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Description
Star Trek Chimera: Phase II
Season Three - Episode One - Teaser

H’ogan Marsland had lost count of the amount of times he had lost consciousness —the heat was unbearable and his captors had offered him nothing to quench his thirst. He could barely breathe due to the humidity and the stench didn’t help matters, although he was pretty much convinced by now that the smell was actually coming from him.
He had no idea how long he had been in the small grey cell, but it felt like days, weeks even.
Every now and again they would come, lower the temperature and ask him questions, hoping that making his cell more comfortable would be enough for him to break, but all he would say, all he would respond with was his name and Starfleet serial number, nothing more, nothing less.
In response to his disobedience they would return the temperature to what it was now, well over forty degrees celsius.
His body was starting to shut down, he was suffering from severe heat stroke and his mind was starting to play tricks on him, suffering from paranoid delusions, hallucinations even.
Mentally, he was starting to give up, give in and whilst he was a broken man, he knew most of all that he could not give them what they want.
It had been nine hours since they last came, or had it been ten? They came like clockwork, and at first, when he arrived here, he would count down the minutes and the hours, but now, he had no inclination to do so, he couldn’t care less. He was done. Yet as he wiped the sweat from his forehead for the umpteenth time, he saw one of the devil-like crystalline creatures stood watching him through the observation port —this time he could feel something emanating from them, and it wasn’t their warmth, their body heat, no, this time it was something different.
The universal translator embedded in the ceiling of the cell activated, translating his captor’s language, a series of high pitched shrieks, clicks and cries into something more audible, more palatable to the human ear.
“You are not like the others,” it spoke, seemingly looking directly into H’ogan’s soul. “You are stronger, more resistant.”
H’ogan did not reply, he could barely manage to swallow, let alone talk. That was until the red being lifted one of it’s six appendages and tapped a console on their side of the cell. Seconds later, a small round bowl-like vessel appeared on the floor of Marsland’s cell. The bowl contained water, or at least what looked like it. He edged forward, trying to focus his blurred vision on the first new thing to appear in his cell in what felt like an eternity and dipped the tips of his fingers inside the water. It felt cool, a tonic to his dry and hoarse throat. He didn’t care if it was poisoned, he didn’t care if it was unclean. He had not drunk a single drop of water since he had been captured, since he was beamed away from the shuttlecraft moments before it was destroyed after hitting the Dynehart’s shields.
“Take slow, shallow sips,” the creature on the other side of the door spoke via the translator. “Too much at once will injure your delicate humanoid body.”
The creature was not wrong, H’ogan knew it. Yet all he wanted to do was pick up the bowl of water and gulp it down all in one go, but he knew that if he did that it would send his body into shock. Placing his hands into the bowl and scooping up a handful of water, he lifted his hands to his parched lips and drank slowly. The cool liquid passed over his tongue and down his throat, soothing him, but equally so, feeling as though it was burning as it went down. ‘How long has it been?’ H’ogan thought to himself.
“It has been four days,” the creature spoke.
H’ogan looked up in shock, the water in his hands fell to the floor as he picked himself up off the deck and he slowly moved towards the observation port. “You…” he started to speak, his voice strained, “—you can read my thoughts?”
“There is a lot about our species your Federation does not know or understand.”
“Indeed,” he spoke, looking directly at his captor, unsure if this was a different individual being or the same one that had been visiting him every ten hours for the last four days. “—like why you’re planning on blowing up the Ulktamarian System’s star.”
If the creature could have smiled, it sure as hell would have done. Not that H’ogan could tell, not that he even knew if they were capable of emotion, but if it had emotion, a sense of the impending cataclysm that it’s people was about to unleash upon the Federation and it’s allies, it would have probably thought against it.
“Funny…” it started. So it was capable of emotion, “—we only act in the best interests of our people and the galaxies around us. We do not intend you any harm.”
H’ogan shook his head, and took a step back from the observation port. Serving in Starfleet, he had heard this before, from many species, those who wanted to inflict damage or insight war against the Federation, all proclaiming that they wanted to do no harm, when in fact they did the exact opposite. The Tholians were no different.
“Who are you working for this time?” Marsland asked, his gaze fixed on the searing red eyes of the crystalline creature. But the Tholian did not respond, instead it cut off the universal translator and walked away. As it did, Marsland heard it calling to its kin, the shrieks, loud clicks that would no doubt be heard in his nightmares for the rest of his days, grew louder —it was angry, he had struck a nerve, and like H’ogan, they had had enough of all of this. Now it was time for action…

“No more waiting, no more procrastinating. The New Federation’s time is over, we shall raise their worlds to dust, end their relentless trek through the stars and we will become the dominant power in this galaxy…we shall make each and every Federation citizen pay for what they have done to us…”

*_*_*_*

“Eye Of The Hurricane”
by Jonathan Crosby-Bromley

Starring: Szabó G. Tailor as H’ogan Marsland

Image by JonBromLE1

Description
Star Trek Chimera: Phase II
Season Three - Episode One - Teaser

H’ogan Marsland had lost count of the amount of times he had lost consciousness —the heat was unbearable and his captors had offered him nothing to quench his thirst. He could barely breathe due to the humidity and the stench didn’t help matters, although he was pretty much convinced by now that the smell was actually coming from him.
He had no idea how long he had been in the small grey cell, but it felt like days, weeks even.
Every now and again they would come, lower the temperature and ask him questions, hoping that making his cell more comfortable would be enough for him to break, but all he would say, all he would respond with was his name and Starfleet serial number, nothing more, nothing less.
In response to his disobedience they would return the temperature to what it was now, well over forty degrees celsius.
His body was starting to shut down, he was suffering from severe heat stroke and his mind was starting to play tricks on him, suffering from paranoid delusions, hallucinations even.
Mentally, he was starting to give up, give in and whilst he was a broken man, he knew most of all that he could not give them what they want.
It had been nine hours since they last came, or had it been ten? They came like clockwork, and at first, when he arrived here, he would count down the minutes and the hours, but now, he had no inclination to do so, he couldn’t care less. He was done. Yet as he wiped the sweat from his forehead for the umpteenth time, he saw one of the devil-like crystalline creatures stood watching him through the observation port —this time he could feel something emanating from them, and it wasn’t their warmth, their body heat, no, this time it was something different.
The universal translator embedded in the ceiling of the cell activated, translating his captor’s language, a series of high pitched shrieks, clicks and cries into something more audible, more palatable to the human ear.
“You are not like the others,” it spoke, seemingly looking directly into H’ogan’s soul. “You are stronger, more resistant.”
H’ogan did not reply, he could barely manage to swallow, let alone talk. That was until the red being lifted one of it’s six appendages and tapped a console on their side of the cell. Seconds later, a small round bowl-like vessel appeared on the floor of Marsland’s cell. The bowl contained water, or at least what looked like it. He edged forward, trying to focus his blurred vision on the first new thing to appear in his cell in what felt like an eternity and dipped the tips of his fingers inside the water. It felt cool, a tonic to his dry and hoarse throat. He didn’t care if it was poisoned, he didn’t care if it was unclean. He had not drunk a single drop of water since he had been captured, since he was beamed away from the shuttlecraft moments before it was destroyed after hitting the Dynehart’s shields.
“Take slow, shallow sips,” the creature on the other side of the door spoke via the translator. “Too much at once will injure your delicate humanoid body.”
The creature was not wrong, H’ogan knew it. Yet all he wanted to do was pick up the bowl of water and gulp it down all in one go, but he knew that if he did that it would send his body into shock. Placing his hands into the bowl and scooping up a handful of water, he lifted his hands to his parched lips and drank slowly. The cool liquid passed over his tongue and down his throat, soothing him, but equally so, feeling as though it was burning as it went down. ‘How long has it been?’ H’ogan thought to himself.
“It has been four days,” the creature spoke.
H’ogan looked up in shock, the water in his hands fell to the floor as he picked himself up off the deck and he slowly moved towards the observation port. “You…” he started to speak, his voice strained, “—you can read my thoughts?”
“There is a lot about our species your Federation does not know or understand.”
“Indeed,” he spoke, looking directly at his captor, unsure if this was a different individual being or the same one that had been visiting him every ten hours for the last four days. “—like why you’re planning on blowing up the Ulktamarian System’s star.”
If the creature could have smiled, it sure as hell would have done. Not that H’ogan could tell, not that he even knew if they were capable of emotion, but if it had emotion, a sense of the impending cataclysm that it’s people was about to unleash upon the Federation and it’s allies, it would have probably thought against it.
“Funny…” it started. So it was capable of emotion, “—we only act in the best interests of our people and the galaxies around us. We do not intend you any harm.”
H’ogan shook his head, and took a step back from the observation port. Serving in Starfleet, he had heard this before, from many species, those who wanted to inflict damage or insight war against the Federation, all proclaiming that they wanted to do no harm, when in fact they did the exact opposite. The Tholians were no different.
“Who are you working for this time?” Marsland asked, his gaze fixed on the searing red eyes of the crystalline creature. But the Tholian did not respond, instead it cut off the universal translator and walked away. As it did, Marsland heard it calling to its kin, the shrieks, loud clicks that would no doubt be heard in his nightmares for the rest of his days, grew louder —it was angry, he had struck a nerve, and like H’ogan, they had had enough of all of this. Now it was time for action…

“No more waiting, no more procrastinating. The New Federation’s time is over, we shall raise their worlds to dust, end their relentless trek through the stars and we will become the dominant power in this galaxy…we shall make each and every Federation citizen pay for what they have done to us…”

*_*_*_*

“Eye Of The Hurricane”
by Jonathan Crosby-Bromley

Starring: Szabó G. Tailor as H’ogan Marsland

Image by JonBromLE1