Penbarer Volume 2

Posted on Tue May 5th, 2020 @ 8:08am by Master Steward Othor Jaxz Ghost of the Second Star

3,575 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Meanwhile...
Location: Second Star (past and present)
Timeline: Pre-launch SB 214

Relevant post “Prices paid” https://secondstar.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/viewpost/20

-Start-

{Second Star NXS 414RF; Othors Private Ward}

Where most would say the lack of gravity was a flaw, for Othor it was a feature. Energy flowed oddly in this vessel, and whenever it was at full power, certain areas of the ship reduced their power consumption to ease the strain on their under-powered engine core. It meant quarter strength gravity in his ward most of the time, and he slept like a baby. His old quarters back on their previous vessel had been very small, this open space allowed him to float freely.

Tonight's somnambulent romp was like so many others. Tortured dreams of past mistakes and loved ones faces used in cruel parody of life. He could control the experience, but found doing so deprived him of his cognizance which only served to empower the notions they compelled later on. Tales of those he had loved and lost came unbidden, the recollections a treasured walk through memory gardens overgrown with care.

Most recently, the losses of his crewmates had plagued his dreams, Vollad, Dure, Terrence, Lui Kania. The ordeal which had cost them four crewmates had brought them to this point, in a new ship with a much bigger destiny. His thoughts had been poisoned, a depression over their loss he was unable to shake. Dure was dead and his memories lived on, bondmate to Kas , Avor and Inia, father to three...

He awoke with a gasp, certain in the fleeting twilight of dream-state Dure was in the room with him. His minds eye created a specter of shadow and delusion, the impact of which stayed with him.

Of course he didn't realize he had created echoes of his own thoughts which his latent telepathy picked up subconsciously. He had never been trained as a telepath, just whatever his natural sense had brought him was all he knew. Without any chance of saving himself, Othor was in danger of slipping into a coma as his brain communicated ever more frantic messages. The memories could overwhelm him.

The Betazoid art of preserving memories is a hazardous art that is not unlike the bookbinders of Earth’s industrial age. Where the Humans of the factories put life and limb on the factory lines the Betazed people put sanity at risk. Shared experiences between subjects can ensnare a Pen Barer and rend their psyche as broken as the factory worker maimed by a career ending injury.

At that moment Othor found himself in the midst of the all too common work camps implemented by many factions throughout the galaxy. Flashing, impressions of the repetitive work of a prisoner or subjugant is almost universal, his mind couldn't determine where it was. Othor would loose himself as he bounced from memories randomly, POW in the Dominion war met Cardassian Occupation survivors which corssed the refugees fleeing Borg incursions…
Each change in rhythm would yank his mind between subjects. Every bounce would increase risk of stroke or aneurysm. The process would leave him a book tragically bound and stained in blood. He had left a stone unturned in his mind, and it was an emotional nosebleed.

Dure, the most recent story he had taken, kept coming to him. Very recently he had taken their old ship into combat as a ruse to draw Tasco away. They had to evacuate their home, hiding for their lives on an asteroid overseeing a scrapyard, the last anyone had seen of him was glowing pulses of lights behind shattered hulks. If they hadn't found this new vessel, the Lafitte and restored her systems, that would have meant the end of everyone.

In his reverie, the final moments onboard the ill fated Second Star, their former vessel whose name now struck the masthead of a new destiny played in his mind. The crew was abandoning ship, their location revealed, enemy closing in. Dure lied, sent his family down, staying behind for his solitary martyrdom.

Lost in thought…

Once the crew was safe, Othor had to leave too, but with just a moment to spare… there was no time...

{22 days ago- Icarus class escort "Second Star"}

The asteroid had a small station, "Vega Tierre," long since abandoned. Scrapyards like this had been picked clean and left to rot all over known space, anyone who wanted to use this little habitat dome and glorified computer console needed to bring a shuttle to make the place livable. It was the best chance of hiding for the crew as well, who had only narrowly detected methane in a desperate bid to find refuge.

Othors dreams showed him the bridge of their old haunt, he could smell the ruined air of their old vessel, the decrepitude of stink that a dying ship creates. The last crew were offloading, sending the injured down last with their doctor, but Dure stood at the consoles unmoving to join them. His dream played as life had, and spectating was all ghosts could do.

“The time is near,” whispered Othor. I see you have made your decision.”

Decades of reading the minds that lurk behind the honest and the deceitful had taught him to know which is which. It also revealed the nuances of emotion and intensity people express physically. Dure bore the sincere face of a man determined. “Please, old friend, reconsider the value of a life lost and a life lived.”

Dure continued monitoring the final load of the Workbee before its descent. "I have no intention of joining in this madness, hiding out and hoping he doesn't find us is not a plan.”

Othor continued to observe the silent mind of that stalwart Andorian.“Know for this moment that you trap your loved ones from this moment onward.”

“Go coal-skin. And tell her my thoughts were of her. Tell Avor I am proud of what we built together in the time we had.”

Othor let his tears fall openly, “Dure, come with us, just set the ship on auto and go with us.”

A beat was all the time they could afford as the timer sounded for the pre flight launch. Dure still didn't meet his gaze, the shame he felt in the truth of Othors words and the reality they beheld keeping him to his course. He would not be swayed, they all died in an hour if he didn't do this, Kas would die.
“Tell them all good bye.”

Admiration stayed Othor’s hand. This man was giving his life to throw the scent off the trail. It was tragic and noble… an idea came to him but he had never tried what he was considering now. Holding just one lifetime was troubling enough, and there was much to do ahead. Could he do this for Dure?

He could damn well try.

"Trust in me.” he placed his hands upon the Dure’s temples, “I will tell them all of that and more. Your children will come to know their father yet.”

Dure turned around finally and Othor loomed, a specter in his imagination larger than life.

{Second Star NXS 414RF; Othors Private Ward- Current time}

He awoke, his mind in the present again. His room was the room inside an Excelsior class Starship, and he was home.

Othor had to calm his racing thoughts, trying to make sense of the past. His dream had ended where it usually did, where reality had demarcated Dure's heroic action. So why did he feel there was more? Why was there a sensation of a joke left hanging, or a rising strain of music that never falls back into the melody? He had taken on two life stories that day, Lui Kania, as well as Dure. Could his mental faculty be breaking from the strain?

Time, was the telling factor in his revelation. Othor created totems as a way for his mind to process the events it had just experienced. His totems for Dure had been wooden wedding bands, four of them each meant to represent Kas, Inia, Avor and Dure. He had taken Dures and scorched it, the reasons unknown at the time.

That image, and the profound sadness it invoked to hold in his mind was not correct. But why?

His mind had begun to relax, and he felt his senses expand. A curious reverie came to him as his ego subsided, the floating sensation as he had now. That was the trigger, and why he remembered. Allowing himself to dream in a lucid state might prove therapeutic, and reveal answers. Time and gravity were largely absent from his sense, so his mind was free to drift.

{One Month Ago- Icarus class escort "Second Star"}

Dure saw into Othor's dark eyes, black pools of raw emotion that pulled on his thoughts like hungry hands at the table. Othor had his hands on both temples, cradling Dure's head. Dure felt like his life had just unfolded in an instant, the catharsis of it causing immediate misery mixed with adulation. The birth of his children, his life at home, service to the fisherman community, marriage to Kas, Avor and Inia... all in a flash. It was his life, and he loved it, didn't want to leave it! He hated Othor for this. Dure had known only a failed marriage and fractured family from his perspective.

Gods, he wanted it, he could go have it! He just had to go and hide in waiting, he had to hope they would be lucky, and that hope died in its infancy. The same tumult of thoughts and rewashed logical circles brought him back to this point. He was the one to do it. Someone had to take action or they would all die. It broke his heart, but there was nothing to say to Kas, she would lose her mind stopping this if she knew. Avor was more of a brother, a friend really, but the father of his children all the same.

Othor released his hands, swooned and nearly collapsed except for when Dure caught him. Time was short, but he took what he had to carry Othor to the shuttlebay. Akio had secured Lui, and Judah, though there was room for both, Dure lied to Akio. "Take him, he needs to rest he will be fine. I will have to go on the next round, now go go!" He shoved Othor to Akio, who began to protest, but said little beyond grumbling. Their small workbee was the only ferry they had, and Akio knew there wasn't time.

The small man didn't have the heart to look at Dure, knowing he should at least ask once if this was certain. Akio didn't care about Dure, just making sure that Judah made it off this ship alive. So he helped Othor get strapped in and prepared his own seat without comment.

With no love lost between the two men, Dure took one last moment to observe his crewmates before he left them. He knew if anyone from his family life had been there he would have lost the nerve, so he was weirdly grateful for how this worked out. Akio climbed inside the workbee, securing the seat restraints. He gave one last, long look, knowing there would be no second trip, that Dure was staying on board. All he could do was offer a solemn bow of the head in recognition and then he activated the hatch to close.

Dure left the shuttlebay, never looking back. He was alone on the ship, and it would take half an hour for Kas to realize what had happened. It would be over, Tasco would have caught up to them by then and his plan had better have worked.

Their little ship had pluck, tools, stealth panels, all kinds of gadgets useful for so many trades and criminal exploits. Now all of that was useless. They were bleeding, sighted by the enemy, and ripe for the kill. No ploys or clever tactics would save them except for this desperate plan. Dure had already performed this plans setup earlier in the crisis. They had two phasers, one ruined, the other precarious. The ruse would work, he was sure of it. His final walk from shuttlebay to bridge took only moments, but every memory, every doodle on the walls, flowery filigree adorning thresholds caught his eye.

A man typically isn't allowed to know the hour his time has come. Rarely does one get to appreciate their home and life for all of its values, and Dure sure remembered the values of life at this late point. The ship groaned, its damage evident in shaky floor panels, stale air, flickering consoles. His minds eye only saw the meals, mission plannings, arguments and good times this space had hosted. His heart was already broken, but what was there felt renewed sadness. He had to commit now, or lose his nerve forever.

With bold finality Dure stepped onto the bridge of their family freighter, a small repurposed Icarus class escort. She had one last mission, and Dure was riding with her. When he sat in the Captains seat, as he had a dozen times before on various duty shifts, this time he felt the mantle. His first command, his last. He did this for his family, he did this because it had to be done. A small jolt and chime confirmed the workbee had launched, it was time now.

"CONN, take us to 041.45, once there, OPS: drop stealth, raise shields. SHIPTAC: Power forward phaser banks to 25%. Do not charge aft banks, instead route drive plasma into colonnade assemblies and hold in MAglock. ENGINES: pre-charge the capacitors in the impulse field coils and route to Tactical control at Command 1."

He felt uncertainty until he spoke, then his plan solidified. He kept making preparations for the battle, anything his clever mind could turn to. Deuterium pods as caltrops, warp coils as sensor decoys, it took only minutes to get to his staging ground and a target lock warning told him Tasco had found him. Dure programmed missile defense priorities to the Deflector grid, whose point defense lasers stood a fair chance of disabling torpedoes. Tasco only had two, so there was hope there. He wanted to convey their systems had dropped due to ship damage, act like a wounded creature and illicit the response.

Four alarms sounded on panel as a torpedo detonated outside their defensive perimeter, shot down by the point defense. With no time for anything else he put the Second Star into tight maneuvers and flew into the maelstrom of metal that was the scrapyard. Tasco was a smaller ship still and followed, unable to get clean firing solutions with the floating hulks to close together. Dure scraped and took hits to accomplish this, but he vaguely considered "for what result?" Tasco would catch up and kill them no matter what.

With the chase exactly as he intended, Dure hid, ducking and weaving using the stealth systems to confuse as much as the ships themselves. The other torpedo, the one Dure was waiting on streaked past him, confused by the decoys, and struck a hulking Orion cruiser. Now with Tasco only armed in phasers it became a more fair fight.

Tasco took damage from Dure at every opportunity, venting unspent deuterium, using the laser systems without drive plasma made for powerful lasers that burned and peeled metal. For two hours Dure pulled every trick out that he could, hiding, striking at the bastard who hunted him. At one point Dure flew close to the decomposing hull of a scuttled starbase remnant, the wake suddenly dislodging errant hull plates that flew up impacting on the Aerowing.

However this gave Tasco a clean shot. Seeing the choices presented, he chose to fire at the charged phaser bank. There was still damage done to Dures ship, but someone firing a gun from a sinking ship doesn't stop to put out a fire. The ruse worked, Tasco wasted his opportunity on a minor wound.

Tasco was lazily repositioning for the kill. The Aerowing had virtually no protection underneath except for its weakened shields. Dure quickly charged the unpowered bank by flooding drive plasma into the array, it would ruin the phaser strip, but it made for one very powerful blast.

Tasco sent a message over open channel, “To the crew of the Second Star, I respect that you must fight, but it’s over. And I just… this was necessary and you weren’t supposed to have… I will make sure your families are taken care of.”

The man who would murder them wanted their forgiveness. Dure had no reply, and really he felt no hate at this point. Grim necessity got him here, and it would take him away. He had to make it look good, had to make Tasco think everyone was on board. He opened the channel, and hit the firing stud.

“We do not accept your words. Die.”

When he fired, Tasco had taken position far enough away trying to get safely away to detonate the Second Star without affecting himself. The powerful eruption from the Second Star crippled the Aerowing, sending it spinning and powerless. It also utterly destroyed the Second Stars power grid.

Dure leaped away from the consoles that erupted into plasma fury, too much power in a damaged power grid exploding with finality. Several pieces of metal blown from the walls and panels found themselves painfully embedded. For several seconds the ship wracked itself in secondary fires and containment breaches, then it stopped as the power supply ran out. Dure tried to stand, but he had already bled too much. He tried to breathe, but the air was thick with smoke. Time passed slowly, and his consciousness drifted along with his body as gravity failed. Weightless, in delirium, and dying, Dure was just marking time until the end.

“Channai, g’lo fo Treno.” He sent his final well wishes into the universe. What was a desire for his family to know happiness, expanded into a universal sense of stillness and desire for well being. As quietude claimed him, he ignored all around him, a biological process of death already begun, his brain spinning into the final dream to take him home. A final thought of love for those he loved provided the final flicker of emotion as he slipped into a deep unrecoverable sleep.

{Second Star NXS 414RF; Othors Private Ward}

The feeling of floating was such a peculiar one, and for a dream surprisingly hard to detect as real. Othor realized what had happened by now, that he had somehow retained his connection to Dure despite their distance. He had remembered Dure's final thoughts, but had not realized, just experienced the sadness subconsciously. He wept openly, the emotional toll overwhelming. After a time, the dream began to leave him, as it so often did. Once he had composed himself, he wanted to reach out to Kas, but knew given the hour she was asleep. He had made them wedding rings, perhaps because that was what they mourned most, but it had not been a totem for Dure.

Othor knew he had little real artistic ability, but his totems were art simply for the person they represented. Yes, the four way bond of Andorians was sacred, with Dures death that dream was too shattered. But what of Dure? Guilt over his oversight crept into him. Deciding to take action, Othor bounded to his workstation. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but these compulsions directed themselves. He had learned to have tools ready by this point.

Four wedding rings, one of them burned. So now he labored to fix this incomplete story. Four rings, one of them lost, but the space was open for another. Dure wanted them to complete the family, but Othor's hands hesitated, what was he doing? Trusting himself, he let his mind go blank, reliving those moments.

When he was done, almost an hour later he dared to look. In his hands, was a pendant, and engraved was a maze. Three of the four paths connected through to the middle where three dots signaled their terminus. One path was unmarked, and led only halfway through the maze. The effort of it all exhausted Othor who looked at it for another hour before his chronometer sounded it was time to wake up and start his day.

He knew he had to talk to Kas, but decided it was best to wait for now. Dure wanted them to marry again, wanted the family to be complete. Poor Kas, she would hate herself if she knew. Their marriage was rocky, this was not going to help. So Othor put the totem on his shelf, content to carry the story with him until it was ready to be told. As always, the mantle of pen-barer wore heavy on his shoulders, with the weight of so many stories eager to be told and the burden relieved.

=0= Randall to Master Jaxz, incoming message for you from Fala, marked urgent delivery 0500 hours.

Othor chuckled, Fala never slept, was probably thinking Othor awoke at 0500 and was waiting for him. The day had arrived, and he was alive to see it. Thanking Dure for that awareness, he felt a natural smile and ease come over him.

Life was good, all of it, was very good.

-End-

Stephen

 

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