by David & Daniel Dvorkin p.7 SILENCE. That is the one overriding aspect of space--not the immensity, or the beauty of the star-flecked blackness, but the silence. p.55 He had devoted his life to the people of Tenara, to the saavtas. As chairman of the Central Council, he stood for something honorable and decent, for individual freedom and dignity, for the principle that no man should rule over other men, and the idea that people should make their own decisions so long as they did not interfere with the rights of others. p.72 “Must we destroy all that’s good in a society in order to save it from its enemies? That’s a question the great philosophers of various worlds have struggled with for centuries, Gretna, and I don’t feel qualified to deal with it.” Gretna turned and looked at him thoughtfully. “So you just put it out of your mind and follow orders.” “Of course not!” Riker made no attempt to hide how offended he was. “I swore an oath to uphold the principles of the Federation. I’m not expected to follow orders that violate those principles.” “The problem,” Gretna pointed out, “is that principles tend to be vague and general, but orders are specific and deal with the immediate present.” p.163 “Commander! Darkness! Now would be the perfect time.” The squad leader seemed determined to sink his teeth into that afternoon’s argument again, to nibble at it, worry at it, growl over it--in short, to drive the commander mad with it. He opened one eye and bared his teeth. “Squad Leader! Orders! Now would be the perfect time for punishment for insubordination.” p.201 When Deanna Troi left, Jenny threw herself onto her bed and stared up at the painting on the cabin wall. She had brought it with her from Meramar--the only keepsake she’d allowed herself from her native world. It was a rendition of Servado’s Agony: the semidivine hero crucified by the barbarian horsemen he had held off single-handedly for so long. Below the rough cross, Servado’s sword lay broken in two. Despite the nails through his palms, the crown of thorns on his head, and the lance wound in his side, Servado gazed out of the painting with inhuman calm. His eyes held a message that Jenny had treasured all her life: “Be courageous, my daughter. Be a warrior in my image, and we will meet in heaven.” The message that tradition said was the last he had spoken in this world was written across the bottom of the painting: “Resorgo.” In the language of Meramar, this meant, “I shall rise again.” It was Servado’s promise to his people. NAMES: Antonia, Poravik, Arkana, Tullius, Yavam, Nadeleen, Antonius, Appius, Ingerment, Marius, Claudius, Klamnin, Nothus, Yoolka, Julia, Anka, Brutus, Gretna, Zhelnogra, Saavta, Quillen, Delapore, Melkinat, Marcus, Volcinius, Aldus, de Luz, Meramar, Aelius, Sejanus, Gaius, M’dok, Tenara, Lucius
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