Outwardly Mobile One Hundred Six

Star Trek – Outwardly Mobile : Tomorrow is Tomorrow

by

Jay P Hailey

Kcallan found himself running out of the ready room and across the concrete in the cold night.

As his brain rattled into place adrenaline started to flow. It was a scramble alert. A real alert, not a drill.

As he ran, an incredibly bright, but cold, silent flash came and went in the night sky.

That meant... Oh God. Nuon Bombers were on their way. The war was already on. Kcallan was pelting as fast as he could and it seemed to take forever to reach his plane in its parking space.

The Wyvern was death and fire, wrapped in as little aluminum and steel as the engineers could get away with. A big engine, a big gun, a small cockpit and some fins to suggest some sort of control. The Wyverns of Guardian flight carried weapons much worse than mere guns..

Usually Kcallan loved to fly it. As he ran up to his bird, his crew leader jumped out. It was running and ready to go. Kcallan checked the straps of his parachute, his flotation device and survival pack. His helmet and breathing mask were seated solidly.

Up the ladder and into the plane. Strap, strap, strap, plug, plug. " This is Guardian 1-1, radio check. Tower how do you read?"

"We read you well, Guardian 1-1. Tonight's target is a single bogey over New Cromalan City. It's a big one."

"How the hell did a Nuon heavy get to New Cromalan City without being picked up?" Kcallan asked. The adrenaline didn't want to let go.

Kcallan went through his abbreviated checklist with fast, practiced steps. Only another interceptor pilot could have followed his motions, they were that fast. "Alright, bogey hunting this evening gentlemen. Signal your readiness to proceed, by number."

"Guardian 1-2, Standing by."

"Guardian 1-3, Standing by."

"Guardian 1-4, standing by."

This is Guardian 1-1 to tower, we have four birds ready to launch."

"You have clearance, Guardian flight. Launch and make maximum speed to altitude five-oh."

Checking to make sure his ground crew had retreated properly, Kcallan called "Let's go!" and rammed his throttles to the stops.

Guardian flight in their sleek Wyvern fighters roared like angry dragons and shot down the runway with breath taking acceleration.

Despite the fact that the mission was weird, and a combat launch could mean the end of the world in a nuclear holocaust, Kcallan could not keep the grin off his face. He pulled back on his control stick and the Wyvern fighter bulleted into the sky, more like a missile with wings than any conventional airplane.

-*-

"Red alert," the computer said.

"Blue alert," the computer said.

Before she could think "purple alert," Li'ira picked herself up off the deck of the bridge. Lights were dim. There was smoke. "What hit us?" she asked herself. Li'ira looked at the display screens of the Cincinnatus. Red all over the place - the warp drive was signaling critical failure, no warp core found. The shields were signaling fatal failure, they just weren't there any more.

T'Nara, the Vulcan helmsman clung to her seat and manipulated the controls of the starship with deliberate motions.

"Helm, Report," Li'ira said.

T'Nara looked at Li'ira. Li'ira could see that half of the Pixie-ish Vulcan woman's face was swelling and turning an angry green and brown. She'd smashed her face on the console. "The Cincinnatus is about to crash on a planet," T'Nara said carefully.

Li'ira made the Helm Console in two steps. Range to the planet, 5,000 meters. Her blood ran cold. Impulse power? Out. The Cincinnatus was flying on residual energy and tertiary power supplies.

"Can we gain altitude? Can we get to a stable orbit?" Li'ira asked T'Nara.

"I can try, Captain." T'Nara said. The unspoken remainder hung in the air. Failure meant a fiery plunge, a hard impact and certain death for the crew.

"Try," Li'ira ordered.

The Cincinnatus sluggishly nosed up and began to claw weakly for altitude.

"Engineering!" Li'ira called. There was no answer.

"Show me the outside view," Li'ira said.

The main screen came on and showed the view outside the USS Cincinnatus, Li'ira winced.

-*-

"Tower to Guardian Flight. The Bogey is gaining speed and altitude."

"Roger, tower, altering course to intercept."

Guardian flight flew flat out, gulping horrible amounts of fuel. They had minutes to go at that speed.

The sun broke the horizon. It wouldn't be morning for another thirty minutes on the ground, but they were high enough to get it early. The sky was fading to purple.

The sun glinted off something white in the distance.

"Guardian 1-1 to Tower, I have visual contact with the Bogey, bearing, about 270 degrees, range, about a mile."

"Negative Guardian 1-1, our radar shows you still five miles away from the bogey."

Kcallan blinked and readjusted his sense of scale. What in the hell was that thing?

-*-

One impulse reactor sputtered back to life, saving the Cincinnatus from certain doom. Power flowed through the ship through an arcane and tortured route. Li'ira shook her head. The Cincinnatus main computer automatically rerouted power to avoid broken links and damage.. After a certain point the automatic rerouting software had to make too many adjustments on the fly and tied itself into a knot.

Power was still flowing, but for how long?

"Get us to a stable orbit, T'Nara. We don't have long." Li'ira said.

"Aye, captain." The Cincinnatus nosed up and flew still very sluggishly.

-*-

"Tower, this is Guardian 1-1. The bogey is not any Nuon Bomber that I've ever seen. It's an ellipsoid with a lower body and two nacelles of some sort on either side. no wings. It's as long as a dozen of our planes laid end-to-end."

Kcallan watched the monster fly, "It's climbing away from us."

"Tower to Guardian Flight, You are cleared to fire if you think it's a threat."

-*-

Garan Draxil called out from the Tactical station. "Captain, we have four targets directly astern. Range is about 3,500 meters. They're native flying machines. They're pursuing us."

Garan put the aft view from the Cincinnatus on the main screen.

Four dart-like planes advanced menacingly. Behind them a beautiful view of a native city laid out in a grid of lights.

Li'ira grimaced and held an angry reaction. She'd come dangerously close to crashing her ship into a native city. Not her best day as captain.

"Helm, get us out of here," Li'ira snarled.

The Cincinnatus wallowed to obey Li'ira's order.

-*-

Kcallan's mouth compressed into a flat line. Whatever that thing was, it put on an impressive burst of speed and climbed.

If the Nuons had new technology then the great war he'd feared and trained for was already over. His only hope was to shoot it down. Perhaps bluff the Nuons that the Republic of Aaia had the ability to counter that monster.

"I'm taking the shot," Kcallan flipping switches to arm his anti-bomber missile.

"Boss, we're close to ceiling right now. I don't think you can keep a bead on it from here.

The nuclear missile needed its target illuminated radar to actively home in, but it could be fired blind. No guidance and a timed detonation.

Already the Wyvern was trailing thin black smoke. There was no damage to the plane, they were just so high that there wasn't enough oxygen in the air to allow the engine to burn fuel efficiently. The controls were sluggish and responded slowly. There wasn't enough air over the wings to keep the tight control he enjoyed down in reasonable air.

Kcallan knew of few Aaian planes that could reach this altitude and none that could catch the monster.

He flipped his nose up and made a ballistic arc.

"Guardian 1-1, you're going to stall out and flat spin that way!" His wing man yelled over the radio.

"Watch and learn 1-2," Kcallan grunted. If he was lucky and balanced right, the ballistic arc would follow through smooth, he'd nose down and dive into deeper air. If he wasn't lucky or the balance of the plane was off, it would spin, and tumble down into deeper air. That would be the end of Kcallan.

-*-

Draxil cursed "Captain, the lead flier just armed a nuclear device and moved into attack position."

Li'ira looked at him "Shields?"

Draxil shook his head, "What shields?"

"Tactical, activate tractor beam and lock onto that craft," St.John-Smythe barked.

Draxil armed the tractor beam and locked it onto the attacking plane.

Lights on the bridge dimmed. The starship's speed waved indecisively.

"Crap!" Draxil yelled "The target's coming apart!"

Li'ira saw the sleek little weapon begin to crumple into a ball.

"Drop the tractor beam, and beam him out of there." Li'ira said.

"Dropping," Draxil said, "so's he."

The plane, crushed by the coherent gravity field tumbled and began shedding aluminum confetti.

"Transporter room - We got him." The transporter tech said over the intercom.

Li'ira watched the plane disintegrate. "Good."

-*-

Kcallan found himself standing. He sank to his knees. His equilibrium was still spinning and tumbling like his plane. After a moment his head caught up with the floor, and the spinning feeling subsided.

He rolled over.

There was a being there. It was wearing a strange sort of uniform. It's skin was a ghastly pink. It's head was covered with a hat made of the strangest animal hair

He took off his helmet and breathing mask. It didn't matter. The hose dangled loosely on the other end.

He peered at the strange pink humanoid. "Uh... You're not Nuon, are you?"

"Wheetcha freeble canolli hegels?" The being asked.

"I'll call that a no." Kcallan said.

-*-

Captain's Log, Stardate: 52621.3

In order to escape a Klingon Trap in the vicinity of the Ovid Home World, I ordered the Cincinnatus to perform a warp speed slingshot maneuver. The consequences of this were severe damage to warp drive, as well as the damage sustained fighting the Klingons.

The Cincinnatus almost crash landed on a class M world in the uncharted system of NFC-Beta-8,975. The natives call this world Aea.

We are in a stable orbit around Aea. Repairs continue."

Gravity on the Cincinnatus swayed, like she was on a gentle swell at sea. This was bad for a Starship orbiting 500 miles above the nearest ocean. It meant that the gravity generators were winding down, coasting without energy.

On the Bridge, Tandala and Cyrstara monitored radio and television transmissions from the surface of the planet.

Nearby in her office, Li'ira had dozens of PADDs all over. She was mentally juggling like mad. Decisions had to be made. Information had to be taken in, considered and then acted upon. Fortunately, Li'ira was a professional at that.

"Push back work on the sensor grid and put that crew on the power grid, too." Li'ira ordered.

"Ops, what can you do about that phaser bank?" Draxil asked over the Comm.

Li'ira leaned over the desk and spoke into her intercom "Power first, Garan. A Phaser bank isn't going to help if it has no ammunition. I'm estimating 30 minutes before we have power restored to the main forward bus."

"Can I have a rock to throw if the Klingons decide to show up before then?"

"Tell Geology I said to give you two rocks," Li'ira said.

"Captain," St.. John-Smythe said. He waited for permission to proceed.

"Go ahead, Commander," Li'ir said.

"We need more people for repair crews. The Damage control teams have been at red alert for fourteen hours now."

Li'ira looked out the window at the world rolling below. It seemed like minutes.

Mentally, Li'ira assessed the condition of the Cincinnatus. The ship was clawing back from crippled.

"Captain?" Crewman Santorelli came to a weary attention.

"Report, Crewman," Li'ira said.

"The Doctors request more hands for first aid and support work. Pretty much the same story as Commander St. John-Smythe just reported, Sir. We've been running flat out for the last fourteen hours.

There was only one way to stretch the available crew people.

"Send half of each department to bed, now," Li'ira instructed.

St John-Smythe opened his mouth, took a deep breath and said "Aye, Sir."

"Reassign everyone else who has medical training to sickbay," Li'ira ordered.

St. John-Smythe nodded, "Sir."

"Then grab some food and hit the rack yourself. I want you to relieve me in six hours."

St. John-Smythe nodded again, "Sir."

A light flashed on Li'ira's desk. Li'ira leaned over and pressed the button, "Go ahead."

"We have the universal translator synced, Captain," Crystara reported.

"Okay, talk to our guest enough to find out where he's from and beam him back there," Li'ira said.

"Captain," St. John-Smythe started, looking uncomfortable.

"Hold a moment," Li'ira pressed the mute button. "What is it, Aaron?"

"The Prime Directive, Sir. We can't send that pilot home." St. John-Smythe looked stiffly at the rear bulkhead.

"Can't we?" Li'ira asked.

"He's seen enough to change the natural course of cultural evolution on his world." St. John-Smythe said, apologetically.

Li'ira's expression was sour. She knew she was going to have to protect Aea from contamination, but the only way to do it was to force the pilot of the flying machine to stay on the Cincinnatus. That felt wrong.

But so would condemning Aea to self destruction.

The silence grew uncomfortable.

Li'ira un-muted the comm. "Change that, Crystara. Talk to our visitor and then have him escorted to guest quarters."

-*-

Midway through the next morning, Li'ira had a briefing. Lights were dim but no longer flickering. The computer screens didn't have distortions on them.

T'Aera, the Chief Engineer of the Cincinnatus reported "The immediate crises has passed. Now our goal is restore the Cincinnatus as closely as possible to operational specifications. In order to accomplishing this, we have had to deplete the supply of parts intended for the USS Discovery, including her new warp core. However, I believe that in a week we should be able to get under way in good order."

T'Aera shift slightly in her seat. "I am having difficulty communicating with my staff. Although the immediate danger to the ship has passed, many of my crew are still behaving in a way consistent with an emergency. They are not getting the proper rest, food or recreation necessary to maintain optimal function. I am rearranging schedules to allow such self-maintenance, but I find many of the Engineering crew people continue to work long shifts and disregard meal times or off-shift hours. Perhaps I am missing something. My studies of humanoid psychology have not been thorough."

John Gambolpuddy, the Cincinnatus' Councilor spoke up "We've been through a traumatic experience, Commander. Some people find work allows them to avoid thinking about lost friends or their own emotional reactions."

T'Aera raised an eyebrow, "Work as an escape from emotion? Interesting. Will this impair their efficiency?"

"It's difficult to generalize. If someone works to the point of impairing themselves then this is a sign of distress," Gambolpuddy explained, "Working is a way to reassert power after feeling helpless or threatened. There's a range between working hard as therapy and working as escape. The only solid benchmark I have is that if someone insists on working when they are obviously impaired, then send him to me."

"Thank you, Councilor," T'Area looked thoughtful.

Li'ira looked at her PADD, "Next topic," She pressed a control on the table. The Screen activated to show The native Pilot. "What do we do about Kcallan?"

St. John-Smythe spoke up quickly "We can't return him. It would violate the Prime directive."

"I didn't read where the Prime Directive endorsed kidnapping," Gambolpuddy said.

Li'ira sighed "I don't like it any more than you do, Dr Gambolpuddy, but the Prime Directive is pretty clear here. We're not allowed to disrupt the natural progression of Aea. Kcallan has seen too much of our ship and our technology. He poses a threat to the culture of Aea."

"He could promise not to say anything. It's his world at stake." Sunshine seemed uncomfortable with the whole idea.

Draxil was scornful, "Yeah, that and a strip of latinum will buy you a raktijino."

Sunshine looked at Draxil carefully "In his position, what would you do, Garan?"

Draxil leaned back with a smile, "I'd kill you all and steal the ship. At the end of the year, I'd be the King of Aea."

St. John-smythe bit down on his own reply.

Draxil caught it, "Yes, Commander, I am a murderous thug. I'm your murderous thug and I'm pretty open about that."

Li'ira intervened "Garan, if I know you well enough, your recommendation would be to space him, is that correct?"

Draxil shook his head "No, Captain, that would be cruel. I'd shoot him and then dump the body over board."

Li'ira was used to Draxil's pirate-at-the-dinner-table-act, "Your recommendation is noted, Garan. Onward. Tandala?"

Tandala McBier looked angry and sad, "History shows pretty clearly that every time a technologically advanced culture meets a less technologically advanced native culture, the natives suffer. Their culture is torn apart and and absorbed into a pastiche of the invasive culture. The Aea deserve to have a chance to make up their own culture, their own way. I say keep him, but set him loose as a civilian when we reach base. I don't expect him to survive in Federation Culture, but it's the life of one man versus the lives of perhaps millions."

Li'ira didn't expect that from Tandala. Usually the small, brown human woman was rebellious and rambunctious. This was far from her usual party-girl persona.

"I think the possibility of damage is too hypothetical to justify ripping Kcallan away from his world," Gambolpuddy said, intently. The issue was obviously important to him.

"I'd like to remind you, Councilor that it was your ancestors who brought my ancestors in Australia the benefits of civilization," Tandala said, "and look how well that turned out."

Gambolpuddy looked hurt and upset, "None of us sitting here have done anything like that."

Draxil shrugged "I did. Screw the Prime Directive."

Tandala said "The question is, are we going to do something like cultural imperialism now?"

St. John-Smythe was irritated "Draxil are you wearing a Starfleet Uniform, or not? If you put on the Uniform you agree to abide by Starfleet rules. It's not the Prime Suggestion, it's the Prime Directive, Your number one order, to prevent contamination and damage to indigenous cultures.

Draxil grew more casual as he looked at St. John-Smythe, "That presumes I value any given indigenous culture. I don't. Screw 'em. I value my crew and my ship. The energy to transport blue-guy down to his home world is more than the energy to vaporize him with a phaser, so my advice is to do what keeps him from gettin' all stabby with the least output of energy and effort on our part."

"You are unfit to wear that uniform," St. John-Smythe snarled, half rising out of his seat, "You've just said so yourself."

Draxil shrugged. He looked casual, but both of his feet were on the floor and his hands were held loosely ready. "Maybe. If the Captain wants me to get naked and shoot people, I can do that, too."

"Commander," Li'ira said, looking at St. John-Smythe, directly, "Lieutenant Draxil's strengths and weaknesses as an officer are well known to me. It's up to me to see that he breaks legs and shoots people in the proper Starfleet manner. Now, please let the topic of Lieutenant Draxil's fitness drop. You're becoming tiresome."

St. John-Smythe swallowed hard and sat back down, "Aye, Captain."

Gambolpuddy got Li'ira's attention with a light cough, "Captain, the Hippocratic Oath asks me to do no harm. Specifically it says I am never to do deliberate harm to anyone for anyone else's interest. In my opinion carrying this man away from his home and his people will do him irreparable harm as an individual. I recommend against keeping him."

Sunshine nodded "Well stated. I agree."

Li'ira's face was calm, but the question burned in her mind, "I need some time to think on this. We'll reconvene tomorrow, and I'll make my decision then.

-*-

A cold wind blew from a dirty gray sky. It smelled of fire and smoke and didn't have quite enough oxygen. The wind carried dust, dirt and the occasional dirty snowflake.

Kcallan was dressed in a coverall that was soft and fit well, but it was a deeply ugly color.

The woman who commanded the space ship was a bright emerald green. ordinarily, Kcallan would have been repulsed, but he had to admit she wore the color well. Her second in command was another one of the pink people.

Looking at Kcallan, Li'ira saw a small man, with a fit, athletic bearing. He seemed to be made of springs and nervous energy. His skin was blue, like an Andorian's, or a Bolian's. He was bald except for eyebrows.

Kcallan started at the crater lake in disbelief. "What?"

"This is the capital of the Tirla Nation. It was called Emov's City. The Zsorlor bought weapons from Orion traders." Li'ira explained.

Along the edge of the crater, cracked and broken concrete marked the location of ruined foundations and roadways. A busy City center was reduced to spherical hole.

Debris and dead bodies floated in the brackish water.

Kcallan stared at her.

Li'ira said "They had advanced technology, but none of the cultural adaptations needed to deal with it. They destroyed themselves."

Kcallan felt sick to his stomach. The white bloated body of a person he didn't know bobbed gently near the edge of the crater.

"Computer. Arch." Li'ira said.

The holodeck arch appeared, looking incongruous in the post apocalyptic world.

Li'ira stepped up to it, and touched a control. The scene changed. It was like a television you could stand inside. Kcallan got that, but the shifts in scene were still disconcerting.

Now they stood under a peaceful blue sky. Green trees marked the edge of a wood. There were over grown fields. There were houses. They looked primitive, and dilapidated..

In the distance, temple rose gray and impassive. Birds twittered, and life moved around Kcallan, Li'ira and Aaron. "This is Epsilon Thirty Cee." Li'ira explained.

Kcallan looked around. "This doesn't look too bad."

Li'ira was wry "True. We didn't hurt the planet at all. It continued on it's merry way. The people, however..."

Kcallan looked her.

"They're in there," Li'ira waved at the tree line, "They're killing each other."

Kcallan looked dubiously at the green woman.

"We broke their world view, Flight leader. My predecessors just dropped in and said hello. They didn't realize what their presence meant. They didn't realize how the Cetians would react," Li'ira explained.

Kcallan walked over towards the ruin of a house. Metal implements littered the ground where they had been discarded. Some people on Aea still lived this way.

Li'ira followed him, "Danger came from the sky. Fire rained down. Gods of earth and stone protected them. Until we arrived. People dropped in from the dangerous skies, and the gods of earth and stone did nothing. They said nothing. The Gods weren't there for the Cetians."

Kcallan shook his head. "That's silly. God lives in your heart."

Li'ira shook her head sadly "Apparently, that idea takes time to evolve. The Cetians ran face first into a question. Who are you if there is no God? Their answer was: No one. They went from half a billion people to 50 million in five years. They went from an iron age technology to isolated hunter-gatherer tribes."

"Your existence does not disprove God!" Kcallan snarled, looking at the tree line.

"Apparently it did here."

Kcallan turned back to her, "Why are you showing me this?"

"To explain why you can't go home," Li'ira said.

Kcallan looked at the ruined house and the temple, "Oh. Oh, hell."

"I'm sorry," Li'ira's voice held sympathy.

Kcallan grimaced, "I have a wife! Children! A Home!"

"If you destroy your world, you'll be destroying them, too," Aaron pointed out.

"I won't tell anyone anything."

"I suspect that your government will have ways of making you talk," Aaron said.

"I'll take that risk," Kcallan said.

"It's not your decision," Li'ira said, with a firmness she didn't feel in her voice, "It's mine, and I've made it."

Kcallan stared at her, "You're serious."

"I'd much rather have you as a guest here, than a prisoner," Li'ira held his gaze.

"My duty is to escape and report," Kcallan said.

"My duty is to keep our knowledge from destroying your world. Do you agree to parole?"

Kcallan slapped a sincere grin all over his face, "I agree to your parole."

Li'ira looked at him for a long moment. He was going to be trouble, and she didn't need that now. "Computer, log Kcallan aboard as a passenger."

The Computer thought about it for way too long. "Affirmative. Kcallan, Passenger, USS Cincinnatus."

-*-

Kcallan walked the hallway. It reminded him of pictures he'd seen of ships damaged in the fighting in the Great War, twenty-five years ago.

Some one really didn't like these space people. Kcallan didn't blame them.

Ahead there was a door wedged partly open. Light spilled out.

Kcallan approached and looked.

It looked like a construction crew having lunch. Space people in coveralls, in various stages of being dirty.

"Hey, it's the new guy. C'mon in." A pink man with even pinker hair beckoned.

"Hello." Kcallan said.

"I'm Parker Ashby, this is Lila Gould, Jan Hutchinson, T'Nara." The pink one introduced his friends.

"Hi!" A voice came from behind Kcallan. He turned and stared for a moment. It was Aea-noid, but had large compound eyes, green skin that seemed to lay over his body in plates and a large claw where his left hand should have been.

"This is Claw." Ashby said.

"He sure is!" Kcallan choked.

"Welcome aboard, newbie!" Claw chirped happily.

"Thank you," Kcallan tried to reply as if he were welcomed aboard space ships by monsters every day. He turned back around. The pink people almost seemed normal by comparison.

The room they were in looked like a store room with light stands scattered around it. Strangely shaped crates were being used as tables and chairs.

"I'm Flight Leader Kcallan," The blue man introduced himself. "You folks look like you've been shot up pretty badly."

Kcallan was mostly humanoid, but blue in color. He didn't have the ridge that bifurcated the faces and bodies of the Bolians, nor did he have antenna like the Andorians. He had minimal body hair and hiss head was bald. The television broadcasts from Aea confirmed that all Aeans shared the lack of hair. They often sported hats of loudly colored material.

The darker woman nodded gravely. Kcallan understood that she was young. A brand new officer. "We tangled with the Klingons."

"They're not nice guys, huh?"

"It's no fun to be on their bad side," Ashby said. "Have a seat. All we have right now is emergency rations, Feel free."

Kcallan picked up a silvery packet. He couldn't make heads or tails of the alien script on it.

"It's water," Gould explained. "Like this." She demonstrated how to open and drink the packaged water.

Soon, Kcallan was eating something crunchy and horrible, in the way fully nutritious food always seemed to turn out to be.

"So," he said around a mouthful of crunchy, awful nutrition bar "What brings you folks to Aea?"

"Accident." Ashby replied

"That and fighting the Klingons." Hutchinson added. She was thin and sort of cute, Kcallan reckoned, if you could get past the horrible color and the weird head-fur.

"We had to pull the basic military maneuver," Claw explained, "Running away."

Kcallan grinned. He'd pulled that one a time or two himself.

-*-

Hutchinson walked down a corridor where the lights were still flickering. Pull and replace, pull and replace and then spend endless shifts scavenging components for usable material and reconditioning what she could. A miracle worker's shift was never done.

A piece of cold metal touched her throat.

"Don't move," Kcallan said from behind her.

The amount of fear that washed through her her at that moment surprised Jan. She gulped and tried not to start crying. "O..okay."

"I'm getting out of here, and you're going to help, or else," Kcallan's voice was a subdued growl. He discovered two things about himself. First, that he'd open the pink girl from neck to crotch if he had to. Second, he didn't like himself for being willing to do it.

Jan fought her instincts "Look, talk to me. We can work through this."

"No talking!" Kcallan hissed. He grabbed her head-fur. It was just too handy for leverage. "Exiting. Now."

Kcallan controlled her balance and backed around the corner, "Your sparkly teleporter thing! Where?"

Jan wriggled inside. She couldn't think! "Down the hallway to the turbo lift and up to deck six."

"C'mon."

Kcallan dragged Hutchinson down the corridor and around the corner. Waiting for him were four security people with weird weapons drawn and pointed at him.

"Drop the weapon and let her go," the lead security person said, calmly.

"Kraf!" Kcallan cursed and backed quickly around the corner. "Stay back or I'll cut her!"

"That would be a bad idea."

Kcallan looked behind. There was another group of security people, and his new "friends." Eight weapons pointed at him.

This was getting out of hand. Kcallan tried to back the security people up and regain control of the situation "Another step and she-"

There was a bright flash.

-*-

Kcallan's head pounded. The bunk was spinning.

Not a bunk. His seat! It was all some weird dream, he was falling out of the sky! Eject!" He whimpered.

He reached behind himself for the ejection lever, and rolled off the bunk onto the deck.

The impact was surprising and painful enough that he came fully awake. He saw the beige and brown tones of a small room with a bunk and a replicator. The room was a trapezoid shaped, narrower at the back and wider at the front. The doorway was open but there was some sort of neon light ringing the door way.

Then Kcallan's body made it's opinion known. He vomited all over the floor of his brig cell. It was a physically intense and miserable experience.

As the retching subsided, Kcallan's eyes cleared.

Garan Draxil stood watching impassively through the doorway. "Dude. You have no idea just how fortunate you really are."

Then Kcallan's head seemed to split and keep on splitting.

"aaaa" He said wincing, and putting a hand to his temple.

"You'll live. You've been stunned. It'll pass." Draxil said.

Kcallan was too busy experiencing a headache worthy of a three day drinking binge to listen very carefully.

-*-

The lounge of the Cincinnatus, "Celan's" had been badly damaged by the battle with the Klingons. Li'ira went in an found Celan, Neela and the survivors of Celan's staff working to clean the place up and repair the damage.

Li'ira grabbed some burned wreckage from the deck and hauled it over to the replicator. A larger industrial replicator intended for the Discovery now filled the wall where a bank of normal replicators used to be. A pile of trash was being scooped into it. When it was full it would be turned on. It would break the garbage down to it's constituent atoms and send those atoms to the Cincinnatus' raw material stores.

The trash was black and flaked into black dust that covered Li'ira's hands and the front of her uniform.

Neela came up behind her. "Heya. Use gloves." Neela wriggled her gloved fingers to emphasize the point.

Li'ira looked around for some work gloves.

Celan approached. He too, wore coveralls and work gloves. "Captain. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I'm told work is good therapy," Li'ira smiled.

"I've been telling you that you need therapy," Neela smirked. The smirk faded quickly at Li'ira's wan smile, "Want to talk about it?"

Li'ira hesitated. What sort of Captain went crying to her friends over a difficult decision? On the other hand, could more input hurt? "You've met Kcallan, right?"

Neela and Celan nodded.

"If I send him home I risk damage to his native culture. He knows enough now to alter it. The Prime Directive says I am to prevent interference with indigenous cultures. But if I force him to stay..." Li'ira explained.

Neela grabbed the flash fried and melted remains of a chair. "That's really odd, to think of someone being forced to stay here. I had to force you to keep me," She walked the damaged furniture over to the pile of garbage and tossed it on.

Celan said, "It seems straight forward to me, Captain, if you don't mind me saying so. The good of all the people on his world versus his own personal situation. If it were for the good of his people he should make the sacrifice."

"I thought the Federation was about freedom?" Neela asked

Celan snorted "A false dichotomy. If everyone has absolute freedom, then you don't have a culture. You have anarchy. Civilization is about balancing the needs of the many against the needs of the few."

"We fought the Klingons to try and preserve the freedom of the Ovid from Klingon conquest, didn't we?"

Li'ira found a pair of gloves that didn't look like they were being used at the moment and slipped them on. "We did."

Celan agreed "Li'ira put the welfare of the Ovid people ahead of the welfare of the people on this ship. We agreed to be here. It's this ship's job to defend what's right."

Neela thought about it for a moment "So we protect the freedom of groups of people, if necessary, by taking away the freedom of individuals or smaller groups?"

Li'ira looked at Neela.

Celan nodded, carrying the remains of some electronic game to the trash heap. "Yes. it is unfortunate, but that's the way it must be."

Neela asked, "What's the cut-off number?"

Celan brushed more black, greasy soot off his gloves onto his coverall, "That's a silly question, there's no set number. It depends on the situation."

Li'ira looked at Celan and Neela. "You're both refugees here, like Kcallan."

Neela picked up another pile of debris "Except we both came of our own free will."

Li'ira blinked at her, "No wonder the Orions didn't want you learning how to read."

Celan looked exasperated "They may well have a point, Captain."

-*-

The Music was slow and thoughtful. Some humans just sat and listened to the music, dancing inside their minds. Li'ira realized that she couldn't see the point of experiencing music like that, anymore.

The piece, by a group called “Fuzzy”, was a thoughtful one. The beat was slow and measured.

The music moved though it's ranges. Li'ira thought a bit about musical logic. There were tones that were right, and tones that were wrong. A set of tones played in a pattern over time. The right ones sounded natural. They seemed to flow naturally from the ones that came before. They sounded right.

Fuzzy was singing a jazz piece. The object seemed to be to find the least expected tone, that was still “correct” in the sequence.

The beat was three different beat signatures, which were related, so some times the down beats coincided.

Li'ira moved carefully and tried not to think. Foot here, foot there. Hand through that arc, other hand through a complimentary arc.

After a while it became easier. Li'ira just danced.

As the song wound to it's conclusion, Li'ira realized why it had become easier to dance to it.

She stopped trying to predict it. She wasn't trying to compliment a thread and anticipate it. She drew her own thread in common with the song and expressed that. She'd complimented the whole song rather than a specific piece of it.

Staring at her music player on her PADD, she thought about that. You couldn't predict jazz note-by-note. You could get a feel for the flow of it. Then you either became part of the music, or you didn't.

-*-

Li'ira stood in front of the brig cell with a phaser in her hand.

"Kcallan, you have free will."

"I thought I did."

"If you tell your people too much, you can throw your world's natural course of history off track."

"Can your advanced science tell if that would be good or bad?" Kcallan asked.

"We have a Prime Directive that tells us to die rather than interfere. What does that tell you?"

"If that's so why did you even rescue me?" Kcallan asked, "You could have let my plane disintegrate and I would never have been able to tell anyone anything."

"We're in the rescuing people business. It's what we do," Li'ira's voice was clear. The phrase sounded good to her.

Kcallan rolled his eyes "Thanks, anyway."

Li'ira smiled, sphinx like, "You're welcome." She raised the phaser, "Computer, drop the force field."

The invisible force wall holding Kcallan disappeared. He rose to his feet with his eyes wide "Now, just a minute!"

"You threatened to stab one of my people. I am not happy about that." Li'ira said.

Kcallan blinked, and then stood up straight, looking past Li'ira at the bulkhead. "Yes. I did."

"Begin transport," Li'ira ordered. "The damage you do is in your hands, Kcallan. Choose wisely."

"Thank you!" Kcallan said as he faded away.

-*-

Celan's was open again. Li'ira, Crystara and Tandala had lunch on the lounge, near one of the picture windows. Aea rolled below them.

Tandala Looked at Li'ira. “"Why?”"

"Why what?"” Li'ira asked, with her best “I don't get it,” look.

"Why did you let Kcallan go?”

Li'ira took a deep breath and arranged her thoughts. “"We were holding him based on what he might do.”"

Tandala nodded “"Uh huh.”"

"That was too vague. It didn't feel right. I'd hate to clean up a cultural contamination, but that doesn't justify holding the man. He hadn't contaminated anything yet.”

Tandala didn't like that answer.

"I have to believe that we can choose to do the right thing, Tandala, or else, what does anything mean? If we can choose to do the right thing, who are we to choose for Kcallan? Holding him was as much an imposition of our values on him as anything else.”"

Tandala looked out the window. "“Yeah. It seems like a no-win scenario.”"

"The good of the many does not outweigh the good of the few, or the one,”" Li'ira quoted.

"Who watches the watchmen?” Tandala replied.

-*-

Captain's Log Stardate: 52621.9

The Cincinnatus has completed repairs, and returned our guest to the surface of Aea. We're now heading onward towards our rendezvous with the Discovery.

May 23, 2009