From: lmasterm@cs.ulowell.edu (Lisa Masterman)
Subject: STORY: "Aeia," part V
Originator: lmasterm@bigmax.ulowell.edu
Organization: University of Massachusetts at Lowell Computer Science
Date: Tue, 18 Aug 1992 14:26:23 GMT


Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I finally got around to writing another part.
Alas, this is not the end; a short epilogue should follow.  But I'm getting
there!!

Enjoy!  I'll revise and repost once I'm finished!!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Aeia"

PART FIVE

Troi supported Aeia's weight with her arm around the slender waist.  
They stood in silence as the turbolift descended.

"What are you going to do?" she asked finally.

Aeia took a deep breath and regarded the panels in front of her.  
"Dhyle is a young man," she answered at last.  "He is a good leader, 
but an inexperienced one.  The Romulans must have bought his 
loyalty, perhaps with this cloaking technology that can't be detected.  
But his alliance to their Empire is superficial.  An alliance that is 
formed weakly can be broken easily."  The door opened and they 
moved out together, striding towards the transporter room.  Aeia 
added quietly: "I hope."

Standing at his console, O'Brien shook his head in disbelief as Aeia 
took her place on the pad.  "I can't believe they're going to drop their 
shields to allow you to get over."

"They will," Aeia responded firmly.  "Dhyle's curiosity will ensure 
my safety and your safety until I am aboard their ship and can prove 
to him that I am who I say I am."

"And then what?" asked Troi from where she stood beside O'Brien.

"Then the Romulans will try to kill me," Aeia responded, her voice 
dark and serious.  "What happens then will depend on Dhyle," she 
added as she began to fade in the transporter beam.

Troi started to protest, but knew it was too late.  She sent all of her 
hopes away with the disappearing figure.

------------------------------------------------------

When Aeia materialized, five Romulan phasers were levelled at her.  
It was as she had expected.

Dhyle stood before her.  Despite the thick build of his kind, he was 
tall.  His brown mane of coarse hair would be considered handsome 
by one of his kind, and his amber eyes could be very romantic in the 
right situation.  This was not one of them.

"Hello, Dhyle," she said.

"Impostor," he hissed.  "The Petryans never looked like you, so pale 
and thin!  So ugly!"

Her voice was low and steady.  "You know as I know that my kind are 
not limited by form, Dhyle.  I am living amongst humans; I have 
assumed their appearance.  I could also be a Katryan, like my people 
were at Kjala."

"What do YOU know of Kjala?" he stormed.

Aeia took silent notice of the quickness of his answer.  "I was 
there," she said.  Were you? she wondered silently.

Dhyle considered this for a long time.  He turned to the armed 
Romulans and motioned for them to leave.  When they hesitated, he 
hissed, "She is a lone woman, and unarmed.  I do not need five of you 
to help me control her."  They left reluctantly, a door hissing to a 
close behind their departing forms.

"Prove it," he commanded.

She thought quickly.  Kjala was an experience they both shared, and 
his emotions on the subject ran deep.  She chose that avenue, if not 
to lead to her proof, then at least to establish some common ground.  
"What village was yours?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Yedras."

Aeia nodded, the only outward sign she showed of the sudden surge 
of hope she felt.  She had been at Yedras.  "Two hundred thirty-five 
dead," she said quietly.  She watched his reddish face as minute 
movements showed the emotions moving beneath the surface.  She 
opened her mind to his thoughts and saw the images flashing past, 
glimpses of pain, moments of suffering, a mental photo album of the 
ravages of the tragedy.  She had to strain to suppress her own 
memories; she had been young, and the deaths had carved themselves 
into her.  For every life that she had saved, there were ten she had 
lost.

Suddenly, one image drew her attention: a woman's face.  She 
remembered that face.  "There was a woman," she began tremulously, 
"that gave birth too early.  Her infant lived only a few moments; 
there was nothing I could do-"  Aeia's voice choked.  She forced 
herself to go on.  "She never got to see his face, however; she was 
gone before he.  Her name... was Khali."

A shadow grew across Dhyle's face.  "My sister."

"Yes."

Without warning, the Katryan exploded from his sorrow and grabbed 
Aeia by both arms.  "You're lying!" he cried.  "You're using this 
information to get through to me; it won't work.  I was on the 
surface of this planet; I saw the abandoned homes.  This planet is 
empty."

"It is empty," she agreed, "except for me.  I am the one survivor of 
my people."  She searched her memory for a moment, and then 
continued, "She was survived by a son, a young boy.  He watched her 
die...  We kept him with us for a time before leaving the village and 
giving him to someone who promised to care for him."  She 
remembered the small, dirty hands that had clenched in the folds of 
her robe.  She saw the tear stains across the quiet face, saw them 
dry and crust in the dirt, closing the boy in silence.  He could have 
been her own little brother.

Dhyle relaxed his grip a little.  "I should have been there," he said 
sorrowfully.  "I could have helped her, protected her.  She didn't have 
to die."

"But her child lived.  He should be" - she some quick figuring in her 
head - "twelve years old now."

"No!" he cried, resuming his grip so tightly that it hurt her.  His face 
was a livid display of hatred, and a moment of fear grabbed her; she 
pulled away with all of her strength, and in the struggle the sleeve 
of her shirt ripped in his grip.  "He's dead now, the F'korins, they 
killed him.  Don't you see, that's why we need the new cloaking 
devices.  We have to defeat them before more Katryans die...."  He 
pulled away from her, but his clenched fists had not released her 
sleeves yet, and he pulled the tear open to expose her left arm.  
Suddenly, he stopped.

She glanced down at her arm.  Entwining blue and green bands, the 
symbol of her rank and achievements, decorated the skin of her 
forearm.  A jagged pink mark cut across the bands, visible to close 
scrutiny.  The bands and the scar showed clearly in the light of the 
room.

"Those marks," Dhyle said.  "What do they mean?"

"The bands are the marks of my people, showing my rank and what I 
have achieved."

"And the scar?"

"A souvenir from Kjala."   She regarded the shiny pink flesh of the 
scar and a memory flashed before her eyes.  She saw herself ripping 
the bottom of her robe and tying the cloth about her arm in a vain 
attempt to keep blood in and dirt out.  She hadn't had time to tend to 
her own wounds.  The scar was testimony to the fact that she had 
neglected herself until it was too late to heal her arm cleanly.

Different emotions wrestled for control of Dhyle's face.  Finally, he 
surrendered to that of defeat, sinking to his knees before Aeia.  "You 
have not deceived me.  Little Fedy never spoke again after Kjala, 
after his mother's death."  He drew in a shuddering breath, not 
looking at Aeia.  His eyes focused on some point beyond her in the 
room, but what he saw was a memory and not what was before him.  
"He drew pictures instead of talking.  Some of them were lovely, 
some...  hideous.  His own perceptions of his life, and Kjala in the 
middle of it.  But always there was a person, a person he never 
named, who figured in the pictures.  A person with blue and green 
bands on her arm, crossed by a line of red."  His eyes, penitent, 
raised to meet hers.  "You."

Aeia was silent.  What happened next rested in the Katryan's hands.

"I am at your command, Petryan," he said humbly.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Captain, there are five warships uncloaking in this area," said Data.

"Raise shields, and go to Red Alert."

"Sir," interjected Worf with surprise, "the warships are training 
their weapons on the Romulan vessel."

"Transporter Room to Bridge."

"Yes, O'Brien?" asked the Captain.

"I have Aeia back on board, Captain," the engineer responded.  After a 
brief pause, he added, "I think she needs medical assistance."

Picard did not have the chance to order Dr. Crusher to the 
Transporter Room before the CMO disappeared into the turbolift.

"Romulan vessel retreating from Federation space," reported Worf.

A wave of relief swept over the bridge.  The tension relaxed as 
people sighed and murmured in relief and surprise.

Worf spoke again: "One of the Katryan vessels is hailing us sir."

"Open a channel," commanded Picard.

"Channel open, sir."

"On screen."  Picard stood and tugged at the front of his uniform as 
the sturdy form of Dhyle once more commanded the bridge's 
viewscreen.  This time, however, he was surrounded by males and 
females of his own kind.

"The Petryan is safely aboard your vessel?" he asked curtly.

"Yes," answered Picard.  "I-"

The Katryan stopped the Federation captain with a wave of his hand.  
"Another time, human."  His image disappeared and black space once 
more filled the screen.  The five warships turned about and moved 
away, disappearing into the blackness.

There was an awkward moment of silence on the bridge.  Picard 
snapped about suddenly , barking a few orders to the helmsman.  This 
broke the spell, and everyone turned back to their posts in a bustle 
of nervous activity.  Then he strode towards the turbolift, muttering 
about checking on Aeia's condition, and the bridge settled into 
routine operation.

On a fast-moving ship that was rapidly putting space between itself 
and the Enterprise, the young Katryan leader stood motionless on his 
bridge, weeping silently for the wound he had not yet given himself 
time to heal.  On the Enterprise, his tears were echoed across the 
face of a young woman who shared his pain, knowing that some 
wounds hurt deeper than the one that marked her arm.

--------------------------------------------------------

Deanna Troi entered the holodeck slowly, taking in the elaborate 
program that it was running.  The air was thick with a woodsy smell; 
the ground beneath her alternated between soft, sweet-smelling 
earth and dampened leaves.  A sun that was nearly set filtered 
goldness at a low angle through the wide green leaves that rustled 
gently in the warm breeze.  A small brook wound its way between 
earthen banks and bumped up against some rocks, forming a small 
pool before spilling over in a miniature waterfall.  A feature by the 
pool caught her by surprise; a honey-brown creature bent its head to 
the clear water and drank.  It was a unicorn, or, at least, Troi 
supposed it to be one.  Its features were equine, though by far no 
Earth equine had ever achieved the slender grace that stood here by 
the pool.  The horn that rose from its forehead was not curved but 
straight, faceted, and crystalline.  It filtered the slanted light of the 
setting sun, sending prisms onto the leaves on the ground near the 
bank.

Troi wondered about the unicorn; she had thought Aeia had been 
working on a program to accurately simulate her homeworld.  What 
place did an ancient Earth mythical creature have here?  "Aeia?" she 
called into the air, curious.  She peered into the darkness beyond the 
stream, trying to see beyond the trees and locate Aeia.  There was no 
response.  The unicorn stopped drinking and raised its head slowly.  
Dark eyes focused themselves in Troi's direction.

"Computer," commanded the Counselor.  "Please give Aeia's location 
in respect to my own."

"Aeia is not in the holodeck," responded the computer.

Troi frowned.  Geordi, who had been working most of the day on a 
panel just outside the door to this holodeck, had seen Aeia go in.  
Besides, why would she have left the program running?  "Locate 
Aeia."

"Aeia is not on the Enterprise."

Troi was not prepared for that.  She gasped.

The unicorn left the side of the pool and began walking towards her 
with an easy gait.  Smooth muscles rippled with her movement under 
the silken hide.  "Computer," commanded Troi, "freeze program."

The scene instantly took on the unnatural freeze of a three-
dimensional photograph.  The brook silenced, halted in its flow over 
the rocks.  The leaves were motionless, suddenly looking as brittle 
and hard as glass.  The breeze held itself in perfect stillness.

And the unicorn continued to advance.

*The ship's computer is not programmed to follow a lifeform whose 
body signature changes,* explained Aeia as she came to a stop 
before the Counselor.  The dark eyes, visibly blue in the slanted late-
late-afternoon light that shone into them from the holodeck-
generated sun, studied Troi's face with an intensity that was at once 
alarming and familiarly Aeia.  She blew a puff of air through her 
nose in a gesture distinctly similar to a laugh, and added, *My people 
have always been a little misunderstood, Deanna.  The Katryans see 
us as saviors, and call us Petryans.  Other races have called us other 
things.  Some have labelled us as gods.  The human race labelled us 
'unicorns,' and made us magical.  Each kind has its own way of 
dealing with something it doesn't entirely understand.*  Her image 
blurred as was replaced by her human form, crouching naked in the 
wet leaves.  "Computer," she spoke aloud as she rose to her two 
human feet, "resume program."

The brook stirred again into its gentle water-sounds.  Leaves halted 
in gentle movements completed them, and "reality" seemed restored 
to the scene.

Aeia smiled warmly at the Counselor.  Her long hair afforded her 
some, but not much, modesty across her otherwise bare front.  She 
seemed blissfully unaware of her nudity, turning to stride with 
confidence but no hurry towards where she had left her clothes.  She 
lifted up her oversized tunic, shrugging it over her slim form.

Troi summoned up some small talk to fill in the time Aeia would 
need to dress.  "I'm glad to see you're feeling well," she began.

Aeia's laughter trickled out through the sleeves of her garment 
before her head emerged from the top.  "You're trying too hard to be 
casual about my shape-changing," she said, pulling from her face the 
strands of hair that had been mussed by pulling her clothes down 
over her head.  "But I forgive you.  Yes, I am feeling much stronger, 
thank you."

Troi settled herself on a large rock, staring off into the sunset 
which was now beginning.  "What are your plans now?" she queried.

Aeia settled into a patch of earth by Troi's feet, fixing her eyes on 
the same spectacle that now displayed itself in the 'distance.'  "We 
reach Starbase in one week," she answered.  "I have been requested 
to participate in the talks between the Federation and the Katryans 
in a month.  I will be assisting a Federation arbitrator to settle the 
differences between the Katryans and the F'korins."

"Do you think the Katryans will agree to join with the Federation?"

"They have no choice," Aeia replied matter-of-factly.  "They have 
made dangerous and powerful enemies of the Romulan Empire on 
their border."

"And then what?" prompted the Counselor.

Aeia was silent for some time.  "Starfleet," she said quietly.  Troi's 
response was a quick look of surprise, to which she replied, "I was 
the youngest Healer ever to achieve the distinctions I reached.  I am 
confident of my abilities; I can become a student again, and enter 
your Academy, and prove myself again."

"But why Starfleet?"

"I need to find those crystals.  Only the range and variable territory 
of a Starfleet vessel would be sufficient to aid me in my search."  
Her face fell, obscuring her expression in the growing shadows.  
"Besides, my people are gone, my world is gone.  My place is now in 
yours."  Her words were strained, harsh, but strong.

"You feel a need to belong to your new world," observed the Betazoid.

Aeia's face turned one of her piercing stares up at Troi.  "Wouldn't 
you, Counselor?"

Troi instantly regretted her instinctive counseling of the girl.  Aeia 
was not someone who needed to be told what she felt.  "Please.  I 
told you to call me Deanna."

Aeia' face softened.  She appreciated the feeling of equality 
expressed in the statement.  "We were many," she said gently.  There 
was grief in that simple sentence; she mourned for the lost 
presences that she had once never been without.  "Now I am one."  
She silently remembered telling Dhyle: I am the one survivor of my 
people.

"No," said the Betazoid in the growing dusk.  Her hand found Aeia's 
and closed it in a firm grip.  "We are two."

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