"Home is Where the Heart Is"

By
V'rix, Groundskeeper (adult)
Maec, Brewer (adult)

OOC: Continued from "Two Sides of a Coin"

"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."

"Why do you come here?" Maec picked up another rocked and threw it into the stream, cutting across its surface to bounce up in the other side to a rest in the rough grass. "It's not like there's a whole lot do here. Or anywhere else for that matter, I guess." He shrugged.

"There's a lot to do," V'rix answered, his tone suggesting surprise at Maec's inability to see that. "I study the plants, the rocks....it's amazing."

"And your parents? What do they do? My father's a miller and shoemaker. Has a cargo hold of his own. Makes the flours on board." He threw another rock. It skipped twice before sinking. "Mother's a herbologist."

"Your mother's a herbologist? Wow. I'd love to meet her sometime. My mother is a nurse, works in the infirmary. Father is a cook in the crew galley. I hardly ever get to see him -- there's a lot of meals to make I guess." The casual way in which V'rix related the information belied the feeling of abandonment he sometimes felt. It was yet another reason why he liked to come here; after all, there wasn't much else at home in the quarters they shared with another family. Silently, he looked down at the rock he held in his hand. As he prepared to throw, he wondered where it would go, how far from where he stood, how deep into the water. He pulled back his arm . . .

----------------------------------
(50 years later)

. . . and released yet another stone across the water's shimmering surface.

The rock on which he and his friend Maec stood was the same one they'd stood on more times than either of them could count since they were boys. In that time they'd learned a lot about this place, about themselves, each other, and the space-bound world they still inhabited. From here, V'rix could see so much -- everything from the skittering rock he'd just thrown, to the hopes of a life yet to come, hopes he'd held onto tenaciously in the face of mounting cynicism and tension all around; words that were becoming more all the more descriptive of what the Talvalen was becoming...or had already become.

"A few people still come here," he said to his friend, "but they say not enough to justify the space. There's talk of tearing up the green spaces and using them for other purposes." To any casual observer, it would have sounded like idle talk. To the knowing ears of a best friend, there was bitterness, despair, anger . . . a whole host of reactions to the threat of yet another loss of home. After all, it was this space, far more than any quarters or any other part of the ship, that V'rix considered home. It had become his job -- his mission, as far as he was concerned -- to tend these few places, and he had come to know them, this space in particular, longer and more intimately than he'd even known the home his family had left behind on Vulcan nearly sixty years ago. Its loss would be proportionately more difficult.

Maec looked down to where his feet stood on the stone, as he always did when he and V'rix came back to the spot where they first met, and still was amazed at how the stone had eroded under his feet after half a century. Mind you, he was probably just seeing what he wanted to see, as V'rix had explained to him often enough that it took eons to gauge the erosion factor of stone. Still, he fancied he could measure it himself seeing as he was here enough times.

He could hear it in his old friend's voice that whatever the ship's environmentalists and technocrats had planned for what used to be a wonderful work of ecologists and whatnot, the news couldn't be anything welcome.

Over the years, as the Great Ships sailed out into the stars, the journey had not always been smooth. There had been the occasional attacks of pirates, the te-Vikram had tried to take one of their sister ships back to Vulcan in a coup that ultimately ended in its annihilation, crop failures, decimation of the population through disease and famine (and other more nefarious ways, he supposed). The water, once rich and imbibed with the wonderful iniquity of Vulcan, was now reduced to a recycled formula dense with chemicals and nutrients. It wasn't even desirable as a drink any longer. One of the reasons why Maec had turned to his occupation of choice, he supposed. Not that his father's desires had anything to do with it.

Take for instance, this river the two now stood over. Once, and for a few years after they started visiting the place together, the smells of the wilderness would be carried down its rapids, cleansing the air, and leaving that irreplaceable scent of that which could not be manufactured. On Vulcan, Maec had never seen such a dense and alive place such as where they were once, and it awed him to no end. Just another reason why he came here.

Now, though, it was just another environment like all others on board. Sterile and cold.

By order of the fleet commanders, the environmental systems had been reduced on board, cutting back on resources such as heat and moisture residuals that would feed the wild flora here and everywhere else on board the Talvalen. It was only with the will of those biologists and gardeners in the lower classes that a portion of the environment still existed. His mother had even unofficially adopted V'rix, so much as she could since his parents were still alive, taking a liking to the boy immediately. The families had grown close over the years, sharing what skills they could for each other to advance in the house rankings on board. Maec's house was now ranked 114th of four hundred. He wasn't sure where V'rix's was, but it hardly mattered. He'd take his 'little brother' to whatever rewards he attained with his status.

"I'm sorry, my friend." The once vibrant waters he gazed out on, were now calm, lacking life. He hoped the bond the river - now reduced to a stream pretty much - wouldn't force its gloom on V'rix. He knew the two shared a symbiotic relationship; if this greenspace went, he was afraid for what would happen to his friend in the process. "Where did you hear that from? Anything I can do? I think I have some assassins on retainer." Maec grinned at the last comment, a joke that he hoped would uplift the younger's spirits. Lots of people had been killed by assassins and hired killers over the years, but not by him. There was only one person Maec wanted to eliminate, and his time was coming. He wondered if the medallion's call would still be active after all these years. Was Maarten even still alive?

In spite of the morbid humor, or perhaps because of it, V'rix smiled, his eyes still focused on the stones he continued to cast ahead. "My father heard talk of it from some of the crew. He knew I would want to know." He paused, unsure if he should say more. "There has been talk of...alternatives. My brother Neval spoke of friends he knows, people who like many of us aren't happy with the way things are and who want to see changes." He paused again, choosing his words carefully so as not to sound like some half-cocked radical. V'rix was generally a quite, studious type, but he didn't necessarily disagree with the opinions of other, more incendiary, elements. "They're disillusioned, and have lost their faith in our leaders," he said, turning to Maec.

"I've seen it. Even been approached a few times." As the local ship's brewer, people tended to open up more to him than most others. Alcohol was a wonderful tool for bringing down inhibitions. More than a few families had tried to have their daughters bonded to him, but he'd have none of it. His heart was still focused elsewhere, even if he'd heard the rumors of her impending marriage. He was almost at the point of status where he could meet her again, much like the years they shared in primary school, where innocence and childhood dreams were what made your world go around. He'd made a promise to her back then, and he'd hold to it no matter how her father wasn't agreeable to the notion.

"And what do you think of our 'illustrious leaders', V'rix? These are the same people that are destroying your home, bit by bit, day by day."

"It's because they're short-sighted. They see first what impacts them directly, then sometimes what effects all of us immediately, but they're blind to anything beyond that." V'rix shook his head in frustration. "From where they sit, what we call home is little more than some fog-shrouded otherworld."

"You should run for sector representative in council."

"You should run for village idiot, my friend."

Maec chuckled, his azure blue eyes sharp and glittering in abstract contrast to the stark surroundings now devoid of the life it exuded when they were young. "Why not? I'm serious. I'll even finance you. I'm tired of the political squabbling. We need someone representative of the people, not the material things lining their pockets."

Brow furrowed, V'rix curiously regarded his friend for a moment. Despite his habit for solitude, V'rix had heard on more than one occasion that he understood people and could see the broader tapestry into which they all fit. Yet sector representative . . . it certainly wasn't something he'd ever considered even for a moment, but when Maec said it, there was...something...about it.

"Nonsense," he chuckled, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. He spread his arms wide to indicate their current surroundings. "This is what I represent -- trees, grass, water, rocks. People aren't interested in what I think or say, and they're much harder to take care of. Powerful or weak, most don't *want* anyone else's opinions or assistance; they'd rather wallow in their own private concerns, groaning under some illusion of total self-sufficiency."

"And who will stand for what you represent? Certainly not that rock you just tossed in the water. How will these.. objects," he swung his arms around in a gesture to encompass everything around. "Who will speak for them? None of the technocrats and those in power care about that which gives so much to the people. Surak may have been a rebel, but he had some good points in realizing that emotions speak only for themselves and those that have them. None of your flora can stand up against the tide of emotion that runs rampant throughout the ship, as they can't dispute on the same level of communication. I don't know if you've noticed, but there aren't many followers of Surak left. Certainly not enough to make the selfish and corrupt see that we *need* all this. Who knows when we'll make landfall, if ever? These ships will only last so long before we either can't repair them, or those that know how to fix the breakages perish."

Again, V'rix studied Maec's face, scrutinizing for even the slightest hint of jest or insincerity, yet he found none. "You really are serious, aren't you?"

"You can make a difference, V'rix. Any extension of life these inanimate objects can unselfishly give us could be just the amount we need to find our home. Don't let the knowledge and beauty of our lives here disappear into the Great Dark."

V'rix was quiet. As much as it pained him, he could see the writing on the wall. With the whims of the current leadership, these spaces would all be converted to other purposes and V'rix would be out of a job. With everything there was to do aboard the Talvalen, he knew any unemployment would be very temporary, but there was nothing else he wanted to do. He had no talent or interest in caring for the sick, like his mother. He had no interest in feeding the working masses, like his father. The thought of ore processing or low-level maintenance or toiling in some other tedious and meaningless occupation was repulsive in the extreme. He wanted only one thing: to tend the greenspaces. But if nothing was done, there would soon be no greenspaces to tend. Maec's reasoning was right, if V'rix wanted to save what he'd spent so many years nurturing and tending as a father tended his children, he would have to do something to change policy before it was too late.

"Very well. I'll do it," he said with equal parts of resignation and determination. But V'rix had no experience in governance or politics; he had no idea even where to start. "What do I have to do?"

"The Socialist's Life"

By Vennetir
Chief Technician, Main Engine #9

25 years post exile. Vennetir was going to work at his multiple jobs.

As a Socialist, Vennetir was a major player of the underground.

Though granted, not quite like his lover Tellerie, but enough to suit him well. It kept him from getting mugged in the lower levels, and it kept many others from sneering or looking down at him because of his lower status, lower station, and his homosexual relationship with the RSM's leader.

He was respected in the lower levels.

It had been 25 years since the exodus, where his affiliations as a gay man and a member of The Raptor's Wing forced him with this hastily assembled nomad's existence among the stars. He started out with a technician's ship, in charge of a shift for one of the ship's massive sublight ion engines, a few possessions, and a young wife that was, prior to her status as a refugee from one of the cities that suffered the nuclear bombardment from Surak's forces, a daughter of a prominent noble.

5 years into the exodus, his life was a shambles. His marriage with Amano was getting progressively worse. The illusion that his efforts would be rewarded with power and position were shattered by the patronage of incompetents in his department, and his personal life suffered further because of it, which threw fuel onto the fire of his dying relationship with Amano. It lead to some bad habits. Overworking. Drink. Staying away from home. Wishing he didn't compromise his homosexuality for a quick status climb (though to be honest with himself, he didn't outright reject Amano sexually, she was beautiful and he did think a woman was just as legitimate and enjoyable a lover as a man, he just preferred men).

It came to head one night, twenty years ago. He had a good friend, Tellerie, whom he confessed everything. His marriage troubles, his homosexuality, his dissatisfaction at his lot in life. As an engine mate and coworker and a Socialist, Tellerie was the only one he felt could understand.

And damn Surak for saying it was illogical, Tellerie was handsome! Not stocky and bullish like himself, a brooding force that kept a quiet dignity to himself even if it cost him his heart to scream out, but a lithe and energetic character that wasn't afraid to speak out or say what needed to be said. They complimented each other perfectly at work as as friends, and when Vennetir confessed, he was afraid that he would lose that comfortable friendship.

Quite the opposite. Tellerie had a way of seducing Vennetir with his vibrant energy and he hardly refused. With Tellerie's words, Vennetir left Amano for good, to the uncertainty of the lower decks, to the poorer life where nothing was certain anymore.

And he never regretted it.

20 years later, Vennetir had almost anything he wanted out of his personal life. He had the respect of his local community, the sprawling lower decks of the ship that housed its labourer class and working poor in cramped, honeycomb communal quarters. There were rumours that the lower levels were violent cesspools where one would walk into the aft section of the living area and end up dead at the fore section an hour later. It was supposed to be rife with disease, malnutrition, crime, rape, violence and every other vice and sin that could be come up with.

Not true, not in the slightest! That kind of treatment was for higher ups and lowlives. The lower levels were like any other slum that Vennetir grew up in; if you knew your way around the area, knew the locals and treated them with respect, didn't look down upon anyone and caused no trouble, you were very well left alone. If you helped the local community, all the better, you were loved. Share your time, your goods, your heart and you were a pillar. That was what Tellerie taught him as a socialist, and it payed off. As a member of the Rihannsu Socialist Movement (Rihannsu being heard on a distant communcation from another one of the colony ships, they kept limited touch with each other), an organization that was not only composed of the poor and working class of the ship but also helped their own and others of their caste and status, he was considered a person that actually gave a damn about their situation. To lowlives, socialists were hands off because of this and another reason.

Another was that there were so many, all close to each other like family.

Take for example, Vennetir's home life. He was the lover (technically husband and head male, if the distiction was ever going to be made in the ship's court of law) of the leader of the Rihannsu Socialist Movement, holding the position of party organizer. He lived in a communal living quarter with Tellerie's extended family. That consisted of his elderly grandmother, Ogina, a matrony old miss that greeted everyone with the warmth of a sun and was reputed to be one of the best cooks in the lower decks, always gave him a kiss as he departed from work and a lunch tin with Plomeek broth in a thermos and some bread and meats with a fruit from back home. She was a socialist, the conslierge of the party.

There was Tellan, Tellerie's kid sister, now grown fully up and nearly finished her term in technical school (it took all the family's extra credits and some socialist party money to send herself and a few other promising lower classes to the impromptu college, further discounted by the fact that the unions that sponsored the technical college were Socialist sympathizers). She was a full grown woman, one of the most beautiful, Ogina whistfully remembering beauty sometime like that during that same age. She was not only beautiful, but smart in all things she endeavored to do. She was a party member in the women's auxiliary, and it had been more than once that the Socialist had to keep a wandering noble's eye away from her with numbers and intimidation. She would always give Vennetir a kiss goodbye.

There was always the love of his life, Tellerie. His kisses were always deeper and more intimate. At first his communal flatmates were aghast, but after 20 years of being together they were more interested in why Vennetir had the lack of brains to move out of his roomier apartment to slum it with them.

There was Elgen and Ele, the married couple that worked as plumbers, with their brood of three children, a baby, toddler and middle schooler respectively. The couple were Socialists, and their children are members of the RSU Star Pioneers, which really meant future Socialist club.

Their next door neighbors on all sides were either Socialists or sympathizers. All over the ship there were sympathizers and party members. There might have even been some well meaning nobles, but for the most part it was a party of the downtrodden, hoping for a better life. Socialism told them how to get this life and Vennetir was one of those paragons of his lover's cause. Stoic, calm, working hard and with dignity in an important task for the greater good of the group, and as a technician no less. Any more of a paragon and he would be on a red and yellow poster, drawn dramatically, posing with a spanner wrench resting his shoulder and his gaze towards the Great Bird holding a red star (and he did).

Tellerie always told him he had good musculature, not thin like himself, and he cut a fine figure. Vennetir had to admit, with years doing heavy labor and fixing heavy machinery and big engines, it was well muscled, and when the grease was washed off and he had a good suit, he could have looked like a handsome man. Even 20 years of marriage to Tellerie, he had only a few flecks of salt and pepper in his hair. He was still plenty young, with decades of life left in him. He felt good about this, like he could see the end of their journey.

He liked his personal life. Good family, good friends, no Amano to remind him of his shortcomings. Life was good when he was underground.

When he left for work, that was when it got interesting.

He not only had the dual jobs of chief engine technician for engine number nine, he was also the engine's representative in all meetings, and that meant representing all the workers in that section when it came to negotiations and concerns. It wasn't an easy job.

There was working for facist pricks and royals that didn't have much to do with engines at all, but nonetheless decided it was their business to not only poke their nose into his daily operations, but also tell him that was where his talents were best utilized. That meant he had a glass ceiling to contend with. He was in a high position, as far as a nobody without a caste was concerned, but at the same time it wasn't as good as he deserved, and it wasn't pride that told him. Everyone told him this. He was one of the most talented engineers onboard, as told by his co-workers.

But it didn't matter. He loved the sounds of his engine, the thrums of gallons of deuterium fuel pumping through its artificial veins, feeding the hot blue forge that sent the ship propelling through the stars at sublight. He was proud of his work, his position, his life. Even if it was better, he knew in his heart he was somebody.

This time, going to work, he was intercepted. Tellerie caught up to him, panting frantically. Though he had the same gruelling tasks at the engines, Tellerie wasn't as fit. He was an agitator, more used to desk jobs and pulpits than Vennetir, whom always felt more comfortable at a physical task.

He worried that his 'physical' task in the party would not come to call for him.

That was not the case.

********

"THEY WHAT?!?!?!" Boomed Vennetir upon hearing from the witnesses.

The socialists were gathered in the lower decks, dropping most of their work for what was to come. Vennetir heard it at the last minute from Tellerie, and was briefed while they made it to the secret meeting place belowdecks. It could hold a hundred people, but there were more by threescore. It was cramped in the room, and everyone was anxious to hear what was going on. Rumours were darting like shadows from one Rihannsu socialist to the next, mutating each time.

The one at the centre of attention was bloodied, his green blood congealed, his hair a matted mess. He was a young man, a ship rat that worked as a pipefitter in the lower levels, and from the look of him he had a close encounter with the police. It was not uncommon; the security force was known to be corrupt and untrustworthy in the lower levels, a tool of oppression from the royals to use against the working class. Not even socialists in the police force were trusted, and for good reason. They had a heavy hand and low pay, a deadly combination for corruption and frustration. Corruption could be bribed away.

Frustration and anger.. that was drained with each fist blow, which the young, beat up lad knew first hand.

"The hydroponics deck." The pipefitter Antie sputtered through broken teeth and blood, "Somebody burned it up, and the cops are blaming socialists."

Mutters rose up in the crowd, uncertain, afraid, angry even. Some wanted to hide, some wanted to fight.

Tellerie stepped up to talk to the young man.

"Did they say it was us?" He asked the young man gently, wiping the blood off his face.

"They sure did." He breathed heavily, wincing as Tellerie wiped a pulpy concussion, "I was working on the pipes near that level. They knew I was a socialist, didn't attack me since we were mostly harmless, but once they heard it was a socialist, they saw me and assumed the worse. They started asking questions... and when I didn't tell them what they wanted to hear they started using their batons. Worked me over until they were statisfied, then they found out from their chief that the monitor stations didn't pick me up there." He smiled uncertainly at the crowd, a hiccup caught in his throat, "They weren't gentle about it. They are really angry this time, and this time they don't want to take chances. They said that you guys don't want to end up like me, we better either know our place or bring the arsonist. They said they'll interrogate anyone they please to get the answer, even our womenfolk. None of us our safe... look what they did to me!"

The mutters were getting more uneasy. He could feel the passions of his fellow socialists go close to being out of control, wanting revenge, blood, a way to vent for the indignity of being accused of this crime and for the beating of one of their own. There were calls of war, and calls of fright.

"We should strike."

"To hell with them! We should burn another hydro-farm!"

"NO! They'll crack down on the lower levels again. They might even consider us all criminals and ban our party!"

"Get a backbone! I say we start the revolution now! Gather up every royal and shoot them in the back of the..."

"Yeah, get some redshirts, some balaclavas, some pipes, and start making examples like they do."

"No! Violence is not the answer!"

Glancing at Tellerie, he saw his life partner's face turn pale, the reassuring hand on the beaten pipefitter's shoulder slipping loose. Vennetir loved his husband very much, but he saw that when Tellerie lost control on occasion, he would lose his confidence and passion that made him an effective leader. When it was lost, there wasn't a socialist party but an angry mob.

He hoped Vennetir understood that he wasn't trying to usurp him.

"We have to attack now. REVOLUTION!"

"We are not ready!"

"We can't wait! They'll kill us all eventually! Let it start! Let's..."

"ENOUGH!"

Vennetir's voice was like a summons from a mountain, so powerful that even party leader Tellerie stood up and took notice. He faced the multitudes of the Rihannsu Socialist Movement, and saw their reaction. All of them wore a face of fear.

"You people are acting like reactionaries!" He chastised the crowd, his strength an irradiated energy, his spanner in his hand as he used it like a symphony miestro. "Proletariat! No wonder they look down on us! The second they show force we run! The second we have numbers we are thugs! And when they outnumber us, we will again turn into cowards and run, denying that any wrongdoings ever took place! Doubt me? Then look around! You are all scared of what is going to happen with us! Do you think I have not noticed?!?! LOOK AT YOURSELVES!"

The crowd murmured uncertainly, as they did look at each other.

One individual was bold and argumentative enough to fire back. "You're scared too. Don't think you're better than us."

"Of course I'm scared!" Vennetir shot back, "I have loved ones, all part of the Socialist Movement! I have all of you, whom I take care of like the brothers and sisters of the movement that you are! It is my job as treasury chief to worry about you all! The difference is my first reaction isn't to run away or to beat up the nearest representative of authority that comes along. That will not help the revolution at all! We have to be patient, bide our time."

"And in the meantime they can keep assaulting our young and raping our women!" Another cried out.

"There!" Vennetir singled out the man in the crowd, as all eyes centred on him. It disarmed the bold actions of the agitator and halted his words. "You see? He cries out for justice! We all do! I want justice. I want to go out there and riot on every deck, destroy all the establishments of the bourgeois, but I cannot! We have worked years to get what we have, our own power, our own society, one with benefits and a future separate from the patronage and corruption of the current power structure. We are our own power structure. I will not risk losing it until the revolution is really ready, when their structure is rotten to the core, and when we will be strong enough to guide everyone to a new society, one with fairness for all."

"But..." Vennetir said, "It cannot be done just by one incident or one impulsive action. We cannot charge blindly in, and attack those that oppress us. They will use that opportunity to arrest us all. So I beg you comrades, wait until we are ready."

This time, it was Tellan that spoke up from the crowd, "What do we do in the meantime, Uncle Vennetir?"

His grim face warmed to a smile. Tellan was a good agitator, just like her brother, and made a good crowd stoolie when it was needed. "We bide our time. We tighten security in the lower decks. Redshirts, get your pipes and your balaclavas, but not to storm the upper decks. We stay below, police our own areas, make sure the establishment doesn't interfere. We only go for them when there is a real crime to punish. From now on, we are the authority in the lower decks. We can't trust them to police us, so we will police ourselves, police our own."

He could see that the crowd was starting to turn. There were murmurs of agreement, and a few dissenting voices were wisped away by the rapidly turning consensus.

"In the meantime, find out who burned down the hydroponics bay. We will dispense our own justice." Vennetir scowled darkly at his fellow communists, "They burned our food, our lifeline on this voyage, and they put fellow workers at risk. Whoever did this must pay. The upper classes, the lower, the anarchists, the free marketers, the religious fanatics, the Great Bird be damned Surak ressurectionists. It does not matter. Find out who did this... and bring people's justice to them before the establishment does. That is my orders. Does anyone disagree with me?"

Not a single voice rose up to challenge him.

"Remember, we are the law down here, and if anyone interferes with us, they will pay. Let the word out in the lower decks. Don't rise up, but keep us strong down here. Now go, and tell the authorities nothing, even if you know anything. Let us know first. GO!"

The crowds started to disperse, leaving only a few of the party's faithful, Tellan, and Tellerie with Vennetir. Even the young man that was beaten had left, tended to by a couple of his young, thuggish friends.

He half expected Tellerie to chastise him for what he did, acting as leader instead of the official movement's mastermind, but instead had a look of adoration from his partner.

"Thank you, my friend!" He clasped Vennetir close, hugging him tightly and with all the affection he could afford. Tellan even joined the group, the trio close in body as they were in spirit. "Thank you so much! I did not know what I would have done. Most likely started the revolution early."

"No my friend." Vennetir hugged him tightly, kissing him noisily on the cheek, "I was wrong to step in."

"No you weren't!" Tellan chimed in, "You did what needed to be done. You are a strong leader, Vennetir! You have to help lead us! The authorities will be after our people more than ever, and we need your strength."

He returned his partner and his sister home, and all the while thinking of what he had set in motion.

He had started the revolution already, and didn't even know it.

"Another Contract"

Sotha (Saul Bental)
Eela (Ella Grey)

****
Talvalen
53 years after launch
****

Eela was pissed off.

Normally, she'd just kill the source of her irritation but since Sotha was technically her employer it was considered bad form to kill him. Eela settled for glaring instead.

"I told you it was a mistake to bring you along." She hadn't been that sloppy in a long time and that was just one more irritation to heap on the pile.

"Sshh." Sotha would've brought his fingers close to his mouth, a gesture which meant 'shut up for the elements sakes, woman!', but he needed both his arms to grasp the pipes that ran parallel to the ceiling. Two guards traversed the corridor below, with nasty-looking bastard swords strapped to their backs. Sotha didn't want to encounter the business end of their blades.

They waited patiently until the guards were gone, then released their grasp and dropped to the floor as quietly as possible. Which was, for Eela's taste, not quiet enough.

"For a secret agent," The assassin hissed. "You really suck at this."

"You are the one making all the noise right now." Sotha hissed back. "You mind?"

She glared right back. "Yes, I do mind. Now shut up and follow me."

Eela quickly led him to an accessway and then from there to one of the hidden pockets of the ship before she started up again. "It would have been clean cut ... professional but oh no you have to go and interfere."

Sotha remained silent for a moment, trying to ensure that there were no unusual sounds to suggest that they were being spotted or followed. He thought he heard something say 'Miiiiii', but it happened to him so many times throughout his life that he believed he had some sort of hearing defect.

"Your job would be boring without challenges, would it not? And you're overpaid for this one, updeck girl, so please stop bitching. What's next?"

"What do you mean, what next? That was him. He's dead." She gave him an amused look. "Doubtless there were other people who thought your dying was a good idea but they didn't have anything to do with hiring me. We'll wait here until it's clear."

Sotha turned his back on her, and frisked through his pockets before fishing out a small, extensible tube. He stretched it, then twisted it so that one end will peek around the corner. He brought the other end close to his eye. It was a trick he learnt from an old retired technician. The fiber relayed light, and the intensity of the light changed when something blocked the source of light. Something like an approaching guard.

"If you stay here, we stay here. You're the professional." He whispered. "I was also contemplating the implications of what we just did. I did not expect our target to be the Az Shiber's second in command. This means a great opportunity for me... and possibly, for you too. If you're smart enough to grab it."

He turned toward her slightly, just enough to get her in his vision without losing sight of the fiber's end. "Let me offer you another contract, updeck girl. Exclusiveness. You will be the first professional I come to whenever I need the 'services' you provide in the future. In return, you will not move against me or my future subordinates; It's a small organization so it won't damage your business significantly."

"Some jobs will be more expensive than others," Eela warned. "And there are some people I refuse to hit."

"Oh?" Sotha seemed genuinely puzzled. "Like who?"

"The Witch of Gol," She said. "Ahn'vahr. Chulak the engineer. Anyone else is fair game."

One of the names must've stirred something in him, she realized as she intently watched his reaction. He seemed to be very in control of his body language, but something slipped. But for now she let it pass.

"I have no plans on either." He said, "So worry not. As for the price, obviously so, but keep in mind that just because I'm offering you to be my go-to person doesn't mean I'll pay outrageous sums. I am confident that both of us will be reasonable and that our relationship will be worthwhile to both."

"Let's hope so," Eela replied. "I would hate to waste my time."

Sotha raised his hand, as the light coming through the fiber flickered. Both of them stayed still until the danger was gone. Sotha took the time to digest what she just told him. What did Eela have to do with Ahn'vahr, his childhood hero? Sotha didn't think about Ahn'vahr for a long time now, but in the first years after launch he kept stalking the warrior from afar. Far enough not to be detected. The legends about Ahn'vahr were amplified a dozen times inside the younger Sotha's mind, and he was always careful that Ahn'vahr's flaming sword will not smell his stench and tell its owner of his presence. Or something like that; Sotha didn't exactly recall.

And Chulak... Sotha knew of the man's bond to Sakonna, another childhood fantasy. The Captain's daughter would most likely feel uneasy had she known that a small and old photo of her was hidden in the jacket pocket of an Az Shiber agent. He told himself it was for luck. He had a chance to go all the way to the top, he knew, but the Captain's daughter was already lost for him.

He gritted his teeth. He resolved to discover what was Eela's relation to these people. But not directly, and not now. He had time, and plenty of it.

"Very well," The assassin said. "I accept."

"Of Desserts and Veggies and Secret Love Lives"

T'Pol (8-ball)

When you owned and managed your own restaurant, you did tend to eat-in a lot. There was a comfort in that, knowing that your food would be good, that the restaurant made dishes you enjoyed and cooked them to perfection. There was something soothing about having a regular booth and spending time with your loved ones in a known, well-worn atmosphere.

When you owned and managed your own restaurant, you did tend to eat-in a lot and dining out was a rarity, but sometimes, DAMN, it was just necessary.

T'Pol wasn't the only one who needed a change of pace. Tal, when he came to their family dinners, had resorted to bringing food of his own . . . stolen food, of course, just because he could. Rhion had started ordering the most disgusting combinations possible, simply, as he said to try "something different". Even Rhion's wife, S'anra, who was as likely to complain as she was to jump on a table and start dancing around naked, had made a few timid suggestions about trying out other restaurants. In fact, the only member of the family who WASN'T tired of the restaurant was her oldest, Taev.

But that was Taev.

And T'Pol needed something new.

So, to Taev's strenuous objections and to the sheer delight of everyone else, T'Pol decided that their next dinner would be somewhere else. Anywhere else. And since S'anra's birthday was coming up (and because learning to make decisions was undoubtedly good for the overly shy girl) T'Pol told S'anra to pick the place.

~Never again. Never, ever again.~

S'anra was a bright, little thing; she was enormously clever, humorous (in a quiet way) and provided a decent income as a seamstress despite the fact that Rhion made plenty enough for both of them. What she was not, however, was a restaurant critic, because the place she had chosen was horrible.

~Well, maybe not horrible~ T'Pol amended in her thoughts as she pushed her lukewarm meat in circles on her plate. ~Maybe adequate.~ She sniffed her food. ~Barely adequate.~

Rhion, of course, had been very generous about the whole thing. "It's very . .. colorful . .in here," he had said when they had first entered. T'Pol herself had wondered who had vomited the orange goulash on the walls, but decided to try and keep an open mind about the place. Or at least LOOK like she was keeping an open mind.

Taev, of course, did no such thing.

"I have been in outhouses that smelled less offensively," Taev said as soon as they entered. T'Pol rolled her eyes, because he was seriously exaggerating, although she had to admit that she didn't particularly care for the odor herself. The smell, thankfully, did not emanate from the food itself; rather, it came from the incense that was bundled in apparently every corner. It was less offensive than it was annoying, so T'Pol smacked Taev upside the head.

"Stop sulking," she had said. "We're here now, so learn to deal with it."

"I AM dealing with it," Taev sulked as he rubbed the back of his head. "I'm just concerned about the state of OUR restaurant, the one that does not smell like people recently DIED within it. Something could happen there, Mother. One of us should be there to watch over it."

"I am fairly confident in the ability of our employees to not burn down the restaurant in the two hours that we are away. Otherwise, I'm paying them far too much money."

"But Mother—"

"No."

"But—"

"Stop. Sulking."

Taev had made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a "hmmph" and moved to sit at one side of the table. There was an empty chair next to him where Tal could sit, if he decided to show up. T'Pol seriously doubted it.

"These chairs are antiquated," Taev had said. "We'd probably be more comfortable sitting on the floor."

T'Pol had sighed and hoped that Taev might cheer up after some food arrived; she had learned early on that boys were especially grumpy when they were hungry.

Unfortunately, this had not been the case.

Taev looked down at his dish with obvious distaste. "This meat," he announced, "has absolutely no flavor."

T'Pol couldn't exactly fault her boy for being critical when he was 100% right. "Flavor I can do without," she said lightly. "Heated properly, on the other hand, shouldn't be so difficult."

"You could ask them to reheat it," Rhion said.

"If they couldn't do it the first time, I have serious doubts that they'll be able to remedy the matter," T'Pol said. "However, I have to say that these vegetables are quite spectacular. I wonder who provides them."

Taev was not impressed. "The vegetables are adequate," he huffed. "I don't know that I'd call them SPECTACULAR."

"What WOULD you call spectacular?" Rhion asked, not because he liked the food anymore than Taev but because he was concerned about his wife's feelings. T'Pol had been too, at first, but S'anra was shy, not fragile, and was used to Taev's inherit grumpiness by now. She smiled at T'Pol from across the table, and T'Pol smiled back.

"Certainly not THIS," Taev was saying. He moved his vegetables around a little and said, "I think there may be some form of insect in this."

Rhion rolled his eyes. "There are no insects," he said. "YOU'RE just upset because you didn't get your way, and you need to be able to say that your restaurant is better than everybody else's."

"Mother's restaurant," Taev corrected. "And it is." He took a sip of his ale, presumably to wash away the bug juice he had just discovered, and grimaced. "The ale is also substandard," he said. "Milk has a stronger kick to it."

Rhion shook his head.

"The service was pitiful as well," he said. "Truly. I believe trained dogs would have been less clumsy." Rhion made no reply as Taev watched him carefully. "Their bread is stiff, at least two days old. And the butter—"

"Oh, for the elements' SAKE," Rhion said. "What could possibly be wrong with the butter?"

"It is weak butter."

"What the HELL is wea—" Rhion stopped mid-sentence and glared at Taev. "You're just doing this to annoy me, aren't you?"

Taev smiled, just a little. For him, it was the equivalent of grinning like a fool and giggling. T'Pol wondered what had gotten into her oldest son. Goading Rhion was exactly the sort of thing Tal would do, but Taev . . . Taev was acting almost . . .chipper. As chipper as Taev got, anyway.

She'd think it was the ale, but Taev was right. Milk DID have a stronger kick to it than this horseshit.

"I'm sorry," S'anra said suddenly, and T'Pol looked at her sharply. "I—I didn't check this restaurant out as thoroughly as I should have. A friend of mine told me that it had excellent desserts, and—and I thought—I thought—I apologize for bringing you here to suffer through this." She made a choked sort of noise and put her face in her hands.

Taev immediately looked uncomfortable and Rhion glared at him. "Look what you did! You made my wife cry!"

"I—" Taev swallowed. "I didn't mean to." Taev was one of the surliest men T'Pol had ever met, but he had a thing about men being cruel to women. It was not allowed. And tears? Tears undid him everytime.

Rhion was not mollified at all by Taev's apology. "Well, you did."

"Don't be angry with him," S'anra said, through her hands. "It's my own fault, really."

"No, no, S'anra," Taev said desperately. "Look, the—the food isn't all that bad."

S'anra made a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Really! The meat—well, it still doesn't have any flavor at ALL, but, well, at least it's not OVERLY seasoned. I hate when people over season their meat. And the service was adequate and the butter and the ale—okay, there's just nothing good to be said about that ale."

"Taev!" Rhion hissed.

"I'm sorry!" Taev said, looking miserable. "But that ale really is the most pathetic, wretched—"

S'anra made another choking sound from behind her hands.

"Um," Taev said, looking desperately around the table to find SOMETHING he could comment on in a positive manner. "The vegetables!" he finally said. "Mother was right. The vegetables are really spectacular!"

S'anra was absolutely silent for a minute. Then she started to make a sound that could not be disguised as crying any longer. She let her hands fall to reveal her perfectly dry face and giggled madly at her brother-in-law's desperate concern.

"I'm sorry," she said, in between giggles. "But that was just—too—easy."

There was a long moment of silence. "S'anra," T'Pol said appreciatively. "That was very well done. I'm highly impressed."

"MOTHER!"

"Well, you did deserve it, Taev," a voice said from behind them. T'Pol turned around to see Tal standing in the shadowed corner.

"Tal!" she said, standing to give him a hug.

In truth, T'Pol had not expected Tal to show up at all. He had been invited, of course, and had been around much more in the last five years since making his promise to visit more often, but between his work and his own personal fears that T'Pol could never get him to discuss, Tal was hard to pin down. T'Pol would see him three times in one week and then go without seeing him for six months at a time. His visits were utterly impossible to predict unless he absolutely promised to be there.

Without a promise, T'Pol had come to expect nothing. It hurt less that way.

S'anra helped Rhion to stand so that he could hug his brother. Taev, in typical Taev fashion, remained seated and scowling. Tal grinned widely at him.

"Taev," he said, holding out his arms. "No hug for your brother?"

Taev glowered at him. "The invitation said for seven."

Tal nodded. "So it did," he said sagely. "And I am late. I apologize. But I made it here for dessert, which is the most important part of the meal anyway, particularly because this restaurant is notorious for excellent desserts. That, and their absolutely disgusting dinners." Tal's smile widened. "How did you find the vegetables?"

Taev's scowl only deepened. "You could have warned us," he said flatly.

"Well, yes, I could have, but it's really not in my habit to spread rumors. Some people consider that to be impolite, you know."

"SOME people consider it polite it show up on time."

"SOME people consider it polite not to make girls cry."

"SOME people consider it polite to not assassinate people for a living."

"SOME people consider it polite not to be giant poopie heads."

Taev glared at him. "SOME people obviously haven't had their noses broken enough."

"BOYS," T'Pol said, and this time both Tal and Taev grinned. Tal grinning was a fact of life, but Taev's good humor was seriously getting to be a matter of concern. She considered leaning over and feeling his forehead for a fever.

She wasn't the only one who noticed. "Taev," Rhion said, "that's the second time tonight that I've seen you smile . . .you aren't taking any illegal substances, are you?"

Taev was back to scowling instantly. "No," he snapped.

"Because, really, I think I've seen you smile about five times in my whole life."

"That is an exaggeration."

"I'm not so sure about that," T'Pol said. "You have been awfully perky tonight."

"I have not."

"I'm concerned you might even start giggling."

Taev drew himself up. "I," he said, "do NOT giggle."

"I know why he's in such a good mood."

Four heads swiveled to look at Tal, who was trying to grin innocently and failing spectacularly. "Taev's got a girl," he said.

Four heads swiveled to look at Taev, who was trying to kill his brother by glaring and also failing, though T'Pol figured he had a better shot than Tal did at looking innocent. "I do not," Taev said.

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do—"

"BOYS." While Taev and Tal were doing their best to regress the last 50 years, the waitress had come up. "Dessert, anybody?" she asked.

T'Pol looked down at her barely touched meat. "Eh," she said. "Why the hell not?"

***

"That," T'Pol said, "was AMAZING."

Until dessert came, everybody had been harassing Tal and Taev; Taev about the possibility of a girl and Tal for more information. Tal had grinned while Taev had scowled and said insistently there "Was. No. Girl."

Nobody believed this and everybody pushed to know more . . . right up until dessert came.

And they everybody forgot about Taev's love life.

"Oh my GOD, yes," Tal said. "I could live here. I could even learn to love these disgusting orange walls."

"I have never tasted anything so good in my life," S'anra agreed. "You have to steal the dessert chef for your restaurant."

"I might," T'Pol said specutavely. "I wonder how much he charges."

"Whatever it is, it's enough," Rhion said. "This was the most amazing thing EVER."

Taev shrugged. "It was . . . adequate," he said.

Everybody shook their heads and rolled their eyes at him.

"Childhood Desires"

Sotha (Saul Bental)
Eela (Ella Grey)

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

"You know, I can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind," Eela said as she waited for him to count out her money. "You could just ask."

Across the table, Sotha was focused on counting the cash chips. Several months passed since he and Eela assassinate the Az Shiber commander who seeked Sotha's death, so he did not immediately understand what Eela was talking about. He raised his head just a little. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning you've been wanting to ask me a question for awhile now. So ... "

"Oh. Well, I assumed it wouldn't be polite to ask." Sotha bowed slightly. She noticed he did this little annoying bow whenever he was amused. "So what's your connection to all these famous people?"

"Chulak saved my life a long time ago and the Witch leads a path I nearly followed. And Ahn'vahr," Eela almost smiled. "Well, I wouldn't even know how to explain that one. He teaches me. I harass him. We might be considered friends. Now why do you have any interest?"

Sotha thought that it was quite obvious. Your greatest weakness was always those close to you, and giving their names to someone else on a silver platter was either very foolish or a sad attempt to scheme against him. He raised his brow slightly. An assassin with loyalty.

Perhaps this contract would be worthy. From his point of view, it was mostly an insurance that the one assassin who could track him down and knew his real identity won't come hunting him later.

"Who said I do?" He shrugged. "But you do have a rather peculiar selection of friends. A celebrity assassin, perhaps?"

Eela raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Sotha couldn't help himself. "I always found Ahn'vahr to be fascinating, to tell the truth. I don't know much about the man." He lied, "But what I do know makes him a symbol of what happened to our once proud clan, in my eyes."

She found Ahn'vahr fascinating as well. In the long time that she had known him, she really knew little about the man. "Tell me."

"What?" He demanded irritably, losing count of the cash.

"You seem to know more about him than you let on," Eela looked amused, which was a look that she tended to adopt frequently around him. "I wonder,"

"You WONDER."

"I wonder how long it will take you to ask to meet him," She replied with a smirk.

The sound that came out of Sotha's mouth was unrecognizable. Eela laughed.

"I know Ahn'vahr enough to assume that he doesn't like unwelcome guests." Sotha shook his head. "Besides, it's probably going to cost me, and after today I'm going to be slightly poorer."

It was another lie, of course. Sotha became quite wealthy over three decades of posing as 'The masked merchants', and the hidden resources he had at his disposal were considerable. All of this fortune was dedicated to one goal, though, and that was the one childhood dream which Sotha did not let go yet - to climb up the social ladder, and get to the top.

But another childhood fantasy - becoming a friend of Ahn'vahr the hero - was beckoning.

"I'm not unreasonable, Sotha," Eela chided. "You could at least attempt to persuade me."

"And end up paying triple?" Sotha scratched his chin. "Suppose you were an Az Shiber agent and you wanted to persuade a childhood friend who almost killed you, and supposed you don't want to go with threats or to end up broke... what would you do?"

"Be creative," She replied, deciding not to give him any help. Besides the fact that she wasn't sure if she could arrange such a meeting, it was damned funny to see the normally cool Sotha about to climb the walls in frustration.

"Ah, but I don't have enough information to get started. For example, I could offer you ten chunks of prime frozen Vepek fish and find out that you don't like seafood, or offer sexual favors and discover that you prefer the better-looking gender." Sotha bowed slightly. "I don't know your desires, hence I cannot satisfy them."

Eela frowned. It wasn't that she took Sotha's offer seriously (and the idea of male prostitution was still alien to her; Ahn'vahr had laughed loudly at her surprise a long time ago) but the mention of it made her uncomfortable. "I don't desire anything that you've just spoken of."

"These are just examples." Sotha replied. He didn't expect her to leap into his arms, although that tingling sensation he had several months back when her body was close to his as she pinned him against the wall was still vivid in his mind.

"I like knives," Eela said. "Most weapons actually."

"Any weapon in particular?"

"Not really," She said with a shrug and then laughed at his expression. "You're too easy to annoy. You and Ahn'vahr should get along just fine."

"Updeck girl - you have to see me actually annoyed to make that statement."

"Oh?" The assassin said. "I'll have to work on that, I guess. So about Ahn'vahr, let me see if next week works for him."

Sotha's hand landed on hers. "I'm not amused. I'm sure--"

"I'm not messing with you now," Eela said sharply. "If you'd like to keep that hand, I'd suggest you let me go. Now."

Sotha, quite attached to his limbs, pulled his hand back to safety.

"If you're not kidding, then why?"

"Maybe it's a thank you for not killing me years ago," She replied. "Maybe I just feel like it. To be honest, Sotha, I'm not sure if Ahn'vahr is going to live up to your expectations but at the very least it should be an interesting meeting."

"I'll come with low expectations." Sotha said. He still did not believe Eela. He tried to rationalize her behaviour, to understand

what she was trying to achieve. It was like before. Either she's trying to do something smart but lacking the refinement, or she's actually honest.

Sotha couldn't decide which was more likely.

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