thoroughly exhausted from the labor. In her arms the two tiny little boys slept peacefully with tiny smiles almost tugging at their cherub like faces.

Their father sat back quietly and beamed, the proud parent finally ready to fall asleep himself, yet not wanting to miss a moment of his children's lives. His eyes were heavy and he took one more look at his family and said: "My boys. My little men. The future of our civilization. I shall name you ..." he started before sleep finally took him.

"Clouds"

Ariennye (John Davidson)

****
52 Years AL
****

The thick puissant odor wafted up from the bags of fertilizer that he currently rested on. Though it was strong, he paid the smell naught but a slight wrinkling of the nose. He, for the most part, had gotten used to it in the last two decades. But then, being that he had toiled in the vast fields of crops for those two decades, he had gotten used to a great many things.

Long gone was the boozing, and feeling completely sorry for himself. No more did he live in that small windowless cleaning closet that he had once thought of as a home. It was very seldom these days that he was lacking in the necessities of life. He earned enough to survive; enough for food, clothes and a small place, and for a few luxuries, though he tended to shy away from anything too extravagant. If there was one thing Ariennye was doing, it was surviving.

Off in the distance the irrigation system had started up, soaking the crops with water. Several workers were hard at work digging up an empty plot, preparing it for the new batch of Jarro Root. In rhythmic timing the three workers slammed their spades into the ground, turning the soil and pulling out again. Had Ariennye been watching, he might have sworn they had done it for several decades. That's how in sync they were. But as it was, they had only worked in the farming sector for the past three years. He was too interested in something else.

He had been lying down on top of the bags, a hand shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. Though he knew it to not be real, the artificial light shone almost as bright as the sun. Large puffy clouds floated up there in the sky, or so he imagined. In reality it was just the dull grey of the ceiling, with the powerful lights spread out to give the life sustaining energy required for the Photosynthesis, a process which was vital to the growth potential of the crops.

****
The Plains of Arenestov
Vulcan
5 Years BL
****

Her head rested upon in the nook between his arm and his chest as they lay on the blanket staring up at the clouds overhead. With his free hand he gently twisted a strand of hair around his finger as he looked at the various clouds as they slowly passed overhead.

"That one looks like a Sehlat." Ariennye said softly to the woman lying next to him.

Jaeih Tei giggled. "No it doesn't. It looks more like a stuffed teddy bear my grandmother made for me when I was a child."

Ariennye smiled. "Well it does to me. And besides, you haven't shown me your teddy bear yet so how would I have known that?"

Lying next to the woman of his dreams, in a secluded area of the Plains of Arenestov, away from the prying eyes of her father was one thing, but Ariennye was growing tired of hiding their love for one another. And he was sure she was as well. If not for the strict political nature that permeated the Royal household, where one was duty-bound to marry another of similar stature, they would have been able to show their love for each other in public. Yet, she was a Princess, or the house of Tei, and as such was 'destined' to marry some dickhead who, though a noble in title, was likely less noble than the lowest of slaves working in their household.

She rolled over to be able to look into his eyes. "It's been five years since we met upon Mount Tar'Hana and you know I want to take you to the Mansion as badly as you do, but father would not approve. If he found out, he'd likely string you up for the carrion birds. Besides, your place is much more cozier. Especially with that roaring fireplace you have.

Ariennye smiled and kissed her softly on the lips. "True. Though I would love to meet your family at some point."

"I would love that too." she replied before wrapping her arm around his waist and hugging him closely.

"Oh... that one looks like a sandworm." she said with another little giggle.

Ariennye smiled. It did indeed look like a sandworm. "Though that one there looks a lot like your minder, S'harien."

She gently slapped him on the chest, grinning broadly. "It is S'harien."

"Begging your pardon m'lady, but your di'Ranov comes." He said with a slight bow.

Sitting bolt upright, she brushed her dress to make herself presentable.

Ariennye stood up at a more relaxed speed. "You look fine."

She smiled and kissed him. "Stay here. I'll go and meet him. He probably wants to take me home. I'll talk to you later my love." She kissed him again, longer and more passionately this time. Finally breaking the kiss she stepped out from behind the outcropping that they had been lying near and walked to greet her her father.

Ariennye looked out from behind the rock as they exchanged kissed upon each cheek. Her father indicated for her to head towards the small transport shuttle that they owned, before casting a baleful glance at the rock outcropping.

He shrunk back under the elder Vulcan's stare, wondering if he knew he was there, or if it was just a reaction. It didn't really make much of a difference. Whether her father knew about them wasn't going to change how he felt about her. Not one bit. He was in love with her, despite his low station in life.

****
A Crop Field
52 Years AL
****

"I don't pay you to sleep, Ariennye!" his boss called out, causing Ariennye to sit up hurriedly. He nearly toppled off the bags, but managed to clamp a hand upon one, balancing himself.

"Yes sir." he replied before standing up and lifting one of the bags of fertilizer onto his shoulder. Grumbling at his boss for interrupting the memory of that day upon the plains with his beloved, he began the walk over to the three who were digging up the ground.

It had been just over half a century since he had lost her and snuck aboard the Talvalen, the last 35 of which he had been sober. It was a funny thing he had noticed after fifteen years of drinking and sleeping in a cleaning closet, that one couldn't survive on just Jarro root and alcohol. You needed more to truly survive. And well, that and the near death experience he had had where he had been trapped under the water for nearly ten minutes while cleaning one of the huge water tanks had prompted him to give up his old ways and try and find some decent work.

The scientist who had been called in to test the water for purity - they had chosen not to call in a doctor since Ariennye was from the lowest levels of the ship - had deemed it a miracle that he had survived. It was a belief that Ariennye himself also thought of as a miracle.

Reaching the diggers, he pulled out a knife and made a hole in the bottom, allowing the fertilizer to pour out onto the freshly turned dirt. Once the bag was empty, he returned for another, and a third, all the while watching the three workers mixing it into the dirt that was already present. At least he was earning enough to be able to purchase food from the market.

"Dawning"

53 Years after Launch

T'Mara/Faylin McAlister

-----------------------------

"Come on honey, we have to get home." The petite raven haired woman stated quickly and in a hushed tone as she grabbed her daughters hand. Fear washed over her in a new way at this moment.

"Daddy's gonna be home soon......right?"

T'Mara nodded solemnly. Their outing was against the rules in a manner of speaking. Swallowing the nervousness she felt, the woman gingerly picked up the canvas bag that held their meager belongings.

Entering their quarters, the wife gave a cursory glance around her environment.

'Blankets on the sofa folded lengthwise. Check.' She thought to herself. Her eyes fell to the small wooden table and absentmindedly nodded as her daughter released herself from her mother's grasp and ran off into her bedroom.

'Table dusted. Okay. Chairs exactly where they belong. Yes. Centerpiece in the center of the table. Yeah.' Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, starting from the top of the ceiling to the wall. Pictures in place and straight, nothing out of place, nothing out of place. She kept repeating the words to herself in her mind as she stood with her hands down at her side. Raising her vision, she checked the time on the digital chronometer that decorated the side wall. A while...not much time and her relaxation caused by his absence would be over until the next morning when he left for his duty shift.

Days were spent like this, in her prison of her home. Glances at the chronometer as she ran back and forth straightening and re straightening to the point of obsessiveness. It was her attempt to see the world through his eyes, to perhaps prevent one more harsh word, or an evening spent in silence as she cared for their daughter as he spent his evening separate in their bedroom all led up to the depression that was her reality.

It was a world that was silent, her own as she spent days after days harboring feelings of anger and hurt at her husband. He never did understand her view, her reasons, her drive for doing something. To him, it was all wrong, not the way it should be, never right. Her hair was never neat, her makeup never correct or heavy enough to accent her eyes for his taste. Meals were always tough, the end table was always out of place. The daughter never listened to her. She was worthless, unworthy of a kind word. Year after year, her contempt for the man raised up within her, she felt powerless to do anything. He was her husband, and if the marriage was not a story tale, that was also her fault.

Sighing audibly, she walked over and peeked in on her daughter playing alone in her room. At least, he never hit her or called her names. T'Mara would take the brunt of his anger on things that were not right. Taking all the blame for little indiscretions like if the little girl had left her toothbrush on the counter instead of the holder where it properly belonged. Anything and everything to avoid the wrath of her husband she would do. Properly. Everything in it's proper place.

The doors hissed open, causing T'Mara to instantly shudder and droop her shoulders.

"T'Mara!" He bellowed. Coming shyly around the corner, her head fell as did her gaze to the floor as she stood broken in front of him. She didn't have to look to know that one of the blankets were folded improperly, her vision caught the rust colored fringe of the corner that rested at his feet.

"How many times have I told you?" With anger to his voice, he threw the rest of the blanket violently at her feet. "You worthless piece of crap. You'll never get anything right, will you?"

She stayed silent.

"WILL YOU?"

Sniffing, she raised her head slightly as her eyes flashed dangerously. She stayed silent.

"Answer me now!"

T'Mara opened her mouth slightly, but a voice inside her head told her to shut her mouth and straighten her posture in defiance. Doing so her eyes searched his, finding nothing buy sheer anger for her rebellion.

Drawing his fist back, his determination to properly train his wife in her duties was at full force. As the fist came barrelling towards her left eye, T'Mara calmly and serenely raised her own hand, catching his fist in the air right before it hit her.

His own confusion was painfully apparent as his wife still held onto his fist. He said nothing, merely dumbstruck at her bravery.

Her eyebrow shot upwards as she spoke with a new, yet darker voice. The Katra of Siena spoke from within T'Mara "You will never hit me again........................"

"Vennetir's Decision, Part 1"

By Vennetir And Amano

Location: Quarters.

"BY THE GREAT BIRD, AM I EVER ANGRY!"

Vennetir Dalmass'e always promised himself, for the sake of his marriage, that he would keep his temper to a minimum in front of his wife, Amano, but tonight was the final breaking point. He did what his wife tempted him to do, what he promised would never happen.

He blew up, simple as that.

It had started just like every other argument since boarding the ship. Vennetir would come home, after a 12 hour shift in the engine room. Reeking of sweat and soot, and ever resolved to clean the filth off his skin so that he could hope for a civilized meal with Amano, he would then head to his bathroom with the plan of taking off his overshirt and coveralls, putting away his tools, and letting the reheated, recycled water run over his skin until he felt clean again.

It was the plan, until Amano talked to him. She always wanted to talk to him, and with a wife he would have thought he normally minded.

However, Amano was not the wife he saw in musicals or in stories. She had a grating habit of halting Vennetir from making himself presentable in order to bring about a list of problems that she has. They were small trifling ordeals, from the dysfunctional resequencer to the showers not delivering hot water. Such things happened on the ships lower levels, where the technicians and the engineers tended to live, and thankful that he was for having such accomodations (many lower classes were relegated to communial living spaces and having to share facilities) didn't mean having the accomodations work right. That was for higher levels, and one was thankful for any luxury on a ship that could spare none.

Tell Amano that, and she was likely to be furious, argue that it was still unfit for anyone. She had a hard time counting the Great Bird's blessings. She also had a hard time giving Vennetir a good, proper greeting when he got home. Was it too much to ask for her to welcome him back? Instead he is assaulted with problems that were, to his mind, livable. No joy, no smiles, nothing to come back to that was worthwhile.

And the same problem has been going on for the past five years, ever since he came on this ship!

Rather, she complained, and when he politely excused himself, she would claim that Vennetir was ignoring her problems, and that he should answer right away. What could he do about the hot water, the resequencer that can't do a proper plomeek broth, or the grav plating that send her stomach doing freefall tumbles? He looked at them all when he wasn't helping to keep the engines running, which was infinitely more important.

When he would say he would look into his, the rapidity of his investigation of said problems was put into question by Amano herself. When was it going to happen? Why not do it now? Nevermind that he was smelly, weary, and wanting a quick meal and some time in his cot.

When such desires were expressed, sometimes she would grumble.

This time, she complained about being relegated to the housework while she had to work in the nursery. That was why Vennetir never asked her to cook, but it did come up anyways. It was as if the woman looked for excuses to argue, and Vennetir looked for excuses to back away. He would go back to insisting on taking a shower.

Amano would then tell him not to move until her issues were resolved.

In which case, Vennetir would sigh, grumble, and wash up.

Today took a different, explosive turn. He was going to wash his face and hands as quickly as he could, because Amano was impatient, and as such wanted Vennetir to fix the problems or call the block handyman right away. Doing it himself would have made her chide him on his bad mechanics skills when he was supposed to be in charge of an entire ion superengine (near warp ion superengines were much more complex than the regular kitchenbot or replication unit, but even they needed specialists). If he called the handyman she would have given equal spite to him on account that he couldn't do the job himself.

None of that would have mattered. They would have gone to bed loveless, angry at each other and tired. Vennetir would sleep first, to which Amano would find the time the next day to tell him that when he wasn't working he was sleeping and not paying attention to her, and understandably at that point Vennetir would have wanted to sleep through their entire voyage than speak another word with Amano. He never wanted to scream at her. That was for barbarians, even if he was the furthest man from the heretic Surak's ideals, but by avoiding an argument he would prevented Amano's feelings from being hurt. As hateful as a harpy she was, he couldn't stand to hurt her feelings anymore.

That was not how it went.

Rather, he did yell, and loud enough for the next three decks to hear. He was sick of her complaining, sick of her not making his day better. He had enough of being greeting like an incompetent instead of a husband. He wanted to leave the apartment, and so he did.

"Where do you think you are going?" She demanded, "You will stay here and talk to me, now!"

"No." He said, "Let me go."

"What? You are going to go out looking like that?!" She shrilled, pointing to his grease covered hands and dirty overalls.

Exasperated, he screamed, "I WOULD GO OUT CLEAN IF I COULD BUT YOU WON'T LET ME TAKE A DAMN SHOWER!!!!!"

"Oh, so that is what you think I am doing?!" She matched his outburst equally; annoying as she was she was very strongwilled, "I just want you to take care of the growing list of problems in this place!"

"Problems!" He yelled, "You should be lucky that you live here with me! Would you rather go on the lower levels where you can be manhandled and attacked on your way to work? Or would you rather be on that blasted crater of a home planet of ours?! If you think this isn't good enough I would be more than glad to throw you back with those crazy religious fanatics and their irradiated dustbowl! I could have left you on that planet, if that was what you preferred, to die slowly and have the emotions that make you feel like you have to demean me like a common house servant stripped from your mind until you can't think and feel for yourself! Is that what you want? Because the Great Bird be damned if you think I wasted my time and my service in the Raptor's Wing defending your right to disrespect me!"

Amano was on the edge of panic, and she screamed louder, "DAMMIT! I want you to get us out of this apartment! You haven't tried hard enough to get us out of here! We have to stay here with the leaky pipes and bad food and neighbors and unwashed bodies! You could do it too if you could actually do your job right!"

"I do my job right!" Be barked back in defense, "And we all can't be from a well off family of inbreds with more patronage than brains!"

"How dare you..."

"Yes, how dare I!" He continued, "How dare I put my life on the line every day in one of the most dangerous jobs on the ship, hoping the best I can come away with is only twenty years of my life reduced and no hope of children so that we can all find a home that doesn't have more radiation than my protective codpiece! Yes, how dare I, despite not having any connections, get us a respected and well paying job and an apartment that is as good as we can ever get! Yes, how dare I try to work my ass off without any hope of a promotion to section chief or even chief engineer because the rad-fried moron who is my boss and next in line to be chief engineer happens to be part of a major house. Yes, how dare I not get the apartment you think you're worthy of with all the working ammenities because I can't get past my job position! And yes, how dare I use my one remaining pass on you instead of getting my parent off that blasted planet! You have it so hard! Forgive me if your ingratitu de is overwhelming! It really is my fault!"

"THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Amano shrieked, picking up a spice shaker from the table and throwing it at Vennetir. He tilted his head, the shaker missing him narrowly. It bumped and shattered on the wall, kicking up a cloud of amber spice. She hissed in frustration and grabbed for another shaker. "I came because you told me to! I was too scared when the bombs started dropping! If this was going to be our life, I would have never come! I would have dared that planet instead of endure the hell that is this marriage!"

"IF THAT'S THE CASE, WHY STAY?!?!" Vennetir sarcastically jibed, "You love me enough to stay? Why can't you love me enough to at least make my day better when I get home! I fix your appliances, I help in the kitchen, I help you clean, and that's after a 12 hour work shift and an hour commute! You have it good with me! I provide well for you when others can barely survive belowdecks. I do the best I can! The least you can do is make my life bearable!"

"Is it all about you?"

"No, it's about us, and you don't realize that!"

He threw his case of tools on the ground and went into the bedroom. Angrily, he threw off his clothes and put on fresh coveralls. He stormed into the bathroom and hastily threw water on his face. It helped to cool his hot temper.

"You're not leaving. Don't you have any respect for the family? I stay because I respect the family structure, and therefore respect you."

"Oh by the Great Bird...." Vennetir sighed. It was her last resort when arguments got at her worse. Her family was very traditional, even religious. She even winced when he said the name of the Great Bird in vain. "You stay because of your religion? Look around! We have no family! No children! Nothing! We're together in name only! We might as well be apart!"

"And if you put some effort into it, we would be a family. We would be together! You won't even put effort into keeping this place running! YOU...."

"You say it, and I leave."

"...ARE..."

"Stop right there!"

"...NO..."

"That's it!"

"...GOOD!!!"

Losing the last of his control, Vennetir smashed his hand against the refridgerator. The impact ran up his hand and down his arm, aching deep in his bones. Its loud smash startled Amano, who was at that point flustered, tears running down in dribbling torrents down her flush green angry face.

The look on her was of abject horror and fear. Vennetir looked at his bruised fist.

How he wanted to use that fist on his wife now, and how glad he was to use it on the fridge.

"Oh... another thing to fix. What a surprise!" She angrily sobbed.

"That's it!" Vennetir growled, "I'm leaving. Don't bother with dinner."

It was what always happened when Vennetir decided to leave the home. Amano would cry, she would beg for him not to leave. She would use anything to make him stay, and when he was resolved to make it his last, Vennetir would stay to calm her down.

Not tonight.

"Where are you going?" Amano demanded between sobs.

Vennetir answered, "I'm going."

"Where!?" She objected, ready to pick up and hurl another shaker, "To your friend from the engine room?"

"Yes." Vennetir answered, "What of it, woman?"

"You are going to see that low caste socialist you spend more time with than you do your wife? I do not approve of someone who doesn't respect family. There is even a rumour that he prefers the company of other men over a real woman. Is that what you want? You want to be associated with a man lover? You would rather have him than me?"

"GAH!" His motions were repetative enough to bore him. Throwing his arms in the air, he went to the door. He expected Amano to throw the shaker at his head, but didn't hear it coming. He could see that her arm was going slack, her face crumbling in a grotesque mask of sadness, crinkled and crying freely.

It was another weapon she would use.

Vennetir was resolved to not make it work today.

He said, "Maybe you can learn from him how to treat a man."

He closed the door behind him, ignoring Amano's crying. It drove him to walk fast to the hatchway, close it behind him, and drown out his wife's sobbing to the sounds of the starship he loved so much.

~"She said she would have never come if she knew this would happen."~ He thought, reflecting on his crumbling marriage, ~"Would I have done the same knowing the future? How could I predict that being on this ship is ruining our marriage?"~ It was a question that always came up when he argued.

Amano hated being on the cramped ship, where nothing worked right and the life she was used to was not available and not getting better. He could hardly blame her for life wasn't as good as it should be. How one took it judged a person's character, and as a military engineer, he had hardship. He had hardship on Vulcan, as a poor man that happened to get better through grants and scholarships. He climbed to what he was, a respected if low rank engineer. He was a made man, already through his hardships. Amano was a rich man's daughter, younger and not worth much in their caste system, but perfect for a man with no name that wanted to better himself. During those times on planet she was even sweet, and for a time he even loved her.

But she didn't take hardship on the ship as well as he did. She wasn't right for this voyage and he knew it.

But did she have to take it out on him? It seemed to Vennetir to be very unfair, even though he tried hard. All he could do was try, and if she complained, what else could he tell her?

The whole situation was unfair, and he had one friend on the ship he could see, to vent, to try to make things better.

He had to find Tellerie, his comrade and best friend.

"Breath"

Starring Mind Witch of Gol (allison)

50 years after launch

It had taken the Princess of Gol many years to discover her purpose amongst the rebels of Talvalen.

Stolen from Vulcan against her wishes, and paraded like a captured beast amongst the nobles of the fledgeling Rihannsu nation.

That decision proved to be an error in judgement as the Witch.....once the greatest symbol of the passion of ancient Vulcan, now became a painful reminder of Surak's New Way. She was in essence a daily thorn in the side of everything that the 'Declared' had given up.

For many years the Princess was content to remain a symbol. Maintaining peace and calm in the face of the violence and bloodshed that resulted from her more passionate shipmates.

It was this peace and calm that galled her opponents even more, for while whole segments of the Talvalen were falling into violence and unrest.......while murder and rape abounded, and assassin guiilds prowled the lower decks without check...........the decks imediately surrounding the area where the Princess had taken up residence remained demonstrably safer and more ordered than in other areas of the ship.

Perhaps this was just coincidence.......

Perhaps it was the fact that as a telepath of ancient power, the Mind Witch brokered no foolishness from the local criminal element.

Perhaps it was the gibbering mindless corpses of the last Assassin gang that had been foolish enough to attempt a 'hit' within telepathic range of the Witch.

Being a symbol however was not enough. Being a bastion of safety was not enough either.

In the long decades since departure.......as red vulcan faded deep into the blackness of night behind them, the Princess came to realize another valuable service she could perform. it was a job that would provide for the future of the exiles well beyond her own lifetime.

Indeed it was a job which she was uniquely qualified for.

"Control your breathing my 'fi.....that is central to all. With proper breathing, the mind and body will follow." The Princess watched her young student with infinite patience, noting how the lad gulped great erratic breaths.....his thoughs in a turmoil of distraction.

"Calm....." she repeated. "You are not a fish that you need to hyperventilate so........just breath."

Furrowing his brows in renewed concentration the young acolyte focussed more intently on the rate and depth of his nervous breath.

"Slowly my 'fi." the soft voice urged again, "This is not an exercise or task to be completed......proper breathing merely is. Center yourself, be at peace within and without, and your own body will find its natural rythym."

The student almost allowed a sigh of frustration to escape his lips. He's been a student at the Academy for 3 weeks now, and all he had been allowed to do was breath.

~~Slower....faster......let your body figure it out.......~~~ With all the confusing instructions it was a wonder he didnt get confused and die from forgetting to breath altogether.

"Center your thoughts V'kal!" the soft voice carried a stern edge, bringing the boy's attention back to the task at hand.......breathing.

The school for Mental Disciplines had been operating informally for about fifteen years now. The Princess......as the foremost psionic on the ship..... had naturally assumed the role of headmistress to the young of Talvalen taking in all who dislayed the beginings of telepathic talent.

At first those around her had taken such a school to be a sort of status symbol. Fat nobles sent their young sons and daughters to her so that they could thump their chest ans say that thier progeny had been tutored by the fabled master of Gol.

Those puffed up pretentions were quickly deflated when those very same children were sent home in disgrace bearing the simple note that 'they did not possess the required talent'.

The fact that the children of mere peasants were admitted was doubly galling.

Presently the School......such as it was had 20 some odd students of varrying ages and 2 to 3 part time instructors beyond the Princess herself.

Psionic talent was in surprisingly short supply aboard the Talvalen, and as the years went by less and less children with the gift were being born.

It was not something noticable....not yet......but there were whispered doubts in high places......what was happening to the Rihannsu as a people?

Why were fewer and fewer telepaths being born every year? Why were those identified weaker and weaker in power than their forebears?

What would happen 10 generations hense?

Would the Rihannsu still be telpathic at all?

Such possibilities nagged at the back of the Princess mind, but that was not an issue for now. Now was a time for breathing properly.

Actually if anything.....the vanishing of telepaths from the Exiled would in part solve her own problems.

Her goal....such as it was.....was to prevent the creation of a new generation of Mind Witches and wizards. Telepaths of ancient power and unbridled violence such as had laid waste to Vulcan for thousands of years.

Such as she had done before her conversion.

Her training focussed on proper mental controll and discipline of one's talents, and while she did not explicitly teach Surak's way of logic to her pupils.....she did imbue them with a healthy sense of morality and non-violence. After all, even S'Task could not argue that war was better than peace.

"Breath V'kal.....breath........"

The Princess never spoke above a mere whisper.......unusual for one of such a reputation......however the slightest inflection of voice was enough chastisement to have her student blush green from rebuke.

Squashing the emotion, V'kal bought his attention back to the flickering candle flame wavering slightly in the invisible breeze of the ships recyclers.

The Princess sat cross from him, perched like a hawk with sharp, stone faced features.

More than 50 years of spaceflight had done nothing to soften the strength and resolve of this living legend. Still barely an adult by Vulcan standards, the passage of time had only barely begun to erode the youthful curve of her cheeks. She was more sharp featured and perhaps thinner than ever.

After all....logic dictated that when food was scarse, one make do with as little as absolutely necessary, that there would be more for the group as a whole.

It was a theoryry that the fat nobles of the upper decks paid little heed to.

V'kal....a lad of no more than 12 years was a child of one of those same nobles. Full of pride in his developing mental powers, one of his earliest lesson had been in humility and equality as another acolyte....the son of a mere farmer was given equal status within the school.

"The spear in the Other's heart is the spear in your own - you are he" the Princess admonished him. "You are all equal sons and daughter of Vulcan.......that is enough noble title for anyone to be proud of..........it is also enough shame for anyone to hang their head from."

Still old habits died hard, and V'kals treatment of his fellow students was only borderline at best. Though he would not admit it, part of the reason lay in the fact that the farmers son was so much more talented than he was.......

"Breath....V'Kal...." "I am breathing." he huffed under his breath, regretting the words almost instantly. The withering glare from the Princess made him squirm.....~~~She melts peoples brains you fool! And you contradict her?~~~

"Perhaps you are correct." his instructor whispered, "Perhaps I am in error, and you know more than I in the matter of instruction. Shall I become the 'fi and call you Master then?"

Sarcasm it seemed was not beyond Suraks teaching.

"N...no mistress.......forgive me. I shall do better."

"Apology is irrelevant V'Kal. Merely decide to do the lesson, or do not. Lukewarm efforts are worse than no effort at all. Make a decision."

"I....I'll comply." he wavered.

"Words mean little......Do not tell me." she said. "Just breath....."

"Vennetir's Decision, Part 2"

By Vennetir (James L Corgan)
And Tellerie (Unknown)

Location: Commons Area, Promenade
Soundtrack: "Dig" By Incubus (Confession in Engine Room 9)

"Equality for for all!" Yelled the agitator to the populace that passed by, "An equal share for all the proletariat! Equality for all!"

Vennetir passed by the bustle of the promenade, searching under duress for his best friend. He was crowded out by the bodies, their close proximity a mingling sweat that mixed with the spices of cooked foods from the restaurant kiosks, the oils and stinks of cooking fires, the greases and chemicals of a nearby machinist's shop that sold and repaired heavy equipment, the feathers of live birds and the greenery of a shabbily tended park and garden that made the centrepiece of the promenade area. With it came the noises, and with that he could barely hear his friend.

"Why wait for equality to come to you when you can fight for it today!" the agitator raised his voice to make himself unique in the crowd. He held his red pamphlets up high, his worker's smock and oversuit smudged with grease like the rest of the worker crowd that frequented this premenade. Distinctly Vulcan, with his pointed ears, green toned tan skin and broad shoulders of a laborer, the agitator bawled out his statements in blue collar fashion; loud and no nonsense.

Vennetir knew it to be his friend, Tellerie the Socialist.

He had known his friend since the exile, worked together in the engine room and fastly became good companions. Not often did partnerships so fruitful ever came at the job; the military hadn't the graces and time to join compatible workers together in the middle of a war, but somehow they worked extremely well together, making one of the best run engine compartments on the entire ship.

Together, they were some of the best technicians onboard. Even with such low status, it meant something. Vennetir used it to marry past his station.

Tellerie used it for what he called his true calling. Socialism. He even once explained how his family, being so beneath everyone's notice as to be one with the dirt, thought the socialist ideas of collective wealth distribution and equality among all people were the only hope of others like him to have a chance at a decent life, and that exile would provide it.

Vennetir did counter once before that it would get him in trouble, but he actually agreed politically with socialism. He just hoped his friend would not get killed by the Assassin's Guild by a jumpy noble who thought too much of the movement.

But then again, his ideals were worth advocating if they could be executed.

He could never say no to his friend like this. Not to break his heart, not to be realistic. He loved his friend's passion and compassion. It was what kept him nearby, and Vennetir's levelheadedness and calm judgement were good balances.

But when his cooler head didn't prevail, he had to find Tellerie.

"Why, hello there Vennetir!" Tellerie greeted to his friend, absentmindedly passing a socialist pamphlet to a passerby, which proceeded to toss the item into a wastebin, "What brings you in? I thought you were going to spend a night with the missus."

Vennetir's sour look made Tellerie step back.

"What happened?" He asked.

Vennetir took Tellerie aside, "I know you are working right now, but could you spare some time with me? I need to talk to you... in private."

*****

There were private nooks and crannies everywhere on the ship. Engine room nine was no different.

The massive ion engine was a cathedral of latticework, consoles and armoured plating that housed the energy expelling engine that propelled the ship to near light speeds. From their vantage point, they could see the plume of blue white fire thrusting from the back of the engine, a wick in the stars that had to be seen only by specially shielded goggles (standard equipment in the engine room). The cathedral that held the two safe from space and the radiation of the engine's thrusts gave a perfect view of the surrounding area.

There were times the two friends would use the area to drink. They would share a flask of illegally made liquor from a hidden still in the engine room (and well worth the ration credit, he might add). They took swigs of the blue liquid, passing it along.

Vennetir had his fair share, slightly drunk, his head buzzing and his vision swaying. He told the story to Tellerie, the argument with Amano, how he left angry, how close he was to hitting the unfortunate woman. Tellerie, like a good friend, listened attentfully.

"So that's it?" Tellerie asked, "You left?"

"Aye." Vennetir took a thoughtful swig, "Maybe for good. If I knew it would be like this, I would have never married her. Not worth it. To hell with status. To hell with the fact that I thought I loved her on that planet. Here is different. She can't handle it here. She was used to a better life, and I can't give it to her, and now she is taking it out on me."

"It's not your fault." Tellerie countered.

"Some of it is." He took a longer pull out of the bottle, "I can't get anywhere. That frustration I take out on her. We'll tear each other apart. We have to leave."

Vennetir looked frankly at Tellerie, the starfield outside and his companion more company than the promenade provided. He wanted to change the topic badly, forget Amano. He wanted his friend, his companion, and when he thought of Tellerie his heart started to accelerate, "Tellerie, my dearest friend... do you know why I went with the rest of the exiles?"

Tellerie set his socialist pamphlets down on the seat. "No. I always assumed it was like the rest of us though. You were either escaping from the destroyed cities or you didn't want to become emotionless. Are you telling me it was something else?"

"Aye." Vennetir said, staring into the starfield, trying to spot the one that was once his home. He could not succeed, there were so many stars. "I did want to think for myself and honestly, I don't see how emotions are so fatal to us like our cousins that still rot on that irradiated dustbowl. I mean... I get angry from time to time but do I ever follow through by hitting anyone? I never hit Amano, I never hit you when we debate about politics, yet from how they go on, you would think that a petty argument would lead me to pick up a automatic rifle from the armory and start shooting at anyone that moves. I tell you, those religious fanatics know how to exaggerate a problem."

Tellerie laughed, "My friend, you are most interesting when you get serious. Like a poet... or a good aggitator. You would make a good socialist."

"Maybe I would." Vennetir said, "I never said I was adverse to the idea, but let us carry on, shall we? I left the planet because in a way, I wanted to think and do what I want. Ironic, considering the regimented life you get in the navy, but that was just to get an education and a better standing in life. If we didn't have that war and we didn't have to pick sides, I would have been happy to tinker at a shop. Really, I would. But when the war came, something spoke to me, an event. Do you want to hear it?"

Tellerie waited with unbroken silence, nodding his head for an impatience to carry on with the story.

"At the naval academy, I knew a fellow cadet, a senior while I was a freshman. He was everything I wanted to aspire to be. Noble, rich, a strong man with the will to lead others. He was not conceited like our betters, and most certainly wasn't a pushy fanatic like the zealots back home. I admit... and Tellerie, this doesn't go back to anyone, understand?" Vennetir broke off his gaze into the starfield to look intently at his mate. He caught an eye to eye stare with the socialist, broke off embarrasingly as his heart started to thump and his mind started to feel ashamed.

His friend did not have such abashed compulsions. That was what Vennetir loved about him.

"I won't tell a soul, so help the Great Bird." He vowed.

"Good, because I never told anyone else. You see my friend..." He choked back, his most intimate secret refusing to come out until it forced its way by pressure from his queasy stomach, "I was attracted to that cadet."

Tellerie, about to take a swig from his bottle, pulled it back and sputtered.

"What?!?!"

"I was attracted to him." Vennetir confessed with a flush to his cheeks, "Like one would be attracted to a woman."

Wiping the beading alcohol that he spewed on his chin with his workcloth, Tellerie replied with pure astonishment, "You are a homosexual? I would have never guess!"

He found it odd that Tellerie would be surprised. Maybe he did tell the wrong person, but Amano wasn't the only one that suspected Tellerie of being gay as well. Vennetir thought at one occasion or two, Tellerie showed some tell tale signs. Comments about certain people, compliments about other men's handsomeness softened by laughs and jokes. Too see his friend, shocked by Vennetir's confession, taking it as he would expect anyone else but his best friend, treating it as if it was a stigma that could happen to anyone but his best friend, Vennetir felt ashamed to be around him. Noting Tellerie's allegences towards men, even daring to think that they, friends since the exile, could even be attracted to each other, he felt his confession was a mistake and the fallout that would follow could destroy his career, his marriage, his life.

Somehow his fantasy about coming out of the closet was not like this.

Vennetir sat up, ready to bolt for the door. "I..." he stammered, his hand shaking involuntarily, his feeting wanting to retreat before a face losing breakdown stopped him, "...I should go. I'm sorry to put you in the middle of this. Please... don't tell anyone."

He walked to the door.

Tellerie snapped up, his flask dropping in a clatter, glugging out its contents of questionably legal rotgut.

"Wait!" Tellerie begged desperately, "Where are you going?"

Vennetir replied, "I'm going to make things better with Amano, make the marriage work, and forget I ever had homosexual thought in my head. I am a bisexual by the way, it won't be so hard to endure."

"What?!?!" Tellerie cried out, ran to interpose himself between the door and Vennetir, the urge to beg plain and clear on his face, "I'm a socialist, Vennetir! I had been advocating for the dissolution of societal norms for the sake and well being of people for a long time! Why should I be ashamed that you are a bisexual? That is society's conditioning! My socialists don't believe in discriminating in such ways. All men and women are equal, even gays! I've been telling you this all along!"

"So you don't care?" Vennetir wanted to confirm.

"Of course I don't care, you thickheaded 'Selat'! You are a handsome man, but hardly a bright one at times." He put his hand on Vennetir's arm, clasping it, his fingers etching electric tingles down Vennetir's arm. "If anyone makes you ashamed of being gay, I will defend you. If anyone holds you back, I will help you get forward. My people are progress, my dearest friend. We don't let anything hold our own back. We left Vulcan because tradition and values kept us back, and even now the same happens to us, with castes and nobles and all those decadent fools that keep us from the good life. They are the ones that make the rules. They are the ones that say you should be ashamed of being gay. Don't let their opinon of you shape your life."

"And it isn't that easy!" Vennetir snarled.

"It is! Take what you want! We left this planet because we wanted something so badly. To think and feel what we wanted! Isn't that why you left?"

Vennetir paused, retreating his arm from Tellerie's hands. Abashedly, he said, "I made my decision because of a debate I had with the fellow I knew. I figured out why he had such calm demeanor. When I talked to him about homosexuality... just to probe what he thought and see if he would be attracted to me... he told me that it was illogical."

Tellerie put his hand on Vennetir's shoulder, "Oh... I'm sorry..."

He brushed Tellerie's hand off, "Don't need to be, my friend. He was a follower of Surak. He told me that Surak said it was illogical to be homosexual. It involved emotional attachment, and it did not propogate the Vulcan species, so he said. He logically deduced that being gay was useless, and should therefore be suppressed, just like the rest of our emotions. I realized there... that not only was my crush unattainable, that if I didn't join the Raptor's Wing I, and others like me, would be ostracised by the followers of Surak, even forced to be unemotional like them. In those days the rebellion was just taking place and some of us were picking sides. That day I made sure I was on a ship captained by a Raptor's Wing member. I graduated in time for the nuclear weapons to fall, and married a refugee I rescued from one of the bombed cities. When we were called to exile ourselves, I did not want to share the planet with those that think my sexual orientation was illogical. I le ft. So yes, to answer your curiousity, I left for a similar reason you did. I wanted to be free to feel what I want and make my own decisions based on those feelings, and if I stayed those zealots would not have let me."

He said, a tear down his throat, "I always think back to that Vulcan I loved, and think that he would hate me because of what I feel. That planet is full of people like him. To think that I could be spurned so by my entire race... it saddens me deeply. It is as lonely as those stars out there. So numberous, so isolated. I thought at least here I could be accepted."

Withdrawing from Tellerie, he could hardly look into the eyes of his male companion. It was as if, in this most intimate moment, he was laid bare and didn't want to risk getting swept up in the passions that the moment would bring. Tellerie was a handsome man, not as big as Vennetir, but just as strong and emotional as the roughneck bunch found in the engine room. They shared a lot of time together, even more than Vennetir spent with Amano. How could he not be attracted to his intelligent, politically charged friend?

"I am still not fully accepted though." Vennetir admitted, "If not my sexuality, it is my caste, or my position or wealth. I try so hard to make a better life but I'm held back, and Amano keeps reminding me of this. It is bad enough that I want to leave her. That would ruin any chance I had left of promotion. If people knew that I loved oysters as well as snails, so to speak, I would be shunned. My marriage would fall apart. I could lose any chance of advancement. Please... don't tell anyone."

"Nonsense!" Tellerie shot back, "I told you I would defend you! And for the sake of our friendship, listen! Your marriage has already fallen apart! You are staying for the Great Bird know's why, and it is killing you! You're living a closet lie, with your wife and your advancement, for what? So you can stay where you are and still have that hell that is your life? You are my best friend, and it breaks my heart to know this is happening to you, especially since... since...""

"Since what?" Vennetir asked.

"Since... I have feelings for you."

It was Vennetir's turn to be shocked. He could at least understand why Tellerie acted surprised moments before when Vennetir outed himself. He thought of Tellerie and thinking, daring, that his best friend could be in love with him. It opened possibilities, some he dared didn't want to think for the sake of friendship but nonetheless drew itself in his imagination with vividness reserved for paintings and novels. He already knew he was attracted to Tellerie, and kept it aside since he valued his friendship with his fellow technician so much.

The possibility that they could be together was an idea Vennetir wasn't adverse to. In fact, he liked it.

"You did?" He asked, dumbfounded.

Tellerie responded, "I would have thought you would have figured out earlier."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Vennetir questioned.

"You were married, you didn't look gay, and you were my best friend. If I told you... what you feared so much could have happened to me. I could have cared less who knew. My political beliefs reconcile my sexual affiliations. All men and women are equal and are free to do as they wish, as long as it doesn't harm the greater good. I hardly find a serious relationship with you harmful... if it worked, but I was afraid it wouldn't." He turned his back on Vennetir to look at the starfield. Seeing his flask on the ground, he picked it up and shook it over his mouth for the last remaining dropfuls, "I guess that is why I keep telling you to leave Amano. It hurts me to see you so miserable because of that marriage, worse so that you have to hide what you are. My friend... join my friends and I."

"What?" He asked.

"Leave Amano. She is not for you. Join me. We will accept who you are. We won't judge you like everyone else. We are a growing power on the ship, my socialists. There are a lot more of us workers than there are the nobles and the elites. Join us, and not only will you be accepted, but we will be able to make a society that will accept you without question."

"Tellerie, I... what about Amano? I can't just break off a marriage."

"You owe it to yourself to get out of your hell, and you owe it to her to free her from that hell too. Don't answer right away." Tellerie silenced Vennetir, "It is a big decision. I know you do, in your way, care deeply for Amano. But you need to leave her. Now, I don't know if you can love me like that man who became a zealot, but please give me some consideration. You can join my communal flat belowdecks. My family will gladly accept you. Until then, just go my friend. Decide what you have to decide. Do what you have to do."

Vennetir smiled. Taking a last swig from his flask, he capped it, wiped his lips and went for the door, never more certain in his life.

"Don't worry, my friend." He bypassed Tellerie for the exit, "I already have."

"Vennetir's Decision" - Epilogue

"Vennetir!" Amano screamed out as the door to his quarters opened, "Where have you been?! I was worried sick about you! Do I smell alcohol on you?!"

Ignoring his 'wife', Vennetir went straight for the bedroom. He started to clear his closet, gathering his uniforms and civilian clothes, and hastily stuffing them into his duffel bag from his academy days. He grabbed for his toolbox and tucked it under his arm, and slung the duffel bage over his shoulders. He snatched from his nightstand a book he was reading, a jewelry chain with the Raptor's Wing insignia, and his debit card. He was to leave for the door when Amano stepped in.

"Where do you think you are going?" She said tensely, refusing to budge. She looked determined to stop her husband like many times before, using her anger to push him, her tears to break him, and false promises to keep him snared in.

Vennetir's resolve was intact. Not tonight.

"I'm leaving you." He said for the last time, gently pushing her away from the door, "Permanently."

He said it with such unwaivering certainty that Amano couldn't gather the nerve to be angry. She had the look of a person who was shocked and paralyzed, found in a nightmare scenario that she imagined but thought she could never be in.

"You will get the paperwork from my lawyer in the morning." Vennetir said coldly, "And if you need to reach me I'll be in communal living space 18A. I wish you good luck in your life, and may the Great Bird protect you."

He closed the door behind him. Helplessly, Amano watched him walk away, the sinking realization that this time it was real hit her.

Vennetir could hear her scream in anguish. He didn't look back. In fact, he smiled, feeling more free than he had in his life.

**********

Belowdecks was a poorer affair than the apartment he was used too. It was more run down, a part of the ship that was constructed with two things in mind. One was to make it hold as many people as possible. The other was to make it as fast as possible. Creature comforts were not a priority, but a few were placed in mind.

A communal living space consisted of one large common area, and in it among the walls were bunk beds on four of the six hexagontal sides of the room. Each communal space was a square, the edges uses for storage space or jeffries tubes, but the inside was a combination of sleeping quarters, living room and a large island kitchen. Separate male and female bathrooms were in the 'corners', and the rear wall held holographic entertainment consoles and audio machines for news and announcements.They were all painted a dull, rusting grey and green, and the lighting tended to flicker due to the power demands of the ship.

This was to be his home for the rest of his life.

He looked for the door that was painted with the 'Red Bird', a stylized raptor in red that held a wreath of threaded grain crops, and an old fashioned wrench favored by hullsmen and technicians. The Red Bird. The Great Bird.

This was not only the flat for Tellerie's extended family, but it was also the headquarters of the ship's fledgling socialist movement. He rang the bell and waited for an answer.

Tellerie came out, a little tired and not as clean shaven as before, but looking nonetheless spectactular to Vennetir. He was shirtless, and though leaner and not as muscled as Vennetir, nonetheless looked well fit and handsome, a worthy mate for any female if he wasn't gay or of the lowest caste anyone could think of. The tiredness of his eyes was gone, however, when he saw Vennetir with his bags packed.

"My friend..." He smiled sleepily, "How good of you to..."

Vennetir ceased the opportunity to kiss Tellerie on the mouth. His lips were firmer than Amano's, and even when taken by surprise they were more willing than his wife's. He loved the tang of the worker's sweat, the way it was rough yet took care to be gentle, how his grip and Tellerie's was stronger and more sure of itself. The kiss was exquisite.

He drew back, seeing Tellerie's little sister behind him. Tellan gave them both an admiring look, as if to tell them both that she not only knew what was going on, but silently admonish them for taking so long to get to the end result. The peasantish teenager was a rose among the thorns, a pretty girl flowering into womanhood in a brilliant way. She, in her young age, was already showing herself to be beautiful, well figured, and strong, especially strong in her opinions.

"If it is ok with you both..." Vennetir asked, "I would like a place to stay."

"Come in, my friend." Tellerie breathed, "My sister and I can accommodate you. You will be living with my sister, my mother my twin cousins and our other various roustabouts, all socialists and strong to the cause. Lets all celebrate with your addition to our collective!"

"Thank you." Vennetir flushed with shyness, his warm welcome overwhelming, but knowing that he was finally home.

"The Passing" Part 1

Talok, son of Tos, 95th Lord Valen (M'Kantu)
Tavin, son of Talok (?)
T'Pera, Tavin's older sister (?)

****
Talvalen
70 years after launch
****

There were some who said that Valen should have been dead long ago. There were some who were amazed he had lived this long. And there were some who said he should have relinquished his control of the clan decades ago, back when he had been a younger, more tolerant man.

Or so they said.

But whatever the vague 'they' thought of him, it seemed that they would not have much time to continue indulging in such thoughts. Now, at a nearly unheard of 284 years old, Lord Valen's body was finally beginning to expire.

He had felt it coming for years. His wife had dedicated herself solely to the health and wellbeing of her husband, but she had barely made it a decade into their journey before succumbing to an unknown and incurable disease. The servants and physicians who had surrounded him his entire life had known his health as well as they had known their own, but even they had all passed on, leaving him in the care of his children's staff. The younger doctors were adept, that much he would concede, but their care was sometimes lacking.

One by one his body's systems had begun to deteriorate and fail. When walking long distances became difficult the doctors had confined him to the upper levels of the ship. When standing upright had become a chore they had confined him to his quarters. Then finally when coordination and self-awareness had left him they had confined him to his bed. And now he was waiting patiently for the end because there was simply nothing else for him to do. It was a disgusting way to die, he thought, and he was tired of it.

"Summon my son." His voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper, but it still carried with it the force of a man who had commanded whole armies, who had almost conquered Vulcan itself...

The only other occupant of the room, a woman of about 100, nearly leapt from the chair in which she had been sitting. "Yes, m'lord," she answered, then dashed out of the room.

Valen smiled to himself as the door shut softly behind her. Yes, finally the end was very near.

****

It wouldn't be very long now, Tavin thought to himself. Talok was old, very old, and the physicians said his body couldn't last much longer. The death of the 95th leader of the clan Talvalen was almost upon them.

Tavin looked around the room, suppressing a smile. Soon, very soon, this would all be his. Upon his father's death, leadership of the clan would pass to him. He would inherit all his father's power, all his father's influence, and complete control over the far-travel ship Talvalen and the over eight thousand souls who called it home. And ultimately, he would be the 96th man to call himself Valen.

A creaking noise brought him back to his senses, and he looked up just in time to see a woman's head poking out from behind the door that led to his father's bedchambers. He recognized her as his nurse, but he couldn't recall her name. Not like it mattered anyway, he thought as he stood and approached her. She stepped aside, holding the door open for him, and he slipped into the darkened hallway, the tiny little smile beginning to spread across his face.

The time was almost at hand.

****

It amazed Tavin how small his father seemed. The 95th Lord Valen had been a tall man, broad-shouldered, barrel chested, with an almost too strong jawline and stern black eyes. He had ruled the Talvalen clan with an iron fist for well over a century and a half, successfully navigating the political arena and thwarting countless assassination attempts as he conquered clan after clan, city after city. He had carried the name of Valen longer than any of his predecessors, save for the original Valen himself.

But now, lying there in his huge soft bed, even the layers of blankets which covered him couldn't fully conceal how weak he had become, how much weight he had lost. Talok had been an imposing man in life, but now, so close to his death, he was as frail and weak as any other man whose end was this near.

Talok slowly lifted a hand, reaching for his son. "Come closer, Tavin. It is time for you to receive my final gift to you."

Tavin slowly stepped forward, taking the seat that had been vacated only moments earlier by the nameless nurse. The seat was still warm, he noticed. "I'm here, father," he replied, taking the older man's hand in his. The skin felt like dried leather, the hand now more dead than alive, and it was hard not to pull away.

"Good." Talok smiled, brownish teeth peeking through colorless lips. He fixed his gaze on his son, and Tavin was surprised to see how much strength still remained in them. "This will not take long."

****

T'Pera sighed angrily and continued to pace, slowly but surely wearing a line into the plush carpeting of her own living quarters. Tavin was meeting with their father for the last time, she somehow knew, and no good could come of it.

She had run out of time. Talok wasn't going to last much longer, and when he passed on, her younger brother would take the name of Valen, and assume control of the entire Talvalen clan.

She shouldn't have allowed this to happen. Tavin was weak, indecisive. In private, when he thought no one could see, he studied the writings of Surak. T'Pera had known about it for decades. She had been planning her brother's demise for nearly as long. She had plotted against him, moving slowly in the shadows...but now it seemed that her time had run out.

"It should have been Mardek," she muttered to herself, chewing angrily on a jagged fingernail. T'Pera had been the oldest child of Talok, but Mardek had been the oldest son. Along with three of their siblings, Mardek had remained behind on Vulcan, renouncing their clan's ways and embracing the new teachings of Surak. T'Pera had cursed their names, vowing that the true children of Valen would carry on their clan's legacy. And then she had discovered Tavin's secret. How she wished Mardek had come with them. At least he had had a spine.

Back when he had nearly conquered Vulcan, Talok had had six children. Now there were only two. A female barred by law from leading the clan, and a spineless, indecisive Surak lover. In her eyes, the future of Talvalen did not look so bright.

Hot blood suddenly gushed into her mouth as she tore into her cuticle. T'Pera's expression turned into a disdainful sneer, and she spit the blood angrily at the wall. A few dots impacted against a small portrait of Tavin which was mounted there. She growled, glaring angrily at the picture.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance, you traitorous bastard."

"The Thin Grey Line"

Centurion Ejiul Tei (Jarajen Quaaliu)

50 years from Exodus
===============

"Here they come boys! Brace yourselves!"

Tei's command and warning were needless as the screaming, fist-clenched mob was more than obvious to his squad. Men, women and adolescents of the Lower Decks nearest the Pit were late again in getting their food rations, and the effect was predictable - the third time this month. The Centurion's squad, a hundred troopers twenty five across and four deep, bent deeply as the wild, angry hoard of over three hundred surged forward.

"PUUUSH!" the old Centurion bellowed, cursing the fatigue he felt in both his knees and heart. Too slowly the security force's line advanced, pushing the crowd back a few feet.

"PUUAAGH!" An immediate blackness fell upon the old soldier's eyes and his ears buzzed with an unnaturally quiet ringing that drowned out the roar of the rioter's screams. At first fearing some kind of stroke, Tei felt his nose for blood and his heart for a steady beat. The ringing quickly faded and the Centurion managed to adjust his helmet, feeling a large dent over his left eye. He looked up towards the level's balcony and could see several adolescents in their twenties hurling steel octagonal welding bolts - "Lower Deck Rain" - as hard as their arms could manage onto his troops.

"Back rank, unholster your pistols and fire at will!"

The mob quailed at the sound and sight of crimson laser fire, and the youngsters above fled as the first beam sliced through the railing. "Form ranks and advance - stun-sticks only!" Seventy security troopers pressed forward with their plasteel riot-shields and fully-charged stun-sticks - their advance didn't go unchallenged. The three-hundred pressed back, screaming with a rage only hunger, neglect and bitter resentment could fuel. Tei was shocked at the amount of pure, determined hatred the mob possessed, and how freely they applied that rage to the troops sworn to protect them.

It took only five minutes of laz-pistol fire to break them, but by then the damage had been done. A dozen troopers lay wounded amongst the fifty or so of the crowd recovering from voltage or a baton strikes to the head. Glass bottles, steel pipe and fibre-optic cables were strewn across the deck plates amongst the people who bore and were struck by them. As he peeled off his helmet, a white-haired Ejiul Tei could only stare wide-eyed at the carnage about him.

~Fire and Water! Raal - what have you done to us?" he asked as his boot ground down a piece of broken glass on the deck. A veteran of over a hundred years of warfare, the Centurion could barely hold his last meal down as he looked at the unseeing eye of a girl no older than twenty. The old soldier had seen the death of battalions, fleets and cities, but the difference on the Colony Ship brought an unnaturally cold feeling into his guts. ~These are our own people. They left everything behind - for what?~

"Are you proud Ejiul Tei of Kharath?" a voice like brittle leather rasped. "Do you still follow Lord Raal like a hound at the call of his master?"

Tei looked down at the prone figure that spoke, a frail looking woman of about sixty. "Do I know you?" he asked, all traces of mercy having fled from his eyes

"Years ago… before Kharath burned", she managed through a torn lip and broken teeth. "I lived in the Artisans district down the street of your wife and… child. How are they Tei?"

Ice crept into the Centurion's veins at the mention of his family, lost these many decades. "If you knew them, you know", he snapped. "Who are you to remind me of them?"

"Who were you to abandon them?" the woman croaked and broke off into a fit of coughing. "You strutted through Kharath with medals… and crested armor… and tales of honor and glory. They loved and doted on your every word, but when Raal snapped his fingers…kaff... kafff... I'm.... sure you don't… even remember… their names."

"Thelessa", Tei whispered "and Kelath."

"And Kelath", the bleeding woman repeated. "Such a bright… cheerful boy. He worshipped you, you know. When you were gone…kaf… on campaign for Lord Raal, he'd sing… sweetly of your bravery and honor Tei. Did you... know that?"

"He… was… a good son", the Centurion remembered painfully.

"He'd be about… my age now, with children of his own" a thin, bitter smile crept on the female's bloody, swollen face. "I wonder what he'd be up to now… if he were alive… and hungry."

Tei was shocked back from his nostalgic reflections. "I'm a Centurion damn your eyes! I'd not let him hunger!"

"Why not?" the woman asked as a blissful unconsciousness finally slipped over her. "You let him …. die... didn't you…."

Helm in hand, Ejiul Tei felt a wave of pure, unrestrained anger and withdrew his laz-pistol and leveled it at the comatose rioter's head. His hand shook with rage and his index finger felt the round shape of the firing stud beneath it, but no shot was fired. Instead, after the rage had ebbed from his sinews, the old soldier holstered his weapon and bent to gently raise the bleeding woman into his arms. She groaned, but her breathing remained deep and steady as he carefully took her out of the deserted riot-zone.

"Sting"

Sotha (Lieutenant Saul Bental)

****
Talvalen
Service passageway 9435 port
50 years after launch
****

All Kemek could do now is stand among these strangers and wait for the masked trader.

The air was heavy and carried a mild stench, probably because of a broken ventilation recycler. It was a sharp reminder to one of many faulty decisions that Kemek made in the last three years. Getting into the freelance ventilation repair business without a full survey of the competition led to another investment gone down the waste shafts as the family holding the monopoly in the field took him out of business faster than you could say 'pointy ears'. Then there was the beverages deal, and the leasing idea, and finally returning to his old military office just to find out that his past subordinates were his superiors.

And now he was here.

The men around him did not wear masks. They were three, armed with old yet brutally effective weapons, and dressed with casual robes that were far from resembling a uniform. And yet, the word in the lower decks said that the masked trader has formed a small army. It was not an organized force, and as such couldn't be crushed by Valen's men. This little force just dissolved and reassembled when the unseen hand needed it.

He considered what he heard about the masked man just when he arrived. No one was even sure whether it was 'he' or 'she'. Personally, Kemek thought that it was probably a sharp noble that did not want his dealings with the lower classes to become public knowledge. But there were other rumors he heard, more radical. An agent of Surak; A remote heir to Valen's seat; A petty lower-class gang leader who rose to power over the year. Things like masked leaders of invisible armies set some people's imagination on the loose.

One minute the corridor was empty, and then a gaunt figure was there. He was shorter than what Kemek thought he would be, and the lower part of his face - jaw, mouth, nose - was hidden behind a decorated metallic plate. His hair was long, descending to his shoulders in disarray, without obscuring two dark eyes that watched him intently.

"Sub-Commander Kemek." The voice came through a microphone embedded into the face plate. It was low and ominous. Kemek bowed slightly, no longer having any doubt about the nobility of the masked trader. His entirety was demanding the respect it deserved.

"And you--"

The eyes narrowed above the facial plate. "Seventy sets of XH4D hyperchips, fifteen microlaunchers, thirty visiors."

"Are in place." Kemek took a deep breath. It was difficult to remove these from the military stores, but it was nothing compared to what the masked trader had to carry out in return.

"Good."

Kemek waited for the masked man to say more, but he only folded his arms without further explanation. His patient wore off faster than he would later admit.

"What now?"

"Now." said the masked trader, "We wait for your order to arrive."

* * *

One could compare a generation colony ship such as the Talvalen to a band of nomads in the deserts of ancient Vulcan. You start to travel the land with your livestock and your men, and head for the oasis. You have a general idea about how long it will take to get there. Now, you have limited resources, and while some are can be used many times, others are not. Water are such resource, for example.

In the hot desert, Vulcans get thirsty soon, and each one of your men know that whether he drinks a lot or just a little, it will have little effect on the public water stores. So all of them drink a lot more than you have first planned, and you may find yourself without any water at all halfway through the journey. The solution is simple - you establish water rations, and guard the water barrels closely. But caravan leaders through the ages found that another method which is even better is that of stashes.

Lord Valen was familiar with the wisdom of the old caravan leaders. Before the ship was launched, many stashes were hidden within its huge hull, where items that could not be manufactured or recycled were held until the final parts of the exodus. Many of these stashes were removed from the official schematics, and most of them were known only to a handful of engineers.

And to shaft urchins who spent too much time wandering around.

Two of them now waited until the guards rotated. The guards never quite realized why it was important to patrol the lower deck corridor they were posted in. So they did what many guards throughout history did when their job didn't seem important to them, and neglected it. The urchins - a brother and a sister, as it happened - found that during rotations the guards spent a long time talking and joking, without paying attention to their surroundings and without spotting two small figures who quietly sneaked into a Small hatch merely ten steps from their positions.

Next they reached the sealed door. The masked trader gave them this device, and instructed them on how to use it. They never heard of multi-phased number-theoretic decryption, but they were now applying it on the seal. Five seconds after they attached the device to the electronic lock, something went 'click' and the door opened. Behind it lay wealth beyond the urchins' wildest fantasies. It was their first stash raids.

"Will you look 't that."

"Take only what's needed." The sister reminded her brother.

They began to fill their bags.

* * *

The crate rolled into the corridor, and stopped between Kemek and the masked trader. The two small figures that pushed it vanished before Kemek could see them clearly. He lifted the dirty blanket that covered the crate, and his eyes grew wide with greed and satisfaction.

Wealth sealed in a bottle. Fifty years into the voyage, the raw chemical solutions within the crate were priceless. He already had three middlemen whose shops' thresholds were packed with potential buyers.

"If even one of these bottles are colored water..." He waved a threatening finger. The air grew even thicker.

"... my reputation as a merchant will be spotted for the rest of these voyage. No, Kemek, I assure you. These bottles contain what the stamps on them claim they contain. And if they are not, then the one at fault is Lord Valen."

Kemek shrunk from the mentioning of the lord's name. He was old now, but Lord Valen was more than a name. It was a concept.

Kemek shook away his musings when he realized the masked trader turned to leave, and his men with him.

"You will not forget the other thing." said the low mechanic voice.

"You send thay boy of yours to the recruitment centre, and I'll see to it that he'll go where you want him." Kemek replied. "But I assure you, good sir, a filthy orphan is a filthy orphan - fake records or not. He'll make it nowhere."

Kemek could not see the smirk behind the mask.

* * *

The den felt more narrow and crowded now that Sotha was a fully grown man. He closed the curtain behind him, making sure one last time that he was not followed, and finally removed the mask that hid half of his face.

Behind the facial plate, a sleek jawline was revealed. Despite growing up in constant malnutrition, the orphan's skin looked healthy, and the elven-like jawline would no doubt make Kemek believe that Sotha WAS a noble had he removed the mask earlier. Alas, Kemek just cut a deal with a filthy orphan that couldn't make it nowhere.

Sotha's friend also grew up. She sat hunched over her lunch and nodded at him as he settled down.

"It went good, I assume?"

"Yes." Sotha told her. "Tomorrow afternoon I'll report to the recruitment centre, and wear unfirom for the first time."

"You sound almost proud."

Sotha shrugged. "Pride is a weakness. Kemek's pride will be his end. I don't care."

"I still think you're making a mistake. You built this little empire with your two hands these last three decades, Sotha, we could retire now and spent the rest of our lives in relative luxury. What more do you need?"

"You know what I need." Sotha replied sharply.

"Come ON! It was a child's dream, 'to run things around here'. You ARE running things around here. We don't need big rooms with fancy carpets and decorations, right?"

"It's not for that."

"Then for what? Not status, not pride... you've already EARNED respect, even if people don't know who is behind the mask. What else?"

Sotha did not answer. Instead, he handed her the mask.

"Take."

She picked it up and eyed it. "I..."

"TNyo." Sotha sighed. "I will no longer need this. Do me a favor."

"Huh? I can't become 'The Masked Merchant'. You--"

Sotha smiled faintly. He neck felt warm, as if something furry was brushing against it.

"Do me a favor, T'Nyo." He repeated, "Spread your wings, and fly."

"Everything Changes"

Talvath Raal Sakonna Raal (Tarin Iniara)
Sulaed Vardek, Ship's Prime Engineer (NPC)
Chulak Vardek, Assistant Prime Engineer (Victor Krieghoff)

****
Talvalen
50 years after launch
****

It was almost time.

Sitting alone in the small room, Sakonna silently regarded herself in the mirror, unconsciously checking and rechecking her appearance. She had yet to find a flaw. Her hair, piled on top of her head in an elaborate style, framed her face in delicate curls. A touch of color had been applied to her cheeks and lips, just enough to accent their natural coloration. The neckline of her dress was cut low, and the flowing layers of her skirts seemed to quietly rustle all on their own.

There were some who might have found the preparations for this event excessive. But for the only child of Talvalen's senior military officer, no expense had been spared. The wedding had taken nearly one full cycle to plan, and dozens of people from all over the ship had been involved in the preparations even before then. It was quite possibly the largest wedding this ship would ever see.

It was the most important day of her life, and yet Sakonna was not the least bit nervous. She had been living with Chulak for decades now, learning about him, building a life with him. Marriage was simply the final step, a mere formality, an excuse for the hundreds of nobles in attendance to gather in all their finery and strut about in their self-important way. Even Lord Valen himself would be making an appearance. She could hear them arriving now, the sounds of people milling about in the Great Hall filtering down the short corridor to the room in which she sat.

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes and placing her hands in her lap. The sounds and smells of the day were all around her, and she wanted to remember them all. One deck below, the kitchen was bustling with activity. Muffled orders from senior cooks filtered through the floor, mingling with the delicate scents of the food being prepared. Nearby, hundreds of Rihannsu were mingling and waiting, their voices combining into a disjointed chorus. She could almost smell them through the walls, their varied perfumes and flowery scents creating an intoxicating blend. And above her, the rhythmic sounds of footsteps echoed through the ceiling as the newly arrived musicians paced back and forth, no doubt involved with their own preparations.

A tiny strain of notes broke through the noise suddenly, the tentative sounds of a stringed instrument being warmed up. Sakonna held her breath, straining her ears in the hopes of hearing more. After several seconds the notes repeated themselves, the delicate melody developing into a familiar sound. Water music, she realized. One of the first tunes she had learned as a girl, and the first thing she had ever played for Chulak. She smiled to herself as the memories from so long ago came flooding back.

Had it really been that long ago?

****

Decades ago...

Her father had been talking to Sulaed-- Chulak's father-- about something. She didn't know what. She saw their lips moving, but she was so excited that the words weren't quite reaching her ears.

Talvath was looking over his shoulder, smiling and gesturing at her. Sulaed seemed to be pleased, though his expression was still serious. Sakonna felt his eyes on her, no doubt critically examining every perceived flaw on her person, and her spine unconsciously stiffened as she tried to appear taller, more statuesque. She had spent a great deal of time preparing for this meeting-- it would be one of the most important days of her life, after all-- and she hoped it had paid off.

The soft swishing of a door brought her out of her thoughts. Her eyes darted toward the sound; quickly catching sight of a young man who she knew had to be Chulak... her future husband. He was tall, reasonably handsome and well-dressed, with close-cropped jet black hair and eyes that seemed to carry a hint of color...perhaps green? Sakonna resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief; at the very least her future husband was a good looking man.

But what was he like? He seemed a bit distracted, like he didn't want to be here. She supposed that was natural enough; as Assistant Prime Engineer of Talvalen his thoughts were no doubt occupied with much more important concerns than this.

Chulak started to tug at his uncomfortable formal collar, but halted when his father glared at him and turned the move into a gesture of acknowledgement. Talvath stood next to his father, and beyond them was a girl he knew to be Sakonna from the pictures his father had showed him. She was more attractive in person than the pictures had revealed; something that he found odd enough to consider for a few steps.

It was, he ultimately decided, not a flaw in the pictures, but rather a deficiency in the two-dimensionality of their nature. Two dimensions failed to accurately represent the way her hair curled at the ends, the way her lips curved as she smiled, the easy, practiced manner in which she carried herself in her formal dress of silk, or the way that her dark eyes seemed to be following him without ever squarely looking at him. A three-dimensional image would have served better, but such things were too expensive for such uses.

"Relax, my dear," Sakonna heard her father whisper softly in her ear. Then, turning back to Sulaed, he continued, "Perhaps we should give them some time to become acquainted with each other."

Sulaed smiled sadly and nodded. "It certainly did wonders to calm my nerves when I was in their position all those years ago," he agreed. Turning to Chulak, he beckoned him over. "Chulak, my son, this is Sakonna," he said formally, adding in all the phrasing and accents that tradition demanded.

"Sakonna, my daughter, this is Chulak," Talvath echoed, completing the introductions.

"I greet you joyously," Chulak replied, the formal phrasing sounding a bit stiff, but still perfect, his rehearsals with his father having guaranteed that he would not make an error. He never made errors; they were for lesser engineers and mere technicians.

Sakonna stepped forward, executing the formal bow her mother had taught her: half-bow, half-curtsey, hands clasped at her waist and gaze cast respectfully downward. When she spoke, her voice was pleasant and calm, revealing none of the nervousness she felt inside. "I am honored by your kindness."

"We will leave you two for a time," Talvath continued. "Talk, get to know each other. Strangers should not wed."

Sulaed nodded in agreement. "Yes, do talk. Find the things that you share in common. It is better that friends wed each other."

The two men withdrew, leaving the younger couple standing there, looking at each other. After a moment, Chulak broke the silence, still using the formal phrasing the moment required. "Is it your wish that we continue to speak thusly?" he asked as his father had told him to. It was another moment where he agreed with his father: the ritual phrases with their flower language were terribly inefficient and clumsy.

Sakonna looked up, meeting her future husband's gaze for the first time. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the color of his eyes was as unique as she had first suspected. Green-tinted eyes were rare among their people, but a pure green eye color, especially one as deep and luminous as his, was almost unheard of.

A long moment passed between them before Sakonna realized she was staring. Smiling slightly, she broke eye contact, and then said in a less formal tone, "If such language displeases my husband, I shall not use it. Let us speak then as... friends?"

Good, he thought with some relief; she was uncomfortable with this formal speech as well. There remained only the response he'd memorized in the hopes of using it. "Not displeasure, my wife, as there has been no offense given. Rather say, as our fathers did, and you have divined, that we must begin as friends."

Sakonna's smile widened, the expression becoming a bit more natural. She turned towards a nearby table, upon which sat a platter of various cut fruits and vegetables and a tall glass jug filled with water. She picked up the jug and slowly filled two glasses. It was a stalling tactic, one which would give her a moment to determine how best to proceed. On the one hand it ultimately didn't matter how this went, as they were stuck with each other no matter what, but the girl had no desire to ruin the relationship before it had even had a chance to develop.

Turning back to Chulak she offered him a glass, and then retrieved her own. "As this water gives life to our bodies, may the act of sharing it give life to our future." It was a slightly unconventional toast, but one that she felt was appropriate for the situation.

That wasn't the traditional toast. It resembled it, but only that; she'd changed things around, and that meant that the traditional response would be incorrect. Was this a test of some kind? A way to see if he could think quickly and improvise? If so, then Chulak determined that he would pass. After all, an engineer, especially a Prime Engineer, needed both of those talents. He took another element from the traditional toast, stood it on its head, added to it, and replied, "And in giving life to our future, may it sustain us together as one."

Taking a sip from the glass, Sakonna cradled it in both hands before speaking again. "My father tells me much about you; that you are a skilled engineer, honored and revered by many. Tell me...is that your ruling passion?"

Passion was a word with many meanings, and Chulak supposed that at least one or two of them might describe with some degree of accuracy his relationship to his work. "In a manner of speaking," he agreed. "It is what I have studied and worked hard to master; for many years there has been nothing else to occupy my thoughts. But I would not describe myself as having a passion for it in some senses of the word - that would be... inappropriate."

"Ahh..." She nodded her head slowly as he spoke, paying careful attention to his words, as well as the manner in which he spoke them. She knew that Chulak was a dedicated engineer, perhaps one of the most dedicated aboard this ship, but apparently that was not all there was to him.

"And you?" he asked, following his father's advice to ask the same questions of her that she asked of him, rephrased slightly. "What is it that you study?"

There were so many things that she had studied, Sakonna thought: cooking, dancing, polite conversation, etiquette, sewing, and the like. But those were things that all noble young women studied, and so they were unremarkable at best. Putting thoughts of those skills aside for the moment, she replied simply, "Music; specifically the tor'kan'an, the seven-stringed lyre."

Music, and the instruments that produced it were not something that Chulak had spent much - any, really - time on, but he did not recall a stringed instrument with that number of strings. "Seven? I am not familiar with the instruments. Most harps have five or twelve strings, do they not?"

Sakonna nodded. "The most common ones have twelve strings, followed by five strings, then seven strings."

"Is there some advantage to having that number of strings? A tonal shift or performance range that the five or twelve-string harp lack?" Sonics were not his best field, but Chulak understood about harmonics, and he could think of no other reason for a differing number of strings.

"Actually, each of the three variants have their own unique range. With twelve strings, the tor'kan is tuned to a chromatic scale...half steps between each note, so it has the greatest versatility in terms of the music that can be played on it," she explained, shifting her glass to one hand so she could use the other to emphasize her words. "The five-stringed tor'kan'rha is tuned to a pentatonic scale, which is primarily used in folk music of the working classes. No doubt because a smaller five-stringed instrument is less expensive than a twelve-stringed one.

"But...in between them is the seven-stringed tor'kan'an, which is tuned to a diatonic scale," she continued, the patterns of her speech becoming more relaxed and natural as she settled into the one subject that was most comfortable to her. "Historians claim it is the oldest variant of the three, but it fell out of common use centuries ago. It was used primarily in religious contexts, as the four primary scales played on it correspond to the four Elements. However, the tor'kan can be used to play any music composed for the tor'kan'rha and tor'kan'an, which is why it is the most common of the three."

She paused; concerned that such talk might be boring to someone who hadn't studied it their entire life. A bit of color crept into her cheeks and she smiled sheepishly. "My apologies; sometimes I get carried away with my music."

Chulak shook his head, understanding the concept if not her particular version of it. "No apologies are needed - I do much the same thing when speaking of engineering topics, I'm told."

"We may have more in common than either of us realizes," Sakonna replied. Setting her glass down on a nearby table she held out a hand to Chulak. "Come, walk with me. There is a private garden on this level; it is perhaps a more relaxing location to converse than my family's sitting room."

Taking her hand in the manner his father had made him practice with one of his female cousins - amidst much irrational giggling on her part - he nodded. Anywhere out of the sight of even a few of the eyes watching them would be a trip worth taking. "We have a garden as well," he replied as they walked. Of course he knew they had a garden, he knew what purpose every square foot of the great ship was assigned to. Except, of course, for that one room down near the engines, where scanners would fail to detect it in the interference from the reactors, that didn't appear on the plans. He was amused that someone had thought to hide it from him, and irritated that it was there at all, doing nothing. It had no power feeds, no air circulation, no anything. It was just... space. He reminded himself to investigate it when he had the time. In a year or two, perhaps. "Not so large as your gardens," he continued, "but, unlike yours, it has a panel that retracts to let one wall open and see the stars."

"By all means, lead the way," she answered with a gentle smile.

****

Present day...

Chulak frowned at his formal outfit in the mirror, his head aching, and decided that he'd been wrong, years before, to compare birthday celebrations and wars. There was nothing in his experience - including the birthday celebrations he'd attended since that time - to rival the senseless spectacle of the wedding he was about to undergo. Actually, now that he thought about it, he wasn't certain that he'd ever seen or read of a war that rivaled it. Certainly nothing since the long-ago wars that had left much of his former planet's surface a barren desert, forever eradicating the forests and fields that had made Vulcan a lush, green paradise.

There were, at last count, fewer than eight thousand people aboard the Talvalen; the seemingly endless wave of killings and deaths that swept through the ship endlessly having failed in the long run to do more than slow the number of births that had been expected and planned for. There had even been attempts on his own life - more of them than he'd thought would occur - in the past ten years, as he neared the time he'd take over his father's position as Prime Engineer for the Talvalen... and the time when he would marry Sakonna.

That was an interesting thought, and he spent a few minutes considering it, glad for something to concentrate on besides the ceremony that would begin soon and the now ever-present ache in his head that had plagued him for years. Did someone want to stop his wedding to Sakonna? Why? What was there to fear from their marriage that would provoke such a response? Was it another suitor? Some political opponent of her father or his? Did this mean that, in addition to all the other things he was now going to be forced to spend time thinking about and doing besides the ones that mattered, that he would have to allocate time for politics?

No, surely not. Even the gods he had no time to believe in weren't so cruel.

Still... someone had certainly wanted to stop her stepmother from seeing the ceremony taking place today, that much was certain. Of course, considering the fact that even he had been aware of the fact that the woman was engaging in an excessive amount of plotting and scheming, the people that actually cared about such things must have thought that there were twenty of Lady Siena, running here and there at every hour of the day and night to advance this plot or that one. She'd even tried to convince him to join in something several times before her death; he'd never been certain exactly what. He thought that she might have explained parts of it to him in her vague, veiled way, but he'd forgotten them as quickly as she'd left. He cared nothing for that sort of thing, even when he noticed it, and truthfully, her death had been more of a relief from her occasional visits to drag him into whatever it had been she wanted him to do than anything else

He knew that Sakonna felt differently, which was no surprise. She felt differently than he did about everything: their marriage, music, flowers, politics, family, food... everything. It didn't make her an idiot, or mentally defective - his father would never have arranged the marriage in that case, no matter who her father was - but it did mean that there was little for them to talk about when they were alone. He wondered if the silences would change after they were married, perhaps lessen... or if they would grow longer and longer until the only sounds that passed between them would be breathing.

If the latter were the case, at least he could think about things again if his head wasn't hurting. He frowned at the mirror again. The headaches had started years ago, just after they'd become engaged, and had never really gone away since then. He'd scanned himself for poisons several times, thinking that this might be a more clever assassin than the ones that the girl he'd met in the accessway many years before - Eela, he thought her name was - had killed over the years, but there was nothing there. Nothing that shouldn't be, anyway. He'd even reconfigured a scanner to make sure that his brain wasn't growing a tumor, but that had been negative as well. Maybe they would stop after the marriage was done too. That would be good.

The door slid aside and a glance told him that his father was standing there, dressed in the formal garb of the head of their House. Chulak supposed that meant it was time for him to make his appearance and endure the ceremony that would bind him to Sakonna, and his House to hers.

As he stepped up to the doorway and looked past his father's shoulder to the ranks of people waiting on the other side of the door, he allowed himself a single, momentary frown as his head throbbed painfully. Perhaps things would be different when this was over and done with. Perhaps the marriage would change everything.

And perhaps, he admitted, as he stepped out to greet his future, perhaps it would change nothing at all.

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