Dawn of Forever, Chapter I-X

[Sonnenburg]

Prologue

Q observed the unfolding of events within the galaxies, a frown upon his face. The Milky Way stood fractured but still quiet for the moment. The Vong here had yet to make their move, and the Oracle seemed to be assessing how to move in the face of her defeat. In the other galaxy, the Vong were reeling from the crushing loss at- Q waved a hand irritably; names given by humans didn't matter, not to the omnipotent. Instead he spoke the final, decisive words that had been long-awaited. "The round is over; pay up."

BOLLOCKS.

"I sympathize," Q said. "It seemed a long shot."

VERY LONG. I HAD HOPED FOR A BETTER SCORE.

"You scored better than most," the Living Tribunal remarked. "I would not complain if I were you."

Death grinned at him, but only because he had no choice. He wasn't used to losing at all. He stroked a cat thoughtfully while he observed a white-skinned girl with black hair and an Anhk around her neck assessing the scores. She looked over at him and he nodded as one professional to another. Their attentions were both quickly drawn away by a giant squid-headed creature that was nibbling on a continent in misery. It would probably go right to his hips.

"Zarquod, that was great!" remarked the boisterous individual in the chair right next to Death's. Death gave him the look an aristocrat gives to party crashers who are allowed to stay, which was the case for the two-headed drunk. Even by the standard of some of the beings present, he was rather short on omnipotence. Very short. Impotence, in fact, came to mind, but his ship had emerged in the middle of the pocket dimension where the contest was observed against all probability, and since this had been declared neutral ground, no one was permitted to give him the heave-ho at the moment. He'd taken to helping himself to the drinks cart and watching the events that unfolded like a very obnoxious theater patron. Death was a professional, but for a moment he hoped that this was a patron of his domain so that he could look forward to shutting him up at some point.

INDEED.

"I like those little robot doodads especially," the right head remarked while the left ordered another drink.

INDEED, Death said again in a neutral voice. He didn't care much for robots. They led to a bit of uncertainty in his work.

"You know, those ones the Borg froods had, the ones that could turn into a giant ring and-" He was cut off by a large being that grabbed him by both throats and lifted him off his chair with a snarl.

"Now now, remember the rules," Q said. The being dropped the coughing drunk back onto the floor and stormed off.

"What's his problem?" he asked with a cough.

HE'S A LITTLE SENSITIVE ABOUT THE R-WORD, Death explained.

"Oh, okay," the drunk said in a tone that said he had no idea what the R-word was, but was going to see if it was written on the bottom of another drink, especially since his last one had so tragically been spilt before its time.

"Brought it on himself," the young female Death remarked. Without looking she reached up and caught the swing of a Pak Protector and, with a slight push, knocked him a light-year away.

“Looks like he had a bit too much to drink,” the drunk observed. “Eyes looked really bloodshot.”

NOT QUITE.

"All right, all accounts have been settled," Q said, "it looks like we're ready for the final round to begin. I believe it falls to you first," he addressed the remark to a tall, curly-haired man who was at the moment on all fours polishing an electronic dog with his scarf. Q cleared his throat loudly, and the man looked up, and gave him a toothy grin.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Yes, you can start the next round," Q said impatiently.

"I can?"

"Yes," Q said. "You are the only one present who has won every single round."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Q said, his tone making it abundantly clear he wasn't enjoying this conversation being drawn out like this.

"Ah, well, a bit of luck I suppose. Look for good things to happen and good things will find you."

"I'll drink to that," the drunk remarked. His other head added a "here-here," and did so.

"Nevertheless," Q said, "we are waiting, Doctor."

"Of course of course," the Doctor said, getting up and brushing his trousers off despite the fact that there was no dirt in the pocket dimension. "Let's keep things interesting, shall we?" he asked with a silly grin. "Let it ride."

[Sonnenburg]

Chapter I

This is the life of Sebastian Skywalker.

There was still the faintest hint of the sunrise taint on the eastern horizon, and the smell in the air of damp from the storm the night before. It's quiet and still, but it won't last long, but for now Sebastian sits in front of his house. He enjoys the solitude, but only as someone who knows it's a brief interruption in the hustle and bustle of his life, with a lovely wife and wonderful daughter to share it. Some days, especially after the rain has come to wash the corruption away, you need to watch the dawn and see to it that the new day has arrived. Each one was a gift - well, not a gift so much as a bit of stolen time, but it was probably nicer to think of it as a gift.

The presence was felt long before she arrived, but Sebastian didn't turn until after he felt a kiss on his cheek. "Good morning, daddy," Morgan said, then turning to watch the sky. "We don't have much time," she finally said.

"Then prep the speeder," Sebastian said. "I'll be along shortly." Minutes passed, then with all things duly prepped the trio set off across the planet's surface until they reached the home of Luke and Annika Skywalker. Most of the other guests had been staying in a nearby hotel, so the celebration was already underway. Food was being prepared under the now cloudless sky in an atmosphere that was just warm enough to counter the cool breeze. Gorren was sitting at the center of a mob of children, telling stories of the glorious battles of his youth. There was a quick all around welcoming for Sebastian and his family before everyone settled back into their various forms of revelry. Luke, as usual, was discussing the Jedi Academy with Jacen Solo, and explaining very patiently and tactfully that the young whippersnapper didn't know what he was talking about. Han and Kilana also tended to talk shop, although the fact that the Vorta woman was using the Falcon for their cargo ventures may have explained Han's constant concern with the business. Overall, however, the air was filled with a sense of relaxation.

Sebastian settled into a chair with a drink and watched the scene. Gorren, much to the chagrin of the children, had finished for now and was helping himself to some food using a reinforced Klingon plate. The sound of disappointment from the young ones caused Annika to emerge from the aether and take a cross-legged seat amongst them; a hush soon descended around the area. Even the older children stopped to listen when Annika told a story, because she had thousands of cultures to draw upon.

"On the alien world of Knidor," she began, "there was a writer named Lindo. His name went down in history because of a certain amazing series of events that transpired millennia after he died. Many had, naturally, read his works, full of flights of fancy most said. However, the flight of fancy that was most significant was his, well, flight of fancy," she said with a laugh, "specifically the flying city of Ohr, as told in Crown of the Heavens. It was richly described and wonderfully conceived, and alone among his works, was the kind of setting that could get the imagination of even the most harsh critic of his writing soaring right alongside it.

"Centuries after he'd written the story, the technology had progressed enough that the vision of the floating metropolis moved from the realm of fantasy to the realm of possibility. Great repulsorlifts held the first city aloft; it was crude, but it seemed to fit a niche in the imagination of the Knidori, because several others were constructed over the following decades. Eventually, on the 1500th anniversary of the publication of Crown of the Heavens, the largest nation-state on Knidor completed an exact replica of Ohr as it was described in the book, down to the tiniest detail.

"Two months later, disaster struck."

"Did the cities fall down?" one of the children asked.

"It wasn't a disaster for the floating cities," Annika explained. "Instead it was the worst calamity the planet had ever experienced. A collision by an errant moon devastated the world; everyone on the surface was killed, along with most of the floating cities. Most... but not all. A few survived the harrowing ordeal and eventually, when their planet settled down, they were able to resettle. They also knew that, had it not been for the vision of Lindo, their entire civilization, their entire species, would have been wiped out. He became an even more celebrated figure in their culture, and the people of Knidor eventually shunned the ground for the flying cities; it seemed ungrateful not to dwell there.

"Eventually the Knidori discovered faster than light travel and met other civilizations, and like many, learned a little of time travel. While they knew the cardinal rule was not to interfere with causality-"

"What's a causality?" another child asked.

"Things happening one after another," Annika said in the hope that was simple enough for the little ones. "Anyway, the leadership of their world felt it only right to show a proper thanks to the being that ensured the continued existence of his people. So eventually, Lindo was brought to the city of Ohr to be thanked personally for all he had done. He was absolutely astonished at what they showed him, and the Knidori beamed to themselves that they had been so able to grasp the vision that Lindo had had. There was, however, only one problem."

"What was that?"

"Lindo hadn't had this vision. Through a minor miscalculation, the author had been plucked from the time before he wrote the story rather than after. It was only to be expected after thousands of years and a minor apocalypse that a few dates might be skewed. After seeing everything, Lindo was returned to his own time, and the vision of the future had so captured his imagination that he was unable to resist writing about the fantastic place in his book: Crown of the Heavens."

"Wait," Morgan said, "if he got the idea for the book from the city, and they got the idea for the city from the book, then where did the idea actually come from?"

Annika smiled. "God, Time, the Force, what have you. Someone or something somewhere knew that there was a thing that was needed, and all it had to do was be plugged into the universe. It didn't need neat, trimmed edges, it didn't need proper causality, it just needed to be in the right place at the right time."

"It's not logical," Morgan said sharply.

"No, it isn't," Annika said. "But the story is still there, and the Knidori have taken their part within the Empire as if nothing had ever happened."

"If the will of the Force can move worlds and show past and future," Luke said, "I don't see why it can't take advantage of a temporal hiccup if it will save a race from extinction."

"Yes, grandfather," Morgan conceded. "But that's a frightening thought."

"We trust in the Force to guide us," Luke offered.

"No, I know that. What I mean is, this was obviously the light side of the Force. If it could save a world from extinction..." Morgan shivered. "What kind of horrors could the dark side unleash?"

The silence spread across the group like a cloud eclipsing the sun. Those with a greater touch of the Force suddenly had some very undesirable images float through their imaginations, but just as quickly things returned to normal. There was no sense in dwelling on potential cosmic influence when there were drinks available.

The day passed with the mixed time sensation of all outdoor parties, managing to fly by as it plodded, like a high-speed playback of a snail race. Inevitably the festivities died down and people said their goodbyes, and a speeder sped across the planet's surface back to the home of Sebastian and Jorielle Skywalker. After the long day Sebastian turned in early.
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This is the life of Sebastian Skywalker.

His eyes opened, and information flooded into his mind, and his thoughts were one with the billions of other minds. He stepped from his alcove and approached the Queen, who had completed regeneration some time earlier. She was addressing Romal, attorney for the Borg Collective and general liaison with those outside the collective. Romal the Attorney had just returned from a two week vacation he had requested due to stress, but it seemed to have failed because he was even more stressed than he'd been before he'd left.

"Look at this!" he demanded, which was curious because he didn't actually show them the datapad. "You cancelled negotiations with Cybot?! What were you thinking?"

"Our designs are unique," the Queen informed him. "We will not pay them because of their irrational beliefs that we have stolen their intellectual property."

"But we could have settled without having to go to court!" Romal shouted. "That was the point of the meeting! We'll pay more in court costs than we would have settling."

"That does not seem right," Sebastian remarked.

"The court system seems flawed," the Queen agreed.

"It's just the way it works," Romal said wearily.

"It does not seem to work," Sebastian said. "That is the problem."

"And what's this?" Romal demanded, again not showing them what he was talking about. "The governor of the sector says that you sent a threatening message to the mining colony around NZ1-M2? What were you doing?"

"Following your instructions," Sebastian said.

"You will recall that you refused receipt of your fruit basket before the period of non-work began," the Queen said.

"That basket before my vacation?" Romal said. "Oh, you mean the sixth one you offered me that month? Yes, what of it? I said I didn't want the damn thing."

"Yes," Sebastian said. "Your instructions were to put it 'where the sun don't shine.'"

"We had to extrapolate a bit," the Queen said, "but NZ1-M2 is a black dwarf, and thus seemed to fit your instructions."

Romal closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "This would be the one with the card, 'You are a valuable organic resource to the Borg,' yes?"

"We mean it as a compliment," Sebastian said.

"I will try to straighten this out," he said with a sigh. "For the record, the remark was a metaphor."

"Was it?" the Queen asked. "What for?"

"It-" Romal stopped. "It's not important."

"Perhaps the future?" Sebastian asked the Queen. "As we cannot see the future, perhaps it would be considered a place that is dark, ergo, where the sun does not shine?"

"Interesting," the Queen said. "Storing it away for later, therefore?"

"Possibly," Sebastian said.

"That's not important," Romal said testily. "What is is trying to get along with our neighbors and business associates. We still have a long way to go in overcoming the Borg's previous reputation."

"Our assistance to the Empire should have helped our 'public relations,'" the Queen said, referring to the joint Imperial-Borg attack on the Vong months before.

"And it did, to a degree," Romal said. "The problem is that the Empire isn't all that popular, especially in light of their aggressive foreign policy."

"You are referring to the destruction of the Malon world?" the Queen asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Romal replied.

"But they were warned," Sebastian pointed out. "Everyone knows that if you attack the Empire, the Eclipse will show up and destroy your world. They should have expected it."

"That doesn't matter," Romal said. "It still made the Empire look like the villains in this."

"But the Malon were the aggressors," the Queen remarked.

"Yes, but somehow responding to a raid of a nearby system by destroying an entire planet did not go over very well with the general populace of the galaxy. I've no idea why." The Borg could detect to the tiniest degree the pitch, volume, and timbre of Romal's voice, but sadly they had yet to develop an instrument to measure sarcasm.

"It is not our concern," the Queen finally concluded. "We have our business license, and the assurance that General Taar will not turn the Imperial military against us."

"Yes," Romal said, "but you've got to look at the larger picture."

"We are Borg," Sebastian said. "We always look at the larger picture."

"The Empire may be winning the war, but it's falling apart at the same time," Romal pointed out. "The dismissal of the Senate, Taar's grasp at power, the fragmenting of the territory. The Empire is dying... some say it's already dead."

"The Empire is not a living thing," the Queen pointed out. "It cannot die. It can end."

"Yes," Romal said icily. "It's another metaphor."

"Dying, and already dead," Sebastian said.

"Paradoxical," the Queen remarked.

"Perhaps it's a reflection of somatic death."

"What?" Romal asked.

"When an organic being such as yourself dies, Romal," Sebastian explained, "you don't die all at once. Some parts can continue to survive for minutes afterwards."

"Like the Empire," the Queen said, exploring this new idea. "Dead, yet still plodding on."

"Logical," Sebastian said. "The decay usually first sets in in the frontal lobe, reflecting the loss of the representative government. The decay leaves only the r-complex, representative of the aggression of the military government."

"Okay, that's quite enough," Romal said.

"Consider that after death," the Queen continued, "the secretion of protective mucus ceases, allowing digestive chemicals to penetrate their linings and actually consume parts of the body, reducing the contents of the abdominal cavity to liquid. Self-digestion fits the behavior of systems such as the Malons who attempt to turn on other parts of the Empire."

"Please," Romal said, holding his stomach.

"And the rapid build-up of bacteria," Sebastian said, "unfettered by the defenses of the body, is an accurate description of the Hirogen and Mystral that have been harassing us, resulting in the festering pustules and foul release of toxins which-"

"All right!" Romal said. "Can we just get back to the matter at hand?!"

"The Mystral?"

"NO! The-" Romal paused in mid rant. "Wait, yes, the Mystral. Korri Rej waylaid the shipment we were sending to the Imperial depot in Sector 127. It's going to set us back substantially, but the Empire needs those droids right away, which means our commercial vendors are going to have to wait. That cuts into our future sales."

"We are aware," the Queen said.

"Rej has vowed to increase attacks on the Borg unless we stop aiding the Empire," Romal said. "Business or otherwise."

"Raiders and terrorists are bad for business, yes?" Sebastian asked. "Then we must continue to oppose them."

"Yes, I agree," Romal said. "But perhaps if we negotiated something-"

"No," the Queen said, "we will not."

"But if we can work something out-"

"No," Sebastian said again. "If we deal with them, it would cost us more than if we did not. That is just the way it works."
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To any known scanner that existed in the galaxy, the planet was as barren and lifeless as most planets tended to be. This was usually because conditions for life had been lacking, whether it be a shortage of temperature or energy or elements. Life crept up (or in some cases, slithered up) so frequently that it seemed to be everywhere, but space contains so much everywhere that the handful of places just seem like everywhere. This world, however, was full of life, but the Vong didn't want that secret getting out.

It was the amazing thing about conspiracies; when you had the right agencies involved, there were nearly no limits to what you could accomplish. It had started with Senator Alixus' contacts identifying the activity of a high-ranking clerk within the Empire named Deln Ibar, who seemed to have some kind of knowledge of General Taar's fleet movements. With the target identified, Ben Skywalker was more than capable of overwhelming the security and capturing Ibar alive and mostly intact. With the underworld contacts of Garak and his Cardassians, slipping Ben's ship through the security around Wormhole Station was simple enough. And now, at the end of the journey, the Sith set his ship down on what his instruments told him was a lifeless world, grabbed Ibar, and dragged him out.

On the world was the last link in the chain. Nom Anor waited, hands folded, watching the Sith and prisoner with a blank expression. The groups were not allies as such, but the chain was a kind of loose-knit collection working towards their own ends in the defeat of the Empire, and thus far had been doing very, very good work.

Ibar had information that was only in his head, and that made him valuable to these groups. But, while Ben may have been able to manipulate him, or Alixus blackmail him, or Garak just torture him, only Nom Anor had the means to gather all of the information with its context and details thoroughly intact. A tendril shot out of the darkness, caught Ibar around the middle, and yanked him into a writhing mass of biomatter. Within seconds, Ibar ceased to exist, but the knowledge became part of the greater mind of the composite being, which devoted all thoughts towards the singular goal of those groups. Soon, it would be able to achieve it.

[darthdavid]

More crack, yaaaaay!!!

[Chris OFarrell]

Woooooohoooooo!

[Xon]

It is strangely appropriate that in a game between 2 personifications of Death(1 from Sandman by Neil Gaiman and 2nd from Discworld by Terry Pratchett) and Q, the 4th Doctor is coming out ahead, with K9 by his side.

I also like the Hitchhikers guide to the stars reference, as well as the Pak Protector too

[Star Empire]

It's great to be reading this again. Good begining. Thanks.

[2000AD]

oooooohhh yeahhhhhh.....

This takes te sting out of Newcastle losing.

[Crazedwraith]

geez, my comps goes to PC world for a couple of days and this springs up. I'm liking the prologue. It has a pratchettian air to it.

Chapter one seems decent enough. Is Seb's conciousness going to come back to the real world t any time soon? Or will he remain a slightly eccentric drone?

[Sonnenburg]

Thanks gents. I'm going to shoot for at least one chapter a week from now on, so without further ado...

[Sonnenburg]

Ben Skywalker deactivated his cloak and brought the ship into the docking bay, glad the work with Deln Ibar was behind him. Ben was a Sith Lord, and running errands like that was beneath him, but he had to answer to the Oracle, his master. All Sith chaffed when subordinate; the apprentices sought to replace Molly O'Brien, she sought to usurp Ben, Ben wanted to topple his master, and she sought to overthrow the Empire itself. The term for a Sith that wasn't striving for power and advancement was "corpse."

Not so long ago Ben would have had lackeys to carry out this busy work. In his own universe he was poised for total conquest of the galaxy, and it was only by the intervention of the Oracle, his Sith Master, that he'd been brought here instead, duped into believing that it was a fluke and that she was a humble servant. The truth, that he was chosen because she felt he'd be easily manipulated, had come as a rather nasty and shameful shock.

Still, despite his failing to spot the ruse and seize control, he'd performed masterfully, even if he did say so himself. He'd killed this universe's Luke Skywalker, Jacen Solo, dozens of Jedi potentials and one of the students. He'd even killed the Emperor himself in front of the entire Empire... although he didn't like to think that it was only because the Emperor allowed it to happen. But that didn't change the fact that he'd done it, and how many had the Oracle killed? Leia Organa Solo, and that was after Ben had already removed one of her hands; hardly impressive. A Sith Master had to be prepared to get his hands dirty, and so far it seemed the only way that might happen with the Oracle is if she knocked over one of her beakers. But patience was part of being a Sith, as paradoxical as that may seem. Passion, anger, these were part of what gave a Sith strength, and a willingness to commit any sin to achieve a given end. But if you weren't patient, if you weren't calculating, if you didn't look at when you were strong and when you were wanting, then you were just a very fashionable thug. So Ben watched for his opportunity with due caution. A mid-ranking Sith Lord was one of the most dangerous adversaries. They had the apprentices clambering for a shot at the big time, masters trying to stop their ascent, and Jedi adversaries all around trying to lay them out. They were survivors through and through. They made cockroaches look like a sickly goldfish.

Ben crossed through the complex without a word to the others, intent to give his report and get on with things. Some time in the holodeck would be most useful, he thought. Killing a few dozen Jedi would help him relax after the boredom of his latest -his stomach turned on the word- assignment.

The Oracle was in her laboratory, pouring over an alchemical elixir with rapt attention. It was at moments like this when she seemed to be at her most insane, mumbling to herself as she worked. It could be understandable if she were using it as some kind of memory aid; three parts green stuff to two parts bubbling blue whatever-it-was. Instead her little mutterings seemed to be completed unrelated to her work. "Displacement... displacement is natural, a consequence of the uncertainty principle. Have to be scientific about it, logical, even when it seems to break every known law. Just have to remember to be rational... have to think... have to remember... I can do it right this time. I have the knowledge, and with that they can't hope to fool me. This time I'll have the edge. Just have to be careful. Have to remember. Can't have a temporal paradox. Paradoxes are dangerous things. Paradoxes will swallow you up. Nature abhors a vacuum, and a vacuum in time even more so. There's so much to remember... so much that has happened... or has it already happened... can't think with the displacement... I'll need this. This can be reversed; the Sith have the power to do anything. Just have to remember it all... I can do it this time..." She took the chemical, apparently decided it was done and poured it into a hypospray. Hands fumbling, she placed it to her neck and it discharged; she dropped it to the floor in a massive coughing fit, doubled over from the force of it.

Ben saw his chance, and when it came to Sith assassinations, chances didn't crop up very often. He moved with speed beyond anything human, closing the distance and pulling his lightsaber, igniting it on the downswing to provide the conditional cure for dandruff - removing the head from the shoulders.

Time stopped. When dealing with matters that involve the oracle and her perverse union of dark side power with chemical and technological obscenities, it's important to keep in mind that a phrase like that needs to be taken literally. Time stopped. Awareness continued. Ben could see his lightsaber frozen just at the cutting point, its glow subdued in the non-time, silent. In fact, there was no sound at all, not the beeps and chirps of the Oracle's instruments, not the hiss from her chemicals, nothing.

The Oracle bent down below the motionless lightsaber and backed out of its swing. She straightened up and looked into his eyes, and it chilled him to the core. She had no eyes; where they should be was an empty, yawning abyss. Ben could feel it drowning him, like a fallen tear dropped into an ocean without notice or consequence. Many a stare said that you were beneath notice, but this one actually held up a mirror and showed you that you truly were insignificant in every possible way, that your existence had no consequence whatsoever to anything. Inside his mind, Ben screamed in terror and angst, and was appalled that he was helpless to turn away from her, which was the only thing he wanted at that moment. Some talked about a look that could kill, but this one could reach in and destroy the spirit itself.

Time continued, and the swing finished, causing Ben to stumble off balance. He righted himself and backed away from the Oracle, whose face seemed to have returned to normal for the moment, although it still wasn't a very pretty sight. She waved her hand and Ben found his cybernetic hand was holding the lightsaber near his own throat. He grabbed the wrist with his other and tried to push it away, but it was hopeless. His eyes flicked between the blade and the Oracle, fear saturating his body. She could kill him, but there was no way to tell whether or not she would. When rationality is gone, you become capable of anything. In an odd way, madness was the ultimate freedom.

The lightsaber switched off, much to Ben's relief. Then it exploded. He dropped down as he grabbed his wrist, the hand holding the lightsaber blown to pieces. It wasn't real, but it was attached to his nervous system, and hurt like hell. The Oracle walked slowly across the room to him, then just as slowly gestured upward. Ben felt something lift him up by the throat until he was standing on his toes, gasping for air. Finally she spoke, her words edged with ice and malice. "Don't ever do that again." Then she gestured and Ben was thrown out of the room through the door, landing on the floor beyond and rolling to a painful halt. He groaned where he lay, too weak at the moment to haul himself to his feet. He glanced up and saw the Oracle watching him from the doorway. He stayed where he was, working to gather enough strength to get to the infirmary. After a while she turned and returned to her work in the lab. The door didn't close, because there wasn't one. Another phrase to take literally when it comes to the Oracle is "through the door."
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The thousands of minor powers throughout the Milky Way had been united in conquest by the Empire. Now, thanks to the disintegration of the central government, it was back to the old days for most, which mainly included fighting amongst themselves for resources and power. The problem was that some of it was still the Empire, and they took a dim view of aggressors, or at least, those aggressive in their direction.

Pax Eclipsa, General Taar had named the plan for Milky Way affairs. It was a rather humorous name, if the general could have been considered to have much of a sense of humor, and if the thought of enforcing international policy with a planet-killing weapon could be anything more than black comedy. Such a term had always been used to reflect a period of international stability because of the strength of a nation or several nations. Instead it was a period of international turmoil where the Empire waved a bat full of nails at people and threatened to use it if they didn't back off. Leave us alone, because we have the big stick, and we know where you live. A diplomat could call this situation "peace" in much the same way a doctor could call death "stable."

The Malon had been the first that were both ambitious and foolish enough to test the Empire's resolve. It had been a smallish raid of an Imperial planet. The Empire had responded by only blowing up a small Malon planet. The Malon had shown public outrage at the brutality of the response, but the ambassadors were powerless to do anything. The military was handling the Eclipses now, and they'd made their decision. Without the resources to respond with comparable firepower to every attack, the Empire would continue to respond to threats to its territory with the ultimate weapon. The Malon asked if that was their final word on the subject; General Taar advised them to look up "ultimate" in the dictionary.

What few people didn't know was that the Malon hadn't been alone in the plan. This was vital, because Garak knew that if his connection were discovered, the Cardassians would be in far worse shape than the Malon. But you didn't fight the kind of war he'd fought for a quarter century without knowing how to be careful, or without forging contacts across the galaxy. Janeway knew this, and gave him orders to make use of them. For some reason, Garak had found he'd become far more worried about her wrath than the Empire's. The worst the Empire would do would be to wipe them out, but with her technology, Janeway may have the means to erase them from existence.

Garak needed to provoke the Empire; she'd insisted upon that. The Malon, however, weren't listening any more after what had happened. They were ambitious, but they also knew when they'd already lost. The Kazon though... they were ambitious and stupid. Even after the annihilation of the Malon world, they were still itching for the chance to take a bite out of some forbidden fruit. It was almost depressingly easy to provoke them.

Garak watched the live feed from one of the Kazon worlds as the Eclipse emerged out of hyperspace. The Empire, in fact, was broadcasting the image throughout the holonet. After all, what was the point of resorting to a policy of total annihilation in response to attacks if you didn't show the galaxy you meant every word? There was a flurry of ships breaking orbit around the world; mere dots at this distance. Seconds after arrival, the front of the ship flared and a green energy beam rush out and struck the planet, causing it to rupture and explode.

The galaxy watched, and they got the message. But the other message, the one the Oracle had wanted them to receive, also was sent. This is what you get when you strip the Empire of the gentility. This is what it really was. It was a planet killer, a monster, which killed indiscriminately as its foreign policy. None of you will ever truly be safe while it still exists.

Garak turned the image off and leaned back in his chair. He didn't like the sight of the superlaser. It brought up bad memories.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Annika Hansen Skywalker, also known as Seven of Nine in the distant country of her past, laid on her bunk in the holding cell. It was a good day; she hadn't been tortured for eleven days now, and that was a streak worth celebrating, if she'd had the means. Janeway had become obsessed as usual, and there's few things worse than being tortured by an obsessive-complusive. For one thing, they tend to make it part of their routine.

It had started simply enough. Janeway -The Oracle, Annika corrected- wanted to find out how Annika contacted the Borg so she could set up a counter-measure to stop it. Eventually, Annika gave in. The next day, the ordeal was repeated, to find out if there were some other way to get a signal out. Sadly there was, and even worse, Annika spilled it, eliminating another option. What was even worse was the third time, because there were no options left for Annika to give up. It makes for a very long day, especially when the Oracle was involved. She had ways of keeping her victims conscious even after the body would normally shut down. The times after that, well, Annika was suspecting her old captain was just trying to break up the monotony; her own, of course, not Annika's.

Annika folded her hands behind her head and looked at the ceiling in the off chance it did something interesting. So... the Oracle was still keeping her alive. That meant she saw some use in doing so. It wasn't for old times sake, that much was certain, so it had to be because it furthered her goal. During her frequent interrogations Annika had been asked about ways to destroy or hamper the Borg Collective, but Annika had never provided any. She was smart too and never allowed herself to think about the topic so that when the pain became too much she would be unable to give in. Still, if she had a credit for every time she'd decided to solve the problem to ensure the torture never happened again, she could afford an army to break her out. Since the sessions had gone on some kind of hiatus, though, it seemed that this line of inquiry was over.

Annika reviewed her list of the Oracle's potential motivations, short though it was. The first had been as a weapon to use against Sebastian, but that seemed to be diminishing. Sebastian was Borg now, and he would feel no emotional attachment towards her. The Oracle had to know that. Besides, letting Annika contact the Borg would encourage them to step into any kind of trap the captain could come up with, and she'd effectively cut off every emergency channel and frequency Annika had. That seemed the least likely option at this point.

The second possibility was to convince Annika to join with her. It might seem a bit of an odd technique to recruit someone, but by constantly pushing Annika beyond her pain threshholds it would allow the Oracle to start to brainwash her. That had seemed the most likely for a time, but with the lapse in her torture regiment, it seemed this wasn't right either, or the Oracle was too busy with other work to maintain an interest.

The third and most worrying possibility was simple sadism. If Annika's cynicism was right, the Oracle kept her alive purely to torment her for some kind of amusement. The recent break was because she had other things to occupy her mind, but if she was bored Annika could look forward to more of her former captain's ministrations. That it fit all the facts only made Annika more gloomy.

The only remaining possibility for Annika was that the Oracle had seen a future where her captive could be of some use to her. Despite the failure of the Vong trap the Oracle had instigated, the woman clearly had developed some means of seeing into the future and planning accordingly. Annika could be the key to whatever scheme she was putting together. If that were the case -or the previous one, Annika mused- then the only way Annika could foil the Oracle's plans would be to kill herself. She could do it too; even if her nanoprobes didn't work, she could still snap her own neck. But she also knew this was one of the classic blunders. The most famous was never to get involved in a land war with Klingons, but only slightly less well know was this: never second guess your actions when dealing with events known to occur in the future. Nine times out of ten, a person who did that caused the very event they were trying to prevent. It was called the Pogo Paradox, in fact, because Starfleet liked to name every damn thing. No, Annika planned for eventualities, but she never did anything that couldn't be easily reversed unless she had to, and self-resurrection wasn't a skill she'd mastered.

Annika squirmed a little on the cot to try and get more comfortable, then started to sing quietly to pass the time. The future would show up when it was ready, and Annika was even more patient than a Sith.

[2000AD]

Chapter per week? Hope it comes off, that would rock completely.

[Ghost Rider]

LOL...nice show with the Land war with Klingons. I liked how you had Ben try and fail to kill the old bag, and have Annika express boredom over tortue.

Good stuff, and awaiting to see more, Chuck.

[Crazedwraith]

Execellant. Like Seven running through all Janeway's possible motives before goingo for simple sadism.

[phongn]

Most excellent.

[Star Empire]

Great as always. I liked the scene with Ben and Janeway too.

[Crayz9000]

Oh, God. The Prologue... At first I was wondering if you'd posted it on April Fool's then checked the date.

Let's see, I counted Star Trek, Discworld, HHGTTG, LotR ("Large being" who can't stand the term ring -- LMAO!), Doctor Who, and the two other references I didn't get.

Oh, and a minor nitpick, the saying when you want to second somebody is "Hear, hear." not "Here, here."

Edit: Ah, yeah, and H.P. Lovecraft too. Can't be from ASVS and forget him

[Sonnenburg]

There was the quiet crunching noise of boot on snow as the figure crossed the ice plains. It was an interesting walk to any connoisseurs, at least given the terrain. It was unhindered by the cold and the snow, as if they were just unimportant background details rather than trying to suck the life from his body. It was a very rhythmic pace, the body having long ago laid down the tracks when it came to walking and didn't change a winning formula. And it also spoke of total confidence. In short, it said that of all the things in the immediate vicinity, the walker was the most important.

The crunch was sudden deeper and louder, and despite himself the walker stopped in mid-step. Carefully the boot was lifted, revealing the frozen innards of a Vong bug. In the years since its death the snow had covered it over; no doubt the rest were covered as well, making this a very icky minefield. The boot was pulled out and the walk continued, because icky had been dealt with long ago as well. The difference now was the change in the sound of the walk, if not the actual rhythm, rather like a very avant-garde drummer. The figure finally stopped before an icy hill, but only for a moment. He began digging until the hull of the buried ship was revealed. After using the revealed marker to get the bearings, the figure moved further down and dug again, revealing the hatch, which was just as quickly pulled open. More snow and ice waited inside, although not quite as deep. Nevertheless, the figure swore under his breath and pushed inside.

The elements had been given free reign within the ship, but the Vong had ignored it in their haste to depart the planet. There was no attraction for them anyway, except as more technology to be destroyed, and the bugs had done a good enough job already. Kalib scowled; he may have been large and brutish-looking and as blunt as a lead pipe, but he was not uncivilized, and he'd taken to preserving relics on board his ship. Ice and snow had not been kind to them; most were just junk now. There was the Uyn flute, invented by a species with incredible hearing to create incredibly detailed three-dimensional maps; snapped in half and irreparable. There was his collection of weapons, corroded and broken. He'd broken many over the years, but always in the process of using them, and that just came with the territory. But like this... there was no reason. The water sculptures burst their containers, the pages of books were lumps of pulp, the archaic crystal displays of ancient instruments were shattered.

The ship echoed with a sound like two cinder blocks being ground together, but it was actually Kalib's fists tightening. The Vong had taken several years away from him, and that was crime enough. But at least he had an abundant supply of time that he could make up for it -preferably by shortening that of the Vong- but the damage here couldn't be undone. The last remnants of many a broken civilization had been preserved by Kalib, and now broken bits were all that were left of them. This wasn't the first time it'd happened, of course, but it never ceased to infuriate him. No one besides Kalib remembers the name of the last species who did this.

Still, there were some things more precious than objects, and they were located in a secure area of the ship. Kalib had taken great pains to ensure that cargo was safe; anything that could damage them was certain to mean that he had more pressing problems to deal with, because it'd probably kill him. That was something where Kalib put his foot down. Death was something that happened to other people; often Kalib was willing to help. The room had been breached as well, but that wasn't any reason for concern. He reached a metallic box and, with several grunts of effort, managed to get it opened. Inside were what appeared to be polished rocks covered with irregular patterns of quarts, although what they actually were were high-density data storage blocks. The technology to make or read them had been lost for millennia, except for Kalib, who had done it so many times his hands sometimes twitched through the motions while he slept. Next to them was a smaller box, the size of a large suitcase. He set it on its side and opened it, then carefully filled it with the blocks. When it was filled he closed it and hit one of the six buttons, causing the box to make a sound like the hum of a power grid and a small earthquake. He stepped into the next room and opened the box again; there was no sign of the blocks now. He filled it with the surviving relics, closing it every now and then and choosing the next button until it was filled. Filling a multi-dimensional box took time. He tossed it through the entrance a good ways from the ship. One last thing to do...

Kalib was an information broker who preferred not to get involved in other people's problems, which was why he believed in being heavily armed. Desperate people don't like to hear the word "no." The missiles were set with very high-yield explosive that were harmless when disarmed. Completely harmless; you couldn't bank on long odds when you were looking at several hundred centuries of reliable use, because those odds always caught up with you. After half an hour of tinkering he readied the missile to explode, then calmly walked out of the ship for the last time. He picked up his box on the way out and was about halfway back before the missile blew, peppering the landscape with wreckage from the ship. His stride, as always, didn't miss a beat.

Han Solo and Kilana were both asleep when Kalib walked up the ramp into the Falcon. He dropped the multi-dimensional box, which hit like a concrete pylon, causing the two to jerk awake. Han's eyes narrowed as his slid his blaster back into his holster. "Finished?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kalib said, as if every day he destroyed a ship that'd served as home for centuries. "I need a new ship. Nothing fancy, just something to do until I can get something more functional."

"We can take you where you need to go," Kilana said. She missed the look Han gave her at the presumption, but said nothing.

Kalib shook his head. "I've got things that need sorting, and some private stuff to deal with."

"We can help," Kilana said.

"Good, help me get a ship so I can go there myself," Kalib said.

"He doesn't trust us," Han explained as he headed towards the cockpit.

"That's right," Kalib said.

Kilana was a bit of an anomaly. The life working for the Orion Syndicate had left her incredibly naive in some aspects and horrible sly in others, so that dealing with her was sometimes like, well, trying to cross the snowfield without getting your ankles covered in bug intestines. He could see in her face that she couldn't really believe that he didn't trust her. She knew without a doubt that you couldn't trust people, because people would stab you in the back just as soon as look at you, but that didn't mean you couldn't trust people you knew you could trust, right? You could trust a good person.

Kalib knew he wasn't a good person; it was one of the things he liked about himself. He didn't involve himself in things as a rule, although he'd be sure to ply his information trade to those who could use it to do something right. But for Kalib, it was always best to let them deal with it. He never stepped in unless he believed that he had no choice, and even though it was sheer self-interest. The incident with Luke Skywalker here, which had no doubt seemed like charity, was a bit of forward thought. Kalib knew that, push going to shove, a Luke that had turned to the dark side could track down and kill him. He knew how to do it, and with Kalib not helping him find his kid, well, he probably would be on a list of targets. The only way to save his skin would be to either try to kill Luke first, which was about as attractive as cleaning his face in an ion engine, or helping him out, so the Jedi would owe him one and hopefully leave him alone. And after getting out of the Vong's carbon freeze had left him with some pent up aggression that he'd directed at them for some time, but even that had worn off. Solo was all right and despite herself the girl was likeable, but this wasn't how Kalib operated. He needed to get setup and settled back into his routine. He'd deal with the Vong, but in his own way, in his own time.

"We worked well together," Kilana said, although Kalib didn't see it that way.

"I work best alone," Kalib said. "Had a lot of practice with it." Kilana nodded wordlessly, her face an image of restrained emotion at the news, she sat down at the table as the Falcon lifted off. Kalib sighed. "Nice try, but I know you had lots of practice tugging heartstrings on Ferenginar to fall for that. Besides, I'm far too much of a bastard to be bothered."

"We need you," she said sharply.

"For what?" Kalib asked. "Muscle? Listen kid, I'm a dealer in information, it's what I've been doing since before the Founders thought of bringing your people down from the trees. For me to do what I do best, I need to get out there and do it. Alone."

Kilana nodded, more to herself than to Kalib. "'Where I'm going, you cannot follow,'" she quoted.

Kalib dropped into his specially-reinforced chair. He knew what she was talking about; being quick on the uptake was also part of being a good information broker. "You're still worried about Skywalker's kid? Forget it, he's got a nice cushy number with the Borg right now."

"But that isn't right!" she said in exasperation. "He's a Jedi-"

"And a Borg."

"He's a Jedi," Kilana insisted. "He can't stand by while the Vong threaten innocent people!"

"He isn't standing by," Kalib said. "Borg screwed things up for them real good. Reeeeal good. Probably the turning point, unless the Empire really screws things up."

"But the prophecy-"

"Ah, this ought to be good," Kalib said as he stretched out, chair squeaking in protest.

"He's supposed to deliver the Empire through it's darkness!"

"And he did," Kalib said. "Empire would have been carved up by the Vong already if it hadn't been for the kid and his Borg buds."

"But not like this," Kilana said in exasperation. "It's not supposed to be like this."

Kalib shrugged. "Thing about prophecies is, they don't tell you nothing. You think you know, so instead of facing reality you deny it, insisting what you constructed for the future was the true reality. There's a word for people like that: crazy." Kilana just glowered at him, and he closed his eyes and let the deep sawing sound of his snore fill the room.
--------------------------------------------------------------

The warmth from the explosion of Kalib's ship has already been sucked away by the eternal winter of Halva, and the departure of the Millennium Falcon returns it to the lifeless category. But let the mind's eye drift away from this icy world. Another galaxy, another time, but another world nearly as devoid of life as this one. It has no name, save a dutiful note in a few catalogs throughout the galaxy, but a world with no need for concern among those who think in galactic terms.

This is the planet's surface; not bare rock, as is usually the case with such worlds. The soil is bare, exposing its rich blackness to the sky; not the dust that would be expected. On a world where agriculture was still new, this would be ground worth going to war over. But there's not a single trunk or stem or shoot rising from it from horizon to horizon. The wind blows, and the topsoil begins to dry and fly off with it. The erosion will run unchecked.

There, just on the cusp of vision, a spore tumbles upon the breeze. The wind picks up and its white fluff flaps in response, slipping higher into the air. Following it, the scene seems almost not to be moving as mile gives way to mile of empty fields. The only sign the scene has changed is the appearance of a rocky outcropping, or a small, quiet lake. Then a mountain comes into view, directly in the path of the floating spore. But as it approaches, the surface becomes more distinct and the astonishing truth is revealed: this is no mountain. That is, it's not what would normally be considered a mountain; no tectonic force raised it, no flowing magma shaped it. There was no rock or dirt in its makeup, although clay might be given a symbolic nod from a certain religious perspective. This was because the mountain was alive. Aside of that small detail, it was certainly everything else you might expect from a mountain. It was half a kilometer tall and sprawled under its bulk across the bare soil. It didn't move, not until the spore struck its surface, and even then it was barely a movement. A tendril the size of a hair wrapped around the spore and pulled it inside the pink and gray mass.

Nothing that size should be alive, the mind insists. The weight of its own body would surely crush it. But all the same, it was there, sharing the world with the bacteria and a few other creatures more fortunate than the spore. It made no other sign of movement, and showed nothing to indicate any kind of intelligence. But still, surrounding it seemed to be an aura of malevolence, and soon fear overpowers curiousity and the thing is left behind.

More barren land passes, the rich dirt giving way to sandier soil, but still nothing. Soon, another shape appears on the horizon... another shape like a mountain, but not a mountain. A change in direction, and the soil gives way to white sand, and then ocean water. Its a clear blue that allows a view straight to the sea bottom. There are no fish, no signs of life.

And then, the largest, ugliest lillypad in the universe comes into view, floating atop the salt water of the ocean. Its dozens of kilometers in diamter, but flat, the same grey-pink mix of the mountains. And a few hundred kilometers away floats another, and another. And when the mind rushes away from the world in sheer horror, the ocean is shown to be dotted by the sickening shapes.

Before the mind can process the scene fully, a ship slides into view, followed by others... hundreds. They drop over the world and invisible forces grasp at the monstrous things and pull them into orbit. As they leave the surface and the high gravity they finally begin to move. The atmosphere is thin, but the sound is like the snapping of tree trunks and the grinding of bones. The organisms gradually form into a sphere; not long after, ice begins to form over their surfaces. The fleet pulls its grisly cargo away from the planet and disappears at superluminal speed. Behind hangs the world with no name, and no virtually no life. No one would ever know of it, except as an abstract concept, but it had been the first. Sadly, this means that there will be more.

[Star Empire]

All right, I've been wanting to do this forever.

First post.

Now I should read the chapter.

[darthdavid]

Muy delicioso.

[Crazedwraith]

Intriguing most intriguing. Keep it up.

[Sonnenburg]

There was a small lake a few miles from the home of Sebastian Skywalker and family, and it had come to be a tradition to visit it when Morgan was in need of parental advice. They sat on the bench looking over the still water, disturbed only by the bit of branch and leaves that had been blown from some of the trees that hung recklessly out over the water on bent trunks. The breeze was too slight to disturb the water, but it picked up the chill and carried it over father and daughter.

"What's the boy's name?" Sebastian finally asked. Morgan turned to stare at him just for a second, then apparently decided the lake was the most interesting thing in the universe and should be stared at intensely. Her face and the sides of her neck turned strawberry as Sebastian smiled to himself. "Some things are just obvious," he answered the unasked question.

Morgan had achieved the rank of Jedi Knight and was a grown woman, but she was rather inexperienced in certain typical adolescent areas. She hadn't shown much interest in boys, and not because she had an interest in girls. She just seemed to have been focused on being the best possible Jedi she could be, and that hadn't left room for a social life. But now she'd made it, and she was here at the start of her adult life, and she hadn't had the chance to get all of the uncomfortable socially awkward moments out of the way. Sebastian knew what it was like. Being brainwashed by the yammosk at age fifteen tends to mess up your ability to relate to others.

"It's Ryan," Morgan finally admitted. "Ryan Vinyon."

"From the Academy," Sebastian said with a nod. "Is he seeing someone?"

"No, at least not that I know of."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Yes, but not about... this..."

Sebastian nodded. "You're not sure of how to broach the subject?"

"I'm not sure he's the right one," Morgan said.

Sebastian stopped, pulled the sentence back and examined it back to front and every which way. "Right one for what?"

"I'm not sure he's the one for me," Morgan said.

Sebastian again took the remark and gave it a thorough examination. "Are you talking about marriage?" he finally asked.

"Of course."

"Morgan, you haven't even talked about going out with him," Sebastian said. "Don't you think you're moving a little fast?"

"But what's the point of spending time with him if he's not a suitable husband?" she asked. "Isn't it a waste of time?"

"There are worse ways to waste time," Sebastian remarked.

"Granted. But wouldn't it be better to spend that time developing a rapport with someone more suitable?"

"Morgan," Sebastian said, because saying the child's name is a good way of buying yourself a few seconds to think of a way to explain things. "You're overthinking this. If you want to become romantically involved with someone, do that, and let marriage come if and when it comes." She looked puzzled. "Listen; not everything in life is like your Jedi training, where you need to focus on the inevitable result. Maybe marriage is something that's not going to come to you for years or decades, or even ever. That shouldn't interfere with you enjoying yourself right now."

"I just-" Morgan made a noise of frustration, a kind of oouck! sound. "It's hard to think that way."

"Just give it some time and follow your instincts," Sebastian advised. "When it comes to this subject, they're good at working out what it is they want."

"Thing is, I'm one quarter Borg, one quarter Jedi, and one half human," Morgan said. "That doesn't make things easy."

Sebastian shook his head. "That's only because you're choosing to look at it like that. There's some things that are part of who we are, and some things that are part of what we are, and you've got to remember that the one doesn't necessarily affect the other."

"So, what I am, is one quarter Jedi-"

"No, what you are is a person with the potential to manipulate the Force," Sebastian explained. "Who you are is a person who has chosen to explore the limits of where you can take that potential, and how you can use it to the good of others who don't have it. It's the latter that makes you a Jedi, Morgan. No amount of genetics or micro-organisms can do that."

"Yes, but the Force user aspect came from you," Morgan said. "In that sense, it's genetic, making me one quarter-"

"You've been spending too much time talking to Milky Wayers," Sebastian said. "Too much cross-species discussion."

"You don't approve of hybrids?" Morgan asked in surprise.

"I didn't say that," Sebastian said sharply. "But it's a cultural thing there. 'My human half, my Klingon half, my Cardassian half, my Vulcan half...’ What you are, Morgan, is a human, through and through. That doesn't make you better or worse, it's just what you are. From your mother, you've inherited steady hands and sharp reflexes; from me, Force-sensitivity and Borg-enhanced intellect. But it doesn't matter which 'part' is responsible for what. You are a whole person."

"A whole person made up of parts," Morgan pointed out.

Sebastian sighed. "Where you came from affects what you are, this is true. The problem is being so distinct about them. Take steel, for example. Which is the carbon half? Which is the iron half?"

"Actually, the ratio of carbon to iron in steel is only-"

"I know I know," Sebastian said with mild irritation. "But the point is, unless you haven't made it properly, there's no 'carbon side' and no 'iron side' in steel. It's both together that makes steel what it is, and both together that make it better than both of the materials if they were merely stuck together as separate halves." He picked up a rock and tossed it onto the lake, hitting a floating leaf dead on. "Alloys are stronger, Morgan. Remember that."

"Yes." Morgan seemed to be pondering things. "I suppose I can stop by tomorrow and talk to Ryan about doing something... I have no idea what, but I suppose something may present itself."

"That's the way," Sebastian said with a nod. "Although I'd ask your mother if you're looking for ideas; she was always better at that sort of thing."

"Because she's human?"

"Shut up, child, just shut up." Sebastian sunk another leaf. "I don't know where you get this attitude from."
--------------------------------------------------------------

The ship settled into the landing dock on one asteroid that was indistinguishable from millions of others like it throughout the sector. The Mystral in the Milky Way took their secrecy seriously, which is why Garak was willing to take the risk of meeting with them out here. If the Empire knew he was conspiring with rebellious forces, his people would be in mortal danger. However, if the Oracle thought for a moment that he wasn't conspiring as she'd instructed, then things would be even worse. It was an impressive balancing act even for someone like Garak who'd spent a lifetime developing a finely tuned inner ear.

One of the subordinates greeted Garak as he stepped off the ramp and led the way through the complex. It was simple, made up of prefab units the Empire had scrapped years ago, not unlike what the Oracle used. Conditions were livable if not comfortable, but the Mystral didn't worry about comfort; they lived almost like clean and sober Klingons. Garak was left at the entrance to a gym/training room where Rej, the leader of this Mystral cell, was teaching some unarmed combat techniques on an unfortunate volunteer.

The Mystral weren't educated anywhere that didn't accept credit from the school of hard knocks, so none of them knew what a valkyrie was, or how Korri Rej seemed to fit one to a tee. Not like in an opera where the only requirements were mezzo-soprano singing and a tendency to vacuum up cream-filled pastries, but true valkyries. She was tall and well-muscled, with blond hair approaching white and eyes the color of a cloudless sky. She would have been right at home on a charging horse with a horned helmet and what would be called a breastplate despite the fact that "plate" was much less suitable than "bowls" or "pots," hauling warriors off the field of battle to a place of eternal drinking and carousing and, of course, fighting.

At the moment she was ferrying a different kind of warrior, of course; Borg Collective droids. Not the battle droids they employed; those weren't found in any of their catalogues, and in any event, were entirely the wrong thing for what Garak needed. A walking gunnery platform was all well and good, but what you needed against the Empire if you really wanted any kind of chance, were droids with no combat skills whatsoever. It was the huge capital ships with their heavy guns and thick armor plating that could strike a blow, not something that could be taken out by one well placed turbolaser from orbit. They weren't out to conquer the Empire, they wanted to drive them out, and for that they needed to hit their ships as hard as they were being hit back. The big cap ships didn't need soldiers as much as it needed maintenance crews and engineers and all around odd job men who could keep the ship going so you didn't need to assign humanoids who could become sick or tired or forgetful or just didn't do too well in a room that was pure vacuum and six Kelvin.

Garak watched as the valkyrie finished the training exercise, which largely consisted of beating some unfortunate woman senseless. She shouted a few things to the others that apparently was some object lesson beyond "don't mess with Rej," then finally strode towards Garak as she wiped the sweat off with a towel. Rej strode everywhere unless something required her to sneak; she always walked as if she owned the place and was going to thump you for trespassing. "You're late," she said, making it clear this was a very annoying problem that wouldn't continue unless Garak wanted to become known as "the late Mr. Garak."

"My deepest apologies," Garak said. "I'm afraid shaking off my pursuers took longer than planned, and I thought you would prefer tardiness to uninvited company."

Rej gave a scowl, as if annoyed at the thought that Garak could have a legitimate excuse, then led the way. "The droids have been kept in here," she said, activating a keypad to the storage room. "We counted roughly three thousand."

Garak stepped inside after her and nodded with approval. Rank after rank of immobile droids stood within the huge room, still draped by plastic. He approached the nearest one and pulled the sheet off, then began a quick diagnostic. Everything checked out; they'd work beautifully. "This is exactly what we need," he told Rej. "I'd prefer it if you focused more on items like this; crates of E-webs really aren't moving."

"We'll see," Rej said with a noncommittal tone. "I'm not crazy about trying another run against the Borg."

"Caution would certainly be advised," Garak said, examining the next droid. "Suicide upon capture would also be advised."

"A Mystral never talks," Rej said with righteous indignation.

"But drones do," Garak said without turning his attention away from his work. "It's amazing what several billion voices screaming into your mind can do to a person's willpower."

"They don't do that any more," Rej said, although there were obvious cracks in her certainty. "Taar's made it clear that he'll cut up their license if they do."

"Ah, but who would tell? What's the difference if you die in battle or spend the rest of your existence plugged into some alcove, no one would ever know."

"The Borg have a good thing going," Rej said. "Even they wouldn't risk it for so small a prize."

"Perhaps," Garak said. "But we have a good thing going for us, you might say, and it would be wise not to risk that." He shut down the datapad and turned back to her with a smile on his face. "Not that I would dream of telling the Mystral how to handle their own affairs."

Rej tried to read Garak, but the problem was the man had total body control. A person had better odds playing against a droid than Garak in poker because the droid never acted like it might be showing you what was really on its mind, or might just trying to throw you off. "Why are you here?" she asked. "Why not one of the other Cardassians, why you personally?"

Garak's smile widened. "Because I have a very special request to make of the Mystral," he said with a voice full of oil. "One that I can't afford someone to misinterpret. It must work perfectly, and when it does... let's just say it will be quite a surprise."
--------------------------------------------------------------

There was a squeal, quickly followed by the rumble of a cave-in, which roused Sntch from his sleep. He quickly slipped from his nest and scurried along in the tunnel in the direction of the collapse. It could be an attack, but the sound had been wrong, and there didn't seem to be any sound in the wake of the collapse. Still, it was hard to imagine what could have penetrated this deep underground.

Sntch's people had achieved sentience, although their language was still very rudimentary. They were a kind of bi-pedal subteranean rodent-like creature that had recently discovered the usefulness of fire. They found it useful when they dug traps for the large reptiles that prowled the surface; the fire made the flesh tender enough for them to digest. It was one of many ways their brains had allowed them to eliminate competing species. Sntch lit the torch and brought it along, not for the light, but rather as a weapon. Animals that preyed on Sntch's people feared the flames, although care always had to be taken with it. Sometimes when the flame was allowed to burn the air become wrong and people died. Some used extra air shafts to deal with the problem, but Sntch was a skilled maker of fire and only called it up when he needed it.

Attacks between Sntch's tribe and others were common enough. This was prime hunting ground and food was survival. If you didn't fight for food, then you risked starvation. Their species was still primitive enough that this was a necessary way of life, but advanced enough to cause a great deal of trouble in this kind of fight. Collapsing each others tunnels and nests was a tried-and-true tactic, but this didn't seem to be a particularly good job if that was the case. Sntch lived on the edge of the tribe, alone, and the collapse was even more distant from the main gathering than he was. But if not an attack, then what else could it possibly be?

Sntch soon found the cave-in, although it wasn't exactly a cave-in. A boulder had fallen through the ceiling and punched a hole into the tunnel, but how any boulder could achieve this was a mystery to Sntch. Also, it didn't look like a boulder. It had the right appearance, but the shape was all wrong, more like an egg.

Did rocks lay eggs? Sntch had never thought about it before, but then, where do rocks come from if not from eggs?

The rock-egg fisured and Sntch stepped back. Finally the pieces collapsed, leaving a quivering mass in the center. Sntch eyed it cautiously, but if there was one thing his species knew, it was that eggs were very tasty. Cautiously he slipped forward, holding the torch before him to better see the new thing.

There was a flash, and something lept out of the egg-thing and grabbed his hand. It was thrust, torch and all, straight into the mass, and Sntch let out a chittering scream before he fell back, his arm missing half of the limb between elbow and wrist. The mass split open he got back to his feet, then shot out a tentacle which wrapped around his head. Sntch was flung face-foward at the thing, and saw the rows and rows of teeth. As they closed on his head, it was the last thing he ever saw.

Sntch's people weren't the only ones who fought for food.

[Crazedwraith]

Very very nice. Like the fanatasy world inside Sebs head.

[darthdavid]

Might sntch have found something rather, alien?

[Sonnenburg]

Thanks everyone who's been sticking with me so far. Things have been really hectic with the move, so I haven't had much more time than to post and go... and same with tonight I'm afraid. Anyway, on with the show....

[Sonnenburg]

Deep space, the unfathomible area between star systems where only the odd speck of dust wanders the dark. One now drifts as it has for eons across an invisible line, one marked only by the mathematical plots of sentient minds to demarcate one place from another. It is the boundary between the Galactic Empire and the newly formed Cardassia. Near the border, on the Cardassian side, floats a vessel. Not a warship, because Cardassians do not fight such straightforward battles any longer, but a transport vessel... a plain and simple transport vessel.

Garak waited in the communications suite, various flunkies about seeing to the ship's functions and ensuring Garak was happy, which was amusing when Garak reflected on his years of exile from his homeworld. Now that world was reduced to rubble, and Garak was the unquestioned force behind Cardassia's strength. He had brought it back, had forced the Empire to capitulate to the demands for sovereignty. He was the one who had brought the new warfare to the Cardassian people, guerilla tactics and terrorism rather than posturing and overt acts of strength. The Empire had provided the ultimate act of strength when the Death Star blew away Cardassia Prime decades ago, and the Cardassians knew they'd never match it. No, Garak looked to the Bajorans, whose scornful expressions had provided him with petty torment for year after long year of his exile. He'd watched them, and he learned, and the galaxy discovered that the Bajoran Resistance had nothing on what the Cardassians could do when pushed into a corner. Now the Oracle was pushing Garak... in time, he'd have to push back.

"There's a ship coming out of hyperspace," Dennet, one of Garak's lieutenants, informed him. "Looks to be a small freighter."

"Our friend, Korri Rej?" Garak asked. He was answered by the appearance of the ship on the holoprojector in front of him. He stood up, not showing the pain it caused him. He was getting too old for this, but he dare not admit it aloud. "Right on time, madam," Garak said as the hologram changed to that of Rej. "I assume your presence here means you've found it."

"It was much harder than you said, Garak," Rej grumbled. "And the Empire was on my tail for hundreds of light-years!"

"Yes, we all have our crosses to bear," Garak said. "The package, if you please." Rej growled at him, but a box materialized on the table in front of Garak. A quick scan revealed it was safe, and he opened it, nodding with approval. "Congratulations," Garak said as he closed and sealed the box, "I must admit I wasn't certain even the Mystral were up to the task. You've certainly shown your reputation is well-earned."

"I'm not interested in your praise, Garak," Rej said. "I want compensation for-" An alert sounded on Garak's ship, and from the looks of it, Rej's as well. "Kriff! They tracked us!" The hologram shimmered and changed to reveal the arrivals: two star destroyers. A small speck -Rej's ship- slid across the screen and vanished.

"The captain's taking us to hyperspace," an underling announced as he held a finger to the comm unit in his ear.

"Belay that," Garak said. "We don't move." The underling hesitated, but relayed the order. The ship lurched; Garak held up his hand. "I know, tractor beam. No one moves. Hail the star destroyer."

The hologram changed once again, this time into the form of an Imperial, a captain, Garak noted. He didn't recognize this one, which meant he was one of the less important ones; banter could be dialed down a few notches. The captain began his opening with typical imperial arrogance, but Garak cut him off almost immediately.

"This is an intolerable breach of the peace between Cardassia and the Empire," Garak said with righteous indignation in every syllable. "You've violated our space and seized our ship without the slightest provocation-"

"The Mystral agent you were associating with is a known terrorist, Mr. Garak," the captain said. "You know that our treaty forbids such contact."

"It forbids Cardassian involvement in terrorist activities," Garak said. "It does not say that I can't speak with anyone whom the Empire chooses to label as a 'terrorist.' These days that would no doubt require me to tear down our communications systems."

"You're playing with fire, Mr. Garak," the captain said.

"I had no idea this Rej was a terrorist in the eyes of the Empire until now," Garak said. "I was told she was a skilled merchant trader with connections, that's all."

"You mean a smuggler," the captain said.

"Captain, captain," Garak said with mock weariness, "you do realize that these are dangerous times, yes? Especially out here, far from the patrolled areas of the galaxy, where pirates and raiders are as common as particles of dust. To survive out here a merchant trader must be highly skilled, or else she is quickly relieved of her cargo, probably her ship, and likely her life as well. I always seek out the best; they charge more, but it pays for itself in the long run."

"The Mystral have been stealing a great deal of military supplies from the Empire," the captain went on. "Weapons, droids... what exactly did you purchase from them?"

"Just a collectible item," Garak said. "Hobby of mine. If you scan our ship, you'll find nothing out of the ordinary. Weapons and droids certainly, but not Imperial."

The captain was stone-faced, but he was an amateur compared to someone like Garak. "We'll be on our way," he finally said. "Stay away from Rej and the Mystral, Mr. Garak."

"I shall certainly consider your advice," Garak said in a chipper tone. "Of course, I may disregard it, as this is Cardassian, not Imperial, space. I'd advise you to remember that. I trust this matter is over; I’m sure you have some helpless planet to blow to smithereens?"

The captain's hologram faded and a few seconds later the ship lurched with the termination of the tractor beam. "Tell the captain to return us to New Cardassia," Garak said to an underling.

"Perhaps the Oracle has the right idea," Dennet said. "They're not going to honor the treaty, not really. They'll ignore it when it's convenient just like they did here."

"And just what is the Oracle offering?" Garak asked. "Will we be trading one usurper for another? Watch your step with that mad witch, Dennet; she's useful now, but she's grown beyond our ability to control, and we don't know where her allegiance lies."

Dennet nodded; he left such matters in Garak's hands. After all, he'd earned more for their people than any of them had ever dreamed, and had stayed with it for longer than most would have. But there was one thing still puzzling him. "What do you intend to do with that, sir?" indicating the parcel Rej had delivered.

"Nothing," Garak said. "It's just what the humans call an ace in the hole, in case things become ugly." He patted the box. "Hopefully it won't come to this, though. If it does, the galaxy will likely be a very, very ugly place to be."
--------------------------------------------------------------

Snf was nudged awake by his second, and he immediately got to his feet ready for a fight. He had to present a strong presence for the sake of the females and young ones, or else they may panic when the attack comes. From the feel of the ground, it may be seconds away.

The beast, whatever it was, had devastated the other tribes already. Refugees from those broken by it had pledged themselves to Snf if he could protect them, meaning that if they won the day, he'd be the most powerful one whoever lived. If they lost, then nothing else would matter. Snf's scouts had been sent out already to the other villages, and always it was the same. No survivors, no bodies, no signs that their people had even been in many cases. The monster ate everything, even the bedding, even the lizard skins... it was horrible. Snf never had any care for the other villages, of course; they competed with his tribe for food and the best tunnels. But this horror made him feel the kinship with those even outside his tribe. This wasn't just about their survival, it was about avenging the dead.

The other slumbering warriors were roused; Snf could feel the rumbling in the floor of the beast digging through the collapsed tunnels. Even through all the soil and rock, it could still track them, which was why Snf had chosen this cave for the tribe. They could never outrun the beast, it would find them eventually. The only choice was to stand their ground and fight he'd announced, and the tribe was in full agreement with him. The newcomers joined up, anxious to avenge their fallen loved ones. The elderly took up their weapons once again. Some of the stronger females were even permitted to join with the ranks of the warriors while the rest watched over the young. But they were here too, and it only furthered the resolve of the warriors to stop this monster before it could kill them like the young of the other villages; for the beast showed no mercy even to them.

Loose soil tumbled here and there from the cave roof as the beast grew closer. Snf looked up and down the lines of warriors. The numbers to count that many had not yet been created, but Trp the wise one had explained that it was as if each man were four, and Snf felt this gave them a great chance. Six men could easily fell one of the great lizards that had become a common part of their diet, but what the newcomers hadn't known about was the new technology Snf's people had developed. This bow and arrow gave amazing power to those skilled enough to wield it, and coupled with the fire, Snf knew that if any could stand their ground, this force could. Of course, it was too difficult for the inexperienced; they would have spears and torches. But his finest archers were ready with -and Snf was quite please with this ingenuity- fire arrows. Even if they did not kill the beast, perhaps their burning sting would drive it away and convince it to seek other prey.

There was a steady rumble now, like an unending cave-in. Two scouts bolted into the cave, shouting that the creature was very close. The third scout was nowhere to be seen, and Snf immediately deduced his feet. "Ready!" he shouted to the gathered warriors, who gave a cry as they readied their weapons. They grunted and hooted to keep their courage up. The females who bore the torches lit the arrows, and the rest tried to quiet the cries of the young ones.

The cave entrance ruptured, and the beast pushed its massive bulk through. Instantly it was peppered by burning arrows and spears. It halted, but didn't turn back. Its multitude of eyes looked over the villagers while the next set of arrows were nocked and fired. To Snf's shock and horror, the creature fired back like a porcupine. They were small darts, blasted like a great sneeze from some trunk-like extension on the creature's body. Those hit fought on for a moment, but they must have been poisoned, because before long they stumbled and dropped, paralyzed. They were the first the tentacles snatched.

The beast had no head; it had no real form to speak of, in fact. It was a bulkish monstrosity covered with eyes and tentacles... and mouths. Snf had heard of the mouths, but he had not pictured it in this form. They were placed seemingly randomly around the creature, and when they snapped open, multiple rows of horrible teeth could be seen within. The tentacle snatched up a helpless warrior and tossed him bodily into a mouth, which snapped shut, instantly severing one leg. The limb was plucked up and tossed inside, and for a moment Snf caught a glimpse of the half-chewed warrior, and it nearly stole the strength from his body. Even as this horror occurred the other mouths were put to work by tentacles tossing the helpless within. Arrows were fired again and again, but the creature ignored even this... enough to down an entire herd of great lizards! In fact, the arrows were being pulled into the body of the thing, and it seemed unharmed by their penetration!

There was another blast from the beast's trunk. This time the warriors were wary, but two were still caught by the blast, including Snf's second. In a cry of defiance he grabbed a torch in each hand and ran at the creature a few steps before the poison took hold. As he dropped a tentacle snatched him up before he even hit the floor of the cave and hurled him, into a mouth. The second managed to keep his grip on the torches, no doubt intending to burn the creature from within, but sadly even this sacrifice was for nought. There was no hope of defeating the creature... if even fire was useless, then no means existed to kill it. He should have kept the tribe moving; instead he'd left them to the same fate as the other villages. "Flee!" he ordered. "Into the tunnels!" Instantly the warriors turned their backs and bolted, helping lead the others away. The beast, however, never relented; another blast from its trunk took down a group before it reached the cave entrance. Snf paused in his work as he saw them snatched up, heard the young ones screams as they were hurled two at a time into open mouths, smelled the stink of burning fur as some of the paralyzed were ignited by their own torches. He took up his club, gave a final cry, and charged in the name of all that was just in the world; one way or another, the nightmare for him would be ended. It was... but it went on for others as the beast chased them through the tunnels.
--------------------------------------------------------------

The Shadow's Edge was a twenty-meter freighter that had been outfitted with weaponry and shielding far beyond the intentions of the designers. Korri Rej had taken to it because it was quick and agile, like a Mystral should be. Rej was fearless but that didn't mean she was crazy; getting killed wasn't going to help the cause, and she had seven other Mystral on board to think about as well. Seven... make that six, she thought bitterly. Curse Garak and his miserly approach to information! Had they been properly briefed, Rej could have brought more than enough help to get everyone out alive.

Rej pushed that aside; it wasn't going to bring back the dead to dwell on it, and the Imps were obviously pulling out all the stops with her. She kicked the ship back into real space at random, grabbed a new vector from the navicomputer, and lept back into hyperspace. Their tracking technology had improved over the years, but Rej had gotten away from their hunters even before she'd ever set foot here in the Milky Way. With the limited Imperial presence, not to mention issues of jurisdiction with the independent worlds, she just needed to buy a little bit of time before she could lose everyone tracing them.

The Shadow's Edge dropped off, turned, and vanished into hyperspace.

Rej was started to hate this galaxy. Most everyone still thought small, not more than a dozen parsecs beyond their borders. The Malon would never think of forming an alliance with the Klingons because the Klingons were half a galaxy away. Never mind that you could reach the system in a matter of days, they were over there, and of no help, or so the short-sighted people thought. Garak seemed to be one of the few who could see beyond this, and he was barely more trustworthy than the Empire was. Everyone complained about the Empire, some were willing to fight it, but they didn't see the strength of working together against their common enemy because of their hatred for their neighbors and the dimissal of those who weren't!

The Shadow's Edge dropped off, turned, and-

Rej's eyes bugged and her jaw dropped. "Kriff!" she said, and hit the navicomputer on the second try. The ship vanished back into hyperspace.

"What is it?" Lian, her closest friend, asked. She'd been roused from her slumber in the co-pilot chair by Rej's outburst.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," Rej said, a little too fast. But Lian could read Rej rather well, and her eyes fell onto the display that still showed the last communication the Shadow's Edge had received.

"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ship. Resistance is futile."