[Mikester92]

{UFP} Short Story Competition
Voting Period Open from the 1st of July to the 4th of July.

The {UFP} Short Story Competition has once again officially ended. Please read over the following six stories and cast your vote in favor of the story you feel deserves the winning prize. The winner of the competition will obviously go to the person with the most votes, and his/her name will be announced shortly after the voting period ends.

To all those who are competing: good luck, and happy voting to all!

**The stories produced below are all unique works from various members in the fleet, they are therefore not allowed to be reproduced or copied without direct authorization from the writer himself.

[Mikester92]

Origin
Author: TBA

She hates the question "Where are you from?" because she doesn't have an answer to it – not one that other people would understand, anyways. She's never had to explain it before leaving Voyager, before coming to the Alpha Quadrant.

When she was younger, right after Voyager arrived back at Earth, she was asked that question a few times by other kids she meets who don't know her story or by well-meaning adults curious about the half-Human, half-Ktarian girl (which, she began to notice, was not very common).

The sensation of being uncommon, of being different than the norm – of there even being a "norm" – is itself kind of a strange feeling. She was never strange on Voyager, never particularly fascinating. She was Naomi Wildman, Captain's assistant, Seven of Nine's kadis-kot partner, occasional assistant to Neelix in the Mess Hall and, as Commander Tuvok had put it, "Hardly a disturbance to the overall safety and efficiency of the ship."

Growing up dealing with Borg attacks and a new alien species every other week might have something to do with all that. Being a Human-Ktarian hybrid was hardly shocking or even really interesting when confronted with an alien species whose glowing organs show though open pockets in their exoskeletons.

She missed that feeling of fitting in with the rest of the extraordinary.

When she first was asked "Where are you from?” she answered "Well, I was born on a Starship", hoping that this will clear things up. Instead, it just leaves people looking at her expectantly, waiting for the rest of the answer, while she stutters out "so I don't really have a home. I mean, I have a home, just not here on Earth; but my Mom's from San Francisco, and my Dad's from Ktaris but he lives on Deep Space Nine" and they look at her with pity in their eyes, thinking the poor child doesn't have a home, and Naomi hated it.

Even as she grew older, while she went to school in real classrooms and lived in a house on Earth and in a cabin on Deep Space Nine; while she attended Starfleet Academy and majored in Astrometrics and became a Stellar Cartographer on the U.S.S. Vanguard, charting the stars that she thinks she could call home, she still gets asked the same question, and she still doesn't have much of an answer. Sometimes she answers "the Delta Quadrant" just to see how people will react, and sometimes, if she doesn’t feel much like talking, she'll rattle off one of her parents' homeworlds, or say that she grew up on Deep Space Nine – but those aren't the right answers either.

She can't quite think of a way to explain to people that home was Voyager, the bridge and the bulkheads; Neelix, Seven, and the Captain; Her and Mom looking out the cabin windows naming nebula's. Home is the great black-blue infinity of space. Home is the wide unending expanse of new thoughts, new people, and new places.

Home is a Starship and a blank map stretched out beyond – her loose, untethered roots stretching out and circling around the stars.

[Mikester92]

This is the End
Author: TBA

“Sorry Sir,” a young Ensign apologised for bumping into me.

I nodded in confirmation, and continued down the corridor to Combat Information Centre (CIC), the corridors seem to be much more filled today. Well, not surprising considering we are going to be doing a combat simulation in the next few hours. Filled with raw recruits, professional soldiers saluting as I go past, even more respectful than usual; officers who have been on the ship since launch.

“Congrats Commander!” several officers saluted.
“At Ease,” I responded with a small smile.

This is going to take some getting used to. Although Admiral Nagala is the Captain of the Atlantia, it seems that the crew sees me as their Commander already. I swear the blue highlights in the corridors seem much brighter today, everything feels different; the hexagonal bulkheads seem much bigger. Commander has hit me so fast.

CIC is just round the corner, I suddenly froze.
“This is what you wanted all your life, you are a Commander be strong and stern,” the voice in my head buzzed.

After the brief pause, I put my hands on my side, and marched round the corner, whilst taking a deep breath. The tall glass doors opened as the Marines signalled me in, whilst saluting.
“Commander on deck!” Lieutenant Andrew announced as soon as I stepped into CIC.
The entire room seemed to freeze whilst saluting.

“At Ease,” I have never needed to say that so much in one day.

This was the most advanced ship in the fleet and after this day I will be in command, the centre command table with a three-dimensional Dradis showed only the Atlantia, Columbia and Phoenix, in formation on course for Picon system perimeter. The need to overhead Dradis display was a thing of the past. The Tactical and Helm stations on the left of the command table, and the Damage Control and FTL control on the right.

The Admiral was standing next to the table, leaning on it whilst doing paperwork to do with the final preparations for the simulation. I moved opposite to her on the desk and saluted.

“You don’t need to salute anymore, Commander, you have earned that for now,” she responded and winked at the same time, “Sleep well?”

“Yes Admiral, thank you, did you?”

“Indeed, I have been thinking about our plan for attack,” she moved around the table to show me the written plan for the simulation on the attack against the Battlesar Zeus’ battlegroup, “we will come in from this direction and split the forc….”

“Admiral!!!” the young communication Ensign yelled.

“Calm yourself ensign, what’s wrong?”

“Sir……….Picon…….it’s been….nuked!”

“What? How the hell? What the hell?” I quickly responded.

The Admiral walked over to her side of the desk and started reading a report sent from the Battlestar Apollo, which was also forwarded to my station, I began to browse. Oh my god, the fleet is taking heavy losses, almost a 1/3 of the fleet gone, in only an hour of engagement, how? Why? I asked myself.
The Admiral reached for her comm link, and the speakers around the ship ringed softly, starting the announcement.

“This is the Admiral. Moments ago, we received word of a Cylon attack on our colonies and our fleet. I’m not going to lie to you; the fleet Is losing, and are taking heavy losses. Picon fleet headquarters was the first installation taken out, Picon is in ruins, from what the Battlestar Apollo has informed us that the Picon defence fleet is destroyed and Caprica, Gemenon, and Canceron have all been nuked,” she paused and took a gulp. Everyone on in CIC bowed their head, and were all affected, I noticed several officers trying to hide their tears.

“I am personally taking command of the Fleet and we are going to strike back at the Cylons, first off by taking back the devastated Picon. We will rendezvous with the Battlestar Zeus’ battlegroup, they will be arriving soon, and we will take back Picon.”

The crew looked up, and I started an outcry: “So say we all! So say we all!” The bridge crew and the rest of the crew joined in as it was heard through the comm. After a minute it all stopped and the Admiral told everyone to stand to their duties and prepare for battle.

The Admiral gripped her comm link and called out, “Action stations, Action stations set condition one throughout the ship, prepare the alert vipers. Prepare for FTL jump into a combat zone.” The low drone of the alarm started and rang throughout the ship. She put her comm link down.
I looked at the Dradis, the Zeus and her battlegroup jumped in. The Admiral contacted them and they were ready to jump again.

“Lieutenant, patch me in to the fleet,” the Admiral ordered.

“All ships prepare to jump into combat, all railgun crew’s standby for immediate contacts, all flak batteries set to immediately fire on any contacts in the immediate area. FTL jump on my mark.

5
4
3
2
1

Jump” I placed the FTL key into the slot and twisted, the ship immediately jumped.
I checked the Dradis for contacts, none but the six Battlestars with the Atlantia. No contacts, how is that possible.

“New Dradis contacts! Multiple fighter squadrons.”

“Launch the alert vipers!!!” I called out.

“Sir……… 16 new contacts just jumped in…. they are Cylon basestars!!” Lieutenant Andrew announced with a stuttering voice.

A high pitched alarm started to ring in CIC, the radiological alarm! “They have nukes!!!”

“All railgun batteries prepare for close range flak fire!!” The Admiral called out.

“Sir, the batteries won’t respond, the fleet has been disabled by an unknown virus,” the ensign at the tactical station called out.

“Sir, several dozen nukes have been launched towards us! We cannot survive a dozen nukes!”
I lifted my head and then looked straight into the Admiral’s eyes, “It’s been an honour,” I called to the tall blonde woman. No response. I looked closely, and a faint red glow appeared in her eyes and a smirk emerged off her face. This is the end.

[Mikester92]

Today is not a good day to die
Author: TBA

Lt. Cmdr. Dakota McRostie sat in the captains chair for the first time with one question on his mind. Would it also be the last. He had no time to prepare himself for command. It was thrust upon him when the bridge took a direct hit, killing both the captain and first officer. Now command of the USS Kettle Creek was his, whether he wished for the job or not.

"Status report," barked McRostie.

"We have regained helm control, shields are now up and holding, and weapons systems are functional," said Tactical Officer Lt. Christian Brumby who was manning two stations until a replacement for the helmsman could reach the bridge. The ships primary helmsman, Lt. Josef Schlotsky, had been another casualty of the initial attack.

"Casualties seem to have been contained to the bridge, Commander. All other decks reporting no casualties and minimal damage," said Ens. LaBella Jardain.

"Why didn't they finish us off when they had the chance?" asked Jardain. "We were a sitting duck after that first volley, but they didn't go in for the kill."

"A more appropriate question might be, 'Who are they?'" said McRostie.

"Or, where are they?" said LeFevre.

The turbolift door opens and Ensign Lorenzo Garcia enters the bridge. "Permission to take the helm," said Garcia.

"Permission granted. Take your station," said McRostie.

The attack had come out of nowhere. An unknown vessel had uncloaked and fired on the Kettle Creek without warning. The shots had temporarily left the Kettle Creek crippled but the antagonist had not continued with the assault. The ship had merely vanished.
Could it be the Romulans? It didn't look like any Romulan ship known to Starfleet. Could this be something new and completely different from that faction? So far there were plenty of question but few answers.

"We're being hailed, Commander," said Lt. j.g. Koral Mischuff. "It's their captain, sir."

"On screen," said McRostie as he rose from his seat and took a step forward.

The humanoid face on the screen sent a shiver down McRostie's back. It was a face of sheer evil, the lines and scars telling a story of strife and conflict. The ice cold eyes signaled this would not be an offer of surrender.

"I felt it only fair to allow you to see the face of the one who sends you into oblivion," he said, his voice as cold and calculating as his eyes.

"I appreciate your gesture," said McRostie in a calm voice, masking the intense worry rushing through his mind, "but could you also give me the courtesy of knowing the name of the captain who will usher in my demise?"

"Very well. I am called Zhry," said the face on the screen, his voice taking a somewhat whistling sound as he pronounced the name.

"Thank you," said McRostie. "I am Captain Dakota McRostie of the USS Kettle Creek. We are part of the United Federation of Planets on a peaceful mission. We gave you no reason to open fire."

"You talk boldly, Captain," said Zhry. "But you did. Just being here is reason enough."

"Very well, Zhry," said McRostie, butchering the whistling sound as he tried to pronounce his opponent's name. "But we're not going down without a fight. Unlike the Klingons, today is not a good day to die for humans. End transmission." And with that the screen returned to the blackness of space with countless stars intermingling with one another to form distant galaxies.

"All shields forward. Ready ramming speed," said McRostie, who then touched a button on his console. "Engineering, I need fore shields at 150 percent. Now!" McRostie then spoke to tactical again. "Give me aft torpedoes and mines, in a hurry."

"I'll give you what I have. It's gonna take some time, though," said a somewhat Scottish voice over the intercom system, "but I can't make ya any promises."

"Are you up to your great grandfather's tricks, Mr. Scott?" asked McRostie. "Well, I'm not falling for it. Make it happen."

"But sir, we have no target," said Garcia as he keyed controls into the helm.

"Sure we do. It's right there," said McRostie pointing to the empty space in front of the ship.

Both Garcia and Brumby turn toward him with quizzical expressions.

"Just trust me, gentlemen," said McRostie. With that they turned back to their stations.

"Captain, might I remind you if that ship is anywhere but in front of us, we're defenseless with our shields all forward," said Brumby.

"Thank you, Lt. I'll keep that in mind. This guy is way too cocky. He's not one to sneak up from behind. Besides, he thinks he holds all the cards after the initial assault. Trust me, he's right there," said McRostie, once again pointing toward nothing.

"Ramming speed, NOW!" shouted McRostie. With that the ship lunged forward picking up speed as it went. Touching the console again, McRostie warned the entire ship, "Brace for impact."

No sooner had the words come from his mouth when the Kettle Creek came to an almost abrupt stop as it hit an unseen object with full force, then lurched to starboard as if sliding off some large object. The sound of metal against metal could be heard throughout the ship.

"Release mines," barked McRostie with authority. " Shields full around, now. Full impulse speed straight ahead. Ready torpedoes."

"Mines away, Commander," said Brumby.

"Impulse power full ahead," said Garcia.

Mines began to explode behind the Kettle Creek, and as they did the cloaked ship came into view.

"Their weapons systems are coming on line, Commander," said Jardain. "Fore shields are at 15 percent and port shields are at 70 percent."

"Fire torpedoes," said McRostie. "Bring her around to bear on the target, Mr. Garcia."

Torpedoes pounded the alien ship, causing it to come to a dead stop and go dark.

"Ready phasers and forward torpedoes," said McRostie. "On my mark."

The enemy ship did not move but McRostie was taking no chances.

"Captain, I'm showing life support failing. Shields and weapons are down. It appears our tactic has disabled them," reported Jardain.

"Open hailing frequencies," said McRostie.

After a moment Zhry appeared on the screen. Behind him chaos reigned as crew members scurried to try to repair damaged systems and save their ship. "It appears you have won," said Zhry as he raised his head slightly. "You may now finish the job."

"I can't do that," said McRostie. "As I said before, today is not a good day to die."

At that moment the bridge swung around and lights flooded the room. A senior Starfleet Academy professor entered the room, applauding. "Well done, cadet. Well done indeed. You have passed the simulation with stellar marks. But one question. Were you tempted to avenge the loss of your captain and crew mates by finishing him off?"

"Yes, sir. Who wouldn't consider it," said Cadet McRostie.

"What changed your mind, may I ask."

"History, sir."

"History? How so?" asked the professor.

McRostie talked of the great Starfleet captains of the past, captains such as Kirk, Picard, Janeway and Archer. He talked of how they reacted when facing real life scenarios similar to the one he had just faced. "It pays to pay attention in hist..." began McRostie when suddenly a voice boomed from behind him.

"Will! Are you going to sit there and play that stupid game all day?" shouted a woman standing in the doorway of the den, her fists clenched and perched on her hips. "You promised to get the lawn mowed and the carport cleaned out."

Will turned toward the woman, removed his headset and replied, "You're right, dear. I'll get right on it." With those words the disgruntled middle-aged man turned back to the computer, hit a couple of keys, and ended his gaming session.

"Guess I better do what she says," muttered Will to himself. "After all, today is not a good day to die."

[Mikester92]

The Self
Author: TBA

akfhgbiuewn FOUR gfhfghdgfh OF gfdhdfgjhfgdj ELEVEN vsggfdsfggh POWER rgdjhfgjg CONDUIT ghdsgsdr FUNCTIONING sjgysiskf DEGRADED ahfwodfl BEYOND alkdeiu OPTIMAL dsoufdgfa LEVELS haywhkjfrj PROCEED ouohfgu TO jkghdsj LEVEL fdisgfh TWO sufiugtgfh SECTION dgiiugjh FIVE ifdg AND haikhorn REPAIR dfjnhujuysdkjfdkjgfkjhkjhgfyhdsgh COMPLY

gfghdfgjgj ORDER dhguhb RECEIVED shfjhkjd REPAIR skjdkjgfkj IN vfdkjbjkf PROGRESS

Four of Eleven stepped down from its alcove. With the order given the trillion voices took prominence in its mind once again. It walked steadily for the few feet to the faulty power conduit and began inspecting the degradation.

fjgjkdkjf DEGRADATION dhsjgfig TOO ajfgh ADVANCED djfhg FOR sifohohj REPAIR fifhg NEW sujfugih CONDUIT djfugu REQUIRED skjgvh TWO sjgyhs OF aoofpgh ELEVEN skfhg THREE sifugh OF eigdhgi ELEVEN sivfugh COMPLY

fhshch CAUTION gghjd OVERLOAD dhghj DETECTED djfhd RETREAT slfog TO shfugj TWELVE shdygj POINT gpgoish FOUR shqudi METRES fpgodhsh DISTANCE dshfug TO dfjguyg AVOID sjfhgh DAMAGE kgjfdjh FOUR gidhs OF dfjgh ELEVEN gjdhs COMPLY

Four of Eleven turned from the conduit and began to move away, but it overloaded too quickly and the resulting blast threw the drone several feet down the corridor. Splinters of debris permeated the circuitry surrounding its skull and there was a small flicker deep within its consciousness. Nothing much, but it was there. A tiny spark of what there once was. Individuality. Four of Eleven knew of the concept of individuality, but individuality is inferior. Imperfect. Yet it suddenly yearned for it. It felt desire. It wanted something. It would be... One of One.

hsjgjh INDIVIDUALITY sjhfhg DETECTED sjfihoif THREE hojopd OF sjfigj SIX apqowj TERMINATE aksufh FOUR ajquwsjg OF fopgidhs ELEVENS ahdugo FUNCTIONING apqhwuv THE djdghdy DRONE sofjha WILL ajusufhg BE qjaifob REABSORBED quwivfjh INTO apodpg THE qaidjh COLLECTIVE shfihpo COMPLY

ajdjgkl ORDER aiqdug RECEIVED sodpgkhs PREPARE qusiob FOR djhgfhsk REABSORPTION wshdiogphkjd SHUT sjdiugo DOWN qjusigvobj ACTIVITY ahqufog FOUR sodpgjs OF djgiho ELEVEN sjdifph COMPLY wsjdiogohedhwidog COLLECTIVE jhsdigj SUPERIOR jifjsuf INDIVIDUALITY ajdfog INFERIOR

And with the order given the fractured personality of Four of Eleven responded. Neural functioning ceased, and with it the flicker of individuality ebbed away as quickly as it had come into being. Three of Six began the simple process of deconstructing the faulty drone and salvaged the re-usable parts.

Order from Chaos. The endless pursuit of perfection. The Collective was in harmony once again.

[Mikester92]

Reflection of Consciousness
Author: TBA

She awoke; slowly her eyelids lifted and immediately noted the dim light coming from the ceiling above. She could feel her hands and moved them in an attempt to gain self-control as to where she was. Clasping her hands over a soft, cotton material, she assumed it was a biobed. She sat up and looked around to find a damaged sickbay with what looked like two ruptured EPS conduits in the corner. The air contained a stench which touched her nose that she couldn't immediately put to memory but the pressing concern of her situation quickly changed the subject in her mind.

Taking the courage that she had left and her head pain with her, she carefully placed her hands over the smooth surface of the sickbay doors to gain access to the rest of the ship. Avoiding debris as the woman passed through the corridor, she heard no one and no ascertainable sound. The only thing she could hear was the echo of what sounded like the ship’s ventilation system, which was discreetly pumping out air into the never ending room.

She was a black silhouette as she moved down the corridor; the red alert lights provided minimal light as they intermittently glowed. The woman reached the end of the corridor and used a turbolift control, however no transportation came and she was forced to take the ladder which seemed to discreetly glide along the turboshaft. The silence was nothing that she had imagined, there was no ventilation in the shaft and there was hardly any light. As she exerted herself, it was becoming harder to breathe.

She reached the bridge which was drenched in darkness with the flashes of consoles as the only source of light. The air was more abundant here and she quickly regained a full sense of consciousness that she had only just lost. In comparison to the pain in her head, the relief was self-satisfying for only a moment.

Placing her hands in front of her, she felt an object which appeared to be a railing. Gliding her hands delicately along, she had no feeling of the small imperfections of the material, her heart was racing and the adrenaline pumping. Her eyes moved erratically around the dark room, attempting to assess the situation, but no one was to be seen, no reason as to why the ship was in trouble.

Then, she felt a presence behind her and knew that she had been firmly touched on the shoulder before she could feel it, as though an extra force were at work. The woman swiftly turned and her hair soon followed suit to meet the dark eyes of another female of the same height. Her face was familiar, but her skin was pale with darkened veins visible like a spider’s web. The few moments in which she stood idle felt like minutes had passed as she realised her predicament, her sight became blurred and discoloured. Her mouth wanted to speak and she tried but failed to place an assertive tone as she said “what is going on?”

“Captain Janeway” the other woman spoke, “I would have thought that was obvious.”

[Mikester92]

A Change of Seasons
Author: TBA

I was an only child who was born and raised in Bree by my parents and trained in the ways of the Woodsman by my father from an early age. I became proficient with axe and saw alike. I worked with my father in his small business supplying wood and leather to the local crafters for a small profit which kept us comfortably in house and food. I practiced making bows and began to teach myself how to use them, often having my father set up makeshift targets along the fences of our homestead and on sunny afternoons I would hone my skills with bows I made. Gradually as my proficiency in the ways of the wood increased I gained more responsibility and was even allowed to start selling the bows, weapons and wooden trinkets I had been crafting and had more interaction with the merchants and crafters to gain the necessary skills to tend to the business when my father decided to retire and hand it over. It's funny how a simple life can be so easily turned on its head.

It was about two and a half years ago when my father became ill, the change was gradual at first and resembled nothing more than a bad cough and cold, but that got increasingly worse, then about six months after that he started to become increasingly weak and frail, like his body was using every ounce of muscle, every pound of flesh to fight a battle of impossible odds, he became stick thin, skeletal almost, in appearance and none of the healers knew what was wrong, least of all how to cure it. Sure, some of the potions and salves they tried eased his every increasing pain, but only for a short periods time.

He would have his good days and his bad days and he would always try to get outside and sit with me whilst I was shaping, crafting items for the customers. He would smile at me as we sat before descending into a horrendous fit of coughing and Mother and I would have to help him inside and get him settled as best we could after giving him what medicine we could.

Then the inevitable happened, it was about a year ago, a sunny autumnal afternoon. I was outside practicing with a new bow I'd just crafted for a customer, making sure it was the best I could make it, when father hobbled outside, hunched, with a pained look in his eyes, but smiling nonetheless. I smiled and waved as he sat down in the chair on the porch of our home and pulled a blanket over himself. I went back to testing the bow, glad that father had come out to see me, it felt almost like old times. When I'd finished and packed up I walked back toward the house, as I got nearer I noticed his my fathers eyes were closed, must be sleeping I thought to myself. As I got closer, I noticed father was motionless, not breathing. Tears welling in my eyes I dropped the stuff and ran back into the house, calling for mother.

They burned him two days later, the funeral pyre smouldering as the heavens opened, it seemed even the gods were mourning the passing of him. The pyre burned for two days and two nights and when finished Aykin went and gathered the ashes together in an urn made for him by one of the Bree metalsmiths and placed it on the mantelpiece above the fire.

The days turned into months and although I did my best to keep the small business going, it just didn't feel right doing it by myself and with the increasing number of bandits and "other" creatures, the trade routes were becoming unsafer which each passing day. I was spending more and more time away from Bree, trading my wares where I could, but also helping out the travelers and townsfolk I met.

I knew something wasn't right with the land and I could feel the darkness crawling over my skin, I knew sooner or later it would reach Bree, but what if I met it head on first? Could I make even a small difference, play a small part in holding it back? I didn't know, but I would try. So after a long talk and a lot of reassurances and promises of regular letters to Mother, that I set off from Bree to see what I could do to help.

[Soundwave]

Wow, some really excellent stories there. I'm going to have to have a think about this one!

[Soundwave]

Ah to hell with it, I won't vote for myself haha! It was a really tough decision out of the others who to go for, but I've made my choice and it was a close run between two of them!

[Adster94]

join the club sound

[Grace Pryde]

Need more reading time! 3 out of 6 done!

G x

[Dodgers]

Six very great stories, but only one put a smile on my face and so gets my vote 'Today is not a good day to die'

[Grace Pryde]

I've now read them and undecided. It's a dead heat for me between two so I need to re-read them again!

[Soundwave]

This has got to be the closest competition to date, surely? I wish I'd voted for my own story now, but that would be cheating haha.

[Mikester92]

The voting period has ended. The winner of the competition, along with his/her story, will be announced in the next Herald.