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