Z.A. Mackic

Alathea, with an air of exaggerated patience, crossed her arms and leveled a deadpan stare at the Doctor and the Captain. They were about to unleash their latest brainwave upon her — the miraculous solution of donating an egg cell. Because, obviously, that would solve everything.  “However, it will prevent you from making contact with him,” the Captain stated firmly. “Ah, that would be hard to do because of the Empire and its rigid stance on ‘natural conception.’ Beli will contrive a pretext to approach me, at which point he may attempt rape. Not maybe, will for sure. Any way to stop that?” “I may not thwart the act of violation, but I possess the capability to avert the possibility of conception.”Doctor said. Alathea just stood there, observing them with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Oh, of course, they will not divulge their master plan. They’ll just keep insisting that everything will magically fall into place. How much longer do they intend to keep up this charade? “Shal...

Alathea sat at the briefing room table, her gaze fixed on her hands. She was the first one there. The situation demanded discussion, but the others seemed too relaxed, unwilling to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. The door opened, and one by one, the bridge crew filtered in and took their seats. Captain Janeway was the last to arrive. “You were right. They offered exactly the same excuse you said they would,” the captain informed her. Alathea shrugged. There wasn’t much to tell. “So, now, tell me what would happen if I were to cancel our deal with the Empire?” Captain Janeway asked, her tone serious. Alathea clenched her fists. She had expected this. Of course, Janeway would try to pul back. She shook her head. “You cannot. It is too late. Beli is a monster. You’ve seen for yourself. Killing thousands just to send me a message. If you try to cancel the deal he will threaten the Earth. He will go and start killing people on the Earth. Billions will die,” she asserted firmly. “I...

She barely reached her cabin before Voyager shook and the red alert rang. Alathea’s communicator chirped. “Alathea, to the bridge,” the captain’s voice came through. She started running. The Duke must have done something. Perhaps he hit Voyager. But she didn’t hear the additional whine of damage or She barely reached her cabin before Voyager shook and the red alert rang. Alathea’s communicator chirped. “Alathea, to the bridge,” the captain’s voice came through. Alathea wasted no time, her heart pounding with urgency as she raced towards the bridge. The red alert echoed through the corridors, a stark reminder of the imminent danger. As she reached the bridge, she immediately focused on the viewscreen, which displayed the massive highliner looming over Voyager. Her eyes locked onto the captain’s, silently conveying her readiness to assist. “I need your help here,” the captain stated, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. Alathea nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. What...

The examination wrapped up in less than half an hour, and they were finally making their way to the mess hall. Neelix had truly outdone himself in decorating the room, bordering on the edge of kitsch. Alathea had instructed him to pull out all the stops, and he certainly delivered. The result was exactly what a Duke would expect—opulent and extravagant. However, after spending a year with the crew of the Voyager, Alathea found the whole spectacle to be overwhelming. She had grown accustomed to the simple decor of the Voyager, finding its soothing ambiance to be a welcome contrast to the ostentatious display before her now. Ninan settled into his seat with all the pomp and circumstance of a king on his throne, while Menthat hovered beside him like a dutiful court jester. He gestured grandly for Alathea to join him at his side, as if bestowing upon her the honor of sitting next to intergalactic royalty. Alathea complied, her expression a mix of amusement and bemusement as she found herse...

Another tear-like ship had docked with Voyager. This one, silver and less ornate than Alathea’s vessel, bore only a subtle wave motif along its sides and a distinct emblem. Encircled by stylized wood, a wolf head in profile with an opened mouth adorned the emblem—the heraldry of House Volkov, a dynasty with eyes set on the throne of tomorrow. As the Captain sauntered over to join the merry band of greeters, her face still sporting the delightful scars of Borg fashion, she and Chakotay made a valiant effort to exude the sort of grandeur that would make even the most stoic Vulcan crack a smile. Meanwhile, ensigns scrambled to roll out a red carpet, as if they were laying out a feast for interstellar royalty (which, in a way, they were). Alathea, resplendent in her Bene Gesserit ensemble, stood a hair’s breadth behind the Captain, trying not to let the rough fabric of her outfit ruin the solemnity of the occasion—or worse, give her an unexpected exfoliation session. She pondered the garme...