Topic: My pneumonia/Drug-Induced Story...

[Governor Ronjar]

Hi, all. I know I already have one story in the posting phase and am working on entirely new stuff, but I recently had a spell of pneumonia and a lot of drugs to battle it with. The Guv then went into writing over load. This happens when I am uber sick. Hope you will enjoy my drug induced visions of Trek.


Star Trek: Endeavour
‘Planet in Twilight’
CH. 1





In the command chair of the USS Endeavour, NCC-2007, Commander Davenport sat unmoving. Unblinking. Unbreathing. His brown eyes stared with the slightest confusion at the main viewing screen, which showed a panorama of mountains and majestic valleys. The sun of this world moved slowly right to left, casting ruddy shadow across the silent bridge.

The USS Endeavour sat atop a precipice. Unmoving. Unthinking. Incapable of action without the will of her crew. So she sat, and did nothing but creak under the weight of gravity pinning her down.

Lieutenant Noah Smith of Earth awoke amid a pile of flesh in darkness. He smelled the rot and decay of death long since rendered and scrambled to his feet in shock. Sparse lighting entered the cavern he found himself in. Mountains, valleys and a river lay beyond in the diffuse twilight. Smith staggered back from the half seen, half-imagined corpses piled high before and about him.

Where the hell was he?

The unsure communications officer’s last memory was of going to sickbay. Doctor Keller had prescribed him meds for his cold and asked him to stay a while for observation. He hadn’t thought the flu was that serious. Keller hadn’t wanted it to spread.
The young officer’s last memory was of bedding down on the soft blue matting of the Starfleet biobed…

Now he was here…

Where precisely was here?

Smith picked his way amid the tangle of limps and torsos and heads that made up his last sleeping surface. Bones crackled and broke underfoot. At least he’d gone to sleep with his socks on. The lieutenant wore only a leisurely undershirt and his trousers. No duty jacket or tunic. No boots. No underwear come to think of it…
Noah emerged into the dying light of a day ending and surveyed the vista before him. Were it not for the macabre pile behind him and the horrid stanch clinging to him, the lieutenant might be lulled into a peaceful repose for the beauty stretching out before him.
The fear of being lost, alone and unprepared, however, were a shock to his system. His survival training had not yet asserted itself. He would need time to cope and to adjust to all of this. The lad sat down, ignoring the stench wafting up from behind as the wind tickled him.

What was he to do?

Noah checked his waist. No tool belt. No communicator. No phaser. He was without technology. He looked himself over. Other than the crud in his throat and lungs, he felt fine. A bit winded perhaps. He looked about. Not many rocks shoed along the ground before him. Fine sandy dirt, pebbles and smoothed over rocks. A little grass. Walking wouldn’t be so bad. His socks might last the day. He thought about how to fashion wooden sandals…when he found wood, that is. He could see no trace of trees.

Grass slippers would do in a pinch, but he’d be making them quite often were he forced to remain for long. He was a large man, over six feet tall. And the grass before him looked not only sparse, but flimsy.

Deciding that he’d rather bed down for the night well away from the carrion behind him, the young man stood up and gathered his stamina for a jaunt. He did not want to see what animals would be drawn to that pile of cadavers anyway.

The going was slow but easy. The gentle slope of the land allowed him to spare his strength in reserve. He considered where to go. For the time being, he was simply walking forward. He thought about what he needed to survive.

Before him was a river. It seemed about three miles distant. He would not likely make it there before sundown given the depths at which the solar orb had already sank. Depending on how dark the night got, he might make it a bit after sundown. But did he want to spend the night beside a possible nocturnal watering hole? He was totally unarmed. He glanced about for sign of animals.

Nothing yet.

Noah looked back up to the river in the distance. The roll of the land offered him an unblocked view of it. He was now no more than a mile away. He could imagine hearing its faint trickle already. He hadn’t thought to make it so close before sundown.

Smith looked back to the star blazing subdued in the distance. It remained a thumb’s width from the horizon from his vantage. It had yet to move. The solar cycle here was much slower than most worlds…



Mister Smith reached the banks of the winding river. IT was wide and clean. He could see to the bottom out to the deep center where the glare of twilight reflected back in broken patches upon the moving water. Smith bent to scoop up a testing drink.

Potable. Fresh. The water was refreshing and earthy. It should do baring any unforeseen contaminants. He eased his aching body down onto the side of the bank and looked about him. The sun had yet to set. It remained right where he’d judged it earlier. Perhaps exactly in the same place…

Smith found himself watching it in reverie. He thought about unrelated things, such as the plainness of his surname. He thought of his friends aboard ship. He thought of the acting captain. Was Endeavour looking for him? Did they yet know he was missing? Were there gaps in his memory? Perhaps there was a reason for his being here? The lieutenant checked himself for head wound.

There was none.

He was fit, save for his cold. HE checked for fever. HE had none. Beyond the tickle of mucus in his lung and throat, he was on the mend. He tried to hack it up, spitting it away from the river. He bathed himself with hands full of cold water.

The sun had yet to set.
***
 

This tale proceeds more slowly in writing now that I am better. Am contemplating a couple of bottles of butterscotch schnapps to speed it back up...

gimme a holler...

--guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Okay, that was just durn weird. There's so little there with no real indication where it's going that I really can't say any more than that.

Your descriptive style is definitely improving though. I liked the use of "solar orb", among other things. The very disjointed nature of the tale gives the accurate impression that the people involved are feeling kinda disjointed themselves.

The inevitable grammar & spelling: "sir name" should be "surname".

[Commander La'ra]

Having read more of this, I can only cackle evilly knowing what the other readers are in for.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 2





Noah Smith awoke on the river’s edge. The tinkle of its waters was a pleasant thing to awaken by. He looked about in the ruddy early morning light…

No…The sun was still a thumb’s breadth above the horizon and on the same side of the planet as before! But had it moved? He remembered it having been framed between those massive buttes three or four kilometers away…straight across the river.

Now the orb dully shone out from a place forty degrees to the left. It had left the buttes altogether and now stood above a flat plain of reddish brown soil.
Did this world’s rotation never take the sun beyond sight? It would be an oddity for sure and worthy of a visit by Federation starship were that the case.
Noah considered the silent star for some time, causing a dull round blot in his vision that quickly abated. HE looked across the river. He’d not seen the little boat approach. He hadn’t seen it or sensed the presence of the smiling man who stared back at him from the thin, canoe-like vessel.

Taken aback at suddenly finding himself not alone, the lieutenant gaped. This seemed to tickle the older gentleman and he gave the water a slap with his single oar. The boat turned and glided near.

“A new one, eh?”

“You speak standard?”

The grey haired, oddly dressed man chuckled and he allowed his boat’s prow to touch land. “No, but you speak the tongue of the land. Least that’s what they say. Everyone coming here gets conditioned. That’s what I hear.”

“There are others?”

The older man, he seemed almost human save for the cast of his eyes, nodded gently as though teaching a grandchild. “Oh, yes. Here and there. Them what wake up in the cave.”

“The cave full of—“

“The dead. Yup. That’s where the Caretaker puts us all that start out sick or dying when he collects us.”

“Caretaker?”

“Oh, he or it has lots of names. Collector. Jailer. I call him Caretaker. He seems a bit nicer than a Jailer.”

The old man’s dress was an assortment of unmatching garments. Some where bright, others dull. Some were crudely patched and sewn together. He was healthy. His teeth were reasonably bright.

“Are there animals here to worry about?” The lieutenant asked.

“Some. Not many to big. Just watch for ‘em. Not many places for ‘em to hide given the landscape.”

“What is there to eat?”

At this the old man smiled kindly. He reached down and produced a parcel wrapped in cleaner cloth than what he wore. He handed it over.

Noah hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been till he smelled the salty tang of baked fish. The dry meat crumbled in his hands as he unwrapped it and began to gobble it down. The old man smiled.

“You have been away from food for a while.”

Noah looked up a bit ashamed. Had this been the man’s only food? The elder smiled more. “Eat up boy, I have plenty.”

Noah nodded and continued to eat. His stomach was better, but in no way full. The stranger pointed about him to the waters. “I make my way by fishin’ and trappin’. I’d suggest similar to you. There’s game aplenty.”

When the lieutenant stared back without answer, the old man reached down and tossed him a bundle of white line. Something sharp pricked his palm. “There’s enough line to get ya started, son. The fish here just naturally come to a shiny lure. Make em from what metal ya can find. Dry the fish with fire or toast it. You’ll do fine.”

The older man shoved off with a push of his paddle and propelled his tiny boat in reverse a way. Noah looked up from the crumbs in his hands. “Wait…what’s your name?”

The old man paused, for the first time without a smile. He shook his head. “You know…I think I’ve forgot.”

The nameless old man paddled away, heading down the flow of the river. Smith watched him go. The old man apparently didn’t want prolonged company. But he’d been kind and helpful. So much work had been saved the boy with the gift of this line and lure.

Lieutenant Smith set to fishing.
***


--guv!!

[Grim Reaper]

Help I'm steppin' into the Twilight Zone
Place is a madhouse
Feels like being cloned
My beacons been moved
Under moon and star
Where am I to go Now that I've gone too far

Cool start, I wonder what's gonna happen next!

[Scottish Andy]

Curiouser and curiouser.

[Governor Ronjar]

 Some more wierdness fer y'all.



CH. 3





Three full orbits of the single star later found Noah Smith still fishing, still baking fish over a small fire, and still very much alone by the river. On this world there was no day, there was no night. No morning welcomed him back from sleep. Only the damned twilight kept him on the verge of a drowsy half-sleep.

The lieutenant today was sitting beside the quietly mumbling river, watching fish jump out in the middle as he caught their brothers at the bank. In part, Smith was waiting to see the boatman again. He wanted to learn more about this world before venturing into it. Also, he remained put due to the suspicion that there abounded no real reason to leave the river.

The boatman did come again, late that third day. He came down river against the gentle flow from the direction he’d disappeared in. Noah hailed him as he came close, and the man again patted the water and swung his boat aside to draw onto land. Today, though, he got out and stretched his long legs.

“So, young one. Still in the same spot…”

“Didn’t see much reason to leave it.” Smith explained.

The old man blinked and smiled as he scratched the stubble at his jaw. “Oh, boredom will give you reason soon enough. Believe me.”

“Not much happen here?”

The elder smiled and looked down at his mismatched boots and the smooth ground beneath them. “Not in this exact spot, no. That’s why you should get around.”

“I’m not so sure it’d be all that wise to leave.”

This made the fisher look up suddenly with curiosity. “Really, why?”

“If I leave the river, my ship might not be as able to find me from orbit.”

Now the old fisherman was laughing outright and slapping his pant leg. Dust blasted from his clothes, making the young blonde cough.

“No one’s going to be looking for you from orbit, son!”

Smith flushed with a sudden rise of anger.

“And why not?”

“Because your ship is already here! Don’t ya know that’s how it always works?”

“No, I don’t know how it works! I’m not from here!”

The old one seemed to consider that and then sobered. He circled the kid once and then looked down at his camp fire and the fish baking on a smooth rock.

“Alright, kid. Here’s how it goes around here… Your ship was snoopin’ around somewhere close by. Maybe not even in this solar body… The Caretaker saw ya’… He maybe liked your ship or your species, prob’ly your ship since your makeup is about like anybody else’s. He brings your ship here, puts it where he can look at it. But since you and maybe others on your ship was sick or dying…he tossed you in that cave to die…or live…or whatever.”

Noah could only gape. Endeavour had been here all this time? Where? How far away? What could he do?

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“They’re okay, I imagine. You won’t get much out of ‘em. They’ll be like statues.”

“Dead?”

“Don’t think so. The crews and passengers never seem to…decay or whatever. They don’t get old. But then…nothing here does.”

Smith calmed a bit with this knowledge.

“Nothing ages?”

“Nope.”

“No one dies?”

“Oh, sure. Folk die all the time…just not from getting’ old. Some get a disease. Some have accidents…a murder every now and again.”

“You said there weren’t many people here!”

“Only take two folk for a murder.”

Noah looked out onto the circular horizon about him and scoured it anew for anything familiar. He hoped to see anything…the bulge of the saucer’s casemate…a nacelle… anything. Nothing. He saw nothing.

“Where would she be?”

“Damned if I know. I don’t even know which yours looks like.”

“Have any come here in the last week?”

“Not to my knowin’.”

Noah stared with bald consternation at the man. The elder just stared back without helpful expression. He was still smiling. At length, he shrugged and sat down by the fire.

“Why don’t ya offer me some grub and we’ll think on it.”

Smith nodded almost unwillingly. He did owe the man a meal. And his clean clothe. This latter he gave to the man and filled his palms with baked fish.

The old man took a bite and sat up rail straight.

“Son! What did you put on this here fish!”

Noah pointed off to a sprig of dark green grass sprouting up from beneath a rock ten meters from the river bank. “I dried that and coursed it up.”

The old man looked out at it and then back to the fish.

“Huh… Adds a kind of spice! Never thought of usin’ grass to flavor my fish with.”

“It smelled like oregano.” Noah explained. He was pretty certain oregano looked nothing like that three bladed grass, though.

“Whatever that is, this is good, son!”

“Now, sir…” Smith looked out to the twilight again. “Which direction is the closest starship you know of… You implied there were a lot of them.”

The fisher nodded.

“Seen at least fifty in my life. Likely I’ll see more of ‘em.”

“Which way to the closest?”

The old man pointed down the river, in the direction he’d been paddling just minutes prior. “There’s the Buzzard just about three mountains that way.”

“The Buzzard?”

“Yeah… Should be the name of it. Big ol’ green thing with big bird’s wings and a long, buzzard neck on it. Even has feet.”

Noah could only thing of one design of craft fitting such a general description. He suddenly smiled. “How far away did you say?”

“Three mountains. I pass by three mountains to get to it from here.”

Noah looked up and studied the terrain following the length of the river. He could make out two mountains easily. A third might have been obscured in the distance by the bulk of the second. “About… fifty, maybe eighty kilometers.”

“Kilo-whats?”

“How long by boat?”

“Half a day easy paddle. No stoppin’, though.”

“Will you take me there?”

The old man laughed and stood up from the fireside. He finished his meal and returned his cloth to his rough pocket. “I’ll take you so far as the water’s edge, but that’s as far as any sane man goes.”

“Why is that?”

“Remember I said murder was one of the plenty of ways folk can die round here?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, the troll what lives there is special keen on murderin’.”
 

--thu guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Man, that sure is cryptic. Love it, though. That old man describing stuff he's never seen before and relating it only in the way he's familiar with. Sounds like a Melak-class ship (though I'm not sure about the feet) or it may be that FASA Rom ship that was included in 'Star Trek: Legacy' which does look like a mechanical ship, buty I always thought it was brown. And the troll that murders people... I know you don't like Roms, Giv, but wouldn't it have been more accurate to describe him as an elf? 

Looking forward to more of this!

[Governor Ronjar]

*slaps forehead as Andy misses the obvious...*

--guv

[Scottish Andy]

Hey, you said green! Green is Rom-coloured! Klinks are grey, specially the D7s!! *grumbles*

[Hstaphath_XC]

Hey, you said green! Green is Rom-coloured! Klinks are grey, specially the D7s!! *grumbles*

Wow... how long has it been since you've watched, for instance, Star Trek IV, V, or VI?   

[Scottish Andy]

*mutters* Kronos-One was light grey...

[Hstaphath_XC]

*mutters* Kronos-One was light grey...

Yoda:  (waving his hand at Andy)  Cloudy, your mind has become... let go this obsession with the D-7's, you must...

[Scottish Andy]

*waves back at Yoda, using the traditional 1-finger salute* 

[marstone]

I'm with Andy on this one.  Gray is Klingon, always will be.  It only got changed because of a script change the movie when the plot line got out that the enemy was to be Romulan, so they changed it to Klingon, but the special effect shots were already done.  Thus is why the Klingons are flying Romulan style ships now.

[Hstaphath_XC]

*waves back at Yoda, using the traditional 1-finger salute*

Touch this, you can not!

... Gray is Klingon, always will be...

IIRC, the D-7's in Star Trek the Motion Picture were blue and green.  I know the story behind the script change in ST:III, but whether I agree with it or not the ships became canon for Klinks.   

The FASA take on it was that the Klinks got the Rom scout ships as part of the tech exchange that got the Roms those old D-7s.

[marstone]

IIRC, the D-7's in Star Trek the Motion Picture were blue and green.  I know the story behind the script change in ST:III, but whether I agree with it or not the ships became canon for Klinks.   

The FASA take on it was that the Klinks got the Rom scout ships as part of the tech exchange that got the Roms those old D-7s.

Quite possible, as an old SFB player, I live in the era of TOS.  The problem with a Klingon Bird of pray is that (even tho they were to cheap to redo the CGI shots), the Klingon Empire would have repainted the ships they got from the Romulans to match their own fleet.  It is sad, I believe that as the movies and newer TV episodes came out, that they didn't really keep track of the material they were putting out to make sure it matched.  They were worried more about getting it out in budget.  (watch TNG and see how many times you see the mind control spheres that were used against Picard by the Ferrengi.  That little device shows up as part of different ship systems and such a bit.  Just as a simple example (if they are to cheap to make a small item like that, they definetely wouldn't do a retake on a CGI shot that was off).

[Governor Ronjar]

*wonders how some discussions come about... Sadly eyes all the comments above with the exception of Hsta's...*

The idea that the ST:III BoP came from the Roms is not canon. No onscreen reference whatsoever for that. I mistakenly supported the idea for a while, but once the old-style BoP appeared on Enterprise [which was also green, as were the D-5 cruisers], I cast this idea aside in my new writing efforts and have since editted older files. While I do not like green ships at all, Romulan, Klingon or whose ever, I also have to admit that the Klingon BoP, at least...would not look quite right any other color.

The vessel in question in this tale is indeed a B'rel-Class Bird of Prey with its landing struts down.

Has anyone got anything to say about the f*cked-upedness of this tale, or shall it de-evolve once more into a canon discussion. *hates canon discussions...*

--thu guv

...and to further aggravate Andy, just because I can and he lives in Canadia-land and is therefor too far away to hit me...

For a Green D-7 refer to DS9 'Trials and Tribbulations' and for green K't'ingas, refer to several battle scenes involving Klingons from Season 4 DS9 on...
Blah!

[marstone]

Has anyone got anything to say about the f*cked-upedness of this tale, or shall it de-evolve once more into a canon discussion. *hates canon discussions...*

Will agree canon sucks.  A nasty segway on the comment of a gray D7.

[Hstaphath_XC]

Bugger!  I about jumped out of my chair thinking you had posted Chapter 4.

wonders how some discussions come about...

*cough*Andy*cough*  

Has anyone got anything to say about the f*cked-upedness of this tale...

Well, it certainly has my interest.  There have been a few very surreal storylines on the board of late (yeah, Kadh and Rommie, I'm lookin' at you!) so that in itself isn't really getting the shock value it normally would.  What has my attention is your exceptional storytelling.  Also, the fact that I currently am coming down with a nasty chest cold in no way has me biased in identifying with Lt. Smith.  

[Scottish Andy]

wonders how some discussions come about...

*cough*Andy*cough*

Not guilty this time, mate! I was just wondering about the "Buzzard ship & troll". I readily admit I got it wrong, but it was YOU! - yes you sir, don't look at the woman behind you... no, nor the boy to your left - YOU, Hsta, who first went on about canon.

I was just grumbling good-naturedly about being tricked by Guv's description, then set about tweaking your other heads.

THIS IS ON YOU!!!! 

[Governor Ronjar]

What trick? I described a Bird of Prey! 








CH. 4





The boat gouged a slight skid into the smoothness of the sand at the water’s edge. Noah Smith carefully maneuvered to disembark the canoe and stepped a few paces inland. There were a few trees here, the only the lieutenant had yet seen. Twenty or so blocked the officer’s view of what lay beyond.

Noah was sweaty for the first time since his last fever. He and the old guy had shared the load of paddling the way up here. The old man had taken the time away from paddling to drag his line from the back of the boat. His catch was flapping around at the side of the craft even now.

“Ya’ know, son.” The old man was saying with quiet gratitude. “I’m gonna have to make you paddle for me more often. Never caught so much as we did today, just draggin’ the line b’hind us.”

Noah glanced back. He was nervous as to what lay ahead of him. He focussed on breathing and tried to remember all his training. The Academy seemed so buried in the past, now.

“Your welcome, sir. Any idea where this troll of yours lives, exactly?”

“Inside the Buzzard so far as anybody knows. It’s said he comes out from there, kills folk then eats the corpses raw.”

Smith shuddered and looked down mournfully at his grass-reinforced, sock-clad feet. He shook his head and looked around for a suitable weapon. The trees were spindly and tall, offering no branches. The rocks here about were too large to wield.

“Know of any weapons to be had, old man?”

The old guy pushed off from the shore with a sorrowful grin. “They say there’s plenty…inside the Buzzard.”

And the old man paddled away. If Noah was successful, it was their agreement to meet again in the morning. If not…the old man would be paddling home alone again anyway.

Noah focussed on the task ahead and tried to maintain a hopeful outlook. He could take any one being in an out and out fight. Starfleet had trained him to fight and handle himself well. He’d even had opportunity to show such since being assigned aboard Endeavour.

The young officer pushed his way through wispy limbs and foliage and made his way up a none too gentle rise in the land. More trees abounded here. They grew thickly together. A branch slapped back suddenly…

Noah shouted involuntarily at the sight of the humanoid skull tied up to a tree trunk before him. His cry echoed out into the twilight, scared up a flight of small birds. Damn! The lieutenant stared hatefully at the stupid scare token. It had done its job well enough, and now the whole countryside knew he was here.

Smith hurried along, ducking low to avoid making a trail of motion through the foliage. It was good that he did.

The first disruptor bolt sizzled past over head and blew a tree in half behind the comm officer. This quickened the boy’s pace to a mad dash and drew even more fire. A hail of energy fire was burning down trees left and right.

Noah could feel the shots drawing closer and closer to home. His bare ankles took a pelting from burning splinters propelled by an exploding charge. Noah leapt for the first cover offered him.

A final shot sizzled by overhead as Smith rolled down a small gully inset into the hillock. It was rocky and lined with old bones from various species. Perhaps the troll really did eat folk! Noah fought the unsteady slope of the depression for stable purchase and grabbed up the only weapon to be had…a smooth stone.

“Are you dead yet, targ?” Came a gruff bellow from above and out of sight. Noah could hear cautious crunching on the stone lined ground above his vantage. There would be no way to climb out of here quickly…

Noah took a firm grip on his chosen missile.

The top of a knobby, tousle-haired head came bobbling slowly into view. Its owner was craning to look down into the gully Noah had jumped into.

“Decided to cut to it and dump yourself into my trash heap, eh?” There troll laughed in the manner of his race. Even without his language intact, there was no mistaking his kind. “That’s very considerate of you…but not very sanitary!”

When enough of the forehead showed itself, Noah hurled his weapon with all his might! The smooth white stone flashed out and hit the knobby cranium with a hollow ‘thock!’

The head’s owner fell back with a crash.

“OW!!”

Noah looked frantically about and grabbed up another two stones to throw. There was scrambling and cursing from above. Pebbles rained down the slope of the dry gully.

“You hit me with a ROCK!”

Noah waited as an eerie, angry silence issued from above. At last there came a guffawing laughter. “A ROCK!”

At last the Klingon showed himself fully at the pinnacle of the depression Smith had jumped inside. His grizzly, dirty face was broken open with a jagged, brown toothed smile of wide humor. He looked down at Noah, and his disruptor was down at his side.

“And a human, too!”

The Klingon hooked his massive hands on the remnants of his belt and leaned back guffawing. His laugh echoed out into the breeze. At last he looked down, eyes moist with mirth.

“Go ahead, human! Throw your rocks!”

Noah shrugged and reared back. The Klingon did nothing as the lieutenant took aim and pelted off both his weapons. The first hit it’s target between the legs. The warrior growled out between clenched teeth and bent low. The next rock struck him betwixt his eyes.

The Troll rolled senselessly into the heap with Lieutenant Smith.
***

---thu guv!!

[Hstaphath_XC]

... YOU, Hsta, who first went on about canon.

You were rather obviously carrying on a discussion about what should or should not be canon for Klink hull colors... you can't turn it back around on me just for using the hated word that cast the discussion in the light it was already illuminated in.  Well... okay... yes, you can TRY.   

What trick? I described a Bird of Prey!

And very clearly at that!

“You hit me with a ROCK!”

Hehe... those darn surprisingly sneaky humans... 

[Scottish Andy]

The young officer pushed his way through wispy limbs and foliage...

You are getting quite poetic and lyrical in your descriptions, Guv. You're better at it that I am!

The head’s owner fell back with a crash.

“OW!!”

...

“You hit me with a ROCK!”

That's a friggin' riot, that is! As is the Klink laughing at it and getting clunked out  by Noah at the end. Why he offered the shots is still a mystery to me though. But that was a great scene with good humour. Looking forward to more!

Hsta: Was not! Nyah!    But seriously, I was just covering for my inability to spot a K-BoP (they have cloaking devices, after all. This cloak was just... a bad description  ). I was not inviting a discussion on canon. So, in the time honoured tradition of 5 year-olds, YOU started it! Nyah again!

[Governor Ronjar]

Don't make me pull this forum page over and come back there!

--mutha guv

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 5





Lieutenant Smith looked down at the bound form of the ‘Troll’ he’d captured. The Klingon rested soundly and the human was reassured that his friend would not reawaken soon by the grace of the two full power stun blasts he’d put into the warrior’s chest.

Now that the evil guardian was taken care of and bound with leather chord from his own equipment belt, the Starfleet officer felt more secure about finding this Buzzard. Smith was relatively certain what he was going to find.

The officer pushed his way through the thick foliage and out into a clearing of loose dirt and shrubs. Large rocks lined the perimeter of the round clearing and above it all loomed the massive command head of a Klingon Bird of Prey.

The scoutship sat atop a short outcropping of rock that stood before the third mountain used by the old man to tell distance. The ship was weather beaten and aged by the diffuse sun, rusted by the planet’s rains. Its landing pads indeed jutted out and plowed into the soft sand, and between them hung its landing ramp.

The ramp had been prized open.

Noah closed in on the monolithic craft and listened to the moan of the wind as it whipped beneath the ship. Old, beaten tools lay scattered about the area near to the ramp’s foot. An equipment pod had been accessed next to the open access way, explaining how the alien had gotten the ramp open.

With his borrowed weapon in hand, Noah summoned up the bravery to step up inside the unlit vessel.

Klingons, it was said, did not prefer much in the way of illumination. None abounded for as far as Smith could make out. The officer felt about for a switch, a toggle or button. What he found was a beaten lamp hanging on a bent mounting. Taking this, Noah lit his way and began his journey inside.

The entry port was devoid of any sign other than dirt and age. The airlock entrance had been left permanently open. Smith did not make it much further than this before halting with a start.

Another Klingon stood staring him in the face.

Noah backed off immediately, raising his weapon in almost belated attempt to defend himself. There was no need. The alien warrior stood stock still, unmoving as death.

A statue.

Noah stepped close once again and more closely examined the Klingon who stood ever on guard at the hatch. He bore the rank of Sergeant and had the markings of an engineering mate. Aboard a ship this size, he was likely the chief engineer’s assistant. He had no sign of injury and did not smell any…less fresh than his kinsman outside.
If anything, that which stood before Smith now smelled better than the dirty oaf outside. His eyes twinkled with reflected light, moist and lifelike. But the pupils gave no reaction to movement or light. The warriors skin was smooth and warm. Alive. But there was no pulse, no breath.

Noah tried even to knock the towering Klingon over. It took some effort, but the giant toppled and clamored to the expanded metal decking like a mannequin. After knocking the man down, the comm officer felt a twinge of regret. Nothing could be done however. The Klingon weighed too much to lift back onto his feet.
Noah shrugged, vowing not to knock over any more of this vessel’s crew and made his way deeper into the ship. The remainder of the lower deck was empty.
The main deck showed more of the crew in their suspended state. They were arranged about consoles and sitting in chairs as though they had been on duty and unawares when they’d been taken. Noah figured they very well had been. These Klingons had been out surveying or conducting recon when some power over took them. Brought them here to be odd trophies.

What Smith needed was a scanner.

The human officer began to poke through equipment harnesses and lockers, drawers and even through the belts of the men and women he found in the dark twist of compartments. There was some sign of life within. Evidence that the Troll had been aboard, tossed things where he may. Old bones lay amid the debris on the floor. Tools lay about and open access panels hung open as though the Klingon had striven to get this ship back to operational. Apparently, he’d had no success.
Smith found what he needed at last in the bridge. Here he also found working lighting and a few online panels. The lieutenant could read a smattering of Klingon and most of their operational glyphs. This ship was essentially on standby mode. Her main core read as almost inert, the antimatter degraded to a low level. One fusion core remained running, and it was running in short cycles to keep the battery array powered.

Most every piece of equipment showed a default malfunction icon above its display readings. The human had very little information as to what this could mean.
The scanner Smith found was similar in function to a Starfleet tricorder. Its system was much simpler, the design more robust. It showed a full power cell. A default malfunction sign blinked atop its main screen.

“Now, what the hell!”

“You knocked Korved over…”

Smith whirled, albeit too late, to aim his pistol at the Troll as he emerged from the bridge’s aft hatch. The Klingon had a swollen left eye and another disruptor. He grinned, looking more subdued than earlier as he aimed back at Noah.

“What!”

“You knocked over our engineer’s mate!” The Troll said again. “Korved hated to be pushed.”

“Who are you!”

The Klingon looked from the boy’s eyes to the scanner held in his hands, then to the pistol. He lowered his own and blinked sleepily. Apparently his urge to kill Smith had been spent. One might have thought waking up to find you’d been tied up and left face down in the dirt might have made such an urge all the harder to resist… “I was known as Hathek. I was the senior electronics technician and second shift helmsman of the great Klodarn!”

Noah blinked, lowering his weapon. Hathek lowered his pistol more as well. “Lieutenant Noah Smith, Communications. USS Endeavour.”

“Endeavour? Sharp’s ship?”

“No…Commodore Ford’s... Why the hell does every Klingon ask that?!”

“Hmm…” The Klingon stashed his gun into a holster and rounded the aft stations to look at the dead viewing screen. “You are an officer. You came here the same way I did?”

“You mean falling asleep onboard and waking up in a pile of dead bodies…yeah.”

“I was not asleep…but I did emerge in a pile of the dead.” The warrior reminisced. He crossed thick arms over the tattered armor on his chest. “I have lived here for far too long. I think it took me four years to find my ship… And when I did, seven more passed. My comrades do not age a day. They merely stand there… waiting for me to discover a way to make them awaken.”

Noah studied the Klingon, then looked down at the scanner in his hands. “What’s with all of your equipment. Everything flashes the same malfunction signal.”

“I do not know for sure.” Hathek told him. “I have had theories over the years. The electronics are undamaged, though. Simply nothing does its function. The helm will lay in a course, but will not fire the thrusters. The drive will generate power, but the antimatter baffles won’t open…”

Noah saw the Klingon grinning.

“I tried to blow the ship up a few times. Never worked.”

Smith motioned to all the consoles.

“All the stations function?”

“Mostly. But the scanners won’t scan. The comm system doesn’t receive or transmit. The main guns won’t fire. They are…prevented.”

“Prevented?”

Hathek continued to smile in a way that gave way to the paranoia residing within his mind. “Sometimes I see the malfunction lights falter…cut out. But they always light back up when I rush for the consoles! There is a being out there…toying with me!”

“The Caretaker?”

“You know of him!”

Hathek approached Smith so swiftly the officer raised his disruptor again. Hathek glowered down at it and pushed it aside. He grabbed Smith up by the dirt-streaked front of his white shirt.

“What do you know of our captor!”

Smith considered shooting the Klingon. But he was just being his natural, forceful way. He left the sidearm dangling as he stared back with even defiance. “Almost nothing. Just some legend some of the locals have told me.”

“Locals…?”

“The guys that say you’re a cannibal…come down from your ship, shoot, kill and eat folks…”

Hathek smiled and released Smith. He twirled about to crash down at the empty helm station. “You have spoken with the denizens of this world… I have not for many years…”

“So I’m informed.”

“And what do these locals tell you?”

“They say that when a ship passes by that this so-called Caretaker likes, he snatches it down. He keeps the ship and the crew in good shape. The sick aboard he tosses into a death cave to live or die. He doesn’t mess with them after that.”

Hathek shrugged. He turned his chair away from the human and sniffed. “I was not ill.”

Noah’s first impulse was to argue the matter. It would avail him nothing in this case. “Not for me to say. But your crew hasn’t seemed to have suffered any ill effect from their suspended animation.”

The Klingon looked back thoughtfully.

“No. They are as they were when I found them. Much as I remembered them before being cast out onto the world.”

Noah regarded the scanner in his hand.

“And these systems don’t work?”

“No.”

“But hand particle weapons do?”

Hathek grunted and drew his pistol. He aimed it for one of the officers standing silent vigil before his console. “Unless you do this…”

Hathek jammed his thumb down on the trigger. Nothing occurred. No beam, no plaintive squall of disobedience. The officer went right on standing there. Alive but not.
Hathek went on to prove his point and test fired at various points of the compartment. The weapon never once tried to fire. “Your Caretaker does not want his prizes damaged.”

“Huh…” Smith came around to sit beside the Klingon at the unoccupied navigation console. “But he doesn’t care if we shoot and kill each other outside…”

“Apparently. How else could I have eaten all those people?”

Noah gaped a bit as he looked back to the soldier. Hathek leered playfully and looked away. Smith stood back up and stepped safely away. “This guy’s influence seems aimed at his collections. The ships and the crew’s he kept. Have you tried the scanners outside this ship?”

“Yes. Same effect. Nothing.”

Noah shut the scanner down and slung its strap over his shoulder. “Then we’ve got to figure out where this person’s control comes from. We have to find him or his base of operations…”

Hathek chortled laughter.

“For all we know, he lives in orbit.”

“Then how is it people know of him down here?”

The Klingon noncom did not seem convinced, but was no longer looking away. “And what makes you believe they know what they’re talking about?”

“I don’t know…but then…if we do nothing, we’ll never know anything.”
***

[Hstaphath_XC]

Excellent!  I am surprised the Caretaker allowed so much damage to the hatch, but it appears it likes to have it's little jokes with the Cave of Bones survivors as well.   

[Governor Ronjar]

Try not to get overly attached to the details...this is a crazy story, not a tech-minded one.

I'm really gonna have to turn it upside down. Not being messed up in the head is really hindering my ability to progress this one...

--guv

[Hstaphath_XC]

... Not being messed up in the head is really hindering my ability to progress this one...

Hmmm... just to clear things up... are you claiming that you are currently not messed up in the head at all or that, relatively speaking, you aren't as messed up in the head as you were?   

[Governor Ronjar]

... Not being messed up in the head is really hindering my ability to progress this one...

Hmmm... just to clear things up... are you claiming that you are currently not messed up in the head at all or that, relatively speaking, you aren't as messed up in the head as you were?   

Yes.

--guv?!!??~%$&***

[Commander La'ra]

Hmmm... just to clear things up... are you claiming that you are currently not messed up in the head at all or that, relatively speaking, you aren't as messed up in the head as you were?   

You're dealing with a man who's noble knight, on a long ago game of D&D reacted to this line:

"They took the Princess and escaped toward the east!"

With this one...

"Then I shall go west!  To head them off."

[Governor Ronjar]

Larry....I could have non-gay sex with you right now...you just saved this story from the trash-heap!

--thu guv! [but not in a gay way...]

[Commander La'ra]

Glad to be of service, in a very non-gay, manly way.

[Czar Mohab]

One read, about 6 to go...

Jeez, I've fallen behind.

This is one of those mystery tours through the Guv's secret brain parts, methinks. I doubt that pneumonia or drugs were ever that involved, but more of a catalyst to get it going.

Not really sure how anyone could have missed the Buzzard, the description was well enough; but I can see the resemblance to something not Klingon in a very canon-esque way.

Czar "More" Mohab

P.S. Please?

 

[Scottish Andy]

Liking this. Interesting development for sure: the UnLiving-NotDead. I'd say you need drugs though, to get back in the proper "frame of mind". LDS'll do it. 

Very Lewis Carroll. Give us more!

[Commander La'ra]

LDS'll do it.

According to the Guv, I already did.*nods*

[Governor Ronjar]

For the last month, I have been unable to write a single word on this one.

--guv

[Commander La'ra]

Would more Sir Callamar quotes help?

[Governor Ronjar]

No...tink I require an altered state of mind for this one...

Maybe soon...

--guv

[Hstaphath_XC]

No...tink I require an altered state of mind for this one... Maybe soon...

Isn't it the cold and flu season right now?   

[Czar Mohab]

He probably went out, got himself a flu shot, then cut himself off from all contact from the potentially ill, such as, but in no way limited to, school children and the elderly. On top of that, for fears of being ill, has possibly also disconnected internet from his computer for fear of a virus... Drugs on hand from last year's illness have expired, and desired effects have been nullified by age, but simultaneously replaced with effects that are just a little more "funkadelic"...

Meaning there's a high probability he's locked in a padded room somewhere, with nothing but an imaginary PC and a lot of self hugs...

Czar "Or maybe not," Mohab

[Governor Ronjar]

Funny guys.

No, no padded rooms...yet. Don't know when or if I can finish this one. I've completed a couple other stories since this one, though. So...I'm not dead yet. Just didn't see a whole lot of activity here for a while and went on to do other things for a bit.

Supposedly, my newer works will be posted on Andy's SB 23 site. But, last I looked...it was devoid of new activity.
 
I'll be back around.
--rog

[KBF-Frankk]

hail, it's stite the time forgot?

bump to front   

[Captain Sharp]

Hmm, nice. In all the time I have been away from this site, I have actually LOST this one. For whatever reason, switching betwen old computer and new, I did not/could not/forgot to/lost this file.

Just reread it. Might be one of my favorite things that I've ever written. Need to finish it. Thing is, I know I wrote far past the last scene posted here. I will check my back up discs again, against all hope.

--rog (aka, The Guv!)

[Hstaphath_XC]

We can only hope... otherwise, that's just shameless teasing right there.   

[Commander La'ra]

Durrr.

[Captain Sharp]

Hmmm... None of my many backup discs have this particular story. I know I had doubts about finishing it, so maybe I never DID back it up...

But that's ok. I can just pick up from where THIS one leaves off and finish her up. Prolly be better that way anyway.

--Guv

[KBF-Frankk]

bump, waitint for the end 

[KBF-Frank]

bump, waitint for the end 

Hail ¡¡¡¡¡, still waiting for the end. 

[Captain Sharp]

I suppose I'm waiting for the right mood. Haven't wrote Trek in a year, now.

[KBF-Frank]

bump, waitint for the end 

Hail ¡¡¡¡¡, still waiting for the end.