The Butcher's Bill

Those who hadn't been on the away team found it hard to conceive this prim, fastidious Cardassian had tortured hundreds. They hadn't seen the rooms, the devices, the logs.  They hadn't seen what remained of his 'patients.' But those who returned from Gul Maket's crippled freighter to the U.S.S. Valkyrja asked, "only hundreds?"

 He sat as easily as one could cuffed and bolted to a table. "I must say, Evlyn – May I call you Evlyn? You have lovely green eyes. What do the Terrans call it? Jade? Yes. They are so nicely offset by your dark complexion, but I think something darker would really make them sparkle. I know, I could mount them in a vitrine on black velvet. The trick, of course, would be letting you still see through them. I'd hate for you to miss what came next."

Okay, Not a Working Title Anymore

I have finally completed The Uwda and the Others. There may be edits along the way, but I think the story is solid enough to be considered complete. I had thought about copying it here, but I think I'll leave it on FanFiction.net, which handles the chapter format better, even though I do like the blog format as well.

The Uwda and The Others

WT: The Uwda and the others

Juliette Sri had set her tricorder to count down the hours until she could beam off this trial of a planet and see her own face in the mirror again- her pale complexion, her golden hair, her coal black eyes. But that was before. Now, as she carefully wedged a squat metal chair under the door handle to her hotel room and turned up the entertainment center to foil potential eavesdroppers, she formulated the words which would convince Captain Tilmana to extend the mission.

We are Judged by Their Silence

The counselor before Lahn was the quintessential Betazoid. Long, ropes of onyx hair down to the middle of her back, and a wide, honest face punctuated by apple cheeks and pitch eyes. She sat with almost a girlish air in the guest chair, while Lahn stood and paced. She watched Lahn, deep in thought move back and forth across the room. Finally she asked,  “How does that make you feel?”

Lahn stopped, abruptly turn to the counselor and frowned. “I don’t want to talk to you about my feelings. I want to find out who is shitting on my bed.”

The Stone That Sings Part III: Annah 2368

In summer, Annah had walked the rows of Jestral with Minerva ever since she could walk.  In the lower, hotter valleys, the leaves could be harvested year round, but here, high in the mountains, the Jestral shrubs grew much slower.  Havest was always in late summer, and had to be carefully timed with the dense fog that rolled in with the ocean.  After the third fog, but never more than a month later, Annah would walk the rows of lush shrubs, the edges of the normally green leaves taking a purplish tint. This year, Minerva dutifully followed, her toes grey from the dry, sandy ground, her young feet toughed by a summer of bare feet.

The Stone that Sings Part II

When Juliette Sri arrived at sick bay 38, her mental defenses wrapped tightly around her, the medical stations labs were dark and the bio beds empty. She consulted a console, and found all the patients had been transferred to other bays.  The reasons for doing so were indistinct, and since there was space in other sick bays, the transfers were unquestioned.  Devoid of patients, the sick bay staff had left for the day, in ones or small groups, with quick messages like, “Forgot my anniversary”, “Happy Hour at Quarks!”, “Early Dinner Date with Alain.” Or “I don’t think I fed Aslot.” One was simply a blunt. “I need some me-time.”  That left Matron Sheldt, her staff, and Juliette Sri  as the sole occupants of sickbay 38.  As Juliette approached the matron’s presence, her bodyguards coldly kept their distance, no doubt still smarting from her avoiding them and having the temerity to refuse the matron’s request.  With a deep breath, Juliette let her mental shield cascade away in a shower of diamond.

The Stone That Sings: Part I

Juliette Sri was apologizing. Again. Weaving, and apologizing. She could tell from D’Shyv’s stiff responses she wasn’t doing a very good job.

“I thought you wanted some space with Tran.”

Did I?

Sri frowned. The storms of Andoria were bone biting cold. Sri herself had nearly frozen to death hiding in the secondary hull of an ancient starship. Sunny days compared to the frost responses of an irked Aenar.  Blind as D’Shyv was, she briskly maneuvered and angled herself through the traffic of Deep Space Nine’s promenade. A pale, aloof ghost haunted by the living.  Sri felt her own peevishness at chasing after the D’Shyv creeping growing, and persisted with the verbal, if only because she knew it irritated her.

“I did. I thought you’d have something in common – talk about the homeworld—“

Homeworld? You know nothing of us, Lieutenant Commander.  Her use of Sri’s rank dripped with contempt, and Sri bit back anger. We may share a planet, but we are different worlds.

“All the more reason to get to know him. You wanted to find out more about the universe. Perhaps starting closer to home –“