NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (1/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 1/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
Wondrous Stories
Kazon Prime. Sontara III. Kznaptl. Vidiian Quarantine Colony 47A. The
names began to run together in his mind, a litany of failure scattered
about the only route it made sense for Voyager to have taken. Three
months of searching, and Nasir was a mere four weeks' travel from his
starting point. Eventually, he had decided to rest for a while, and
then discovered his trading profits from the past year had been used
up, and he was not just alone, but broke. Then a chance remark in a
spaceport bar had brought him here.
"No more drinks unless you pay for the last round." The barman, latest
in a long series of barmen whose faces seemed to blend into one
another, intoned the creed of his profession in a voice close to
boredom.
"Here," replied Nasir, advancing the last of his credits. "Take it.
But you might be a little more generous if you knew how I came to
be..."
"Take it to the Sikarians," interrupted the barman curtly.
"Ah. I see I have tried your patience enough," replied Nasir, looking
away.
"No, seriously." He was surprised to hear a note of sympathy in the
barman's voice. "If you can get to Sikaris, they pay money for a good
story. Get them really excited, they'll treat you like royalty. It's
worth a try."
"And how would I reach this place?"
"Seventy light years, bearing three-five-seven mark two-nine-two."
The numbers were clearly well-practised, and Nasir realised through
his alcoholic haze that this was a regular occurrence. However,
unless the Sikarians traded in drunks - even less likely than their
trading in stories - there hardly seemed much risk involved.
"I am indebted to you." Nasir inclined his head in thanks.
"You go out and get drunk, come back and tell me you're broke, and now
you're going to get paid for telling stories?" Andri's disembodied
voice rang out more with amusement than anger, as Nasir settled into
the pilot's chair. "At least sober up before you take off. I don't
want you killing us both."
"Do not be absurd, Crewman. You are already dead."
"One of these days I'm coming with you, Nasir. Every time you buy a
drink I'll remind you how you'll feel in the morning."
"You can do that?" For a moment, Nasir was genuinely interested.
"Why not?"
"I wondered whether you were only with me aboard this shuttle."
"Nasir, I'm in your mind. I just keep quiet when you're out. You'd
just confuse everyone if I didn't. You don't actually need to talk to
me, you know. I can hear you if you just think it."
"I prefer to speak. Anyway, you may not need to act as my conscience
for some time now. We have a long journey to make, and I will be
sober by the time we arrive."
In fact, not only sober, but dried out completely, and Nasir began to
steel himself for the business that lay ahead. He had been weak, he
knew, to carry on drinking after his discovery on Benar. It was time
to stop, now, and rebuild the Starfleet officer he had been. If,
indeed, the Sikarians were traders in stories, they might have heard
of a starship looking for home. He had no idea how he would catch up
on four years of travel, but at the very least he might find a trail
to follow. After landing on Sikaris, therefore, he avoided the lure of
the nearest bar, and instead wandered the streets of the town until
he found himself in an open square, where small groups of people
clustered around different speakers.
"This looks like a good place to start," said the familiar voice in
his head.
"Ah, Janell. It is a pleasure to have your company," replied Nasir
out loud, attracting the attention of a few Sikarians immediately.
"Forgive me, strangers," he continued in a louder voice. "I spoke to
a former comrade, whose voice has remained in my mind since her
death." That got their attention, and Nasir choked back a laugh. This
was too easy; but if they were connoisseurs of stories, he'd better
have some substance to back up a good start. "She died escaping from
a Krowtonan prison camp," and he noticed murmurs of appreciation
amongst his audience, "after the Caretaker brought us from the Alpha
Quadrant."
That last comment seemed to be a mistake. One or two of the listeners
frowned, and one said, "We've heard that one, friend. Voyager was
here, what, four years ago?" There were nods from around him. The
man came closer, dropped his voice a little, and said to Nasir, "It
was a while back. We might be ready for a Voyager revival, but you'll
need a new slant. Give me an outline, and I can give you an idea of
what's selling right now."
Nasir regarded the man critically, making sure to betray none of the
hope and surprise growing within him. He was shorter than average,
quite old, rather shabbily dressed and almost bald, but with a keen
intelligence in his deep brown eyes. Could he be this planet's
equivalent of a literary agent? Nasir decided to test the waters. "And
your commission for this service?"
The man laughed. "No fooling you, friend. Ten per cent of all revenue.
Believe me, it'll be worth your while."
The man might be out to trick him, but Nasir had little choice. "I
accept. Now how do we proceed?"
"Hold your left hand out, palm up." The man pressed a recording
device down on Nasir's hand, then placed his own on top. "I, Taren
Elot, agree to act as agent for..."
"Nasir, Lieutenant, Starfleet, last assignment USS Equinox."
Elot pressed a pad on the device. "The contract is registered. So
you're not from Voyager?"
"No. Another ship was brought here, I suspect by the same means."
"Hmmm. There could be an angle there. Okay, let's hear your story.
Take it from... I don't know, where's a good place to start?"
"When we went and let ourselves get talked into that damned visit,"
said the voice inside Nasir's head.
"Thank you, Janell," said Nasir. "Let me begin, Mr. Elot, with a
young officer paying a visit." Around him, a group of Sikarians
settled down for the entertainment to come, and he took a deep breath
and assembled his memories of four years ago.
================
Nasir had been re-assigned to the USS Bohr after his flirtation with
the Maquis; Starfleet had been unable to prove anything, but he
suspected there would be a cloud over his career for some time. The
investigation of Borg incursions to the Neutral Zone complete, the
Bohr was refitting at Starbase 718 when Nasir had been invited by an
old Academy friend to visit his ship, and specifically to view the
ship's latest piece of equipment: the long-awaited, and desperately
needed, Emergency Medical Hologram system. He recalled, to the growing
interest of the Sikarians, his curiosity as he and a companion beamed
aboard the USS Equinox.
"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant," grinned Lieutenant William Yates.
"How's that backspin shot these days?"
"Rusty, my friend, from years of neglect." Nasir returned the grin.
"May I introduce Crewman Andri, whose many roles include field medic?
She is more than eager to return to weaponry, which explains her
interest here."
"Doesn't anyone actually like medical duties?" asked Yates.
"It's not that so much, sir" replied Andri, rigidly straight-faced.
"I just prefer blowing stuff up." Her face broke into a smile.
"Come on, sickbay's this way."
Nasir and Yates chatted of old times and acquaintances in the
turbolift, but as they entered sickbay they took on a more
professional demeanour. Yates walked over to a biobed and ordered,
"Computer, activate Emergency Medical Hologram."
A middle-aged, peevish looking man with a seriously receding hairline
appeared in front of them and said briefly, "Please state the nature
of the medical emergency."
Nasir stepped to the fore, extending a hand. "No emergency, my
friend. My colleague and I have simply come to see the latest miracle
of Starfleet medical technology."
Something resembling a smile crossed the face of the hologram, as he
replied, "I see. Very well, what would you like to know?" The brief
opportunity for questioning vanished as he continued, "I am the third
instance of the Starfleet EMH Mark One, equipped with the medical
expertise of forty-seven different experts in all fields of emergency
medicine, both conventional and complementary. I have extensive
knowledge of the physiology and pathology of seven thousand, nine
hundred and forty-eight humanoid species, I am expert in all medical
procedures known to the United Federation of Planets Medical Service,
and I am designed to operate in any and all emergency situations up
to a service maximum of one thousand hours' activity between re-
initialisations." Most notable to the three observers was his ability
to deliver all this without drawing breath.
"Impressive," replied Nasir, eliciting a smug grin from the hologram.
"Are you fully able to operate independently of a human doctor?"
"My normal role is to assist the human medical staff," replied the
hologram, with an almost tangible sense of distaste.
"What about personality traits?" asked Andri, again keeping an
unnaturally straight face.
"As I explained, I am programmed with the knowledge of forty-seven
different physicians. My personality module occupies three thousand
gigaquads of memory. Do you have any more questions?" After a moment's
silence, the hologram concluded, "If not, the appropriate command is
'Computer, deactivate Emergency Medical Hologram.' I would appreciate
it of one of you," he stared at each of the three faces in turn,
"would be so kind as to execute it."
Yates gave the command almost without thinking. As the figure
disappeared, Andri burst out laughing, followed by Yates, and Nasir's
booming laugh joined them moments later. "All I can say, my friend,"
he commented, "is that your medical emergencies will be even less
enjoyable!"
"Okay, its bedside manner's atrocious," responded Yates, "but it's
proving its worth already. We cleaned up after a quake on Sonamo Five
last week, and it worked round the clock for two days patching up
survivors. I could barely hold a laser scalpel, but the hologram was
reconnecting nerves with a ninety-seven per cent success rate. I can
live without the bedside manner, thanks." He turned to the door.
"Come and have a coffee, I'll show you some of the specs."
As they headed for Yates' quarters, an alarm sounded, and the
computer's voice announced, "Yellow alert!"
"Damn," swore Yates. "Captain Ransom's been doing this a lot lately.
Come on, you can join me in sickbay. That's the alert station for
visitors anyway, and you can... Christ!" He threw himself backwards,
pulling Nasir and Andri with him, as an access panel to their right
exploded.
"Red alert! Red alert!" announced the computer. "All crew to battle
stations. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill."
All three hurried to sickbay, prepared for an influx of casualties;
but a few minutes later, the alarm ceased, and a new voice was heard
over the intercom.
"This is Captain Ransom speaking. The USS Equinox has been transported
out of Federation space by an unknown agency. Sensors report we are
now seventy thousand light years from our former position, in the
Delta Quadrant. The ship has sustained light damage, but only minor
injuries have been reported. We are currently investigating an array
close to our present position. Stand by for further orders."
Yates barely had time to exclaim, "Seventy thousand light years!"
before the sickbay vanished, and all three found themselves, with
their shipmates around them, on what appeared to be a farm...
================
Nasir sensed stirring amongst his audience, an air of discontent
filling the square. He paused in his narrative, and decided to seek
the advice of his newly-found agent. "The Caretaker's array, the crew
transported there - did all this happen to Voyager?"
"Yes, and another ship with them. Unless the array adds some major
dramatic tension, I'd skip over it." Elot waved an arm around the
square. "You've got quite an audience here. Move on with the action
and you won't lose them."
"Very well." Nasir raised his voice again. "The Caretaker's treatment
of his... guests, you know of already. Suffice it to say that we were
returned to our ship unharmed, but before we could leave the system,
Crewman Andri and I volunteered to return to the array to retrieve
two crew members who appeared to have been left behind..."
================
"Thank you, Mr. Nasir," replied Ransom. "Take a shuttle and try to
get them back; if you can make contact with the Caretaker as well,
see if you can reason with him and get him to send us back. Mr. Burke,
show Lieutenant Nasir and Crewman Andri to the shuttle bay."
The flight to the array was a matter of minutes, and Nasir and Andri
transported into the array. Once there, they quickly found the old
man who their senses interpreted as the Caretaker.
"I suppose you're looking for your crewmen," he groaned wearily. "Now,
let me think. Did I send them to the Ocampa, or was it the other two?
Oh yes, yours are still here. I guess it doesn't matter now, there's
no time."
"No time for what?" Nasir reined in his anger at the dismissive
attitude of this old man. "What did you bring us here for?"
"Why this, why that, that's what you all ask. Is everyone from your
side of the galaxy this curious?"
Nasir refused to be drawn into a debate. "Never mind, Caretaker. We
do not need to know why; but we need to return home. Can you send us
back?"
"No." The word seemed to drain the old man of all energy, and he
slumped over his banjo. "All I can do is send you back to your ship."
"But..." Nasir's protest was cut off as the array faded around him,
and a moment later he, Andri and the two crewmen from the Equinox
were back aboard their shuttle. "Andri, get me a channel to... Who
is that?"
On the far side of the Equinox, four ships were approaching. Each was
a simple cylinder in shape, with a glow to the rear indicating a
substantial warp engine, and what looked like heavy weapons pods
surrounding the conical nose. All were identical, and they held a
tight formation as they approached the Starfleet vessel.
"I'm monitoring their communications, sir," reported Andri, and all
four listened to the drama playing out before them.
"Unidentified ship, this is the Krowtonan Guard. You are in violation
of Krowtonan territory. Drop your shields and prepare to be boarded."
Ransom's reply was slightly distorted. "Krowtonan Guard, this is the
Federation science vessel USS Equinox. We have been brought here
against our will. We are willing to leave your space by the shortest
route available."
"USS Equinox, you have been found trespassing in Krowtonan space. The
penalty is five years' imprisonment. Drop your shields and surrender
at once or we will open fire."
The reply was a bright blue glow, as the Equinox's warp drive pulled
the ship bodily into subspace, and a white flash as she disappeared
from sight. Almost simultaneously came another four white flashes as
the Krowtonan squadron followed.
"I'm tracking their warp signatures, sir," said Andri with the calm
efficiency Nasir had come to expect from her in a crisis. "Should we
follow?"
"Scan for ships in this region, then we shall follow at a safe
distance," ordered Nasir. "Crewman Campbell, take the communications
panel; Ashkenazi, engineering. Andri, you have weapons." He moved into
the pilot's seat. "Let us hope that Captain Ransom is able to deal
with the Krowtonan guard."
But the hope turned to despair, as the warp trail led them, after two
days, to a debris field thick with theta radiation. The radiation
made it unwise to investigate too closely, and Andri could not be
sure whether the debris bore a Federation signature; but they had all
seen the weaponry on the Krowtonan ships, and all knew that a small
science vessel like the Equinox could barely match even one, let
alone four. The final, heartbreaking evidence turned up as they
circled the debris field; seventeen corpses, unrecognisable as
individuals but, from their Starfleet uniforms, identifiably human.
After a few hours of increasingly futile searching, Nasir returned the
shuttlecraft to their location and, after a brief memorial service,
Andri vaporised each body with a phaser blast.
"What now, sir?" asked Campbell.
Nasir's mind whirled. A few days earlier, he had been looking forward
to relaxing for a few days on Starbase 718. Now, he was so far from
home that there was no reasonable chance of ever seeing Earth again,
and responsible for three lives besides his own. Quickly, he thought
through what he could say to these three. Their tension was not yet
beginning to show, but he knew that they would rely on him for
leadership, and for some kind of hope in a desperate situation.
Choosing his words carefully, he began.
"We are alone, and far from home, but we are still a Starfleet crew.
We will conduct ourselves accordingly. Our first priority is to
secure supplies of food and fuel. Crewman Andri, scan for M-class
planets in the vicinity. Crewman Campbell, I want an inventory of all
stores aboard this shuttlecraft. Crewman Ashkenazi, a full report on
engine, weapon and shield status. I shall review our course logs and
determine our present position and future course. Let us all go to
work."
That would do for now; they would all be kept busy, and busy minds
were less prone to worry.
================
"Look over there," whispered Elot. "That's Gathorel. If you've
impressed him, you could be really well set up here. You could be the
next big attraction!"
"He is your leader? I may need to speak to him."
Stories, thought Nasir. The whole culture revolves around them. I must
find a way to trade stories for what I need. And this man Gath is the
key. "More later, friends," he pronounced to the crowd around him.
"Right now, I need food and drink. Can anyone direct me to a tavern or
hostelry?" A few people came forward to offer directions; and as Nasir
left the square with Elot, he noticed Gathorel's gaze tracking his
every step.
TO BE CONTINUED
NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (2/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 2/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
Securing an audience with Gathorel was relatively simple. Nasir had,
after all, what he wanted; Elot's judgement had been sound, he
appeared to have the right contacts, and the Sikarians were already
speaking of the Caretaker Revival as the next big attraction. So,
the next day, after a night of luxury, courtesy of the finest hotel
on Sikaris, he was ushered into the presence of the leader.
"As you know, Lieutenant, I was among your audience yesterday. An
impressive tale, I must say," began Gathorel. "I understand you have
had many more adventures since then?"
Nasir recognised this as the opening gambit of a bargaining session.
He decided to hold on to his wares for the time being. "There have
been events that may be of interest, Gathorel. I should be glad to
speak of them some time." He caught Gathorel's eye with a meaningful
glance.
"I see. Call me Gath, please." The leader sat back in his chair and
smiled at Nasir. "We have, of course, many stories of our own to tell.
Perhaps some of those might be of interest to you?"
"Perhaps. Stories, for example, of a starship making its way towards
home?"
Gath frowned. "Oh yes, Voyager. I warn you, their visit here was most
displeasurable at times. I sincerely hope we'll find you more
entertaining. That Captain of theirs..." Gath shook his head in
sorrow. "The stories we could have told each other. But she had to
rush off. Quite, quite distressing."
Nasir began to understand the Sikarian's implication; while he was
still interesting, they would be reluctant to let him go. But as soon
as their interest waned, he would lose his bargaining power. He would
have to handle this delicately. "Did you hear any more of her after
she left?"
Gath turned to a data terminal, and entered a few commands. "Let me
see. Voyager... Voyager... ah. They have made remarkable progress. We
received a story from the Devore Imperium several days ago, in which
they featured as minor characters. Nicely written and admirably dark
in tone, of course; the Devore are quite outstanding storytellers. We
might assume they were there a few weeks ago."
"Your library is impressive," commented Nasir, receiving a slightly
suspicious smile from Gath in return. He made a mental note not to
overdo the flattery with this man; he was not quite the dilettante his
outward appearance suggested. "How far is the Devore Imperium from
here?"
"Not far, only about twenty thousand light years. In fact, I visited
Devore Prime myself two months ago," replied Gath.
Nasir drew a sharp breath, but rapidly contained his surprise; he
hoped Gath hadn't noticed. Whatever means the Sikarians employed for
their visits, it might enable him to catch up with Voyager, and his
old friend Tom Paris. This made the stakes even higher, and he began
to wonder whether his simple story of capture and escape would be
anywhere near enough to trade for what he needed. He wanted to find
out how the Sikarians could travel such vast distances, and whether
they could transport him and his shuttlecraft, but he had already had
one warning, and the last thing he wanted now was to become tiresome
to Gath. Perhaps Elot would be a better source of information.
"But enough of this," continued Gath. "We spoke of further adventures.
I'm sure many of my people are anxious to hear you continue. Shall we
say, two hours from now, in the market square?"
"It would be my pleasure," replied Nasir graciously. The message was
quite clear; payment was required in advance for the next snippet of
information.
Leaving Gath's official residence, Nasir was not at all surprised to
see Elot waiting for him outside.
"How was Gath's reaction?" asked the agent.
"Good, I believe. He wishes to hear more from me in two hours."
"Excellent, excellent," replied Elot, wringing his hands in
satisfaction. "Time for some lunch, then more stories. We're getting
some interest from the major distribution networks, so I'll need to go
over a licensing agreement some time. Then there's archiving rights,
derivative works, merchandising, publicity - but we can sort this all
out later. Here, this place has the best Illydarian cuisine on the
continent."
As they enjoyed the diversity of Illydarian cookery, Nasir decided to
try to expand his understanding of Sikarian technology. "I understand
your people are able to travel very long distances easily," he began.
"Oh yes," replied Elot, "We have transporter technology with a range
of, oh, forty thousand light years or so. We don't normally let
offworlders use it, though; the law is fairly strict on that point."
"Not normally?"
"There are one or two special cases. Naturalised citizens, political
refugees, that sort of thing." He thought for a moment. "Of course,
that was one of the sad things about Voyager. They didn't fall into
any of those categories, so we couldn't help them."
"A shame. Was there some bad feeling over their departure?"
"A few people were a bit upset, but we don't generally dwell on that
sort of thing. They left us with some good stories," Elot said with a
note of reverence. "There isn't any real bad feeling towards Terrans
these days. In fact, it's a shame we can't visit them - sorry, you -
you seem to understand stories."
"Some more than others, I must admit. Personally, I remember the
stories my grandmother told me, back in Jalalabad, when I was a
child." Nasir could see from Elot's blissful smile that the Sikarian
was imagining a frail, wise, white-haired old lady; no need to tell
him that his grandmother was a sharp-tongued old dragon who could have
sold a Ferengi his own head-dress. "I would be happy to share them with
your people some day."
There was a lull in the conversation, largely related to dessert; but
as they sipped something similar in function, if not taste or colour,
to coffee, Nasir began again.
"Your people must have mapped a wide area of the galaxy on their
travels," he commented with a carefully disinterested tone.
"Maps? I suppose we must have," replied Elot, slightly surprised. "I
think there's an access node here; let's have a look." As he entered
commands into his data tablet, he continued, "It's never been a great
interest of mine. Not that there's anything *wrong* with maps, mind
you; the Rakosan epics don't make much sense without the maps. Ah,
here we are," and he looked up and showed the tablet to Nasir, "a map
of the Quadrant."
"Fascinating," replied Nasir. "And have you gathered stories from all
these races?"
"Not all," admitted Elot. "Let's see. The Kazon, here; fine if you
*like* heroic fiction in the first person. The Vidiians have a nice
grasp of moral ambiguity; we trade with them from time to time to get
more stories."
"What do you trade to them?"
"You don't want to know." Elot quickly pointed to another region of
the map. "The Krenim Imperium. Fine sense of drama; no sense of
narrative flow. Flashbacks in flashbacks, jumps to events after the
end of the story - I just can't follow them. The Hirogen - how many
stories can you write about hunting, anyway? And this big area here is
Borg space. We don't go there."
"I can understand why not."
"Quite." Elot nodded sadly. "They just don't know any stories."
"And the Devore Imperium?" continued Nasir, probing gently.
"Oh, the Devore." Elot brightened visibly. "The last big attraction.
Wonderfully dark, subtle stories - spy fiction, police dramas,
psychological thrillers - they enthralled us for months!"
"But their appeal is fading now?"
"Well, one has to move on. Sometimes we like stories where the villain
isn't a telepath. And some of the content of the latest stuff was
getting a little distasteful - in an adult sense, if you know what I
mean."
Nasir wasn't entirely sure he did know, but he nodded anyway. "Still,
it seems a shame to have missed out on it. Maybe I might visit there
myself some day. In fact, if I could take my ship, it might be an
interesting area to explore."
"Oh, no, I don't think so," replied Elot. "The Devore don't like
outsiders much. There are a lot more friendly planets here" - he
indicated an area which seemed to straddle Voyager's future course, if
reports from the Devore were to be believed - "that you might like to
take a look round. Kadi morality tales, now - there's something that
could be massive if they take off. Salinian war stories, Druodan
science fiction, Varro poetry - so many genres to explore. I'd like to
come with you, if you ever go. How long would it take you to get
there?"
Nasir sensed danger - best not to be too specific. "Alas, too long, I
fear. My ship is small, and cannot sustain high warp speeds. But if it
could be carried there by your transporters, maybe we could seek new
tales together."
Elot, in the enthusiasm of the moment, seemed to have forgotten the
legal problems. "It may be possible. I remember a story that used the
transportation of a small ship as a plot device. Of course, I don't
know how good the author's research was; some of these historical
romances take too many liberties, but..."
"Have your scientists looked into the possibility?" interrupted Nasir.
Elot gave him a strange look. "Scientists? Hard to say, they're an odd
bunch. I don't have much to do with them. Let me see whether there's
anything on record." He worked away silently at his data tablet for a
few more moments, then looked up with a disappointed expression. "I've
found the report. I'm sorry to tell you..."
"Can it not be done?" Nasir felt his heart sinking.
"I haven't read that far yet, and I'm not sure whether I can. Look at
this! Third person passive - 'Objects ranging between 25 and 30,000
kilograms in mass were selected' - awful! And all this jargon. No
sense of flow, no suspense, no drama - dear me, I'm ashamed to be
associated with it. Here, take a look."
Nasir read rapidly through the report's final summary, and managed to
shake his head and look disapproving. "I see what you mean. Scientists
in the Federation are much the same, but we find their work useful."
This work was more than useful; the Sikarian transporters had their
limits, but a Class Two shuttlecraft was well within them. Time to
cover his tracks now. Elot needed his mind taking off science and
transporter capabilities. "You mentioned the Devore. What was popular
before you encountered them?" For the next few minutes he pretended to
pay attention to the complexities of Bothan psychodrama, until Elot's
pocket timekeeper chimed to remind them of his appointment in the
market square.
As they walked the last few metres into the square, Elot asked, "So
what is your story for today, Lieutenant?" in a loud, clear voice.
Drumming up business, Nasir thought, and he quietly gave thanks for
his good luck in meeting this man.
"Today - capture, despair and death at the hands of the Krowtonan
Guard," replied Nasir, and as he spoke he felt his throat constrict.
He had barely thought of the prison camp this last year, trying to
pretend he had never witnessed its horrors; yet still it had power
over him, and he realised that this was a chance to break that power.
Once he had spoken of it, released the pain it caused inside him -
maybe, then, he could truly escape. Another part of the process of
rebuilding his strength began, then, as he cleared his throat and
began to speak.
TO BE CONTINUED
NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (3/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 3/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
A fair sized crowd of Sikarians had already gathered as Nasir began to
recount the next stage of the journey that had brought him here. Near
the back, he spied their leader, Gath, with a look of eager
anticipation on his face. This must be done carefully, thought Nasir;
take them by the hand, gently but firmly, and lead them unsuspecting
into hell. As he had done, he recalled with a pang of remorse, to
Campbell, Ashkenazy and Janell Andri; but it had been inevitable, and
each step had seemed right at the time. Now he had to live with the
result. He began shakily, afraid at every moment that the words would
stick in his throat.
"As we left the graveyard of the Equinox, Crewman Andri, with her
usual efficiency..."
"I'm flattered, Lieutenant," interrupted the voice in his mind. Shut
up, Janell, thought Nasir; but the moment of amusement stilled the
pain, and before long he was lost in the storytelling.
================
"There's an M-class planet three light years on the port bow, sir.
Life signs in the far hemisphere only, and no sign of planetary
defences. We should be able to land undetected."
"Here's the stores report, sir," Campbell announced, then burst into a
fit of uncontrollable coughing. "Sorry, sir," she added, as Ashkenazy
began to suffer similarly. "We've only got rations for two weeks at
maximum."
"Very well," replied Nasir. Some decisions made themselves. "We will
land and look for anything edible. Crewman Andri, can you find us a
landing site where we can conceal the shuttlecraft effectively?"
"There's a cave system in the uninhabited hemisphere, sir - there
should be somewhere large enough."
"Very good. Land us as close as you can."
The landing was uneventful, as was the piling up of rocks and
vegetation to hide the cave where the shuttle was hidden - uneventful,
but back-breaking. Eventually, Nasir, Andri, Ashkenazy and Campbell
stood by a vine-covered rock face that betrayed no sign of what was
hidden behind it. Around them stretched thin woodland, clearly
uninhabited from the thickness of the undergrowth, which snatched at
their legs and tore at their uniforms at every step. The sky was
darkening around them, and a thunderstorm was clearly imminent.
"I have enabled the shuttle security systems," explained Nasir to the
crew. "The hatch will open to a thumbprint from any one of us. If
anyone else tries to force it open, the secondary self-destruct is
set. It will not harm anyone on the outside, but there will not be
much left but the outer hull." To their questioning looks, he added,
"Prime Directive. We do not know who is on this planet, but whoever
they are, we must not allow Federation technology to fall into their
hands." Nods all round, and they set to searching for edible plants.
Nasir took first watch, standing on a small bluff overlooking the area
around the landing site, while the three crewmen searched. After two
hours, Andri took over, and Nasir joined the search. Campbell was
about to relieve Andri, when the Betazoid came down quietly off the
bluff and spoke softly to Nasir. The Lieutenant quickly rounded up his
crew. "Armed men are approaching from the south. We must take cover
quickly; they may be hostile. No time to return to the shuttlecraft."
Thunder rolled ominously around them, and the first few drops of rain
were already beginning to fall.
As they covered a ditch with leaves and branches, Campbell winced in
pain. "My chest... someone help me." Andri was quickly at her side,
and helped her into the ditch while Nasir and Ashkenazy finished off
their camouflage. As they settled into the darkness, Campbell seemed
to be having difficulty breathing.
"Try to keep quiet, everyone. We will attend to you when our visitors
are gone, Crewman," Nasir reassured Campbell in a whisper. "Andri,
Ashkenazy, are you affected?"
"I'm fine, sir," replied Andri quickly.
"My chest feels tight, sir," followed up Ashkenazy, "and my arms are
tingling. Apart from that..."
He was interrupted by a scream of pain from Campbell. She choked it
off at once, but all four knew that she must have been overheard.
Nasir tapped his commbadge. "Nasir to shuttlecraft. Computer, prepare
to beam out four."
"Unable to comply," replied the computer voice. "Atmospheric
interference is preventing a transporter lock."
Nasir swore quietly. "Let us hope they have not heard."
For an hour they crouched silently, sweat dripping from them as the
ditch began to fill with rain. In the faint green light that filtered
through the leaves, Nasir could see ugly growths on Campbell's arms
and chest, and Ashkenazy appeared similarly afflicted. He and Andri,
however, seemed unaffected, and he wondered whether the Caretaker's
attentions were responsible.
================
"He was," commented a voice, and Nasir paused to identify the speaker.
A young woman, near the centre of the crowd, to his left, continued,
"The Caretaker infected someone from every crew he brought. Harry Kim,
from Voyager, told me all about it."
"Interesting." Nasir pondered the point. "Why did he do this?"
"Testing for bio-molecular compatibility," replied the young woman.
"Most of his subjects died. Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres were the
first to survive."
As she explained, Nasir felt a small part of the burden lifting from
his soul. So Campbell and Ashkenazy would have died anyway, whatever
his decisions that day. The second name the young woman had mentioned,
that seemed rather familiar; she was connected with Tom Paris in some
way, he remembered. It would come back to him; right now he had a
story to tell.
================
After an hour of hiding, sounds started to be heard. The universal
translators in their commbadges were able to acquire the alien language
rapidly, and soon shouts of "It came from over here, Commander," and
"Nothing here, sir" were heard every few seconds. There was a minute
of hope reborn, as the sounds faded into the distance; then the canopy
of leaves was thrown aside, and rough hands were dragging all four out
of the ditch as uniformed men with projectile weapons surrounded them
at a safe distance. They were pushed and pummelled into a line, and
stood side by side as a man in more ornate uniform, presumably the
commander of these troops, addressed them. At his first words, the
last of Nasir's hope fell away in ruins.
"Who are you, and what are you doing in Krowtonan territory?"
Determined to play the game out to the last, Nasir replied, "We are
lost travellers, trying to find our way back to our own space. We
landed here to search for food. We did not intend to trespass, and..."
"Silence!" The commander struck Nasir viciously across the face. "You
have been convicted of encroachment upon Krowtonan space. You will
serve a sentence of five years' hard labour. Fortunately," and he
grinned at these words, "you have landed on one of our prison planets.
Where is your craft?"
"I regret that I cannot tell you," replied Nasir. The Prime Directive
was clear; he could not allow the Krowtonans to go over the shuttle
for Federation technology.
"One moment." The commander turned to one of his men, and ordered,
"That one," pointing at Campbell.
Nasir realised what his order meant the moment the soldier raised his
weapon, but he, Andri and Ashkenazi were all knocked aside by their
guards before they could rush him. A moment later, with a brief volley
of projectiles, Campbell was thrown backwards and lay still, her eyes
open and her head at an unnatural angle.
"Now. Where is your craft?" repeated the commander.
Nasir stood silently and waited for the worst. Beside him, he saw
Andri and Ashkenazy draw themselves up to their full heights and stand
rigidly to attention, and, following their lead for once, he did the
same. He felt his legs weaken slightly, and prayed that his courage
would not fail him at the last, as his pulse roared in his ears. Then
he saw that the commander was turning away, disappointed.
"Never mind," the Krowtonan said calmly. "We'll find it." Then, to the
soldiers, "Take them to camp 3a. We can use them." An armoured
transport vehicle clattered towards them, and as it stopped a door
opened in its side. Wordlessly, the soldiers pushed the three captives
towards it, and threw them inside. Six heavily armed men followed them
in, and sat on benches on either side. Nasir rose from the floor and
tried to sit on one of the benches, but two of their guard threw him
back on the floor again, and all three gave in and crouched quietly.
The journey was long, possibly several hours, and Nasir had plenty of
time to reflect on Campbell's death. A woman he barely knew, she had
been dragged far from home and then killed almost without thought, a
momentary sacrifice to the Prime Directive. For the first time, he
began to wonder at the wisdom of the principle at the centre of the
Federation's policies and politics. Nobody had asked Campbell whether
she was prepared to die for a principle. Had he the right to ask two
more crewmen, his charge and responsibility, to expose themselves to
a possible sudden death in the same way?
Camp 3a turned out to look much like any other prison camp, in any
other war, in any other time or place. The plastic fencing looked as
tough as metal, though the weapons trained on it tended to discourage
any attempts to investigate. The huts were basic, as were the
facilities within, and Nasir, Andri and Ashkenazy were left to find
bunks for themselves. The other occupants were a mix of unfamiliar
species, although mostly humanoid; it appeared that the Krowtonans
were at war with a great many other people, something that came as no
surprise from Nasir's experience of them so far.
Their first direct encounter with one of the other inmates came when
Ashkenazy spotted a fountain at the centre of the camp, and the three
Terrans approached it for a drink. As Nasir bent his head to try the
water, a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. Nasir spun
round, ready to fight, and found himself staring at a bony and
colourful chest. Looking up, he saw a head that was a riot of coloured
skin and bone, with an unkempt crest of ragged hair ornamented with
shiny metal baubles, and a face that looked strong but not, at this
moment, particularly aggressive. A rough voice issued from the huge
alien, and after a moment's pause his universal translator produced
the words, "I wouldn't drink that, stranger. Take a look."
On closer inspection, Nasir could see that the water was a strange
shade of blue, hidden at first by the hue of the fountain. "Poison?",
he asked the alien.
"The Krowtonans tell you it's a five year sentence, but they don't
bother keeping records," replied the alien in what seemed a complete
non sequitur. "Nobody lives that long. This," waving an arm at the
fountain, "is one of the reasons. Anyway, there's enough fluids in the
soup to keep you alive. You can trust that." He held out a hand, palm
forwards, in some kind of greeting. "Sanah, of the Kazon Ogla. I've
been here two years."
"Nasir, Starfleet. We just arrived."
"I saw. Be ready for work detail, they'll be here in five minutes." He
walked away without a backward glance.
In keeping with the Kazon's prophecy, in a few minutes there were
guards everywhere, rounding up the prisoners with guns, shouts and
blows. Before long a ragged band of prisoners, with Nasir, Andri and
Ashkenazy among them, was walking out of the camp; the pace was even
but slow, and in some unacknowledged agreement the guards made no
attempt to hurry them. Half an hour's walk brought them to a long
ditch, with a pile of shovels lying nearby; it didn't take a genius to
figure out what they were supposed to do.
A whole day's digging, though, even at the relaxed pace the guards
seemed to allow, left all three exhausted and dehydrated. The effects
were worse on some of the other prisoners, and at one point a short,
stocky woman with multicoloured fur and mottled skin staggered away
from the trench and fell on her face in front of one of the guards.
Nasir looked down for a moment as his shovel hit a rock, and before he
looked back there was a single sharp crack. The next thing he saw was
the guard walking away from the woman's body, not looking back.
Ashkenazy was beginning to suffer seriously from shortness of breath
and pains from the growths on his chest and arms, but it was clearly
not a good idea to report this to the guards. As Nasir and Andri
half-walked and half-carried him back to the camp, though, they
resolved to ask Sanah for some advice.
In the event, the Kazon was quite helpful, indicating a larger and
cleaner hut in one corner of the compound, and on investigation there
turned out to be a well-appointed medical centre inside, something that
seemed completely at odds with the rest of the Krowtonan attitude to
treatment of prisoners. It was with deep suspicion, therefore, that
Nasir and Ashkenazy approached the camp doctor.
"What appears to be the problem?" The doctor, a small, thin man in a
bright green smock, exuded reassurance as he asked the classic question
of his profession. "These lesions appear to be quite severe," he
continued, casting an eye over Ashkenazy. "Would you like them
treated? Just sign this consent form, and we'll see what we can do."
"Excuse me a moment," said Nasir, and took a look at the form. The
Krowtonan language was quite illegible, so he asked, "To what does this
form give consent?"
"Standard medical experimentation form," replied the doctor in a
matter-of-fact voice. "Basic requirement before treating prisoners.
Poison gas, bio-warfare, emergency field treatment, that sort of thing.
It helps our war effort incalculably. Don't worry, there's a fairly
high survival rate, and these lesions are sure to kill you if we don't
treat them."
Nasir was horrified. "This is barbaric!"
"No, no, we're not barbarians," replied the doctor reproachfully.
"There's no coercion, you're free to refuse. We wouldn't force a man
to undergo these experiments. There are laws about these things, you
know."
"But this man is ill! You have a duty to..."
"Sir," interrupted Ashkenazy, "This is my decision." As both Nasir and
the doctor went quiet, he continued, "Lieutenant, if I participate in
these experiments, that would violate the Prime Directive, right?"
Nasir felt a wave of dizziness and nausea wash over him, as he realised
that Ashkenazy was to be another sacrifice. But the crewman had made
his own decision already, he realised; the only decent thing, as an
officer, that Nasir could do was to give him support. "Correct,
crewman," he croaked, then cleared his throat.
Ashkenazy turned to the doctor. "I guess I'd better leave, then."
Nasir had no words as he helped Ashkenazy back to their hut. He was
overcome by horror, true, at the fate that lay before the crewman; but
the real cause of his silence was simply surprise, at how easily
Ashkenazy had decided to lay down his life. As he reflected on this
decision, he felt an easing of his earlier doubts, and a growing sense
of resolve. He might - probably would - die here, but he would follow
Ashkenazy's example and die with his ideals intact. If he could.
The second, and last, surprise Ashkenazy had in store for Nasir was in
how long he took to die. Within days he was unable to go out with the
work parties, and in a belated sham of humanitarianism the Krowtonan
guards permitted Nasir and Andri to take turns caring for him. Working
only every other day, Nasir was sure, prolonged their lives; by the
time Ashkenazy, his limbs and chest horribly deformed, slipped quietly
away, both Nasir and Andri were tougher and fitter, and ready to work
every day. Counting the days in scratches on the hut wall, Nasir
realised that the crewman had been nearly three months in dying, a
precious gift to both of them; from the lack of familiar faces around
him, it seemed that many prisoners simply died of exhaustion in the
first few weeks.
Gradually, Nasir and Andri learned more about the prison in which they
had been forgotten, and a little about the outside world around it.
Sanah turned out to be a useful, if somewhat surly, source of
information, a debt which they repaid by allying themselves with him in
the camp's internal power struggles. They learned to listen for the
whine of incoming transport ships, and be ready to help the new
arrivals settle in, a task in which they rarely had much help. One day,
though, the ship landed but no prisoners arrived. Listening through the
fence, they heard the rattle of automatic weapons fire, and then
silence.
"Vidiians," commented Sanah, walking over to join them. "Unusual to
bring them here at all. They usually kill them where they find them."
"What's so special about Vidiians?" asked Andri.
"They started this." Sanah explained about the Vidiian phage, and their
need for replacement organs that had led to frequent raids on the
formerly peaceful Krowtonans. Now, twenty years later, the resulting
paranoia and fear of aliens was deeply ingrained in Krowtonan society,
and Nasir, Andri and the Equinox were simply among its more recent
victims.
Another day, they finally found out the purpose of the trench they had
been digging. Instead of following the familiar route to the digging
site, the works party was directed to a point several kilometres away,
back along the direction of the trench. As they neared the pile of
shovels that marked their new work site, Nasir realised, with something
half way between amusement and despair, that their job from now on was
to fill in the empty trench from the other end. It was too much; he
burst into uncontrollable, hysterical laughter, and even when a guard
clubbed him to the ground he lay there laughing still. He thought he'd
seen the depth of humanoid cruelty in the camp; but this, the erasure by
the prisoners of what little they had to show for their labours, was the
final indignity. The other prisoners stared, but Nasir was past caring.
He stood up again, took up a shovel, and started singing a nonsense
song he remembered from his youth. And then there was only the song,
and the shovel, and the soup, and sleep, and the days became one, and
his mind flew away with his hopes and ideals, and the passage of time
was of no account any more.
================
Nasir looked around at the silent faces that filled the market square.
The afternoon was darkening into evening, his throat was dry, and his
legs ached a little. How much was from hours of standing still and
speaking, and how much was from memories of prison labours, he could not
tell. It seemed a good time to stop, now. His audience were almost as
exhausted as he was, although nobody seemed anxious to leave. Elot was
by his side, holding his arm, and Nasir thought he saw a tear in the
older man's eye.
"More tomorrow, friends," announced Nasir. "I need food, and drink, and
sleep." A ripple of applause ran through the crowd, and as Nasir headed
for his hotel he felt hands laid on his shoulder, touching his back,
comforting and consoling him. And in his head, Andri's voice was there
again.
"It's all right, Nasir. You made it. You needed to tell them. It gets
easier now."
She was right. It was a little easier, sharing the pain and the horror.
And tomorrow would be easier; tomorrow, he would tell of the road back
from hell, to safety, strength and healing. The next part, he might
even enjoy.
TO BE CONTINUED
NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (4/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 4/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
Another day, another story. Word had spread by now, and the Sikarians
were beginning to take this latest travelling storyteller into their
hearts. For Nasir, exhausted still by the memories the previous day's
recital had evoked, today's stage of the journey would be both the best
and the worst; the renewal of hope, and yet the death of his closest
friend within seventy thousand light years; one final sacrifice to the
Prime Directive, and his determination to uphold it at all costs.
"Today, my friends," he announced to the hushed crowd in the market
square, "escape!"
================
Nasir would never know for sure how it was that he returned to reality.
For days without number he had retreated into a dark corner of his own
mind, insulated and isolated, preserved and trapped in a fugue of deep
denial. Whether it was due to some outside event, or an inner need for
companionship, or ultimately guilt that in some sense he had abandoned
Andri, the last survivor of his command, to a lone struggle, there came
a time when the world around was real again, when there was more than
the monotonous cycle of work, food and sleep. And Janell Andri was there
to welcome him back, friendly and loyal as always. What strength had
sustained her, Nasir had no idea, and the stress and the suffering were
plainly written all over her face. But she was there, and she was
relieved to see his sanity start to return.
================
"Well, that's not exactly how I felt," came the inner voice. "To tell
the truth, I wanted to slap you about thirty times a day for two years.
Trouble is, when I tried it you just giggled."
================
He didn't recognise any of the faces. As a group of Kazons walked by,
he asked, "Where's Sanah?"
Andri turned away, hiding her face. "He died six months ago." She looked
back at him. "He got a fever last year, and signed a consent form. They
tried out a new treatment for dehydration on him. It didn't work." The
most worrying sight for Nasir was that there didn't seem to be any tears
to hide. "They gave me authority to sign a form for you. I wouldn't do
it."
"Thank you." Nasir looked around. "Is there anyone here you can trust?"
Andri shrugged. "I haven't tried to make any more friends. What would be
the point? Not many people last more than a few months. They barely
learn the routine before they get ill, or overworked, or just give up.
I think we've been here longer than anyone."
"Does anyone ever escape?"
Andri laughed at this. "Where to? There's nothing else on the planet."
"We have a shuttlecraft, remember?"
"We'd never find it." Andri frowned. "At least, I haven't figured out a
way to escape, and find the shuttle, *and* drag you along with me. I've
only got two things to worry about now."
Nasir felt his chest, but failed to find what he was looking for. "Have
you any idea what happened to our commbadges?"
"I traded mine for a knife." As Nasir looked sharply at Andri, she
added, "I reorganised the mechanism with a large stone first. They won't
get anything useful from it. As for the knife - let's just say we're
still both alive."
"And mine?"
"I hid it. It might still be there. Come with me."
Nasir followed Andri out of the hut, towards the poisoned fountain. She
reached into the water with one hand, and pulled something out. "Bingo!"
She shook it vigorously, then stepped back as Nasir reached for it.
"Careful, Lieutenant. This stuff's dangerous. I'll have to be careful
not to get my hand anywhere near my mouth for the rest of the day, and
if you touch this, so will you. At least it doesn't go through the
skin." She pinned the badge to what was left of his uniform. "So don't
touch it till tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay." Nasir smiled. For once, there was some hope here; if they could
escape, he could contact the shuttle's onboard computer, which could
track the badge, guide them close enough, and beam them aboard. One
question, though, he needed to ask. "Do the Krowtonans have transporter
technology?"
"I've tried not to ask directly," replied Andri. Good; she recognised
the importance of discretion. "As far as I can tell, they haven't got
anything like that. They must have taken our phasers, though."
"I suspect they have something similar," replied Nasir. "What worries me
is that they might use the spatial phase modulator from a Starfleet
phaser to construct a simple transporter, if they knew such a thing
were possible. We must not let them know that it is."
"The Prime Directive strikes again," commented Andri with a smile.
Early the next morning, Andri showed Nasir to a vacant hut - there had
been a number of deaths lately, and the surviving prisoners had banded
together rather than spread out - and kept watch while he contacted the
shuttle.
"As I suspected," he told her quickly as the guards started to round up
the morning's work party. "The planet prevents us from transporting. We
must head south for a thousand kilometres."
"Maybe we could slip away from the digging site," suggested Andri.
"How soon before they find out?"
"They count heads in and out," she replied. "If they don't miss us,
they probably won't look."
It seemed absurdly simple, but the Krowtonan guards' alertness must have
been sapped by years of passivity from the prisoners under their
control. Nasir and Andri kept their heads down in the centre of the
crowd as the detail marched out through the gates of the camp, and hoped
that the guards would miscount. They were refilling today, so once at
the trench, Nasir quietly laid two spare shovels across a section, and
covered them with large stones to create a small air pocket. He then
undermined a section of the side wall just beyond them, and waited as
Andri kept watch. Shortly before it was time for the guards to round
them up again, she dropped into the trench beside him and hissed, "Now!"
Lying in the trench with their heads under the shovels, Nasir used his
feet to dislodge the undermined section of the trench, which obligingly
caved in over their legs and bodies. Then they lay still, waiting, until
it seemed certain the work detail must have left.
The air was stale, and Andri was nearly unconscious. Nasir decided that
they must dig their way out even if the guards were still there, and he
slowly forced an arm up and out into the open air. As he dug his way
out, he tried to prevent the soil from smothering Andri, but in the end
the best he could do was to dig himself out and pull her after him.
"Janell!", he whispered urgently. "Wake up. We must move." But she lay
still, too still, and there was no breath. Frantically he cleared away
the dirt from her face, opened her mouth, and began to resuscitate her.
After a few breaths, her chest began to rise and fall of its own accord,
and then she was sitting up and coughing.
"Come on," he ordered. There was no time for her to recover. The guards
might have missed them already. They had to be as far from here as
possible, as quickly as possible. Taking a bearing from the setting sun,
he led them as near to south as he could determine.
A thousand kilometres, even for two people hardened by three years of
labour, was a daunting distance to cover. Water was easy enough to find,
in an area crossed by rivers and streams a-plenty, but food was a
tougher prospect. Andri had learned of a few edible plants, and they
gathered any and all that they saw and ate them on the spot, but it was
barely enough. And, of course, eventually they were missed, and there
were Krowtonan patrols to evade; fortunately, neither of them snored, so
they could sleep in turns while they hid. After two weeks, the patrols
grew fewer; they must be presumed dead. And daily, Nasir contacted the
shuttlecraft's computer for a distance reading, and daily the reading
grew smaller.
It was, of course, the worst kind of luck that the day the reading fell
to zero should be the day they were spotted.
The forest gave way to a wide, open grassland, crossed by gullies that
never seemed to run in the direction they wanted. The only safe way to
cross it was to scan the horizon from cover, then run to the next gully
and hide again. As they hid, ready for the next sprint, Nasir's commbadge
chirped, and the computer's voice announced, "You are within one hundred
metres of transporter range."
Nasir looked over the edge of the gully, and dropped back again smiling.
"Next one, crewman. One last effort, and we are safe."
Suddenly Andri grabbed his arm. "Nasir, look!" She pointed along the
gully they were in, which ran straight for several hundred metres. At
the limit of their vision, Nasir could make out the advance guard of a
Krowtonan patrol.
"Run!", he shouted. Together they climbed the side of the gully, and
sprinted, muscles protesting and lungs bursting, for the safety of the
next gully and transporter range. But within a few metres, a shot rang
out, and Andri fell to the ground. In a moment Nasir was at her side.
He tapped his commbadge. "Computer, two to..."
"No!" interrupted Andri. "They'll see the transporters. Don't do it,
Nasir, not after all we've been through. Leave me."
"Come on," replied Nasir, taking her arm and dragging her towards the
next gully. "We make it together or not at all." But as he reached the
edge, there was another shot, and an impact that threw Andri forward
into the gully and dragged him with her. "Computer, two to beam up!",
and in a moment they were together aboard the shuttle, safe and free,
in the darkness of the cave, lit only by a few panel lights.
"Computer, lights to 100%." Nasir began frantically searching the
medical cabinet for bandages, and tried with what he found to bind up
the massive wound in Andri's back; but there was too much damage, and
too much blood, and she was reaching up and staying his hand, and trying
to talk to him.
"Nasir, leave it," she whispered. "I'm dying, Nasir. It's okay. They
didn't see us transport, they'll never know how we got away." Her voice
grew stronger, it seemed, but her grip on his hand slackened a little.
"We kept our oaths, Lieutenant. We obeyed the Prime Directive. We made
it."
"The Prime Directive..." Nasir shut his eyes for a moment, but he could
still see the blood. He opened them again, and saw that Andri was dead.
"Three lives for the Prime Directive. It was not worth it."
"Yes it was, Lieutenant," replied Andri, her voice clear and strong now,
although her lips were still. "We were all ready to give our lives for
it, and we did. And so will you, if you have to."
Nasir laughed, suddenly and harshly. He'd thought his madness was over,
but clearly he was wrong. Still, he reasoned, this was an entertaining
form of insanity, and a companion might be welcome for a while. He
carried on laughing as he cleared the entrance to the cave, laid Andri's
body outside and covered it with earth. He almost died laughing as he
pronounced a few words over the grave, and heard Andri join in. And as
he flew the shuttlecraft away from the Krowtonan prison planet and
looked for somewhere he could safely forage for food, the tears of
laughter ran down his cheeks. At some point they turned to tears of
grief, and loss, and pain; but by then he had discovered the supplies of
medicinal alcohol in the medicine cabinet, and soon afterwards grief was
no longer a problem.
================
Maybe it had not been as easy to tell this part. Nasir felt even more
drained than before, and felt the beginnings of tears forming in his
eyes. He had never grieved properly, he realised, for Andri. Part of it,
of course, was that in a sense she was still with him, but he had been
too busy, too traumatised, and often too drunk as well. Now he gave in
to the grief, and fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks,
lamenting the loss of a loyal friend. A murmur of concern went round the
crowd, but there also seemed to be a sense of appreciation, that Nasir's
emotional display somehow enhanced the authenticity of the story.
A young man in the front of the crowd stepped forward to help Nasir to
his feet. "This Prime Directive," he said quietly. "It seems to mean a
lot to you. Could you explain it some day?"
It seemed odd to Nasir that, even in his present state, the Sikarians
should be asking even more from him, but he took a deep breath and
replied, "It means as much to us as do stories to you." The young
Sikarian didn't understand, he could tell, but he would explain it as
requested, and maybe it would get through to them in time.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," said the voice in his head. "Thank you for
making it mean something."
The next morning, Elot was showing Nasir some of the sights of the city,
when Gath appeared, clearly anxious to give the appearance of bumping
into them accidentally. "Good morning, Lieutenant," he called; the
Sikarians had begun to use Nasir's rank in lieu of a first name, and he
was by now better known as Lieutenant than as Nasir. "My compliments on
your story so far," he continued as he came closer. "A noble tale, and
one with a strong message to it, however alien it may be to our culture.
We are in your debt."
Nasir saw that now was the time to take his chance. "My pleasure. Might
it be appropriate, then, to ask something of you in return?"
"Anything," replied Gath expansively. "Within reason, of course."
Without explaining his reasons, Nasir made his request.
"Naturalised citizenship?" Gath looked slightly surprised. "Of course,
we would consider your petition. But it would require a special
contribution to Sikarian life. Did you have something in mind? Some
particularly special story, perhaps?"
"Not a story," replied Nasir. He felt his heart begin to race, and in
this moment felt more alive than he had done since his capture by the
Krowtonans. "*The* story, of which all stories are but a part."
"Intriguing," replied Gath. "The central story of your culture?"
Nasir nodded. "The story I learned from my grandmother, and she from
hers, and from hers, for over a thousand years."
"Impress me," said Gath simply.
That afternoon, Nasir took up his stance in the centre of the market
place. This was the great test, the make-or-break moment which could
seal the fate of his attempt to find Voyager. Not a religious man, he
had no prayers to say, but there was an inner voice he could call on.
"Help me with the words, Janell," he breathed.
"No need, Lieutenant," the familiar, comforting voice replied.
"They're all there, in your mind. I can see them. Just start talking.
The words will come."
"Thank you." The words were the quietest whisper. Then he raised his
head, breathed deeply, and began.
"Long ago, in the days of magic, when djinni walked the Earth, there
was a great king named Schariar, in the great city of Samarkand. His
palace was the finest that the world had seen, with a hundred times a
hundred rooms, and his storerooms were filled with gold, and jewels,
works of art, craft and sculpture." He went on for some time, describing
the king's riches; impossible to overdo it with this audience. But then
it was time to move on with the story. The words were there, but he had
some trouble finding them.
"One day, his most trusted advisors came to the king with evil news.
His queen, whom he loved more than life itself, had lain with another
man, for which the punishment was death. The king's heart was broken,
and as he signed the death warrant, he vowed that never again would
he let a faithless wife hurt him so. But he was a man, with a man's
needs and desires; so he resolved to take himself a new wife every
day, and after a single night with her, to execute her in the morning.
So he sent out his servants to find for him the most beautiful young
women in all of Arabia; and for three thousand days, he wed a new queen
each night, and the next morning put her to death.
"Now it happened that one day, they brought before him a girl of
nineteen, beautiful beyond imagining. Yet little did he know that the
beauty of this young woman was not merely matched, but surpassed, by her
wisdom, and that she had no intention of dying the next morning."
He had them in the palm of his hand now, and as he spoke the stories
came flooding back to him, of Aladdin, of Ali Baba, of thieves and
magic carpets, and each one woven into the fabric of the next. By the
time he finished, they would beg him to stay, and citizenship - and
access to their transporters - would be the price. He smiled a smile
of victory as he continued.
"And this young woman's name was Sheherazade..."
TO BE CONTINUED
NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (5/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 5/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
Three months of stories, and finally Nasir's memory was as exhausted
as his body. The Sikarians had, it seemed, obtained a huge library of
stories from Voyager, but there had been no index, no way to determine
which stories to read. After his retelling of the tales of the Arabian
Nights, Nasir found himself much in demand as literary critic, pundit
and guide to the fiction of the Federation. And still, no word from
Gath. Eventually, Nasir asked Elot to arrange an audience. The
response was not encouraging.
"Gath will be able to see you in three weeks, Lieutenant" said Elot
apologetically, "provided nothing disturbs his schedule. He is a very
busy man."
"Busy men's schedules are always disturbed," replied Nasir bitterly.
"He does not wish to see me, does he?"
"I'm sure he would be glad to see you if..."
"Enough, Taren." Nasir looked the older man full in the face. "Taren,
I need to understand a little more of the role of the literary agent
on this world. How far can I trust you?"
Elot looked shocked. "Trust me? I'm your *agent*, Nasir. How can you
even ask?"
"Explain to me what being an agent means on Sikaris," insisted Nasir.
"After storytelling, agency is the highest calling in our culture,"
replied Elot with a touch of desperation. Nasir could sense his great
need to be believed and accepted. "I studied for ten years, took the
oath, qualified for the Agents' Guild - we made a contract, Nasir! My
interests are your interests. Whatever you want, it's my duty, my
calling, my honour demands I help you!"
Nasir pondered, until Andri's voice came to give counsel as always.
"I think you can trust him, Lieutenant. His mind's open, and he means
every word he says. This is really important to him."
"So you can still read minds, even now?" mused Nasir, then realised he
had spoken out loud.
"Read minds?" Elot looked puzzled. "If I could, it would be useful
sometimes; some of my storytellers haven't been to communicative when
they're not telling stories. But listen, Nasir: You can trust me above
family, above friends, above loved ones, above anything. The trust
between storyteller and agent is the highest bond in Sikarian culture.
If you ask me to, I even have to break the law for you."
"Really?"
"Really. I've done it once or twice. The storyteller gets punished if
I'm caught, of course; a sad business, but it's part of my calling."
"I think we can stop short of breaking any laws." Nasir smiled, and
saw Elot relax. "But I need your help, and I must confide in someone."
"I'll tell you again; you can trust me," replied Elot simply.
"I want to leave, Elot. I want your transporters to send me and my
ship so far that I will be ahead of Voyager, so I can find them and
journey home with them. The Kadi homeworld should be far enough, and
I know your transporters have the power to take me and my
shuttlecraft. And you too, if you wish to come with me. But I need
Gath to grant me citizenship, because the Prime Directive forbids me
to violate your laws."
"I see." Elot sucked at his teeth for a moment. "You've certainly
done enough to warrant honorary citizenship, but you're too popular
right now. If Gath, or anyone else, found out you wanted to leave,
they'd do all they could to keep you here." He pondered a little
longer. "What worries me is that I think Gath suspects you have some
idea like this anyway. He's very suspicious since Voyager was here.
That may be why he's avoiding seeing you; I know he's been following
your stories."
"You are saying he will not help me?"
"Not out of gratitude, that's for certain. If you had something he
wanted, maybe; or if there was something he wanted you to stop doing.
He's a politician, so he can be persuaded to change his mind."
Nasir frowned, and shook his head. "What you suggest sounds like
blackmail."
"Not blackmail, Lieutenant. Politics. Make it preferable to Gath, and
he'll do what you want. But you have to find enough leverage
somehow."
As he prepared for his next public appearance, Nasir considered his
options. Alone for the time being, it seemed like a good idea to
consult Andri; real or unreal, she usually seemed to have something to
suggest.
"So what do you suggest, crewman?"
"Well, everything round here has to do with stories, Lieutenant. Is
there some way you can use stories against Gath? Against the Sikarians
in general?" Her voice was pensive.
"I have none left to tell, as far as I know. You remember as well as
I, there was little of interest in the past year." Nasir searched
through his older memories. "I remember a few tales about Tom Paris,
and I suspect," he could almost feel Andri's grin, "you know some
slightly different ones. But what does that achieve? If I have stories
to tell, they want me to stay; if I have none, they do nothing for
me."
"Suppose," said Andri slowly, "they wanted to get rid of you? Suppose
you were telling stories they didn't like, for some reason?"
"Then they need not listen." Nasir tried to keep the hopelessness out
of his voice.
"How about stories that they liked, but couldn't cope with?" Andri's
voice had picked up a little now. "Lieutenant, did you study economic
history at Starfleet Academy?"
"It was not my best subject. Why do you ask?"
"The Sikarians use stories like money, don't they?"
Nasir considered the question carefully, and looked back over what he
understood of Sikarian society. Finally he said, "There is a parallel,
though not an exact one. Stories are used, in some respects, as a
medium of exchange. It would be difficult to apply any known economic
theory accurately, though, since all the ones known originate from
pre-Federation societies. A Ferengi might, perhaps, have some ideas."
He laughed. "Do you know of any in this sector, Janell?"
"I can't think of any off the top of your head," she joked back. "But
Lieutenant," she continued more seriously, "there might be something
quite crude you could try, something I remember from an old legend
from Betazed. Have you ever heard of inflation?"
Now the lessons started coming back. Inflation; too much money chasing
too few goods and services, the value of money falling, and eventually,
in the extreme, the collapse of an economy. "So if I were to flood the
market with stories..."
"There must be more going round than usual, with all the Voyager
stuff," added Andri.
"But the stories would have to be short. A glut of stories," Nasir cast
about for an idea, "let us say, one hundred words long. The Sikarians
might be more than happy to see me gone!"
Andri laughed long and loud, and Nasir with her. They wanted stories;
very well, he would give them stories, stories of love, honour and
regrets, stories of the hunt, of everlasting bonds and pursuits of
pleasures, of tears, tribbles and technical difficulties, of fun and
pheromones, of brain surgery, bruises, bets and bat'leths, of, of, of
Captain Picard and the Twelve-Tentacled Serpent from K'Lonath Lake -
and each of them so short he could write them in minutes. He would
bring the Sikarian economy to its knees - and the beauty of it all was,
he would use their own most treasured objects to do it. And if a race
that traded in stories was given more stories to trade, how could it
violate his Starfleet oaths?
As Elot looked in at the door to prepare him for the next appearance,
Nasir beckoned him into the room. "My friend, we have business to
discuss. Before long, I will have many more stories to tell."
TO BE CONTINUED
NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (6/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir (drabble)
Part: 6/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
Gath stormed into the room. "Nasir, have you any idea of the harm
you're doing?"
"Some idea, perhaps," replied Nasir. "But I am willing to listen."
"These drabbles - they're debasing our currency! Inflation is rampant,
the markets are collapsing, and nobody knows the value of a story from
one day to the next! You have to stop!"
Nasir looked up. "On one condition."
"What?"
"Honour our bargain. Transport me to the Kadi homeworld."
"But our law..."
"Can be circumvented."
Gath's face fell. "Very well. Lieutenant Nasir, you are hereby granted
Sikarian citizenship." He turned to leave. "Now go!"
TO BE CONTINUED
NEW MIS/VOY: Wondrous Stories (7/7) PG [Nasir]
Title: Wondrous Stories
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: MIS/VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 7/7
Date Posted: 31 August 1999
Nasir's delicate touch on the controls guided the shuttlecraft gently
down in the centre of the Sikarian market square. Stepping out of the
hatch, he spied Elot, and the agent came over to join him.
"You are sure you will not come with me?"
"Thank you, but I feel a lot happier staying here," replied Elot.
"I'll transport with you to the Kadi homeworld, but you'll be on your
own from there. It's probably best that way. Oh, and by the way," he
continued, slightly embarrassed, "Gath asked me to bring your
citizen's certificate back with me. Apparently, as soon as you get
there, your citizenship's revoked."
Nasir laughed. "I am not surprised, my friend. Gath has little cause
to wish for my return." He looked around the square for one last time.
"Nor, it seems, is he eager to bid me farewell."
"Come on, let's go. I'm meeting a new author in two hours."
They boarded the shuttlecraft, and the market square faded, giving
way to the blackness of space. Below them, a blue-green planet lay,
rich with life and the promise of new encounters.
"I'll transport back from here," said Elot, as Nasir handed over his
certificate. "I suppose this is goodbye, Lieutenant."
Nasir felt a slight pang of sadness at the prospect of leaving. He
had found Elot an agreeable and a loyal friend. "Does this mean you
are no longer my agent?"
Elot's jaw dropped. "No longer... don't be ridiculous!" Then his face
relaxed a little. "Of course, I keep forgetting. I'm your agent for
life, Lieutenant. If you come back to Sikaris, I'll expect you to
look me up at once, especially if you've got stories to tell."
"Rest assured that I shall," replied Nasir. And then the agent was
gone, forty thousand light years away in an instant. Nasir was alone
again, without a friend or companion in the galaxy, except...
"So here we are on our own again, Lieutenant," said Andri's voice
suggestively.
"So we are, crewman," replied Nasir. The craving for alcohol was gone,
and the loss of his crew - he could cope with the memory. Time to move
on, to be strong again. "We have a starship to find, Janell, and an
old friend. Let us start looking."
THE END
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