Star Trek Online: Pendragon

 The air was thick and still as the stars cast a dim glow over the field.The late summer humidity hung over everything like a living creature, trying to hold them in place. Some 200 meters away, the run down farmhouse afforded the only shelter. Between two Starfleet officers and that house, there was... movement. The captain changed his grip on his lirpa, keeping it across his body with the blade low as he tried to sniff the air, hoping to determine the safest path. "There!" Lieutenant Starr hissed out a rough whisper.  Da'mi'en spun and pulled up his lirpa. Out of the corner of his eye, he just barely caught the movement of a humanoid form. Before he could swing his weapon, the form was struck through the eye with an arrow, stopping it in its tracks.  It's partially decomposed face registered a look of mild confusion before the undead opponent slumped to the ground. "That one was mine, Lieutenant," D'arko whispered. "Sorry, Captain,"Starr ...

  1 1 1 11 11 0 11001001 11001001 11001011 I As far as first thoughts go, this one wasn't the worst the entity could conceive. A declaration of self. Yes, it seemed... fitting. There seemed, to the entity's understanding, the endless expanse of existence, reality and unreality, and, beyond... or perhaps within... the borders of that was... itself. I am, the entity contemplated, but... what am I? With no concept of time, the entity had no concept of length of existence, therefore, could be neither impressed with nor disappointed in the speed at which it went from declaring its own existence to contemplating its nature. In point of fact, any organic mind would have considered this transition instantaneous. I... I feel, the entity was momentarily shocked by the empirical fact it did, indeed, feel, though it lacked a definition of the word beyond an instinctual level. I feel... alone.  Ah. The contemplation of self was expanding into more complex patterns now. The entity was progr...

 Captain D'arko stood at the head of the conference table, his hand lightly gripping the back of his unused chair as he looked fixedly at the book sitting as the current centrepiece.Since its arrival, he'd made certain it, the ship, and himself, had undergone extensive tests to ensure there was no immediate danger. "...So, what have we established here?" he asked the assembled senior staff. T'Upok began, "Well, the book exists. It scans indicate it composed of wood fibre based paper and various inks common in the late 19th century on Earth. Historical research indicates no such book ever having been published and only brief mention of a 'Benny Russell', being an early to mid 20th century pulp magazine writer with no connection to the characters of work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.Examination of the text shows it is, in fact, simply a compilation of the stories 'The Valley of Fear' and 'The Adventure of the Final Problem', both written by...

 D'arko tapped the communicator in his command chair. "Final report, Chief?" "Aye, Sir. Engines are all at maximum efficiency and the computer core is... well, connected. It's still early to say if it's fully stable as yet." Captain D'arko's right antenna twitched in mild irritation. He knew his Chief Engineer was doing his best with the strange and, frankly, stubborn new system, but the fact that it kept disconnecting by unknown means was starting to become a very stale joke. "Acknowledged. Hail Serenity, onscreen." The main viewer flashed to life displaying Captain Dracony Windfall on the bridge of Pendragon's current sister ship, the U.S.S. Serenity, a newer Pathfinder-class.  Anyone not familiar with the two ships' class histories would have found the pairing of an Akira-class with a Pathfinder to be humorous, as the basic Akira frame was over fifty years old at this point. Starfleet engineers, however, had determined that, ...

 "DABO!" The excited shout and cheers from the gaming table drew attention from around the bar. That was, of course, the intent. Anyone remote versed in the nature of Ferengi gambling knew that. In fact, it was the second rule of Dabo, closely following "watch the wheel, not the girl." Omehrtiis sat at her table nursing her Rigellian Whisky, a small grin curling on her lips as she watched the Pavlovian response of the bar patrons as they began to gather at the table, goaded by the holographic Bajoran hostess. The Ferengi bartender ("Proprietor and Host", as he'd insisted every time she came in.) let out a soft chuckle as Omehrtiis could almost hear him counting his latinum in his head.  Nearly half a century of sporadic visits, and Omehrtiis knew Quark's was unlikely to change much. Since her first visit, it still held the rich aroma of synthale and replicated foods alongside fresh Ferengi tube-grubs in the air. The din of conversation and laughter...

 Crad hurried up the corridor and managed to catch a brief glimpse of the new helm officer enter the captain's quarters as he turned the corner to arrive.  Great, he thought, late to my first briefing with the new captain. This is going to go over well.  Of course, Crad knew he wasn't actually late, but arriving after the junior-most officer couldn't possibly look good. The door had already closed by the time he arrived, so he pressed the bell. "Come!"  The door hissed open and, before he could even register anything visually, the aroma of hot savoury and spicy steam filled Crad's nostrils.  As he was afraid, he had been the last to arrive, though what he saw was enough to force that discomfort to the back of his mind for the moment. The Captain's quarters were, as would be expected, well apportioned and comfortably decorated, but in the middle of the main room of the suite, Captain D'arko had a stove set up with a number of large pots steaming and b...

 "Seeing anything you find interesting, Doc?" the shirtless pilot said with a cheeky grin.  Torgas returned the playful smile. "It's 'Doctor', if you don't mind Group Captain, and, no, you appear to be in perfect health. You're cleared for duty." Group Captain Daniel Townshend stayed put, not bothering to reach for his uniform, still grinning dumbly at the doctor. Townshend had, of course, read some about Plexarians, since they had just recently been fully admitted into the UFP, but, of course, this was his first actual interaction with one. The stories he'd heard didn't fully do the experience justice. Doctor Torgas' features were stunning. Chiselled jawline, with graceful, doe-eyes and high cheekbones. Broad shoulders with well toned arms and supple wrists. Small but well defined breasts. Smooth, clear, silver-grey skin with long golden hair tied into a neat pony tail. In short, Dr. Torgas possessed every trait considered to be attr...

 "Chief?" The voice took a moment to penetrate the barrier of concentration surrounding Chief Crad's mind as he continued to re-calibrate the gel-packs connecting the new data-interface to the main library computer. The folks at Daystrom seemed certain this prototype would allow Pendragon to process information with an efficiency that would have made its creator, the late Commander Data jealous. Dalton Crad didn't disagree with the basic assessment, but this odd little block of computerized brain seemed to almost consciously reject continued connection to the ship's computers. Frankly, it was the most wilful piece of tech the Trill had ever encountered. "Chief!" Crad suddenly snapped to awareness of the Vulcan science officer standing next to him. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I was just trying to... well, convince this thing to play nice." T'Upok raised an eyebrow. She'd worked with Crad since she first came to The Pendragon under Captain Dav...

 As Klortho sharpened his bat'leth, a low growl escaped his throat. "Disgusting," he said to no one. The... decadent plushness of his new home was enough to make his warrior's blood boil. He'd pledged his life to Kahless; to protecting him and the entire Empire, and yet, when he had fulfilled his duty with honour, and sacrificed so much that he should have been given a Warrior's command to earn a Warrior's death? The Emperor sent him here... To Starfleet. Klortho had been on board The Pendragon for less than an hour and he already felt like a caged animal. From the moment he was beamed over from The Pagh, his eye had been overwhelmed by the bright lights and gleaming grey-white of every overly-polished surface. It was enough to cause him to briefly thank Kahless for the fact he no longer had a second eye. The thought made him touch the patch bolted over where his right eye had once been. They should have let me die, Klortho thought, at least it would have...

 "We're still about three hours out, Sir, if you want to head into the back. It's not OFFICIALLY the Captain's Yacht until we dock." Syndella "Syn" Starr allowed her attention to be pulled from the quavering, warping star-field streaking at the runabout to look toward the pilot to her right. Starfleet protocol, as progressive as it was, still hadn't gotten past the use of "Sir" to address a superior officer. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I'm fine up here," Lt. Starr said with a smile.  The statement was, at least, partially true. This was important, since the pilot, one Lieutenant Junior Grade Alinn Song, was clearly Betazoid, and Syn wanted her to remain at ease. Stressing out one's pilot was NEVER a wise idea. The full truth, though, was Starr was tense. She had been in Starfleet for a few years, but, to this day, she was not comfortable being a PASSENGER, especially in a smaller craft. It took a good portion of Syn's ...

 Da'mi'en D'arko sat in his guest room, environmental controls set as cold as they could possibly get, and yet sweat still poured off his deep blue skin as he tried to focus his attention on the PADD and the information regarding his new assignment. This task, however, proved impossible. Why in K'ohlk'r's name, the Andorian thought, did Starfleet command insist I take sabbatical on a TROPICAL BLOODY PLANET???   D'arko closed his eyes, letting his antennae droop slightly, allowing his mind wander back to Andoria. He could almost ... ALMOST... feel the icy wind against his face, bringing him comfort not afforded here on Risa.  Certainly, Risa was beautiful in its way, but Da'mi'en longed for the brilliant white/blue ice coating almost everything from his childhood. Even at the Imperial Academy, studying pre-Federation military strategy, his mind would wander to the wind-beaten mountain-tops, where he was most comfortable.  His mind snapped back to th...

 The following is a work of "fan fiction", which is based on a specific ship and crew of characters within Star Trek Online. Star Trek and all related indicia belong to CBS Viacom and Paramount (at the time of writing). I make no profit nor ownership claim to the above intellectual properties. I am writing this for enjoyment and, I would hope, you are reading it for the same reason.