HL: The Forging of Utlara

 Episode Name:  HL: The Forging of Utlara

   Written By:  Fortunae

         Cast:  Fortunae, Golden, Iconian Intendent, Iconian 
                Templeguard, Takamura, The Inquisitor and Turtledove.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Fortunae

     Aired On:  Mon Mar 08 04:31:58 2004

     Stardate:  53930.5

Time: Sun Mar 07 18:49:51 2004

Stardate: 53929.5

Previously, onStar Trek: Anomaly...

Cut stone slabs as ancient as stars defy time and entropy alike, remaining smooth and perfectly set beneath a layer of dust. The sky above is a swirling violet morass, indicating that this world is within a nebula. There are no stars visible to pinpoint where in the universe or beyond this location may be. The air is still and somewhat stale, but it still carries olfactory echoes of what may have been powerful alien spices and perfumes. Every word above a whisper, every sound, roils out into the vastness and is swallowed even as some mocking traces carry back. This world is a tomb. From the large oval gate carved with Iconian glyphs to the base of the majestic black pyramid that dominates the area is a distance of some 200 meters. The sides of the basalt covered structure are smooth but for the slight indentations of each separate block. Filling the plaza from the gate to just short of ten meters from the Pyramid are regularly spaced pillar needles, each covered from base to top in cartouche-style Iconian glyphs. The messages are untranslatable perhaps, but hint at both menace and grandeur. Half a kilometer or more from the plaza, vague shapes of buildings can be seen, nearly lost in the eternal twilight. It would be easy to navigate around the pyramid and its pillars -- they are evenly spaced at five meter intervals. About seventy-five or eighty meters up the pyramid's side lurk disturbing shapes that may be statuary, apparently on a platform inset into the structure's face.

Intermixed and overlain upon the ancient backdrop is the presence of the Romulan Star Navy and the signs that they have been here for considerably more time then was suggested in a briefing four days before in the Ward Room. Buffering the space just beyond the gate and around the entire Pyramid is a heavy shield grid -- perhaps a method of dealing with the Cyclonic defenses that wrecked such havoc upon the area during the previous Federation visit. Prefabricated buildings are set up with military precision between the tall needles... lights on the exterior battling against the natural gloom and violet hues. Strains of music and life carry against the entropic inertia of the location. Heavy support vehicles are parked in an orderly fashion facing *outward* from the plaza around the pyramid -- primarily disruptor tanks but light vessels as well. Search Lights with sensor rigs have been mounted between the hideous statues further up the pyramid and far off in the distance, small lights toward the city indicate activity beyond the local environs as well. Closest to the gate, where the Starfleet Officers have arrives are stacks of items, some familiar looking some with no immediate significance, piled on hover pallets and suggesting loot from the past awaiting final cataloguing before being sent through the gate to the world that was just abandoned by Edwards and his vanguard patrol. It seems the forces here are keeping a schedule in tune with the day and night cycle of the planet beyond, activity is light, but in just the first glance it is easily extractable that perhaps four hundred or more Romulans are in the near area alone...

...Stewart takes a moment to survey the landscape after he comes out of the gate, letting out a low whistle. "Impressive, but not exactly my first choice of vacation spots." He then directs his attention to the tanks, and the apparent 'wagon train' of goods. "And I should just clarify this a bit. What's the approved definition of a combat souvenir, exactly?"...

...As Craig hunkers down to back up and make room for Duncan to lay down so he and Seris can finish patching him up, he backs accidentally into the stacked loot. The floating pallet rocks momentarily and then a statue of hideous mien rolls so it's face is pointing at the erstwhile doctor. It's eyes catch the purple nebula light from up above, almost seeming to glow with sentient malice...then it rolls again...off the stack and crashing with a loud, almost palpable sound of shattering brittle stone...

...The demolitions teams sent out, the rest of the unit settles in while Duncan's condition is attended to. Malloy works quickly and quietly -- this is something he's not only trained on but had some very recent practice dealing with. Long minutes pass, the ambient malevolence playing upon the nerves of those waiting, while Craig makes a solid if temporary fix for the hole through Mycroft. As Craig reaches his hand up, not looking, for the dermal regenerator that will finish the seal, Seris's head tilts, invisible and unseen by Duncan, and instead of passing the required instrument instead puts his hypospray up to Malloy's neck and depresses.

*Psssht* The device hisses softly, and Malloy tilts forward completely senseless before even a moment to wonder what has befallen him, Duncan feels the pressure of Malloy's mass on his nearly treated chest.

And then, without further pre-amble, Seris turns toward the strut of the shield grid closes to him, level his rifle and thumbs up the setting.... *PPPPPPPPPPPPPPSHSHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWww*.

The Explosion of metal and the sound of the shield collapsing suddenly is loud, distinct, and like a horrible portent because immediately on the heels of an energy shield failing, comes the sound a distant shaking of the ground, and the wail of a large wind gathering...

...The camp around them explodes with life, life with a desperate sort of energy to stay that way barely contained by stern Romulan discipline. It's clear without trying -- the Romulans are far more concerned with the shields being breeched then they are at what caused it.. at least for the moment... and in the distance, another thudding that shudders the earth, and faintly, the sound of approaching vehicles. Approaching from the direction of the distant onyx necropolis...

...Quin dashes up the pyramid like invisible greased lightening, bounding from stone to stone he drives forward hot on Golden's footsteps. Merric turns his attention upward to the top of the pyramid to gage the distance he must continue the grueling pace, only to loose his footing his mounted phaser clipping the side of the face rattling across stone for the first few feet until the sliding Trill is able to right himself enough for the weapon not to drag. To the ground he goes the invisibility of his suit flickering away.... right in the path of four Romulans rushing to their battle station...

..."How did I miss that?" Edwards mutters to himself when his shot goes wide. And that's the last thing he wonders before fire is returned and, somehow, manages to hit him. The disruptor blast rips through left arm, just under the shoulder, and causes the limb to fall uselessly to the ground. For a second, he just blinks. And then he screams! Because that hurts...

...The Starfleet personnel again become insignificant in the attentions of the Romulans, the Tanks lift upward and race to meet their opponents, weaving between blasts -- green explosions, green battering rams of destruction lancing the dead air -- and the sound that rises, a keening blood chilling sound that eats at the nerves of the base of the skull and brings to life primate instincts of screech and run....

...Duncan gets Edwards Situated on the cargo sled before moving to help get Malloy aboard, hoping not to ruin all the work the good doctor had just done on him. Seeing that Stewart has the situation well in hand, he moves back to Edwards and keeps him stable while the others board up. "Who's driving this jalopy? Get us moving or our atoms are going to be a lot further apart much sooner than any of us want." ...

...The battle of the breeched shield continues to escalate; artillery rounds now being fired off and disappearing into the night until explosions far away are seen. The battered Romulan vehicles peel off to engage in high speed tank "dog fighting", the smaller craft falling in some cases to fire, others from within the pyramid base racing out to exchange crew served weapons fire... and the APCs lumber on, the first coming to a "skidding" sideways stop, the debarkation hatches openning, and from within, disheveled and sunken featured Romulan army soldiers, pour out. In the lead a high ranking enlisted man with a necklace that looks very much to be made of Romulan Ears...

...Takamura finally makes it through the sea of Romulans to link up with the rest of the team. Quickly, he assesses the situation and makes a decision. Hopefully, with all the noise about them, he can afford to break the silence. "We need to get inside that pyramid. Turtledove and I will fire our auto grapnel lines to secure a path up the face. Then we'll cover the rest of you as you use he automatic ascenders. We must get Duncan and O'Rielly inside. Stewart cover the wounded. Donavon go with Duncan and O'Rielly. I'll set off my charges as a distraction. Now let's move!" ...

...On the upper north side of the Pyramid, Dylan, after setting off his explosives does not stop to appreciate his handiwork, instead quick stepping to the edge of his level of the pyramid. Spying the Romulan Army Soldiers closing on his position from that side, though apparently unaware of his presence, he ducks behind an appalling statue, shifts his weapon to wide beam and then steps back out, charging right down the middle of the path way and squeezing his trigger repeatedly...

...The battle of the breech continues to rage -- and the source of the earth shock begins to come into clarity from the deep gloom -- a lumbering multi-limbed robotic monstrosity -- a limb is raises and twinkles with blue and violet light then a titanic energy beam blisters forth and two defending Romulan tanks are swept into a spinning roll in the air even as they disintergrate leaving not even dust in the wake of their passing... everywhere the buzzing of uncountable insects torments the ears despite not one sign of an actual bug anywhere...

...On the walkway partway up the pyramid, Golden says, "-- and then we need to hold long enough to get the Romulan gate close and Occa gate open and get the hell out of here." He narrows his eyes then as a Romulan with a long green "coat" comes around the corner from the North face and levels an ungainly and alien looking device at them. He tries to shove his friends out of harm's way shouting, "GET DOWN!"...

...The Romulan Military Scientist screams, "I SEE YOU! I SEE YOU ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"

From the device comes a pulsing wave, difficult for the eye to track for they slide off like a fried egg from a new Teflon pan. The pulse blisters the stone of the walk way and the side of the pyramid -- as it hits the Romulan Soldiers in it's path their skin seems to peel away like dried paper and dust is left in the wake as it slams physically into the three rapid response officers, the impact gleaming bluely as they are washed over and then, in the wake of their removal from the sight of their comrades, dusts flitters down through dead air...

And now, on Star Trek: Anomaly...

A pinpoint of blue light explodes into a cascade of nerve burning agony...
...searing at the cellular level consciousness is consumed by oblivion's teeth...
...sense of time is lost, sense of self clung to with tattered will...
...and then the wake becomes a pinpoint again...

197,725 B.C.E.

The Iconian Locus

Three humanoid figures collapse heavily to the glossy perfection that is the upper walk way of the Q'ath Lo'PardaQ, The Temple of Unification. Their alloy polymer cased weapons clatter oddly off the stone, drawing the attention of a robed attendant that takes gliding steps to investigate, head cocked curiously from it's height some 2.3 meters above the walkway itself. The being is roughly humanoid, standing erect bipedally, but its arms number three sets of two symetrically placed, ended in long grey scale covered fingers.

The being shows no signs of concern, merely curiosity as it extends the fingers of one hand to poke the largest of the three sprawled figures...

Disoriented, Takamura winces as he slowly regains consciousness. A slight groan escapes his lips. When he gets poked, the large Asian reaches ineffectively for his rifle as he rolls to face whatever is poking at him. His eyes blink wide open at the sight of the figure standing above him.

The Intendent is not dissuaded by Takamura's groggy movements, but rather probes his squishy texture with a finger again, "Qlgkdhk chssshessn" comes from within it's shadowed hood. Perhaps a question.

Turtledove, blinks and pushes up onto one hand, shifting away from the approaching figure. Her hand slides to her side. Utlara is there, intact --- relief flits across her brow. The blade remains sheathed, however, as she watches the strange, yet apparently non-hostile, creature.

Golden releases a heaving cough, head struggling to lift more than a inch from the stone. Head pounding in sympathy with each beat of his heart, Dylan groans and tries to move...

. o O Golden thinks "Mmnnnng pain ugggh concentrate nnnngn battle"

. o O Takamura thinks "Where are we? And what the heck is that thing poking me?"

Turtledove finds her voice. "I think he's trying to ask you something, Tak." In spite of herself, she blinkingly takes a cursory glance around the immediate area.

The hood turns as the others begin to move, or make monkey noises. Another hand, from the middle set extends from the Intendent and encircles the slender neck of the female snake-quick and lifts, tugging her effortlessly off the ground and shaking her a bit as he sounds, "Qlgkdhk chssshessn".

Takamura quirks a brow at the words, then narrows his eyes at the six-armed freak that has just tried to strangle Turtledove. With great effort, his hand reaches toward his waist for his Type II. "Let go of her!"

Turtledove is surprised, so her eyes widen a bit, especially with the shaking. She is still groggy from the 'trip' and the ensuing impact with the hard ground, and this isn't helping. Perhaps it's time to try to break-out the metal... if she can.

Golden tries to leverage up into a crawling posture, the voices of his comrades helping him refocus on the here and now, then there is a pain on his head, his hands lethargically moving up to grab same instinctively, and then he is lifted off the floor by one of the lower sets of hands, neck now straining, feet kicking to try to gain purchase at least with his toes, eyes rolling to take in Tera's similar problem.

. o O Golden thinks "What the hell hi --urkk! OW! Frickin' What the -- Ifni's Shallow End of the Gene Pool what the hell is that!?!"

The Intedent considers the primates it holds up, and as the big one barks at it, the formerly probing hand snaps whip like across the front of Takamura's face, making the blood start flowing from his nose as it issues, "Ffffrrilsshn Grrssaaahhthla". The striking hand jerks toward the Asian heavy weapons officer... almost like scolding a pet.

Turtledove's eyes narrow as she dangles. Rude awakening, yes. Reaching back, she grabs the creature's arm, bracing for leverage as she draws her blade.

Takamura's head flies to the side at the slap. Gritting his teeth, the heavy weapons specialist draws something a little lighter. Doing his best to aim at the monster without hitting his teammates, he calls out again. "I said put them down." His thumb seeks out the trigger to make his point.

Golden grits his teeth the calls out, "We don't mean you any harm -- We come in Peace -- I am Lieutenant Dylan Golden of the Unit--" The traditional greeting is cut off by a flat palm strike from the companion arm to the one that hold him that snaps his head hard against the tensile strength of his hair and the Intendent's grip, filling Dylan's mouth with the taste of his own blood."

The Indendent jerks it's hood back from the increased chattering from the monkeys, shaking the arm that Tera has grabbed as if her grip is distasteful even while it casually silences the pale male primate with a cautionary smack to the face. The hood angles as it if it considering the object in the big simian's paw. "Sssg'shhhhela ysliash'othalasha."

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Energy Weapon (Phaser) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Fails!

Turtledove's leverage lost, and taking into consideration the fact that this thing is causally beating the heck out of all three of them simultaneously, Turtledove's blade slips back into its sheath. Her speech is vaguely warbling as she responds, "I'm getting a kind of Orion slave lord feel from this guy... guys..."

. o O Turtledove feels awaits the chastising hand of the hooded one.

Takamura depresses the trigger with a determined look on his face. The orange beam lashes out towards Iconian. But maybe it's Tak's disorientation, maybe it's the Iconian's swiftness, whatever it is, the shot flies past the six-armed monster.

SSHHLAISSN!

<CONTEST> Iconian Intendent contests his Unarmed Combat (Wrestling) skill vs Takamura's Dodge skill and Fails!

The Intendent is clearly displeased by this, and attempts to wrest the phaser from Takamura's hand ineffectually while shaking Golden and Turtledove like rag dolls.

Golden spits blood, "So much for the diplomatic approach, drop this bastard." The cool delivery is greatly undermined by Dylan's sudden shaking and flailing of limbs.

The unnatural sound of a phaser firing appears to have had some effect, as the background whispering tones that carried up to this level of the Pyramid become a chorus of "SSHHLAISSN!" and are joined by the sounds of hurried movement from the north and the south faces of the monolithic structure.

Turtledove's ears perk at the phaser-sound, but her excitement is rapidly removed by the increased shake-shake-shaking by the Intendant. To Golden, she responds, "I thought... you'd...never... ask." Her hand on her blade, and her blade in the sheath, she reaches again to grasp the Intendant's arm as she draws and strikes.

. o O Turtledove thinks "It's so hard to tell when diplomatic methods break down... oh, yay, here comes backup..."

<PROVE> Turtledove has the merit of Weapon Master at 2.

<CONTEST> Turtledove (claiming advantage) contests her Primitive Weaponry (Knife) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Takamura struggles to get to a kneeling position as he attempts to comply with Golden's order. "Working on it, TC." The trigger gets depressed again, hopefully striking true this time.

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Energy Weapon (Phaser) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

A flash of purple light of Idisha steel, a slight tearing of fabric sound, and Tera Turtledove lands catlike on her feat, a severed wrist still wrapped around the back of her neck and her face suddenly the target of a shower of ochre colored fluid. The Intendent releases a howl reminiscent of a hurricane gathering, which is cut off by a strip of phased gold and red energy striking it and driving it back a few steps. The head snaps forward so quickly the hood is left behind for a beat, revealing a large head with an arrangement of eyes reminiscent of a Terran spiders and a circular mouth with extending manidibles similar to those of a Nausicaan. The mandibles flutter in outrage as the Intendent howls its fury and heaves the only primate still in it's immediate grasp at Takamura like a club while balling a fist and aiming directly for Tera's freshly released skull...

<CONTEST> Iconian Intendent contests his Primitive Weapon (Dylan Golden) skill vs Takamura's Dodge skill (given disadvantage) and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Iconian Intendent contests his Unarmed Combat (Wrestling) skill vs Turtledove's Dodge skill and Fails!

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Coordination (Dexterity) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

. o O Golden pain, loss of control of the situation, pain... desperation and pain.

After Golden's body slams into him, the large Security Officer gets knocked back onto the ground, sliding a few feet from the Iconian. His Type-II clatters to the walkway as his mounted phaser, still attached to its harness smacks him in the face from the momentum of the blow. Tak shakes his head to clear the cobwebs and spits out blood.

Turtledove blinks and slips past the balled-fist, shaking away some ochre droplets from her face as she sweeps around for another strike, aiming for the other hand, since it's conveniently located in the vicinity.

<CONTEST> Turtledove (claiming advantage) contests her Primitive Weaponry (Knife) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Utlara slashes hungrily through the air once more, bringing ruin across the line of its impossibly honed edge and birthing another ochre fountain and another hissing burst of outrage. The Intendent takes a step forward, kicking Takamura's phaser further down the surface of the upperwalk way in a spin and sweeping Golden back around with ferocious torque before hurling him bodily at the slight knife fighter

<CONTEST> Iconian Intendent contests his Primitive Weapon (Dylan Golden) skill vs Turtledove's Dodge skill (given disadvantage) and Fails!

<PROVE> Turtledove has the merit of Bold at 1.

<CONTEST> Turtledove (claiming advantage) contests her Unarmed Combat (Starfleet Marial Arts) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

<PROVE> Turtledove has the merit of Excellent Balance at 1.

<CONTEST> Turtledove (claiming advantage) contests her Acrobatics (Balance Walking) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

<PROVE> Golden has the merit of Battle-hardened at 3.

<CONTEST> Golden (claiming advantage) contests his Acrobatics (Rope Swinging) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

Turtledove dodges her fearless and wieldy leader, then watches, ruefully, as she realizes that he is now, instead, headed over the side of the pyramid! In an extreme change of venue, she dives after him! Her eyes lit-up as her grip solidly locks around Golden's arm, then flaring hotter as she's pulled over by his weight. In a last-ditch effort to prevent falling, Golden himself backswings from Turtledove's grab in an attempt to grab the edge, but the ledge is too far, even for the long-limbed martian... and down they go... sliding and tumbling along the side of the pyramid.

. o O Turtledove thinks "Ow, ow, ow... ack... Tak's...back... ow, ow, ow... with the hood-guy... ow, ow, ow..."

Groaning, Takamura blinks blood out of his eyes. He reaches down to the large weapon that just reminded him of its presence. Now that his teammates are clear, he has no qualms about opening up on the monstrosity that has caused Golden and Turtledove to go over the edge. "NOOOOO! Let's see how you like some of this, you overgrown spider!" And with a squeeze of the trigger, Takamura unleashes the fury of his mounted phaser.

<PROVE> Takamura has the merit of Battle-hardened at 3.

. o O Golden thinks "Unngf...got to get -- NO! -- Good Grab gotta get t --- Ifni! Mmph ow essssht umph"

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Fails!

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Fails!

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Intendent's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

The Intendent whips it's head back toward Takamura as the primate hoots and jeers more of it's monkey-talk at him, there is a pinpricking of light in its numerous eyes as the much larger weapon belches forth -- manibles stretch again in outrage -- then two thick beams impale it and send it tumbling backward along the surface of the walkway -- resulting in Takamura easily making out the other robed creatures approaching from the north lead by two larger figures in green carapace looking armor inset with golden gleaming metallic plates and bearing wicked looking lances with tips that seem to have energy weapons inset into them. The lead armored Iconian challanges by leveling it's own weapon and calling, "Gsssshearasha! ffLeelshnatha gothathasha!"

GAME: Turtledove spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Turtledove (claiming advantage) contests her Fitness (Vitality) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Fails!

<CONTEST> Golden contests his Fitness (Vitality) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Out of sight of Takamura and his new problem, Tera and Dylan bounce and roll and slide and scrape down the side of the smooth ebon pyramid, as they collide with the plaza below Tera cracks her head one time too many and is lost to consciousness. She may be the lucky of the two for as Dylan begins to try rise unsteadly to his feet he is stabbed in the side by a lance and his body is lifted from the ground by the force of the electrical discharge pumped into his body. Limbs extended and jittering, hair standing on end, the only signal of his fate that is revealed to Takamura at the top of the pyramid is the howling scream of agony that is carried on the wind like a promise of more to come.

Takamura hears the screams below, which only fortifies his resolve. Now faced with multiple opponents, he sweeps the platform with his fire, aiming primarily at the two armored foes from left to right.

<CONTEST> Takamura contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Templeguard's Dodge skill and Dramatically Fails!

<CONTEST> Takamura (claiming advantage) contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Templeguard's Dodge skill and Fails!

<CONTEST> Takamura (claiming advantage) contests his Heavy Weapons (Mounted Phaser) skill vs Iconian Templeguard's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Even as Takamura unleashes his focused fury in response to the Iconian Guard's challenge, his weapon begins to whine, a sound from the dorsal barrel, perhaps all that crashing into things has come back to haunt the Heavy Weapon's fighter. The challenged stands firm, both shots going wide as Hiroshi walks the dog across the path, the second challenger is not as fortune, taking a full blast in the chest. His armor flashes like a starship shield being struck by a low powered vessel weapon... he then lowers his lance and howls a response that sounds like a tornado shrieking between buildings, his lance flashing as he comes -- the other wastes no time in following suit...

GAME: Takamura spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Iconian Templeguard contests his Primitive Weaponry (Plasma Lance) skill vs Takamura's Dodge skill (given advantage) and Fails!

<CONTEST> Iconian Templeguard contests his Primitive Weaponry (Plasma Lance) skill vs Takamura's Dodge skill (given advantage) and Succeeds!

The Iconain Guards charge in with their lances, but Takamura's reflexes have come back to him. Using his now defective phaser as melee weapon, the neo-Samurai parries the first lance. He then swings the weapon on its articulated arm into the head of the guard on his left. While out of position like this, the guard on the right takes advantage of the opportunity to jab Takamura in the ribs. The lance discharges into his body causing him to convulse uncontrolably. The heavy weapon falls limply at his side as he roars out in agony.

As Takamura thrashes in agony the Iconians loom above him, and the second Temple Guard jabs his own lance into the downed primate -- blackness follows.

Some time later...

Between periods of darkness, flashes of plasma spawned pain that brought the darkness on, the Federation officers catch moments of time...

*Flash* Through violet lit streets, shadows part for the procession that drags the burnt and bleeding humans toward their destination...

*Flash* Buzzing carries to the ears as Iconian faces hover above and tools that gather tissue and fluid are applied without anesthetic -- screams are the path to blissful blackness...

*Flash* Whispery questions are asked untelligibly, attempts to respond through dehydration cracked lips are met with stings of scourging pain -- screams are the path to blissful blackness...

*Flash* An albino white unhooded Iconian clicks it's mandibles in concentration as it installs a barbed centipeed like creature into the ear canal, burning comes as it digs in -- screams are the path to blissful blackness...

And in time... this too passes...

Tera snaps to alert consciousness, finding herself in a ruddy lit chamber with the texture of stone. A gnawing buzzing sound torments the edges of her subconsious. She is not bound but finds the desire to move from her location absent, and strange to be so in a far away thought though realizing such inspires no desire to move. A dripping sound is occassioned to carry to her now and then as she sits in her tomblike cell.

A rolling, grating tone rasps from the left and a portal is revealed. Through it stoops an Iconian with a ghastly pale fleshed skull; a skull covered with ritual scarification and inexplicable jagged shards of precious metals dangling from it, some still oozing an ochre strand of fluid on occassion as it moves closer. @emit It regards her, perhaps studiously.

Turtledove narrows her eyes, grimacing, at the grating appearance of the portal, and while the idea of leaving doesn't appeal, she seems to be all right looking around... until she stops to focus her attention fully on the approaching Iconian. Her eyes widen appreciably. Her eyebrows crease up a little in the middle, and even though it might seem appropriate, she doesn't move away. She watches the thing back for now. Talking, she has found, doesn't help.

The Inquisitor says, "You will find that the Chok'los/translator worm has settled into your primate neural stem by now allowing you the honor of comprehending my words and speaking with a civilized tongue. You will inform this one of your full name. If you refuse there will be punishment."

Turtledove eyes the Inquisitor. "My name is Tera Turtledove." Perhaps her diplomatic training kicks in. Or maybe the comportment lessons back at the orphanage. She bows her head, respectfully, but her gaze simply can't remain averted. She looks back up. Also, she doesn't back-talk yet. Such willpower.

The Inquisitor moves a few steps closer, one hand extending and stroking the pink flesh of the human's cheeck -- more like tasting it than getting a sense of its texture. "What was your function T'erahh Thurtah'dhof?"

. o O Turtledove thinks "...WAS my function?"

In Tera's head, a response to her unspoken question is returned, .oO "WAS your function."

Turtledove eyes the mutilated face of the Iconian, surprised. Less repulsed than she is curious, she answers, "I am a soldier." Her mind burns with questions, but she keeps her mouth shut. Could've been the torture.

The Inquisitor says, "What do you serve?"

. o O Turtledove thinks "Who the heck are these guys? Where are Dylan and Tak? And what the heck are they doing to us?"

The Inquisitor affectionally slaps Tera and brings her chin back to face him. "Focus. Answer."

Turtledove's eyes flare brightly at the slap, but she behaves. "Starfleet." There is a flicker of a lie in that word. Probably enough to warrant a harder slap. A face flashes through her mind, that of Commander Ghorev, a feeling of hurt, a surge of integrity, and she comes back. She elaborates. "The Federation. The United Federation of Planets."

The Inquisitor considers then shakes it's head solemnly from upper left to lower right, the decorative snares of metal in his flesh bobbling and catching varient hues from the ruddy light sources. "That is who you serve. What do you serve?"

Turtledove eyes the Inquisitor. She doesn't have an answer ready. "I... serve. The idea of the Federation. Freedom. And discovery." In her mind flashes images of Andorian children, Idrani, Jiasha handing her a sweater.

Softly the next question comes, The Inquisitor moving around Tera slowly, "A solider for freedom. A soldier for an idea." The buzzing in the back of her brain grows stronger and then the Iconian's mandibles are close enough to almost brush the back of Tera's right ear. "I think you lie. Let us see..."

The buzzing get stronger and Tera's head is full of the sound with nowhere to escpape but in -- only to find in the path inward she is not the only passenger..

January 7th, 2354

Footsteps.

A loud whisper. "..Miss, your baby's awake..."

I look at the voice, I see her smooth blue head, the neat groove down the middle of her face. Her language is... different but all language is strange. Different is fine.

There is someone with her.

"She has your finger", he says. "Which world are they from? Terra? Right?"

A distant voice calls out. This voice is familiar. "Hold on, I'll be down in a jiffy."

197,725 B.C.E.

The Inquisitor moves from behind Tera, studying her. "This familiar voice -- one that spawned you?"

Turtledove blinks, her eyebrows scrunching a little. That memory. That was her memory. The room seems so much darker now. She nods. "My mother. Sephia."

The Inquisitor silkily weaves his head before her gaze, "Your mother -- and when you say you are a soldier and fight for ideas and a place... you do not say you fight for her. I taste your lies as strongly as you do, T'erahh Thurtah'dhof -- lying to me is lying to yourself..." He straightens a bit, focuses. "What do you get in return from this service?"

Turtledove's brow furrows. She herself feels remorse for the intermittent lies, the small sparks whiting out the darker truths, the ones that don't always get noticed. The ones we don't intend. She wants to explain. "What is there to get from anything in this life? A reason to do something." She pauses. Yeah, that sounded odd to her, too. "To be a part of something. To be a part of life. To live."

The Inquisitor says, "Yessssss." Another stroke with a hand, this time a middle tier arm across the back of her hand... you hope that by serving they will embrace you... an older hope isn't?" The Inquisitor leans closer, mandibles intimately close to her left ear now... "I see you..."

January 7th, 2354

Look towards the voice. That voice.

"I think she wants to eat your finger." The boy leans forward, ahead of his feet by a wide, safe distance.

"Hush." The girl scolds her smaller friend, with a smile.

Unconvinced, he directs a question to a distant space over my head. "Does she bite?"

More footsteps. That voice speaks from behind, closer, amused, and quick.

"Wouldn't be my kid if she didn't. Just don't give her a reason to and you'll be fine."

Strain to look towards the voice, that voice. See: brown eyes, dark hair. See her. I reach out, anticipate. Warmth. Feel her recoil first, then relax. This, and the strange language, and the stars that twinkle outside the viewport, are so familiar, so right...

197,725 B.C.E.

The Inquisitor says, "...needing that acceptance. To be part of something, to belong to someone. Closeness... your mother ... she claims you with her words but denies you with her instincts... a trend in your life isn't it? Starfleet claims you are part of it... recoils from your touch... you serve it's ideals? Then why does your existance offend it? The blue man... he has told you... and that rejection so honorably granted, stings no less than your mother's recoil... is that not so T'erahh Thurtah'dhof?"

Turtledove feels a pang of remorse. Remembering. "She didn't know what to do with me." Tera regards the pale Iconian with quietly glistening eyes. Yes, it hurts. "But one's loyalty, once sworn, no matter what, should remain intact. No matter what."

The Inquisitor says, "Ah yes. Loyalty. Loyalty is bliss -- you swear your loyalty and the responsibility for making your own decisions is relaxed. Only one choice then, Obey or Disobey." He snakes around her, different arms lightly touching different parts of her limbs.

"No good," he syllabates.

"No evil," he concurs.

"No right," he forgives.

"No wrong," he affirms. You learned that lesson young, you learned it well."

The Inquisitor leans closer again, the intimate intrusion into her personal space. "Your mother taught you that -- she knew the score -- loyal to her you'd obfuscate as directed even before you reached an age to know right or wrong... valuable lessons in your career of serving ideals no doubt..

Ocober 11th, 2357

Grey walls. Adorned, in places, with mysterious brightly-coloured symbols. I am led inside a smaller room, where a man in uniform sits. He speaks to himself.

"...mother and child are now resting comfortably despite the lengthy procedure. They are confined to bedrest for the next 12 hours and may not be released without my authorization. Computer, end log and file under recent patient records: Turtledove, Sephia Josephine and Turtledove, Robin Leigh."

The man is clean, with blue eyes. His short hair seems exotic.

"Please, take a seat." He regards me quietly with kind eyes. "How old are you, Tera?"

I climb into a chair. It has arm-rests. "I'm four. Are you Starfleet?"

Surprised, he smiles . "Yes." He pauses. He seems to be considering something.

"This starship is very bright. Did you save my sister?"

His smile wanes. He picks up a PADD. "With more than a little luck." He winks at me. "Are you folks travelling to a colony?"

I shrug, as I'm supposed to do. "What did my mother say?"

He considers me. "Not much." He smiles, then moves on. "Here's the situation, Tera. Your mother and sister need some rest. But, we can't keep you locked up here. So." He smiles. "How about some dinner and a tour of the ship? If you like what you've seen so far, wait until you see Main Engineering..."

197,725 B.C.E.

The Inquisitor says, "T'erahh Thurtah'dhof ... is it any question you serve as you do? How could you not? Weren't you trained to lie to Starfleet from the beginning? You do for them... they let you say you are part of them ... and then they recoil when the see their servant's true task... Who were you for them? Not a soldier, so then what?"

Turtledove's mouth opens but her response is halted. She watches the Inquisitor with a tightened expression. There are threads of sadness in the clearing depths of her eyes. Her answer is short. "I am a soldier." Not for Starfleet. I didn't understand the consequences. I didn't realize what it meant. "We protect the Federation." These words are hollow to her --- a cardboard cut-out of the flesh and blood truth.

The Inquisitor sympathetic now, until he strikes her across the other cheek. "Lies," he hisses with a somber tone. "They tell you you are a soldier. What does this mean to you? Does the Federation thank you? Does the Federation know what you are." a knife in the dark "Does the Federation need you to defend it?" glitter pretty, hard as choices, silent as the grave. "Lies you tell yourself." so you can sleep at night "Lies you allow yourself to be told." so you don't have to choose "You say loyalty is everything ... but what are you loyal to? And what is loyal to you?

Anger flares again in Turtledove's eyes, at the slap. And at some of the unspoken accusations. Platitudes. "I don't /need/ them to sleep at night." I need them to feel alive. "Choice." Her thoughts shift. Meaningless. Her mouth tightens. "Maybe the Federation doesn't matter. Not anymore." She regards the Iconian, the realization painful and real. But at least it's real. "Are you asking who I'm loyal to? Or are you telling me?"

The Inquisitor shrugs expansively with three sets of shoulders ... a gesture no doubt taken from her mind, even his mandible spread and jerk up and down. "What would be the difference, T'erahh Thurtah'dhof? I tell you, you tell me we both know if you lie, we both know if I speak the truth. Your first loyalty impacts all the rest, and yet, which are true? You erect pretty fables -- duty, honor... and family. Family was the first class room. Mother. Mother who infected you with a compulsion for risks you cannot afford. Mother who delivered you with the gift of violence unto others. All justified for the greater good. Your rules, not the Federation's... remember the lesson..."

May 21st, 2362

We are running, through this dirty city. It's dark. People are around, but they don't watch or care, our footsteps are gritty on the street. We stop in an alley to take a break, for Robin. Robin has forgotten her shoes.

"Another late-night escape. How exciting." I am annoyed. I am eight.

My mother digs through her bag. Her hair is darker, her eyes still brown, she is older, but still very beautiful, especially with the light in her eyes, the light that flares when the chips are down. She gives me a reckless grin. "Don't get too excited, Tera, my love. They outnumber us three to one."

"Nine, Sephi?" Robin looks like my mother, but she's scared. I take her hand and kiss it, put my other hand on her shoulder.

"No, no, Robin. Don't lose your dinner. Six. Tera, here." She waits for me to disengage my hands then tosses me a disruptor. The weapon is heavy but familiar.

"What is it this time?" I disengage the safety on the disruptor.

"It's not gambling, if that's what you're getting at, little miss." She gives me a 'back-off' look, that is quickly offset by a charming smile. "So, I'll take the right, you take the left. Wait for the light to pass. Robin, you're with me."

"But we left our bags, Sephi."

"I know, Robin. We'll go back if we can. Go Tera, now..."

197,725 B.C.E.

The Inquisitor says, "Right or wrong -- not the factor. She says -- you do -- Robin is the treasure to be defended so what are you? An extra finger on a trigger? Go forth and do for me and my approval shall wash away your sins. But that's just it, isn't it? They aren't really sins to you are they, T'erahh Thurtah'dhof?"

Turtledove's eyes darken quietly. "Everywhere you go, there are different rules. But one thing never changes. Life goes on." I felt lost. "Definitions, morality, courtesy. It's all relative, isn't it." With everything to pick and no reason to pick anything. "Robin /was/ a treasure. She always had passion."

The Inquisitor comes with the silky tones again, "Oooh such boldness. It's all relative." He leans closer again, mandibles brush stray hairs as the breeze that is his breath washes her ear, caresses the nape of her throat like a lover. "Then you aren't a soldier at all -- soldiers believe in something. You believe in surviving -- and chosing survival over duty is never the soldier's path. You know that, so I know I know that. You weren't lost you knew exactly who you were. Exactly what you are. You've built up a wall of words to hide not your true reflection but the reflection that glints off what you are. A sheath so you could survive because you did not believe you could if you showed them what you really are. This is fine though -- proper -- a tool like yourself is meant to be wielded, and you packaged yourself with deliberation so you would have the chance to be what you are. Have you lost who you are though? You weren't afraid once, to embrace your truth...

May 21st, 2362

Wake-up.

I open my eyes. Something is missing. Where is my sister?

"I thought I heard a noise."

I find her sitting, crouched, against the right side of the door, listening.

I look over at my mother. She is snoring, deeply asleep. A hazard of her most current position of employment, in this most current place. Her Dabo outfit is expertly tossed over a chair, so as to prevent wrinkles with the least amount of effort.

I look back at my sister. I almost ask her to come back to bed, to forget her fear, but that's when I hear it too.

I sit up. "Get away from the door, Robin."

But I shouldn't have asked her to do that. When she passes the door, that's when the door opens. That's when they enter, the tall dingy monsters --- the Nausicaans.

In less than a second my sister lies ragged on the floor. Barely a thought given to the gesture that snapped her neck and flung her against the wall, no one hearing the sound of her thud on the floor, except me, except me.

My mother wakes up too late. I have seen her manage greater numbers, bigger men. I have seen her live through so many things, but this seems so small, so unreal. Her pistol falls without firing to the mattress, as she careens back, charred, bleeding, her final stand as anti-climactic as the dirt in the Nausicaan's voice as he grunts to his partner, and they start searching the place.

And I am alone.

I know that there is a pistol under the Dabo dress, and so I go for it.

I have the element of surprise, so when I fire, it hits. But it just puts a hole in his arm. The monster laughs, and that's when I feel myself being lifted and flung, the whole journey ending in excruciating pain, my head against the bulkhead, the warm trickle of blood, the Nausicaans laughing, and everything goes black.

197,725 B.C.E.

The Inquisitor says, "You could have screamed. You could have warned them. That extra two seconds of wake up time and your mother would have killed those Nausicaans, even if your sister perished. But you wanted them to kill her. You wanted them to kill her because she was a bad gamble for your survival. With her dead, there was Federation charity. With her dead, you had an excuse to be yourself. Get revenge. All it cost you was Robin."

The Inquisitor shrugs elaborately, "So much for loyalty."

Turtledove laughs at first, at the Inquisitor's statement about survival, but the memory hits her like a cold, hard slap in the face. The threaded sadness in her eyes is replaced with a raw, penetrating anguish, which holds fast until the Inquisitor starts speaking again --- then it begins to harden into a steady force of opposition. Bold again. "Give me a break. Survival? My life is nothing compared to hers. You scoff at me, but you are In My Head, so you have to know I mean it. Especially about survival." In a world without definition. "Survival is ridiculous." Her mouth twitches. "And yes, I /could/ have warned her. But I was too slow. Too late." And Robin was dead, you bastard!

The Inquisitor says, "Robin was dead, so what point in saving your mother. I wonder if your mother ever felt it?" The change in Loyalties "If she ever suspected," you would let her die because she got Robin killed." He shifts his position. "You said it comes down to survival. Life goes on... hers could have, you chose otherwise. You make that choice often. You like it better when others make that choice for you. What was it you said... "I thought... you'd...never... ask.". True words. Unsheath me, direct me and let me fly. I've said before, you like to have that firm grip on your handle ... so much you sought it out..."

June 3rd, 2371

"Tera Turtledove. I had my doubts about you. You had a poor start. "

The man is at his desk. He is pleased, but it's not clear at what. I smile back readily. It's the least I can do, the very least.

"When you arrived to this facility, at age... what? Eleven? Yes. When you arrived under our care, you had basically no background in every fundamental subject of learning. Little reading ability. Frankly, I thought that you were withdrawn. Slow, even. I didn't expect much from you."

I am pleased. Definitely good news.

"This transmission states that you've tested adequately. Adequate scores in problem-solving, and critical thinking. Adequate foundation in math, history, and sciences. Showing particular promise in visual acuity and coordination. In a nutshell, Tera: you did it. Starfleet Academy has approved your application, and has a place waiting for you in the coming year."

My heart races. The prospect of change, something new! Should I be surprised?

"I'd never have applied without your encouragement, Mr. Hoek."

"You deserve this, Tera. Anything else would've been negligence on my part."

I am pleased that he is pleased, though I don't completely understand what he means. I try to think of an appropriate response, but my obligation for such is removed.

"I wanted to deliver the news myself, Tera. Now scoot. You've got a lot of planning ahead of you.

"I would never have applied without your encouragement Mister Hoek? What about I would never have applied if my sister and mother's deaths hadn't shown me the need for Starfleet Mister Hoek? What about I would never have applied if Starfleet hand't saved my sister's life when I was four year's old Mister Hoek? It was 2371 T'erahh Thurtah'dhof, you knew what was coming. The tides of your little war were already gathering and you knew, if consciously or not, that you would get a chance to be yourself. Unsheath, fly fast, drink deep. Can you deny This? And better still why would you?

Turtledove bites her tongue, her conscience taking a little inward kick at her gut. My mother knew the consequences. It never mattered. She craved the energy. And Pedantic Mr. Hoek. He was very kind. "I was trying to show gratitude." I had to try! "They were just words." Words are just a tool for meaning, right? "Look. People are... strange. They don't like violence. They simulate it, dilute it --- into politics, sports, entertainment. I don't want to be watched." It's better to watch.

The Inquisitor says, "No watching, no witnesses. Was it chance that you gravitated toward "special operations"? Special meaning, not things we like to talk about in our Idealistic Federation, right? Not special like a birth day party. Not special like an occassion. Not special like a great deal. Special like a drop in the dark, a twist of the knife, a soft release of breath, and nobody watches." You watch the watchers "No moral quandry," If they sent you, the target had it coming. "No second guessing." Your first duty is to OBEY "You release responsibility and focus on the doing. Not that talking about it. Not the game about it." You know where the real power is. "Go anywhere."Go anywhen. "Wave the flag." And hide behind it. You just needed a place for them to say it in a way you could get," hide "behind it... remember...""

January 3rd, 2375

It's simple, sir."

"Oh?" He is at his desk.

I search his eyes. He is Commander Law, hand-to-hand instructor. He regards me with steady calm, his reluctant cynicism, the distance between us not so great as I'm accustomed.

"The Federation is such a great... thing. No one has to struggle for survival. No one has to work unless they want to. Everyone is free, to just be... what they want. And then there's Starfleet. An institution that provides the opportunity to explore and learn, to see everything, to represent the Federation to new civilizations. And to do it all while surrounded by scores of bright and talented people."

He smiles. I figure it has to do with my words. I never use the right words. He wants me to explain myself, though. "That sounds pretty straight-forward, Cadet."

"I think what I'm trying to say is that the Federation, with all of it's shared technology, it's Constitution that demands tolerance and freedom, it provides the opportunity to rise above the smaller concerns of living. People don't have to compete anymore for survival, survival is a basic right. In my opinion, this should remove the desire for status and power. But here it seems like a pretty big concern for a lot of my peers. These politics just seem out of place, sir."

"So, basically, you're saying that your lack of interest in extra-curricular activities stems from a belief that politics have no place at Starfleet Academy."

"Basically, yes," I respond.

"Do you believe that competition has no place at Starfleet Academy?"

"Of course not, sir. Competition promotes faster learning, and simulates a high-stress situation not unlike those we expect to face as Starfleet Officers." I am quoting one of my texts, obviously, and badly at that, but it still amuses him. "It's when people take it out of the ring, so to speak, that things become... not to my taste."

"You..." He extends a hand, offering me a seat, "...have a tendancy to walk the line, cadet, but you do it quietly, and I think that you're used to people not noticing. But I've noticed. So, what are we going to do with you? Sit, please, I'd like to ask you some questions, and pending that, I may have a proposal for you. We are going to talk about the RRT, and before that skeptical eyebrow moves an inch, I want you to listen to what I have to say..."

197,725 B.C.E.

"And you kept listening... and you were rewarded with a new loyalty," For you to betray? "A new family" For you to watch and wait "New friends" To hide yourself in."

The Inquisitor says, "Do you claim to love them? And why would you? Would you die for them?" We know you will kill for them. "Which one -- the bestfriend" And what you see she might become "Your commander?" Does he believe his own lies? "Ghorev, the unrequited love?" Do your court his favor so the final dance will be the sweeter as he falls at your blade?"You can have only one final loyalty -- to one of these?"

The Inquisitor says, "Or to... yourself?"

Turtledove closes her eyes, her mouth clicking shut. Remembering Jason. Commander Law. Then shifting. My loyalties. She opens her eyes, stony, cold. "Commander Ghorev has nothing." ...Lie. But only small one. "Your games are wearing thin, you've gotten what you wanted, haven't you? You know who has my loyalty, you said it yourself. And it's not nearly as selfish as you make it out to be." We left Starfleet together. "It was earned."

The Inquisitor nods it's head again, the piercings jangling softly. The Iconian's middle hands reach within the opposite sleeves as he speaks. "We will see then -- actions -- "speak louder than words "and choices."

From the sleeves come two tools, two symbols, each catch and reflect the light and each represent a dichotomy -- the start of communication vs the final word, the pinnacle of technology vs one of the earliest tools, the symbol of a Starfleet Officer vs the Symbol of those play rough games in the dark.

In one opened hand is Tera's Communicator Badge.

In the other is Utlara.

The Inquisitor says, "So choose, and free yourself from your lies. You may have one, either may save you here. One choice, two paths."

Turtledove curls her hands around the fabric of her pantlegs, eyeing the Inquisitor accusingly, bitter with the hard knowledge that there is only one decision. Her gaze remains that way before it shifts, softening as her eyes rest on the dark blade. "I didn't choose my nature." She looks back up at the Inquisitor. Her expression is rueful, but resolute. Give me my huntress. Give me Utlara.

The Inquisitor passes the blade over, pommel into the human female's hand, aware of her fingers instinctively closing on it. I'm not giving you the knife -- you are the knife -- And soon, Utlara you will be wielded again.

Utlara then finds herself in a ruddy lit chamber with the texture of stone. A gnawing buzzing sound torments the edges of her subconsious. She is not bound but finds the desire to move from her location pressing, and strange to be so in a far away thought though realizing such inspires no desire to hesitate. A dripping sound is occassioned to carry to her now and then as she sits in her tomblike cell.

A rolling, grating tone rasps from the left and a portal is revealed and Utlara moves through it with a predatory stride.

And what is left... is emptiness.

--- Fin of History Lessons Part One: The Forging of Utlara ---