What Is A Legend?
There are many sapient humanoid species in the galaxy. They all have myths, stories, and legends. Figures shrouded in the mysterious fogs of the past, of times before any but the most primitive of records. They speak of heroes, of villains, and of things even worse than that.
But the modern, "enlightened" age has legends, too. These legends bear striking similarities to those of old; it's just that instead of riding animals they command starships, and instead of swinging bladed weapons they aim energy weapons.
Archer, Pike, and Kirk. Kor, Koloth, and Kang. Others besides, giants of the modern day, who according to some can bend suns to their will and lash monstrosities from the depths of their species collective nightmares to serve as a mount.
But what makes a legend a legend? Is it the scope of their deed? Or is it the power of their impact, regardless of how near or far their story travels? Is it the joy they inspire?
Or the fear?
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2308
Alukk, Orion Union
Warehouse District
Alukk was a rather densely-populated world, with buildings stacked on buildings, and billions of sapients sprawled across its surface. But the whole world wasn't just one giant apartment block; there were always industrial sections to places like this, and areas where things had to be stored before they were bought by the masses. Or in the case of this
particular warehouse, were bought by the more
discerning customers among the Orion Union. Those with particular tastes and needs.
For all that it was a large, imposing building, much of its security came from anonymity and blacked-out windows, meaning only a couple of guards patrolled the flat rooftop that was scattered with boxy environmental regulation equipment (had to keep the insides at just the right temperature and humidity, after all). The two of them wore mis-matched clothes that concealed armor sufficient to protect against stun-setting phasers (which, hey, that's all the cops and the commandos use these days amiright?), while holding heavy disruptor rifles. They were also bored, bored bored. The Orion man and woman were practically begging whatever deity would listen for something to-
Something scuffled on the rooftop between them. Both whirled, saw only each other, then looked down. A smooth metal disk was laying between them. Both walked over to it, one of them bending down to examine it. As he touched it, a light blue glow sprung up in the center.
"What the-"
A flash of light, their guns sparked, their comms cut out, their heads violently met each other, and they were suddenly unconscious. A shadow passed over their prone forms, leaving them trussed up and their guns in pieces, the metal disk gone. The only sign someone had been there was the metal door to the stairway swinging open in the gentle breeze.
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Inside, it was dark and quiet on the 3 above-ground floors. A few guards patrolled among the stacks of crates filled with weapons, armor, technological "gadgets", drugs (legal and illegal), goods made from protected animal species, and more. In short, the warehouse was a black-market treasure-trove. It was watched by a series of high-resolution cameras and sensors, monitored from a security room that sat next to the "main office", where all of the inventory files were.
That's odd, one of the guards isn't on his patrol path.
Wait, a sensor just went dark. And those 2 over there.
What's going on?
Shouts. Disruptor fire.
More and more sensors going dark.
The Orion woman in the security office panics and hits a button to establish lockdown. She watches as her feeds go dark in ones and twos, something overriding, dampening, or just plain destroying the sensors and cameras. All without being seen. Who, what, could, would do this? They were the Syndicate! Only those Federation fops or the insane revolutionaries came after them! Everyone else knew their place! What was-
And then she knew nothing because she was unconscious. Hands danced over the keyboard interface. Signals were sent to local law enforcement as well as Aerocommandos. Sensors and cameras turned off. The office was unlocked.
The lights went off, both in the warehouse...and the basement.
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"What moron killed the lights?"
Orion men shuffled nervously as the angry woman glared at them.
"Um. None of us, ma'am."
"I know you two didn't, I mean from upst-"
"Ma'am, I mean none of us. We lost contact with the guards upstairs. Even the security office."
The woman went quiet, her lips set in a thin line and her eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. The two men were nervous, but she was good enough at reading people to know it wasn't because they were lying. Just nervous. Afraid. No point telling them she was nervous too.
"Well, lock us down and stay here. No one who's not on your list gets in. I'm going to prep the cargo for transport."
"Yes, ma'am!"
She turned and walked over to the cages where their most precious merchandise was.
One had several scared Orion children huddled in the back corner.
Another held a scattering of other alien species, all of them dazed or hollow-eyed from pheromones, drugs, mistreatment, all of the above.
The final cage held three pretty savages, who glared at the Syndicate "officer" even as she just gave them a vicious grin. They'd break soon.
She continued on to the large computer console with multiple (currently dark) viewscreens, typing a few commands. They'd lost most of their feed, but the emergency power (keeping the cages secure) was on, and the buried hardline would keep them going long enough for her to arrange-
And then all outside communications ceased. At almost the same moment, there was a loud sound, like a small explosion, and then a scream. Then panicked disruptor fire.
She waved her hand, and the half-dozen other guards ran out into the hall and to the stairwell exit. She leaned around the corner, hand on her own Klingon-model disruptor (she rather liked the ergonomics and aesthetics), but all she saw was smoke and darkness, lit by vague green flashes and set to the soundtrack of screams and pain. Finally it stopped, and one of the guards, sans rifle, ran toward her from the smoke...
Only for something to whip out from the darkness and loop around his ankles. He fell.
"No! Oh goddess please no please no noooooo!"
He was dragged, screaming, into the darkness, where his cries simply stopped. For long moments, all was still; even the crying of the children ceased.
Then she saw 5 red eyes glowing in the dark, and she turned and ran. Her panicked breathing echoed in the too-quiet slave auction room until she got to the hidden garage with the one-person aircar, locking the door behind her. She fumbled at the controls, muttering to herself.
"What was that? No, don't panic, you're going to make it, you're free...and...clear...."
The aircar wouldn't start. Oh, and even the emergency lights were off now. It was pitch-black outside the car, and the same inside, bar a couple of dim indicator lights merrily telling her several key cables were cut. She looked down at the control panel, slamming her hand in frustration, and then looked up.
A demon from the worst hells of the galaxy leered at her from the hood of the aircar. She screamed, pulled out her pistol, and blew out the windshield firing at it. She struck air, and the far wall. The
thing hadn't been hit at all. She struggled with the flight harness, trying to unhook it, vainly hoping she could escape if she could just move.
"What is it?"
A hand grabbed the pistol, crushing it (and her trigger finger), and she screamed even louder at the pain and the terror as those terrible
eyes were just centimeters from her face.
"I'm Camasura."
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When the SSD and Aerocommandos showed up, all of the Syndicate members were tied up, disarmed, gagged, and hung (by the ropes about them) from the ceiling like sides of meat. The prisoners were milling about outside their cages but still huddled to one side in the auction room. Small storage drives were taped to the faces of the Syndicate officers on-site, with further copies taped in other convenient places in the warehouse office and auction room. To match the files already sent, anonymously, to the press and law enforcement.
None of the Union officials knew what to make of the stories of the "five-eyed demon" who'd rescued the new slaves bound for the Syndicate black market....
(Credit to
@AKuz and
@Iron Wolf for helping me get this ball rolling. I make no apologies for this being what most readers think it is. I regret nothing. My life for the Federation!)
When exactly have seen one of our EC ships intervene to stop a war without orders? Make contact, obviously. Help out, definitely. Support a diplomatic push, sure.
