“Paradigms”
Stardate 74726.0;
September 23, 2397
Episode 67
Prologue
Many moons had passed since the Dark Legion first appeared in the
verdant hills of Lordaeron. In the
beginning, their infrequent visits to the peaceful countryside generated little
more than curiosity. No harm was done,
and the denizens of rural Lordaeron were occasionally treated to the tale of a
farmer’s fortuitous encounter with one of the vile beasts.
Over time, the farmers’ tales blossomed into unsettling accounts
of life or death. At first, many were
skeptical, believing the farmers had exaggerated their tales to appeal to a
broader audience. But then the
storytellers began to disappear, mutilated livestock was often found strewn across
the rolling hills, and entire crops were destroyed. Before long, entire villages began to disappear. The Dark Legion was coming, and hell
followed close behind.
* * *
Black clouds roiled in the crimson sky, gradually billowing upward
with hopes of reaching an explosive, thunderous apex. Vivid tendrils of lightning had already begun to streak between
the bulging thunderheads, releasing ominous groans of thunder into the evening
sky. Soon, the floodgates would open
and the deluge would commence.
Alan Christopher cringed at the prospect of engaging the Dark
Legion under such circumstances, but he had little choice—the nefarious demons
were coming, and the unfavorable weather conditions were the least of their
concerns. Thus, Christopher tried to put
the coming storm out of his mind, but the stiff wind howling in his face did
not help matters; it would be a difficult fight, to say the least.
Suddenly, he glimpsed something on the horizon. It was little more than a shadow, but it was
definitely there. He immediately turned
to Bator, who trailed Christopher by only a few footfalls. “Do you see that?”
The Phobian peered into the horizon, and a sullen look immediately
fell upon his face. “I do,” he said
softly. “The Dark Legion has mobilized. Shall I give the call to arms?”
Christopher’s gaze wandered back to the horizon. There were more of the ominous shadows
now—more than he could count—and they were all crossing the knoll with
incredible haste. Christopher’s decision
was essentially made without so much as a moment of consideration. He swiftly drew his hefty claymore and
readied himself for battle. “Summon our
forces, Mr. Bator.”
He immediately turned on his heel and made a swift retreat into
the haze from whence the two of them had ventured, leaving Alan Christopher
alone with his thoughts—and for a moment, the Captain could not help but feel
he was forgetting something of consequence.
He promptly shrugged the feeling away—it was probably nothing, after all—and
instead focused on the task at hand: presiding over the demise of the Dark
Legion.
They drew closer with each passing moment, thousands of them
storming across the grassy plain in a great maelstrom of evil—and as tiny
droplets of rain began to pelt Christopher’s body, he could finally hear the
manic roars of his distant adversary.
His grip instinctively tightened around the hilt of his mighty claymore;
he gave it a few casual practice swings before assuming a more appropriate
stance—the last thing he wanted was to be caught unprepared…
Moments later, the ground began to tremble. Voices filled the air amidst a trumpeted
battlefield sonata, and before he knew it, Alan Christopher stood in the midst
of Lordaeron’s mightiest army. Led by
Matthew Harrison, the group charged the Dark Legion, prepared to defeat the
malevolent beasts or die trying.
Unwilling to miss the action, Christopher immediately fell into stride
alongside the agile footmen—only to stopped a moment later by the voice of
Matthew Harrison.
“Good luck to you, mine friend!” he called as he unsheathed his
silvery blade.
Christopher flashed Harrison a wry grin. “To both of us,” he replied.
“And I suspect we will need it!
Never before have we faced such a incredible nemesis.”
“Indeed,” said Harrison as Bator drew nearer. He gave the Phobian a polite nod before
continuing: “But we have an advantage
that the Dark Legion can only dream of—a force so powerful that it cannot be
stopped under any circumstance!”
“And what might that be?” inquired Bator.
Harrison smiled, and raised his sword in tribute. “We have each other,” he proclaimed, “and
together, we shall make a difference!”
Unable to argue with such a noble sentiment, Christopher gently
clanked his blade against Harrison’s.
“This day will be ours. To
victory!” he proclaimed.
“To victory!”
And on that note, the trio quickly came about to strike at the
heart of darkness. Lightning suddenly
ripped across the darkened sky, spewing sonorous rumbles of thunder into the
atmosphere; torrents of wind-driven rain fell from the sky, just as manic
battle cries filled the air. Swords
clanked, soldiers screamed and—
Everything froze.
Christopher’s heart immediately sank. Was there a flaw in the program?
Had the simulation overloaded the hologrid? Alan promptly turned to Matthew for answers, but to his chagrin,
the Commander appeared equally perplexed.
“I take it this is not a part of the program…”
“It is not,” confirmed Harrison.
“Lovely.” Seeing the battle
was temporarily delayed, Christopher sheathed his sword and stepped in front of
a frozen footman. He gazed into the
bulky soldier’s glossy brown eyes for a long moment before waving his hand in
the soldier’s face. Naturally, there
was no response.
“Computer,” Bator called a moment later, “resume program.”
It happily chirped, and for a moment, Christopher thought that
they might be back in business. But
then the computer’s monotone female voice bluntly announced, “Unable to
comply.”
“Why not?” demanded Christopher.
But before the computer had a chance to reply, a sliver of bright
light suddenly sliced into the forest at the edge of the battlefield, and
summarily widened until two shadowy figures stood at the holodeck exit. When the doors clamored shut, the simulation
promptly restored the forest, but the rainy mist left the holodeck’s newest
occupants shrouded in mystery.
Christopher’s disgruntled eyes immediately darted between Bator
and Harrison. “This had better be
good,” he grumbled. “I mean, we had be
under attack by an armada of Borg tactical cubes.”
“Well, you’re going to be disappointed then, little buddy.”
As Erin Keller’s pleasant voice floated to Christopher’s ears, his
rage subsided a bit. He could never
bring himself to be angry at his beloved, even if she interrupted him during
playtime. Besides, he was suddenly left
with the impression that he should not have dismissed his forgetful premonition
so quickly, and that if anyone had the right to be angry, it would probably be
Erin.
A few seconds later, the murky shroud released Erin and her
companion from its grasps; the two of them stood in awe of their mythical—and
utterly frozen—surroundings for a long moment before Erin closed the already
small gap between herself and Alan. “Now
tell me, when I talk, does anything I say actually penetrate that big
head of yours?” she playfully inquired.
Alan immediately paused.
The question was layered with so many pitfalls that he was absolutely
certain there was no correct answer.
Still, Alan was confident that if he played his cards right, he could
emerge from the discussion with a small amount of dignity. “I hear most of it,” he said softly. “But I will admit, when you go off on one of
your girly tangents, you often lose me.”
Erin raised a quirky brow.
“Girly tangent?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You know…” And Alan certainly hoped
she knew, because he really did not want to explain himself now.
But Erin decided to play dumb.
“No,” she said pleasantly, “I
have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Alan shrugged. “Too bad,”
he quipped, and before Erin had a chance to press the issue, he turned his
attention to the mysterious woman at Erin’s side. “And who do we have here?”
The woman flashed Alan a pleasant smile. “Felicia Gayle,” she said in a warm, inviting voice. “I’m here to speak to you about adopting
Angela.”