SSSSS t TTTTTTTTTT kk SSSSSSS tt TTTTTTTTTT kk SS SSS tt TT kk SS SS ttttt aaaaa rr rr TT rr rr aaaaa kk kk sssss :: SSSS ttttt aaaaaaa rrrrr TT rrrrr aaaaaaa kk kk sssssss :: SSSSSS tt aa aa rrr TT rrr aa aa kk kk ss ss SSSSS tt aaaa rr TT rr aaaa kkkkk ssss SSS tt aaaaaa rr TT rr aaaaaa kkkkk sssss SS SS tt aaa aa rr TT rr aaa aa kkk kk ssss SSS SSS tt aa aa rr TT rr aa aa kk kk ss ss SSSSSSS tttt aaaaaaa rr TT rr aaaaaaa kk kk sssssss :: SSSSS ttt aaaa aa rr TT rr aaaa aa kk kk sssss :: MMM MMM ll t ii MMM MMM ll tt ii MMMM MMMM ll tt MMMM MMMM eee ll ttttt ii nn nnnn ggg gg MM M M MM eeeee ll ttttt ii nnnnnnnn ggggggg MM MM MM MM ee ee ll tt ii nnn nn ggg ggg MM MM MM MM eeeeeee ll tt ii nn nn gg gg MM MM MM MM eeeeeee ll tt ii nn nn gg gg MM MMM MM ee ll tt ii nn nn gg gg MM MMM MM eee ee ll tt ii nn nn ggg ggg MM MMM MM eeeee ll tttt ii nn nn ggggggg MM M MM eee ll ttt ii nn nn ggg gg gg gg gggggggg gggggg PPPPPPP t PPPPPPPP tt PP PPP tt PP PP oooo ttttt PP PPP oooooo ttttt PPPPPPPP ooo ooo tt PPPPPPP oo oo tt PP oo oo tt PP oo oo tt PP ooo ooo tt PP oooooo tttt PP oooo ttt Star Traks: Melting Pot is based on Alan Decker's Star Traks, which in turn is based on Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry, may he rest in peace. Klingon history notes from Star Trek: The Hidden Frontier http://en.hiddenfrontier.com/index.php/Main_Page Welcome to the Second Season of Melting Pot - who'da thunkit? Copyright 2005. Star Traks: Melting Pot "Long Time, No See" by Paul Cloutier Without love, breath is just a clock ticking. Emily Watson - 'Equilibrium' A long time ago, in a galaxy right here; Space is just another word for nothingness. True, the vastness of space includes material - planets, suns, comets, nebulae and all sorts of other assorted phenomenon, but the most basic, defining aspect of space is that it consists, mostly of the nothingness /between/ those physical objects and phenomenon. So, what do you call a hole in space? How can you have a gap in nothing? Oh sure, if there is a technological species nearby when such a hole opens in what poetic species call 'The Space-Time Continuum' or even 'The Fabric of the Universe' you might hear all sorts of entertaining technobabble, but what these explorers would be trying to describe is pretty much indescribable. You might get a hole in your pants, or dig a hole in the ground, but these describe a nothingness where you expect to find a somethingness. There are no terms to describe a nothingness where you expected to find a different /kind/ of nothingness. So, lacking adequate term- inology, we'll just use the term 'hole' to describe this new nothingness. Of course, we won't have to use the term for very long, because, nearly as soon as this 'hole' is formed, it is filled with 'something'. Since this 'something' has mass and other properties of physical matter, we might as well just keep on calling it 'something'. Now, if that previously postulated technological species were still here, they would get all excited because this 'something' demonstrates distinctly organic characteristics. This hypothetical species would likely start recording all of the data that they could concerning this 'something'. Well at least they would until it suddenly exploded, scattering tiny pieces of itself in every conceivable direction. Pieces that looked disturbingly like 'seeds'! Time is an interesting concept. What most people consider to be time - the revolution of their home planet around its star or the rotation of that planet around its own axis, is merely a reflection of space. Slightly more sophisticated species may use atomic decay as a way of measuring time, but again, this technique is a localizable phenomenon, dependent upon background radiation, dampening fields or even the presence of radioactive elements in the first place. Ditto the oscillation of silicon, celestial mechanics and personal biorhythms. Eventually, societies begin to measure time as the interaction of matter at the atomic level, however this creates very dilated effects very near the beginning and the end of universes. Time cannot exist independent of space, and vice versa. Many technological species have made the mistake of trying to separate the two, developing Chronometric Engineering disciplines in an attempt to contravene the duality of time and space, only to end up looking extremely silly when all of their gobbledy-gook turns out to have had all of the scientific basis of a mood ring. What is undeniable is that time passes, although the subjective observation of this passage leads to even more arguments about the nature of time, itself. All of this is completely beside that point, however. Time passed, and the seeds spread throughout the galaxy. Seed after seed, came upon those aforementioned planets and suns and comets and nebulae and were either swallowed up by the suns or spattered by the comets and many of the planets or lost, deep in some nebula, somewhere. Occasionally a seed would encounter a planet with an atmosphere, however. Then, something remarkable would occur. As the seed entered such a planet's atmosphere, the heat caused by the friction of re-entry would cause the seed to open. The seed case would form into a kind of parachute and the now sprouted seed would make its way safely to the planet's surface. Here the seed would wait, decades, centuries perhaps even millennia until a sentient being would stumble across it. Then things would get interesting. For you see, the 'seeds' weren't vegetative. They were a single-purpose, genetically engineered, animal. These tiny animals were virtually immortal, although they lacked consciousness and could only move once in their lives. This movement was in the form of a springing jump which the tiny animals would make once their rudimentary senses detected that their 'prey' was in range. This jump would, hopefully, inject some genetic material into their 'prey', genetic material that would transform this 'prey' into the fiercest hunters of all time. For these seeds were the extra- dimensional source of the virus which infected a small, but very important part of the galaxy. These seeds carried within themselves the genetic code which could transform any normal sentient being into a Lycanthrope. 'Lycanthrope' is the scientific term for a being that is decidedly super natural. On the Human homeworld, Earth, Lycanthropes were more commonly known as werewolves. Other worlds had their own names for these monsters which could change their form into something more sinister and powerful than their 'normal' shape. On Earth, this new form closely resembled that of the terrestrial wolf, so the term 'werewolf' was born. In fact, the resemblance was completely coincidental, The new form was simply the best blend of the Human's normal shape and the shape of the extra-dimensional beings who had scattered the seeds in the first place. Other planets and species had their own names for Lycanthropes. On Vulcan, Lycanthropes became the models for their God of War and God of Death. A great deal of Vulcan advancement and discipline, what the Vulcans call their 'Time of Awakening' actually coincided with the destruction of the last Vulcan Lycanthrope. Other planets never eradicated the monsters - Qo'noS, Betazed, Earth, Andor and many others remain havens of greater or lesser degrees for these creatures. Andor and Qo'noS in particular have adopted much of the brutality and viciousness of these monsters into their everyday society, and have unsuspected Lycanthropes in positions of power throughout their governments... Shuttlebay Chief's Log; Stardate 57947.5 - Thog has convinced me to aid her in her attempt to become a person more suitable for my love. My many tries at arguing that she is already such a person have fallen on deaf ears and she is adamant that her course of action is the only remedy for the situation. I have contacted the Menagerie to request additional leave time for us both, using the excuse that Thog's injuries are healing more slowly than anticipated. I truly dislike lying to Banjo and Seetamyn, but Thog means more to me than anything, and if I must lie to help her, then I accept full responsibility for that choice. Now if she would only just tell me what her plan is... "Please, hon, at least give me some sort of destination. We can't very well just sit here in deep space, you know," Sperr begged Thog. "Of course," Thog replied. "It's very simple, really. We have to go back to the beginning. We have to go to Qo'noS!" "How will we explain our presence there?" Sperr wanted to know. "Silly! When I said the beginning, I meant the /beginning/! We have to go to Qo'noS /1500 years ago/!" Sperr just sat back in the pilot's seat of the Runabout David Attenborough, stunned. He had never imagined that Thog would have anything like /this/ in mind! Acting First Officer's Log; Stardate 57947.5 - Since Commander Ustrano has chosen to remain sequestered, working on some secret project down in Main Engineering, I have been made acting First Officer. Seven months ago I was a stranger, never having set foot in Federation space, before. Now, I am second in command of one of Starfleet's most modern starships. My crewmates' attitudes about me have changed considerably over time, and I must admit that my attitudes about them have changed as well. In fact, my attitude about myself has even changed. Who would have thought that a Founder could have learned so much, so far away from the Great Link? But enough introspection, we have been ordered to rendezvous with the David Attenborough and then proceed to Betazed. Apparently the Betazoid government wants to make some sort of presentation to Lieutenant Mantron in recognition of his part in protecting the Federation from the danger of the Black Queens. Poor guy! He's completely marginalized by his own people for years, so much so that he decides to come to Earth, of all places, to escape the ostracization. Now, all of a sudden, he's a celebrity and they want him back! I know what I'd tell them to do! "Very well, Lieutenant," Banjo acknowledged the image on the main viewscreen. "We have been ordered to proceed to Betazed. Once Commander Thog's recovery has progressed to the point that she can comfortably travel, you may meet us there. If our business there concludes more quickly than I anticipate, we will contact you with updated coordinates. Good luck to the both of you. Menagerie - out." As the image of the Menagerie's Shuttlebay Chief faded from the viewscreen, Banjo turned to Lieutenant Mantron, "Looks like we'll be headed for Betazed, directly. Excited about your triumphant return?" he asked, half in jest, but at least halfway seriously, too. "The only way I'd be happy about returning to Betazed," Dil replied, with more venom than Banjo had ever heard in his friend's voice before, "is if you had ordered me to open fire on the planet!" "That's pretty harsh, coming from you," Banjo found himself in the unusual position of playing peacemaker. "Maybe you've heard stories of how cruel Human children are?" Dil asked. "Yes, apparently it prepares them to be well-adjusted adults," Banjo responded, giving the current Federation explanation. "Yeah, well Betazoid children are 1000 times worse! They don't normally pick on each other because of fear of reprisal from their victims. Being able to sense the exact words and actions to inflict the maximum amount of pain works both ways. Except for me. I had no effective response and no defense. EVERYONE could abuse me with impunity. I think that they actually transported in children from around the planet so that every child on the planet got to see how much fun it could be to tease the Zero Rating. Oh yeah, lots of childhood memories for me!" Dil said in a voice that made it completely clear that they weren't GOOD memories. "OOOOOOOkay!" Banjo responded, making a mental note to not mention his childhood to Dil ever again. "New estimated time of arrival?" "Not nearly long enough," Dil sighed, unable to maintain his anger against people he hadn't seen in a decade. Perhaps his new status amongst his people would help to offset the bitter taste his childhood had left in his mouth and in his psyche. Acting First Officer's Log; Supplemental - We have arrived at Betazed and established a standard orbit around the planet. We are currently trying to establish communications with the planetary government but all communication channels are mysteriously busy. "We're still on hold," M'Dral announced from Ops for what must have been the tenth time. "Well, I must say that I'm getting a little tired of this," Banjo admitted. "Does anyone have any idea of how we might get their attention?" "How about a quantum torpedo launched at the capitol building?" Dil suggested (apparently not all of that anger was gone, just yet) "Hmmm," Banjo considered the idea. "Let's leave that option on the table for the time being. Anyone have any /non-destructive/ ideas?" "Broadband saturation broadcast?" M'Dral tried. "Explain," Banjo ordered. "Well, if we broadcast a signal at full strength on all channels, we may be able to overwhelm the system. Either it will let us through, or it will completely shut down. One way or the other I'm sure /someone/ would notice!" "Its a possibility," Banjo conceded. "First though, lets contact the Betazoid Ambassador on Earth and see if he can cut through some of this red tape for us." M'Dral worked away at her console for a bit and then announced, "Betazoid Ambassador Maphis on line." The main viewscreen switched from the orbital view of Betazed, to show an elderly Betazoid man. He seemed to be in his office, his desk half covered by PADDs and other paperwork. He looked surprised to see the Bridge Crew of the Menagerie on his viewscreen. "What are all of you doing up there? You're supposed to be getting ready for the ceremony!" "What ceremony?" Banjo cleverly responded. "Why haven't you contacted the government? They will have all of the information you need. Why are you bothering me?" "We have been trying to contact the Betazed Government Center for the past 30 minutes," Banjo explained. "We can not seem to get through to anyone." "What!?" the ambassador yelled. "Damn fools. Hang on a sec..." The ambassador turned away from his main viewscreen and activated a secondary console screen in his desk. After twiddling with the console for a bit, he seemed to make contact with someone. A brisk discussion soon broke out. Banjo could pick out words and phrases from time to time. It seemed that the ambassador wasn't particularly pleased with something. What that was became a bit more clear when he shouted, "You damned idiots! They're in orbit as we speak, but you twits have all of the comm circuits tied up!" and then closed the channel with a snap at his console. He turned back to Banjo on the main viewscreen, all smiles, "They should be getting in touch with you, directly. Sorry for the trouble. Maphis - out!" As the ambassador's image faded from the screen, M'Dral announced, "Sir, incoming comm from Betazed!" "How nice," Banjo observed, dryly. "Put them on hold, Lieutenant." With a giggle, the Ops officer complied. "Tell me, do we have any of those awful 'Prince' albums that that guy Rydell forwarded to us when he was on his way to help with the Lounge Singer crisis?" "I'm sure they're around here, someplace," M'Dral assured the Changeling. "I think that they would make excellent 'on hold' music, Lieutenant." M'Dral made the necessary connections to pipe the sounds of the twentieth century into the comm system. After about 15 minutes, Banjo decided to be merciful, "Alright, Lieutenant. Put them through." The main viewscreen again transformed from the orbital view of the planet to show an office. This office, however, wasn't occupied by an ambassador, this one contained a strangely gyrating young woman. Banjo was about to call for a medical team to look after the woman when he realized that she was just dancing. Which was odd, considering that the music had stopped. This fact seemed to dawn on the Betazoid comm operator, too, as she suddenly opened her eyes and stopped 'boogieing'. "Hey! What happened to the music?" she demanded. "This is Commander Banjo of the USS Menagerie," Banjo countered. "I understand that you have some instructions for us?" "I'm not giving you anything until you put the music back on!" the young woman demanded. "Young lady, we have been waiting up here for quite some time. You can listen to whatever you like on your own time, but I demand that you release the information that you are holding for us, immediately!" "Seems like you better be nice to me if you want your instructions!" the now smirking girl shot back. "Very well," Banjo decided. "Lieutenant M'Dral, locate that office and ready a photon torpedo!" "Yes, Sir!" came M'Dral's reply "I'm sorry that we couldn't communicate," Banjo offered, turning back to the young woman on the main viewscreen. "Perhaps the next person we talk to will be more accommodating." "Yeah - like I don't get threatened by ships with torpedoes every day," the girl brushed off the idea. "Lieutenant M'Dral,launch when ready," was Banjo's only answer. "Torpedo away!" M'Dral confirmed. "Nice bluff!" the comm operator sneered. "But if there was a torpedo coming at me, this little console would start beeping!" Her smile was erased as the small console in front of her suddenly started beeping. Banjo's smile, on the other hand, was huge as the viewscreen switched to show the impact of the torpedo on the office. M'Dral had used a practice load, so there was no explosion. The impact, however, was enough to flatten the office in question. Almost immediately, another comm was received from the planet. Banjo, feeling magnanimous, allowed M'Dral to immediately transfer the signal to the main viewscreen. "Menagerie! Did you just launch a torpedo at us?" the man on the screen seemed amazed at the very concept. "Our most sincere apologies! A maintenance mishap accidentally launched a practice load. I hope there was no serious damage or injuries!" "OK - I'll buy that!" the man was all grins, suddenly. "We've been trying to get rid of that girl for months! Unfortunately, her father is a Senator and had gotten her the position. Perhaps a couple of months in the hospital will improve her attitude. Now, what can I do for you on this beautiful day?" "We have been standing by for some sort of instructions regarding some sort of ceremony..." Banjo prompted the man. "By the Great Bird! Has no one sent you those yet? My most humble apologies, Commander! I am transmitting now. Please contact me if I can be of any further assistance to you. Betazed - out." "File received," M'Dral confirmed. "Its addressed to Dil!" "On screen," Dil decided. The main viewscreen sprang to life showing a rather slight Betazoid, dressed completely in red. Dil gasped as the man pranced about the screen in delight, "Welcome! Welcome! Welcome young man to an event which we have not had the privilege of celebrating in centuries! Tonight we welcome back home the first of what we can only hope will be a long line of a new talent. We welcome you home, oh, Luck Eater! You are allowed to bring three guests with you to a high, formal dinner to be held in your honor, tonight at 1900! Formal dress, only - no shirt, no shoes, no service! Transporter coordinates, follow." The red man ended his rather eccentric invitation, leaving Banjo, M'Dral and B1 & B2 very amused and Dil very stunned. Banjo finally noticed Dil's reaction, "What's wrong with you? Don't you want to go to a fancy dinner?" "That man!" Dil exclaimed. "Yeah, he looked a little weird to me too," Banjo laughed. "No, you don't understand!" Dil explained. "That was the high Castellan!" "Oh! Good!" Banjo replied. "Thanks for telling me that!" "No you REALLY don't understand! He's only involved in the most important ceremonies! A Royal Coronation! A Royal Birth! There hasn't been such a ceremony on Betazed in over fifty years!" "So you're a big shot now, huh?" Banjo laughed. "OK - I'll have to show you, then. Why don't you and Jantoo join Linnea and me for the celebration?" "I thought you'd never ask! M'Dral, you have the conn. The big shot and I have to go get dressed for his big party!" Banjo ushered the still-dazed Helmsman into the turbolift. On the ride down he was just about to contact Linnea and Jantoo to let them know about the invitation when a thought struck him, "This isn't one of those all-nude Betazed ceremonies is it?" Mantron looked at his friend for a moment, then collapsed to the floor of the turbolift, overcome with laughter. Tears streamed down his face and he could barely breathe he was convulsing so much. Banjo took that to be a 'no', so he contacted the girls. Both were delighted at the prospect of a formal ceremony and quickly signed off to start their own preparations. Banjo managed to manipulate Dil to his quarters, although the continued laughter certainly made the task somewhat difficult. Just before 1900 hours Banjo and Mantron met in Transporter Room One. Ensign Zamtra had received the transporter coordinates from Lieutenant M'Dral and the viewscreen in the Transporter Room showed the Bridge as the personnel there wished the quartet well. Banjo and Mantron were beginning to worry that it might just be the pair of them, when the girls arrived. Jantoo was dressed in a long, golden evening gown. The tiny Bajoran looked like a fairy-tale princess as she deftly maneuvered her skirts and train into the Transporter Room. A sprinkling of iridium made her glitter and glow as though lit by some magical force. Her eyes glowed and her entire face was lit by her a radiant smile. Banjo was, quite frankly, stunned. Then Linnea walked in. Instead of Jantoo's gold, Linnea had chosen silver as her color, this evening. Her long hair was highlit by sparkling silver streaks which matched her lipstick and her eye shadow. Her gown was made of some miracle material that hugged and slid and covered and revealed, all at the same time. The two girls looked like the precious gems that, to the men, they always had been. Dil and Banjo had gone with their Starfleet dress uniforms, and the basically utilitarian nature of those outfits made the girls stand out even more. Even the Beta Shift, looking on over the viewscreen was too stunned to let out any catcalls or wolf-whistles. Had anyone thought to take a picture of the foursome, Starfleet recruiting could have used it to boost recruitment rates to an all-time high! The four took their places on the transporter pad and at a nod from Banjo, Ensign Zamtra whisked them to their destination, a, "Timpo, with his cards marked," following them down. Deafening Noise! Blinding Color! Tantalizing Smells! The quartet materialized in the midst of an absolutely gargantuan banquet hall, surrounded by literally thousands of Betazoids. Every person there seemed to be trying to outdo the person standing next to them as incredibly gaudy gowns competed with exceedingly tacky dresses and hastily tailored suits. The thunderous babble was suddenly hushed as the quartet from the Menagerie appeared. It was quite likely that few of the guests to this event actually knew why it was even being held, but any woman is capable of sizing up the competition. The Betazoid women compared their overly decorated and needlessly frilly finery against the timeless, simplistic elegance of the two aliens and found themselves coming up short. The men cursed themselves for allowing their wives to convince them that jewel-encrusted cummerbunds would make them look fabulously important, while the two officers radiated confidence and poise, wearing their simple military suits. The Betazoids, spiteful, evil children, who had grown up with no reason to abandon their bad habits, knew that they were still superior due to their mental talents. Many of the guests sent out low level telepathic and empathic signals designed to make the aliens feel inadequate and ugly. Its likely that the four would have needed years of therapy to overcome the inferiority complexes this would have created, if it weren't for the fact that they were all wearing some of Commander Ustrano's telepathic blocking jewelry. It had served them well against the Black Queens, and it was serving them well again, tonight. At exactly 1900, the Castellan stepped out onto a stage that had been set up in the front of the banquet hall. Several dining tables had been placed upon this stage and the Castellan called several people to please take their seats at these tables. Dil recognized several names on the list, including the last remaining Betazoid Princess, Mitara Twam. The last group to be named was the quartet from the Menagerie. As they climbed the stairs to the raised stage, they realized hat the banquet hall was, in fact, full of long tables. The densely packed throng of people had obscured that fact, earlier. Once all of the guests of honor on the stage had been seated, the rest of the people, on the banquet hall floor, also sat down. Then dinner was served. And what a dinner! Dil saw and tasted delicacies that he had heard about growing up. Rarities that he had never imagined seeing, much less tasting, were all available, right in front of him! Dil sampled everything he could, realizing that this was a once in a lifetime occurrence. Banjo, for his part, sampled a bit of this and a bit of that, keeping his eyes open for any threat or danger. <> he thought to himself. <> Pushing these thoughts from his head the Acting First Officer turned his attention back to his friends and his dinner, both of which were excellent. At about 2030, the dinner plates were cleared away and the Castellan moved to a podium which was then set up at the front of the stage. He then began introducing the guests at tonight's event. On the surface, this may not sound like a big deal. But there were, quite literally, thousands of dignitaries present for this ceremony. The importance of this event also required that the Castellan recite each dignitary's full list of titles and achievements. Banjo soon realized why dinner had been served, first. If they had waited to serve the dinner until /after/ the introductions, there was a real possibility that someone might have starved to death! (Banjo would find out, later, that the dignitaries were introduced in order of importance, with the least important being introduced, first. It was considered a great, social disaster to be introduced first at these events and it had been the calling in of favors to try to avoid that fate which had tied up Betazed's comm system, earlier.) Hour after, hour, dignitary after dignitary had been introduced - each with an entire library's worth of titles. Son of this house. Daughter of this other house. And it seemed that every single person held one sacred chalice or another. Rixx, Fizz, Tipp, Likk, Witt... the list seemed to be endless! "Wow! Betazed sure seems to have a lot of 'sacred chalices'!" Linnea observed. "Hon, you have no idea!" Dil agreed, shaking his head ruefully. Finally, the Castellan had made his way down his list to the people on the stage. Yes, there was light at the end of the tunnel. (And yes, it IS an oncoming train!) The Castellan motioned for Dil and Princess Mitara to join him at the front of the stage. The two walked forward and, much to Dil's surprise, the Princess took his hand. "And, finally, I have the great pleasure of introducing Princess Mitara. Daughter of the First House, Holder of the Most Sacred Chalice of Lixx, Heir to the Holy Bracelets and Earrings of Betazed, and Dil Mantron. Son of the 247th House, Holder of the quasi-sacred chalice of Gitt. Lieutenant in the illustrious Starfleet, Helmsman of the powerful starship, Menagerie and the first Luck Eater to be born in 28 generations! It is fitting that these two are the last to be introduced, because tonight I have the additional pleasure of announcing the betrothment of these two special young people!" The thunderous applause accompanied the gracefully bowing of the Princess and Dil. The Princess bowed because she was receiving the applause. Dil bowed to keep the look of terror and surprise on his face from showing. After the show-stopping announcement at the presentation, Mantron, Linnea, Banjo and Pish had gotten swept up in the joyous celebration. As dignitary after dignitary had come forward to congratulate Dil, and to meet with the lucky beings who were his shipmates, the daze that they had felt slowly began to wear off. Each of the four reacted in slightly different ways. Mantron's first thoughts about the matter ran along, basically, two lines. The first line was "Marry a Princess!" while the second was "But I love Linnea!" Banjo wondered what Federation and Starfleet regulations had to say about this and then he wondered when he had become so worried about regulations. Pish pretty much retreated inside herself, fighting off a panic attack brought on by the press of the surrounding crowd. Linnea fumed. <> Finally Banjo, as ranking officer present, called an end to the night's 'fun'. Announcing that a certain number of officers had to be present for shift changes aboard the ship, he bluffed their way out of the celebration and back to the relative safety of the Menagerie. There the four gratefully headed to their quarters to recover from the 'fun'. Later this morning would be soon enough for planning a way out of this current predicament. Sperr settled the David Attenborough into orbit over Qo'noS for the third time. After using an uninhabited system's sun to perform a slingshot maneuver to send the runabout 15 centuries back in time (the runabout, like all Starfleet warp- capable ships, had come equipped with the newest version of Warpin! Sperr and M'Dral had spent over a week after first coming aboard the Menagerie, wiping the computer cores clean of that software and installing Lin/Warp. Lin/Warp was an opensource piece of software that outperformed Warpin! in every way. Due to some poorly-thought out licensing agreements, however, Starfleet was stuck with Warpin! The crew of the Menagerie, on the other hand, was much more concerned with little things like ease of use, stability and safety, and had quietly been performing little upgrades all over their ship since day one. The Bynars had even enlisted the ship's computer to aide in some of the software upgrades, since some of those licensed systems were next to impossible to completely eradicate.) The software had performed flawlessly and the tiny ship had then made its way to Qo'noS. Thog had, after studying several sensor sweeps, determined that they had arrived too soon, and so they had skipped forward several weeks with another slingshot. Twice more they skipped forward or backward until Thog was satisfied with their time frame. Satisfied, she focused the ship's scanners on a small section of mountainous terrain containing a rather fast-flowing stream with a small bridge crossing it. A smile played across her lips as she sat back to... wait? "Hon, what, exactly are we doing here?" Sperr asked. "How much do you know about the legend of Kahless?" Thog asked. "Computer! Access Klingon historical files. Locate all references to 'Kahless' and 'Legend of Kahless'. Compile into overview and playback - audio only" The slightly nasal, slightly annoying voice of the computer began reciting. Sperr had always wondered why that particular voice had been chosen. Of all of the available voices in the galaxy, why that one? It was almost as though the main computer designer had needed to get his under-talented wife some work to get her out of the house or something. Shaking his head to clear these thoughts away, Sperr returned his attention to the computer's recitation; In the days before the coming of Kahless, the planet Qo'noS was split into many warring factions. Each warlord controlled what land he could by main force. Feudal governments sprang up and minor empires struggled towards significance. Kahless was born to a common family in an empire ruled by the tyrant Molor. Molor was known as a cruel and despotic leader, who built his empire on conquest and cunning, oppressing his people with heavy taxes and other demands to supply Molor's own army and to fill his palace with luxuries. After their father died in Molor's army, Kahless' brother Morath went to the great hall of Molor to ask the Emperor for money to support the family's lands. To gain the money, Morath told the egotistical tyrant that his father had supported Molor, and that the emperor's people loved him. When Kahless found out about Morath's lie, he insisted on returning the money to Molor. Morath refused, leading the two brothers to fight. According to Klingon legend, Kahless and Morath battled for twelve days and twelve nights before Morath surrendered, realizing his brother was right. When they attempted to return the money to the tyrant emperor, Molor was offended. He ordered Morath killed and the family's land confiscated. The two brothers fought to escape, and Morath gave his life so Kahless might live, having learned the lessons of honor at last. Kahless escaped into the mountains surrounding Molor's city, where he lived alone for many years as an exile and hermit. According to the legend, one day, while pondering his fate, Kahless was struck by an inspiration. The idea of a code of honor, as a way to govern the actions of true Klingons, formed in his mind. With the fires of honor burning in his heart and mind, Kahless, forged the first bat'leth in the fires of Kri'Stak, a volcano in those mountains. When his weapon was ready, Kahless sought out the Serpent of Xol, a fearsome beast who was said to live in those same mountains. Finding it asleep, he woke it with a terrible battle cry and proceeded to fight it for hours on end. Finally, battered and bleeding, the serpent's venom burning in his blood, Kahless drove the point of his bat'leth into the serpent's brain, killing it. As he lay on the floor of the serpent's lair, he had a vision of the future. The poison burned away his thirst for vengeance against Molor, and made him realize his greater destiny, to unite the Klingon people. He coined the Klingon proverb; "revenge is a dish best served cold." Kahless wore the hide of the serpent of Xol as his armor when he went to face Molor, and he kept it always as a reminder of his duty to his people. Kahless returned home. He fought his way through one hundred warriors to reach Molor's throne room, where he challenged Molor to face him in battle. Kahless slew the tyrant after a duel that lasted for seven days and nights. With the defeat of Molor, his people hailed Kahless as a hero and liberator. It is said his first act after Molor's defeat was to return to his family's farm, where he used his bat'leth to harvest all the fields in a single day, ensuring his family would have food to eat and money to support them. Kahless then assumed the role of Emperor, and rallied the people around him. They quickly swore fealty to their liberator, and word of Kahless' victory spread. When news of Molor's death and Kahless' ascension reached the nearby city-states, their rulers thought they sensed weakness in this commoner-turned-Emperor. They prepared to invade and seize Molor's former territory for their own. Some few city-states, swayed by Kahless' philosophy of honor, chose to join him. Kahless himself led the city's warriors to defend it. His small army withstood an assault from a force more than ten times their size at Three Turn Bridge, where Kahless held the Bridge, alone, with only his trusty bat'leth at his side. After the victory at Three Turn Bridge, where the river below the Bridge ran red with the blood of his enemies for days after the battle, the noble houses agreed to support Kahless and he won the respect of friend and enemy alike. Nobles flocked to swear fealty to the new Emperor. Those who continued to defy Kahless' power soon felt it for themselves as the Empire continued to grow. As the years passed, Kahless' Empire became the largest and most powerful on Qo'noS. Kahless conquered and unified the whole world under his rule, creating the First Klingon Empire. Many legends grew up around Kahless and his successors, and Klingons often regard the First Empire as a kind of "golden age" of honor and heroism. As the computer's voice faded away, Sperr told Thog, "That's the total extent of my knowledge of the Legend of Kahless." "That is the legend that most people know," Thog admitted. "However, my family and that of the T'lbot clan, know a slightly different version..." Thog's voice took on a sing-song quality as though she was reciting something from memory - some sort of oral tradition that had been passed down for generations; Three warriors went to hold the Three Turn Bridge - the greatest of Klingons, himself, Kahless and his two most trusted friends, Tholog and T'lbot. Just before reaching the Bridge, Tholog struck T'lbot, without warning and from behind. Horrified by the dishonorable act, Kahless ordered Tholog to administer aid to the stricken T'lbot and that Tholog's family would be T'lbot's servants for all time. Then the great warrior, went on, alone, to save his newly formed alliance. Thog's voice returned to normal as she explained, "Tholog was my ancestor. His act was so dishonorable that it has stained my family ever since," she trailed off, sadly. "So what do you plan to do?" Sperr asked gently. "There must have been some reason that Tholog acted as he did! I plan to find out why he did what he did and, if possible, un-do it!" She turned her attention back to the scanners as Sperr just sat back, stunned. He had agreed to help Thog, but what could they do? Back then, Klingons were just coming to grips with the concept of honor. It wasn't unrealistic to think that Tholog had just decided to take advantage of an opportunity to eliminate a rival. What would Thog do when she found out that her ancestor really HAD been dishonorable, all those years ago? Would she be able to deal with the disappointment? Sadly, Sperr shook his head. She had pinned all of her hopes on this one, desperate chance. She would be shattered when it didn't pan out. He just hoped that he could keep her from doing anything too rash before he got them both back to the ship. "Aha!" Thog cried, from her position at the sensor console. She quickly switched the sensors to the main viewscreen. The viewscreen showed a foggy mountain pass. Three Klingons were walking through that pass. Thog had oriented the sensors so that they looked forward over the last Klingon's shoulder. Sperr realized that this was Kahless, T'lbot and Tholog. Tholog must be the one at the very rear while Kahless was obviously the leader. As the trio walked along, the fog began to clear and soon they had a clear view of a narrow, wooden bridge. That must be the Three Turn Bridge, Sperr thought. Just as Kahless was about to step onto the Bridge, the middle Klingon, who Sperr assumed was T'lbot, turned back towards Tholog. With the most calculatingly evil look that Sperr had ever seen, T'lbot smiled at Tholog. Then, his face seemed to melt! It was as though some sort of worms were crawling beneath the Klingon's skin! Shifting, twisting and changing, T'lbot's face transformed into the face of a monster! With a shout of warning to Kahless, Tholog raised his bat'leth and brought in around in a stroke across the T'lbot/monster's chest. With a hoarse cry, T'lbot collapsed to the ground. Hearing the commotion, Kahless rushed back to see one of his friends laying on the ground with a bloody gash across his chest, his other friend standing over him with a bloody bat'leth. With a snarl he turned on Tholog, "What have you done?" he demanded. "Lord Kahless! T'lbot was possessed by a demon! His entire face was changed!" "Bah! Worthless pitakh! His face is just the same as it ever was! There is no room beside me for dishonorable cowards! You shall stay here and give aid to the Klingon that you shamelessly attacked! Then you and your family shall serve him for ever more!" "But, my Lord!" "Never address me again! T'lbot is now your lord! And I have no use for those such as you!" And Kahless turned on his heel and walked through the rapidly clearing fog and into history. Sperr sat back in shock. Thog had been right all along! Her family WAS honorable but had been wrongfully enslaved for 15 centuries! He looked up to see his beloved dancing about the runabout in a most unKlingonlike way, "I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" she pranced about joyously! <> Sperr thought. Then his attention turned back to what he had just witnessed. "Thog. Thog! THOG!" Sperr finally had to shout to get through to his lover. "What was that thing that T'lbot turned into?" "Like Tholog said - he was possessed by a demon!" "Ummmm, honey?" Sperr ventured. "There's no such thing as demons." "Oh, right," Thog paused her celebration long enough to give the matter some thought. "I have no idea what happened. Does it really matter?" she asked. "Probably not," Sperr admitted. "I just had never seen anything like that before." "So what do we do now?" Sperr asked. "I'm going to study the record we just made until some way of correcting this situation presents itself. Them we'll take the ship back to when we just were and we'll fix things!" "Well, they say two heads are better than one, how about I study it with you?" "Aceed, thanks for supporting me in this. Without you I never would have known the truth." "I promised to help. I'm just glad that I could." The two kissed for a bit of time before turning their attention back to the replay of the horrible tableau that they had just seen. There must be something that they could do to change all of Klingon history! Later that night, after the two had gone to bed after viewing the recording countless times, Thog suddenly had an idea. Elbowing Sperr in the ribs to wake him up, Thog excitedly asked, "Aceed! Is there any way to make a portable tractor beam?" "Hmmmm? Wha? Beam who?" came the hazy reply. Deciding to give the poor Saurian a couple of minutes to clear his head, Thog hopped out of bed and over to the replicator. Calling up a cup of Terran green tea, (Sperr's preferred morning beverage) Thog hopped back to the bed and handed it over. After a couple of sips of the tea, Sperr seemed his old self, again, so Thog repeated the question. Sperr considered the question for several minutes before shaking his head, "The problem is power consumption. Tractor beams require huge amounts of power. Even if we jury-rig all of the available power packs on board and reduce the range of the beam, you'd barely get five minutes use out of it." "That's plenty!" Thog announced, excitedly. "What sort of range are you talking about?" "Hmmm, I'd have to run some simulations, but I would guess that you'd be able to manipulate a couple of kilograms over a distance of, at most, a kilometer." "More than enough!" Thog seemed inordinately excited. "I only need fifty meters, probably less!" "Hmmm. We might be able to do it," Sperr mused. "What's this great plan of yours, anyway?" "Its so simple!" Thog smiled. "What I'm going to do is..." Thog spoke on while Sperr listened to the most ridiculous plan that he had ever heard. The only problem was, it could work. Scratch that! There were two problems! The first was that Thog's idea could, possibly, if she was veeeery lucky, just maybe, work. The second problem was that he didn't have any better idea. With a sigh, Sperr set about cannibalizing the runabout to scrounge up the parts needed for Thog's plan. Somewhere in deep space, lost amid the thin sprinkling of cosmic matter more commonly referred to as "planets and stars", a small starship furtively flitted about. The ship was obviously searching for something, but what could be found in this wasteland? The ship was currently in what was generally known as "The Neutral Zone." This strip of space represented the border between the United Federation of Planets and the Romulan Star Empire. Now, the tiny ship in question had the familiar silver and blue color scheme of a Starfleet ship, and, as such, had no business being where it currently was. Sooner or later it would attract the attention of a Romulan patrol ship. Oddly enough, that was exactly what the little ship wanted! Inside the ship, six Humans wearing the uniforms of Starfleet officers worked at familiar tasks. Engineering, Ops, Conn and the Captain's chair were all filled with men diligently going about their normal, everyday duties. However, there was nothing normal or everyday about this ship. For one thing, each of the Humans on board had eyes the color of lemon meringue pudding and, secondly, clinging to the ceiling of the Bridge, out of sight of the comm system, so that its image wouldn't be broadcast during any communications, was a long, black, sinuous body. Snake-like, except for the presence of several pairs of legs which sprouted at regular intervals along its body, the last of the Black Queens oversaw its little kingdom - a kingdom which was about to become much larger! "Romulan Warbird de-Cloaking 100 kilometers away!" came the excited shout from the man at the Ops console. Although he wore the red uniform of the command staff and bore the pips that established him as a Lieutenant Commander, the man's loyalties had been transferred to his Dark Mistress weeks ago and he now whole-heartedly served the Black Queen to the utmost of his abilities. "D'Dederix Class! Its a big one!" the man in the captain's seat jumped up, gleeful excitement lighting up his face. "Exssssscellent my little pawnsssss!" the Queen sent the thought into the minds of her Thralls - complete with an extra helping of esses! The main viewscreen snapped to life showing the face of an angry Romulan, "This is Commander Pixiestix of the Romulan Patrol Craft ChexMix. Please state the reason for this breach of treaty and violation of Romulan space..." The Romulan Commander's voice trailed off as a look of complete horror passed over his face. He seemed to be struggling with some sort of mental problem. Suddenly, he looked down at the floor of his Bridge. When he lifted his head, several long seconds later, the look of horror was gone. His eyes were now a sickly shade of bright yellow! With a slight nod back towards the Utricularia (for that was, indeed, the name of the small, Starfleet ship) the Romulan reached down to the arm of his chair. Activating a control he announced throughout his ship, "Chief Engineer Pickupstix, Sub Commander Pretzelstix and Sub Commander Fiddlestix report to the Tactical Operations Room, immediately!" Commander Pixiestix made his way down to that Tactical Operations room, while the Black Queen on board the Utricularia rode in his mind, with him. When the pair finally entered the room they found the other three already waiting for their captain. Within minutes the Black Queen had subsumed the wills of these new Romulans and the room had taken on a decidedly jaundiced tinge as the four pairs of yellow eyes gleamed. Sharing a nod, the four dispersed, two going towards Main Engineering and the others heading for the Bridge. Pixiestix and Fiddlestix emerged onto the bridge from the aft turbolift and took their places - Pixiestix taking the captain's seat and Fiddlestix relieving the officer at the Romulan equivalent of Ops. Minutes after they had taken their places, an alarm began to ring out, "Emergency! Emergency! Quantum Singularity Breach in two minutes! Quantum Singularity Breach in two minutes! All personnel abandon ship! All personnel abandon ship!" "Alright everyone!" Pixiestix shouted, "I don't know what's wrong but we better get off this ship, now! I'll stay behind and lock out the command protocols in case this is some sort of Starfleet trick. Sub Commander Fiddlestix, you will assist me!" "Yes, Sir!" Fiddlestix affirmed, somewhat too enthusiastically. "Don't wait for us, we'll take the escape pod off of the Ready Room! Now go!" The crew hurried to get to safety as the alarm klaxons shrilled their gloomy message - now complete with a 'countdown to doom'®. After the crew had evacuated the Bridge, Fiddlestix locked out the turbolift access so that only he, Pixiestix, Pickupstix and Pretzelstix could reach the Bridge, then he went over to the internal scanner display. "Evacuation nearly complete, Sir. 38 Romulan lifesigns still on board." "Excellent! Let me know when the last is safely away." "Yes, Sir" Several more seconds passed while the irritating alarm droned on. Finally, Fiddlestix announced, "All clear, Sir!" "Excellent, again! You know what to do, Fiddlestix." "Yes, Sir!" Fiddlestix shouted, way too enthusiastically. The young Sub Commander contacted Main Engineering where Pretzelstix quickly silenced the false alarm that he and Pickupstix had triggered. Then Fiddlestix made his way over to the Tactical Console where he powered up the ship's disruptor array and targeted the helpless escape pods! With a truly maniacal grin on his face, he blasted pod after pod into dust, all the while muttering comments like - "Take that "miss too good to be seen in public with a mere Sub Commander!"" "Ha! Lets see who's better at tri-d chess now!" "Teach you to get in front of me in the chow line!" "No more of that stinky cologne! Woo-Who" "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!" As Fiddlestix's liturgy of vengeance against, apparently, the entire crew died down, Pixiestix received new orders from the Black Queen. Nodding his understanding (not that nodding was necessary), he ordered Pickupstix to engage the Cloak and then ordered Fiddlestix to follow the Utricularia. The Black Queen's little hunting party was off to a great start, but it wasn't over, yet. Not by a long shot. Thralls, once given an order by their Dark Mistress, carry out that order to the absolute best of their abilities. Their creativity centers are actually stimulated by the en-Thrallment and, consequently, they oftentimes display considerably more talent after becoming a Thrall then they ever did before. However, this new, enhanced creativity is focused solely on their orders, they don't offer suggestions unless specifically asked and they don't take on additional duties or responsibilities. They become so involved in just fulfilling their orders that they don't much pay attention to anything else. This is why it was never noticed by the crews of the ChexMix or the Utricularia that, during the evacuation panic, someone had stumbled into one of the Cloak projectors, throwing it slightly out of alignment. The Warbird was still completely hidden, but one of the projectors was actually skimming the hull with its Cloaking field. This skimming resulted in regular, albeit minuscule, puffs of charged ions being given off by the hull. Almost impossible to find unless someone was actively looking for them, the puffs followed the ships deep into Federation territory. To be Continued! Next Time: Thog's deparate gamble, concludes. Mantron a daddy? How 'Lucky' can you get? Find out in "Wolf's Bane" available October 17th! I welcome Reader Feedback! Please let me know what you've thought of Melting Pot so far, and, in particular, this story! Contact me at: meltingpot@khobrah.net