A Bad Day for Shore Leave

Sumati pulled her uniform jacket taut over her body, glancing down briefly to confirm that she looked suitably smart. It really shouldn’t matter, she thought to herself, as she flicked aside a few stray hairs from her jet black fringe. Here, just beyond the borders of Federation space, nobody was going to care that much.

Except that the senior officers might very well care, especially with the Captain being such a stickler for rules. The Captain always looked immaculate, almost infuriatingly calm and polished. And Sumati knew exactly what the Captain would say: today she was representing Starfleet, and couldn’t afford to let the side down.

The last thing Sumati wanted right now was to turn up at the transporter room and be sent back to tidy herself up. Perhaps it wasn’t very likely – it rather depended who was on duty – but she wasn’t going to take the risk.

Update

So... in a few weeks there will be a new story up here. Yes, really. 

It has no connection at all to the existing saga, which I still have no plans to revisit, so sorry if you were hoping for that. It's also a one-off story, that stands alone, so that's another difference. And it isn't even fantasy.

The problem with science fiction, when doing the sort of stories I've been doing here, is that there's no consistent archetype to borrow from. I'd have to actually explain the setting, which I'm all for doing in something serious (as an RPG writer, I've had stuff published that's consisted of little else) but doesn't work for this kind of story. Because, essentially, what I'm doing is exploring something familiar, and seeing where it goes. It's easier for the length of the stories, too.

So, let's nick a sci-fi setting that everyone knows, preferably one with human-looking aliens, and use that. You can probably see where this is going...

Obviously, an erotic story set in the universe of Star Trek is not the most original thing anyone's ever written. But then, this blog has never really been about that sort of originality. On the plus side, it's all new characters, which about 90% of fanfic isn't (so far as I've seen, anyway). I guess that also gives it kind of an RPG vibe, keeping with what passes for a theme here.

I'm deliberately vague about the era, but the technology and so forth imply it's at least contemporaneous with DS9, although it could be the Next Gen movies, the Voyager era, or anything up to Star Trek Online. If it proves popular, I might do more, focussing on minor characters from this story, but there's no guarantee. And they certainly won't be out regularly.

But, hey, new content, right?

50: Endings

[Start from the beginning]

The city was beginning to return to normal after the horrific recent events. Little, it seemed, could subdue the people of Haredil for long. Commerce was essential, and the city's inhabitants had lives to lead, even after the temporary inconvenience of a plague of zombies. The market was open again, sellers hawking their wares, and, for the most part, there had been very little structural damage.

And yet, if you knew the city as well as Almandar did, you could tell that it had not yet quite got over the shock. It had been only two days after all, and, if you looked carefully, you could see the haunted expressions on some of the faces, the nervous glances that tried to remain well-hidden. Trade might be going on, but it was a little less raucous than usual. Many had lost loved ones or friends, and much of the previous day had been spent cleaning bodies from the streets. That was something that nobody could forget in a hurry.

Of course, he was one of the few who had any idea what had really happened. For the rest, there was no clear indication that the undead would not return. Last night had been quiet indeed, everyone barricaded inside, lest it should all happen again. A few pointed to the double Lunar eclipse, saying that that had somehow magically caused the dead to rise, but others pointed out – quite rightly – that they didn't really know that. Nobody was even sure quite where the dead had risen from, and there was no good explanation as to why they had vanished so suddenly.

49: Messandra (3)

[Start from the beginning]

Calleslyn's trepidation increased as she turned the corner into the street where Messandra lived. All morning, she had been telling herself that nothing would have happened. The undead assault had been focussed on the temples, and, to a lesser extent, on the Rotunda and the city's main markets. Surely Messandra lived far enough away to have been safe?

But what if she hadn't been home? She might have been out shopping, or even praying to Nyrandos, her favoured deity. She didn't even know how the temple to the God of Knowledge had fared, although at least three other temples had suffered badly during the attack. The conviction that something terrible had happened was beginning to gnaw at her. Had she been naïve to dismiss such possibilities earlier in the day?

When she had awoken, after a long and pleasant sleep, the sun had been shining through the window, and the thoughts of her triumphs the night before had put her in a happy mood, unwilling to contemplate any dark thoughts. She had dressed in some of her finest clothes, a white elven dress made of silk, lace, and the softest cotton. The skirts were long, almost trailing to the floor, less practical than her normal clothing, with a tight bodice trimmed in gold, long outer sleeves trailing free from her elbows.

48: Horvan

[Start from the beginning]
The villa seemed quiet as Vardala headed downstairs from her room. After the events of the previous night, she had slept in, and was surprised to discover how high the sun had been in the sky when she finally awoke. By this time, she would normally expect the villa to be bustling with morning activity, but there was no sign of anyone. Perhaps they were outside, clearing everything up.

Suppressing a yawn, and running her fingers through her hair, she walked into the villa's main living room. It looked like everyone else had finished their breakfast, and there wasn't that much left, even for a gnome's smaller stomach. She picked up an apple that had been left over, and took a bite out of it, as somebody quietly stepped into the room behind her.

"Can I get you something? There's plenty in the kitchen."

She turned, to see Horvan standing there, polite and self-effacing, as always. "No, it's all right – I can wait until lunch. Perhaps it is a little late for breakfast, anyway."

"Of course."

"Where are the others, anyway?"

"They're all out, clearing up, or just checking on things. I believe Lady Tarissa is at the temple, and Calleslyn has gone to check on her friend from the scroll shop. I'm not sure about Almandar and Dolrim; they didn't say."

47: Larimor

[Start from the beginning]

“He’s upstairs,” Ansrael told her when she arrived at the house, “you’re welcome to go on up. He told me what happened. Or some of it, at least. I gather we owe you a debt of gratitude – the whole city does.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Lady Tarissa informed the elven squire, “there were many of us involved. Including Larimor.”

“Thank you, nonetheless. I saw a lot of what happened, and I can’t imagine what it would have been like if you – all of you – hadn’t put an end to it. I’m going out to help with some of the clean-up at the temple. Larimor has been there all day, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

“Thank you, Ansreal.” She was visiting Larimor’s home, a well-appointed building, if smaller than the adventurers’ own villa, and one that, of course, he shared with his squire, at least until her knighting ceremony, which was due quite soon now. She had not been here often before, and then only for brief visits, and it was a pleasant surprise to discover that they would actually have some time alone for once.

46: Lissica

[Start from the beginning]

Tinberly sat on the edge of the fountain, swinging her legs idly as she watched the crowd go by and chatted with her best friend. Lissica was her own age, eighteen years old, and they'd grown up together, only a few streets apart. They had a lot in common, both having lost a father; in Lissica's case a southern merchant who simply never returned home one day from a long trip abroad. That showed in her fair hair and grey eyes, contrasting against the more typical dark tones of Tinberly's own.

They had a lot to talk about, as they always did, the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, the constant bustling life of the city around them. The afternoon had gone fast, and now the sun was setting, the sky starting to dim, signalling that the day was finally at an end.

"It's getting late," said Lissica, eventually, sitting beside her on the stone ledge. "Maybe  tomorrow?"

"I can't go home," said Tinberly, glancing down at her feet, "not yet."

The other girl frowned, a quizzical look on her face. "Why not? Is everything all right?"