Z.A. Mackic

Captain fidgeted around her office like a caffeine-drunk squirrel on a spaceship when Alathea breezed in. “You asked to see me,” Alathea stated matter-of-factly. “Yes,” the Captain replied, gesturing towards the sleek sectional in her office. “Sit.” Alathea sensed a cosmic conspiracy brewing as she settled onto the sectional, folding her arms neatly in her lap. This was undoubtedly about her relentless pursuit to hitch a ride on the upcoming mission. She waited for the captain to spill the space beans. The captain leaned against her desk, adopting a stance that screamed, “I’m in charge, but I might also break into an interpretative dance at any moment.” “We’re planning to infiltrate a Borg cube,” she declared, her eyes locking onto Alathea’s. A spark of recognition danced in Alathea’s eyes. This mission resonated with her, like a familiar tune in an alien jazz club. Freeing people from the clutches of the machine—this was her kind of gig. They practically designed her for this. Captain...

Alathea was on the bridge with the captain, watching the ship drift into the nebula. Inertia would take the ship out of it in a few hours. She glanced at the Captain, noting her expression. The captain was helping a creature that threatened her with death, damaged her ship, and endangered the whole crew.  Something Alathea never saw done in the Empire. Quite opposite in fact. A memory washed over her. It was a scene from her past, starkly contrasting to the compassionate act before her. She stood behind a Reverent Mother, focused on the twitchy guard behind the seated priest. The agreement for the meeting called for no weapons, but twitches of that guard signaled he had a hidden weapon under his left armpit.  “It is hard to believe that you hold any respect towards any deity,” Priest whined, awkwardly moving his hands.  He had something in his sleeves, most likely some dart weapons. A brief glance towards the Reverent Mother confirmed she saw the sleeves weapons. Rev...

Alathea took another step down Jeffrey’s tubes and bumped into a force field. They blocked off the entire deck 11. But the force that shook the ship caused some interesting vibrations in her. She had to see what was going on. She tapped her badge. “Captain?” Again, no answer. “Computer, where is the Captain?” “Captain is on deck 11.” Alathea raised an eyebrow, imagining the captain engaged in a lively dance party on deck 11. “Deck 11, you say? Must be quite the shindig. Is there an invitation I missed?” The computer responded with its usual lack of enthusiasm, “Negative.” “Well, that’s just rude. Someone forgot to inform me about the ship-wide soirée on deck 11. Time to crash the party!” Alathea muttered to herself, determined to investigate the mysterious festivities. She gave up on crawling through Jeffrey’s tubes and emerged in the corridor just in front of Captain and Tuvok. “That’s an unusual place for you,” the Captain said. Alathea felt her face stretch into a grin. “Nice to see...

The last sparkles from the transporter died away. Alathea blinked, looking around dazed. Seven, already approaching Icheb and his father, seemed to have the whole situation under control. Alathea, however, was in uncharted territory, and not just because she’d never used the transport before. She needed to check are all her parts there. Computers might make a mistake. “It’s time to return to Voyager,” Seven said with a tone that could rival the enthusiasm of a black hole. “I am staying here tonight,” Icheb declared as if this were the most natural thing to do in the universe. “They don’t have a regeneration unit,” Seven pointed out, her eyebrows raised like a Bene Gesserit’s archivist’s stack of paperwork. “We’re going to have to install one, eventually. Might as well do it now,” Icheb’s father added, as if discussing the installation of a regeneration unit was as casual as deciding what type of sandwich to have for lunch. Alathea’s truth sense tingled. Something was off here. She felt...

“Another cup?” Captain queried. Alathea shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.” They sat in the Captain’s ready room, a spot among the myriad chats they’d shared. The woman, surprisingly, attempted to assist her in navigating the chaos unfurling within her since stumbling upon that blasted database in her ship. “So let me recap. The presence of the database shows that Bene Gesserit intended to inform you of your continued existence and another mission.” “It’s not belief, it’s fact. That’s how Bene Gesserit rolls.” “And you believe events described in that database are exactly what will happen.”  “Yep. They plucked those snippets from the memories of our ancestors, folks who lived and breathed through those moments.” “I thought females didn’t fight in the empire.” “They don’t, usually. But the high-and-mighty nobles bring their concubines along for the ride. And wherever there’s an army marching, you’ve got a parade of women tagging along for a good time. Families pitch in too, keeping the...

Alathea eyed the imperial fighters in the Borg’s archives. They matched what she learned in history class long ago. She didn’t get why she bothered. Looking at pictures wouldn’t help her figure out what the Captain had for the Empire. The woman insisted on negotiating. The Holtzman drive’s allure was too much. But the Captain lacked what the Empire and that monster Beli desired. Alathea could read between the lines in history books. They hailed Beli as a remarkable warrior and tactician, and she admitted the man had a knack for pioneering modern warfare. The battle accounts eerily resembled conflicts thousands of years in the future. A genius, no doubt, yet Beli’s personal history had too many gaps. Especially when compared to the meticulous details about Leto, Beli’s son. When official historians couldn’t gloss over history, they just omitted parts. That suggested the man was a monster. They could tempt Beli with a ship fashioned from a distant future—Alathea’s ship, to be precise. Sh...

The resounding slap echoed through Bojan’s head, reminiscent of a fighter colliding with the inner wall of the Highliner. The sound reverberated, leaving his left ear ringing. Gingerly, he touched his left cheek, his gaze fixed on Duke’s face. To Bojan, he would forever be just a Duke—an inadequate man with the visible flaw of albinism. It was no surprise he had to mate with a genetically engineered Ghola to produce a worthy heir. “So?” Duke snarled at him. “Your Grac… Highness,” Bojan spat the word, testing his mouth with his tongue to see if the slap had left any cuts. “We could do as you ask, follow the Borg, and launch an attack. However, that won’t expedite your fiancée’s return to us. There are no records indicating her current location. We don’t know if she is currently a Borg prisoner or will become one. We must wait for the message.” Duke stood in front of Bojan, his fist clenched. His pasty white face had flushed bright red. It was interesting how easily the man blushed. Perh...

Alathea confidently walked through Voyager’s hallways in her Bene Gesserit robes, reminding everyone of her powerful background. She hadn’t worn these robes since that visit to the repressed planet, but now she felt the need to let the Voyager crew, especially the captain, know she was a fully trained Bene Gesserit Sister. Being restricted to her quarters for a month felt unfair, all because she pointed out Chakotay’s mistake. Alathea still believed they were saved by luck. Did the captain even reflect on what happened? Did she understand the importance of learning from such experiences in life? A child’s scream interrupted her thoughts, and Alathea turned to see Seven surrounded by frightened children. “No!” the oldest boy insisted. “You have to drop the shields immediately.” “She will kill us!” the terrified girl screamed. All the kids huddled behind Seven, and Alathea noticed their Borg implants. “Are those kids Borg?” “Not anymore. We rescued them,” Seven replied. “When?” “Less tha...

Alathea looked from Chakotay to Neelix. They seemed like they might come to blows. Is this why the Captain called her here? She didn’t suffer from that effect from the Memorial. She had it, but it was so easy to control as if it were just another memory from her past lives. She had worse ones. “May I say something?” Alathea asked. Captain nodded in her direction. “Go ahead,” while Chakotay and Neelix still stared at each other. “The reason I didn’t suffer as much as you guys is simple. I’ve seen atrocities. Almost in every one of my last ten lives.” “So you understand why such things should not be forgotten,” Neelix said. “Not forgotten, correct. But not relived,” she stared at Neelix. “Living through atrocity doesn’t stop it from repeating.” Alathea drew circles with her finger on the table. “Sometimes I wonder, do people end up getting ideas from previous atrocities to re-commit them?” “But you said you’ve seen atrocity!” Neelix whined. “Yes, and I’ve seen what happens after. I’ve se...