rosetto

Yep, He hath returned.... Well, hopefully. Basically, I am attempting to convince an old friend of mine who is also an avid ST fan to join with me. I really think she'll love doing this sorta thing. If I convince her then we will probably be joining the Academy in the near future. I'm looking forward to simming with you all again! pete

I totally agree with your reasoning here. Many years back when TNG was coming to an end, I had sent Paramount an idea for a follow-on series. What they produced was Deep Space Nine which definitely lacked the main driving point that I was making. Basically, it's easy! We all know the STAR TREK Universe and how it all works. We don't have to reinvent that. All we have to do is show the audience (show us!) the rest of the Federation, not just the one ship and crew. And what I mean is that every week we are shown a new crew and new environment. It could even be a new Genre, comedy one week, crime drama the next and then a medical or soap opera following that!... We could even throw in a Spaghetti Western! Woot! Woot! I know, the Holodeck provided some of that from TNG, but what I am talking about is "CSI:Star Trek" or "Star Trek:JAG"

As far as I can recall, when Kirk 1st took command, the war with the Klingons was still active. In fact, until the Organians "Errand of Mercy", the Federation is still at war with the Klingons.. Just saying... :)

On Fesoan we have our companion of the heavens. We call him Tsubar and he dominates our skies like a father sheltering us from the cosmic bombardments beyond. He is larger than anything else in the heavens and he has a sword or sash that passes through his belly and can be seen clearly at night during certain parts of the year. This is the one constant that binds us to our world. This is what we were taught as children. Now we know that Tsubar is a planet, one of many in the Andorian System. Fesoan, or Andor as the offworlders call it, is but a satellite of this planet. The sword is in reality a planetary ring or belt of icy particles that glow in the night but the image of the sword still lingers in my mind. Only one with an iron will could survive with a sword piercing one's stomach. That is life on Fesoan. That is my father, proud and bold, always protecting us from the unwanted elements that were a part of our lives. For half of the year Tsubar is a huge pail blue disk slowly migrating across the day. But as he rises later and later he becomes increasingly more powerful. His blue hue fades to a bright white and soon he lights our nights. The torrid storm clouds that that whip through his atmosphere perform a dance familiar to me every evening. As is the cycle of life, soon the sun catches up with him and we know that its days are now numbered. Day by day the sun approaches. When our sun completely disappears behind the great planet our skies are darkened. These are the nine days of Tsubar. They are the Andorian New Year. This period of time, this cycle between eclipses, is just over three standard years and for nine days during the eclipse Fesoan becomes cold and stormy. The average temperature plummets 40 degrees across the planet. Many Andorians and Aenar become depressed during this time but I think of it as a time of renewal and rebirth. Every Con Tsubar, which is what we call it and roughly translates to Tsubar's Rule, I follow an ancient tradition of cleansing and spend the days at a beach in the warmth of the waters there. I prefer the Sea of Hoshi probably because it was where I grew up. As an adult, however, I have spend many Con Tsubars in the glamorous island cities of Deonis with my family. The islands are usually warmer during these days because they are surrounded by the ocean and the ocean has retained its warmth from the long summer suns. By human standards, even the blistering heat of a summer on Andor is frigid and cold to that race. I am Aenar and we prefer the warmer more stable climes. My family, however, were not as affluent as I would have preferred and so I led a sheltered life in the City-caves of North Umbregal where we get heat from the internal warmth of the planet. We are by nature an extremely reclusive race and so life in caves is really not a far stretch for us. Also, many of us do not have vision; our eyes are much too sensitive to the wavelengths one assumes to be standard. It is not that we cannot see rather that we see too much. It is actually painful for us and over the many passed milleniums we have learned to block it out entirely for fear of insanity. I, Kyron Dansit, am a rarity among my people and proud of it. Perhaps it is due to a strong will or just a freak of nature but I can control and maintain my visual perceptions much the same as the Andorian or other human life forms. It makes me some what of an outcast with my people but it isn't as if I had asked to be this way. My immediate family understands however I am not welcome in extended family gatherings and have spent much of my learning years alone with my link-pad exploring other worlds, imaginary or not so imaginary. This was my only comfort, to learn of other cultures and races, to know that being different was not dangerous or even unpleasant. It is simply, different. It was once thought that I was a product of interracial breeding. This has been practiced since I can remember although most Aenar find it repulsive. It has be found that the majority of offspring between the Aenar and Andor have a greenish flesh. Some have unique birth markings of Andorian blue or Aenarian white. Green, however, is usually their dominate skin tone. Mine is most definitely pearly white, even pink in places. There is not one hint of green or Andorian blue anywhere on my body. I've checked... Not out of vanity, but assurance of my sanity. I have looked at every inch of me be certain. My hair is reddish brown and my eyes are like ekrl gems, green within green which also differs from my bretheren. However, there is no trace of Andorian blood within me and the elders could find no trace of residual Andorian memories either. Of course, they could not (or would not) see that my flesh was as white as theirs. Alas, I was different and due to that fact I have been considered other-than-aenar. And so as Con Tsubar approaches I find myself travelling again but this time it is for real. Two weeks ago I had contacted an offworlder named Susan Blake and she had some very interesting things to say. I am going to meet her in the Fesoan City of Poldar on the island of Deonis. I have been there before. It is probably the largest city on Andor and definitely one with frequent offworlder visitors. I believe that there is even a terran embassy somewhere although I have never had a need to seek it out. Perhaps this is to be my destiny, a life in Star Fleet, aboard a great starship traveling the galaxy. I have read quite a bit about this organization and the United Federation of Planets. It is common knowledge as we had been a member for nearly two centuries, but I have done extended research as well. The Aenar in general, however, tend to shy away from direct contact with the offworlders. We gathered most of our information from the minds of the Andorian. It was an alien culture; they were all aliens with many customs that are just... er... different from our own. Many of our elders are agast by some of these behaviors and we preferred to remain recluse. Alas, I am different but I rarely speak my mind aloud or otherwise. I have had fantasies as a young woman though, dancing with dark strangers on distant worlds. I often dreamed about what it would be like to travel the heavens and visit other cultures first hand. I never imagined that it would really happen to me. We could hardly afford the k-prime education required much less the housing costs while I learned. Susan, however, knew of a short-cut, had offered a fast track that I could take. This is what had peaked my interest in our sub-space conversation. The Federation had always been curious about our race and very few of us have ever remained outside of the collection for very long. Their fates were varied and most simply returned to Fesoan and retreated into the hive-culture. They did not even shared their experiences for fear of rejection. That part of their minds was slowly erased and buried, repopulated with traditional soup. What Susan was offering was a chance to join Star Fleet as a civilian, travel with them and help them to understand and negotiate agreements with other cultures. Unlike the Betazed, our mental capacities could reach out beyond a local environment and across light-years of empty void. They are also different, so am have learned than the Betazed and other races akin to them. Without a frame of reference its difficult to describe our senses but I guess they are similar by comparison to vision that speaks. This is why Star Fleet has been interested in our race. Our telepathy can go beyond words and cultural barriers and visit the very essense of souls. Well I guess I have to cut this log short because we are nearing the harbour were I will catch the next vessel traveling to Deonis. It is quite a long journey traveling alone. The last time I came I was with my brother. He provided a buffer between the realm of the Aenar collection and the vast populous in the Andorian metropolis. But I have been focusing my thoughts as he had taught me and I got to say that it's not all that bad. I could get used to walking among the multitude of mental traffic and refraining from direct interaction. It was actually relaxing to be able to sit back and watch the show for a change. Well, I hope this is a good enough introduction, Susan. I hope it was what you had requested. Honestly, I am not used to vocallizing my mood like this. It is just not something that we do, or have to do, wile within the Aenar collection. I know that you don't completely understand, but suffice it to say, what you have proposed is very intriguing to me and I look forward to meeting you in person soon. Kyron Densit, Deonis, Summer of 2385

CONTINUED... I had my luggage sent directly to the Inn when we arrived in Deonis. I thought it would be easier that way to find Susan. The transit shuttle dropped me off on the north side of the complex. I stood there for a moment to get my bearings looking around for a sign or placard. There had to be a locator map near by. Across the causeway the buildings rose with there glimmering steel and glass superstructures piercing the darkening sky. The air was populated by personal transits traveling in almost every possible direction. This was the heartbeat of the Andorian culture. Everything that happened here effected the entire planet. Decisions being made in lofty board rooms pathed the way of progress; determined whether this plot of land was to be cleared for a new man-made structure or reserved torward the redemption of Andoria. Looking back torward the terminal I saw a small illuminated vertical arrow pointing downwards. Above it was a glowing symbol that indicated 'map'. It was about 35 meters away and so I crossed the street and walked in that direction. The port was layed out in four pentagonal terminals equally distributed and radiating outward torward the south. The central hub was the control center and it was surrounded by a spotted incomplete inner ring of commercial shops and vendor mock-ups. The eateries were in in three distinct areas in an outer ring of shops. I was to meet her in the southern-most eatery area named ub Zooph Voom (the pearl strip). I proceeded torward the Pearl Strip looking left and right. It must have been obvious that I was lost because I was approached by a kind andorian youth. After a brief salutation, he pointed me in the correct direction. He even saw Susan with her orange scarf in the small crowd of people. "That must be the woman!" He said, "Not too many humans come to Andor during Con Tsubar." "Yeah, I supposed not." I replied, "Thanks for your help kind cha." I walked over through the crowd and extended a hand as I had read is customary to humans, "You must be Miss Susan Blake?" She recipricated with her own hand gripping my firmly, "Indeed. And you must be Kyron Dansit." Indeed I was and I smiled and nodded in confirmation. Susan's appearance wasn't at all what I had expected. Honestly, I don't know what I had expected. She was the first human that I had ever met face-to-face. Her hair was light yellow with spots of grayish tan, like andorian hair only softer and with more depth. She was about 10 centimeters taller than I, just bigger all around. Her skin was almost as dark as a daak (equestrian beast of burden), much richer than I had imagined. She wore a simple drab overcoat draped with that orange scarf and tight fitted gray pants and black shoes. "Please have a seat. Would you like a beverage?" She seemed polite and we both sat down at a table in this open cafe style eatery. A young andorian servant who must have been watching us came to the table almost at the same time as we got settled. "The specials today are 'broiled bool in zeb sauce' and 'warm phuun with spiced poob'." Susan gave the andorian a queer glance and I raised my hand to politely interrupt, "We are not eating, thank you. Some hot ziim tea with two cups will suffice." "You'll like this tea. It's mild but will warm your insides nicely," I assured her. Susan nodded. After the servant left she started, "So, have you been to the inn already? I don't see any garment bags." "I had them delivered directly to the inn. I thought it would be better that way." I replied. We exchanged small talk for about fifteen or twenty minutes as we sipped our tea. Susan had been to Andoria on several occassions but never during Con Tsubar. I assured her that it wouldn't get too cold for her as long as she dressed appropriately. I let her know that I had some extra zhaah-cloaks that she could borrow. And so the basics got settled as to who was staying where and itinerary Susan had planned. There were a couple of tests that she wanted me to complete and papers to sign but she assured me that none of it was vital for my acceptance as a impromptu liason to Andoria. She was a little hesistent to discuss anything in detail concerning the surgery and if fact she hushed me twice when I had brought up the topic. There were ears everywhere. It was already unusual for an Aenar to be seen with an offworlder in such an intimate setting with out an andorian present. We decided that it was best if we left and went back to the inn to finish our discussions.

I like this. However, having just watched Battleship for the first time the other day makes me think that perhaps we DO wanna wait until they come and find us. Putting out a beacon saying 'Come And Get It!' might not be the smartest thing, eh? There have been many studies conducted concerning higher lifeforms. Take our dinosaurs, for instance, who happened to rule this world for a heck of a long time. Had they developed higher brain functions (which I believe they were in the process of doing), they would still be dominating our world and I hardly think they would be docile when in came to interplanetary relations. The drive to leave your home world might be that there is just no more food left and you need to find it elsewhere to survive. There is nothing that says that dominating species have to wage war on itself like we do. What if this species dominates within a cooperation of survival of the herd. The higher brain functions would demand carnivorous appetites and so they would raise and consume lifeforms with lower brain function. WE may be that lower lifeform. okay, I'll shut up... :)

Guys (and gals): Before STAR TREK we had to open the doors at the supermarket! We have until 2063 to get this Warp Drive thingy to work. I believe that Alcubierre got some of it right but not all of it. Subspace is an area outside of our 4D universe (XYZ + Time). Once we have placed the vessel into that realm, anything is possible. Has anyone seen representations of the spiraling magnetic fields around pulsars? Do we understand what this does to space-time? I know, we're talking about an enormous amount of energy, however, one thing to consider is a strict law of physics. We cannot create or destroy anything. All we can to is change its state. What I mean by this is that the energy is out there. We just have to figure out how to tap into it. It only took 1.21 GWatts and 88 mph to travel in time. I'm sure we could scrounge up a bit more than that to develop a Warp Drive... :)

This would be really kewl to observe 1st hand... I certainly live in the wrong century... :)

Well, All I can say is, "I waited four years for THIS?" I walked away not as impressed with JJ Abrams as before. It just didn't have the same curb appeal and it was as so many have already mentioned.... done before. Honestly, I had heard in early 2010 that they were planning to revisit characters. I was disappointed that they actually went there. Personally, I believed that Abrams had a unique opportunity here to show us all the first two years of Captain Kirk's stint on the Enterprise. If we all remember when the series started, Kirk had been captain for some time. I usually categorize this as the series showing us the last three years of his five year tour since they had returned to Earth at the start of ST-TMP. I guess Hollywoodland is just not what it used to be. They need to hire some of Disney's Imagineers!

We are all here to help those who ask. (we stoned those who don't) LOL Not really... But please don't be shy. If you have questions, throw them out there... And as Khre'Riov has mentioned, indeed find a seat in the 'famous' peanut gallery and watch the shows. You can get a lot from just watching and reading... pete/kyron

CONTINUED.... I put down my link-pad and began to think about what I had recorded and where my life was taking me. This was to be a new beginning, a clean slate I thought, a way to finally be able to express myself openly without the fear of condenscendence from those who shared my thoughts. Away from the collection was like swimming naked in the pool for the first time. No one around you knew that you had slipped off your suit. It was only two quick pulls on the straps and the garment would drift off with little effort remaining suspended from your finger tips just under the water. Only the bust of your figure bobbed above the surface for all to see, but you felt a freedom that you had never experienced before. There were no longer any restraints and the cool water stirred every part of your body. But it was more than the freedom that one feels because there was a selfish mystique remaining; the thought of you fooling everyone else in the pool. You were free and they were not. I had been chatting with a fellow passenger before I recorded my log to Susan. Mr. ch'Zara sat across from me in the compartment in business dress and sachel. It was obvious that he was attracted to me because of the way he fussed with his garment; aways adjusting and readjusting as if it were uncomfortable to wear. Because my body carries eggs I am referred to as shen and therefore my proper name is Kyron sh'Dansit, however, due to the uniqueness of my genes, mating for me has been categorized as taboo. This is, and was, not always apparent when I mentally introduce myself to Aenar. When Mr. ch'Zara asked, I simply responded with Kyron. He knew that something was wrong when I refused to acknowledge sha. It was the polite thing for me to do and since it was not forthcoming I had been considered rude in his mind. He immediately quit fussing with his suit, pulled a link-pad of his own from his sachel and has basically ignored my existence during the rest of the trip from Umbregal. As our journey was coming to an end I felt an urge to at least apologize to him, however, from passed experiences, any attempt at explaining my situation had resulted in disgust. So I left it 'hanging' so to speak and sat with my legs slightly crossed and hands in lap, admiring his stable shoulders and the stern concetration of his brow. He was obviously on his way to an important meeting in g'Clirith. I sighed audibly as the tram came to a stop. There was a cold wind that lifted my hair like a scythe through wheat when I exited the tram at the station near the habour. My belonging were stowed in a compartment toward the rear of the craft and so I casually started down the platform. To my suprize, I was soon walking along side of Mr. ch' Zara who was apparently headed to the same place. I broke the silence and audibly spoke, "You have business in g'Clirith?" "As a matter of fact, this is home. I am on my way to Deonis to finalize a construction contract, you?" I didn't want to just start blurting out that I was meeting an offworlder. That was just unacceptable to Aenar. At the same time, however, I did want to clear up my perceived rudeness. He was, afterall, fairly attractive, headed in my direction and if he was interested enough to actually speak with me then I needed to provide conversation. "I like to spend Con Tsubar in the city. " It wasn't much, but I thought it might lead to a follow on. We both stopped as we came to the impromptu carrousel that was being fed passenger luggage. "What color are yours?", I asked without even thinking and we both laughed at the implied inuendo, knowing that I was referring to his garment bags and nothing else. It was the first time that he had smiled and that felt comforting to me. He looked longingly at those on the carrousel already and then at the line of items coming off the craft. "Obviously my bags were tossed to the back of the compartment. They're black, but I'll know them when I see them." "I hope you didn't think me rude back there. I am a bit embarrassed by my behavior earlier. It's complicated." "Well, perhaps you'll get a chance to beg for my forgiveness on the shuttle", he replied as I caught one of my bags dropping down from the hold. He looked quite impressed that a woman of my stature could handle such a large item. I just smiled. "The shuttle doesn't leave for an hour. Perhaps we could get a bite. I know a little cafe that serves fresh gristhera not too far from here." He agreed as we collected our bags, placed them together on a cart and proceeded off the busy platform. Lunch was delightful and he finally accepted my apologies. Quup, as he liked to be called, was a pleasant sort for an Aenar. The work to which he had referred was a new library in Umbregal. He wasn't the architect, but he was very familiar with the zoning issues even though he was actually only working in Umbregal. He knew that the school which was right across from the site was in desperate need of a new asset like this. I could not agree more, having grown up in the area. The old library had been lost a year back; something to do with the foundation. Anyway, it just sank into the soft ground and soon it was condemmed and torn down. After a healthy lunch we were soon on the shuttle to Deonis only this time I had someone with which to converse. It was a 2-hour flight from g'Clirith and so we had drinks from the bar and he really talked my ear off. I thought I talked a lot for Aenar. Quup was a regular mouth piece. I think he was much younger than he appeared and perhaps a bit nervous still. I didn't mind. It was much better than sitting there alone with my thoughts, or worse, in the heavy mental conjestion of the Aenar collection. This way I could process them in my subconscience while I kept up with his banter. There was a commotion in the forward compartment so we both got up to see. It had begun. The sun was now hidden by the Great Tsubar and it looked like we were headed for some rough weather. You could tell the temperature dropped because all of the color paled. It wasn't like twilight with its deep reds, greens and burnt orange. Everything had a gray-blue wash and looking down I could see that the ocean was disturbed. This was why so many people got depressed during this time. There was a powerful gloom that hung over the planet. Ice particles from the water vapor in the air began to cling to th hull of the craft and perform their sparkle dance glittering like diamonds. We'd be in Deonis within the hour and you could see the coastline dotted with man-made structures that rose out of the cliffs. Their gleaming metal surfaces were in contrast to the dull brownish-grey limestone from which the emerged. "Where will you be staying while you are in Deonis?" He asked. I didn't know whether he was inviting me to stay with him or was genuinely interested in my accomodations. Susan had set up lodging for me at a local inn near the space port. It was nothing fancy but I really didn't require luxury. I hadn't told him anything about my meeting; didn't know his politics. Even me thinking about it now would raise his suspicions of me and so I decided that I would tell him about the meeting. "I'm meeting a friend from Star Fleet. She has made arrangements at the 'Theekh uk Thethaa Zeev' (which loosely translates to the crossing of shallow breathing). I'm guessing that they are referring to the view as being breath-taking. I have never been there. It's somewhere near the space port though." "Eh, I have never heard of it either. However, the inns in that area are usually clean and safe. Will you be staying until ngiCon Tsubar? We could meet up again if you like." "That sounds nice. Give me your contact and I will let you know if and when I can be available after I get settled in and meet with my friend. Okay?" Meanwhile, Lt. Commander Susan Blake walks into Admiral Brett Monroe's office onboard the USS Mason-Dixon which is in a parking orbit above Deonis. She is a bit apprehensive because she doesn't know what the Admiral knows or even why he had asked to see her on such late notice. She was to meet with the operative on the planet within the hour. Susan was not even in uniform. Although it was customary for people in her division to vary their dress according to their missions, she was meeting the admiral. Regardless and in an attempt to hide her nervousness, she stood at attention before the admiral's inspection, her arms stiff at her sides and eyes forward looking out the portal in his office, trying not to look at him directly. The admiral rose slowly and walked around her with his arms loosely draped behind his back. He was a man of moderate stature with dark almost black hair and eyes like beads. The metals on his uniform were quite impressive to Susan, the Star Cross, Metal of Honor, to name a few that had caught her secretly wandering eye. This removed any doubt within her that the admiral was well respected in the fleet. He began with a stern burly voice, "So... I gathered from your report that this operative could easily pose as either Andorian or Human?" "With minor surgery sir... yes. Her skin is pale but pink. Her hair is auburn and her eyes are 'normal' by our standards; highly unusual for her species. The antennae may be removed, however, will grow back in a matter of months. Their purpose may be compensated through cortical stimulation. Kryon, the operative, has already expressed a desire for their surgical removal to be performed." "Hmmm...", The admiral continued around the lieutenant and them returned to his chair standing behind it. "At ease, lieutenant. Please, have a seat..." He extended a welcoming hand and thin smile. Susan quickly abliged him. He sat down only after she got settled, brushed his bare chin and continued, "This Kryon, you say, she is a social outcast? A loner? Intelligent, though lacking in higher education? Interesting..." "Yes sir. ", she paused, "I am to meet her within the hour admiral." "Relax leiutenant. We will have you there in plenty of time for your rendezvous. Let's talk about what you know about her on a personal level. Does she have family? Where do they stand with the..." His questions continued for what seemed like hours to Susan, however, she was finally released and made her way to the transporter room. She would be meeting Kyron in an open public reception area of the local space port. It had been arranged that Kryon would recognized her by the orange and bright green scarf that she wore.

Joe: I would like to continue my character, Sal, after he left the Qob on this part-timed log-only basis. I am currently drafting a storyline involving his daughter in the Aldebaran System. I realize that this is just outside of Bull's Head however my intent is to involve persons from Bull's Head. As I get further along I will share this with you prior to posting and await your approval to continue. As for Sal's continued affairs with Qob directly, I have decided to go in a different direction here on STSF (obviously noting my new avatar).

Hi All... I'm back... I guess I'm gonna have to pass the Academy once again. Just so everyone is aware, this is STILL Pete (Sal). I have just chosen a different character to portray. Kyron Densit is a rare breed in more ways that genetic. She is from a race of which there is little known (at least in Federation terms). The Aenar are a race who share habitation of Fesoan (Andor) with the Andorians. The are usuallly albino and blind. Kyron is not, but she still retains the unique abilities of the Aenar. She can see into your soul, so be careful around her (LOL). She has a full cover story and background that I will provide to the GM of the Advanced Sim who picks here up. There are some special considerations for her joining a crew, however. I will also present these considerations to the GM before acceptance. Anyway, it's good to be back. I hope to get started again this weekend... pete (aka Sal... aka Kyron)

Sal cupped his tea and slowly walked over to the lounge area where the cushions had barely been used in the last couple of days. There was some trash that another crewmember had left lying on the table and he set his tea down, scooped up the rubbish and placed it in the recycler. He had learned long ago that the old adage of 'Another man's treasure' was always in full enforcement onboard any starship. Matter was matter no matter what. Also, he was a bit of a neat-freak and most of his crewmates had seemed to be less than that. He took no offense to this, knowing that it was mostly his preference that drove his tidiness. He continued his dissertation without missing a beat on the Zoalus culture. "The Zoalus must have been an extremely religious people. Not that they were idol worshippers, might you. They believed that philosophical thinking began with the subject—not merely the thinking subject, but the acting, feeling, living individual. In existentialism, the individual's starting point is characterized by what has been called "the existential attitude" or a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world." He noticed Pher's eyes begin to glaze over, "What I mean is, they believed in themselves. The experience that I had encountered in that rotunda was extremely profound. I was shown things about myself that I had never realized existed. I knew deep in my thoughts however that everything was true. Like the love for my wife and daughter even though they are many light-years away. I felt and still feel their omnipresence. "This makes me believe that the Zoalus were also a peaceful race. There was no evidence of conflict with themselves or any other race. They were or probably thought themselves to be very alone in the universe. He thought a moment and then asked, "So tell me about this goo that lives. And the others that you had found down there...." "The goo that lives. I've seen it, I think, in two forms. In its pure form it is a a thick black substance, somewhere between a oil and a paste. They seemed to be growing it in a pit. During the tail end of the fight it grew tentacles, and seemed to be reaching out to grab at us. It never succeeded, so I can't judge the strength with which it moves. I believe we have a sample of it. Anyway, it was aware enough to attack, which implies at least an animal intelligence. "It also seems to live inside hosts. Audrey, loop life energy scans from just before the recent fight on the planet." Pher settled in next to Sal, and twisted her wrist so he could see Audrey's display. "Ethan and the three Rainmakers were weak, showing low life signs and looking visibly ill. Their complexions were dark for their respective races, and their veins showed the same sort of black tint you'd expect of the goo. I'm assuming that larger life forms can be infected by goo; that it reproduces inside other life form's bodies somehow. "Towards the end, as negotiations turned into threats and demands, their leader started to posture like a villain in a kid's adventure show. I was half expecting mutant super powers, but if so said power doesn't include immunity from large chunks of metal hitting him at high speed. I walked in with my phaser barrel powered down to indicate peaceful intent, but a solid round in the slug thrower barrel. I don't know. I was pretty spooked at that point, and might have been imagining things. I do have some sense of scientific curiosity, and a professional interest of sorts in mutant super powers, but there are limits as to how far I give my curiosity free reign before my weapon goes off." Pher sighed. "If I allow my imagination and paranoia to flow freely, I can come up with explanations for a lot. The goo might be infectious and deadly, the cause for the demise of the large land based animals on Zoalus. The unmodified drones running around killing large land based animals might be some sort of defense against the goo, eliminating the disease by killing all the patients. The Rainmakers might be here as anything that clears a planet of animal life forms would make a great terrorist weapon. The origin of the goo? Don't know. Experiment went wrong? Doomsday weapon? It Came From Outer Space? If what you said about the Zoalus avoiding conflict is true, I'd lean towards it coming from the outside. Perhaps the geeks can tell us more when they get a sample to the lab. I'm guessing there was an alien invasion a long time ago, and both sides lost. Just a guess." Sal had thought he'd become immune to the wiles of the Orion. The many years he had spent in service had honed him and he was always keen to their ways. Somehow, this moment was different. He sipped his tea and listened to the woman he'd been distancing back in his mind as she spoke of the black substance, the mysterious lifeform they had encountered on the surface. Sal's scientific mind was lured by its physiology but Sal, the man, was more interested in Pher, the woman. He wasn't sure that his attraction had become obvious to her as she spoke of 'guns blazing' and 'barrels hot'. This wasn't his gig and yet he had succumbed to her seemingly unintentional advances. He struggled to concentrate and focus on her comments and not her unmistakable beauty. He hadn't been with a woman since he'd left K'Normia and Harry and he'd just assumed that since they (his wife and he) had no issues with that respect that he would not have to fall back on techniques he'd learned back in Star Fleet; techniques that numbed one's animal behaviors. "True? My dear, it is merely a theory. We can only speculate on the demise of the Zoalus civilization at this point. If this black goo is everything you say it is then it could very well have lead to a self-sacrifice of the Zoalus people in an effort to cleanse their society of a wide spread disease. They might not have been fully aware of the goo's sentient status until it was too late. And perhaps that was its intentions from the beginning, from the moment that it had found Zoalus." He looked into the Orion's eyes and followed them as they examined the content of her cup and then slowly rose to meet his. Sal wasn't staring or at least he didn't believe that he was. Yet, he was clearly disinterested in the topic of conversation; more interested in his own masculine agenda. This was the first time that he could recall that the two of them had ever been alone and in a relaxed environment. It was oddly comforting to him and he eased back into the sofa, crossed his legs and forced himself to continue. "So, in your opinion, this is some kind of parasitic lifeform that forms a symbiotic relationship with its host. That is not unreasonable. In my years spent with the Federation, we had encountered several races of similar circumstances. There are also records of strange lifeforms that thrive on emotional energies as if they were tangible. "Tell me, did the conscious Rainmakers seem to be controlled by the goo? Did they show any sign of internal conflict when they spoke to you?" Sal knew that the Rainmakers were not known for their peace-loving benevolence but he was curious whether they were simply swayed or completely overcome by the goo. She had said that their appearance seemed weakened which would lead him to believe that the symbiosis process was most likely still in an incubation stage of development. If this were indeed a sentient lifeform, then it would be unlikely that it would drain all of the life-force from its host. It would need the host for its own survival, he reasoned. "What I am most curious about is whether it is truly a disease or a sentient form of life, Pher. There are thousands of diseases that have displayed animal-like behaviors while attacking yet their attacks were indiscriminant, without emotion or intent. It was simply a knee-jerk reaction of the virus in an effort to survive and replicate. A virus is not self-aware and one cannot let themselves believe that they are. Just think of where modern medicine would be today if we fell into this trap, followed the rabbit down that little hole..." "That's right. Stay skeptical. I'll just say that the vat full of goo stayed pretty much quiet until the humanoids started giving us orders, then attacked. The impression that I got was that the goo responded to some form of prompting, and that it can tell friend from foe, but that was a quick assumption of the worst under fire. It seemed like a good time to assume the worst. So long as you start out taking precautions like I might be right, I don't mind being proven wrong. Please do, in fact." "Hmm..." Sal replied, "I think I might just pay a visit to Ethan and the good doctor after we're underway. I would like to see the stuff and its effects for my self. As for the Zoalus, I am afraid that we have merely added to their mysterious past and uncovered little for history to record. I think a true fully-funded expedition backed by the Federation is in order. That's the only way we are ever going to get to their truth." Sal was saddened by the statements that he'd made and rose from his seat. "Speaking of which, I should probably find out exactly where the captain intends to go. Being the navigator of this vessel, I finally have related work to do."

Sal was completely unaware of the rainmaker card. That didn't stop him from being very curious about exactly who might be behind the reprogramming of the drones. He had studied their behavior and weighed it against the pieces of the puzzle that was the Zoalus culture. The drones emulated the Zoalus, at least, he thought, two of the archetypal characters seemed to dominate their pschycology. Originally, the primordial core, was based upon MOTHER. They were nurturing and caregiving. The outer shell of the modified ones was most definitely WARRIOR; seeking out and destroying all opposed. They were tactful and deceptive. The battle that raged inside those automaton brains must have been tremendous. But obedience had been absolute which is indistinguishably robotic, programmatic... logic.... As many Vulcans have learned, logic is the beginning of wisdom... not its end. So, who was behind the reprogramming and more importantly, why? What was the motive? Something boiled to the top of Sal's conscious that he had not considered before. 'What if it was the Zoalus? What if THEY had reprogrammed the drones? Survival? From what?'

Two hours past and Sal still sat staring at the images of the Mandala room. He had modified the logic in his translator software, building on the eight archetypal figures. The eight sequences of symbols had also been scanned into his program as well. After another glass of brandy he tapped on the computer console and the translator sparked into action on the sequences: The Father standing bold and tall provides the bread of life‘tis his duty though self-proclaimed to pass on of wrong and rightHe judges first and knows what’s best as fathers knew of loreAnd he will guide you to the world and what it has in storeThe Seeker is the outer man who needs to find his placeNo rules can bind; they don’t apply too fixed are their constraintsHe is his own and needs to find the self within himselfSometimes the boy so immature never bothered to grow upThe warrior has his goals and cares not ‘til they’re completeHe lives the world of tangibles with cut-throat efficiencyThe warrior is calm and cool while others stray aimlesslyAnd offers respect to the powers that be yet thrives on their defeatThe sage is the most inner man always queries on his mindConstructing mental modeled thoughts in the world that he definesOften the philosopher on the cutting edge of manHe seeks both love and reason be in his theoretical planThe Mother is your third hand the one needed now and thenShe‘s always there to comfort you when no one understandsAnd she can be the gracious queen like Father she will be heardThe heart of family gatherings her home the final wordThe Companion, the trusted friend the one on one confidantFree-spirited and welcomed in the unselfish gift of loveAnd she’s e’er the wanton looker the mischievous teaseMore passion than compassion seeking through the ones she meetsThe Amazon is independent the self-contained womanShe schemes, competes and succeeds in valued, ordered peaceYet still the one behind the scenes certain the job’s completeAt home the perfectionist dusting off the dustless setteeThe Mediatrix has the sight like waters no others dareThe worlds of collective consciousness are all hers to take careShe struggles between realities though she may be unawareReverent soul, the conscious dreamer she’s the chameleon, beware Sal knew these people now. They were not that dissimilar to humans and he could now see that their passions had run very deep. The Zoalus had a love of life and celebrated it in their language and culture. They had matured beyond war and self-destruction and perfected their own psychological well-being. However, even with this success, Sal was certain that Manning would still be wanting. Manning was a simple sort and only sought out the profit margins to situations presented to him. What Sal had to show him was the treasure map. Manning wanted the pot o' lucky charms placed on his lap. He wanted home court advantage when he returned to the game with Maxwell. He wondered how the away team was fairing, loaded his PADD with the translation and original images and rose from his seat. It was so quiet in his lab that QoB may have been in the heat of battle and he would be unaware. Well, that was mostly due to the fact that Sal had shut off or repurposed every control console in the forward sensor room to his liking, to his purpose. He had made it his own. The captain didn't seem to mind, he thought. Sal straightened his clothing and finished his brandy, placing the bottle back behind the cabinet in its hiding place. It wasn't really a hiding place, just a place out of a casually wandering eye and to keep honest men honest. He emerged onto the bridge to find Manning seated in his chair and alone. There was a look of deep thought on his brow and he didn't even look up when Sal entered the room. Sal chose to simply take his seat at the helm and check ship's status.

Sal knew the captain would be none to happy of his decision but it was his decision. There was really no purpose for him to go on this mission; no benefit to himself nor the mission. He would be more valuable here on QoB doing what he did best... Research... Sal knew that. He hoped after the captain was briefed on Pher's plan that he too would have to agree with his logic. That's what tumbled in his head anyway, as he made his way to his lab in the forward sensor control. The data that they had recovered had been on his person since they had left the planet's surface. He felt for it in his pocket as he made his way across the bridge. What he had turned over to the Capricorn crew was only a copy. That was all that they had requested, all they had needed and all that Sal had given up. Standard practice for any research engineer was to always retain a copy of the original data. This insured that one could always return to the source; reset the experiment; execute a classic 'do over'. That was just what Sal had intended to do. Under the duress on Capricorn, he could have missed something. Sal thought he most likely missed quite a bit. Sal thought back, when he was in his early teens on Mars. Every farmer had to know a bit about robotics if they were going to be successful. That was what his father had always told him and from an early age, Sal was taught the basic requirements and periodic maintenance schedules for every 'bot in his father's barn. Most of them did not have their own power generators and required recharging of their storage cells. Although the Federation had handheld gen-units that could have provided enough power to run half of his father's farm, these units were not readily available for commercial and private use. The Rosetto Estate at Milankovic was powered by a meager matter-antimatter reactor. Even this was considered state-of-the-art for its day because of the dilithium crystal regeneration process. Before this break-through, his father had to rely on an uncertain supply of dilithium just to keep them in the black. He digressed, as usual, into unrelated and obtuse thought patterns. The 'bots, he forced himself to remember. His father had taught him quite a bit about their inner workings, their programming. It had been more than he wanted to learn at the time; held very little value to a growing teen with his head in the stars. But now Sal could see the importance. His father had taught him that artificial intelligence was essentially a collection of lower level functions (e.g. walk toward light, find home, go in a straight line, etc.). All of these functions were add-on features as far as the robot was concerned. One function could override or supplement another and if it was missing or inoperative the mechanism would simply use its default logical path. Sal pulled out the data module and slipped it into his console. As the system acquired the data and began to organize it, Sal reached behind some cabinets and pulled out a bottle that he had stored away. It was Sorian brandy, something he had picked up from a crew member on the Verbistul on his brief visit there. It was only half full but then he had paid very little for it. The crewman had been fairly desperate for Federation credits. At the time, Sal had not given it a second thought. In his present hind sight however he imagined that there could be more to this. As he poured himself a small glass he mentally noted his thoughts for later consultation with the captain. Now he had to focus his energies on deciphering this Zoalus language and these gardeners on steroids. Before he could hope to understand logical functions, Sal would have to grasp the Zoalus value structure, their sense of being. The drones' basic programming would be mimicking this behavior. If Pher and company had any hope to command and control these drones then they would have to reach them on this rudimentary level. Sitting down at his console, he tapped away at the controls and began perusing the image data. The first few images were of what they believed to be a recon station for the drones. The areas that were no longer in use had been overgrown with local flora. He imagined that these we the areas normally occupied by the Zoalus and not by the drones. The drones had determined that they no longer served a purpose and therefore little attention was allotted. Then there was the large tower where the landing party had encountered the drones returning. It was some kind of refueling station for them; a place for them to upload all data to the controlling network. Sal continued to browse the images pausing briefly at each while he remembers its significance and then moving onto the next. He finally reached the images of the Mandala Room. It was a haunting experience and Sal found himself staring hypnotically at the symbols on the walls. And the eight figures and their unique features came flooding back into his consciousness. These were the only bipedal forms depicted anywhere. The Zoalus zoology, of which they had detected over 100,000 species of fauna, was quite extensive. The Federation had encountered many class M abodes with many less. In all of the species there were no bipedal forms. This made Sal believe that perhaps the Zoalus people were not indigenous to the planet. Focus. He had to focus. Why, out of the hundreds of images contained on his data module and the thousands of images on record, were these eight the only bipedal images? They had to be extremely important to this culture for them to purposefully exclude them from everything except this room. They had to be the rudimentary value structure that he sought. They were the foundation of the Zoalus society. Opening a reference book entitled "The 7 Elements of Culture" he began to read its table of contents: • Customs and Traditions • Language • Arts and Entertainment • Religion • Government • Economic Systems • Social Organizations The way of life for an entire society includes such things as what they eat, the way they dress, the music they listen to, and how they greet each other. Cultures organize members into smaller unit so people can work together to meet basic needs. The family is the most important unit. Sal, thought for a moment about the importance of family and the organization of these smaller units. This was how people could relate. The smaller units had commonalities that bound them together. He turned back to the Mandala Room image and stared again at the figures. Father, Warrior, Seeker, Sage, Mother, Amazon, Companion, Mediatrix. Their entire culture had evolved focusing on these eight symbolic beings. The drones had to have these entities emblazed into their memories as well.

Sal knew the captain would be none to happy of his decision but it was his decision. There was really no purpose for him to go on this mission; no benefit to himself nor the mission. He would be more valuable here on QoB doing what he did best... Research... Sal knew that. He hoped after the captain was briefed on Pher's plan that he too would have to agree with his logic. That's what tumbled in his head anyway, as he made his way to his lab in the forward sensor control. The data that they had recovered had been on his person since they had left the planet's surface. He felt for it in his pocket as he made his way across the bridge. What he had turned over to the Capricorn crew was only a copy. That was all that they had requested, all they had needed and all that Sal had given up. Standard practice for any research engineer was to always retain a copy of the original data. This insured that one could always return to the source; reset the experiment; execute a classic 'do over'. That was just what Sal had intended to do. Under the duress on Capricorn, he could have missed something. Sal thought he most likely missed quite a bit. Sal thought back, when he was in his early teens on Mars. Every farmer had to know a bit about robotics if they were going to be successful. That was what his father had always told him and from an early age, Sal was taught the basic requirements and periodic maintenance schedules for every 'bot in his father's barn. Most of them did not have their own power generators and required recharging of their storage cells. Although the Federation had handheld gen-units that could have provided enough power to run half of his father's farm, these units were not readily available for commercial and private use. The Rosetto Estate at Milankovic was powered by a meager matter-antimatter reactor. Even this was considered state-of-the-art for its day because of the dilithium crystal regeneration process. Before this break-through, his father had to rely on an uncertain supply of dilithium just to keep them in the black. He digressed, as usual, into unrelated and obtuse thought patterns. The 'bots, he forced himself to remember. His father had taught him quite a bit about their inner workings, their programming. It had been more than he wanted to learn at the time; held very little value to a growing teen with his head in the stars. But now Sal could see the importance. His father had taught him that artificial intelligence was essentially a collection of lower level functions (e.g. walk toward light, find home, go in a straight line, etc.). All of these functions were add-on features as far as the robot was concerned. One function could override or supplement another and if it was missing or inoperative the mechanism would simply use its default logical path. Sal pulled out the data module and slipped it into his console. As the system acquired the data and began to organize it, Sal reached behind some cabinets and pulled out a bottle that he had stored away. It was Sorian brandy, something he had picked up from a crew member on the Verbistul on his brief visit there. It was only half full but then he had paid very little for it. The crewman had been fairly desperate for Federation credits. At the time, Sal had not given it a second thought. In his present hind sight however he imagined that there could be more to this. As he poured himself a small glass he mentally noted his thoughts for later consultation with the captain. Now he had to focus his energies on deciphering this Zoalus language and these gardeners on steroids. Before he could hope to understand logical functions, Sal would have to grasp the Zoalus value structure, their sense of being. The drones' basic programming would be mimicking this behavior. If Pher and company had any hope to command and control these drones then they would have to reach them on this rudimentary level. Sitting down at his console, he tapped away at the controls and began perusing the image data. The first few images were of what they believed to be a recon station for the drones. The areas that were no longer in use had been overgrown with local flora. He imagined that these we the areas normally occupied by the Zoalus and not by the drones. The drones had determined that they no longer served a purpose and therefore little attention was allotted. Then there was the large tower where the landing party had encountered the drones returning. It was some kind of refueling station for them; a place for them to upload all data to the controlling network. Sal continued to browse the images pausing briefly at each while he remembers its significance and then moving onto the next. He finally reached the images of the Mandala Room. It was a haunting experience and Sal found himself staring hypnotically at the symbols on the walls. And the eight figures and their unique features came flooding back into his consciousness. These were the only bipedal forms depicted anywhere. The Zoalus zoology, of which they had detected over 100,000 species of fauna, was quite extensive. The Federation had encountered many class M abodes with many less. In all of the species there were no bipedal forms. This made Sal believe that perhaps the Zoalus people were not indigenous to the planet. Focus. He had to focus. Why, out of the hundreds of images contained on his data module and the thousands of images on record, were these eight the only bipedal images? They had to be extremely important to this culture for them to purposefully exclude them from everything except this room. They had to be the rudimentary value structure that he sought. They were the foundation of the Zoalus society. Opening a reference book entitled "The 7 Elements of Culture" he began to read its table of contents: • Customs and Traditions • Language • Arts and Entertainment • Religion • Government • Economic Systems • Social Organizations The way of life for an entire society includes such things as what they eat, the way they dress, the music they listen to, and how they greet each other. Cultures organize members into smaller unit so people can work together to meet basic needs. The family is the most important unit. Sal, thought for a moment about the importance of family and the organization of these smaller units. This was how people could relate. The smaller units had commonalities that bound them together. He turned back to the Mandala Room image and stared again at the figures. Father, Warrior, Seeker, Sage, Mother, Amazon, Companion, Mediatrix. Their entire culture had evolved focusing on these eight symbolic beings. The drones had to have these entities emblazed into their memories as well.

This is really kewl stuff.... What I have found in my own personal research is that there seem to be more binary star systems than once believed. I think their number has actually surpassed single stars (I could be wrong here). With this new discovery (as clearly stated above), there would be a measured increase in the possibility of life somewhere else. And isn't that what we all want to find?

Sal kept silent, not that he had much to say or anyone to which he wanted to speak. He stared intently at the guard that was standing in the hatchway. This was a brutish fellow with three-days' growth on his chin and a noticeable scar on his left cheek. From his brief conversation, if one could call it that, he had no respect for his own shipmates as far as Sal could tell. It was highly unlikely that this man was going to listen to reason. Sal might well be trying to convince a Bynaut that there was a logical state between true and false. Though he didn't feel that he was in any immediate danger, Sal did wonder what was going on with the rest of his crewmates. He couldn't call any of them friends but they were his immediate companions and presently the only way that he was going to survive this ordeal. He couldn't focus on the expedition or its findings; not with his hands bound and weapons bearing down on him. All that flooded his thoughts was this ordeal... yet another ordeal. Sure, he had been in some tight scrapes before and survived just fine. It just wasn't his forte'. It was one of the main reasons that he had left Star Fleet in the first place, crooked politics. Life on K'Normia was peaceful by comparison. He was second guessing his decisions yet again as he looked around the room trying to determine if there was anything he could do. He had to think about the present. These guards were 'on' about something; concerned with his computer skills he gathered from their statements to Ford. He had no idea what it could be and was bothered by this. He had to get a handle on this mission. He felt that there was definitely some information that he needed to know before he could proceed. Playing dumb to these guys was only going to work for a short time. What were his options? He really didn't have too many. Joe had told him to limit his evaluations until he returned to QoB.

The Power Grid As the Andorian cruiser approached, Sal looked down at his monitor screen. They were in standard orbit about Fesoan, the Homeworld of the Andorian people. It was a cold world and every continent was touched with blankets of snow and ice. He thought about how life may have developed on such a hostile world and how the human race and other earth fauna had survived its many ice ages. Andoria was much like Mars but larger and much more humid. Though bitter cold, there were oceans of water dominating the southern hemisphere. The mountain range that spanned its equator was surrounded by lush and dense conifer forests. He watched as the high cloud formations danced below. It was well known that the winds of Andoria were ferocious. This had much to do with the proximity of Tsubar, the gaseous giant that the planetoid orbited. Its gravitational forces had shaped the surface of Fesoan and kept the ambient surface temperature fairly constant. For 9 day-cycles in the Andorian year, this massive body eclipsed the distant sun and the entire planet was covered in darkness. The return of the sun had been celebrated for thousands of years as an awakening and rebirth. This was the first time that Sal had met an Andorian. He had read the data stored in Memory Alpha. It was required reading material. They were a highly emotion and some what violent society. Possession took on a whole new meaning and formed the basis of their geo-political stew. The Andorian with the most toys ruled. That was simply how it worked. They respected those in power and yet thrived on their defeat. Sal would be a mere assistant to the Federation team who had been detached to aide a government expedition exploring a new geo-thermal energy source. He knew little about geo-thermal activities. It was his mapping skills that had interested Commander Phillips. Sal was always fascinated exploring. That was why he had joined Star Fleet and this was an opportunity of a lifetime. The Andorian Cities were primarily built underground due to the extreme conditions on the surface. They had constructed a maze of tunnels and passageways that interconnected their populous regions. Some of them were thousands of meters long and they reminded Sal of the root structures of the grasses on Mars. According to the mission brief, they would be traveling down one of these lone tunnels and then taking a branch that would lead them deep beneath the Aeson Rift. This was one of the deepest crevices on Andoria and there would be 5 kilometers of frigid ocean above them. The Andorian cruiser had pulled along side and Sal was ordered to the transporter room. He stood, nodded to the captain and proceeded to his quarters to grab his personal affects. He'd be gone for at least five weeks and the El Paso would be leaving orbit after the team had transferred over to the Fintalric; the Andorian vessel. The Fintalric was designed for atmospheric flight modes and would be taking them to the surface city nearest the rift, Konadeo. It would be approximately a forty-five minute trip. From there they would board a subterranean shuttle that would take them to First Camp. First Camp was a city-sized complex deep beneath the Fesoan surface. Any expeditions into the rift were initiated here. There was a translucent glow that seemed to have no source as Sal and the rest of the team exited the shuttle. It was an eerie feeling and the air was dense and humid. At a constant 25 degrees centigrade, he welcomed the warmth and walked with a pride in his step. It was a pleasant contrast to the -28 degrees on the surface. He perused his environment and saw that most of the Andorians here were scantily dressed with simple tunics and short legans. He was comfortable in his short-sleeved uniform, tossed his pack on his back and followed the group toward a three story structure that seemed to be the center of local activities. The cave that they were in didn't seem like a cave at all and this had come as a shock. It was not what he had expected at all. The ceiling was almost not visible due to the high water vapor. There was a mist but it wasn't suffocating. It was actually quite nice. They entered the building and were lead into a large conference room. Finally they would rest. Refreshments were offered and soon the room was filled with chatter. It was a light-hearted gathering and their host was telling funny stories. Sal watched quietly while scanning the room. A young Andorian woman approached him and asked to share conversation. He motioned for her to sit and she did without hesitation. Her hair was pearly white and her flesh an intoxicating surreal blue-green. She had a warm smile and a soft voice which made him feel at ease. They were chatting about nothing mostly; just general small talk sparring for position and feeling each other out. Sal could tell that she was used to dominating a conversation and he let her exploit her assets as he listened intently. She was telling him about her home town; where she lived on Fesoan. She had never left the Andorian system before but enjoyed meeting and working with humans. Her forte was geology which was why she had been selected for this expedition but Sal could tell that she was a very social person. "So, tell me about Third Camp." "Well, we won't arrive there for another week. It is much warmer there as there is an exposed mantle surface. The force field has only recently been installed and provides protection from the extreme radiation. This is where we'll be working most of the time however we will not stay there for periods longer than six hours. Second Camp has residential facilities. It is two days travel from here." "The mantle? Seriously? Wow!" Sal exclaimed. "So how does all of this work?" "It's really quite simple, Sal. We drill two holes next to each other that reach the mantle. The holes are then connected by fracturing the hard hot dry rock between them. Water poured down one hole will rush through the fracture and rise up the other hole as super-heated steam. This energy is used to generate power and the steam is returned to its source. It's a completely closed system and has a very low environmental impact." "And so why are we here? What is so special about this site?" "The Konadeo plant is the largest of its kind that actually uses the ocean as its source. The key to this system is the return. The directional force field inside the rising shaft allows the steam to rise beyond the floor of the ocean and eventually escape back into the open sea without the sea back-feeding. "Each hole is 500 meters in diameter and over 5 kilometers in length. The Third Camp is situated about 200 meters below the sea floor. It's where the energy exchange units are housed. In an almost organic fashion, power conduits spread from this point to nearly 1.5 million subterranean distribution nodes that are used to power a third of the planet." Sal was overwhelmed by the immensity of the system that Daeni was describing to him. He was still unsure as to why he had been selected for this mission. That was dancing in his head as she finished her lecture and saw that his drink was empty. "Thirsty?" Sal nodded and she led him to a replicator. "So what do you do, Sal?" "I'm a Navigational Engineer." "Navigation? Like interstellar navigation? What are you doing here?" Daeni laughed and then stammered a bit, "I mean... I didn't mean it like it sounded... What task have you been assigned here on Fesoan?" "I suspect that it was for my mapping skills. But from what I have seen I am not going to be very useful." "Ah, so they haven't told you." "Told me what?" "The power conduits; the ones of which I spoke. As I stated, they are almost organic. We do not have a diagram of their exact interconnection. You will be assisting me to map them." He was three for four weeks with Daeni at his side. They became good friends and Sal had resolved the Andorian power grid problem by sending tracer elements down the power conduits. Once he had inserted the tracers into the power stream the system mapped itself. Every little turn and corner was traveled and recorded into the array of tricorders they had placed. He wondered why he had recalled this mission. It seemingly had nothing to do with his current situation. They had got away from the drones for the time being and were dredging through the creek bed toward the coast.

Sal looked at the group waiting for further comments from Ethan or input from Chris. None followed and so he stepped forward with a point of interest; his index finger extended as if he were some kind of college professor. "Clearly, these drones have been given multiple purposes. I am leaning toward Pher's observation of a third significant group, that of scientists. Further exploration of this site and this planet may reveal several more groups and possibly even a social order. "As well, these experiments that we have been haphazardly conducting are proving to be quite hazardous to our well-being", he continued looking directly at Ethan. "By the way, Ethan, I have determined that any and all services within this structure are neatly built into the walls and identified by symbol clusters. The wash basin and running water are accessed via the small triangular cluster on the right after you enter the wash room." He paused quaintly trying not to seem too obstinate. "I think the key to further exploration of this site and this planet lies in..." He paused again and raised his index finger, "Communicating with the drones." He raised a second finger, "Analyzing the text samples that we have found." And then he raised a third finger, "Identifying the buildings and other structures so that we know WHERE to look for further information." "Again, I must agree with Pher in that we don't have the facilities available to us here. Or if we do we don't readily know where they are and finding them before the soldier drones eliminate the landing party is unlikely. So, I think we need to gather the information that we do have, return to QoB, report our findings to the Captain and plan for another expedition when we are better prepared. "With that in mind I would like to share with you what I found while you guys were 'playing target' with the drones. There is a very interesting inner chamber in this building that contains quite a lot of Zoalus symbols that will, in my opinion, is crucial in analyzing and replicating this language structure. There are also some audible samples of the spoken language that will be extremely beneficial to the universal translator utilities. With this data we will be able to communicate with the drones. "But--", There was always a 'but' and it was usually followed by something that the group didn't want to hear. Everyone sighed and Sal continued. "There is something strange about this room and these voices. I got to tell you, I nearly lost it! These voices and perhaps the room itself had taken a hold of my mind. I was 'reliving' things in my childhood. It was the strangest experience that I have ever encountered. It seemingly knew everything that I knew! Everything that I have ever experienced! It was reading my mind! I was able to resist but not without serious concentration and effort." "Also, I found that there is no way OUT of this room. Had Chris not come to my rescue I have no idea where I would be now. So, if we return to this room we must keep this in mind." "Pher, it's your call, but without the information contained in this room I fear that we will not be able to proceed much further with the drones."

Moments of Clarity The Klingons thought the whole concept of worshipping a corpse was ludicrous. They believed that once a person was dead, what remained was simply an empty shell to be discarded. The person now resided within the minds of those who remembered them. There were many known cultures who had shared similar beliefs however, Sal's didn't. He watched from a distance, crouched at the doorway, as two of the drones had doubled back to seemingly recovered their 'injured'. This was strictly a 'human' trait; no man left behind. Here was robotic automatons acting like a soldiers on the battlefield. It was a sight that was not unfamiliar to him and he fought to forget the past but he knew that he never would. Sal continued to watch with curiosity as the attending drone stretched out one of its appendages to the fallen one. There was a whirring sound and he watched how the attending one lit up. After a brief moment, the fallen one turned cold and silent and the other picked up the drone and dove silently back into the underbrush. It seemed touching and disturbing, this moment of death and Sal mused several moments on it. He clutched his shoulders as the cold rain left him in chill. But his mind, as usual, was firing on multiple planes focusing briefly on this thought or that and then spinning off into a new direction. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle assembled themselves and Sal received short bursts of clarity where he saw the completed picture. They were not long enough for him to consciously be aware but they existed and he could not deny them. There was humanity here and that was the gift of which those men of the cloth speak. He watched as Pher tended to Ethan. She was graceful in her moves and yet all the more purposeful and careful not to attract the attention of the other drones. In the bushes with the rain pouring down was the second in command; the family man who no longer had the watch. Sal didn't know his full story; only the rumors that had spread between the various crew members who had come and gone since his arrival on QoB. It was funny, in a curious sort of way, that Pher, Chris and the Captain seemed to know all about him but he still knew very little about them. That was most likely their intent because this space out here was very cold and black. It was not remorseful to the dead or faithful to the kind-hearted. And with a torrent such as that hovering on every horizon the mud between you and the bunk below was thick. It was a bridge or a drench and you were brothers or you were enemies. This life was much different than what Sal had expected. He knew there would be times that they'd be hand-to-mouth between lucrative jobs but he didn't realize that he would enjoy it as much as he did. He'd done something selfish and down right stupid by exploring this structure alone but Chris had come for him. He realized that had Chris not shown up then he'd still be trapped inside; his fate unknown. Although he had momentarily broken the bond that had taken him on his little trip, he also realized that it would have eventually regained footing in his mind. That chamber, the Mandala Room as he'd named it, was a one-way ticket. You did not leave. You were 'let' out. Dr. West's diametric of the human condition returned to his conscious as did the Zoalus' chanting. He thought about the eight archetypal characters that she had described and began to comprehend how the 64 syllables of each chant phrase represented much more than a single word. They were emotional as well as descriptive. They evoked feelings. Sal now knew that these eight symbols were very important to the Zoalus; they were the Zoalus. They represented all that these people believed, all that they cherished and hated as well as all that they knew and respected. They were logical and irrational and could take on many forms with their own distinctness without losing the common bonding that held the society together. He thought about the symbol pairs below each figure. The significance here was that every pair was unique yet it gave balance to the figures as a whole. They were, the eight figures, one. Like a governing body, the mandala represented the balance of power. There were long-held traditions that were 'tried and true' coupled to an excitement of the unknown and a yearning to belong. Sal was digressing again. What was important? What was of immediate causality? What of this language and culture could help the team complete their objectives? Sal thought the key was in controlling the drones. He imagined that they had once received verbal commands from their previous masters. They were, modified and not alike, all keen to the sounds that the group made and moved accordingly but Sal knew that for these 'garden variety' drones to perform their duties for their 'clients' a certain amount of impromptu response was necessary. They would have to understand verbal requests that may or may not be exactingly perfect, grammatically speaking. But there was still the issue of the symbol-to-sound assignments. To solve this, Sal thought he must get back into the Mandala Room. There were plenty of symbols and of course the chant phrases. He closed his eyes and tried to remove himself from his immediate surroundings; put himself back in the Mandala Room and looked up at the imagine in his mind of each one of the figures on the ceiling. The symbols below each one formed somewhat of a triangular shape terminating where the ceiling met the chamber wall. The symbols didn't stop there, however. They continued down the wall forming a column of symbols. These were different ones though. Each pillar contained only the low-ordered Zoalus text. Sal wished that he could have tricorded them so that he could examine them in detail now. Sal opened his eyes once more and watched the 'investigator' and its party follow the other drones into the forest mist and looked to see if Pher needed any help with their fallen comrade. Ethan, as far as he could see, seemed no worse for wear; mostly frightened out of his wits. Sal had first-hand knowledge of this feeling. Even though he now knew that these drones were designed to tend and maintain the landscapes, being under their watchful scrutiny and examination was a harrowing experience. Sal wanted to speak again but remembered what Chris had just said and didn't want to attract any more attention to himself or they others.

Lights danced around him spinning and spinning. He was trying desperately to focus on consciousness as thundering bolts from every direction stabbed at him. It was intensely beautiful and at the same time crisply painful. Sal had forgotten exactly where he was; who he was. He was remembering things that seemed to belong to someone else. Red planet with a pale sky and endless rows of crops cutting across the plain; this was home. He could hear a voice calling out to him as he watched a distant sun setting. The cold was growing and he needed to get inside. There was shelter ahead from which the voice emerged. It was a female voice. He focused on the figure as he approached and then another sharp strike. In a flash, all turned black and lights burst brightly on and off. There was a sudden silence like the emptiness of space and he found himself gripping the controls of an Atmo-Shuttle zipping through a rich cloud layer. Behind him people were screaming. Some were in pain while others seemed to be trying to settle the situation. He looked down at the gauges and displays and quickly determined that the situation was desperate. The turbulence was pushing back on his grip, pulling him to and fro in his seat. Their altitude was dropping rapidly and termination was evident. He had thrusters he noticed and pointed them forward for braking as the ground was closing in. The co-pilot was busied with com-traffic. She was speaking with the commander, planet-side. Spying a clearing, a break in the endless forest, Sal pulled back and brought the shuttle softly onto the surface. A dust cloud formed at their touch-down and began to clear as he made his way aft checking the passengers as he headed for the rear hatch control. Sal's hand pushed down and the atmosphere rushed in. Black again. He was spinning and out of control. He was no longer near gravity, weightless and floating free. Flashes of light forced his eyes closed. He was again disoriented. The flashing stopped and he focused on his surroundings. It was the bridge of the El Paso and they were dead in space. Emergency lighting was activated and there was panicked cries coming over the intercom. To his left he saw Flannigan. His blood floating in free-fall, the life had gone from his body. Susan Curtis was crying and others floated wide-eyed and drained. This battle was over. It was a hard situation and he felt the weight of it tugging on his emotions and ripping at his heart. Then thunderous pounding began, like the sound of steely drums. He could feel the warmth of fire and strong gravity again. His eyes were clouded and his mind fuzzy. The spinning stopped again and he cupped his cocktail stopping it from spilling. Everyone was laughing and enjoying the show. It was evening and the bonfire lit the open area between the circled cabanas. Harry was next to him; at least he thought she was. He thought he recognized this and remembered but he was not certain. Her eyes were brighter than he could ever recall and she wore a smile that would light a world. He looked at her but his eyes lost their focus yet again and felt the spinning sensation overwhelming his balance. Sal focused his thoughts and forced himself back into reality. He was on Zoalus in the Mandala Room. This was now! He opened his eyes and the lights around him continued to dance but he had broken the bond. He was quite aware of his surroundings. He heard strange alien chants. They repeated over and over and he picked out a rhythm of eight multi-syllabic phrases. The lights spotted on a different figure with each beat of the chant. They crisscrossed the mandala in a distinct pattern as the voices filled the room. Sal struggled to remember what had happened, what he had done to initiate this. His head was still somewhat foggy and light. He felt like he was coming down from a serious dose of alcohol.

Sal looked on the inner walls and soon found another symbol cluster. Assumption, the fuel on which he was running told him that these clusters were merely room names of a sort. There had to be more chambers than this. Pressing lightly with his hand, an opening appeared. He saw the light was different in the next room. It was darker and the walls were not the antiseptic eggshell of this room. They were a soft green. He looked at Chris and said, "I'm going to check this out. You could flag the others to come in out of the rain. I don't think our friends come in here. I actually think that that is why the doors are hidden as such. They seem to require a warm touch to operate." He was just thinking aloud again. He really had no idea how the doors worked. He had been thinking 'open' both times. Perhaps it was a combination of his thoughts and tactile interface with the symbols. This cluster was nothing like the one on the outer doorway or its counterpart inside. Chris didn't respond right away. Sal wasn't looking for approval either and he turned back and walked through the passage which led into the next room. The room contained tables and other wire-framed furniture. Apparently they had once been covered with an organic material which had long disintegrated. It was strange but it was not in disarray. These people, whoever they were, had just walked away from all of this, 600 hundred years before Sal was born. Being the curious type, Sal tried everything; pushed down on the bare springs that once supported a fabric pillow; rapped on the table to determine its solidity. He was finished sneaking around and trying to hide from everything that moved. The last time he checked he was a member of the top of the food chain. Of all of the species of animated lifeforms, they had not found any more complex and more organized than the humanoid. The opposing thumb had been the key to the success of many races. Those without them never developed beyond their immediate environments to venture out into space. There were the few, the elders; that had grown beyond their physical existence, but most of these had also developed intellectually and wisely chose to not interfere with the curious humanoids and their quests. Sal thought about the metaphysics of their current dilemma and wondered if the Zoalus had also risen beyond their physical captivity. It was highly unlikely because there was lack of evidence. Elders seldom left traces of their previous life. It was probably purposeful; the way it had been done since time had begun. Intellectual maturity was beyond the comprehension of humanoid societies because there was no frame of reference. Sure, they could speculate as many, of the fourth dimension, but it could not get past the practical science. For the layman, the whole concept of Warp Technology was other-worldly. There were three physical dimensions in which we live and breathe. Nothing unreal exists. That was simply how we experienced the universe, riding the endless wave-crest of Time into the future. Warp drives were common knowledge to Sal as he grew up. And therefore, the fourth dimension existed even though it wasn't something that one experienced. It was how humanoids had traveled beyond their lonely stellar systems within their own lifetimes. Without such technology, visitation of any race to another cradle of life was impractical. Sure. There were records of successful generation-ships, ship than traveled at speed less than light for hundreds of years. But the passengers who arrived at their destination had little in common with those who set out on the journey. Sometimes the arriving people like the ancient Vulcans who became the first Romulan people, had no idea why their ancestors even left. Society changes with time. Even primordial bacteria mutates as it seeds life on new abodes. The DNA strands are bombarded with random chemical compounds as the solid body that houses the suspended life passes through gaseous anomalies in the vast emptiness of space between the stars. The Zoalus, like all races fit into one of these two categories but without further data Sal had no idea which one. There were no visual images of these people but from the architecture one could determine that they were humanoid and approximately 2 meters in height. They also apparently breathed oxygen as this planet was most definitely a class M and about 5 billion years old. Their written language was highly structured which meant that they possessed advanced intelligence. Still, no other race known had ever met them. There were no other records of this society other than what was left behind on this lonely orb. The program that Sal had written based on Dr. Weston's research made many assumptions. It had been thought for many centuries that all spoken languages were based on the same 40 odd sounds that all known languages used. There were many methods used to represent these sounds symbolically but detailed analysis usually resulted in isolating these basic building blocks into vocally uttered syllables. This method had been used successfully by the Federation for over two hundred years as the members encountered new races and peoples. Dr. Weston and now Sal had no reason to assume that the Zoalus were any different. And so the program had isolated the 20 simple symbols as being assigned to and associated with the audible structure of the spoken Zoalus languages. The sequences contained syllabic structures which could be formed. The other assumption that this software had made was also based on the generalized concepts that all spoken languages seemed to contain. Words were a combination of syllables and used to form sentences of thought. Some of these words were used to identify objects were as others were used to describe action or change. Two mysteries remained, however. The first was the actual assignment of these sounds to their symbols. Until this was determined, speaking this ancient tongue was impossible. The second was even more obscure than the first. It was the purpose and meaning of the other twenty complex symbols, the symbols that were represented on the faces of the object they had found. They had special meaning and Sal needed to find some kind of frame of reference here to determine this. Most cultures had used some kind of pictorial art form to bridge this gap. Languages were based on objects that existed within the environment of the species. The Zoalus seemed to have excluded imagery of their species in their art which was very unusual for advanced cultures. This was one of the primary reasons why archaeologists had been baffled by what they had found here. Not only were there no photographic portraits there has never been even so much as a stick figure found to describe the Zoalus physique. It is only assumed that they were bipedal and walked upright as most humanoid species. Another assumption was the opposing thumb appendage which had been found to be important in cultural development. One science would clearly have to resort to using pictorial representation and that was medicine. Sal needed to find a hospital or life science college. Their text books he reasoned would have examples of bone structures and anatomies of their genus. The document that had described the gardeners, the original purpose of the drones, contained pictorial representations of thousands of plant and animal life forms that flourished on the planet. But nowhere, and Sal thought it to be purposeful, were there depictions of the Zoalus people; not even for the purpose of scale. This was found to be a very common use for self-image. It was almost fanatical, he thought. Then he found the mandala. It was embossed into the ceiling of the next room that he found. The room was most definitely an interior and contained no windows and yet it seemed brighter than the rest. The walls were pearly white and the ceiling almost translucent. The primary focus of the mandala seemed to be eight bipedal figures that stood upon eight distinct 'high order' symbols. Sal pulled out the dodecahedron and found the same symbols upon it. They were equally spaced upon its surface as were they represented here in the mandala. Each figure had its own unique features but all were bipedal and humanoid in appearance. One figure held a pointed shaft and another cupped a small flame. There was one who seemed to be cradling an offspring and one reaching for the heavens with a light in its eyes. They were the archetypal characters to which Dr. Weston had referenced in her dissertation. Each figure stood upon a high order symbol which was in-turn supported by three other high ordered symbols. Although the subordinate symbols were duplicated, each group formed a unique pairing. Sal squinted to see even more detail in the mandala. There were a third and fourth layer to this design. These layers contained pairings of these high ordered symbols and all were uniquely paired. No two were alike. This mandala was the key to the Zoalus high order language. Sal knew that each archetypal character was unique in its own right having their own sense of value to themselves and the world around them. They were representative of mental personalities. All cultures had these symbols and it was thought that it was the understanding of the 'human condition' that set apart these intelligent species from other life forms. He did not know what kind of room that he was in but it seemed to have a religious overtone to it. There were concentric circles of stone benches directly below the mandala and the room measured in his opinion some 20 or 35 meters across. Hundreds of people could occupy this chamber on the benches provided. In the center was a raised platform; an altar of sorts which had a smooth flat surface. Sal moved toward the center and noticed that each pillar that supported the central altar was translucent. Within each were sculpted statuettes of the figures in the mandala. There were eight supporting pillars. This was indeed an important find and he needed to show the others.