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 <BOOKMARK:Chapter37>
 <fs x-large>**Chapter 37: Interludes**</fs><wrap lo right>[[archives:walking_wounded#top|Top]]</wrap>\\ \\
+**Location: Somewhere in the Delta Quadrant**
+Fierce wind whipped across the rocky plains of the primitive looking settlement as a cloaked figure glanced into a fiercely burning binary sky. "Damn." The cloaked figure hissed at the bright blue star just rising over the jagged mountain peaks in the distant. "Blue moon's blood," he whispered. Then he ducked into the shadows of a rough hewn cut-out in the side of a small rock hill.
+Hidden from view, the figure rapped twice quickly, then once again after a longer pause. After a moment, the rock face he was pressed against pushed in and then slid away with a heavy, low, grind. Stepping quickly into the revealed opening, the cloaked stranger wound his way down a spiraling path deep into the bedrock of the planet. The flickering light of torches lit his way, but the figure slowed his pace, still firmly aware that he could still slip and break his neck.
+Stepping gingerly down the path, he wound his way to the bottom, where a cavern opened up. As he stepped in, he bowed his head, six other assembled figures turned with surprise to look at him. Each of the beings in the cave were humanoid, save for the large pupil-less eyes, and the ranges of blue skin that were now visible in the dim light.
+Three males and three females were already present; each wearing little more than silken wraps serving as loin clothes. The females wore similar coverings on their chests, though, considering the diaphanous nature of the fabric, these additional coverings were clearly ceremonial. Small pieces of metal and polished stones also served as ornaments and symbols of station; worn both on the body and worked into the hair, which all assembled persons tended to wear long.
+Like other natives of desert worlds, the blue-skinned inhabitants of this planet also had ears that crested into graceful points, lending a truly alien appearance to their otherwise familiar builds.
+At the head of the cavern, an older male looked across the assembled crowd. "Now that we're all here..." he said with a scowl, directed at the late-comer. "My friends", he stretched out his arms, as if embracing the crowd. "For years now we have lived under dangerous skies. Our enemy lives in the air, and has forced us to scurry like vermin into caves and hiding places. We have tried to appease, tried to negotiate," he turned his attention to a female in the crowd who, unlike her fellows was armed with a scimitar style weapon worn low on her hip. "Some of us have even tried to fight."
+The older speaker turned his attention to a large, covered object behind him that was draped in the darkness of the cave. "Our faith in the Mother and Father who watch over our world has finally been rewarded. I have devised a means to communicate DIRECTLY with our gods, and, using the finest science my and many other brains could muster, I am confident that our deliverance is at had."
+"Rubbish!" the armed woman spoke up. "How many times, Zharon? How many times have you promised that your science and your faith would save us? Eight? Ten? Twenty?" She looked to the other men and women assembled and continued. "Keep your science, and your gods! I'll rid this world of the invaders by myself if I have to, so long as I can pick up a sword!"
+"Dadjinn has a point," the late-comer agreed. "I believe in the gods as much as all of us do, but is it right, or even feasible to think that we should need to go through such outlandish lengths. Perhaps they do not hear us because they no longer wish to."
+Zharon fumed, his eyes blazing. "NO!" he yelled, then turned to light a torch, which revealed the large construct behind him. It was an enormous metal and glass box filled with pulsing lights, roiling gasses and a dancing conglomeration of dots that seemed barely contained in a fragile-looking glass bulb.
+"I know that the last attempts were...less than ideal," he explained. "But I have tapped into the molten core of the planet itself, solving the power problem from before. I simply know that the Theta Project will work."
+"Like your Alpha and Beta projects, and all the rest?" The armed woman remained unconvinced. "Throw the switch then, if you're so sure!"
+Zharon did so, and in the half second of perfect silence, he waited, relieved when the cave was soon filled with the cacophonous noise of whirring machinery and building energy.
+Amid the clatter, the gathered beings stepped back as the machine began to glow. Then, with far less fanfare than it had started, the contraption stopped and seemed lifeless. For long moments, Zharon regarded the machine. Finally, after checking, tightening and tapping all manner of things, he simply let his shoulders drop. "Another failure..." he whispered. "But, how? The science is right." He looked back at the crowd, pleading. "Please friends," he asked. I know it works. I just..."
+"No, Zharon," the sword-wielder interrupted. You've wasted enough precious time and resources on this..." she indicated to the mechanical mass behind the crest-fallen man, "this, Zealot's folly!"
+Before Zharon could respond there was a frightful shriek and the sound of scraping stone. "It's worse than that!" the late-comer spat as he looked to the sword wielder. "They've found us!"
+----
+**Location: Crew quarters, USS Apex**
+"Computer, begin recording."
+//beep-eep//
+"Hello Leon. I hope everything is going well in your thorax of the woods. S.C.A.R. is making great strides in identifying and cataloging nanoscopic sub-spacial tears. Unfortunately, they are great strides in the wrong direction if one were to inquire as to my ever so humble opinion. We have the technology to repair anything up to nineteen millionths of a meter across, but instead of fixing several hundred thousand such holes 'Fleet has decided to study them for an indeterminate amount of time to see if they can be quickly closed or expanded remotely."
+"I don't believe you ever met my number three guy on the Defiant II, Rick Leonetti. The best field weapons engineer with which I've had the pleasure to work. He once theorized a warp capable probe, similar to a quantum torpedo, that's only function was to catalyze a catastrophic subspace breach within maneuvering range of an enemy. Given the right location and proper timing, the probe would be an elegant and effective weapon against the Romulans."
+"Thus I find myself once again distrusting my orders and wondering if I am yet again designing weapons of war instead of quietly tending to my required research."
+Victor looked around the tiny room and his eyes fixed on a small bronze and black colored old-timey photograph of himself, Leon, Victor and Shannon, dressed in the style of the western herd drovers of the late 19th century. The costumes were outlandish and gaudy, Shannon's most of all, consisting of an enormous skirt with concentric metal rings sewn in. Top hats came back into style for a handful of years in the mid 2300s so that was acceptable, but the cloth short coats and leather long coats had been a multi-hour flirtation with uncontrollable laughter. Even the weapons of the time were reproduced and seated in a holster low on the hip. Vic chuckled at the memory of two hours stuck in a malfunctioning holodeck 'Western', not because of a software problem, nor because of a hardware problem, but because of a human problem. Someone had been repairing the wiring behind the holodeck controls' console and accidentally vibration welded the doors shut. Thus the only options were sit down and wait or continue on with the original plan. As "Saloon Girls" went, Dr. Harris made a fine soiled dove.
+"If you have some time, shoot me a message. Our survey will be done in about a month, and then a short 126 hours until we get back to Spacedock. Any idea where you folks will be going next?"
+"Have a good day Leon. Tell John I said hello."
+"End recording" //beep//
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