Colony 252

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Imaj of Kirok

ISS Manticore

Stardate 510803.02

 

For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,

And by eternall doome of Fate’s decree,

Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.

~Edmund Spenser, The Fairie Queene

 

Colony 252

ISS Manticore hovered in synchronous orbit above Colony 252, a seemingly quiet agrarian community which, according to Starfleet Intel, held the possible key to the heart of the rebellion. She was a raptor, paused over its prey, watching for the slightest hint that it might attempt escape, or, better still, betray its true purpose and prove itself a worthy opponent.

 

For Imaj, conquest was a passion, one that aroused more intimate passions, those best left for private times of triumph, of victorious celebration followed by the ultimate consummation of success. And it was for these moments that Imaj Kirok lived: the thrill of the hunt, the pitting of prey against predator, especially when the quarry, the condemned, realized their ultimate demise and faced in terror their inevitable doom.

 

Be careful, Imaj, that your passions do not overcome reason, your lusts do not dull your vigilance.

 

The Commander pushed her father’s warning from her mind as she watched the viewscreen feed data and images from their assault force, perhaps the greatest in the Empire, while they slipped unnoticed down hedge-rowed rural lanes, through pastures and into the simple village – deceptively simple, too simple . . . too quiet . . . too peaceful.

 

Yes, Father. It is a passion, but one of which I am well aware. Tell me those of which I am not aware and you will have done your daughter a greater service.

 

She spoke to him as though he were beside her, a habit she had learned from childhood, because her father did, indeed, hear her. Though their family was not telepathic per se they shared a familial bond that went beyond ordinary human bonds to include the ability to communicate over great distances, to feel each other’s emotions, to sense their presence especially in times such as these, in times of great emotion – positive or negative – and in times of zeal, of ardent purpose.

 

Those are not for me to know, Imaj. Only you know the secrets of your inmost self, the deepest desires of your heart and mind.

 

She could see him standing on the marble balcony half a galaxy away, sipping an evening libation. Imaj smiled, not only at her father’s image, but at the image on the viewscreen as Subcommander McFly prepared to enter a building clearly occupied with an armed resistance force. Perhaps this will be his time, she thought. Just as well; it will save many from having to deal with him later. But for him to die in combat? A hero? Such thoughts pained her.

 

And what of the colony? If it were truly a hub of rebel activity, though the Empire glean information and possibly capture leaders or others who could be tortured into revealing the leaders’ lair . . . with the colony destroyed with some tortured beyond the limits of endurance,, would they become a greater enemy to the Empire? Would they possibly become an enemy the Empire could not eradicate?

 

Imaj shuddered at the thought, the word martyr gagging her throat.

 

Take care, my daughter.

 

Yes, Father. I take great care. None must escape to tell.

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror,

For now he lives in fame though not in life.

~Wm Shakespeare, Richard III