Archie Phoenix

Like any good spoof, it takes shots at a lot of scifi films. The Planet of the Apes scene at the end is still my favorite. :D

For the first time in his life, Archie was standing on the surface of a planet other than Renazia or Earth. This was just the sort of thing he’d dreamed about when he left his homeworld to join Starfleet. And this was no routine planetary visit. Archie was actually standing in the middle of a giant depression in the ground, from which were jutting the highest spires of a possibly millennia-old spacefaring civilization. Starfleet brochures could not have done this possibility the ample justice that Archie‘s teenage imagination had achieved years before! As Archie weaved through the slender shafts of steel, scanning the ground for energy signatures and alloy concentrations, he glanced up at the midday sky. It was not very different from an Earth or Renazia sky, save for a slightly darker shade of blue. Not quite as exotic as the neon green or blood red skies that Archie had seen in some of the brochures, but it was a sky Archie had never seen before, so it was fascinating nonetheless. The sky, of course, was nothing compared to what was beneath Archie (assuming Doctor Jones were correct). A central outpost of an interstellar empire that had reigned in this region thousands of years ago? For a trained engineer like Archie, what possibilities were buried in the very ground he was standing on? His imagination (not entirely diminished since his teenage years) painted a picture of a sprawling metropolis with massive domes of steel and glass connected by walkways and turbocar shafts and power conduits glowing with rainbows of colors, one dome half retracted to reveal a shuttle landing bay still housing one or two crafts and the now-lifeless robots that had once maintained them, another dome still pulsating with the light given off by the city’s still-operational central power core. Archie lowered his tricorder and placed his hand on one of the steel posts jutting from the ground. He tried to guess, with what limited data he’d collected so far, what purpose they may have served. The nodes of a communications network connecting the city, perhaps? Rods erected to collect energy from lightning storms? The delivery mechanisms for a defensive weapons array? They’d have to dig down to the bases of the posts and whatever machinery to which they were connected to be sure. What kind of technology would they discover? Something more advanced than Starfleet standards, perhaps? Archie was practically giddy with excitement; he was quite glad for the distraction, given how rough the last week aboard Arcadia had been. His exposure to the chewana root had caused an acute case of sleep deprivation that lead to his humiliating exchange with Jordan and Sam in Engineering. He recalled a lot more of the exchange than he later admitted to them, partly to avoid conversation in which he had no desire to engage. Though he apologized for his rude behavior, and Jordan and Sam were quite forgiving, they both received insight into Archie’s feelings that made him uncomfortable. Based on the advice they both gave him, neither Jordan nor Sam seemed very keen on crediting the drug for everything that Archie had said; he certainly did not believe that the things Sam said to him while under the drug’s influence were not based at least somewhat on his actual feelings about Archie. Sam seemed to think that Archie was not trusting enough; if anything, Archie just did not trust himself. The chewana incident reminded Archie that his efforts to mix in with the crew on a personal level were not doing so well. He again needed to take a step back from the rest of the crew, perhaps for good, and he’d even told Jordan as much. He got the definite sense that he was perceived as a nuisance whenever he tried to interact with his peers, not at all perplexing considering his lack of experience. So he would push his efforts to socialize to the side and focus on his duties, on exciting new experiences like the discoveries of ancient cities. In the final analysis, nothing else mattered. Archie sighed and smiled sheepishly as he removed his hand from the steel post and used it to close his tricorder. At that moment, a movement behind the post drew Archie’s attention. His eyes focused on a figure standing next to another post no more than fifteen yards ahead. Finding himself curiously intrigued, he placed his hands on either side of his post and leaned his head around it for a better look. For a few seconds, he was short of breath. She was wearing a Starfleet uniform, whoever she was -- one of the other team members, obviously. The blue trim on the uniform said either science or medical; Archie could make a safe guess considering what she was doing. Tricorder in hand, she was surveying the post as closely as Archie was surveying her. She was turned to the side, so she did not notice the engineer observing her from afar, but half of her face was clearly visible to Archie. She was beautiful. So beautiful that a man could forget about exotic skies and thousand year old cities and regretted words and anything else captivating or troubling with just a glance at that face. Her face looked as young as his, no different from a Renazian’s save for a few small ridges on her nose -- Bajoran, Archie could not doubt it. As his eyes swept over her, he noticed that she had an attractive figure as well. This woman, whoever she was, probably had half the men on the ship competing for her affections … assuming that her affections had not already been won. But there was something else. The look on her face, the sparkle in her eyes, the eagerness of her smile, even the way that she pushed the tricorder controls … nervously almost. She was excited! As excited about this dig site as Archie was. Something about the enthusiasm and energy this woman was giving off … Archie could sense it, and it was lifting his own spirits as high as it was lifting hers. Moments that seemed like minutes passed, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was as if he were stuck in a daydream, but he could be content inside of it forever. “Alright?” The voice pulled -- no, dragged -- Archie back to reality. His gaze turned sharply, reluctantly, to Jordan, who was standing beside him. She nodded to the steel post that Archie‘s hands were still wrapped around. “What do you think?” “Huh? … oh!” Archie pulled his hands away and realized that his palms were sweating. “Well, I … can’t figure out what these things are just yet. We’ll need to bring a laser drill down to cut into the ground.” None of his earlier enthusiasm with the dig was present. “… right.” Jordan nodded, looking at him as if he had three heads. With the dreamy expression that was still visible on his face, she easily could have assumed that he was back under the influence of the chewana root. “I’ll tell the Captain.” As Jordan stepped away, Archie quickly returned his gaze to the mystery woman … but she was gone. Had it been a daydream? Had she been a figment of his imagination? -Was- he back under the influence of the chewana root, and she was just an hallucination that had carried over from his sleep-deprived state? Archie looked around for her, hoping that this was not the case, but he could not find her. He shook his head. He had to remind himself that there was work to be done here, and it would do no good to be distracted. That’s what he’d told Jordan on the ship -- focus on the work. But at this moment, he was finding that particularly difficult to do, with the image of a Bajoran science officer the only thing his mind could focus on. In the final analysis, nothing else mattered.

On Babylon 5, the Psi Corps (Earth's telepath regulation agency) does just that. People are extremely paranoid about having their innermost thoughts revealed to others, so they demand that telepaths be leashed. Human telepaths are prohibited from scanning someone without permission. Deanna's a different case, though, since she's only an empath. Even on B5, telepaths accidentally pick up strong emotions, and no one makes a big fuss about it. It's a little different if you aren't actually digging secrets out of a person's mind.

Archie groaned lightly as his stomach lurched again. His periods of sleep on a Sickbay biobed were being interrupted by the physical alarms of withdrawal. Most of the chewana withdrawal cases had already cleared out of Sickbay, leaving just a small handful of the more troubled patients. But those cases had all had a significant head start on Archie -- they’d all known from the start that the chewana root was affecting them. The Sickbay doors slid open and Lieutenant Sema’J stepped through. He looked around and noticed that Archie was one of only a few crew members remaining in Sickbay. He nodded to Doctor Tynte at the other end of Sickbay and walked over to Archie’s biobed. “Ah, chief,” Archie said drowsily as Sam pulled up a chair. “It is good to see you.” “I can say the same, Phoenix,” Sam replied, looking over Archie’s pale sweating face and the plastic container that he was holding at side. “You don’t look too worse for wear.” “Well, you understand.” Archie held up the plastic container. “I believe you used up a few of these when you were in here.” Sam smiled. “I used more when I was in college. Not the Academy, mind you … when I was actually a young college student.” He nodded in Doctor Tynte‘s direction. “Now the good Doctor tells me that your most recent behavior was not, as I thought, due to irresponsible actions on your part.” “The Doctor has already explained to me what happened,” Archie said. “I did not understand many of the technical terms he used, of course, but I believe I managed to grasp the basics.” Sam nodded. “Those being?” “Well, you see, I was exposed to the root at the same time that everyone else was, but the effects were not nearly as noticeable. It seems that it was affecting my brain, altering my neural activity on a very limited level, but enough to cause long-term problems.” Archie drew the container up as he felt another pang in his stomach, but it turned out to be another false alarm. “Immediately, there was only the heightened heart-rate and blood pressure, which made me feel warmer while everyone else was fainting and hallucinating; I was well enough to remain functioning, so I assumed that my reaction to the root was less severe and I never reported it. I even suggested to Doctor Tynte that he study my genetic makeup and try to develop an antitoxin for the rest of the crew. “The more serious effect of the root became evident much later, when ever I tried to sleep. It appears that it was directly inhibiting my brain’s ability to initiate sleep; no matter how tired I was or how badly I wished to fall asleep, my brain would not allow it, even with a minor sleep aid. I am not certain, but I must have either been mistaken about how little sleep I was getting, or the root was dulling my ability to take the problem seriously. So, still, I did not report it. After six days without sleep, I began to lose my … grip on sanity. It may have been made even worse by whatever additional effects the root was having on my brain.” Archie smiled. “In retrospect, it is probably a good thing that Doctor Tynte did not make that antitoxin.” “Yes,” Sam replied with a chuckle. “That is a good thing.” “Well, when I finally came to Sickbay, the Doctor found out what the problem was and used medications to shield my brain from the root’s effects. With Sickbay’s atmosphere cut off from the chewana root vapors, I could recover here easily. Now I simply have to purge the stuff from my system.” He held up the container again. “That is waking me up from the periods of sleep I am catching up on.” “Well,” Sam nodded and decided to switch to the topic of discussion that had brought him here. “I understand you’re trying to kinda get into the swing of some of the more … social aspects of being in this kind of community environment.” Archie furrowed his brow and fidgeted uncomfortably on the biobed. “… sir?” “I’ve been trying to figure out where you and I aren’t meeting up,” Sam continued. “I did a little digging into your personnel file, got in touch with a few of your Academy instructors. They said that the main crunch was social interaction. Would that be accurate?” “Social interaction?” Archie answered with a frown. “Ah … you are, erm, probably upset by what happened in main engineering yesterday. I’d meant to speak to you about that.” Sam nodded. “Well, actually, I was just going to say that having a raucous experience and then spending the next day or two vomiting it back up is one part of human experience that you can now say you've experienced. As for in engineering … as far as I'm concerned, you were experiencing a severe reactive state to the narcotic that was circulated throughout the ship, and it was affecting you not by your own choice. Now I may have jumped to conclusions at that point and gotten upset also, and I'm sorry about that. But in reality, I can hardly hold you accountable for your actions, and I see it as that we can only move forward from this point.” Archie shook his head. “No, sir. I do not recall all that I did and said in main engineering, but I am aware that I was rude to both you and Lieutenant Black. I owe you both an apology for that. I will apologize to Lieutenant Black when I see her. Effect of a drug or not, I said many things that I regret.” “Well, you’re not the only one who has regrets from the time the narcotic was in our systems,” Sam replied with his head lowered. “I had absolutely no right to snap at you when I did. It was completely unprofessional and unfounded.” “Ah yes,” Archie said, recalling being admonished during his mission discussion with Captain Lo’Ami. He grinned at Sam. “Both of us were victims of the root, were we not? It just took me longer to catch up with you and the others. I forgive you for anything that you said, however.” “I’m glad we’re clear on that. I think you’re a great engineer, Phoenix. You and Black both. And I’m happy to have you both on my staff.” “That you, sir.” Archie’s stomach was beginning to settle and he could feel sleep tugging at him again. “I am happy to be here, even with all the dangerous narcotics in the air.” “Well, that’s cleared out of the air now,” Sam said with a smile. “But I’m sure there’s some other ridiculous adventure awaiting us. There always is.” “I look forward to it,” Archie replied, his eyes beginning to droop. “That is why I came out here and joined Starfleet.” Sam pushed himself up on his cane, steadying himself as he stood. “I think it’s a good time to let you get some rest, though.” “Chief …” Archie spoke up as Sam made ready to leave. “Yes?” Sam looked back at him. “If there is anything in my Academy record …” Archie began, his speech slurred by fatigue. “That suggests that I lead a life of solitude … understand, please, that it is only because I … desired it.” “Archie,” Sam looked down at him, slightly confused. “What are you talking about?” “Social interaction was not a … what is that very Human word you used? A ‘crunch.’” Archie pulled the container up to his chest. “It is just that … our people are so different. Please do not worry about that.” “Look around you,” Sam said. “The Federation is full to the brim with different people. You don't have to feel like you need to isolate yourself because you're different. Even if there is some huge big important difference ... that doesn't change the fact that you are here now with a lot of people -- especially here in Starfleet -- people who rely on you, and you rely on them. It would be a shame in that situation to devoid yourself of also caring about those people just as fellow men and women of the Federation, heck, the galaxy. And if you're not eager to up and trust most people to interact closely with ... let me out and tell you that you can at least trust me as a friend. We'll start there. And see where it goes.” “You do not understand. I wish that I could help you understand, but I am not permitted.“ Archie shook his head slowly, his eyes drooping more. “But … you and the Captain … are different from the others. I can trust you both, and I can speak to you both in a … suitable manner. I am more familiar with people like you. Do not worry about me, Chief.” Sam put a hand on Archie’s shoulder. “Well, like I said, let’s start there. Sleep tight, Lieutenant.” “Yes, thank you, sir. I will.” Archie’s head rolled to the side as he let himself fall asleep and dream more dreams. Sam smiled as he turned to leave Sickbay, nodding once more to Doctor Tynte on his way out.

Archie was seated on the floor beside his bed, where he hoped the air would be more favorable. His uniform tunic was discarded beside him, despite the fact that he’d overridden the environmental safeties in order to set the temperature in his quarters to minus ten degrees. He was starting to suspect that there was something wrong with his sweat glands. He knew that in the presence of great heat the Renazian body was supposed to release sweat in an attempt to cool itself off. His body was doing no such thing, thus he could not cool off no matter how much he lowered the temperature in his quarters. Or was he in his private classroom in the Tower of Mystics on Renazia? Yes, he remembered that it was always very warm in the Samudi Province, and the Tower of Mystics was an antiquated structure with none of the air coolant systems that had long since been made standard in Renazian construction. That was also why he could see the stars -- the Tower was one of the few structures left which offered views of the outside, and it was tall enough that those views eclipsed the rooftops of other buildings. But the stars were never directly outside the windows. One always had to look up to see them. Ah, of course, he was not back on Renazia; he was still in outer space. That window he was looking through was, in fact, a viewport -- as standard on Federation starships as stifling isolation was on Renazia! So why was he so confused? A Federation starship could not be any more different from a Renazian habitation. So why did he have to continually remind himself of which one he was currently inhabiting? Ah, yes, it must have been the people! That had to be it. Everyone here was just as annoyed with him as everyone on Renazia. He fit in here no better than he fit in there. He was now certain that his chief, Lieutenant Semo’ran, was out to get him, probably for offering ideas that were dangerous to the community. And his strained relationship with Betty Black had just come to a head as the two engaged in a shouting match in Main Engineering. Or had she only shouted at him? It was so difficult to recall these things. Betty Black? No, that was someone else. Archie looked down at the PADD he was holding in his hand -- his Archie comic collection. Now he remembered. That was Betty in the comic, and he was sure that Archie had yelled at her in one of these issues. Why had he pulled his collection out again? For guidance, most likely. It had been a gift from one of his favorite instructors at the Tower … no, at the Starfleet Academy. Of course, his Renazian instructors couldn’t have cared less about such things as Human comic books. But his Academy instructors had recognized Archie’s unfamiliarity with the Human race; it was Doctor Mender of the Cultural Studies course who had given him the comics. Why had he pulled them out? What was he looking for this time? Answers to which puzzle? “This is not working out, you know.” At first, Archie barely registered the voice. Was it another whisper in his head or had it come from outside? But, no … the whispers in his head never used that voice. It was such a light and cheerful voice, one that he’d heard so long ago that he could scarcely remember it. He looked up and saw, sure enough, the shadow of a figure not more than four feet tall sitting on the edge of the dining table beneath the viewport, its legs swinging back and forth underneath it. “What are you doing here?” Archie asked, his head tilted in curiosity. “How did you get here?” “I was invited.” The voice answered with a giggle. “How did -you- get here?” “These are my quarters,” Archie said. “I can get in and out as I please. The door opens for me when it senses my approach.” “That’s not what I‘m talking about. I meant, how did you get to where you are now? How did you get to be an adult?” Archie took a moment to consider the shadowy figure that had apparently not changed in size since the last time he’d seen it. “I … grew up.” “-Did- you?” The legs stopped swaying and the figure pushed itself off the table. It stepped into the light, fully revealing a smartly dressed young human boy with neatly combed black hair and searching blue eyes. “Well, -you- certainly didn’t,” Archie pointed out. The boy giggled again. “We’re talking about different things again.” The boy ran forward and dove onto Archie’s bed. He leaned over the side to look down at Archie’s PADD. “Reading those comics of yours again?” Archie gave the boy a confused stare. “How do you know about these? I got them years after we met.” “And you think -I’m- the one who didn’t grow up,” the boy said with a sly grin. “You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in there, Archie. A bunch of pictures and word bubbles can’t answer questions that a childhood is meant to answer.” At that, Archie’s expression suddenly turned very grim. He looked back at the PADD and the tone of his voice grew stern. “I would rather be alone right now.” “Funny,” the boy said. “You said just the opposite to Jordan.” “You don’t know anything about that!” Archie’s voice was rising. He glanced around his quarters. “Is this some kind of trick? Hm? Is this something that Gam’aj is doing?” “The only thing tricky here, Archie, is that you haven’t slept in six days.” Archie shook his head. “No. That’s nonsense. That’s the Doctor talking again; Gam’aj told him all sorts of lies about me. Nobody can go that long without sleep.” “That -is- true, isn’t it?” The boy looked very amused by this whole exchange. “But then, isn’t that a clock over there on that table? And doesn’t 0313 mean ‘after 3 AM’ in the military?” Archie grabbed the sides of his head and looked around his quarters frantically. “No … no … I just don’t feel like sleeping! I’ve had enough of sleeping! I don‘t want to talk about it and I don‘t want to talk about the others!” “Of course you don’t,” the boy replied. “Because you know it’s not working out. You tried to make it work in the Academy -- your first real opportunity to form a friendship -- but you never had the time; you were always so busy studying either your Academy work or the other students. And when you were studying the students, it was never active; you only observed.“ “I -had- to learn about your people if I was going to work with them!” Archie shouted at him. “And they had to study too! It’s not my fault if they weren’t interested in putting aside their education to befriend some alien!” The boy hopped off the bed in front of Archie and grinned menacingly at him. Ignoring the outburst, he plowed on, “-So- you figured you would make up for the lost opportunity here on Arcadia, where the bonds would last a lot longer anyway, right? But it’s not working, because you don’t have the experience that you’re supposed to have. You don’t have the experience that I have -- the experience of a -real- childhood!” The boy threw an accusatory finger and tauntingly added, “You never grew up, Archie! You never grew up!” Archie plowed into the corridor outside his quarters with a pained yell. He threw himself into the wall facing the door and braced himself against it. As the door slid closed behind him, he looked up and down the corridor. He was glad that it was empty; no one had seen him. With his balance wavering and his cognizance of reality gradually slipping away, he kept his hands on the wall as he stumbled to the turbolift at the end of the corridor. He leaned against the turbolift wall for a moment, his breathing rapid and shallow. It took a while for him to decide on his destination -- both what it would be and whether he really wanted to go there. There was the briefest moment during which he was poised to choose the Shuttle Bay and the command to the turbolift computer was about to issue from his mouth, but the small fragment of his better judgment that somehow remained in tact convinced him otherwise. “ … Sickbay.”

Ashlar’s blood-red eyes peered about at his fellow Exalts, the five great leaders of Renazia assembled in their shadowy meeting chamber. “Let us not forget. Were it not for the Federation’s meddling, Lars Man would not even be alive today.” One of the robed Exalts scoffed. “It has been nearly a century since the state executed a criminal, Ashlar! And I am glad for it. Such archaic policies of revenge are beneath us!” “Not revenge, Fierz!” Ashlar snapped back at the youngest of the Exalts. “Practicality. Lars Man is one of the vilest creatures to ever emerge from the stream of souls. He was responsible for the total obliteration of twelve Renazian souls! Such thugs were once executed only because of the grave danger they presented to our society, not because of any need for revenge. But because our Federation … friends … would presume to frown upon the dealing of death in justice, we merely … exiled him. And now he is spilling his darkest secrets to the Serberites!” “Let us not resort to such speculation too quickly,” said the eldest member of the Exalted Pentad, the venerable Membus. “Our informants have told us only that Man's ship was captured in the Bleak Zone. It is as likely as anything that the Serberites killed him. Or that he escaped.” “Escaped!” Ashlar bellowed. “You assume that creature would wish to distance himself from the Serberites. I make no such assumption. No, I believe that, given the chance, he would be too eager to spill all of his secrets to them. He would give them precisely what they yearn for -- the means to destroy a Renazian soul -- so that they can continue his foul work! Or perhaps he harbors bitterness over his exile and would use them to lash out at us.” “Regardless,” Membus said. “We will not act until we have learned more of Lars Man’s fate. An assembly of our most skilled covert operatives is already being prepared for a mission into the Bleak Zone. While we will not yet jump to conclusions, we must admit the possibility of an imminent Serberite menace. This Pentad was convinced to accept Federation cooperation for just such a purpose. We must decide the extent of their involvement.” “I maintain that the Federation is as grave a threat as Lars,” Ashlar responded. “They dig at us constantly, trying to pry away our knowledge of the soul. Yet where is the protection that you all expected from them? They do nothing to combat the Serberites. They fear conflict. Look at their long history of fleeing before it. It is an unwise waste of time to await aid from them.” “The alternatives you have suggested are unacceptable!” Fierz barked. “My altern--” “Ashlar!” Membus cut him off. “Fierz! Peace! Let not the dark signs of our times blacken the hearts of the Exalted and turn this Pentad against itself. No doubt such an end would please the Serberites.” His radiant white eyes turned to Ashlar. “Ashlar, I deem that what you have called ‘fear’ and ‘weakness’ are, in fact, prudence. The Federation does not seek conflict. But the history you cite shows no lack of resolve nor of preparation when they are pressed by it. They desire and strive for peace, yet few are better prepared to defend and protect in the face of adversity. I still feel that their way is the best way for us.” “Listen to what you say, Membus,” replied Infreg, a middle-aged Renazian standing beside Ashlar. “’When they are pressed by conflict?’ Even if you are right, and their Starfleet will act on our behalf, they will not do so until they witness a Serberite attack. If the Serberites possess a weapon capable of destroying our souls, can we afford to wait? What might the magnitude of such a weapon be? What if they now, as we speak, possess a weapon capable of exterminating every soul on this planet? The Federation Council would wait to see it used? That is not prudence.” “The operatives we sent to follow Man’s trail count a Mystic among their number,” Membus pointed out. “When Man’s ship is located, he will determine if the Serberites possess the means to craft such a weapon. There need be no attack. Such evidence alone would be enough to compel the Council to an offensive.” “Careful, Membus!“ Ashlar intoned. “Turning such evidence over to the Federation Council would be exceedingly dangerous! There are things they must not know!” Membus sighed deeply, the sigh of a great weight long borne on his shoulder. “Yes, Ashlar. Of course, I understand that. But there would surely be ways of presenting such evidence … without revealing secrets that are best kept within these walls.” Ashlar and Infreg merely gave the sage a skeptical look. Even Fierz did not look entirely convinced. “Now, I am weary and desire to rest. I will instruct our Ambassador on Earth to present new warnings of the Serberite threat to the Council. Vague warnings, of course. Enough, perhaps, to at least get a patrol established at the entrance to the Bleak Zone -- a promising start. We will assemble again in two cycles.” Membus bowed to the other Exalts before turning and departing the Pentad chamber, Fierz and Sevard following closely behind. “You are right,” Infreg said to Ashlar when they stood alone in the chamber. “The Federation will never assist us. They refuse to act without information … and such information would only push them away further.” “They are insignificant,” Ashlar replied with disgust in his voice. “If the Federation will not help us … there are others who will.”

“Computer, what is the temperature in my quarters?” “It is currently 21.3 degrees metric standard.” Archie folded his hands on his stomach and sighed up at the ceiling over his bed. It had been such a long day. The figures and formulas involved in setting up and allocating power to the chewana containment systems were echoing around his head, like a dim spot in the eyes that lingers after a bright flash of light. His mind had gotten into the routine of performing the same calculations over and over, and now it was having trouble letting go of the habit. It was the mind’s job to think, after all; try telling it that sleep was for its own good, that it needed to rest to avoid instability, and it would only cling to its purpose. “Are there unusual levels of vapor in the air?” “Negative. Current water-air density is 0.04 grams per cubic meter, well within standard air reclamation parameters. There are no non-aquatic vapors present.” Archie sighed again. Issues of bioengineering and plasma engineering had not been the greatest of his concerns. When one of the chewana roots had been pulled out of containment for further analysis, an unforeseen development precipitated a minor crisis. The root’s narcotic vapors somehow bypassed the ship’s biofilters, kicking off allergic reactions throughout the crew. All of Archie’s superior officers in engineering had been affected and shuttled to Sickbay, briefly leaving him -- after a sudden promotion -- in charge. Apparently, some crew members were affected less severely than others. “If you insist on telling me that it is not as warm in here as it seems, then we will simply make it colder. Computer, reduce the temperature in my quarters by 5 degrees.” Archie’s new rank, while pleasing to him, did create some unfortunate circumstances. He was made a witting participant in the gathering of a narcotic substance which would be handed over to a potentially irresponsible government. His increased involvement in the mission seemed to cause a conflict with his department chief. And his new wave of duties took him away from Sickbay, where he’d hoped that taking a caretaker role toward the more severe chewana cases would endear him to some members of the crew; it was the first time that Jordan, for one, seemed to be less than annoyed by his presence. “Reduce the temperature another 5 degrees.” He at least had a chance to get to know Oliver Gault, the science officer who’d helped him modify the probes to relay a transport signal to the planet. Perhaps a future friendship had taken root there. Ensign Gault, after all, did not need to work alongside Archie in engineering, a condition which seemed common to all of his relationship problems to date. Archie thought that he had worked well with Oliver. “I wonder what Command would say if they knew that Arcadia is essentially being run by junior officers.” “I hope they’d say we deserve overtime pay …“ “Considering that I have gotten about four hours of sleep in the last thirty hours, I would not complain.” Archie recalled those four off-duty hours he’d been given, right after Arcadia completed its atmospheric dive and the first bulk of chewana root was retrieved. Those four hours had not been very different form this past hour and a half -- staring up at the ceiling, deep in his own private streams of thought. In fact, he was almost certain that he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all in those four hours. It had now been close to forty hours since he began his shift, just prior to Arcadia entering the MKor Dsamim system. That was the last sleep he could recall with certainty. With Arcadia now on the way back to Axrekrav he could enjoy entire off-duty shifts again, but he was not capitalizing on this one thus far. Strange. He recalled feeling his eyelids drooping when he’d retrieved Jordan from Sickbay. He remembered thinking that he could have fallen asleep right there on his feet if it had gotten any worse. The feeling had faded as he and Jordan worked together on the power allocation in main engineering; her conversation had probably stimulated him away from the brink of sleep. But now that he was alone on his bed in his quarters, why was the fatigue not catching up with him again? Why could he not fall asleep? Why could he only lie here, consumed by an endless torrent of thoughts? “ … I’m going to need a larger sensor window in the containment field … “ “ … I’m quite familiar with the phoenix legends. It’s a reference, isn’t it? To the fact that you people … can’t die?” “ … I as ranking medical officer and doctor to the Captain have ordered you to … “ “ … most of the time, there's something else going on just at that time, so, I can't tell you what ‘death’ feels like, if that's what you're asking. It is something to be avoided for sure …” “ … stop always trying to jump the blasted gun. We know you have a plan to get more root, but the blasted meeting about it isn't over, so sit on that bed and let us finish talking … “ “ … I do not feel like I fit in here … I do not feel that this society has much to contribute to me … I will -always- be young on this world …” “ … it was the Human boy who created this change in you …” “… thank you for helping me in Engineering …” “ …there are … many like you on Earth?” “Computer,” Archie said with a slight growl in his voice. “Reduce the temperature -another- five degrees.”

Can I have a summer home built for me on Risa? Red carpeting, orange wallpaper, gilded bird fountain in the foyer, luxury bath complete with jacuzzi? With a waiting staff of Risan girls?

Archie was certainly moving up in the world (the ship to be more precise). First he’d received an unexpected, though not unappreciated, promotion. Now he was sitting at the engineering station on the bridge of Arcadia, the nerve center of the ship’s command structure. He’d been brought there personally by Captain Lo’Ami himself! Physically speaking, he couldn’t move any higher up than this (relative to Arcadia’s artificial gravity, of course) without either floating in space or taking the service lift to the warp nacelles. Archie couldn’t think of a time when he’d felt more appreciated. Even when he became the first Renazian to enter Starfleet Academy for officer training, he was treated just like any other Renazian his age. In fact, since having anything to do with Starfleet Academy classified as a severe taboo among his people, it could be said that he was treated worse. The constant reminders that Renazia always comes first and that the ‘primitives’ of the rest of the universe must always be kept ignorant were just hammered into his head a bit harder and a bit more frequently. Now Archie felt like an important piece of the puzzle. He had authority! He had people working under him in the chain of command! His voice was heard -and- even sometimes taken seriously! He still had people to answer to, naturally. Some, like the Captain, didn’t seem to mind him too much. Others still seemed downright perturbed by his presence. Lieutenant Sema’J, for instance. If the doctors who’d cleared Archie’s chief for duty knew what they were doing (something Archie strenuously hoped was the case), Sema’J was in a perfectly proper state of mind when he shouted at Archie in front of everyone in Sickbay (which seemed like the majority of the crew), reprimanding him for feeding his ideas to the Captain. Archie was not sure what exactly he’d done to offend his chief, but Lieutenant Sema’J was beginning to remind him a lot more of his Renazian elders than he cared for. Keep your thoughts to yourself. His Renazian teachers certainly would have objected to his freely offered comments on the chewana situation. They’d argue that his job as assistant engineer was to go where his superiors pointed and fix what was broken. But it seemed somehow wrong for Archie to keep his suggestions to himself. Wasn’t it an officer’s job to think and to make his thoughts known? Otherwise, he’d be no more useful to the crew than one of the enlisted men. Four Renazians had already gone the enlisted route, and although even their decision was considered downright scandalous to the Renazian elders, Archie had known from the day that Starfleet became a desire to him that his aspirations were even greater. And now those aspirations have gotten him a new rank and a position (albeit temporary) on the bridge. Surely he was doing -something- right. But then … for all his candidness, there were still some thoughts on the chewana situation that Archie was keeping to himself. Those thoughts had just gotten even shadier. Now not only was the crew gathering an active narcotic for delivery to Axrekrav, they were also exploring methods of modifying the inactive chewana root to activate its narcotic properties. In other words, the drug lab was undergoing a critical expansion. Unfortunately, this was the only way to meet the Axrekravians’ quota; there simply wasn’t enough active root on the planet. Considering how much -inactive- root there was, however, successfully developing a process to activate it would allow Arcadia to exceed their quota by at least 9000%. With that much narcotic chewana, a harvester could possibly build a pleasure palace out of nothing but the stuff. Was that what the Axrekravians wanted? Were they fully aware of the shortage of active root on the planet? Did they want a team of brilliant scientists (nobody could offer better than Starfleet) to figure out what they could not -- a way to activate the chewana root so that they could repeat the process at their leisure? That meant that if the science staff managed to develop such a process, they could give the Axrekravian government the means to distribute an unimaginable amount of the narcotic. And if the medical staff could not develop a counter to the chewana’s addictive properties, the Axrekravians could transmute the chewana root into a powerful control device. Even if that wasn’t the Axrekravians’ intent, the possibilities that Archie envisioned were downright frightening. Part of his brain argued that it was too high a price to pay for a handful of captured Starfleet officers. Still, he said nothing. Offering mission suggestions was one thing, but this was fell squarely under the header of ‘ethical dilemmas.’ Those were the sole province of the ship‘s commanding officer, and Archie would trust Captain Lo’Ami to do the right thing. If you can’t trust the Captain, who can you trust?

Archie stood in the turbolift considering his response to the comm from Sickbay. This was the second time that this Doctor Tynte had sent him a perplexing comm message, the first being the laughter that he received in response to his call for aide for Jordan. Strange circumstances were running rampant on Arcadia at the moment, and Archie felt his ability to 'go with the flow' waning rapidly. He had to get to the bottom of this. "Computer, reroute turbolift to Sickbay." What authority did a doctor have to override the Captain's orders? Archie had been in the Captain's presence twice now; the chewana root vapors did not appear to be adversely affecting him. What medical cause could there be to determine that his orders should be ignored? Archie turned to Oliver. "Do you think that you can configure the probes yourself?" "I'm pretty sure I can," the science officer answered. "But what about that command dispute going on?" "A doctor does not give me orders unless I am a patient," Archie answered matter-of-factly as he stepped through the opened turbolift doors. "I am going to find out just what this dispute is about." "I'm going with you." Oliver followed him off the lift with a smirk. "I haven't had this much excitement in a while." Archie shook his head. "As far as I am concerned, the Captain's orders still stand and the mission will proceed according to his instructions. We have to get those probes modified." "You make a point," Oliver scowled as he stepped back into the lift. "Call me when you find something out." "Configure three probes to relay the transport signal," Archie instructed. "Make sure that one of them is able to withstand a deep-sea entry. And … Ensign, you haven't experienced any ill-effects of our exposure to the chewana root?" Oliver shook his head. "I have a minor headache, but no, nothing. You?" "No. I haven't either." Archie paused a moment, wondering just how widespread this chewana problem was and on what scale it was impacting the crew's ability to function. "I don't know, but that may come in handy soon. I will be in touch." Archie nodded and walked away from the closing lift doors. 'Strange circumstances.' More like 'insanity' it was starting to seem, and as Archie made his way to Sickbay he wondered if anyone was doing anything about it …

Starfleet Personnel Records USS Arcadia NCC 1742-E Name: Archie Phoenix Species: Renazian (see Xeno:G1-Be-892 files) Gender: Male DOB: 48211.14 (25 Solar years of age) Rank: Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Post: Assistant Engineer Height: 1.84 meters Mass: 98.7 kilograms Attr: fair skin, black hair, orange eyes only distinguishing non-human mark Archie Phoenix is the fifth Renazian to enlist in Starfleet and the first to graduate the Academy. He achieved a total GPA of 3.97 with majors in Warp Physics, Starship Mechanics, and Bioengineering and minors in Nanotechnology and Biology. He served his Academy tenure without incident and received instructor commendations for behavior and creativity. His instructors made particular mention of Archie's wide-eyed curiosity and inquisitiveness, traits not common to the largely detached Renazians. He seemed genuinely thrilled to be receiving the opportunity to explore the galaxy, much of his commentary about his people suggesting relief at getting away from his homeworld of Renazia. Biologically, there is nothing of importance to distinguish Archie from a standard, healthy Human. Only the slight alterations noted in the Renazian medical files need to be accounted for in any examination or operation. He has never sustained a major injury. 50308.15 - Enrolled in Starfleet Academy 50707.28 - Graduated Starfleet Academy 50802.25 - Assigned to USS Arcadia-E 50805.07 - Promoted to Lieutenant (Junior Grade)

Starfleet Xenology Archives G1-Be-892-2 ----- Renazian Phylactery Process >== Alpha Entry - Level 5 Command Clearance Required ==< The Renazians are one of the more recently encountered species of the Beta quadrant. Their homeworld in the Epsilon Ulysses system was explored by the USS Trinidad in 2273. The warp-capable Renazians were described by Captain Marcus Grant as 'not overly xenophobic, but desiring of seclusion.' Follow-up efforts by Starfleet's Diplomatic Corps revealed that this isolationist sentiment was not shared by all of Renazia's leaders. Exchange of information between Renazia and the Federation was maintained, but it would take several years for the guarded Renazians to reveal their remarkable secret. Through methods still a total mystery to Federation scientists, the Renazians have learned to localize their individual life-signatures (see also: 'souls' ; 'spirits') and separate them from their bodies without compromising the functionality of either. The Renazians bind their life-signatures to external vessels called 'phylacteries,' where they apparently may be preserved indefinitely, and somehow a tie is maintained to the original host body. If the body ceases to function, the life-signature may be tied to a new body -- often one identical to the previous -- and the memories and personality of the Renazian are unchanged. This confers upon the Renazian a virtual immortality. Despite the Renazians' Federation membership, many of the details of the phylactery process have been held secret. This is a tricky symptom of the Federation charter's subsection on Faiths and Religions. The Renazians have carefully classified the process as a personally mystical transference, allowing it to be categorized as a Type A Sacrament and, thus, not answerable to the Federation's protocols on the sharing of scientific knowledge. Many Federation scientists were skeptical of the classification and objected to the Renazians' Federation induction. They still believe that the Renazians do not attach any religious importance to the process and are simply using a constitutional loophole to justify hoarding their knowledge of life-signatures. Even the majority of Renazia's population is kept in the dark; the secrets are known only to the most prominent members of the society's leadership and the small division of 'mystics' that they have trusted to oversee the phylactery processes. Many critical questions continue to be raised by Federation scientists and summarily deflected by the Renazians: What are the properties of the life-signature? This is a question that has been asked by every Federation species since long before they explored beyond their homeworlds. The Renazians' ability to isolate and preserve the life-signature indicate advanced understanding of the question. Federation medical experts believe that such knowledge of the life-signature could produce leaps and bounds in the development of medical techniques. What is the nature of the link between body and life-signature? In severing this link, the Renazians have managed to overcome life's greatest obstacle -- the deterioration of the body. There are Renazian leaders who claim to have lived for close to 1000 years, nearly as long as they have been able to perform the phylactery process. Is there a limit? Do all life-signatures last this long? How does the death of a body to which a life-signature is still bound affect the life-signature? Our own understanding (or, more appropriately, lack thereof) tells us that the life-signature either ceases, continues in a new body with old memories and personality purged, or reaches a new state or realm of existence. Does the Renazian knowledge of the link contain answers to such questions? Is their prolonging of their life-processes denying a new existence which awaits? Where do the bodies to which the Renazians tie their life-signatures originate? This question brings up a number of ethical concerns. As previously indicated, these new bodies are often identical to the old, suggesting that some form of cloning is taking place on Renazia. But the Renazians remain mum, asserting that the body transference is part of the mysticism of the process. What happens if the life-signature is destroyed? It is known that murders have been committed against Renazian life-signatures; this is considered the most heinous offense in Renazian society. Up until 70 years ago, the penalty for destroying a life-signature was destruction of the murderer's life-signature. Pressure from the Federation played a large factor in the reformation of this capital punishment policy. Today, life-signature murderers are permanently exiled from the Renazian territories. There have only been three recorded incidents of life-signature murder since the Federation-Renazian first contact, but the Renazians allege that their phylacteries are nearly impossible to destroy without intimate knowledge of the life-signature. There is strong speculation among Federation experts that this is the core reason that the Renazians are so guarded about their secret. The Renazians are capable of normal reproduction, but the birth rate is closely monitored by the Renazian government to ensure that population does not get out of hand. This does not seem to be a major concern to the Renazians in any event -- limited sociological studies on Renazia have shown that without the impendence of death hanging over them, the Renazians' urge to reproduce is far below the Federation norm. The phylactery process is normally performed after birth with the consent of the parents. No one is under any obligation to undergo the process and it can easily be reversed if any Renazian desires. There are large sects of Renazia's population that refuse the process, believing it to be an immoral alteration of the natural cycle of life. The phylactery secrets are widely believed to be at the crux of the Renazian-Serberite conflict. See G1-Be-892-4

The Bleak Path Part 3 - Rising It was going to be a lovely morning in the Samudi Province of Renazia. Half the sun was already visible above the line of rooftops that stretched across the Province of Mystics; its rays set the sky ablaze in alluring streaks of red, orange, and gold. From a window near the top of the Tower of Mystics, Molvus Decin beheld a striking view of that landscape. The Tower was one of the oldest structures on Renazia, built at a time when both windows and height were cherished architectural designs and not torn down nor even altered in all the time since because to do so would be heresy of the highest order -- no structure on Renazia, not even the Pentadora, was more important than the Tower of Mystics. Molvus did not enjoy the remarkable view, however, rare as such views were. Aesthetic pleasures were once valued on Renazia, but that was long ago during more barbaric times. Now such things were the fancy of the Federation races and other more primitive peoples. The Renazians now valued practicality and intellectual pursuits far more than beautiful sunrises and favorable vantage points. Equality, uniformity, and seclusion became the answers to the horrors of war; nearly identical buildings were packed together on the Renazian surface to support a growing population that had no interest in interstellar expansion. Renazia's relatively limited land surface was now covered by manufactured stone, crystal, and plasteel. That was what Molvus Decin enjoyed to see -- the evidence of Renazian industrial achievement displayed beneath that fiery sky. Dwell not on the sky lest your mind wander beyond it. Molvus looked up at the sky as he recalled the Mystic saying. Yes, that was also part of the reason that the buildings were all made level and unbreached by windows. It discouraged looking outward, neglecting one's devotion to Renazia and developing unhealthy obsession with the dangers that lurked in deep space. If only Molvus could keep his own mind focused on Renazia. As the head of Renazia's Ministry of Security, he had to focus on the threats to that security that originated off world. The Serberites made certain that that focus could never waver. A door opened behind Molvus and he recognized the voice of Xerki, the chief Mystic. "The process has been completed, Minister Decin. You may see him now." Molvus turned and nodded at the golden-eyed Mystic. Together they stepped through the door and into the long hall beyond. Deeper into the tower there were no windows to admit the burgeoning sunlight, and the walls were standard merizite crystal with none of the lumisteel panes that provided illumination in modern Renazian structures. Only a few sporadically placed light globes guided Molvus' steps through these tight corridors. They were reminiscent of the old royal burial chambers that still ran underneath the Exalted Province. The irony of that comparison was not lost on Molvus. "Have your underlings moved any closer to locating Lars Man?" Mystic Xerki asked in his infinitely calm voice. "That is what I hope I am about to find out." Molvus answered. Normally he would not discuss the details of such a sensitive mission with anyone outside of administrative circles, but Xerki was one of the most respected members of Renazian society. Only Membus and Ashlar commanded more obedience, if even them. "The Agency ships remain outside the Stygius nebula watching the entrance to the Bleak Zone. So far no ship has emerged, not Lars' and not one of ours. There has been no word from anyone on the search." "But that may be about to change?" Xerki asked as the pair finally stopped at an unremarkable door halfway down an out-of-the-way corridor. It appeared to be unimportant. Deceptive appearances were a valuable Renazian tool. "It may." Molvus answered as the door slid upward. For the majority of its interior space, the Mystic Tower was one part meditation center, one part information archive, and two parts educational facility. But this area that Molvus and Xerki stepped into was the true nerve center of the Tower. This was where the Mystics performed the work that was largely a mystery to all but a choice few Renazians. Not even Molvus, despite being in charge of his planet's security, knew the details of what exactly went on in the facilities beyond this first room -- a large recovery ward with ten beds aligned along opposite wards. At the end of the wide aisle that ran between the beds was a door with three merizite crystal panels lined up beside it -- a security system based on touch, passcode, and even mental imprint. It was rumored that not even the Exalts possessed the clearance to pass into the facilities beyond that door; only a Mystic could bypass the security. All twenty beds were unoccupied save one, the eighth bed on the left side, currently obscured by a simple silk curtain. Molvus took a deep breath and nodded to Xerki to lead the way. Their footsteps echoed throughout the ward. The faint hymn of wind chimes could be heard from the music hall below, another relic of more primitive ages preserved here in the Tower of Mystics. The Mystics claimed that the chimes had a relaxing effect on those in the recovery ward. Every time Molvus visited the ward, he only found the effect haunting. They stopped at the curtained bed and Molvus looked at the vague silhouette behind it. "I will assume," Xerki said, "that this debriefing is not meant for my ears, so I will grant you privacy. I will see you outside the ward, honored Minister." "Thank you, Xerki." Molvus bowed. The Mystic waited a moment, soaking in the respect that the Minister was showing him, before he lifted the hood of his white-trimmed blue robe onto his shaved head and walked back up the aisle. When the door to the ward slid closed, Molvus turned back to the bed and grabbed the end of the silk curtain. He pulled it aside sharply, intending for the noise to wake up the bed's occupant. But Tan Simox was already awake, and he was smiling right at Molvus. "You did not waste any time coming here for a report, Minister." "Welcome back to us, Agent Simox," Molvus said. "Let us hear your report, then. What of the mission? What happened?" "I located Lars Man's ship." Tan frowned. "But … there was an unsettling development." Molvus nodded slowly, uneasily. "Tell me everything."

Well, I -would- recommend Arcadia. But Arcadia doesn't really need anyone. We already have a stacked crew of the best officers in the fleet, including a top-notch command staff. All your sim are belong to us.

Archie regarded the six hydroponic storage pods with a smile of satisfaction. All of them had been modified to mimic the chewana root’s deep-sea habitat, and a series of site to site transports was being initiated from the cargo bay observation station. It looked rather elegant -- a sample of chewana root beamed into pod 3, another beamed out of pod 5, a new sample arriving in pod 1 -- the back-and-forth transport shimmers reminiscent of the curious arrangements of twinkling lights that the humans so often displayed during holidays. Yes, it helped to dwell on the beauty of it … rather than its purpose -- testing each root for the purity of its narcotic properties to determine its feasibility for distribution by the Axrekravians. Archie knew enough about Earth culture to know that quite a gulf existed between a Christmas tree and a drug lab. Though he did not share in all of the beliefs that a Christmas tree represented, he would much rather have one of those in his quarters. Christmas trees were not the object of quite as much legal scrutiny. Captain Lo’Ami seemed to be perfectly aware of said legal scrutiny, but he seemed just as determined to deliver the chewana root to the Axrekravians. Was the absolution of the away team, which, admittedly, had violated both Axrekravian law and Starfleet protocol worth the damage that could be caused if the chewana root were distributed to buyers on Federation worlds? Archie wondered if the Captain had an answer that he himself could not see, some way of buying the away team’s freedom without handing over the narcotic perhaps, or a plan to develop an antitoxin that could later be distributed to potential buyers. Archie did not envy the Captain his job of having to contend with the far-reaching consequences of any political maneuver. When Archie thought of the consequences, the thin veneer of beauty shattered before his eyes, leaving only the purpose. His own job was not entirely enviable here either. When he got past his satisfaction with the completeness and efficiency of the work, he had to consider his own role in the whole dubious operation. He’d set up a system that allowed a batch of potentially dangerous narcotics to be preserved for transit to Axrekrav and tested for potency; he was the head technician of the drug lab. It was so easy for him to produce justifications for himself -- I’m just doing my job, I’m just the operator of the system doing what I was told, the Captain is the decision maker and any consequences be on -his- head, an engineer just builds and cannot be responsible for the manner in which his constructs are used, one of the other engineers would have done it if I hadn‘t. They were only justifications, though, and embracing them would be giving in to a self-acquitting ‘chip-in-the-computer’ mentality that seemed to Archie to be somehow too … Renazian. Contemplating issues of ethics and self-responsibility like this was decidedly un-Renazian. Archie glanced at the Captain and recalled his training on Renazia, the mantras that were repeated ad infinitum -- You are Renazian. You will act like a Renazian at all times, even when you are among the others. You will do as they tell you. You will follow their orders. But you will keep your thoughts to yourself. You will keep your secrets to yourself. You will keep our secrets to yourself. You will not ask questions you do not need to. You will tell them nothing. Repeat these things to me now. Archie dragged a hand over his face and sighed. He stared at the containment pods. Such an efficiently arranged system. A job well done. A beautiful sequence of twinkling transport shimmers. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he muttered to himself.

The Bleak Path Part 2 - Sentry Tan Simox was recalled from a brief meditation by a proximity alarm emanating from his ship's scanners. He reached overhead to flick the switch that shut off the alarm and looked at his tactical monitor, hoping that the energy emissions the scanners were picking up were on the safe path ahead. The only way that non-Serberite scanners could detect a ship in the Bleak Zone was if that ship was giving off some sort of emission. The engine exhaust and weapon charge were always the tell-tale signs of an approaching Serberite vessel. Those would never be detected following one of the safe paths because the Serberites never navigated the safe paths -- they simply had no need. When Tan observed that the energy emissions were indeed following the safe path he felt both anticipation of a mission nearing its fulfillment and trepidation at the terrible danger that his quarry presented. A quick check of the energy signature confirmed that it belonged to a Renazian ship. Lars Man was ahead! Tan's trepidation only grew as he realized that his own engines were giving off the same emissions; his presence would be revealed as well. He could not help recalling stories of Lars Man's brutality, but he kept his unease in check -- there was a mission to be performed. Tan pushed the flight handle in and forward, accelerating his ship. He'd previously been flying at only half of his ship's potential speed, both to reduce the engine emissions that could catch the Serberites' attention and to give him more time to react to any obstacles on the path. He gave two dials beside the handle slight twists, enough to power up his ship's particle beams to disabling mode. He would have to get close, dangerously close, before firing on the engine emissions that Man's ship was giving off; once the engines were disabled, he would have to quickly grab it with his towing cable to keep it from drifting into the uncharted areas of the Bleak Zone. His tactical monitor beeped to confirm weapons lock. He waited for confirmation that the ship was in towing range. But another proximity alarm came first. Tan's crimson eyes darted to the tactical monitor as he quickly grabbed the flight handle and slowed his ship down. More engine emissions! Serberite signatures! Tan cursed quietly to himself. Had his ship's acceleration been noticed? This quickly? But … no. The Serberite emissions were not approaching. In fact, they were heading in the same direction as Lars Man's ship. There was one Serberite vessel slightly ahead of Man's ship, moving at the exact same speed. Tan's brow furrowed deeply as he looked up at his ship's front viewport. He could see nothing but the stifling darkness of the Bleak Zone, but he knew that no more than five kilometers ahead Lars Man's ship was -following- a Serberite ship. This was a troubling development, one that Tan took a moment to ponder. The Serberites had long made their policy toward Renazian ships clear -- shoot on sight and shoot to destroy. Why had an exception been made for Lars Man's ship? Tan could think of two possibilities. One, the Serberites had commandeered Man's ship and either killed Man or taken him into their custody, a perplexing break from their usual response to Renazian trespass. Two -- the far more troubling and, in Tan's mind, likely possibility -- Man was collaborating with the Serberites in order to gain their protection from Renazian authorities. Either way, Man's ship, with its limited sensor capabilities, had to remain on a charted path. They were likely going to rendezvous with one of the Serberites' mobile outposts so that Man's ship could dock and be escorted deep into the Bleak Zone where it could never be located by the Renazians. Tan took in and let out a deep breath. With a Serberite presence, this mission was almost certain to end in failure. But that was not going to stop him from doing everything in his power to see it through. Tan pushed the flight handle forward and lifted the caps on the particle beam controls. When he received confirmation of towing range, he pulled the flight handle back and pressed the exposed beam controls, firing short bursts at the engines of Man's ship. He gave the flight handle a twist to bring his ship about 180 degrees and hit the switch to release the rear towing cable. He had never executed a towing maneuver in this sort of a sudden crunch, but it only took one attempt to lock on to Man's ship. In any other situation, he'd have cheered his good fortune. But the only way this mission would succeed was if that escort ship decided to demonstrate kindness uncharacteristic of the Serberites and allow a Renazian matter to be resolved by Renazians without interference. Tan pushed the flight handle forward slowly, realizing that an acceleration too rapid would rip the towing cable right off of his ship. As his ship overcame its rearward momentum, he looked at his tactical display. The Serberite vessel had stopped, but it was not giving pursuit! Perhaps they -wouldn't- interfere, despite their puzzling interest in Man's ship. Perhaps Tan had rendered it useless to them by disabling its engines? It was a slim hope that Tan was clinging onto; even if Man was dead, there would be clues to this mystery on his ship and the Agency would be well pleased if it were brought back for investigation. Tan barely registered the third proximity alarm. His attention was fully on the front viewport, where the dust of the Bleak Zone had suddenly dispersed in a roughly 500 meter area. In the void that was left, a second Serberite ship was staring down at him. It was a terrible thing to behold. The viewport of its bridge was near its center, a small speck of red light barely visible between the three masses of shimmering black metal that jutted around and in front of it. They were roughly ovoid in shape, but their surfaces were broken by the Serberites' imposing arrays of starship weaponry. Each weapon platform by itself was larger than a Renazian ship; all three had their weapons trained directly on Tan's. With their deflector arrays pushing the dust of the Bleak Zone away, they could not have enjoyed a clearer shot. Clearly, the Serberites had detected Tan's ship long before he detected Man's ship. This second sentry had moved off the path and shut off its engines so as to avoid detection, setting up a perfect ambush. It was a common Serberite strategy. They knew their engine emissions were enough to scare off Renazian agents, but they were not content with letting Renazian ships escape the Bleak Zone unharmed -- escape was the only victory that an inferior foe could achieve. Tan's ship quivered. The first Serberite sentry had swooped in and fired on his towing cable, snapping it and freeing Man's ship. Tan merely stared at the three harbingers of destruction getting larger in his viewport as he drifted closer to the second Serberite ship. The main particle beams on the front of each weapons platform lit up as they charged. Tan's eyes closed. As he awaited the inevitable, he recalled the last time that he was in this exact same position. His eyelids could not fully block out the brilliant flash of light that filled the cockpit. Three beams hammered his ship. It was vaporized within a second. Death embraced Tan Simox.

No future is certain. :ph34r: I'm sure there was at least one Trek episode that taught us that.

The Bleak Path Part 1 - Crossing Tan Simox had flown almost two hundred space missions for the Exalted Pentad -- Renazia’s governing body -- but these trips into the Bleak Zone were the worst. Granted, it was the safest region (relatively speaking) of the Stigius Nebula. No spacecraft could survive the volatile gas and particle emissions prevalent throughout the rest of the nebula. Safer conditions existed in the Bleak Zone because of the absence of stars for hundreds of light years in any direction. That absence of stars was the source of the problem, however. All that existed in the Bleak Zone was blindness -- clouds of sensor-dampening dust and gas with no reflected starlight to provide navigational reference. There was only one entrance, half a light year wide, at the boundary of the nebula, and the rest of the Bleak Zone was surrounded by the nebula’s volatile regions; if you got lost in here, you were lost for good. The Renazians had charts of many of the safe paths through the Bleak Zone. Following these paths required great care; a craft’s navigational computer could be automated to follow a course indicated by the charts, but the pilot had to ensure that the craft not be diverted off course. There was nothing natural inside the Bleak Zone to bring about a forced course alteration -- no asteroids, no combustible gas pockets, no concentrations of dust heavy enough to bump a craft. But there were things in the Bleak Zone that were not natural. Things that made the Bleak Zone far more hazardous than the blind flying. The very things that brought the Renazian Star Agency here on so many missions. The Serberites. They were the creatures native to the Bleak Zone. Whether they originated here or moved here from other locales was not certain, but it was clear why the region would appeal to them -- their ships could navigate the omnipresent clouds of particles far more efficiently than Renazian warp cruisers. Formidable, those ships! Tan had crossed paths with one on two separate occasions. The second time, he did not stick around long enough to fight it -- the first time had taught him better. The remarkable thing about Tan Simox’ current mission was that the Serberites were not what brought him here this time. It was another Renazian that brought him here. This Renazian was, like the Serberites, taking advantage of the Bleak Zone’s greatest asset -- its potential as an effective hiding place. For indeed, this Renazian did not want to be found. This Renazian had been exiled many years ago, but had recently begun violating the terms of his exile. And when the Pentad dispatched agents to bring this Renazian back to the homeworld for renewed trial, he promptly fled … into the Bleak Zone. Fortunately for Tan, this particular Renazian was both smart enough to realize the imprudence of flying blindly into the Bleak Zone and resourceful enough to have gained possession of the Renazian fleet’s charts of the region. There was no doubt that, if he valued his life, he would be on one of the safe paths. Several Renazian vessels were stationed outside the nebula monitoring the entrance to the Bleak Zone, just in case the fugitive doubled back. Meanwhile, Tan and the other agents given this assignment were patrolling every one of the safe paths the fleet had charted to date, hoping they would catch up to the fugitive before the Serberites spotted either him or them. Where the mission would go from there was something that was causing Tan some fear, more fear than he‘d felt since his earliest assignments with the Star Agency. For once, the Serberites were not the greatest danger in the Bleak Zone; the fugitive that Tan and his fellow agents hunted was none other than the infamous serial killer Lars Man, who could harm a Renazian in ways that the Serberites could not. to be continued

By that point, the Federation probably would have collapsed ... or it would be on the verge of collapse. Now that would make for an interesting series. A Roman Empire-esque treatment -- the increasing corruption of the Council, internal divides among the UFP worlds, new threats from outside, leading to the actual fall of the Federation. Or how about a series that takes place after all that's already happened? You could have the crew of a starship joining others trying to pick up the pieces and start something new and better, or simply trying to survive in the now dangerous Federation space.

Archie leaned over Jordan’s prone form wondering when … or even -if- the medical team he’d called for would arrive. His comm-exchange with the medical officer was puzzling. He recognized the voice as the same doctor he’d met in Sickbay just a few minutes earlier. It would be uncharacteristic enough for a doctor to laugh at a request for immediate medical assistance, but that doctor looked like a Bajoran; what little Archie knew about the Bajoran people was enough to suggest that they were a very somber people. Archie glanced around main engineering. A few crewmen had gathered around to find out why Jordan passed out, but Lieutenant Sema’J still had not returned from his investigation of the containment systems. Archie was already contemplating lifting Jordan off the deck and carrying her to Sickbay himself when a nurse and a medtech arrived in engineering. “Ah, good,” Archie said to the nurse as she rushed to Jordan’s side with her scanner. “Ensign Black lost consciousness just a moment ago.” “Did anything happen beforehand?” The nurse asked as she scanned. “Ah … she was coughing quite a bit. She seemed to be struggling for air. Just before that it seemed to be getting warmer in engineering, but the environ--” “She’s having an allergic reaction,” the Nurse interrupted. She nodded to the medtech. “We’ll transport her to Sickbay.” “Oh …” Archie stood upright and stepped back. What is it that Jordan would say if she were conscious right now? “Bugger.” The two medical crew gave him bewildered stares as they shimmered out of main engineering. The small assembly of engineering crew dispersed, and Archie sighed softly to himself. Now his routine engineering duties would be really boring. Who would he talk to with both Sam and Jordan away? His few attempts to engage the crewmen in conversation had not gone well. Most of them seemed to be frightened of anything resembling social interaction. Petty Officer Irwin N. Dexter (’the drooler,’ as the engineering staff nicknamed him) simply stared at him as if he had three heads. Sam, Jordan, and Joe were the only engineers whose company he enjoyed (even if his company was not enjoyed in return). As Archie returned moodily to his station, a though occurred to him. Hey, I’m not even supposed to be on duty yet … seeing as how I haven’t undergone my medical examination. And I -was- supposed to make those modifications to the systems in Sickbay. I certainly shouldn’t be here! “Crewman Erde, take my station.” Archie turned and walked toward the lift. “I’m going to Sickbay.”

Archie sighed at the pockmarked chewana stem sitting on the center table of the Cargo Bay 2 monitoring station. He’d been told by no less than the Captain of the ship to remain here and analyze incoming samples of the chewana plant to determine its suitability for transfer to Axrekrav. At the moment, he wasn’t sure how reliable he’d be at this task … His conversation with the science officer aboard the Hadrian’s Wall was perplexing him. He’d compiled information given to him by the science department into specifications for an on-board marine habitat, but this science officer was now telling him that providing the root with its own native habitat was not necessary. Archie had the feeling that a critical piece of information had been lost somewhere along the chain of command. Did science really have a compound to repair the root after its exposure to inadequate temperature and pressure levels? Did they have a way to nutrify it without the eels? Why was none of this in the report they’d sent to engineering? Archie was certainly no scientist, but the shuttle officer’s answers to these problems seemed … too easy. How often were Starfleet problems so easy to address? He recalled that she’d referred to herself as the chief botanist aboard the ship. She would know best, Archie told himself. But he wouldn’t like to think that he and Lieutenant Sema’J went to the trouble of modifying the cargo bays to house the roots if there were far easier ways of preserving them. There hadn’t been much time between their arrival at the planet and the assembly of the shuttle team. Perhaps this science officer simply didn’t have enough time to analyze the scans of the chewana plant and the requirements for its survival. Perhaps the compound she was referring to was a generalized botanical solution that would not be enough for such a unique plant. If it was not enough to repair the ruptured chewana, they would need to utilize the cargo bay habitat and engineering’s preparedness will have paid off. Or perhaps Archie had been overly cautious in writing the cargo bay specs. Perhaps the speed with which the chief botanist was assigned to the shuttle prevented the rest of the science staff from receiving her consultation when they sent their report to engineering. Perhaps engineering was wrong and had unnecessarily diverted energy to the cargo bays for a problem that less costly resources could have addressed. Time would tell. Archie tapped his commbadge and requested that science send the botanist’s compound to the monitoring station. Though this compound, if it worked, would make things a lot easier … deep down, Archie was hoping that the engineers were right …

Directing antigravity sleds in Cargo Bay 2 was a tedious activity, and like any tedious activity it prompted Archie to resume his persistent daydreaming. Most prominent among his thoughts were images of the science officer he’d seen on the Hadrian’s Wall. Of all the excitingly bizarre things he’d seen and done since he started active duty, nothing topped seeing a long swaying tail emerging from the back of a uniform. And he’d certainly not failed to notice how … snugly that uniform fit the science officer; he’d been cooped up in his quarters far too long! Of course, he’d said nothing to her. Ensign Black still seemed to be annoyed at him, and now even Lieutenant Sema’J was upset at him for leaving engineering without notice. He still had more to learn about the crew and how much enthusiasm they considered to be excessive. He would lay low for a while, observing and studying the crew and focusing more on his duties. As he helped a cargo crewman load another crate onto the sled, Archie thought again of Lieutenant Sema’J’ insistence that he not depart engineering without permission, even during a non-alert situation. Archie’s hopes that Sema’J would be more of a peer than an authoritative figure had been diminished by his scolding. He had to remind himself that things were inevitably going to be different out of the Academy, that there needed to be clear lines of authority and procedure aboard a starship undertaking dangerous missions, that as an Ensign it was his place to do as he was told. He could readily accept all this in exchange for the excitement of exploring deep space … but it still reminded him uncomfortably of home. He took a moment to think of all the things he’d already seen and done. He’d aided a vital investigation into the Belleau Wood’s destruction, something that an officer of his relative unimportance never would been called on to do on Renazia. He’d made modifications to Arcadia’s shuttle crafts that Renazian engineers would have considered too radical to even consider. And now he was about to turn two Cargo Bays into giant hydroponic tanks. For the first time in his life, he felt that the unexpected could happen. And for the first time in his life, he felt important. He felt like he was making meaningful contributions, despite being only an Ensign. It was more than he’d ever had, and having to follow a few orders and procedures was … ‘small potatoes,’ as the Humans would say. He reminded himself of this and, thus, felt better. But the memories of home still lingered … “Why do you want to leave Renazia, young one?” Archie looked at the blood-red eyes of the ancient speaker, his private tutor Gamoran. “I believe I would be more content elsewhere.” His gaze returned to the lone window in the classroom, a small hole that’s sole purpose was to admit oxygen into the building; views outside were not valued by the Renazians. The views outside were not very impressive here anyway … just endless blocks of rock, crystal, and plasteel all arranged as neatly as possible. “I do not feel like I fit in here.” “Nonsense!” Gamoran huffed. “You are one of the brightest younglings I have ever taught. You would have much to contribute to Renazian society if you remained here.” “I do not doubt it,” Archie said. “But I do not feel that this society has much to contribute to me.” Archie could not see Gamoran’s face, but he was sure that the wizened Renazian’s face looked as troubled as it always did when Archie demonstrated … un-Renazian behavior. “You feel that way because you are so young. You simply need some more time to grow up.” “I will -never- grow up!” Archie spun to face Gamoran, realizing moments later that his tone had been more angry than he’d intended it to be. “I will -always- be young on this world. That is the problem. Everyone here is and will always be so much older than I am … and you all speak to me as if I am an ignoramus.” Gamoran sighed and shook his head in a manner that annoyed Archie -- as if he were addressing a child that sticks its hand in a flame because it doesn’t know any better. “I have recently spoken to your father at great length, young one. He told me that your manner has changed in the last several cycles. That you have become more reclusive. That you have lost interest in Renazian pastimes and are often found retreating to the roof of your home. He told me that you have become, to use his own words … ‘starry-eyed.‘ He traces the change back to your first encounter with the Humans.” Archie’s frown deepened and he turned back to the window to hide it. “Ah. It is true, isn‘t it? That it was the Human boy who created this change in you?” “Others do not ‘create change’ in me,” Archie answered. “And the Humans do not ‘create change’ in others. Do you not hear how derisively you always speak of us both? That is why I desire to leave here. I want to be among others like myself. I believe that I have more in common with the Humans than with my own people.” “When you get older,” Gamoran said in a voice filled with compassion, the last thing Archie felt he needed. “You will understand that you are wrong. You are a member of a magnificent species, the greatest this galaxy has ever known. And when you find life among the Humans and the other races to be less than you are expecting it to be… then, young one, you will be rightly proud to be a Renazian.” Archie looked back at Gamoran, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “… you mean?” Gamoran nodded. “I will give you the training you need to join the Starfleet Academy. You are like a child to me, young one, and I would never find it in my heart to turn you away from your greatest desire. I also know that you will learn in short time that you are not at all like the Humans and the others … that they are beneath you … beneath us. Before long, you will return to your true home to be among your true equals.” Archie smiled as the hoped-for realization that he would be allowed to join Starfleet sank in. His happiness clearly pleased Gamoran, but there were also signs of pity on the old Renazian’s face. The pity filled Archie with hatred, even as he felt great appreciation for the tutor’s kindness. It was the confusing mix of admiration and revulsion that he’d been feeling for many of his people in recent days. He had to get away.

While Lieutenant Sema’J monitored the away team’s departure from the ship, Archie reviewed the hydroponic storage specs submitted to engineering by science. It was clear that transporting the chewana roots back to the Axrekravian system was not going to be an easy task. Two cargo bays were going to have to be emptied then made to simulate the chewana plant’s deep-sea habitat. “Computer, begin recording engineer’s log for stardate 50804.16 and ensure that this analysis is made available to all cargo bay crew, all industrial and organic replication crew, and the away team. “The hydroponics specs submitted by science indicate that we will need to line the cleared and sterilized decks of cargo bays 1 and 2 with a layer of soil at least two feet thick -- enough to safely encase the roots of the chewana plants. The composition of the planet’s topsoil is mostly simple; our industrial replicators will be able to expeditiously produce the required amount. On top of the soil will be needed a layer of water at least ten feet deep to encompass the plant; again, the desired amount may be quickly and easily replicated. “The bays will need to be kept at a constant temperature of six degrees Celsius and a pressure of 32 atmospheres. Obviously the bays will have to remain strictly off-limits to any crew not wearing an EVA suit. Given the plant’s normal deep-sea depth as compared to the depth at which we will be storing it, lighting in the bays will need to be kept at a very low level. Environmental controls can account for all of these factors, but there will be significant strain on the system; power usage and resource allocation will need to be closely monitored. “One significant problem exists. The water which the chewana plant inhabits is fertilized by the predominant local fauna -- a small bioluminescent eel that primarily consumes a weed growing around the base of the chewana. The molecular composition of this fertilizer is complex enough that it would take our organic replicators several weeks to produce the required amounts. If such time cannot be spared, it would be best to transport a generous amount of the fertilized water from the surface. Even this, however, could not assure the plant’s survival through a four day warp trip. The safest course would be to also transport a suitable amount of the eels and their food to ensure that the chewana’s supply of nutrients is kept fresh. “This … essentially amounts to transporting the entire biosphere of the chewana and the eels. No doubt, the rarity of this plant can demand no less. The cargo transporters will be taxed to their limit, even once the away team secures the on-site transporter locks. “If all of these points are observed carefully, the success of preserving the root on board Arcadia for a period of four days can be safely assured.”

From the spacious confines of main engineering and the shuttle bay to the cramped control room of the Hadrian’s Wall, Archie’s surroundings had taken a Renazian turn. Renazians typically disliked large, wide-open spaces (the larger and more wide-open, the worse) and found a vague sense of comfort when enclosed in a small, walled area. Archie knew this to be true of his people, but, curiously enough, he always felt stifled in cramped spaces. He spent as much of his childhood outdoors as he could manage, mostly retreating to the rooftops of the myriad buildings that practically blanketed Renazia’s surface. There, at night, he would gaze at the stars and wonder and dream things which people who spend their lives indoors never wonder nor dream. Like trash bins on wheels with vast computer operation capabilities. Archie wasn’t certain if this ‘R4’ was an alien-looking machine or a machine-looking alien. The messages it was flashing across the operations console demonstrated some level of intelligence, though whether this was a programmed intelligence or a sentient one was not clear. Either way, it was able to direct the Hadrian’s Wall’s computer to perform calculations at a rate no Renazian operator could hope to achieve. Quite a handy tool if the engineers were to be called on to do things like rigging a shuttle’s hull to thwart sensor scans. As Archie analyzed the results of R4’s calculations, he knew this would be an imperfect system. For one thing, it would require almost all of the shuttle’s power being diverted to the hull integrity field to sustain the cloaking effect, leaving barely enough for the impulse engines and life support. Cloak or no, those engines would need to be run at low power to avoid sensor scans; the shuttle would not be able to achieve high speed without revealing itself. Lastly, since this system was based on the programming used to control the Belleau Wood’s cloaking device, there was no guarantee it could fool the Axrekravians anyway. If they’d recovered the Belleau Wood device and already had time to study it, they would be more alert for further cloaking attempts and would have modified their scanners appropriately. If there was truth to the rumors circulating around engineering that the Romulans were in the area, that would be one more party not easily fooled by this system; they were the masters of the art of cloaking, after all. As Lieutenant Sema’J stated, though, it was as good a start as anything. To further mask the shuttle, Ensign Black was rigging the communications system to jam any incoming scans. A jammed sensor scan would arouse suspicion, however; while it would not reveal the shuttle’s presence outright, it would illicit questions to which Arcadia’s command staff would need good answers. If all of these questionable variables fell into place well, maybe they could pull off … whatever it was that a cloaked vehicle was necessary to pull off. Archie had no idea what this was, nor did he ask; he only accepted the information he was given and did as he was told. Was that ‘kissing up?’ Archie wondered with a glance back at Jordan. He was familiar with the term and its meaning, having heard it several times at the Academy. He was somewhat surprised when Jordan accused him of ‘kissing up’ to Lieutenant Sema’J. He was certainly eager to be on active duty and wanted to show that he required no further orientation. But was his enthusiasm bordering on the … overbearing? That was exactly the impression that Archie was trying to avoid, and he was already sensing that Jordan was annoyed by him. Finally out in the vast reaches of space … yet sitting in a cramped shuttle making modifications aimed at hiding it. Archie had to again remind himself that the other races often desired the confinement and separation that he sought to avoid. He would have to continue adjusting himself. When he was off duty and back in his quarters, he would consult his Archie comics -- they could provide the wisdom on such matters that his own life experiences could not …

Personal Log, Stardate 50803.31 In the time since I was called to main engineering, I have learned more about Arcadia’s mission and the events which have transpired. The information I have gathered has come, in part, from overheard conversations among my fellow engineers -- ‘gossip’ is the human word, and an important one to them as I understand it. I will admit (not officially, of course) that I have also peeked at some of the shipwide reports; intimate knowledge of the ship’s systems has its advantages. I have learned that Lieutenant Sema’J was aboard the Belleau Wood when it was attacked, and he sustained an injury that has kept him in Sickbay since the recon team‘s return. This left Lieutenant Forsythe in charge of engineering, but he has since taken another engineer to the computer core to perform an undisclosed task. I have gathered that the crew has been up to various sorts of covert undertakings, the sorts of undertakings that do not lend themselves to smooth, friendly diplomacy. I wonder if Lieutenant Forsythe is purging sensitive information from the computer? In any event, this has taken both of the ranking engineers out of the picture. Now all that remains in engineering are Ensigns and crewmen. I first noticed as I scanned the personnel manifest that there is a stark shortage of upper-tier officers on the engineering staff. There are only two Lieutenants on the staff, and both are junior grade. The records show that a wave of extended leaves, departures, and even death has deprived the staff of its higher ranking officers. I find this both comforting and exciting. There can only be a greater sense of camaraderie between officers who are so near one another in their Starfleet experience. In the Academy, whereas I enjoyed the company of my fellow students, the few command officers I met spoke to me as if I were either an ignorant child or a lesser form of life altogether. Perhaps, without any commanders in engineering, my new career on Arcadia will feel more like the Academy than I thought it would -- only with more discovery and danger! So far, I have spoken only with Ensign Jordan Black, the officer who assisted me with the shuttle investigation. She assured me that, in time, things would return to ‘normal’ in Engineering, and she seemed quite put off when I stated my desire to the contrary. That would not surprise me. She is, after all, a Human. The lives of humans and so many of the other Federation races are in constant motion. They lose loved ones forever. Generations change around them, four or five times during their lives. They are ever reaching out, exploring the stars and braving the dangers of the galaxy. And for them, those dangers are very real, far more real than for any Renazian. The journey of a human is a busy one, indeed. Not at all like life on Renazia. And just as I long for excitement and spontaneity, they must desire some order in their ever-changing lives. Understanding these distinctions between our peoples has been the primary focus of my studies, for without such understanding I fear that I would not fit into Arcadia’s crew.