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Cover TrekUnited, Uniting The Fans

Base graphic by our Forum Administrator and graphic artist extraordinaire, Derek Kessler. Layout by Paul Simpson

Publisher: Bill Schieb Editor: Kirok of L’Stok Special thanks to: Derek Kessler; Paul Simpson; SL Watson; Sci Fi Studios Magazine staff CONTACTING US


Nailed To The Masthead

There has been some serious thinking about the direction of TrekUnited after the closure of the Save Enterprise campaign. Editorial by Kirok of L’Stok

Executive: Editorial: Forum: Web:

bill@trekunited kirok@trekunited derek@trekunited tom@trekunited



Star Trek Fan Fiction Online Resources

Short summary and listing of places to go on the internet to find more fan fiction to read, to lodge your own work and ongoing projects looking writers and readers 6

Star Trek: The Forge—Prelude To War

This new Star Trek: Enterprise Virtual Season 5 tells the story that leads up to the season 5 finale, the missing years between 2156 and 2160. A time known as the Earth-Romulan War. Fiction by The Last Avian. 11

Majel Barrett Roddenberry—In Memoriam

A leave-taking for ‘The First Lady of Trek’ from her fans. Vale by Kirok of L’Stok 12

To Lose Even Thee

A troubled stranger visits the home of Sarek and is comforted by Spock's example as he mourns for the Lady Amanda with dignity. Will that calm be shattered by a secret from years past? Fiction by Robin Woodell 16

As We Are

A tableux of Christmas in the Mirror Universe where, behind the facade of the season of goodwill still allowed by the empire, a love is examined. Is the cold assassin a pale reflection of a better man in another universe? A beautiful flash fiction written and with artwork by SL Watson. 18

Going Home

A chance meeting in a San Francisco bar gives some of the new crew of the Iroquois a chance to bond before boarding … and an old man a chance to lay to rest the ghosts of his past. Fiction by Kirok of L’Stok


Hailing Frequencies Open

Hailing Frequencies Open is about bringing creative people and Star Trek fans together. Calls for submissions are posted on the TrekUnited forum in Mar, Jun, Sep and Dec. Opportunities exist for editorial staff & graphic artists to practice their craft on HFO, simply register for free on the TrekUnited forum and introduce yourself on the fan productions subforum. . COPYRIGHT This is a Star Trek fan production made available for free. The trademarks and copyrights of Star Trek lie with CBS / Paramount and no profit can be directly or indirectly made from it. Any attempt to sell, rent or otherwise make a profit from this project should be reported to the copyright owners or their licensees for their action. The individual creators of these works reserve the moral right to be identified as their author Every effort has been made to find the creator of all work in this publication, if you believ your work is shown here uncredited kindly contact us on the editorial email address website and we will rectify the situation. All other original work is licensed by TrekUnited under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. The opinions expressed in the articles in this publication represent those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of TrekUnited.

Nailed To The Masthead By Kirok of L’Stok, Editor, Hailing Frequencies Open

TrekUnited has always been a venue for action within Star Trek fandom, it was after all created as an action group to do something about the disappointment of the fans over the cancellation of Star Trek: Enterprise. With the official closure of the Save Enterprise forum this year though, we have had to have some serious thinking, primarily through Raptor’s “Positive Project” thread on the feedback forum, about who we are, what we do and where we want to go from here. I was thrust into the deep end of this discussion when I was asked to take on the job as director of publications and media. What resources did we have and how should we use them? Well, what struck me the most about the debate was that we seemed to have two major resources ... * We have technology in the form of forums that can support a wide range of entertainment and interaction ranging from the casual camaraderie of Ten Forward and the Targ & Duck through discussion forums about Trek episodes and films to creative forums and gaming threads with active RPG's and writing opportunities. This is in parallel to a website that has sophisticated distribution resources for news, video, audio and publications. * Perhaps more importantly we have people - not just membership numbers but people who care enough to get involved. From admins and moderators who give up major amounts of their free time to keep things running to members who make it a worthwhile place to be. What can we do with those resources? I had no shortage of ideas, in fact there is an endless pool of possibilities that we could move into, which is only limited by the scope of what the members want to do and what we are capable of doing. You see there's a down-side to our situation as well. I have immense respect for the TrekUnited community - I wouldn't be busting my, uh, chops if I didn't - but the majority of them don't come here to work. That's absolutely fine, that's what being a fan is all about, enjoying yourself and having fun, and the stress-free environment that we have is an asset that should be preserved at all costs. I would not be enhancing your fan experience if I asked that you use your valuable recreation time to do something you found to be a chore. So one thing we need to focus on are significant creative projects, both from TrekUnited and members, that are achievable within the commitments that members are prepared to give. Anything more would be suicide! The "Catch-22" is that our membership, in common with all fans, represent an audience that appreciates just that type of production! The "Big Projects" like the fan films animations and game mods are the type of thing that justifiably excite and impress fans. This is TrekUnited’s biggest challenge - how to be a part of the "Big Projects" without making unreal expectations our membership? Well, who said that we have to do these things all by ourselves? Our name is TrekUnited. Right from the start Tim Brazeal said that our purpose was to unite Trek fandom to actually achieve things. When I look back at the successes that we have had in the past, many of them have involved us bringing together outside individuals and groups, with us acting as a neutral ground where creative fans can interact as peers and where their audience, the world of Star Trek fandom, can see them as the community that they are.

there is an endless pool of possibilities that we could move into, which is only limited by the scope of what the members want to do

Sure, we’ve got excellent technological resources, management resources and an audience but we don’t have the expertise, talent or commitment that it takes to drive a big project ourselves. That doesn’t mean we can’t work in partnership with other fan groups to enhance their projects though. This is a trend within the fan production community itself with cooperative projects such as those between Areakt Films and Starship Intrepid and the strong interaction between Star Trek: Phase II and other groups.

Christmas 2008


Nailed To The Masthead This fanzine is an example of what I mean in that this Christmas edition of Hailing Frequencies Open has been thrown open to the wider Trek fan community. In effect, my purpose is not to create a 'zine about TrekUnited but for TrekUnited members and since it will be a free download for all to share, all Star Trek fans. As far as I'm concerned there are no "rivals" in Trek fandom. If someone from the Miskatonic University Trek fan club contributes something then they will be given every honour they deserve. If we get artwork from the Starship Latveria then we'll publicise their website, and if Victor Von Doom sends us a letter of comment about it, we'll print it! Creativity comes in many shapes and forms and on many levels. Whilst I too enjoy and respect the stars of fan productions - the ‘Big Projects’ of Phase II, Of Gods and Men and the other fine shows that have been put together - I also get a buzz out of seeing Jon Q Public, the everyday man or woman, have a go themselves! Fan productions are not just about giving us near-professional quality high-end media, it's about how much the people involved find it enjoyable and fulfilling. Take my word for it, some of the happiest fan film groups are some of the smallest, some of the people who have gained the most have been the most nervous when they started. A teenager’s first fan fiction is as much a fan production, and thus worthy of praise, as any of the larger group projects Whatever you do though, if you are a contributor, enjoy it. Don't think that there is a success or fail point in your productions because no one is keeping score. If you are a reader, sit back and enjoy! If you like what you read send some feedback via the editorial contact email. It will be my pleasure to pass it on!

STAR TREK FAN FICTION Reference Boldly Writing JM Verba’s Comprehensive history of Trek fan fiction and fanzines 1967-87

Trekiverse; FAQ Good advice on giving & taking critique

The Official Paris/Torres Collective Archive; FAQ General advice

Chilling Effects Clearinghouse; FAQ Exceptional if a little dated advise on copyright Short satires of canon

Fleetwriters New initiative for Starfleet International writers

Holodeck One Gen and het fiction for all Trek series

HopeStation Ad-free, all series, all ratings welcome.

House of Tucker Archive of Enterprise fan fiction

Fan Fiction Hubs 1001 Trek Tales Incl. Trekzine fiction from the 70s & 80s plus the Spock & Christine page

Alt.Startrek.Creative USENET's home for Star Trek fanfiction; unmoderated, all series welcome, all ratings welcome. See the FAQ & archive at

Antarian Cider and Burnt Roast LauraJo's Voyager fan fiction, mostly J/C and all PG13

Ex Astris Scientia Huge English & German fan fiction archive

FanFiction.Net Huge multi-fandom, multi-user archive site. No moderation, covers all Trek series. Also has forums.

Federation/Klingon Rapid Response Fleet



Five Minute Trek

Hailing Frequencies Open

Omega Sector showforum=27 All eras, all levels of experience welcome

SFI-writers Yahoo group for writers in Starfleet International

Spock Trek Gamin Davis' Spock, Kirok & Chapel fan fiction

ST: Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 In hiatus since midway through their 3rd season in 2007

Star Trek: Dragon Seven seasons of original fan fiction (in hiatus)

Star Trek: Elite 49 eps of original fan fiction that was the prequel to the fan film series, ST: Beyond

Star Trek: Final Frontier

ON LINE RESOURCES Five Seasons of original fan fiction

Star Trek: Phoenix-X 83 eps in four seasons plus comic strips: fan fiction with humour

Star Trek: Prometheus original fan fiction into it's second season

Star Trek: The Adventures of Argus Three novel length books by Alex Thompson

The Guardian Of Forever All series plus Original Works section, check the submission guidelines

TOSfic LiveJournal community for Original Series Fan Fiction

Trek Fics Eleven chapters, each by a different author, tying the loose threads at the end of ST Voyager

Unbound @ Seema's collection of fan fiction, all series

United Trek Ten writers with twelve series writing in a unified Trekverse

USS Renegade “This is Captain Benjamin Brown of the USS Renegade. You have entered federation space. Please identify, or we will consider this incursion an act of aggression.” The voice came through all around them. Well, voices. “We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is Futile.” The voices said. “Sir, they’ve closed the channel.” Ensign Burnes said.

USS Liberty

“Raise shields. Red Alert!” Ben said.

“Sir, they’re jamming our shields, they won’t raise.” Johnson said.

Joseph Manno's impressive body of challenging and exciting work, in hiatus during 2008.

Virtual Star Trek Long-running Script-based virtual seasons

Warp Five Complex Enterprise of all ratings incl. Three virtual seasons

Fan fiction LiveJournal community from all incarnations of Star Trek

Trek Writer's Guild

That was what Ben had been worried they might do. At that moment, he received a message “This is Lieutenant Dural.” A female voice said “Several… cybernetic beings, have just beamed aboard. Lieutenant Maldor attempted to stop them, but was injected with something by one of them.” Things seemed to be getting worse. “Understood, I’m sending a security team down now.” Ben said “Lieutenant Johnson, assemble two security teams, you will lead one, and I’m asking Lieutenant Korag to lead the other.” “But sir, Korag is a scientist. He…” Johnson began.

Long-running archive & link site


“Johnson, Korag may be a scientist, but he’s also a Klingon. You know as well as I do that means he’s stronger than most of your security forces!” Ben said. -

“Yes sir.” Johnson said, obviously not happy with having to take Korag with him “Korag, lets go.” Is this the same as TWG?


Ben is an English sixth form student handling his “A” level stress by running a forum-based RPG at index.php?act=idx and posting their adventures on the TrekUnited Fan Fiction, Art & Literature forum showforum=224 All eras, all levels of experience welcome

Twist In My Sobriety Author's collection of Voyager, J/C, NC17 fan fiction

Tying The Threads

Christmas 2008


Star Trek: The Forge—Prelude To War A Star Trek: Enterprise Virtual Season 5 by The Last Avian

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Hello All, Star Trek: The Forge <> is a fan made spin off of the TV series, Star Trek: Enterprise. The series will follow the lives of all the characters from the Enterprise series and be told in a literary prose form. Essentially they will be short stories, made available in individual episodes that are part of an overall story arc. To put this spin off in context, let's go back to the fourth and final season of Star Trek: Enterprise. Prior to the series finale episode of the series, "These Are The Voyages..." there was a two episode story arc: "Demons" and "Terra Prime." These two episodes took place in the year 2155, while the final episode, which followed right after, took place much later in the year 2161. In this series finale that took place in 2161, the Enterprise and its crew were on their way to Earth where Captain Jonathan Archer was to give a speech and oversee the signing of a treaty that would charter the Federation of Planets. Star Trek: The Forge tells the story that lead to this event, by taking place during those missing years, 2156 to 2160. A time most popularly noted as being the Earth-Romulan War. As you may imagine, much of this series will deal with the events of this war. Since there has been no canonical account of these events, at least not in detail, Star Trek: The Forge endeavors to fill that gap with an original telling of these missing years.

CHAPTER I: MEDIATION Starfleet Headquarters, March 2nd 2156 Starfleet Command, the headquarters to humanity’s final frontier. In one of the many meeting rooms of this vestige of trekking through the stars that frontier is being explored on the diplomatic level. Admirals Leonard and Gardner preside over careful negotiations conducted by Minister Samuels and Ambassador to Tandar Prime, Genal Pernat. In addition these gentlemen are the Ambassador’s aides and Captain Jonathan Archer who has been called as a mediator for these negotiations since he has personally dealt with Tandarans in the past as well as the species that appears to be the focal point of this meeting. “Ambassador Pernat, I understand your government's claim on these Suliban, but they have requested political asylum here. This situation has become far more complicated,” Minister Samuels said as he took a big swig of his cup of Tarkalean tea. Ambassador Pernat, unimpressed with the Minister’s diplomatic skills counters his point by explaining that these particular Suliban are more than likely members of the Cabal and thusly a threat to the


Hailing Frequencies Open

Tandaran government. Mr. Leonard, the always benevolent and but firm Admiral shoots down the Ambassador’s rebuttal by reminding him that besides the fact that Silik was killed and the Cabal dissolved as a result, the Suliban in question have been examined and there has been no trace of any kind of genetic enhancement. The Ambassador, seeming as though he had been waiting to reply to this statement all day delivers his answer, “The Cabal has not dissolved! Their leader may be dead but they are still in full operation.” The Ambassadors aides rise from their seats and hand pads out to Samuels, Archer and the Admirals. On these pads are extensive surveys that reveal that a large Cabal helix in operation within a gas giant near Tandaran space. The Ambassador extends his claims to include that his government also believes that these Suliban who have requested asylum are conspirators that are in league with this re-established Cabal. For a man who has earned merit for ability as a mediator in diplomatic issues of this magnitude, Archer has been somewhat silent. He’s not just holding his tongue his biting down on it unyieldingly while the Ambassador spouts out what Archer has no doubt are lies of the most disgusting kind. There is a point, however, for everyone where containment is no longer a viable option and one must say what needs to be said to defend the defenseless, to do what the most virtuous of the people do. With this sentiment in mind carts his response to Ambassador’s theory, “bullphlox! I've spoken with these Suliban. You were holding them against their will, grouping them into camps and riding their asses to death! From what I experienced in one of your detention centers, I don't find their claims hard to believe. You're trying wipe them out! There's word for people like you-” “-that’s enough Captain!” shot Admiral Gardner as he pulled Archer aside. Once completely out of auditory range of the Tandaran party Gardner has a little pep talk with Eath’s prized hero, “Now I don't know how you used to act under Admiral Forrest, but I can tell you right now that phlox will not fly with me. You were brought here as a character witness for these Suliban, provide some insight hell maybe even do a little of the mediating I heard you’re so good at. Soval tells, me you can be a good diplomat when you try, but I don't see it. Another outburst like that and I'll have you polishing the nacelles on the Phoenix at the Smithsonian. Go back in there and act like a Starfleet Captain. Go back in there and act like you represent 100 years of effort to be worthy to join an interstellar community. Do you get me?” Archer looking back at Gardner only offers the Admiral a look of juvenile defiance. In response, Gardner reiterates his question, “do you get me?!” as he shoves Archer against the wall. This brief and swift action knocks Archer back in line and Archer acknowledges Gardner’s query. Like a kid in the sandbox approaching another toddler in attempts at a parentally forced apology after a childish bout, Archer re-enters the meeting room trying to convey his sincerest apologies for his outburst. Before any apology could be completely expressed the Ambassador and his aides raised from their seats and stormed out of the room. On their way out

Christmas 2008


the Ambassador was kind enough to mention that the dispute is not closed and that Starfleet will be hearing from the Tandaran government soon.

CHAPTER II: WELCOME ABOARD Intrepid IN-01, March 2nd 2156

Gatekeeper Norwegian member, Irene Brustad is a member of the cast of Gatekeeper, a Norwegian (but English language) fan film, made in cooperation with fans from as far afield as New Zealand, Brazil and the US. Confirmed actors so far are Denise Crosby & Mark Allen Shepherd (Tasha Yar from TNG and Morn from DS9), James Cawley & Bobby Rice (ST: Phase II) to a worldfamous stuntman, a freestyle Skateboarder, an astronaut and an astronomer.

The Starfleet transport Ticonderoga. A tired old ship that’s never ventured past the solar system it was born in. One of its many tasks is unloading Starfleet personnel from ship to ship. This current unloading includes new cadets fresh from San Francisco as well as some re-assigned crewmen. Among them is an Ensign named Ethan Stiles. For most his age the proper archetype would be young and ambitious, but for this Ensign he simply strives to break the family mold. Ensign Stiles has the unfortunate advantage of being a legacy. To many this might seem a valuable resource, but to Ethan it’s more of a stigma.

The Ticonderoga makes contact with the Intrepid’s port side docking hatch. As the air lock gives out that defending exhale sound of pressurization, Ensign Stiles lets out a breath of his own as he tightly grips his luggage. A new ship is a new chance to show everyone he got where he is today on his own, and not through the aid of familial influence.

Ensign Stiles’ previous assignment was on the Nimitz, a small ship class of the same name. He served aboard that little vessel for 2 years until he earned the respect he worked so hard for. The year was 2153; Ensign Stiles was but simply crewman Stiles at the time. He worked under the supervision of the helmsmen and served as secondary during graveyard shifts and taking over prime hours only in extreme conditions. Oh boy did helmsmen, Ensign Nikitas pick the wrong day to come down with the flu. Stiles was at the helm when the Nimitz received word from the Intrepid that the Enterprise was under attack by a Klingon bird of prey. The Nimitz, Intrepid and Shenandoah intercepted the antagonizing ship and successfully sent it in retreat. The real head turner, however, was Stiles’ maneuvering skills not only did he earn a commendation but he proved to everyone that he wasn’t just a name. He didn’t get a head because he family has deep pockets; he got to where he was because he’s damn good at what he does. He made sure all the critics, a.k.a. his fellow crewmen, understood that. Ensign Stiles stepped through the airlock and set foot on the Intrepid being greeted by the armory officer, Lieutenant Commander Alisa Chowdhury. She was quick and to the point as she handed out the pads, “here is your pertinent data, it contains room assignments briefing schedules and other vital information. Please do not lose it, it will not be replaced.” Ensign Stiles could tell she was unfamiliar with this routine. It must be pretty boring, being an


Hailing Frequencies Open

armory officer aboard a ship that never leaves the solar system. She must have made a career out of polishing the shells of torpedoes. Later that evening, as Stiles logged his first entry as Ensign, he began to reflect on his time on the Nimitz and realized he can’t wait for a moment to fall into his lap where he prove his worth. There isn’t much opportunity, however, to prove one’s self other than the chance of an extraordinary situation like that had befallen him in 2153. The Ensign decided it would be best to try and tough it out for a few years and hope some chance comes along. He could never have imagined he’d only have to wait more like 24 hours for that chance.

CHAPTER III: BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH Romulan Senate Floor, Romulus March 2nd 2156 The embodiment of failure stands before the entire senate and the praetor in the form of three individuals: Talok, V'las and Vrax. A year ago Talok and former Vulcan High Command Administrator V'las were associates in a plan to reunify the peoples of Vulcan and Romulus. Their plan failed fantastically with the dismissal of V'las from the High Command and the installment of a brand new Vulcan regime that does not reflect the interests of Romulus on any level. Senator Vrax, who still maintains his position as such, worked with a Romulan named Valdore who had a project with intent to destabilize relations between several different species. This too failed miserably. Now these three stooges stand before Praetor Galbalt and his distinguished senate with a proposition of war against the Vulcans, Humans, Andorians and Tellarites. "Excuse me Senator, but I believe the points on your ears have grown dull! What could we possibly gain from this?" An outburst from Senator Crachal, a man who believes his feelings reflect those felt by all, so he insists on speaking loud and proud when he orates. Despite this insult, Vrax responds with much confidence while his due stands proudly beside him, "if they have grown in any way, my deal Crachal, they have grown more sound. We all understand the cost and the risk of war, but guile is proving to be an ineffective measure against these humans. In addition to this, the new Vulcan regime will never submit to a reunification, we must seize the planet by force! And as for the Andorians and the Tellarites…" Vrax is interrupted with a rebuttal from Senator Haligal. "This new regime, you speak of would not have even achieved inception if it weren't for the foiled plot by your associates." V'las bites down on his tongue to subdue his uncontrollable urge to retaliate to that remark as Talok does the same by pressing down on his holstered weapon instead of pulling up. Vrax has not run out of ammunition yet, however, as he replies; "The plot was foiled with the aid of the humans as was Valdore's campaign. These humans are a dangerous species; they could very well prevent our empire from expanding. They confound us by stopping our plots because their facility for deception matches our own. There is another avenue where they cannot match us. This is in military strength. Their fleet is pathetically small, victory would be assured; we can only profit from this course of action."

Christmas 2008


There is a wave of murmuring from the senate as the praetor rises from his chair. Before the praetor could even completely stand up, everyone is at attention awaiting the insight of the great praetor and those closest to him assist in his effort to stand tall. Serving as praetor from 97 years would take a toll on anyone's body.

What motivation do you offer for the Romulan people that would make me choose to send countless Romulan citizens to their death on the battlefield?

The praetor's aide announces the praetor's impending speech, loudly and true as the Metatron to God. As promised by his aide, the praetor speaks, "I have served as your king, your guide, your fatherâ&#x20AC;Śyour praetor for nearly half of my life. I tell you this, because I am not long for this world. My soul be dammed if I make a decision in my last days that sets a trend toward the downfall of our great society. I ask you Vrax, my subject, my subject my most esteemed senatorâ&#x20AC;Śwhat greater precedence do you have for a war that can either save or destroy our empire? What motivation do you offer for the Romulan people that would make me choose to send countless Romulan citizens to their death on the battlefield? What will they be dying for?" A profound silence had been cast over the senate hall from the moment the praetor opened his mouth. That silence has continued until Vrax's reply, "I have good cause for war and good cause for our people, but I believe that there is another man that can properly explain this cause."

Gelt Talks!

Always remember Rule #1 -

Once you have their money, you never give it back ... unless they have a good lawyer! In which case Rule #243 operates, the

more good will you can generate, the longer your customers stay. Member Noel Green gives us a look at life from the Ferengi side at


Vrax motions to a centurion standing by the door of the senate floor to approach the senate. The centurion is holding in his hand, a three-foot by four-foot tablet, which he places on the floor. The tablet is metallic and has a white semi-opaque disc sitting atop it. It looks like a kind of portable transporter device. Vrax kneels down to activate it. Upon activation there is a bright blinding light, the entire contents of the senate hall shields their eyes. After a second the light subsides and a less intense beam of light is concentrated over the semi-opaque disc standing about the height of a humanoid and the silhouette of one begins to form at the light's center. At this point, the image would be familiar to a Cabal member as their leader from the future. This silhouette, however, is not stagnant. The silhouette steps out from the light and takes on full form. He appears to be a Romulan in typical 23rd century dress. The silence, which the praetor had originally birthed, has once again been restored as the tablet deactivates and this man stands before the senate.

Hailing Frequencies Open

Majel Barrett Roddenberry—In Memoriam By Kirok of L’Stok, Director of Publications and Media, TrekUnited I have written many things but this is my first obituary and I find myself faced with a quandary. Should I keep it to the bare facts of her biography? Born Majel Leigh Hudec in 1932, in Columbus, Ohio, married in Japan in 1969 to Gene Roddenberry and the mother of Eugene Wesley "Rod" Roddenberry, Jr, she passed away on December 18, 2008, at her home in Bel-Air, Los Angeles as a result of complications from leukemia at the age of 76. These facts are important, they give us a framework within which we can place the individual, but what do they tell us about her as an individual? There are a number of good sources of information about Majel, if I may be so bold as to place myself on first name terms with her, IMDB,, Memory Alpha and Wikipedia for example and as I’ve studied them they’ve brought to light many snippets of information that cast a new light on this lady that I, as a fan, thought I knew. For example I find it interesting that, although she had shown an interest in the theatre since ten, she made the "sensible" decision of studying to be a legal clerk only to get a failing mark in her first year and take up the theatre full-time. The idea of such a vivacious woman as a clerk is ... unthinkable! Preposterous! It almost sounds like the plot of a musical comedy in itself! It came as no surprise though that, after a short stint in Paramount films in the 50's, she would recognise TV as "the next big thing". She was a canny businesswoman, steering her own career and later Lincoln Enterprises, the mail order business that she and Gene started for Star Trek-related materials. After Gene's death in 1991, she showed this again when she took on the role of executive producer of two of his concepts, Earth: Final Conflict (in which she also played the character Dr. Julianne Belman), and Andromeda. However it is as an actress that she will primarily be known and her list of credits shows a wide range of roles. It was of particular interest to me that the great Lucille Ball was one of her creative influences when she worked for Desilu studios. Majel's role as Lwaxana Troi in Star Trek: The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine is, to my mind, one of the shining examples of comedy in Star Trek. Life however is not a collection of simple facts. To describe the role of Lwaxana as comic relief would be simplistic to the point of insult. Majel was given a complex part to deliver for the elder Troi was a woman with depth and undercurrents to her psyche. Who can forget the pathos her unrequited grief in Dark Page or the way she shows her own vulnerability to Odo in The Forsaken? It was the same with all the parts that she made uniquely her own. Whether it was as Number One, the second in command of the Enterprise in the first, unsuccessful pilot of Star Trek, The Cage or as nurse Christine Chapel, one of the regular supporting cast of the Original Series, she had a strength of character that shone through to her audience. Facts can give us the base knowledge of a person's life and achievements but is the measure of a person the sum total of their achievements during their lifetime? There are some people whose lives will keep on influencing us for years to come. Majel Barrett-Roddenberry is one such person. Her performances and support of her fans are a major, integral part of what has made Star Trek the phenomenon that it is. Her work is immortal in that beauty and talent will always be timeless. The lady has left the stage and we are the poorer for there can be no new appearances. Luckily though, return engagements are possible through the magic of celluloid and digital memory so that generations to come can enjoy the pleasure of her company.

Christmas 2008


To Lose Even Thee by Robin Woodell, USS Aurora Vulcanus, R3, Starfleet International

A tall Terran male clad in a dark brown suit slowly walked through the city of ShiKhar. Vulcan’s midday sun blazed down through the clear red sky, parching the land, while a slight breeze stirred the dust into small clouds. The fair-haired man paused before an archaic Vulcan home. Carefully, he touched the inscribed plate on the door. The door opened and the young man stepped inside. Mr. Spock led him into the cool, spacious living room. “I do not wish to intrude upon your period of mourning, but I was concerned about Sarek and have come to pay my respects,” he stated with a deep, warm voice. “My father is resting; the memorial service for my mother has exhausted him,” reported Spock in a quiet voice. Sarek walked into the living room. He looked much older and very fragile. The lines of sorrow etched deep in his weathered face. “Dr. Alexis, I’m honored by your visit.” “Sorel was concerned that you might forget to take your medication. His schedule did not allow him to make this call,” admitted the young doctor, as he looked out from under his unusually long blonde bangs. The tell-tale end of a blue ribbon, which bound his long hair back, pecked over his right shoulder, as he stood there with his head bowed. Sarek’s attention was instantly drawn to the remains of dust, which clung to the doctor’s suit and covered his boots. “Dr. Alexis, did you walk the entire distance from the medical center?” “It was an enjoyable walk,” replied the young man with a guilty look on his face. His blue shirt accentuated the crystalline color of his expressive blue eyes. “Did the healer not warn you about such activities?” questioned Sarek. “Sorel has instructed me as to the consequences of such activities,” he said in a soft voice of an admonished child. Spock observed the doctor closely, as he walked out of the room with Sarek. Never before had Spock encountered a human who, after walking in the heat of the Vulcan midday, was not soaked with perspiration. In fact, Terrans usually dressed in light-weight clothing, but Dr. Alexis wore a suit made of rich heavy fabric. Once in Sarek’s private study the doctor took his medical readings. “Sorel was concerned that you might begin to show some imbalances after Amanda’s death. I am pleased that all remains well.” He put the scanner away and stepped away from Sarek.


Hailing Frequencies Open

“Dr. Alexis, allow me to congratulate you on your adjustment to our way of life. You have done very well in adopting Vulcan mannerisms. However, I do not believe Sorel would have sent you to care for me when your own physical condition is so rapidly deteriorating….” “No, he did not, but I had to see you…one last time,” Alexis blurted out, fighting to control his emotions. “Yes, Sorel told me about your disease and of its painful end. I am amazed that you have come here at all. How can I help you?” Sarek’s voice carried waves of concern and compassion in its softness. Alexis stared at the rug on the floor while shielding his eyes with his right hand, embarrassed by the tears he could not control. Sarek moved to his side and placed a gentle hand on the broad shoulder. “Do not be ashamed of your tears. Vulcans also cry, in private, when lives are taken early or needlessly.” “I am all alone,” he whispered, his voice tight with sorrow. “I needed to talk with someone who is wise and understands these things…I am afraid of dying….” He couldn’t continue and fought for some control. “Perhaps Spock can help you; he has much experience in such matters. Compose yourself and then seek him out. Within him lies the key you seek, but obtaining it will be difficult.” When Alexis had regained his control and replaced the stoic mask he walked back into the living room and briefed Spock regarding Sarek’s health. His obvious mission accomplished the doctored turned as if to leave. Half way to the door he turned around. “Could I speak with you about a personal matter?” His voice was quiet and apprehensive as he stared at the floor. “Of course, Dr. Alexis,” Spock gestured for the young man to sit down. “I know you have consciously chosen to be Vulcan, but how did you manage to purge yourself of all emotions? You are always so calm and at peace,” he blushed at his last comment. “You are mistaken, Doctor, I still have my human emotions. However, after many years of meditation and study I have learned to accept them and I control their influence. Humans assume that Vulcans are devoid of emotion, and as a youth I also believed that assumption. Vulcans have very strong, deep-seated emotions, and it is through logic that we control their influence on our lives.” Alexis took in every word and committed them to memory while he studied Spock’s face. In the lean face he saw the marks of lives lived and the depth of his voice echoed the wisdom of the ages. “Is it idle curiosity, Doctor, or are you troubled by something deep within yourself?” Spock studied the human before him still amazed that he could travel by foot in the heat of the

Christmas 2008


midday sun and still remain so pale. He noted the confusion and fear visible in those remarkable blue eyes. “I assure you, it is not idle curiosity,” Alexis reached up and untied the ribbon. His long blonde hair fell softly about his shoulders, allowing the delicate pointed tips of his ears to poke through. With one hand he brushed his bangs away to reveal his slanted eyebrows. “I am also a hybrid, but unlike you, I am still at war with myself,” his voice full of despair. Spock sat in total surprise. “My compliments to you on your emotional reserve, I seem to have been incorrect in my assumption that you were a human.” “That is precisely how my mother expected everyone to react. For years we hid the evidence of my mixed parentage, hid it so well that now very few know of my true appearance. Mother told me that my father came from this city and that he was a great man. Once when I was a small boy, she told me that the powers of the universe made it impossible for him to be with us and that I was all he could ever give to her.” Alexis looked up and studied the portrait above the sofa, the one of a little Spock sitting on Amanda’s lap. “My mother died many years ago, but lately I have experienced a great need to know about my Vulcan heritage. I had hoped that this new knowledge would bring me some peace, but it has not.” Alexis met Spock’s gaze. “Ours is not an easy life, Doctor. The war you wage within yourself will not end until you find your true path in life. If being raised a human has created difficulty, then perhaps the Vulcan way is the answer, but you will need time and patience to learn our methods,” Spock explained, watching his words strike a cord deep in the young man’s heart. Disappointment crossed the doctor’s face as he struggled for the words. “Time is something I no longer have. My death is close at hand and I do not know how to stop the fear….” Shock registered on Spock’s face as he peered into the troubled eyes. In those blue eyes he saw something familiar which he could not put a name to. “The fear of death is illogical. Death is an all-consuming peace, a place in which there is no pain or suffering. It is an extremely personal experience which I cannot adequately express in simple terms. How much time does Sorel estimate is left?” he asked in a soft, compassionate voice. Alexis looked away, struggling to contain his tears, “Two or three days if the progress of the disease continues at its present rate.” Spock got up from the rocking chair and sat down on the sofa next to Alexis. “Would you consent to my touching your mind? There will be no pain from the contact and I believe you will come to understand what I speak of.” The doctor nodded as a tear escaped and ran down his cheek. Spock reached up and gently touched the pale face, slipping into the man’s mind. He was shocked by the tremendous pain caused by the disease. But what truly disturbed him was the amount of fear that seemed to run rampant like a banshee through the depths of this man’s mind. Spock found a rock to stand on and then reached out to the fear, banishing it, as a knight would banish a


Hailing Frequencies Open

dragon. He then filled Alexis with a beautiful glimpse of what his death would be like, and before he departed, Spock severed a few of the key pain receptors. In a matter of minutes, peace registered on the doctorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face. He smiled broadly and took a deep cleansing breath. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Thank you, Spock, Sarek was right about you.â&#x20AC;? As Alexis rose to leave, he swayed and Spock reached out to steady him. He accompanied him to the doorway, still grasping the frail arm. Spock opened the door while Alexis tied his hair back into place covering his secrets. He stepped out into the sun. â&#x20AC;&#x153;May I know your full Terran name? I would be honored to mourn your passing.â&#x20AC;? Spockâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice was colored with compassion and regret that such a young life would end so soon. The doctor turned his head and looked into the warm brown eyes. â&#x20AC;&#x153;My mother, Leila, named me Alexis Ivan Kalomi.â&#x20AC;? He turned and set off into the sunny afternoon. Spock stood there, stunned, as the door closed. The spores of Omicron Ceti III had set him free, enabling him to express his love for the beautiful Leila Kalomi. And now all he had left were the bittersweet memories of a golden girl and a glimpse of the golden son he would never be allowed to knowâ&#x20AC;Ś. Spock sank down to his knees as unshed tears filled his eyes and the painful regrets of his past tore at his heart. To lose his mother, his true love, and his only son was too much for even Spock to bear.

L  G    A  A  

S " M W  M D  A M D   M E!


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â&#x20AC;&#x153;THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE FUGLYâ&#x20AC;? Don't miss the latest from the Blue parrot Theatre, "BigMorn's Orion Dance contest" and remember to click on all the hyperlinked text

Christmas 2008


  +  , â&#x20AC;&#x2122;   M U P , DTI S!+ A"  P + P+ R+ â&#x20AC;Ś

C!  K! K+   ISS H â&#x20AC;&#x2122; G   XHOG S,!+ P  R


As We Are Written by S L Watson

For life was made for loving, and love alone repays, As passing years are proving for all of Timeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sad ways. There lies a sting in pleasure, And fame gives shallow measure, And wealth is but a phantom that mocks the restless days, For life was made for loving, and only loving pays. -Ella Wheeler Wilcox; Christmas Fancies

I know we came from here, long ago. My family, I mean; I know that somewhere back a number of generations, we lived and worked in this city. Of course, I don't know much more than that. I don't know what they did, those ancestors of mine, or why they left here. I don't even know their names. But still, it seemed somehow apt to me to come here on Christmas Eve. I would have taken him to where his family originally came from, before they took to the stars, before they became rebels and gypsies of a sort, but I don't even know where that would be. In lieu of returning him to ancestral ground, I can only take him to visit mine. It's a beautiful city. We sit in a restaurant built into the side of a mountain, and we can see the downtown rising above the rivers and bridges. And lights everywhere; lights in buildings, lights on the bridges, lights reflecting off of water, before they fade into the falling snow like ghosts. We don't say anything. I don't even chatter at him. Often I can run a good one-sided conversation, even knowing I won't be answered, but not tonight. Tonight, silence reigns. Maybe my own melancholy, maybe out of deference to the date and place, maybe just because I'm not sure what to say. What can I say, on Christmas Eve? If there is some higher power, then I'm certain that power abandoned us long ago, or we abandoned it. The results are the same. A world where Christmas is merely a time for merry-making in the Empire, and where religion in general has long since been controlled by the government. Government churches, government ministers, government everything. Enough apparent freedom of religion to give the population an outlet of faith; the reality of faith long since lost. I have none, for any higher power. My faith is here. In myself. In him. In the snow outside, and the lights that become ghosts fading off into it. In the certain knowledge, little as I have of it, that I'm in a city my family had once come from centuries before with someone who has no ancestral ground of his own. My faith is in that I love him, and I think that is enough for now. The restaurant is quiet. Most of the city is; it's that late, late enough that we're the last customers here, late enough that most people headed home. It's quiet everywhere, but especially here in this beautiful place where even a glass of water costs quite a bit.


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The waitress comes over; across the table, he looks at her sidelong without turning his head, and I know him well enough to know that she could live or die within five seconds or less once she steps inside of his strike range. Of course, she's just a waitress and not a threat. And, of course, if there is no threat, the assassin doesn't act. I order hot chocolate. It's a whim, and I don't even try to resist the impulse. "The weather begs for it," I tell the waitress, with a smile I only half-way feel. She agrees, with a smile that almost makes it to her eyes. He orders tea, ever quiet. I've never heard him raise his voice in this lifetime, and most of the time, it's like the whisper of the snow hitting the ground softly outside. Cold, yeah. But beautiful. Inevitably, I remember the voice he once had in his last life, that dead kid who I only saw as a ghost, and the warmth and love there. If Christmas within the Empire has become little more than trappings and worn-out ritual, I can only wonder how it would have been in his past life. With his Jenna. With those children. I imagine that they had little, and felt a lot, if they'd gotten to celebrate it together. I close my eyes and I try to picture that boy, back then; I wonder what his eyes would look like if there was fire in them, instead of ice. What his voice would sound like, warm instead of cold. I can only conclude that, higher power or no, that life had been gifted with grace. He's still the man when I open them again; the assassin, the master engineer. But really, I can't regret that. As selfish as it is, in this moment, I can't regret that he is here with me. We drink in silence; the smell of hot chocolate mingling some with the cinnamon from his tea, looking out over the city of bridges and rivers and lights that fade off to become ghosts. I feel my ghosts, and remember his ghost. But we're here now, as we are. If there is some higher power, then I'm certain that power abandoned us long ago, or we abandoned it. But I have faith in this moment; him, watching the snow falling on the city, sipping on his tea. And I can only conclude that even in this life, there are moments gifted with grace.

Christmas 2008


Going Home by Kirok of L'Stok

It was a chilly Christmas Eve and Fishermans Wharf was uncrowded for a change. Too early for the few office workers to be on their way home and too late for the lunchtime crowd thought the bar manager. Today his small restaurant/bar tucked away in the corner of San Franciscos’ famous Cannery was sparsely patronised. A group of German tourists, a business lunch and, at a table against one wall, a young Starfleet Lt Junior Grade, the pips still shiny on his collar, his head stuck in the PADD that he was studying. The bar tender looked up as two young Starfleet technicians walked in laughing. Hmm… been drinking but still ok he judged, giving them his best smile of hospitality. “Good afternoon gentlemen, what will it be?” The taller and thinner of the pair rapped the bar with his knuckles. “Romulan Ale, mah man … an’ if y’ haven’t any of that we’ll have a couple of the local brew!” His blonde crew cut and drawl screamed ‘Corn belt’ The Bar tender smiled back knowing full well that if he did give them any of the contraband liquour he kept for his trusted regulars he’d probably blow the back of their heads off. “Two of the best coming up.” Perhaps things might liven up after all he thought as he drew the two beers The second technician, shorter by ten centimetres and with carrot red hair, punched his pal in the arm. “Man, this is quiet! What are we going to do until the clubs open?” As one they turned and scanned the bar looking for ‘targets of opportunity’ … no ladies, nobody they knew, not even anyone on the two pool tables at the back of the bar. The taller of the two - obviously the more outgoing of the pair – tipped a wink to his friend, “Follow mah lead” he said and picking up his beer he threaded his way through the tables. “Lieutenant, mind if we join you?” Now that the Dominion War was over, StarFleet was returning to its more democratic roots where the division between officers and enlisted ranks was not as deep. The fact that they were all basically the same age gave the three young men a common denominator. “Uh, um … no. I mean, sure, sit down.” The curly head of the young officer bobbed up and, taken by surprise he stammered a little. All he really wanted was some quiet time to memorise the control schematics of his new posting but there was no tactful way of saying no. “Phil Penovski, sir” The talkative blond offered his hand and with the other waved at his friend”… and this torch-head over here is Kevin Mayhew” The taller of the two who had identified himself as Penovski dropped into one of the chairs and looked nonchalantly around. “Pretty slow, huh? How about a game of cards?” Young and naive he might be in many ways, but even he could see such an obvious setup coming. Reddening slightly he wondered why people seemed to think that his shyness was


Hailing Frequencies Open

simplicity. He had been faced with situations like this all through school and Academy. Now he was going to have to back out of the situation, why couldn’t people leave him alone! “Cards, eh? Is this a private game, boys, or can anyone join in?” Unnoticed by the trio in the corner of the bar, a blonde giant in casual clothes had come up to the table. Over two metres tall with shoulders as wide as a pick-axe handle (not that anyone in this century would know where that phrase had come from) the stranger’s drawl was classic outback Australian. This time it was the turn of the two enlisted men to look uncomfortable. Their idea of a little fun at the expense of a young wet-nose fresh out of Academy had not included some interfering local who looked like he could snap them in two! Phil was the first to recover. “That all depends.” He frowned as if trying to dredge up some errant thought. “Say, don’t I know you?” The newcomer threw back his head and boomed out a laugh that rattled the SynthWood beams. “Of course you do, Phil, I was a shipmate of y’fathers, remember? How’s your sister, Nadine these days? I hear she got married.” Phils’ frown turned to a look of awe as he jumped to his feet. Grabbing the big guy by his ham-sized hand he started pumping it, all the while keeping up a running gabble. “Mister MacKinney, sir!! I haven’t seen you since Pa’s retirement! You’re looking great – you haven’t changed a bit! Y’ gotta let me buy y’ something … Barkeep!!” Turning to his astonished friend, he grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to his feet. “Sir, I’d like y’ to meet my best friend, Kevin. Kev’ this is P.O. John MacKinney.” His friends’ blank look in answer earned him a dig in the side with a none-too-gentle elbow. “The John MacKinney … of the Churchill y’ dummy!” Through all this the big guys’ good-natured grin suggested that he was used to this kind of thing. Holding up his hands he halted Phils’ tirade. “Phil, that was a long time ago, you shouldn’t make such a big fuss.” He offered his hand to the now slack-jawed Kevin. "Pleased to meet you Kevin, you keeping this young rapscallion in line? Phil <ahem> forgetting your manners? There’s an officer on deck.” Phils’ face fell as quickly as it had lit up as he turned to the young officer, blurting “Uh, Mister MacKinney I’d like you to meet … uh” Too late he had realised that he had no idea of their erstwhile targets’ name. The youth stepped forward, punching out his hand. “Kelly, Mister MacKinney, Lieutenant Kelly. An honour to meet you sir.” MacKinneys’ grin now beamed on the red-faced Lieutenant as he shook his hand with a bone crushing grip. “Lieutenant Kelly, I’ve been twenty five years with Starfleet and never been called sir by an officer yet! You fellas keep that up and I’m going to start feeling old! Call me Mac.” Turning to the bar he shouted. “George! A round a’ Synth’ here!”

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Catching the two young enlisted mens’ look of disappointment, his laugh boomed out again. “Get used to it guys, Fed ships are as dry as a dead Davidian Dingbat!” As the barkeep came up with the tray of fresh beers, MacKinney drew up a seat opposite Kelly and relaxed as he drew deeply on his tankard of nonalcoholic ale. A cloud crossed over his face “I’ve got to be truthful with you though, Phil. It’s not ‘P.O.’ any more.” Looking sobered, the younger man nodded. “Yes, si…uh, Mac. I heard you’d retired. How’s civilian life treating you?” Frowning, MacKinney stared into his beer for a second before looking up with a mischievous smile on his face. “Wouldn’t know boys, I’m back in the service again!” The two young enlisted men whooped and cheered and thumped their tankards. “I was mustered back from the Reserve when the Dominion War broke and signed on regular again at the end. So I’m Chief Petty Officer MacKinney now.” As the afternoon wore on the four shared a good time of camaraderie. Round after round of synthetic ale was bought, drunk and cleared from the table. Dinner was ordered – clam chowder and steak – to be consumed with gusto, the honour of paying the tab settled by an arm wrestling knockout. “I’ve had a great time, fellas, but at my age you need your beauty sleep!” holding up a plate sized hand to the boos and cat calls, he shouted over them. “Besides I have a new ship to report to tomorrow, the Iroquois.” Anarchy followed when they realised that they were all signed onto the same ship and, laughing, Mac left them to compare notes on their new postings, but not until he had struck a bargain with Phil and Kev to get back to barracks by curfew. In return he promised to get them into the Boom Boom Room, that legendary, exclusive nightclub on Fillmore St, for their last night Earthside. Strolling back along the waterfront in the freezing early evening, Mac stopped for a moment to contemplate the full moon reflecting on San Francisco bay. It hadn’t been too hard to find the two young ratings after recognising Phils’ name on the transporter manifest. My stars, he thought, Phil was so much like his father! Even the young officers seemed like good kids. In the dusk behind him Mac imagined the ghostly presence of memories from his past and muttered. “They kinda remind me of us on our way to the Churchill. Man that was a night! Perhaps if we had had someone to watch out for us we wouldn’t have needed to outrun those SPs.” His wistful smile melted as he realised that he was talking to men he had last seen bloody and mangled in the screaming, hissing mess of the battle bridge of the Churchill. He was overcome, as he hadn’t been for years, with emotion at the waste, the loss. “Never again.” He grunted through clenched teeth “I swear it will never happen again.” Was he talking to himself? Or was he asking forgiveness of the ghosts of his past, men and women who had been closer to him than family - the crew of the Churchill?


Hailing Frequencies Open

Hailing Frequencies Open 26 - Christmas '08  

The Official fanzine TrekUnited, as featured on Day 4 of The Twelve Trek Days of Christmas

Hailing Frequencies Open 26 - Christmas '08  

The Official fanzine TrekUnited, as featured on Day 4 of The Twelve Trek Days of Christmas