First Officer’s Log
Stardate 75326.97

The USS Viking and her crew have managed to arrive at Starbase 187 with the assistance of Lord Hab’rabi and the Valh’kaeri. Starfleet Command has already expressed its eagerness to debrief us on our encounter with the valhrn and learn what they can of life on the far side of the galaxy; Starfleet Medical will conduct thorough examinations of all crew members having directly encountered either the remnants or the antecedents for any lasting effects. My own experience is of particular interest, though I do not share their enthusiasm. Although I have been absolved of my actions against the Viking and her crew while taken over by the entity known as Auta’l’ka, I cannot help but feel a sense of responsibility for what occurred. After all, it had spoken with my voice and acted with my hands, and while Auta’l’ka and his kind have returned to the stars, I and my crew remain to pick up the pieces of this encounter.

Some, I would imagine, will find it most difficult to reconcile… if at all.

Kohr stared at the distant silhouette of the Valh’kaeri floating still in the distance, a misshapen sliver cut from the stellar cloth from which she had emerged. Flickers of light winked at him from her mottled surface, Federation repair teams working diligently to restore her to full operation. At this distance, he could only make out the worst of the damage incurred during the firefight with the Viking. A ragged scar from a direct phaser hit here, a missing section of hull carved in a hail of photon torpedoes there. Despite being the older of the vessels, the Valh’kaeri had held up well all things considered. Part of Kohr found honor in that, for it meant a future for the handful of valhrn still alive… at least, in this quadrant of the galaxy.

The leather of his gauntlet creaked as the Klingon’s fists clenched in frustration. He had, of course, read every detailed account of the battle between the two ships. The Viking‘s battle logs painted a glorious picture of valiant combat and a deathly struggle. But though both mind and body had been present for the entirety of the conflict, Kohr had no clear memory of it at all. His body ached, remembered the blows and burns in his bones, but he could not say how he had come by them. Apprehension was reflected in the eyes of the crew, but the Klingon could not name the deeds that had earned their fear. Doctor Semenza had called it a kind of mercy, for he could not relive it in the painful ways many would.

To Kohr, however, not knowing would be far worse than recalling the stark details of the bloodiest massacre.

“Hard to believe, huh?”

He turned slowly at the familiar voice at his shoulder. Lieutenant Yorba stood a respectful distance away, eyes taking in the scene with a strange cast to them. A PaDD was tucked under his arm, a finger of his free hand tapping the edge thoughtfully. A melancholy smile tickled the corner of his lips as he took a deep breath. Kohr could see heavy thoughts play out behind Yorba’s hazel eyes, and he knew better than to interrupt. Instead, Kohr joined him in silent reflection while watching the universe move on around them. There was a kind of peace in that, knowing that so much had happened and yet made the barest of ripples in the larger scheme. Perhaps one day, Kohr would feel the same.

“They came to us for help,” Yorba said finally, stepping up next to him, “and we ended up needing assistance from them. Fate sure has a cruel sense of irony, eh, Commander?”

Kohr nodded with a bitter set to his jaw. “Captain Rende?”

“Doctors say she’ll make a full recovery within a few days, assuming the crew will give her space to rest.” Yorba sighed, looked down. “It wasn’t your fault, sir. We all know it, the captain most of all. No one blames you.”

The Klingon shook his head sharply. “And yet they still shy from my passing. I leave silence and suspicion in my wake.”

“Thousands of years of human evolution, and we still operate with a lizard brain. Can’t say as I like the parallels, but maybe that’s the point: there are things we just can’t control, no matter how hard we try.”

“I should have been stronger,” Kohr insisted beneath his breath.

“You saying the captain is weak, Commander?” Yorba didn’t flinch from his glare. If anything, the man looked smug. “A warrior should know and accept that there will always be an opponent that can best him. On Earth, we have a saying: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Figure they have something similar on Qo’noS?”

“Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about, Lieutenant?” Kohr growled, trying to hide his dark grin. By Kahless, the man’s attitude was infectious.

Yorba’s expression sobered and he tapped his PaDD pensively again before answering. “I’ve looked over the recordings like you asked. Can’t tell you how hard it was to get this information, either. Lieutenant Forgrave’s got some tight security. I still wonder if he didn’t let me in. You.. sure you want it, sir?”

“I must know.”

Another few taps and a suspicious twist to his lip, then Yorba pulled the PaDD from beneath his arm. Before Kohr could accept it, the lieutenant pinned it to his chest with crossed arms. “And you don’t remember anything after your encounter with the wraiths—uh, I mean, the antecedents—in Sickbay?”

“No.”

It was not entirely a lie, though he doubted Yorba could tell. While Kohr had no true memory of the events between the incident in Sickbay and Auta’l’ka relinquishing control of his body, there were lingering whispers of emotion and displaced sounds or images. He could only think of it as having been locked away inside his own mind, a cell deep in the regions of his subconscious where only the barest echoes of events could reach. Even the experience of having been a displaced soul was fragmented, mist of recollection evaporating beneath the sun of his conscious grasp. Snapshot memories came to him when his thoughts drifted, and they evaded him whenever he tried to force them to the fore. Frustratingly jumbled out of order and without context, and never coherent or clear.

Sighing rather pointedly, Yorba passed the PaDD over with an off-hand gesture. “Even cobbling together the sensor logs from the Huginn and Muninn, bits that Legion was able to record, and all subsequent devices on the away team’s persons, there still isn’t a complete picture. You had everyone fooled, sir.” He coughed into a fist. “That is to say, Auta’l’ka had everyone fooled. Enough to avoid direct suspicion and detection, anyhow. Still a little hazy on how they managed to fool the biomonitors we cooked up.”

“As beings of pure energy, they knew how to harness and manipulate such in order to fool our sensors,” the Klingon murmured reflexively. “Biometrics are merely measurements of the body’s response output. If the brain is in control of those functions, there is nothing for the monitor to read. Likewise if key impulses are suppressed or redirected, such as the electrostatic charge the monitors were designed to detect, nothing exists to trigger the alarm. And since Auta’l’ka and his kind took pains to integrate with members from every department, they collectively had the base knowledge to develop the proper countermeasures.”

Yorba shrugged, shaking his head. “True, but keeping up that kind of ruse the whole time? Hard to imagine they didn’t slip up once.”

“In a way, they did. Though I’d imagine it would not have been easy to tell.”

At the lieutenant’s confused expression, Kohr lifted a hand and began to rub this thumb and forefinger together. “The one controlling Ensign Baker developed a means of focus and generated the suppression field required to shield his ilk. Though a small gesture to you or I, on the quantum level the energy generated by such a gesture is not inconsequential. To beings that can alter such energy to suit their purposes, it was understandably missed. It was a constant effort, but one that could be brushed off as a personal quirk of a man under great stress.”

“So Baker was the first?”

Kohr nodded, peering at the data flowing down the PaDD’s screen. His leather-clad fingers tugged thoughtfully at his beard as he spoke. “From an insurgent standpoint, he was an excellent choice. Brash, intelligent, established enough to be trusted without being well-known. Able to access personnel logs without arousing suspicion, and armed with Ensign Baker’s discerning eye. Who better to choose other outliers to integrate with?”

“But why not take over the captain or any of the command staff? If they wanted the yur so bad, why not use the most effective tools to make it happen?”

“Would you strike at the heart of the enemy without first considering their fortifications or capabilities?” He waited while Yorba thought it over, dismissed it with a defeated shake of his head. “While the command staff had the authority, they were also most widely known amongst the crew and under the most scrutiny. The barest slip-up would have meant ruin, less so with crewmen nearer the fringes.”

“Then why you?”

Kohr shrugged. “An accident, likely. Klingon physiology is different than most humanoids onboard a Federation starship, with several redundant systems meant to ensure survival in combat. Denser skulls and insulatory cartilage surrounding the brain, to name but two. As Doctors Semenza and Jones explained it, that served as a kind of resistance agent to the bond between remnant and antecedent—disengaging and disorienting them along my neural pathways. It displaced my consciousness in the bioplasma of Auta’l’ka, while he integrated with my body. It was a… unique experience, but one I would not care to repeat.”

“Good thing the captain was able to figure that part out,” the lieutenant remarked with a bit of pride. “What did it feel like, sir? Being… bioplasma?”

“Like someone had ripped out my mind and soaked it in a barrel of bloodwine.” The Klingon gave a helpless gesture at Yorba’s confused expression. “It was as much birth as death, and both simultaneously. I was myself, but the universe was foreign to me again. I was hungry but could not eat. No mouth to shout with, no hands with which to grasp my foes. I knew death and despair and horrible purpose and…”

Yorba seemed to hold his breath, waiting for Kohr to finish his thought. To his credit, however, he did not push the Klingon to voice the dark experience so obviously swimming behind his eyes. He could remember being in the captain’s ready room struggling to warn her of what had happened. Tumbling in a swirl of gas and heat lightning with no sense of time or direction, filled with rage and intense purpose without expression. The primal certainty that she would see him as an adversary first, to be threatened by one meant to be her shield. The very air wrenching at him, ripping his essence apart with languid claws. Prepared to die so long as he could utter a single word of warning in time to prevent catastrophe to the Viking. A warrior’s death without a body.

A uniformed officer approaching him hauled Kohr from his fugue. “Lieutenant Yorba, they’re ready to begin the debriefing. This way, please.”

“Thank you,” the lieutenant murmured, then turned to back to the Klingon. “Good luck, sir. I… hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Once Yorba was out of sight, Kohr faced the viewport and began to read the compiled reports on the encounter with the Valh’kaeri. Much of it he already knew or suspected, but seeing it across a spectrum of voices painted a somewhat disturbing picture of events in his mind. Different perspectives of the same event were common, which was why a thorough evaluation was so important in any Starfleet investigation. Adding mind-altering alien energy life forms from the far side of the galaxy only served to muddy the proverbial waters. Kohr found himself scrolling past the early reports and briefings, scanning parts that had been explained to him as they made for the starbase in the aftermath. This was not a commander proofing a draft report for submission; it was a man in search of answers, of closure. Finally, the logs from the launch of the Muninn melted across the screen, and his focus returned razor sharp. As he read through the rest of the reports, faint whispers and sounds played out beyond the horizon of his mind.

The being wearing his flesh and speaking with his voice—the noisome doppelganger, Auta’l’ka—had gathered the other integrated crewmen to the Muninn with the intent of taking over the Valh’kaeri and the yur it contained. While Kohr hated to admit it, Auta’l’ka had played his role well enough that Captain Rende had given him the code Hab’rabi had used to secure the ship against the hostile takeover. Using Kohr’s knowledge of the Viking‘s security systems, along with Baker’s—he did not like to think of them as the flesh they inhabited, but the true names of the other entities were beyond his grasp—expertise, Auta’l’ka had prepared a virus designed to disable the Viking and allow them time to escape with the Valh’kaeri. The plan had not taken into account the instincts of Sigmundsson and Forgrave, a fact Kohr was silently thankful for. The alien had been trapped into taking the two along but had not been entirely routed.

…a startled cry from behind him, and the commander snapped around just in time to see Ensign Walker’s EVA suit spark and smoulder…

The entity within Ensign Walker caused a commotion by entering the Muninn‘s systems and wreaking targetted havoc on the runabout’s systems. Fixed on the alarming situation and their assumed commander taking charge of the situation, Baker had prepared the virus and disabled vital functions within the Muninn to further enhance their distress. Survival taking precedence over resources, Auta’l’ka allowed the munitions and antimatter to be removed from the runabout, though Watanabe had intuited his plan and altered their resulting location; not desiring further reason for the Viking to hunt them, she also returned Sigmundsson and Forgrave safely to the Federation vessel. And while Yorba had been quick-witted enough to secure certain systems against the virus and raise the Viking‘s shields, it had done its work in buying them time.

“…enough antimatter in its warp drive to restart our systems,” she replied triumphantly. “We can also replicate many replacement parts to circumvent dependency on Legion…”

Despite the lead offered by the virus and the Muninn‘s resources, Auta’l’ka and his cadre managed to get the Valh’kaeri operational minutes before the Viking. Captain Rende attempted negotiations for the return of her crew, but Auta’l’ka had Kohr’s understanding of her methods and tactics; he knew it would not be over until the enemy had been captured or killed—and the so-called wraiths were the enemy. Auta’l’ka took the Valh’kaeri to warp in order to put distance between the two and limit rescue operations; Rende and the Viking pursued at near-maximum sensor range, effectively hiding in the older ship’s blind spot. It quickly became a game of targ-and-asp as both sides moved to outwit the other without causing irreparable harm. Auta’l’ka’s main concern was time and escape., while the Viking‘s objective tentatively remained preserving the last of the valhrn legacy.

“…no need for this, Auta’l’ka!” The heat in her voice was not softened by the child’s frail features. “I demand that you stand down at once…!”

Kohr’s doppelganger had not been the only wraith to lie in wait amidst the crew in order to avoid detection. The eldest of the so-called harvusha had taken to integrating with one of Rende’s own grandchildren, both to understand their species from an unbiased perspective while maintaining leverage in the face of retaliation. Not even Auta’l’ka had known of it. The child-wraith, Enys’t’ha, had sued for peace and cooperation between their kind and the Viking, but Auta’l’ka flatly rebuked her assuming she’d been coerced by Rende or Hab’rabi. In a fit of unbridled fury, the rogue Auta’l’ka played his final hand and activated the charges Watanabe had dispersed about the Viking during the Muninn‘s transporter “accident.” Many of the Federation ship’s systems were damaged or disrupted in the explosions, but Rende and her crew remained dogged on the Valh’kaeri‘s trail.

…would not be taken again and thrown in that wretched purgatory! They would be free…!

The Klingon would have said the pitched firefight between the two vessels was worthy of song; Starfleet would likely place a less-glorious name on the outcome: disastrous. It had not been an entirely fair fight, of that Kohr was certain. While Auta’l’ka was forced to use guerilla tactics aboard a colony vessel intended to survive the worst of space travel, Rende and the Viking could not bring their full armaments to bear without risking the slumbering valhrn and usurped crewmen. The prospect of death was something every Starfleet officer understood when donning the uniform, and every captain accepted loss as a risk after clearing space dock. The responsibility for the extinction of a species, however, was a struggle not even Rende Asam had adequately prepared for.

Thankfully, the call never had to be made. With Enys’t’ha’s help and the ingenuity of the crew, the Viking had been able to displace and contain Auta’l’ka’s group. Their victory, however, had come at the cost of thirteen Starfleet lives and almost the loss of the ship itself. It took three days to recover all of the escape pods littered across an entire sector of space, and another week of repair before the Viking could be taken in tow by the Valh’kaeri. Yorba—and incidentally, Kohr—had not have the clearance for much of what had transpired after, deemed classified by Lieutenant Commander Sigmundsson for the sake of first contact. All that was available was that Captain Rende, Hab’rabi, and Enys’t’ha remained sequestered in-quarters for the entire journey to Starbase 187.

Kohr stood at the viewport with his hands held behind his back, his gloved hand grasping his other wrist, feet apart and scowl steady. This time he faced the interior of the starbase where the ruin of the Viking was cradled amidst a swarm of shuttles. Blackened craters littered her hull, several sections of the saucer were gone or shredded, and an entire nacelle was missing. It made him sick to his core, like being forced to watch a dahar master waste away abed. He wished for nothing more than to roar until he flew apart, to pound his fists bloody against the transparent aluminum. But that was not the Starfleet way, and so he stood as still as stone while his heart rattled against his chest.

“What will you do now, Commander?”

He turned slowly, and by the time he faced Lord Hab’rabi fully he had shackled the worst of his rage. The valhrn looked down at him with a mixture of concern and something he couldn’t place. Beside him was a feminine figure completely hidden in diaphanous cloth, slightly smaller and yet still taller than the Klingon by at least an inch. At his raised brow, Hab’rabi offered a smile and gestured to his companion.

“Though perhaps you do not remember fully, I bid you greet Enys’t’ha.” There was a soft whisper of cloth as she bowed her head at the recognition, followed by several sharper wet sounds. “You will forgive her for not facing you directly. We felt these coverings less… unsettling to your kind while her body acclimates to its new occupant.”

“Of course.” Kohr’s baritone was perhaps sharper than he would have admitted, but it was done. Neither Hab’rabi nor his companion seemed offended.

The folds of cloth ghosted in the valhrn‘s direction, and a dulcet lilt sighed from beneath. “If it please, my lord, I would remind you to address me as Yur’enys now in accordance with our agreement.”

“Very well, Antecedent,” Hab’rabi murmured. Then to Kohr, he gave a faint smile. “I ask again, Commander: what will you do now?”

“That is not entirely for me to decide, Lord Hab’rabi. As a warrior of the Federation, it is my sworn duty to go where I am commanded and needed most.” The Klingon grit his teeth and turned his attention beyond the viewport. “For now, my time is my own while I am observed for any… lasting effects from this mission. I will mourn the dead, perhaps pay my respects to their families if Starfleet permits. Having been allowed to retain my commission, I can only assume I will return to duty in the near future. Not to the Viking, of course—”

“For which you have my deepest of regrets and most sincere of apologies,” Yur’enys lamented, grasping his forearm with one hand. Kohr did not shy away from her touch, though the slithering of her bones beneath her skin was a touch disconcerting.

“—but I am certain that wherever I serve, I will serve with honor.” Kohr took a slow breath and lifted his chin to stare along his nose at Hab’rabi. “And what of you and yours?”

The valhrn made a dramatic and sweeping gesture with one arm. “Back into the Empty once the Valh’kaeri is fully repaired and operational. While your Federation has been most eager to speak with us concerning the joining of your Federation, we have little to offer in the way of support when my people are still recovering from their unfortunate sojourn. Perhaps in time when we have forged our own place in the galaxy, we will reconsider. But for now our path will take us beyond your borders where we will not be a… How did that little man put it, Antecedent?”

“A ‘xenological curiosity of transcendent proportions,’ I believe was the phrase, my lord.”

Kohr could only nod. “And you, Miss Yur’enys. What will become of your kind?”

“Yur’auta and the others will serve the valhrn until they settle their new world, however long that takes, in reparation for their crimes against Hab’rabi’s people. Once my lord has found their penance to be complete, they will likely return to the Empty as well. We were, after all, explorers much like yourselves and that curiosity is hard to stifle.” She paused for a long, patient moment before continuing. “As for myself, in accordance with my agreement to your Captain Asam, I have submitted myself to Starfleet’s custody to answer for the actions of my kin. As Eldest it is my responsibility, and your people will need tangible justice for the loss of your crew. I have been assured by your superiors that I will be treated well and not exploited, and that I will be permitted to join Hab’rabi once any proceedings and subsequent remunerations are complete.”

Again, Kohr could only accept. It was not, of course, an ideal outcome given what had transpired but it was very much in-line with Federation policy. Starfleet would see it as a priority to maintain diplomatic ties to the valhrn even if they did not join the Federation, and it was not in the Federation’s best interests to deal too heavy-handedly with two potentially-valuable species. It would likely cause some ripples in the political fabric—certainly locally considering what it cost the families of the dead for such to go unanswered—but Kohr could see no long term ill done.

The Klingon’s mind drifted to the various rumors and stories he had picked up in discussions with the crew while waiting for debriefing, most concerning the origins of the so-called wraiths. Most surprisingly was Lieutenant Woods’ discovery that the remnants and wraiths shared a common ancestry—a fact later confirmed by Yur’enys. In truth, the atmospheric disturbance written in valhrn texts had been the arrival of Enys’t’ha and her kind from a distant galaxy. Star-faring explorers that had evolved into pure energy and taken to the heavens, the antecedents arrived in order to recuperate and begin the next leg of their journey. After encountering the sentient life there, some opted to stay and study the valhrn, eventually evolving into a pivotal aspect of their society as remnants.

Enys’t’ha and the other antecedents returned to the Empty and their exploration until they encountered an especially-dense subspace filament. Powerless to escape its inexorable pull, they found themselves imprisoned and separated from one another. Starved and deprived of all contact, the antecedents slowly went mad over the course of centuries with no hope of salvation or destruction. Only when fate delivered Hab’rabi and the Valh’kaeri did they manage escape, and encountering beings nigh tailor-made for their wrathful expressions gave them savage release.

“There exist no words or actions with which to fully paint my regrets,” Yur’enys whispered, clutching his arm tightly as if reading his mind. Perhaps she had. “We have no right to beg forgiveness, the Federation’s or the valhrn‘s. Though you cannot understand what it was like being alone and ravenous for so long… Twice-trapped, considering the actions my lord was forced to take to bring us to heel and to ourselves. Considering the sacrifice he was forced to make…”

“Enough.” That one word from Hab’rabi made the shrouded woman flinch, but Kohr heard it as compassion rather than rebuke. The valhrn gave Kohr a low bow, which Yur’enys quickly echoed. “We will leave you to your thoughts, Commander, heavy as they may be. Though I must leave you with perhaps more questions than answers, I must attend to my people and prepare for our journey. As your kind is fond of saying, good luck.”

The Klingon watched the pair move away, discrete security team in-tow. He was about to turn away when a smaller valhrn—a little girl, by the look of it, though she was nearly as tall as Yorba standing nearby—exploded from the gathered throng to throw herself at Hab’rabi. For the first time since their initial encounter, he saw Hab’rabi’s kingly facade shatter into unabashed gratitude and adoration. The huge valhrn fell on the child like a mountain, nearly engulfing her in his grasp. Those nearby enclosed the embracing pair and Kohr lost sight of them, but he felt the faintest of smiles tickle the corner of his lip.

Good, he thought to himself. An end to their story one can perhaps live with.

Kohr could not say how long he stood there, watching the shuttles and drones move about the carcass of the Viking like carrion flies. Eventually he felt a tap on his shoulder, noticed Yorba staring at him with a faint smile and an exhausted set to his shoulders. The Klingon inclined his head and the lieutenant sighed.

“I’ll say this for Commander Sigmundsson,” Yorba grumbled playfully. “The man is thorough in his questioning.”

At Kohr’s confused look, he waved the comment away. Silence filled the space between the two men; Kohr broke it sharply. “…And?”

“Much as we assumed,” Yobra shrugged. “Thorough psychological evaluations until Starfleet is convinced that we’re not under the influence of either the remnants or the antecedents… and then it’s back to work. Well, for most of us. I hear Captain Asam is considering retirement.”

The Klingon could only snort.

“I did say ‘considering’,” Yorba chuckled. “God knows that woman can’t keep her backside out of the chair. A-Anyhow, I’m heading down to the next shuttle over to the Viking. Repair teams say that atmospheric containment is stable enough for us to begin recovery efforts, assuming we want to. I have a few things I’d like to take with me to my new quarters, and I imagine you’ve got some yourself.”

Kohr gave him a flat look, and the other man barked a sheepish laugh.

“Right. Right, your quarters were, uh—”

“Destroyed?” the warrior offered.

Yorba gave another faint shrug. “You never know, sir. Kahless might smile on you.”

Kohr stared hard at the lieutenant for a good long while, blood thundering in his ears. Finally, he threw back his head and roared with bitter laughter, clapping Yorba on the shoulder so hard the poor man almost went sprawling.

“Indeed, Lieutenant! Indeed. Carry on!”
—Kohr, Executive Officer—

Lo, there do I see my father.
Lo, there do I see my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers.
Lo, there do I see the line of my people, Back to the beginning
Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them,
In the halls of Valhalla, Where the brave may live forever!

It has been an honor and a priviledge to write with a fine crew and an excellent team of creative folk. Though our time together was all too brief, the stories we shared will echo on for others to remember. May Kvasir continue to inspire you, and may Muninn remember you fondly!
—Jas—