Life's Twists and Turns

[Thomas Jaruq 0]

Life's Twists and Turns

Ensign Thomas Jaruq

Assistant Engineer, USS Arcadia

 

      It was like a funeral. Some twisted ceremony of death and despair. Acoustically perfect was the construction of the Chamber of Lianos. The rhythmic pounding of the ceremonial drums was echoed about the walls, resulting in a dreadful beat which sent shivers up the back of Thomas Jaruq. The lighting in the room did nothing to alleviate the tension. Torches set into nooks sporadically placed along the length of the walls provided minimal lighting, for the most part. The only exception was the relatively blinding beam of sunlight which dropped from a circular opening in the ceiling. That beam of light completely surrounded Thomas, a constant reminder that he was at the center of this particular ceremony. A ceremony which reminded him of a funeral. Of death and despair.

      But this was a ceremony of rebirth. It was his inauguration as Grand Tribe Overseer of the people of Felinia. For the rest of his life Thomas Jaruq would be the ruler of the Felinian people, until he passed the title down to his first born son... or until another laid sufficient claim to his throne and bested him in ritual combat. The social structure of the Felinians relied mostly on the Leaders of each individual Tribe, numerous and scattered throughout the world's three continents, but the position of Overseer was crucial to maintaining overall peace and order.

      "Who are you?" A deep rumbling voice which echoed throughout the chamber almost the exact moment that the drum beating suddenly ceased. It belonged to Ara Manjas, the Master Priest of Felinia. His body was covered completely with a thick tussock of dark gray hair, a shade of gray which any educated Felinian could easily identify as belonging to a male well over the age of 100. At his side he held a body-length staff composed of the assembled barks of Boka Trees, simple in makeup, but its length a determination of the priest's supreme status. Many argued that he was the only Felinian whose authority could exceed the Overseer's, for he was the supreme voice of Lianos. And as a leader could not be named without the blessings of Lianos, the Master Priest was charged with initiating new Overseers.

      Kneeling in the center of Lianos' light, Thomas' gaze would not shift from the face of his inquisitor. He knew that the greatest leaders of the Felinian people were watching from the three galleries above and around him, but the initiation demanded a calm and disciplined demeanour. Even the intense pressure of the attention he was drawing could not stir his poised state. "I am Thomas Jaruq of Felinia. Son of Tigro and Theresa. Greatest of our people. Rightful heir to the throne."

      When the great Priest began circling Jaruq, the young Felinian kept his gaze ahead. "And what is your purpose, Thomas of Jaruq?"

      "To serve the people of Felinia," he answered quickly and methodically. Answering was no challenge. Dozens of Felinians had answered the very same questions before past Grand Priests.

      "And how can you best serve the people of Felinia?" Ara asked.

      "By leading the people of Felinia," Thomas replied, in a tone which suggested that the answer was obvious.

      The priest once again came into his view, but did not cease the slow circling. "And how will you lead the people of Felinia?"

      "With a strong arm and a firm tongue."

      It was all coordinated. All scripted. Every question, every answer, every gesture.  Nothing breaking the pattern that had been established by 800 years of Overseer leadership. Until..."But what makes you think you are capable of achieving this, Thomas Jaruq of Felinia?" The priest's face hovered directly in front of Thomas', the piercing gaze of his deep silver eyes drawing a shift from the young Felinian's expression. His composure was visibly affected by this unexpected break from 800 years of tradition. And an answer to the unscripted question could not find him.

      "Is it not true, young one, that you are not truly one of us?" the priest continued. The intent of his questioning was becoming more clear. "That you are not truly 'of Felinia?' You were not born here. You were not raised here. Your lesser parent is not Felinian. Your greater parent is only partially so. And though that small bit of Felinian blood does flow through your veins, it doesn't quite show, does it, Thomas Jaruq of Felinia?" Now the line of questioning was beginning to draw anger from Thomas. "Your hair. It does not grow all over your body, does it? Your skin is almost completely exposed. Your fingers are longer. And alas ... no claws. And your teeth are not the teeth of a Felinian predator, don't you agree? And worst yet," the priest shifted from his position to move around Thomas. This was comforting to a degree, as the elder Felinian's deep gaze was no longer locked on his face, but Thomas knew that the verbal grilling could only get worse. "That which marks our people. The greatest determinant of our status, both among ourselves and among others. Nowhere to be seen on you, Thomas Jaruq of Felinia. A leader should have a tail which reaches three feet behind him. But what do you have, Thomas Jaruq of Felinia? You have...a stub. Not even three inches long. Is this the tail of a Felinian?

      "No, Thomas Jaruq. You do not look Felinian at all. I would say that you look more like ... a Betazoid." Ara's gaze again met Thomas'. The young leader-to-be was making a great effort to contain his rising anger, an emotion which came in great torrents in a Felinian mind. "Though our stellar neighbours have maintained good relations with our people, I doubt we would ever initiate one of them as leader of our people. And of course, you do not just look like a Betazoid. You spent your entire childhood on their world. You learned their customs, interacted with them, kept your warrior spirit in check by the part of them which has become a part of you. Why should we believe, Thomas Jaruq, that you are of Felinia and not of Betazed?"

      Thomas could not help but assume that this priest was deliberately provoking him. His background was somehow insulting to Ara Manjas, so the man was attempting to draw an angered reaction out of him in order to invalidate his claim to the Overseer's throne. But tradition, not law, dictated the usual questions asked by the Master Priests. Ara could ask whatever questions he wished and Thomas had to remain steady in his composure. "I am of Betazed," he replied quietly. "I cannot dispute that. Nor would I wish to. But my father's father was a true Felinian. And his father, claimant to the throne. A part of his spirit rests within mine at all times. To dispute my heritage as Felinian would be to dispute his honor, to sully his spirit. To dishonor him would be to shame the name of all Felinians, and thus cast yourself aside as one of our kind."

      The last statement may have been mistake, too much of an echo of his desire to lash out at the Priest for his badgering. It was, perhaps, too tactful for a leader expected to rule with overt strength. But the statement did not appear to be received as the gravest insult. The Priest's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed to slits, but the ceremony continued. "You believe that you are fit to rule our people?"

      "I am the strongest of our people. Any who would dispute my position would meet my wrath," Thomas straightened his back and gazed ahead.

      Ara's free hand grabbed the top of his wooden staff, twisted, and pulled out the blade which was encased within. It was the ceremonial Boka knife, a short dagger with two rounded edges. As the light of Lianos reflected off the exposed blade, the beating of the drums continued. Thomas inhaled sharply, but quietly, as the blade approached his face. One edge traced a deep gash along his left cheek. Then the other along his right cheek. "You are prepared to lead our people as Overseer of Felinia?"

      "I am prepared," Thomas replied firmly.

      Ara grabbed the back of Thomas' head by the hair and yanked it back. He drew the bloodstained blade above his shoulder and prepared to strike. The beating of the drums became more rapid, more ferocious. And there was another sound he couldn't pinpoint. A bleeping sound. "Then Thomas Jaruq of Felinia. I hereby initiate you as the Grand Tribe Overseer of all our people." Sharply Ara brought the blade down, driving it straight through Thomas' throat. The young Overseer's eyes widened as the blood gushed through his mouth and out onto his face. As the beats of the drums became more frequent, Thomas felt his life fade away. The black waves of his dying brain overwhelmed his vision and his muscles began to wither. His last breath had been gasped painfully...

 

      When his eyes fluttered open, Thomas realized he was seated on the sofa in his quarters. His muscles were tense and sweat ran down his face. He could feel the rapid pounding of his heart. Though initially disoriented, he was aware enough to realize that it was all just a dream. At his side, a PADD copy of the novel he was reading dangled from his fingers. A mid 22nd century mystery novel set in the dark and dreary 19th century of Paris on Earth. A fellow officer had recommended it. It was hardly appealing.

      Thomas realized what drew him from his cat nap when the console on his desk repeated its audio indication of an incoming message. He lifted himself up against post-slumber fatigue and slid in front of the console. "Receive incoming message," he commanded. The face of Captain Arnold Rocker looked back at him. Thomas lifted an eyebrow, not expecting an intraship message from his commanding officer. "Captain."

      "Ensign," Rocker replied with a nod. "You're off duty, so I saw no need to call you to my office. But I'll need you to drop whatever you're doing and start packing. You've been transferred."

      "'Transferred?!'" Only two weeks out of the Academy, Thomas had just settled into his new quarters on board the Roland. Part of him hoped his Captain was joking. Another was pondering which regulations he had broken during his short tenure on the Roland. "I never requested a transfer, Sir. Have I done something wrong?"

      "No, no, Ensign," Rocker chuckled softly. He was not the most firm of commanders. "Nothing like that. You see, you aren't even supposed to be here. You're aware that there was another cadet in your graduating class by the name of Jaruq, correct?"

      "I'm aware. A Vulcan fellow. Apparently, the name isn't too uncommon on their world either, but still, it's some coincidence."

      "Indeed. And it caused some confusion for the folks in our recruiting and assignment division. Your names somehow got shuffled around; he was supposed to be assigned to the Roland, you were supposed to be assigned to the Arcadia. Not an unprecedented mistake. And with a name like Jaruq, which isn't too common on Earth, well," The Captain shook his head. "It was almost inevitable."

      "I see ... " Jaruq was beginning to wonder if this Starfleet was run by a band of Pakled children. "Why not just make it easier on us, switch around the assignment orders?"

      "Because, Ensign, it's not as simple as just assignment orders. It's a matter of bureaucracy, you see. Bureaucracy is what caused this mess, and it's the reason we can't just leave you both where you are. Command's determined that having you simply switch places would require less effort than modifying all the paperwork that surrounds your assignments. It's an awfully inconvenient circle, I realize. But maintaining a galactic Federation of alien races calls for sacrifices from its brave soldiers." Captain Rocker grinned.

      Jaruq couldn't help but let out a sigh. He had always believed that Starfleet officers were far more than names scribbled on a bunch of PADDs. Obviously, Command couldn't wait to prove him wrong. He wouldn't mind leaving Roland too much. Captain Rocker was too passive a command officer for his tastes. He had made a few acquaintances, but had been aboard hardly long enough to form any lasting relationships. And packing, unpacking, and waiting aboard a Starfleet transport would be a minimal inconvenience at worst. It was just the principle of the thing. "You'll like the Arcadia, Ensign. The fifth ship to bear the name is about to be commissioned... a brand new Sovereign class vessel."

      And that's when the lights in Thomas' eyes went into high-beam mode. Captain Rocker's grin indicated that he expected such a response. "Sovereign, sir? As in... Enterprise Sovereign?! 80 decks? The size of a small planet? Five warp cores?" Despite Thomas' exaggerations, the Sovereign class was still the biggest and the best Starfleet had to offer. And in addition to Thomas' appreciation of great strength, such a large vessel would be paradise to any engineer fresh out of the Academy.

      "That's the one," Rocker chuckled. "Now like I said. You'll need to be packed and ready to go as soon as possible. We'll be arriving at Deep Space Nine in just under two days. That's where she'll be launching. Hopefully, you'll make it in time for the commissioning ceremony."

      "Aye, sir! Will do." Jaruq responded, grinning broadly.

      "Good. I'll have the appropriate documents sent to you as soon as I've received them all myself. Since you're not officially a member of my crew, I can't expect you to report for duty. So get yourself packed and ready ... and try to get some sleep, Ensign. You look like you could use it." The Captain grinned briefly and cut the transmission.

      Jaruq paid no heed to the Captain's comment. Nor did he even remember his nightmare. All he could feel at this point was eager anticipation. As early as his childhood, he devoted a great deal of his studies to space-faring vessels--the larger and more powerful, the better. The majestic Sovereign class naturally held his greatest interest during his Academy years. His direct experience with the model was limited, however, to a few glimpses of the Enterprise during her visits to Earth. Now a generous stroke of luck had found him serving aboard one of that vessel's sister ships. He would be an engineer on the USS Arcadia.

      Unaware of the twists and turns that the following years would bring ...