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eliyesI have a rule against posting WIPs anymore, but I have no idea how to continue/finish this, and I need to get it out there. So.
What might Gaila (from ST09) have been in TOS? This fic is one guess, also including a character meant to be the daughter of T'Pina & Beau from The IDIC Epidemic. This takes place at least 30-40 years after TOS, and if Gaila is about Uhura's age...
Bright Flag
She drew stares as she traveled through the f'deraxt'la starbase. Even now, she moved with a predatory grace which drew appreciative looks from some, and a more fearful reaction from others. Many of these people had never seen an Orion woman before, and those who had probably hadn't seen one wearing so many clothes, nor with callused hands, nor so advanced in age. She was on the far side of middle-aged for her species; most slaves never made it so long.
She was not most slaves. She was not, in point of fact, a slave any longer, which was why she was here. It had taken decades of preparation, of paranoid hoarding and secret work, but she and her fellow chattel and overthrown their masters. Before she'd been tossed into the work camps, she had been Gaila, but the others had given her a new name: Bright Flag, after the vivid orange of her gene-altered hair. She had found a new purpose.
As the leader of what they were already calling the Bright Flag Rebellion, she was petitioning the Federation of Planets for sanctuary for her people. She walked with as much confidence and power as she could muster, pretending her two Starfleet guards were an honour guard, pretending she had every right to be here.
You had to start with believing you were a person who mattered, or you'd be ground to dust by the universe.
Along the way, Bright Flag's little parade acquired a nervous young human who conducted her through a maze of smaller passages to a meeting with her "appointed adviser". From the man's chatter, she gathered that this was supposed to be someone to help her with the petitioning process, but she mostly tuned him out in favour of mentally mapping the route.
When she stepped into the meeting room and saw her "adviser", it was a struggle to keep the frown off her face.
It was a female Vulcan.
Bright Flag had never actually met a Vulcan before, of course, but she'd heard about them. They were immune to Orion pheromones; they were completely passionless and devoted to "logic"; they were the secret masters of the Federation; they were as strong as Orions and had similar blood; they could read minds and kill with a touch. She wasn't sure she believed all of it, but seeing one for the first time in person made her wonder.
This Vulcan looked young (although weren't they long-lived?), her face as bland as a rock (and if they never smiled or frowned, how could they wrinkle?). Her clothing fell from her shoulders to a double finger's-width above the floor, seemingly without touching a single curve except what could not be avoided, and was an uninteresting ivory speckled with dark green. The garment even covered her neck! Her hair was upswept and piled in knots of glossy black, leaving her elegantly pointed ears visible, which was the only good thing about the fussy style.
Bright Flag doubted they were going to get along.
"You are not required," the Vulcan told the guards and guide in a cool voice, and they left the two women alone.
When the Vulcan approached, Bright Flag stood her ground, glaring a challenge. To her immense surprise, the Vulcan got right into what human's would call her "personal space". She bracketed Bright Flag's arms with her own, setting her thumbs, once, against the backs of the Bright Flag's elbows and then dragging them along, feather-light, with a graceful twist that ended with the vulnerable insides of her wrists bared to Bright Flag's nails. And though the Vulcan was a palm's-width or more taller, she twisted her head so that at least one eye was lower than Bright Flag's own.
"It is my honour to serve you," and the murmuring voice was far more welcoming than before. "I am T'Mat, of Nisus."
For one shock-silent moment, Bright Flag did not respond. Finally, her nostrils flared as she drew in breath and curled her fingers so that her knuckles brushed T'Mat's wrists, then ran her hands back along the Vulcan's arms in turn, in the secret greeting of Orion women.
"Who has taught you this?" Bright Flag asked roughly.
"Seela, a freed woman," T'Mat said, "in place of my father's mother, who was Orion." And she smiled, unexpected and wry.
"Is that why you were appointed to advise me?"
"No, but that is why I asked to be considered for this duty." T'Mat stepped away to sweep a hand towards a seating arrangement, and Bright Flag found she regretted losing the feeling of that familiar clasp, and the peculiarly high temperature of T'Mat's body, as soon as it was gone.
"Please, sit. May I offer to share water with you?" There was a clear glass pitcher on the low table.
"Vulcan is a desert planet, isn't it?" Bright Flag asked as she sat on the surprisingly comfortable couch and selected an empty glass. T'Mat sat beside her, as was proper, instead of in one of the chairs. Clearly this Seela had not skimped her lessons.
"It is," T'Mat confirmed, pouring water into the glass Bright Flag held without spilling a drop, then filling a glass for herself. "I have only been there twice. You may have surmised that sharing water is significant to Vulcans, in terms of hospitality. I grew up on Nisus, a colony established for scientific research. It is a green world, with oceans and much rain, but the population of Vulcans there retain the importance of water in their day-to-day lives."
"Is it a f'derax-- no, a Federation world?"
"No. It is a joint effort between the Federation worlds, the Klingons, and the Orions. Though your followers would perhaps find comfort in the mix of species, the Orion council representative would lobby to return them, and you, to Orion space." She sipped her water. "Which brings us to your business here. What is it that you want?"
Bright Flag looked into T'Mat's calm blue eyes for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. Finally, she took a long swallow of water, set down her glass, and began to talk. First, she outlined what she wanted. Then, T'Mat went over precedent with her, and presented information which allowed her to refine her demands. They sat with their heads together like sisters to review the information T'Mat called up on the computer; it wasn't strictly necessary -- there was a larger screen built into the wall -- but Bright Flag certainly preferred it that way. After so long of needing to work in secrecy, it would have made her uncomfortable to put her plans up for view so obviously, even if this room was secure.
Just as Bright Flag felt her attention begin to waver, T'Mat suggested they pause to eat. Glancing at her timekeeper, Bright Flag was surprised to discover how much time had passed. She made use of the commconsole to contact her ship, letting them know she was still alive and felt she was putting her time to constructive use. She also transmitted a copy of the Federation Criminal Code, which T'Mat had thoughtfully provided in three languages.
When she was finished, they ate. T'Mat had laid out a light meal of fresh fruit, slices of bread spread with a bean-paste, and cups of clear broth (Bright Flag's was spicy fish; T'Mat's smelled like some sort of vegetable medley). And, of course, they drank more water. Apparently inspired by the food, T'Mat described food synthesizers, and a new technology called "replicators", explaining what this meant for those skilled in food preparation. Apparently it was a lucrative skill in many places.
"And which is this?" Bright Flag pointed at her plate.
"This is all hand-prepared."
Bright Flag smiled. "So what is it that you do when you aren't advising slave rebellion leaders on how to fast talk a way into the Federation?"
"I am a starship navigator."
"Really? That surprises me. You have a knack for teaching, I would have guessed something more like that."
T'Mat inclined her head, acknowledging the compliment.
"I was offered a position instructing a class on stellar cartography while my ship is being overhauled, but I declined in favour of working on my graduate studies. As I have already done some time teaching, this was allowed, although I will doubtless find myself instructing in future." She looked amused. "I enjoy it -- perhaps I cannot help but enjoy it; my parents are teachers -- but I prefer traveling, exploring."
Bright Flag was overcome with a feeling of... not bitterness, exactly, but a kind of intense longing. To have a choice between two occupations she enjoyed -- to have a choice at all --!
She swallowed it down, and something occurred to her.
"You... are in Starfleet."
"Yes. I hold the rank of Lieutenant Commander. I am presently assigned to the Excelsior-class vessel USS Alexander."
TO BE CONTINUED...?
What might Gaila (from ST09) have been in TOS? This fic is one guess, also including a character meant to be the daughter of T'Pina & Beau from The IDIC Epidemic. This takes place at least 30-40 years after TOS, and if Gaila is about Uhura's age...
Bright Flag
She drew stares as she traveled through the f'deraxt'la starbase. Even now, she moved with a predatory grace which drew appreciative looks from some, and a more fearful reaction from others. Many of these people had never seen an Orion woman before, and those who had probably hadn't seen one wearing so many clothes, nor with callused hands, nor so advanced in age. She was on the far side of middle-aged for her species; most slaves never made it so long.
She was not most slaves. She was not, in point of fact, a slave any longer, which was why she was here. It had taken decades of preparation, of paranoid hoarding and secret work, but she and her fellow chattel and overthrown their masters. Before she'd been tossed into the work camps, she had been Gaila, but the others had given her a new name: Bright Flag, after the vivid orange of her gene-altered hair. She had found a new purpose.
As the leader of what they were already calling the Bright Flag Rebellion, she was petitioning the Federation of Planets for sanctuary for her people. She walked with as much confidence and power as she could muster, pretending her two Starfleet guards were an honour guard, pretending she had every right to be here.
You had to start with believing you were a person who mattered, or you'd be ground to dust by the universe.
Along the way, Bright Flag's little parade acquired a nervous young human who conducted her through a maze of smaller passages to a meeting with her "appointed adviser". From the man's chatter, she gathered that this was supposed to be someone to help her with the petitioning process, but she mostly tuned him out in favour of mentally mapping the route.
When she stepped into the meeting room and saw her "adviser", it was a struggle to keep the frown off her face.
It was a female Vulcan.
Bright Flag had never actually met a Vulcan before, of course, but she'd heard about them. They were immune to Orion pheromones; they were completely passionless and devoted to "logic"; they were the secret masters of the Federation; they were as strong as Orions and had similar blood; they could read minds and kill with a touch. She wasn't sure she believed all of it, but seeing one for the first time in person made her wonder.
This Vulcan looked young (although weren't they long-lived?), her face as bland as a rock (and if they never smiled or frowned, how could they wrinkle?). Her clothing fell from her shoulders to a double finger's-width above the floor, seemingly without touching a single curve except what could not be avoided, and was an uninteresting ivory speckled with dark green. The garment even covered her neck! Her hair was upswept and piled in knots of glossy black, leaving her elegantly pointed ears visible, which was the only good thing about the fussy style.
Bright Flag doubted they were going to get along.
"You are not required," the Vulcan told the guards and guide in a cool voice, and they left the two women alone.
When the Vulcan approached, Bright Flag stood her ground, glaring a challenge. To her immense surprise, the Vulcan got right into what human's would call her "personal space". She bracketed Bright Flag's arms with her own, setting her thumbs, once, against the backs of the Bright Flag's elbows and then dragging them along, feather-light, with a graceful twist that ended with the vulnerable insides of her wrists bared to Bright Flag's nails. And though the Vulcan was a palm's-width or more taller, she twisted her head so that at least one eye was lower than Bright Flag's own.
"It is my honour to serve you," and the murmuring voice was far more welcoming than before. "I am T'Mat, of Nisus."
For one shock-silent moment, Bright Flag did not respond. Finally, her nostrils flared as she drew in breath and curled her fingers so that her knuckles brushed T'Mat's wrists, then ran her hands back along the Vulcan's arms in turn, in the secret greeting of Orion women.
"Who has taught you this?" Bright Flag asked roughly.
"Seela, a freed woman," T'Mat said, "in place of my father's mother, who was Orion." And she smiled, unexpected and wry.
"Is that why you were appointed to advise me?"
"No, but that is why I asked to be considered for this duty." T'Mat stepped away to sweep a hand towards a seating arrangement, and Bright Flag found she regretted losing the feeling of that familiar clasp, and the peculiarly high temperature of T'Mat's body, as soon as it was gone.
"Please, sit. May I offer to share water with you?" There was a clear glass pitcher on the low table.
"Vulcan is a desert planet, isn't it?" Bright Flag asked as she sat on the surprisingly comfortable couch and selected an empty glass. T'Mat sat beside her, as was proper, instead of in one of the chairs. Clearly this Seela had not skimped her lessons.
"It is," T'Mat confirmed, pouring water into the glass Bright Flag held without spilling a drop, then filling a glass for herself. "I have only been there twice. You may have surmised that sharing water is significant to Vulcans, in terms of hospitality. I grew up on Nisus, a colony established for scientific research. It is a green world, with oceans and much rain, but the population of Vulcans there retain the importance of water in their day-to-day lives."
"Is it a f'derax-- no, a Federation world?"
"No. It is a joint effort between the Federation worlds, the Klingons, and the Orions. Though your followers would perhaps find comfort in the mix of species, the Orion council representative would lobby to return them, and you, to Orion space." She sipped her water. "Which brings us to your business here. What is it that you want?"
Bright Flag looked into T'Mat's calm blue eyes for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. Finally, she took a long swallow of water, set down her glass, and began to talk. First, she outlined what she wanted. Then, T'Mat went over precedent with her, and presented information which allowed her to refine her demands. They sat with their heads together like sisters to review the information T'Mat called up on the computer; it wasn't strictly necessary -- there was a larger screen built into the wall -- but Bright Flag certainly preferred it that way. After so long of needing to work in secrecy, it would have made her uncomfortable to put her plans up for view so obviously, even if this room was secure.
Just as Bright Flag felt her attention begin to waver, T'Mat suggested they pause to eat. Glancing at her timekeeper, Bright Flag was surprised to discover how much time had passed. She made use of the commconsole to contact her ship, letting them know she was still alive and felt she was putting her time to constructive use. She also transmitted a copy of the Federation Criminal Code, which T'Mat had thoughtfully provided in three languages.
When she was finished, they ate. T'Mat had laid out a light meal of fresh fruit, slices of bread spread with a bean-paste, and cups of clear broth (Bright Flag's was spicy fish; T'Mat's smelled like some sort of vegetable medley). And, of course, they drank more water. Apparently inspired by the food, T'Mat described food synthesizers, and a new technology called "replicators", explaining what this meant for those skilled in food preparation. Apparently it was a lucrative skill in many places.
"And which is this?" Bright Flag pointed at her plate.
"This is all hand-prepared."
Bright Flag smiled. "So what is it that you do when you aren't advising slave rebellion leaders on how to fast talk a way into the Federation?"
"I am a starship navigator."
"Really? That surprises me. You have a knack for teaching, I would have guessed something more like that."
T'Mat inclined her head, acknowledging the compliment.
"I was offered a position instructing a class on stellar cartography while my ship is being overhauled, but I declined in favour of working on my graduate studies. As I have already done some time teaching, this was allowed, although I will doubtless find myself instructing in future." She looked amused. "I enjoy it -- perhaps I cannot help but enjoy it; my parents are teachers -- but I prefer traveling, exploring."
Bright Flag was overcome with a feeling of... not bitterness, exactly, but a kind of intense longing. To have a choice between two occupations she enjoyed -- to have a choice at all --!
She swallowed it down, and something occurred to her.
"You... are in Starfleet."
"Yes. I hold the rank of Lieutenant Commander. I am presently assigned to the Excelsior-class vessel USS Alexander."
TO BE CONTINUED...?