Lt Zenno - A Whisper of Echoes, Part I

[Cobalt Penumbra]

((Corridor, Deck 8, Main Module, Deep Space 33))

Zenno and Torado were making a dynamic approach down the corridor. The passageway was clear, and Zenno was glad of it since he was pondering what had just happened.

In school, every Bolian child had to memorize the Lays of Zemnsuirahh, usually the verses about the Sea of Linmos, written by Xott the Merciful. His name was a jest of course. The most vicious and successful of all the ancients, he had subdued many clans and unified the known world for the first time, but through conquest. There were very few notable Generals, Warlords, and Despots in the history of the planet, and even fewer who were poets. But Xott had been both and he had pursued each with a ferocious intensity.

There were always a few of the Lays that many a young adult would find herself reading, staying up late, and discussing with whoever was on hand until the wee hours. The Lay of Izos, (Zemnsuirah Izos, 9:1-45) was notorious for this. Teens, young adults, and many a grown and educated Bolian had spent many hours debating what Xott had really meant to say. Or if the writings had been altered. Or if the meanings of the words had changed over time. For those who had read it, the bit they always remember is when Xott is visited by the ghosts of the dead. He speaks with them… sings… shares a verse, and some tears. The story says he parts with a piece of his soul in exchange for wisdom from his defeated enemies.

No one believes it was real. Perhaps it was Xott's regrets imposing on his thoughts. Maybe it was an exaggeration in the story to magnify his greatness. It could be that it was a warning to future generations to not do as he had done.

But Zenno had seen the souls of his dead opponents in the here and now, heard them, spoken with them, and ultimately rejected them. Not sitting at his desk in the twilight of his life, but in the moments of combat, just moments ago. Was this what Xott had seen? Or is Zenno imagining himself as some kind of inheritor? He knew he was unfit to hold Xott’s inkwell. He was no kind of scribe, much less the kind who would be sung about by children a million tides from now.

But he had seen it. The dead Tholian had taunted him, mocked him even. Two Sheliak Captains had been in his mind, telling him about his certain defeat. A third had offered regret at his early death. The Sheliak said that if he had lived, he would have kept Zenno as his fool, certain that it would amuse the others.

If he had not read Xott, he would have thought he was certainly going insane. But maybe, just perhaps, there was something. If there was something in all the mission reports, logs, records, and other various things he had read from Starfleet history, it was that there were more mysteries in the Universe than could be counted, even still, even after all this time. Latent Bolian telepathy? An imprint of psychic energy? Who could say?
But it was there. It was real, or real enough. And it was distracting. But he had no time to arbitrate this now. He and Torado had more enemies to manage, and time was short.

NT/TBC

LT Zenno

Security Chief
USS Khitomer
A240006Z13