The Ole' Stone Mill (ngo' mill nagh)

Posted on Friday, 15 May 2020 - 2:38am by Captain Barret Stillwater & Lieutenant Talarn Zilth

Mission: Operation: Recall
Location: Prairie

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Talarn had taken some time to get everything ready. They had horses to prep and tools to gather. It wasn't always easy to just run back down for something he'd forgotten so the Cardassian was extra careful to include anything in his kit that he might need and the Klingons might not have. Barret had saddled the horses and Talarn had then packed them with everything they would need for the trip out and the ride back. They had not had their first frost yet, but the air could still get chilly at night so extra blankets were packed, with food and drink and both men brought extra clothing for warmth. Talarn had taken to wearing a cap with ear flaps.

The ride took most of two hours. The horses made it easier and faster than walking. They arrived mid afternoon, seeing the smoke of chimneys and cook fires from the small village long before they could see any actual buildings. They wove their way through the village on the way to the mill, sticking to the main roadways. People were working on training, the setting and buildings simple, but obviously productive based on the amount of people in the streets. The settlement was not large, but large enough, with buildings in clusters spreading down the mountainside, the mill being the highest point and much like most of Prairie everyone had a job to do.

The Klingons that ran the mill were mostly made up of two clans. Talarn didn't really pay that much to their clans, such as they were on Prairie. All he really knew was that Ko'lek was the head of the millers. The old Klingon was hard to deal with, he was gruff and grouchy and a little lecherous. Talarn preferred to deal with his two sons, Novok and M'dok. Ko'lek's mate, Minoh, was the matron of the family and almost as hard to get along with as Ko'lek.

There were many things that could go wrong with a watermill. They weren't complicated pieces of machinery and why the Klingons could not keep the mill in working order Talarn didn't even come close to understanding. The waterwheel, which was pitched just a little downstream of a waterfall, was used to turn a horizontal shaft on which was also mounted a large pit wheel. The pit wheel contained many gears and shafts, most made of wood or stone. Pegs that held wheels in place and cogs could get jammed or become uneven from wear. The shafts required oil or grease to maintain good working order and the waterway under the wheel had to remain clear. He could only imagine what the problem was this time.

It was a long and exhausting ride, but Barret passed his making conversation with Talarn when he felt the silence between the two of them was improper. They were close, but Barrett Stillwater was still a man who kept quiet for the most part, speaking only when spoken to, or when there was truly something on his mind in which he felt the need to express. He had been a fine Starfleet officer and a noteworthy Commanding Officer in the prime of his career, but the days of starring down Dominion forces and not mincing words while exchanging strategy with Romulans was well passed him. Now, the only warbirds and birds of prey that he thought about were those that soared above through the skies of Prairie. Some looked similar to the ones from Earth, others looked entirely exotic but no less menacing.

There was one bird on Prairie that was massive. Dark indigo feathers, massive wingspan, lightning-fast speed, and talons that looked like they could easily tear the flesh right off a Klingon warrior. Stillwater did not have a proper ornithological name for it, but it was definitely an opportunistic attacker, a bird or prey, and not known for being a scavenger. It liked its prey alive for the kill. The Klingons had a name for it that the universal translator said was wings of the devil, something they associated with the Fek'lhr. Klingons on Prairie had reported the massive bird swooping down and snatching a targ, and carrying off. Remains would be found days later with the meaty flesh torn dry off the bones.

Barret reached over to Talarn, handing him an old type-I phaser, the "cricket" which was easy to conceal, not the most accurate of a phaser, but still deadly. "Do not turn your back on those Klingons," he cautioned the man. "I know they are our neighbors, but we have no friends out here. If not for defense against the Klingons, then keep it in case one of those birds show up," added Stillwater.

Talarn nodded and concealed the weapon. He was also not a man of many words. When he had first been severed from the Borg collective, it took him an extended period of time to even find his voice again. For Talarn the sudden silence of hive mind took his voice as well, for a time. He still had a tendency to stay silent, most of his communication coming from his body language and facial expressions.

He agreed that the phaser was a good idea, although he wasn't sure why Barret kept insisting that they weren't friends. Talarn was pretty clear that they weren't friends with the Klingons. Talarn actually felt that if he was going to call anyone a friend it would be Barret and that was about it. Borg didn't make friends. Even as exborg for many years, the concept of "friends" was still a little foreign to him. Many had tried to explain it to him, all had failed. He understood what it meant to be "friendly", but aside from that he was pretty sure he didn't make friends either. "I don't like those birds..."

"Very few colonist here seem to," replied Stillwater placing a hand on his companion's shoulder. "They are dangerous and wild, but that is what adds to the beauty of them. Nobody has been able to domesticate them and I suspect they are not the sort of bird one can conquer," commented the human male with hair as dark as the feathers of the bird itself. "My ancestors on Earth had a similar creature in our stories. Many tribes had a common creature with similar descriptions, but varying meaning and abilities. Some called it a thunderbird and they believed it capable of producing lightening in the sky with the flapping of its massive wings. It was unwise to anger a thunderbird," explained Stillwater. "Some believed if one had visions of the thunderbird while on a solitary fast or vision quest, that they were fated to become a war chief."

"I'm not interested in being a war chief," Talarn replied, taking things a little too literally. "Do you think we'll have problems with birds today?" The thought of the big birds made Talarn a little paranoid and he started to look more at the sky. He also put a hand over the weapon he had tucked away. Just to make sure.

"That's what the phaser is for," Stillwater said. His tone was flat and commanding and his face as expressionless as could be. Though it was clear he was only partially serious about the phaser. "Klingons make a lot of noise. It tends to keep all animals away, and their body odor alone usually keeps me away; however, we do not have the luxury of being that picky. Just keep yourself armed at all times... just in case one of those birds comes around or the Klingons get impatient with your work. I'll keep them in line the best that I can," added Stillwater.

Talarn eyed Stillwater for a moment. "I don't want them looking at you either, though..." he commented, per their conversations about wandering eyes.

As they rode up closer to the Klingon land, the mill was evidently not doing its job. It looked still and the water was higher up on the banks than usual. "Odd," noted Barret pointing to the water. "Mill is definitely not working, but that water level is too high for this time of the year. We haven't had a decent rain storm in some time," the dark haired man said hopping down from their ride and grabbing some gear into a satchel.

Talarn followed him to the ground, landing heavily and staring up the hillside at the rushing water. "It has been warmer, maybe the heat is making the mountain top melt faster this year." He was worried that perhaps the old mill couldn't take the speed or volume of water that was currently rushing past it. "This might not be an easy job... or an easy fix..."

"That is a strong possibility," replied Barret and it was one that was likely a contributing factor. "It makes sense, and I think I may have another factor that adds to a series of unfortunate events," he added, pointing to the tree line where several trees had fallen over, with evidence of chew marks toward their trunks.

Talarn’s eyes followed where Stillwater was pointing and then he frowned and made a small clicking sound that often signified that he was frustrated by something. “That was not caused by Klingons... unless they’ve changed their diet significantly.” He started off towards the fallen trees, one hand reaching into his pack to pull out a small, wood chopping, hatchet.

"No, it was not," replied Barret Stillwater, who was itching for a tricorder right about now. Instead, he had to use the natural tricorder; his human senses, would have to perform. "Were this Earth, Talarn, I would say we were dealing with beavers," he noted. His eyes followed along the water and he caught sight of something. "This might not be Earth, but that obstruction looks familiar," he said at something thrown together with wood and such.

Talarn glanced over his shoulder, continuing to move forward. "I don't remember what beavers are."

"Picture a Cardassian vole with a long fat flat tail and long teeth... now picture the determination of a Tribble towards grain and instead of grain make it wood," said Stillwater. "That's more or less a beaver, and they are problematic on Earth because they use the wood to build their homes which block off rivers and streams... much like that," he added.

Talarn growled as he got to the edge of the land and faced the rushing water. He started to pull things he could reach free of the river and piling them on the bank behind him. "Do you see any? Should I be worried?" Talarn asked over the sound of the water.

"Well, I imagine these are something similar to beavers and in that case, you probably are frightening to them," noted Stillwater. "I think if we take down their home, it will be the beginning of fixing the problem. Then we need to handle what you were saying earlier," added Stillwater.

He had noticed that there were no Targs this far out on the Klingon property. "I bet the Klingons are keeping their Targs closer to their homes because of those birds. That may have led to these beaver like creatures moving in... no Targs to keep them away."

Talarn was already starting to unpack some of his gear. He wasn't fond of water. The fact that he had so many heavy mechanics in his body gave him both an advantage and a disadvantage. He sank in water. As long as it wasn't over his head he was okay with this, but the actual prospect of swimming was sort of not an option. He lashed a rope around his waist, just in case the water got over his head, and the other end he tied to a tree before he started to make his way into the rushing river to disassemble the "beaver's" home. "Well, they better get going!" Talarn called back. "They can't stay here!"

"No, they cannot," replied Stillwater, who was on edge when he sensed they were being watched. He immediately turned and saw a group of Klingons heading down the hill towards them. "Looks like the Klingons are on their way," noted Barret. "I'll be on my best behavior," added the human.

Talarn was about a quarter of the way across the river, chopping trees and whatever else the beavers had chosen to lay across the water. He flung the bits he was cutting away onto the bank behind him. "Good! They can help..."It amazed the Cardassian that the Klingons could run the mill, but they seemed to have no idea what to do about its upkeep and seemed uninclined to do so.

"You would think after all the years they have been here, that they would be able to stay on top of things better," commented Stillwater. He was thinking along the same lines as Talarn was. "I suppose it is still an adjustment to them. Even if they have been here much longer than either of us have, they have a natural drive for combat, and from what the Romulans have told me, they spent the first several years here constantly attacking the Romulan settlements which lead them to retaliate until the 'ceasefire' and that the Klingons practically hunted several species of animal life to near extinction."

Talarn growled, his joints were starting to stiffen from the cold water. "They should take out their aggressions on these beavers then!" He could think of about a million different things he would rather be doing then wading out into the water to chop up things that should have been obvious needed doing. "How do we get rid of the beavers? Aren't they going to come back and do this again?"

Stillwater walked over to a large rock... a boulder in the ground and leaned against it. He was still close enough to Talarn to continue the conversation. "If we had the technology to do so, I would say plant a device that emitted an ultrasonic pulse. That would likely keep them away, but we sort of gave up most high tech here for a simpler life," stated Stillwater. "If my theory is correct, then those Targs being brought down here closer to the mill would deter the beaverlike creatures from constructing down here and blocking the water flow. The problem is, the Klingons are concerned the birds will get their targs."

"I don't blame them. The birds might indeed take their Targs. Too bad there isn't an animal that they're interested in that's too big for the birds to carry away. They're going to have to do something... we can't keep doing this." He continued to cut his way across the river and the animal built dam. "Maybe they could tie them up so the birds wouldn't carry them off?"

Stillwater mused as he mulled the suggestion. "It might not be a bad idea. Actually, a decently good one," he replied. "Your Cardassian determination at work?" he offered. "You are correct in that we cannot keep doing this. The more times we get called out to fix or take care of something for the Klingons or the Romulans, the less time we have to spend handling our own crops and animals."

"Exactly, and I'm not so sure about Cardassian determination... but perhaps ex-Borg." Talarn often expressed that he didn't feel Cardassian at all. He felt that the Borg had taken that from him and made him into something different. Not that he could put a name or a label to what he was now. "What needs to happen is they need to learn how to fix this themselves. I don't understand why they couldn't figure out the problem and do much the same thing I'm doing..."

"Excuse me for sounding Xenophobic, Tal, but they are Klingons," replied Stillwater. "They are not born to make bread. They fight, they slaughter, they drink strong alcoholic beverages, some of it made historically from the blood of their enemies, and they fornicate rough," he said, not holding back on his assessment. "They are still getting used to living by the rules of this place, albeit there are no official rules. They may have been here longer than either of us, but they were not bred as to make engineering marvels, nor be excellent diplomats."

Talarn paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder at Barret, his gaze lingering for several moments before he went back to chopping. "It might take time, but learning is possible. They might be a warrior race, but even warrior races have to be fed. Somewhere, in all that aggression, they have to be capable of learning in some capacity, even if it goes against their nature." He paused again, but this time he didn't look at Stillwater. "I learned..."

"There's a Human saying from Earth," began Stillwater. "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime," he finished the quote and looked at Talarn. "No more fixing their problems for them. We will take care of the beaver issue, but they will need to learn to care better for the mill."

"Agreed," Talarn responded. "Why does the man not know how to fish? Shouldn't he already know that?" Talarn asked. Sometimes Earth sayings didn't make any sense to him. "I mean... I guess Humans aren't just born knowing how to fish... but who doesn't know how to fish?" He gave Barret a rare grin. "They're getting closer..." he said of the approaching Klingons.


Barret nodded. "Well then, let's go socialize with the brooding type" he replied as they headed to meet with the Klingons.

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