Z.A. Mackic

The robe itched. It had never been an issue before, yet she now found herself incessantly ensnared in the confounding garment. How in the heck had she endured its scratchy clutches day in and day out? Summoned to the Bridge, a call that swiftly followed her message, as if the Imperial forces were poised for her words. Alathea pondered the peculiar role she might unwittingly play in the grand tapestry of the new emperor’s existence. She reached the Bridge just in time for Harry to spill the space beans. “We received a message on the radio, and our translator cannot translate it.” “Can we hear it?” Alathea interjected. “Sejbkajh tok!” thundered a resonant male voice through the bridge. Sounded a tad like a duke deep into the Terra project business. Perhaps because the gentleman was employing the Atreides battle lingo. She gave a nod to Chakotay, “Open up the channel on that same radio frequency, please.” Once a signal blinked from an ensign, she responded in the peculiar tongue, “Sejbkah

She engaged in an electronic page-turning marathon, scrolling through the database on her ship with the fervor of a caffeinated librarian on a mission. Her eyes darted back and forth, attempting to decode the enigmatic dance of future events. It was like reading a novel, only with more time travel and less predictable plot twists. Someone currently schmoozing with Beli was navigating these very adventures, but the details were as scarce as a Klingon’s collection of self-help books. Mother Superior Jessica had curated the information like a futuristic DJ, handpicking only the grooviest bits for the ultimate mixtape of destiny. “Captain told me about the dangers you’re facing,” Seven said as she leaned over Alathea to glance at her screens. Alathea nonchalantly shrugged. “I gave my word to the captain to keep everyone safe.” “I see. I would do the same.” “I know. It’s not surprising; we both come from such different societies, yet we have so many similarities.” Alathea grinned. “Maybe ou

The captain summoned Alathea, who found herself reluctantly stationed near the med bay doors. She stood just far enough to outwit their automatic opening mechanism. Saving the captain and keeping her word had its perks, but Alathea couldn’t shake the feeling that she had inadvertently joined the “Borg Disobedience Club,” a not-so-exclusive group. Summoning her courage, Alathea approached the med bay doors, which surrendered to her presence. Captain Janeway lay on the farthest bed, a medley of Borg components being delicately extracted by the doctor. Chakotay, the dutiful sidekick, stood by her side, ready for whatever absurdity the universe had cooked up this time. “Chakotay told me you contacted the Empire,” the captain stated, raising a curious eyebrow. Alathea nodded. “Yes.” “Did you find anything we could use as payment for the Empire’s services?” “Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a couple of goodies up my sleeve. First, we could offer the innovative technology of my dinky little ship as p