Tristan Xenatos

Tristan fell against the back of the turbolift hard as the doors shut in front of him. His breath escaped in a small gasp. His head still throbbed and his muscled ached, but he felt as if he could handle it. The turbolift stopped and he walked out and down the corridor. As he turned into main science he composed himself; however as he stepped through the door his composure threatened to buckle. He looked around at what used to be a science lab. It was true that the Engineers had gotten most of the systems up and running. However, the lab was still in shambles. After a few moments spent looking around, Tristan finally took a seat behind one of the functioning consoles. He sighed, science was operational and the rest could be fixed later. This was a time of war…function over form and all that. He logged in and began reviewing the files from the last battle. As he worked he checked in on the bridge science console, which Maturin and Joy seemed to have well under control. He winced a bit as he reached the part of the replay where the bridge science console exploded. The pain of that flight and sudden stop against the bridge wall was still fresh on his mind. No sooner had Tristan settled into the seat then he saw a blip on the radar. More hostiles were incoming. He switched his console to main sensors and watched as the battle began to unfold. Every shake of the ship was felt deep in the Elasian’s sore bones. Tristan turned as a support beam fell across the lab. Luckily it missed anything important and anyone in the lab. After what seemed like an eternity the vessel quit shaking and Tristan watched as the remaining hostiles moved off. He quickly checked in on the bridge and then turned his attention to systems. The latest attack had not taken quite the toll that the first one had. One of the secondary consoles was down from a power surge of the still strained relays running through main science; but other then that it seemed most things were still intact. Tristan sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. As he ran through the reports that had been added during his time in Sickbay, he came across one he was loath to open: The Casualty report for Science. There had been quite a few injuries, but only two deaths. Ensign L’Ta, and Crewman Sicili. Tristan closed his eyes for a moment; he had not truly known L’Ta, but he had known Sicili. He was probably one of the few onboard who knew her as Maria, one of the few who was fortunate enough to be called her friend. She was married, with two children back home. He opened his eyes and closed the file. So it had started. He looked around the lab at the faces that he worked with everyday. Most were busily bustling around, doing whatever job they had been assigned. In some part of his mind he could not hel but wonder how many ghosts he was looking at. He sighed as his eyes rested on one man. Ensign Matoney was a new person on the ship, it was his first assignment. Fresh, young, eager…the young man would go far presuming he lived through this. Matoney looked up at Tristan and gave a weak smile trough the contusion on his lip. Tristan returned the smile despite the dark thoughts in his mind. But somewhere in the deep reaches of his mind he could not help but wonder whether or not Matoney was looking at a ghost himself…

The meeting chambers were large and impressive as the young man walked in. To his fresh eyes of twelve there seemed to be nothing grandeur on the planet. He stood at his father’s side looking about himself in wonder. In actually the building itself was a library, but a library like none other in all of Corineth. It housed the sacred books of law and order which had been passed down over the centuries from Council to Council. The chamber in which they stood housed all the books and records from the known history of Corineth. Needless to say, the chamber was a vast expanse decorated in lavish fashion. Ornate statues lined the walls, members of previous Councils and other dignitaries. The young man glanced one statue that he recognized, the current Lord Regent of Elasia. Intricately craved shelves of grand stature held rows upon rows of books older then any man or woman in the room. Elaborate tapestries hung at every corner in deep, rich colors as varied as a rainbow itself. At the center of the chamber was a huge polished wooden table with lavishly ornate seats. “Tristan?” his father said in a hushed tone. The younger Xenatos seemed not to hear, his eyes tracing all the intricate details on the largest tapestry hung at the head of the large table. This tapestry bore the insignia of the land of Corineth, it interwoven patterns a puzzle and delight to any who stared at its grand image. “Tristan,” Viktor repeated, finally snapping the boy out of his own mind and into the present. “Yes father?” Tristan replied, turning his attention to the tall mountain of a man at his left. Viktor cast a stern look at his son as he spoke, “It is not often an outsider is allowed to attend a meeting of this Council. This opportunity has been allotted you due to the fact that you are my son and likely to be a player in future political campaigns.” The words came out smooth and even in the voice of a politician. Viktor began walking towards the right side of the table as he continued to speak. “I want you on your best behavior. You are to sit and observe, remaining quiet at all times. Afterwards I will introduce you to some of the current members of the Council,” he paused in his step and looked at Tristan, “Greet them with all the respect due a member of the leaders of our homeland. Do not speak unless spoken to and, for Elaa’s sake, act like the man you are destined to be.” With that Viktor sat his son in a chair off to the right of the elaborately carved long-table. There were only two others sitting with Tristan, a young girl of approximately sixteen and a man beside her who appeared to be her father. Tristan wanted to ask who they were, but his father had already moved to take his place at the table. * * * It took every ounce of self control the young Elasian had to sit still and quiet through what seemed like an eternity. Back and forth, forth and back, it seemed as if the members of the Council were masters of argument but novices of agreement. For every two steps they took on an issue they were dragged back one by unsettled argument from those of opposing views. Tristan found the entire process to be hardly anything but pomp, posturing, and who happened to be the most convincing speaker. Of course his young mind was quite unable to grasp the more subtle actions at work in the course of the meeting. One man continually seemed to take the opposing side of his father, arguing without pause anything coming out of the mouth of the elder Xenatos. Tristan wondered why this man was so adamantly against his father. The two took their seats again after a rather heated round of argument, and the meeting plodded on. Throughout the ordeal Tristan continually stole glances at the young woman to his right. Her eyes were trained on the dignitaries as if she were watching the most exciting thing her youthful eyes had ever seen. She was destined for this line of work, Tristan mused to himself. Why couldn’t he be like that? Why did his thought continually drift elsewhere? These were question it would take the twelve year-old many years, and many places and destinations, to learn. * * * The meeting drew to a close having accomplished two decisions and thirteen unresolved issues to be debated next gathering. As the politicians stood and began mingling and speaking to one another Viktor came and drew Tristan to his side. Viktor introduced the child to two other representatives, Takala Mraan and Lucious Montrain. Both of them nodded and smiled politely, shaking the boy’s hand while giving their assurances that one day Tristan would be standing in this chamber a full member of the council. “You father tells us you have quite the gift of politics,” Mraan said with a warm smile on her lips. Tristan returned her with the young innocent smile of a boy not yet tainted with life and merely nodded his head in reply to her compliment. As Mraan and Montrain moved off Tristan’s eyes drifted across the room. At the other end stood the young woman he had sat beside earlier and her father. They were embracing and speaking with one of the senior members of the Council. Tristan deduced that this must be her mother. The elder member of the Council’s eyes sparkled as she spoke with her daughter, she was obviously proud of her daughter; the future politician to be. Why could Tristan not seem to please his father as this young girl pleased her mother? “Tristan,” Viktor’s voice broke into his son’s thoughts. Turning Tristan looked up, “Yes father?” he said, his mind returning to this side of the room and the present moment at hand. “This is Representative Mrax Tholtan,” Viktor indicated the man standing in front of them. “This is my son Tristan, Mrax.” The representative smiled, further wrinkling his aging features. “So this is Tristan,” he extended his hand, “Your father has told me much about you.” “Good things, I hope,” Tristan replied as he shook the man’s hand. The three of them shared a small laugh before Tholtan spoke again. “Tell me, what does the son of Viktor Xenatos think of the M’rang problem?” Tristan’s mind spun for an answer. He vaguely remembered his father mentioning the M’rang; it was something to do with to family fighting over the same piece of land. Both families had somehow come upon legal claim of the land and neither were willing to split it. That, however, is about where Tristan’s knowledge of the issue ended. It seemed that the issue had been discussed during the meeting, but Tristan’s thoughts had been elsewhere at the time. “I…I th-think that the issue is a problem for the,” he paused hunting the term, “the…lower courts to decide.” The words came out warbled and jilted, not in the smooth voice his father so often used and had so often tried to instill in him. “I see he has developed his father’s narrow sight, and a peasants tongue,” the voice came from the right. The man that was constantly arguing with Viktor during the meeting was standing slightly away from them. He grinned as he spoke. Tristan’s cheeks flushed bright red and his eyes cut downwards to the floor. “His vision is perfectly clear, and his tongue young, Dracous,” Viktor replied coldly. “The M’rang problem is an issue for the lower courts, not this reverent body.” Viktor had taken a step towards the man and in front of Tristan, his body tense. Dracous simply shook his head and walked away. “It was a pleasure to have met you, Tristan. And I agree with your thoughts,” Tholtan said warming, almost apologetically to Tristan. With that he moved on, and Viktor and Tristan took their leave. During the trip home Viktor said not a word, only looking at his son every now and then. Finally when they were only a few kilometers from home Viktor spoke, “One must always speak as if there is a crowd listening. One’s voice must be true and strong,” he repeated the words he had said so many times to his son. His tone turned severely sharp when he again spoke, “And one must always know the issues at hand and where he stands. One must always know exactly what he believes is right and should be done. Never be caught unaware or unknowing of an issue.” Tristan turned and opened his mouth to speak, but Viktor cut him off, “And never make excuses.” Tristan turned away and the two were silent until they reached the villa that served as the Xenatos family home. But in that silence Tristan swore a silent oath never to allow his voice to crack again, to always know where he stood and why he stood there, to always be certain of his actions and the repercussions of those actions, and lastly, the never be caught dumb again. * * * Tristan stared into the glass as the memory seemed to melt away with the ice; melt into the past. Recent events with Commander Teykier had caused the memory to rise within him. He had been harsh and insubordinate with his superior and he knew he was in the wrong. But her unsure voice, her uncertainty in her actions, and the way she had addressed the Science team left him unnerved. How was she supposed to lead when she was not even entirely certain what to do herself? Not helping the situation any was the PADD sitting on the table. Meraina had given it to him before the Excalibur had left Camelot. It was a series of letters from his brother, sisters, and mother. As was to be expected, there was no writing from his father. Tristan had gone a long time avoiding his family for multiple reasons, but has found himself compelled to read the letters. There were five in total, each one a request for more contact from the ‘wayward’ Xenatos as his father was apt to call him. Still, even after all this time, none of them truly understood why he had left or why he had chosen the path he had. The Xenatos family was one of tradition and skill; skills in art, in music, and in words. None of them could fathom why Tristan had chosen to leave home and study the sciences aboard some distant vessel. To be perfectly honest, Tristan really had never figured that out either. But until he did he could not return to his family. He could not rejoin them and pretend like everything was fine. He sighed, maybe he could not fully return to them, but he also could not continue to estrange himself either. “Another?” the waitress broke into his thoughts. “No, thank you,” Tristan replied. He had already had two and getting drunk was not going to solve anything. He stood and walked towards the door, his father’s words on that long past day seeming to reach from the past to haunt his already troubled mind. And one must always know the issues at hand and where he stands. One must always know exactly what he believes is right and should be done.

Tristan stepped out of the Grail onto the main promenade of Camelot Station. The hour was getting to be quite late and many of the shops had closed for the night. The Elasian did not feel like returning to the Excalibur just yet, however, so he began to roam the promenade. Maturin had left the Grail some time ago, after downing a nice quantity of scotch. Tristan had carried on a few conversations with other people he knew around the bar until the crowd thinned to nearly no one. Still he was not ready to return to the Excalibur. Maybe it was the rum, but he doubted it. He felt restless recently. Since returning to alpha shift he had not been sleeping well at night. He paced his quarters, roamed the ship, anything but lay in bed awake. Maybe it was his body still trying to adjust to alpha shift, but he doubted it. Tristan paused at the rail and looked down at the lower level. Recent events had been troubling. Things were reaching a boiling point and he could feel it. Something had to happen soon. Maybe recent events with the Socrpiads had his mind troubled, but he doubted it. There was one thing not on his mind anymore. He was not denying communications from home lately. With the wormhole no longer under their control there had been no communications from the Alpha Quadrant. Tristan began walking again. There had not been the usual message from his mother, nor the messages on government channels from his father. Tristan had not heard anything from Laria in quite some time… Maybe this was the reason…Tristan closed his eyes and tried to tell himself he doubted it. “Xenatos?” Tristan turned startled by the voice. She was blonde, slim, and Bajoran. “Who is asking?” he asked, returning to the world of the here and now. “Are you Tristan Xenatos?” she asked, crossing her arms. She was a head shorter then Tristan, and appeared a few years younger. “Listen I don’t have-“ Tristan held up a hand. “Yes, I am Tristan Xenatos.” “Finally,” she seemed to sigh. “I have been looking all over for you.” She uncrossed her arms and seemed to relax a bit. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked. He did not ever remember seeing the woman. But then again Tristan had met many people on and off of Elasia. She smirked, but only slightly. “You look quite different from your holopic…of course it was a bit out of date.” She held out her hand “Tynte Meraina, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Tristan shook her hand, a bit puzzled. “Holopic?” “Your brother carries one of every member in your family,” she replied. She apparently caught onto his confusion, for she continued. “I teach at the Bajoran Institute of Art and Music. I am a friend of Vincent.” Tristan paused for a moment, not quite believing what he heard. “You are a friend of my brother?” “Boy, nothing gets past you, eh?” She smirked and started walking along the upper level of the promenade. Tristan followed along. “Anyways, the institute sent me here to rendezvous with new instructor. Needless to say we have been a bit waylaid.” She continued, not turning towards Tristan but looking strait ahead. “You brother had mentioned that I might want to look you up while I was here. I did not think I was going to have time,” she paused at one of the junctions that led to the civilian quarters, “but it would appear that time is all I have at hand currently. We should talk sometime, Tristan. Your brother told me a lot about you; you should have the chance to defend yourself.” A slight smile crossed her face. She turned to make her way to the civilian sector. “Wait,” Tristan called. “It is 2 in the morning,” she eyed his collar, “Lieutenant. It is far past this professor’s bedtime. I saw you on my way back to my quarters, and thought I would introduce myself. We can talk later…I have a feeling I am going to be around for a while.” With that she turned and walked down the corridor. “Goodnight, Lieutenant,” she called over her shoulder. “Goodnight,” Tristan called. He stood there for a moment, watching this link to home walk away. For a moment the thought crossed his mind that he may never get the chance to talk to the young woman; but he doubted it.

Lightning lit the sky in the dark of the night; rain fell against the clear pane of the large window in the main sitting room. The young man stood on the front porch the light from the interior of the building casting harsh shadows on the elegant suit he wore. His scarlet tie tugged at his neck as the wind caught it while the man behind him spoke. “Let her go Tristan, it was her decision.” He turned another bolt of lightning casting a deep contrast on his face. “And she deserves to die for her decision?” As he spoke another man appeared in the doorway, his statue and bearing speaking to a man of great confidence and power. “You have made your decision then?” A sober nod was his only reply. The older man considered him for a moment, “Very well,” from inside the door he produced a long coat. “Elaa be with you.” Tristan took the coat as his uncle again spoke, “Brother this is madness!.” Trimor said to the older man beside him. Viktor claming looked to his brother,” It is his decision,” and with that Viktor disappeared into the house and Tristan dismounted the porch, pulling the long trench coat around him. Trimor shook his head as he closed the door, “Foolish children…” The wind tore at his face as Tristan made his way threw the wooded area along the coast, the rain soaking everything around him. Not three hours ago he had been standing in the large ballroom of his father’s home with a tall flute in his hand and a slight grin on his face. It was the day after the elections and Viktor Xenatos had once again been elected to the council of six as a lead member. The party had been an enormous affair; anyone who was anyone on the island nation of Corineth was there. It was a night of celebration and happiness and Tristan was being as cheerful as he ever was. Until, that is, he saw Laria slink down the stairs and open the front door. He ran after his sister, catching her on the front porch. “Go back to your party; your snobbery and your egos!” she had yelled before diving off into the countryside. Laria had never been a fan of her father’s political career, but she had never went this far. It was true that it was a childish act on her part; but Laria was only 14. This was the argument that had issued between Tristan and his uncle Trimor. An argument that ensued for the next two and a half hours climaxing in Tristan announcing he was going after his sister. “It was her decision, boy!” his uncle had yelled across the library. “She is only a child!” Tristan argued back his face turned into an anger he did not often show. How? How could her own uncle turn his back on her for one childish mistake? “Her age cannot make excuses for her behavior,” Trimor continued to argue, “I always knew that girl would be trouble this family.” Tristan looked at his father, sitting in his large chair in the corner of the library. Viktor had his chin in his hands, thinking. “Father…” Viktor did not reply; he sat there as if made of the same marble as the columns in the impressive library. Tristan’s eyes cut back to his uncle, holding his gaze for a moment. Then he suddenly made for the door and did not stop until he had reached the front porch. Now, a half hour later, Tristan ran through the woods soaked to the bone looking for his sister. He knew her decision had been foolish, and that her decision had put her in danger needlessly. But he also knew she did not deserve to die for that one mistake, which was precisely what would happen to her if she was left outside through the night. As he ran he felt an odd weight at his side. He felt into the inner layer of the coat and his fingers found metal, the cold surface nicking his skin. Startled by the cut Tristan tripped over a raised root. Feeling himself begin to fall Tristan rolled into the tumble attempting to roll out of the fall. As he rolled he felt the ground give from under him and he began to slide down a steep embankment. He hit the bottom hard, the wind knocked out of him and the trench coat flying open. As he looked up he saw the blade flying through the air sticking in the ground. His eyes focusing he relaxed what it was. It was the ceremonial katana his father had been presented with from the Danteri ambassador a few years back. It was an ornate blade with a precious metal inlayed hilt, contoured to the hand of the owner. It was a beautiful piece of weaponry, but one should not be fooled by its beauty; it was sharp enough to cut though the hide of a Litarian desert beast like the hull of an Elasian sea clipper through water. Viktor must have put the blade in the coat. Tristan felt around inside the coat and found the sheath for the weapon, it must have come loose while he was running. It was useless to try and wrap the coat back around himself, his clothes were now soaked all the way through. He stood, his body sore from the fall, and moved towards the katana. Picking it up, the hilt felt large in his hand; it had been crafted for his father’s large hands. As he went to sheath the blade he heard a noise from his left. Turning he saw a pair of blue-green eyes rushing from the brush. Instinct took hold of his muscles; years of blade training with his personal instructor flashing back to him at once. He spun, the sharp edge of the short sword finding flesh. The sheath hit the mud as the animal landed hard behind Tristan. Purplish blood ran of the edge of the blade as the rain washed it clean. Tristan stared at the blade, his eyes then moving to the beast behind him. It was a Chakara; four-legged creatures about the size of a large colt, but far fatter. They inhabited the woods of Elasia on most of the islands in this area. Their fangs were said to be sharp enough to rip a limb…or a head off a man in an instant. Tristan had often wondered if that was merely an exaggerated rumor or if there was any truth to it. But now, standing looking at one only a few meters away he had no desire to test the theory. As this thought crossed his mind Tristan heard a scream. He grabbed the sheath as he ran past it and ran head first into the woods. He ran threw the trees and brush, the sticks and briars tearing at his flesh until, finally, he could see her. Laria was standing, her back to the tree, about ten meters away. Three Chakaras paced around her, staring up at her with their cold eyes. Tristan moved, instinct kicking in once again; adrenaline filled his veins. As he moved the trench coat flew from his back, landing on a fallen tree. One of the Chakaras snapped towards Laria. Tristan swung…one down. He turned and his suit coat found the ground, the blade flicked up to lick the snout of another Chakara. The beasts pulled back, eyeing the newcomer warily. The animals startle soon wore off, however, and one lunged at Tristan and his sister, who was now cowering behind him. The blade sliced the air again, but a millisecond to late. It made contact with the attacker, but not before the animal grabbed the tie around Tristan’s neck in its mouth. The two fell hard together, the Chakara rolling over and kicking away. Tristan imitated the animal, rolling over, but before he could right himself to his feet the other Chakara was on top of him. Tristan pulled the blade up to protect his face and the animal bit it. Pulling hard the animal began to bleed from the mouth. It released the blade and dodged off to the side startled by the injury. As Tristan stood the initial attacker returned. This time, however, Tristan moved quickly enough, slicing the beast clean at the neck. He spun the blade jutting it behind him. It found its target, the animal impaled itself on the blade. Tristan pulled the blade out and turned to his sister, the rain washed the blade clean again as he spoke. “Are you ok?” Laria seemed unable to speak, her head moved up and down to answer his question. He gently lifted her up and the two walked to the fallen tree where the trench coat was resting. Tristan draped the coat over his sister shoulders, sheathing the blade and sliding it into the deep inner pocket. Nynia rushed out of the front door as Tristan walked up the front steps, his sister in his arms. His mother stopped at one of the columns her hand resting against it looking at her daughter in her son’s arms. Two servants rushed forward to take Laria from him and Tristan placed his sister gently into their care. Trimor stepped into the doorway and looked at his nephew. Nynia followed the servants inside to watch over her daughter, leaving the two men to stare at each other. Tristan stood, his hair stuck wetly to his face, his clothes dripping, and his skin cut and bruised from the ordeal. He looked past his uncle to see that the party was still going on inside, yet it seemed his father was nowhere to be seen, Trimor had a glass in his hand, the liquid inside half gone. Tristan considered him for a moment, then walked past him into the house. * * * Lightning danced across the sky on the foreign world. The rain was torrential and the sky black. Tristan stared as the security officer moved away, growing smaller. He found himself relieved as the man moved away; their conversation had brought up old ghosts. Tristan’s eyes danced back in front of him, to the bleak surroundings he found himself in. He knew that Ja’i was out there somewhere, and he knew that the boy had made a foolish decision. He could not shake from his mind, however, the fact that this being was only a child; a young man scared and afraid. As these thoughts trickled through his mind the words of the past rose in his mind; only with slightly altered pronouns. And he deserves to die for his decisions?

Tristan sat, staring into the blank monitor before him. His mind swirled and churned, his subconscious tearing at his conscious mind, threatening his already fragile mental state. He stared into the black void of the screen before him. Blank for he had yet to activate it, yet to convince himself that it was the proper course of action. He stood, unable to sit anymore he paced to the other side of the room. Looking down at the glass top table situated to the left in his room, his eyes fell on the PADD that was the cause of all this. It had been 5 hours since Corizon had given him that very PADD, 5 hours since his already shaky world had been thrown into chaos. He lay his hand gently on it’s metallic surface and lifted it from the surface of the glass. Striding to the door he walked out into the corridors. They were devoid of life, most of the crew being on leave aboard Camelot. He turned to his right and began to walk down the empty hallway before him. Why… his mind began to wonder. Why had Corizon given him this? He did not understand what possible reasoning the Dameon had for allowing him to view this. Coming to a long viewport, he paused, staring out into the stars. This was something that always relaxed him, allowed him to clear his mind. Each point of light represented multiple worlds, billions of beings….it was all very relaxing to know that one was merely one cog in the vast machine of the universe. He sighed as he chided himself for forgetting one of the first lessons his father taught him. Even the smallest cog, Tristan, can change the world as we know it. His father’s voice boomed in his head, the voice from home bringing him back to the PADD in his pocket. He sighed, lowering his eyes to the floor. A decision had to be made, and no one could make this one for him. He had been raised…groomed, to make these decisions. So why now was he having such difficulty… Elasia was in turmoil, teetering on the break of complete civil war. The last reports, other then the one he know held, had both sides virtually holding phasers to each other’s temples. He had read the transcript, sent via his father’s offices, of the last meeting between the Lord Regent and the Isian leaders. The exchange between the two sides had been heated to say the least. But what concerned Tristan was what occurred towards the end of the meeting. Apparently the SS Sussex had been attacked, though by whom nobody knew yet. Both sides, as one would predict, were blaming each other. This, Tristan knew, had all the makings of a flashpoint. He sighed, war, it seemed, was nearing the point of inevitability. Which made the decision Tristan was now faced with of even more importance. Things, however, it seemed were not as strait forward as some would assume. Apparently, there were two Starfleet officer’s within the meeting on Elasia. Tristan reached into a different pocket and removed a different PADD then the one Corizon had given him. This one was the one he had received from his father’s office. He scrolled down and found what he was looking for, the name of the Starfleet Officers involved. Hayden Dacotah, Captain. And Arphazad Lo’Ami, Commander. Tristan had cross referenced the names and found that they were assigned to a Sovereign Class vessel which had had an interesting, to say the least, record. He thumbed further down to the section where he had placed his notes. There it was, the name of the vessel. Arcadia. Replacing the PADD in his pocket, Tristan focused his attention, once again, on the stars out the viewport in front of him. If the Federation was to get involved in all this, things would complicate, fast. In the same vein, you had the matter of the information he had received. Corizon knew very well who he was, and who his father was, and had given him the report none the less. Tristan’s mind began to clear as he felt himself reentering the analytical state he worked so hard to maintain. Clasping his hands behind his back in the way he had done since he was a small child, he raised his chin and straitened his back. His decision made, he turned and strode back down the corridor. He did not wander, his step sure. He walked with purpose and intent back to his quarters. Sitting back down, he stared back into the void of the blank monitor. Only this time, he reached for the controls. He readied himself for the conversation he was about to have, but that conversation never came. Tristan found himself staring into another blank screen, unable to make a connection through the wormhole to the Alpha Quadrant. His mind spun and twirled in confusion. He had waited to late, agonized over the decision to long, and now he was unable to do what needed to be done. He turned and looked out the viewport in his quarters at the stars. All his travels, his time spent at schools on multiple worlds, and yet…. He sighed. As he sat there, staring out this viewport on this far flung vessel, he had never felt so far from home.

Tristan entered the bridge with an odd sinking feeling inside him. As he walked to Science, he noticed the almost physical buzz in the air. The bridge had more personnel then usual, no doubt in preparation for the upcoming battle. As he came to rest at one of the secondary Science consoles, his eyes fell to the Commander. He was sitting in the Commander Chair, speaking to officers and looking over padds, making all the preparations for the action he was about to commence. Tristan brought up a small 3D holographic display on which he could view and monitor the entire fleet. He watched as small pinpricks of blue light moved across the display, each one representing a different vessel. As he watched the display, he moved his hands over the console, bringing up more detailed images of various ships on the monitors in front of him. Sabers, Defiants, Steamrunners…the list went on and on. As he viewed a Saber dancing in and out of formation with it’s larger sisters, it happened. Suddenly they were within range, small red lights began to wink to life on his display. Few at first, they soon grew to numbers to great to count…the Al-Ucardian fleet. As he began to bring up some of these vessels on the more detailed screens, via long-range sensors, Tristan began to feel his throat tighten up. Corizon made the attempt at diplomacy, an attempt all of Tristan’s experience in politics told him would fail. And fail it did, as the Al-Ucard flatly refused to negotiate and Commander Ah-Windu Corizon gave the command. The command to strike. The pinpricks of light surged towards each other and within moments were intermixed. Tristan knew that the order Corizon gave was necessary, but it was hard to remember that as he watched the two fleets open hell-fire on each other. He watched on the monitors as various classes and sizes of vessels fired on and covered each other. The ship began to shake as the Excalibur joined the battle and Tristan was thrown to the deck plating. As he pulled himself back up, lights began to wink out on the display. The realization of what that meant hit as he watched a Centaur class cruiser explode into dust on one of the small monitors. He reported some minor details and proceeded to assist Itzhak with the shielding, which was failing all around the ship. “I am losing the aft lateral sensors.” “Compensating.” Itzhak said. Tristan was not sure how, but the Commander restored shielding to the rear of the ship. Tristan glanced down at one of the monitors, he watched as the Reliant danced and wove between larger vessels. As he viewed this battle unfold, his mind began to float to issues he had tried to suppress for the time being. As he watched more and more vessels exploding, he could not help but wonder how long it would be until Elasia came to this. As he closed his eyes, he could see the vessels of his homeworld embroiled in battle. Akan class cruisers exploding over the swirling marble surface of Elasia... Soltok battlecruisers raining down on anything that dare oppose them… His eyes flew open, unable to bear the images now plaguing his mind, and as he did the Excalibur took another hit. He opened his eyes just in time to see the white-hot flash of the console in front of him exploding in front of him. The next thing Tristan knew he was on the deck again, only this time he was unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think… The pain was immense….blinding. “Tristan, are you ok?” Came a voice which the small part of his mind still working told him was Itzhak. He was unable to reply, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled towards the turbolift. “OK we’re going.” “Going where?” Tristan finally mustered the strength to ask. “Sickbay.” Itzhak replied. Tristan felt himself being pulled into the Turbolift, finding his ability once again to open his eyes. As he did, they were filled with blue…blue nearly running into him on its way out of the Turbolift. How convenient… Tristan felt his sense of sarcasim returning. Sickbay came to me.

Shadows danced in the dim illumination as Tristan walked along the viewport in his quarters. He stopped and turned towards the star lines streaking by, lifting his thin tall glass to his lips. The deep red liquid within the glass was tart, but with a subtle sweetness to the finish. His eyes glanced from the viewport to the padd that lay blinking on the table situated to the left in the main room of his quarters. The reason behind much of Tristan’s pacing lay in the headline sprawled across the top of the padd’s display. Elasian Conflict Stirs Federation News Service Recent events on Elasia had been disturbing to say the least. Tensions such as these had not stirred in the Halls of N’Dak since the war with Troyius. The capital city of Cor Capitalia buzzed with an air of worry and dread, the tension centering around the threats and demands of the new leader of the Isian Free State. Tristan sighed heavily. The report he had just read did not bode well for an easy solution. And he knew that that report barely scraped the surface of what was happening on his homeworld. Tristan knew the government on Elasia, he knew the offices and the people that filled them. He also knew the beings standing in the shadows behind those in office. Nothing was as it seemed. He took another long sip from his glass then crossed his arms, resting the lip of the glass on his bicep. His father was no doubt in session with the Council of Six at this very moment. Corineth had always supported the Dohlman, and they would no doubt do so in this as well. Support the Dohlman, the phrase rang though Tristan’s mind, the mere fact that there were two different sides to support meant trouble. Once lines were drawn and sides were taken, things rarely were settled civilly. Tristan brought the side of the glass to his forehead, thankful for the cool kiss of the polished surface. He closed his eyes as he allowed his thoughts to come to the heart of the issue. He should be sitting at his father’s side at this time. He should be helping his country, his people, his world… Instead, he was aboard this vessel halfway across the known galaxy barreling towards a conflict that did not truly concern him or the Federation. Tristan did not regret his decision to leave Elasia or to join the Federation. The pomp and prestige of the world of politics was simply not for him, though it was in his very blood. This did not negate the fact, however, that as the son of Viktor Xenatos he had a responsibility to Corineth, as well as to Elasia as a whole. He removed the glass from his forehead feeling the numb sensation of his chilled skin against the warm air in the room. Draining the remaining liquid from the glass, he set it down on the table. Moving his hand to the left he picked up the padd displaying the article. Scrolling down a few paragraphs he came to the section that had peaked his interest earlier. Traditionally, the leader of these planetary armed forces has been the leader of the province of Rohland, the Lord Regent. However, in recent years, the de facto leader has been the ranking military general at the time, as the current Lord Regent, Koshic V, has been off planet, serving in Starfleet aboard the starship USS Arcadia. Tristan felt a pang of sympathy for the Lord Regent, being that he too had left Elasia and the life that was planned for him. The difference was that N’Dak was going back, he was returning to fulfill his duties to his world. Tristan could not begin to fully understand N’Dak’s situation, his responsibility to Elasia was far greater then any of Tristan’s responsibilities. But yet, N’Dak was going back, he was accepting what Elasia needed rather then what he wanted. Tristan again closed his eyes, his face twisting physically in response to his mental pain. Suddenly he flicked his wrist, sending the padd whirling across the room smashing into the far wall with a metallic clank, then clattering to the floor. Tristan walked to the replicator and took another glass of maroon liquid from it. Walking back to the viewport, he physically began to calm, though the mental storm raged stronger then ever. He sipped at his drink calmly and smoothly, as he had been taught by his etiquette teachers. He stood staring out into the stars as they streaked by. There was nothing he could do at this time, he mentally reassured himself. The battle with the Al-Ucard was nigh approaching, and every officer would be needed to survive it. He would have to put personal things aside and fight. He would be damned if he was going to die out here for a cause not even his own. Taking another long sip Tristan calmed his mind, pushing away the gray clouds and pushing his mind to focus once again. Glancing off to his side he saw the padd laying on the floor in multiple pieces. He was troubled by his uncharacteristic action. Sighing he lay the half empty glass beside its empty doppelganger on the table and walked over to the shattered padd. Kneeling down he collected the pieces and deposited them into the replicator to be recycled. As they simmered away, a change outside the viewport caught Tristan’s eye. The starlines compacted into dots as the Excalibur dropped from warp. “And so it begins…” Tristan said absent mindedly as a quote his philosophy professor at the Academy had taught him rang through his ears. Politics is war without bloodshed while war is politics with bloodshed.

"Ideals in Action" SD 20605.7 Tristan walked along the surface of the planet Avalon. He strode though the area which had come to be called Construction Site Alpha sometime early in the colonization phase. Ensign Queslar did have a point, the planet’s natural state was beautiful. However, beauty rarely served purpose, and this planet had a very important purpose indeed. As he walked the site, it amazed him how quickly the project was coming along. Inner frames and skeletal structures of buildings were beginning to take shape, and the outline he had viewed in Lt. Commander Itzhak’s office was beginning to emerge physically on the planets surface. He ducked underneath a metal triangular shaped frame being carried to one of the nearly completed outer structures. Tristan crossed what, for all intents and purposes, was the center hub of the new colony. All around he saw men and woman, mostly Starfleet, working on their various projects. They all worked apart from one another or in small groups. But their mission and goal was the same: To colonize Avalon. It was as he noted this situation that it struck him exactly what was happening here. His feet were planted on what was to become the first Federation Colony in the Gamma Quadrant. He was standing on history itself. He paused at one of the temporary housing sections. This was the exact reason he had requested posting aboard the Excalibur. The overarching mission on every vessel in the Federation was ‘To discover strange new worlds’ ‘To seek out new life’ ‘To boldly go where no man had gone before’. This mantra however had become mere words, mere writing on a plaque to many of those in Starfleet. Tristan turned around as a sudden breeze whipped his hair into his face. He took in his surroundings, he watched as the men and women around him built the future. He watched as the wild and untamed melded with the civilized world. This was what those sacred words spoke of. What he was witnessing was the physical embodiment of those ideals. “Ensign,” someone behind him spoke. He turned by force of habit as did three others near him. “Ensign Xenatos?” The voice spoke again, this time Tristan saw the source of the sound, a Lieutenant walking towards him. “Yes sir?” Tristan responded. “Commander Itzhak said you might be able to give us a hand on some of these prefabs.” The man said as he indicated a cluster of buildings under construction. “Of course,” Tristan replied. The lieutenant nodded and began walking towards the buildings. Tristan followed, taking one more look over his shoulder back at the central hub of the colony. As he neared the prefabs, he moved his attention away from the higher meanings of what they were doing here and back to the task at hand. He grabbed hold of a piece of frame and helped lift it into place, returning to his small part in this big picture.

=/\= Begin Starfleet Personnel File =/\= =/\= Begin Personal Information =/\= Surname: Xenatos First Name: Tristan Age: 27 Terran Years Species: Elasian Rank: Lieutenant, Junior Grade Assignment: USS Excalibur-B Position: Assistant Science Officer Commanding Officers: Admiral Wayne Day, Commander Ah-Windu Corizon Hair Color: Chestnut Eye Color: Deep Green Height: 1.88 Meters Weight: 74.84 Kilograms Distinguishing Features: Permanently tanned skin, (Due to living in an Island culture). One small circle shaped burn scar on his left upper chest. Marital Status: Single Place of Birth: Malata, Corineth Planet of Birth: Elasia =/\= Begin Family Tree =/\= Father: Viktor Xenatos (Leading member, Council of 6) Mother: Nynia Xenatos Siblings: Sister: Trania Xenatos (Junior council member, Junior Council of 12) Brother: Vincent Xenatos (Professor of Sculpture and Monumental Art, Bajoran Institute of Art, Bajor). Sister: Laria Xenatos (Student) =/\= Begin Personal History =/\= Hailing from the island region of Corineth, on the planet Elasia, Tristan Xenatos is the son of Viktor and Nynia Xenatos. His childhood years were spent, for the most part, mainly on the small island nation to which he was born. This is not to say that he is un-traveled. Being the son of a distinguished member of the Council of 6, one of the most powerful governmental bodies in Corineth, Tristan’s childhood mostly consisted of political soirees, parties, and diplomatic dinners. Due to this, Tristan is well versed in all areas of political and diplomatic knowledge. However, though naturally gifted at politics and diplomacy, Tristan chose not to follow his father into Corineth political system. Instead he chose to study abroad, learn about the galaxy. He spent much of his life past the Terran age of 16 in various schools and universities, starting out with the best education Elasia had to offer. By the time he had turned the Terran equivalent of 23, he had already attended and earned degrees from renowned institutes on both Betazed and Bajor. It was at this point in his life that Tristan made his first visit to the Earth, and the United Federation of Planet’s governing council. He went as a member of a political envoy headed by Takala Mraan, another member of the Council of 6. Having studied on multiple Federation worlds, Tristan was of course familiar with the organization. However, as he went to the political dinners, multiple meetings, and even a session of the UFP Council itself, he found himself intrigued. Tristan decided then and there to enter Starfleet Academy. Having degrees in physical science, theoretical science and philosophy, he was quickly accepted into the Academy. Pursuing a career in the sciences was the natural choice for Tristan. And having studied the subject matter extensively already, he passed most of the courses with relative ease. Though this is not to say he did not have his setbacks and challenges at the Academy. Upon graduation, he requested and received a post aboard the USS Excalibur-B. =/\= End Personal History =/\= =/\= Begin Psychiatric Profile Subject: Tristan Xenatos =/\= Ensign Xenatos has all the makings of a great politician. All the makings that is, except for his unbridled disdain for what he calls ‘shadow games and pointless posturing’. Being raised by a man in the field of politics, Tristan is quick thinking, and sharp tongued. This tongue has been known to get him into more then one bad situation. Personally and privately, he is a confidant (sometimes to the point of near arrogance) and self assured person. He possesses great tact when he thinks before he speaks, but he has a bad tendency fire back cruelly and condescendingly to anyone who chooses to argue with him when he is upset. This Doctor, considering this and much more, sees no reason that Mr. Tristan Xenatos cannot serve aboard any of our vessels. Dr. Mary Yala, Starfleet Medical =/\= End Psychiatric Profile =/\= =/\= Begin Medical History =/\= Mr. Xenatos has suffered no major ailments or injuries notable enough to list here. A listing of minor ailments and injuries follows. Broken Left Wrist: Sustained at the terran age of 12 on a class field trip to Mount Cal’tra. Broken Nose: Sustained at the terran age of 17 during a debate team meet. Sustained from a member of the opposing team. Broken Right Ankle: Sustained during his first year at the Academy during the semi-finals of a Velocity tournament. =/\= End Medical History =/\= =/\= End Personal Information =/\= =/\= End Starfleet Personnel File =/\=