Dawn of Forever, Part IV

There was a small lake a few miles from the home of Sebastian Skywalker and family, and it had come to be a tradition to visit it when Morgan was in need of parental advice. They sat on the bench looking over the still water, disturbed only by the bit of branch and leaves that had been blown from some of the trees that hung recklessly out over the water on bent trunks. The breeze was too slight to disturb the water, but it picked up the chill and carried it over father and daughter.

"What's the boy's name?" Sebastian finally asked. Morgan turned to stare at him just for a second, then apparently decided the lake was the most interesting thing in the universe and should be stared at intensely. Her face and the sides of her neck turned strawberry as Sebastian smiled to himself. "Some things are just obvious," he answered the unasked question.

Morgan had achieved the rank of Jedi Knight and was a grown woman, but she was rather inexperienced in certain typical adolescent areas. She hadn't shown much interest in boys, and not because she had an interest in girls. She just seemed to have been focused on being the best possible Jedi she could be, and that hadn't left room for a social life. But now she'd made it, and she was here at the start of her adult life, and she hadn't had the chance to get all of the uncomfortable socially awkward moments out of the way. Sebastian knew what it was like. Being brainwashed by the yammosk at age fifteen tends to mess up your ability to relate to others.

"It's Ryan," Morgan finally admitted. "Ryan Vinyon."

"From the Academy," Sebastian said with a nod. "Is he seeing someone?"

"No, at least not that I know of."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Yes, but not about... this..."

Sebastian nodded. "You're not sure of how to broach the subject?"

"I'm not sure he's the right one," Morgan said.

Sebastian stopped, pulled the sentence back and examined it back to front and every which way. "Right one for what?"

"I'm not sure he's the one for me," Morgan said.

Sebastian again took the remark and gave it a thorough examination. "Are you talking about marriage?" he finally asked.

"Of course."

"Morgan, you haven't even talked about going out with him," Sebastian said. "Don't you think you're moving a little fast?"

"But what's the point of spending time with him if he's not a suitable husband?" she asked. "Isn't it a waste of time?"

"There are worse ways to waste time," Sebastian remarked.

"Granted. But wouldn't it be better to spend that time developing a rapport with someone more suitable?"

"Morgan," Sebastian said, because saying the child's name is a good way of buying yourself a few seconds to think of a way to explain things. "You're overthinking this. If you want to become romantically involved with someone, do that, and let marriage come if and when it comes." She looked puzzled. "Listen; not everything in life is like your Jedi training, where you need to focus on the inevitable result. Maybe marriage is something that's not going to come to you for years or decades, or even ever. That shouldn't interfere with you enjoying yourself right now."

"I just-" Morgan made a noise of frustration, a kind of oouck! sound. "It's hard to think that way."

"Just give it some time and follow your instincts," Sebastian advised. "When it comes to this subject, they're good at working out what it is they want."

"Thing is, I'm one quarter Borg, one quarter Jedi, and one half human," Morgan said. "That doesn't make things easy."

Sebastian shook his head. "That's only because you're choosing to look at it like that. There's some things that are part of who we are, and some things that are part of what we are, and you've got to remember that the one doesn't necessarily affect the other."

"So, what I am, is one quarter Jedi-"

"No, what you are is a person with the potential to manipulate the Force," Sebastian explained. "Who you are is a person who has chosen to explore the limits of where you can take that potential, and how you can use it to the good of others who don't have it. It's the latter that makes you a Jedi, Morgan. No amount of genetics or micro-organisms can do that."

"Yes, but the Force user aspect came from you," Morgan said. "In that sense, it's genetic, making me one quarter-"

"You've been spending too much time talking to Milky Wayers," Sebastian said. "Too much cross-species discussion."

"You don't approve of hybrids?" Morgan asked in surprise.

"I didn't say that," Sebastian said sharply. "But it's a cultural thing there. 'My human half, my Klingon half, my Cardassian half, my Vulcan half...' What you are, Morgan, is a human, through and through. That doesn't make you better or worse, it's just what you are. From your mother, you've inherited steady hands and sharp reflexes; from me, Force-sensitivity and Borg-enhanced intellect. But it doesn't matter which 'part' is responsible for what. You are a whole person."

"A whole person made up of parts," Morgan pointed out.

Sebastian sighed. "Where you came from affects what you are, this is true. The problem is being so distinct about them. Take steel, for example. Which is the carbon half? Which is the iron half?"

"Actually, the ratio of carbon to iron in steel is only-"

"I know I know," Sebastian said with mild irritation. "But the point is, unless you haven't made it properly, there's no 'carbon side' and no 'iron side' in steel. It's both together that makes steel what it is, and both together that make it better than both of the materials if they were merely stuck together as separate halves." He picked up a rock and tossed it onto the lake, hitting a floating leaf dead on. "Alloys are stronger, Morgan. Remember that."

"Yes." Morgan seemed to be pondering things. "I suppose I can stop by tomorrow and talk to Ryan about doing something... I have no idea what, but I suppose something may present itself."

"That's the way," Sebastian said with a nod. "Although I'd ask your mother if you're looking for ideas; she was always better at that sort of thing."

"Because she's human?"

"Shut up, child, just shut up." Sebastian sunk another leaf. "I don't know where you get this attitude from."

The ship settled into the landing dock on one asteroid that was indistinguishable from millions of others like it throughout the sector. The Mistryl in the Milky Way took their secrecy seriously, which is why Garak was willing to take the risk of meeting with them out here. If the Empire knew he was conspiring with rebellious forces, his people would be in mortal danger. However, if the Oracle thought for a moment that he wasn't conspiring as she'd instructed, then things would be even worse. It was an impressive balancing act even for someone like Garak who'd spent a lifetime developing a finely tuned inner ear.

One of the subordinates greeted Garak as he stepped off the ramp and led the way through the complex. It was simple, made up of prefab units the Empire had scrapped years ago, not unlike what the Oracle used. Conditions were livable if not comfortable, but the Mistryl didn't worry about comfort; they lived almost like clean and sober Klingons. Garak was left at the entrance to a gym/training room where Rej, the leader of this Mistryl cell, was teaching some unarmed combat techniques on an unfortunate volunteer.

The Mistryl weren't educated anywhere that didn't accept credits from the school of hard knocks, so none of them knew what a valkyrie was, or how Korri Rej seemed to fit one to a tee. Not like in an opera where the only requirements were mezzo-soprano singing and a tendency to vacuum up cream-filled pastries, but true valkyries. She was tall and well-muscled, with blond hair approaching white and eyes the color of a cloudless sky. She would have been right at home on a charging horse with a horned helmet and what would be called a breastplate despite the fact that "plate" was much less suitable than "bowls" or "pots," hauling warriors off the field of battle to a place of eternal drinking and carousing and, of course, fighting.

At the moment she was ferrying a different kind of warrior, of course; Borg Collective droids. Not the battle droids they employed; those weren't found in any of their catalogues, and in any event, were entirely the wrong thing for what Garak needed. A walking gunnery platform was all well and good, but what you needed against the Empire if you really wanted any kind of chance, were droids with no combat skills whatsoever. It was the huge capital ships with their heavy guns and thick armor plating that could strike a blow, not something that could be taken out by one well placed turbolaser from orbit. They weren't out to conquer the Empire, they wanted to drive them out, and for that they needed to hit their ships as hard as they were being hit back. The big cap ships didn't need soldiers as much as it needed maintenance crews and engineers and all around odd job men who could keep the ship going so you didn't need to assign humanoids who could become sick or tired or forgetful or just didn't do too well in a room that was pure vacuum and six Kelvin.

Garak watched as the valkyrie finished the training exercise, which largely consisted of beating some unfortunate woman senseless. She shouted a few things to the others that apparently was some object lesson beyond "don't mess with Rej," then finally strode towards Garak as she wiped the sweat off with a towel. Rej strode everywhere unless something required her to sneak; she always walked as if she owned the place and was going to thump you for trespassing. "You're late," she said, making it clear this was a very annoying problem that wouldn't continue unless Garak wanted to become known as "the late Mr. Garak."

"My deepest apologies," Garak said. "I'm afraid shaking off my pursuers took longer than planned, and I thought you would prefer tardiness to uninvited company."

Rej gave a scowl, as if annoyed at the thought that Garak could have a legitimate excuse, then led the way. "The droids have been kept in here," she said, activating a keypad to the storage room. "We counted roughly three thousand."

Garak stepped inside after her and nodded with approval. Rank after rank of immobile droids stood within the huge room, still draped by plastic. He approached the nearest one and pulled the sheet off, then began a quick diagnostic. Everything checked out; they'd work beautifully. "This is exactly what we need," he told Rej. "I'd prefer it if you focused more on items like this; crates of E-webs really aren't moving."

"We'll see," Rej said with a noncommittal tone. "I'm not crazy about trying another run against the Borg."

"Caution would certainly be advised," Garak said, examining the next droid. "Suicide upon capture would also be advised."

"A Mistryl never talks," Rej said with righteous indignation.

"But drones do," Garak said without turning his attention away from his work. "It's amazing what several billion voices screaming into your mind can do to a person's willpower."

"They don't do that any more," Rej said, although there were obvious cracks in her certainty. "Taar's made it clear that he'll cut up their license if they do."

"Ah, but who would tell? What's the difference if you die in battle or spend the rest of your existence plugged into some alcove, no one would ever know."

"The Borg have a good thing going," Rej said. "Even they wouldn't risk it for so small a prize."

"Perhaps," Garak said. "But we have a good thing going for us, you might say, and it would be wise not to risk that." He shut down the datapad and turned back to her with a smile on his face. "Not that I would dream of telling the Mistryl how to handle their own affairs."

Rej tried to read Garak, but the problem was the man had total body control. A person had better odds playing against a droid than Garak in poker because the droid never acted like it might be showing you what was really on its mind, or might just trying to throw you off. "Why are you here?" she asked. "Why not one of the other Cardassians, why you personally?"

Garak's smile widened. "Because I have a very special request to make of the Mistryl," he said with a voice full of oil. "One that I can't afford someone to misinterpret. It must work perfectly, and when it does... let's just say it will be quite a surprise."

There was a squeal, quickly followed by the rumble of a cave-in, which roused Sntch from his sleep. He quickly slipped from his nest and scurried along in the tunnel in the direction of the collapse. It could be an attack, but the sound had been wrong, and there didn't seem to be any sound in the wake of the collapse. Still, it was hard to imagine what could have penetrated this deep underground.

Sntch's people had achieved sentience, although their language was still very rudimentary. They were a kind of bi-pedal subteranean rodent-like creature that had recently discovered the power of fire. They found it useful when they dug traps for the large reptiles that prowled the surface; the fire made the flesh tender enough for them to digest. It was one of many ways their brains had allowed them to eliminate competing species. Sntch lit the torch and brought it along, not for the light, but rather as a weapon. Animals that preyed on Sntch's people feared the flames, although care always had to be taken with it. Sometimes when the flame was allowed to burn the air became wrong and people died. Some used extra air shafts to deal with the problem, but Sntch was a skilled maker of fire and only called it up when he needed it.

Attacks between Sntch's tribe and others were common enough. This was prime hunting ground and food was survival. If you didn't fight for food, then you risked starvation. Their species was still primitive enough that this was a necessary way of life, but advanced enough to cause a great deal of trouble in this kind of fight. Collapsing each others tunnels and nests was a tried-and-true tactic, but this didn't seem to be a particularly good job if that was the case. Sntch lived on the edge of the tribe, alone, and the collapse was even more distant from the main gathering than he was. But if not an attack, then what else could it possibly be?

Sntch soon found the cave-in, although it wasn't exactly a cave-in. A boulder had fallen through the ceiling and punched a hole into the tunnel, but how any boulder could achieve this was a mystery to Sntch. Also, it didn't look like a boulder. It had the right appearance, but the shape was all wrong, more like an egg.

Did rocks lay eggs? Sntch had never thought about it before, but then, where do rocks come from if not from eggs?

The rock-egg fissured and Sntch stepped back. Finally the pieces collapsed, leaving a quivering mass in the center. Sntch eyed it cautiously, but if there was one thing his species knew, it was that eggs were very tasty. Cautiously he slipped forward, holding the torch before him to better see the new thing.

There was a flash, and something leapt out of the egg-thing and grabbed his hand. It was thrust, torch and all, straight into the mass, and Sntch let out a chittering scream before he fell back, his arm missing half of the limb between elbow and wrist. The mass split open as he got back to his feet, then shot out a tentacle which wrapped around his head. Sntch was flung face-forward at the thing, and saw the rows and rows of teeth. As they closed on his head, it was the last thing he ever saw.

Sntch's people weren't the only ones who fought for food.

Go To Part V
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