"Muskets and Masks"

Sotha (Lieutenant Saul Bental)

****
Talvalen Central Military Recruitment Office, deck 16
50 years after launch
****

Sotha rose from the bench where he waited for half an hour, and walked confidently into the booth. Across the table that filled most of the booth, an elderly junior officer was scanning his screen. The officer appeared not to have noticed Sotha, and the orphan made no effort to draw his attention.

He had patience. He had time.

The officer was the one to break first. Without taking his eyes off the monitor, he addressed Sotha.

"Sota?" He demanded. Sotha took a risk choosing a false name that sounded much like his own. But no one knew Sotha. All people heard about was 'The Masked Tradesman', and Sotha worked hard to hide any connection between the 'Merchant Prince of the sewers' to the unimportant shaft urchin.

"Yes sir?"

"Parts of the form are not filled."

"Yes sir."

The recruitment office glanced curiously at Sotha. Many a time, a young man of noble family enlisted to the military incognito, to achieve experience and respect and advance through the ranks without having to serve under his father or grandfather's shadow. And without worrying much about possible assassins. Such, the recruitment officer predicted, was Sota's case.

The recruitment papers included a recommendation later by a sub-commander, Kemek. The officer doubted that Sota was blood-related to Kemek, but perhaps this fact could serve as a hint to Sota's true identity.

The recruitment officer, however, cared little for Sota's identity. Let the noblemen play their games and provide him and his family with the food and payment he earned every month, sitting here and doing this monotonous work.

Sotha grinned thinly as the officer returned his focus to the monitor. He remembered Eela's advice from fourty-five years ago. She told him that knowing the other person's status is vital. What she did not say, but unconsciously implied, is that by hiding your own status you get an advantage. The other person, not knowing how to treat you, will be puzzled and easily manipulated.

Sotha's entire 'Masked Tradesman' operation was founded on this very helpful advice. May the elements bless Eela's Katra for that.

"Born twenty years before launch?" The officer asked, already knowing the answer. "A little old, isn't it? Almost all of our new recruits nowadays are ship-born."

"Never too late to enter the service of Valen." Sotha indicated.

"True. True. And they are weaker breed if you ask me. Never paced under a real sun. Well. You will be assigned to the twe--"

Sotha placed his palm hard on the desk. When he lifted it, several coins remained.

"I will be assigned to the Az Shiber." He stated.

The recruitment officer raised a brow, then the coins vanished into his pocket.

"Suit yourself. We have an opening, and maturity would be on your side working fro the Az Shiber."

Silence

"Sign on uniform, sword and personal hand weapon at the logistics center, third door to the right. You'll smell the smoke. May you serve Valen well."

Sotha stood up without granting the officer the required response. The elder man watched him irritably as he left, but then shrugged. These nobles though they were superior to all, but if the Az Shiber accept this Sota into their ranks, he'll find soon that the throngs in the lower decks had little respect to title or arrogant behavior.

"Stand"

T'Mara/Faylin McAlister

It's all she could stand as the woman sat on the beach. Once in a Romulan moon, they were permitted to visit a potential planet, and this one seemed like perfection spinning on its axis. Glancing down, T'Mara frowned as she noticed the paint on her toenails in which she took great care in painting, had smudged somewhere along the line. Everything was smudged, she thought with a light smirk as her eyes drifted upwards to her child as she played quietly in the sand.

The planet they had been hovering around had appeared perfect and in her humble opinion, it was. However, as with everything else, the elders in charge sqaubbled the pros and cons for weeks on end. The result? They were back on the move again in a fore night. T'Mara wondered with frustration if they were ever going to find what they were looking for. Much as with her. She wondered next if she was ever going to find what she was looking for.

Her 'exit to Eden' as she called it, was far from near. The days and nights seemed mashed together in one endless depressing stream of life. The only thing that brought her joy was her offspring. Literally. There was a new dawn approaching, she felt it within her soul. Yet...it was painfully just a fingertip touch out of reach. Sighing, she stood, taking a swipe at her thigh in an attempt to dislodge the sand that had lovingly found a home within her hand.

"Honey...we have to go...again."

"Revenge of the Urchins"

Sotha (Saul Bental)
Levek (Artim)
V'Tana (Eve)

***
Lower decks
5.5 years after launch
***

"Oh. Hohoho! This just gets better and better."

Sotha lay on his back, a smirk smeared all over his face. Once in a while, his habit of sniffing around and crawling all over the ship's complex web of service tunnels proved fruitfull. Today... today's news were worth years of scraped knees.

"So you know her name now. Big deal." Sotha's friend made a gesture not unlike a shrug.

"You don't get it. Someone actually MARRIED the wench.", Sotha replied, grudgingly.

The bitch, he didn't remember when did they first crossed paths or when he began fantasizing about gutting her or tying her in one of the lower decks' darkest corners and tipping some of the notorious rapists he heard about.

The bottom line was that she despised 'shaft urchins' as the ship's orphans were often called, and that she often teased Sotha or threw objects at the vent he was hidding in whenever he was near. Perhaps it was for fun, or to let out frustrations. Sotha did not dwell about motives. At least, not at that age. All he wanted was to get back at her, and this was the perfect chance.

"Her name is V'Tana." Sotha spoke again. "Such a disgusting name. V-Ta-Na. Baahhssss."

"Screw her." Sotha's friend replied, tossing an empty tin can at the wall. The can bounced back.

"Oh, I'm gonna screw her good." Sotha hissed. "Don't worry, I'm going to screw her good all right. Her husband's coming here, see. I heard two grunts talk today, and they put her husband in charge of a security team right here."

Sotha's friend's slanted eyes tore open.

"You're not going to mess with security, right?"

Shaft urchins knew that if they wanted to live long, the first thing in order was to avoid the ship's security. While all V'Tana could do was to bad-mouth Sotha's kind, actual security guards could kill them like they would exterminate vermin. And with equal lack of remorse.

"Not directly." Sotha replied, and pushed himself off the damp floor. "We're just going to play with them a little. I know just what to do."

* * *

It being his first day in a new duty sector, Levek thought it would be a good idea to go on a tour of the area. He was dressed in his silver military tunic, a disruptor at his hip, and was flanked by two rather impressively built security troopers. He didn't want the escort but his second in command was rather insistent about it. Considering the stories he'd heard about this area, it probably was wise.

"So, what sorts of trouble do you normally run into down here? I've heard some rather unpleasant stories." , Levek inquired, probably sounding a bit naive.

"Every kind of scum. Thieves, con men, damned shaft urchins too. Kids are always stirring up trouble.", the taller and skinnier trooper replied.

"Last centurion got stabbed right over there.", the shorter bulkier added pointing down the hall . A green splatter remained on the wall where the man had fallen. "A mob of those damned kids."

Levek had heard about the orphans from V'Tana. They had a habit of harassing repair teams according to her. As much as he was somewhat sympathetic to their plight V'tana seemed to have a seething hatred of them. Apparently they didn't much like nobles.

"Anyone in particular I should be concerned about?", Levek inquired.

"Kid named Sotha. He's kind of a ringleader in this area here. We've been looking for the slippery devil for a long time. Always skitters off whenever we get close.", the taller trooper replied.

They were still discussing the potential trouble makers known to the forces in these parts of the ship when they reached an intersection. A mechanic noise, like a revolving industrial chain, drew their attention.

"What was that?!", Levek half shouted as he turned to see what the noise was

Without warning, something sped toward them from the intersection. It took Level a fraction of a second to recognize the maintenance bots, generally used in the maintenance shafts. Their shape was not unlike the K'vlar caterpillar, and their speed was quite surprising considering their sluggish appearance.

Levek had no time to wonder about this sudden display of agility, nor did he have time to draw his disruptor.

"Move!", Levek said in his most commanding tone, but the words were hardly necessary since the troopers were moving a split second before Levek said anything. For his own sake Levek took off running in the opposite direction as fast as he could manage.

The corridor quickly changed into an elevated catwalk. It crossed the middle of some sort of empty storage hall, four decks high. The walls, if Levek had the time to observe them, looked like an abandoned bee hive. Small bots rested lifelessly within some of the hexagons.

The small team approached the other way of the catwalk rapidly.And then something above them moved, and Levek's men instinctively looked up - and instinctively stopped on their tracks as crates fell from the upper hexagons above the exit, and crashed into the catwalk with great noise, blocking it.

"Great, we're stuck in here." , Levek said as he reached for his communicator. Whatever had been chasing them stopped, but that didn't end the problems. Levek didn't take long to figure that he wasn't able to get a signal out.

"No luck here sir. These walls are lined with stuff that makes communications difficult. We'll have to punch a hole in the wall.", the taller trooper said.

"And how long will that take?", Levek asked though his tone indicated he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"With hand rayguns, a couple hours at least. Would take longer to move those crates without help though.", the shorter one replied.

"Great...I was supposed to go to doctor with V'tana, She's going to flip."

Way above them, several pairs of small feet scuttled away, escorted with hushed giggles.

* * *

The small paper note was attached to V'Tana's door when she returned from the merchant quarter. The paper itself was faded, most likely recycled due to the limited amount of paper that could be brought on board. With modern computers technology, paper was used almost exclusively on the TalValen for ceremonial or traditional purposes, such as history and religious scrolls. V'Tana paid no heed to this peculiar fact as she snatched the piece of paper.

The letters were large, and obviously someone dedicated much time in writing each letter. The result resembled a child's handwriting, and there was even a misspelled word.

'Your husband is dying right now, because of your insolence to the poor.' It stated.

V'tana sunk to the floor of her home, tears springing forth as unbidden thoughts ran rampant through her mind. She was expecting their first child! How could this ... person ... be so thoughtless! The poor were the poor for a variety of reasons, and V'tana had always acknowledged the fact that many of them were poor not due to their own failings. But Insolence?!?! Ever since she and Levek had been wed, V'tana had hardly even payed the lower deeks any attention beyond the time she spent with the technitians and engineers - her energies were aimed at her new husband. And now that she was pregnant, she had even cut back her time spent outside their home. Insolence? What insolence was there to look out for yourself and your family?

* * *

Sotha felt stupid wearing the face plate he and T'Nyo improvised from a broken piece of plating. The two decided, however, that it would be best if he was not related to what just happened. The ship's security forces will definitely make a commotion while trying to find out who messed with their men, and Sotha had no intention of getting caught.

The last of the young orphans approached him, extending his hands forward with palms facing up. Sotha placed some food and coins in the orphan's hands, and she quickly rolled it inside her tunic and scuttled away.

T'Nyo came out of her hiding place.

"There goes all of your savings." She sighed.

"The whore should be thankful it was only a prank, and that her stupid husband is going to get out of there alive - in a day or two, or three." Sotha said nastily. "She'll think twice before throwing anything at a shaft urchin from now on. AND I was told that her husband and his men ran away from the bots like... well, little girls."

"Don't underestimate little girls!" T'Nyo prodded him playfully. Sotha, who did not see it coming, fell flatly on his ass, and the two began to laugh so hard their puny voices echoed all over the service corridor.

"Cain and Able"

or

Raven and Leo: This is your Romulan Life Part 3 of 7!

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! Also Included are their twin sons Paat and Eean!

Time: 30 years after the departure.

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 and is surprised to learn that his wife is having twins. Twenty-five years later, the family gathers around the supper table for a nice quiet meal...

“Aren't you going to tell father the news?” Eean asked with a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes as he casually reached across the supper table and dipped the crust of his bread into the murky, black gravy as his mother passed it to R’aven.

The family patriarch blotted his lips with the linen napkin then accepted the gravy boat from his smiling wife who swatted her son’s hand away.

“Please, Paat share with us all.” he said, his voice as rich and thick as the gravy he generously poured across the mashed taro root. "In these days, there seems to be an extreme shortage of good news."

The young man threw a venomous gaze at his brother before trying to loose himself in his plate of food. “Its really nothing. Once again Eean is making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nonsense brother. This is cause for celebration! Kind of like when you lost your virginity to yourself while watching mom and dad having intercourse when we were fourteen.”

L’Eeo grabbed the ladle in her slender hand and brandished it. “OK, OK , OK! Boy, you better run for an airlock while you still can!”

"I did no such thing! I lost my virginity when Uncle Liam and Jooe took me to that....that.." he started watching the mortified looks creeping across his parents faces. He flushed a deep green in embarrassment. "I mean...I …I …don’t know what I mean."

"I shall have to have a talk with your uncles." R’aven said sternly. "Now then, what is this news that your brother is crowing about so much?”

Recognizing this as more of an order then a request, Paat ran through every possible thing he could think of and in the end, he resigned himself to the bitter truth.

“Father, this is going to upset you.” He said quietly.

“Nonsense. Your father is a leader of a guild. He is the picture of serenity and wisdom. Hundreds of people come to him every day and he handles them all with a compassionate heart.” L’Eeo scoffed as though the mere notion that her husband was irrational sent bile surging up her throat.

“Have we been living in the same house?" Eean asked, dodging as his mother threw the ladle at him.

"It's about Kellee." Paat said, bracing for the storm.

“I knew we should have left him on Romulus!” his father bellowed, suddenly growing dark green with anger, dropping his silver wear loudly upon his plate and shoving it aside.

“He wasn't even born when we left Romulus.” His mother said, then in the voice tone that only a parent can muster said: “Now you know how we feel about Kellee. She is a lovely girl but...”

“To hell with the pleasantries. I told you to stay away from that bastard's off spring! No son of mine is going to be caught running around with a member of the Shia (disruptor) guild. They are beneath you! They are beneath us!” R’aven bellowed. “All they want to do is rule on the edge of a disruptor, manipulating and spying like an honor less cur. Have you forgotten that years ago they tried to have me assassinated when you were first running around behind my back with this...girl?”

“Kellee had nothing to do with that!” Paat protested. “It was her father….”

“Her father nearly killed me!” R’aven said yanking back his cloak to reveal the angry disruptor scars raking across his chest. “Have you forgotten what your little fling with this girl has already cost this family?”

“IT’S NOT A FLING! I LOVE HER AND SHE LOVES ME!!”

“WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT LOVE AT YOUR AGE?? WITHIN A FEW YEARS YOU WONT EVEN REMEMBER HER NAME MUCH LESS THE FEEL OF HER LIPS!”

“WE KNOW WHAT LOVE IS, FATHER. YOU WILL SEE! FOR WE ARE ENGAGED TO BE WED!” Paat said defiantly.

“SILENCE!!!!” R’Aven said pounding his fists upon the table. “YOU ARE FORBIDDON TO MARRY THAT WOMAN. MY JUDGEMENT IS FINAL!”

“You can’t forbid me to do anything! I’m a grown man! And think of what this could mean for the guilds! This could be what unites us! We could be bridging the gap between the two groups. Peace, finally between us after years of this pointless bickering!”

“No son of mine is going to wed into the house of Shia.” The Proconsol said in an icily calm tone, daring anyone to defy him.

His son stared at him for a moment before speaking again.

“Granted.”

L’eeo leapt to her feet. “OK, OK, OK! This isn’t happening in my house. You two need to calm yourselves immediately before something is said that can’t be taken back.”

“That time has come and gone. Get out of my house.” Raven said softly to his son.

With that Paat stood up and walked out of the room while his mother held her head in her hand in frustration.

"Who knew that it would turn into this?" Eean said. His mother struck him across the face and went storming off after his father who had vanished into his study and now sat meditating and calming his heart rate.

"You know you two just need time to cool off.” She said lacing her arms around his neck.

He had to admit that her breath on the skin of his neck did have a soothing quality to it.

“L’Eeo, I can’t have this. Everyone knows everything now a days. It will look as though I have lost control of my whole house. The boy has no choice in this matter. I wish there were some other way.” R’Aven said, turning to his wife. “How will it look if the son of the Sienae Guild were to mate with the daughter of our rival?”

His wife thought for a moment. “You know, one could look at this in another light. Think of what it would mean for the guild if you are seen to be rescuing the daughter of this mad man?”

The Proconsol looked at her, interest blossoming with each passing moment.

“You would help in the defection of his first born! If staged properly with the right amount of twisting of the truth and you have the chance to weaken them.” She said, watching the smile slowly creep across her husband’s face.

***** Later in the evening *****

"Been a while since we were here.” Eean said, walking across the crossbeam leading to the tiny ledge overlooking the now empty promenade.

“We used to hide here as kids and watch the people below wandering in and out of the markets and gardens untill Father found out. It’s too high. You will fall to your death. He was always right. How can he be right now? Why doesn't he understand? Why does he resist the idea of Kellee and I so?” his brother asked shaking his head in frustration and gazing across the blackness below, stretching out like a sea of shadows.

“He's old school, Paat. He just doesn't understand that sometimes you need to do that which seems unthinkable to achieve that which you truly desire.” Eean said, resting his hand upon his brother's back while gazing down at the floor four stories below them.

"Talvalen Is Burning"

Principal Characters

Chulak Vardek, Prime Engineer (Victor Krieghoff)

****
Talvalen
55 years after launch
****

There were good days and bad days for Chulak. Good days were where he could think about the things that were important, the things that were real, and mattered past the pain that filled his head. Bad days were the ones where there was nothing but the pain, filling his mind until he felt like an empty shell that existed for the sole purpose of providing a container for the pain.

Today, of course, was a bad day. They were more often than not, now, but the other engineers were trained well enough that his presence wasn't truly required unless there was an emergency, and the ship was too well built for that to happen. On days like today, he sat in his office and reviewed reports, or ventured out to check on the engines or the sun lamps on the agro-deck, or one of the other systems that maintained the ship?s existence, finding some relief in the silent, still portions of the ship where there was nothing but the sound of Talvalen's heartbeat or breathing to fill his head and push out the pain.

Today, he thought that he'd inspect the reactors and maybe, finally, take the time to investigate that dead space nestled in Talvalen's structure between them, the one that he'd kept putting off checking on since before his marriage. It would, he thought, be quiet there ... and he needed the quiet today, needed it worse than he'd needed it in all his memory of days like this.

He hoped that it would be enough, hoped that he would be able to fight off the pain there, to lose himself in something important and move past it. Because if he couldn't, if this was the day that he couldn't win his battle against it, then he didn't know what he would do. There was no scan left to do that he hadn't already tried; they all said he was normal, that there was no physical cause for his pain. All that was left was to go to a telepath, to let someone else invade his mind and decide if he was mad or not... and he wasn't certain that he wouldn't rather have the pain than be told that.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and pushed at it, battering it back down inside him so that he could speak to his assistants and tell them where he would be going, fought it for an eternity until he had the space to think and speak without letting the pain show...

...and the alarm sounded.

In an instant the pain was gone, forgotten as the tone he'd heard in drills for virtually his entire life pushed it aside. This was, however, no drill ... he scheduled those now, and there was none on the daily roster of tasks. That meant that it was real; and that there were things to do and decisions to make so that his life's work was not lost here in the stars.

He didn't recall leaving his office, but he found himself in the Main Engineering Room, barking orders to the stunned subordinates there. Monitor screens snapped on, controls were checked, and the source of the alarm was pinpointed and displayed on the man-tall main monitor.

The agro-deck.

Of all the places for the alarm to come from, that was the worst. Not only did the ship depend on it for food, but also for the atmosphere replenishment capacity of the plants that grew there, scrubbing the ship's population's exhaled gasses from the air and replacing them with fresh, breathable oxygen.

The room fell silent as the main monitor lit up and the scope of the disaster became apparent.

Talvalen was burning.

Questions flashed through Chulak's mind at light speed: How had the fire spread so fast and so far in such a short time? Why had the monitors not revealed it? Was it sabotage? Had his instruments failed him? Was it possible to stop this from destroying the life of his ship? Could he...?

There was no time to think any more. No time for questions. There was only time to act, and to do what he'd been trained to do. This was why there was a Prime Engineer. This was why he was here.

"Sound the alarms," he snapped. "Ship-wide. All Channels. All fire-fighting teams suit up and report to the agro-deck. All off-duty personnel report for duty. Call for volunteers to help fight the fire and evacuate personnel. Alert Medical Services to expect reception of casualties. Place the ship on atmosphere-contamination alert."

He paused, staring at the flames roaring on the screen and wondered why his head wasn't hurting, wondered why the pain was gone... and then stopped wondering as the calls started to come in and he stepped up to do the job that was his reason for being here, the job that he'd been born to do.

Talvalen was burning.

~Epiphanies~

Kharvre (Cutter Kara'nin)

The temple boulevard was empty. There was not one soul. In his youth, Kharvre had never seen it empty, but now the sight was not uncommon. It was odd, because it wasn't as if those aboard the ship had abandoned religion. In fact, the number of people that came every week to the more organized worship sessions had stayed about the same, if not grown slightly, since the time of their launching several decades ago. The number of regular worshippers, those that came to every session, had increased and their devotion had reached near-fundamentalist levels.

But, before, when he was a child, the passengers of the Talvalen would come to the temples at all times of the day to pray. Now it was just the sessions. The faith of the people seemed to be dividing - there were those that came only to the organized sessions, who placed all responsibility for the advancement of their faith into the hands of the priests and priestesses, and those that stayed at home and worshipped in private, taking all responsibility into their own hands and advancing their faith without any guiding, except for the rare, occasional visit to request advice about an extreme scenario.

Most of those in the former category were elderly passengers, those that were alive and mature at the time of the launch, whereas the ship's youth seemed to fill the latter category. It was an observation that had not gone unnoticed by the temple leaders, and there were mumbled grumblings and concerned whispers expressing the selfish fears that soon, faith would shift entirely to the individual, leaving no need, and therefore no place, for the temples and their caretakers.

If such a shift were to occur, it most likely would not occur during his lifetime, but it certainly would not occur during their time on this ship. Bottled societies like this, despite all efforts, did not change drastically like that. Not without the aid of a sudden, massive revolution.

Kharvre walked down the boulevard from the clerics quarters, his robes swishing softly against the deck plating as he walked.

skiff skaff

On his left was the water temple, and his mind drifted to Lirel. She was married now. She had children. That was her responsibility as a Water Priestess. Her husband was a good man, but it was always difficult for Kharvre to talk to him. It was hard to talk to her. She was his first love, and though it was inevitable because clerics were not allowed to marry those in the priesthood, she broke his heart.

He sighed and cleared his mind as he approached the central gallery. This was his space. His responsibility. Inside sat all of the religious paintings, engravings, pottery and sculptures that they had taken from Vulcan when they left, and he was responsible for their preservation. Behind the gallery was the monastery library, and when his mentor Tonik eventually passed away, Kharvre would become responsible for that, too.

He pulled out the small ring of keys from his pocket and located the one that opened the gallery door. The rest jingled as it entered the lock.

chingy jinky

It was dark inside, only the small blue emergency light strips on the ceiling were lit. He didn't activate the lights, Kharvre simply stood for several minutes and let his eyes adjust. The soft blue light cast an eerie glow on the artwork on display around the gallery. They looked so different from when the lights were on.

To his left was Jhacen stabbing his battle spear into the heart of the Ghorrgan. It was normally a powerful display of the vanquishment of corrupted beauty and the wickedness of rebelling against the gods. Jhacen's mouth was open in a triumphant battle cry, his brow furrowed with determination and courage. His entire form was thrown behind the thrust of the spear, and his hair lifted from his scalp, tossed by his great momentum, and fluttered in the passing, imaginary wind. The Ghorrgan's head was thrown back, her mouth wide, crying in pain. Her eyes were white, pupiless. Her hands gripped the spear as it stuck through her chest.

But the dim blue light threw out sharp contrasting shadows from a bizarrely overhead angle, distorting the image. His hair cast shadowed streaks down the tops of his cheeks, beginning near his eyes. The bottoms of his cheeks were dark, and they looked sunken in. Instead of the expression of righteous rage, he was howling in depression. The blue light reflected off the white marble tongue of the Ghorrgan and bounced around in her open mouth, giving her innards a subtle glow, and it reflected off the pupiless eyes, making them seem pure blue and looking up Jhacen. The shadows made her eyes seem pleading. And the shadow of her hands crossed her heart, holding flat against her chest, as if her heart was breaking. Instead of the violent display of death of a monster, the statue now showed the tragedy of having to destroy something loved and the inherent betrayal in the act.

No matter what things seemed in the day, if one waited a few hours, everything could look so different.

He cast a habitual stare across the other items in the monastery's collection, making sure they all stood in their proper place, and moved to the large astrological clock in the center of the gallery. Carefully, he opened the face cover and readjusted the time, moving it forward approximately three seconds. He closed the face cover and bent down to the body of the clock and applied the nightly winding to its internal gears. When he was finished, he stood and looked at the clock briefly as it ticked.

tick tock

He liked the clock. He liked all the pieces in the gallery, but he did truly admire the clock. It was a work of art unlike the other pieces. It was not only constructed with incredibly fine artistic precision, but incredible mechanical precision as well. Over a thousand years old, if kept properly wound, but never adjusted since its creation, the clock would only be off by two days. Two days in over four hundred thousand.

Kharvre then walked to the side hall of the gallery, obscured from view. The hall led to, among other places, a small antechamber he used to meditate. He had set it up as his own personal gallery, populating it with the wooden and bone carvings he had made over the last forty years, those that he kept.

Slowly, he undressed, hung his robes over a small rack, and walked nude to the center of the room. On his left sat a clay dish of water. Behind him sat a wooden platter of soil, gathered from the ships farms. To his right was a metal tin of gelled methanol, and in front of him was plain metal air vent.

First, he turned to his right and picked up, from next to the tin, a small box of matches. With well rehearsed, ritualistic movements, he removed a single match and closed the box and then struck the match head against the sandpapered side of the box.

skitch skitch

Once lit, he held the match up close to one eye, then the other, while praying, "Element of fire, warm and bright, light my path." Then, he held the match to the gelled alcohol and it lit aflame. Then he looked up, and his gaze focused behind the flame. There sat some of his carvings, T'pele, Marrs and Huitsipokhtli, old gods that he associated with fire. Silently, he prayed to them as well.

Then, he turned to his left, to the dish of water. With his hand, he spun the liquid around until it had enough momentum to spin on its own. "Element of water, flowing and clear, give my guidance."

swish swash

As his hand turned the water, he looked at the figures he had set up here. T'lalok, Khana Lo, T'fenut, Osciens and Njorrd. He prayed to them, too. With his wet hand, he spun his body around to face the rear of the room. "Element of earth, rich and firm, grant me strength," he said, then dug his wet fingers down into the mound. When he removed them, they were black with fine silt and he wiped them on his forehead and beneath his chin, leaving a dark smudge on his skin. Behind the mound of dirt stood Guya, Gheb and Hel, and he continued his dichotic act of praying to the old gods as well as the elements.

Finally, he turned to the air vent. Here, he prayed to the old gods first. Asterope and Aethion, Indhra, T'hor, Shuh and Ehekatel. Then, he reached up with his hand, and as he spoke, "Element of air, pure and clean, bring me clarity of mind," he opened the vent and let the ship's air flow into the room.

whoo whuh

Then, he sat back in the center of the room, crossing his legs and resting his hands upon his knees. And he meditated.

All was silent, save for the gentle rush of air from the vent and the occasional crackle of the sterno fire to his right. And his heart beat.

thump dump

Why did he continue to honor the old gods? Within his circle, he was mocked for it (though the extent of his worship was kept secret). He did not believe they existed, or at least, he did not take the stories in which they appeared as literal truths. He supposed they did exist to some extent. Abstractly. In the same way the modern clergy associated attributes to the elements. Air had nothing to do with thought, afterall, and water had nothing to do with purity. Seres was not real and had no power to make their crops strive or die. Yet, whenever Harvest Day came around every season, were they not celebrating in her name like their ancestors had done?

pif paf

His meditation was interrupted by some repeated sound. Footsteps of another cleric out on the main boulevard? Kharvre ignored the distraction and attempted to resume meditation.

The problem with their new philosophy was that it tried to reduce all the complexity of the world into four atoms - the four elements. To be fair, it was only the metaphysical world, not the physical world, though defining the line that separate the two was incredibly difficult. Even then, things did not seem so pat. Strength was attributed to earth, but didn't the large, incredibly powerful lifting machines on their ship work using hydraulics?

crik crak

Again, his thoughts were interrupted. It was the same sound as before, he realized, though it sounded different. Was the metal shaft of the air vent creaking? He sighed and again cleared his mind.

At least with the old gods, mysteries of reality could be attributed to the actions of a sentient being, malevolent or benevolent or neutral as they may be. It was silly, and childish, and the scientists and educators aboard would harumph loudly at the suggestion, but it was a satisfying answer to some extent. And it was never hard. Taking all the old mythologies into account, there were hundreds of ancient deities. Was a number that big really that troubling? Their physical elemental table was up to one hundred and twenty-five and the theories, as far as Kharvre understood them, suggested the potential number of physical elements was infinite.

din ting

What was that sound?! It wasn't the air ducts creaking, it was too loud and too resonant. Maybe a pipe and slipped loose of its caulking and was banging against another? He would have to report it to the ship's maintenance department in the morning.

No, he would never be happy with the current metaphysical picture, with the elements set in their current state. There was too much overlap in their supposedly unique properties. Water granted life, but without air, all things died. And without fire, they would freeze to death. Air was associated with unpredictability and change, but nothing changed the world as much as an uncontrollable fire. Even water could change things. Rocks at the bottom of a stream would smooth and round, not because of the breeze, but because of the currents. There had to be something more than the four elements; there had to be something larger.

knock knock

Curses! The thought reverberated in Kharvre's skull as much as that infernal racket. It was coming from outside the room, like someone beating on the door. He rose to his feet and wrapped the shawl of his robes around his waist and threw open the door. "What?!" he exclaimed, but there was no one there. Only an empty dark hallway.

Bam Bum

The noise was louder. It was definitely coming from out here. Kharvre stepped out into the hall and moved towards the main gallery, his head throbbing with each repetition of the noise.

Bang Bang

Gods, it sounded like gunshots! He broke into a sprint for the last several steps to the gallery. He half expected an army waiting there to greet him, but there was nothing. Nothing. No movement at all. He hurried to the main door and peeked through the window. The temple boulevard was deserted.

Pow Pum

The noise was deafening, like explosions. Bombs going off mere inches from his ears. Where was it coming from?! Where?!!

BOOM BOOM

He whirled around, searching frantically for the source of the noise. Why couldn't he find it? There was nothing here! Was he going mad?

Then he saw it. In the center of the gallery. The ancient astrological clock. That was it, that was the source of the noise.

TICK TOCK

He ran towards it. He didn't know why its mechanical clicks were so loud, but each second's passing was shaking his body to the core. If it didn't stop, Kharvre was sure the noise would surely kill him.

Then it struck him. An epiphany. It was a sign. The clock! It was the clock! It was time! There was something larger than the four elements. The archelement. Time! Time ran through all things. It controlled and affected all things. All things changed over time.

He reached out his hands and gripped the side of the clock, and like electricity, a vision flashed through him.

KABOOM BOOM BOOM

Explosions!

BRANG BANG BRANG

Gunshots!

AAGGHH! AAAAGGGHHHH!!!

Screams!

The world! His world, the ship! The Talvalen and its people! Such violence! Such destruction! So much death, so much blood! What was this? Was this the future? An uprising? A war? A revolution? When would this happen?

AAGGHH! AAAAGGGHHHH!!!

Eventually he realized the screams were his own. And once he realized that, he was able to stop. He let go of the clock and fell back onto the floor. He looked up and he saw only his gallery, dimly lit by the soft blue lights. And it was silent, again. Silent, except for the soft ticking of the large clock.

tick tock.

"Undercover Blues"

Sotha, Az Shiber operative (Saul Bental)

****
Talvalen
Lower decks
51 years after launch
****

"Stay alert" stated Sotha's trainer, "and follow my lead."

Sotha seemed skeptic, but slowly trailed after the senior Az Shiber agent. The two were in an alley-like wide corridor not unlike the corridors where Sotha spent his youth. The trainer walked purposefully toward a missing plate in the wall, marking the entrance to a gathering place which Humans would categorize as a 'pub'.

Mingling with the lower decks locals was a central part of an Az Shiber agent's life, and that's what this exercise was all about. About half a year into training, Sotha was quite fed up with his training. The Az Shiber was a small agency - about thirty men and women, he assessed - and it was composed completely out of noble family members, which never even visited the lower decks prior to their assignment. Sotha scoffed at the feeble attempts of his fellow agents to perform their duty. If he were Valen, he would see to it that only those who were intimately familiar with the unique culture and customs of the lower decks would be recruited to the Az Shiber. Yes, even if it meant handing out prestigious assignment to middle-class and lower-class 'simpletons' like Sotha himself .

He especially held his trainer, Boten, in low esteem. Boten was the example of everything that was wrong with the Az Shiber. Seven years younger than Sotha, Boten was spoiled, arrogant, and cared more about his career than his duty. A career that he meekly tried to promote using what could charitably be regarded as scheming. Sotha was eager to see how Boten was going to screw up this time .

Sotha waited half a minute after the younger, taller Rihanssu vanished through the missing plate, before he moved. Inside, it was so dark that his eyes needed to adjust. Once they did, he was able to spot silhouettes of men sitting on pillows on the floor, conversing, drinking, and playing board games. Like in any of the dozens other pubs spread throughout the lower decks.

Boten was easy to spot. It was as if he was projecting some sort of social-repulse field. No one sat on the pillows next to him, and some of the patrons glanced at him occasionally with clear dismay. His body language was radiant with discomfort and superiority. He only lacked a sign on his back saying 'I'm an undercover cop'.

In the far corner of the room, an old machine began to play a sad song from the homeland.

Sotha stepped toward the pub owner, observing the dynamics around him. He tried to find out just who was the patron who got the most attention from the hostesses and the owner. There was always one, at every pub. By the seventh step, he realized who it was – a burly men, sitting amidst several others and watching a screen – and corrected his path to cross by that men.

As he came near, he stopped and bent toward the screen.

"It's a S'Hoff fight?" He asked. Gladiator fights were consider illegal, only that no higher-up ever bothered to uphold that law. If the lower classes want to beat themselves bloody, the nobles thought, they can go ahead. Better them beating themselves than beating us.

The leader of the pack haven't noticed him, but one of the others nodded and offered Sotha a pillow. Sotha sat down, and tried to assess if the people around him were fans of S'Hoff or of his rival, Supek.

"All right!" He exclaimed, after a mean kick by Supek which nearly drove S'Hoff into the bulkhead. Several people turned sharply toward Sotha, including the leader.

"Are you a Supek fan?" He demanded, in a dangerous tone. Several fists were clenched, robes shifting. Several meters toward the entrance, Boten watched Sota with horror – none of his trainees ever got in trouble, let alone mortal peril.

Sotha shrugged. "Y'Know, the money you get from gambling on S'Hoff? It's gotta come from SOMEONE…"

The burly man laughed hard, encouraged by a left Shopata which S'Hoff just landed on Supek's abdomen.

"Ha! You're right! If everyone were S'Hoff fans, we'd have no one to laugh at after he wins!"

"Laugh all you want, but Supek is improving and I think that if he survives the next year he'll make a worthy contender for the title."

Supek, as it was, didn't appear to be to worthy a contender as S'Hoff's elbow struck his temple. Sotha and his new friends watched the battle through, which eventually – much to Sotha's relief – ended with Supek lying unconscious on the floor.

"Better luck next time, man." One of the other Rihanssu said, offering Sotha a small glass of ale. Sotha accepted it with the dignity of a defeated yet proud fan.

"Hey, what's your name?" The leader suddenly asked.

"Soba."

"Ever beat someone up, Supek fan?"

Sotha shrugged. "After fifty years on this fucked-up tin can, if you don't get into a fight you're either a noble, an incarnation of the old gods, or a VERY ugly woman."

The leader snickered and bowed. "Suvock." He stated his name, and several others said their names as well. It was Suvock who interested Sotha, though. He bowed back, keeping his eyes on Suvock.

"I'll get you a round of Red Desert ale if you beat up the man over there."

Sotha didn't even need to turn around to realize Suvock was pointing at Boten. He glared at Boten, and took a leap of faith.

"You kiddin'? I bet he's a copper."

The sound machine switched a track, to a fast-pace melody. In Vulcan standards, of course.

"Good eyes." Suvock nodded. "So what if he is?"

"Coppers, you better mess with them in a way that they don't know it's you. I can break his uppity nose right now, but he'll just come back with a couple of morons and look all over the deck for me. Too much of a bother."

"Words are the coward's hideout." Indicated one of Suvock's cronies.

Sotha turned sharply toward him. "Just because I ain't gonna beat a cop when he's looking doesn't mean you're safe, buddy."

Suvock ignored the threat made on one of his entourage. "You sound like you don't like coppers much."

"What is there to like? Look at him, sittin' there like a black hole that absorbs fun. You don't need to be the witch of Gol to know that he's thinking 'You're all scum'."

"Two days from now we're having a live broadcast of the semifinals here. Bring something to gamble with."

* * *

Boten was waiting impatiently in the predetermined meeting place for nearly an hour when Sotha finally strolled into view. The shouts began immediately, and died out after a long time.

Sotha's face seemed to be carved in stone throughout the emotional outburst. He spoke up only when Sotha's throat was worn out.

"Did I pass the exercise?", He demanded. Not in a subordinate's tone but an equal's.

Off: Takes place after "Undercover Blues"

"Triple"

Sotha, Az Shiber operative (Saul Bental)
Eela, Assassin (Ella Grey)

****
The Hotel
Talvalen
53 years after launch
****

It was supposed to be a simple meet and greet. Show up, say hello, cut throat, and slip away again into the night.

But nothing was ever simple and her knife rested - albeit sharply - against the man's throat as Eela frowned and tried to remember where she had last seen him. Then it came to her.

"Sotha?" She had seen him off and on when she was younger but then one day he had disappeared.

The years had been good to him; the body she was straddling seemed to be less skin and bones and more muscle than the boy she remembered. "You filled out."

"Updeck girl." Sotha smiled weakly. The sharp metal pressed on his throat, a mildly painful reminder that this apparently was not a courtesy visit. Sotha was equally impressed that Eela could locate him and disappointed at himself for failing the third thing an Az Shiber novice studies at training.

Invisible is Invincible.

He decided that it would be the last time he'll make a mistake today. Without moving his pupils, he began to study the room around him, searching for potential weapons and routes of escape.

"I can shove this up into your brain before you even reach your weapon," Eela warned. "So keep still."

She said she CAN shove the blade into his brain, Sotha reckoned, but she did not do it yet. It was a good sign.

He took a deep breath. All of the sudden he became very aware of the femininity of the woman in front of him. The concept of an assassin was intimate and sensual in its own way, someone who creeps close to you in the dark - not unlike a lover. Sotha licked his lips.

"When we first met." He began, "You thought no one could hurt you. I later found out that it was because of your father's allegiance, was it not?"

"Your point?"

"Now, I'm the one it's better not to hurt because of MY allegiance."

Not that he was loyal to anyone but himself, but loyalty wasn't the strong point of Ab Shiber agents; Devotion and cunning were. "I belong now to a group that doesn't take assassinations lightly, when they're aimed at their own men. Please - for you, not just for me - remove the blade."

Eela had helped Chulak and warned the Witch but she had never actually broken one of her own contracts before; she kept the blade where it was. "You'll have to do a lot better than that."

"For old times' sake, then?" Soth offered lightly.

"If memory serves, you threatened *my* life last time we met."

Sotha stared icily into her eyes. Without moving a muscle, he began to put pressure on her last second doubts. He's still not dead, he reminded himself.

"I'll double it." He said, "Whatever they're paying you. And I'll hire you to assassinate whoever was sent to kill me. If he's dead, he cannot pay you for your job, the contract is broken, and your reputation remains intact."

Eela smiled. "Offer triple and we can talk."

"Right now I'd offer you everything I got if it would remove that itchy blade. I think double is a very nice sum, plus it would be a sum I won't regret giving away afterwards."

She slowly pulled back the blade and moved carefully to the other side of the room in case he got the idea to try something stupid before he could pay her. "How have you been, Sotha?"

"Climbing up the ropes." Sotha gestured around. The room was cheap and poorly furnitured, yet it was much nicer than the places Sotha spent the night at fourty-five years ago. "Observing and taking advice from updeck girls eventually paid off. You did not expect to see me here, eh? Who did they tell you I was?"

"Someone dangerous," Eela shrugged. "Meaning someone who was in the way. I didn't really ask."

Sotha smiled inwardly. Merely three years after he joined the Az Shiber, he had become a real threat to people of influence. This was the best sign that he was on the right path.

"It's a good trait, not to ask questions in that profession of yours. I must admit that I didn't expect an updeck girl like you to take on this rather... unrefined... occupation."

"Then it's a pity you have such a lack of imagination," The assassin replied. "How soon can you get me the money?"

"Name a time and place. Oh, and there's one condition, which won't alter your fee. We will execute the assassination together."

She frowned. "You'll just get in my way."

Sotha snorted. "You were skilled enough to sneak in on someone who's been sleeping with one eye open for the past fifty years. You'll manage. Don't keep all the fun to yourself now."

Eela smiled. "Offer triple and we can talk."

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