Ordo ab Chao

[Turris Morran 0]

“Computer, direct sensors to aft and scan for any warp signatures on this course heading.”

 

The computer chimed to acknowledge his request, and in a short time replied. “No warp signatures detected.” Morran giggled with glee, though he wasn’t really sure why. He wasn’t completely aware why someone would be following him, but he had a feeling someone would be. He was on some sort of shuttle. No, a fighter of some sort; a Star Fleet fighter judging by the layout and the consoles in front of him. The LCARS interface was clumsy and blocky; it’s only purpose to provide pure utility and functionality. All those square angles and mismatched colors, the overbearing font, and all behind a boring glossy black background. Star Fleet engineers could certainly take a lesson from the miracle that was life. Functionality and beauty, all rolled into an extremely efficient package, and yet still possessing the exciting quality of uniqueness. Take Echococcosis for example.

 

Suddenly a wave of clarity washed over him, a remembrance of where he was and what he had done. A bead of sweat dripped off his brow, followed by another, and yet another. Morran wiped his forehead with his sleeve, noticing the darker patch of sweat that had been transferred to it. It was a Star Fleet fighter, stolen off the flight deck of one of the Federation’s most dangerous ships.

 

“What have I done?” Morran asked himself in a quivering voice.

 

“What you had to, my love,” there came a woman’s voice from behind him. A hand ventured down his shoulder and his chest, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end as a warm breath passed over his ear. “You did precisely what you had to, considering the circumstances. They would have killed you had you stayed, and you have everything you will ever need.” The soft hands moved, gently massaging his temples. A sigh escaped Turris’ lips as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His ecstasy was short lived, as a vision of a Romulan cadaver passed over his consciousness.

 

“No!” he exclaimed, twisting in his chair to look behind him, but the woman was gone and so was his balance, tumbling head over heels onto the floor. Looking up he found the woman leaning against the control console, one leg crossed over the other, staring at him. She was strikingly beautiful, her eyes seemed to penetrate into the very depths of his soul, and her flowing brown hair framed her face so as to accentuate her perfectly symmetrical features. And her legs. Such long and shapely calves.

 

He cried out again, pushing himself back with his hands, feeling for something behind him. But his cry was interrupted by her approach -- she swayed across the deck of the fighter, one leg in front of the other, and her melodic voice called out to him like a siren’s song. “Their suffering will be but mere child’s play when compared to the power that you could possess. You have within your grasp the ability to create chaos, my dear, and to turn chaos into order. All will fear you, and revere you. Their doom and their savior.”

 

Morran continued to back away, his hand finally finding a small sack he had managed to carry away with him when he escaped from the Manticore. He soon found himself spilling the contents across the floor, searching furiously through the items it had contained. Most were trivial items, most of which he had ‘requisitioned’ from sickbay: a few hyposprays, a cortical stimulator, a medical tricorder. Among them however were two small vials of a bluish liquid, marked in his own illegible hand. “Frontal lobe is flooded with dopamine… glutamine receptors in the hippocampus… not compatible. You are not real!” He loaded one of the vials into a hypospray and was about to bring to his neck when he found his hands clasped by those soft, delicate hands. Looking into her eyes, he pleaded, “ Please. I need… clarity.”

 

“But you already have all the clarity you will ever require. I am yours, Turris Morran.” She said softly, but her expression quickly turned to one of fury; an expression even a Klingon would back away from. “And you are mine! Mine! Don’t you understand? We could rule, my sweet. Any place of your choosing: Romulus, Vulcan -- even earth if you wish to go back to those pitiable humans. Wherever you choose, I will be beside you. You will rule, and I will rule beside you.”

 

“No!” he cried once more, throwing her hands away from him. “I will destroy it! All of it, and their suffering will come to an end. My… suffering will come to an end.” He paused, holding the hypospray up to his neck. “I… just need… a little… clarity.” He barely felt the hypospray puncture his skin, and in almost an instant everything was gone – the woman, the fighter, the thoughts. All replaced by an endless void of black. And yet just a single sound reverberated through the void, a strong voice that sounded familiar. It was his own voice, echoing in his mind as he slowly lost consciousness.

 

“Genevieve.”