Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
Despite the occasional evidence to the contrary, Jirel had never really considered himself to be a particularly vain man.
From his troubled upbringing as an orphan on Earth, to his failed attempt to join Starfleet Academy and follow in his adoptive father’s footsteps, to his time flitting around the galaxy from odd job to odd job, and culminating in his time in charge of the Bounty, there wasn’t a lot to be vain about.
He had a big enough ego, obviously. And was more than happy to depict himself as a swashbuckling space captain if there was a crowd to show off in front of, or a woman to try to impress. But he was the first to admit that said ego wasn’t rooted in vanity, and had entirely been constructed as a defence mechanism, an act designed to cover for the fact that throughout most of his life flying through space by the seat of his pants, he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
Still, despite claiming an absence of vanity in his character, it turned out that being suddenly hailed as the saviour of an entire group of people was a pretty solid method for kindling that particular feeling inside.
He watched as the Makalite villagers danced, sang and played music in his honour, as he ate and drank from the wide selection of delicacies that had been willingly provided to him. He had been offered gifts of elaborate cloth and small jewels, and had lost count of the number of blue-skinned aliens that had approached to give him thanks or praise.
All things considered, the green shoots of vanity that were fomenting inside of him decided that he could definitely get used to all this.
Just as he settled back in his chair to watch the climax of the latest curious dancing display in the middle of the square, he was approached by the same alien that had led the group of Makalites back in the forest, the one that he had learned was called Sister Ryna.
“Oh, spotted man,” she said wistfully, an adage that the Makalites seemed entirely unwilling to drop despite Jirel having told them his actual name several times, “Is there anything more that you desire, great and merciful saviour?”
Jirel resisted the temptation to ask if the Makalites had gotten far enough into their evolutionary cycle to have invented a half-decent brandy, and tried to indulge his curiosity instead.
“Um, well, I guess you could—I mean, I’m obviously your great and merciful saviour. And that’s really, totally cool. Could not be more excited about that. But…just refresh my memory about, y’know, what that actually entails…?”
Sister Ryna was slightly perturbed by this question. He should already know that kind of thing as far as she could see. But she didn’t let her confusion show. After all, whatever the case, she was still in the presence of the spotted man.
“It is just as The Seer has told us,” she explained, “That you would come down from the stars, on your mighty skyship, and save us all.”
The Trill mulled this over as he chewed on a piece of juicy fruit, significantly tastier than whatever Natasha had inflicted on them back in the forest. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but Sister Ryna’s words were definitely feeding his vestigial sense of vanity. This led to him unlocking his pre-existing ego, and deciding that, given the circumstances, a bit of Jirel Vincent, space adventurer, wouldn't go amiss.
“Well,” he said, pulling his best swashbuckling captain smile, “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve saved the day, let me tell you—”
His ego was interrupted by the sound of a distinctly unhappy cough. He and Sister Ryna swivelled around to see Natasha and Klath glaring down at them where they sat.
Jirel felt his swashbuckling captain smile trying to make a run for it.
“Oh. Um. Hi, guys,” he managed, “Just, y’know, making friends with the natives?”
He grabbed his smile before it evacuated his face entirely and rearranged it into one more in keeping with an apologetic teenager who had just been caught breaking curfew by his parents.
“Cute,” Natasha replied, without a trace of amusement.
“Aren’t I?” Jirel shot back, his grin gaining in strength as he chomped down on another piece of fruit and accepted a top-up of green-tinged liquid from a clay jug wielded by Sister Ryna.
“You should be careful,” Klath cautioned, eyeing the Makalite woman with distrust, “The food could be poisoned.”
Sister Ryna tilted her head at the Klingon with a look of innocent confusion. “Why would we wish to poison our saviour?”
“Yeah, Klath,” Jirel retorted, taking a generous gulp of the sweet liquid, “Why would they want to do a stupid thing like that? Now will you two relax? You’re the one who wanted to take a look around, remember, Nat? And here we are. Looking around. Trust me, this is not a problem.”
Klath grunted unhappily, as Natasha rolled her eyes. She was becoming increasingly concerned by the way that the Trill seemed to be starting to ease into the role that the Makalites had created for him.
“Tell me, spotted man,” Sister Ryna continued, as she replenished his drink again, “Where is this great and mighty skyship of yours?”
Jirel took the question in his stride, wondering if that was the first time either of those words had been used to describe the Bounty, even as Natasha’s glare darkened a little more. “Oh, right,” he nodded, gesturing back towards the forest they had come from, “It’s, um, y’know, just over…yonder.”
Klath’s face scrunched up in confusion.
“Yonder?”
“I dunno,” Jirel shrugged back at the Klingon, “I’m just trying to fit in.”
Natasha suppressed another sigh and turned back to Sister Ryna, who seemed to be thoroughly elated by the news about the proximity of the skyship, regardless of the exact phrasing that had been used. Cultural contamination or not, she decided it was time to get some answers.
“Excuse me,” she said with a friendly tone, “What exactly is it that you need from the spotted man and his skyship?”
Sister Ryna looked confused again, wondering why both the spotted man, and his acolytes, seemed so unfamiliar with their roles in what was unfolding. “The Seer’s prophecy was clear,” she explained, fixing Jirel with a doting look, “The spotted man will come in his skyship, and take us all to our utopia.”
She broke eye contact with Jirel for a moment, and looked up towards the heavens, gesturing with her outstretched hands and smiling widely.
“Way up there.”
Natasha stared open-mouthed at the cheery Makalite. Jirel choked on the piece of fruit he had been in the middle of eating. Even Klath looked a little taken aback. The Trill turned and offered an altogether weaker smile at his colleagues than before, his vanity well and truly fleeing the scene of the crime entirely.
“Ok,” he admitted, “This might be a teeny, tiny bit of a problem.”
* * * * *
While the party continued in the square, The Seer watched on from the temple.
Behind him, dominating the expanse of the single room inside the metal structure, was a simple wooden table, virtually groaning under the weight of the many and various offerings to him that had come from the villagers. Jewels, gems and precious stones of all shapes and sizes had been added there over time, anything that the Makalites could find to pay their respects. Just as he had instructed.
And, with the ‘skyship’ having now arrived, The Seer had decided to forego the party, such that it was, in order to collect the riches the villagers had availed him with.
And then, just as he had been assessing some of the larger objects on the table, he had thought to pop his head outside to check that everything was progressing according to his plans. It didn’t take long for him to spot the newcomers. They didn’t exactly blend in with the blue-skinned villagers after all.
And when he saw them, his mood had instantly darkened.
He summoned up his most calming and serene expression and turned to the other two figures in the temple with arms outstretched in peaceful warmth.
Brother Falor and Brother Makan stood beside the groaning table, awaiting his words. The two Makalites had quickly become known as The Seer’s most loyal followers ever since he had arrived in the village, endlessly eager and willing to carry out the wishes of the man that was promising them so much.
They had no issues with the donated items in the temple. It was clearly important for everyone to each show their thanks for all that The Seer was doing for them.
They had never questioned The Seer whenever he had asked them to lock Sister Lyca away in the Bastille. After all, she was a heretic, one that stood against the words of his great prophecy.
And they didn’t mind being kept from the celebrations outside, even though the spotted man and the skyship was now amongst them. Especially given that The Seer had promised they would both have prime seats in the skyship for their ascent to the heavens.
They didn’t even care about the rashes on their arms. Because salvation was now at hand.
And so, they remained loyal to their all-seeing master, and they dutifully awaited whatever tasks he might have for them before they reached their utopia.
“Brother Falor, Brother Makan,” The Seer said to them in his becalmed voice, “Your Seer must, I’m afraid, furnish you with a task on this joyous day.”
“Of course, Seer,” Brother Falor replied eagerly, backed up by an enthusiastic nod from his fellow Brother, “We are happy to serve you.”
The Seer bowed his head slightly at them in respectful thanks, before shooting a glance back towards the doorway of the temple. “I need you to…keep a close eye on our guests for me. Can you do that?”
“But, oh Seer,” Brother Makan said with a note of worry, “For what purpose? This is all as your prophecy foretold.”
“Of course it is,” The Seer replied quickly, keeping his tone benign, “But you are both well aware that, on occasion, my prophecies can work in mysterious ways. And that I have always asked you to ensure that you both keep your faith, for the, um, good of the flock.”
The Brothers shared a look of confusion. It was true that, for as long as they had followed him, The Seer’s prophecies often did play out in somewhat contradictory ways.
Such as his forecast that their crops would prosper, only for the rains to fall and wash away their entire harvest. The Seer had pointed out that ground was now clear and fertile, ready for a bountiful crop to prosper next season.
Or when he had claimed that all would be well with Sister Toya’s father, days before the elder had succumbed to sleeping sickness. The Seer had clarified that all indeed was well, and that he was safely in the next realm.
So, even though The Seer now appeared to be asking them to spy on the very people that he had claimed were here to deliver them from the disease that was blighting the village, it made sense to both Brother Falor and Brother Makan that if this seemed wrong, it was only because they didn’t fully understand the prophecy itself. And that was clearly their problem, not the fault of The Seer.
After all, he had never guided them wrong before. Especially when he had appeared to have guided them wrong.
It was flawless critical thinking like that which had made Brother Falor and Brother Makan such excellent followers in the first place. So, instead of questioning his request, they both simply nodded back.
“Such loyalty to the flock,” The Seer smiled with benevolence, “And, if any of our guests go against the ways of the prophecy, you know what to do.”
They nodded again, and scurried out of the temple, leaving The Seer to return his attention to watching the celebrations for the arrival of the spotted man from afar.
He saw the trio of newcomers to the village once again, and he felt his mood darkening afresh. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but what had happened was clear to him.
Someone had sent him the wrong Trill.
End of Part One