Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sun, 08 Feb 2004 20:12:54 -0800 In: alt.startrek.creative From: Christina fmlyhntr@sunset.net Title: Planet Author: Julie Evans Contact:season7_5@yahoo.com Series: VS7.5 story 39 Codes: others Rating: PG Part: 3/9 Date Posted: 2/9/04 He'd cut off any further explanation Michael might have offered, ignored Kajee's attempt to intervene, apologize, or whatever, and left without even seeing the kids. That evening during his holodeck time he'd run another favored program created by Paris--Sandrine's--listening to the piano player pounding out soulful blues, and flirting with the attractive barmaid who served him syntheholic martinis. The next morning he'd gone to breakfast as usual with the Tessonis and Ayalas, and they'd all pretended nothing had happened. Jim would admit to anyone who asked that he'd done little on Pioneer. He'd sat in on one of the building project meetings at Angelo's suggestion, but his strength wasn't in planning or design. He also hadn't taken part in the open sessions to draw up various community agendas, from street layouts to crop rotations, school schedules, and cultural enrichment programs--all that stuff that was apparently so necessary for the establishment of a colony. But who really wanted his opinion anyway? And if he had been mostly idle on the trip here, what of it? To Michael, and maybe to others, it seemed to be a sign that he wasn't serious enough about his future. But why shouldn't he enjoy himself, hang out in the lounge areas with other colonists, socialize with those who were going to be his neighbors for the foreseeable future? He'd be doing his part when the time came. He had as strong a back as anyone, and it wasn't as if he was expected to do anything else. *Or had offered*, a small voice reminded him. He'd acquired a lot of scientific and engineering knowledge in Starfleet--and far sharper instincts about survival than he'd ever wanted to know. Since returning to the Alpha Quadrant he'd deliberately allowed that knowledge to fade. Anything that reminded him of his years in Starfleet was something he'd rather forget. Which admittedly had left him with a big hole in his life, and a lack of direction. He wasn't really sure what his strength was anymore. He was hoping to eventually figure it out here, though so far it wasn't apparent. No doubt that was a point on which he and Michael would agree. Voices nearby penetrated Jim's cynical thoughts, and he realized several other people were on the summit. He peered through the trees and spotted a bright flash of color--the multi-hued jacket of Kimanji Zaji. Her bright smile flashed as she spoke with the shorter and more blandly dressed person next to her, Benda Akiva. The archeologists had come to the Delta Quadrant to explore several sites, including the Briorii homeworld. They were an eclectic group, ranging from the cheerful and wise Kimanji, to the arrogant and egotistical Adamo. Jim supposed they were here taking advantage of the nearest high spot from which to get an overview of the colony site, as he had. Even now their gazes were fixed in that direction as Kimanji motioned with her hand. She was waving to someone, probably another of her colleagues. Who knew this damned hill would be so popular? Jim couldn't see who was joining them, but with his luck it would be Adamo. He had no interest in another encounter with that man right now. He stepped back, making sure to stay out of view as he started down the hill in another direction. It occurred to him briefly that his life here wasn't going to improve much if he alienated most of the colonists. So far he'd only managed a few of them, but he was sure he could improve on that number with little effort. ^*^*^*^*^ Day Two, New Earth, late morning: Glera marked off the last item on the inventory list, assured that every pen, padd and chip was accounted for, and breathed a relieved sigh. Ambassador Diaza wouldn't find one item amiss, no matter how hard he tried. With the ambassadors visiting Ocampa, only the support staff was here to document and organize the embassy's effects. And as Ambassador Diaza's chief aide, she was the one nominally in charge. She could have let someone else on the staff complete the inventory, but it was she who would suffer if the job was not done right. Besides, she didn't mind the temporary solitude. She could hear plenty of noise around her, but among this particular pile of crates and supplies she was alone. There'd been no expectation of diplomatic duties to be performed on New Earth before the ambassadors returned, but there'd also been no expectation that the Romulans would remain here, or decide to establish their own embassy. In less than a day here, they'd already made numerous caustic observations. *It's quite imprudent for the Federation to build its embassies in such indefensible locations*. Maybe because hiding behind a blast shield or an impregnable wall of rock didn't exactly lay out a welcome carpet. Then there were the outright complaints. It definitely wasn't what she'd signed up for. Still, the pointed sniping wasn't that different from her old job in the Import office on Andor. Tariffs levied on Vulcan linens but not on Earth linens, Tellarite contract infractions overlooked while the Orion Trade Imperium was fined, Ferengi worker rights violations ignored in return for favorable price breaks on plumfruit--it was all political, just like the diplomatic service. She reconsidered her assessment when she heard someone behind her say in a cold tone, "There is another problem, *Aide* Glera." Glera turned to the stone-faced Subcommander Leral. Her second, Centurion Tornak, stood behind her, his expression more animated, with annoyance at the moment. "What would that be, Subcommander?" she asked, wondering if there'd been another run in with the Klingons, who'd made no secret of their animosity to the Romulan presence here. "It is those *animals*." Leral's voice was contemptuous, and Glera hoped she didn't mean the Klingons, though it was entirely possible. "The noise they continually make is unbearable." Ah. Noise. Glera suppressed a smile. The chickens that some of the human colonists had brought were confined to a "coop" inside a temporary shelter for the moment, so their cackling was not audible from here. The milk-producing Bolian grgaats were located in a grassy meadow near the colony's northern boundary, and the "meeh" sound they made was so low-pitched it was also inaudible. The two dozen or so zhevas, felinoid pets of the Betazoids, were silent since they communicated through some sort of quasi-telepathic link. But the gregarious dogs of the humans, several hundred of them brought along also as pets, were the opposite of silent. They barked long and often, and the juvenile puppies yapped incessantly, as several were doing at the moment. Glera gazed at Leral and Tornak innocently. "Which animals are you referring to?" "The canines!" Centurion Tornak snapped, even as one emitted another sound dogs apparently favored, a howl. Leral silenced him with a look. "I see. They do tend to bark, but I haven't received any complaints." Leral's lip curled slightly with disdain. "Romulan hearing is superior to that of other species. Apparently even those Andorian antennae of yours are for decoration rather than function." Glera did smile this time, sweetly. "Fortunately for us, we have a layer of membranes within our antennae that we can utilize to shut out distracting noises. It is a more...sophisticated arrangement than your typical humanoid auditory system." Leral let the implied insult pass with little more than a slight narrowing of her eyes. "The point is, you have a complaint now. That continual barking is a serious disturbance to the natural environment of this planet." Glera's antennae twitched. "I had no idea the Romulans held natural environments in such high regard." In fact she knew they didn't. When the Romulans colonized a planet, they supplanted the local flora and fauna without compunction. "The issue is not Romulan regard for natural environments. As I recall it is your Federation who preaches with a great deal of sanctimony that indigenous environments are invaluable and should remain undisturbed. Yet here you are introducing alien animals that are certainly disturbing the natural balance here." Leral sneered. "How typically hypocritical." Glera shrugged. "All colonies have some impact on the native environment, Subcommander, though the Federation does advocate minimizing that effect as much as possible. Bringing along non-native domesticated animals is the best way to avoid any chance of native animals becoming unintentionally domesticated. There are also locator collars on every non-native animal here, and the unidirectional force field around the colony's perimeter to contain them." "The field should go both ways," Centurion Tornak grumbled, swatting away a large insect. He received another hard look from Leral. "As I said," Glera continued, "the Federation interferes as little as possible with the natural order, including displacement of native fauna. That is part of the reason the larger continent will remain unsettled, by us or the Ocampa. You can report that back to your government, and tell them they can refer the Federation's Environmental Impact Protocol for Colonies guide to assuage their environmental concerns." "Oh, I will be sending several detailed reports back to Romulus, be assured," Leral said. Glera smiled sweetly again. "I have no doubt you will. As for your current concern, the good news is that within the next few days the dogs will be released to individual colonists. I'm told they'll bark less frequently when they are not in one large group. The puppies will also receive obedience training when they are old enough. Meanwhile, your runabout *is* sound-proof, isn't it?" Leral's eyebrow rose. "Certainly you do not expect us to confine ourselves to our runabout?" "Of course not," Glera said, though she'd be quite happy if they did. "But when the noise becomes too bothersome, it is a refuge." Leral gave Glera a stony look and motioned to Tornak. "I see we are going to get little satisfaction on this matter. Good day, *Aide* Glera." The centurion started to follow her, swatting at another insect on his neck, then muttering a Romulan oath when it bit him. "The colony's medical staff has an insect repellent available," Glera offered helpfully. "That will not be necessary," Leral snapped, without breaking her stride. Glera shrugged as they strode away. She supposed she'd better make Commander Ayala aware of the complaint about the dogs, in case any started to go missing. It was just one more thing to add to her list of Romulan complaints to be addressed. She shook her head. Who'd have thought she'd miss Commander Prolak's nonstop talking and annoying habit of watching every move she made, but she did. At least he made the effort to be sociable, unctuous as those efforts were. "Glera, Neusha Patel is here." Glera turned to Wang, one of the embassy's junior staff. "Thank you." Patel was co-head of the colony's building committee, along with Angelo Tessoni. Glera quite liked the pair, who were extremely competent and seemed well suited to dealing with the inevitable problems that cropped up during construction. During their many meetings to review the embassy blueprint plans, she'd also bonded with Neusha over shared cups of the sweet mint tea particular to her province of Earth, and the delicate *me'chada* pastries of Andor that Neusha found very tasty. "Hello, Neusha," she said to the tall, dark-haired woman who approached. "I'd offer you mint tea and *me'chada* cakes, but the replicator is not operational yet." Neusha smiled. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm short on time anyway. Mei Wang said you wanted to see me." "Yes. I have received an official communiqué from...Governor Diaza." Or so he had referred to himself in the communiqué. "He has informed me that Voyager will be here in four days, and he expects the outer structure of the embassy to be completed before his arrival. He asked me to relay that, er, request." Neusha's lips quirked with amusement. "I see. Well, we'll certainly keep *Governor* Diaza's request in mind." "Thank you," Glera replied. She knew from previous experience not to bother pressing for a definitive commitment. "We'll be bringing the first materials over tomorrow morning," Neusha said. "Maybe we can share some tea and *me'chada* cakes then." "That would be pleasant," Glera said. Neusha waved as she strode away, the dark braid of her hair swinging in unison with her steps. Glera watched her as she considered her next action. Despite Ambassador Diaza's sense of self-importance, the title of "governor" was largely titular. His argument to Starfleet that the colony was a mere extension of the embassy had been rejected, much to his displeasure. In matters relating directly to the embassy Diaza had the final word, but in matters that involved the colonist's daily lives, the Federation's Policies and Codes for Colonies dictated a democratic decision-making process. The colony already had its own project directors to oversee issues like construction, power production, sanitation, food distribution, and the like. None had so far shown any desire for input or direction from Diaza. Glera decided she would not reply to Diaza's communiqué. The ambassador would take a non-reply as acquiescence to his wishes. It would be more peaceful for all involved, at least until his return. Then she would find a way to placate him, as usual. ^*^*^*^*^ "I still think it's ridiculous," Angelo Tessoni said, glaring across the rows of prefab materials and supply containers that covered several acres of grassy ground around him. His wife followed his gaze. The two Romulans were striding toward their runabout, their heavy, padded uniforms looking out of place among the casually dressed colonists. "Even if they wanted to initiate diplomatic relations--like that's for real--who's going to staff their embassy when there are only three of them in the Delta Quadrant?" Celes shrugged. "Maybe they'll send staff on a later transport. I don't really know. I don't care either, as long as they don't bother us." "I do," Angelo said. "They weren't invited here, and I don't trust them. Has anyone ever believed for a minute that the Romulan government wasn't behind that attack on Voyager?" "Probably not, but they covered their tracks well," Celes said. "We still have a treaty with them. And they were Federation allies during the Dominion War." Angelo snorted. "Only to save their own hides. And it wasn't a very comfortable arrangement, if you recall. Those torpedoes they tried to store at Derna might well have been aimed at Bajor after the war." "Maybe. But there are only three of them here--two right now. They can't cause much trouble with a security detail keeping an eye on them." Celes rubbed her husband's arm. "You know Michael is very good at his job, so why don't we just let him do it while we do ours." Angelo sighed. "You're right." He directed one last scowl at the Romulans, then turned his attention back to the pile of supply crates in front of him. A few seconds later he shouted "Here it is!" as he pulled a crate out from the pile, knocking several others aside. Celes smiled as Angelo tore open the lid, and ran his hands lovingly over the assorted power tools inside. Nearly as lovingly as he ran his hands over her. "See, someone just didn't log it right. No harm done." "Good thing," Angelo said. Celes shook her head. "You boys and your power tools." "Hey, you should see Neusha. Even I'm afraid to get between her and her tools." "You *builders* and your power tools." Angelo grinned and closed up the crate. "I've got to get these over to the common. We're doing the grading today. It won't be long before you can start the landscaping." The common was the designated cultural and commercial centerpoint of the new colony, where the infirmary, school, and other public buildings would be located. The horticulture committee, to which Celes belonged, had already outlined the landscaping project for the large square. Their planning meetings on Pioneer had often been prolonged due to the diverse viewpoints of the ten member committee, but she'd enjoyed every minute of it. Celes had originally joined Starfleet for the new technical and scientific opportunities opened to Bajorans, opportunities so long denied them during the Occupation. She'd been the first in her family to do so, and they'd been so proud of her. But astrometrics, physics, the logic of mathematics, of stars and space--it all seemed cold and barren to her. She just couldn't learn to love it the way she loved tending to and growing living things. Celes had expected her favorite pastime would find little outlet in Starfleet, but Voyager's small arboretum had been a particular disappointment. The tiny area of greenery only made her long that much more for the greenbelts on Bajor that were recovering from the Cardassian occupation. Once home again, she'd realized she had to do what she did love, what truly made her happy. The year and a half she and Angelo had lived on Bajor had only increased her passion. And there was no shame in working with plants and soil, even if that choice was another element of her family's disappointment in her. But first, all the colonists would need to lend their skills to get the colony up and running smoothly. Her time in Starfleet had given her technical expertise in many areas, and she had offered to help set up the orbital satellite system. But soon enough she would be focusing completely on horticulture, and here her opportunities really would be unlimited. "A credit for your thoughts." Celes turned and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist. "I'm thinking how beautiful it is here, and how glad I am that we came." A smile spread across Angelo's face. She knew he still experienced moments of doubt about this venture, and about being in the Delta Quadrant, the place where both of them had separately despaired and longed for nothing more than to get home. He also felt to blame for her growing distance from her family, but it wasn't just him. Much as she'd despaired, her time on Voyager had changed her. While she'd been gone her family had lived their life in one direction, and she had lived hers in another. She'd become a different person from the girl who'd left eight years earlier, not all by choice, but now she couldn't go back to who she'd been. And they hadn't been ready for who she'd become. TBC -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service. From ???@??? 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