THE LYRA CHRONICLES
CHAPTER ONE: The Adventure Begins
AUTHOR'S NOTES: hello all. Some of you (OK MOST of you) are likely familiar with my work in the Doververse ™ or from Olympus Island. No doubt you'll also notice I haven't posted in EITHER of them in a while. Long story short--I've had a massive case of writer's block with both stories: in an attempt to cure that, I've decided to start a new adventure (taking a leaf from Star Trek fanfic) with the Lyra Chronicles. Naturally, I'll be putting my own spin on the "Trekverse" (and adding a few "easter eggs" for you to find here and there), Please don't feel the need to contact me if I miss some esoteric point of "Trek lore. That being said, thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this new effort. This story will be written from various viewpoints of the crew: each scene will let you know who is featured and where the action is happening.
As always, questions, comments, complaints and suggestions are welcome: you can reach me at HonableRonable@gmail.com (my preferred address) or RonVenable@hotmail.com (which is how I have to submit things to Nifty).
This is a story of gay romantic fantasy containing explicit descriptions of sex between consenting adults. If you don't enjoy reading material of that nature you probably don't want to continue beyond this point. Also, if consuming material like this is unlawful (for whatever reason) is in your locality (since you know your laws far better than I and Nifty reaches a worldwide audience) you should stop now to avoid legal issues for both of us.
All that being said--on with the chapter!
SCENE ONE: Captain Mike Ramsey, Andersonville Prison Colony, (Theta Pavonis IV)
"Come in Captain, sit down." The prisoner in the gray uniform looked with no great favor on Admiral James Lambert, the man responsible for putting him in Starfleet's "worst" Maximum Security Prison. The newly-arrived man remained standing, silent but attentive under the watchful eye of two well-armed security goons. Starfleet Admirals (especially well-connected ones like Lambert) rarely visited the fringe of the Federation for a "friendly" visit. The Andersonville Prison Colony was hardly as cozy as Starfleet's San Francisco headquarters. "Would you care for some coffee? I don't imagine they provide much of that out here..."
"I see you never travel without the finer things, Admiral" Ramsey reluctantly took a seat in the one available chair across from his "distinguished" visitor. The older man reached down for a white cup and poured rich black liquid from a butler. "What do you want Lambert?" he demanded. "I'm sure it's nothin' good if you're here."
"On the contrary," the older man countered with false bonhomie. "I'm here to offer you the chance of a lifetime!"
Ramsey gave the man across the table a cold stare. "What kind of illegal shit are you gettin' up to now?" he asked. The man kept his face neutral. "I'm not int'rested in playin' more of your sick games. They tend not to end well for other folks."
Admiral Lambert returned a cold stare. "If it were up to me Ramsey," he said, chopping up each word, "I'd leave you here to rot! You don't understand command structure and you don't know how to be a team player! Still and all, you have a champion who wants you for a special mission so the top brass has decided to give you a chance."
Ramsey gave him a speculative look. "Who?" The single word hung heavy in the nearly-empty room.
"You know the man they call the Mad Toymaker?"
"Kevin McMasters?" Ramsey replied. "He's supposed to be Starfleet's leading technological innovator..."
"He's done some amazing work," Lambert agreed. "McMasters is also functionally insane!"
"And here I thought you specialized in Security and Tactics." The sarcasm was heavy in the few words.
"I don't need a Psych Degree to know when someone is crazy," Lambert countered. "The fact McMasters insisted that you command his revolutionary new toy is enough to prove that."
Wheels began to turn in Ramsey's brain and a likely scenario took form. "The Toymaker built a radical new design that Starfleet finds--confusing... The brass decided to give him a disposable crew to send out on a dangerous mission. If we manage to get it done, that would be great. If not? C'est la vie! Starfleet is out more than once source of trouble so it's a win either way."
"You're a smart man Ramsey, I'll give you that!" Lambert glared at the man. "McMasters is a genius but, like you, he doesn't play well with others: his designs are, how can I put this delicately? contrary to Starfleet's accepted protocols. In spite of his skills he's made too many waves and caused too much trouble: he'll be accompanying you on your mission.
"I get the feelin' there's more t' the story..." Ramsey countered. "With you there always is!"
"You wound me Captain!" Admiral Lambert almost managed to look hurt as he continued his story. "We've been hearing disturbing rumors from the Forgotten Frontier: Starfleet decided it was time to give the place a thorough exploration once and for all. We can't risk another Dominion War and there is evidence of a few large, spacefaring groups out there, both human and alien. Starfleet sent the Merriweather Lewis out on a mapping mission but we lost contact after about a month. Now we have to send another ship to finish the job. McMasters thinks you're the perfect man to command that mission and the top brass agrees so you're elected."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't." Lambert's statement was blunt. "You can't resist a challenge so you'll take the assignment. If you decide to be stupid and refuse, you can stay here for the rest of your life. In short--this is your one and only chance to get out of here. You'll have your crimes expunged and get your commission back. Otherwise you rot here forgotten..."
"My `crime' was disobeying your orders, thereby saving three ships and their crews!"
"Potato, potahto..." Lambert said breezily. "Yes, you saved those ships but we still lost the battle with the Cardassians! You're not a `team player', Ramsey: still, there's a possibility, however slight, that you might succeed. We can't continue to ignore the Forgotten Frontier--if you don't accept the job, Starfleet will have to commit some potentially valuable resources!"
Ramsey took a sip of the coffee. "Your salesmanship leaves a lot to be desired," he commented.
"Lambert took out a small box containing four small gold pips. "Take it or leave it Ramsey--choose now!"
SCENE TWO: Ensign Steven Friday, somewhere in the Forgotten Frontier
Ensign Steven Friday slowly approached the Starship Graveyard deep in the Forgotten Frontier, cautiously steering his Escape Pod as he looked for useful bits among the flotsam and jetsam. Two thirds of the crew aboard the Merriweather Lewis had perished when the gigantic Oblivian ship had slipped out of Otherspace to intersect with the "prime" universe. The old Miranda Class starship didn't have a chance thanks to an antimatter containment rupture. The ever-curious extradimensional aliens had done what they could to rescue the survivors but "they had no guide" and many of the worst-wounded crew perished before the Oblivians could figure out human and Vulcan biology. Realizing the few remaining crew would have a long journey home, the aliens decided to make "improvements": in the end Friday was the only one to come out alive.
At least I still look human, the young blond Ensign thought. Mostly anyway... Solid silvery eyes glanced at each new wreck the Escape Pod passed while the Oblivian-implanted data identified the wrecks, Humanx and AAnn, Gi, aes Dana, Bre'em, Tigery and some even the Oblivians hadn't managed to catalog. Still, there was plenty of useful junk to be scavenged. The implanted information his Oblivian "saviors" had thoughtfully provided gave him several likely targets. Using the robotic arms the Oblivians had thoughtfully added to the Escape Pod Friday realized he could make some real improvements--maybe enough to get himself back to the Federation in a matter of years instead of decades!
Now, let's see what I can find...
SCENE THREE: Deep Space 4, Dr. Josh McClaren
"I fail to understand why everyone seems so excited by this exhibition of Holodeck programming!" Dr. Selar, Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Four glanced around at the happy throng of Starfleet crew and Station personnel gathered in one of the Holosuites for the debut of Dr. McLaren's latest program, Sonata Beach Club. "While I can appreciate the holographic artistry and the Doctor's programming skill--especially considering he has no background in the field--but why all the nudity?"
"Because, my good Doctor Selar," Captain T'Kara, commander of DS4 replied, "this is an excellent copy of the Sonata Beach Club on Pacifica! Surely you know natives of that world seem to be allergic to clothing..." T'Kara was a tall, well-built black man from the planet Wakanda and he had quickly adapted to Pacifican custom by disrobing and letting everyone see his well-sculpted ebony magnificence.
The Vulcan physician gave the station commander a sour look. "I've had to remind Dr. McClaren to put on something minimal to cover himself more than once: I fail to comprehend his insistence upon maintaining his native customs. DS4 is nowhere near Pacifica."
"No it's not! But, as they used to say back on Earth--`when in Rome'..." Captain T'Kara flexed his magnificent ebony muscles and gave the woman a wry smile. "In any case, you won't have to deal with McClaren much longer: Starfleet let me know he's being transferred."
Selar frowned. "I trust I'll be getting a replacement--sooner rather than later! In spite of McClaren's low rank and personal peculiarities, he is a highly competent physician and an excellent researcher. How is it that after all these years in Starfleet he's never risen above the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade?"
Now it was T'Kara's turn to frown. "Short answer?" he replied bluntly. "Dr. McClaren is a Pacifican! According to current prejudices Pacificans are lazy, sex-crazed nudist barbarians! You know they actually fish and consume what they catch--and, of course, Pacifican marriage customs and sexual mores are as loose as Raisa!"
Selar took a sip of her fruit-decorated tropical drink. "I'll never understand your ridiculous prejudices even after being in Starfleet all these years..."
"No more do we truly understand Vulcans my good Doctor..."
Josh McClaren saw his boss and the station commander chatting so he ambled over to meet them. He was a tall, beefy but well-muscled sandy-haired man with a deep tan that covered him head to toe--all of which was on display because he, in Pacifican fashion, was wearing nothing but a shark's tooth necklace. Selar frowned at seeing his tribal tattoos on display. "Heyo," he said brightly. "What do you think of my latest program?"
"As always, it's a triumph Doctor!" T'Kara told him. "I think you've got another Federation-wide hit' on your hands. This is even better than your Surfing at Wanahakalugi' program."
This made the Doctor smile. "Thanks Cap'n!" he said, a broad smile cracking his chiseled beach-boy features. "I'm going to have to do a few revisions before my publisher will release it. It seems cocks, tits and twats aren't `family friendly' in some sectors of the Federation!"
"I will never understand human prudery regarding reproduction!" Selar said with a superior sniff.
"We don't really get `pon far' either Doc!" Josh replied saucily.
Selar rewarded him with an imperious glare. "I won't miss your attitude Doctor..." she said bluntly.
"Say what?"
"You're being promoted to CMO of a new starship," Captain T'Kara told him. "You'll be leaving as soon as we can get you aboard a ship headed for Starbase 456. Congratulations Doctor--you will be missed..."
Josh smiled. "I'll miss you guys too--but if Starfleet calls we can but answer!" Privately the big man realized he wouldn't miss Dr. Selar much: she was a competent physician and a reasonable commanding officer (at least as reasonable as a Vulcan could be). He'd really miss T'Kala, and the "black mamba" between his legs--not to mention that incredible bubble butt! Josh just hoped he could make friends at his new assignment.
SCENE FOUR: Panda Conn and Felicity Fortune, Starbase 456
"So it's true..." Felicity Fortune stepped into the Speakeasy (the best bar on Starbase 456) to find the place empty and Panda Conn packing things up. "So you really are moving! Where are you going next?"
Conn, dressed like something out of a 1930s holonovel, came out from behind the bar. "Good to see you Felicity," he said, giving the voluptuous dark-haired woman a kiss on her alabaster cheek. "Yes, my dear," he replied. "The Solemn and Secret Order of the Panda is sending me to the Forgotten Frontier!"
The statuesque woman tilted her head and gave him a wry smile. "So the Federation finally decided to explore that massive garbage dump they created in the Kappa Quadrant! Are you taking your yacht?"
"But of course dear Felicity!" the man told her. "I never go anywhere without my Comfy Chair! I'll be parking it in a Federation Starship's shuttle bay however: Kevin McMasters was kind enough to design a space that would fit my girl perfectly!"
So, Conn knew the Mad Toymaker and was on board with his plans. Somehow this didn't surprise Felicity in the slightest. "Does Starfleet know this?"
"In good time my dear!" the Panda replied, "All in good time! They'll know when I decide they need to. Actually Felicity, that's why I asked you here: I'd like you to accompany the expedition. Our old friend Mike Ramsey will be commanding a brand-new Starship: I'll be aboard that ship and I think you should be as well. You'd be a wonderful Ship's Counselor!"
Felicity laughed at this. "I'm hardly qualified Conn!" she said. "Starfleet has a list of requirements for their Counselors: a mere Socialator like me can't hope to make the cut!"
The Panda cracked a smile. "Don't sell yourself short, schweetheart!" he drawled jovially, briefly putting on a strange accent like a comfortable pair of slippers. "True, you may lack certain bureaucratic skills the Federation requires but you've been through enough in the Twelve Colonies during the Cylon Wars to help the crew get through what they'll encounter out there! They need you Felicity! That's why I arranged for the Counselor to miss her transfer..."
"You're evil, rotten, mean, vicious and nasty Conn!"
"Which is precisely why you love me, Felicity dear!" the Panda cracked. "Starfleet is going to send the Lyra out short-handed: they need someone like you to make sure this mission succeeds!"
"And of course you're moving pieces on the field to make sure it does?"
"That's what we Pandas do, my dear!" Conn replied with a wry smile. "It's what we've always done. We've been nudging Earth since before the Federation began!"
"It would be nice to see Mike again..." Felicity said, thinking fondly of the Starship Officer that had rescued her from the ruins of Piscon. "After that ridiculous trial and bogus conviction--he truly deserves better!"
"True," the Panda agreed. "Yes, he defied Admiral Lambert's orders but the Federation would have lost that battle in any case: at least this way Captain Ramsey saved three ships and crews: all those ships came in handy later.
"What will you be doing on board, old bear?" Felicity wondered.
"Why the same thing I'm doing here, dear lady, running a bar!" the older man replied. "I'll reconstruct the Speakeasy in the main lounge, After all, people will tell their bartender or hairstylist things they'd never tell a Counselor! And I can't cut hair to save my life..."
SCENE FIVE: Lt, Cdr. Sascha Markov, USS Redondo Beach
"Come in Your Highness, please sit down..." Captain Willem van Tromp looked at his Social Science Officer with no great favor. "I have news for you."
"Captain, bubeleh," the woman said tiredly, "when I'm in uniform it's hardly necessary to use my royal title. After all, it's only meaningful among the Rom!"
"And yet you insist on bedecking yourself like some street market whore!" Van Tromp glared at the Gypsy Princess. "I can't believe Starfleet allows you to wear all that junk!"
"In case you forgot after the first forty or so times I've told you," the woman replied. There was a certain warning in her tone. "Each piece of jewelry represents an aspect of my history and character. To deprive any Rom woman of her adornments is the highest form of insult! Starfleet doesn't care for that..."
"I don't care what Starfleet thinks!"
"Captain, your First Officer is Bajoran!" Sascha said. "He's never without his earring!"
"ONE earring!"
"Fine, you don't care for my jewelry: point noted!" the Gypsy Princess said. "Did you call me in here to complain or is there something you want?"
"Actually Cdr. Markov, I'm about to get rid of you!" the Captain said, a certain glee lighting his round Dutch face. "You're being transferred!"
"I'd cheer but you'd probably take it wrong," the woman replied. "So--where am I going?"
SCENE SIX: Lt. Cdr. Reid Middleton Rogers XIII, Ozark (Epsilon Theta II)
"Crank `er up!" Reid Middleton Rogers XIII rolled out from under the "Tin Lizzy" as his distant cousin Malcom Wainwright Rogers XX pressed the aircar's START button. The old vehicle hummed to life. "There ya go, buckaroo--she oughta be good as new!"
"Thanks Cuz--you're the best!" Malcom was excited to finally have his junky aircar in running condition. "Do you work on aircar engines for Starfleet?"
"I work on Starship engines!" Reid said proudly. "You're `bout old enough t' start thinkin' about what ya wanna do with y'r life: mebbe ya sh'd think about tryin' out f'r Starfleet Academy!" The big man stretched and scratched the abundant red fur on his bare, ridged belly.
A tiny woman clad from head to toe in black, a long full-length dress unadorned with lace or ribbons, stockings and patent leather high button boots as well as a flat hat pinned atop her gray-haired head. She fixed the two young men with a hard stare. "Reid Middleton Rogers XIII! WHY are exposin' your bare chest to the whole blamed neighborhood?" she bellowed in a voice loud enough to carry well down the street. "You ain't no child! Cover your nakedness!".
Reid sighed. "Granny Weatherwax--it's hotter `n fire t'day!" he said tiredly, "'n' humid t' boot! I've been workin' under a hot aircar f'r over two hours! There's nobody about t' complain! Cain't ya just let me be?"
"You sassin' me boy?" Granny Weatherwax pulled out a black lace handkerchief. "Do I need t' teach ya a lesson?"
"No granny." One of the many things Reid didn't miss in the least about his home world were the Grannies and their "magic": if she twisted the cloth just right Reid knew he'd be laid out on the ground writhing in pain. No, it wasn't actual magic: it was a complex form of psionic ability. Still, Granny Weatherwax, a true daughter of the puritanical Travelar clan, took a perverse delight in "schoolin' the younger folks in manners". She'd quite happily have the man writhing on the ground suffering the tortures of the damned. "My apologies..."
"My apologies, MA'AM!" the old woman said coldly. "Don't they have manners on them their fancy Starfleet ships?"
"Omnigram! Omnigram for Reid Middleton Rogers XIII!"
Thank the powers! Reid was saved from further interaction with the Granny by the timely arrival of the Delivery Boy from Huckleberry, the planet's Capitol and only largish city. "Over here Son!" The big redhead said, trying hard to conceal a relieved smile. "Who's it from?"
"Starfleet Sir!" the young man replied. "It says PRIORITY ONE!"
"Then I'd best have a look, hadn't I?" The message informed Reid that, effective immediately, he was being transferred and given the post of Chief Engineer aboard a brand-new Starship! It also let him know he had less than six hours to get to Ozark's only spaceport to catch a ship bound for Starbase 456. "Looks like m' leave-time is over..."
USS Grant, Lt. JG Tracy Thomas
When the Chief Medical Officer AND the Ship's Counselor asked you to visit it didn't bode well. "Sit down Lieutenant..." said Tam Olyn. He was a handsome Betazoid that was currently clad in a lavender shipsuit that perfectly set off his curly brown hair and amethyst eyes.
"This isn't good news, is it...?" Tracy let the words trail off.
"I'm afraid not," said Dr. Karlsen. She was a tall, blocky, blond Scandahoovian with piercing blue eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for you."
Tracy looked down at his stocky, well-muscled frame. "So--I'm stuck being male?" he said.
"I'm afraid so," Olyn cut in quickly. "Engineering has been unable to figure out what caused your gender swap during Transport so we can't reverse it that way. There are medical options--"
Tracy cut him off. "I know about the medical options! Sorry Doc--not interested in being a fake woman: I'd rather be a real man."
"Maybe the Deltans have something that can help you..." Dr. Karlsen suggested.
"Again, not interested!" Tracy said. "Honestly, the worst thing about waking up and finding myself a man is that, aside from standing up to pee, I don't have a problem being male! That and the way people who used to be my friend treat me now..."
"Sadly, transgender prejudice still exists--even in our enlightened age," Olyn said. "Since you are adjusting to your new gender so well, maybe you should consider taking a transfer: a new position where they don't know your backstory might go a long way to resolving your social problems.."
"Can you make that happen Counselor?"
Olyn smiled. "Actually..."
END CHAPTER ONE
AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD
So--there you go: the first Chapter of The Lyra Chronicles, I hope you enjoyed it. I've included quite a number of "easter eggs" from Star Trek and other fandoms. In fact, I'm offering a prize to the first person to identify all the various sources. (I counted ten.) The winner will be allowed to create a character or plot point that I will address in a future chapter: deadline for entries is 10/31/2021. Also, please be aware that I'm not sticking to "cannon" in these stories so certain plot points will be changed to accommodate my story. As always, thanks to my "crack editorial staff Rockin' Robyn and Marko the Magnificent who help make this story something more than utter dreck.
Let me know if you want more of the Lyra Chronicles.
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