Topic: Fearless: Wide Black Yonder

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

OK, just got around to rereading this one from the beginning as well. Unfortunately, I can't be as effusive in my praise as I was for Shake Up. It's not a bad story by any means, mind you. I enjoyed the interaction between the Starfleet crew and the Nirophians, particularly the Nirophians' varied reactions to the Starfleet presence. It's only natural some of them would be suspicious if their prior experience with offworlders was with Klingons.

However, there are a couple reasons it doesn't get as high a grade from me as Shake Up did. First, the crew didn't really grab me the way Oshima's crew did. The most interesting character to me was Murdoch, and unless I'm missing something, she doesn't seem to be a primary character. Second... either Starfleet Academy has the best engineering school that ever was and ever will be, or Starfleet engineering standards are quite low, because it seems like in every damn Trek story I read, the engineer has the ship working at above 100% efficiency. Every engineer in Starfleet can't be a Montgomery Scott in training, you know. It doesn't really detract from the quality of the story, of course, but it is a little annoying. That's not a dig at you specifically; I see it in a lot of other people's stories as well, and I admit I've even done it myself a time or two.

[Scottish Andy]

Read it.  Liked it.  You have tension in your stories that most star trek stories do not.  (even, maybe especially, the TV shows).  More of a BSG-type of tension if you ask me. This makes me not want to read the stories until they're completed.  Does that make sense?  I hate worrying about what's going on in between updates.

Thank you, Rommie! I am glad the story is engaging you. I never really thought about the tension aspect; perhaps I need to re-read it. I did complete this a while back and only lost interest in posting here when there were no comments forthcoming, so I should refresh myself on the finder details. Where do you see the tension? In the intercrew relations? Starfleet-Nirophian relations? Or just infused into the story scenario as whole?
And yes, it makes perfect sense. I have to consciously restrain myself from watching a TV marathon and doing nothing else that evening for a good TV show like 'Spooks' or 200s 'Dr. Who', or the first season of 'Heroes' (off the top of my head). It makes me fee l really good that you have this feeling from reading my stories. Replies like this make me want to post more, so... watch t his space. Well, perhaps the next one. 

OK, just got around to rereading this one from the beginning as well.

Kieran, thanks for the review! It warms my heart that you care enough to comment. And now that there is a negative review, I find myself having to defend/explain myself... 
I'm glad you like the Nrophians. They are my friend Ady's creation, but as Larry did with the Illustrious crew, I fleshed them out with many a long talk with Ady to get the direction he wanted for them. I even consulted the self-same Larry on the Nirophians too!
It does look like you really enjoy what I call the "TOS-style" character interaction, where the characters bicker openly -- though mostly good-naturedly -- amongst themselves, over the more "TNG-style" interaction where people are being less confrontational. It is amusing that they are inverted in this case, with the TNG crew espousing non-TNG attitudes and vice versa. This is deliberate. I wanted to write a TNG story with them having TNG mindsets, but by  having the first mission as a controversial one you're seeing these people at their most passionate. As for Fearless here, this is the changeover point for the Feds, changing from Kirk-era attitudes to the Picard-era attitudes, and this is a first step.
So, it seems like I am getting it right but its just that the bland, early TNG is not your cup of tea.
As for the engineers... yeah. Fearless is one of the Queens of the Fleet; in a larger Federation, one of only 25 Excelsiors. As such, they attract the best and brightest (and some might say, blandest ). Akyazi, on the other hand, is one of a small class of mostly unseen ships, with an eclectic crew.

Well, keep reading all; perhaps they'll grab your attention down the line. Feel free to comment!

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

It does look like you really enjoy what I call the "TOS-style" character interaction, where the characters bicker openly -- though mostly good-naturedly -- amongst themselves, over the more "TNG-style" interaction where people are being less confrontational. It is amusing that they are inverted in this case, with the TNG crew espousing non-TNG attitudes and vice versa. This is deliberate. I wanted to write a TNG story with them having TNG mindsets, but by  having the first mission as a controversial one you're seeing these people at their most passionate. As for Fearless here, this is the changeover point for the Feds, changing from Kirk-era attitudes to the Picard-era attitudes, and this is a first step.
So, it seems like I am getting it right but its just that the bland, early TNG is not your cup of tea.

*nods* Yeah, you got it. With the exception of a few very good episodes('Conspiracy' and 'Contagion' are a couple of my favorites, and there were a few other solid episodes in the mix as well) the first two seasons of TNG were equal parts boring and annoying to me. However, your explanation does make sense - the transition had to happen somewhere, and so far you seem to be doing a pretty good job of showing it. There's still a hint of the old 23rd century attitudes among the crew - it's hard to imagine one of Picard's officers building an illicit still on the Ent-D, for example - but the senior staff all seems in line with the newer priorities, and that also makes sense. The Federation can be pretty image-conscious, and they wouldn't staff one of their best ships with a bunch of reactionary old dinosaurs.

 But yes, I do prefer the TOS style of interaction. I know the 24th century Federation is supposed to be the next best thing to utopia, and people aren't as contentious as they used to be, but the TOS style just seems more... real.

As for the engineers... yeah. Fearless is one of the Queens of the Fleet; in a larger Federation, one of only 25 Excelsiors. As such, they attract the best and brightest (and some might say, blandest ). Akyazi, on the other hand, is one of a small class of mostly unseen ships, with an eclectic crew.

I see your point, and I admit I might have failed to take this into account when I was thinking up my critique. Naturally Starfleet wouldn't settle for second-rate engineers on one of their finest front-line ships, or a plodder who would be satisfied with the minimum expectations. However, while I will concede it makes perfect sense for your story... it doesn't make it any less of a peeve of mine. It's certainly not a dealbreaker, though. I'll continue to be reading.

[Commander La'ra]

The 'over 100 percent efficiency' might also be the product of conservative engineering.   IE: U.S. Fleet Boats in World War II routinely dove deeper than their rated test depth, sometimes by a 75 percent margin.  The test depth was the 'every one of these can do this', while the actual crush depth would likely vary by the boat.

So the engineer squeezing more out of the Fearless could simply be a case of the engineer getting more than the 'average' engineer (according to the ship designer) would be expected too and using the machinery closer to its actual potential.

[Scottish Andy]

In the immortal words of Pete Tong: "We continue."

Chapter Seven

Sheltarah and Frédéric followed Mohad and his aide Isatar out into the lush gardens that stretched out behind the governmental building. The profusion of greenery, colourful flowers, small animals, and birds was a welcome relief from the beige monotony that was desert colouring. Sheltarah was impressed by the scale of the parkland and told her host as much.

Mohad smiled as he accepted her compliment and told her, “It took many ten-spans of careful nurturing for this garden to flourish as you see it now. This was after a five-span of very meticulous planning to ensure no harm was done to the local – if sparse – ecosystem, and to ensure that all the species of flora and fauna could and would co-exist in Harmony.” He paused a moment to truly look at the garden and added, “This place is now over three hundred-spans old and lovingly cared for by people who competed for the privilege.”

A native of her homeworld’s northern latitudes, with its many snow-choked ice fields and underground metropoli, Sheltarah was duly impressed with this place and the effort it had taken to create it. Frédéric, native of the Earth-like New-Paris colonies and thus used to lush European-like forests, seemed impressed that such a park had been brought forth in the middle of a desert.

“Captain, you wanted to know more about us as a culture, as a society, and as a people. Well,” he said, gesturing at the lovingly crafted and tended Nature laid out before them, “this is who we are.”

They all took a moment to appreciate it, but in amongst the wide pathways wandering through the profusion of greenery Sheltarah again noted a sparseness of actual people. I asked to know about Nirophians and their planetary leader brought me here and said “this is us”, she mused. Perhaps the lack of people here and in the courtyard is also an indicator of social attitudes – and an unintended one at that? Nature worshippers who take great care and effort to preserve their planet yet discriminate against their own people – and don’t let their garden planet be spoiled by anything, and especially their own kind?

“Rukah Mohad, this is a beautiful park. I am always pleased to see such natural beauty, and I avail myself of our ship’s arboretum whenever I feel the pressures of command weighing too heavily on me,” Sheltarah shared. “Is this place a similar safe haven for your government workers? A sanctuary to escape the pressure, to be soothed, to commune with nature and restore your inner balance?”

Mohad pursed his lips slightly, and Sheltarah realised that she’d said and assumed a lot in her opening statement. If he were to merely answer “No”, she’d be left feeling very foolish.

Fortunately she had read the situation correctly. Mohad answered, “Yes, Captain. I often find myself here during or after a particularly trying day but just as often I come here merely to remind myself of why I am here, in this place, in this role.

“I am Kishar’s Steward of Her Chosen People – the People of the One True Faith. I am here to ensure that all the people of this world, and now visitors to her as well, do not harm her so that she may continue to nurture her People for all the generations to come. For all the generations there will ever be.

“It is a heavy responsibility, and I do not take it at all lightly,” he all but intoned liturgically.

Sheltarah nodded seriously. “The arrival of the Klingons must have made that very difficult.” She suddenly felt herself on the receiving end of a sharp stare, with Mohad trying to determine what she intended or sought by raising the Klingons so soon.

“Their arrival was of course before I was born. Indeed, it was before even my father’s father was born. It was only after the… Klingons left that I assumed this role,” Mohad told her, his even tone shaking very slightly at their exploration of this topic. Sheltarah even heard the hesitation he apparently couldn’t help when saying “Klingons”. She was again struck by the impression that the hesitation was not emotionally induced but caused by Mohad’s habitual use of another term for the Klingons.

“If I may ask, how did you become Rukah, Your Holiness?” she asked delicately.

“It is no secret how our government works,” Mohad replied, refraining from the shrug one would have expected with such a dismissive phrase. “The Council of Guardians selected me from among them as their leader, and thus the leader of our planet. The selection is made based on a candidate’s learnedness, wisdom, patience, personal adherence to the letter and spirit of The Faith, and is thus judged for their suitability in leading The Faith into the years ahead.”

Sheltarah surreptitiously checked that her tricorder was still running. As previously agreed with the rukah, she was allowed to record their meeting for the Federation’s now rapidly growing database on the Nirophians. “How are the Guardians themselves selected, Rukah?”

“From amongst their peers, by their peers, in much the same manner,” Mohad replied briefly, and gestured to a different path through the park. Sheltarah took up his invitation and started walking along the new path, both their aides following on in their wake.

Sheltarah reminded herself that, much as she wanted to know a lot more about Mohad’s government, how it was run, and how they ran their planet, she had detailed her historian and sociologist to that task. It was time to get back on track.

“Thank you, Rukah, for answering these questions. I do find myself distracted by my interest in how you govern your people. However, I had meant to ask you about your people specifically,” Sheltarah stated, re-directing the conversation, then realised she had no clear way of continuing. She couldn’t just come out and ask, How do your people live? How do they address their grievances? How do you decide who you discriminate against? How do you choose who gets a tattoo and who doesn’t?

Except that she could do exactly that. Well, with that last part, at any rate.

“Your people are defined by their faith, safeguarding nature and giving thanks for such bounties and gifts as your planet provides, dedicated to living in harmony with nature and causing as little disruption as possible—”

At Mohad’s raised hand, Sheltarah fell silent.

“Not ‘as little as possible’, Captain; none. No disruption at all is tolerated,” he told her, almost primly.

“But Rukah, your cities, your roads… your hydro-electric dams—” Sheltarah started, but again was interrupted by Mohad, though gently, as a teacher to a student.

“Many of these things you mention were in place before The One True Faith united our planet. It would be the utmost in blind folly and foolishness to tear them down with nowhere else for our people to go, as I’m sure you will agree,” Mohad commented archly. Sheltarah found herself quirking a wry smile at his delivery. “However, many other such things that could be dismantled after the Fall have been, with great care, and Kishar was then able to reclaim through Nature what was hers and at a pace of her choosing. No hurried shortcuts or artificial methods to revitalise the affected areas were used, where haste and insufficient understanding can lead to equally bad or even greater problems in the long term. Also, we are in a continuing process of cleansing our existing city dwellings, integrating them more fully with the surrounding environment where indicated, or disassembling them and replacing them with more harmonious structures and materials.”

Sheltarah, despite her initial misgivings about these people – which were themselves created second-hand through other people’s perceptions – found herself deeply admiring all that Mohad was describing to her. It seemed to her way of thinking to be the best possible method of safeguarding the environment one inhabited by means that were actually practical. It did seem to describe an extreme interpretation that wasn’t practical for all situations, being specifically tailored to a society with no outside concerns, no stellar ambitions, and unlimited time, but this may have been prompted by the so-far unrevealed disaster in their past.

Mohad continued. “Proposals to build any new such things, whether they be settlements, monasteries, power generation sites, methods of inter-city transit, farms, or even gardens such as this one, are carefully studied and vetted over years to carefully catalogue and map out all possible consequences to the environment of such a new site, or a development of an existing one, to ensure that no disruption is entailed in the proposed project. All must be blended harmoniously together so that a balance is maintained between the needs and the responsibilities of Kishar’s Chosen People. Everything from the flight paths of migratory birds being affected by cell phone tower emissions to the natural habitats of the lowliest of Kishar’s creatures being flooded by irrigated fields is assessed and studied and re-drawn until an acceptable balance between all Kishar’s inhabitants is reached. Only then would such a project begin development.” Mohad looked appraisingly at Sheltarah and Daquillon, searching for their reaction to such a philosophy.

From the normally sarcastically ebullient Frenchman he got no discernable reading, but then the experienced security officer was well practiced in giving nothing away to potential adversaries.

Sheltarah looked thoughtful, however. She seemed to be considering his words most thoroughly – and indeed she was – but what she actually thought of this, he could not tell.

The Starfleet captain was deeply into assessing what such a philosophy would do to a society’s rate of progress. It does lead to long-term stability and an unhurried pace of life. If this is actually practiced as has just been preached, it would ensure that their planet remains a garden. But trying to get any kind of installation built on-planet would involve melting glaciers of bureaucracy first and still taking years. It’s a damn good job we don’t need a base on their world!

“Rukah Mohad, I feel I must express my admiration for such a method – no, such an attitude towards planetary development. All too often, ill-considered or necessarily rushed developments on many of our homeworlds has led to ecological disasters and even collapses that are only reversed after decades or even centuries of hard, dedicated effort. Your attitude, this entire philosophy, prevents such things from ever happening. Or at worst, renders their likelihood infinitesimally remote. The Federation I am sure would want to examine your own processes for implementing this philosophy with a view towards adopting such processes for new colonial projects.”

Mohad’s expression had run the gamut of emotions during her reply, from pleasure to horror, distaste to haughty approval. “Captain, the phrase ‘ecological collapse’ is more horrific to me than… than…” He floundered, casting about for an analogy with an alien he’d only just met a matter of hours ago. “Than the idea of having your planet and all her people destroyed probably is to you. Hearing of such situations and any phrases describing them is the one thing guaranteed to bring out horror and disgust in the minds of all Nirophians.” He shook his head disbelievingly, still outraged and scandalised to know that Nature – even alien Nature – was being abused so. “That apparently so many of your worlds have gone through such disasters only reinforces my own resolution to keep our interaction with your peoples to a minimum.”

Sheltarah felt as if she’d just phasered her own antennae off. Way to go, Captain! she berated herself. You managed to ensure with that one short speech which you’d hoped would show similarity of history that they see us as the barbarians!

“However, it pleases me that you are apparently learning your own lessons and repairing the damage done. It greatly pleases me that you may learn how to avoid such disasters and disruptions in future from us. I now see the wisdom or your words at our first meeting, Captain. I could not see how your Federation could or would want to learn anything from us, but your seeking of knowledge for finding better ways of doing what you already do, or seeking to change what you do to something else… certainly has its merits.”

At Mohad’s thoughtful stare off into the distance, Sheltarah allowed herself to relax a little. Perhaps it had the intended effect after all, she thought hopefully. In an even tone that held a hint of friendliness, she replied, “Then I am glad that our relationship may turn out to be mutually beneficial after all, Your Holiness.”

“Let us hope that this will be so,” the rukah agreed. “I may devote some time to learning of your peoples’ varied histories after all.”

Their walk around the moderately sized but cleverly arranged park had brought them to a special arrangement at what may have been the centre of the whole park. Sheltarah was startled to find that she recognised the sole plant that made up the whole display. She turned to face Mohad and her eyes also flicked to his aide Isatar for further confirmation.

“Yes, Captain, it is. I see the question on your face,” the rukah told her seriously. “The tattoo on our foreheads – the symbol of our Faith – is the image of the highest form of life on our planet: the Silid, the Flower of Nirophia, the Emissary of Perfection in Nature. The perfection of Nature.”

Sheltarah was sure she’d heard Mohad correctly but wished that she hadn’t. A flower is the highest form of life on the planet? she thought incredulously, before brutally suppressing the follow-on thought that if the Nirophians actually believed this – as was all too apparently the case – then perhaps they were right. This did not elevate the Silid over the Nirophians. Quite the opposite, in fact, she thought distastefully.

Since this flower obviously was the symbol of The One True Faith it would be the worst kind of insult to let these thoughts be deduced, which event would have the most likely outcome of her crew being banished from the planet. Sheltarah locked her attention on the flowers while she controlled her reaction, fighting her own demons and the poison they threatened to unleash. In doing so she took in every detail of the flowers and the way they grew in their bed.

The flowers themselves were a bright, clean, pure white, with large but tapered petals which looked somewhat waxy. Their spread of petals was about a hand-span across and had a central “trumpet” somewhat resembling a Terran yellow daffodil. The stalk was slender but apparently sturdy enough to be holding up such a good-sized flower head, and its leaves were wide, numerous, and also tapered. This part of the flower was a lush, verdant green, and the whole plant stood some seventy centimetres tall.

These flowers did seem to like the company of one another as they grew fairly close to each other, continuing their resemblance to the much smaller daffodil. The larger petal radius of the Silid, however, meant that they were relatively more distant from one another, each plant having a measure of clear space around them.

The Silid apparently did not, however, play well with others, as their garden was entirely devoid of all other forms of plant life. They were almost regal in their aloofness; whereas all other areas of the park that Mohad had walked them through had evidenced a multitude of different plants growing beside and amongst one another – from decades-old trees through tall ferns to tiny fungi – the Silid “enclosure” was stark and almost ruthlessly clear of any competing plant life.

More analogies and similarities? Intended or not? Sheltarah thought seriously, but decided to hold these questions to herself for now. Instead, she decided to query Mohad’s rather remarkable statement. “These flowers are quite beautiful, Rukah,” she told him honestly, all trace of her earlier derision buried deep, “but I admit to puzzlement. For what reason do you consider them to be the highest form of life on your planet?” Over and above the sapient life making this claim, was her unspoken addition to this question, but she was unsure if Mohad would pick up on that or not.

That Mohad did not react negatively persuaded Sheltarah that she’d succeeded in concealing her… “undiplomatic” … reaction. For that she was heartily grateful. She had encountered many belief systems in her time and travels, and the Nirophians’ was by no means the most bizarre, baffling, or abhorrent of them. But in several ways, she was not the right captain for this mission, as once again she had to beat down her demons to treat this man and his society with the basic courtesy all sapients deserved.

“In ancient times several thousand-spans past, the Silid was prized and sought after and fought over for its incredible healing properties,” Mohad told her straight out. “Not only did the use of this sacred plant as an ingredient in healing broths soon cure any ailment of the body, when directly applied to the undersides of bandages over physical wounds the healing of those wounds was greatly accelerated.”

Sheltarah’s eyebrows rose to disappear under her hair. “That’s remarkable!” she told him, intrigued. “This isn’t just ancient myths and folklore?”

“Indeed not, Captain,” Mohad replied, shaking his head slowly. “There are countless records from before the Fall of documented cases by our medical professionals. However, this priceless treasure only grows under precise conditions and in certain environmental regions. It will not grow just anywhere. Many tried. They failed,” he finished grimly. Sheltarah got the impression he grieved for those transplanted Silid that had apparently withered and died. “These conditions and environment you see duplicated before you. As you can see their soil must be kept free of all other plant life, or essential nutrients are diluted or denied entirely to the Silid and its attributes suffer for it.”

“This really is fascinating, Rukah, My botanists, biologists, and medical researchers would love to—” Sheltarah began, but was cut off bluntly by the Nirophian leader.

“None may touch the sacred Silid without being similarly pure,” Mohad stated in a voice of steel that brooked no room for interpretation. “The dedicated volunteers who tend these sacred ambassadors of purity and perfection from Kishar Herself are the most holy of our clerics undertaking their sacred duty. Learned men and women who have studied their scriptures and excelled at their studies for decades, who have taken special oaths and zealously followed the path of the righteous, who undergo special cleansing and purifying ceremonies and rituals, all to gain the highest worldly honour – tending the Silid.”

Mohad continued, hammering this point in deep so that there was no mistaking it’s meaning and making it obvious there was no room for negotiation here. “It is our highest law that no one may harm a Silid – any Silid, in any way – on pain of death, or the most severe form of punishment devisable.”

Sheltarah was instantly incensed – but clamped the lid down tight and gamma-welded it shut before it could leak into her body language or onto her face. I am definitely not the right emissary for this particular diplomatic call, she snarled inwardly, while outwardly only allowing her face to go blank.

Even this much was plenty to alert Mohad. “I realise that this may seem… unduly harsh… to outsiders such as yourself and your crew, Captain Sheltarah,” he told her evenly, making no apology for the beliefs and laws of his own world to their visitor, “but know that this has been our law for some five hundred years. There has not been a case of a Silid being harmed in over three hundred-spans.”

Sheltarah found that – surprisingly – these unapologetic words had their undoubtedly intended effect of placating her and she felt the knot of fury in her guts loosen. “You are correct, Rukah. I do find it ‘unusually harsh’, as you say. However, again as you say, this is your society’s most sacred and treasured entity,” the Andorian zhen managed to offer in return. “It is only proper that you have laws in place to protect it that reflect the value placed upon it.”

“I am glad you understand, Captain,” the Rukah told her with a respectful dip of his head.

“What, specifically, do your laws consider to be harm to the Silid?” she asked, surprising herself again by being genuinely – if morbidly – curious.

Mohad pursed his lips again, and Sheltarah thought it might be a “tell” of annoyance, or a reluctance to discuss something, but the rukah did answer her question.

“Harm is defined as any direct physical impairment to any part of a Silid, such as folding a leaf over, plucking a petal, breaking a stem, or cutting into any part of a Silid. Harm is also defined as doing anything that adversely affects the health of Kishar’s Ambassador. This latter definition is very broad, and covers preventing the Holy Plant getting enough water or sunlight by any means. This covers acts such as sinking a well too close to a Silid bed, or poisoning them through planting incompatible companion plants too close, or allowing your companion animal to acidify a Silid’s soil.”

That last almost brought the ghost of a smile to Sheltarah’s face, but she buried it while considering the rukah’s words. “Those are some very inclusive examples, Rukah Mohad. They would seem to blanket all possibilities.”

“As intended,” Mohad returned seriously. “This law has been refined and updated as circumstances have dictated over the last five hundred years. Also as intended, the deterrence factor prevents anyone from considering actively harming the Silid and invokes a person’s most careful behaviour around them, as well as very careful consideration of indirect consequences to one’s activities in the vicinity of Silid beds.”

Sheltarah mulled that one over for some moments before speaking again. “Well, this covers the Silid’s physical aspects. What of its cultural significance? Beyond being the symbol of your faith, that is,” she amended quickly. “If the Silid is the peak of natural perfection, does its physical characteristics influence your society’s attitudes, mindset, values, and behaviour?” Oh listen to me, she thought with slight self-mockery. The proper military, Klingon-fighting soldier has finally joined the ranks of “New Starfleet”. Lieutenant Lin would be so proud of his captain…

“My, Captain, you are full of questions. Such intense curiosity and yet so little appreciation for the wonder of Nature all around you,” Mohad gently chastised the Federation starship captain.

Sheltarah managed to offer a wry smile, thinking, look what I get for trying to be a cultural analyst. Aloud, she replied, “I’m an explorer, Your Holiness; it is my nature to want to know, to seek out answers. It does not mean that I do not notice or appreciate all this.” She stretched out her arms as she spoke in a gesture that encompassed the park around them.

“That is good to know, Captain, as long as you realise that not all answers are immediately forthcoming,” Mohad returned with a hint of humour. At Sheltarah’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I don’t think I fully understand what it is you are asking of me. Perhaps it is because I have been raised, educated, and have lived with the holy scriptures guiding me that I do not see what you are asking for. Perhaps it would be better answered by another. Or perhaps your translation device still needs the assistance of your crewman.”

Remembering that Austin and Lin were undoubtedly pursuing something along these lines as they spoke, Sheltarah nodded. “Perhaps. I often find that it is only after asking the first round of questions that you discover what the questions you really wanted to ask actually are.”

Mohad looked uncomprehending, but Sheltarah merely smiled and moved on without further clarification. Trying a different tack, she asked, “Rukah Mohad, forgive my ignorance of your social mores if I now ask an indelicate question, but I am curious about the tattoo of the Silid that everyone I’ve seen has on their forehead. I see now that it is a symbol of your faith, but I would like to know if all Nirophians have or obtain or earn it, and how they would obtain or earn it if this is the case. Or are there Nirophians who do not follow The Faith?”

Sheltarah observed what on Mohad was a violent reaction to her question. Not only did he purse his lips but a frown creased his forehead. The Starfleet Captain’s instincts practically jumped up and down and yelled at her on seeing this, and she knew she’d hit on a topic that would reveal much of the information on Nirophia that the Federation actually needed – and that Mohad would be neither eager nor happy to reveal it.

Kishar’s Steward of Her Chosen People opened his mouth and took a deep breath to begin his answer—

—and chirped like a Starfleet communicator.

Sheltarah suppressed a sigh, then tensed up. On one hand it was just typical timing, an interruption just as she was getting to the meat of the conversation – but on the other hand her crew knew what she was doing and so they’d only interrupt if it was very important, especially with the very capable Faris Khaleel to go through first.

Offering an apologetic smile, she told Mohad, “My apologies for the interruption, Rukah. My crew are attempting to contact me. May I?”

“Yes Captain, please proceed,” he replied, his tone giving nothing away but still finding it unusual for an alien to be asking his permission to do anything.

With a nod of thanks she stepped away and tapped her combadge. “Sheltarah here. Go ahead.”

“Commander Faris here, Captain,” her XO identified himself, sounding tense. “We’ve got an emergency situation. A Federation freighter is being attacked by Romulan battlecruisers.”

[Scottish Andy]

Since people seem to be returning to the forum and it is enlivening again, I thought I'd make my own contribution. So without further ado, here is the final chapter.

Chapter Eight

Faris Khaleel had been enjoying a quiet shift on the bridge, catching up on his paperwork while his captain and their science team was on the surface, but all that came to a crashing halt when Lieutenant Paochinda suddenly leaned in and started working his board with intense concentration.

“Commander Faris, we’re receiving a distress call!” the Thai man announced urgently.

“Put it up, Lieutenant,” the XO ordered.

“Audio only, sir. Playing now.”

“This is Master Shalloch of the Tellarite freighter Griwald hailing any Federation starships in range! Two D-7-type warships have decloaked in front of us and are demanding we stop and let them board us! Our location is in the Nirophia Sector, section eighteen. We’re in the Corridor and nowhere near Romulan or Klingon space. They have no right to stop us so we’re not stopping!”

“Mr. Paochinda, is the Griwald a legitimate ship in these sectors?” Faris asked evenly.

“Yes, Commander,” the comm officer responded a second later. “This ship is a regular visitor to Aljetarius. Data up on screen two.”

A quick look was all it took to confirm his words. “Yellow Alert. Hail the Captain,” he told the comm officer. Turning to their ship operations officer, he ordered, “Mark, have the shuttle bays warm up both a warp and an impulse shuttle for immediate launch; we may be leaving our team on-planet. Also, warn Transporter Room One to expect the captain and possibly the whole landing party, in case we are not leaving them behind.”

“Aye Sir,” the Englishman replied and began purposefully working his console.

“Plasma torpedo launch! They’re firing on us!” Shalloch’s outraged and frightened voice broke in again. “Mayday, mayday, ship in distress! This is the Tellarite freighter Griwald, under fire from two Romulan battlecruisers! Any ship in the region, please respond! We need help RIGHT NOW!”

“I have the captain, Sir,” Paochinda reported.

“Commander Faris here, Captain,” he told her in a tense voice. “We’ve got an emergency situation. A Federation freighter is being attacked by Romulan battlecruisers.”

“The ship checks out?” she asked.

“Aye Sir. She’s a sector regular with a crew of twenty-three.”

“Give me twenty seconds then beam me up with Mr. Daquillon. Captain out.”

“Get me L’Trell,” Faris ordered next. No maintenance had been scheduled and he’d not been informed of any sudden need for it, but it never hurt to check.

Paochinda nodded and moments later the chief engineer was online.

“Korta, make sure the engines and reactor are ready to go instantly if not sooner. We’ve got an emergency,” Faris told him.

“We’re ready now XO. We’ve not been diddling behind your back,” the Caitian told him good-naturedly.

“Glad to hear it, Commander. Prepare to go to high warp once the Captain is back aboard.”

“Understood. Engineering out.”

Less than ten seconds later their captain stepped out of the port turbolift, just forward of the bridge communications station. “Let’s hear that distress call, Lieutenant,” Sheltarah ordered, her voice hard.

“They’re still transmitting, Captain. On audio now,” Paochinda replied.

A wash of static issued forth as stray radiation – probably from the weapons fire – disrupted the signal, but then a gruff voice broke through the aural hash. “…repeating, this is the Tellarite freighter Griwald, under attack by Romulan warships! Location is Nirophia Sector, section eighteen. We are clearly in the Corridor and outside of both Romulan and Klingon space, but are being fired upon by D-7-type warships with plasma weapons! We’re making a run for it at warp six, but we require aid from any vessel in range!”

Khaleel looked at his captain, face grim as a series of explosions tore through the audio, only subsiding several seconds later. The Tellarite’s voice came back, his fury and fear evident. “They’re playing with us for sport! There’s two of them and we’re a lone merchant ship! If they wanted us dead one shot could do it. That last hit took out our warp nacelles. We’re stranded! To any Federation or allied ships in range, we need urgent assistance!”

Sheltarah snapped out orders left and right. “Ops, drop a warp shuttle out of the bay for our team on the planet and brief its commander on our situation so they can answer questions.”

“Aye Sir,” Mark responded and began talking through his own intercom.

Hitting open a ‘com channel to Engineering, Sheltarah stated, “Engineer!”

“Here, Captain,” Korta L’Trell’s throaty rumble came back instantly.

“We’ve received a distress call. Prepare for emergency warp on my order.”

“Standing by, Sir.”

“Mr. T’Serris, lay in a course for section eighteen and give me an ETA at emergency warp speed,” she ordered next.

“Course laid in, Captain. Arrival at closest border in two-point-three-seven hours,” the soft-spoken Vulcan replied immediately, having anticipated her orders.

“Very good. Prepare to go to warp.” Hitting the all-call button on her chair’s control panel, she announced, “This is the Captain. Secure the ship for emergency warp speed. Two Romulan warships are attacking a Federation-registered merchant ship. Captain out.”

“Hail them?” Faris asked.

“No. If the Romulans are monitoring Griwald’s transmissions I don’t want to let them know we’re coming so they can prepare a surprise for us,” Sheltarah told him briefly. “If they think no one is coming they may continue ‘playing’ and give us the time we need to get there.” Returning her attention to her Chief of Ship Operations, she asked, “Well, Mr. Stanhope?”

Lieutenant Commander Mark Stanhope’s usually chipper English accent was somewhat strained as he replied, “Shuttle To’dai lifting off now, Sir, under the command of Lieutenant Popejoy,” he stated, watching a visual of the shuttle bay on his console. Five seconds of silence later he reported, “Shuttle is clear of our warp field limit, Captain. We are free to depart.”

Addressing her helm officer, she ordered, “T’Serris, warp speed now.”

The Vulcan tapped the control on her board and less than two minutes from receiving the distress call the massive Excelsior-class starship was hurtling through space towards the besieged freighter.

*****

Two hours later, Commander kar-Tachek announced, “Captain, I have the Griwald on sensors.”

Khaleel’s eyes widened. “It’s still there? Are they in one piece?”
Narumba replied, “Yes Commander. Its warp nacelles have been wrecked but life support is still fully functional and I’m reading the ship’s full complement of twenty-three life-forms alive and strong.”

“No immediate danger to the ship’s crew then.” Khaleel breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alter course to rendezvous. Indications of Romulan presence?” Sheltarah asked sharply.

“No Sir,” Narumba responded. “If they are still there, they are cloaked.”

“Mr. Paochinda, hail the Griwald. Find out what happened to them.”

“Aye Sir.”

Faris moved in close to his captain and spoke in low tones. “So what happened here? Two D’Vorix-class ships out for a little target practice but not wanting to provoke a response from the Federation? Yet another ‘isolated incident’?”

Sheltarah clenched her teeth. “Unless the crew of the Griwald can let in some light, this might remain shrouded in darkness forever,” she muttered angrily.

“I have Master Shalloch of the Griwald, Captain,” Paochinda spoke up.

“On screen,” Sheltarah ordered, and both she and her XO directed their attention to the screen. “Master Shalloch, I am Captain Sheltarah of the Federation starship Fearless. We received your distress call and will be there in twenty minutes. Can you tell us what happened to you and where the Romulans are?’

“Sheltarah, we are so glad to hear from you! Our sensors are down, we didn’t see your approach. Quickly, lock a tractor beam on us and tow us out of here!”

“Shalloch, we’re still twenty minutes distant from you, but be assured we will do exactly that once we arrive. Can you tell us more about what happened to your ship? Do you have sensor logs you can send us?” she repeated, unsurprised at him not really paying attention to the words of her greeting.

“I’ll have my sensor chief assess our memory banks, Captain. We’ve been badly mauled over here. I’m just very glad to see you. There’s been no trouble on this route for months and we didn’t think Starfleet had any other ships in the region. We thought – after the Romulans left – that we’d be stranded out here for days or weeks,” the unusually amiable Tellarite told her in gruff but obviously relieved tones.

“The Romulans just shot you up and left?” she asked in return.

“It doesn’t seem like them, and yet it does. It’s very odd,” he agreed. “Transmitting what sensor logs we have now, Captain.”

“Thank you. If you could also forward your needs in other areas we can begin preparations for our arrival,” Sheltarah requested. “We’ll go over what you send us and get back to you.”

“Understood. Griwald out.”


The Fearless dropped from warp at yellow alert and, adopting a cautious, defensive posture, approached to tractor beam range of the crippled freighter.

“Full sensor scan of the region please, Commander kar-Tachek,” Sheltarah commanded. “If there are still Romulans close by I want to know it, preferably before they decloak around us.”

“Underway, Captain,” the Arkenite scientist replied in her oddly-echoing electronic voice.

“Mr. Frunzeti, use the tactical array to scan the Griwald and give me a structural analysis. Can we tow her at both impulse and warp speeds without having to reinforce anything?” she ordered next.

“Understood Captain,” Teodor’s monotonously deep voice rumbled back.

“Anupong, get me Shalloch again please.”

Moments later the stout Tellarite’s features graced the main viewer. “An Excelsior-class, huh?” he stated appreciatively. “I wasn’t aware of any in this area, but I guess this explains why you got here so quickly.”

Sheltarah hid a grimace. I’m glad he regards nearly three hours as “quickly”, she thought with some chagrin, but he’s right in that respect. If we hadn’t been here he’d have been left stranded for days – assuming the Romulans didn’t return to finish the job. Aloud, she replied, “We’re assessing your ship’s status now, Master Shalloch. I agree with wanting to get you out of this area as quickly—”

Sheltarah was cut off by the sudden blaring of the Red Alert klaxon and she swung around to her science officer.

“Cloaking effect! Ships decloaking at 045 mark 274 and 240 mark 5!”

“Full impulse! Evasive pattern Kirk-Gamma Seven! Arm all weapons and prepare to repel boarders!” Sheltarah immediately barked out, cursing herself for not being paranoid enough to maintain a Red Alert as the bridge crew jumped to obey her orders.

Teodor spoke next, voice hard but still employing his trademark monotony. “Two Romulan D’Vorix-class battlecruisers, Sir, both positioned outside of our torpedo arcs. Both are fully armed and shielded.”

“A trap,” Khaleel stated flatly. A Romulan-built version of the ubiquitous Klingon K’t’inga-class battlecruiser, he knew that Fearless could defeat two of them in a fair fight, but as had just been proven again the Romulans never fought fair. It would take time to arm all their weapons and get moving, and in that time the two Romulan warships could badly weaken or even collapse their shields.

However, even as the Fearless strained to overcome her million and three-quarter metric tons of mass and accelerate out of the kill zone, an unexpected announcement came from one of the bridge crew.

“Captain, the Romulans are hailing us,” Lieutenant Paochinda stated, surprise colouring his words.

Not wasting a second Sheltarah snapped, “On screen.”

The image of a short, squat, beady-eyed Romulan male in typical military garb appeared on the main viewer. Perhaps surprisingly, there was no look of smug superiority on his face and when he spoke he seemed somewhat tense. “Federation battleship Fearless, there is no need for such strenuous moves,” he began, holding very still in his command chair. “Having our weapons fully armed was but a precaution on our part; perhaps, in light of your reaction, an overzealous one,” he admitted carefully. “We are not here to offer battle.”

Still not countermanding her last orders, Sheltarah’s violet eyes narrowed at her opposite number as her ship creaked around her under the strain of the corkscrewing climb out of danger. “Decloaking fully armed after attacking a civilian ship is not the accepted interstellar manner of offering a friendly greeting, either,” she shot back, the ruthlessly controlled tone of her words an indication of the height of her fury.

“True, true. A miscalculation on my part, Captain; an overzealous precaution, as I stated. If you will cease your manoeuvres and disarm your weapons we can converse in a less tense atmosphere,” he offered.

“So you can bracket my ship between your weapons again?” Sheltarah shot out accusingly. “I think not.”

Perhaps feeling as if he was gaining the upper hand since the Federation ship hadn’t actually opened fire on his ships yet, the Romulan answered in a more relaxed manner. “Captain, if we had wished to fire upon your vessel we would have done so already. If you… settle down… we can move on.”

“You’ve already fired on and stranded a Federation-registered civilian ship full of Federation citizens. You’ll forgive me if I do not accept your assurances,” the Andorian replied flatly. “If you are not here to offer battle it is you who will disarm your weapons and fall back from the freighter, or I will open fire on you.”

The Romulan actually looked as if he blanched at the cast rhodinium certainty in her voice. He recovered quickly and his “Oh, very well, if that will satisfy you,” was convincingly annoyed and condescending, but Sheltarah knew she had the upper hand now.

Nodding to Anupong to mute the audio, she turned to Khaleel and said, “If he actually backs off it looks like he may be under specific orders.”

“And engaging a Federation starship and escalating this into a full-blown interstellar incident apparently exceeds these orders,” Khaleel agreed.

“Captain, the Romulan ships are pulling back from the Griwald and are disarming their heavy weapons. Their disruptors are still armed and excess energy is being channelled into forward shield reinforcement,” Teodor reported.

Sheltarah almost smiled at the profound surprise in her taciturn tactical officer’s voice, but suppressed it and instead ordered, “Mr. Faris, ensure the safety of the Griwald and its crew. Place us between the Romulans and the Griwald. Prepare to drop the aft shield, pull the merchant ship in under our fantail and secure it there with tractor beams, and have the transporter rooms beam the merchant crew aboard once their ship is secure within our shield envelope.”

“Understood, Captain,” her XO acknowledged her and began relaying these orders to the appropriate people as Sheltarah once again turned her mind to the Romulan problem. “Now then, let us find out what is staying their hand. Restore audio to the Romulans, Mr. Paochinda,” she instructed. Once the channel was re-opened, she told the so-far anonymous Romulan, “You will now identify yourself and your reason for attacking Federation shipping.”

Having crossed swords with the Romulans several times in the past Sheltarah was quite certain she could see embarrassment warring with fury on his face. Okay, this is going to be good, but I’d better not push him too hard or he might just attack to save face – and there are two of them.


Commander Tafv tr’Amalek stared at the auburn-haired Andorian captain from behind coal-clack eyes that he hoped were concealing his acute embarrassment at having overplayed his hand. The appearance of the advanced Federation battleship had rattled him and in attempting to secure the upper hand against it he’d instead apparently convinced her captain she had to make a fight of it.

Fleet Intelligence had most assuredly mated with a Klingon on this mission. Unless Starfleet had been foolish enough to send in one of their bumbling science vessels/spy ships, the only ships supposed to be in this region were Miranda or Constellation class.

So now here he was, supposed to be “delivering a message” to the Federation from the Senate without causing an incident that resulted in a formal protest or a more aggressive stance from Starfleet. The threat implicit in the firepower of his two battlecruisers would have been enough against their expected opposition but was just barely enough on two mobile platforms to overcome the single behemoth before them now, if their individual ships could survive long enough to deliver a co-ordinated attack.

But I am not here to fight, he reminded himself, trying to set aside his tactical mindset for a more strategic one. Addressing his opposition, he refused to identify himself and focused on his own directives.

“Captain, once again the Star Empire notes that the Federation extends the tentacles of its territory and its insidious influence all around the periphery of our borders. The Star Empire can rarely pick a direction to look outward without seeing the flag of the Federation or the warp signature of one of its starships spoiling the view,” Tafv stated pointedly, pinning her with a look as he warmed to his speech.

It helped that he personally believed it to be 100% true.

“This so-called ‘Nirophian Corridor’ of yours is a perfect example. Soon, through this contrivance, you will expand your influence to the space beyond our frontiers to anti-spinward – what you call the ‘Beta Quadrant’ – and close off our own avenues of expansion. If we as a people are to remain the masters of our own destiny, the Star Empire cannot allow this to go unchallenged.

“So we are serving notice to your Federation, Captain. The Rihannsu Star Empire will no longer stand by and allow the gradual but inexorable encroachment of your territory against ours, pinning us in place and hemming us in on all sides.

“You would do well to respect our wishes in his matter.”

Regally turning to his own comm officer, he nodded at her to close the channel and the screen returned to his view of the Federation battleship. “Plot a course to Starbase Fourteen at warp five and supply it to our compatriot. Execute when ready.”

“Ie, Riov,” the helm officer acknowledged and began operating his console.

Tafv took a long, hard look at the Fearless – a look tinged with envy. An apt name for such a ship, he considered. The Empire has ships to match her now, but too few and I will not command any of them, he lamented, thinking wistfully of the older Moon Hawk-class heavy battlecruiser and Melak-class Warbird, and the new Ivarix-class prototype being constructed at this very moment. In this previously unimportant sector of the border there had been no need of such vessels, but Tafv knew Starbase Fourteen’s fleet would see significant changes in the near future.

*****

After the still-nameless Romulan closed the channel, his two ships leisurely came to a new heading and flashed into warp speed without even bothering to cloak.

Face hard, Sheltarah ordered, “Stand down from Red Alert but maintain Security Alert. Divert weapons power to the sensors and keep our shields up until we need to lower them. Helm, lay in a course for Aljetarius.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” her crew acknowledged as they set about their tasks.

“Commander Faris, is the Griwald secure?”

Khaleel nodded. “The ship has been locked in place within our standard shield envelope and her crew has been brought aboard and assigned guest quarters on Deck Six. I’ve arranged for a debriefing with them after they’ve settled in.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Commander,” Sheltarah told him, pleased again by her XO’s initiative. “I also want you to call a staff meeting after their debriefing. I want opinions and options.”

“Understood, Captain. Anyone outside the usual suspects you want in attendance?”

“Any Romulan cultural specialists we have on board – make sure Lieutenant Tkeshelashvili is among them – and anyone with a background in astropolitics.”

Faris’ eyes widened. “You’re serious about this.”

The Andorian gestured sharply at the viewscreen, which showed the disabled Tellarite freighter held in place under their fantail. “Our home-breakers seemed quite serious to me, Commander. Master Shalloch was correct; this was nothing like their usual posturing but it was quintessentially Romulan. See to it, Commander. I want to have a complete report and debriefing for Admiral Barragán before we get to Aljetarius.

“Aye Sir. I’m on it.”

*****

An hour later and the Griwald crew were as happy as… well, Tellarites in a mud bath. With their ship being repaired and slightly refurbished by Starfleet engineers and the luxurious guest quarters they occupied on the Fearless, as well as making better time back to Aljetarius than they normally would be under their own power, Shalloch and his crew had practically fallen over each other in their attempts to be helpful during their debriefing. Unfortunately, there was literally nothing else to learn from their assault. The Romulans had apparently waited for the confluence of an easy target and the farthest separation of the local patrol ships before jumping the unlucky Griwald.

Now en route to the so-called ‘Starbase 77’ at a steady warp six and with the requested staff assembled before her in the large conference room, Sheltarah now set the agenda.

“We are here to discuss the message that the Romulans just gave to us and the implications it has for the Federation and the astropolitical landscape as it stands in the present and future, for the purpose of a detailed analysis and options for our superiors,” the Andorian zhen began, sweeping her violet gaze across her crew. “All opinions and comments of a constructive nature are welcomed and will be entertained. Now, for those who have not yet seen it, please give your attention to the wall screen.” She nodded to Khaleel, who tapped a control and started the playback. Once it was over, she gave everyone a minute of silent contemplation to order their thoughts before beginning the brainstorming.

“Impressions?” she asked.

“How sure are we that this can be considered a genuine message from the Romulan government?” Mark Stanhope asked immediately. “This is not the way most governments maintain communications with one another.”

“Very true, Commander, but this is consistent with observed Romulan behaviour,” said Ensign Åke Svensson, his slight Swedish accent elongating his vowels. The ship’s junior contact specialist had been included on the guest list as his superior had been left on Nirophia. “The Romulan government seems quite content to let their ship captains speak for them in diplomatic matters and those of interstellar relationships. Their diplomats only seem to be on station for intelligence gathering purposes or for other governments to make requests of or statements to them. This is entirely like the isolationist and very private Romulan nature,” Åke rounded off his exposition. “I would recommend taking it at face value, and indeed I’ll not be surprised if the Romulan Ambassador to the Federation Council confirms this message when approached. He likely will not volunteer it.”

Those present looked thoughtful at that.

Teodor’s sonorous voice spoke up. “Tactically speaking, the Romulans had complete advantage over us when the revealed themselves. Had they wanted to destroy or capture this ship, or merely test our capabilities in a real battle, they could have done so on no more favourable terms.”

“Would they have succeeded in destroying us?” asked CMO Cao. At the looks she was getting, the slight Chinese woman elaborated, “I only ask to rate their chances for success. If they felt they could not defeat us in battle – having expected a smaller opponent – they might have made all this up as a face-saving matter.”

“A very good point, Doctor,” Sheltarah commented. “Even with that advantage, their victory over us was by no means assured. They might have badly damaged us on the attempt but we could certainly have defeated them, unless they got really lucky with a critical hit through weakened shields.” Turning to her XO, she asked, “Commander, how likely do consider it that the Romulan was just blowing snow at us because he caught a shark instead of a seal in the trap he set?”

Khaleel frowned. “Not very highly, Sir. Consider the elaborate set up, the fact that no one on the Tellarite freighter was even injured in the attack that wrecked their warp drive and trashed their sensors, and then the timescale involved in a Starfleet ship responding to a distress call. They obviously knew some ships were in the region but it seemed to be that he was shaken by us and by how soon we showed up.” Faris shook his head. “No, they were prepared to wait and were concerned for lives lost. This Romulan was definitely under orders.”

“And if he had his own agenda, Sir?” Teodor asked levelly.

“I cannot evaluate that possibility, Lieutenant. We have no way of knowing if this was yet another renegade ship commander until we query one of their diplomats or naval liaisons, or Starfleet Intelligence.”

“And that will be the purview of Starfleet Command or the Federation Council,” Sheltarah stated decisively. “We will proceed on the assumption that he was a genuine representative of the Romulan government. Now, what of his claims?”

“Pure hyperbole,” Stanhope stated dismissively. “The borders observed today were set up in response to their aggression and it sticks in their craw that we beat them back a hundred and fifty years ago and have continued to beat them back every time they cross those borders, either overtly or covertly. We respect Gorn and Klingon territory. We don’t sneak over their borders or travel through their space to stare at the Romulans from the Beta Quadrant, and this new Nirophian Corridor’s emphasis is on trade with the Hydrans and to explore in directions away from the Romulan Empire. Their claims are baseless and self-serving, giving them a pretext to actively interfere with our operations.”

“I don’t know about that, Sir,” Lieutenant Sofiko Tkeshelashvili countered respectfully in her faint Russian accent. The Georgian Anthropology and Archaeology Officer continued, “I can see their point. While the Hydrans are in the opposite direction to the Romulans from Sector 16447, we’re not going to be satisfied with just that, are we? We’re going to explore in all directions, maybe try to forge closer ties with the Lyrans, attempt first contact with the Sha’Kurians and these ‘Nameless Ones’ the Klingons are constantly fighting, and make new friends in the area with the minor species and independent planets. So while the Romulans were exaggerating for obvious effect, they are proceeding from what they see as fact.” At Stanhope’s dismissive snort, Sofiko added, “Let me put it this way: how would we – the Federation – feel if the Romulans were setting up colonies, outposts, Fleet bases, and forging ties with inhabited worlds all around our borders?”

“The situation is not the same,” Stanhope objected firmly. “We have no hostile intentions towards them!”

“Intentions, no. But perception is everything here. Our expansion into an area leads to greater stability and in establishing a presence we prevent or at least give pause to the usual Romulan means of expansion: by conquest.” Tkeshelashvili looked meaningfully around the table. “I’d call that ‘hemming in’.”

“Then they should resort to diplomatic overtures and get over their own innate smug sense of superiority and realise they’re just like the rest of us,” Mark shot back. “We’ve proven it to them time and again that we can outsmart and outfight them so how they still believe they’re destined to rule the galaxy because of an inherent natural superiority is beyond me.”

That caused a few restrained, mirthless chuckles but Tkeshelashvili looked annoyed. “The Romulans have never trusted us – or anyone else for that matter – and probably never will. They also think that everyone else, while inferior, think like them, seeing enemies everywhere and always looking for the advantage. A view that is partially supported by the likes of the Klingons, Mira’Kzinti, Sha’Kurians, etc. We – the Federation – expand more quickly than they do, curbing their natural expansionist ways, and yet have all these peaceful platitudes. So, they think we do nothing but lie and entice and bewitch to gain all these smaller nations which proves their point that we’re untrustworthy.”

“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Faris spoke up, mainly to break up the back and forth between the second and A&A officers.

“Indeed,” Rodrigo Luis da Costa stepped into the discussion. The Brazilian stellar cartographer brought up a 3D holograph of local space over the conference table before continuing. “Looking at it from a purely cartographical perspective, we are hemming the Romulans in. Us, and everyone else, that is. They have the Gorn to coreward, the Klingons to rimward, and the Federation to spinward, which only leaves them the resource poor systems and stellar deserts of the galactic zenith and nadir, and anti-spinward into the Beta Quadrant.” The holo had rotated and zoomed in on the respective areas as da Costa mentioned them. Now focusing on the Beta Quadrant as his explanation continued, Rodrigo stated, “Even in the Beta Quadrant the Romulans are directly competing with the Klingons for territory and resources, fighting skirmishes with the Gorn and Sha’Kurians, and encountering dead worlds and entrenched holdouts from the ISC war a decade ago. Now, with the opening of this corridor to Sector 16447, the Romulans are going to once again start encountering their ancient enemy: us.

“Combined with everything else we’ve gone over here today, if I were the Romulans, I’d be worried too.”

There was a collective pause for breath around the table at those sobering words.

“This is real then,” Faris commented seriously. “If this is how the Romulans are truly viewing the situation, we can expect to run into them a lot more in the future.”

“Yes,” Sheltarah agreed. “And they’re going to be hindering our own exploratory and first contact missions into this region – which they consider to be their own clan gardens – and they’ll start making outright grabs for any planets they can get their hands on, inhabited or otherwise.”

A pall seemed to settle over the officers present as they absorbed this information; it did not make for a shining future of peace and goodwill between the Federation and Star Empire.

“I will need to confirm the veracity of the Romulan commander’s words through Starfleet Command and their own diplomats. Hopefully, this will just be a Romulan with a personal agenda and this is not the direction their government intends to go in.” She swept her gaze across her assembled crew. “Thank you everyone. Your input was most valuable. Dismissed.”

Her new nodded as one and started leaving the conference room. Faris hung back to exchange a few final thoughts with his captain.

“If the Romulans are going to start seriously gunning for us, what is the Federation going to do? Stop all exploratory efforts into the Beta Quadrant?”

“That is an option the Council may have to consider, Commander,” Sheltarah commented sourly. “After all, Starfleet did decommission all the guard stations along the Klingon border after Khitomer, leaving only the main sector starbases and trading base-stations in place.” She sighed, still unable to believe that had actually happened – and still offering prayers to Uzaveh in gratitude that the peace still held with the Klingons. Bringing herself back the present, she added, “There is still the matter, however, of how seriously to take this declaration. It could be mere posturing, designed to intimidate us into backing off.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

Sheltarah met her XO’s blue eyes unflinchingly. “No.”

“And the independent and Prime Directive-protected peoples of the Beta Quadrant?” Faris demanded. “What of their fates? Will we abandon them to the depredations of the Romulans as they pursue their ‘natural expansionist practices’? How many species would we be complicit in the enslavement or extermination of?”

Her XO’s strident questions provoked an equally intense reaction from her own emotions. “Believe me, Commander,” she stated with deadly sincerity, “I’m going to make sure we, Starfleet, and the Federation do everything in our power to head off that precise eventuality.”

Faris relaxed slightly. “I’m glad to hear that, Captain. It does seem we have our work cut out for us though.”

“Agreed, Commander,” Sheltarah responded soberly. “But if there’s anywhere it can be done from, it will be from here. Out on the front line, starting with what is decided on the bridge of this ship.

“And I don’t intend to fail in that responsibility.”

A hard smile graced her XO’s face, backed by a resolution she could see blazing from his eyes. “Then we’d best be about it, Captain,” he stated firmly.

She nodded, an answering smile on her own powder-blue features.

“Let’s get back to the bridge. We’ve got work to do.”

The End

[Grim Reaper]

Very nice Andy, a valid point has been made why the roms do what they do. I really like that. Since this reads as an end of a beginning, gimme more

[Captain Sharp]

Yay! Almost first to commet!

Not sure how constructive said commentary will be,however.

This isn't my favorite of your tales, though this should not betaken as an insult. Much of this story's meat involves the characters talking at length about their objectives and thinking everything through. Which they would,of course, but I felt the officers iritation when there was the complaint about having a briefing about what they DIDN'T know.

This all changes in the last chapter with the distress call leading to a rescue. The scene itself seems to point to something bigger on the horizon, which is promising.

I very much admire the detail on the native civilization and their views on contaminating said culture by contact with peoples like the Federation. More over, I like that there was a marked discrepency between the Klingons' report on said culture and what the people were actually like. Good work, sir.

Odd technical bit: It seemed to take an inordinately long time (in terms of the amount of dialogue given) to get the ship to warp for the rescue. It reminded me of the scene in Spaceballs where the Captain keeps telling the driver to 'prepare to drive', To which Dark Helmet replies "You're always preparing! Why don't you just go?!" Then he's nearly tossed out of the speeder when the driver does just that. Anyway, were you aiming for it to seem that way, or am I the only one who thinks thus? Had a thought you might have been aiming for the 'giant battleship' feel.

Anywho, good tale, my friend. Would like a dose of killin' soon, but I'm a patient man. Keep up the good work.

---Guv

[Scottish Andy]

YAY!!! FEEDBACK!!!! *passes out from rapture*

Grim: Everyone has reasons they consider valid for what they do, even if we don't see that, or don't see them as valid, or what they do is unconscionable to us. And I believe the debate between the Fearless crew members at the end is the very crux of the Federation's Prime Directive problem. What can the UFP actually do when they know that an innocent planet has been conquered? Or is about to be conquered and enslaved? What about if they learn a planet's population has been/is being genocided? This is something I'm going to explore later. I already have a nicely detailed outline, again in collaboration with my good friend Ady Jones.

Guv: Welcome back! Don't worry about me taking offence. I never did with you.   I thank you for your input.
Yes, all the discussion is massive exposition, but also to let you get to know the characters. As well as changing over from the action-oriented Kirk era to the more... restrained Picard era. This story is the latest finished example of a phase of 'character piece' stories I've done (there're more to finish. Or even properly start...) The character interactions are more important than the story itself. I think this is my deep-seated response to all the 'action heavy/plot negligible/character development null' stories and films I've been exposed to. Rest assured, when 'Falklands: Quarantine', 'Kusanagi: Storm One', and 'Cortes: The Villainess' are finished, polished off, and posted, you'll have all that you seek and more.

This story is indeed the beginning of an arc, leading up to the Tomed Incident 5 years hence. This sets the tone for that arc rather well, I think.

I am inordinately pleased that you appreciate the Nirophian data so much. It was exhaustively thrashed out with Ady, as they and their planet are his creation, but between us we turned his outline and our meandering thoughts on them into a fully realised culture. More on them later.

The "prepare for lightspeed' section was indeed meant to be action heavy -- in that a lot of steps are necessary to jump from orbit to max warp and do it safely. I also wanted to showcase what the XO's job is: making sure the ship is ready for the captain's orders. Hence the XO making sure they're not in the middle of stripping out the warp control computer when the captain orders warp speed. My point is that they are in the middle of another mission and they have decisions to make that have to wait for the captain to make them, and that they have to verify the distress call is genuine and that the ship is ready to respond rather than finding out during that it's not. All this takes time, at least that's how I see it in "real life" as opposed to the 'sped up for dramatic purposes' always done on the shows.

Admittedly, it is a bit wordy; just re-reading it there reveals more preparing dialogue than I remember. Something to shave off in the next revision.

Many thanks for your feedback, lads! As you can see I was so desperate for feedback I kinda gushed with my responses.

Hoping for more! And watch out for 'Falklands: Quarantine' coming hopefully as a Christmas present!

[Commander La'ra]

I'll give you some 'whole story' feedback in a couple of days, once I've had a chance to reread from the beginning.

[Scottish Andy]

I'll give you some 'whole story' feedback in a couple of days, once I've had a chance to reread from the beginning.

Still waiting on this, Larry.   

[Commander La'ra]

I once forgot my own name.  Email me to remind me if I don't get to it tonight.

[Scottish Andy]

Laarrrrry...

Stop playing Star Trek Online and read my story!

[Commander La'ra]

Okay, Larry's big-ass review, or at least a version of it, coming up.

Overall:  This is a not a bad story, though it is not your best.

Strengths:  As Rommy mentioned some time ago, there's a very real sense of tension layered throughout the story, at it's best and most tangible in the scenes regarding Niropha.  You made the stress of first contact with a culture that is rather dissimilar from the UFP feel quite real, with characters on both sides convinced of their own 'rightness' while at the same time expecting a regret-spawning misstep at any moment.  You added wonderful detail to the planet...almost more than you did to the ship and her crew...and created a culture that, while obviously drawing on real-world inspiration, seems convincingly alien enough that you still get some of that Star Trek 'isn't that neat' thing going on.  I also understand your desire to create a 'transitional' Starfleet culture, and I feel you did that very well.

Weaknesses:  Your characters talk way too damned much.  They talk in the briefings, they talk when it's time for some expositions, they talk about anything and everything to the extent that it's very easy for the dialogue and what they're saying to blur together into a big mess.  This utterly kills any briskness to the pacing and while it's not a story I dislike, it's also rather hard to keep reading it.  If it were a library book, it'd be one of those thicker ones you get because it looks sci-fi and find yourself having to assign time to read it rather than getting home and eagerly skipping into the bedroom so that you can see what happens next.   

Related, but not precisely the same is how much exposition you use.  You use a lot of word count on telling us this detail or that detail, and while your methods may vary (it may be thoughts in a character head or simply a couple of paragraphs of background information) it could use a lot of streamlining.  To me, this is most jarring when a character is doing this as a passing thought...your characters instantly summarize far too much detail in their heads.

Characters:  I found that I formed some very strong likes and dislikes for characters in this story, which is a good thing.  I have a deep fondness for your Frenchman, as he seems very direct and you actually avoided some of the encyclopedic thought we see in the others with him, even if only by showing us little of his own thoughts.  He strikes me as the type who could care less if someone has a still on board so long as he gets a cut, and would respond to the Chief Engineer's threats and other such with a 'So what, mon ami?  I get my job done, and better than you do.'  while somehow not appearing the least bit a rebel.  That's an odd combination and I like it.

The Captain...well, this is opinion and not criticism, but I actually kinda dislike her.  She's got a stick up her rear end the size of her ship's warp nacelle, doesn't seem to display the foresight and common sense I'd expect of any starship captain (she could've easily got her ass shot off in the Romulan incident, and almost deserved to), and seems to be the type of person that has to have all her socks and underwear color coded and laid in perfect rows.  Her worst trait, to me, is her utter inability to just listen to someone without immediately passing judgement on the statements made and filing it away under a self-imposed idea of what she thinks it means.  She doesn't seem to be capable of letting an entire conversation ease it's way into her head and be considered as a whole, and while we've had 'most people don't think that way' discussions before, the trait seems quite exaggerated with her.

She also takes the 'talks to much' thing to an extreme, with her briefings about having no information.

All that said...and this is important...I buy her as a character.  I don't think she's unbelievable at all;  her characterization is well done, it's just she herself who's unpleasant.  She's my least favorite of your various Captains.  That includes the one on the Jerry Springer ship;  she was kind of a bitch, but she did get things done.

My 'mini' strengths and weakness portion about characterization is thus:  Your captain is drawn well, as is the XO to some degree, though some of the most interesting members of the cast are the ones you spend the least time with, namely the aforementioned security chief and Murdoch.  I'd like to see more of them in the future, since they both created a good impression with very little 'screen time'.  I would like to hear less about the various players analyses of situations and more on their emotions and why they are the way they are, etc.

I know that's difficult in a story about galactic politics, and trying to cram it all in can kill pacing and add unneeded length.  And those factors were not totally absent, I just want more of them.  To that end, I gotta say...there's a lot of folks in this story, and while I successfully kept track of most of them, a tighter focus might've been agreeable.

That said, there's one character we didn't hear enough about who WILL be in every story about this ship, and that's the Fearless herself.  At present she has no personality to me.  Don't file that under criticism, though, as it's fairly true to the TNG 'feel' of things.  The Enterprise-D was little more than a roving plot vehicle, and I can see 24th century Feddie officers looking at it as such.

Plotline:  While overall your characterization is good and your pacing is not so good on this story, I have to say your plotline is more in the middle.

Any one of the major elements of this story...arriving in a new sector and meeting the grumpy locals....first contact with technophobic Islamohippies (there's a combination you don't see every day...) and the subsequent meeting of cultures....the attack on the freighter and the threat by the Romulans...would've made a good story by themselves.  The problem is I almost feel as if that's you should've done;  wrote two or three smaller stories.  The three parts, while related, seem welded together in an odd fashion.

I know all these events are related, of course, and I see that you're setting up the situation in the sector for further stories, I just feel like the goal might've been served better had you portioned the parts out rather than serving them in one massive stew.  I enjoyed all the bits and pieces, but I might've been able to savor their taste more without the other two parts muddying things up.

Summation:  Again, this is far from being a bad story, but I feel it has more 'problems' than most of your other work.  It seems to lack focus, and needs a brisker pace, less exposition (especially through dialogue) and perhaps a little more 'soul'.  It reminds me very much of the slow first episode of a TV series, where the writers are too concerned about setting things up for later that they forget the warmer details now.  On the other hand, you've left us with an interesting situation for the crew of the Fearless, and painted some interesting (if not always sympathetic) characters, so I'm still keen on seeing future installments.

[Captain Sharp]

Damn, there was WAY more meat to that review than I usually get. But, I get reviews more often, so I'll not gripe.

I also  second the above opinions in addition to my own.

--Guv

[Commander La'ra]

Yeah, ask me once a year and I put out more.

[Captain Sharp]

You sound like my wife.

--Guv

[Scottish Andy]

ROFL

Thanks for the MASSIVE review, Larr, it is much appreciated. I'll take it on board for the next one. There's a lot of good stuff in there I can immediately use.