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Fan Fic Classic: "TGP Forager" by Heath

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FPF-Wanderer:
Part 6

Escorted by Lieutenant Alir and four armored Lyran marines, the crew of Stalwart , now reunited with their officers, marched in double file through the airlocks into Maxender station.

Opulent.

It was the only word that Jack Virenko could think of. The corridors of the docking concourse were over ten meters high, walled by massive black bands of Corellian adamantine and illuminated by sconces placed on the thick bulkheads that protruded from ceiling to floor at regular intervals. The sconces were a platinum skeleton framing panes of amber and emerald, the Lyran royal colors, and worked to look like colorful birds roosting on the walls. Between each bulkhead hung an ornate tapestry, over fifteen meters long, depicting heroic events in Lyran history. The one hanging directly across form their airlock told the story of the first Klingon war and the heavy losses suffered by both sides.

Opposite the tapestries were floor-to-ceiling observation windows that looked down upon the immense internal hangar of the starbase. Repair crews swarmed over badly damaged warships, while others labored at modifications and upgrades to older ships. In one slip Jack was sure that a crew had removed the disruptors from a Tiger heavy cruiser and were fitting in four more ESGs. ?Good grief,? he whispered, thinking of the destruction that such a ship could wreak at close range. ?What a monster.?

As the crew of Stalwart filed along the docking ring they were brought to a halt as Lieutenant Alir conferred with a young Lyran noble looking out into the hangar.

?Lord Umbro, will your boat be repaired?? Mur had a mellow voice that, despite her crisp and correct manner, seemed like honey in the air.

?What? Oh, Mur. Um, Lieutenant Alir, I mean. Forgive me. I was quite lost in thought. Uh, yes. Yes, she will be just uh fine.? Umbro fidgeted slightly and didn?t seem to know what to do with his hands. Though he smiled, it was almost too casual and his ears scanned from front to side: a sign of nervousness in Lyrans.

For her part, Mur Alir looked intently at Umbro, not challenging, but firmly holding him in her soft gaze. ?That is well. The Commander was very pleased with your attack upon the frigate.? Umbro intently studied his boots. ?Will your cousin?s boat fare so well??

Relieved to turn the conversation away from himself, Umbro nodded vigorously. ?Oh yes. The repair crews are working even now,? he said, pointing. Mur moved closer to look to where Umbro indicated, and in so doing brushed the young PF commander with her cheek. From where Jack was standing, he couldn?t quite determine if she had done that on purpose or not. Regardless of her intent, Umbro rapidly apologized and excused himself, noting the late hour (it was 09:00) and an appointment with the dockmaster (he went the wrong way).

As luxurious as the docking ring was, the grand hall in the center of the station was breathtaking. Gold columns, worked to resemble herds of antelope-like animals stampeding towards the ceiling, soared hundreds of meters. The floor was paved with a green marble flecked in gold. The ground floor of the hall was arranged as a garden oasis with palm trees and lush ferns. Fragrant flowers ringed ornate fountains and everywhere was the sound of running water. An opulent mantle crested the arched ceiling of the hall and in the center of it?s ring it supported a clear dome looking out onto the stars. Maxender was the showpiece of the Duke of Red Claw. And his city above the clouds it?s grand entrance.

Lieutenant Alir lead them to the lowest docking level, where launches and yachts moored. Waiting for them was Major Nel, commander of Forager?s lancers. He now wore his dress uniform: a rich green collarless surcoat with large gold buttons down the left side, belted at the waist and worn over a thick white shirt. Black trousers with a gold stripe down the side were tucked into high green boots. At his side hung an exquisite scimitar worked in silver and emeralds. The top of his right boot held a similarly hilted dagger. Around his neck hung a large clear stone in the shape of a single claw on a heavy black chain.

Next to the major stood a slightly smaller Lyran. His uniform was similar, except it replaced the green surcoat with one of black embroidered with white stars. Around his neck he wore a smaller medal designed simply as a broken sword worked in silver and cradled in two paws made of a deep purple stone. The man himself possessed a relaxed calm that bordered on serene. His deep green eyes had a depth to them that was almost hypnotic, and his resonant voice seemed to originate somewhere beneath the floor as he conferred quietly with Major Nel.

?So this is Commander Halifax.? McDowell whispered to Steve Joergen as they approached the pair of Lyran Officers.

From behind McDowell, Jack Virenko said in a low voice, ?Major Nel wears the Order of Fury. It represents the highest achievements in hand to hand combat. Members of the order are dangerous in the extreme and respected even by the Gorn.? Joergen let out a quiet whistle at that. ?The other, whom I agree must be Halifax,? Jack continued, ?wears the Tears of the Fallen. The ?Tears? are an exclusive order, independent even of the emperor. They bestow membership themselves.?

?Are they a religious sect of some kind?? McDowell asked over her shoulder.

?I don?t know, Captain. I do know that they are held in some reverence, at least in traditional Lyran society.?

As the crew of Stalwart reached Halifax and Nel, Lieutenant Alir halted her detachment of marines and reported to her commander in a crisp and precise fashion that Steve appreciated.

?Commander Halifax, The crew of Federation StarFleet vessel Stalwart. May I present Captain Janice McDowell??

McDowell felt that she should take the initiative for a change. ?Commander Halifax, may I offer my hand in thanks for the treatment of my crew??

Halifax took McDowell?s hand and bowed his head. ?We are pleased that destruction did not have to follow trial at arms.?

His paw was huge and it engulfed McDowell?s hand in a rich, soft fur. The sensation wasn?t totally unpleasant. Halifax had a soothing way about him. Possibly a pheromone effect, thought McDowell. Whatever the reason, he seemed quite genuine in his distaste for violence... or as he put it, destruction.

?Her Grace, the Countess of Dark Storm instructs me that it is her pleasure that you and your crew join her at her hunting lodge here on Maxender.? he said, gesturing towards a waiting yacht. ?Captain, ladies and gentlemen, if you would proceed this way we may rendezvous with our launch to the planet?s surface.?

FPF-Wanderer:
Part 7

As Rahnn, the Lyran Vanquisher and T?lan, the Tal Shi?ar agent solidified on the transporter pad of MP Argent Five the patrol cutter?s red alert roared through her decks. A young Lyran snapped to attention and presented himself to the newly arrived pair.

?Transporter Mate Hrul, sir! You are requested to proceed directly to the bridge. We have company.? Rahnn nodded a response and T?lan parodied a Klingon salute as both hurried into the corridor.

As the turbolift doors opened, Rahnn saw that the bridge was under its dimmer battle lighting. The viewscreen showed a large pirate vessel on an intercept course.

?Probe report in, sir. Light Raider; Daven cartel.? reported Zazar, the science officer.

?What do they have?? asked Basrala. The mistress of this vessel sat on the edge of her command chair peering intently at the viewscreen.

?An F-type plasma, two disruptors and phasers. They?re only burning standard engines, no doubling.?

T?lan went quickly to the science station. Rahnn signaled the marine lancer on the bridge to let him go.

?Welcome aboard, Constable.? said Basrala, still studying the main viewscreen. ?I see that you?ve found your quarry.?

?Thank you, Commander. I see that we are somewhat outmatched.?

?Outgunned, yes. Outmatched? Not this little cutter. We?ll ...?

?It?s Rihannsu!? T?lan interrupted. He had moved the science officer aside and was furiously adjusting sensor controls and studying readouts.

?The pirate?? asked Basrala. ?I thought that only the Federation used pirate auxiliaries.?

?What? No, the plasma launcher. It is of Rihannsu design. You can tell them apart from Gorn launchers by their energy signature. Nothing this quiet ever came out of a Gorn shipyard.?

?Agent T?lan, that is fascinating.? Basrala turned to look at T?lan, irritated. ?But unless the Tal Shi?ar installs a secret off switch in all Rihannsu plasma launchers, that little bit of trivia isn?t all that vital right now.?

?Basha, what a good idea!? T?lan stared into empty space, considering Basrala?s excellent suggestion, then shook his head slightly and continued in a more impatient voice. ?No. It is a standard launcher. But since there is no black market in the Empire,? no one doubted the secret police agent, ?it could only have been scavenged from murdered Rihannsu.? T?lan?s usual erratic manner was gone. His faced was slightly flushed with green and emotion made his voice thick. ?Basha, they must be punished.?

The earnest sincerity on T?lan?s face brought Basrala up short. ?How many ships did this den have?? she asked, her own voice becoming intense.

?That should be the only one. They were mostly smugglers and kidnappers out here.?

Basrala, and the rest of her crew, broke into feral grins and here and there long white fangs showed and claws flexed from their sheaths.

?Zazar, maximum ECM.? She keyed her command panel. ?Shuttle crews, make ready a suicide load in one and a decoy in two.? Basrala turned to the crewmen seated in front of her. ?Jron, standard load on the disruptor. Selyn, commence erratic maneuvers. We want to discourage any long range sniping so long as he has two cannons and we only have one. Dump what ever energy is left into speed. Make for the pirate vessel.?

The small patrol cutter began to tip and dodge as Selyn tried to fool the pirate?s targeting computers. As the distance closed, the pirate vessel picked up speed. ?Commander,? said Selyn, ?He?s going to overrun us!?

?Steady, helm. That?s the point here. Take us down to speed four. Tractor crews, give me a level one beam on that pirate. Standby for my order.?

?Speed four, aye. Distance ten clicks and closing.?

?He?s doubled his engines, sir. Increasing speed and closing fast.? reported Zazar.

?Wait...wait...drop evasives and launch the decoy!? Basrala?s eyes burned into the screen before her. ?All right, parasite. What do you do now??

?Commander, they?re firing on the decoy. Two phaser-1s?the decoy has been destroyed. Explosion phase commenced.? Zazar sounded calm and mechanical as if reciting from an often practiced exercise ? which he was.

During the explosion phase of the wild weasel decoy the expanding cloud of charged particles continued to mimic the small police cutter and lent it electronic jamming. A plasma torpedo would still target the hot ball of charge, and not the cutter.

?Closing to point-blank range.?

?Jron, fire disruptor.?

At Basrala?s command Argent Five?s disruptor hammered the front shield of the pirate vessel. It still held, but it was visibly weakened.

In response, two overloaded disruptor cannons disgorged their tongues of green destruction at the patrol cutter?s number six shield. But Argent Five?s electronic jamming allowed her to dodge one of the disruptor bolts, and only take a glancing blow from the remaining phaser. Still, the disruptor that hit shook the cutter violently.

?Selyn, hard about. Get that weak shield away from him. Tractor crews, get me that pirate. Shuttle bay one, launch the killer.? In that moment Basrala was grateful to the anonymous Lyran engineer that had insisted that all Lyran ships be catamarans with redundant systems on each side ? including shuttle bays. Both vessels shook as a pulsing blue beam linked the two vessels.

?Plasma, plasma, plasma!? Zazar alerted the ship to the green ball of ultra-hot matter that had tumbled from the pirate ship?s bow.

?Ignore it.? ordered Basrala. ?We?ll just have to chance that it?s a fake.?

?Suicide shuttle impact imminent.? reported Zazar. ?In three, two, one,...impact?

Near simultaneously, the green ball of star-stuff destroyed the forward shield of Argent Five and the small shuttle detonated, shattering the remains of the pirate?s own forward shield. The bridge of Argent Five rocked back dramatically, but she took only minor damage to her port hull and warp engine. The pirate vessel faired somewhat worse. Its front shield had already been damaged by disruptor fire. The suicide shuttle?s blast breached the ship?s hull and the phaser-1 hard point. Worse still, the starboard warp nacelle was badly damaged. Combined with the damage incurred by doubling the engines, the pirate was very low on power.

Basrala keyed her command console. ?Transporter crews, get me their stores. I don?t want them fixing a broken door switch. Jron,? she said, looking up, ?phaser-2s, in sequence, on their engines. Lets turn the lights out on the parasites.?

Four heavy phasers tore in to port side of the pirate vessel. Plasma streamed into space, mixing with pieces of the shattered hull.

?The pirate has lost his transporter, phasers, port disruptor, and his sensors are damaged.? reported Zazar. ?His warp engine capability is down to twenty percent and his hull integrity is compromised.?

?Secure the tractor. Selyn, plot a speed course to get us some separation.? Basrala leaned back in her command chair, relaxing a little now that the situation was a little more in hand.

The pirate ship was crippled. It was an easy matter for Argent Five to swing around to her aft shield and finish the job with an overloaded disruptor and a full phaser suite at close range. The pirate ship exploded in an expanding sphere of white light. T?lan watched with satisfaction until the last burning ember died.

?Good fight, Basha.? said Rahnn from the rear of the bridge. ?Daring him with the decoy was...quite a gamble.?

?Thanks. I saw Halifax do it on my senior cruise. Speaking of whom, we have an appointment to keep. Lancer!? the marine standing bridge duty presented himself and saluted. ?Show these two to quarters on the command deck. And tell the galley to load the Rihannsu menus into the food system. Basrala turned back to the mainviewer as the trio boarded the turbolift. ?Helm, plot a course for Maxender. Warp eight.?

FPF-Wanderer:
Part 8

The Countess?s ?hunting lodge? on Maxender turned out to be a complex of seventeen buildings surrounding a central stone ?cabin? that was four stories tall. The outbuildings were built from logs 1.5 meters in diameter and of an unusual greenish-brown. Four of these buildings housed the crew of Stalwart. Every five crewmen were assigned a suite of rooms. Each room had a Gorn-sized bed, a view of either the center court gardens or nearby Lake Grrhonami (Morning Nap), and an actual water bathtub! Each suite had a large common room with an authentic wood-burning fireplace, eating area and soft cushions for lounging.

Stalwart?s officers were housed in the main house. The rooms were quite similar to those in the out-buildings except that instead of a suite arrangement, each room had its own parlor/receiving room and terrace.

The house Stewardess explained the amenities available as she showed each of the Federation officers to their rooms. After an explanation of the house?s routine (eating schedules, etc.) she extended an invitation from the mistress of the house to afternoon meal some three hours hence. It was to be an informal meeting so civilian clothes were to be provided.

Once alone, Jack Virenko checked his room for surveillance devices. A good StarFleet Intelligence agent always wanted to know who his audience was. After a thorough inspection he found that the white walls and stone floors concealed nothing.

With his routine task completed, he was free to begin assimilating his observations among the Lyrans. And he could think of no better place than the large and inviting bathtub surrounded by fragrant blue flowers and lush green fern-like plants.

After a refreshing soak Jack dried off in the arid field on the way into the bedroom. He found a set of cloths laid out that had not been there when he had first arrived. ?Damn,? he muttered, ?these cats are quiet.? The outfit consisted of durable-looking green pants and a brilliant white shirt with a high collar. A long, loose white robe with gray and green designs embroidered in it and fabric shoes completed the costume. They were, Jack realized, traditional Lyran desert clothing. This was a compliment as the Feds were to be treated like Lyrans. The clothes were very comfortable, no doubt tailored and replicated for each member of the crew. As the midday prayer chime sounded Jack left his room to confer with his captain on their upcoming meeting.

McDowell opened her door and invited him out on to her terrace. She was wearing a similar costume to his, except she had been given a skirt instead of pants and a narrow veil.

?Captain, you look very nice in a Lyran T?bilseh.? he said formally.

McDowell grimaced. ?I hate skirts. They always catch in my knees.?

?Let me fix your robe. You haven?t got it belted tightly enough. The only time a woman wears her belt loosened like that is when she is pregnant.? McDowell blushed slightly but allowed her XO to adjust her costume. ?There,? he said with satisfaction, ?you are the picture of a Lyran matriarch.?

McDowell surveyed herself in a wall mirror and half smiled. ?C?mon, Jack the others are waiting outside.?
Out on the terrace Steve Joergen, Stalwart?s chief of security leaned back against a tall planter with his arms folded. Next to him Hans, the ships chief medical officer did the same. Seated at the round breakfast table was Anna Velasquez, acting chief engineer. Steve and Hans looked somewhat uncomfortable and out of place, though Jack couldn?t tell which was a function of which. Anna, however, looked stunning. The combination of white, green and gray complimented her Argentine complexion and dark brown eyes. He was momentarily at a loss for words, but covered it by pretending to adjust to the bright noon suns.

?Hiya Jack.? said Steve. ?Hey, am I wearing this thing right? I?d hate to go represent the Federation with my pants on backwards.? Jack laughed. Steve always knew how to keep the mood light.

?You look fine, Steve. You too, Hans. And Chief Valasquez,? he said, turning once more to look at the young woman with the brown eyes, ?you wear the T?bilseh like a Lyran duchess.? And he added a bow to complete the effect. Behind him Hans frowned at his dramatics, but Steve smiled at the effect that it had on Anna. He and the chief engineer were good friends and he liked to see her happy.

?Alright you two. That?s enough.? injected McDowell with a rueful smile. ?Don?t get too caught up in playing dress-up here.? She turned to Steve. ?Okay, what is the present situation??

?Well,? Steve began, scratching his chin, ?our escape prospects remain unchanged. While this place looks like some noble?s manor ? which it is ? I?ve spied several Lyran marines patrolling the grounds and the outer areas. Any overt move on our part would be abbreviated at best.?

?They?re not for us.? Jack said, standing at the terrace railing and looking out over Lake Grrhonami. ?They are to defend us from other clans.? The other started in alarm.

?Explain.? Said McDowell, uneasily.

?We are quite a prize, both materially and in terms of prestige. Not to mention the bargaining currency with StarFleet that we represent. It would not be inconceivable for a competing faction to want to rob Dark Storm of their enviable trophy at the upcoming wedding.?

?You mean kidnap?? Asked Hans.

?Or kill.? replied Jack, offhandedly. ?All of the Lyran clans do not get along. In fact, civil war is fairly common here. One reason that the Lyran fleet is so good is that they practice on each other so often.?

?I?ll pass that along to the section heads.? said Steve, somewhat concerned. ?We?ll make sure that everyone is on their toes.?

?That?s a good idea, Steve. We are Dark Storm?s problem, but I?m sure that they wouldn?t object to us avoiding trouble when we can.?

McDowell leaned over the terrace railing slightly and saluted to a group of her crewmen below. ?So, what can we expect from this afternoon meeting? I understand that a Romulan will be there and maybe a Klingon. Do you think that we?ll be handed over to one of the senior partners in their alliance??

Anna chuckled a little. ?Captain, from what I?ve seen, the Lyran are not junior partners to anyone.? McDowell looked surprised and inquisitively at her chief engineer. ?Look around,? Anna said, sweeping the lush grounds with her hand, ?look at the immense wealth that we have seen both here and on the starbase.?

?Well of course,? answered McDowell, ?these are nobles. I?m sure that the common people live pretty poorly so that their lords can afford all of this grandeur.?

?Not really.? said Jack directly. ?Both Hydran and Klingon sources indicate that the average Lyran lives at least as well as the average Federation citizen. And if they were weak, the Klingons would have picked this ripe plumb years ago. Remember, most of our knowledge about the Lyrans comes from Hydrans, who were former slaves, and the Klingons.?

?He?s right about the Klingons, Janice.? said Hans. ?Part of the reason that they subjugated the Hydrans is because they could.?

?Well, if we aren?t to be transferred, are we just trophies? These Lyrans seemed fairly impressed with status.?

?They are more impressed with proper conduct.? replied Jack, slipping into his clinical voice again. ?What constitutes ?proper? can be problematic, as Lyran etiquette is fairly complicated.?

?It might just be that the Countess wants to get impressions from her allies about us. She may be as much at a loss with us as we are with her.? Anna said reasonably.

?She?s got an excellent point, Captain.? offered Steve. ?Their only sources for us have been the Klingons and the Romulans. I?m sure that their picture of us, especially from that pair, is a little...biased.?

While the quintet considered that, a shuttle descended and touched down on the landing pad near the lake. The Federation officers went to the railing. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like it discharged a big Lyran, a Klingon man, and a Romulan man and woman. Just then, the first warning chime for the afternoon meal sounded.

?Ok everyone. Keep your belts in tight,? said McDowell with a wink to Jack, ?and don?t slurp your soup. We?re going to meet the parents.?



Her Grace, Ahnnleh T?cril Mhnn Ehtlif, the Countess of Dark Storm received her Federation guests in her garden solarium. The building was round, almost fifty meters across and constructed almost entirely of crystal. The roof was tall enough to house full grown Jelisi trees and a tall rock outcropping that supported a gossamer waterfall.

The Countess was a comely Lyran woman, upper middle aged, with brown and tan fur and yellow-green eyes. Her T?bilseh was richly embroidered with gold only around the collar and a red stone in the shape of a tear clasping the collar closed ? the mark of a widow in mourning. Her veil was fringed with small opals and around her throat was a simple necklace of larger opals.

Surrounding her were the Klingons and Romulans that they had seen earlier, and the big Lyran. Major Nel and Commander Halifax were also present. As she spoke with them her voice had a musical quality, the words seeming to purr as she spoke them. Her smile was easy and quiet, as was her whole manner. She seemed a gentle woman steered by wisdom and a noble grace.

As the crew of Stalwart approached she turned her attention to them. ?Captain Janice of the McDowell clan. Major Steve of the House of Joergen. Hans of the Ndur tribe. Anna of the house of Velasquez.? The Countess nodded to each in turn as she spoke their names in good Federation Standard. And then she looked probingly at Jack. ?And Jack, called Virenko, of the Dniepro Cossacks. You speak our tongue and know of our ways. It will fall to you to present your people to ours.? Jack nodded solemnly, kissing his left index finger and touching his forehead in the Lyran sign of respect. The Countess nodded approval.

?Welcome,? she continued, ?to my humble retreat. I present to you Ambassador Frekor of the Klingon Empire.? The Klingon stood like a statue and stared at them with the faint sneer that Klingons seemed to Jack to be born with. McDowell?s look was flinty. ?Acting Ambassador Synalin of the Rihannsu.? The young Romulan woman bowed gracefully. She was very pretty and had a laughter in her eyes that none of the StarFleet people had ever seen before in a Romulan. ?And Commander T?lan.? The Romulan man had the same look in his eyes, only more so, but also bowed gracefully and seemed to them ... unthreatening? ?And this,? she said, indicating the big Lyran, ?is Constable Rahnn of the Vanquisher Command.? Steve looked up quickly, but Rahnn?s eye?s merely flickered to life and then back to the relaxed, serene look common to felines everywhere. The Countess caught the exchange, but ignored it completely. ?You, of course, know the Major and Commander.?

?Your Grace,? began McDowell, ?I thank you again for the kind treatment of my crew. Our security briefs did not lead us to expect such...gracious hospitality.?

The Countess looked meaningfully at Ambassador Frekor and laughed. ?Neither did our briefs prepare us for you. You see, we were under the impression that you were completely without manners and devoid of humor. But I see your crewmen,? she gestured to Stalwart personnel strolling in her garden, ?and they present themselves with good bearing and they even laugh. This gathers honor for you, Captain.? McDowell nodded at the compliment.

?But your scent is still wary. Perhaps you know more of Lyran internal matters than we had expected. Be at ease. You are in no danger. Our clan is sufficient to protect you from being used as pawns in the ploys of the ambitious.? She said the last word with a contempt that was unmistakable.

?No, Your Grace.? answered McDowell quickly. ?It is just that...how shall I say this...we are prisoners of war.? McDowell let it hang in the air.

Ambassador Frekor looked impatient and the two Romulans were unsuccessfully trying to cover smirks. The Countess mulled it over in her mind and then threw her head back in laughter. She had a lilting laugh the came from deep within her. Rahnn handed her a small cloth that she used to dab her eyes with. ?Oh my,? she said, ?forgive me. What a delightful people you are.? She leaned forward and took McDowell by the hand. ?Captain, when you surrendered to Major Nel you ceased to be an enemy. Had you still harbored hate for us you would have fought to the death. Is this not correct??

The Countess looked concerned and then a little uneasy when McDowell didn?t answer. The three Lyrans closed around her, crowding even the Romulans and the Klingon aside. Major Nel addressed McDowell in a quiet voice that suddenly carried a great deal of menace. ?Captain, you surrendered. Perhaps that means something different to your people than it does to ours? What are your intentions?? His claws had slowly slid from their sheaths.

The crew of Stalwart felt their hearts race and their breathing come in quick gasps as powerful Lyran aggression-pheromones filled the air. Things were getting out of hand fast, in McDowell?s estimation. She?d better put a lid on this, she thought.

?At ease, sailors.? she said over her shoulder, and then turned to the Countess and addressed her in the most reasonable and serious tone that she could muster. ?Your Grace, Major Nel, the intentions of a StarFleet officer are always peaceful when shown peace. You have my solemn word on that.? At her words the Lyrans relaxed somewhat; except for Major Nel who remained watchful. ?Please understand that we were expecting to be treated like Klingon prisoners.?

The Countess?s eyes flashed in mortal indignation. ?Who spreads this slander to your people? I will have him dismembered for such lies. How dare anyone question...? she broke off her tirade and looked at Ambassador Frekor with a half-smile. ?Oh Frekor, I did not mean to offend...?

?None taken, Countess. Terrans naturally assign Klingon qualities to all great warriors. It is a compliment really.? said Frekor with gruff Klingon humor.

?If I may, Countess?? said T?lan. The Countess nodded assent. ?Federation training teaches StarFleet personnel to surrender to save their crew if the battle cannot be won. This is termed a ?lost cause.? The theory is that the crewmen will then be alive and available to fight again at a later date when the odds of victory are more in their favor.?

The Countess considered what T?lan had said. She did not consider for long, however. ?Captain McDowell, this is a new situation, the meetings of our cultures. And I do not want it to devolve into something unfortunate. We are a people of honor and our word is our bond. May I have your word that your crew will behave with dignity and not try to escape or cause destruction for a period of eight days? I do not wish to order my Lancers to execute your crew. It would bring them no glory to do so. We should take time to sort out our various differences and determine what we are to do with you.?

McDowell caught both the very real and immediate threat, and the sincere offer of constructive dialogue. These cats were psychotic and they were throwing her too many curve balls. StarFleet training demanded escape. To roll over was to quit and StarFleet people never quit. But they also didn?t commit mass suicide in deference to a motivational ideal. And trying to escape right now and right here would be suicide.

?Your Grace, you have my word that my crew will behave as non-aggressive guests for the next eight days. And thank you.?

?Ah, you see, Frekor? They are civilized. Come now. It is time to eat.? The Countess stood and took Frekor and McDowell by the hand and led them to a shaded table heaped with food and drink. ?Ahnnhrul, my chef, is an absolute magician with fowl...?

FPF-Wanderer:
Part 9

The next day after their meeting with the Countess, McDowell and her crew received an invitation from Commander Halifax to tour the nearby capital of Gel Mor Tar. They met Halifax and Nel on the hunting retreat?s docks next to an antique yacht complete with sails. The ship was single masted, almost twenty meters long, and of lapstrake construction like a terran Viking longboat. The bow did not have a dragon head, but rather a thick spar to belay the flying jib and the name Tle, or Dawn, inlaid in dark wood on the ship?s bow. The aft deck was shaded by a bright blue and white striped canopy.

It was summer in Maxender?s southern hemisphere and the humans were relieved to board the yacht and get out from the warm morning sun. T?lan and Synalin, the Romulans, were waiting for them on the canopied aft deck.
The humans were beginning to become accustomed to Lyran clothing and were even finding it quite comfortable. They were still, however, a little shocked each time that they saw a Romulan; they were their oldest and bitterest foe. The Klingons posed the most immediate threat to the United Federation of Planets. But the Feds hated the Romulans. One hundred years of bloody warfare and political propaganda had infused the Rihannsu with a whole spectrum of demonic qualities in the Federation psyche. Though even these feelings were beginning to fade, either through acclimation or the genuine charm the Romulan pair possessed.

The group settled themselves into cushioned wicker chairs and a young purser asked what refreshments he might bring them. Synalin ordered for the humans. ?The Lyrans have a delightful little drink called Kthal.? she said to Hans Ndur seated to her right. ?It is a subtle blend of juices and spirits. But whatever you do, don?t even sip their beer. It is absolutely dreadful.?

?All hands report ready, Commander.? called Melena from the fore bridge.

?You have the bridge, Melena. Take us to Gel Mor Tar, if you would.? Halifax called back.

?Cast off mooring lines and make ready the sails. Right full rudder. Let fly the jib, we?ll let it pull us around.? Melena warmed to her role and strode the deck purposefully. ?Coil those lines and clean up that jib!? she barked. Halifax and Nel exchanged a look and chuckled softly.

The large white sails boomed to life as they caught the freshening breeze. Tle pulled easily away from the docks and made for Gel Mor Tar some thirty clicks on the other side of lake Grrhonami. The serpentine lake wound its way through rolling mountains carpeted with lush green trees and giant ferns. Flocks of sea birds skimmed the water?s surface and small aquatic animals of some sort leaped from the ship?s bow wave.

After about an hour later they were deep in the forested wilderness. On the bridge, Jack had joined Melena.

?Commander,? he said, still formal, ?with a city the size of Gel Mor Tar so close I would not have expected to see such a wild area as this.?

?Call me Melena, Commander, if I may call you Jack?? Jack inclined his head. ?This area, in fact much of Maxender, is a game preserve. Planets like this are rare in the universe.?

?It is beautiful. Is no one allowed here??

?Oh no. Most of it is a public reserve. But no powered vehicles are allowed, nor energy weapons or tools. It discourages the lazy.? She turned back towards the aft deck and shouted, ?Watch your course, Helm. Two degrees starboard. And give the mains some play.? She turned back to Jack. ?Energy emissions are monitored from Gel Mor Tar. The Vanquishers respond to any infraction.?

Jack?s spine chilled at the mention of the Lyran frontier patrol. ?So a sailing vessel is permitted as well as row-craft.? he said, pointing to three long rowing shells several hundred meters away on the lake.

The shells weren?t manned entirely by Lyrans, which was odd. Odder still was the lazy way in which their courses changed to intercept the Tle. Melena watched for a moment with narrowed eyes and then growled deep in her throat.

?Trouble?? asked Jack.

?Pirates.? Melena spat the word out. She keyed her communicator but could not raise a signal. ?Blood and fur! They?ve got a damping field up. We won?t be able to call for help. Commander!? she called down to the aft deck. ?We have company.? she said, pointing to the rapidly approaching boats. ?And they have a damping field on us.?

Halifax saw their intent immediately: the center boat was coming straight on while the other two moved fore and aft of the sailing ship. No matter which way their ship turned they would run into at least one boat which would delay them long enough for the others to catch up.

?Karim,? Halifax said over his shoulder, ?can we manage this??

Major Karim Nel of the Imperial Lancers smiled a feral grin in return. ?Don?t worry ?Fax. I?ll leave you a few.?

Halifax smiled in return. ?Melena, handle the bridge.? he shouted. ?Stand by to repel boarders. Captain,? he said, turning towards McDowell, ?can your people handle themselves??

?Why? What?s happening?? She asked, wary.

?Life!? interjected Nel with a broad smile.

McDowell looked at Steve Joergen, her security chief, but could see that Nel?s humor was contagious. Steve said nothing, but his eyes were hungry and his fists clenched rhythmically. The rest of her crew was no better. Even the normally ascetic Hans was fixing for a fight. ?What is it about these Lyrans?? she thought to herself. ?My crew is starting to act like a bunch of Klingons.?

Realizing that their was no way to escape the swift rowboats, Melena swung her ship hard to starboard and drove straight for the center boat. The crew of that boat didn?t quite grasp her intent until it was too late. Eight pirates died in a hail of wood splinters and blood.

Grappling hooks bit into the gunwales of Tle as the pirates secured their catch. They came over the sides in a rush, trying to overwhelm the ship?s sailors. Knives and short swords flashed and soon the ship?s deck was filled with a general melee.

A rangy human leapt at Synalin?s unprotected back. As he grabbed her shoulder she bent and twisted under him. Over balanced, the human spun towards the deck. At the last moment the young Rihannsu woman snapped the pirate?s arm, spiking the hapless attacker?s head onto the hard wooden deck; knocking him cold.

To her right, Steve Joergen sparred with a knife wielding Orion. Seeing an opening, the Orion lunged, catching Steve?s robe with a vicious slash. Steve stepped into the Orion?s lunge and caught his shoulder and elbow. With a sickening ?crack? Steve broke the Orion?s shoulder and drove his head into an upraised knee.
Behind Steve, a burly Terran menaced Karim Nel with two daggers. The Lyran marine artfully dodged the stabs and slashes while holding his ground. Then the Terran made the mistake of advancing. In the space between two breaths Nel ducked under a slash and tore out the Terran?s throat with a powerful slash from his claws. The pirate staggered backwards and fell overboard, his head at an odd angle.

?Captain, are you well?? called Halifax to McDowell. A Lyran with an unkempt coat had grabbed her and was squeezing her in a bear-hug.
?I?m...ungh...fine.? grunted McDowell. Loosening an arm, she brought her hands around in a wide arc and boxed the Lyran?s ears. He let go of her, clutching his head in pain. Setting her feet like a prizefighter, she loosed a left-right combination that staggered the Lyran.
Before he could clear his head, T?lan reached around the Lyran from behind and pinched his neck in an odd fashion. The Lyran crumpled to the deck.

?Talshaya!? blurted McDowell in amazement.

?No, of course not.? answered T?lan modestly. ?Only Vulcans know that.? he added with a twinkle in his eye.

McDowell didn?t have time to pursue the matter as she was thrown to the deck by the body of another pirate. Rolling out from under it she saw that half of the head was missing, but was surprised at how she didn?t recoil in horror. Instead, she found it ... inspirational?

?My deepest apologies, Captain.? said Halifax offering the less bloody of his paws. ?I was careless in my attack.?

In moments the fight was over. Bodies lay on the ship?s deck; some moaning, some not.

Karim Nel stepped over the pile of corpses surrounding him and clapped Steve soundly on the shoulder. ?Tailfur!? he swore. ?You fight well, Terran.?

Steve was flushed, but his face wore a wide smile. ?Sonofabitch! Now that is how you fight pirates.? he looked at Nel and laughed. ?Y?know something, Major? You people really know how to live.?

?Of course we do.? Nel said expansively, purring deep in his throat. ?We are Lyrans. We are alive! What is life for rather than living?? he said with perplexed humor.?

The assembles humans looked at a loss for words. Nel made sense. It all made sense, everything. The world was crystal clear and almost painfully in-focus. Jack wondered why he had never seen things so clearly before.

?You are feeling the Lyran ?Call of the Ancients.? said T?lan in a calm voice. ?It can be unnerving the first time.? he said in answer to the doubtful look on the faces of the humans.

?You are experiencing it too?? asked Jack, a little relieved.

?Yes, we all are. We are presently being bathed in Lyran emotion pheromones and our bodies are reacting to them.?

?That seems consistent, Captain.? added Hans. ?Pheromones are incredibly powerful neurochemicals.?

?I am so glad that you see, that you are alive as well.? said Halifax with genuine emotion in his voice. ?It is a sign that we are related.?

Jack started at Halifax?s words. A statement of kinship, no matter how casual, was a fundamental sign of respect in Lyran culture. He decided to probe it further. ?But we did not experience this when you took our ship. Surely the emotions of battle would bring on such a state and Major Nel himself was unhelmeted for extended periods after the battle.?

?Very true.? replied Halifax. ?Such a struggle would have driven us to emotion ? had we hated you.?

?Pardon me?? asked McDowell, unable to believe what she had just heard.

?We do not hate you, Captain.? answered Halifax directly and with a hint of confusion in his voice. ?If we hated you, you would all be dead, either in ship combat or when Nel?s marines stormed your ship.? Deckhands brought pails of water for everyone to wash the blood off of themselves with. ?But we do not hate you. So killing you would have been an evil act. As it is I regret those that you lost in the collision with the asteroid. I merely did what was necessary to preserve my crew and ship. When you surrendered, you indicated to us that you did not hate us either ? otherwise you would have fought on.?

?I think that you now see the depth of the struggle between the Lyrans and their Hated Enemy.? said Synalin. ?There is no deeper hate in the galaxy than that of a Lyran. Fortunately, their is no deeper joy either. Or love.?

The Call faded and the humans regretfully relinquished their new-found sense of being.
?Melena,? Halifax called, ?take us to Gel Mor Tar.? And again the sails of Tle boomed and she once again sliced the waves.

FPF-Wanderer:

Part 10

The port city of Gel Mor Tar was not the largest on Maxender, but it was one of the most beautiful. Cresting Simbal Bay for several miles, the city's tall, multicolored buildings and wide beaches shone like a rainbow against the deep azure of the bay. In the city, vehicle traffic was limited to several wide boulevards that criss-crossed the city. Outdoor markets and canopied bazaars filled the lanes and alleys that branched off of these main routes. Brightly striped tents and richly clothed merchants and shoppers provided a riot of colors for the eye as bartering vendors and the calls of livestock commanded the ear's attention.

Though they had been traveling the stars for centuries, the Lyrans were still, at heart, a desert people. Their customs, language, attire...even their cuisine was that of a people accustomed to a merciless sun and who cherished water. And on this lush and fertile world the signs of perceived wealth, of fountains and small waterfalls were everywhere. To a desert people, the sound of rushing water was the soundtrack to paradise and the Red Claw clan made their city into a symphony of delight for the senses.

As the sailing yacht Tle slid into the municipal harbor, Jack Virenko's stomach rumbled slightly as he caught the scent of roasting meat rolling down from the market district. Melena, standing next to him on the bridge, heard Jack's stomach.

"It is after midday and we have had neither lunch nor nap. Please excuse our ill manners, Jack." Melena was genuinely embarrassed.

Jack smiled, a little embarrassed himself. "No, it is I who must apologize. It is just that that smell is so...tantalizing."

Melena sniffed the air and looked toward the market district. "Roasted dorseh with fresh golandry and," she paused and sniffed again, "onion? I can't quite place it."

Melena's analysis was interrupted by a deep trumpet fanfare from out in the bay. Jack turned quickly around to see a barge bearing the ducal seal carrying the largest tree that he had ever seen lashed to its deck. The massive craft slowly shouldered its way through the harbor traffic. The base of the tree was over fifteen meters across and judging by the number of rings, it must have been several hundred years old. Ship traffic cleared a path to the large launching ramp. As the barge nosed up to the ramp it heaved itself out of the water on wide caterpillar tracks.

"Is that a Council tree?" asked Jack, eagerly.

"Yes. Red Claw wants any clan disputes settled tonight before the wedding tomorrow."

"Tradition?" asked Jack, interested.

"Public safety." replied Melena, flattening her ears in a sign of gravity. "Especially once the drinking starts after the wedding."

"Will the proceedings be broadcast?"

"Don't worry about that, Commander Virenko." It was Halifax's deep voice. He and McDowell were just joining Melena and Jack on the yacht's bridge.

"Our presence is requested at the council fire." added McDowell with that look of 'oh-no-not-another-curve-ball that she seemed to wear more and more lately.

Melena guided Tle gently into a public slipway. Deckhands sprang lightly to the dock and finished the yacht's mooring. Once all of the passengers had disembarked onto the tar-blackened pier the crew began unloading the pirates that were either wounded or dead. They were not gentle and several of the wounded screamed as they were dropped on the pier.

The small crowd that had gathered at the sound of screams looked curiously at the aliens. Whispers of "Rrhihannsu" and "Tehr-rhans" filtered through to Jack. The Lyrans gathered there did not seem hostile. And most tried to politely mask their curiosity. But the intensity of that curiosity was unmistakable. Though he felt perfectly safe, the silent attention was somewhat unnerving until a general purr rolled forth from the crowd. A sign that Jack took to mean that the locals approved of something. He hoped it was his crew.

"Kharam," said Halifax to Major Nell, "you have kin here. Point the way."

The big Lyran marine scanned the narrow avenues and broad boulevards before them. From the waterfront, the city rose gently on a hill to the south.

"Hm. I was just a cub when I was last here, but...yes." he said, pointing to an open plaza at the end of a tree covered avenue. "That fountain, the one with diving seabirds carved of jade, that is the street we must follow to my aunt's parlor."

"You seem very sure, Major." commented Synalin, the Rihannsu commander.

"I should be. My cousin, Aslan threw me in that fountain enough times when we were cubs." Kharim Nell laughed deeply.

Tables were cleverly arranged in the plaza to take advantage of both the shade from the large trees and the cool mist from the fountain. At one table near a sort of cafe was gathered a group of older Lyrans, both men and women, chatting and sipping from small cups.

"What is it that they are drinking?" asked Hans. "It smells very fragrant."

"Roliu." answered Halifax. "It is a strong drink. The juice of an orclon roast - a meat very much like venison - is brewed with many herbs. The broth is then reduced to a thicker liquid very similar to a dilute syrup."

"Is it alcoholic?" the physician in Hans curious now.

"No, no. One sips it and savors the flavor of the roasted meat. Because the flavor is so strong, even a small cup lasts a long time."

As the group made their way up the narrow avenue they were beckoned by merchants at curbside stalls hawking their wares.

"Good and wise clansman, come see the finest spices in the quadrant!"

"Noble Rihannsu! How can you return to ch'Havran without the latest fashions from Homeworld?"

"Beautiful Rihanna, please let me..." the merchant, a middle-aged Lyran with a pierced ear and a gemstone right fang, looked shrewdly at Anna Velasquez and his eyes lit up as he discerned her race. "Ah! A Terran, no? I am Asral." he said, kissing his finger and touching his forehead. "Welcome to the stars of the mighty clans, comely one. Come into my shop. Come, come." Asral gently but firmly took Anna by the hand, coaxing her relentlessly.
Anna looked to Nel for reassurance and, with a twinkle in his eye, he nodded. As her eyes adjusted to the darker shop she saw rows upon rows of fine lace garments. Gowns, tunics, shawls and veils of a variety of colors were displayed. Miraculously, Anna's Tibilseh had escaped the pirate attack unscathed. Unfortunately her veil was somewhat blood stained. And though she had rinsed out most of the stain, in the right light enough remained.

"Now lovely..." Asral waited expectantly.

"Anna."

"Anna. Now Anna, we must see to that veil." Asral began examining her current veil for size and her Tibilseh to match the style.

"Mr. Asral, really. My veil is fine. I'm sure that it will wash out."

Asral, who was bent forward examining Anna's sleeve, straightened and looked her squarely in her face. "Dear lady, what would the other clothiers say if they saw you come out of my shop with such a blemish? Hm? Do you want me to be ridiculed and held up for public scorn?" Asral warmed to his melodrama, peppering it with exaggerated gestures and expressions of despair. Standing with Halifax, McDowell rolled her eyes and Steve Joergen chuckled under his breath.

Anna smiled shyly and said, "No, good Asral. I am grateful to put myself in your capable hands."

Asral smiled broadly at this and his ears perked forward in genuine pleasure. "Excellent. I have the very one for you." He reached up to a high shelf and brought down a wooden box. In it was an exquisitely delicate lace veil, brilliant white in color. The lace was embroidered with patterns from the night sky and inset with bright gemstones.

Asral gently removed Anna's veil and began to artfully arrange her long black hair. "Ah, you primates do not realize what a treasure your topfur is." he said, twisting and braiding. When he was satisfied with her hair, he lifted the new veil from its box, laid it upon Anna's head and adjusted the fit. As he fit it to her head he whispered, "The ones who attacked you carry the scent of Voril Eol."

The closeness of the Lyran and the seriousness of his tone startled Anna momentarily. Though she didn't move and she kept her expression neutral, she must have given something away as Major Nel's nostril's flared and he looked directly at Asral.

"Son of a belly-crawler!" Nel shouted at Asral. "You think to cheat this outworlder for that rag that you call a veil?"

Asral also became suddenly and incongruously angry. "Murderer of children! It cost me five hundred hrvni to make this fine piece of art. I asked only four hundred of this beautiful creature."

"Two hundred insults the intelligence of all here." Nell retorted, sweeping his huge arm to encompass the shop.

"Three hundred hrvni. And I shall be forced to shave my tail in shame when you leave."

"Done." said Nel with finality. "Halifax, pay him."

Halifax glanced back at Nel with a stony look as he reached for his hrvneleta, or money pouch. "I wasn't aware that the imperial lancers had been reduced to begging in the streets."

"It's that Umbro. Have you ever played Grom cohrahln (dancing bones) with him?" And then in a lowered voice, "I think he's a sorcerer."

Halifax stared at Nel for a moment speechless, and then turned to pay Asral. "Craftsman, you ennoble your trade. And thank you."

Asral touched his forehead with his finger. "It is I who thank you. Your young friend brings beauty to my poor craft." he pointed towards Anna who was admiring the new veil in a mirror, and Jack who was admiring Anna. "And by tonight all of Gel Mor Tar will know of my veils. Even your graceful Countess. Truly, I am stealing your money for all that I gain in return."

Halifax smiled and turned to catch up to the rest of his group.

Major Nel led the mixed group through the city at a leisurely pace. The Terrans and Rihannsu stopped to look at this or ask about that and Nel wanted them to experience a Lyran city fully. Many blocks and several turns from Asral's shop they finally arrived at Nel's aunt's parlor.

'Parlor' is the nearest Federation Standard transliteration of the Lyran word hestovlinshch. It refers to a combination eating establishment, public house, and temporary sleeping quarters.

Traditionally, the ground floor is laid out very much like a Terran restaurant with a large, common eating area and one or several private meeting rooms. The second floor, or perhaps the rear section is devoted to private sleeping chambers where Lyrans may siesta after a large meal.

Lyrans typically eat a large breakfast, take a morning nap, work through midday, eat a large lunch, and take an afternoon nap. Most are regular customers of a one or a few hestovlinshchseh.

Klaleh, Major Nel's aunt, was at the door of her parlor, 'The Sheathed Claw', to meet him. "Son of my sister," she said formally, "my welcome to the battle arm of our line."

"Sister of my mother," replied Nel with equal formality, "the tranquility of our line rests within you as always."

Klaleh's ears rotated forward in pleasure and she embraced her nephew tightly, nuzzling his cheek to hers. "Oh Kharim, you have grown into a fine Lyran. Forgive me." she said, withdrawing. "I don't mean to embarrass one of the empire's finest here in public. Come in. Please, all of you. Be welcome."

Inside, the parlor had a domed ceiling of granite decorated with a bright fresco depicting Lyran children at play. Windows in the vaults of the dome allowed light to splash off of the lower part of the dome without shining directly upon the patrons below. Tables were arranged in the rotunda and small, domed alcoves ringed the periphery. In the center of the rotunda stood a basalt water fall. Its position under the dome filled the room with the sound of trickling water.

"Teli' Klaleh, allow me to introduce my companions. This is Riov T'Lan and Riov Synalin of the Rihannsu navy."

"Jolan tru, Travelers." said Klaleh with her hands open before her in the old-style Rihannsu greeting.

"And this is Captain Janice McDowell, her first officer Commander Jack Virenko, Chief medical officer Hans N'dur, Chief Engineer Anna Velasquez, and Security Chief Steven Joergen." Nel gestured to each in turn. Each of the Federation crew kissed their finger and touched it to their forehead. Klaleh was impressed. "And this is Melena," continued Nel, "first officer aboard Forager."

"And this," said Klaleh, "is Halifax. Welcome, Zarmat-Alan. Thy name is thunder in our ears."

"I am humbled by your kindness, graceful hostess." answered Halifax, pitching his ears and whiskers forward. "But I am simply Mokatar now."

"Not in my house!" answered Klaleh fiercely. "And when Far Stars becomes a tenth the man that your Count was, may his spirit find delight, this travesty will be corrected..." Klaleh realized that she had raised her voice and took a deep breath to let her temper recede. "It will be as it will be. Please be seated here." She motioned them to a small alcove and began arranging glassware.

The alcove had a central table surrounded by cushions. Low side tables held decanters of wine, trays of appetizers, and a water pipe. The back wall surrounded approximately two thirds of the alcove, leaving the front open to a pleasant view of the waterfall.

"Zarmat-Alan?" Jack whispered to Melena.

"Roughly 'senior commodore.'" answered Melena. "The current Duke of Far Stars - whom we refer to simply as 'Far Stars' - was a student in Halifax's command. At the time Far Stars was the son of the count of Blood Star. He felt that that fact entitled him to authority over his superiors in astro-navigation." Melena's voice was thick with scorn. "Halifax refused to bow to a title and assigned him to the laundry detail to teach him some humility."

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he let out a low whistle.

"Indeed," continued Melena, "When Far Stars ascended to the Dukeship he demoted Halifax to Mokatar in revenge. He wanted to have him disgraced and discharged from the navy, but our count rallied the other counts and Far Stars was blocked."

"Those are some powerful political actions for one naval officer." commented Jack.
"Yes. And Far Stars and our Countess still harbor animosity. But Halifax is not just a naval officer." replied Melena, gently but firmly. "He wears the Tears of the Fallen. Not only is he a brilliant commander, he carries the spirit of the Ancients within him. He, oh how do Feds say this? He is a being of role?"

Jack thought for a moment. "Character. He is a being of character."
"Yes. Character." Melena's ear twitched in irritation. "The Lyran people are faced with diverging destinies. One destiny is represented by Halifax. He is a living example of our traditions and our way of life. The other is represented by Far Stars and the Imperialists. They have turned aside from our old ways. They take two-word names to be like the Klingons and your Federation."

"But we are nothing alike. The Federation stands for the highest..."
"Gently, Jack. I do not mean to offend you. You and your enemy are alike in that you both prefer a strong, central authority and, you especially, open markets."

"Well, to a point, yes." Jack admitted, grudgingly. "But you have a strong emperor as well. To us, the Lyrans and the Klingons are very similar."

"Yes. That appearance was by design." Melena took a deep breath. "When we first encountered the Klingons we fought a short war with them. We soon realized that the purpose of the war for the Klingons was to gauge our strength. Our trade lords convinced the Dukes that, if the Klingons learned of our volatile political habits, they would take us one county at a time. In a singular moment of interclan cooperation we created the imperial throne to show a strong, united face to the Klingons."

"But there is a problem."

"The Dukes foolishly agreed to install an agent of the trade lords as the emperor. The trade lords united and almost overnight financed an imperial fleet loyal to the throne."

"And removing the emperor would cause a civil war. A war that the Lyran people cannot afford, with the return of your Hated Enemy." guessed Jack.

"But one that trade lords like Voril Eol can."

Anna, who had been deep in thought spoke up. "Melena, in the shop Asral said to me 'Those men who attacked you carry the scent of Voril Eol.'"


"What?" said Nel sharply.

"Voril Eol. That was the name that he said."
"I thought so, but I didn't want to chance being overheard there. That is why Asral and I staged that argument. It covered your fear-scent."

"I'd like to confer with Her Grace about this." said Halifax.

"After we eat." replied Nel. "There will be time enough before the council tonight."

Servers brought trays heaped with a variety of meats. Roasted, stewed, baked, and raw; herd, fowl, fish, and game. Vegetables, basted in gravies, followed and then loaves of rich dark bread. Jack realized that it was the first time that he had seen bread in the time that he had been among the Lyrans. It smelled hearty and fresh, still warm. After a short benediction from Halifax over the meal, Jack cut a healthy slice of the bread and tried it. Klaleh watched him intently and Jack caught her eye. "Hostess, where did you discover the secret of pumpernickel bread?"

Klaleh purred delightedly. "I came across a recipe years ago when I was young and wild." She laughed at herself and her purring slightly distorted her voice. "Lets just say that I took it in payment from an Andoran who needed a favor. It seemed so exotic, this mix of grain and mold, that I wanted to try it. I've served it as a novelty on occasion for years now."

"Well," said Steve Joergen heartily, "all that practice paid off." Steve had sawed several slices and began piling roast meat on top of one. As he brought his sandwich to his mouth he realized that most of the rotunda was staring at him intently. "Oh boy. What'd I do?"

"What do you call that, Steven?" asked Major Nel, pointing to the sandwich.

"Uh, it's a sandwich. It's named after an earl who liked to play cards so much that he..." Steve's voice trailed off as he looked around and saw a room full of Lyrans happily purring as they piled meat on slices of bread, eating sandwiches as thick as his fist.

Hans N'dur leaned over with an impudent look on his face. "Steve, my boy. I think that you've started a fad. They're going to be eating 'Joergens' for weeks now."

McDowell picked up on the fun. "I wonder what the Prime Directive has to say about this?"

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