Star Trek Prometheus -Fire with Fire

by Christian Humberg

  And she wasn’t suited to Massoa at all.

  Ev spread her arms and walked toward Jassat. With her hand she performed the traditional circular gesture before putting both hands on his shoulders. This silent greeting was among the most heartfelt within the Renao culture. Her eyes bored into his as if she could see right into his soul, and her smile was like Aoul’s beams reflecting from the glass façade of their mutual Home Sphere that was far away in Konuhbi.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were on a ship.”

  “Ev,” Jassat repeated as if it would become more true if he said it often enough. “Evykk. Little Evykk from Konuhbi.”

  “Hey, less of the ‘little’.” Her tone was half disapproving, half mischievous. “That was a long time ago.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  She laughed again. “I asked first.” Finally, she shook her head and pointed at herself. “I can’t help but feeling that you’ve spent too much time in the sun. I’ve never known you to be so slow off the mark. Just look at me and you will know everything you need to know. I’m working here. Would you like a guided tour through the subterranean tunnel system? If so, you found your guide. And I guarantee you: the descent is a little arduous, but it’s worth it.”

  Jassat looked at her clothes again. “You’re a tour guide?”

  “We all have to fulfill a purpose, don’t we?”

  “But what about Konuhbi? The sphere?”

  “You of all people ask that question?” She smirked, and that smirk was even more reproachful than her earlier glance. “We all serve our home, Jass. Even—and perhaps especially—if we tend to our roots. I’m here because I want to learn. Understand who we are and how we became what we are. And I’m not staying long. The exchange program with Konuhbi only lasts for a few weeks. Afterward, I’ll return to the good old sphere with my new experiences.”

  Jassat was flabbergasted. But most of all, he was happy, this chance encounter with an old friend burning away the paranoia and loneliness that had been tormenting him since he reported back aboard Prometheus at Deep Space 9. “Evykk,” he muttered under his breath, but then he started laughing as well.

  “You’re repeating yourself. Is that what you learn at the Federation school that you so desperately wanted to attend? Talking in circles?” Then she smiled. “I’m only joking. I know that you’ve been in the sun for too long.” She interrupted herself as another female visitor—a Renao of medium age with dark hair and a toddler by her side—approached her, asking for a guided tour through the tunnels. Ev nodded. “All right, Jass. Duty calls. Nice seeing you again—even if you weren’t very talkative. Hey, if you find your speech again some time today—Moadas and I live in the southern arcology in Auroun. Second level, apartment 27, right next to the hydroponic gardens. Come by tonight and we can catch up. I’d like that, and I’m sure he would as well.”

  Again, he squinted blankly. “Moadas… is here as well?”

  Evykk shook her head, smirking. “Jass, Jass, Jass. You should really stay in the shade until sundown, okay? All this light is too much for you.”

  She performed the circular hand-movement that indicated a farewell, then she escorted the woman and her child to the tunnel entrance where a group with more visitors already waited. Jassat gazed after her until she had disappeared into the darkness below Massoa.

  * * *

  “Come on; tell us—what’s the status of the Federation’s defense?” Moadas ak Lavoor laughed, as he filled his glass again. His movements were already erratic, and his humor left a lot to be desired. “Do you already have your own starship to conquer foreign worlds?”

  Jassat ak Namur took a sip from his glass, wondering not for the first time tonight why he had come here. The encounter with Evykk had been very cordial; but seeing Moadas again had turned out to be much more difficult.

  For almost two hours, the three of them sat in the small worker’s flat, which the two staff members of Massoa shared. His old friend from Konuhbi enjoyed bri—a strong alcoholic drink—with so much fervor that it would have brought honor to a Klingon with a barrel of bloodwine. Moadas was already slurring his speech, and his green eyes were glazed over. Small bubbles of saliva had appeared in the corners of his mouth. Unlike Evykk he hadn’t changed. She wore black and red casual clothes, while he was still clad in the tour guide garments. His attire seemed strangely out of place within the walls of this small home that was situated in a rather rundown area of the arcology, since it conveyed some kind of importance that neither his behavior, nor the view from the window, seemed to live up to. The southern arcology was the only one in Auroun without an ocean view, and level two didn’t allow a distant view either. All Jassat saw when he looked out the window front was the façade of the western arcology and the sand between the two buildings.

  “Leave him alone, Moa.” Ev shook her head. She took the bottle of bri that stood on the stone table in order to fill Jassat’s glass again, but he waved her off. “Jass did not come here so you can wind him up or argue about politics with him. He’s here for old times’ sake, isn’t that right, Jass?”

  “He’s here because he knows where he belongs,” Moadas uttered before Jass could answer the question. It sounded like an objection. “Because he’s a proud Renao and not the Federation’s servant.”

  “Can’t I be both?” Jassat asked, sharper than he intended. It was the first time he had spoken for some minutes. He felt as if he was picking up on a conversation that he’d put an end to years ago with conviction, and he decidedly disliked that feeling.

  His old friend shook his head so insistently that his nose jewelry almost shifted out of place. “Just how do you think that would be possible, hmm? How should you have a place and not fill it? Where’s the harmony in that?”

  “Then again, you’re here and not in Konuhbi either.” Evykk smiled.

  Moadas put his glass down. “That’s different, and you both know it. Massoa also belongs to the great order of things. Tarra, or whatever the name of the world is where Jass’s new masters reside, doesn’t. Not for us.”

  “It’s Terra, and if you were able to think a little further than the brim of your bri bottle, you’d recognize its beauty, as well as its significance and that of the Federation.”

  Moadas glared at him, as if Jassat had slapped him in the face. One second went by in utter silence, then another… and then the drunken man threw his head back and laughed.

  “And just which significance would that be, hmm?” asked Moadas. “Is it significant to forget your roots? To leave your sphere in order to disturb those of other beings severely?”

  “The Federation doesn’t disturb, it…”

  “Oh, yeah?” Moadas raised his dark eyebrows. His eyes glowed belligerently. “Not everyone sees it that way, old friend.”

  Evykk sighed. “Moa, please. Enough.”

  But Jassat frowned. “Not everyone?” he followed up on his words. “What do you mean, Moa? Who do you mean?”

  Moadas waved dismissively. His red hands grabbed the bri again. “Forget it. Ev is right: drink and be welcome, Jass. You may be a fool now but you used to be part of our world. That does form a bond. Once you have drunk enough, you’ll return to your spaceship anyway so you can disturb other spheres.”

  Jassat swallowed, clenching his fists. He rested them on the stone table. “A fool? I’m Renao, just like you are. I come from Konuhbi, just like you do. It’s not that I used to be from this world, I am from this world!”

  “Jass,” Evykk said quietly. “Don’t. Just leave it. Let’s talk about something else.”

  But he had no intention to do that. Moadas’s insults had opened a valve, and now the fury that he had bottled up for so long boiled over.

  His friend also had no interest in making peace. “You’re not like me, spaceman,” Moadas growled derisively. “Nothing like us at all.”

  “Are you the one to make that kind of decision these days? Is it up to you to decide who belongs to Onferin an
d who doesn’t?”

  “Your deeds decide that!” Moadas shouted. He hit the table with the palm of his hand, and Evykk winced. “You turn up as if nothing happened, Jass. But we both know that your ship is waiting in orbit. You didn’t come alone.” Reproachfully he looked at Evykk, his finger pointing at Jassat. “This is not a touching homecoming, don’t you see that? Not a reunion for old times’ sake, and not a late realization. Jass is here because his Federation is here—and just like them, he doesn’t belong here at all. Not if he represents what they stand for.”

  “For a breach of galactic harmony,” Jassat said what was obviously on the tip of Moadas’s tongue. He thought about the terrorist videos claiming responsibility, and how similar they sounded to what Moadas was saying now. “Is that what you mean? And to whom were you referring when you said that not everyone saw it my way?”

  Moadas flared. He reached under his clothing, pulling out a rectangular document, which he dropped on the table. “That’s what I mean.”

  The lieutenant picked up the document. It was some kind of flyer—printed paper made from dried and industrially bleached algae. A symbol of a flame was visible on the upper half of the page with some small printed text underneath. Jassat didn’t have a lot of time to study the content, as Ev snatched the page off the table before he could get more than a glance.

  “Don’t, Moa,” she said quietly. “Not him.”

  “Why not?” the drunken man snapped at her. His voice was mocking, and an aggressive fire burned in his eyes. “He claims to be one of us. Let him prove it. Let him defend the order as well, for the spheres.”

  Lowering her eyes, she shook her head without a word.

  “What is that?” the lieutenant asked his childhood friend. “This Son of the Ancient Reds. Who is that supposed to be, Moa? And what kind of work are you really doing out there in Massoa?” He pointed at the sheet that Evykk clutched in her clenched fist. He’d only been able to read a few phrases on the flyer before she took it away, but what he did see greatly bothered him. “Are you there to distribute propaganda to the masses? To represent the views of the Purifying Flame?”

  Moadas rose, his eyes fixed on his guest. “We are tour guides, spaceman. Nothing else. We offer orientation to those who seek it. We show them a direction.”

  “Into violence?”

  “Into order.”

  The lieutenant studied his hosts silently. Dozens of questions went through his mind, and he didn’t like any of them.

  Finally, Evykk ak Busal also stood up. “I think, you’d better go now, Jass,” she said, still averting her eyes. “It was nice seeing you again, but…” She didn’t finish her sentence. Her silence said more than words ever could.

  Jassat went to the front door. In the doorway, he looked back one last time. “You’re wrong,” he said. “If you really sympathize with the views of these terrorists, you’re damn wrong. Talk to me! Let me help—you and all the others suffering from the poison that the Purifying Flame is spreading. That’s what we’re here for!”

  Evykk’s eyes welled up with tears of helplessness, shame, and melancholy.

  “You’ve already done more than enough, spaceman,” Moadas stated. He glared at Evykk, and it sounded like a threat. “Get lost. Once and for all.”

  Jassat turned on his heel and departed. His heart was unbearably heavy, and his thoughts raced. He knew that he had to act, but the decision to reach for his combadge, hidden in the pocket of his outfit, was the hardest he had ever made.

  * * *

  In the eyes of Lieutenant Klarn of the I.K.S. Bortas, the day had started miserably, but it had just taken a turn for the better. Purposefully, the Klingon entered the second level of the southern arcology.

  “This way,” he told the other three members of this strangely mixed away team. “This Caitian said it is somewhere over there. Apparently, their Renao-pet is waiting for us outside the front door.”

  “His name is…” started Ensign Simanek of the Prometheus security detail.

  But Klarn waved him off. “His name doesn’t matter to me. He’s Renao. That says more than enough.”

  Again, he asked himself why Captain Kromm had agreed to mixed away teams working on Onferin. A team purely consisting of Klingons would have been much more efficient searching the harbor near Auroun. But no, he and Bekk Ruut had to drag two members of Starfleet security around all day for this task. So far, Ensign Simanek and Lieutenant Jansen had been fairly bearable—at least they didn’t get in the way all the time, or asked their captain for permission every time they wanted to turn a corner. But still, they were a nuisance.

  “On my ship,” the Klingon communications officer continued, “a man from a nation of terrorists wouldn’t be allowed to continue his service, that much is certain.”

  Unexpectedly, Jansen nodded. “Hear, hear,” he mumbled approvingly.

  Surprised, Klarn glanced at the ginger-haired Norwegian and laughed. Maybe there was hope for these Federation lackeys after all.

  The team of four walked along the arcology’s corridor silently; Klarn was two steps ahead of the others. The Renao did indeed wait outside the small home. He looked downcast and insecure—the perfect Starfleet officer. The closer the away team came, the more his shoulders sagged.

  “Are they still in there?” Klarn quietly asked the lieutenant from the Prometheus who still wore civilian clothing. Ruut, Jansen, and Simanek stood next to the front door, waiting. “Both of them?”

  Jassat ak Namur nodded. “Only a few minutes have passed since I left them. I kept my eyes glued to their quarters. If they didn’t use a transporter, they’re still in there.”

  Klarn grunted, satisfied. “If we can’t use transporters, the locals can’t either. And besides, didn’t they say that your species is technologically deficient?” He pulled the disruptor from his hip.

  “Listen,” the Renao started again. The weapon seemed to scare him. “Those are… were friends of mine. And I’m not exactly sure about their involvement with the Purifying Flame. It didn’t seem to me as if they’re part of the organization. At least not of the inner circle. They… Lieutenant, they’re probably just followers. They distribute propaganda material out there in Massoa, that’s all we know.” He looked at Simanek and Jansen. “Do you really need weapons under those circumstances?”

  Klarn shook his head. “We’re here because you deemed them suspicious, Lieutenant ak Namur. Suspicious enough to inform Commander Roaas. He gave us the order to come here because we happened to be the closest away team. So I suggest you let us do our work. Keep your regrets and your doubts to yourself.”

  “But isn’t it enough if those two simply…”

  “Be silent.” Klarn looked at him sternly. “You said those two might be a lead to the terrorists. That is all that matters. If the consequences of your own suspicion frighten you, Lieutenant, I recommend you leave.”

  Ak Namur stared at him silently. Klarn sensed that the Renao’s mind was working overtime, and that his sense of duty battled against emotions.

  “We’re dealing with it, Lieutenant,” said Simanek with calm determination. “You go. The cavalry is here.”

  That seemed to calm the Renao slightly, and he turned around and left. He still seemed downcast but that didn’t matter to Klarn.

  “There’s a good pet,” the Klingon leader of the away team growled and grinned satisfied. He checked his disruptor’s settings before looking at his team. Ruut had also drawn his weapon. “All ready? We’re going in. I don’t think we will come across much resistance.”

  Simanek and the other human exchanged glances.

  Klarn didn’t miss this silent exchange. Frustrated, he sighed. “Are you also going to bother me with moral qualms?”

  Simanek shook his head. “You know something, Lieutenant? I think we need a quick break. I feel an urgent call of nature that can’t be postponed… if you know what I mean. Don’t wait for us with the arrest.”

  “Are you insane?” Ruut snapped.
“Are you an officer or a child?”

  Klarn stopped him with a wave of his hand. He understood what the Starfleet officers were truly saying. “It might be for the best if no members of Starfleet are present for this.” Klarn was all too aware what would happen in that case: ak Busal and ak Lavoor would be handed over to the local authorities, and then be questioned—maybe in the presence of a representative from the Prometheus, but primarily by their own people. The Federation always made a point of being friendly to the locals, didn’t they? That was the core of their pathetic inefficiency: they were too soft.

  “I had friends on Starbase 91,” Simanek said. “I believe they deserve justice. Just like we all do. And if we want to prevent further casualties, we can’t waste any more time… for example with insufficient interrogations.”

  “You deal with the two suspects,” Jansen agreed. “Simanek and I will plead ignorance if anyone asks. But I’m sure that won’t happen any time soon. By the time Roaas realizes that ak Namur’s childhood friends have disappeared, you might have extracted all relevant information from them so we can put a stop to these bastards. In that case, nobody will ask any questions about the ‘how’.”

  With these words, he and the ensign turned, and went back the way they had come.

  Ruut went to stand next to Klarn. “Can you believe that?” the Klingon security officer asked, dumbfounded.

  “Starfleet officers with sense.” The lieutenant grinned approvingly. “Don’t tell the captain. He might swap ships.”

  Sometimes, the end justifies the means, Klarn thought. Wasn’t that an idiom from Earth? If so, it was definitely time that Captain Adams’s colleagues remembered it. The Klingon nodded toward Ruut. Raising his disruptor, he kicked down the door to Moadas ak Lavoor’s quarters, in a great mood all of a sudden.

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