Previous Next

Twixt Scylla and Charybdis I: The Last Gatekeeper

Posted on Tue Nov 12th, 2019 @ 11:45am by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Commander Rita Paris

Mission: Family Detention
Location: Earth, Scotland, MacGregor Manse guest house
Timeline: 2396

The time spent at Starfleet Command enduring endless debriefings and interrogations, accusations and inquires had all been accompanied, in some form, by one Lieutenant Commander Percy Garney. A fussy and persnickety little man, who was dour and possessed of only the dryest of wit, most often expressed in the form of muttering under his breath then claiming it was nothing to move the conversation along. Today, however, he seemed almost happy, his face stretched in an uncomfortable rictus that one might mistake for a smile, were one not to know the man better.

"Well, today's the day, Lieutenant Dox. I've seen you through your time at Starfleet, and with this signature here... here... here... initial here... thumbprint here.... and retinal scan... thank you. I'm no longer assigned to your case. You have one final exit interview with some sort of... specialist. The beaming coordinates are here," he explained, handing over a PaDD. "I wish you godspeed and good fortune. Moving forward, PLEASE do NOT get captured by the Romulans, so that we don't ever have to revisit this particular ordeal in the future. Agreed?"

Not even bothering to fake a polite smile, the red-headed Rihannsu pilot raised an eyebrow and kept her more caustic comebacks to herself, as she replied flatly and professionally. “Agreed, Lieutenant Commander. Good day.”

Garney had been intensely irritating, smug, and pompous for the week and a half Mnhei’sahe had been in San Francisco at Starfleet Command for her extensive debriefing. But as she had spent weeks resisting the urge to kill her kidnappers, not rising to the bait of an obnoxious JAG officer was easy enough. Though as he turned to leave, she had to found she had to work to resist the urge to end with the traditional Rihannsu cultural greeting and farewell of Jolan’tru, just to get under his skin. After all, her gauntlet wasn’t QUITE finished yet, so best not to take any chances.

At least this final appointment was one she had been given coordinates to beam into, so she wouldn’t have to endure yet another lengthy shuttle ride, which gave her the time to overthink everything, as was her habit. So she slung her shoulder bag across her back and made her way to the secure transporter station to present her orders to the transporter technician.

The Wil’I’Ams sisters, the Klingon Security officers who had been her escorts from the Hera, had been dismissed earlier in the day. They planned to meet her when she was ready to shuttle back to the starship, as it was currently docked at the secretive Jupiter Station. As a Starfleet intel starship, the Hera was dissuaded from assuming Earth orbit or pulling into Spacedock, Thus Dox was enjoying another measure of her freedom; she was finally being allowed to move about without the security guards that had been perpetually accompanying her everywhere for days.

Taking a moment to appreciate at least that minor victory, she handed the PaDD to the young technician and, waiting for her turn, stepped over to the railing overlooking the lobby of Starfleet Command. She and Garney had met for her dismissal on the third-floor mezzanine where the security transport pads were located, and from that ledge, she could see the dozens of standard transporters that had lined the walls of the main entrance. The hum of the beams could be easily heard echoing up the tall walls of the complex as Starfleet members rushed on and off the pads, going about their business. It was like watching organized chaos as the rainbow of uniforms crisscrossed below. Crimson, Teal, and Gold abounded in the hustle and bustle of different races and peoples all working together, walking across the gold rim of the Starfleet Delta embedded in the marble floor. It was Rita Paris’ dream of the future, living and breathing below her and even the generally cynical young Rihannsu officer was feeling it in that moment.

“Lieutenant Dox. The pad is ready for you.” Came a voice from behind. A fresh-faced young ensign in Engineering Gold called back to address her. Turning from her moment of introspection, so close to the end of this particular journey and so ready to return home to the Hera, Dox nodded with a half-forced smile for the young human man as she replied. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Picking back up the mid-sized duffle bag with her clothes and some PaDD’s in it, she stepped onto the pad and, nodding again that she was ready, left the California coast in a wave of blue and white sparkles. Seconds later, she reformed someplace decidedly different from Starfleet headquarters.

The besieged young officer hadn’t been told with whom who her final meeting was to be with, nor where, since the coordinates on the PaDD were coded- but the young officer definitely was not expecting to be standing on the lawn of a multi-story manor house, obviously old, but well-maintained. Not the grandest of castles, to be certain, but definitely a large rambling manor that was likely as cozy and inviting inside as it appeared to be outside. The well-manicured lawn and gardens made it clear it was still occupied, and working to maintain appearances. As she eyed the gravel path that stretched down to the road, in the distance the vista was quite brilliantly verdant and spectacular. One of rolling foothills and abrupt cliffs, on a large lake where she could see an actual castle across the lake. Behind it, the land rose in sharp relief to form steep craggy mountains, which were also overrun by greenery.



As Lieutenant Dox took in the sights, wondering why she'd been transported to the middle of someone’s yard, a voice from behind her spoke up, in calm and friendly tones. Which made her jump a bit, because she was reasonably certain that no one had been there seconds ago.

"I requested they beam you out here so you that could get your bearings," the voice declared, as she turned to face the speaker. It was a woman, who might perhaps be a bit taller than she herself, although her posture was stooped and hunched with age, as old women tended to do. Bound up in a large bun atop her head was what had once been dark hair, that was now shot through with sufficient silver enough to appear grey. The form was matronly- full-figured was an apt description, and somehow Dox couldn't help but immediately think this would be what Rita's hourglass figure would look like if she packed on 40 kilos and another fifty years.

But what genuinely struck her were the long, pointed ears of the woman, framed by that mass of restrained hair, and the sharp brows that rose above eyes that appeared to be an odd color at this distance. Clad in a simple faded blue cotton dress with a stained brown apron wrapped about her wide waist, the woman looked like a matron of the sort this rural existence implied… save for the fact that she was clearly Vulcanoid.

The smile she presented definitely leaned her more toward Romulan than Vulcan, however.

"To answer your initial questions, you are in Scotland, halfway around the planet from Starfleet Command. You are in Glenlochy, on the lands of Clam MacGregor. That is MacGregor Manse, seat of the clan and home to its laird," which she pronounced with a burr that was clearly a local affectation. "As for myself, I am Charybdis MacGregor. Admiral, Starfleet Intelligence, retired. We'll skip the fun and games of me being cagey and mysterious, because I suspect you've had weeks of that hnaev, and you are well and past it now."

Well, she certainly CURSES in Rihan. Mnhei'sahe thought to herself.

"So, why don't you come in for a cup of tea, a bit of stew and some conversation where you try to convince the dotty old retired Romulan Starfleet officer that you've not been compromised and that your loyalties are all where you claim them to be, shall we?"

With that blunt statement, she gestured- not to the manse, but to a much smaller single-story structure nearby, which might have once been servant quarters or a 'mother-in-law' cottage set slightly back from the main house on the expansive verdant lawn.

Taking a breath, Mnhei'sahe nodded and followed her slowly plodding and unusual host to the smaller cottage. Whatever this meeting was to be, it seemed she was once again having to prove herself to someone else- even if this particular representative seemed more interesting than not. As she looked around, she couldn't help but smile at the oddity that her host was, like herself, another Rihannsu woman with a Scottish last name.

"Thank you, Admiral MacGregor," Mnhei'sahe replied as she followed closely behind, her bag slung over her shoulder not quite knowing what to say but hoping for the best, "Stew sounds good, actually."

"There has never been a Romulan Admiral, you think to yourself, and that's technically correct. There's a lot of secret history of Starfleet out there, Lieutenant. I'm a piece of it... plausible deniability being what it is." As she moved, the woman had a bit of a limp, as if still dealing with an old injury that had never quite healed correctly. In motion, she made the sounds an old woman would make, the shortness of breath, the sighs and grunts of exertion over minor tasks like pulling open the door. But her hands seemed steady, and her violet eyes were sharp.

The interior of the cottage was homey and cluttered. Holos and flat images lined the walls, of people and places, of weapons and devices, of ship models and one display case had mannequin forms of a rather spectacularly curvaceous figure displaying a blue minidress uniform from Rita's era, but in Science blue with the same two wound gold braids about the wrist that Rita's sported. While the other was the white turtlenecked 'Maroon Monster' of the Admiral Kirk era, with the shoulderboard rank that marked it as a full admiral, O-9, one step shy of Fleet Admiral. A student of the era and a fan of the uniform, Dox noted the additional division marking that delineated the uniform to be assigned to Starfleet Intelligence.

All of which, in turn, made Dox suspicious, because she had never heard of such an admiral- not that she had gone looking particularly, but she imagined a Vulcan or Romulan admiral that highly placed would have been known of, one way or the other.

The large 'chopping block' table surrounded by six sturdy clearly handmade chairs was the centerpiece of the kitchen that dominated half the main room, thus indicating it's importance to its occupant, and her hostess gestured for Dox to have a seat. "So, now it's time for something different. I know all about you, Mnhei'sahe Dox, aka Melanie Dox, aka Mnhei'sahe t'Rul. At this juncture, you have absolutely no idea who I am, why you are here, or just what sort of game Command is playing with you. So you're on your guard, saying nothing and forcing the other party to give information by volunteering nothing. That's good. Very smart. But not why we're here."

"So ask. Satisfy your curiosity, and I will explain why you're here in a cottage in Scotland of all places, what this is all about, and we'll wrap up this business of returning you to active duty on that rather remarkable starship of misfits to which you belong, eh?" Placing a teapot on the heating element, the old woman with deep crow's feet about her eyes and laugh lines creasing her face smiled, an expression that clearly came easily to her face. For a Romulan, she was remarkably... straightforward.

If that was to be believed, at least. Months of games within games within wordplay within manipulations had left Dox somewhat suspicious of surface motives and just what exactly was happening here, she realized.

Taking the offered seat, Mnhei'sahe was curious, but suddenly more nervous then she had been since she had been on the Warbird. Everything about the situation felt unusual, and a part of her had suddenly become concerned if she was really still on Earth.

The lifelong spacer knew she wasn't on a ship. As someone born and raised on starships, she could generally feel the hum of a warp engine through the deckplates, even on a holodeck. While the woman seemed to know entirely too much about her, if she was an Admiral, all of what she had just said would be information available to her. With her well trained mental defenses, Dox was sure she would have felt if her mind had been telepathically probed. But regardless, the young pilot was definitely uncomfortable.

But her face remained neutral and impassive, betraying nothing of what she was feeling at the moment as she pondered what she should ask. There was something in the back of her mind that was familiar about the mysterious Admiral which she couldn't quite place, and it wasn't just the Rita-era uniform on display, or just how easily she seemed to read Mnhei'sahe. "How do you know… everything about me, I suppose is the most prominent question I have right now, Admiral."

"Just Charybdis will do, Lieutenant. I'm retired and I've no need to club you about the head and shoulders with rank. Or Char, if you are feeling particularly friendly, as it seems my name is not the easiest in the galaxy to manage, despite its origins in classical Earth mythology." Taking the lid off a pot of stew on the stovetop, the elderly woman reached for a pair of carved wooden bowls from the cupboard beside it and began ladling out servings of the dish, even as the water churned in the kettle.

"I don't know everything about you. If I did, this entire discourse would be pointless, wouldn't it?" the plump old woman chuckled with reserved mirth. "But I know you, your psych profile, your career, and I am well-versed in current events. All of that is easily accessible to anyone with the appropriate clearances. Considering I trained Vice Admiral Jeffries, it's not an enormous stretch to imagine just how I came to access so much information about you. Along with standard observation, analysis, and deduction. Your body posture still says desperately uncomfortable, despite your efforts to conceal it. All this talk is elevating rather than allaying suspicion, so you are wondering more and more what this is about. Although you refuse to ask, because you've spent a month dealing with the twits of the Tal'Shiar, and another two weeks dealing with Starfleet busybodies and diplomats and strategists that either want answers or assurances or some way to turn all of this to their advantage."

"So why the old lady in the country cottage? What's her game, what does SHE want, what does THIS mean for my career, what game are we playing today?" Setting the bowl down in front of her guest, the old woman opened a drawer to produce an elegantly filigreed spoon, one for each of them, and returned to the stove to fetch the kettle.

"If it's poisoned I went to an awful lot of trouble," she said with her back turned, busying herself with making tea. "If it's drugged, again, I'd be a damned poor spy if this is what I'm doing to gain your confidence. It's just food, woman. I'm not the best cook in the county, but it's hard to mess up stew." Turning back to the table, she produced two steaming earthenware mugs of what smelled suspiciously like Vulcan spiced tea.

Taking a spoonful of the stew, which did actually smell wonderful, Dox took a bite while keeping her eyes on her hostess. Nodding slightly, she said plainly, "It's very good, thank you."

"As for the name, Charybdis isn't all that complicated. Besides, I made the crew all go from calling me 'Melanie' to 'Mnhei'sahe' overnight, so it's not that much to bother pronouncing right." The red-headed officer mused, volunteering a little personal information to try and both relax and gauge her host's reactions.

"In regard to my suspicions, as you said, I've had more than a few people of late trying to get into my head. And suddenly, I'm here. Talking to a Rihannsu with a Scottish last name, just like me. You have a uniform on a mannequin from the same era that my Commander and friend comes from and still wears... and you've prepared the meal that is one of my personal favorites." Mnhei'sahe said, taking another spoonful.

"So yes, I'm curious and I'm suspicious. I'll be more curious when I'm feeling less suspicious… so if I'm the one asking questions first, why I here? Or, more specifically, after weeks of having my loyalties challenged, why are you my last gatekeeper?"

"I'm not a gatekeeper," the chubby old woman explained as she eased herself into a chair then sagged a bit upon arriving there, in relief at no longer fighting gravity in the manner so often adopted by the elderly. "You signed your last bit of paperwork before you departed Starfleet. You are returned to active duty, cleared of charges and on your own recognizance. This was just an old lady with a lot of pull wanting to have a word with you, one generation to the next."

"As for why, I would think that would be obvious. I know what it's like to be a Romulan in Starfleet, to some degree. Would it help put your mind at ease if perhaps you knew my story?" the aged woman asked, a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth that seemed somehow mischievous and out of place for a Vulcan or a Romulan, and was even different than her Captain's piratical smirk. This was the wry, private smile of someone who knew all the angles and was playing the long game, primarily to the amusement of her own self.

"I won't lie and say that I'm not curious." Mnhei'sahe said with a bit more of her normal timbre to her voice as she consciously let her guard down just a hair. The enigmatic older woman was intriguing, but Dox remained on guard as she leaned forward with a specific question that had been itching in the back of her brain. "If that blue uniform was yours, that's from an era where Starfleet had just learned what the Rihannsu even looked like. How were you already a Commander during that period, Charybdis?"

"Ah, and therein hangs the tale," the old woman smiled, and as she began to wistfully recollect, it was as if years fell away from her. "I was born Scylla Charvanek, in the Earth year 2237, in the city of Dartha, Romulus- ch'Rihan, to you and I. My father was a politico- no great Senator, just a functionary, but he came from a wealthy family. My mother was a starship commander, proud and noble. I was born to them later in life, so her career was quite well underway, already a Riov with a Bird of Prey all her own."

"When I was six years old, the Tal'Shiar came for me. Partially it was to leverage my father, partially it was to test my mother's 'loyalty'. Partially it was because they needed 'volunteers' for the latest scheme they had concocted, involving genetic manipulation secrets reverse-engineered from an Earth cryoship they'd captured. Combining that with a personality smasher or sifter- they never did settle on a name, depending on who you asked- they were going to try an old ploy that had achieved limited success decades before- infiltrating the Federation by pretending to be Vulcans." Pausing to take a sip of her tea, the old woman continued.

"You see, back then, we had still managed to keep our physicality a mystery to the Federation, and even the Vulcans were unaware of our existence Although once we were revealed, they quickly surmised we were S'task's rebel band, taken root in the stars. Yet they were in no hurry to volunteer this information to Starfleet, you see. A Vulcan never lies, but that doesn't mean he'll tell you the entire truth, either." At that, the Romulan senior citizen spinning the outrageous yarn shook her head, looking off into the distance, lost in memory for a few seconds of reverie before continuing.

"I was chosen, and the treatment worked well on me. I gained amazing strength, reflexes, and agility- I was a superhuman gymnast. Hard to believe now, I know, but it's true," she cackled a bit, rolling her eyes. "Landings were my weakness- always stumbled on the landings, especially in heels. Now, all of that might have been good and well, save that they'd captured a Vulcan exploratory vessel, and there was a 15-year-old girl on board, named for the other force of that legendary pair for which, coincidentally, I’d been named.”

Pausing, the old woman pursued the conversational tangent. “I've often wondered if that made it fate, or if it was just a cruel joke on the part of the universe, you see? Because the Tal’Shiar stripped her mind from her, and recorded it... a bit fragmented, of course, and all of it overlaid with the sheer agonizing experience of having your mind disassembled by brute mechanical force."

When she picked up her teacup this time, the old woman's hand shook a bit, as the memory replayed in her mind. "When they overlaid her personality onto mine, it was supposed to improve my rather sub-par intellect and offer me insights into Vulcan culture that I would need to successfully move amongst them. In doing so, they ensured that I would feel the same agony that the true Charybdis had felt, when they stripped her mind. It was... a defense, you see. They knew that the Vulcans could meld minds, and they tortured us both to give the Vulcans something to encounter should they meld with us- sheer, horrifying mental agony that went on forever."

"One of the many reasons I've never had any love lost between myself and the Tal'Shiar," the silver-tressed matron declared as she pulled a shawl off the chair next to her and wrapped it about her shoulders, although there was no chill that Dox could feel other than the one at the base of her spine brought on by the tale of mental torture that was a little too close for comfort. As Charybdis casually described the horrors of having her mind overwritten by what sounded like an earlier prototype of the Ju'rot device, the old fleeter pressed on, glossing over gory details.

"They beat and abused my body so that I could be placed back aboard the Shek-hinah and sent to drift back to Vulcan. My mind and body were both shattered, though, and I spent two years on Vulcan trying to come to terms with who I had become and what sort of creature I was now. It was there that I learned that logic can be cruel, and justification for cruelty can always be explained logically. Eventually, I escaped Vulcan, and as 'one of their own' I decided not to pretend to be emotionless,” the clearly emotional woman explained. “It was demanding and irritating to maintain such a façade, and overall I played it cool, by allowing myself to be labeled a V'tosh k'atur, a 'Vulcan without logic'. There are still the occasional Vulcans who reject the teachings of Sarek, you see. Rare, in the modern-day, but they do exist. I allowed others to classify me as such, never corrected them, and I rather smugly enjoyed my own private little joke."

"When they were processing my paperwork for the Academy, I wrote in 'race- Vulcanoid', never claimed to be from planet Vulcan nor an actual Vulcan- don't look at me that way, this was a very long time ago, and things were simpler then. Have you ever tried to read a tricorder from back then?" she admitted, pointing to the classic black and chrome accessory in the case laid out with the old blue uniform alongside the classic phaser Rita still carried today, and a black and gold flip-open communicator, which Dox wasn't sure if Rita still owned or not.

"Long story short, I attended Starfleet Academy. No, I was a few classes behind James T. Kirk, but his asinine maneuver in the Kobayashi Maru certainly made it difficult for the rest of us as the Academy cracked down academically. I was a terrible student- my scores were off the charts, because their charts were for humans back then, really. The United Federation really had not properly taken root yet, and most starships were full of Caucasian men from Earth out playing ‘space cowboy’. Since the treatment had granted me a superior intellect and perfect recall, my classes were simplicity to absorb and regurgitate, even correcting some of the erroneous material, which endeared me to my instructors just as much as you might imagine.”

“Staying out of trouble was my problem. Every night, every weekend, whenever I wasn't required to be in attendance, I was out exploring this beautiful planet of theirs. Clubs, dancing... I even headlined as a topless gogo dancer in Brazil for a semester, and let me tell you, that was a double life that was a challenge to keep separate!" The old woman laughed, and while it was hard to imagine her in her heyday doing such a thing, noticing a photo on the wall of the staggeringly buxom young officer in the bright blue minidress uniform adorned with Lieutenant's stripes lent the possibility some credence. She had most certainly been beautiful in her day.

"So I bought into it. I was still making my reports to the Tal'Shiar with regularity, but they were learning the course curriculum of the Academy, which was a lot of nonsense, some history they didn't know, a bit of engineering that wasn't anything new to them, and me editing out most of my life so they wouldn't know what was really happening. I once held the record for most demerits collected by a single Academy graduate in a semester, a year and career. At least, for a graduate. I suspect that record has long since been broken, but I've never cared to look." The older woman chuckled, shaking her head then sipping her tea once more.

"I was a genius, so I went science, and as a 'Vulcan' it was what everyone expected. I wasted away in my first command aboard the USS Antares, butting heads with the executive officer, until I was transferred to a Constitution-class... the USS Bonne Chance. That was where I met Fiona McCray, who would introduce me to my husband Raine, and whose family here in Scotland adopted me as one of their own. Selune, the most brilliant and capable pilot I'd ever met, a white Caitian, if you can believe that.”



Smiling lightly, Dox couldn’t help but pick up on the coincidence of the Hera having a Runabout named ‘Selune’, but didn’t interrupt the story to comment on it.

“There was Yuna Raza, of course, through whom I eventually learned of Symbionts and the dirty secrets the Trill keep hidden about that bonding of theirs. Most importantly of all, the Deltan Doctor, Siivas McKenzie who would change my life in so many ways. When the ship was lost in a spatial distortion, it was he and I who saved the ship as the two surviving senior officers, and his friendship was the last straw for my loyalty to the Star Empire.”

“You see, I had the opportunity in that moment… to simply plot a course ch’Rihan, bring a technologically advanced heavy cruiser of Starfleet into port under my command, and I would be a heroine of the empire, with statues dedicated to me and song singing my praises for generations to come. But… Siivas had saved me, and shown me kindness and empathy. He knew me- the REAL me- yet he neither shied away nor condemned me for it. Instead, he encouraged me to be myself- the version of myself I wished to be, and left me free to make my own choices. With the first true crossroads of destiny before me, I chose freedom, and friendship, and the Federation.” Taking a deep breath, she sighed. “In a cross-dimensional accident, I encountered a version of myself who had chosen the heroine of the Empire path, and she was quite frankly terrifying.”

“Of course, upon reaching port was where I met Captain Patrick O'Conner."

Sighing, the old woman rolled her eyes heavenward as she spoke. "He was dashing and handsome, and he wanted me badly. I made him stutter and lose his composure, and his lust was… well.” The old woman blushed a shade of jade, and she smiled, a secret little smile before continuing. “He was my first love, and after he slept with me he promoted me. In the space of three months, I went from a Lieutenant to a full Commander. Everybody knew why, nobody respected the rank nor the first officer posting. But my friends and I, we ran that starship for him, and they didn't care. Until Risa. On Risa it all changed."

Looking up, those odd violet eyes peered at the young woman. "I'm spinning this tale the long way round, but that's how it goes when you are telling your story, you see? There are those little details in the past that have to be laid so that the events later have relevance, understand? An order of events, otherwise they don't make sense, which are often out of order. So I appreciate you putting up with an old woman's rambling, and letting me get to the point in my own time."

Listening, Mnhei’sahe had leaned forward in her chair and was following the tale intently. Rita Paris was more than correct that the young Rihannsu woman was, in point of fact, a terrible liar. But she certainly had a Rihannsu’s ear for picking out lies in others. Even a well-trained liar usually had some tells that Mnhei’sahe could pick up on. But if Charybdis was lying in her rambling tale, then she was the best liar the crimson-clad pilot had ever encountered.

As such, the young Lieutenant was choosing to let her guard down as the story progressed. And as such, Mnhei’sahe had begun to understand this eccentric woman’s interest in her. While they had certainly lived vastly different lives, there were an uncanny number of ways that the two lives tended to run almost parallel. And the similarities were, while coincidental, quite intriguing.

Nodding, Mnhei’sahe allowed herself a legitimate and relaxed smile as she shook her head. “It’s no concern, and I understand. I’ve been repeating just the same month over and over, but if you leave out one detail from the beginning as you said, you lose context later.”

Reaching forward, the young Dox took a sip of her own tea, which was quite good, and nodded. “I don’t know if I beat your record for demerits. But I did get held back a year and a half in total for various… academic suspensions. Mostly violence related. Put a cadet in the infirmary with a collapsed liver and a ruptured trachea once.”

Putting her teacup down, Mnhei’sahe smirked a bit before finishing her interjection, “I… have been known to get into my own fair share of trouble. No dancing, though. But I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

"HAH! I broke a man's wrist because he wouldn't remove his hand from my waist when I warned him in Zero-G Maneuvers 202," the old woman cackled with glee. "I suspect you are beginning to see why you're here. Kilroy Oldster, a human philosopher of the twentieth century, once wrote that the next generation and the one that follows are an integral component of our stories, as we are of theirs. Therefore, each child acts as the knighted messengers to carry their forebears’ stories into the future. To deprive our children of the narrative cells regarding the formation of the ozone layer that rims the atmosphere of our ancestors’ saga and parental determination of selfhood, is to deny them of the sacred right to claim the sanctity of their heritage."

"Accordingly, all wrinkled brow natives are chargeable with the sacrosanct obligation of telling their kith and kin the memorable story of the scenic days they spent as children of nature splashing about in their naked innocence in the brook of infinite time and space. We must scrupulously document our family’s history as well as scrawl of our personal story," she ended the quotation from memory.

"I have children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and they know their heritages- both the human and the Romulan,” Charybdis explained. “But it seems your own heritage has been muddied for you, and that's part of why you are here. You are not alone, Mnhei'sahe Dox. Patterns repeat, and while our circumstances are wildly different, you and I share quite a few points in common, I think.”

“That's why the dotty old lady wanted your afternoon. That's why you are here. Because I know your story, and in witnessing it, I suspect you may feel a bit alone in the universe- it is the nature of youth to believe that our experiences are unique, and no one has experienced this before. I have found it can be... comforting to know that there are others who went before, who understand. Having come through the flames of the phoenix and fought your way back, I felt it might bring you some degree of ease to know that." The old woman's expression softened, a maternal expression that was odd to see on a Romulan elder's face, yet there it was.

To Be Continued...

 

Previous Next

labels_subscribe