“Slayer, Snake, and Path”

[Cptn Swain 0]

by Tandaris Admiran

 

The dirty grey sunset littered the sky through clouds an indeterminate shade of brown. It was the sign of a bloated industrial age that had overstayed its welcome—and now, with the coming of the Kalith, would never leave. The factories that dotted the horizon and stretched along the shores of the river would only multiply with a perverse fecundity until their collective smog made sunsets like this a fond, distant memory. The Kalith would grasp and squeeze all the value they could out of something they saw as only a rock, its people expendable “members” of a grand new design. They would brook no interference and tolerate no deviance. And they were utterly opposed to Trahar’s way of life.

 

It was ironic, she reflected, as she turned away from her last glimpse of her homeworld’s sun: the Dominion had been hard masters, but they had been fair. They had stemmed the tide of rising industrialization, slowly dismantled the corrupt hierarchy that threatened to choke her world and her people, both those who held to the Path and those who had moved on to newer, stranger ideas. The revolution was in many ways a wonder of innovation, but it had been fraught with danger. They had been going too far too fast, and by the time the Dominion intervened, her world had been on the brink of chaos. Though not exactly saviours, the strange Vorta and Jem’Hadar, with their whispered obeisance to a word—Founders—had pulled her planet back from the brink. Oil refineries became ketracel white plants. Medical facilities became state of the art, even if they did only serve those who worked their quota. And most importantly of all, people like Trahar had been allowed to continue to adhere to the Path.

 

Now the Dominion were a fading memory, and the Kalith had swooped in to fill the void. They too came from other worlds, but this time the hastily-restored government had been ready. There was resistance, though it came at a terrible price. The Kalith, unlike the Dominion, did not have the resources to invade and conquer and hold a planet even as small and as poor as Envra. So instead the Kalith divided and conquered, aligning themselves with certain factions in their society. And some of those factions were not enamoured with the Path or its followers. And so the Kalith too decided that those of the Path were less worthy of respect or tolerance or life.

 

Trahar wrapped her cloak around her thin body, trying not to shiver too much. She needed to appear strong and confident when she joined her people. Tonight they would be embarking on a new, frightening, awesome journey. She had to show them that she was ready to leave Envra behind, that they could leave it all behind too. The Kalith and their army had demonstrated that there would be no respite, only a slow and systematic suppression. Flight was the only option, albeit one that was neither easy nor particularly safe.

 

The hangar on the outskirts of town was old. Inside, the decrepit vessel sat on massive landing struts, looking like it was none too pleased to have spent the last two years in standard gravity. But Trahar’s engineering genius had certified it ready to fly, and she trusted that appraisal—was in fact gambling her life and the lives of all her people on it. Tonight they would fly to the stars.

 

There were footsteps behind her, and Trahar glanced back. A man was running up the path, his back laden with a heavy pack. When he caught up to her, he took several moments to catch his breath before he spoke. “Is this … this is the place?”

 

Trahar could not help but eye him with suspicion. His dress was unusual, and most of them had already congregated in the hangar and were helping with the final preparations for departure. But there was something about his posture—or was it his expression?—that convinced her of his sincerity. “Yes. This is the place of our deliverance.”

 

Relief swept across the man’s face. “Oh good. I was worried I had gotten the date wrong. My friend Fevvro told me where to go, but I wasn’t sure if it was yesterday or today … though I suppose that if it were yesterday, we would have heard something.”

 

Trahar snorted. “The news never runs the stories when another one of us is found beaten and left for dead in a dark alley. Why would they run a story on this? No, friend, they will not want to let the whole world know that we managed to escape. There will be talk, but with no admission and no official story, that’s all it will be.”

 

“I suppose you’re right. I only wish …” the man looked down, and when he raised his head again, his eyes glittered with tears, “… my wife, I wish she were here with me.”

 

“What has become of her?”

 

“What do you think? Two months ago, almost to the day, she didn’t come back from work. I asked: friends, family, supervisors … the story was always the same. No one had seen her. She had never even made it to work that day. There was no trace….” The man’s voice broke. “Bastards didn’t even leave me a body to bury and say the rites.”

 

Trahar took him by one arm and began to walk with him into the hangar. “What is your name?”

 

“Goss. Goss Ranaan. I’m a metalworker from the Vulyrios District. Was a metalworker, I guess. don’t know what I am now. Lost.”

 

“Not while you are with us, Goss. I am sorry to hear about your loss. But we all have similar stories, share similar burdens of grief—and it’s that similarity, that core of understanding, that allows us to help each other get through this time of tribulation. Why did you come?”

 

“What?” He blinked tears out of his eyes and looked at her, not sure he understood the question. “Where else would I go? My wife was taken. For all I knew I would be next, or my friends … it’s not safe for us here.”

 

Trahar nodded. “And that is why we are leaving. It’s not something I would have chosen for myself or for my children, or for their children. But it is the only way to survive and remain true to the Path.”

 

They entered the main bay of the hangar, in which their salvation was crouched like an ancient apocalyptic behemoth. Goss gasped as he beheld it, marvelling both at the craftsmanship of it as a crafter himself, as well as the symbol of the significance of what they were about to do. He muttered a prayer underneath his breath, and Trahar joined him in a salutation.

 

“Thank you,” he said to her, readjusting his pack.

 

“It was nothing. The hardest parts are yet to come. Please report for assignment,” she pointed to an area where several people were registering the latecomers and making berth assignments. “I look forward to seeing you aboard the ship.”

 

They parted ways, and Goss headed for the quartermaster’s desk. Someone else came up to him—a youth barely able to say his voice had dropped. The boy tugged at Goss’ sleeve. “Say mister, know who that was?”

 

Goss glanced down, annoyed. “No. Leave me alone.”

 

The boy was persistent though. “That was Trahar Bekrida, the Slayer herself. She and her band stood in Mavarit Square against the Kalith and took out an entire squadron of soldiers! They didn’t even have any weapons! How could you not know that, mister? You were talking to her!”

 

Goss looked back, but Trahar had faded into the crowd of people on the other side of the hangar, just another cloak among the mass. He shook his head and again attempted to shake off his unwelcome companion. “I somehow thought the Slayer of Mavarit would be … taller.”