Chapter Text
“Tell me how it all began,” She asked.
The two sat in the Medea’s cozy Officer’s Lounge, which usually sat about two dozen if it had to, but very rarely were that many officers off duty at the same time on the little Haas-class ship. Warp space streaked by, pulsing in silver light in the forward windows. Glorfindel, as usual, illuminated the room by his mere presence. Kaitlin Reid, the ship’s helmsman, was never sure if it was physical light that he exuded, or if it was some astral light that she merely perceived.
“Well,” Glorfindel told Kait, “It began like any good beginning. It began with a song.”
“And God—that is to say, Ill—?”
“Illuvitar, the One,” Glorfindel clarified, “Was not the singer, but the composer of the song, which he exhorted the Ainur, his attendant beings, to sing for him, and they did so.”
“And the singing of the song—the first song,” Kaitlin asked, “That was what created the universe?”
“Not exactly,” Glorfindel said. “See, every one of the Ainur brought their own inflections and harmonies together in ways that even Illuvitar could not foresee. And then there was Melkor. He added things to the song which Illuvitar did not intend.”
“Ah. A little jazz improvisation, eh?” Kaitlin joked.
Glorfindel chuckled. “As you say,” he said. “But at last the song was concluded, and Illuvitar brought his Ainur to him and said, “Behold, that which your song has created. Behold, Eä!”
“Which means?” Kaitlin asked.
“The universe, essentially,” Glorfindel said. “All that is, and will be.”
“For creation stories, it’s certainly interesting,” Kaitlin mused.
“Oh really?” Glorfindel smiled.
God, Kaitlin thought. He is too beautiful to be smiling at me like that.
“Where I come from, there’s the Creation myth from the Abrahamic tradition in which God spoke light into the world and created the concepts of light, darkness, day and night, and all the creatures in the world, and finally man and woman, in the course of seven days.”
“You keep calling it myth,” Glorfindel said, his smile fading. “You don’t believe it happened?”
“Well no,” Kaitlin said. “These stories are passed down first by oral tradition, and then via the written word. Sometimes they are turned into religious texts, which put purists at odds against those who search for scientific truth.”
“So the two sides of human nature are at odds,” Glorfindel suggested. “Those who seek hard truth, and those who believe in spiritual beauty?”
“Why my dear elf,” Kaitlin smiled now. “Is there in truth no beauty?”
Glorfindel laughed. It was a clear, joyous sound.
“Oh, Kaitlin!” he exclaimed, causing a few others to glance their way. “Perfect. Bravo.”
“So,” Kaitlin asked, not swayed by Glorfindel’s outburst. “Did it happen?”
“What?” Glorfindel asked, absently, as if he had already began to lose interest.
“Did God really compose the universe as a song, and have his angels sing it into existence?”
“What do you think?” Glorfindel lobbed back.
“What I think doesn’t matter,” Kait replied. “We theorize that all of time and space was started by a big bang, where all the matter and energy was sent forth and outward, configuring itself into the universe we know. Who’s to say that someone didn’t just…sing really loud one day? Bang a big old gong?” Now it was Kaitlins’ turn to smile back at the Elf.
Glorfindel didn’t smile back. Instead, he looked at her, scrutinizing her expression.
“You challenge me,” He said, simply. “I beseech you to continue.” With that, he took his leave of her, bowing low before he exited the lounge.
***
The Starship Medea was traveling through the corridor of space recently opened up by the R’ongovians. It was an area of space where Romulan, Klingon and Federation space began to converge.
The Bedlama system was located nearer to the Klingon border side of the Triangle, as it was called.
“The less charitable name for the region is ‘Limbo’,” Commander Zeb Corell told the assembled officers in the conference room. “Interstellar space is a bit lawless according to the initial surveys. Systems with interstellar means keep to themselves, with a minimum of trade and communication.”
“With the Klingons nearby, they don’t want to make too many waves,” Captain Feldman surmised.
“They’re not without protection,” another voice spoke up.
Gol was found in the megastructure orbiting Pharazon a former colony of the ancient Númenoreans.
He claimed to be one of the five Istari, powerful emissaries of higher powers in the former Númenorean territory.
Unlike Glorfindel, who often had an otherworldly aura, Gol’s was quiet and unassuming until he acted. Sure he was affable enough, but both Corell and Captain Feldman weren’t sure what to make of him—or to completely trust him.
“Mister Kakare,” Corell replied to him. “What do you know?”
“There is another of my order living in Limbo,” Gol told them. “His name is Gomphor, though the working name he was given was Pallando the Blue, as I am Alatar.”
“You’ve said that these are titles and job descriptions,” Corell said. “What would his be?”
“The Engineer,” Gol replied. “His knowledge of putting things together and making them work is vast. He could build an entire planet if he had the resources and wherewithal. He lives on a small planetoid called the Brim-Star, within a curiously shaped crater below its surface. He has lived there for at least seven hundred years.”
“What’s its distance from Bed-Lama?” Lt. Rott Agta, the Cainian ops officer asked. He and Kaitlin were the two that found Gol on that ancient space station around Pharazon.
“Close by, about five light-years,” Kaitlin spoke up. “I’ve got the chart in front of me.”
“What do we know about the Bed-Lamans?” Feldman turned to the Chief Medical Officer, Thaddeus Wright.
“Barely humanoid,” Wright told them. “Semi-amphibious, possibly evolved from mollusk stock. However—“
“However, their civilization is constructed as if it was built by your run-of-the-mill anthropoid creatures,” Gol chimed in. “What a quandary, eh?”
Feldman turned to Gol, “Do you have a theory?”
“Someone helped them along,” Gol said, smiling. He had a whimsical expression to him, and he glanced at the captain. “Three guesses as to whom, and the first two don’t count.”
“Is that something the Númenoreans could do?” Corell asked Gol. “Advance another species’ evolution?”
“If they have the right friends,” Gol replied.
“Okay, that’s both cryptic and ominous!” Feldman exclaimed. “Double points for Gol on that one!”
Gol bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I try. The Bed-Lamans are peaceful amongst themselves, and very justice-conscious,” he added. “They’ve developed a healthy sense of fair play. A lot of the areas in Limbo are more…free-wheeling.”
“They’re our best bet, for sure,” Corell confirmed. “How will we know the extent of Númenorean influence?”
***
Their answer came in the form of a Silver Hawk.
It looked to be a space station in orbit of Bed-Lama, about the size of Starbase 1 over Earth. Half of its mass seemed to be a tamed asteroid, with a sleek, chrome, stylized raptor bird perched outward towards space. A deflector array was attached below the main body.
“That…is beautiful,” Maurice breathed, looking away from his station at the main screen.
“It is indeed, my friend,” Glorfindel agreed.
“Are you scanning?” Feldman asked Maurice.
“Oh, yes, getting all its good sides,” Maurice replied. “It’s a defense station, primarily, seems like.
“Hail them,” Feldman told the comms officer.
“Standard greeting, aye, sir,” The comms officer replied.
“Why do squid people have a bird space station?” Cadet Kevin Riley asked. “Wouldn’t it be more aquatic?”
“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” Feldman said.
“Responding to our hail,” the comms officer reported.
“The station’s shields have gone up,” Kaitlin said, alarm on her face.
“Uh-oh,” Corell muttered. “Yellow alert!”
“Repeat those friendship messages, Sparks!” Feldman barked.
The deflector array on the station began to increase its luminosity, and several small ports along the side of the asteroid sprouted red pinpricks of light.
“Disruptor arrays have gone hot, and active torpedo launchers have been detected!” Maurice called out.
“Do we go to Red Alert?” Rott asked.
“If we escalate any further, we can kiss this first-contact goodbye,” Feldman told them. “Just keep increase those friendship messages across as many frequencies as you can, Sparks!”
Jennifer “Sparks” Golden, the comms officer on duty, nodded. “Aye.”
With little fanfare, the satellite before them began to power down.
Feldman turned to Rott. “What’s happened?”
Rott looked up and nodded. “They’ve stood down.”
“We’re getting a hail,” Sparks reported.
“On the screen,” Feldman said, getting up out of his chair.
The screen revealed what their briefing told them. A barrel-chested being with an elongated head which seemed to contain a cuttlebone within, and fleshy lobes on either side. It had a moist complexion and large, inky-black eyes.
“We apologize for our initial aggression,” the being spoke. “We had to work to translate your message of friendship to our satisfaction. I speak for the Governor of Bed-Lama. I am Xaryn.”
“I’m Captain Martin Feldman of the Federation Starship Medea,” Feldman replied in greeting. “I assure you our message of friendship is genuine. We appreciate your due diligence in translating our message.”
Xaryn nodded, seemingly in agreement. “As you may have ascertained, we have never received any delegation from the United Federation of Planets,” they said.
“Then is is our honor to be the first,” Feldman replied.
“Is your intent to engage with relations with Bed-Lama?” Xaryn asked.
“We are open to the possibility,” Feldman told them. “However, we are on a mission of exploration and scientific and cultural discovery. Recently, we discovered the ruins of the ancient Númenorean civilization—“
The Bed-Laman’s expression did not change, though, Kaitlin noticed, its complexion turned a slight blue. “Y-you found?”
Feldman heard the nervousness in Xaryn’s voice. “We’re only trying to understand the scope of their civilization. We were told that your people were touched in the distant past by them, and we were hoping for some new insights—“
“As you no doubt can see, we are not descended from the Númenoreans,” Xaryn emphasized. “We cannot be held to account for—“
Feldman stammered. “N-no-no, you don’t understand. We only wish to study—“
Before Xaryn could once more speak, Gol stepped forward. “The sins of the past are not what we have come for, Xaryn. The Númenoreans’ sins are well known. We want to understand their prime, and possibly learn from their downfall. Our hands are in friendship, not in blame or retribution. Tell your Governor we truly do come in peace.”
Feldman turned back to Gol. “Nice.”
Gol genuflected. “Just trying to help.”
Xaryn still looked unsure, but no longer panicked. “I will, um, bring your petition for contact to the Governor and you will be hailed within the day. Please stay in orbit, and maintain your peaceful status. …Out.”
The screen returned to the planet below.
Feldman opened it up to the bridge. “Thoughts?”
Kaitlin spoke up. “When we mentioned Númenor, he freaked out.”
“And seemed to be concerned about us coming to settle old scores with Númenor,” Rott added.
“So,” Commander Zeb Corell asked, “How do we reassure them about our intentions?”
They all turned to Gol.
“You must give of yourselves,” he told them. “Share your histories…tell them who you are. Kaitlin.”
She turned to him. “Yes?”
“Tell them about the Complex. Tell them about the Final Battle of Staghart.”
“Oh, I can do that,” Kaitlin agreed.
Gol turned to Rott. “Tell them about G’ruffi’s Hill. Tell them about the Howling.”
Rott chuckled. “Oh, my friend Ruffi might be better equipped, but I can try.”
Finally, he turned back to Feldman. “Tell them about the Exodus.”
Feldman frowned. “I’m not sure I can recite from the Torah like I used to—“
“The Exodus from Cleveland to the Complex,” Gol clarified. When you were lead by the Chosen one from the Cleveland wastes.”
“How did you…?” Feldman began, then relented. “I guess I should know better. You always seem to have the answers at your fingertips.”
“I come from a race of listeners,” Gol reminded Feldman. “And I’ve had a chance to listen to all your stories. Use them. Tell the Bed-Lamans who you are.”
***
The day went on, with the shift change, and Rott, Kait and Maurice met in the lounge again, enjoying their dinner and looking out the front windows at the sculptured hawk beyond.
“They’re scared of us,” Maurice said, eating his baked beans and macaroni salad.
“They’re scared of the history,” Rott countered.
“You’re both wrong,” Kait told them. “They don’t want to share the fate of Númenor. Which might be a clue as to why the empire collapsed.”
“It’s been hundreds of millennia,” Rott said. “Have they really been living in fear that long?”
“The Triangle’s a rough patch of space,” Maurice pointed out. “It might have kept them alive.”
“Do you think they’ll listen to us?” Rott wondered.
“If they’re as committed to justice and fairness as Gol says, they’ll have to,” Kaitlin said.
***
After 24 hours, the Medea got a hail from Bed-Lama.
“Punctual,” Corell noted as he wheeled over to the comms station. “Put it onscreen, Sparks.”
“You’re on, Captain,”Golden said, switching the signal.
“Thank you for your patience, Captain,” The Bed-Laman on the screen addressed Feldman. They were wearing a more official, harness-like outfit which still left the arms bare. A slight coronet circled the cuttle above their brow. “I am Governor Aczyl. A craft is coming up on your position to ferry you to our space station. I invite you and three other of your subordinates to come with you to continue our dialogue.”
“Most gracious of you Governor. We accept,” Feldman said with a bowed nod.
“Excellent. Bed-Lama out.”
The window closed on the screen.
“Corell, you, Lieutenant Reid, and Mister Kakare join me on the shuttle as soon as they’re in the landing bay. Mister Ag’ta, you have the conn.”
As the three officers left the bridge and walked down the landing deck to the shuttle bay, Gol joined them, wearing his Green hooded jacket and holding his staff, dark varnished wood with a smoky quartz stone at the tip.
“Captain, perhaps Glorfindel would be a better fit for your away team,” he began, looking a little trepidatious.
“Why, Mr. Kakare, where’s your pioneering spirit?” Feldman asked. “You’ve never been anything but confident thus far. What’s up?”
“As I’ve told you, I’ve been far and wide in this area, and perhaps my presence will be a distraction, especially in a first contact situation.”
Kaitlin looked at him. “Bullshit.”
Feldman snapped back at her. “Lieutenant!”
“Sorry,” Kaitlin apologized. “Bullshit, sir.”
“That’s better,” Feldman sighed. “But elaborate, Kait.”
“He’s scared too,” She told them.
Corell and Feldman turned back to Gol. “Well? What’s so scary?” Feldman asked.
“I just want this to go well for you, without bringing my past dealings into it.”
By this point, they’d entered the landing bay, with the landed shuttle on the pad. A Bed-Laman pilot stood next to Medea security, bare mottled arms behind their back.
“We need you for this,” Feldman told Gol. “Glorfindel has never been here; you have. They’re not going to recognize you on sight, are they? They live about the same lifespans as we do, right? It’s going to be fine.”
“I wish I had your confidence, Captain,” Gol said. “But I relent.”
“And if you’re right, you can tell me you told me so later,” Feldman added over his shoulder as they began to board the shuttle.
The shuttle took them to a city which both looked opulent and skewed. Classical architecture seemed to have a slightly off-kilter look to them; the materials hewn were had a pearlescent sheen to them, while still looking almost romanesque in places. Areas of growth, however seemed to have a bulbous, rounded feel to it.
The shuttle landed, and technicians began to secure the vehicle as the quartet were escorted out into the sun.
Above them, the sky was nearly clear, with a warm sun beaming down on the official building they were led to enter.
“So what are we learning?” Feldman asked, more pointedly, at Kait.
“At some point, they were building in a very humanoid manner,” Kait replied. “But it looks like they are taking some very different cues in their modern era.”
“Agreed,” Corell added. “Blobby and bloopy seem to suit them more, though.”
“I’m sure you mean that in the most positive way, Mister Corell,” Gol said, smiling.
“I do!” Corell said, smiling. “I kind of like it!”
The walk was short, and the weather mild, and the group was greeted by Bed-Lamans in slightly more formal attire. One stepped forward and put an arm over their shoulder, in a salute or greeting.
“On behalf of the Governor, we welcome you. We will escort you to his chambers.”
The officers escorting them relented, and they continued through the palatial halls.
Gol nodded. “You can see the influence here. The high domed ceilings, the mosaic work, the representations in the art. It stuck with them for thousands of years of their history.”
“So why do you think they began to abandon that style in their modern era?” Corel asked Gol.
“Modern art often bucks trends and tradition,” Kait spoke up. “Eventually, what’s considered avant-garde is the mainstream.”
“Well said, Kait!” Feldman exclaimed.
The building was arranged in concentric circles, something Gol pointed out was very Númenorean in design. “Like the layers of an onion, with more sensitive areas protected by outer layers,” he told them.
And so, the four of them were led through four layers, with checkpoints at each stop, until they were led to the chambers of Governor Aczyl.
The doors opened, revealing a Bed-Laman who wore a more concealing outfit, with a fur collar and a cinched waist. He held his hands open in a gesture of welcome.
“On behalf of the Bed-Laman Republic, Welcome to our world!” The Governor proclaimed.
The Governor was not alone, however.
“Gol.”
It was a humanoid, looking to Kait to be pretty much human in visage, with dark unruly hair upon his head. He wore a dark trimmed goatee as well. His left eye was covered in an eyepatch, black, satin, but embroidered with a pentacle and runes along the edge. He wore a cloak that went down to his calves, but pieces of reddish-orange body armor could be seen beneath.
Everyone’s eyes turned to Gol, who looked shamefaced but answered:
“Gomphor.”