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. Welcome to the Second Season of Melting Pot - who'da thunkit? Copyright 2005. "Wolf's Bane" by Paul Cloutier I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty; I woke, and found that life was Duty. Ellen Sturgis Hooper (1816-1841) Captain Merriweather Chambers was feeling lucky. In fact, he was feeling very, very lucky. Today would go down in Starfleet history! Today would be the day that he, Captain Merriweather Gorganzola Chambers, brought the savage natives of Sasparilla Seven under the protective umbrella of the United Federation of Planets! To date, fourteen previous captains had tried and failed to complete this mission. All fourteen, along with their away teams, had been captured by the Sasparillians, displayed publicly in cages and, eventually eaten! After the first six attempts, Starfleet had designated the mission as 'Volunteer Only.' The mission had taken on a kind of 'Holy Grail' mythos about it. It was whispered that any captain who could successfully complete the mission would be automatically promoted to admiral! This was Chambers' dream. He would become an admiral - and not just any admiral - no sir! He would be the admiral who completed the Sasparilla Mission! Chambers wasn't exactly sure why the Federation wanted the Sasparillians to join so badly, he hadn't really read much of the mission packet that had arrived after he had asked for this assignment. In point of fact, he really didn't much care. The welfare of the Sasparillians was way down on his list of priorities. When you got right down to it, the welfare of the United Federation of Planets was pretty far down that list, too. But right at the top was - Glory - Promotion - Universal Acclaim - Worship - for Merriweather Gorganzola Chambers! Chambers' optimism, in the face of what many would have called suicidal odds, was based entirely on a recent addition to his crew. Chambers' ship, the USS Yamoto had recently docked at Starbase 19. While there, Chambers had, quite by accident, run into an old Academy buddy, Captain Amos Caruthers. While at Starfleet Academy, 30 years ago, the two men had not really been friends, barely even acquaintances, but now that they each had their own ships, the camaraderie of being in the same graduating class seemed to be coming out. Amos had bumped into Merry while on his way to the Starbase's personnel office. He had been about to file the paperwork transferring several crewmembers off of his ship for re-assignment, having taken on several new graduates from the latest class from the Academy. Since Merriweather had been on his way to actually get some new crew replacements (having lost several when the ship had been caught in the middle of an ion storm. OK, so maybe if he had read the morning status reports, they could have avoided the storm, but who had time for such things?). Feeling generous, Chambers had offered to take the forms up, for Caruthers. Caruthers quickly agreed since this would give him more time to spend helping his raw recruits settle in. Chambers chuckled to himself as he walked on, anything to help out a friend - namely himself! He could save a lot of paperwork if he just transferred Caruthers' people onto his ship! Not only that, but Caruthers had a reputation for training up his people well - many had gone on to become key members of the crews of several important ships. Ha! Chambers laughed to himself, this time they'll be members of MY crew. We'll see about those efficiency reports now! As Chambers idly leafed through the PADDs (he really didn't care WHO he got, anyone trained by Caruthers was good enough for him) when his eye was caught by a tiny bit of data on one of the PADDs. A Graaken! Caruthers was transferring a Graaken! Didn't the fool realize what a gold mine he had! You could keep your Klingons and your Andorians. Graaken were the most viciously aggressive members in the Federation. It was incredibly rare that one was ever accepted into Starfleet, since their viciousness was only held in check by an oath that each Graaken took upon reaching adulthood. In fact, each adult Graaken wore a beaten metal torc around their neck symbolizing that oath. Chambers thought back to his days at Starfleet Academy. They had studied the First Contact between one of humanity's earliest space exploration groups. This group had left the Earth on a missionary mission, bringing the Word of their God to the heathen aliens. The missionaries had found the Graaken and been virtually exterminated, overnight. Things had looked bleak until the ship carrying Father Phaser had arrived. Chambers thought back to the report he had done on Graaken culture for his Anthropology class. Rather than reading the boring old textPADD, he had watched a holovision account of that first meeting. What had it been called, now - oh yes, "Father Phaser conquers the Unknown!" Stupid teacher had given him a "D" on that report. Who cared if the holomovie was slightly liberal with its retelling of the story. It had been a Hell of a lot more entertaining than the class lectures! (during which Chambers had fallen asleep, truth to tell). But "Father Phaser Conquers the Unknown!" wasn't foremost in Chambers' mind as he read that Graaken designation in the Species field of that personnel report. No, he was thinking about the sequel - "Father Phaser Conquers Everything!" That movie had depicted how the remarkably un-aged Father Phaser had continued on his missionary work, twenty years after pacifying the Graaken. How he, and his band of Graaken missionaries had traveled through space subduing literally dozens of Species. All Phaser had to do was remove the torc from the neck of one of his Graaken (thereby removing them from the obligation of their oath) and the Graaken would revert to their savage, aggressive state, obliterating any opposition. With a simple thumbprint on the PADD, Chambers could transfer that tame killing machine to HIS crew. Immortality would be his! Laughing at his own cleverness, Chambers finished up quickly in the Personnel office and made his way back to his ship. Later that day, when the personnel requisitions and transfers made their way through the system, Lieutenant Gisech took his position as Chief of Security on board the USS Yamoto. Never mind the fact that Chambers had to transfer his former Security Chief to Engineering, Chambers now had his path to greatness assured! He had immediately sent in the required paperwork to volunteer for the Sasparilla Mission and, after just over two weeks of high-warp travel, here he was about to have his appointment with destiny. Joining him in Transporter Room One, on this historic day, were his Chief Science Officer, Doctor Stanley Rochester and the third in command of his Security Section, Lieutenant Jeremy Slanders. (The second in command of Security had come down with a terrible case of measles just the night before. Chambers had thought that the disease had been eradicated centuries before, but his CMO had confirmed that it was definitely measles. The fact that the Security Officer had discovered the CMO to be in possession of prohibited aphrodisiacs, but had, somehow, misplaced the evidence had absolutely nothing to do with that diagnosis.) Of course, his new Chief of Security was present, too. Heck, without him, nobody would be going on this mission. Coincidentally, that was, not counting Chambers and Gisech, pretty much the exact number of those present who actually /wanted/ to go on the mission. Chambers, of course, wanted to go to secure his place in the annals of Starfleet history. The Science Officer and Security Officer were positive that Chambers was already secure in the annals of history, but their spelling wasn't the best and it was possible that they had used too many 'n's. The new Security Chief, seemed eager to go on the mission, ready to impress his new captain with his prowess, no doubt. Chambers took a moment to look over his Security Chief. The Graaken looked vaguely like a Human of the Asian sub-variety. He was solidly built, but moved lightly on his feet. He stood about 1.7 meters tall, making him slightly shorter than the average Human. The one thing that stood out about him, however, was the brilliantly shining torc that hung from his neck. Chambers knew that that torc was the key to this whole mission. His plan was to allow a group of the native Sasparillians to approach and then unleash his Graaken. (What was his name, again? Chambers had neglected to make a note of that. Oh well! What did it matter?) At a nod from Chambers, the four were sent down to the surface of Sasparilla Seven - down to certain death! The away team re-materialized on a rocky plain filled with tine, pink flowers. According to the mission package, this was the same spot that all the other teams had beamed down to. Immediately upon arrival, Rochester and Slanders had whipped out tricorders and begun to scan the area. The Graaken had merely stood off to the side, keeping an eye on things. Before too much time he walked back to where the others were huddled and announced, "There seems to be a group of about thirty mounted men heading this way." Rochester and Slanders just looked at each other and started crying. Chambers walked past the two crybabies with Gisech and stood, facing the approaching riders. The riders formed a circle around the men and dismounted, keeping the four men from the USS Yamoto under close observation. Finally, the biggest of the riders stepped forward. "More of you damn Starfleeters trespassing on the Sacred Flowers of Antiche! You have the whole damn planet to appear on and you keep coming to this one, prohibitted spot! We want to know why you have come here, again!" he demanded. Smiling, Chambers slipped the torc free from Gisech's neck. Seeing the shocked expression on the Graaken's face, Chambers smiled and said, "Go git 'em!" A feral smile broke across Gisech's face. He took a step towards the leader of the riders and said, "But of course, my good man! Is it not written in the ancient holy books, that All men by nature desire to know. An indication of this is the delight we take in our senses; for even apart from their usefulness they are loved for themselves; and above all others the sense of sight. For not only with a view to action, but even when we are not going to do anything, we prefer seeing (one might say) to everything else. The reason is that this, most of all the senses, makes us know and brings to light many differences between things. By nature animals are born with the faculty of sensation, and from sensation memory is produced in some of them, though not in others. And therefore the former are more intelligent and apt at learning than those which cannot remember; those which are incapable of hearing sounds are intelligent though they cannot be taught, e.g. the bee, and any other race of animals that may be like it; and those which besides memory have this sense of hearing can be taught. The animals other than man live by appearances and memories, and have but little of connected experience; but the human race lives also by art and reasonings. Now from memory experience is produced in men; for the several memories of the same thing produce finally the capacity for a single experience. And experience seems pretty much like science and art, but really science and art come to men through experience; for 'experience made art', as Polus says, 'but inexperience luck.' Now art arises when from many notions gained by experience one universal judgement about a class of objects is produced. For to have a judgement that when Callias was ill of this disease this did him good, and similarly in the case of Socrates and in many individual cases, is a matter of experience; but to judge that it has done good to all persons of a certain constitution, marked off in one class, when they were ill of this disease, e.g. to phlegmatic or bilious people when burning with fevers-this is a matter of art. With a view to action experience seems in no respect inferior to art, and men of experience succeed even better than those who have theory without experience. (The reason is that experience is knowledge of individuals, art of universals, and actions and productions are all concerned with the individual; for the physician does not cure man, except in an incidental way, but Callias or Socrates or some other called by some such individual name, who happens to be a man. If, then, a man has the theory without the experience, and recognizes the universal but does not know the individual included in this, he will often fail to cure; for it is the individual that is to be cured.) But yet we think that knowledge and understanding belong to art rather than to experience, and we suppose artists to be wiser than men of experience (which implies that Wisdom depends in all cases rather on knowledge); and this because the former know the cause, but the latter do not. For men of experience know that the thing is so, but do not know why, while the others know the 'why' and the cause. Hence we think also that the masterworkers in each craft are more honorable and know in a truer sense and are wiser than the manual workers, because they know the causes of the things that are done (we think the manual workers are like certain lifeless things which act indeed, but act without knowing what they do, as fire burns,-but while the lifeless things perform each of their functions by a natural tendency, the laborers perform them through habit); thus we view them as being wiser not in virtue of being able to act, but of having the theory for themselves and knowing the causes. And in general it is a sign of the man who knows and of the man who does not know, that the former can teach, and therefore we think art more truly knowledge than experience is; for artists can teach, and men of mere experience cannot. Again, we do not regard any of the senses as Wisdom; yet surely these give the most authoritative knowledge of particulars. But they do not tell us the 'why' of anything-e.g. why fire is hot; they only say that it is hot. At first he who invented any art whatever that went beyond the common perceptions of man was naturally admired by men, not only because there was something useful in the inventions, but because he was thought wise and superior to the rest. But as more arts were invented, and some were directed to the necessities of life, others to recreation, the inventors of the latter were naturally always regarded as wiser than the inventors of the former, because their branches of knowledge did not aim at utility. Hence when all such inventions were already established, the sciences which do not aim at giving pleasure or at the necessities of life were discovered, and first in the places where men first began to have leisure. This is why the mathematical arts were founded in Egypt; for there the priestly caste was allowed to be at leisure. We have said in the Ethics what the difference is between art and science and the other kindred faculties; but the point of our present discussion is this, that all men suppose what is called Wisdom to deal with the first causes and the principles of things; so that, as has been said before, the man of experience is thought to be wiser than the possessors of any sense-perception whatever, the artist wiser than the men of experience, the masterworker than the mechanic, and the theoretical kinds of knowledge to be more of the nature of Wisdom than the productive. Clearly then Wisdom is knowledge about certain principles and causes....*" Chambers was stunned. Where was his vicious, Graaken killing machine? True, he and his away team had lasted longer than any other team, so far, but this was hardly the resounding victory that he had expected. Rochester and Slanders had stopped their bawling and begun to listen to Gisech's speech. Having nothing better to do, Chambers finally decided to do the same. Night had fallen on Sasparilla Seven. The group of riders that had confronted the Yamoto's away team had long since fallen asleep. Actually, so had three quarters of that away team. Gisech still droned on. Chambers' head suddenly slipped out of his hand and splashed into the puddle of drool that had dripped from his open mouth, soaking the front of his uniform tunic. The splash roused him awake. Springing to his feet, he realized that he and his men had spent six hours on Sasparilla Seven, and were alive and free from captivity! Quickly tapping his commbadge he called for beamout. Perhaps this mission hadn't been the resounding success that he had hoped for, but at least he was still alive. The team re-materialized back aboard the Yamoto, much to the amazement of the rest of the crew. Excited communiques raced between the ship and Starfleet Command over the next several hours. Scientific teams were dispatched to study the aliens whose culture had been, for so long a time, impossible to examine. Chambers was being hailed as a genius for his pacification of the natives and it seemed his promotion was well on its way. Satisfied with a job well done, Chambers headed off to bed. Rochester and Slanders, amazed to still be alive, headed for the ship's bar. Gisech made his way to his quarters, perhaps he had time to read a book before his shift in the morning. The next morning, the Yamoto broke orbit over Sasparilla Seven and headed for the nearest Starbase. There Chambers would transfer his Security Chief off the ship and re-instate the old Chief. He no longer had any need for the new officer and aliens made him nervous. Unfortunately, Starfleet would then order the Yamoto to provide cultural attaches for several of the science expeditions to Sasparilla Seven and Captain Chambers was soon captured by the Sasparillians and eaten. He DID, however, give the Sasparillians a terrible case of diarrhea. If only he hadn't wanted to go down in the annals of history! Eventually, Lieutenant Gisech's report of the landing made its way through the labyrinthine bureaucracy at Starfleet Command and a new First Contact Team was dispatched to Sasparilla Seven. This Team chose a rematerialization point several kilometers away from the original one and were welcomed with open arms. The Sasparillians joined the Federation and became valuable, productive members of galactic society. The captain of that First Contact Mission was promoted to admiral, Gisech's report long since forgotten. Captain's Log; Stardate - 57953.3 We are at station keeping, in orbit above Betazed. Commander Banjo is acting in the capacity of First Officer while Commander Thog and Lieutenant Sperr extend their vacation, slightly, to allow Commander Thog more time to recover from her injuries. I am taking this time to study a new monograph published by my old friend Soupçon on the inability for species other than Vulcans to fully appreciate the nuances of philosophical debate. While I find myself agreeing with much of what he writes, I fear that this sort of thinking will, ultimately, result in extremely homogenized societies, depriving most individuals of the benefits of multi-cultural points of view. I may have to prepare a rebuttal explaining this position. I shall be able to use much of what has happened aboard this ship as examples to support my arguments. Dil Mantron awoke from a terrible nightmare. Horribly dressed people all around him were hurling tasty foods in his mouth as a bright red man kept announcing new wives for him. Shivering with fear, he glanced over at his chronometer. 0640! He had been asleep for only two hours! Deciding that getting any real rest would likely be impossible, he got up, showered and dressed, and made his way to the Bridge. There he found M'Dral at Ops and B1 & B2 at the Science Console. The center chair swiveled around to reveal Banjo. "So! How's the bridegroom to be?" the Changeling kidded. "That's not even funny!" Dil protested. "Funny or not, it seems to be official," Banjo handed the Helmsman a PADD. The official seal of Betazed was prominently displayed, right on top of the betrothal announcement. Dil hadn't thought that he could feel any worse than when he had woken up that morning. He suddenly found out that there were untold depths of feeling bad that he had yet to plumb! "What, you don't want to marry a Princess," Banjo prodded, seeing the look on his friend's face. "You know, two years ago I would have jumped at the chance. But I've got Linnea, now." "So, you want Linnea because she came along first?" Banjo played devil's advocate. "No, I would have married a Princess, or pretty much anyone, because I had been alone for so long. Linnea has shown me what true love is and I wouldn't trade her for the world," Dil replied, getting at little angry at his friend. "Good answer!" Banjo decided. "M'Dral, get the Betazed High Counsel on the comm." "What? That was some kind of test?" Dil asked. "Yep," Banjo affirmed, placidly. "I wanted to make sure you had your head on straight before we started to fight this. Take the First Officer's seat." The main viewscreen sprang to life with the picture of Betazed's highest ranking legal official. Seeing who he was speaking to, he suddenly smiled, "Good morning, Sir! How's the new bridegroom to be?" "That's what we have called about," Banjo quickly spoke up. "According to our records, that marriage contract is invalid." "Hmmm," the High Counsel pondered, as he looked over the contract, "no, everything seems to be in order. Mr. Mantron's parents signed all of the required clauses and codicils." "First of all, that's LIEUTENANT Mantron, not 'Mr.' secondly, Dil's parents disowned him when he left for Starfleet Academy. All of the requisite paperwork was filed at that time and we have copies of all of the pertinent data." "That is quite true, but you see, LIEUTENANT Mantron's parents weren't signing as his parents, they signed as his genetic heritage. He has been declared a planetary asset and his disposition is entirely up to the Betazed Senate." Dil's face went white as Banjo mentally switched gears, "What you are describing is a state very close to that of slavery! Slavery has been outlawed on every Federation world. I think that you are treading on very shaky legal ground here and we are willing to have Starfleet's Judiciary Council look into this matter." "That is certainly your right, Commander, but if I may speak to LIEUTENANT Mantron for a moment - son, I realize that this is a major announcement to drop in your lap like this but think of what it could mean to all of Betazed. Imagine if we could bring that talent out in even one tenth of one percent of the next generation? Imagine the scientific discoveries that have been lost due to plain old bad luck. If we can breed this trait, true, then it would be a simple matter to include a Luck Eater on every important research team! Just think of what could be accomplished! Now, I realized that we haven't treated you very well in the past, but we are trying to make up for that now! You'd be royalty, son! Now, you may say that material things and rewards would mean nothing, and I can respect such moral high ground. We're even willing to allow a certain flexibility in, shall we say, co-habitation arrangements. That is, we would allow you to keep that Orion woman as a concubine, if you desired." The High Counsel saw that his arguments weren't working very well, so he played his last card, "Son, what it comes down to is responsibility. You have a gift. Don't you feel that you have any responsibility to share that gift with others?" Banjo cursed the High Counsel, mentally. That was the one thing which could sway Dil's decision. "I see, sir," Dil finally agreed. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" "Excellent! Princess Mitara will be at the Synchronized Dressage event this afternoon. May I tell her that you will be accompanying her?" "Yes, sir. I'll be there," Dil answered. Without another word, he hopped down from the First Officer's chair and quietly left the Bridge. "I'm sending the beamdown coordinates for the Dressage. Betazed - out." M'Dral closed the comm circuit and turned to look back at Banjo. "There's nothing we can do," he shrugged. "The decision is Dil's. It looks like he'll be staying behind." "Oh yeah," M'Dral offered, "married to a Princess, his every whim immediately fulfilled. Surrounded by luxury and the very best that money can buy! Poor Dil!" Banjo considered this for a few moments. Perhaps M'Dral was right. Perhaps all of that luxury would make it worth it. Somehow Banjo didn't think so, though. For those unfamiliar with Dressage, it is an equestrian event where a horse and a rider perform various maneuvers inside of an arena. The rider must guide her horse with the subtlest of movements and signals, changing speed and direction on the commands of a judge. The sport is only marginally interesting for non-horselovers. A much more watchable event is Steeplechase, where horse and rider must successfully maneuver over and around a series of obstacles. The horse's time around the arena is timed, and every missed obstacle incurs a time penalty. The horse with the fastest time, wins. In the late 21st century, the two events were merged so that both speed and subtlety were required in order to win. Since 'Dressage' was a more important sounding word than 'Steeplechase', that name was kept to describe the new, combined sport. All of these events were designed with the ultimate goal of combining horse and rider into one, inseparable being. On Earth, where the events were developed, it was considered a great time to go out and watch these events. No one was sure why. The events were, invariably, held in the hot sun, in dusty, smelly arenas. The horses' excitement over the competition also added a little extra 'tang' to the aroma associated with the events. Late in the 23rd century, the sport had been exported from Earth to every major planet (apparently, misery loves company) and a new twist had been added - Synchronized Dressage soon became the rage. Sending four horses speeding around an obstacle course at varying intervals combined the yawn-inducing excitement of the original Dressage with the train-wreck morbid curiosity of demolition derby. That is, until the sport reached Betazed. Betazed riders had long since established rudimentary telepathic rapport with their horses and telepathic contact between the riders, themselves, was as natural as breathing for the Betazoids. Suddenly, Synchronized Dressage became the beautiful, synergy of man and horse that it had always been meant to be. The old term 'the horse and the rider become as one' became, literally, true as the Betazed Team took the galaxy by storm. The beauty of their riding made the spectators forget about the hot sun and the smelly dung, which were remarkable achievements, in and of themselves! The fact that the Team rode nude, was just icing on the cake so far as most people were concerned. This last fact pretty much precluded male riders, so the Betazed Synchronized Dressage Team had bounced their way into hearts and minds across the quadrant! Dil Mantron materialized inside a large pavilion which had been set up to provide a bit of shelter against the sun for the Princess. In fact, the pavilion seemed to be climate controlled and quite comfortable. Dil was struck by the vast difference between the crowds watching the event, out in the elements, and the pampered luxury to be found within the pavilion. The Princess was reclining on an overstuffed divan, watching the horses prance through their paces. She barely looked up as he walked over to her. "I heard that you tried to get out of the marriage?" she said, with no greeting or any other welcome. "Yes, I did," Dil acknowledged. The Princess turned towards him, showing some interest for the first time, "Why would you do such a thing? There are men queuing up to marry me. Why not you?" "Because I love someone else," Dil explained, simply. "Love! Hmmph! Its overrated! Only the commoners marry for love," Mitara announced. "But I AM a commoner," Dil protested. "Not anymore. You've been awarded the rank of Duke." "But we haven't used those old titles in centuries!" Dil argued. "Didn't need too. Now we do." "What, so we just go making stuff up as we need it?" Dil asked amazed. "Silly! Of course! We important people run things. If we decide something needs to be changed, it gets changed! You needed a title to make this work, so we gave you a title." "A year ago you didn't even know my name! Even if you had you wouldn't have cared. Now all of a sudden I'm the most important person on the planet!" "Not you, silly! Your talent. I thought the High Counsel explained all of this?" "That's really it, isn't it?" Dil suddenly understood. And, with understanding came a way out. "All of you really only care about trying to introduce the Luck Eater talent back into the gene pool!" "Of course, silly! Why else?" "Then the solution is simple," Dil said. "Meet me in the High Counsel's office in 20 minutes and I'll show you a way to work this that leaves everyone happy!" "Happiness is overrated!" the Princess declared as Dil called for beamout. He had to get in touch with Linnea and Doctor Pish to see if his plan could work. 20 minutes later, when Dil, Linnea, Jantoo and Banjo sparkled into the High Counsel's office. Princess Mitara and High Counsel Tlintop were waiting for them. The High Counsel motioned the aliens to take seats before opening the meeting, "What's all this about, LIEUTENANT Mantron," he asked, emphasizing Dil's rank so as to annoy Banjo. "Sir, this whole thing has been about trying to introduce the Luck Eater gene back into the Betazed gene pool, isn't that right?" "Yes, that is true. We were just trying to make the method of that re- introduction palatable to everyone." "Well, doesn't limiting my involvement to a single woman reduce the odds of that re-introduction?" The High Counsel looked uncomfortable for several long moments before replying, "That thought had occurred to us as well, but we wanted to introduce these ideas to you a bit at a time," he explained. "What!" screamed the Princess. "You were going to set him up some kind of harem or something?" "That was exactly what they were going to do," Banjo agreed. "Fortunately, Lieutenant Mantron was, shall we say, 'lucky' enough to figure this out before they could implement that plan. Even more fortunately, he has come up with an alternate plan. Tlintop perked up at this last bit. Perhaps there was some way to salvage this situation after all. "This is what he proposes," Banjo continued. "He will provide, at monthly intervals, samples of genetic material. With current artificial insemination techniques, there should be sufficient material for several successful implantations. Princess, you will, of course, always be allowed to be one of the recipients. Since this is a luck gene we are talking about, Dil suggests that a lottery system be set up to choose additional recipients. The Planetary Government will be responsible for the cost of artificially inseminating the lottery winners and for all prenatal care after successful implantation. Any child which results from the use of this material, will become the responsibility of the Senate, which has declared that this genetic material is, in fact, a 'Planetary Asset'. This will include ALL children, whether they test positive for the Luck Eater gene or not." "That seems like a workable solution," Tlintop decided after considering the matter for a time. "However, we would need a sample of this material - to test it for potency, you understand." Doctor Pish handed over a cryogenic sample case, "Fresh from the source," she announced as Dil turned bright red and Linnea giggled. "Very well," Tlintop said, standing up and retrieving the sample. "If this checks out, I'll draw up the necessary documents and we can consider this matter closed." There had been no problems with the sample. Dil had not expected any and Jantoo had run a series of tests on it, in any event. The contracts were drawn up and submitted to the appropriate parties. The Betazoid government was in the middle of setting up the lottery system that Dil had suggested. Dil was relaxing in his quarters, enjoying a day off for a change when his comm system suddenly beeeeped! Activating the viewscreen, Dil was surprised to see the smiling face of Princess Mitara. "Just thought you should know. There was enough left over from testing your sample, to inseminate me. The genetic coding that we read from that sample has allowed us to isolate the gene sequences responsible for the Luck Eater mutation. It turns out that I have several of the recessive genes, myself." "Congratulations," Dil said, and meant it. "I know that if anyone can make another Luck Eater, its bound to be you." "Thanks," Mitara replied, suddenly hesitant about signing off. "That love, stuff. Is it really that great?" "Princess, you saw it yourself. I was offered all the luxuries Betazed had to give. I was offered you as my wife. I turned it all down. That's what love means to me. Why do you ask?" "You're the first person I've ever met who would really 'talk' to me. No one else has ever gotten past the whole 'Princess' bit." "There must be more to it than that," Dil prompted. "Well... there is this one guy. I kinda like him and seems to like me..." Dil grinned, "Princess, if you believe me even a little bit, get to know him. Get to know anyone before you agree to marry them. Remember you ARE the Princess. You're one of the important people - you make the rules. Maybe you'll set a precedent in marrying for love." "Maybe you're right. It doesn't hurt to try," she grinned back. "Thanks Dil. I'll send you pictures of the baby!" Dil chuckled to himself as he sat back on his couch. Dil Mantron! Luck Eater! Baby Maker! Advice to the Lovelorn! Helmsman Extraodinaire! He'd have to get some sort of sign made up to hang on the Bridge. Then a thought struck him, <> Thog was crouched, hiding in the fog. She had been here about ten minutes, waiting for the footsteps that she knew were coming. Finally, she picked up the sounds of the approaching warriors. First Kahless passed her position. His nobility and honor radiating off of him like some cheap cologne. Next came T'lbot, or, at least, the thing that was pretending to be T'lbot. Thog readied herself, she'd only have one chance to do this. <> she mentally amended. <> Pushing such thoughts out of her mind, she focused the portable tractor beam emitter that Sperr had rigged up for her. Carefully she focused the invisible beam at its target. There! She had it! With a quick twist of a dial she tightened the tension that she had put on Tholog's shoelace. Looking up she saw T'lbot just beginning to turn around, his face already flowing and shifting. But, she saw, her plan had succeeded! Tholog was bending down, re-tying his shoelace, his face turned so that there was no chance of him seeing the change in T'lbot. Just then Kahless came back into view. "Are you ready, my friends?" "Aye, Kahless," Tholog responded, straightening up and moving up next to his leader. "Umm, yeah, whatever you say," stammered out T'lbot. The three walked out onto the Three Turn Bridge, just as the opposing army stepped on to the other end. With a grin at each other Kahless and Tholog braced themselves for the onslaught. T'lbot, however, in a panic at having to face this enemy, threw down his bat'leth, ripped free from his armor and /changed!/ His body shifted and melted, twisting into a new shape, a shape that seemed to be a blend of Klingon physiology and that of a Terrestrial wolf! (Not that any of the Klingons had any idea what a wolf was.) With a cry, the wolf-monster that had called itself T'lbot charged the advancing army. Warrior after warrior went down beneath the monster's claws, and it wasn't until Kahless and Tholog joined the fight that the beast was, finally destroyed. The two friends looked across the remains of what they thought had been their friend at the commander of the enemy army. He was staring in shock at the body of the beast that had attacked them. "How many more demons like that do you have in your army?" the leader of the enemy army asked, nervously. "Many, many more," replied Kahless, not one to pass up a golden opportunity. "Ummm... we surrender!" "A wise decision," Kahless accepted. "Come," he said, wrapping an arm around his former enemy' shoulders, and the other around Tholog's, "let us go drink some Blood Wine and celebrate this new alliance of our peoples!" The former enemies joined together, singing a warrior's song as they headed off towards destiny. Thog watched them until they had disappeared from view, before calling for beamout. She re-materialized on board the David Attenborough, looking around herself, nervously. "What's wrong?" Sperr asked, concerned. "I'm waiting to see what changes have been made," she answered. "We're still in the past," Sperr explained. "Any changes that we've made won't effect us until we return to our own time." "Well then. I guess you should take us home," Thog decided. Sperr headed forward into the runabout's cockpit where he entered the temporal coordinates for a return trip into the Lin/Warp software interface. With a quick grin of assurance to Thog, he pushed the 'engage' button and the ship headed towards the Klingon sun, and back to their own time. With a flash, the David Attenborough emerged back into the 24th century. Thog clapped her hands as Sperr came back to the main cabin to congratulate her, properly. Before he reached her, however, it became obvious that something was wrong. Thog was growing increasingly transparent as she reached for him, the way a drowning person might reach for a life preserver. Before he could reach her, she had faded away to nothingness! Then Sperr noticed the outlines of the runabout growing bleary as he realized with horror that he was fading, too! Just as he was about to disappear completely, he awoke with a start in his bed on board the Menagerie. Limp with relief, he reached over to his nightstand. Retrieving his commbadge, he asked, "Computer, locate Commander Thog." I'm sorry to tell, believe me do But that name isn't here, sad but true There's no mention of Thog In record or in log Is that some name you picked from the blue? In a panic, Sperr contacted Banjo. (Who he found was the ship's First Officer!) Banjo calmed his friend the best that he could. Funny, now that he thought about it, since when had HE been anything more than /acting/ First Officer? Gathering most of the rest of the gang, together, Banjo and Sperr finally managed to dig up some answers. They weren't particularly reassuring. Everyone had vague recollections of Thog and the tales that Sperr told to them of things that she had done, rang true. But no one, except Sperr could remember exactly what she looked like. Then the Bynars got a hit on a deep search through the Federation database. Thog had been a Klingon Chancellor! She had been elevated to that position at a remarkably young age and had shown real ability and promise. Then she had led the Klingon fleet against the Borg at Wolf 359. She had been credited with holding the line long enough for the Enterprise to make it back in time to stop the Borg. She had been proclaimed a hero of the Federation! But, she had died, during the battle. One of over 11,000 who had perished that day. Banjo quickly contacted Qo'noS and was connected to one of the greatest of the Klingon historians. Oddly enough, the first words from the historian's mouth were, "You don't happen to know someone named 'Aceed Sperr' do you?" In wonder, Sperr stepped forward to the viewscreen, "I'm Aceed Sperr," he managed to get out. "I'm directed to request your presence on Qo'noS at your earliest convenience, Sir," the old man bowed as he said this. There was a look that approached awe in his face as he spoke to the Shuttlebay Chief. "Expect us in a couple of days," Banjo promised, and terminated the comm. Captain's Log; Stardate 57959.1 We have been traveling for some time without a Security Officer. Apparently this situation has now been rectified and Starfleet Command has directed us to pick up our new officer, a Lieutenant Gisech, at Starbase 117. There also seems to be something bothering the crew as Commander Banjo has called for a full staff briefing this morning. "And that's the situation, in a nutshell," Banjo concluded. Seetamyn found the story almost impossible to believe. His First Officer had gone back in time and disrupted Causality to the point where she no longer existed? Seetamyn did have to admit to having some sort of vague recollection of a Klingon officer named Thog, but the memories were too hazy for him to latch onto. Although this explanation DID provide a reason for their lack of a Security Chief. "Very well," Seetamyn decided. "You will take the ship to Qo'noS and resolve this issue. I will take the Maurice Sendak to Starbase 117 and pick up our new Security Chief. Once we have completed these tasks, we will set reciprocal courses and rendezvous, back somewhere near our current position." "Agreed, Sir," Banjo replied. "I will have the Maurice Sendak readied for your immediate departure. Meeting adjourned!" Mantron, Banjo, Ustrano, Linnea, Pish and M'Dral moved in two columns, like an honor guard, behind Aceed Sperr. The seven had come to Qo'noS, hoping to find out what exactly had happened to Thog, after the temporal distortion wave had dissipated. They had beamed down to the Klingon Great Hall and made their way to the Hall of Warriors, the extensive collection of crypts and mementos left behind by centuries of Qo'noS' best. Usually, only the planet's highest ranking officials were allowed entry into the sacred place, but for some reason, the High Council had immediately agreed to this visit when Sperr had identified himself. The group was escorted to a central table in the reading room where a lone, elderly Klingon was waiting with an iron-clad box and a bat'leth. "You are Sperr?" he asked almost reverently. "I am," the Saurian said, stepping forward. "She said you would come," the old man said, amazed. "These were left for you," the old man held out the battered bat'leth and pointed to the box. "I have also been instructed to transport you to a certain location." "Very well," Sperr agreed, gathering up the bat'leth and the box. "Energize." The seven re-appeared in what was obviously a very special place. They were inside a huge hall made of heavy Klingon basalt. Ten-meter tall statues stood along the walls of the hall. Kahless was there, and several other figures from Klingon history. The group made its way to the last statue in the hall. There, unmistakably, was Thog. She looked just about the same as she had when everyone had known her. She was, maybe, a bit younger. She was, maybe, a bit happier looking. The deep sadness that they had once seen in her eyes seemed to be gone, replaced by a wistful, self-deprecating tinge. Below her statue was an engraved plaque. Sperr took a look at it and had to turn away, weeping. Ustrano read what had been engraved there out loud. It seemed to be somehow in-appropriate to not have those words spoken, aloud; Chancellor Thog - Who did her duty in the face of impossible odds. When all was lost. When hope had died. When the Borg were destroying all the defenses at Wolf 359. The Chancellor summoned the fleet. She told everyone that they would never survive this battle, but if they could but delay the Borg for a brief time, the Enterprise would be able to defeat them. It was as though she had been blessed with a divine vision, and the warriors of the Kingdom could see the honor within her. Rather than send her warriors into battle, she led them. At Wolf 359, the battle raged all around. While other Federation ships fled, Thog and the Klingon fleet stood their ground. The ranks in Sto'Vo'Kor swelled mightily that day as the Klingons held the line, just long enough. And so the Borg were defeated. All free people owe thanks to the Chancellor. Linnea, M'Dral and Pish were also weeping by the time the Velvattian had finished reading. everyone understood, better than the Klingons, themselves, what truths were written there. For Thog HAD known what was going to happen. Her psyche had come from 14 years in the future and she had known EXACTLY how things would turn out. And yet, her honor had allowed her no other choice. She had been successful in changing her family, successful in changing herself into the kind of woman that others looked up to. She had been successful in becoming the type of woman that Sperr's mother could approve of. And all it had cost her was everything that had mattered to her. She had been one of the most honorable and respected rulers of Qo'noS in decades, but she had ruled all alone. The seven Starfleeters beamed back up to the Menagerie where Mantron set a course to rendezvous with Captain Seetamyn and the ship's new Security Chief. Sperr went back to his quarters, politely refusing all offers from his friends to have dinner with them. About six hours later, the Maurice Sendak docked with the Menagerie. Gisech went to his quarters to unpack while Seetamyn made his way to the Pirate's Cove. He found most of the normal afterhours crowd already there. Todd intercepted the Vulcan before he could reach the table with a glass of carrot juice, the captain's favorite. Nodding his thanks, Seetamyn finally made his way to the table. He had just been brought up to date on what the crew had found out on Qo'noS, when Aceed Sperr walked into the lounge. His eyes were red and his step wasn't particularly steady but he made his way to the table where his friends were seated and held out a data crystal to Banjo. "She would have wanted all of you to see this." Sperr took a seat as Banjo handed the crystal to Linnea, who took it into the back of the lounge. The holoprojectors that made the lounge area appear to be underwater flickered off and an image of Thog appeared in the center of the restaurant/ club; "If you are seeing this then I am dead. It seems almost funny, somehow. This is what happened after I disappeared from the David Attenborough; I awoke as an infant, swaddled in finery in one of the fine Great Houses. My family had been influential and important members of Klingon society since the days of Kahless. My early years were spent learning the ways of honor, and statecraft. Of course all of my original memories were intact, so I was an exceptionally quick learner. I soon entered into politics, representing my family in the Klingon Senate. It was here that I made my first mistake. It may have, in fact, been my only mistake, but it was a doozy! You see, I had planned to live out my comfortable life, here on Qo'noS until what I considered 'present day' - 2380 came back around. Then I could rejoin you, Aceed, and we could have lived out the rest of our lives, together. Unfortunately, I was too good at my job and soon I found myself selected as Chancellor. I was overjoyed! I thought this would assure that we could be together. This was in early 2366. That may be a date with which you are familiar. I certainly should have been. Yes, that was the summer that the Borg attacked! I had forgotten about the Borg! I'm not sure how I could have forgotten them, maybe this was my punishment for meddling in the past, maybe there is some sort of cosmic account ledger that tallies up our past due luck and comes calling for payment - with interest. Whatever the case, I found myself in the impossible position of being in charge of the Klingon fleet during the most important battle ever fought! I couldn't NOT send the fleet, that would have been against everything I had worked so hard to become. Of course, if I DID sent the fleet, I would have to go with them, and I would be dead. Of course, for a true Klingon, there was, unfortunately, no real choice. I had always known, in my heart of hearts, that I was honorable. If I had run, I would have proven everyone else right, all along. So here I am. Tomorrow we are heading to Wolf 359 to fight the Borg. How bold and indestructible my warriors all seem. I can't help but having some hope that this time the results will be different. If so, you will never see this, Aceed. If, on the other hand, as Seetamyn's logic would suggest, tomorrow we are all to be killed, then know this Aceed. You have given me the greatest gifts that anyone could have - the chance to live one's life over again. The chance to undo a great and terrible wrong that had destroyed my family, centuries ago. Through all of this I have always loved you." The hologram flickered out and the lights came back up in the lounge. Sperr rose to his feet and approached Seetamyn. "Sir, I am ready to accept my punishment. I lied to you and Commander Banjo, used Starfleet property for personal purposes and, because of my actions, a fellow officer is dead." "Lieutenant," Seetamyn answered, "Starfleet has no record that Thog was ever an officer. In fact, according to official Federation records, she died thirteen and a half years before the ship was even launched. Therefore, no officer has died. Furthermore, since that is the case, there can be no record of your original trip to Alpha Saurian IV and no extension of that trip. This means that there is no way that you could have lied to either Commander Banjo or myself. Additionally, since there is no logical way that a runabout could have made its way to Qo'noS with no record of its ever leaving the ship, one can only assume that there was some sort of computer error. You are, therefore, blameless in these matters." "Thank you, Sir," Sperr replied, hoarsely and, without another word, walked out of the Pirate's Cove. "She asked for help because she loved him. He helped because he loved her. And they both ended up alone," Dil shook his head, trying to make it all make sense. "Hon," Linnea piped up, "promise me that you'll never help me." "Only if you promise to never ask me for help." "Its a deal!" Linnea agreed, bending down to kiss Dil. "Hey now!" Ensign Hirthnole exclaimed. "Show a little decorum!" "Yeah! Get a room, you two!" M'Dral piped in. "Good idea!" Linnea shouted jumping up and then pulling Dil to his feet. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she led the slightly red-faced Helmsman out of the lounge. "Hey!" M'Dral called after them, "I didn't mean right now!" The group drifted apart after that. Eventually, Seetamyn was left alone at the table. Todd drifted over with another carrot juice. Before the waiter could scamper off, Seetamyn posed a question, "Do you ever wonder about the meaning of it all, Todd?" Seetamyn asked. "No, Sir. That's a bartender's job. I'm only a waiter." "Maybe that is what this ship needs," Seetamyn mused. "Starfleet was not able to assign us a Counselor, due to the vast differences in the crew's basic philosophical backgrounds. Maybe what we needed all along was a bartender. So far, in just a few months, we've lost one crewmember due to hatred and now another due to love. Was this just the universe balancing things out?" "I can't rightly say, Sir" Todd answered, his eyes darting around to find some way out of this conversation. "No, of course you can not. I am sorry to have detained you, Todd." Seetamyn nursed his drink for some time. Back on Vulcan, when he had been the Director of the Vulcan Institute for Meditative Studies, such philosophical discussions had been everyday occupance. He found that he missed that level of conversational interplay. As Seetamyn was sipping his drink, Gisech found his way into the lounge. Immediately spotting the Vulcan sitting by himself, he hurried over, "Sir, I have stowed my gear and am ready to report for duty!" the Graaken announced enthusiastically. "Lieutenant, you are assigned to Alpha Shift. You do not come on duty until 0800, tomorrow morning," the Captain informed his new Security Chief. "Well then, is there anything else I should be doing?" "How are you on discussing the meaning of life?" Seetamyn asked, as close to joking as a Vulcan could get. "Under which particular philosophical framework did you have in mind?" "You are familiar with multiple philosophical points of view?" Seetamyn inquired, one eyebrow coming dangerously close to arching. "I am fully qualified to debate, at Grandmaster level, over fifty disparate philosophies," announced Gisech, proudly. "Tell me," Seetamyn prompted, "how are you at mixing drinks?" * This is, of course, the opening argument from Aristotle's 'Metaphysics' Next Time: The Menagerie's newest crewmember barely has time to settle in before its a Battle Royale pitting the Menagerie and the Aikido against the mind-controlled forces of the last Black Queen. Chill out with "The Ice Cube Gambit" available November 7th! 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