*Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict is under copyright by Tribune Entertainment Company. The show is produced by Roddenberry/Kirshner Productions. They are used without permission. No infringement is intended.

*No spoilers.

*Authors Rating: G

*Summary: Taking place between The Crucible and the next segment which will take place in New Orleans, this is sort of an interlude. It diverges from EFC TV in that Ha'gel never sired a child. Captain Marquette is credited with destroying the probe which killed Quo'on and threatened Da'an. After 'Dimensions' I figure we all have a license for departure from the canon of the series. Future segments will parallel the series, but certain points will definitely change.

*TITLE: Salutary Interludes
*By: Ruth Colbourne
ruthc@geocities.com


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Thu'ul waited as patiently as his nervousness would allow. The embassy was the last place on Earth he wanted to be. Oh, he was pleased to once again walk inside a Taelon structure. Its hushed vibrations formed an undercurrent of serenity. He'd forgotten how beautiful was the music of these living walls. If only he weren't here to see anyone. He'd hoped to avoid Da'an altogether. That was actually incorrect; he'd hoped to avoid all of them. When one of the Synod called you to his presence, it was no frivolous matter, and inevitably the small paid the price exacted when their names were intoned by the great. Two weeks had passed with no contact. Tomorrow they would depart for a museum in New Orleans. Thu'ul had begun to hope that the North American Companion would forget him. Fate, it seemed, had plans of her own.

He glanced toward his Implant. Kane was leaning against one of the brilliantly colored walls, feet crossed. His new hat was securely resting on his shorn head. Thu'ul was pleased to see that he'd found time to replace the damaged one. The black Stetson was a part of Kane's character, at least in Thu'ul's opinion. He remembered with humor his initial plans to separate hat from Implant and was glad that he had not. While he watched Kane removed a book of human poetry from the pocket of his leather duster. It was old and worn, held together by two strands of rubber. One corner was marred by a small round hole, and some of the pages were stained a dull brown. Thu'ul had grown as accustomed to seeing it as he had the cowboy hat. Whenever Kane was granted a break he read from this book despite the fact that is CVI would have allowed him to memorize it on the first reading. It was apparently some emotional attachment between man and book. Thu'ul would one day inquire.

He turned away and wished the meeting already over. When they arrived, Sandoval met them, advising that Da'an had just received a datastream transmission. The sight of this human did nothing for Thu'ul's peace. It meant that Zo'or had most likely quit the Mother Ship and was somewhere on planet.

A disquieting thought, that.

The whisper of cloth on cloth brought his head around. His protector had straightened. Kane raised his left hand and carefully placed it against the wall. The Implant's head tilted and his eyebrows lowered.

"Are you ill, Kane?" Thu'ul approached with concern.

A shake of his head was the only reply afforded. It looked for all the universe as though the human were listening. Yet there was no sound in this corridor save for the muted harmonic of the walls. Thu'ul's eyes widened. It was not possible that this human could hear it. He stepped closer and heard a deep hum emanating from his protector's throat. Though the sound was too simple by far to properly imitate the living vibrations, it was of the correct pitch.

"Kane."

The Implant looked at him, separating himself from contact with the wall. The resonant hum ceased. Thu'ul placed a hand on his human's shoulder. "Say nothing of this. We will discuss it later." Thu'ul's voice was low, intense. Zo'or would probably want the man dissected or some such rubbish were he to find out. No. Kane protected him. He would protect Kane.

The door to Da'an's receiving room opened, and his voice beckoned, "Thank you for waiting, Companion. Please enter. Alone."

With regretful glance at his protector, Thu'ul complied.

Da'an was seated in his lavender throne. It was elevated, and provided the Taelon with a position befitting his superior station.

Thu'ul touched his chest and extended his hand in salute. He averted his eyes, in deference. "Greetings, Da'an, Companion of North America and Synod Member. I am deeply honored by our meeting."

The delicate Taelon inclined his head. "I am pleased to observe that you have suffered no injury, despite the attempt upon your life."

"Thank you for your attentiveness." Thu'ul bowed slightly. "I am, indeed, well, and gratified that the matter was so speedily resolved."

"As am I." Was that a hint of doubt in Da'an's voice? Suspicions abounded in more than one quarter, it seemed. After a moment of silence the Companion continued. "Since your assignment to the Strand Hill exhibit, Taelon Approval has risen by 3%. I congratulate you. Zo'or has recently concluded a series of meetings with President Thompson. Both are certain this trend will continue as Ma'el's artifacts continue their tour."

"I am eager to serve the interests of the Synod."

Thu'ul's careful reply did not seem to please his superior, for Da'an's eyes narrowed. "Of course." He paused several moments, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Your Implant is performing well?"

"Yes, Companion Da'an. I have no complaints." Where was this conversation going? Thu'ul watched the Synod Member through veiled eyes. There was something wan about him, as though he were ill or weak. Concern weaseled its way in to Thu'ul's mind. It was an unwelcome guest, one he could not afford to feed.

"Good." Da'an rose and slowly walked to the virtual glass.

Yes, there was something wrong. Thu'ul surrendered to his concern and curiosity. It never did any good to fight. He, like every other creature, was a slave to his nature.

Gently, deliberately he created a vacuum within his mind, a hole in the Commonality, passive, quiet, and supremely receptive. All lesser Taelons possessed this skill to one degree or other. The Great Ones hoarded information as power. Sometimes, just sometimes it would seek to fill the space created by the lowly. Ki'om had instructed him well in this art.

Da'an spoke again. "How are you adapting to repeated exposure to humans?"

There. He could hear Da'an's song. How faint it was! Easy. Do not react. Listen. Behind the melody, under the harmonic.... A vast chasm of silence.

"It was difficult at first. My research into human history ill-prepared me for the experience. Having spent much time in their company yourself, perhaps you would be willing to advise me?"

Walk lightly Thu'ul. Such silence bodes ill.

It was his opinion that small problems were always noisy. A Taelon in a fit of pique could disturb half the Commonality with his displeasure, just as a shallow brook chattered loudly of its lot. Large troubles, however, had nothing to say. They sank to the bottom of the soul. In the depths of the ocean, it was quiet and motionless.

Like a void. No. Like The Void, he realized. Da'an was preoccupied with death.

The Companion did not turn, preventing Thu'ul from reading his features. Though his voice was steady enough, there was stirring in the deep. "I fear I am ill qualified to offer such."

"Ah. Well, I suppose I will simply have to direct my questions to Zo'or. He is such a perceptive sort, and no doubt has some insight to offer."

Da'an turned then, looking at his face. Thu'ul met his eyes for the first time and knew that the Companion could see his sardonic humor. He was rewarded with the remnants of a smile from his host. "I think, Thu'ul, you are more intricate than initially you appear." With a few graceful steps, Da'an returned to his seat. "Who was your teacher?"

"Ki'om."

"He was underestimated in his lifetime." The Synod Member carefully arranged his hands on his lap.

"That has long been my opinion," Thu'ul nodded. "However, I spent much time in his company, and could be called biased."

Do not move. Stay still. Now, lower your eyes.

He weighed his next sentence for several moments. "It has been my experience that such accusations are often used to counter what would otherwise be accepted as true."

Thu'ul saw from the corner of his eye that Da'an was looking at him.

"It has been my experience also." These words seemed drawn from his senior by some external force. The Companion closed his eyes. His fingers trembled.

Do not see him. Thu'ul instructed. None of the Great would willingly display weakness to an inferior. But he could feel him. Most of Da'an seemed to dwell beyond the silence. He would not find him today. Such isolation wrenched at Thu'ul's conscience. The plans he'd made to channel a course between Da'an and Zo'or were washed away with the tide of empathy. So be it. He would pay the price. Such aloneness could not be ignored. How was it that none had seen, or had they seen and simply did not care?

"Have you visited the city of New Orleans?" Thu'ul inquired, shifting the topic.

"No." Da'an had regained his composure. "I have heard that it is an unusual city, however."

"As have I." He would regret this. It was not his place; it was not his problem. "Would you care to visit it, Companion Da'an? I am certain that the Taelon Approval Rating would gain significantly if you would grace it with your presence." He eyed his host covertly. "I had thought to invite Zo'or, but he has been so excessively busy of late that I have not had a chance."

Another half-smile, and a hesitation.

"But," Thu'ul continued. "You have not yet named a new protector. I will understand if you refer to decline."

From within the abyss came a distant wail. A keening so painful that Thu'ul nearly lost his passivity. He drew breath, once, twice, thrice, and calmed himself. He pretended not to see the sudden wash of blue which clouded across his superior's face. Time passed.

At length Da'an spoke once more. "It is true that I have not yet replaced Commander Boone." His control was absolute, for now. "However, I would be pleased to visit you, Thu'ul. I sense that I have far to go to gain your true measure."

Thu'ul bowed, taking from the tone of these words his dismissal. He rejoined Kane in the hallway, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to reflect upon Kane's recent revelation.

It would appear that Da'an's rumored attachment to his late human protector was not simply the creation of gossips.

What have you done, Thu'ul? Those who tread in the path of giants are crushed in their wake. You will only invoke the wrath of Zo'or by cozing up to his rival.

And what is done, is done. Let be.

Kane's hand settled against him, and Thu'ul leaned against it for an instant. This human was very like the planet on which he stood, steady, solid. All too soon, he feared they would learn if the human were as enduring as his native element.

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 This was flackin' ridiculous!

Edger Allen was awake. He had been so for over an hour. Arms cushioning his head, he'd been laying in bed listening to Shondra's soft purrs. His woman was so fine! A smile played across his lips when he looked at her peaceful slumber. She had beautiful black hair. Moving slowly lest he wake her, Allen stroked a few strands of it. She shifted slightly, giving him a better look at her sweet face. Her lips were full and very kissable. The smile on his face broadened with the memory of their love-making. A few well placed touches on her ebony skin and they could have an instant replay.

No. He sighed, then carefully exited the bed. Let her sleep. It was comforting to know that someone was resting on a night that threatened to become a Twilight Zone marathon. Pulling on his boxers, Allen padded out into Shondra's kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Shondra always kept his brand on ice. She knew what he liked, and how.

You should marry her. Here you are swigging down brew, and wondering why you just don't settle down with her. As if these are the only things you have to deal with right now.

Yeah right. Like you can't sleep because you want a beer and are afraid of commitment.

He walked to the window of her 5th floor brownstone apartment. A clock on the wall displayed the time as 4:15 am. Outside everything seemed to be asleep. Even the freakin' pigeons were dozin' for cripe's sake.

Yeah, but somebody out there is awake. Your gran told you a long time ago no one ever sleeps when no one else is sleeping, or wakes when no one else is awake. He wondered who else was staring out a window prayin' for a rest which was steady running away.

He sat, taking another pull from his beer. The past two weeks had been quiet. Thu'ul, the world's most boring Taelon, had gone to the museum every day like a good boy and been the darling of every elementary school in Greater Baltimore. Each evening the Companion had dismissed both he and Joshua Kane, keeping to his room at the Hyatt. Maybe Thu'ul talked with Kane, maybe not.

Then there was the redneck cowboy. Kane had given no outward sign of recognizing him. Of course, Kane gave no outward sign of any flackin' thing. He didn't seem to engage in conversation with anyone beyond four or five words. Instead, the Companion Agent spent his spare time reading from a book of poetry that have been replaced a long freak'in time ago. There was an inscription in the front. Allen had not quite gotten close enough to make it out. To cover he'd asked what Kane was reading.

"Poe, Edger Allen." That was the reply and he'd have sworn the Implant was inwardly laughing.

So? He'd been named after a poet. It wasn't like he'd picked it out himself. When he'd reported the exchange to Capt. Marquette, she smiled too. "I wondered if you were named after him." Yeah, he was, and he didn't even like the guy's work. Too flackin' depressing.

Marquette told him that Auger had accessed Kane's military jacket. The man was an 18 year veteran. He'd fought with the Marine Corps during the SI War as a member of Force Recon. The captain informed him that these guys were like SEALS, only they worked for the Marines. Great. He was spying on a killing machine.

This was a dangerous gig. And it was gettin' more dangerous all the time. They would leave for New Orleans tomorrow morning, and meet the exhibit down there. All his life Allen had wanted to go to that city. Not like this, though. There was no Mardi Gras waiting. He was going down there to spy, and make contact with Jean Devereau, a leader of the Resistance in that city. Doors had come up with that idea over a cup of coffee.

That's it! No more coffee him!

Allen snorted. The Liberation in New Orleans had been making strides at tapping into the Commonality - without the Taelon's realizing it. Doors wanted the technology, and did not trust the Global Link, even with Auger's expertise to securely transmit it. So guess who got tapped.

Oh yeah. And for the record Mr. Jonathan Doors, kiss my backside.

Man will you relax?! You've got to chill!

Yeah. Easier said than done.

Allen drained the last drop of his amber beverage and dropped down into one of Shondra's leather recliners. Deep inside he was afraid that Doors was gonna do something stupid. The Resistance Leader was under a lot of pressure. Boone's death at the hands of Ha'gel had removed the deepest operative they had. The Jaridian probe had killed Quo'on at Boone's funeral. Hell, if it hadn't been for Capt. Marquette the damned thing would have killed Da'an. He had to wonder why she'd intervened. There was no love lost between her and any other Taelon. Oh well, he wouldn't figure that one out tonight.

The capper for Doors was that Zo'or had been selected to lead the Synod. Allen accepted this turn of events as proof positive that God did not exist. Zo'or immediately ordered more manpower transferred to Liberation suppression. About 20% of their operatives had been arrested. It was no wonder that Doors was edgy. His back was against the wall. And so was everyone else's.

He leaned his head back against the leather cushion. It's surface was chilly against his scantily clad scalp. Well, at least Kane had lost his hair. There was some justice in the world.

Allen walked to the window again. Thu'ul and Kane had reported to the Taelon Embassy for a conference with Da'an. Apparently the North American Companion was unwilling to allow Thu'ul to leave the city without some sort of meeting. The two of them would be spending their last night at the embassy, which was how he'd gotten a night completely free. Who knew when, or even if, he would get another with Shondra.

Ah to hell with it. He set his empty bottle down on the glass-topped coffee table and went in to wake her up.

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     Zo'or stared through the virtual glass enclosing his chambers at the embassy for what seemed an eternity. The past several weeks had played out in an unexpected and unsatisfying manner. He had anticipated that elevation to leadership in the Synod would provide him with the fulfillment which had been so persistently elusive. It had not. The power was incomplete. Opposition from idiots and traitors robbed him of the respect which was rightfully his. Even the one creature in the universe he held in high esteem had become short-sighted. He had hoped the death of Boone would serve to snap Da'an out of the simpering sentimentality which had enthralled him. That, too, had failed. If anything his - he hesitated, then forced the thought - his old friend had become more a stranger than ever. Fool! Did he not understand that the breech between them would be the ruin of their race?! Were there not enemies enough? The evolutionary path followed by Taelons had rendered them incapable of open warfare, and... and other things. Zo'or shied away from those thoughts. They were too deep, too painful. He must remain focused. The Jaridians were coming, and genocide was their intent. Unless these pitiful humans could be molded into some semblance of readiness, the Taelon race would become extinct. That he would never allow, no matter the cost.

It was not only these thoughts which made rest impossible. Another's hand had been displayed. Someone had attempted to kill Thu'ul. Who was a mystery. A sneer curled his lip. No doubt that the frightened little historian suspected him. Well, let him harbor his suspicions, however idiotic they were. It no longer mattered what venom others gathered for him. Zo'or closed his eyes and tried to ease the stiffness in his hands and arms. A waste of time. In truth, the rise in Taelon Approval Rating was the only thing which had turned out as planned. Humans were so pathetically eager to approve of those who were naturally superior. A 'peoples' Taelon' was exactly what was needed to sway their shallow affections. It had gone will, until now.

While he discussed these matters with President Thompson, Da'an had brought the Companion of Strand Hill to the embassy for the night. The two of them had met behind closed doors for many minutes, not even Thu'ul's implant had attended. What had been discussed? There was no way to know. Da'an had become adept at shielding his thoughts from the Commonality, and Thu'ul seemed born with that ability.

Like yourself.

No, he corrected. You were not born with the ability, only the need of it.

It would be so easy to give way to paranoia. Sandoval had been behaving strangely since witnessing Boone's demise. His reports were detailed and seemed thorough. He'd handled the forensics and closed the case. His FBI contacts had performed all necessary autopsies and lab work. It was efficiently handled. Based upon the information, Zo'or had been authorized to move forward with Planet Earth Defense, a project creating warriors. These subjects would be proof against the Jaridians and provide a strike team against the Liberation. He should be please that the Liberation was so foolish.

Yet he was not.

Sandoval had killed the only person who could have issued information. His report, as always, as complete. He had acted to save Captain Marquette. A cruel smile touched his lips. Certainly a noble cause. But the good captain's report was slightly different. Oh it was carefully worded. It neither overtly condemned or exonerated the Implant. That was the point which held his attention. Marquette, for all her human failings, was a direct person. She let her approval and disapproval be known in the set of her mouth and the daggers in her eyes. Her report should have revealed her feelings on the matter.

That it did not gave Zo'or cause to wonder if he'd gotten the story entire from anyone, especially Sandoval, Kane and Thu'ul.

Enough.

His eyes began to follow a shadowed figure. In the gardens below his window, there was a human dancing. Zo'or narrowed his eyes. It must be Implant Kane. Sandoval was singularly boring, and no other protectors were presently quartered at the embassy. Excellent. He turned away and paced quickly toward the lift in the hall. Perhaps this human could manage enough usefulness to serve as a diversion.

The garden was lit with silvery moonlight. He supposed it was pretty in its own way, but he had never developed a love for such frivolities. Plants had their uses, and thus their place. Pleasure was not one of either. His footsteps followed the narrow path as it wound intricately through various trees, flowers and shrubs. At length he espied the human.

Its chest and feet were bare. A sheen of sweat captured the faint light reflecting it in a surrealistic manner. Zo'or paused. The human was using a long stick, whirling it rhythmically, kicking upward, turning round. There was a slow grace to its movements. The muscles of its upper body were defined in midnight shadow and flexed with contained power. Scars cris-crossed its chest and back. Da'an's pet was apparently not skillful enough to avoid injury. One would think that such a 'wise' Taelon would better select the animals used in experimentation. The bitterness of his thoughts surprised him.

Zo'or stepped forward, approaching slowly, quietly. His curiosity was piqued by this oddly ritualistic dance. He desired to learn what this human thought it was doing. He barely reached the central clearing when the human lunged in his direction. The stick in its hands came within a micron of Zo'or's head before stopping. He felt the impact of displaced air against his ear.

"Ignorant alien," he spat, and glared up at the Implant.

To his astonishment the human's lips turned upward in a slight smile. "You're rude." It spoke the words in a tone which could only be described as delighted. With that pronouncement, the human turned on heel and returned to the center of the clearing.

Zo'or blinked. No one, Taelon or human had ever reacted in this manner. Anger rushed in to fill the emptiness left by his astonishment. How dare this savage dismiss him so lightly. "I will not be ignored, Implant." His words were forced through clenched teeth.

Kane put the long pole down on one of four benches defining the perimeter and gathered up a white towel. It dried off its head and chest with a minimum of motion, then draped the material around its neck. The hair on its head was very short, and Zo'or noted the barely healed injury located above its ear. When finished, the Implant turned to face him, but said nothing.

Now that he had gained its attention, Zo'or approached. "What are you doing here," he demanded.

"Exercising."

"I could see that." This human wanted chastising. Before Zo'or could provide the tongue lashing it so richly deserved, the human spoke again.

"Kata is a fighting dance," it intoned. The baritone of its voice was not unpleasant. It did not injure his senses as did that of other aliens.

Kata. Yes, he had heard this term. Still, it was associated with what humans called the Orient. Kane was obviously of western extraction. "And you felt the need to tramp about in our gardens." His tone was withering and brittle.

"Couldn't sleep."

A simple, honest admission. When was the last time he'd heard one of those? Zo'or looked away for a moment, jarred temporarily from his fit of temper. Some part of him was mollified that another being found rest so elusive.

The human broke the peacefulness. "You too?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Care to talk?" It seemed there was no limit to this barbarian's impertinence.

"With you?" Zo'or allowed all his contempt and condescension to leak in to those two words. As if any human could ever understand his stress.

"No, with the grass." Kane's head was unbowed.

"I'm likely to get a more intelligent response." Zo'or began to walk away, but stopped when he heard the human chuckle. It was not a cruel laugh; he was well enough acquainted with those. No, this sound bubbled out with a soft sort of mirth, and made him turn back.

Kane's rugged features bore a broad grin as the human gathered up its fighting stick. It faced him, additional lights twinkling within its black orbs. When their eyes met, Zo'or was held immobile by the warmth they displayed. Thu'ul's protector bowed at the waist, then headed back to the embassy leaving Zo'or to ponder the course of their conversation.

 

 

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