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Logic Dictates

Posted on Sep 13, 2019 @ 5:58pm by Ensign So'Mior
Edited on on Sep 13, 2019 @ 5:58pm

Mission: Last Days of Empire

“Logic Dictates”

(Continued from “Next Steps and Preparations”)


Location: Gran’kothar Prison Colony
StarDate: [2.19] 0913.0100
Scene: Holding Cell


“Why in the hell are we here?”

The emotion that cut through Petty Officer Frederick’s voice was palpable, almost so thick one could cut it with a lirpa. It made the silent young Vulcan meditating in the corner feel queasy and yet at the same time he understood it all too well.

Fear. Frustration. Confusion.

Why were they here?

Assorted members of the crew of the USS SATET had been held in a Klingon penal facility for the past two weeks. They had not been put to hard labor, they had not been beaten, they had been fed. They had a small, nondescript exercise area and received exactly two hours of exercise per day in one-hour segments. After each segment the occupants of each individual cell were shuffled and two people were never in the same cell twice in a row. It kept them disoriented, it kept them frustrated and it kept them disorganized.

One thing was immediately clear – no one in this group of prisoners was a senior officer. The highest rank among them was Lieutenant Fal’Kir, the Caitian head of stellar cartography. Fal’Kir was a forty year veteran of Starfleet one cruise away from retirement. He had checked out at least three years prior and was just in it for a bigger pension before he could take a permanent sunbathing trip with frequent catnaps on a beach on Risa.

Every single mover, shaker and decision maker from the SATET was gone. Had they been executed? Brainwashed? Tortured? The remaining crew could only speculate. A few of the conspiracy theorists and more paranoid members of the crew were convinced they had been betrayed by the senior officers and dumped off here. Was that the truth? Was it a lie?

Ensign So’Mior could barely begin to comprehend. He was freshly graduated from the academy ACT program, with all his intelligence in xeno-biology and every applied science under the sun. He was young for a human, especially young for a half Vulcan and Vulcans would have considered him a pure child. He simply did not understand the nuances of betrayal, underhanded grabs for power and widespread lies. But he was intelligent enough to have the sickening feeling that something was wrong.

He had graduated with honors in science – while his other subjects were fine he excelled at his chosen studies and had been lauded for his creative scientific discoveries. And yet he was posted to a ship where there wasn’t a lick of science to be done and his superior officers had even gone so far to be charmed by – to praise even – his naivete. He was slowly starting to wonder if someone had placed him on the SATET to pick his scientific mind and then leave him with the rest of the fools who could not understand the machinations of the underhanded just like him.

Was this course of thought even logical?

Logic would dictate to stop swelling on the problems one could not change and focus on what could be changed. Paranoid engineer Robussen had retained a back up communicator in a hidden location that So’Mior didn’t even want to think about. If it were linked to a power cell it might be able to transmit a message.

He would exercise and be placed with Robussen in two more cycles. Logic dictated he needed to enlist the help of overly-emotional Petty Officer Frederick and liberate a power cell from one of the yard lights next exercise cycle.

Scene: Exercise yard
Time index: Eight hours later

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a fuckin’ weird Vulcan?”

Clearly Petty Officer Frederick never shut up. So’Mior arched a brow.

“Is planning for future gain illogical?”

“How is standing on my shoulders going to help us in the future?” Frederick placed his hands on his hips.

“They allow all manner of physical activity, I have seen you complete strange acrobatic movements before, this will not seem suspicious.” So’Mior reasoned.

Frederick rolled his eyes. “Kid, I was trying to set up a basketball hoop. It didn’t work.”

“Then allow me to assist you. We could set up your hoop on one of the lighting fixtures. I am reasonably tall, and have good balance.” Mior reasoned gently. He hoped that logic would prevail.

“You don’t even play basketball!”

“But you do.”

Frederick huffed and shook his head, walking over to where a haphazard hop made of reeds and wire was laying. “Fine, giddyup kid. If you hurt my back you get off, immediately.”



Fifteen minutes later Petty Officer Frederick had a basketball hoop (and yet no ball) and So’Mior had a power cell.

Eight hours afterwards paranoid engineer Robussen had a signaling device.

They had one shot. So’Mior prayed to his father’s gods and Surak for good measure that someone was in range to hear.


Scene: Main Bridge

There was an incessant tiny flash on the monitor. It was small, it was annoying, it was something someone might easily overlook.

Byte was not the sort of intellect that overlooked things. Not in the slightest.

{{We are receiving a low-band communications signal from the Alycyonus system. Nonverbal, a series of repeating mono tones.}} Byte spoke without looking from the console. {{Recognized. Ancient Terran code. Morse.}}

Jake Crichton’s head snapped up as he perked a brow. Morse code out here? That certainly wasn’t Klingon. “Let me guess, SOS?”

Byte canted his head, still receiving the low signal. {{Processing… why, yes Commander. How did you know?}}

“What other codes do people send in Morse?” Eve queried

“CQD? LID?” Jake offered a half smile.

Kane waved a hand, dismissing the conversation. “Can you pinpoint the signal, Byte?”

The android nodded, but Morse code hadn’t yet fallen off the face of the conversational map. Jasmine Yu wrinkled her nose in thought as she turned towards Jake. “LID?”

“Licensed Idiot.” Crichton grinned. He was pretty sure Thytos knew that one by heart.

“Don’t make me hang that moniker on you.” Kane warned, keeping focus on the information coming back from the signal.

There was a thin pause and finally Byte’s head rose. {{The signal originates from the fourth planet in the Alycyonus system. It is a class M world, claimed by the Klingon Empire, called Gran’kothar in tlhIngan Hol. I have co-ordinates now.}}

The information that flashed up on the viewscreen was simple and clear – a small Klingon prison colony. Possibly a jailbreak in the making?


Jamie LeBlanc
Ensign So’Mior Riad’dikai Ventahn Howards
Science Officer

"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"
~Julian Beck


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