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
weigh 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.

'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 ((that was)) 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.