"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."

"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.

"The Birthday Present"

T'Pol (8-ball)

*Takes place 50 years after launch*

It was T'Pol's birthday today. She celebrated it by going to work.

Many of her friends and family, Taev in particular, had strenuously objected to these celebratory plans. She listened to them each and then discarded their concern—her life consisted of her work and her boys, and she had little interest in either of those being stripped away from her. Life had tried too hard on too many occasions to take her children—it wouldn't take this too.

T'Pol had so little control over the things in her life. The restaurant was one of them. She would be there, keeping things going.

That being said, however, the night was getting late; she was supposed to be home an hour ago, and Lhaes wouldn't leave.

Lhaes was a frequent patron of her bar; he never came to eat food, only down ale and repeat old sorrows. He only visited the bar after the restaurant portion had closed, when the crowd was leaner and spoiling for a fight. Lhaes himself never bothered to brawl. He only sat at the edge of the counter and drank until he could cry.

Because he never caused trouble, and because she had known his daughter well, T'Pol was very reluctant to physically kick Lhaes out. But she also needed some sleep if she was to be back here for the morning shift, and, as pitiful as he was, Lhaes was beginning to try her patience.

"Come on," she said to him, trying to help him down. "You need to get some sleep. We BOTH need to get some sleep."

Lhaes finally stumbled off his stool but made no other move to leave. "She was too good for this world," he said. "She was so, so good—"

"I know," T'Pol said, "I know. Come on, Lhaes. Let's get you home."

Lhaes muttered things under his breath, but he was slurring so bad she couldn't understand them. She helped him out as he swayed across her restaurant and locked the door behind him, closing her eyes.

His daughter, Llaiir, had been a very sweet child. She reminded her of Rhion in so many ways . . .

"FINALLY," a voice said from behind her. "I thought that old drunk would never leave."

T'Pol turned around to see nothing but darkness. Then, slowly, a face emerged from the shadows.

"Happy birthday, Mother," Tal said as he silently moved forwards. He smiled at her, then frowned. "You really shouldn't be working on your birthday, you know."

T'Pol laughed and ran over to him, so surprised she was to see him. Taev would have resisted the hug, but Tal had always been a tactile child. "It's so good to see you," she said as she hugged him tightly. "I've missed you so much. How have you been?"

"Oh, Mother," Tal said, "you know I never change." He hugged her for another moment and then took a step back. T'Pol gave him a critical once-over in the dim lighting.

He looked thinner than she remembered, although not unhealthy. He was barely taller than she was—he had never received the growth spurt that he had been promised. Other men, she knew, mistook his short height for weakness. Tal easily could appear as fragile, but only the dim-witted and the ignorant believed in appearances.

"There's some blood on your forehead," she mentioned to him. "You're not hurt, are you? I have some bandages behind the bar."

Tal reached a hand to his head and grimaced with a touch of chagrin. "No," he said quietly. "It's not my blood." He raised one eyebrow at her, a lopsided smile back on his face. "But I don't suppose that you want to hear anything about that?"

"No," T'Pol admitted. "Not unless it was your last job."

Tal shook his head. "I enjoy my work too much," he said. "Anyway, I expect I won't be alive to chat after my last job."

T'Pol shook her head. "You know I don't want to hear this," she said.

"I know," Tal replied, his smile dimming only a little. Then it grew again, bright as ever, as he glanced at the bar. "I'd take a drink, if you're still willing to serve."

T'Pol smiled at that. "Only if you promise to leave a good tip."

"Well, I got you a birthday present. Does that count, Mother?"

"Of course," she said. "But you didn't have to do that."

Tal shrugged. "Of course I did," he said. "Besides, you never buy anything for yourself."

"I'm afraid the restaurant business doesn't pay as well as being an assassin."

Tal put a hand to his chest as he sat down on a bar stool. "You wound me, Mother," he said. "I very rarely function as an assassin anymore."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you prefer the term 'spy'?" she asked as she poured them both a drink.

"I prefer the phrase, 'Getting the job done'." Tal took the drink from her and knocked it back quickly. "We do what we have to do, Mother. You should know that better than most."

T'Pol nodded. "I do," she said, and she took her own drink and poured them each another.

Things had been different since all those years ago when Rhion had first gotten sick. Everyone had changed; you don't go through something like that and not change, of course, but Tal perhaps had changed the most. An outsider would never have known; Tal seemed as happy as ever, full of bright smiles and childish energy, but she could see those smiles for what they were, not grins but masks which he wore all the time. At the age of 12, Tal had learned the bitter lesson that there were some things in this life that could not be fought. He couldn't outtalk every problem and his big brother couldn't beat up every bully; Tal understood at the age of 12 that anyone could leave at any time.

T'Pol thought this was why Tal had decided to leave first. She hadn't seen her second eldest in nearly 5 years.

"How are things going, Mother?" Tal asked as he took his second shot. "How has the restaurant been? And Taev, how is Taev? I expected to see him here tonight."

"Oh, Taev's the same as ever," T'Pol said as she capped the bottle. "He was here for the early shift, but a friend of his had some emergency. I told him he could leave. He was reluctant but he did."

Tal's eyebrows rose suggestively. "A GIRL friend?" he asked, smiling.

"I wish," T'Pol said dryly. "I expect a girl could relax him a little."

That made Tal laugh so hard he nearly shot ale of his nose. "No," T'Pol said, smiling a little, "I believe it was a friend from the lower decks. Taev wouldn't tell me all of the details, but I expect he'll be gone for the next couple of days."

She smiled to herself, thinking of her oldest. "You know," she said, "this was never the life I pictured for him."

T'Pol wasn't sure exactly what she had pictured Taev doing, something in the military, perhaps, or at the very least, something physical, but the restaurant industry, HER restaurant . . . well that had thrown T'Pol for a loop. But Taev enjoyed cooking and was surprisingly good at it and, as he had once said, "It was a family business." Tal and Rhion, of course, would never be a part of it, which had left Taev. The eldest son.

"Doesn't surprise me," Tal had said. "Family has always been Taev's top priority. And protecting you, of course, but that's sort of the same thing."

T'Pol frowned at this. "It's not his job," she said.

"Well, that may be your view of things, but it certainly isn't Taev's." Tal smiled at her a little as she continued to frown. "Don't be concerned, Mother. You protect him too. I think you've always put a little too much responsibility on yourself."

"I'm the mother," T'Pol said. "It's my job to be responsible."

Tal looked like he wanted to say something but ended up just shrugging. "Whatever you say," he said finally. "I'm not responsible at all, so I wouldn't know." He glanced at the bottle of ale. "I'll have one more," he said, "if you don't mind."

T'Pol uncapped the bottle and poured her son another shot. "How are you really, Tal?" she asked him. "I worry about you a lot, you know."

"I know," Tal said. He looked at the shot in his hand, but he didn't drink it, not yet. "I'm careful, Mother. As careful as you can be in my line of work. You might not like what I do, but it's necessary. Someone has to do the dirty work to make civilization run."

"I know that," T'Pol said. "I just don't want it to be my son."

"You've got other sons."

"Quantity isn't relevant, Tal. I don't lose you and figure at least I've got some other brats to boss around. I'm your mother. I will always be worried about you."

"I know that, too."

"Do you?" she asked him. "Sometimes . . ." She let herself trail off and Tal didn't prompt her to continue. She poured her own shot of ale; liquid courage to speak to her son. "Things were different after Rhion got sick, but they never got better, not really. You distanced yourself, Tal. Sometimes . . .it's like Rhion died that day."

"I think so," Tal whispered. "I think sometimes it is."

She remembered that day so well, so sure that her baby was dying. Taev comforting Tal and T'Pol comforting Taev and the doctor coming out to give the bad news. She had imagined it so many times, the doctor saying the words, T'Pol falling to her knees. She hadn't imagined the words 'getting better'. She hadn't imagined the word 'miracle'.

Not everything was perfect, of course. The illness had crippled Rhion terribly. His therapy had been extensive, both physical and mental. There were some memories lost that never returned, and her son's speech was at first so slurred that it was inaudible. For the most part, he had overcome that; it was only when he was angry or frustrated that you could hear the defect now

It was the physical part that was hardest to overcome. To this day, her boy couldn't walk without assistance. He simply couldn't support the weight of his own body; he limped or shuffled with the aid of machines.

It had been hard for Rhion, losing his mobility. He had been such an active little boy, running around everywhere, getting into everything. The other children, of course, were no help at all, not with their heckling and teasing and calls of cripple boy. Taev beat them up, of course, and Tal devised a few plots for revenge, but it was Rhion who had to suffer through the insults, and he had lost some of his sweetness.

But he had come through it, he had. He was such a bright little boy, almost as smart as Tal, and he studied extensively to become a doctor. He worked with children, mostly, children who needed surgery, and he made good money from it, more than he ever would have at the restaurant. And though T'Pol would never have believed it before, Rhion was her only son to be married, to a beautiful young woman of low class who cared nothing about his lameness. She was good for Rhion and he was good for her and though they had no children yet, the possibility was still large.

T'Pol had been sure she'd lose Rhion, so sure that he would die, but he didn't. She didn't lose him.

She lost Tal instead.

"I . . . I know he didn't die," Tal was saying, hesitantly. "I know he's happy and I'm happy for him, but I . . . I knew he could, and I guess I never thought that before. He got sick so often, and I was always scared but he always got better and then that last time . . . I didn't think it was possible, but it was. He could die. He didn't, but he could. Anyone could. And I guess I should have understood that from Father, but . . . I just don't remember Father much anymore, not the way you or Taev do. But Rhion . . ."

Tal trailed off and T'Pol took his hand. Tal smiled at her, not that winning, bright smile he usually did, but something more fragile, scared and broken. "I never meant to hurt you," he said. "But I just . . . I can't get too close. I'm not strong like you and Taev, Mother. I don't have it within me to pick up the pieces."

"You're stronger than you think," T'Pol told him. "But no one is strong alone. You're meant to draw strength from your family, Tal."

Tal shook his head then and knocked back his shot. "It's family who drains your strength," he said. "It's love that breaks you in the end." He smiled at her, that same broken smile, and took his hand out of her grasp before standing up. "I meant to give you your birthday present. I hope you like it."

Tal reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a large, flat box. T'Pol took it from him, opened it, and gasped at the necklace inside. "Tal," she said, looking at the stones. "It's beautiful, but how . . .how . . . this must have cost . . ."

Tal shrugged. "Don't worry about," he said. "Like you said, being an assassin pays better than a barkeep."

"I thought you rarely functioned as an assassin anymore."

"Yeah," he said, "but rarely isn't never." He smiled at her, a little less sadly this time, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I should go," he said. "I've got things to do, people to kill, you know."

She smiled at him. Tal had always been able to make her smile. "Drop in on Taev," she said to him. "I know he misses you. Rhion, too, but Taev . . . he worries, you know."

"I know," Tal said. "I kind of miss the guy, myself." Then Tal grimaced. "Although," he said, "maybe I should just send him a note. A note is a lot less likely to end with him giving me a broken nose. Again."

"He won't," she said. "He doesn't break nearly as many noses these days. Probably only two or three a week."

Tal threw a wicked grin at her. "I'm sure I'd prove the exception," he said. "I'm good at that." He headed for the door and T'Pol called out his name without thinking about it. He turned and looked at her. She fidgeted for a minute.

"You know," she said finally, "this necklace is beautiful . . . but I'd rather give up a hundred of these if it meant you'd visit more often." She smiled softly at him, possibly looking a little broken herself. "I love you, Tal," she said. "YOU are the real birthday present."

Tal looked down then, away from her, and was silent for a minute. "I love you too, Mother," he said. "I'll come back. I will."

T'Pol shook her head. "Don't promise at me, boy. I don't accept promises unless you actually mean to keep them."

"I know," he said quietly. "I remember that."

And then he was gone and she was there, alone in the darkness.

"Long Lost Love"

Lorien (Steven Jonas - APC)

****
A tiny cell
Lower Levels
****

Lorien tried to block out the sounds of the crowd as they whooped and hollered for one or the other of the combatants in the pit next door. The cheers and groans gave him the chills. That anyone in their right mind would ever see two men fighting to the death as a good way to pass the time must have been insane. At least, that's what Lorien believed.

Obviously Krak and his minions thought otherwise, or else why would they have grabbed him from his bed after he had refused the offer they had made.

A loud cheer from the crowd told Lorien that one of the combatants had either been killed or badly wounded. Not that he really cared. There were only three on the whole ship he cared about. His wife, whom he knew was now with some noble, and his two children. Both were grown up now, with families of their own. Neither likely knew that he was trapped down in the Pit, having just survived one fight and likely had another the very next day.

A few tears formed at the corner of his eyes and started dripping slowly down his face. Elements, he missed them. Their warm smiles, joyful fun-loving nature. He even missed the annoying dickhead that his baby girl, T'Kara had fallen for and then married. Anything was better than living in a tiny cell, not even big enough to stand up or lie down in, for days on end. But most of all, he missed T'Lara. He missed the way she smelled when he got home from a hard days work; the way she always had her hair done up nicely; the wonderful smile she always seemed to have. That she was with the noble didn't matter to Lorien. His heart was still trapped within her chest. She was his one true love and nothing could change that. If he had the chance, he'd give up his life for her. Whether she deserved that honor or not.

Furiously he wiped the tears away. He couldn't afford to let Krak see them. He'd assume he was weak and kill him like he had done to that elderly fighter the other day.

He'd find T'Lara again. This he promised himself. One way or another, he'd find a way to get free of the Pit, free of Krak and his minions and find her. He'd talk to her, hoping beyond all hope that she still loved him; that she still wanted him in her life. It was a long shot, but one he was willing to take.

Another cheer erupted from the crowd, causing one or two of the other prisoners to prick their ears up, trying to hear how the fight was progressing. Lorien was more eager to not hear men fighting each other to the death. He was more concerned about getting out of the Pit.

A large brute of a Vulcan entered the room. Dressed in hides of several animals, and sporting a whip and stun weapon, he was as strong and fearsome as he looked. He paused at Lorien's cage to sneer at him.

Lorien looked back and cocked his head to the side. "What's so funny?"

"hehe... You're going to die tomorrow. You're up against three oponents."

"Only three? I feel disappointed."

"Don't you worry," he chuckled, "Two of them are trained guards and the third, well, we've been wanting to let him loose for ages." He laughed and started walking away.

Lorien knew better than to antagonize him any further. He had repeatedly felt that nasty whip on his back. The flay marks were still there.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day. And one he wasn't sure he was going to survive. Though if he did, he'd be one step closer to freedom.

"Am I A Freak?"

Ariennye (Flight Officer John Davidson)

****
53 Years AL
****

Someone once told me that the key to a man's heart was through his stomach. Looking back, I see that I was a fool for laughing at him. I recall telling him he was an idiot for thinking such a thing. No man could be ruled by his stomach. That's what I used to think.

Now, just over half a century into our voyage, I see that the old man was right. For many of us aboard this run down old ship, our stomachs do rule the actions we take. I've seen desperate thieves try and break past a dozen guards onto a farm to steal food - they all failed and died in the attempt; a skinny young woman beg on her hands and knees for some scraps of food; I've even seen two grown men fighting tooth and nail over the leftover rind of a Kawakawa fruit that had been dropped on the ground by a passing noble man.

When times get tough, a man, or woman, for that matter, will do just about anything to ensure they have enough food for themselves and their families. And I should know. Since I started working on this farm, I've seen most of my friends, well, the few I have anyway, change. They're more 'friendly' to me now. They hang around more often, no doubt hoping that I'll have some spare food to hand on to them. Yet I have none to spare. It all goes to the 'nobles' up top. In their big mansions with their cupboards full to the brim with all manner of food items, while the rest of us live on such small portions that it's a wonder we are all still alive.

I often wonder what would happen if we all just stopped. After all, the nobles haven't done a day's work down on the engines, or the crop fields, or even the water purification system. No, they just live up in their kingdoms chatting about the latest fashion accessory or a new art sculpture that was just put on display. What would happen if all the workers just stopped? Would they start working on repairs to the engines? Would they tend the fields, milk the herd, or clean the streets?

The answer would obviously be a resounding NO. They'd send the militia against the workers, threatening their families and their lives. Most of them probably hadn't worked a day in their lives. Most probably didn't even know how to.

I'm only one man though, and one man isn't likely to make a difference. Not against the hundreds of noble men and women up top. But that's the thing isn't it? They are all noble. But what makes them so? Is it a title? land? maybe they have some royal blood in them? What makes them any different than the rest of us? We left everything behind when we left Vulcan. Shouldn't we all now be equal, since we all set out together to start a new life? Wasn't that the whole point. To start afresh, looking ahead rather than behind.

Thinking about looking ahead instead of behind reminded me of a weird thing that happened the other day. The farm owner's daughter, a pretty young woman named Selitina was walking the fields, getting a feel for how the crops were grown. She was going to take over from her father one day, yet this particular day she was walking around wearing a short skirt, and, as was predictable, most of the male workers and a couple of the female ones were staring at her rear end as she walked. She had smiled as she passed me and I turned to check her out as I usually did. Watching her hips sway from side to side as she took each step, I felt my pulse, and another part of my anatomy, begin to rise.

And that's when it happened: The watering sprinklers turned on in my area, sending droplets of water cascading into the air.

As the first drop hit me I realized my folly. Having been watching her, I had forgotten that the next section over was due for it's daily watering. And I had walked right into the middle.

Now normally I wouldn't care, since it was just water, but today it wasn't just water. It was a mixture of water and several chemicals that were added to cleanse the soil of any impurities, allowing the next batch of food crop to be planted. And with my eyes firmly glued on her arse, I failed to notice I had walked into the area.

While not strong enough to kill a man, the chemicals were known to burn the skin and I quickly pulled my shirt over my head to protect my face from the chemical water mixture. As I prayed for a miracle, I tried to recall which direction I had been walking in, so I could find the fastest way out of the area.

That was when I realized something. The water droplets were not splashing down around me. Which was odd, since I could still hear the sprinklers clearly. Peeking out of the top of my shirt, my mouth hit the dirt floor. The water was stopping a couple of feet away and falling down to the dirt. As if there was an invisible barrier between me and the water. Yet as far as I could recall, that sort of technology hadn't been invented yet. Well not on a personal shield kind of level anyway.

I stood up and watched the water dropping down to the ground for a moment before starting towards a dry area where the sprinklers weren't on. As stunned as I was that there was an invisible shield stopping the water, I was equally shocked to see it following me as I made my way towards 'safety'.

That happened almost a week ago and yet I am still unable to explain how or why it occurred. I'm just glad no one saw it. Only the Elements know what they would have said or done had they seen it.

A clinking noise startled me, causing me to jump up from my seat. I turned from my drink to see two men congratulating each other over some success. I don't know why I was so jumpy today. Maybe that thing with the water freaked me out more than I realized. Sitting back down, I sipped my beverage and closed my eyes for a moment, to let the sounds and smells relax me. I don't know why, but just sitting in the bar listening to the sounds of the other patrons calms my nerves.

I know I'm not supposed to drink anymore. Not if I want to stay away from the drunk bum I used to be. But over the past six months I've found a couple of drinks is not enough to pull me over, and since this is my first for the evening, I'm allowed another. I picked up the glass and waved it in the direction of the barkeep, to indicate I wanted another. I saw him nod and begin pouring a new glass.

As I placed the first drink on the table I noticed the liquid inside swirling around. More so than I believed it should be. I peered into the glass. The liquid started spinning faster in the glass, nearly spilling over the top. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and then looked down at my glass. The liquid had settled.

I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had.

But the strangest thing happened. As I looked about the room other patrons began noticing the liquid in their drinks swirling around, yet as my eyes passed, it seemed settled down. At least that's what I could see out of the corner of my eye. Was I the cause of this strange behavior? Was I the one causing the liquid to go weird? Was I a freak?

Downing the last of my drink, I hurriedly walked out of the bar, pushing past several patrons. I needed to get away to try and figure out what had just happened.

"Lessons Learned"

Witch of Gol (Allison J.)
Eela (Ella Grey)

****

50 years after launch
On the steps of the Psionic Academy
Talvalen

"A spy Mi'lady." the armored guard announced dropping the disheveled bundle of a girl to the deck in front of him. "A known assassin found snooping outside the section bulkhead just 50 meters from here."

The Princess of Gol looked up from her lessons to take in the arrival of her sentry and his prisoner.

Gathered around her feet, the assemblage of young psi-acolytes twisted and craned their necks, eager to get a better look at the groaning tangle of arms and legs that was slowly picking itself off the cold deck.

"Discipline my young 'fi." The Princess chided softly as she rose from the steps gathering her robes about her slight form. "Observe and analyze......open your thoughts to that around you and do not be influenced by emotion or preconceived notions."

Shuffling slightly, the assembled students assumed an air of passivity and observed in silence as their scholar descended the steps to stand over the prisoner.

"Jerk," Eela muttered at the guard as she dusted off her pants.

"Young Daughter of Mardek." The Princess said in recognition, a hint of surprise in her voice with even a touch of gladness. "I had not expected you to return to my steps......" her eyes flashed to the stalwart guard hovering nearby with a tight grip on his sword,

"......and certainly not in such a manner."

Eela shrugged. "I was passing by ... just curious. There are quite a few contracts being drawn for your head."

"Indeed?......" The Witch slowly circled Eela, examining her from all angles, "Are you here to collect that prize yourself then?"

"Of course not," The woman replied. "I'm many things but I'm not stupid."

"Intelligence is one thing daughter of Mardek." The Witch explained cooly, her words as much for her students as for the newcomer. "Common sense is quite another. There are those who possess an aptitude of intelligence who are nevertheless undone by passion that overrides the logical choice of action."

She paused and lifted her chin studying the girl she once knew in the woman before her. "Logic, if I recall correctly is a path you abandoned long ago is it not?"

"For the most part," Eela replied. "I'd like to think I use it to some degree on a daily basis, this little excursion excluded of course." She raised her eyebrow. "Are you going to make an example of me to your students over there? It would make a fine precautionary tale, I'd think."

"An example of you?" The Witch raised an eyebrow, "My dear girl has it been so long since you studied the ways of Surak? Should I strike out blindly in fear and suspicion at a woman on the mere chance she may be here to harm me?"

She glanced back at the assemblage of youngsters watching silently from the steps. "I agree that would be a lesson indeed, but of what sort? To learn how to kill? Unfortunately that is a natural instinct to Vulcans and needs no lessons."

"Perhaps then a lesson in why to kill?" The Witch continued to watch her students, her back turned and vulnerable to Eela. "Kill to protect the self? Kill to protect the clan? Kill to protect the species or the planet?"

She turned slightly to glace at the assassin over her shoulder. "How about kill to protect honor?......No? How about kill to put food on the table, or because somebody paid you?"

A slight shrug and the Witch walked back to the steps looking down at the young faces, full of curiosity and wonder.

"I prefer perhaps a different lesson........A lesson in why NOT to kill." She paused, "What say you daughter of Mardek? Have you a lesson to teach here today?"

"I don't know," Eela replied, annoyed. "I suppose that all depends on if you have a student named Lhaes."

"I have." was the simple reply.

Eela gave a small smile. "Then my lesson, Princess, is to select your students with a bit more prejudice. Unless of course you like breathing through a slit throat. But by all means, teach your lessons how you will."

"Prejudice?" The Witch rolled the word around in her mouth for a moment. "Tell me then daughter....how would you relate your own potential as a student? T'were the roles reversed would you release the daughter of Mardek to go about her....rather unique....business? Or would you keep her closer in hopes of....."

The witch almost smiled, "Well.....just 'in hope' shall we say."

Eela's eyes hardened. "Hope all you want but realize that it isn't ... healthy to keep the daughter of Mardek confined for long."

"Life aboard this ship isn't healthy, but please...." the Witch gestured towards the open courtyard, "Leave in peace as you desire...but first.....On the subject of lessons and killing permit me to ask a question first."

"Ask away."

"The killing that you do daughter...for whose benefit is it? Your own enrichment and advancement? Societies benefit?"

Eela considered. "It's a job. I'm good at it."

"I see...and this, to your mind proves that the Rihannsu's way is preferable to that of Surak?"

"Not for all, I think. But for me ... yes," The assassin replied. "I do not have the patience to truly learn Surak's teachings and I find that I ... prefer emotion."

"Indeed....and which emotion is it that you have when you end another's life?"

She shrugged. "There's a small amount of satisfaction I suppose, that I got the job done, but ... it doesn't excite me if that is what you're asking. It doesn't make me happy."

"I see." The Witch was watching the students again. "Then by your admission, the killing benefits nobody.......it does not make you happy........and the only satisfaction obtained is from the knowledge that you are capable of accomplishing the task."

She nodded, "I too am 'good' at killing Daughter of Mardek. Perhaps more capable than any aboard this ship......should I take comfort in that ability? If I desired, I could slay everyone within this courtyard with but a thought......but to what purpose. As you admit there is none."

Eela said nothing. She didn't really want to get into a discussion about the differences between her and the witch.

"I make you an offer then......Since your killings are merely a 'job' without excitement, since the only satisfaction is the knowledge that you can do what you set out to do, I offer you a different challenge. I offer you a job here with me in return for food, shelter and such comforts as you cannot presently afford."

Eela looked suspicious. "Doing what?"

The Witch almost smiled. "Why....to NOT kill of course. What greater challenge is that to a Vulcan? We know you can kill young Eela........do you have the ability to live in peace?"

"I don't know," The assassin admitted. "Probably not."

"I see."

"Is this a one time offer?" Eela asked. It was an interesting challenge but one she knew that she wasn't ready to take. But there was no harm in allowing that some day she might change her mind.

"Surak wrote.....while there is life...there are always possibilities." The Witch quoted.

"Then I'll take my leave now and think on it. You know," The woman said with a sudden gleam in her eyes. "If you're opposed to taking care of any future problems that might come up, I'd be glad to assist. I'm well worth the price."

"Hire your services?" The teacher would have frowned if her beliefs allowed it. "Does delegation of an evil negate the guilt? No daughter, I cannot return to that path. My days of arranging 'accidents' are behind me. "

Walking toward Ella, the Witch took her by the hand and stared deep into her eyes. The two women were almost exactly the same age, but their was an air of ancient power behind the Witch's gaze.

"I would prefer to call you 'sister', however our paths have diverged. You kill for money. To provide food, shelter and comforts. I am proposing to give you exactly those things without killing. Either way you will be provided for......you cannot say that killing is a necessity, for I have taken away that excuse. The choice is thus: Choose to Kill or choose not to kill."

"Perhaps it is the illusion of freedom I enjoy," Eela replied and then couldn't help but smile - a real smile, something she did rarely. "I think we could stand here arguing for several lifetimes and never come to any agreement."

The Witch merely raised an eyebrow.

"I will think about what you have offered," Eela said seriously.

"And I......will attend to my duties then, Peace and Long life Daughter of Mardek." Collecting up her students, the Witch herded them indoors, leaving Eela alone in the courtyard with her thoughts.

"Two Sides of a Coin"

By
V'rix (9 year-old Vulcan boy)
(Brian Elessidil)

Maec (16 year-old Vulcan boy)
(Kylar Curran)

***
Talvalen
Arborteum
Cargo Hold 12
5 Years AL
***

V'rix was quiet. So quiet in fact, that he could easily have been overlooked by passers-by, were there any.

In the months since his parents had finally convinced him -- convinced was probably not quite the right word, as it took several days of enforcement on the part of his older brothers -- to go out to the completed green space nearest their quarters, the boy had finally found a personal refuge; a place where he truly felt some relief from the pressure of so many minds closing in on him, threatening to drown out his own thoughts.

For V'rix, it was a kind of bliss he hadn't known since they'd left home. For his parents, it was something of a mixed blessing.

True, their son had finally left the self-imposed exile in the family's relatively small quarters, but it seemed now that he'd only exchanged it for a similar exile to the verdant glade-like surroundings nearby. It wasn't clear to them why it worked. Their initial hopes had been that getting him "outside" would lead to interacting with others and then strengthen his ability to deal with their collective thoughts and emotions. Though he'd found the peace he needed, the doctors theorized it had more to do with distraction and an intent focus on his now preferred environment rather than regular contact with others.

In short, the solution, though acceptable for now, was not ideal.

The boy had already spent several hours today sitting in a small dugout beneath the shadow of three large Rhafaah trees, studying leaves, moss and rocks with the kind of focus botany or geology scholars would sell their souls for. Such focus came naturally for V'rix in this context, and he was perfectly content to expend his developing intellectual capacity almost exclusively in this way. For most of the other inhabitants of the Talvalen, the demands of daily life -- work for some, politics and intrigue for others -- as well as an ingrained preference for the more common and familiar arid settings of their home planet, rendered these green spaces as little more than a curious luxury, which meant that most of the time V'rix had this place almost entirely to himself.

Meanwhile, across and further down from the man-made riverbed that gurgled its way through the various rocks placed at both aesthetic and practical positions along its winding path, a teenaged boy was skipping rocks into the stream's widest point.

Skip, skip, skip.

Maec thought about the man Maarten and his words that to the boy, sowed rebellion if taken at face value. And if he were caught, his punishment would be severe. Harsh enough for his family to feel it, too. But the payoff... his mother would have those silk sheets, his father more time to spend at home after being able to hire employees, and he... he would stand a chance with *her*.

Skip, skip, skip.

How fascinating to watch as the small, smooth stones skimmed the surface in a slow arc. If he accepted Maarten's offer, he would either skip across the obstacles with the blessings of the Air element under his feet, leaving no trace, or

Plunk.

Drop to the Earth element with all the grace of a drunkard after savoring too much of the good stuff.

Maec rubbed his thumb over the surface of the stone, lost in thought, unconsciously dropping his other hand into his leggings left pocket and withdrawing the silver medallion the man in black had given him last night. Was it really only one night ago that he'd been drawn into the world of the elements and made The Offer? Maec had never been one to believe in anything metaphysical, and in fact had not really cared about anything but himself and the focus of his desires for the last three years. He knew everything had to be done on one's own merits if it were to have the intended effect of self-gratification. Putting your faith in anything other than yourself was the worst thing anyone could do for themselves. It's so easy to place blame on something else than yourself, isn't it? Or swear fealty to some fat noble because he gave you a piece of bread. Those kind of worshippers think they did something to earn that noble's attention by providing some resource or hard work. Far more likely he wanted to sleep with their daughter and was just buying the parents off. Making them feel good. No self-respect. People should take pride in their own accomplishments, not what they did for someone else. Such an empty life, and he wanted out of it.

He threw the rock in his hand out to the river, ignoring the splash and ensuing drop as he focused in the intricate design in the medallion.

Somewhere over his shoulder, the periodic sounds of quiet splashing registered in the back of V'rix's mind. The sounds were not typical to the usually unobtrusive murmurings of nature -- as it existed on this artificial world called Talvalen -- that he had come to know over the past few months, and as such sounded louder to him than they might have for anyone less familiar with the usual characteristics of this space.

Setting aside his latest assemblage of material for informal analysis and classification, he left the little dugout and moved toward the source of the sounds and soon spied the source, and the unusual activity in which he was engaged.

V'Rix watched with fascination as the other boy flicked rocks from his hand in such a way as to make them seem to bounce across the water's surface. Most of them, anyway. For all the time he'd spent in surroundings like this back home, he'd never done this himself. As with most things, it was the activity and its relationship to the natural surroundings, rather than the actor himself, that was of interest.

Maec's eyes were caught in the reflection of the artificial lights simulating the rising of the noon 'sun' upon the face of the coin. Mesmerized, he failed to notice the mossy rock he was on had slid deeper into the silt of the riverbed, causing the angle to adjust to the point where his weight became a detriment rather than a support.

Without notice, his foot slipped, his arms threw themselves outward, and the medallion was victim.

End over end it turned in the air, Maec's eyes never leaving it even as he lost his footing and fell into the water. Feeling his knees crash against more underwater rock, his hand dropped to gather balance as the rainbow colors of pain lanced through his knee and up his spine. His eyes, as blue and unstill as the water he found himself fighting against, involuntarily closed against the hurt for no more than a moment, but that hesitation was enough. He'd not seen where it had landed in the stream.

"No! Where did you go? Oh, Elements, please show me!" In a panic, he sloshed further into the running water, near where he saw it come down, anxious as he tore away at the pebbles and stones in abject fear. Silt was stirred, muddying up the water, and increasing his anxiety. "No... no... where are you??"

Then he saw the boy.

"You! Boy! Did you see where my medallion fell in?" He gestured with his forefinger around the silt-laden water between them.

V'rix eyed him warily for a moment, then casually sloshed into the muddied water, fished around with his hand only a few steps from where Maec had stood in his panic, and retrieved the coin after only a few seconds.

"Show me how to do that thing with the rocks you were doing before," he requested, offering the coin back to its owner, while exhibiting little interest as to the object's importance.

"Thanks." Maec looked into the child's doe-like eyes as he stood up from the stream he was kneeling in, and saw an innocence that wouldn't be tempered by the kahs-wan he'd never endure in maturity. He prayed the cold depths of deep space wouldn't replace the ritual of adulthood here in exile. It's not something he'd wish on the younger boy's parents, after he saw the faces of parents whose sons had not come home. Maec was left wondering what had replaced the kahs-wan, and was chilled.

He reached across and plucked the medallion out of hands free of callouses and scarring.

"My name is Maec. What's yours?" The meaning behind the medallion temporarily forgotten, he tucked it back in his pants pocket, patting it from the outside to make sure it was still there. He curled his hand into a fist and clasped it against his chest in traditional greeting.

V'rix returned the gesture with a casual awkwardness that suggested he knew it was appropriate even if he wasn't entirely sure why. "V'rix," he stated succinctly. before returning to the older boy's previous activity with child-like preoccupation. "How do you make those rocks glide across the water like that?"

"Easy, V'rix. I'll show you." Maec looked past the boy to the banks behind him, spying out what he was looking for. "There." He pointed a finger behind the other, and sloshed through the water until he found what he was looking for.

"Come, over here." Maec dug into the muddy earth, pushing aside stones unsuitable for the endeavour, until he found the one he wanted.

Holding it in the palm of his hand, he used his other finger to guide V'rix's eyes. "You need to find one that's nice and flat. The smoother it is, the more it dances across the surface." Kneeling to the other's height, he took V'Rix's left hand, placing the stone in his palm.

"Hold on to that for a siure." Maec's piercing eyes sought out a companion piece, and upon finding one that matched - a perfectly concave piece with curving silver and red swirls around its width - he cupped it in his hand. "Hold it like this." He thumbed the stone around in his hand until his forefinger curled around the side, his thumb bracing the other. "The flatter the surface, the more air to support it. Gives it more spin."

V'rix carefully duplicated the maneuver, finding it less difficult than he'd anticipated.

"Okay, now use your wrist to start the spin when your arm meets the middle of the arc." Maec leaned back, keeping his arm waist level, bringing his wrist back, then fired forward, snapping the stone out across the surface of the water when he hit the middle of his swing. It skipped four times, curving to the right before it dropped. "Could've been better." He nodded to V'Rix and stood back out of harm's way.

"Go ahead, try it."

The rock hurled from V'rix's hand and managed a single splashy skip before ker-plunking into the water. "Could've been better," he echoed, grinning slightly at the fun of learning this new trick and at his own little bit of humor. His mother would have been absolutely thrilled to see him now.

He quickly snatched up another stone and tried again, this time managing two skips. "Guess I should practice," he observed. "Why are you here today and why was losing that medallion such a big deal?" he finally asked with a nine-year-old's directness, now that his curiosity with rock skipping was sated for the moment.

He didn't know why he found himself suddenly liking the younger child, but Maec couldn't keep the grin that tugged at the corner of his lips from breaking free. He hadn't had much to smile about these days. Most of his friends were off being trudged through one ritual after another seeing as they were lucky enough (or perhaps not) to have had their bondmates aboard. Many families and intendeds had been separated during the attack on the shuttleport at ShiKahr on Vulcan. And with the rumors of restricted travel between ships being discussed... most of his friends were being bonded before the Blood Fires came upon them. He was sure his parents were trying to find him a bondmate, but so far, he'd heard nothing. Thankfully he hadn't entered the Fires yet, himself. He was due soon, though.

"I needed to think about some things." He wasn't prepared to discuss family matters with a relative stranger, even if he felt an odd affinity towards him. Maybe it was the innocence, a wish of jealous selfishness that he could start anew. He doubted V'rix remembered the terrible departure day very well, seeing as he could have been no more than a babe.

"The medallion was given to me by someone..." a slight hesitation before he continued, "who thinks he can help me fix something." Again, self-consciously, he pated his back pocket. Most of his clothes were hand-me-downs, so he didn't want to chance he put on a pair with holes wearing through the fabric.

"And you? Your parents let you out alone? Do they want you to be taken by te-Vikram? This isn't the most secure part of the ship, you know." Images of the desert fanatics came unbidden to him. They'd taken two of his friends during his kahs-wan.

"This is where I always come," V'rix replied. "I'm not afraid. Besides, most of the time no one even knows I'm around."

TBC

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