Fic: Red Rock Canyon Reservation 1/1 Star Trek XI
Seriously, the only betaing done is spellcheck. I will fix that when I finish the sequels.
Title: Red Rock Canyon Reservation Author: Lopaka Tanu Disclaimer: I do not own StarTrek XI. Characters: Amanda, Sarek, Vina, George Kirk, Winona Kirk. Words: 6900 Prompt: District 9 Series: The Reservation Fandom: StarTrek XI Pairing: Amanda/(unidentified)Sarek, George/Winona Rating: Teen Warnings: Language, Implied Non-Con, Violence, Protests, Sexual Content, Character Death, Imprisonment, Discrimination, Religious Babble, and Racism/Xenophobia. Summary: They came because there was no other choice. What happened was, perhaps, inevitable. Author's Note: Not your mother's fluffy Vulcans. Documentary Format, the sequels will be a mix of this and 3rd person, just like the movie. ______________________________________ Hello, Prospective Employee.
Welcome to Red Rock Canyon Reservation Inc. Ensuring the peaceful cohabitation between Vulcan and Human peoples for almost thirty years.
The following is a general overview of everything you will need to know in order to become a valuable member of our team. By choosing to join the Red Rock family, you are taking a role in deciding our future! This is an exciting opportunity not everyone can claim as their own.
Over the coming months, you will be introduced to a wide range of eye-opening experiences. You will interact with our neighbors from space. Through this, you will learn how to be a better Human Being and feel better about yourself in the process. Everything you will come to know will give you the tools you need to succeed at your goals in life.
We hope you enjoy your time with us. Everything that you know will change. That, you can believe!
~~~~~~~~~ May 8th, 1979 - Red Rock Recreation Lands.
Hearing the high-pitched squeal of Barry Gibb coming over her speakers, Amanda rolled her eyes. That man was going to hurt himself one day if he kept straining like that. Leaning forward, she twisted the knob to turn off the radio down. Now, the sounds of her engine and the wheels running over the road filled the cab.
Left alone with her thoughts, she bounced in her seat as the truck's tires hit another chuckhole. The old springs protested loudly as they dropped her lower. If she didn't get a new truck soon, her ass would be on the floorboard.
She eased the wheel slowly when the road began a shallow dip to compensate. By now, the move was almost an automatic response. There was no longer even a need to look where she was going. Even at night, it barely required a second thought.
Amanda found herself tapping the wheel in time with the song. It wasn't bad, considering it was disco and a couple years old. Still, he was the wrong Gibb. They could have the older brothers. She only had dreams of Andy. "Stayin' alive. Ha ha ha ha, stayin alive," she sang along.
Before the next chorus could begin her skin began to prickle. Hair on her arms rose up and the air felt dry. She started to frown when suddenly the lights of her truck flickered. "What the..." Her heart clenched painfully in her chest as the lights increased their brilliance. Sparks flashed from the dashboard as the bulbs in the gauges exploded. She screeched at each tiny explosion, but kept her eye on the road.
When the radio began to squeal, she winced and clenched her hands on the wheel. Whatever was happening to her truck, she knew that she had to keep control, especially on this road. With a steady hand, she managed to guide it off to the side closest to the canyon wall. The other side led to a steep embankment and death.
It wasn't a moment too soon as the engine suddenly died. Her headlights flickered one last time, then gave up the fight.
Stunned, she sat there staring out straight ahead. The knuckles of her hands began to ache from her tight grip. Over the sound ticking of the engine, she heard her own shallow breathing. Distantly, she was aware that she was going into shock. Her training kicked in and she took deep breaths to calm herself.
"All right, there has to be a logical explanation for all of this." Using the steering wheel to ground herself, she began to list in her mind everything she knew about trucks. Granted, it wasn't as much as Miller or Dusty, but she knew enough to get the truck started again. Forlornly, she stared down at her busted dashboard. Somehow she didn't think it was enough to get her out of this one.
She swallowed down the rising panic and set her mind to going over her list of supplies. As a precaution, she always carried enough provisions for a month in the desert. Her boots were in the passenger side floorboard. The stick and canteens were in the back under a tarp. Everything was ready for a hike.
Now was the best time to begin, as the morning would bring with it the heat of day. All she had to do was make herself get out and gather them together. That would be easy the moment she could pry her fingers from the steering wheel.
The irritation that had begun all this drew her attention again by increasing in pressure. Along with it came this time a deep rumbling. The entire truck began to vibrate.
Her heart began to race again as her breathing stuttered to a halt. All around the truck she heard clacking. She knew without looking that rocks were beginning to tumble down from the cliffs overhead. If this kept up, a landslide would come down, taking the road with it. It might even take her over the edge as it went.
Clenching her eyes shut, she sucked in a whimpering breath. Amanda had no wish to die, but there was nothing she could do. The entire rock face was shaking and there was no place to go.
Pebbles tinkling across her roof made her jump and scream. Grasping at the wheel, she held on tight and prayed that it would be quick. Her nightmares had included being buried alive in a landslide and no one knowing she was there.
Suddenly, a base grumbling pierced the night. Intense heat washed over the truck and made the cab feel like a sauna. She screamed as the vinyl of the seat seared her bare legs. Rocking away from it only pushed her forwards into the equally hot steering wheel. Tears ran down her cheeks as she fought to keep from panicking.
Frantically she tried to figure out what was happening. It had never happened in her lifetime, but she knew a few of the signs. She had read about it in the newspaper. It was impossible, though, there wasn't a Volcano close enough.
The base rumbling increased and gained several octaves in pitch. She heard the glass of her windshield and windows crack in several places. The vent window on the passenger side exploded with the noise of a shattering dinner plate. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the world quieted once more.
Now completely dazed, she sat there staring off at nothing. She trembled for several seconds as she tried to get her shattered thoughts together. An overwhelming sense of helplessness made her shake. Her breath hitched, punctuated by a tiny sob. Nothing made sense to her. What the hell just happened? She wanted to ask it aloud, but her voice had fled her.
The heat in the cab of the truck was quickly ebbing, but the damage was done. Her entire body felt raw, she realized. Looking down at her hands and arms she saw they were a bright red. The flash of heat had scalded her.
She made a tentative noise as she moved an arm. Pain shot up her frayed nerves ending with a gasp. Closing her eyes, she sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth. Her pained moan filled the truck.
Swallowing down another cry, she forced herself to think rationally. She was covered in first degree burns and was going to be in a lot of pain for a while. Right now, she had to focus on treating that and attempting to minimizing it. That meant getting to her first aid supplies in the back of the truck. "Yes."
Triumph filled her. She was thinking right. This was a sane action, to seek treatment. It was something she could do. She wasn't helpless!
Plan in mind, she carefully turned for the door. She stared at it first to make sure the metal wasn't too hot. The handle was a normal chrome color. Putting out a hesitant hand, she held it over the surface to detect any heat. Nothing came from it so she grabbed and pulled. Her relief was almost palpable the moment the door swung open. Twisting, she eased her body over the seat and out the door.
Then, she looked out over the canyon. Amanda froze.
Warm red lights glowing from several places, the great mass took up the entirety of the horizon. A slow breeze buffeted back where it sliced through the air as it descended. Where rocks fell against it they turned to clouds of dust. Yet, despite all this, it made no sound.
It took all Amanda had not to completely lose it. Her pain was forgotten as she stared at the object. There had to be something else going on here. She blinked several times to confirm that it wasn't a hallucination. What she saw was real!
Rocks continued to tumble down the cliff face. She heard them clacking against each other, but paid them no mind. All her attention was on the massive, sinking mountain.
More lights appeared higher up. These moved slowly back and forth in flat lines. Their flow was almost hypnotic. They drew her in and she found herself stepping out of the truck.
The moment her feet touched the ground pain flared up her legs. The shock was enough to drag her out of it. Fear made her heart clench and she fell back against the truck. What the hell was happening?
She heard another landslide, closer this time. Taking a shuddering breath, she drew up enough strength to glance away from the lights to the rocks face. Seeing the massive pile sent a shiver through her. A few feet back and she could have been...
One of the rocks moved.
Eyed wide, Amanda stopped breathing.
This one was different. It hadn't fallen down with the rest.
As the rock rose up, she felt the blood rush from her face.
It saw her.
The sound of her own breathing was the only thing she could hear. It was as if someone had covered her ears. Deep and rhythmic, she listened for a while.
She was at peace. There was pain, it hurt and she wanted to cry out. Yet, she managed to keep her mind floating free from it all. It was just for a little while longer. Then, despite her best efforts, she felt herself sinking.
Everything grew so heavy that it dragged her down. Her body weighed so much that it was difficult to breathe. Sucking in a hitching, pain-filled breath, she tried not to whimper.
Amanda opened her eyes. Her cheeks were aflame, probably severely bruised. Pushed past that, she focused her thoughts. What had happened? Where was she? Why was she in so much pain?
The darkness around her revealed none of the answers she searched for. When she reached for recent memories, all she drew were fuzzy blanks. All that came were a series of feelings. First and foremost among those was terror. Stark and unrelenting, it set her heart to racing.
Swallowing, she put out a hand. All she encountered in the dark were stones. Lots of them surrounded her. On a hunch, she reached up above her face. Her chest clenched when she encountered more stones.
She was buried in them.
Biting back a whimper, she sucked in her bottom lip. Tears stung at her eyes and she closed them to block out the darkness. Given the state she found herself in and the surroundings, her mind came to the only logical conclusion. She had been buried in a landslide.
Pulse racing, she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. It would be useless, no one could hear her through the rock pile. Even if they knew where to look, it would be days before they... She cut off the thought with a breathy sob.
Her nose ached as she rubbed at her sore cheeks. Amanda had to move carefully over the bruising to her face to avoid more pain. Sniffing, she cleared her throat. With some effort, her breathing eventually evened out. It would do her no good to panic. Sure, death was imminent, but her air supply was limited.
Something grabbed her ankle.
Eyes shooting open, Amanda felt her heart about to burst from her chest. Suddenly, she realized that it was a hand. Hope blossomed in her as she tentatively reached out again. "I'm alive!"
The hand gripped her ankle tighter. It felt strange, leathery and slick at the same time, almost like reptile hide.
Confusion warred with her relief. Something tugged at her memory and it made her adrenaline spike. Before she could recall, though, the hand tugged her over the rocks. She had to brace herself as she was pulled over the stones.
After another yard, she found herself in an open chamber. All the while she bounced off the rocks. There was no more light here than had been in the tunnel. The hand dragged her another few feet before releasing her. Then, only more quiet surrounded her.
Strain as she might, Amanda found no other sounds. As far as she knew, she was once more alone. She started to question what the hell was going on. For a rescue, this sure didn't feel right. There were no lights, no calls to gauge her responses. There wasn't even someone trying to check her eyes for a concussion.
The hand returned. This time it brushed against her cheek. The touch was fleeting and only the one time.
Instinct caused her to jerk her head away. The panic was welling up again. None of this made sense. "Hello? Are you there? My name is Amanda Grayson. I'm a local school teacher."
Slightly above her and to the left came a series of clicks.
Her spine went rigid. Slowly turning, she faced the source of the sound. The dark prevented her from seeing it, but she heard movement. The sound of a plant stalk splitting preceded moisture hovering over her cheek.
It pressed against her skin and began to suck. Slurping sounds filled the chamber.
Revulsion filled her at the slimy touch. Shivering, she pushed at it to drive it away. To no avail, she smacked harder. Her hands encountered solid material, a tough, leathery surface. It was round and warm, almost like living flesh. Much to her horror, she realized that's what it was.
Something large and slimy was touching her. It was eating her! Screaming, she flailed against the creature. Her violent seizures threw her back until she hit her head.
Her entire body hurt. Curled on her side, Amanda lay on a stone floor. She stared off in to space, trying not to remember. This was all a dream. It was all just a nightmare.
None it had been real.
Closing her legs tighter, she drew them up against her body. This wasn't happening. She shivered.
The clicking sounds from the far side of the chamber grew faster. Loud footsteps indicated it was coming closer.
"No," she whispered. Drawing her knees to her chin, she tried to bury her face. Clenching her eyes shut proved fruitless as she couldn't see with them open.
This was all just a very bad dream. She would wake up soon in her own bed. It would be something she told her friends over beers in the wee hours of a Sunday morning.
The large hand encircled her leg, pulling her towards it. Him.
She knew that now. Feeling something heavy against her thigh, she began to cry hysterically.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Number 9, Pop Charts For: June 17th, 1979.
"Armadillos From Mars" by Ray Stevens.
Well I was sittin in my livin room when I heard the crash, I said 'dang it, them coyotes are back in the trash!' Grabbing my gun I went out on the porch to see, What I found out in the cans caused me to beee...afraid!
Reporter: Oh, tell us what you saw. Oh, we want to know it all!
At first I couldn't tell, but I swore it was a small bear. That was when it moved and I realized it had no hair! I fired a warning shot, you know, to give it just a little fright. and it jumped up, n'spun around out under the street light.
Reporter: Oh, tell us what did you see, oh, dear, what could it be?
Well, it had a big old shell, armor on like a giant armadillo! I thought to myself, 'as a gentlemen, should I offer a Tiparillo?' It was then that sucker stood up on two legs and looked me in the face. I realized with those big eyes that that mother was from outer space!
Reporter: Oh no, oh dear, did you hear? Oh lord, oh my, did you cry?
No! But I nearly shot it when that critter raised a clawed hand, and it formed it's fingers into a giant W with a crazy demand. It told me, "don't worry, you won't have to call the police, Cause me and my kind, we're cool, we all come in peace!"
Copyrighted. Ray Stevens.
January 22, 1980
The hum of generator trucks gave an ominous background as the camera focused in on her. Pushing at an errant string of hair, she quickly wiped it away. She then quickly wiped away a bead of perspiration from her temple. If she wasn't lucky, the heat would kill her. That is, if the damn heels on broken desert rocks didn't first.
When the Field Director gave her the signal, she smiled for the camera. The microphone came up to the right position from years of practice. As soon as the light on the camera lit up, she was ready.
"Hello, I am Vina Nordlinger, and this is Action News with Channel Ten." She took to controlled steps backwards, pulling the slack from her microphone cable with her. She gestured with her free hand to the desert around her. "Behind me is the site of the historic first contact with the alien visitors. As you no doubt know, six months ago this ship appeared above Red Rock Canyon six months ago. Ever since, though, it has remained unchanged and unmoving."
On a television screen behind the cameraman, she could see what he recorded. Much to her annoyance, the tent they were doing the set in only extended enough to cover their sensitive equipment.
The camera panned left of her to the field below. It zoomed in on the giant scaffolding tower being constructed in the center. Vina knew every square inch of it. Hell, she had been here when they first poured the foundation for it five months ago.
The Field Director indicated that she should continue her monologue.
Narrowing her eyes at him, she silently cleared her throat. "While the Army Corps of Engineers has yet to breech the outside of the alien vessel, they have made promising progress. Scientist claim that, though it is surprisingly dense, they believe it to be incredibly light weight. We have nothing quite like it on this planet. A true sign that our alien visitors have much to teach us."
She watched the camera's lens as it contracted until only the top of the scaffolding was visible. Leaning in closer, she squinted at the screen. "Ladies and gentlemen, I believe something is happening at the point of contact between the ship and the Corps machinery." A small flare up of light exploded, and then nothing. She watched breathless for another moment.
Then the director snapped his fingers at her.
Flipping him off, she muttered silently with a cock of her head. "Apparently, nothing is happening. Again." She cleared her throat loudly in to the microphone. "Earlier today, we had time to interview more people who claimed to have come into contact with these alien visitors. While their stories have unique twists to them, they all share a common theme. They all state simply, the beings come in peace and wish only to share their love with us."
Taking the microphone from her face, she rolled her eyes. "What a crock! If those people were abducted by space aliens, I'm Farrah Fawcett-Majors." She groaned. "The nut jobs are coming out of the woodwork around here." Why did this life have to happen to her? This desert sun was killing her, she had actually found a wrinkle this morning!
Smirking, the cameraman looked up long enough to give her a wink. "Uh, Vina, you're still on the air."
"Like anyone is watching. We've been here everyday for six months. The only alien thing we've seen are Mexicans heading north for Las Vegas." Coiling up the cord on her microphone, she handed it over to one of the audio guys. She didn't care who. "Call me if something interesting happens, like a bird taking a shit on a cactus."
On the television screen, more flashes burst forth from the ship's bottom. All of them were centralized around the scaffolding.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ House Bill 1031.C.571 - Establishment of Reservation For Resident Alien Species.
Pursuant unto the cause, the establishment of a homeland for the Vulcan peoples, the following items have been granted: five thousand acres of land in the arid regions in the great State of Nevada. Set aside from the vast wilderness identified as the Mojave desert...
...established on this date, the fifth of March, in the year 1980, the Red Rock Canyon Reservation, a separate, yet incorporated entity of the United States Government. To this end, we recognize the legitimate government of the Vulcan people. They are hereby granted the privileges of nationhood and the autonomy enjoyed by other protectorates of the United States of America. Number which as followed, but not exclusively: They are granted...
...the clause involved which they agree to give up any claims to the rights of citizenship. No protection will be provided if evidence to said sedition and treachery can be identified and proven. As such, all Vulcans agree to swear fealty and pledge to provide aid in good faith to...
Signed by the following Declarants:
Sarak of Vulcan, Eyuria of Vulcan, T'Pau of Vulcan...
The video played black for a few seconds before the scenery swirled violently. It twisted back and forth as the sound of fingers rubbing against the case buzzed the microphone. Eventually it settled down into a stationary position.
The lens focused on a figure standing against a white wall. Above him hung a large, wooden crucifix. He smiled at the camera and waved quickly.
Feminine snickering echoed in the microphone. "Stop being silly and say the line."
Sticking out his tongue, he crossed his eyes. "I'm George Kirk, and I have lost my mind." The next second he snorted and dropped his chin to his chest. "Okay, okay, hold on. Let me do this right."
Her sigh over the microphone rumbled over the footage.
"All right." Clearing his throat, he stared at the camera. The lens focused on his neck and shoulders, giving him a tight profile. "My name is George Kirk, the Associate Pastor of the Riverside Protestant Church. I am about to begin a thousand mile trek to complete my missionary work."
The camera rocked a little. A woman's hand appeared in front of it, signaling that he should continue.
He gave her a long stare. "As part of my training, I am to go out into the world and spread the good word. I must educate others of our Lord's teachings and inspire them to accept him as their personal savior." Clearing his throat, he raised his chin a little. "I believe my calling is to travel to the Vulcan reservation. If they have sou...I am to teach them of our ways," he corrected with red cheeks.
With a cutting motion over his throat, he glanced to the side.
The image went dark.
The camera shook as it came on. Rumbling from passing cars echoed dully over the footage.
Appearing close to the lens, George smiled blearily. "Hi." His greasy hair sticking out at odd angles under his cap. The stubble on his cheeks gave him a grisled appearance. "Thirty hours on the road and we've barely managed to make two hundred miles. The car we were using broke down and now we are hitching a ride with a nice new age couple in their van."
Scenery flashed by as the camera was shifted. Two women with long hair and dark sunglasses waived at the lens.
"That's Beatrice and Meredyth Pike." He sighed, voice haggard with exhaustion. "They've kindly promised to let us stay with them for the next week, just until we reach the New Mexico border. God's mercy shines in incredible ways."
One of the women nodded as if his words were wise sage. Raising two fingers, she kissed the tips and waived them at the camera.
"Beatrice has taken a vow of silence. Her partner has told us that this is a cleansing for her spirit. They believe that through the silence, they might be able to hear the whispering of their own souls." He spoke with a hushed tone that the microphone barely picked up. "I believe this to be a wise spiritual exercise and may explore it myself one day."
The image made a kaleidoscope of random colors and lights before it settled down again.
Sitting cross-legged in the center of a pile of blankets, a woman held a toddler against her chest. She rocked him quietly while he stroked the round firmness of her belly. "Winona and Samuel have been an inspiration to me. They have stuck by even though our journey has so far been fraught with disaster."
Rolling her eyes, the woman put a finger to her lips. She looked down at the boy, then back to the camera. He was almost asleep in his arms.
Snickering, he turned the camera back to himself. "God bless."
The camera came on with a small fluctuation in the image quality. It's first recording was of George staring at it.
Eyes blood shot, he absently smiled at it. "Tonight is the end of the last year, and the beginning of the next. We are in New Mesa, Nevada with the Pike family."
The camera spun around to focus on several people. It bounced between them as they sat around a smoking camp fire. No faces were visible enough to make out specific individuals.
"I plan on heading south to the border in another week's time. Hopefully, I will meet my first Vulcan by this time next week." Sniffing, he rubbed at his nose. He stared off in the distance as the camera caught his profile. "It's hard to believe how much has changed in the past three weeks. I knew this would be different, but..."
A laugh rang out loud enough that the camera caught it.
George looked to it and smiled. "Samuel seems to enjoy it here. I believe I made the right decision coming out west." Rubbing at his nose again, he moved the camera until it was recording him up from under his arm. "This is going to be harder on Winona than it should be, but I've come to a decision."
The camera battery light flashed three times then went out.
The camera was bouncing as the image faded into existence. It bumped up and down from the wielder walking. At first, the only thing visible were a pair of feet in sandles and a worth dirt path. Then the camera suddenly panned up and a flat mesa came into view.
"Well, here I am, Camp Little Vulcan, Adjacent. This is the main camp of the Vulcan-Human Alliance. It's nothing official, but the locals feel it gives the place an air of legitimacy. At least it's better than the local redneck's 'Armadilla Town'."
Slowly, the camera panned over a vast field of tents. Some had been there so long their edges were buried in the orange dust. Sand in a hew of oranges, yellows, and reds, stained them from top to bottom. In the center were more stable structures made from bricks and corrugated metal. But even these had tarps patching holes.
Among the various tents and buildings people walked. The camera caught the vast array of clothing they wore in an assortment of colors. From red and orange robes, to plain white shirts and tan shorts, there was no one uniformed majority.
The man sighed with obvious pleasure. "I feel like I am coming home to these people. God is glorious in his divine guidance. I give him praise for the task he has set out before me and thank that it was me he has chosen."
The camera shut down.
The film started recording in a dimly lit room. The far wall flowed softly back and forth, indicating it was made of fabric.
Picking up the camera, George stared into the lens with a pained grin. His hair was longer, pulled back in a bandanna. Lines formed around his eyes when he frowned. "Life in the camp here is harder than I thought it would be. Every day is a precious gift from the Lord, but I sometimes wonder the wisdom of the path I have taken."
He reached up to scratch at his close-cut beard. "Two months and I have still yet to meet a Vulcan in the flesh." The man sighed in to the microphone. "Ambassador Sarek's motorcade passed by last night after the drum circle broke apart." George paused with wide eyes. "I don't know the strangest part about that last sentence."
The camera suddenly focused in on his nostrils. It recorded as they flared four times.
The shot widened and panned back until his entire face was visible.
"Winona, I am glad you are not here." He sighed again, deeper this time. "While most people here seem genuinely peaceful, there is a malevolent force among the fringe groups. Some people, mainly the bikers, make me wish I was one of the Catholics in my flock, if only to cross myself in their presence."
He snorted with a wide smile. "Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? I have a congregation of my own here. How about that, dear?" Holding his head up, he stared off for a second. "They are a motley lot, many a wayward soul, but they are honest and trustworthy in their devotion. God has seen fit to smile upon us all."
The camera lens focused on him again. This time it narrowed in on his eyes.
"One day soon, when they open the boarder again, I plan to be one of those few who can cross." George sighed for a third time. "Until then, I will tend my flock here and see that their souls remain protected."
Lights flashed in the far edge of the lens before the camera turned off.
The camera started recording heavy breathing before there was even an image.
George cleared his throat close to the microphone. "We are on our way back from the border. Despite the fact that it is an open space, there is still no way to get in."
"Keep it down! There's another one!"
Something smacked up against the microphone. For several seconds there was nothing but muffled thumping.
George appeared in the lens' field of vision a minute later. "This was our third attempt at getting past the boarder agents. Security is tighter than we were warned. They almost got Garcia. I thought he was a goner the moment that spotlight landed on him."
"George, quit talking. You're gonna to get us discovered, man!" A shaky voice out of range of the camera was harsh from being out of breath and stressed.
Hissing, George raised a hand over the lens.
A second later the camera cut out.
Bright sunlight flared and blocked out the recording. The image bounced up and down to the background noise of wind rushing against the microphone. Running footsteps could be heard over the sound of the wind.
"Something really major is going down!" George's voice was heard, but he did not appear in the footage. "In the past hour, fifteen trucks carrying national guardsmen came barreling down Hall Road. They ordinarily would have been stopped by the border fences, but the gates were swung wide open before the trucks even got there."
"Nonny's spotted about fifteen helicopters on the southern border, heading north!"
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" George's voice was no longer the excited rasp, but an awed whisper. "It's really going down. They are going to wipe them out then."
"You don't know that. It's just a stupid rumor. You know better than to trust anything those Los Diablos say." It was a woman this time.
The camera finally stopped shaking as the footsteps disappeared. When it began to focus, the image was of a long desert landscape.
High rock faces rose up in the distance across a vast, rocky plain. Scrub brush and a few succulents dotted the landscape. In the center of it all was a long dirt road. It was bisected by a large razor wire topped, cement wall.
"This is the eastern entrance to the Red Rock Canyon Reservation." George spoke in a deep voiced whisper. "Beyond that is a half mile of mine field. Then, beyond that is a dead zone where nothing but scrub brush and lizards should be living. Except," he sighed excitedly, "that's the Vulcan homeland."
"Oh, shut up. You practically get a boner every time you say that word." The woman didn't sound pleased. Her voice was closer to the microphone this time.
"Look! Something's coming through!" The man's voice was accompanied by a finger in the visual field of the camera.
The camera zoomed in on the indicated area.
A large military truck came careening through the gate. It slammed up against the supporting walls on the left side as it passed by. Speeding up the dirt road, it kicked up rocks and sand to form a hazy cloud behind it.
Two more trucks came shooting through in hot pursuit. They were joined by a jeep with armed men hanging out the sides.
"Holy mother of god." George's whispered words caused the audio to hiss.
The men hanging out of the jeep raised their weapons and began to fire on the lead truck. The sound of their bullets firing reached the microphone and echoed back.
In response, the lead truck jerked off the main road and ran across the desert plain.
"What the hell do they think they're doing?" It was the woman. "That truck's coming right for us!"
The truck's headlights flickered off and on as it bounced over the uneven terrain. There was no denying, though, that it was heading directly for the camera.
The microphone picked up a few hisses. Then the sound of a ricochet off the rocks around the camera.
"Those bastards are still firing at the truck. They're going to hit..."
The lens exploded and the image died.
Tape rolling, the first image picked up by the lens was of a burnt out crater. A man stood backdropped against it with a large microphone in his hand.
Clearing his throat, the reporter stared hard at the camera. "I am Roger Enos with Action Ten News, here live outside the Red Rock Canyon Reservation. For the past five days, this has been the site of a vicious, bloody battle between the National Guard and a rouge Vulcan faction calling themselves Romulans." As he spoke, his head moved in strong, controlled motions.
A flash of light overhead caused the feed to blank out for a moment. When the image cleared, the reporter was hunched down and his hair frizzed.
Clearing his throat, the man stood up and frowned at the camera. "As you can see, the fighting is far from over. The governor has called in a state of emergency, asking the Federal Government to step in." He took a step to the right as the camera slowly panned in that direction. "This time it began over food rationing, a constant complaint amongst our Vulcan neighbors."
Another flash caused the camera's image to fade out. The audio remained, however, and recorded a sonic boom.
"Witnesses described a scene that many locals can empathize with. The rebel faction made it clear they weren't going to tolerate the daily limits authorities overseeing the distribution had set for them. Company representatives for RRCR Inc. on the scene threatened them with illegally procured weapons. Peaceful demonstrations had led no where, frustrated they turned to violence. The Romulan Faction set upon them and quickly subdued the company representatives. The humans in the supply convoy had enough time to radio for help before they were knocked unconscious."
The image flickered twice before it came back. This time the color was distorted in the red spectrum.
"Compounding these mistakes is the overreaction by the governor. Instead of opening a dialog for negotiations, he called in a first strike team and National Guard for support." Stern voiced and stiff postured, the reporter looked down at the camera. "The first soldiers on the scene jumped out and opened fire without waiting for orders, or so we're told. One would think our military would have been better trained. Instead of a civil-rights demonstration, we got another Kent State!"
He took a moment to compose himself. "As for what happened next, you already undoubtedly know, and we mourn the loss of all those killed so far." Stretching out a hand behind him, he indicated the crater behind him. "This is all that remains of the once thriving commune of Vulcan enthusiasts."
The camera slowly panned out to reveal the size of the pit. Smoke rose up in several locations. A few smoldering remains of vehicles stuck out in the blackened landscape.
"Vulcans are a peaceful people under better circumstances. Their elders have denounced these as 'terrorist acts' and demand that the Romulans surrender immediately. So far, there has been only one response, from both sides." The reporter ducked his head at a loud boom in the distance. "For Action Ten news, I am Roger Enos. Good night."
The camera finished panning into the sky to reveal lights from explosions.
~~~~~~~~ 13/03/85 - Transcript of Senate Special Vulcan Investigations Committee, Day 23.
Ambd. Sarek: Surely must see the futility in these proceedings. It is no secret how much the Trustees of your RRCR Inc.* hold the Vulcan people in contempt.
Sen. Stevens, R-AK: Do you presume to tell us that there is...
Ambd. Sarek: Presumption means there is room for doubt. I have encountered and assembled all the proof you should require, Senator. There can be no question as to the arrogance and xenophobia among the RRCR Inc* members. We have warned of the dangers presented by allowing them to remain in a position of authority. You did not listen, yet again.
Sen. Thurmond, R-MS: I do not appreciate your tone. Need I remind you, that you happen to be addressing the United States Senate?
Ambd. Sarek: It is not I who needs reminding of their position. You seem to believe that your elected title grants you a form of Divine Autonomy that allows you to judge others without empirical evidence, yet makes you exempt from judgment in return. I find this to be a mental deviation that afflicts most Humans in positions of unchecked authority.
Grumbling from the attending audience.
Sen. Kennedy, D-MA: Please, gentlemen, can we stick to the issues at hand. A grave injustice has been committed against the Vulcan people and we should acknowledge that fact! However, that does not excuse those responsible for the atrocious violence.
Ambd. Sarek: Agreed. Appropriate action has already been taken to punish those of my people who have been involved. I am merely awaiting your reciprocal actions.
Stunned silence from all members of the committee.
Sen. Kennedy, D-MA: What do you mean exactly?
Ambd. Sarek: As I have already clearly stated, the Vulcan people are waiting for justice. I was under the impression that is why I was summoned here, to testify on behalf of my people in the tribunal of the guilty. Am I incorrect?
Sen. Goldwater, R-AZ: You are not mistaken, sir. We are indeed going to punish those found guilty. This is not that time. At this point, though, we are only investigating what happened.
Ambd. Sarek: I believe I understand.
Sen. Stevens, R-AK: Just out of sheer, morbid curiosity...What exactly did you do to those...Romulans?
Ambd. Sarek: The Romulans were a lingering infection, a putrefaction of our suffering. To allow them to continue living was not only a drain on resources, but they posed an unacceptable risk of exposure and further contamination. In answer to your question, we eliminated the threat, permanently. It was the only logical conclusion.
A full minute of stunned silence.
Sen. Goldwater, R-AZ: Are you telling us that you killed them, your own people?
Ambd. Sarek: I believe the term you prefer to use is executed, but a more reasonable one would be, exterminated. They were no longer Vulcans, merely pests, and were dealt with accordingly.
*abbreviated by transcriptionist.
THE END.............FOR NOW.
There are two sequels coming. Both are almost finished being written.